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!

Mi Vida Loca, welcome to my crazy life

I was once told that my life is a musical, and for the most part, that is an accurate statement. I'm sorry if these obscure song references in my titles don't click with everyone. Pam Tillis, anybody? Since I've been sharing some heavy stuff lately, I wanted to make sure that everyone knows life is incredibly bountiful and crazy and hectic and FULL right now.  I go to a job I love each day and come home to 3 amazing boys each night.

This morning I was awoken to, "MOM! Come wipe my bottom!!!!" Can I tell you that this rather jolting way of waking up was much better than the 3 AM, "I'm wet." Ahhh! Life.

I am going to make a statement here and just let it be heard.  Raising boys has been more than it's fair share of insanity. My college girlfriend visited me last year and brought her delightful children, two of which were girls. The girls promptly went to the front toy room and started playing school, quietly.  Meanwhile, my children were in the living room jumping off the couch and chairs (this happens daily and we try to make it clear that our couches and chairs are the only displaced diving boards allowed). I knew I was destined to have boys and if we decided to go all Duggar-esque, which we are NOT, they would all be boys. I guarantee it. Also, we can only watch 30 minutes of a program involving some sort of martial arts before the maneuvers displayed have to be tried out on a brother or our dog. And the energy is amazing! I'm pretty sure it multiplies in the bathtub before bed and can only be used while running naked through the bedrooms upstairs.

Now, Brad is also a boy and I trust him (most of the time) with our children's well-being and safety. Last week we watched Wipeout with the boys present. The next evening I came home to Bennett jumping off a 4 foot high barstool into the "water". Currently we have not been to the E.R. with any casualties of Wipeout (I hope you can hear me knocking on wood right now). Brad also set up an entire obstacle course to resemble the challenges...ah, memories! This morning he and Bennett had a complete conversation in jibberish. Both seemed very convincing.

Here are some photos of the Wipeout course...

Isaiah dresses himself for everything and so my child did go to school with a pirate shirt, orange shorts, red baseball socks pulled to his knees and neon orange tennis shoes. This is not far from his church attire, but he dresses himself! That's success in my book and someday will be a lesson on image building I am sure. Bennett likes to run, a LOT. Mostly away from us. In fact, we were at the aquarium one day and realized that maybe we had said his name one too many times when the little girl that was slightly ahead of us during our tour (and a complete stranger) yelled, "Here comes Bennett!" We get our fair-share of "go away Mommy/Daddy" and Brad and I would just like to know where do we go that they will not follow? Nights are complicated and we end up rotating from sleeping in one of the six beds that occupy our bedrooms. I usually average 3 out of 6 on bad nights.

I share all of this because back in my "dark ages," aka post-partum depression, I couldn't fully enjoy this. I just was overwhelmed. Sometimes I'm still overwhelmed, but I now let a snuggle or hug melt that away. During all the last 8 months, my kids have been a constant reminder of how each day is a choice to move on. You just get up and say, "Today is a whole new day to live for what's worth living, to forgive and go on. Oh wait, that isn't always so easy! But my family is a good reminder that every effort should be made to find the next fun, exciting thing.  And they are a reminder that this world gives us joy with sorrow, everyday. Life is full of chaos and if we lose sight of what really matters, it just sucks us into the fray.  So mi vida loca is just that, but with out a little crazy, we wouldn't have any fun!

Thin places

Being a preacher’s wife, I sometimes feel like I always have a sermon brewing in my soul, that should Brad have an emergency…HERE I AM! I’ve got one, had one, or a thousand tangled up in my head and heart for years.

These past 8 months, I’ve really learned about life. Not the sweet, every day stressful life, but the life of hard knocks, of your entire world is about to blow out of the water. Does everyone have a time like that? The time where the pit in your stomach has grown so large that you think you might literally drown if you stepped into any body of water?

Well, on a Friday in January, that’s what happened to me. I was dancing and exercising in the living room with my precious boys (husband included), when I got a phone call from my parents. As soon as I picked up the phone, I knew that this phone call was going to be one of those that changes the day, what I didn’t know was that phone call would change life the way I knew it.

It was my dad, my hero, my confidant throughout most of my life. He was calling to let me know that his business had been closed indefinitely because he was facing charges of embezzling funds and it wasn’t something small. This was going to be serious. The world crumbled right then and there. I didn’t sleep or really eat the rest of the weekend. I quickly gathered as much information as I could. Knowledge is power to me, and I wanted to know every possible scenario and how it could play out. I knew “lawyering up” was going to be necessary and I also knew that my mom was reeling. This had blind-sided her more than anyone.

And where was God in all of this? My dad had never been what I would consider a believer. I think he believes there’s a God, but just like so many in this world, he doesn’t fit the mold of your everyday church-goer. His past is too littered with boulders of sin that have held him back from believing that salvation could be real. In fact, when this happened I realized he had an excuse every Sunday they were here to visit. This broke my heart. My dad was “those people” we talk about. So broken and hurting, needing someone to say, “you’re forgiven” but never hearing it and then trying to find comfort in a less desirable place. God was here, He never left, but for someone who has had to put on the cloak of shame, secrets, and self-loathing, that presence is hardly ever felt. I started feeling God say, “Lisa, if your dad ever needed Me it’s now, and you are my voice.” I started emailing my dad, telling him that God forgives even the biggest sins, and that so do I. He had to know that he did a very wrong thing, but that doesn’t result in you being abandoned by your own family, that’s when a testimony is given a chance to emerge.

During the days that lead up to Dad’s sentencing date, my heart raced every time I thought about the possible outcomes. It was the great unknown, and it felt like an abyss. My parents sold their house, a number of their belongings, and the funeral home. He basically house-arrested himself for the last 6 months leading up to July 9th. So, in my mind, he had paid his dues and forced my mom to pay what was never asked of her. But the scary thought that hung in the air was “does that mean the judge will feel the same way?” And that was the question. The question could that suffocated me right where I sat. I wondered if this was what Jesus felt in the garden of Gethsemane? He knew he was going to go through this time of incredible pain, but he’d never experienced it in human flesh. I am here to tell you that the fear of the unknown consumes your thoughts. It makes the joyful moments sour.

During the last few months I’ve had a running song in my head because I pray every day that it’s true: “Grace, grace, God’s grace. Grace that will pardon and cleanse within. Grace, grace, God’s grace. Grace that is GREATER than ALL our SINS.” And I pray that my dad can be a testament to that. Because for all his misjudgments and sins so great he also: has taken care of parents that had brain tumors and cirrhosis of the liver, raised two strong, God-fearing women. He cuts my son’s pancakes during a morning trip to Huddle House, and would brush our hair when we were little because mom pulled too hard. And he still will hold my mom’s hand as they sit together in the front seat of the car. He gave us a life that he didn’t have growing up.

And I think that last statement is where it all went wrong. It was, somewhat, the love of money that probably perpetuated the embezzlement, but I think more than anything, it was what money provided-a donation to the booster club, buying the football team dinner, treating his family and friends out to dinner.

I feel guilty because I know there are so many things and experiences that I benefitted from that Dad was willing to risk his life, so I could have. I don’t understand why he did it, and I don’t condone the way he went about it, but I don’t think his entire character was faulty. He let this world’s vision of success become his motive and when any of us do that, a hellish power is unleashed that can cripple us to the point of death. Another song rings in my ears too… “All I know is I’m not home yet. This is not where I belong. Take this world and give me Jesus. This is not where I belong.” I don’t think this song is about just living for Heaven. It’s about living LIKE THERE IS A HEAVEN. You can’t live by the world’s standards and expect to feel gratified.

And some of you know the story from this point. Dad is serving a one year sentence in the county jail. It’s hard, because I have to tell my boys that Grandpa isn’t coming to their birthday parties and that he made some really bad decisions. It’s hard because I took pride in the fact that my family was respected in my small hometown. It’s hard because I live in another state and can pretend that everything is fine and don’t have to worry about running into someone with a boisterous opinion, but my mom does. It’s hard because I wonder how my friends’ opinions about me have changed because of all of this. But all of those things are ego-driven.

The real story is that we are surviving. When the paper no longer reports things and people have moved on to the next big thing, we still live in all of this. The few times I have spoken to my Dad, I can hear a bit of resolve in his voice. He knows what the punishment is now and he is willing to suffer the consequences of his actions. The life he knew is no longer there, but neither are the lies and the weight of secrecy. So in a way, joy squeaks through the prison bars. I have also been overwhelmed by the humanity so many have shown to my family. As easy as it is to sling an opinion onto a comment page, sending a card or making a phone call has meant so much. I’ve been amazed how people can see someone as more than their mistakes. It makes me hope that so many others who feel like they cannot be redeemed get that same kind of reassurance. As one of family friends said to me as I was helping pack up our childhood home, “Lisa, we all have a tragedy in our lives. Sometimes everyone knows about it and sometimes we have to go through it all alone, in silence.” That’s what has changed me. I now look at people I meet with more resolve to see past one bad mood, or one mistake. I try to remember for myself, that prayers have been sent up for this situation from places that I cannot even say I’ve been. I still pray every day. I pray for healing to happen in the families that were hurt by all of this, that healing will happen for Dad, and for all of us. I’m going to close with this song that was shared at church while all of this was going on and the weight of the unknown grew heavy. It hit home and I shared it with Dad. I hope that if you are reading this and think you have gotten into something too deep, that there isn’t a hope for you, that you will realize there is so much more to you and to this life than a mistake that turned into a label that is now what is ruining your life.

“Worn”

I'm tired, I'm worn. My Heart is heavy from the work that it takes to keep on breathing.

I've made mistakes, I've let my hope fail, My soul feels crushed by the weight of this world.

And I know that you can give me rest, so I cry out with all that I have left.

Let me see redemption, Let me know the struggle ends,

That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life

And all that's dead inside can be reborn

Cause I'm worn

I know I need to lift my eyes up, but I'm too weak, life just won't let up

And I know that you can give me rest, so I cry out with all that I have left

Oh let me see redemption win, let me know the struggle ends,

That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn,

I want to know that a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life and all that's dead can be reborn, cause I'm worn

My prayers are wearing thin

yeah I'm worn

Even before the day begins, I'm worn

I've lost my will to fight, I'm worn

So heaven come and flood my eyes.

An Ode to Teachers

This time of year always summons the first day of school memories for me. I was a teacher's kid, and I LOVED school. I couldn't sleep the night before knowing the next day I would get to see my friends, wear my new wardrobe and get that much smarter.  Today we prayed for our kids and teachers as they are preparing the initiation into a new school year. And I hope that they all go into the year with renewed excitement and a sense of joy.

I have to be honest here. I'm a teacher drop-out. I taught 4th and 5th grade for 3 years right out of college, and I knew a month into my first year that I couldn't make my career teaching.  But let me be clear here: it wasn't teaching that stopped me. Our society is so quick to jump all over teachers for the problems in the classroom, for societies problems, for anything, that we fail to realize the lack of support makes it hard to feel fulfilled in your calling.

Let's just take a step back for a minute and look in wonder at all these individuals do. Teacher arrive to school at least a half-hour prior to school starting to set up, organize and return the previous days corrections and grades (that were probably graded by these tireless people during their time at home, while they were trying to spend time with their families). They then proceed to share their next 6+ waking hours with your little rugrat. That's right, they will spend more engaged, waking hours with your child than you will Monday through Friday!  But let's not forget that they also have to actively engage the other 20 individuals and assess their needs, learning styles, strengths and weaknesses too. They then stay after school to tutor, coach, and prep for the next day.

But here's where I really feel the teacher gets under-appreciated, and where the school systems are failing. We fail to realize that this man or woman must earn the trust of the child who is getting abused at home, they must earn the trust of a person who says something and means it, they must break through barriers of a child hearing their parents bash their older siblings teachers and they must first address all of this before a child can learn. What other job does that happen? What other profession has to earn the clients trust after-the-fact of being thrust into a semi-permanent relationship? In the business world, we choose who with and where we want to spend our money and time. In the medical world, I garner some trust because I've been well-educated in my field. But we treat teachers like they don't do their job. I argue that maybe they can't in some situations.

And then even with all of this, even through common core and whatever-the-next-new curriculum will be, they have to adapt. They have to change. And so many, the majority really, plan amazing units where everything is integrated, create thoughtful assignments designed to engage the student with the world around them and construct a year-long plan to incorporate every learning style. They teach the illiterate to read! They apply a math scenario to the real world! They create science experiments that take a book lesson and make it real (they are the Bill Nye the Science Guys-real life version)! But most importantly, they love and care about these kids. How could you not if you were spending the crazy amounts of time that teachers and their students spend together? And I'll share a little secret, the bad kid your kid comes home talking about every night, that's the one your child's teacher is losing sleep over, that's the one she plans the lesson for so he'll get it, so he can feel a sense of success and accomplishment, so that that child might be given the gift of hope that might lead to the gift of changing a life.

So instead of trying to pigeon-hole these wonderful human beings, who have made our children's future their life calling, why don't we stop piling on all of our condemnation and start to support them? Adopt a classroom, provide the teacher with the supplies she will need through the year. I guarantee those school list supplies are gone in a couple of months, and the school DOES NOT PROVIDE THE REPLACEMENTS-that teacher goes out and buys the replacements out of her meager salary. Volunteer in a classroom. You're in a sciency field, volunteer to teach a lesson on chemistry or the human body, or biology. You're a business whiz, ask to speak with the local econ teacher. I'm sure they would love for you to come in a speak to a class.

I don't have kids in the school system yet, but my days are numbered. The public v. private conversations started when my children were still in diapers. I want my kids to be excited about school but more importantly I want my kids' teachers to be excited about returning to school. I want them to know that for every 1 parent who has something mean to say there are 4 or 5 parents in their corner. I want them to feel that every time the state announces another cut to education, my resolve to vote the right people into places of decision making grows stronger. But mostly I want them to know that they are part of my village, my kids' safety net. And that I understand when a lesson goes wrong or homework doesn't get graded or that it is MY responsibility that my child know the importance of turning in their work. Because they have 20 lovelies to reach, 20 minds to feed, keep interested, and touch (and that is without a TV present!).

I know I didn't cut it, but that doesn't mean that I don't support the art of teaching. If anything, I realize that I will do anything I can to help those brave men and women going to the front lines of our education system and who still having the energy to eat dinner at night. I can't even muster the energy after a car ride home with my two boys, some evenings!

Have a good school year to all my teaching friends! You are truly invaluable and if the world were able to realize your true worth, you would be paid in blocks of gold! (Too bad Congress doesn't quite see it that way, but I'll continue to pray for change and vote for it, at least!)

The Why

I have so many things, words, opinions floating in my head that sometimes I feel like I can't sleep at night (and I actually can't sleep at night). There are things that don't get said or done in my usual circles of medicine and church and family and friends that I needed a place to go, to be honest and to hopefully find someone else to resonate with.

I titled this blog the Unidentified Caroler because when I was about 5 years old, my small hometown always had a Christmas tree lighting and carols. It was a wonderful tradition and my family attended it yearly. Well, that year, my mom, sister and I appeared on the front page of the local paper. However, when my mom was contacted to identify the people in the photo (mind you, the reporter was only describing the picture to her over the phone) she didn't seem to know the small child in a baseball cap with the program of songs being held up to her face, only revealing her eyes. Yep, that was me! And I was dubbed the "unidentified caroler". And unfortunately, in some parts of my life, I still feel like that name is appropriate.

But in many ways I'm living a life that is far from unidentified. I have an identity, one of a mother, wife, Christ-follower, Physician Assistant, church leader, singer, writer, mediator, and the list waxes and wanes. But sometimes I slip back behind the program and the baseball cap, because that's easier and less scary. It's a place where if I'm not out in the clear than no one is free to have commentary on my life.

So why blog? Isn't that opening myself up to a world of letting people in? Isn't that vulnerability going to hurt sometimes? Probably. But I have felt a very definitive urging from God to do more, to BE a better person in this world not just ACT like I'm a better person. I've seen the acting put on in the church and the world and in my own life and I know it doesn't go very far. It doesn't fulfill anyone or anything and a lot of times it allows us to remain empty and lonely when we thought the effort would do the opposite. I want to be a real person in a situation that makes other people realize that none of us have "it" figured out. None of us can claim a life of no grief, sadness, despair and disappointment, so why fake it?

I read a lot of blogs and books that empower women and people in general to accept this world for what it is: messy and beautiful and scary.  Momastery, Jen Hatmaker, Anne Lamott, Scary Mommy, all these women have illuminated a wonderful world of honesty and generosity.  They've never once said they have it all figured out, because they know they don't and that they can't do it all alone. It takes being honest with ourselves to truly overcome some of the roadblocks we've put in our own way.

God's been really working on me these past few years letting me know that my life wasn't going to run like I had planned because that plan wouldn't really serve His purpose. That wouldn't really serve to bridge a gap between me and others who thought I had it together (or maybe I was just hoping this was the image I was portraying). So it is here that I hope the Unidentified Caroler's identity is revealed because this is something that is not static, but constantly morphs into a new and beautiful thing. And in doing so, a lot of people will see that being honest, that loving a God that isn't confined to this world's or a few people's image. It is a better way to make a life in this world, and that sharing with each other, making ourselves into a support network is so much better than trying to be the perfect mother, wife, employee, and friend. Instead, the real version of all these roles is so much better, so much richer. So here the story begins, not the sugar-coated version but the real, honest one...

How Do I Get There From Here...

I am a perfectionist at heart, always wanting things just so.  For a long time it was the perfect body or coolest clothes, but when those things didn't work out (I didn't have the perfect body, thus I was forced into the husky tier of clothes, and most shopping trips ended with me vowing to go on a strict water only diet) I decided to perfect other things, grades, sports, and eventually I did go to the extreme with my body, dropping forty pounds my senior year with a diet of little to no calories, over-the-counter weight loss pills and running for hours at a time.  I'm not sure where my ideals come from, probably the media as it is evident that subliminal messages are always lurking in the black hole of tv, magazines, and now the internet, however, my friends were pretty amazing, skinny, and beautiful. But what has become SO, SO clear is that although what I want to perfect changes, that feeling of falling short never changes. Now, the perfection lingers in thoughts like, "how can I advance my career while raising two strong boys who I don't want to be bullies but I also don't want to be so tender-hearted that the world's crushing blows will crush them."  It's exhausting! I want the perfect house, every room done to the point it could be featured in a magazine (again God laughed at this and we bought a house that sat vacant 2 years, was 30 years old and had several issues). I want be an example as a pastor's wife, even though I feel my faith can be shaky-at-best sometimes.  And so, I came from a place of thinking that I could do it, no, conquer it all, have everything and the bag of chips and a side of cake.

Of course, life has these ways of throwing all of that back into your face. Letting you know that you control hardly anything and that you might as well just strap on in for the ride, 'cause it gets bumpy.  I have always tried to be a forward-thinker, knowing that "this too shall pass" but I was not prepared for what the last 2 years were about to show me.  First I had my second little boy. We named him Bennett Asher McDowell. That's right BAM are his initials and this has proven to be prophetic.  He's the sweetest, most loving and crazy kid I know. A total 180 from his brother and his mother. And then the depression came. Lots of crying, doubting, just not being me. Brad took the brunt of it because a perfect shell must never crack to outsiders.  My family saw it a little. It was horrible. Here I was, someone who has the depression conversation at least once a week with a patient, and I couldn't get myself out of it. Now I believe that God works miracles and that He can be called on in times like this, but I also believe that God has gifted scientists to make wonderful medication to get people feeling better and back to serving each other. However, I couldn't see that for myself. Brad encouraged me to seek out help, and I made a phone call, but never got anyone on the line. I think it was in that moment, although I never did go to a psychiatrist, that I realized I just needed to admit that I was going through this fog and I was not perfect.

I think the hardest thing for me through that was I had perspective. I should be happy because...I have a house and food in my fridge, I have an awesome job, I have good friends and supportive family, I have these beautiful children who were born without disabilities and are so smart and so amazing. I mean, GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD and LIVE!!!! But I couldn't because I wasn't okay. I had those things but I let the little things bother me and I couldn't let go of them. I had to be honest (catching a theme here) and tell somebody that I wasn't right, life wasn't right for me at that moment.  And when I finally let the perfect shell crack, light came in! I was able to see all those things for what they were: Grace and Love! I was so busy trying to hold it together that I had just held onto the darkness.

So if I could impart something to anyone who is going through something like this or has gone through something like this, it's this: Life was not made to be perfect, and if we are trying to make everyday into some idol of perfectionism, we will not get there. We don't hold all the cards in this game! We are just a player that has to play with what we get dealt! And ultimately, seek out help. Start with a friend, someone you trust. Chances are they've been through something similar either themselves or with another loved one. We don't rely on others as much as we should. Forrest Gump and Bubba had it right, we need to lean on each other a little more in this world so we can stay up together! And pray! The prayers you pray may not get answered but it opens a dialogue. It allows your soul to sigh and wrench and ultimately an answer may come. And drugs (the prescription kind, the other kind may make things worse), they work too and you don't have to take them forever! They are there because the chemicals in your brain are truly misfiring and just like you'd let someone shock your heart back into rhythm, sometimes our conciousness needs the same chance.

I guess most importantly with this post, what I want heard is that you are not alone. You are never alone. These words, I hope, are evidence of that. Someone out in the universe is waiting to be a healthy partner in this world for you. Whether it's a spouse, a friend, or a post on the internet, there is always arms reaching out to keep you from falling, but sometimes we have to crack first before we can see it!

Blessings,
Lisa