Piles and Rugs and Pain and Faith

Growing up, I thought that by the time I was "an adult", I would be done changing.  I assumed that by the time I was "grown up"... and surely being 40 would be grown up... I would be who I was for better or for worse.  Right?

Wrong.

Our house has been one big pile recently.  Piles of paperwork, piles of plastic toys, piles of Julianna and Elizabeth's clothes because they continue to get bigger and outgrow them before I can even put up the most recent load of laundry, piles of photo albums, piles of books I bought but haven't read, piles of things that make me feel overwhelmed.

I am just now able to sort through those piles.

That was a side of grief I wasn't prepared for.  The debilitating feeling of being overwhelmed.  Not even seeing an end in sight- so much to do, such a constant reminder of being the only one who is going to be able to get it done.

Also in those piles of being overwhelmed- somewhere tucked in between the death of each of my parents- was the remnants of my previous faith.

I never renounced my faith.

I did, however, try to work through how my faith looked on the other side of chaos.

I never doubted the reality of Jesus.

I did, however, wonder how a sovereign God lined up with all of the pain we experienced.

I never ran away from the Lord I knew so well.

I did, however, yell at Him with all I had in me.

In all of the chaos... in all of our piles... as my new self is starting to break out of the debris... I am just now starting to deal with the crap left behind.  I am just now filling bag after bag of trash, making lots of trips to Goodwill, and sorting through some precious heirlooms that I've been handed.

One of the material things we've "inherited" is a rug that was in my Mom's house.  Mom didn't have air conditioning until a few years before we sold her house.  (One benefit of living in the woods is that we rarely needed a/c!)  We're not sure what happened during the installation, but something made the entirety of Mom's house smell like burning rubber for a while.  (Comforting, right?)  The smell eventually went away- except for in that rug.

It's not a smell we necessarily like, but it definitely reminds us of Mom's house.

That's how so many of the things are in our house now... and in my faith.  I don't always like what I smell, or see, or feel... but I'm grateful for what it reminds me of.  The places I've been.  The people who have mentored me.  And the faith that is evolving.

We are still nothing more than a bunch of piles in this house.  There is a good chance that when you stop by, we'll have to move the laundry before you'll have a place to sit.  But I'm hopeful that eventually the piles won't bring panic and pain, but will show the strength of where we've been.  Even when we have a bizarre smell because of it... maybe eventually it will make us all feel a bit nostalgic.

Growing up is hard.

Maybe when I get to be an adult, it won't seem like it's been that difficult.

I'll let you know when I get there.

normal.

For the last 3 years, I have been in a state of holding my breath.

I feared we would never hit "normal" again.  Nothing could be normal without Daddy ... after learning of my Mom's dementia... after losing friends to death... after feeling like we lived in a continual state of loss.

And yet here we are.  Normal.

This is what my new normal looks like:

I have an 8 year old who is funny, too smart for me, and helps me navigate our new world.  She keeps me thinking through my answers as her questions challenge me daily.  She is light and laughter and consistency in my days that are chaos.

I am the proud legal guardian of a beautiful, stubborn, and sweet 2 year old.  She has brought us hope in times that we couldn't conjure it up without her.  She loves loudly and deeply and fiercely... and we are thankful for the charge to help guide all of that energy in a safe and loving environment.

I have a mother who is constantly losing who she is.  Her face and sometimes mannerisms remind me of days gone by, but her current dementia filled days make me ache for our old "normal".  I go through times where I can't remember the good... and I am grateful for those who come along side me and fill my heart and mind with memories of her grace, dignity, and wisdom.

I have a precious husband who is often my barometer of pause.  He tells me when I should slow down, encourages me to write more, and will often bring out the next bottle of wine when days are as lovely as they were yesterday and our deck is filled with an impromptu gathering.

I have a faith that is changing and growing... I feel a bit like it's made of Silly Putty- words of days gone by are still imprinted on it, yet in moments I've allowed it to grow harder than is malleable.  I long for the soft and stretchy ease, yet I'm certain that I'm to learn something new in this season.

I have a home that is messy and fluid.  This past week was our Spring Break and we saw friend after friend come through our doors, leaving their mark on our hearts as we enjoyed what spice they add to our home.  Never have I enjoyed a Spring Break more... although I need to detox from the food and drinks and sleep for about 34986 more hours.

And this is our new normal.  Days filled with love and loss and joy and pain and heartache and celebration.  Normal.

I have cringed a bit lately as a few well-meaning friends have suggested that the addition of our sweet  girl is somehow supposed to fill the gap of losing our most recent baby.  While we love that their stories overlap and intersect (we think that Baby J was born right about the time our baby died), one is not a replacement for the other.  One brings hope and mothering into a bleak heart of loss... yet a life cannot be traded one for another.  Yet that is where we are- celebrating the life of one as we remember the loss of the other.  Normal.

I guess this is what being fully human is about.  Holding on to normal quite loosely, realizing that it changes moment by moment.  Trying not to get stuck in the longing for easier days, trying not to wish away the current moment while still anticipating the next.  Reaching out for spicy friends when our own bowl has become bland.  Returning the favor for others by pouring the wine when we are able. Reading and praying and writing and hugging and laughing and crying.  Encouraging others- no matter what their normal looks like- that we will gather with them through it all.

Peace and grace.
And hope for your Normal to be filled with Light, as we exhale together.

Self Care and Washing Machines

My washing machine makes this noise as it's going from one cycle to another.  It sounds kind of like an airplane taking off.  The moment it hits the next cycle (rinse?  I dunno), it has this very anticlimactic "THUD" and then it kicks into a lower gear.  Before you become concerned about the well-being of our appliances, let me assure you that it is fine.  This is par for the laundry-washing course.

Lately, the frantic-ness of life has felt a lot like that machine.  The violent hum of gearing up... you can almost tangibly feel the anticipation and chaos... and then THUD. Stop.

Historically, I have lived my life in this same pattern.  I used to say that one of the reasons God allowed me to have asthma was so that I would have an automatic shut-off valve.  When my busyness got to be too much, I would have an attack and be forced to shut down.  As I have gotten "more experienced" (and gotten better asthma maintenance drugs!), that seems to happen less and less.

But lately, I've been in that crazy spin cycle longing for the sloshing sounds of "rinse".

I felt myself being stretched to a point that wasn't possible.

I let my laundry pile up beyond the normal mountain it already was.

I allowed my family to eat out more than we cooked because of pure convenience.

I started my days in full "GO!" mode and went until I crashed- sometimes as early as 7:00pm.

And then... I stepped back.

Realizing that the last 2 years of grief had altered my body as I knew it, I assessed the situation.  What did I need to do to make things right?  Who did I need to talk to?  What should I say "no" to in my schedule?

This is not one of those blog posts where I let you know of the success of this endeavor.  I am not here to report "And thanks to Jesus and good medication, I'm fine!"

I am still wading through the evaluation.

Still catching myself in moments that I hear the hum escalate.

Still wanting to be more mindful, to feel more whole.

But here is what I can tell you: I am worth it.

I am important enough to take time for myself.

I am worthy of rest.

This is said not out of vanity or pride... but out of a basic understanding that I was made for so much more than frenetic days and harried thoughts.

As 2014 began, I challenged myself to jot down one thing I'd done for myself a day.  ONE THING.  Early in January I wrote down these treasures:
* Took a glass of wine and a book to the bath.
* Watched mindless TV and didn't multitask while doing it.
* Took a nap while Dan and E watched a movie.
* Washed my face with really good skin products

Then... the baby joined our family and we went into survival mode.  In all honesty, when I thought back to those treasures, I felt spoiled... the next few weeks were spent just getting by.

Thankfully, we're not just getting by anymore.  We are learning how to survive this crazy thing of loving someone else's child, and we're adding her to our joy.

And now that we've gotten past the crisis of "Triage Mode", I think it's time to remember my goal of self care.

Would you join me?

I have heard so many of you already cry out to Summer Angst... your kids have already reeked havoc on your house and your sanity.  So how about committing to finding ONE thing a day that is JUST FOR YOU.  Maybe you'll treat yourself to an iced latte, or a new pen, or a beer on your porch at night. Maybe you'll go on that vacation and not take your stack of thank you notes to work on... but you'll just enjoy the moment.  Maybe you'll finish that book or call that friend or paint your nails... but make it about you.

I believe that I- and you- have worth because we were created by One who desires more for us.  Whether or not you share my belief... please trust me when I say that you are worth it.

In this busy world in which we all live- we tend to put others' needs before our own.

This summer, how about taking some time for you?

You. Are. Worth. It.

early bedtimes and living intentionally.

Yesterday, E just couldn't get a grip on herself.  Before church she had cried at least 2 times... getting frustrated over everything.  She got mad at me when I combed her hair with a comb rather than allowing her to continue to use the plastic fork which was giving her not much success.  She was angry and weepy about everything we said.

After church, we had lunch with friends... and she was just fine... until it was time to leave.  She walked out of their house without even a real goodbye to our friend and pouted the whole way home.  And then the whole way to Home Depot.  And then the whole way home again.

The climax of this pout came when she asked if we could go swimming and we said no, which caused a magnitude of tears and teenage-sounding lines.  She managed to pull it together for a bit... but couldn't maintain the together-ness long enough to even finish dinner.  So with only a few bites of a baked potato eaten, she went to bed.

Before 6:00pm.

(Please note, DSS, we were not withholding food from our child.  She chose to skip dinner in favor of some solitude.  I promise we'll feed her well when she wakes up.  We don't let children go hungry.)

I feel quite certain that yesterday's behavior was E's way of sorting through the emotions of a previously packed two weeks.  As we've seen with her time and time again, even when her packed schedule is packed with goodness... she still needs time of nothingness to unpack.

Her Mom tends to be the same way.  Historically, when I would cram too much in to my schedule, my body would shut down with an asthma attack.  While this still happens, it happens far less now that I have the winning combination of good medicine and a husband who "makes" me slow down every now and then.

But even when I maintain life at a good pace, my heart and mind still race.  My emotions get as jumbled as E's do... I just usually have more coping skills to fake it better.  The introverted part of me (yes, there is one) desperately requires time alone- to think, to clean, to sit, to read, to be still... and when that part is neglected, I crumble... just like my wee one.

Dan and I are constantly making adjustments to our schedule to make sure that both of us have the "down time" needed to keep peace in our home.  This morning, my quest for peace came in a laundry washing- Quiet Time having- coffee drinking start to the day.  (Side note?  I also have discovered recently that my "state of calm" is in direct correlation to how much junk is on my kitchen counter.)  Today, while I attempt to keep peace and order in my home, I'll also be nailing down some details to close out Daddy's estate.  It seems bizarre that not even 130 days ago, my life looked so completely different.  Friday I was on the phone with a friend and as I said to her "I just miss my Daddy...", the tears came and couldn't stop.  Finding peace now looks so different than it did then... but it is peace nonetheless.

The irony of my word this year is that it is "intentional".  So funny that I felt led back in January to speak a word into my life which would cause me to pause and be aware of every most decisions I make.  So funny that before I even knew how this would feel, I was preparing my heart to intentionally choose it's response.

My heart fluctuates between being a jumbled mess and at peace... and the peace only comes from Jesus.  I have become more and more dependent on Him in this season.  That doesn't mean that in the midst of this I've made all wise intentional choices... but they have (for the most part) been intentional.  And like Miss E, I've sent myself to bed early a couple of nights because I knew that was what was best- for all of us.

But here's to a new day.  And a new week.  And a (almost) new month.  Here's to making intentional choices about how we spend our time, our money, our energy, and our emotions.  Here's to Doing Good for those around us.  Here's to starting our day on a positive note- looking toward the One who created it.

And here's to making it last until bedtime... which will hopefully be later than 6:00pm.

Name it and claim it.

I hate the so-called "prosperity gospel".  I do not serve a God who blesses you because you do something.  I serve a God who blesses you because He is good... and He loves you.  So when I hear the whole "name it and claim it" mumbo-jumbo... my hackles are in a tizzy from that first moment.

But, as in most things, there is an ounce of truth amidst the crazy.

And recently I have been part of that goodness.

Last year, my word was "peace".  I prayed "peace" all over my days.  I prayed peace into the lives of others.  I worked hard to make my life something that would leak peace into those around me.  And I still do.

Those who know me well have joined me in my quest to cover my life and home with "peace"... I have received gifts and words over the last 16 months very focused on the word "peace."

So it was a logical jump that a friend use that word to explain my Daddy's death to her almost-3 year old. 

When Daddy died, I texted my friend- something that 6 weeks ago I never imagined I would do, sending life-altering news in a text.  Who would do that?  I'll tell you who... this girl.  In those first hours of confusion and anguish, I reached out to those around me with a quick line or two about what had happened so that they could rush on my behalf to the Throne of Peace... as I was unable to find my way.  My sweet girlfriend received that text in the presence of her son... and realized she had to put words around her shock and grief.  Words that he would understand- especially as they had not yet had to talk about the abstract and concreteness of "death".

In a moment of Momma-wisdom, she gently explained to young W that Miss Becky really needed peace, and it was their job to pray peace for her (me).

Beauty.

That family, like so many others around me, prayed that prayer... and I have been the recipient of peace.

Now, I will fully admit that I don't understand how prayer works.  But I know it does.  And I know that God hears the prayers of those who love Him... and loves the prayers of children.  So, win-win for me- they pray it, I get it.

But the biggest blessing- to me- in all of this is the lesson that my friend has taught sweet W.  Because every time he sees me, talks to me, hears about me, he asks his sweet Momma if I have gotten more peace.  He is now part of the bigger picture of the inter-weaving of this world and the eternal.  As he is on the earthly look-out at my life and my quest for peace, he is at the same time reaching his precious little hands toward heaven on my behalf.

He has named it, and both of us have claimed it.

Beauty.

And that makes it well with my soul. 

Peace to you, and to sweet W.

In search of more peace...

One of the greatest gifts I was given in life is my counterpart- Dan.  Those of you who know us well know our story: dated two and half months, got engaged, and were married at our six month dating anniversary.  (Gasp!)  My college minister said (when I called to tell her a.about Dan and b.that we were getting married, "That is so you, Becky!"  Really?  Is it?  Cause I was sure shocked, too...)  I still attest to this day that Dan wasn't my "type".  But clearly, he sure was... because what was a good fit back in 1999/2000 sure is a good fit now.

Dan is my sounding board.  When everything went down in Rwanda, I wept in my room one day because I couldn't debrief it with him.  Later, I told a friend this and she said, "oh, because you wanted someone to debrief it all with?" and I said, "no... because I wanted Dan to debrief it all with." 

We were at an engagement party this weekend and the bride and I caught a moment away where she shared how overwhelmed she is to comprehend how much her groom loves her... and loves her unconditionally.  It made me feel all those mushy-gushy new love feelings, and made me come home to talk it over with Dan.  The running joke in our marriage is "Here's to Good Enough."  There have been moments where Good Enough was all we were able to muster... where physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially "good enough" was all we could do.  Yet the beautiful part about our Good Enough is that when you put both of ours together, our Good Enough becomes pretty great.

Lately, my brain has been on overload learning and relearning life.  All of that process is not yet ready for blog-words, but it's been healthy and it's been good.  I am thankful that as I relearn, I have my sounding board right there with me.  Dan encourages me toward peace.  He wants to partner with me to put our family in right perspective.  He wants our time, energy, and resources to be used for the greater good.  For that, I am most thankful.

Yesterday morning, all 3 of us were lying in bed before church talking about our day.  Elizabeth asked if we could go for a walk and Dan said, "Why don't we go for a walk... in Asheboro?  Let's go worship God there and check out all the cool animals He's made..." and off we went.

Sometimes we need people to push us toward peace.  Yesterday, mine was found evidenced my a sweaty face and tired feet about an hour southeast of here.  My Good Enough gets better each day... and I'm so thankful God knew better than I did that Dan really is my type after all.

Peace to you.

For Discussion: peace

Back in January, I picked a "word" for my year.  I'd heard this idea on the radio and loved it.  I shared this concept with women at church and I shared it with my college student friends- we all picked our words for 2011.  This word was supposed to be something we prayed and focused on for ourSELVES this year- not something we prayed for our families, children, whatever.

My word is peace.

Funny, I'd forgotten that recently.  (I'm not so smart sometimes.)  During the summer months as our lives were filled with an overseas adventure, Summer BLOCK Party, and Foster Care training, I got sucked into lists and prayed for specific items- not for "peace".  Don't get me wrong- in lots of those specific items for which I was praying, "peace" was high on the list.  But I didn't even remember it was the word that was supposed to define my 2011.  (Read: not so smart.)

"word bags" at the retreat

At a retreat I hosted in February, I handed out bags to each woman in attendance that had their words embroidered on them.  I've been using mine since then.  But the other day I picked it up and- honest to God- thought "I wonder whose word this was?  Maybe someone left it here."  Right.  Peace.  It was MY word.  The word I'd chosen to pray, live, and create in 2011.

So, here we are a week into the month of August, and friends, I am craving peace.  This morning as I prayed for our family, God led me to this verse: The Lord gives his people strength, The Lord blesses them with peace. (Psalm 29:11)  Whew.  Oh, to make that true in my heart.  I believe it... now I want to live it.

I want to create peace in my home.

In fact, Dan had a conversation with someone recently who was having a hard time with the chaos of life.  This person told Dan that the secret to outliving the chaos was to have a moderately clean home and have people in it who say "I love you."  Both of those things we do well.  (Emphasis on the moderately clean part.)  I've been letting those words roll around in my mind lately and wondering how the home I've made does or does not show peace.

How I would love a home like this:

 I love the clean lines!  I love the "free from clutter" look!  It's not quite "warm" enough for me... but...

Or this:

Oh, y'all... how I want to have a cup of coffee on that couch.  Maybe I'd need to drink it in a sippy cup so as not to mess up the calm white theme... but...

Don't see these two examples and think I like a lack of color.  One of my newest dear friends lives in a home with lots going on- colors and children all over the place.  But her home is still peaceful- and I'm trying to bring that peace into my space.

While I was searching for "peaceful homes" on The Google this morning, I found this article.  Several of those things we do well: we have a "landing strip" for things that need to be attended to... but our landing "strip" has become a landing "room."  My friend Leigh Ann taught me years ago the joy of a made bed- she said it in a way that I heard well.  She told me that her brother taught her to make her bed every day so that even if the rest of your house is in clutter, you have one organized thing in your house to come home to.  Household plants?  Got it.  Totally agree.  Done it.

remember this?

So what works for you?  What rituals or routines do you do to ensure your home is peaceful?  I feel certain that my laundry skills do not create peace- but we're working on it.  I usually don't end with a question- but I really do want your response this time.  (And sidenote? Thanks for all of your comments that sounded like "How could someone not like you, Becky?  You are amazingly wonderful!" or junk like that from my last post.  At least that's how I read it.  You are all sweet.  And clearly you are not the people I was talking about.)  No, seriously... what do you do to maintain peace in your home.  I want tips, tactics, and thoughts on creating peace.

I'm starting my day praying to the God of Peace for Him to pour it into my life.  And as I do that, I am going to fold some laundry to bring some peace into my family.  Now... what about you?  Bring it on, people...