The Worst. Day, Ever.

Last Friday was truly the worst day ever. But it wasn't the circumstances that made the day so horrible; it was my response to them.

Days before I had suffered an epic disappointment, made worse by the pain that disappointment caused my daughter. And I was tired. Caring for special needs kids, especially kids with "hidden disabilities," is exhausting. The burdens and struggles, day in and day out, wear you down. And, I had just begun to understand the depth of my mental exhaustion. Normally a pretty laid-back kind of person, I don't generally freak out about anything. Lately, though, I have been freaking out about every. little. thing. Driving in a new place completely stressed me out; I had never experienced that emotion before. I didn't like it. 

So, I cried. For a long time. But not until I had spewed my hurt, frustration, and disappointment on my husband. He listened patiently while I spewed, comforted me while I cried, and generally did an amazing job taking care of me. 

For my part, as I cried and vented, it was like a dam burst. Every negative thing I had experienced came to mind. The glass was definitely half (or three-quarters) empty. Not my usual pattern, even feeling that way frustrated me. It was truly a no-win situation. 

And then God met me, in the midst of my despair. And He demonstrated the truth of His promise in 2 Timothy 2:13, that even if I am faithless, He remains faithful. I experienced that. 

Ultimately, God is good. Period. Not because He makes my life "feel" good. Not because He protects me from disappointment or heartache. God is good because He is. He just is.

Sometimes trusting God requires more faith than other times. Sometimes it is easy. But His goodness is not dependent on my circumstances. His goodness is dependent on His character. And His character can be completely trusted. You may disagree with me, thinking back over your own heartbreaking story of God's apparent unfaithfulness. Let me say now that I'm sorry you've experienced such heartache and pain. But your circumstances still don't define the character of God. His goodness can not be called into question because your life hasn't been what you wanted it to be. God's goodness certainly can not be called into question because my life hasn't been what I wanted it to be, but I can tell you for certain it has not been. 

If my life was what I wanted it to be, I would never experience disappointment.
I would never be lonely, or sad, or hungry, or tired, or uncomfortable. But without all those experiences, I would never be the person God has made me to be. The process, just like for a butterfly or baby chick, isn't easy or comfortable, but it is very, very good.

And so, my worst day ever turned into a pretty amazing experience of seeing God's faithfulness in spite of me.

Keep Your Crown On

Women wear many hats. Some of us are wives. Some are mothers. We are all daughters, and many of us are sisters. We work in hospitals, board rooms, and bathrooms. Some of the time we soar like eagles. Other times, we fall flat on our faces.

And when we do, the world is quick to put a dunce cap on our heads.

The cap may say different things. One time it may say “Failure.” Another time it may say “Loser,” or “Stupid,” or “Worthless.” But ultimately the world is telling us that what we do is more important than who we are. And, even if we don’t admit it to anyone, much of the time, we believe that lie.

But God has a completely different hat for those who have been adopted into His family.

Ephesians 2:11-19 (NAS) reads (in part), “Therefore, remember that at one time you Gentiles (italics added)…remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. (bold and italics added). But now, in Christ Jesus, you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace, who has…broken down the…dividing wall of hostility…so making peace, that He might r4econcile us both (Israelites and Gentiles) to God in one body through the cross…for through Him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God. (bold and italics added)

For those of us who have been adopted into God’s family, as members of God’s household, we are princesses! The world can no longer define us based on our performance. God defines us by His!

But, when the world pulls out the dunce cap, it still fits. The choice then becomes, which hat are we going to wear? Which reality are we going to live in? What are we going to choose to embrace?

So much of the time, it seems, we choose to accept that dunce cap! I definitely do - far more often than I’d like to admit. Actually, as I type this, I’m wearing a cheap imitation tiara because I’m really struggling with the dunce cap labeled “Failure.” I feel like one. People I love have been disappointed in me, so “Disappointment” is blazoned across that cap, too. And, in my kitchen, the dirty dishes are breeding faster than I can wash them (of course, I’m not washing them right now…I’m typing on the computer, lol). It is easy to accept the hat the world wants to force on our heads. That is a choice I face every single day.

The truth is, though, no matter what else happens, no matter what hat the world tries to force on my head, that tiara is still there! It is always there. And it isn’t perched on my head because I deserve it. It has been placed there by the very Creator of the universe.

What I do with that knowledge can change everything.

And, the question becomes, will I keep my crown on, or not? 

Having put that cheap, plastic imitation tiara on my head has helped. My focus is not on my failings, but on my true identity. And as I focus on that, everything comes into perspective. I disappointed someone; I’m not a disappointment. I failed someone; I’m not a failure. I am so much more than a composite of my performances. I am a daughter of the One True King, and that says it all.

Two Weeks of Hell, or Not

For whatever reason, I sat down with my teenage daughter, to watch a little tv before heading to bed. We don't have regular tv, like I had when I was a kid. No, we have Netflix, and can watch whatever we choose, and there are probably thousands of choices. The selection was a documentary on the (then) two (now three) week selection process to be part of the Army's Green Berets.

Wow, was it intense. Not only have I never been in the military, I can tell you without thinking twice that I DO NOT have what it takes to be a Green Beret, nor have I ever dreamed of anything remotely resembling that kind of , torture, torment, training, experience. A young man we knew survived the selection process (which made watching the program more interesting), but he decided it wasn't what he wanted to do. Even so, my respect for him, and all the soldiers in the Special Forces, has gone up significantly

I realized, watching that documentary on the process by which the Army selects soldiers who can train (for a year!) to wear the coveted Green Beret, that motherhood is also pretty intense. Now don't get me wrong; I'm NOT saying that mothers qualify for the Special Forces, nor am I suggesting that parenting is anything at all like combat, where people (who want to kill you) are shooting real bullets right at you (because they don't just want to kill you, they are actively trying to kill you). It is definitely not comparable on so many levels.

But, in some ways, it is. Mothers understand sleep deprivation. Mothers understand stress, being pushed to (and beyond) their limits. Just when you think you can't go on another step, someone is crying, or someone is puking (on you), or the washing machine dumps gallons of water all over your floor, and you have to take care of it. Mothering is an exercise in endurance, if ever there was one. And, at the end of all your efforts, your children (until they become parents themselves) have no clue what it has taken for you to get them to that point alive.

The last sixteen (plus) months have been pretty intense. If I had a choice, I certainly wouldn't volunteer for what I've been through (unlike the amazing men who volunteer for the Special Forces selection process), but, as I look back, I'm thankful for what God has done in my life. It has been good (though miserable), and life-changing.

I do not have what it takes to serve in the Special Forces of the US Army. I have great admiration for each and every person who does; even more so after watching that documentary. What I do have is the confidence that God will give me what I need, even if that means dealing with crying children until the early hours of the morning, cleaning up puke (again), or taking one more step in this journey through the desert. I know, because He has, and that is a very good thing.

Yes; we did that on purpose...

Little man has discovered the toilet paper. Even with close supervision, he will somehow figure out how to grab the end of the toilet roll and run (in his halting little gait), toilet paper trailing behind him. I'd say our consumption of toilet paper has doubled greatly increased!

So, I decided to take drastic measures; I took the roll of toilet paper of the toilet paper roller! But, I forgot to tell all my children. They have been trained put the roll of toilet paper back ON the roller. Oops.

As my children have begun to understand my plan, the consumption of toilet paper decreased slightly. It has only decreased slightly because well-meaning guests continue to put the toilet paper back on the roller! I think I'm going to tape a sign just above the empty toilet paper holder, saying "Yes; we did this on purpose. Please do not replace the toilet paper roll." At this point, I'm not sure if we should go on to explain why, or simply leave it to their imagination. Or, perhaps I should post a photo of the little man making his get-away instead.

Renewing My Strength

Weary; someone used that word recently to describe how they were feeling. Not "tired;" they said they were weary. I can relate. Though my situation has improved greatly over the last few months (meaning I am doing more than simply surviving), I have by no means recovered from the struggles or stress of the last eighteen months.

According to the free online Merriam-Webster dictionary, weary means "exhausted in strength, endurance, vigor, or freshness" or "having one's patience, tolerance, or pleasure exhausted." However you define it, the indication is you are plain worn out.

That word describes how I feel; worn out.

The cries and struggles of my two youngest have drained me dryer than I imagined one could be drained. Simple tasks can feel overwhelming; sorting folded clothes for kids to put away or planning a menu (which I've done for years) is almost too much. I hate feeling like this. But, I do.

So, when a verse came to mind earlier this evening, I was very excited. It isn't a solution, per se, but rather an refreshing new perspective of a passage I've known for a very long time.

Isaiah 40:28 says God does not faint or grow weary. Instead, "He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might, He increases strength." (Isaiah 40:29 ESV) Isaiah goes on to say, "Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted, but those who wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength..." (Isaiah 40:31a  ESV).

It hit me; this verse isn't just (or primarily) about overcoming, like I've always thought. It is much more complex and precious. Though God doesn't grow weary, He understands that I do. Waiting on Him means my strength can be renewed. Why do I need my strength renewed if it isn't ebbing? This is written to people who are weary. I am weary. I can relate. And, God can help. What a comfort.

Scaling Mt Never-rest

Laundry is an ongoing challenge in a family of ten. Although, if I were to be completely honest, laundry was difficult when mine was only a family of three. But, I digress. In the interest of humoring others who may (or may not) share my challenge, this is to give you courage to scale the heights of Mt Washmore, Mt. Foldmore, pushing all the way to the very top of Mt. Never-rest, the highest height of motherdom.

The pile is what won't fit anywhere else.
The laundry sorter is full, the blue hamper in the  middle of the page is full.
Laundry is getting out of control!

Here is my exploding pile of laundry, and the photos just don't do justice. Although the pile looked huge when I cowered at its base, somehow it shrunk between the basement and the computer. So, you'll have to take my word for it; the pile is was HUGE. Later, I'll post some beautiful pictures of what it looks most of the time, when Mt. Washmore hasn't recently erupted and Mt. Foldmore is under control.

You are probably wondering, what did I do? How did I manage to so effortlessly scale the heights of Mt. Washmore? Well, the honest answer is, I didn't. My children did. Ah yes, I've learned the art of delegation. I'm mastering it, you might say. Each child is responsible to start and fold at least one basket of laundry a day. And, since we have an extra large capacity front-loading washer, each basket is at least two regular loads.

Though my children don't necessarily enjoy helping with laundry, they all understand the concept; you don't wash, you don't wear. I didn't really know how to do laundry when I left home. Somehow my clothes were always clean when I needed them, and every once in a (great) while, my mother would call me to come help hang Dad's work shirts when the buzzer buzzed on the dryer. Beyond that, laundry was a mystery.

You can imagine my shock, horror, and fear when I realized I must scale the heights of Mt. Washmore, on my own, regularly! Then, just when I was beginning to get the handle of Mt. Washmore, Mt. Foldmore erupted, explosively, all over my house! Adding to the craziness was the arrival of a new baby girl, complete with spit up and dirty (cloth) diapers. Suddenly I found myself at the base of Mt. Never-rest, quivering and quacking. It looked insurmountable, overwhelming, and beyond my ability to comprehend.

But, thanks to a few tips from other "climbers" I noticed the hand holds, the small steps that could be taken, and the ropes that would catch me when I fell. My favorite "rope" is the laundromat. Yes, the infamous laundromat, where you can wash and dry countless loads of laundry, all at once, and get them folded on tables specifically designed for that purpose.

It has been quite some time since I've resorted to taking all my clothes to the laundromat, but knowing that option is available does bring comfort.  In the end, though, my biggest piece of insight is, just keep swimming. Laundry, like dirty dishes or stinky toilets, never goes away. It just keeps being generated, day after day. And, as a very wise woman once told me, when the laundry piles and dish piles and chore piles finally go away, I'll miss the children who helped create them.  Until then, I'll keep climbing.

Taking the Next Step (through the desert)

Someone asked me recently how my day was going. The question caught me unprepared; I honestly didn't know. But, the question got me thinking; how was my day going? So, I stopped to think about it. Kids were crying, but only one at a time. My son was asleep (and he doesn't sleep well at all), I'd started a load of laundry, dressed and changed two kids, put out a fire (literally), and fed my kids. Plus, my hubby was coming home that night, and I had recovered from being sick. So, at that point, it had been a good day.  Unfortunately, things went downhill at that point.

Though it isn't worth detailing, I was discouraged and downtrodden, beat down by the daily battle to raise eight children (two with developmental delays), manage a busy home, and keep my mind. The lure to just stop was very tempting, though all my attempts to submit a resignation have been futile; God doesn't work that way.

So, I got back on my feet and took one more step. Taking that step was huge; my situation didn't change, but my attitude did. And, I could again look back over the day and focus on the highlights, realizing that even with the challenges and difficulties, the highlights outweighed the low points, and I really did have a good day.

Sometimes the hardest part of parenting, or life, is to take that next step, the one that comes after falling down AGAIN! Instead of focusing on the failures and falls, choosing to focus on the successes, no matter how small they may seem. So, I'm choosing to celebrate the successes (kids got three meals, some laundry did get done, and everyone got dressed before the day was over) in spite of what seems like overwhelming failures. According to some wise person (on a card I once read), Success is "getting up once oftener than you fall down." At least for now, by that definition, I'm choosing success.

A Life Worth Celebrating

I really believe life is precious; worth celebrating. Whether big or small, young or old, neuro-typical or not, life is worth celebrating. So are milestones. You know, like birthdays and anniversaries and major accomplishments.

But, on the eve of a very significant milestone, I find myself ill-prepared, not ready to celebrate. My son turns one today. One year ago right now, I was in the hospital, working very diligently to bring this boy into the world. He didn't arrive for another twenty hours, but who is counting (besides me)?

It has been a very difficult year. Instead of being amazed at how quickly the last year has gone, we have made very slow progress; each month marked not by celebration and milestones, but by survival and sickness.

Admittedly, baby J isn't as sick as some. But I am physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted by his needs. The energy and effort required to mount a celebration is simply not there. And that makes me sad.

Baby J will not pass this milestone uncelebrated, however. His big sisters worked on a cake, and his grandma is coming to visit in the afternoon. We won't make his favorite dinner (a long-honored family tradition), because he can't tell us what he wants. But he will eat cake and blow out candles to the tune of "Happy Birthday."

And I will have a choice; to focus on celebrating my sons first year, or on the fact that I am too tired to throw him a party. Honestly, I feel like a terrible mom for not doing a better job with birthdays in general. Instead of letting I ruin my day, however, I am going to make the most of what I've got. My son is a gift. His life is a precious treasure. And though the last year has been incredibly challenging, his is a life worth celebrating.

Stuck in the Desert

As I type this, it is 3 am. Awake and in pain, it has been an interesting journey the last few days. My back is out (though I have no idea what I did); I have a large sliver in my foot (I know how that got there, but not how to get it out) that hurts if I move my foot wrong or touch it to sheets or bed; my youngest son has been throwing up (no idea why that is happening, either), and he threw up on me multiple times.

In spite of the misery, this journey is almost comical, honestly. The problems, the illness, the struggles just keep coming. No sooner has one issue been resolved or overcome than another takes its place. None of the problems are really life-threatening (though the baby's have been close), just difficult; they are draining emotionally and physically.

This journey through the desert is also very isolating. Friends are busy; their lives full of their own challenges and struggles, joys and adventures. Like the old song goes, nobody likes a party-pooper, and people stuck in the desert can easily become party-poopers.

So far, though, God's grace is enough. He is helping me (begin to) embrace this journey in the desert. He is bringing comfort and peace, showing me that this journey is His call on my life right now. As I embrace God's invitation to journey in the desert (and one can either embrace God's invitation or reject the blessings; the invitation cannot be refused), I can clearly see His hand at work, orchestrating details and proving His "Godness" in many little ways. As crazy as it sounds, I am even finding reasons to rejoice and celebrate in this desert of loneliness, isolation, abandonment, and exhaustion.

Somewhere in the Bible, it says that God will never give you more than you can handle. I've wondered how close to the limit He is willing to go (since I am pretty sure we've gotten right up to that line more than once), but as my journey continues, one lesson stands out above the rest; God can be trusted. Knowing I can trust the God of my salvation brings a comfort I can't explain. Do I wish this sojourn in the desert was over? Yes, definitely. But will I trade what God has been doing in my life, what He has been teaching me for a shortcut to a beautiful oasis and an end to the lessons? No! I do not want short-circuit God's plan for me, or miss out on what I will learn about Him along the way. Life, I am learning, is much more about the journey than the destination.

Journey through the desert

The last year has been long and difficult. It started with sickness; it ended with sickness. Isolation; journeying alone in the darkness of fatigue, disappointment, and discouragement. Failure, or perceived failure, perseverance, footprints in the sand.

Not every day has been filled with sand and dust. Simple pleasures and small successes; redefining success. Lowering expectations. Again. Seeing God's hand amidst the dunes, finding a quiet oasis of rest and refreshment.

Mothering was never my dream. Africa, medicine, evangelism, saving lives. Those were my aspirations. All sacrificed on the altar of obedience, though not willingly or completely. Taking up my cross daily, by changing diapers, wiping noses, teaching (unsuccessfully, it seems) reading, writing, arithmetic; teaching my children God's laws as we rise up, and when we fall down. Battling to focus on what is truly important instead of what the world values; helping my children do the same.

Finding gifts where they've never been before. Choosing to embrace gifts never expected or desired. Celebrating through tears.

Jesus spent time in the desert. He understands this journey, even if I don't. The lesson I am learning: trust. The gift; leaning on the everlasting arms, rediscovering true success and ultimate joy.

This journey is not over. I've only taken the first step. But if a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, at least I'm on my way.