My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

“Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable, but they’re never weakness.” -Brene Brown

Courage isn’t comfortable.

Truth isn’t either.

Especially when you have to tell someone and confront something…

This past week- as I said and used and felt and heard “words” I also felt like I was back in Middle School a little bit.

Dealing with irrational people.

Dealing with ridiculous situations.

Giving into Entitled People.

Being Gossiped about.

Being Left Out.

Hurting someone’s feelings because even though I tried, I couldn’t help them.

And feeling like no matter what I said I was placed back in that place where I was up for the part in a Community Theatre play but I didn’t get the part again, because the other girl was the favorite…again.

And let me tell you…While some of the greatest people I met were in Middle School, some of the ugliest were there too.

I was vulnerable. And I showed it. And was embarrassed by it.

I will admit that.

I want to be seen for who I am…but being vulnerable seems weak.

My truth and courage were met with condescending and bias. And I felt defeated.

I still do.

And it’s Sunday which is my hardest day.

But I did a few things this morning. I worked out. I went to church. I helped my kids with their home work. And I thought about something…

I work with Middle Schoolers because they are the coolest kids in the world. They feel everything- and to the extreme…high and low. And I know how they feel…I get it. It is so hard to feel like your voice isn’t being heard, but there is something so real and brave about still using it.

Even when you’re embarrassed.

Even when you’re dealing with mean.

When you use your truth and your courage You learn who the other truth seekers are. You learn who the most courageous people are.

Earlier this year my Jonah was called a horrible name and had a rumor started about him. It was started by people he has been in school with for years and were his childhood friends. One of the most courageous things I have ever seen is him getting out of the car and going to school the next day.

Recently a dear friend has been going through some scary stuff with her child, and has been seeking the truth- not afraid to ask for help, to seek for answers. And her courage is beautiful and unconditional. Even though it has almost broken her- she is so strong.

And this week I saw my son use his truth and courage and while it didn’t work out the way he’d hoped, I will say his character is incredible. I don’t worry about him going to
middle school next year. He has proven so much to me this week.

Each day I am amazed by the grace I have been given to allow myself to find beauty in the vulnerable.

Because there is such beauty in tears and real. There’s beauty in bearing your heart and giving an apology. There’s beauty in the opening your soul to forgiveness.

There’s beauty in doing the right thing…even when you don’t feel brave.

My view in the past year about what it means to be vulnerable has changed…but so has my view of Beauty. Of God. And of Real.

Because crying your mascara off in the shower is not a sign of weakness. It’s just another opportunity to put on mascara again.

Earlier this week I’ve realized I wrote a lot about the power of words…

How one word can break a heart.

How the sound of our laugh can get us detention and we need to know our audience.

How someone can say something to us, and it will sit with us for the rest of our lives.

How it can even define us.

My friend Brit even sent me an article this week all about “how our words matter.” When I was looking back and thinking about this week…I realized that every post really came and spoke to the power of perception and words.

And it wasn’t intentional.

But God is.

Everyday I wonder if I will even have the words to keep writing that day…and then I pray. I have written 31 posts already.

And everyday the words come.

By the Grace of God. A God who is Real.

It’s amazing how the theme was words, because this week I had to use my words for a lot of different reasons…

Because sometimes the lies still come
back into my head on repeat…the lies that tell me I’m a failure. The lies that tell me I’m not doing a good job. That people don’t like me. That I’m annoying. The lies that tell me that no matter what I…will…never…be…enough.

I think it was because a lot of good came
from my words this week- this revolution is reaching people, doors are opening, and I am
being transformed.

By the Grace of God.

But because of the good, the lies seems to grow louder. So I just kept tried to drown them out by just using my own words…to
check in with friends, to pray with friends, at work, on here.

Words are powerful.

I had to use my words this week to confront a situation with one of my kids, and then another.

And then I heard words were used against me. I have always hated gossip, but when
I’ve done something wrong I have owned up
to it and while I’ve hated it- I know it happens. This wasn’t the case. And the powerful part of gossip is it lets us use our words to taint a situation. Which is all sorts of cruel. Because you can make someone look however you want.

And they aren’t there.

But those words- say more about you than me.

Which is why I allowed myself one good cry yesterday, then another one later, and allowed myself five minutes to ask all the questions that had began to bring self doubt into my mind.

I wasn’t defensive. I wasn’t regretful. I owned every word.

Because all the words I spoke were intentional and thought about…

And that’s when it hit me…our words are powerful BUT our intention behind them is what makes them bring joy, sorrow, and break someones spirit.

Our words show our true colors, because our intentions carry weight behind them.

It’s why multiple friend have said I don’t pray like a Catholic…which is a total generalization. But I understood what they meant- there is intention behind my words.

I strive every single day to have a living faith. I am not perfect, and can be thoughtless– but I don’t use my words to be passive aggressive or condescending, or even sarcastic. Because the intention behind those words are to hurt and offend, and to make someone feel stupid.

When we say things to just placate someone or to prove a point, or to assert our own agenda all we do is divide.

Our intentions behind our words…

End marriages. End friendships. End careers. Cause discord and brokenness. It’s why people leave church’s and die with hearts full of bitter sadness.

That’s why our words matter so much.

That’s why our real matters so much.

We need to look at our intentions and our actions…really look.

Not rationalize.

Not make excuses.

But own them.

As I looked at this past week and my words- I can say every word was intentional…

I hurt one of my children’s feelings because I said something in anger, and later apologized because when I said it, I knew it would hurt him.

But I owned it. And he forgave me.

By the Grace of God.

I told someone how much they inspired me, how they continue to allow their children to live- keeping their Dads life alive after three years without him…I cried. And I meant every word.

They live. And so does he- in their amazing ways of honoring him.

By the Grace of God.

And I stood up for my child.

And I always will.

By the Grace of God.

If only we would finish reading this…and with intention do something, anything with the action of our powerful words.

“I am so proud of you.”

“I love you.”

“I am so sorry.”

“You are beautiful.”

“I thank God for you everyday.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“Hey God…I know it’s been a while…”

Mark my intentional words…You will be amazed what you can do.

Because our words are powerful.

But our Intentions can change the World.

By the Grace of God.

(Joyful Mysteries note: our guest writer today and I met when I was 7 years old…she had just lost her Dad, and her Mom watched my sister and I after school. It took me years to imagine the impact of what they were going through right then.  But even in their grief they always welcomed us in.  Leah is one of the people I have stayed in touch with over the years, and a lifelong friend.  I equate my childhood and experiences right in line with hers. She taught me how to drive.  She was with me, as I changed my life and met Jesus. She is incredible and I am grateful to her using her words and sharing her real with us.)

Life is                                       !

How do I fill in that great exclamation?  How would others fill in the blank for me?  Am I really living the life I think I am?

Life is precious!

 

Life is a gift!

My precious gift came just before my birthday nearly 13 years ago.  She is my blessing because her coming changed me.  Physically?  You bet!  Emotionally?  You don’t know the depths of a mother’s love until you become one.  Spiritually?  Miracles are all around us, but many times we are blind and cannot see them or deaf and do not hear them.  Intellectually?  Studying philosophy, technology, art and architecture, and theology cannot replace the simplest lessons motherhood brings up.

As a mother you grow an extra layer of everything!  One of protection, love, understanding, trust, and uncertainty to turn to at different occasions.  Uncertainty is the hardest because we let doubt creep in and steal our joy.  Other times that silly bug of comparison slips through and makes us feel unworthy.

My almost teenager has always taught me resilience and flexibility.  She is amazing because she can laugh (even at herself!) in the face of adversity and press forward.

Today and every day we ought to do the same move on, find something good, share a smile, and hope that others see by our actions how we fill in our EXCLAMATION about Life.

Life is…whatever you choose it to be daily!

 

Laying someone to rest is an action, yet emotionally and psychologically it takes distinct and concerted effort to “let go”.  As an eight year old who lost her dad to cancer that “he’s really gone” moment came while doing a simple chore.  It was my turn to set the table for dinner one evening and I grabbed six of everything from the silverware drawer.  My stomach wrenched in a knot when the physical task brought my brain up to speed and I thought, “we’re only five now”.

So simple, but so necessary to allow ourselves to let go a little at a time.  Each cry, laugh or “weep fest” gets us closer to the freedom of letting go.  Sharing stories of those we love with others who also miss them is crucial.  Storytelling is an essential element to keeping our loved ones’ memories alive.

I get sad sometimes to think that my dad didn’t get to be there with us physically at my First Communion, graduations, wedding or the births of the children, but he was there in a powerful, spiritual way.  Way back in 1986 we gained the most dedicated Guardian Angel imaginable.  Believe me!  Some of the accidents my siblings and I have survived and/or avoided are nothing short of miraculous.

Love stronger than we can fathom!  This love is the love we are called to share with every person we come in contact with every day.  It can be extremely difficult to do because we do not always agree with those around us.  There are times when we allow our beliefs to affect the love wee show to others.  I do not mean that we have to change our beliefs, but I do mean we MUST love at all costs.  Sometimes it means keeping quiet when we disagree or simply stating our opinions differ, but our love should never waver.  We can show love and prayers of support without agreeing with every specific detail.  Love prays with a clean, non-judgmental heart for the Holy Spirit to guide where we lack knowledge and understanding.

Often times as we share the “truth” to others we assume there is only one road to get where we are going.  I cannot accept that there are never alternate ways to get to the same destination.  In living our truth are we shoving others over the edge of doubt?  When all they may need is a smile or a hand to hold reassuring them that they will be okay if they keep seeking the direction the Holy Spirit calls them.

Sometimes our actions need to be what speaks louder than our words.  If it is time to speak then I say seek the same Holy Spirit for guidance.

The Holy Spirit guided my truth today. By helping me share previous pain that has taught me invaluable lessons and brought me to the place where I stand at this time.

Remember my precious gift?  Well, when I announced her coming into our lives and received “not-so-loving” comments or advice from some people close to me I was crushed.  I thought back to all my former convictions: true love waits, my desire to be a nun in college, and talks I heard growing up about “saving that special locket”, which symbolizes me giving myself to my husband on our wedding night and I felt defeated.  In that moment of defeat I realized why some women choose to abort a child because people treat you awful even those that claim to be “trying to help” by quoting the Catechism or telling you a Justice of the Peace wedding is not acceptable.

I am here to say that true love did wait and it just wasn’t picture perfect in the eyes of the Church or certain people.  That is okay with me because I still love many things about the Church and the people that didn’t support me in the way I needed to be supported are in my prayers.  It has taken me many years to rediscover who I am as a woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend, but I am worth the wait.  My story is important and each of us must go out and share our own even if it only helps one person realize they are good and loved today…DO IT!

Life is Precious. Life is a Gift.

This is my Gift.

-Leah lives in North Texas with her husband and three children, but will always consider herself a Northwest Girl at Heart! Leah enjoys teaching Kindergarten, training Teachers to help Students with Handwriting, and tutors anyone who wants to learn Spanish and/or Handwriting.

Watching her grow up breaks my heart a little each day.

When she was born and she was lifted out of me, they put her next to my face and I took in all her features. And watched as she took in all mine. I had just met her, and yet…she had always been there.

She had always been a part of me.

Everyone said she’d be a tomboy.

If being a tomboy means your favorite color is glitter, you change multiple times a day, and your favorite sport is “singing and twirling…” She is SO a tomboy.

This little light of mine…You are My sunshine…Dancing Queen…She.

Songs that sum up just a teeny bit of what it feels like to know her. To love her.

And it breaks my heart a little bit to see her grow up. To let her go each day.

When she was six months she got sick the first time. Really sick. And we spent the next month getting tests and she was diagnosed.

And of course it was her kidneys. Because her sister had kidney issues. She died in my womb of kidney issues.

But Grace was very much alive. But also very sick. She had medicine and a specialist. She had a pediatrician who loved her.

And she had a Mom who was terrified to lose another daughter.

A daughter who I saw in every pink tulip. In every little wispy haired girl.

A girl who would be three, four, and now 10.

No one said it, but a lot thought Grace would replace Mary.

But you can’t replace one child with another. You can’t fill a crevice of grief or a place that is meant just for that child.

Each of my children hold a different part of me. I have five children.

So I sat and stared and worried. They told me she’d outgrow it hopefully and I prayed and prayed she would.

She wasn’t growing. My tiny dancer. She had so many kidney infections.

But then when she turned five, she started to grow a little. We did a trial and took her off her medicine and she didn’t have any outbreak Kidney infections. She has not had one for 16 months!!!!

God is good.

But still I worry. And the focus has changed from her health to her heart…her spirit.

Because Grace knows what it’s like to be sick, really sick, she is full of life. She fills up the room with a joy so big and her perspective is beautiful.

BIG

Everything about her is big. Her personality. Her voice. Her tantrums. Her stubbornness. Her amazing way of knowing how exactly to get to her brothers at the exact moment. But the big way she always knows how to melt them. Her imagination is big. Everything about Grace is big.

Except that she is still very tiny. So big and still so small.

Her heart is the biggest part.

She shares her joy freely and openly. She invites you in and wants you to see the amazing in everything.

Her heart is big and beautiful.

And someone will break it someday.

Tell her she needs to change.

Tell her that she is not enough.

Because the years pass quicker than we think.

Yesterday it seemed Jonah was 6…now he is a teenager.

I lost her sister yesterday it seems…and yet she’d be 10.

I’m afraid of what they will say to steal the sparkle from her eyes.

Because words are so powerful. They can build and break in seconds…

One word.

Fat.

Ugly.

Annoying.

Stupid.

Retard.

Dog.

Fag.

Bitch.

Slut.

Words that steal sparkle. Words that steal life. Words that I have heard. Names I’ve been called.

Words banned from my house.

Bullies come in all shapes and sizes. And I pray every day that God protects her and that all the fighting she did keeps her head up and her heart intact…or that her brothers are near by.

Bullies. All they need is one word.

But so do her Dad and her brothers who said these words to describe her…along with me.

Amazing.

Lovely.

Kind.

Beautiful.

Precious.

Beloved.

Blessing.

Fighter.

Brave.

Light.

Vivacious.

Strong.

Fun.

Awesome.

Energetic.

Optimist.

Spunky.

My Grace is absolute sunshine. And is the strongest person I’ve ever met.

I used to worry how she would do not having her sister…but I know Mary is with her every single day. Because Grace talks about her like she’s right there- and she probably is, whispering all the things I say to her when she sleeps…”you are precious, you are beloved, you are amazing. You are so loved.”

Dyp used to say he thought Grace would unzip and climb back in me if she could…because next to me is where she is most at home.

And she probably still would.

But just like her sister, and her brothers, she came into the world a part of me. So familiar because she’d always been there.

It breaks my heart…because there she is.

My Grace. My heart.

Growing, changing. This little light of mine.

A part of me. I’ve gotta let her shine.

Home.

Please God let her shine, let her shine, let her shine.

(Ps when we put her to bed she was in PJ’s, when I woke her up…she was in a cat costume. Pretty Standard)

I asked. You answered.

Confidence.

We all need a little extra.

Whether it’s about the day to day –carpool, going back to school, heading back to the gym, in finishing a project we’ve been working on for years.

Or in the big stuff…We’re not confident in our self image, in your recovery from surgery, in how people view us and our parenting.

Confidence is such a tricky thing.

I know I don’t have enough…I read all your words and I related to each one of them.

We all have a checklist and if most of us don’t reach it…we search outside.

We look for confidence with angles we take from our cameras…trick the light. Angles that show sexy and are just right. And we wait. We wait for the outside world to tell us what we long to hear.

You are beautiful.

Damn, you look good.

Hot.

We write about our size, and how much we sweat and lost. We show pictures of it. Again angles that make us look better, thinner, different. And wait for the outside to tell us what we long to hear again.

You’re Amazing!

I could never look like you.

Hot.

We show pictures of our children with their hair cut and clean, light hiding the peanut butter dripping off their chin, and holding up their award for being child of the decade.

But…

But this Revolution has been eye opening to me about the Truth behind what we are searching for…

And it’s not anything you will hear from anyone who sees your life boxed up and pretty…without flaw. Without real.

Most of us, including me, used to look at those filtered lives and wish…

I wish I could look like that.

Be like that.

Parent like that.

But then I look closer. At myself.

And I choose not to compare.

I look down. At my stretch marks and my real curves. Curves that are adored by people that see me daily unfiltered. I don’t post my workouts because I’m too busy enjoying them.

And I admit it, I like when my kids have clean cut hair…I may actually love them a teeny bit more.

Does that make me superficial? No. That make me real.

I have been so inspired by the people who have stepped up and showed their real since we started this.

You keep reminding me why I started this project. Why I felt called to this revolution. And there are so many of you who email me and send me messages in private and tell me your real that doesn’t make it on here. I am so honored that this has impacted you.

It is changing me.

So Here’s to You…the real.

You may not feel confident today…but you are braver than you will ever know.

And I’m just gonna say:

Brave is the New Sexy. (Pretty sure it’s a scientific fact I just made up.)

And when you see my picture you’ll know why- because Morning Me is Super Sexy. 😉

I love the Unboxed Real You.

Romans 5:5

I don’t remember a lot about last year.

It’s called the fog. I’ve mentioned it before.

When you are in it, days go by, and then months, and somedays you can’t sleep, and somedays all you want to do is sleep…and you can’t see through it.

It’s murky and consuming.

It’s as if you are parked in the middle of a dark parking lot and even with your brights on all you can see is fog surrounding you.

When it lifts, it’s amazing all the feelings you can feel…

Sun resting across the bridge of your nose, and on your bare shoulders.

Trees brushing against a window at night, and goose bumps climbing your arms as you startle.

Crying because something makes you so happy you want to giggle and sob at the same time, and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

In the fog I was sedated by a numbing feeling when I wasn’t being consumed by anxiety and sadness. I could go from numb to despair in seconds, but joy…joy was something I had to try to choose.

I’d repeat to myself…”Choose Joy.”

Choose Joy.

Fake Joy. Smile so they don’t know. Hide so they don’t notice.

But when the fog lifted, I didn’t really have to choose…it just came, and I would touch my cheeks to remind myself that this is real.

I am Feeling this. Right now. I didn’t have to choose…I just got to be…right here.

In this Moment.

Feeling Joy. Knowing Joy.

I have a good friends. Friends who stood by me when I wasn’t a good friend. Friends who tried to pull me out of the fog and when my feet wouldn’t move, they stood next to me and prayed. They waited.

They never moved.

Today was a day when the fog made the air crisp and chilled to the bone. I saw and talked to some of these friends. I emailed with some. They looked at me, answered me, wrote to me, and I knew hearts were heavier than normal…

I felt it. I knew.

Anxiety.

Sadness.

Loss.

Grief.

Regret.

Uncertainty.

Helplessness.

So tangible were their feelings on the surface, in their words, in their eyes, and I knew that nothing I could say would bring comfort.

This is where their feet stand right now.

There are times when we don’t understand the way things and life have been laid out in front of us. We can’t see beyond what we are feeling at that moment. And it’s painful. And it’s real. It’s our right now.

And as a friend I want to fix and fill, I want to make the gaps and sadness go away. I want to lift the fog. But I can’t.

So I pray.

I am right beside you. Praying.

I give you my hand and my promise, that while I can’t take your right now away, I will never leave.

I can’t fill the holes, and I can’t promise things will get better…but I believe that God is taking care of you. And I pray that today you find comfort, grace, and healing wherever you are. Right now.

I am here. Praying.

I’m not moving.

I don’t know when your fog will clear, but I promise when it does, there will a moment when you won’t have to pretend, or choose, or carry, and you will realize what you are feeling is hope.

And hope never disappoints…

Today.

Always.

I don’t remember a lot about last year.

But today I stood outside.

The fog was heavy with a chill. I stood outside without a coat and I shivered. I hugged myself, and took a moment to inhale and feel the cold air enter my lungs. I took some extra time to exhale and enjoy that moment of feeling every single thing. And then I got back in the car where a little girl put her face next to mine. And I memorized the way her eyelashes looked and her eyes glisten and knew…last year I may have been in a fog- but I will never forget this moment.

I will remember today.

A few weeks ago Jonah got lunch detention and cleaning duty.

He got in the car in a huff and talked about how the whole class was out of control in Science and the entire class got served with Lunch Detention.
To top it off Jonah laughed at a friends joke and along with two other boys got lunch detention the day after that with cleaning duty.

“And I wasn’t even the one doing it. I just laughed! I mean another kid was putting glue in someone’s hair! And they didn’t get anything!!!” He told us at dinner, expecting a big dose of sympathy.

And he was surprised when we didn’t offer one. Instead we broke down why he would be apologizing the next day.

1. The class was out of control.
2. The Teacher had already given them all detention.
3. And you laughed knowing she was at her limit.

Know your Audience…
And learn to be accountable.
The earlier you learn that the better off you are.

My kids are never going to have parents who only see the sunshine glistening in their hair. They aren’t perfect and we expect to treat others with respect.

We adore them, but we also see them…they are beautiful, and flawed.

Of course that doesn’t mean they don’t stick up for themselves and that doesn’t mean we expect them to sit back and let people walk all over them…but we do expect them to apologize when they are in the wrong.

But it’s hard because the older my kids get the more kids I meet who are being raised to expect respect but not necessarily give it.

It’s a dangerous combination.

There are two kind of parents I’ve met- those who only see the good, and those who see the real. It’s great to see the good, I love the good and messy of life but we need to teach our kids to lead.

We need to see who our kids are becoming and who they really are, right now.

We are the Leaders. We need to teach our kids to say Sorry. Teach them to respect their bodies and others. Teach them to say No. Teach them to trust their instincts. And to never keep secrets from us and live with them hidden.

Teach them to know their Audience.

Our world is wide open these days with social media and outlets that don’t give privacy…they need to protect themselves and each other by knowing that their audience may be much bigger than they ever realized. We need to check all their social media and texts. And we need to limit them…too much is the reason too many adults play video games in excess still…which is well, dumb. And don’t even get me started in the over saturated horror of porn and what else is available when you have a smart phone. Again limit them- and screens.

Life is for living…they need to seeing us looking up and living!

We need to be their guides to how to be a good friend. To be kind. To Share. But also to not always be the only one to be kind and share. That friendship is a two way street, and should never be one sided. That a good friend doesn’t ignore you or talk about you badly. A good friend lets you have other friends. And it is never ever ok to be bullied or to be a bully.

We also need to shelter them…we need to help them choose age appropriate music and clothes, we need to keep them sheltered from scary shows and shows that expose them to too much. And steer them clear Michael Moore and Rush Limbaugh and agenda based folks. We need to shelter them from family drama, and fighting, because they process things differently…and need to know they have a safe place. We should be their safe place.

They are our Audience.

We also need to tell them the hard stuff, and process the hard stuff with them. Because they need reassurance even when they seem resilient. They still need us. Especially when they act like they don’t. And they need God, we need to show them our faith Lived. We are their guides!

They are watching. Observing.

We need to give them real role models, ones that aren’t in a sports uniform or on a reality show, or who used to star on a Disney Show, but people we know, people who live heroically daily. Like Doctors and Police, like Fire Fighters and Paramedics, and those in the armed forces. These people don’t need a million followers on Instagram and You Tube because they are out living heroically…they don’t need an audience.

…the next day Jonah went in and apologized and did two days of detention. And since then I’ve heard him twice say to his siblings when they’ve gotten in trouble, “Know your audience.”

I’m sure it’s not the last time we’ll have this talk, but I do know he’s listening. So I’ll keep trying as long as they’re listening…

Because I want to Know My Audience.

I want to see the good. And see the real.

Because that’s love.

The last two days I’ve been taking a class to be certified to teach at my gym. I have taken the class before, but so many years have went by.

Have I ever told you I have never been a good test taker?

I have never been a good test taker.

I have always struggled in school.

I can write things, and demonstrate things in front of people- so practical tests are ok- in fact what I don’t say correctly I can typically still pull off.

But multiple choice…true or false…fill in the bubble? Yeah? No.

I was trying to think back to when I started to struggle. But I don’t ever remember a time school was easy. I always had to work harder than others. It never came naturally when it came to book work, seat work. I loved to read and so I made up for things that way. And I was a good kid, so typically I fell under the radar. Teachers didn’t realize how much I struggled. How much anxiety I had about simple math problems. How I’d nod and they’d think I got it, when really I had no idea at all.

And then High School came- I had a couple
of teachers who said some pretty hard things to me and impacted me a great deal. One who saw how much I struggled said “you’ll never get into a college. Have another plan.” And another said pretty much the same thing. So I started to see what I believed they saw, a failure. I stopped trying so hard, and started thinking “what good am I going to do? They are the experts. They don’t think I can so why should I?”

I was so jealous of my friends who didn’t struggle, who didn’t know what it was like to study all night and have the words jump up and swim in front of their eyes. Who had never studied all night to see an F on the front of their science paper.

And then my Junior year came and I had four teachers who looked at Me. Not a test score. AT ME! Two English teachers, a Photography teacher, and a business teacher. All of them saw something. They encouraged my writing, they read it. One saw my creative side and pushed it. And one, helped me get my associates in business after I told her what my math teacher had said, “Well you just did college work in Business??? And have the paper to show for it. What does he know?!”

But I still had that nagging feeling that I’d never amount to much. Because I may never have “the” degree…

And I wasn’t smart enough.

There was also the fact that I knew my parents couldn’t afford to send me to a four year school. They were both working part time so that one of them could be with my little sisters, and My mom was getting her Counseling degree.

(Mom, do not, I repeat, do not feel guilty*you’ll see why)

Scholarships at my school didn’t go to kids like me…I didn’t have the grades or the talent.

I was faced with this defeating reality…because it wasn’t a possibility.

So I decided I would become a massage therapist because I knew that it didn’t cost so much and I could swing it.

But. But.

I loved Theatre. And I loved Writing.

My dream school didn’t give a lot of scholarships. And I wasn’t going to be a famous actress…or afford it at anytime…so I had to shelve that.

So I went and did youth ministry for a year.

And I decided massage school wasn’t for me right then…

I moved out of state.

I enrolled in a Community College to become a Middle School teacher and major in English and Theatre. And I did really well. In fact I was on the Presidents list, twice.

I started my own drama ministry company.

I made great friends. I lived in the same town as my love after two years a part.

I worked full time and paid my rent and for school…I didn’t have the typical college experience. But I had a roommate who made me laugh, and teachers that were invested.

In college they figured out I had a learning disability…in math. Something that no one had ever looked into before.

And life, not school, but life was happening. I was in love and had a job at a nursing home I loved. And family that I missed but talked to daily.

I got married, and went back to school. Then our house burned down(another post).

And I got pregnant, and decided to buy a house.

So I worked full time with Middle Schoolers, and was carrying a baby and school wasn’t an option for us.

And I was okay with that. My life path was different.

And totally blessed.

Fast forward 12 years…if you’ve read my blog for a while you know that I went back to school a year ago. Massage School, and I was so excited. But the workload was huge for any person, and for a Mom with four kids, too much. And as much as I studied I didn’t do well on tests. On hard days of studying I would daydream about my graduation and how my family would come and everyone would be proud. So proud.

Still. I hadn’t changed.

I was still me.

And it brought back all these insecurities. I would see my friends, my age who went back to school and had an amazing experience and feel that envy of how can you? Why can’t I?

After a term I said Uncle.

Because I was already doing what I wanted, being a Mom, writing, and working at a job I enjoy…

But even though I stopped, I began to give into all these feelings of being uncertain again, like a failure. We were at a graduation and I began to feel really sad, and anxious, because I never knew that feeling. And wasn’t smart enough to.

And I started being really self conscious that people would realize that I wasn’t smart.

And weren’t proud of who I was.

But one of my closest friends has a doctorate in Math and asked me to be her daughters godmother…and when I spent a weekend with them, I never ever got the feeling she didn’t respect or think I wasn’t on her level.
I love her, not because of her education but because when we talk –we just get each other, and love each other. And while she has helped Jonah with a math problem over the phone, her education doesn’t even hold a candle to the beauty she brings into this world as a mother and as a friend. And her students are blessed because she sees the person first and is the best sort of teacher.

It seems like the more real I am- the more I see where I have placed expectations on myself, and placed my self worth in what I thought they needed to be in…

My body.
My education.

But really, truly, the people I respect and whose stories are the most are precious to me, are not because of their education or bodies, but are the people who loved the most. They changed the most through their love. Through their resilience. Through their faith.

Mother Teresa.
Louis Zamperini.
My Grandma.
St. Maximillion Kolbe.

Because there’s something you can only get by seeing and loving the whole person.

In their real. In their broken. In their poverty.

*You see while my parents couldn’t afford to send me to a four year school, they gave me something else. All growing up, we gave Christmas to a family who lived in a one room house. They worked in the Orchards and lived in a home with no running water and a wood stove. When we would go there, even though we thought we didn’t have a lot, we realized how incredibly blessed we were by so much. They would make us tamales and we would sit and enjoy time with them. And I knew if I was cold, they would give me a blanket. Even though they had nothing, they would keep me warm.

And that gave me so much more than I could have ever taken from any class.

And my Dad who never went to college, is the most resilient person I know…and is always learning. He knows more about Lewis and Clark than Lewis and Clark knew about themselves.

He taught me that we have to always fight and keep going, and never stop learning and changing.

Today, my little family has adopted families, and continue to ask God how we can give more and to who. And I see my kids becoming aware of the needs of others and really seeing people for their soul.

I have realized that if my kids want to go to College which I hope they do, great. But if a God is calling them to something different I hope they serve others. I hope I have passed that on to them, the calling to serve. As long as they never give up. As long as they keep learning.

But still…once in a while it hits me that I may not be worthy because I don’t have a degree. Two weeks ago I sat in my counseling appointment and said something to that regard and my counselor stopped me, and asked me to repeat myself.

And then asked me to say it again. And actually looked shocked.

He asked me this question, “Do you, Kristin think you are smart?”

And there it was. Those words. The words that I have said to myself for years that I haven’t admitted to anyone. Because I haven’t thought I was.

“If only you were smart…”

And I told him that.

And he began to unfold my life and the past year…the things I have done, and overcome. And how I spent last year taking care of someone and kept them alive. How My kids have thrived. How Friends call me to listen to their son’s breathing, and to ask for what they should do with the stomach flu. How I speak to men and women every week about being healthy and encourage them in their health, and watch them transform! He reiterated…I have been doing with what God tells me, and living and giving with all my being. And that makes me who I am. Who is more than worthy.

Period.

I took my certification test yesterday and passed. Which was a big deal.

A really big deal.

Because I’m not a good test taker.

But then I came home, and ate dinner with my family and we talked about adopting a family from a different country. And then we went and prayed in front of a friends house. And I texted a friend who is eight months pregnant with her fourth, and needed a little encouragement. I read to my daughter. I fell into bed and slept really well.

This morning I woke up…

I lay in bed and thought about my life. And really thought what I want to define me.

I don’t have to prove anything.

Because the life I am creating is beautiful. I
am raising good kids, who are smart but also interested in a million other things. I am
Married to the smartest person I’ve ever met who treats a heroin addict the same as he treats a DA. My friends are my friends because they are beautiful human beings.

I am good enough. Worthy enough.

So I’m not a good tester taker.

I may never go back to School.

Does that make me less worthy?

My path may be different. But it’s my path. And I know that my life experience has taught me more than I could ever have learned in any classroom. I have a life I am grateful for, and an associates in Business I may never use.

I will never stop learning and growing.

This past year I took the hardest test of my life.

And survived. And I passed. I lived through it.

If people find my self worth to be less…that says more about them than me.

Because It doesn’t matter.

What matters is living a worthy life.

A beautiful real worthy life.

Today…I am really tired.

That’s real life.  That’s my Today. So my Real today will be short and simple.

I am humbled and grateful for every single one of you that reads, and comments, and supports this Revolution of Real.

Thank you for joining me.

Thank you for sharing your real.

My prayer for you, wherever you are at, tonight, is that you find Rest in who you are right now.  In your Sadness. In your Happiness. In your Grief.  In Your family. In your Poverty.  In Your Home.  In your Faith. In your Reflection. In your Real.

Your Life Matters.  So much.

And you are loved…So much.

If you want to watch a great Documentary that has been influential in our family  and in our conversation watch “One Dollar a Day” on Netflix…worth watching.

Everyone Matters.  You Matter.

(Joyfulmysteries Note…Every Friday will be a guest writer writing their real. I will not always reveal who wrote it for the protection of their family and their circumstances, so today’s writer will remain anonymous…but I will have you know that this is an Amazing Person.  And I feel incredibly honored that they chose to share Their Real Today. Per the writer’s request, please do not comment any advice on this post, I will delete it.  The only thing I will keep is words of love, and I ask you to pray for my Friend and be there for One another in Every Real Phase of our Lives.)

Happy 2015…one can hope.

Not even three years ago, I got married to the love of my life.  10 months and 13 days later, our precious boy was born.  Life was perfect.  The whole pregnancy was ridiculously easy…down to the epidural lady telling me “you have an athlete’s back” while poking a giant needle in my spine.  Our wee babe was born with all his fingers and toes and aced his Apgar test.  T’was bliss times a million.

Then came 2013.  Our sweet boy was perfect but suffered tremendously with chronic constipation.  I know that a lot of parents survive a lot scarier in terms of their kids but every day that our wee lad wouldn’t “go” was another day of horror and I was unable to do anything to relieve his pain.  And don’t say (insert recommendation) here.  WE TRIED EVERYTHING.  Finally, after his 4^th month, a kind doctor prescribed Miralax.  Nearly overnight, our super fussy infant became a joy.  Praise God for giving someone(s) the smarts to develop such a miracle poop-inducing powder.

It was about that time when we discovered that we were expecting a sibling for our dear boy.  I was elated!  Irish twins!  It meant our kids would be less than a year apart and so never not know life without each other in it.  It meant that they would always have someone by their side and who had their back.  It meant that I would get another shot at the first 4 months of infancy and have the mom skills to fight harder for what I knew my baby needed.  It meant I would get to try again to breastfeed but not be as devastated if I couldn’t.  It meant a whole new set of challenges that I couldn’t even wrap my brain around.  Mostly, it meant another sweet little face to kiss, another little body to cradle, another blessed life to be so incredibly thankful for.  A few days before Mother’s Day…I started spotting and we found out days later that our #2 precious babe was already in heaven.  About a week later, Blaise Nicholas (Nicholas because he was due on St. Nick’s Day) was buried at the Catholic cemetery and we picked out a beautiful gravestone for him.  It was the only thing I ever got to pick out for him so I wanted it to be perfect.  I still can’t believe how much I miss him.  This is a grief I can’t describe and it changes me every day.

Months went by and I cried a lot.  I sincerely tried to keep thinking of Blaise so happily praying for us surrounded by the angels & saints.  I tried to console myself with the thought of being able to lend a sympathetic ear to anyone who had ever lost a baby.  I became keenly aware of how all life is a miracle, so fragile and so taken for granted.  I loved our sweet little man even more fiercely.  And I counted that as the greatest gift of Blaise…that I would not ever take his life for granted.  But every time I lost my patience, or failed to “know” what he needed, or wasn’t perfect in any way…I would chalk them up as reasons why God didn’t let us keep Blaise.  And it ate at my soul.  It still does.

But I prayed that God would give us another chance.  And in November, we found out that #3 was due in July.  YAYYYY!!!  So excited but nervous.  We went and had an early ultrasound, all of us as a family.  What a relief when we saw a strong heart beating!  It was December 18^th.  We got to celebrate our big boy’s 1^st birthday and Christmas in complete bliss and with a tremendous hope for this new life.  Just after the new year (the year that shant be mentioned), I started spotting.  And I knew.   I begged God to let me keep her as I watched her life drip and then pour from my body.   I begged God to let the doctors be right when at 3 separate visits to the hospital, they said nothing was wrong.  I begged God to let my husband be right when he said I shouldn’t worry because the doctors were right.  On the 4^th visit to the hospital, we found out that baby #3 joined her brother Blaise in heaven, her life had ended weeks earlier sometime just after we saw her in the ultrasound in December.  We named her Clare Elizabeth and buried her next to her brother.  Because of how difficult it was to have Blaise at home, we elected to go thru what we needed to at the hospital.  That was an epic nightmare (I’ll spare you but in case you ever need to know…most hospitals have to comply with your requests on how to deal with your baby’s remains).  I was still trying to cope from losing Blaise, but losing Clare…especially after seeing her beautiful heart beating…  I am angry that God would give me such hope and then steal it away.  My already broken heart shattered into a million pieces.

The rest of “the year” was a blur.  Our too little family moved half-way across the country away from all family and friends.  We had two more miscarriages, both very early – just enough to get my hopes/fears up.  I can’t even approach dealing with those losses yet.  I’ve had a multitude of tests and I was diagnosed with a few things and eventually had surgery.  My handsome husband’s back has gotten so bad that he can no longer do the career he is trained for…or any of the physical activities he so much enjoys.  Our bodies have taken a beating but my spirit is wreckage.  I am weak and broken, so much so that I can’t bear to hope that God has better things for us this year.  Nearly every month of the year now has either a miscarriage date or a due date of a baby that I long to hold.  Most days feel as though the reasons for grieving have greatly outnumbered the causes for joy.  I’m stuck and unable to hold it together anymore.  I cry every day and often when I’m not expecting it.  One neighbor in particular seems to catch the waterfalls nearly every time I see her.  I loathe every bathroom we’ve ever had in our three homes because they are all places of death for me.  My period coming is not only a reminder that I’m not pregnant but a small reenactment of the loss of my 4 kids.  It’s hard to make friends when all your energy is spent on not falling apart.  I have become so focused on faking it until I make it that I can’t even engage in a conversation most of the time.  I’m afraid I’m going crazy.

I used to be that person that was sincerely joyful all the time, just in knowing God’s love for me.  I grieve not only losing my four sweet babes, but having lost myself.

I’m angry at God and find it almost impossible to pray.  I’m so tired of crying.  I’ve lamented to Him that the cross was nothing compared to knowing that my babies have died within me and feeling that my womb is a tomb.  My consolation is that even Jesus cried out in His abandonment.

I hate that this is my story.  HATE.

And yet…I have a little man who makes me laugh and smile, who giggles when I make faces and sings ridiculous songs with me.  A little man who is growing up so fast (too fast) but still smooshes his face into mine as he’s going to sleep, just for a few more kisses to add to the 1000’s I’ve already given him.  He is perfect and I have a bright, shining, beautiful, full of life reminder that God still loves me.  All the time.  Open the eyes of my heart Lord.

So with what little energy I have left, I’m seeking help.  I’m turning to people who have skills beyond my grasp to lift me out of this darkness that has only gotten increasingly murky.  I’m praying for hope.  I’m praying that I can trust God with my heart and my desires again.  I’m praying for my joy to be restored.  For my boy’s sake, for husband’s sake…and for me.

2015 – my Easter year.  Please Jesus.

Create in me a clean heart O God,

And renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from Thy presence,

Take not Thy Holy Spirit from me.

Restore unto me the joy of my salvation,

And renew a right spirit within me.