No Red Bow

I read a book earlier this week that has me deep in thought.
It was a good book, a redemptive story, a powerful show of the grace and goodness of God even through tragedy and unimaginable circumstances.
(I'm not telling you the name of the book on purpose. It's not the point I'm trying to make)

What was challenging for me though, was that the story was tied up beautifully with a big red bow.

I read a lot. I read in lots of places. Online, in books, magazines; I love reading. I love hearing the stories of others, and like most people, I like a comeback story. Nothing is more encouraging for a woman in my circumstance than to read about how other women overcame what appeared to be insurmountable odds.
But I'm noticing a trend, especially in the Christian writing world.  I'm noticing that many writers dip down close to their pain, they expose a corner of the struggle, but then they swoop high again towards the heavens and paint rainbows and singing birds.  I have told you multiple times that I am a Perpetual Pollyanna, and that I have an addiction to hope.  I don't think that there is great need for depressing stories, or articles that highlight all of the pain in this life, But.
The more time I spend with people, the more authentic I am, the more I reveal parts of my struggle, and story, and mess, and beauty, the more I hear echoed back to me how others have the same struggles, pain, frustrations and mess.  Struggle is universal.  Challenges, grief, pain and disappointment are in no short supply.  What I long for, is more transparency.  I struggled to read the book because every time pain entered the story, it was swept away quickly with a message about God's goodness, and grace, and the pain dissipated like smoke into the forest.

I believe in miracles. I believe in grace. I've been rescued many times from destruction by a God who sees my pain and my hurt.  I've been on the beautiful receiving end of love and generosity that has blown my mind.  But.  I have not been lifted out of the struggle and placed in a hot air balloon that soars over the battle.  I'm in the middle of the fight; bloody, dirty, wounded. What has happened is that instead of being set free from the battle, I've had people come along side of me- sword drawn, determination set, and ready to get in the mud to help me fight; or to step in front of me while I bend over, hands on my knees desperate for a deep breath and gulp of fresh water.

What the 'red bow' writing does for me is create both insecurity and doubt.  I begin to think that I'm not the same as everyone else.  That maybe God sees them, and rescues them, but somehow misses me in the deep fogginess of battle.  That maybe something in me is broken, or I'm deserving of more pain than they are, or maybe, that things will always hurt and always be messy, and my red ribbon will hang limply, dulled, and never tied into the fluffy bow I've longed for.  The comparison monster creeps in.  I start to wonder if I navigate life with more mess and fear because that's who I am; while their motivation, organization, and inherent 'goodness' somehow keeps them from the bloody battle I seem to be fighting.
Logically of course, I know that this isn't true. I believe that the story I read in her book was truth. That the life I was reading about had been pocked with pain and hurt and wounds I can't fathom. I also believe that there was incredible beauty and redemption that happened through the course of the events.  But I also think that sometimes we don't make it completely safe for other people to acknowledge that hurt can hang out in our living rooms for far longer than we'd like it to.  We want to be told that we can hurry the process of healing along.  We look for the red bow stories sometimes because then we can hope that our tying up time is at hand. That since her bow was tied so quickly and beautifully in the middle of the grief that surely mine must be being prepared for the flourish of a big bow with trailing tails.
It's easy to write of struggle years later when the bow is sitting atop the gift and the feeling of pain has diminished.  It's a bit harder to write during the process when sometimes the future looks muddy, and dark, and much like a shadowed alley - hiding obstacles and also doors out of the gravel hallway.
I don't pretend to think that everyone reading my words is hurting today.  Life isn't like that.  If all of life was dark alleys, and bloody battles, we'd all give up. But everyone's life does have a battle, and an alley or two... and so while you might not ache today, I feel confident in believing that you have known  the ache at some point.
I long to paint with words of honesty. Not because I'm braver, or better, but because I'm more desperate. I know that connection comes in those tender places. That way down deep, under the cute clothes, big smile, and makeup, that each of us harbors doubt and hurt somewhere.  I want to connect there. To make it safe for you to share your heart with me. In that sharing, we begin to realize how connected we are. How we aren't alone. How we are, in fact, just like everyone else.  That our doubts, hurts, struggles, and frustrations are no bigger than our neighbors.  The red bow writing is nice to encourage me that redemption cometh, but I love to read big bold inkiness that gives me a look inside of a heart where both darkness and beauty lives. And in peeling back the layers of protection, light gets in and light escapes... and our hearts are both shared and also healed a bit. I want to let light in and give light out. My bow has yet to be tied up.  I'm not sure I'll live to see the day that my life is tied up beautifully, but I'm learning that I still am being given lots of gifts.  And that sometimes as the saying goes :

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”

-Mary Oliver 

From Me, with love.

It's Valentine's Day. 

Another one of those relational holidays that either illuminate your blessings and celebrate that or poke fingers into your wounds and remind you of what you're 'missing'.

This year, I'm not struggling.  In fact,  I feel... freedom.  I don't have someone to anticipate gifts or romance or something special, and there is some relief there.  I won't be let down because there are no expectations. I am set free to instead focus the love on my children.. and dare I say, myself.

So many of us (especially us women) make a big show of announcing how this day means nothing to us, the holiday is silly, and we don't need any of that to know we're loved... and then when he forgets... or fails us in some way... we ache.  Our ache might be masked by smiles and brush offs, or we might have an attitude from the anger that is seeping up because he should just know.  Or maybe, we pick a fight, and by the end of the day we're left with two hurting hearts and a mess between us.

These holidays are hard. Even if we know, or believe at a cerebral level that nothing about these holidays really proves anything about relationship, it seems to be that they are days set aside to ponder on what might be lacking.  On Valentine's day it's a lover, on Mother's Day it's either your own children or your own mother- both can bring hurt. If you've lost your mom, or aren't speaking to her, if you've never had a child and long for one, or if you've lost children... it stings in the worst way.  Father's Day can wound too... you may not have the relationship with your Father that you've wanted, or he may have abused you and treated you as something to be thrown away, or you might not even know his name.

These holidays are always set into the calendar at the beginning of each year, and yet unlike some of the other major ones, we always seem to be taken a bit off guard when they arrive.  We manage to avoid thinking of those hurt places as much as possible, and when these holidays dawn, it's almost as if a spotlight shows up in our hearts and the slow, steady torture begins.
Our FB feed lights up with smiling faces, and posts from happy-looking couples.  Roses appear at our places of work, or balloons,or silly overstuffed bears holding boxes of cheap but over-priced chocolate. We smile at the woman clutching her prize, but we ache.  We feel somehow.... forgotten. Unworthy. Unloved. And we might even resent.
Or  maybe you do have a lover. A boyfriend, or fiance, or husband. But he's told you he thinks all of this is silly, or a waste of money and 'why should it matter because he shows you every single day that he loves you and doesn't need hallmark to tell him when to buy you a card?!'  And you nod, eyes down, swallowing back tears as you try to remember the last time he bought you a card, and start to think that maybe you shouldn't be so sentimental and..well... girly.

While I love love, and still believe in true, unending powerful love that can last a lifetime, I can see how a day like today can bring more hurt than it can beauty.  While I love red roses, and yes, chocolate! And fancy dinners out with pretty dresses, shiny shoes and a babysitter home with the kids, I can see that the pressure of the day often leaves us feeling as though we missed out.  Even when you get the roses, or the date, or the sweet card..... sometimes you begin to think of how you haven't felt connected to him in a long time, and while the bouquet is beautiful, a part of you wishes he would just look at you- and really see you, and ask you what you're thinking.  Facebook is a liar. While there a a bazillion happy couples out there, there are just as many who are smiling on the outside, as they snap pics of their heart shaped pancakes and are dying on the inside, because they don't feel truly seen. They don't feel that the one who served them the breakfast really sees them or hears them, or loves them for the perfectly flawed person that they are.

So today, sweet loves, don't fall prey to Cupid's nemesis who sits with his own set of daggers waiting to stab and tear and wound.  If you must protect your heart from FB- then do so.  It will be there waiting for you tomorrow.  If you feel let down by the one your heart loves, then maybe find a time on another day where you can share that you would like some special attention on Valentine's Day- and it isn't so silly to you.  You see, honesty in a relationship is the very best gift you can give to your love.  And unknown expectations can slash wounds in your heart faster than any truth can. So share your heart.  Don't brush off your needs because someone once told you it's silly to expect to be thought of as special on this day. You are special.  You are loved.  Don't be afraid to claim that.

Disclaimer:
If you're happy, and feel loved, and content.  I'm glad for you.  That is a gift.  One not afforded to all at all times. So if that is you, and this doesn't apply in any way to the state of your heart, then use your healed up heart eyes to look around you and really see someone else.  Someone who might need a squeeze of your hand, a card, one of the roses from your bouquet, a text to say 'I am thinking of you and you are amazing'.  Your healed up heart can be used to bring healing to others. So on this Valentine's Day when you're feeling full... let it spill out and heal others. Give the gift of you.  

My own Amen (which also means... So Be It)

I'm sitting in a place in my life where the only way out will have to be fairly miraculous.  Within the next few months, my living expenses are going to rise considerably, and I will have to find more ways to bring in income.  Just in time for the kids to be home all summer, and me not to have any child care options.  I have to continue to find non-traditional ways to provide for them, and on paper things look anything but attainable.

The truth is, that I don't have all the answers. I haven't fully figured it out and I am not sure what our lives are going to look like over the next months and year.

But I have a deep resounding peace.  I have wondered, at times, if my peace is just an illusion, possible denial, or avoidance, but I really believe in the depths of my being that we are going to be ok.  God has shown in so many ways over the last year and a half that I am not forgotten and that I will be provided for.  Nothing is impossible with Him.

However, I'm also aware that my circumstances are complicated, looming large, and overwhelming.  When others hear what I need to do to take care of my children and how big it is, they often become concerned for us.  I have found myself worrying and being anxious for the benefit of other people.

Have you ever noticed that the work of worry and anxiety can mimic forward motion?  The act of being concerned, and anxious looks like action and involvement.  Conversely, sitting in peace and surrender can look a lot like inaction. avoidance. delusion. laziness. 

I'm having to navigate the path of working hard behind the scenes to set in place the pillars of support that will enable us to live in this area for the next months and years to come.  But doing that without anxiety, and without outward displays of fear can look suspiciously like I am not driven enough, not motivated enough, or not sufficiently afraid.  Somehow, my fear and worry comforts others who are worried for me. It's as though my concern lets them know that I have not forgotten how big this is and that I am scared enough to admit it is beyond me.

I don't know what our future will hold. I have no idea how this will all fall into place to take care of our needs and work into the structure of my big family; but I do have an undergirding of peace. Of just knowing that we will come out on the other side.  It might be messy.  I'm quite sure that it will look completely different than it looks for other families, but I believe that it will also be beautiful, and miraculous, and hard, and good.

I'm choosing to follow advice given by Glennon Melton from Momastery that I heard this last weekend at the Womankind conference- to just Let.It.Be.  To stop trying to make my circumstance be anything other than what it is.  To allow the path designed for us to unfold ahead of us, and though I can only see a few feet ahead, I will trust that the path won't suddenly disappear, but will rather continue to be formed ahead of me leading me into the life meant for my family.  I am ready to walk it. To turn from worry and anxiety that I have coddled for the comfort of other people and rather move inside of the gift of peace.  To work, and pray, and rest, and just Let It Be.

Take Me or Leave Me

I've been going to counseling for a few months now.
In light of all the trauma we've been through over the last year and a half, I knew that counseling would be a necessity, and finally have a bit of time once a week to make it a priority.

I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. When done well, it's an amazing tool to excavate those places in your life that need digging out, restructuring, rejection or assimilation into our daily lives.  Having a good counselor who leads you through the terraced gardens of your heart and can help you begin to identify weeds from healthy plants is a gift.  There are also some counselors who talk about themselves too much or get fixated on a detail that might not be important to you, or who have their own filters and judgement from personal experience that prevents them from looking into your struggle objectively.

I have a good counselor.  We have many shared experiences, but she is objective, soft spoken, and firm. She helps me navigate what seeps up to the surface that needs to be skimmed off, revealing soft healthy flesh underneath. She encourages me to be vulnerable and makes space for that in every way. I often leave feeling depleted, but also renewed at the same time.  Similar to giving birth. New life coming forth out of pain.

One place I'm identifying as a struggle for me is my irrational need to please people.  I don't see myself as a people pleaser on the outside... but my actions have led me to the truth that I work hard to be all things to all people.  And.... I have taken this so far that I have avoided identifying myself or classifying myself so that I wouldn't make anyone feel left out or somehow alienate others.  When I was in college, I hid, behind dance clothes, and messy buns in my hair.  I loved fashion, but was afraid to own that love because I was afraid other girls would think I was being shallow.  I was jealous of the sorority girls in their slick, black pants and boots, but I was too afraid to be one of them, because I knew that girls who weren't in sororities sometimes felt left out... and I didn't want to be in the group that seemed exclusive.

When I got engaged, I kept it low key then too.  I was afraid if I was bubbly, and passionate, and giggly, that others might think that I was immature, flaky and overly emotional.... and that would mean our relationship wouldn't last (ironic, isn't it?) When I became a mother, I didn't want to be identified as just a mom.  I was scared to slip into the hidden recesses of being alone, or only spending time with other mothers, and so I began writing to give me an outlet outside of mothering.  As my children were born, and the boys started being given autism diagnoses, I didn't share that very often because I felt that since my boys were verbal, if I took on the identity of being a mother to boys with autism,  I would somehow invalidate the struggle of having non-verbal children; and I didn't want others to think I was using the label as an excuse for less than desirable behavior.

As I've moved more naturally into my role as a mother, and have shed some of that insecurity, I still see how I struggle to say no.  I have four kids on my own, and am having to find ways to provide, but I get scared to say no, or create boundaries, or put myself and my kids first because I am afraid I might offend someone.  Obviously, I can see logically that this is way off balance.  I DO have to take a new identity now- whether I want to or not.  My new identity as a single mother will make some uncomfortable- others who might not agree with my choices.  And yet?  I have to provide for these children. I have to learn self-care.  I have to learn how to identify and work towards meeting my own needs, and not feel badly about doing it.  I can't be all things to all people, because the people who get let down are those I care the most about.  I can't do all things well, and need to focus on doing a few things excellently.  I can't do it all.  I can't.  And now my job is to begin to explore what is so timid, broken, insecure in me that says I need the continual perceived approval of others in order to live happily. The reality is, trying to please everyone doesn't breed peace, it breeds resentment... because I know at a soul-knowing level, that I can't do it, and so I get angry at myself for pretending that I can.

It's time to make space for my identity. To claim who I know I am.  To not be afraid to wear the clothing that I want- even if I believe it might look too flashy to other women.  To not be afraid to claim that my boys do in fact have autism, even though you may never guess if you catch us on a good day.  To be a mom- even though sometimes that doesn't feel like a special enough title.  To say no to people I care about sometimes so that I can take care of me and the children more efficiently.  To write my heart even though many may disagree.  To claim my truth though it makes others squirm.  I believe that while not everyone needs to like me, agree with me, love me or support me, I will be able to love others better as I begin to learn to fully love me. I have to examine the judgement in my own heart that then believes I'm being judged in the same way. I have to learn to love all of me in order to more purely love all of you.  This might seem simple, but this is huge for me. I have spent a lot of time denying me in order to please others.  I am being pushed into a place of incredible authenticity and it's painful and freeing and strange.  I'm thankful I'm beginning to put words to this awful habit of mine, and am praying that I can start to shed some of the protective layers of people pleasing in order to uncover the authentic me.