Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly; far far away from here....

I know I already wrote a bit about the movie Frozen- so just bear with me once again...

The movie really speaks to me and the message is haunting... in the best sort of way.

There is a scene where the younger sister has gone after her older sister to get her to come home.  The older sister essentialy has a meltdown and flips out... from fear. The song ends dramatically with the older sister yelling "I can't" and hurting her younger sister with her magical powers (which she has yet to learn to hone properly.)
The reality is, that the sister has strong powers... and they can be used for harm, or for good... but her fear becomes her greatest enemy and keeps her from living life and benefiting those around her.  So instead of using her powers and gifts, she hides them. Thinking she is protecting herself and everyone else.  The consequence is that the beauty that comes from her power is also lost.

I am sitting in a place in life where I can completely relate.
When my life veered so violently off course almost a year and a half ago, I needed a place to go. To start to breathe. To heal.  I had nothing. No resources, no job, no plan, nothing. Somehow, God always showed up and threw out the net just as I was about to hit the ground.  I've been saved from complete destruction in ways that still astound me.

Life isn't easy for us.  I've been slammed down and had the wind knocked out of me, and it's been hard to try to catch my breath. Thankfully, I've been in a place for the last 7 months where I can rest a bit.  I'm still working hard and trying to figure out my role as a single mom of 4 while also acquiring the new role of main provider.  Due to the fact that my children are still fairly young, I would need child care for them, and the reality is, I can't afford it with any job I could get outside of the home.  Thankfully I've been able to piece together photography, babysitting, writing, ebay, some help from others, some child support, and lots of grace in order to provide for my children.  But the time of hiding is coming to an end... the time to stop being afraid and jump out into a new world is looming large on the horizon.

I have been feeling paralyzed by fear.  The reality is.... that at the end of your life you look back and see that it's been a series of choices, and I'm in a place where my choices are going to pave the road for myself and four other people.  I'm excited and also terrified.  Fear can lead to complete lock up.  I can see the things I feel I've been gifted with and I want to use them to provide for my children, but the fear of failure, and the fear of success, and the fear of the unknown, and the fear of rejection, all swim together in my mind and prevent me from that giant shove against resistance into movement forward.  Any movement. I've been working through some of this over the last weeks, and have talked with my counselor, a couple dear friends and my parents and I know that I have amazing support.  I'm thankful that in a time when I have to provide for my children in a nontraditional way that I have skills that can translate into provision.... but I've never sat in this place before.  I've never had to be the provider. My identity is shifting, and I am having to lean into it in order to survive. I have had my share of meltdowns when I too have screamed "I can't!", but thankfully, there have been people who love me standing right there to turn me back around and push me forward and remind me again that yes, I can.

I don't want fear to stop me and push me into the darkness in hiding. Rather I want the uncertainty to be motivating, and pressing and powerful in the best kind of way. I have a lot of days where I am completely terrified, and when I look at my life on paper, nothing makes sense.  I am having to walk through doors I never dreamed I would even be knocking on and trust that on the other side of them, I will know which room to walk into.  I am having to trust that the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior when it comes to God's faithfulness; knowing that the miraculous ways I've been provided for won't dry up because I've used up too much grace. I'm having to believe people when they tell me that they love me and won't let me fall. I'm standing in very thick fog but I can see the halo of light off in the distance.  My job is to keep moving towards the light.  The time of my incubation and hiding is coming to a close.  I would be lying if I told you I felt ready.  But I will trust that as I jump from the nest that the wings I've been resting and tending to will unfurl in strength and steadiness and that somehow, fear will fall and I will fly.

Letting it Go

Have you seen the movie Frozen? I know you've heard of it, everyone has- it is making a bazillion dollars for Disney these days and is topping the charts.  But, there's a reason... it hits a nerve. It's encouraging and uplifting, and beautiful; and has fantastic music.

I've seen it several times.
Full disclosure- it was online for several days... so I watched it a few times here at home.
If you're feeling judgy- just keep it inside... I don't have the energy to combat that today.

All of my kids love it- even the 12 year old boy!  It's a good movie, and I tear up every time.

There is a song towards the beginning.. sung by the princess become queen who runs away- to protect everyone else from her struggles... her pain... her... 'perceived flaws'.

I can relate. 

The song she sings when she leaves is this:

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,
not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen.
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn't keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Don't let them in, don't let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal don't feel, don't let them know.
Well, now they know!

Let it go, let it go.
Can't hold it back anymore.
Let it go, let it go.
Turn away and slam the door.
I don't care what they're going to say.
Let the storm rage on.
The cold never bothered me anyway.

It's funny how some distance,
makes everything seem small.
And the fears that once controlled me, can't get to me at all
It's time to see what I can do,
to test the limits and break through.
No right, no wrong, no rules for me.
I am free!

Let it go, let it go.
I am one with the wind and sky.
Let it go, let it go.
You'll never see me cry.
Here I stand, and here I'll stay.
Let the storm rage on.

My power flurries through the air into the ground.
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I'm never going back; the past is in the past!

Let it go, let it go.
And I'll rise like the break of dawn.
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone
Here I stand, in the light of day.

Let the storm rage on!
The cold never bothered me anyway

 Idina Menzel - (Disney's Frozen) Let It Go Lyrics | MetroLyrics 
listen here: (it's beautiful) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgk

I am in a place where I'm learning to let it go. To stand in the storm as it rages on.  To turn from my fears and learn to walk forward in spite of them.  

On paper... my life is really scary right now.  My future is completely unknown to me... and my needs are huge.  My heart is scarred and pocked with pain, and my brain scans and moves trying to find a way to fix all that needs fixing.  My situation as a single mother of 4, with no real plan for the future is enough to make others uncomfortable... and so part of my journey is finding space for my heart while not always elbowing out everyone else's story.  Grief can become ingrown and turned completely into oneself, and it's a complicated dance of figuring out who is safe to share with, when I need to hold things close to my heart, and when to ask how I can help others.  Healing and protecting my heart and learning to trust are all tied up messily with learning boundaries and protecting my close friends from burnout as they help me wade through this murky swamp of debris.  

I wish it were as easy as Elsa sings- to just Let it Go... but I'm learning that bits of the struggle flake off at a time. A friend sent me a sweet quote this evening that made me cry- they felt bad for bringing on the tears.. my response caught me off guard but makes perfect sense to me now- I said- 'tears can be good. I think that I have held them back for so long that now that  I am beginning to thaw, it's just all of the melting around my heart making its way out through my eyes.'  

That. That times a million. 

Let it go. ......

Sticky business

I started a class at church last night called "Stuck".  There is a workbook that goes with it and it's considered a care group- not a bible study.  We are there to care for one another through the process.  There are ten or so of us women in the group and last night was the first meeting, where our nervous giggles, and squirming in our seats belied the surface calm that was in the air.

The goal is to begin to either identify or start to unpack those places where we are broken, angry, discontent, overwhelmed, or scared that are holding us back from full living. From moving forward. From not just dreaming, but moving into goals and engagement with the world as our true selves. That is hard work.  Doing that work will inevitably lead down a bumpy road of struggle and pain to sift through. While I want to do that, and work towards unsticking myself, it feels daunting.
Each of us shared for a moment our names, and a tiny snippet of why we were in the group.  The broken hearts around each table were placed gently into the open with the hope that the rest of us would scoop them up with love and grace and understanding.

I think that the class will be good. I think our group is going to connect in ways not often afforded to groups of women.  The atmosphere in the group is thick with expectation and I believe we will find ourselves knee deep in one another's grief, anger, and struggle.  But I also think that we will find ourselves standing in the warm light of grace and as we begin to shed some of the shame and struggle that sits so heavily on our hearts and souls.

The more I've been allowed into the lives of people, the more clear it is to me that each of us is broken, shattered, cracked, and wounded in some way.  Life has a peculiar way of jamming reality and struggle into each of us at some point.  I don't say this out of jaded cynicism, but rather with the knowledge that we cannot move through this life well without accumulating emotional injury along the way.  The beauty in that is that it levels the playing field.  We are all alike. Connected.  Bound by the awareness that life just happens. To all of us.   If you had placed the same group of these ten women in a room for a baby shower, we would still be the same ten broken, hurting, scared women... but because we're being given the gift of safety which will cultivate vulnerability- we get the amazing opportunity to allow someone to lean on us in those places we are strong, while we lean on someone else in our brokenness.  It's a lyrical dance of healthy community when we begin to peel back the places of shame and pain that dulls our shine and allow that light to pour out into the world.  The darkness of hurt can dampen the brightest light, but the space for truth to rest... the truth of where we sit... that space brings freedom, and light, and love and grace.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all had a place like that? A group to go to where you knew that your heart and your fear and your precious lifeblood would be honored and loved and given room to rest? All of us need it. We all need those places to be vulnerable and allow the opening of our wings without the fear of another person tearing a hole in the gauzy fabric.  I have friends who do this for me, and I know I'm blessed.
I'm looking forward to getting to know my group and learning from the strengths they have that I am lacking and excited to offer encouragement in places where I am strong. It's good stuff- this systematic autopsy of my struggle.  I'm thankful to get to have a group to hold me up as I shrug off some of the falsely protective layers of pain and let them hold me up as I unfold my wings and get my legs under me.

My name is Heather and I'm a recovering blogaholic

I used to read mommy blogs the way that other women read erotic novels.  I had a problem and I don't mind admitting it (now).  I would pour over words that other moms wrote and then use them as measuring tapes for how I was doing as a mother.  (For the record?  I usually decided I was coming up short. Failing miserably. Most likely to send their children to therapy first.) But I couldn't stop. The addiction of punishing myself with their words and stories and beautiful photos was one that was damaging and yet strongly drew me in day after day.

I was so sensitive to how many places I wasn't 'doing it right', that each word, every birthday party photograph, each recipe to save my family tons of money while also nourishing their growing bodies felt like a personal affront to my mothering style.

I don't read blogs much anymore.  Not because I don't like them, but because I all too often dive in head first and find myself writhing in physical pain because I have never given my children a themed birthday party with colorful balloons and a catered cake.  The pinterest laced craft ideas that mock my feeble attempt at engaging my children with art are everywhere these days, and for me?  the best choice is to not engage.  Essentially I'm a mommy-blogaholic, and the best remedy for that is to abstain.  I do however, read Momastery.  Her raw honesty, admission of mess and struggle, and ability to laugh at herself connects me to her at a soul level.  I'm absolutely sure we could be the best of friends if she would let me come and sit at her feet while soaking in her common-sense knowledge.
She had a post recently that has stuck with me and brought some freedom into my heart.  She wrote this and you really need to go and read it.

She talks about how other women aren't 'parenting at us'.  Let that sink in for a moment.  Other women are not parenting at us.
Roll that around in your heart... start to fill in the holes with other ways that that applies...
That other woman? The one wearing the amazing dress that you would secretly love to wear but feel too tall, fat, skinny, old, young.. fill in the blank- she is not wearing that dress at you.
The room mom who likes to make fancy cupcakes for every holiday known to man, and bring in special origami valentines that she and her first grader slaved over is not crafting at you. The career mom who manages to not only work an amazing job but still be the den mother for boy scouts is not den mothering at you. 
The teenage girl with the skinny body whose shorts show a little too much... ahem, muscle, is not being beautiful at you. (well, maybe she is, just a little) The point is, we all too often take our own insecurities, struggles, and mess and use them to paint across everyone else and absorb that negative junk back into our hearts in such a way that affirms to us that we are not enough.

Not enough.
Not.....kind enough. skinny enough. smart enough. gentle enough. beautiful enough. tall enough. stylish enough.  we paint everyone else with our 'not enough-ness' and then treat them as the enemy... instead of confronting the lies we're telling ourselves.
Isn't is easier that way?  It was for me.  It was easier for me to think that other women were homeschooling at me rather than to be vulnerable enough to admit that I was choosing not to homeschool because it didn't work for me.  It's easier to get angry at all the other moms or women who appear to be living closer to the expectations we had for ourselves, and press the disappointment of life into their choices rather than to sit in the reality of the life we are living.

I'm becoming freer and happier as I am beginning to be able to live in this reality.  I took two of my children to Awana at church this evening. (Sort of like scouts- but at church) And was laughing on the phone with a friend as I told her that for us?  Showing up with our supplies was a win.  Other moms work hard to help their children learn the memory verses for the week, and read the stories nightly to them before tucking them in... these children are receiving patches for their hard work and memorization skills.  I laughingly asked my friend how I could get the patch for just being there. Showing up. Wearing matching shoes.  For my family, in this season, that is a great feat.  That's my reality.  The mothers who are working nightly with their kids to help them memorize the weekly verses aren't doing that at me... they are doing the best job they can... inside of their reality.
When you begin to see that each of us is doing the best we can.. at that moment.. with what we know and what we have to work with in the way of skill and giftings.. you stop thinking everyone is living at you and begin to see how much freedom you have to live in your present reality with the grace you are provided in your own circumstances.  The post Glennon wrote has singed my heart.  The message went down deep and has allowed me to laugh at myself and the complete pridefulness it exposes as I start to recognize how much I can make it about me.  The irony is that freedom is allowing me to be a better mother.  The headspace I was renting out to lies is now free to be inhabited by grace.  And that is where I want to be.

Thankful for my village

I'm glad you're here.  Reading my words, my thoughts, my struggle and movement inside of this life.  

I do want you to know that I don't always sit in despair. I have told you that I am addicted to hope, and that is a hard addiction to break. 

I am a feeler- I feel deeply, intensely and many times I am harder on myself than I would be on any other person. 

I do struggle as a mother.  Since Samuel was two years old he began with challenges, and the reality is that for the majority of my mothering career, I have felt more like a survivor than an all-hands in, excited, joyful participant.  Some days that gives me pause.  I scan my brain and intentions and wonder if some part of me is fractured.. some 'enjoyment' gene I missed inheriting... and I begin down the road of mommy guilt and sadness.. but many days I am able to recognize that mothering (like any other intimate and ongoing relationship) is one that is filled with struggle and difficulty. Being in close proximity with others, and being the one trying to shape those others naturally brings about challenges... and I am becoming more and more aware that many mothers are behind closed doors struggling with something- loneliness, guilt, inadequacies, infertility, disappointment, disillusion.  This doesn't mean there isn't also laughter, and joy and silliness and cookies! and an intense connection with flesh and blood (or adopted blood!) that brings us to our knees with its sacred beauty.... but being a mother is tough.  And walking through it day after day can leave you feeling ragged and scraped raw. 

I don't always hang out in despair.  I am aware that things are happening behind the scenes in my life that are causing me to be lower on the rungs of resiliency.  Because of that, it is easy to fall into the well of pity and hopelessness.... but somehow that golden ladder out of pain always appears.  

Being a mother is hard.  Being a single mother is impossible... without all of you.  Hopefully, in the shocking things you've read at my hand... you will be spurred to be kinder to other mothers around you. To offer smiles to the mom pushing her cart in walmart with a wailing toddler in the seat.  To really look a woman in the eye as she tries to avoid you as she leans over to pick up her spilled purse contents, or her keys that her baby has thrown for the bazillionth time.  The reality is that none of us will get through motherhood without some injury or scarring.  So love on each other.  Give one another space to screw it all up and to also succeed miraculously- even if her rules and ideals don't necessarily match up with yours.  I've been incredibly gifted with a community who rallies around me when I begin to sink. I had one small text message that caused a friend in CA to call me immediately- just to pray with me and encourage me last night. I had many personal texts after my post, and several private requests to offer help.  I don't even know what to ask for- but the reality of having people who love me at my finger tips is a gift I don't take lightly. 

So, if my post rubbed you raw, and made you squirm for me, or for yourself- take that energy and love the mothers around you.  The mothers who don't have babies in their arms yet because their bodies won't yet give them the children they cry out for, the mothers whose husbands are across the world fighting for our country, the mothers whose husbands have walked out or whose husbands have been kicked out. The mothers of children with special needs, and the mothers whose kids just seem to be brats. We are all doing the best we can, and the most potent antidote to that hopelessness and mommy guilt is the soft word of another woman telling us we are not failing and not alone. Those words hold weight that presses back against the darkness of our pain and reminds us of the intense responsibility we are wading through, and it shows us that there is light here. 

So, thank you for reading.  I do sometimes write funny, witty (ish) and silly things. But, I have to be free to see those things first, and sometimes to get to the light... we have to swim in the dark.  But morning always comes dear ones- it always comes. Don't give up on me now.  

Can Anyone Handle It?

There is a viral blog post going around about God giving us more than we can handle.
It was sent to me personally more than 10 separate times.

This means one of two things:
Either I've done an awesome job of being loud about my own personal feelings on this http://honesty-becomes-her.blogspot.com/2013/04/totally-cant-handle-it-after-reading.html  or God is preparing me for more struggle to come.  To be honest? After a night like tonight? I'm more aware than ever that I cannot handle it.  Not even a little bit.

Tonight was one of those evenings where it was illuminated as to why this parenting gig is meant for two people.  It takes two people to make a child, and I believe that it was intended for it to take two people to raise a child.

Raising four of them alone is way more than I can handle. On a daily basis.

Some days I do a decent job of pretending.  I can do sleight of hand, and some fancy footwork, and throw some cookies here, and a little dance there, and a lot of the time I manage to keep everyone fed, clean and alive.  Sadly that is often the measure of success these days.  Clean and fed.  Beyond that? Icing on the cake.

Nights like tonight have a way of throwing me into a tailspin.  The kids were hyper and irritable, I was tired and feeling low, and it was the perfect storm for hurt feelings and a giant emotional mess.  At one point, I had two boys crying in different rooms, my daughter crying on her bed because I had hurt her feelings when I was angry, and I just wanted to run away.  Out the back door, into the cold, dark night and take off in my car.  I'm not sure where I'd go- I just wanted to be far away from here and the responsibility of being the mother.
Before you call CPS on me, please know that I'm still here. I'm not writing this from borrowed wi-fi at starbucks (although that sounds tempting).  I stayed.  And cried.  And walked away many times.
This isn't meant to be done alone.
I should be able to lean on a husband who would trouble shoot at least one of the meltdowns while I tend to another. I should have the protective casing of marriage that allows me to press in when I'm weak and know that he's got my back.  Instead, I'm alone.  And the weight of the responsibility on my shoulders feels crushing.

I'm aware that we can feel this way even when married.  If your spouse is out of town, or deployed, or sick, or addicted, or disengaged, or even out with friends, or staying late at work- the gravity of parenting alone can feel like a load that is humanly impossible to bear.

I wish I could tell you that I always respond with grace and love.  But I don't.  What you don't learn as a child is that parenting is one giant soup of personal experience, skill, and attitude.  Today was a hard day for me personally... which meant that I went into this evening already depleted in the grace and patience tank.  Their arguing and disobedience grated on my heart and exposed to me all the places I was failing.  Despair was hanging out in the hallway, and sadly I flung open the door and welcomed it up to the table. Before I knew it, I was yelling, snarling, and even disappointed in myself.  My anger and frustration can boil up so hot that I want to punch anyone in sight.  Again- I don't.  But I am going to be the mother who says what many of you feel but refuse to admit- maybe even to yourselves.  There are moments where the frustration and despair and chaos and grief can all mix together into a toxic poison that longs for the relief of a physical act.  Maturity and grace and God's protection keep it at bay, but most mothers I've spoken to in private will admit that they want to occasionally throw their kid out of the window. (Once again- I would never throw my child out the window- I feel that I have to put this here- but I think you get my point)
Mothering has no end.  There are no progress reports from a boss who gives you constructive criticism or a pat on the back.  No end of the year bonuses or gold stars to admire.  In fact, most of the time, the things we do 'wrong' are more obvious than the things we're doing 'right'- because the struggle always draws more attention to itself than the ease.  So I sit.  Watching the dreams I had for my children fall through the cracks.  Things I thought I was guaranteed.  A young son who would never curse at me.  An older son who would say yes ma'am as he took out the trash.  A daughter who would agree to brushing her teeth without falling on the floor in a heap of hot tears.
That's the rub isn't it?  That's the part we can't handle.

The letting go. 

The continual act of surrendering what we thought would be for what truly is.  And instead of clawing back in anger, to allow what is to come forth and learn to respond appropriately to that behavior.

I'm not very good at that.

I know intrinsically that I can't handle this alone. But I'm not good at asking for help.
I am angry that I don't have a husband here to help me, but I am too prideful to ask a friend. People call me strong..... what they don't know is that I'm very, very weak.  I'm just skilled at hiding.

So tonight?  I'm not hiding.  I'm standing here in blog land saying (as many of you already know!) that I totally can't handle this.  I have no idea how to parent four children by myself.  To provide for them; not just financially but in every way we want to provide.  love. spiritual guidance. experience. safety. good memories.  I can see the vast chasm of my failings and yet I am beginning to think that that chasm would shrink if I could jump from what I envisioned to what truly is.
And that is what I will sit with tonight. Maybe tomorrow I can offer softer arms.  A kinder tone. More grace. Not just for these beautiful, challenging, hurting, precious people I am raising....but for the woman who looks back in the mirror.  maybe.

forward crawl

i think i've mentioned before that i have children with special needs.

i have three sons and one daughter, and my sons are all somewhere on the autism spectrum.
while there is a lot of information out there about autism, i've found that many people aren't quite sure what it means, and telling people that we have autism in our family often brings silence, or pity.
the autism spectrum is wide and filled with people with all kinds of struggle and abilities. i'm thankful that all three of my boys are fairly high functioning, and while they each have different struggles and difficulties, they also all have special abilities and strengths too.

managing their care and schooling and meds and doctor appointments and behavior and emotional fallout is.... hard. but while i recognize that it's hard... it's also normal for me.  samuel started with struggles by the time he was two years old, and so for almost all of my parenting journey, i have known extra hardship.  but some days, i just feel.... more overwhelmed than usual.  today i got a phone call from asher's pediatrician denying one of the medication refills i was requesting.  they told me they don't prescribe it.... which is fine... except that i can't get in to see the developmental pediatrician for a couple of months, and so he just goes off of this medication cold turkey?  it's so hard to try and juggle all of the kids needs and ensure that nothing falls through the cracks.  i had no idea they wouldn't prescribe this particular medication and that he needed a specialist (we've moved from military insurance to civilian in the last 7 months and i'm still learning the ropes)
all i could do was cry. there are so many places in the lives of my kids that i just can't fix. i can't make it better. and i get tired, and weary.

as a mother, the deep, throbbing, driving force is to protect my kids and take care of their needs. to help prevent pain when possible, and teach them life lessons.  in the wake of all we've experienced, and in the intensified struggle that comes with the autism diagnosis... i am brokenhearted to know that i cannot protect them from everything. i can't fix it all, and things happen that are beyond my control.
i know, intellectually, that this is a normal part of motherhood, but that nagging little monster that hangs out in dark alleys, or crouches at the foot of my bed swells up with phone calls like those and tells me how disastrous this is. how we will never be normal, they will never be well adjusted, and life will always be a giant struggle against pain and grief. that mama guilt monster that plagues so many of us feeds on situations like this and gleefully hands me the guilt whip to start whaling away at myself.  sadly, i all too often reach out to take that whip and sit in the self inflicted punishment for things that are far beyond my control.

i did sit in that space for a bit. i cried, and worried, and scanned the mental horizon to try and create a solution- but the reality is... i can't fix it.  this is yet another place where i have to just do the best i can and worry less about fixing it and more about just trying to stitch things back together to the best of my ability.  so, this evening, i'm throwing the whip back at the creepy, disgusting mama-guilt monster and telling it to get behind me.  i know that there are so many places where i could be doing more.. and yet... i'm here.  doing it. every single day. mothering these children while my own heart sags under the weight of grief and their hearts hang ripped and torn.  i am slowly moving towards wholeness... some days the progress feels nonexistent, but as i look behind us i am able to see that we are indeed moving up the mountain.

Hope Addiction

Hope is a tenuous thing. Too much and we lose connection with the present.  Not enough, and we can't see our way out of the present. To be healthy and focused and living well, we need a good balance of hope at the right dose.

I admit that I have been a hope addict. I have used hope to get me through times when I knew down deep that life wasn't ok.  However, because i couldn't put my finger on it, and couldn't see through the haze, it was easier to just hope that things would get better somewhere in the undefined future.
The hope of a new move, a new baby, my husband's potential promotions, a new church, new friends, new clothes, losing weight; putting hope in some change that I longed to come and fix the gnawing empty wound that was slowly killing me.

I had a difficult marriage.  I always knew that something was off, but I never quite could identify what it was.  I smiled, and worked, and prayed, and served and sliced through the nagging uneasiness with the sharp knife of hope towards the future.  It became my drug. I would create lists in a desperate hopeful attempt to blot out the drowning despair that crouched at my door.  I would write dreams and hopes and plans on pages of wishful dreaming; from my plan to get out of debt, to where we would move next, to baby names. I never had my footing in my relationship, never felt free to completely be who I was, and so I numbed that void with hope. I hoped my way into a messy marriage, a hurting heart and eventually the biggest blow you can get from your spouse.  It was over.
I often wonder how long it would have taken me to see and hear the truth had I allowed the reality of the pain I had been trying to avoid set in years ago.

Without hope, despair and depression sets in.  Feeling hopeless creates a desperation and drowning in our spirits that longs for relief.  Hope is the elixir to protect us from the raw scrape of present circumstances. Hospital halls are coated in hope.  Loved ones walk the corridors deep in prayer and throwing their last hope to the wind with the expectation that faith will catch their hope and swing into action to fix whatever ailment they are fighting. The hope of healing and change sustains them. It can be a good thing.

Unfortunately, hope can also prevent us from growth. The continual waiting for things to get better mimics forward motion but is actually an effort to escape the recognition of a sometimes difficult reality.

Hope can be used to avoid. Escape. Deny. Soothe. Numb.  It can become the drug of choice in difficult situations and while useful for a time, it can eventually sabotage an entire life.  If you never fully engage in your present reality but instead use hope to escape it, you can look back and realize that a decade was lost while you waited and hoped for things to get better.

There is a fine line between having hope in a person, or circumstance, or relationship and avoiding the reality of brokenness. hope is an inherently good thing, and yet because it is good, and because it can allow us to believe that we are acting and engaging, it is also dangerous.  When mindlessly applied to your life it can blur the boundaries between your reality and what you wished your reality was.  It can morph from sacred, sustaining hope into devious and deceit-filled wishful thinking.

I am not hopeless. I am not advocating despair or bleak realism. But. I am now a crusader for truth.  Hope can be used to protect a lie.

Just as with other dependencies, the trouble starts when we use hope to avoid our present reality for too long.  We can abuse hope by using it in such a way that can prevent us from change or even to sink into the healing reality of pain.  I am just beginning to explore what this hope addiction means to me and to others... I believe that many of us are in a cycle of hope addiction and that there is a better way.  It has been a joke in my family that I have always been the perpetual Pollyanna, but in the destruction of a life i had protected for far too long, I now cautiously am moving towards the title of recovering idealist.  I am still a hopeful person. I still look for the best in people and circumstance, but I am learning to sit in the ache of reality more intentionally, knowing (with scared hope) that this too shall pass. I am learning to engage in this life without the powerful addiction to hope.

bandwagon jumping

there is a trend going around where people choose a word for the new year and purpose to live towards the goal stated. it's a noble trend, one with good fruit and solid focus. more noble perhaps than simply bullet point resolutions, and more laser focused than a list of things to address.  the one word can create a theme to live under... a more intentionally created atmosphere by which to order choices.

i've never done it.

i have a committment problem with things like that.... my adhd-like brain tends to feel confined and boxed in with decisions like these, and so instead of engaging in the trend, i have avoided it.  i've enjoyed reading words other people have chosen and have been enlightened with new vocabulary and also delighted by some of the unexpected words i've seen scroll through my facebook feed.  but i didn't think of joining in or even considering what 'my word' might be.

but sometimes, things happen on their own. organically, quietly... without pomp and circumstance. without pressure.
it happened that way for me this year.

i have a word... and it came into my spirit without effort and without drama. my word for 2014 is resolved. 

resolved means:  to come to a definite or earnest decision about; determine (to do something): I have resolved that I shall live to the full. - 

by the way- the sentence given?  that was the example given in the dictionary- it wasn't mine.  amazing how it fits so snugly into my intention though, isn't it? 

this year i will do hard things.  last year my word would have been survival.  i made it through.  i survived. i kept my head above water - barely- and was able to live.  but i'm done surviving.  in order to push through to thriving, i have to work. hard. in ways i never have had to work before.  i have to do those things i know i am supposed to do. i have to sacrifice in order to make a way for myself and my children. i have to fight hard to thresh out my path in this world, and to ensure that i do not slip backwards into poverty, depression, rejection and then become a statistic.  i refuse to lay my life down just because my road has taken a turn in the opposite direction of where i thought i was headed.  instead...i will find the journey i am meant to travel and this will be my year's verse:

Your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever you turn to the right or to the left.

Isaiah 30:21

i feel that i have a smeared, dusty vision of what my life might look like over the next months... but i am anxious and excited to see how things will unfold.. i am holding tight to following the path meant for me. i am resolved to do my work.