The Longest Night of the Year

It’s almost here. The longest night EVER! Nope it’s not December 21^st, the winter solstice, as all the papers and scientists would have you believe. I’m talking about the night of December 24^th , you know, Christmas Eve. And here’s the reason this will be the longest night…

1. My children have decided that bedtime is for sissies.  No naps, no early bedtimes. I can’t even con them into a ride in the car to look at Christmas lights and perhaps, being strapped down in a safety seat, they will fall asleep.
2. We have 2 bikes to put together and the hours until Christmas Eve are dwindling. I work tomorrow and then it’s basically Christmas Eve, which means we will be up late (see #1 above) and have to be up later because we did not choose the free assembly option! We are so smart!
3. My children are EXCITED about Christmas. 2 weeks ago, Isaiah started crying when I told him Christmas was 14 days away. He said it was, “too far away, Mommy! And Santa will never get here!” Bennett just feeds off of Isaiah’s excitement so we truly have it coming.
4. This is where I get my paybacks I’m sure. I was the child up at 4 am, stomach feeling like a bunch of jumping beans, doing everything I could to stay in bed one more minute without bursting. I have no doubt my children will also be up early this holiday. So given that we will probably crash around 2 am, the two hour nap will be just what I need to start my day! ( BTW sorry mom and dad for being up at 4 am every Christmas)
5. We are leaving on a 12 hour car trip Christmas afternoon. I’m very excited about spending the holidays back in Michigan with my family. I’m not very excited about driving the distance that will get us there. If you read “The LONG Road Home” back in September, you will understand my hesitation to get back in my car. On a side note, Brad is on this trip, so at least I will not feel like the sole responsible adult for our littles.

I realize this whole list sounds like complaining, or in all honesty, it is complaining. The truth is, the holidays are my favorite time of year, and this year Advent has been such an emotional time for me. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m waiting for a lot of things that are yet to come. I’ve never been a patient person.  And the holidays are great, I’ve loved traveling to see old friends, sharing memories with my kids, baking, eating, and planning. But it sure is exhausting! I love that my kids have gotten to give to others and see that Christmas isn’t all about them. I’m so proud that they were all into the Christmas performance at church (even if Bennett took out a poinsettia or two). I’m ready to be in my parent’s new home and to just be there. No work, no on-call nights, and lots of aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends to just be with. So even though the longest night is coming, I’m hoping my longest night (and Brad’s too) will be followed by a couple long nights of rest, rejuvenation, and maybe a good glass of wine!

Merry Christmas Everyone! May you know that a child was born for you! A son was given for you, because God loves you so much and even if your holiday feels like the longest night of your life, know that God came here to be the dawn in the darkness! Many blessings~Lisa

Finding Joy All Over Again

Today we celebrated the 3rd Sunday in Advent, the Sunday of Joy. I automatically started singing the little song we learned in Sunday School many years ago, "I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart." [Insert your most screeching, annoying voice] "Where?" "Down in my heart!" But it occurred to me, that so many of my recent Christmases and I'm sure for so many, this Christmas, the joy is hard to come by. Sure I may have joy down in my heart, but it's pretty deep down there and it's covered by a lot of junk the world has thrown at me.

So how can this whole joy thing be real for so many when joy seems so deeply buried under lots of hurt and pain? I can't speak for others, but I know that a couple years ago, I was just done acting like I was good, things were okay, and I was happy about Christmas. It was Christmas Eve and my joy had gone out the window about a week prior as our new bathroom renovation was all for naught and the tub started leaking again through the roof of our living room. I was frustrated because we had seemed to make a number of financial mistakes that year and this was just another point showing how we didn't get what we paid for. Add to that some post-partum depression and it was just the perfect storm at Christmas time.

Brad and I usually lead the Christmas Eve service together, but the thought of doing that on this Christmas Eve when everything had gone wrong, felt like the most fake thing I could do. I didn't even want to show up and pretend things were fine when they weren't. So I called him with about 10 minutes to go before service and told him I couldn't do it. I wasn't going to show up and answer "Fine" when everyone asked "how are you?".  This is what this whole holiday season feels like for so many. While some find it joyful, for those that don't, it's almost worse because you feel guilty for not being entranced by the "magic of the season".

And then there's this week of Advent, the week of joy. Joy means, "A feeling of great pleasure and happiness" but that wasn't me that Christmas. There wasn't a lot that gave me any kind of happiness. What kind of person can't even enjoy this holiday through their child's eyes? No one really had a good answer to that. To make it worse, I was the pastor's wife and with that comes some pressure (whether self-imposed or just unspoken) to have it together.  Unfortunately for this pastor's wife, I'm completely and utterly human. That means that depression and anxiety and awful things happening in life don't pass me up for someone else. Christmas was sad that year, I was sad that year.

I have a few years between me and that Christmas, and I realized that trying to be perfect and act like everything was perfect was sucking the little bit of joy there was out of Christmas.  Advent is this time of waiting for the big thing to happen. After all, Jesus is coming, but waiting is hard. I can give you several examples using my children as the subjects to demonstrate that waiting even for a short time is excruciating. And if we are waiting on joy, the wait can be more painful as each day passes.

Maybe that's why we have to celebrate hope and peace before we can get to joy. Because I don't think we can have true joy before we have hope and peace. When I look back at that bad Christmas, I see that hope and peace were absent. But one day a few months later hope began creeping back in, mainly in the form of people who loved me well. They were the messengers of hope and peace. It started with little laughs, a chance to help them out sometime and getting some thanks in return, and really just choosing to get out of bed some days.

This is why I'm no longer so into the perfect Christmas season. Instead, I feel a great call to be more than a representative of Pinterest perfection. I'd rather people see a little rough edge than a perfectly shiny exterior, because maybe then someone can feel that they aren't in this alone. The joy is yet to come. It's there deep in us, and it will resurface. After all, God's greatest joy didn't show up in any way anyone would have predicted. It was a teenage mother who didn't have a husband and gave birth surrounded by animals because there was no where else to go. Not the most ideal circumstances by far. And that's when joy has a chance, because gloom and doom are so quick to shut out the happiness, it makes experiencing true joy again so much better. Sometimes just showing up to face this holiday without holding ourselves to the ideals of what we should be feeling and just allowing ourselves to feel all the feelings, gives us permission to find joy...even if it's just a little.  Because the truth is, the joy comes in the morning, it just may take a few wake-ups before we get a chance to experience it!

The Glow

Every Christmas, Brad writes a poem for the Christmas Eve service. He's usually quick to write them, as that is one of his many talents. Last year he was struggling and I just had a lot on my heart so I wrote a poem. He found his inspiration, but sweetly said he had read this and thought it was good. I'm sharing it this year, because Advent seems so much more important to me lately. I need to be reminded that we are in a waiting period and that this time is meant for reflection and growth. I hope some of you will find your Hope, Peace, Love, and Joy this season!

The Glow

A baby born 2000 years ago

And angels illuminated the sky

The Glow shown round the hilltops

To shepherds watching nearby

Darkness falls around us

The winter time has come

Yet God’s plan lights the path

And Jesus is the ONE

But burdens we all bare

Make a raging fire, dim

We cannot see the glory

We can barely picture HIM

That baby born in Bethlehem

So removed from you and me

The glow of a star doesn’t shine on us

This isn’t how it is suppose to be

But reminders are all around us

God sent his son to save

We don’t deserve it, never earned it

Our victory o’er the grave

The Glow doesn’t always appear

When we are feeling down and out

It doesn’t fill us with joy

If life has taken a different route

But God’s glow doesn’t wane

It’s here for us today

Pulling us back to Bethlehem

The very Christmas day

Sometimes fires fade

And darkness is all around

But God’s glow continues, it’s steady

Ready to be found

It’s a fire in the hearth

Keeping all around it warm

It’s a place for homeless men

To shelter them from a storm

It’s children’s eyes as they see new things

Wonderment and awe

It’s beating cancer

A journey that seemed so far

The glow waxes and wanes

But it’s always there to see

God’s perfect Christmas gift

Who died on Calvary

Jesus wasn’t given

As a check off Christmas list

He was given just for us

For a time such as this

So that glow may be different

For all of us right now

God’s giving you a gift

Where shepherds came to bow

That tiny little baby

Brought into the world one night

He is the glow

Heaven’s One True Light

So as you celebrate

Or wonder about it all

Remember that God’s glow

Reversed the dreaded fall

That special Christmas gift

Was born for those who seek

Those who needed saving

The poor, the lame, the meek

He came for all of us

It’s important that you know

Jesus is the way, the truth

The reason for a glow!

Big Girls DO Cry

As a teenager, I remember having conversations with my girlfriends about movies and they would talk about how emotional they would get because of the storylines...not me! I didn't cry at Lifetime movies. I wasn't sobbing in the theaters during the end of Armageddon. I just wasn't moved by things on screen like my girlfriends were.

I'm not sure when this changed. I don't know if living in this cruel world has made me more emotional or having children has changed my perspective, but what I do know is that when I see or hear or experience poignant moments, I now seem to cry frequently. Of course, I still try to save these "episodes" for a private setting, mostly in my car. And I never want to burst out the waterworks where I would have to explain to people why I'm crying.

This past week I cried a lot because of the overwhelming sense that this country has hurt a whole race of people. My crying was because I have done nothing about this and I still feel frozen in place, confused what my role could be in changing how my interaction with my black friends and acquaintances can begin the healing that needs to happen. I cried for a mamma who has lost her son and for all of the kids that run through our clinic who are "at-risk" and could easily leave this world way before their time. I cried because this world overwhelms me with our inability to listen to each other and try to understand another side of the story.

However, the nightly news isn't the only thing bringing me to tears. We recently had a World War II ship docked at the riverfront of Chattanooga. I drove by it everyday while it was here. The final morning, the ship casted off and all the men on board saluted those that had come to watch. So many of the people saying good-bye saluted back, and I cried. I've come to realize how much our military has given for us, how their families worry about their safety and how their commitment to their cause is amazing. I respect that and it moves me and so I cry.

I cry after my boys have been tucked in and they have said unprompted "I love yous" and cuddled up in my lap. I cry because I know these days are fleeting and having this crazy emotion somehow helps to solidify memories into my mind.

I cry when I think about my parents, how they've loved me so well. How their lives have changed in this last year and that we are not able to be together during this holiday season. It makes me said that while everyone else's life has gone on, we still spend our days fragmented. I will cry the day I get to hug my dad in person again, without having to talk to him through a brick wall and window. I will cry when I get to see him hold his grandboys and they get to talk his ear off and he won't be able to hear or understand most of it because his hearing is going. But those will be happy tears and maybe they won't show on my face, but my heart will be crying.

This liquid emotion seeps out as I get frustrated for the one-billionth time with being a parent. These little children sure do know how to push every button that sends me off the deep end and yet I am the one responsible for their well-being, their up-bringing, and teaching them right from wrong. So I think I cry with the torment of feeling like I'm not living up to the expectation of parenthood, whatever that is, and realizing that some days surviving is the only option. And ultimately, they are my hope and joy and I would give my life (and possibly my sanity) to make sure they go through this world knowing they are loved by me and a God who has given us an everlasting love.

I really have become an emotional basket case. And I really don't think it's a sign of weakness or wimpy-ness. I think it shows a new connect with this world. It shows that where I could be selfish and ignorant before, God's marvelous grace has penetrated my life and I cannot help but see that others deserve some of that grace too. I will now cry at Lifetime movies, movies about parents and children, love stories, commercials, and newspaper articles. It is not my crazy woman hormones, but instead, I see it as a victory because my emotional outburst show that I have not given up on this life. I am so emotionally attached to the human life and condition, that I cannot help but shed a tear during the happiness and the grief. I hope that as I learn more about our Creator's heart for his nations, that my emotions would reflect His. And that my little confession would allow some of you to know that a good, ugly cry once in a while is good for the soul!

Comfortably Uncomfortable

Brad and I have been working hard to pay down debt and really work on a budget. It's going well and we've tackled a lot that makes each month easier to enjoy. We set aside 10% and put it in our giving fund so that if we find someone or some cause that has a need, no problem, just give! It's great and really freeing...and then it's not.

The more I give, the harder it is to pass someone who needs something and not feel like I could do more. Last Sunday, I was getting a treat. Brad decided to take the boys out for a movie which meant I had at least the next two and a half hours to myself. I sat down and watched mindless TV. I picked the house up a bit and it stayed that way, and I decided to treat myself to a Target run. It was a rainy Sunday and I think everyone had run to Target just to have something to do.

That's when I saw him. Wearing a coat that wasn't keeping off much rain, and sharing a sign that said, "1 wife, 2 kids. No money for the bills." And I started to think, "God, why do you do this to me?" Here I was just trying to have a relaxing, carefree time without my kids and now I've got to decide if I think this man is worthy of my money. We have all been there. What if they just use the cash for booze and cigarettes? Why hasn't this person gone through the vast assortment of helplines our city offers? Why do I have to make this decision?

See, I'm a Christ-follower and these questions always cross my mind but almost in a nano-second the words from Jesus also flood my brain, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me." And then I look ahead at all the people heading into Target to spend endless dollars on the dollar bin, a Starbucks drink, and many things that were not a need but a want. Heck, that was what I was going in for, just a want, because I can, I have no worries if my bills will get paid this month. And that's when I realized, if the man was still there, I had to just err on the side of love. I didn't have a lot of cash but I had $10. I will admit I spent much more than that in Target and didn't bat an eye.

I've had these same predicaments a lot lately. I see a lot of patients that are homeless and when you hear there stories, there's just so much hurt. Even the ones who do drugs and booze, there's a child of God under all the substances. When we went to San Francisco and the beggars on the street were everywhere, it was almost paralyzing. The least of these keep showing up in my comfortable life and making me uncomfortable. I could choose to ignore them, but I can't. I just don't see anywhere in scripture that makes it clear to leave these people behind. In fact, I think the disciples were probably uncomfortable all the time with this Jesus. He would stop for lepers and prostitutes. He would tell stories about those that society left behind. He's changed me. And as much as I don't like it, handing that man $10 and praying for him as I drove away through the murky afternoon, made me realize that maybe he wasn't going to use that money for good, but maybe Jesus could use that money through him to do something good. That was my prayer.

These next few weeks are particularly hard for me because the American expectation is to spend, spend, spend. I like to do it too because I'm buying for other people and it makes me feel good. But I know that none of my people are truly in need. And when I think of all those that just want a warm place to sleep or socks that cover their feet, I can't help but feel guilty. That's the other emotion that isn't fun to experience. I work hard to have the money I have, but if I tell the truth to myself, I have more than I need and there's a bit more to go around. I'm living a comfortably uncomfortable life. It's the life that devoting myself to Christ has prompted me into. So you can call me naive or think it's stupid for me to give the bum a buck, but I challenge you to take a little and figure out how that little could go a long way. And maybe more of a challenge, look someone in the face and give them a little of your time and money. Tip that waitress a hefty $50 and leave a note saying, "hoping this helps with your holiday!" We do this around Christmas every year and I love watching the reactions! Because when you do onto the least of these and see how proud you've made God, it's hard not to feel the glory of the kingdom here on Earth! Living the comfortably uncomfortable life isn't easy but it's clear that my uncomfortable-ness is nothing compared to the plight of some of my brothers and sisters in this world. So, I'm just getting more comfortable with being uncomfortable!

Stealing Skittles and Keeping Curfew

First let me set the stage of this past weekend. Potty training child #2, the free-thinker, the whimsical, carefree kid who could poop in his pants until age 30 and probably not care. We tried to build it up as this great feat that would be rewarded by precious and indulgent amounts of Skittles. He didn’t care. He’s a bit like that Youtube video about the Honey Badger. What we didn’t factor in was that child #1 couldn’t wrap his head around not getting rewarded for his bathroom accomplishments. The Skittles became a forbidden fruit, only allowed to be eaten if you were new on the underwear scene. And of course, it wasn’t fair!

Child #1 has started his sneaky phase recently. He will do something he knows he’s shouldn’t, then quickly tell us he’s sorry before admitting the wrong-doing. I must admit, I’m impress he’s mastered this skill at such an early age. He’s also like an addict when it comes to candy and goes out of his way to get his loot. So it came as no surprise Saturday night as I stepped out of a much needed shower (potty training is not so cleanly) that I heard Brad bellow below, “What were you just eating?!?” I knew it was the Skittles. The kid had eyed them all day, and to be honest, I was surprised it had taken him that long to get them off the counter and into his mouth.

As I came downstairs, I could hear the battles of wills still taking place. Father versus son in a “what is right” and “what is wrong” clash. For a moment, I was glad it wasn’t me this time with the voice elevated and for a moment I also thought the raised voice might be the approach to take with the situation. If this child knew how mad and disappointed I was with him, surely he would understand that next time I would be just as disappointed. But sometimes Grace swoops in and gives you some clarity on the matter at hand.

As I saw my son crying and truly upset because he got caught, my mind quickly fast-forwarded to conversations we have yet to have, to levels of trust we have yet to instill. I saw a 16- or 17-year-old version of this child racing home along the winding roads of Chattanooga at top speed trying to make curfew so he didn’t have to tell us he wasn’t paying attention to time or he wasn’t doing what he was suppose to. I have heard the horror stories where things like this end in tragedy, all for the sake of rules and with no thought to the value of a child being honest. It was that vision that made me realize that more than anything, I want my kids to know that I value the truth. Their admittance to the mistake is what I am asking and the consequences will be dealt out as necessary. But in this moment I wanted him to know that it was his truth that mattered most.

He’s going to make mistakes in this life, I can’t prevent that. But I want to be the one who he comes to to help him problem solve the huge things. I want him to know that when there’s something big, like he’s depressed or he’s questioning his sexuality, that I value knowing that and I want to be a confidante in that moment. I want him to feel like when he’s made a mistake, he will face consequences but I don’t love him any less for it. And this goes for both my boys. #1 and #2 will come from the same starting points but their paths will look so different and there is no cookie-cutter response to any given problem. I also am not delusional enough to believe that I am going to know everything and every struggle my children will face. I just want to keep that pathway available so they never feel that they've got no way to be honest with me. 

Parenting is tough and the decisions we make in these early stages set a foundation for many years to come. I don't take this task likely, but I also don't take myself too seriously because I'm not going to have these graceful moments too often. However, I'll count this one as a gift, as insight, and as an example of the parent I would like to be even when I'm up to my eyeballs in potty-training and Skittles stealing!

Christmas Cookies and Holiday Hearts (and songs on the radio)

That was a title of a Christmas song we sang in elementary school. I can still sing all of the tunes we belted out before our admiring parents and grandparents at the yearly Christmas program at my (gasp!) public school. I love Christmas and all that it symbolizes: the family getting together, exchanging gifts with those you love, celebrating the birth of Christ. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday because it always felt like the world had a little more joy and togetherness. Was that true or was I in a childhood stupor that only let me see the wonders while my parents fretted about all that had to be done? 

I realize Christmas has taken on a whole new meaning these days. I saw decorations in stores in July! And this ploy is only to make money, the absolute contradiction to the true meaning, yet we can’t seem to pull ourselves away from the Black Friday sales or the Amazon deals. There’s nothing stopping us from a simplified Christmas, but we choose to ignore that call from our conscious and keep the blinders on to keep up with the Joneses. I admit I fall right in this whirlwind of "have to get" when really we all know we just ask for the things we want, someone buys those exact things, we ask what they want, and repeat with everyone in your family. Who has time to figure out a gift?!? Brad jokes, "We should all sit down at a table and exchange the amount of money...just pass $25 to the left!" Okay, I'm stopping this train of thought right now. This is a blog post in another blog post. 

But back to that Christmas music or the start of this Christmas season. I’m a strong proponent for the start of holiday tunes, and let me tell you the reason why. A long time ago when I was a distraught freshman at Duke University, a thousand miles from home, failing my Calculus course with flying colors, feeling like a speck in this great big world, the end of the semester looming and one brave radio station in the Raleigh-Durham area decided to play Christmas music starting November 1^st. I was sad and scared because I really didn’t want to fail Calculus and start my college career with an F on the grade-point average. But then these familiar tunes that brought up my most beloved memories from childhood started playing on the radio and the reminder that this too was going to pass and I would be home enjoying my Christmas with my family gave me some solace to those awful cramming sessions.

Daily, from November 1^st until I took that wretched final in calculus (the very last exam given during the exam week, thanks Duke!), I would get in my car, turn to that radio station and find home again. That was a big deal when you are literally the new kid on campus and are surrounded by geniuses who were basically taking the Calculus course for an easy A.  And when it was finally the week after Thanksgiving, I would still get in my car and listen to Bing Crosby’s White Christmas while traveling into subdivisions looking for Christmas lights.

So to all you nay-sayers who hate that Christmas is just too early, I agree...to a point. Sometimes Christmas music being played is more than just a tactic to ramp up the economy, sometimes it is someone’s saving grace, sometimes it is where that little lost soul feels home again. So don’t look at me funny when I pull up next to you singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen (Barenaked Ladies version, of course). Just know that my soul is comforted by these songs and memories and it pushes me forward to create memories, not gifts or cheapened versions of the true essence of a manger with a baby who would rock this world’s socks off. It stirs the creative juices of my parenting trying to figure out how to create these memories for my kids. So I’m not judging the Christmas music, I’m singing right along! 

Bad Days

You know that song, the one that I will now have stuck in your head for the rest of the day? “You had a bad day, you’re taking one down, you sing a sad song, just to turn it around…” Yep. That’s the one! Today feels like a bad day. My children didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, or dressed, or eat. And maybe they sensed that this would be a day to just ride it out at home.

It didn’t get better as I drove to work. The rain started before daybreak this morning and people apparently took the opportunity to test out their NASCAR driving skills through slick conditions. As I neared the main road into work, the red tail lights blazed. Stuck. I listened to the radio, figuring that if I was going to sit in a standstill, I was going to live it up! Then I heard the sirens, first an ambulance, then a fire truck, then a rescue squad SUV. Maybe it was the sirens that finally snapped me out of my disgruntled mood. Someone up ahead had a morning that they didn’t intend to have. Someone up ahead could have just experienced a life changing event. Here I was, a bit inconvenienced by this time in traffic but someone else was having a “real” bad day.

It got me thinking. Bad days are like mini trips down the depression path. They can gang up on us and make us feel like we are going through some really crappy stuff, and sometimes we are. But then sometimes we just need some perspective. Today seemed like a bad day to me, but I also learned that a friend from college was going to court to find out if the two sweet babies she and her husband have been raising are going back to their biological family. Another friend was sitting in a hospital not being able to eat, suffering because a medicine that was suppose to help her chronic illness went awry and was causing an acute infection. And then I passed the accident scene that I was slowly creeping toward, and saw the car top sawed off by the jaws of life and 10 paramedics lifting a board to a gurney on the road. Bad day perspective was starting to enlighten me.

My family has been through some bad days lately. It’s not that we should always have this perspective of “someone always has it worse” and if I hear one more person say, “God never gives us more than we can handle.” I’m going to scream. Because the truth is, some people get a whole lot more than they can handle every day. They sometimes get the top layer of junk removed only to have another load dumped on them within a few moments. God gave us hope, perspective, and he also gives us moments to draw joy from. Those are times of grace, those are gifts that we are to unwrap in the hardest times. And hard times are common. We have been studying Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts at church and it takes this stance that we all have some hard life to go through, each in his or her own way, but if we can be thankful and see the small bits of hope in the dark times, it allows us to enjoy the truly good times where we can throw those cares away and just full-out live.

As we were talking about this grace in even the bad days, I realized that when I have been at my worst, I’ve been only able to see the bad stuff and fantasize about someone else’s seemingly perfect life. The bad seemed to generate more bad, and it was always hard to gain any perspective. That’s why it’s so essential to see the amazing little moments that make up this wild, crazy world. God gives us the ability to gain some perspective if we live it daily. If we are in the practice of noticing and being thankful for the little things: our children’s health, our full refrigerators, a warm embrace by someone who loves us just the way we are, we have the secret to defeat a bad day before it becomes a bad week or bad month or bad year. This is so much harder than just succumbing to the crud that can invade the beauty in a moment, but when we can recognize the sweet parts in the insanity, it doesn’t seem quite so ominous. So today, my goal is to armor myself for the bad days that will surely come, to drink in all the sweetness that life gives to me today, so that darkness cannot be around for too long. Grace in the bad days.   

The Red Bricks

I see them as I round the bend of the road, leaving the affluent downtown apartments behind. The large red brick structures peak around the corner. Most pass these by on their way to the “safer” neighborhood jobs. Most dare not make the turn I make every day. But I do, each morning Monday through Thursday. I pull down Grove Street into one of the housing projects of Chattanooga. There are always a few out and about, kids waiting for the buses, mothers there to watch that nothing happens in these early morning groups. I pull in, always check around me, and lock my car doors as I enter our clinic.

I’ve been working in this small clinic in the projects for going on 4 years now. It has been the best job I’ve ever had. It has also given me a completely new view on life. I see patients who have grown up in the projects, 40 year-olds that are grandparents, 20 year-olds who are seeking out disability. I see girls beat up by their boyfriends, and people who haven’t seen a doctor in 10 years but should have started seeing one 11 years ago!

I struggle with wrapping my mind around this type of poverty, this cycle of babies being born to mamas who are babies themselves. I struggle because I have never had to worry as I lay my head down that gun shots will ring out in the night. I’ve never had to worry about being without food or gas or a roof over my head any days of my life thus far. I’ve never had to worry that my husband is going to fly off the handle and his solution to the problem is going to be using a gun on me, or the one whose anger the bullet will penetrate.

It’s hard for me to listen to people fuss about how all these people are lazy, not trying, unworthy of help. People are poor and life is hard, but a job is not always a solution to every problem, and the desire to do better is not lost, but often the means are harder than us rich people realize. I wonder what I would do if my mom wasn’t at home most nights, if I had sole responsibility of myself and siblings at the tender age of 7, if our paycheck was barely going to cover the light bill and there were still 20 days left in the month to cover things like food, transportation, or medical bills. It’s not that easy to “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” when there aren’t any boots around.

I know one can argue, there are programs, and supplements, and this, that, and the other. But the truth is, who tells these people about all this? It’s not like they get a packet in the mail saying “You have nothing. You Qualify for ­­­_______". Do you know how many forms my patients have to fill out to qualify for one free medication? I’ll let you know, your hand would cramp by the end. Add into that a limited ability to read and write, and some of this stuff is down right overwhelming. Not to mention, rules change, people with power stop programs without notice and don’t bother to tell anyone affected by it. I imagine if I were constantly having to be told what to do, how to do it, change my plans, or not have any plans, I would be disgruntled too. Do you like people telling you what to do?

One night, as I was descending from the office door down the red brick steps covered with teenagers (because we have free internet), I noticed a little boy about 5 years old. I smiled and he hid his eyes, like boys of that age do sometimes. As I was nearing him a much older man, in his 40s, called out, “Hey little man! How you be?” The boys head sunk lower and his teenage cousin’s response was, “Man, everyone knows my cousin!” My mind careened through all the reasons this little boy would know these grown men. None of these thoughts were for good reasons. And so my heart breaks a little bit every day, because there is suffering endured by so many that never gets thrown into the equation of poverty. But the miracle in this is that people keep on. There is joy down in these red brick buildings too. My heart fills up again when someone lets out a long sigh of relief when they know that I am here to truly take care of them. It fills when the kids group that meets in our clinic learns about God’s love and how it’s unconditional while everything else in their world is full of conditions.

Each night, I leave this red brick jungle and I say a prayer. I pray that tonight no violence will erupt. I pray that little children’s bellies are full. I pray that my older patients can sit on their porches without being harassed, and I pray that there are people in places that I don’t know about working to change a very broken and abused system. I’ve learned in a few short years that survival of the fittest may mean trying to get money any way you can, government or otherwise. I’ve learned that you are treated much differently when you don’t have money, a name, or a job (and maybe even worse when you do have a job because try surviving on minimum wage and getting decent healthcare with no benefits).

Each night, after I leave and pray and drive to pick up my children from their expensive daycare and drive to my safe neighborhood, I worry that I might be part of the problem. I consume and take for granted lots of luxuries that are a given part of my life and may not be a given for someone else’s. I take for granted driving to the store, buying groceries that I want, having the ability to constantly communicate with anyone I desire via Ipad, Iphone, or internet. But I’m becoming more aware. I realize I don’t have to travel to another nation to see poverty and injustice, because it is sitting outside my office door. I still feel a bit immobile or paralyzed in all of this, but as I’m becoming more entrenched in the culture and community, I become more impassioned. I know God has called me to the red bricks because He’s here…it’s just hard to see him always. He’s in the least of these and there are a lot who fit that description. I cannot turn my back on a person just because I feel that they are squandering resources or living life poorly. I cannot make that judgment, because I wouldn’t want that judgment made of me.

So next time you find yourself driving next to the old brick buildings on “that” side of town, send up a prayer, search your own heart a little bit to see behind the bricks into the lives of those who suffer greater things than you can ever imagine, who don’t have the stability to know what tomorrow will hold, who just want to have someone tell them, “I’m on your side, I’m here for you.” You don’t need to be anyone special to care, you just have to leave the boxes we’ve constructed out of our ideals, luxuries, and attitudes and recognize that we are all in this together.  

Why I'm throwing the "Old Ball and Chain" Out!

Today we are in Nashville for the wedding of two close friends. I love going to weddings because it is always a time when I think about my own marriage. Upfront I want you to know that I have a great marriage.  Brad and I put a lot of work in upfront, with pre-marital counseling and living away from our family the first few years of marriage, to get to this point. We became a married couple before we became parents, which worked well for us because we needed to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses before we took on parenthood.  But like everything else in life, it’s not perfect. We get ridiculous every now and again. My big, loud mouth likes to be heard and mainly that leaves me unable to listen over my own dull roar. Then there are days that I get overwhelmed and feel underappreciated as I clean the kitchen, bathroom, and living room for what seems like the 50^th time this week all for it to look like Sherman’s March had occurred shortly after I left the area.  These times are not the majority, but I wonder sometimes if my friends think they are.  You see, like many people, I join in the banter, or maybe I should call it bashing, of my spouse when I’m out with friends and acquaintances.

Brad is a pretty amazing guy. In fact, there are several days where I sit and think, “God, I’m lucky because a lot of people search for their perfect match and I’ve found mine!” But when I’m around my friends, especially if it is just women, the “ball and chain” mentality seems to emerge. I start complaining about how he’s this or that and why hasn’t he mastered the art of mind-reading so he can do all the things I’m secretly trying to convey to him through ESP. Then the explosion of other wives and girlfriends tends to chime in too. It’s easy to point out our significant other’s flaws. It’s easy to nitpick about all the things that don’t get done, but it is so much harder to stay positive, to illuminate the amazing person, dad, and husband that he is.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are times when sometimes I need to vent about my angst that the car keys are yet again upstairs in his pants pocket whilst I’m running late for work. But there are so many opportunities to speak to the love, dedication, and work that Brad puts into our marriage, but they go unsaid. It’s discouraging to me the mockery we make of marriage. We think we can berate it, make it a big joke, and that it’s socially acceptable because everyone else is doing it. Meanwhile, these little jabs and pokes by our sharp tongues are slowly breaking our unions apart.

I’m lucky because I get called out on the meanness (very politely) when we are out and I say something that just rips at his spirit. I didn’t realize how easy it was to “ball and chain” my marriage, when it is so many more things. Men don’t get off the hook here either.  I’ve heard plenty about So and So’s wife nagging them to death, making their life miserable, and shopping too much. And that’s how we portray our beloved to the world! Yikes! Is it a wonder that we don’t respect marriage so much anymore? We barely respect each other!

Marriage is hard enough. Some days we don’t say nice things to each other at all. Sometimes the irritation blinds me to the wonderful things I have. Sometimes the kids have driven me crazier than normal and I cannot be around another living being because my soul has been sucked away for the day. But that day is not to be categorized into the back of my head to be brought back up during several more occasions or to get a good laugh at my husband’s expense.

I am the queen of put-downs and as I said, I get called out on it. I do it mainly in groups, trying to impress, and Brad has definitely said, “You said, X, Y, Z and that isn’t okay.” I’m really trying. I’m not very good at it yet. It’s so easy to make a joke or put someone else down for my own gratification. OMG! Am I a bully? This is another whole blog post waiting to happen. What I am, is lucky enough to have a marriage where I can be told this and not hold it against him. Because I still struggle with this, I try to be more sensitive to this in groups and situations. I still share in the snowball of husband-bashing occasionally, but I’m really try to stop and say something positive, to stand up for my side-kick through life.

The truth is, our marriage is fortified when we brag on each other in public. Just like we show our kids a united front, we have to show each other that we are in this together.  I know I like getting complimented, recognized and loved on, and so does my husband. It means even more if I’m willing to share that with the rest of the world. And really, the reaction, the edification that matters is his, not my friends’, not my family’s. So when he’s caught me bragging on him a bit I see a gleam in his eyes, his chest swells a little, and his posture changes. And I wonder for a split second if he can read my mind. If we have finally reached a point where I can just look at him and he knows I love him and his thoughts have become my thoughts. But then I see the t-shirts are still on the bedroom floor and I realize maybe I just need to ask him to pick them up!  

Summer Camp...Revisited

I loved going to summer camps. I would make these friends that were from another city or state and they were just awesome! It was not uncommon, back in the day, to cry about how much we would miss each other and spend the next few weeks after camp writing letters to each other, only to lose touch and return to the friendships that were most convenient in our towns and classrooms. But then you'd see that campmate again the next summer and it was like no time had passed and the boy-chasing and gossiping would resume in no time.

This past week I have been at a continuing education conference. I came childless, husbandless, and really planning to just attend the lectures and veg out at night with no one to take care of but myself. But a wonderful thing happened, and a thing that so often fails to happen as we age out of the "summer camp days" and into the "real adult world days," I made a friend! We are in the same profession, have kids around the same age, work in the same town and just had never crossed paths. We had time to have lunches and dinners together. We got to know a lot about our kids, husbands, how we made it to this point in life. It has been wonderful!

What I realized is how infrequently this happens at this stage in my life. Sure I meet new people and at what seems to be a snail's pace, we may get to know each other or start to decipher if we fit in each others' busy schedules. Gone are the days where you get to bunk together and share meals and laughs and tell scary stories before lights out. It was so easy to make friends when you were contained in these little summer microcosms. This same quick introduction into friendship happened in college and PA school when it was clear we were all in the same boat of the unknown. But as a working adult, these new friendships are few and far between.

I realize that, although I came looking for solace and downtime and just a chance to watch whatever I freakin' wanted to on TV, sharing a moment with another person is so much more fun and fulfilling. I would've been bored out of my mind by day 2, but instead I had a dinner buddy, a shopping partner and a wine sampling compadre. And the great thing is, I still feel rejuvenated. I got a girls' weekend out of my trip and a friend that I can actually look forward to getting together with when I return home.

I know my summer camp days, the way I knew them to be, are gone. And I know that in today's world of busy-ness, it's easy to shut off the cordialness towards other human beings. But it makes me wonder if I'd never said hello or struck up a conversation if I would've had so much fun this week? I'm glad I didn't have a chance to find that out!  

Leaving the Kids Behind

Brad made it really clear that he wanted me to join him in California for his last young ministers retreat in September. I quickly came up with a thousand excuses in my head, "We'll have to find someone to watch the kids. I'll have to take off some hard-earned hours from work. The time change will be exhausting!" I mean, these were real thoughts! I have a hard time taking a break, no matter how much I need one. I think breaks are somewhat frowned upon in a way. It means you stopped being supermom, superworker, supercleaner of the universe. But the truth is we all need a break and we weren't made to go, go, go 24/7/365.

Maybe the easiest and most compelling excuse is that of the children. It's hard leaving kids behind because, well, I know what living with my kids is like and honestly to subject someone else to them for multiple days on end, truly makes me fear that we will blow through our potential babysitters in a few short breaths. Then we will never get a break! Yet, it was never so apparent that we needed a break from these little lovelies than one morning when we had had an incredibly long night (I'm not sure how many beds I had slept in), it had been probably 4 days since an adult conversation that lasted more than 10 minutes was had, and Brad was just going to kiss me while we had 5 seconds alone in the kitchen while breakfast was toasting. It was like we had set off the invisible radar our children some how possess because as I remember it, the closer he leaned in the faster the sound of feet approached. Isaiah didn't say much, just came into the kitchen and let out an ear-piercing shriek of "EEEEHHH!" So much for that! A quick peck on the cheek and we were back to Mommy and Daddy!

We stress to our children the importance that Mommy and Daddy have our time, but they just don't get it! We actually have to tell the boys we are going to a meeting when we head out on a date because they (maybe just Isaiah), go ballistic. My guess is he will soon realize that I don't really clean up as nicely for actual meetings as I do on dates, but then again, he does possess the XY genes and this may not cross his mind for years. All this being said, I'm not sure why I wasn't jumping on the next plane to Timbuktu to be with my husband!

I'm a good at prioritizing daily life things, but in the grand scheme of life, sometimes, a lot of times, I miss the forest for the trees. I needed a break from the kids, the kids needed a break from me. I needed to spend a full day with my husband without having to wipe a bottom, stay up past my bedtime because I'm a responsible adult, and my CHILDREN ARE STILL AWAKE! I needed to have a conversation that didn't end in a whiny request that was completely absurd. I needed a break from work. And most importantly, I needed to be reminded how good being married to someone I genuinely love and have fun with is!

Leaving the kids behind is not going to send them to therapy for years.  In fact, it will probably save them some. "Doctor, I don't know what happened. All I know is one day when I was four and my brother was 2, I was upset about the 4th pair of underwear my mother had pick out that morning and she literally ran out of the house screaming and pulling her hair out!" Yes. let's get some perspective here! This trip allowed me to read a book, sit alone in silence for 5 hours, have consecutive meals with my husband, talk about the future and goals, say I love you without shrieks heard in the background, and yes, we even kissed without children showing up! I needed this. I had so completely convinced myself  that I didn't, that I felt like I was betraying someone by even agreeing to get on a plane.

I was betraying someone. It was myself. It was my marriage. And it is so easy to do this. I didn't need to fly across country to get a break (but I'm sure glad I did!). The break is what was needed. Our culture doesn't know how to break. We are still connected even when we go away. We can easily allow ourselves to wrap up in the busy-ness that we never break free of it. Marriages fail because we can't make time for them. Fortunately, I have a good marriage and listen when Brad thinks something is important. P.S. He's usually right!

Some of you need to leave the kids behind. Or maybe that's not your stronghold, maybe it's your job, or your current situation. Whatever it is, break from it for a moment. Have a minute to just be quiet. If you are anything like me, that is extremely difficult. My brain doesn't just quit because I want it to. But sometimes when I'm not in the middle of chaos, I can get some clarity on the bajillion things that seem to be so important all the time. So if you will excuse me, I now have to pack to go back to the wonderful blessings. I appreciate them so much more and now have a better, stronger relationship with my partner in crime to go face potty-training, several changes of underwear each morning, swallowing unknown amounts of change, and sleeping with little feet in my back. These are the moments. I wouldn't change them for anything, but sometimes it's good to take a break!

Why I’m secretly Glad My Kids Don’t Want to go to School

Just like any parent, I’m worried about my children’s education. In our city, we have almost as many private schools as public and the debate on where to send your child begins en utero. We bought a house specifically for the elementary school. So, yeah, I believe school is important. Insert being raised in a family of educators and the pressure is on. My kids have to thrive in school.

Currently, we send our little men to a wonderful daycare. They have a curriculum that is wonderful and the staff is amazing. But Isaiah (and then Bennett, because big brother is always to be the example) will sometimes wake up and say, “I don’t wanna go to school today.” Brad and I are quick to explain and remind him of how much he likes school and usually by the time we arrive at the door he’s singing the praises of his class, teachers, and playtime.

This bothered me for quite a while. Things like, “Is he going to hate school, not put forth any effort, fail, have to deal with failure, feel like a failure, decide he couldn’t possibly make anything of himself in this world, and never amount to anything?” You can see that the slope is ever so slippery! We parents take a simple statement and make it into a life choice that will affect every potential aspect of our child’s future.

The other day, a new understanding (and I think a better one) was divinely revealed to me. This revelation makes more sense then the doomsday prophesy I was basing off my young son’s statement. It occurred to me that maybe he didn’t want to go to school because he has fun with his family. He likes to be and do things with us!

We have our days when Brad and I are exhausted and a movie is our savior, but a lot of times, we are out doing things, going to the aquarium, museums, and birthday parties. My kids and I traveled to Michigan and they get to run around with sparklers, see farm animals, “drive” semis, go to the splash park, and swim in Gigi’s pool. On the weekends, we take the boys out to eat and we try to get together with friends as much as possible. Just writing all of this makes me kind of wish I didn’t have to go to work either!

You see, I am a tad proud my children are enjoying their childhood this much! Home should be a place they want to be and come back to. When I taught 4^th and 5^th grade, I would notice the children who didn’t have a home life. The closer we got to the weekend, the more problems they had, and the more they acted out. They didn’t want to face the weekend because it might mean no food for the next two days, an abusive family member who they had to be subject to 24/7, or it may have meant just being left alone to take care of their three little siblings. Those children wanted to stay in school because it was safe, there was food, and there were adults who cared.

So I have shifted my views on this whole thing. And I’m not going to worry when he doesn’t want to go to school, because the truth is, it’s not that he doesn’t want to go to school, it’s that he just doesn’t want to miss an opportunity to make another memory. This is wonderful! In this life where so much emphasis is put on “the daily grind,” I want my children to have experiences that give them a broader respect for the world around them. I want them to know that their success is not determined by how well they stay still and how many A’s their report card has. I want them to have experiences that teach them that people are more important than things, and money buys a whole lot of problems, so use it wisely. These are things that may be touched upon inside the school walls, but these are most certainly things that have been entrusted to me as a parent. So, while we are still going to be responsible parents and send our child out to have his own experiences, I can’t help but be a little proud that he likes spending time with his family more than anything else!  

Celebration

I woke up early this morning, before any children, before any adults. This is unusual because most mornings are helter-skelter, "get your socks on!", "brush your teeth!" blurs. This is a good morning because it sits on the eve of Isaiah's 4th birthday party. He will officially turn 4 on September 16th. I try to go back to this time 4 years ago. and it's really hard to image life. We had just moved to a brand-new city. We were working on getting a nursery ready in this quaint little house and I was done with school and had no job. We were "just the two of us" about to set off on this adventure of lifetime.

Isaiah was actually due September 10th, but that day came and went and the anticipation grew. The unknown of the whole "having a baby thing" was a bit overwhelming. I had delivered babies and had assisted in multiple births, but I was never the one going through it. We had taken a birthing class (for the benefit of Brad, of course), but still the anxiety of when contractions would start, what my pain tolerance actually was, how long labor was going to last were all swirling in my head, every second of the day.

And then on the morning of the 15th, I started having contractions. Nothing uncomfortable, just different from what I was feeling every other day of the last 41 weeks. I was scheduled to be induced that night so God's timing was perfect, He was preparing a way! And then after about 10 hours in true labor, I held this little precious boy in my arms. He would stick his tongue out like he was trying to taste his first moments of life. He didn't cry all that much and would snuggle up in the crevice of my arms. And my whole world changed.

This child would put my life in fast forward, making it hard to feel like I was able to keep my head above water some days, and making me wish I could rewind so many others. He grew and he evolved into this person with actual opinions and desires. Walking by 10 months, speaking full sentences by 13 months, and becoming a big brother by 22 months.

I was not prepared for the growing up. There are still so many days I worry about teenager years, and bullies (whether he will be one, or the victim, neither would be my choice). Even now when he tells me someone has hurt him, I'm ready to fight the world for him. But I know, he's got so many battles ahead that only he can fight. And as much as I want to make a bubble and force him into it, I know that he cannot know this world's awesomeness, sadness, and beauty unless he experiences it for himself.

So today and this weekend and all over next week I am going to celebrate this little man. I am going to treasure the fact that he still scoots over to me to run his fingers through my hair (his own version of his security blanket). I'm going to relish the fact that he likes to make lists even though he can't write yet. I'm going to take comfort in the fact that he knows there's a God who loves him and other people. I am going to laugh when he tells me things like, "When I was coming out of your belly, Daddy had to pull the plug, right?" (P.S. I don't know where he got this!). I'm going enjoy the times he plays with his brother without fighting after 5 minutes. And I'm going to keep on loving him, no matter what, no matter his choices, no matter his future grades, or picks of girlfriends, because he was a gift and one that is so intricate that I have to stop to see all the minute things that it holds.

As we mourn the day of September 11th, and as my small hometown struggles with an unexpected loss of a high school student, I cannot stop thinking of how precious this life is. The last two nights I went to bed just thinking about what the next would be like without my kids or family. The thought was so overwhelming I had to think about something else almost immediately. So that is why I am choosing to celebrate. The party planning and organizing are ridiculous and my perfectionist tendencies will mean hours of prep today and tomorrow, but I will chose to celebrate. And right now in the quiet of this house, as the dawn breaks around me, I know that celebrating is a way to honor all of the times that seems so difficult, because it is a new day, and a new chance to go out and show this messy world some love.

One Eye, One Horn, I think I am a people-pleaser

Ok, DISCLAIMER: I do not have one eye, nor do I have a horn. Although, I think that both of those things would make me infinitely more cool to my two young sons. However, I am a people-pleaser and have been my whole life.

Be a part of the clean-plate club, you say? I will eat everything on this plate if it makes you happy. Can you do X, Y, Z for me? Of course, if that will mean you like me more. The list goes on and on. People-pleasing is even integrated into my job. I get quarterly reviews on how patients believe I'm doing. Now mind you, I may really tick them off because those hydros... you're not getting them, and that was their whole intent in our appointment, but I get rated by them none-the-less.

People-pleasing wouldn't be such a bad thing if it didn't make me so anxious and nervous. Maybe some could argue that it is just a sign that I care, but in a lot of ways, it's a sign of an obsession. An obsession with the thought, if I make no one displeased with me, I've somehow won their approval. It has become evident as I continue traveling on this life's journey that I have allowed it to create an unhealthy relationship with those who opinions are not going to matter when I look back at the course of my life.

Here are a few examples, and maybe some will resonate with of few of you who read this:

1. When I was teaching 4th grade in North Carolina, I had a particularly hard student who I wanted to "change" for the better. I put in loads of energy into this kid and his response was just to scream in my face. So a parent-teacher-principal meeting was called. And the whole week that lead up to that morning, my stomach turned and I hardly ate. My heart would race as I anticipated what I needed to say to this parent. And while the meeting was important and I needed to assure this mother that I cared about her son, his actions were unacceptable and needed consequences. I didn't need to impress her. I didn't need her to like me, but I wanted her to.

2.  Another example is a patient I had a few years back. This man was very sick, had no insurance, but also was an alcoholic and non-compliant on his medications. He was WAY outside my scope of practicing medicine, but I knew I was "it" for him. I had to let him go as a patient because he wasn't interested in following my medical advice. Now, sometimes we send a patient a dismissal letter, but mostly I try to speak with them face-to-face so they know that I do care about their well-being, but I cannot continue as their PA. This situation also lead to sleepless nights, stomach upset and a heightened anxiety. The day came for his appointment, and in my slightly shaky voice, I told him I couldn't see him any more. His response was, "That's okay, I just got insurance, so I was going to switch providers anyway!" WHAT?!!? You were going to switch anyway, after all I had done? I had lost sleep over you, man! And you are so quick to dismiss me?

See that's the problem with people-pleasing. A lot of times it's one-sided. A lot of times people do need to hear the blunt truth along with the warm fuzzy things. Making everyone think you are kind, sweet and generous is wonderful but I have to be careful that those attributes don't turn into push-over, insomniac, and maybe the worst, a liar. Having an opinion is important, and in the end, giving people exactly what they want to hear doesn't do a whole lot for forging healthy relationships.

Maybe the part that bothers me the most, is that, because I want to please everybody, I don't stand up for those who need a person in their corner. It's like I become apathetic. Social media is wrought with people who are willing to start an argument just to take a side. Usually it's religious or political. And a lot of times I choose not to participate, but it isn't because I have some high moral code of not entering into petty arguments. The real reason is because I don't want to lose someone as a friend because I have a viewpoint that is different than theirs. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's truth! And some of you would argue, well, they weren't your friend in the first place. But I can't let go of that need to please everyone.

In many ways, that's why I'm starting to write. That's why I chose this forum as my mouthpiece. Because I hope that instead of a headline or short Facebook statement, a more thought-out, rational viewpoint can be expressed. You know, like before this whole interweb deal came into existence.  My "friends" on Facebook and other social media are so much more complex than what they post online (at least I hope this is true for all of you that only post memes and pictures of your dinner plate!). And the truth is, I am pretty complex too. I have a reason that I believe in certain things, mainly because of my experiences, and that is true about so many others too.

God made me a little more concerned about what others think because he also made me concerned about people in general.  I want to support my gay friends as they fight for equality. I want to show my black friends and patients that I care that young black boys are getting killed in this country. I want to be a voice for the uninsured and those stricken in poverty because it's not always so easy to just go out and get a job. I've probably made some of you mad just by writing the last few sentences or at least want to take issue with my viewpoints. And I'm still worried about what you think! However, I've come to the realization that this is not going to change. I still want your approval and I will still have sleepless nights before hard conversations are had. But, I'm getting better. My voice doesn't shake so much when I have these conversations, and I only run to the bathroom 2 or 3 times before an intense meeting. I have accepted that pleasing everybody is not healthy but having relationships and caring for others IS healthy. My prayer now is that I stand proud in who I am, and I take comfort that I can be a voice for those who may not have one. The truth is that for years I've been friends with people who don't agree with me on a lot of things, but I value them as a person.

I want to be more than a people-pleaser, because now I'm tackling my biggest role to date, that of Mommy. I want my sons to have the courage to stick up for someone even though the popular kids or their friends or even their parents don't approve. I want them to see this modeled in me and it cannot happen if I'm too busy pleasing everyone else. I want to be the person that sees an injustice and does something about it, not just talks or posts about it. What that means for the internal struggle I battle with of trying to make everyone happy and doing the right thing, I do not know? But for every battle that goes on in my own head, for as many scenarios for which I can conjure an outcome, the one new thing I am doing now is trusting that if I do the right thing, the consequences of whether people are pleased will be insignificant.

The LONG Road Home

Once upon a time there was a mommy who thought a 12-hour trip to Michigan would be the best way to spend Labor Day weekend. She wanted to see her family and specifically her dad so twelve hours with 2 small children sounded do-able, really. The expectations were low because this mommy had traveled with these 2 little boys before and for much less time and knew that all hell could break loose at any moment, even on 12 minute car trips.

The mommy's one saving grace was that her wonderful aunt needed a ride back up to the great mitten state and would be her co-pilot and she was bringing her dog! Perfect. Entertainment value right there.  The trip was planned. Snacks were bought. A video collection that could rival the best in Hollywood was assembled and the car cleaned (I'm not sure why I cleaned the car before the trip, because, yeah, 12 hours in a car with 2 boys, a dog, and two adults...but I digress). 

So at 1pm EST, we all shuffled into the minivan that would be our little world for the road home. We turned a video on, it was naptime, there were snacks evenly distributed among passengers. Good-byes said to my sweet husband, and big hugs for Daddy. An early departure was just what this driver wanted! Glory, hallelujah, this was going to be great! 

It started about 20 minutes down the road. The question, "how long until we're there?" (But please add a little bit of a whiny voice to this).  Then more requests for snacks, fruit snacks to be precise. Some more Capri Suns, please? All needs were met. The little one even feel asleep! Yes, we were going to hit our 7 hour mark exactly, no problem. 

And this is where God laughed and said, "Let their be chaos!" I may have been talking and missed the I-75 by-pass sign. But I knew there was another access area in just a few miles. That's when the oldest yelled, "I have to go POTTY, NOW!" This is not an instruction that he is just feeling the urge to urinate. This means the child has probably been holding it since mile marker 4 and we are now on mile marker 150. The night before this was uttered and he proceeded to not wait while I got his little brother out of his carseat, but instead head to the grassy area facing a major road, pull down his shorts and water the lawn while waving at passers-by. So I knew my time was short. Next exit, everybody out, everybody bathroomed, everybody good...for now. 

Shortly after this we were back on the road. The eldest had fallen asleep. The youngest was somewhat entertained by throwing everything onto the floor, requesting it back, and then throwing back onto the floor (and silently laughing at our stupidity, I am convinced). Then we heard the dreaded words, "I don't feel good" and an amazing array of purples, reds, and blues were being thrown up onto seats, shirts, and most pathetically chins. And it is here that I will never, ever stop being thankful that another adult was in my car that day. I grabbed the sick child, Mary quickly cleaned a saturated seat, and then took a wiggly two-year-old for a walk while I attempted to change the soiled clothes. 

Now we were still in the great state of Tennessee. It was 95 degrees outside. Isaiah was running a slight fever and he was insistent that he wear Michigan sweatpants, and a long-sleeve Michigan shirt. At that point, I was not fighting the potential fight of making him realize this would potentially result in him feeling worse and, god forbid, another round of puking. So I turned up the air as high and as cold as possible and we all boarded the Michigan-mobile for another round. This usually 2 1/2 hour trip was now teetering on 4 hours. Next stop: Lexington, KY!  

Bennett has never been a car-rider. Since birth, there have been 10 minute car rides that seemed to last for days, so 4 hours into the trip and he was getting restless. I think he just liked screaming, "MOMMY!" every 2 minutes. Not to really give me any indication of what he needed, but just to shriek and send the decibel level in the car up. As we approached the Lexington exits, it was around 6pm. Our goal that night was to get to Lima, OH, another 3 hours away. This wasn't happening.

We found a Quizno's with an outdoor seating area because we did have a wee little dog to contend with as well. Bennett immediately ran around the outdoor area like he'd been trapped for hours in a small, confined space (oh wait, he was trapped in a small, confined space). I don't think he even sat down for more than a blink of an eye. And then my children ate the most nutritious dinner of cheetos and chocolate milk. Yes, I'm fully aware that they are what they eat and this was not going to make #1's belly feel any better, but you know what? I also wasn't going to waste money on incredibly healthy food that would not even pass the lips of these small babes.

After dinner we loaded up again and I said a prayer/demand that we get to Dayton tonight. Mary crawled in the back to provide her services of changing videos, reading books and helping little one play a game on my phone. What did parents do without all this technology on road trips? They must have been excruciating. The question of when are we going to be at the hotel started not long after our re-entry onto the highway. But I was in a zone. We were getting to Dayton tonight. When we did get to Dayton, Bennett announced, "I need to STAND UP" and was doing his best to make that happen in his carseat. The child must be related to Houdini.

I had been researching pet-friendly hotels and we pulled into one that I was pretty sure should have just said, "Bedbugs or fleas come free with a night's stay" so we looked for something else. We pulled into a nice looking building and all jumped out and into the freedom from the car. The kids ran into the lobby and immediately were out of sight as the careened down the halls so glad a seatbelt wasn't keeping them stationary. We boarded the elevator to the second floor and Isaiah wanted to push the button which was fine. What wasn't fine is that Bennett is much shorter and the buttons he can push either stop the elevator or call for an emergency, so we called for an emergency, because frankly, that is the best choice when you are two. I may have run down the hall away from the elevator so I didn't have to explain myself to the person that was about to answer the page. The woman that checked us in admitted later that she knew it was us, and that she knew which child was responsible immediately. I mean, c'mon engineers, lets put these buttons at the exact eye-level of very hyper, overly traveled children. What did you think was going to happen?

Isaiah conked out almost as soon as we got everyone in pajamas, I think Bennett thought he was auditioning for Cirque Du Soleil. I know at one point I heard, "Watch this, Maaawee (Mary), I gonna flip". And he did. Onto the dog. Finally after convincing this small ball of energy to be still. He fell asleep.  And I drifted off to sweet slumber.

After the first days shenanigans, I was ready to get HOME. Quickly.  And we did. The children were awesome, entertained, and well-behaved. This must have been GRACE because I just don't know if I could have handled more bodily fluids, screaming, or multiple unexpected stops. We made it! We survived! We were not to be bound to this car for any longer. It was all Happily Ever After...then I remembered I do have to return to Tennessee. Aw Lawd! Please pray for me! And remind me next time I think this is a good idea to just buy a plane ticket! 

The Tale of Two Cities

The Holy City. Charleston. I remember as we pulled a huge moving van into the neighborhood where we were renting our home thinking I wanted to plant roots there, make a life. I was starting PA school and after living in Texas, we were ready to get back to the southeast and closer to family. Of course, we, being a little wet-behind-the-ears, decided we needed to buy a house to prove our commitment to create a home. It was probably my coaxing that persuaded my husband. I was an avid real estate searcher. That’s what I would do in my infrequent free time between studying body systems. I wanted a house and I wanted it to be mine. The American dream was my dream.

We entered the Holy City with no debt. Brad is an incredibly smart and talented man and he garnered the honor of a full-ride scholarship to divinity school. I was not that lucky and was forced into the student loan system (aka-you pay a second house payment for the next 10-20 years of your life). Now I could have just taken out what I needed for school tuition expenses, but this was free money and we had a lifestyle to lead. So we basically used my student loans as an extra income-living the high-life and not thinking about the consequences. Then two smart people became a little more dumb. We decided to use the student loan money to cover our mortgage for this new house we wanted to build. This all occurred around 2008, right as the market plunged and the Great Recession began. So now, we were in debt “up to our eyeballs” but feeling pretty good about things.

We were still committed to setting a foundation in Charleston and decided to start our family in our bright yellow house on Celtic Drive. But we began hearing and feeling a tug to be closer to family. A number of factors led us to Chattanooga. I was graduating, there was a baby on the way, and Brad was called to serve a congregation in another city. Then there was this house.

We prayed that this yellow house was to be a light in the neighborhood, a place for church members and friends to come and have fun and have a glass of wine or a Bible study. But what ended up happening was it became  the one thing we hadn't moved on from. We couldn't sell it and we couldn't afford to just keep trying, so we rented it out. We lost money every month and when there was a repair to be made, we lost even more money. So the little yellow house was still keeping us on our toes, and in a way, not letting us be fully committed to our new home Chattanooga.

When we arrived in Chattanooga, we decided to be a little smarter, renting a home for a reasonable price so we could cover the expense of owning another home. I was a new mom, no job prospects on the horizon, so we had to live a little thin. But then I got a job, felt a little more secure and we lost our minds again. We had a second child on the way. The 2 bedroom/1 bath house was not going to do so we were going to need to buy another home. Of course! Student loans, one mortgage, two mortgages…no problem! American dream times two! Now I’m not a trained mathematician, but the amount of debt we took on in 5 short years was astounding! And given that nothing in life is guaranteed, we could have been in big trouble if either of us had lost our jobs. Fortunately, that didn't happen. Fortunately, in all of our stupidity, God gave us a little mercy and kept us stable. We took a financial class (Dave Ramsey does know what he’s talking about). We started saving a little better and finally on August 5^th, 2014, four years after moving away from Charleston, we sold our little yellow house. There wasn't a lot of joy or celebrating because in a lot of ways we had moved on. We treasure our friends and memories we have left behind, but we have so many new memories that are being created today in our new place, in our home. 

If I could go back to that 1^st-year graduate student and look her in the face and say-“you don’t have to have it all right now. I would.” Why do we think we have to have the best all at once, and more importantly, why does our culture promote “debt up to our eyeballs” as being success? It is so easy to see why so many people live on that thin line between the black and red. We are conditioned to believe we deserve all of these things up front and then we can put the work in later.

Our tale doesn't end in Chattanooga. In fact, who knows where it will end? But Chattanooga has been the “growing up place” where Charleston was the “wild spring break” for us. We are fortunate that we have survived our mistakes pretty much unscathed.  We will certainly hope that others can hear this tale and not dive into the debt avalanche that we tried to ride. And in the end, our two cities have been stepping stones for our incredible journey of friendship, life lessons, and our nets of support. We won’t make the same mistake twice, maybe you can make sure you don’t make it once!