...we need Saturday

This weekend is kind of a big deal for Christians. This weekend represents one of the greatest promises in history made good. And today is the culmination of that celebration. But yesterday, Saturday, represents a pretty important - sometimes overlooked - day as well. There's a phrase that you've probably seen making the rounds among your Christian friends social media accounts. It says "Sunday's coming!" It means that things look grim now, but better things are coming. 

Buuut....on THAT Saturday, all those years, they didn't know that. They didn't know what we know now, they didn't have our benefit of hindsight. This man, this Jesus they'd loved, followed, and believed in for years was just...gone. Imagine the despair they felt. Anger. Confusion. Fear. Abandonment. Sadness. All they could see was the darkness.
And how many times have we found ourselves in the same place? Where all we could see was the darkness that surrounds us? If they could have looked ahead, they would have seen what Sunday held for them. The joy, the relief, the celebration. Knowing what was coming, would they have felt the darkness at all? And what if we could look ahead to see what our future holds? Would we feel the darkness around us now, or would we reject it because we could see the good that was coming? 

I think it's very possible that we weren't given the ability to look into the future because it would cause us to not appreciate the present. In other words, if we don't experience the darkness, can we fully experience the light? God never promised us that to follow him would mean a life without suffering, only that he would stand by us through our suffering and give us the strength we need to overcome it. 1 Peter 5:10 says "The suffering won't last forever. It won't be long before this generous God who has great plans for us in Christ...will have you put together and on your feet for good."

Be encouraged today. You, like those people so long ago, may be experiencing the worst pain you can imagine. But - at the risk of sounding cliche and trite - Sunday's coming. Whatever you are going through, it won't last. It will end. There is so much goodness and happiness and bliss and joy to come, because that is what's been promised. Saturdays are important, and they matter, and they help to form us into who we were created to be. Don't reject the Saturdays in your life. Without them, we would never have the Sundays. 

...Imma talk to Jesus about it

One thing I hear A LOT from my non-homeschooling friends is "I don't know how you have the patience." So let's clear something up.
Um, I don't.
I am fond of saying "patience is what parents have when other people are around."
In case you are under some illusion that I am a calm, peaceful soul who never lets the (more than) occasional swear word slip, yells at her kids or loses my mind when they ignore me, let me assure you....I'm not. I get up every morning and put on my issues just like you.
But the other thing I do every morning is pray. I start my day just talking to Jesus about it (During a conversation about a year ago, a friend said "I don't know, Imma have to talk to Jesus about that" and it stuck with me. So now, I just "talk to Jesus about it") We talk about what's on the schedule for that day, what challenges (academic or otherwise) the kids have been having, the fears I have, the issues I'm dealing with, the obstacles I am facing, THE PATIENCE I DON'T HAVE....whatever. If it's on my mind, I talk to Jesus about it. And it's all okay. It all just becomes....okay. I am reminded each morning that I don't HAVE to do it all, have it all, be it all. And that daily reminder, that morning hug if you will, THAT is where I get the patience. THAT is where I find redemption for the guilt I have over the yelling. THAT is where I find peace and comfort when I feel the crushing weight of all that is on my shoulders.

********
Let's pause right here.
Everything written above the asterisks was written...we'll say maybe 2-3 months ago? Like most writers, I always have about a dozen unfinished pieces, all fractured and incoherent and just waiting for me to remember to finish them. At any rate, I wrote the previous words long before the entire collective world was locked down and every parent, working or otherwise, was attempting some twisted version of homeschooling. Interestingly, I also wrote those previous words during a time when I was - obviously - praying daily. But I'm not anymore. It - like everything else worth doing - requires discipline. And discipline is not my strong suit. So like everything else in my life, a daily prayer time ebbs and flows. Kinda like a workout plan or my commitment to Whole30... Anyway, for the last few days, I've been feeling a nudge to sit down and write. I just wasn't sure what to say. Every now and again, I get to the point where I feel like words are swirling around in my head, trying to burst forth. But they don't yet make sense, aren't yet coherent, so I have to sit with them for awhile and wrestle them into submission (This is probably another area where that discipline we talked about would serve me well...) When I opened up my computer today, I didn't really have a direction. But I knew the words would come. So I just started thumbing through old notes and previous writings. And then I stumbled across the one above.

And it hit me.

I knew why I'd been feeling like I needed to sit down to write. I knew who had been nudging me. Turns out it wasn't the writing I needed; it was the reading. I needed to read my own words from just a few months ago. I needed to hear myself remind me that all the stress, the anxiety, the depression, the doubt, the overwhelm, the darkness, all of it is soothed by just "talking to Jesus about it". And I haven't been. So it's not any wonder that all that darkness is finding it's way back in. When I try to handle everything on my own, I fail miserably. Because I was never intended to do it any of it on my own. I can read all the motivational books, do all the therapy, but until I bring Jesus along for the ride I'm destined to crash. Each and every time. Another writer I follow, Amy Weatherly, recently said it best...she said "I don't need self-help. That's what made me confused, and exhausted, and stressed out in the first place. I need His help." Amen, sister.

I may have started this post - for others - by talking about how Jesus gives me the patience to homeschool my kids. But it's become much more than that now. It's become a much needed reminder - for me - of how much I need to remember to lean on God. He wants to know us; He is deeply interested and invested in being a part of the details of our lives. He seeks us out and chases us down in ways we can't even fathom. Shoot, he even used past-me to get present-me's attention! And He has promised that if we will simply trust in Him, He will give us all the comfort, all the strength, all the hope we could ever need. We just need to talk to Jesus about it.

It's dark down here

"It's dark down here.
The small amount of light that filters in from the top of the hole you're in illuminates everything from above....so that nothing looks as it should. Which is kind of okay, since there's not much down here that you care about anyway. All that stuff - all the things you care about - is up there, on the outside of the hole.
There are mirrors down here but the darkness distorts....you won't recognize yourself.
There are no clocks down here. They would be irrelevant....days crawl by like weeks, but weeks fly by like minutes.
Oddly, the darkness changes your voice as well. You will hear it leave your lips and wonder who is speaking...who is saying these words, why do they always sound so angry?
Thoughts don't work the same down here either. Disjointed, jumbled, unfinished.
I liken it a bit to the rabbit hole Alice found herself tumbling down, complete with the pale blue "Eat Me" cookie. Because everything around you feels gargantuan. Everything makes you feel as though you are pint-sized compared to whatever "it" is.
For me at least, this is what depression and anxiety feels like. Like I'm stuck at the bottom of a dark hole...."

....These were words I wrote almost 2 years ago to the day. I had forgotten about them. I came here  today to write about something completely unrelated, and found the draft above. I had forgotten the depth of the darkness I felt. And for a moment, I felt it creep in....I felt the edge of darkness and doubt reaching out like tendrils. But just as quickly, I felt immense gratitude. Gratitude for how far I've come. How much work I've done. For the people who loved me enough to hold my hand and hold me up. Who helped me peel apart my layers and dig down deep and find strength and confidence I had forgotten. Mostly for the women in my life who have become my tribe, my village, my family. They became - and remain - my life support. Without them, I have no doubt I would find myself in the darkness again.

Mental health matters. YOU matter. It's okay to not be okay. Let the ones around you love you. Let them hold you up. Let them pick up your feet for you and place one in front of the other, over and over if necessary. You are too important and too bright and too shiny to let your light disappear into the darkness.

I don't know what to say

As a (sometimes) writer, words are kind of my thing. As a mom, an ungodly amount of words escape my lips on a daily basis. Silence - to me - can be golden, and words - to me - can be overused. And when I do choose to say something, I try to make the words matter.
So please, stop telling me that "my silence is the problem". Please stop saying that my lack of words on a social media platform means that I'm to blame for the state of our country. Please stop assuming that my lack of visible outrage on Facebook must mean that I agree with any one side.

Here's what my "silence" does mean...

It means I'm stunned. Stunned that this level of hatred - and sadly yes, from both sides - can exist in a world where we seem to have been making so much progress. In a world where we hear songs, see videos, and watch group after group promote love and healing at every turn. Stunned that in 2017, this is the condition in which we find our country and our lives.

It means I'm heartbroken. I'm crushed that racism on this level, on any level is present. I'm devastated that this hate-filled world is the reality for my children. I'm heartbroken that anyone can look at another of God's creations and hate them simply for how they look, what they believe, or who they love. That is not the world our Creator intended.

It means that I'd rather avoid getting into Facebook squabbles over my beliefs or opinions. My beliefs and opinions are just that, mine. And when opinions get shared on social media, no matter what they are, someone (almost) always insists they are wrong...simply because they don't share the same opinion. The beauty of this world is that we all have different opinions, beliefs, and ideas. When we can find a way to love and respect each other in spite of, and dare I say even because of, those differences, our world will be a much more vibrant, beautiful place. But sadly, the social media platform doesn't allow room for that. It's become a place to argue among ourselves via comment threads, witty GIFs, and snarky memes. My silence means that I want no part of that. There are plenty of people online who are very succinctly saying things I believe and agree with. Sometimes I "like" them, sometimes not.

My silence thus far online means that I'm choosing to be busy loving on my people, and those in the world around us. Hate has no place in this world. We as a people, as individuals, as groups of citizens - white, black, asian, gay, straight, man, woman, trans, Christians, Muslims, Jewish, atheists - every single one of us, MUST show love to drive out hate. We must hold doors. We must give hugs. We must help a friend. Pray with a stranger. Hand a 10-spot to the homeless guy on the street. Open our doors and our hearts. In the small, seemingly insignificant ways. In the mighty ways. We MUST love more. The world can most assuredly be changed by more love but it's unlikely that one more angry, impassioned political Facebook post is going to be world changing.

My silence doesn't mean I'm complacent, or that I agree. It simply means I don't know what to say. Except that I love you.

...I hate talking. And I do it a lot.

Talking, talking, talking. All I do is talk. And talk. And then talk some more. Talk about what we're doing for the day. Talk about who needs to do what. Talk about who needs to NOT do what. Talk about what I need to do. Talk about losing my mind. And then when the talking doesn't work (because it never does), then the yelling. The yelling, yelling, yelling. With Mother's Day in the recent rearview, there were the usual snarky FB memes floating around about what mom's really want for Mother's Day. (ex: "I just want to sleep all day and wake up to a clean house"....BTW, husbands - that gift is ALWAYS what moms want) But you know what I want? I want a day with no talking. I'm.so.tired.of.talking. Talking to my kids, listening to them argue with me. Talking, talking, talking.
No doubt, I love talking WITH my kids. Having those precious conversations about their daily discoveries and the silly things we discuss and just hanging with them. They are awesome little people, and I am so grateful that they are mine. But I am so worn out from talking TO them. Instruct them. Remind them. Remind them some more. Issue out consequences for not doing the thing I've now reminded them to do 723 times. Explain the reasons behind said consequence. Argue some more about the consequence. (Have you ever tried to reason with a 6 year old...or worse yet, a 3 year old? It's an exercise in absolute madness and torture)
I get it now. You know those mamas that practice this "peaceful parenting", this "mindfulness" that Facebook memes poke fun at? Well guess what....they aren't talking. Not like you and me. They've strategically (and yes, mindfully) remembered what we've forgotten. Our kids are PEOPLE. And as such, our kids don't respond to being "talked to" any more than you or I would. These moms (freaking parenting gurus that they are) have figured out that if they treat their kids like PEOPLE, their kids will treat THEM like people. But even without meaning to, I treat my kids like subjects...to be bent to my will and instruction for I am Mommy and I rule over all. And they are rising up in rebellion. Mutiny is certainly afoot. A coup is being staged.
So you know what I need to do? I need to shut up. I need to step back and let them do. Or not do...and then feel the consequence for stepping over the line, rather than constantly talking and reminding them that they are about to step over it. Because you know what my current approach actually accomplishes? Zero. Unless you count frustration, irritation, yelling, and temper tantrums (occasionally from the kids too!) as "accomplishments". And then they STILL step over the proverbial line, because amidst AALLLL my words, they miss the message and no longer even know where the freaking line is.
But even worse than that, I'm inadvertently training them to tune me out. "Mom's talking again...no need to listen, she's just repeating what she's already said." Seriously, who wants to listen to someone who never.shuts.the.hell.up?? "Be careful, calm down, stop running, walking feet, please be quiet, it's not time for snack, no TV right now, stop that, please don't, be kind to your sister, hands aren't for hitting, don't speak to each other like that, don't open that, close the fridge, NO we're still not watching a show and on and on and on and on"....for the love, I never.stop.talking. Even I'm tired of my talking; I know they are tired of it. Command after command after command. No wonder they want to either ignore me or try to push back. Hell, I would to if I were them.
I'm shooting myself in the foot with literally every single encounter with them where I talk, talk, talk, talk, freaking TALK. Say what you mean, mean what you say. The end. If I could master that, I might actually get them to listen.
Who knows...maybe we should talk about it some more ;)

...my heart shattered

One thing that has been really amazing about our move back home is that Nick is attending my old elementary school. It's been a total trip for both us.
For me, seeing him walk the same halls and grow in the same place I spent 6 years is like a daily walk through Bizarro-world. Super cool, but really surreal.
For his part, he loves telling me about things they did that day or things that happened, and then asking if I did the same thing when I was there. "Mommy, did you have assemblies in the auditorium when you were here?", "Did you have to color in the morning when you were here?" I love it.
So we were getting in the car yesterday afternoon and he tells me he doesn't want to go to school Thursday. Of course I asked why, and his response was "because we have lockdown drill Thursday and I don't want to do it." After comparing it to a fire drill and explaining the importance of being prepared for an emergency, even if it never happens, I thought the conversation was done. He had moved on to talking about Star Wars already.
Then about 5 minutes down the road, he drops this little nugget on me. "Mom, during lockdown, we all have to go into the bathroom and be super quiet. We can't make any noise, because if we do the bad guy will find us and shoot the door down."
My heart shattered.
"Why do you say that buddy?" (While trying not to sound like my heart had just broken into a million tiny pieces all over my crumb covered floorboard)
"That's what our teacher said." But here's why he really got me...

"Mommy, did you have lockdown when you were here?"

Crickets.
I couldn't answer.
What do I say?
No baby. We didn't. We didn't need them because people didn't go into schools and randomly, senselessly take the lives of innocent precious babes.
We didn't need them, baby, because your elementary school and my elementary school are two very different worlds despite being the same building.
I wanted to say those things. I almost did. But I was completely heartbroken over the loss of his innocence. I understand and appreciate the necessity of the lockdown drill, and even the teacher who told the class why it was so important they be quiet. God forbid, were the worst to ever happen, I want my boy to know exactly what to do and how to be safe.
But my heart hurts at the reality of it all. I'm saddened THAT it's a necessity, but mostly I'm saddened by the fact that my 6 year old knows of these horrors now.
No baby, we didn't have lockdown. Our worries were of coloring and recess and lunchboxes. No thoughts of bad guys. No cares for lockdown drills.
Hug your babes. Laugh with them. Play with them. BE with them. They are babes for such a short time before the real world comes crashing in on then (and you).

I didn't want kids

It's true, I didn't. But life has a way of turning the thing you never wanted into the thing you can't live without. But in the spirit of full disclosure, I confess there was a time in my life that I didn't want kids. Before I got married, I was pretty convinced kids weren't in my future. But now I can't even remember life without them. And I don't want to. Before having kids, there were lots of things that I thought motherhood was. And wasn't. And most of them were wrong. Here's what I've learned motherhood IS -

Motherhood really IS carrying your heart outside your body.
Motherhood is also LOSING your body. At least for a time. For a period, however brief or long, your body does not belong to you. (And you may never truly get it back)
Motherhood is sleeplessness.
Motherhood is falling asleep at any moment because you're so tired, you just don't care that you're sitting in line at the DMV. You're not in motion and dammit, that's all you need to be able to catch a few zzz's right now.
Motherhood is writing this blog over the shoulders of my preschooler because she won't get out of my lap...
Motherhood is consoling, reprimanding, refereeing, and even snuggling - all while sitting on the toilet.
Motherhood is saying things you never thought ANYONE would ever need to say. ("You can't finish building that Lego creation because the piece you're missing is in your ear.")
Motherhood is wanting NOTHING MORE than time to yourself to "un-mom", but instantly missing them so much it physically hurts as soon as you're away from them.
Motherhood is opening your fridge to see a stormtrooper on the shelf.
Motherhood is experiencing every possible emotion, from giddiness to disappointment, frustration to laughter, pure and complete bliss to borderline-murderous intent...all at the hands of your child.
Motherhood is wondering if EVERYTHING your child does is "normal".
Motherhood is wondering if EVERYTHING you say or do will cause your child some sort of trauma later in life (or not-so-much-later)
Motherhood is thinking about everything you feed your child.
Motherhood is giving up what you want, to give your child what they need.
Motherhood is multiple pee-stops on the side of the highway because they just.can't.hold.it.
Motherhood is sniffing your kids butt in public.
Motherhood is trying to keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself so they can learn how to do it themselves.
Motherhood is putting yourself last. A lot.
Motherhood is FUN.
Motherhood is forming weird, random, amazing friendships with other moms simply because you're both moms. ("Hey, we have the same job! We should be friends!"....for the record, this would be weirdly inappropriate in any other avenue of life.)
Motherhood is knowing all the words to the Doc McStuffins theme song.
Motherhood is having REALLY personal conversations about your body, your kids body, or other random things with other moms because they totally get it.
Motherhood is knowing your kid is trying to sneak something from the kitchen, simply by the way the floor creaks.
Motherhood is LAUNDRY. Always laundry.
Motherhood is feeling like a terrible person in the moments when you don't like your kid.
Motherhood is thinking your kid is cuter than any other kid. Ever.
Motherhood is comparing poop stories with your friends. And not even thinking twice about it.
Motherhood is having a seriously tight friendship with your coffee maker.
Motherhood is being in a dead sleep, but still hearing your child crying from upstairs and through two closed doors. (and instantly knowing which of your children is crying)
Motherhood is constantly pushing YOURSELF so they see it, and model it.
Motherhood is closing the door to your child's room after a REALLY hard day together, and then immediately feeling guilty for being a "bad parent", and going back in to snuggle before they fall asleep.
Motherhood is being CRAZY EXCITED when your kid does the smallest of things on their own for the first time. (And annoying all your Facebook friends with an absurd amount of posts about it)
Motherhood is an exercise in guilt.
Motherhood is an exercise in pure joy.
Motherhood is navigating the world of giant emotions inside tiny bodies.
Motherhood (of boys) is pee on the toilet seat. And the floor. And the wall. And the toilet tank. And the scented candle sitting on the toilet tank.
Motherhood is being a horse, a swing, a slide, a sandwich, a boat, etc....all with your body. (yes, a sandwich)
Motherhood is amazing.
Motherhood is frustrating.
Motherhood is the hardest job ever. Ever. EVER.
Motherhood is the best job ever. Ever. EVER.


See? Sandwich.