Three years ago yesterday, I gave birth to our third child, a boy. He was and still is, precious! Bright, sweet, and empathetic. His favorite thing to do is sing with his daddy and that leaves my heart skipping a beat every Sunday morning. Caysson loves books, computers, and taking things apart. He can't live without his sisters' attention and will injure them to get it! He is a three year old boy and very good at it.
But three years ago yesterday, also began a difficult journey for me. Six weeks after Caysson was born, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression. Any credible physician will tell you that depression isn't caused by a single event but by pressure that builds over years and years to be triggered by an event. While I function every day and love my kids, I am still wrestling with the many pressures that exploded in the turmoil of hormones after giving birth.
I write this today as a declaration that I choose life: full, abundant, joyful life. Choosing life means that I choose to leave poisonous things out and welcome in life-giving activity. It means that I decide every day, many times in a day, this over that.
Choose life!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Hope
I do not buy into the whole positive thinking mindset. In fact, I find most of it annoying. I am a realistic kind of person and I don't see how thinking better thoughts about a situation will change it. I think in color and I assign this kind of thinking a garish yellow. You know, the kind of color that burns itself into your eyeballs and gives you a headache.
So, when I was asked to spend some time thinking about hope as a Christian virtue, I really struggled. I couldn't seem to separate hope from positive thinking. I wasn't even sure that hope was a biblical concept, (Okay, now I can remember where that is...Galatians, James and a few other hundred places) and in the moment wasn't sure if hope should be pursued.
Now, I'm a step back from having the idea introduced again and wonder why my hope is so atrophied. Here are just a few quotes that have me thinking about and puzzling over this idea of hope:
"Hope is a positive and potent human faculty that must be distinguished from its dangerous sister, expectation, which steals us from the present and pushes us down the path of disappointment when things don't go our way."
"What oxygen is to the lungs, such is hope to the meaning of life."
"Everything that is done in the world is done by hope."
What about you? Does hope come easily for you? Or do you fight to be hopeful? What color is hope to you?
So, when I was asked to spend some time thinking about hope as a Christian virtue, I really struggled. I couldn't seem to separate hope from positive thinking. I wasn't even sure that hope was a biblical concept, (Okay, now I can remember where that is...Galatians, James and a few other hundred places) and in the moment wasn't sure if hope should be pursued.
Now, I'm a step back from having the idea introduced again and wonder why my hope is so atrophied. Here are just a few quotes that have me thinking about and puzzling over this idea of hope:
"Hope is a positive and potent human faculty that must be distinguished from its dangerous sister, expectation, which steals us from the present and pushes us down the path of disappointment when things don't go our way."
"What oxygen is to the lungs, such is hope to the meaning of life."
"Everything that is done in the world is done by hope."
What about you? Does hope come easily for you? Or do you fight to be hopeful? What color is hope to you?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Remembering
This is a day to remember. As a nation, we remember the lives that were lost. As individuals, we remember our involvement in that tragic day.
8 years ago, today, I woke up at 3am with a knot in my stomach. I was 8 weeks pregnant and headed to the doctor to look for a heartbeat at 9am. Just two short months before, I had miscarried at this point. I remember trying to pray but really just putting words to my worry as I laid in bed. I fell back asleep around 5:30am and woke with a start at 7:30. The doctors office was at least a 45 minute drive in Houston rush hour so I started racing around to get ready.
Chad and I were both so nervous that morning. We rushed around to get ready to leave- never turning on a radio or the TV. I tried to swallow some breakfast as we walked to the car. It hit my nervous stomach like a brick. As Chad was pulling out of the driveway, he turned on the radio, hoping to hear a traffic report soon.
Our favorite Christian radio station in Houston was KSBJ. As a song was just beginning, the announcer cut in with news of the first tower being struck in New York City. We looked at each other in shock. We kept listening and heard that an airliner had hit the tower. About the time that news came out, we were driving past Bush International Airport. Traffic would stop as planes came over the highway and resume again when the skies were clear.
When the news broke that the second tower had been hit, I remember telling Chad to pull over because I was going to throw up. Before we reached the doctor's office, the Pentagon was hit as well.
The doctor's office was full of nervous looking people huddled around a radio, as there was no TV in the room. The nurse called us back and prepped me for a sonogram. Outside the room, I could hear the nurses talking about evacuating the medical center for fear of it being hit.
While the news was horrible, it was still surreal. We hadn't seen any of it. We had only heard. Hearing was terrible but not real yet. I was still very focused on the sonogram at hand.
We learned that day that Raemey Joy was on her way into the world. Her tiny little heart beat strong in that sonogram. She was coming! She was growing and alive!
September 11, 2001 was a terrible day in the history of our country. But in my life, it was the day that life began as a mother.
It as a day of hope in the midst of tragedy.
And that is what remembering should be about: hope.
8 years ago, today, I woke up at 3am with a knot in my stomach. I was 8 weeks pregnant and headed to the doctor to look for a heartbeat at 9am. Just two short months before, I had miscarried at this point. I remember trying to pray but really just putting words to my worry as I laid in bed. I fell back asleep around 5:30am and woke with a start at 7:30. The doctors office was at least a 45 minute drive in Houston rush hour so I started racing around to get ready.
Chad and I were both so nervous that morning. We rushed around to get ready to leave- never turning on a radio or the TV. I tried to swallow some breakfast as we walked to the car. It hit my nervous stomach like a brick. As Chad was pulling out of the driveway, he turned on the radio, hoping to hear a traffic report soon.
Our favorite Christian radio station in Houston was KSBJ. As a song was just beginning, the announcer cut in with news of the first tower being struck in New York City. We looked at each other in shock. We kept listening and heard that an airliner had hit the tower. About the time that news came out, we were driving past Bush International Airport. Traffic would stop as planes came over the highway and resume again when the skies were clear.
When the news broke that the second tower had been hit, I remember telling Chad to pull over because I was going to throw up. Before we reached the doctor's office, the Pentagon was hit as well.
The doctor's office was full of nervous looking people huddled around a radio, as there was no TV in the room. The nurse called us back and prepped me for a sonogram. Outside the room, I could hear the nurses talking about evacuating the medical center for fear of it being hit.
While the news was horrible, it was still surreal. We hadn't seen any of it. We had only heard. Hearing was terrible but not real yet. I was still very focused on the sonogram at hand.
We learned that day that Raemey Joy was on her way into the world. Her tiny little heart beat strong in that sonogram. She was coming! She was growing and alive!
September 11, 2001 was a terrible day in the history of our country. But in my life, it was the day that life began as a mother.
It as a day of hope in the midst of tragedy.
And that is what remembering should be about: hope.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
New Roads
I'm someone who gets bored easily. Daily routine is nice for about a week and then I am ready for something new. I need menus, workouts, expectations, and schedules to change a lot. Knowing exactly what is going to happen and when it is going to happen leaves me feeling fuzzy headed with totally met expectations.
Now, don't get me wrong: I want to be the one who sees the need for and initiates change. I also want to be in charge of how it happens!
In that light, I have chosen two new paths lately. First, I have begun the awesome task of serving as a leader for our church's women's ministry. This involves the chance to dream with some amazing women about what it would look like to release our women for ministry. I believe that God has great things in store for the women of Highland Oaks.
Secondly, I have started back to school. The plan had always been for me to finish my Mdiv work. But as I looked into it more, I could not get comfortable with the idea. Finally, I turned the whole thing over to prayer and just sat with it for several months.
During that time, God lead me to some amazing books. One of them, "Joining Forces", was a life changing read for more reasons than I will list here. In that book I read the term 'spiritual direction' for the first time and was overwhelmed with the need to know more about. As I researched, the Spirit kept confirming that I was on a God-given path. That research led me to a training program based here in Dallas.
And so, last Saturday I sat through orientation. I turned in the first paper that I had written in years and received a syllabus. And the entire time, I couldn't stop grinning! This is a three year program and the entire first year is about spiritually forming the student by living in the spiritual disciplines as a community. I am so excited to go to class tomorrow!
I hope that you'll indulge me to share some about this journey with you. In the meantime, what new roads are you traveling?
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
First day of school
Wow! Summer has come and gone!
In some ways, I'm not sure what happened to it. In other ways, I am glad it is over. I loved the chance to play with my kids more and swim and eat ice cream but, the draw of freedom had given way to boredom. The kids had started using torturing one another for their favorite form of amusement. I don't know about you but it doesn't take long for me to grow weary of the teasing, fighting, and tears that follow!
At the same time, it is bittersweet to send them back to school. I turn over the majority of their waking hours to other adults and children who I don't know well. It can be scary to think about influences that I wouldn't approve of having their ear for hours each day. I worry about other children being cruel. I fret over their teachers having so many children in a classroom.
And yet, the first day of school has become a beautiful day to reflect on all the ways that they have grown. I am amazed at these wonderful girls who are growing into young women before my eyes. I marvel at all the things they know and can do now that they haven't been able to before. I'm aware of how few and precious these years are that they are under my roof and in my care. These gifts from the hands of God himself rest in my arms and what an amazing gift they are!
Yes, I shed a few tears yesterday as I walked away from their classrooms for the first time. Not because I couldn't bear to leave them but because it was a moment on holy ground as I considered all that God had given me in their sweet lives and all the potential that exists in these faces that I love so deeply.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Story
I love a good story! I'm known for reading an entire book in a day because I get drawn in. I become very involved in the characters and emotionally invested in what happens to them. Just last night I was reading to my girls before bed. We have been reading "Charlotte's Web" together at night. Last night we read the chapter where Charlotte dies. I had to ask my husband to finish reading it because I kept crying! My girls thought I was crazy.
After we put the kids to bed we turned on a movie. I know, we are behind in movie viewing, but we finally watched "Prince Caspian" in the Narnia series. I was mesmerized! I love fantasy and the whole series is an allegory to our lives in Christ. There were a two images that stuck with me and played out in my dreams last night. The first was Lucy running to hug and wrestle with Aslan. I cried. The innocence and deep love was evident. It was also beautiful. Then when the other three children came before Aslan, they looked ashamed and bowed low. The contrast is powerful.
I have recently wondered why God chose to be revealed through story. While I find story compelling and emotionally involving, it is also a risky way to talk about yourself. There are so many ways that story can be understood and misunderstood. I still marvel at the sheer guts it takes to leave your story in the hands of people! I'm a writer; I know how dangerous that can be. But that is exactly what God chose to do. It astounds me.
As I dreamed last night, I found myself kneeling before Aslan longing to hug him and feel the soft fur under my hands. The image is still fresh this morning. I want to be the child who is innocent enough to run toward God with open arms and expect to be picked up and held in love. I find myself as the adult who cowers in the shadows, afraid to be seen.
Perhaps story allows us to interact with God in ways that seem far enough removed to keep us safe so that when we are ready, we will run out of the shadows to be embraced.
After we put the kids to bed we turned on a movie. I know, we are behind in movie viewing, but we finally watched "Prince Caspian" in the Narnia series. I was mesmerized! I love fantasy and the whole series is an allegory to our lives in Christ. There were a two images that stuck with me and played out in my dreams last night. The first was Lucy running to hug and wrestle with Aslan. I cried. The innocence and deep love was evident. It was also beautiful. Then when the other three children came before Aslan, they looked ashamed and bowed low. The contrast is powerful.
I have recently wondered why God chose to be revealed through story. While I find story compelling and emotionally involving, it is also a risky way to talk about yourself. There are so many ways that story can be understood and misunderstood. I still marvel at the sheer guts it takes to leave your story in the hands of people! I'm a writer; I know how dangerous that can be. But that is exactly what God chose to do. It astounds me.
As I dreamed last night, I found myself kneeling before Aslan longing to hug him and feel the soft fur under my hands. The image is still fresh this morning. I want to be the child who is innocent enough to run toward God with open arms and expect to be picked up and held in love. I find myself as the adult who cowers in the shadows, afraid to be seen.
Perhaps story allows us to interact with God in ways that seem far enough removed to keep us safe so that when we are ready, we will run out of the shadows to be embraced.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Mommyhood
It seems that this time of year calls for a post about motherhood. I have several confessions to make about Mother's Day:
1. I quietly dread this holiday as it reminds me of our first miscarriage that happened just days before Mother's Day 8 years ago. It seems ridiculous to still grieve that loss in light of the three beautiful kids that I have given birth to, but I still grieve. That was the first time I knew how painful being a mother could be. The lesson was so sudden that it seared into my emotional memory.
2. The ironic part of being a mother is that I expend a lot of time and energy preparing for a day that is supposed to give me time off! Just this morning, I mailed off gifts and cards to grandmothers and important women in my life. The humor of it doesn't escape me.
3. Just as Christmas and Easter feel hollow without effort to see past the commercialism, I find this often to be a Hallmark holiday. I know that my children love and appreciate me. I make an effort to communicate my affection and gratitude to my mother often. This day can seem empty.
4. Just as a tree with lights can't begin to capture the mystery of advent, a single Sunday in spring doesn't do justice to the mystery that is motherhood. There has never been any other part of my life that is more challenging and formative than becoming a mom. Giving birth did not make me a mother; I am still growing into one.
5. I made a decision this year to honor women who were formative to me spiritually, women who nurtured me in ways that I wouldn't allow my own mother to. I also became aware of the spiritual mothers present in my children's lives. I want to honor them and hold them up in prayer.
My challenge to you is this: spend Sunday honoring the journey that is motherhood, whether or not you take your mom out to lunch or buy her flowers. Pray over her, bless her. Nurture her spirit in the same ways that you have been nurtured.
1. I quietly dread this holiday as it reminds me of our first miscarriage that happened just days before Mother's Day 8 years ago. It seems ridiculous to still grieve that loss in light of the three beautiful kids that I have given birth to, but I still grieve. That was the first time I knew how painful being a mother could be. The lesson was so sudden that it seared into my emotional memory.
2. The ironic part of being a mother is that I expend a lot of time and energy preparing for a day that is supposed to give me time off! Just this morning, I mailed off gifts and cards to grandmothers and important women in my life. The humor of it doesn't escape me.
3. Just as Christmas and Easter feel hollow without effort to see past the commercialism, I find this often to be a Hallmark holiday. I know that my children love and appreciate me. I make an effort to communicate my affection and gratitude to my mother often. This day can seem empty.
4. Just as a tree with lights can't begin to capture the mystery of advent, a single Sunday in spring doesn't do justice to the mystery that is motherhood. There has never been any other part of my life that is more challenging and formative than becoming a mom. Giving birth did not make me a mother; I am still growing into one.
5. I made a decision this year to honor women who were formative to me spiritually, women who nurtured me in ways that I wouldn't allow my own mother to. I also became aware of the spiritual mothers present in my children's lives. I want to honor them and hold them up in prayer.
My challenge to you is this: spend Sunday honoring the journey that is motherhood, whether or not you take your mom out to lunch or buy her flowers. Pray over her, bless her. Nurture her spirit in the same ways that you have been nurtured.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
