My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

Did you know 10 years ago I lost 87 lbs? I probably told you about it, because after I lost it I gained a few things. I gained healthy eating habits. I gained a job and the opportunities that came with helping others change their lives. I gained an absolute love of exercise.

But about a year ago something happened.

I gained some weight back. I hadn’t changed my eating. I hadn’t changed my exercise. But what did happen, was my life changed. Stress began to weigh down on every part of my life and I gained 12 lbs that I had lost and kept off for years. It happened over night. The doctor called it a rise in Cortisol from stress related weight gain.

And it gave me no consolation. Because I’m a doer, not an excuser(is that a word?). But something else began to happen. I started down this path of self doubt. Even with everything I know. Especially with everything I know.

It doesn’t seem like a lot but it is when your clothes don’t fit. It is when it was the one thing I felt like I was really good at. And people are SO focused on weight. They want to praise it, and really it’s great, but it’s not when you’re struggling. It’s not when you just want people to love you because you are good and kind.

But I want to look good too.

I know…super pride here I come!

And it wasn’t as if I was one of those super fit, short shorts, half shirt, leave nothing to the imagination selfie takers.

Those people are annoying. But I also think they don’t love themselves either. Not the way they should. Not for why they are beautiful.

So I wasn’t a Yummy Mummy…

I was still me. With translucent skin, and spider veins, and saggy boobs, and stretch marks…but I fit into my clothes and I don’t care about those other things. The only person who needs to think I’m hot- is the man who has loved me most when I was a leaky breast- post baby- saggy hot mess.

So a Slummy Mummy, who was really ok with that.

But for me…I felt like last year, or what I will now call “the year which will not be mentioned” with all my learning, and growing, and being about as cracked as Humpty Dumpty- that maybe that part of me now should be bouncing back together again.

But it hasn’t.

And I hate it.

Because I’m different now. Not just with the weight. But on the inside. In my heart.
And I’m trying to figure out how when I started picking up the pieces, and God started healing me, that I forgot to remember how I used to be.

I don’t want to be so insecure. And I don’t want to still have such low days. I don’t want feel out of place at social functions. Or be so aware of what people think of me.

I just want to be me…again. With my clothes that fit.

But maybe. This is the real me. Now. I’m still getting to know her- but maybe she is the true in my skin, version of me. And I don’t know if I’m ok with that.

And yet…even with all my “don’t wants” I am realizing that I don’t want to be the one to try all the time, like I used to. I don’t want to be taken advantage of or waste my time with people who don’t really know me, or don’t even care to know the real me. Could I be both?

God…loves me. Even this new, still healing, still cracked open version of me. I am still a child of God. I’m still trying, moving, searching for his will in every facet of my life. Because he finds me worthy.

I’ve said it before but I was a damned good
mom before I lost my weight. And I still am.

I was a damned good wife as well.

But these self doubts were built over a life time of questioning whether I would ever be good enough. I remember as early as first grade, wondering if I was good enough. I remember being totally aware of how I didn’t always get things that others got. That I didn’t always understand how the other girls played, or how to react when they were mean. I was aware. That I stood out. That maybe I didn’t fit in. Early self doubt. Was I ever going to be good enough? Beautiful enough? Smart enough?

Especially for those I love…

Worthy enough.

Worth. It.

Oh…how my God…loves me. Today he loved me through a text from my friend Steph. A long time ago she and I were talking about the weight I had lost and she said she couldn’t imagine me having to lose that much weight. So randomly today I was cleaning and found a picture and texted it to her…

She texted back four powerful worlds…

You are still beautiful.

And It was as if the text came from heaven, because my day had been filled with all the doubts and don’t wants, and regrets about me. Who I was. Who I am. Today.

But my God…he loves who I am today.

You are still beautiful.

So, maybe I lost some of me in the year that shall not be mentioned.

But what did I gain?

I gained more Faith than I ever knew was possible.

I gained the knowledge of who was there and who my real friends are.

I gained a new-version of Me. And I think the little girl in the picture…the little girl in the dress her Mommy made…bright and bold- but so unsure, would like this me. She might even hold my hand. And walk with me. Because she never imagined her life could contain such beautiful blessings.

I lost so much.

But I gained Real.

I gained so much love.

When I started this whole “real” thing I was prepared to be able to share all the beautiful things about my world.

Things like a messy lived in house, which to me is beautiful chaos. Beautiful moments in life and parenting. Beautiful imperfect relationships. Beautifully real people.

What I wasn’t prepared for was being asked to share the real that exposes the unhealthy parts of my life, the still-in-progress, and the ugly. Some days, though, those are the real places that occupy my mind. My heart.

But in order to be real, I kind of need to. In order to start a revolution you have to know your own weaknesses.

Sunday is my hardest day of the week. It has been for a while. The weakest spot of my week.

I don’t know if it’s because its the day the week catches up to me. Or the day I have to look at another week staring at me, full of schedules and commitments.

I should love Sunday.

We go to Church on Sunday. I love Church.

It’s the day “Downton Abbey” is on. I love “Downton Abbey.”

I get to take a nap every Sunday. I love naps.

I get to lead my Youth Group on Sunday. I love my youth group kids.

But for some reason Sunday is…hard. Once in a while I will have a Sunday that is amazing, and it gives me hope that the following week it will be easier. But most Sunday’s are hard. As the afternoon folds into evening it gets easier and by Youth Group, I breathe a sigh of relief because I got through another Sunday.

I heard recently that Sunday has the highest rate of death than any other day of the week…So maybe Sunday is like that for others. Maybe it’s not just me.

Needless to say, today wasn’t an easy day. I had a hard time seeing any beauty, especially in my own faults. And it was a Sunday where I felt like I was watching the world around me, but not quite a part of it. Like I didn’t quite belong.

I knew my love could feel that. He kissed multiple times and hugged me tight to calm my insecurities. To ease my mind. And I felt a tiny squeeze in my heart as I watched my kids, and even in my own struggle know and see a beauty in them that offsets the grey on my heart. Because they are so good. But the grey was there.

The grey that says…

You don’t fit. Anymore.

You aren’t good enough.

You need to forgive.

You need to be.

Better.

More. Together.

Thicker Skinned.

Less. You.

And I do. Need to forgive more. I do need to be more open to change. But I also need to let go of this insecurity that if only I was just a little bit more I would fit better.

In my own skin. In my friendships. In life.

But as I was praying and pondering, and writing this post, I also thought about the powerful way that God loves me. How even on His day, the Lord’s Day, which happens to be my hardest day, that he gave me the safety net of my spouse- who loves me fiercely, and the comfort of my children.

Love is powerful.

As I began to write this post, our Grace laid on our bed and swung her legs.

Back and Forth. Constant motion. Joyously.

And it brought me joy. Because she was happy.

And it came to me…It makes my God happy when I can find an ounce of joy. Even if it’s a tiny tug of Grace, because one little joyful thing, leads to another and another, and suddenly I am looking into my joy filled daughters eyes.

Nose to nose. As she swings her legs.

On a Sunday. At home where I fit. And the grey begins to lift, and I know that being real can be a powerful amazing thing. Especially when it contains the most important part of this revolution. One of Love.

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I drive him crazy. I leave my cell phone volume on silent too often. And miss his calls. I never check my messages.

He drives me crazy. He can’t find his keys when I am getting ready to go somewhere. So together we look for his keys.

I drive him crazy. I love lights. I love to leave them on. The electric company loves me right back. He does not love that.

He drives me crazy. He forgets what I told him about our schedule but remembers every single birthdate of every person he has dealt with at work.

I drive him crazy. I’m always the last one to be ready for church.

He drives me crazy. He hates being late to church.

I drive him crazy. He likes me in sweatshirts and sweats.

He drives me crazy. I make him flex his arms after he lifts.

I drive him crazy. I volunteer too much, but I never stop trying. I’m not a good house keeper, but I keep our family moving. I love well but the laundry is never done.

He drives me crazy. He works harder than any person I’ve ever met, and takes care of us. And never stops loving and being present.

I drive him crazy. I call too much. I text him I love him too much. I make him come back to kiss me goodbye.

He drives me crazy. He will always apologize. He always tries to do better. He can’t stand being mad at each other.

I drive him crazy. I cry over commercials, and won’t allow him to talk when I cut his hair, and I don’t use his razor…anymore.

He drives me crazy. He’ll drop everything to help a friend out. He still whistles at me and makes up songs about his love for me, and even if they aren’t original he still sings them.

I drive him crazy. I am truly madly deeply in love with him after 19 years, 5 months, 9 days and 3 hours.

He drives me crazy. He leaves tulips in the door of my car when I leave work, and when I see his work car pretends he doesn’t see me.

But I know. That he knows. That “this” cannot be taken for granted. This love is a gift that we work hard at, this life that we build is something we have built together. We don’t always get it right, but we stay committed to our lives. To Each-other, and to our God.

I know. He knows.

He drives me crazy.

So maybe you’re just joining us…maybe you’ve noticed my Blog has been updated daily…I am on a mission. A mission to show Real. Every Wednesday I will use unfiltered real people’s pictures…brave people, who sent pictures without asking why, who allowed me to post them here. This Year is the Revolution of Real.

Brave Selfies. No show offs.

None have been filtered. Some wrote disclaimers…

“I haven’t showered in three days, but I made dinner.”

“I’m not really a selfie taker.”

“I’m having a good hair day.”

“I just went for a run.”

About a month ago I realized a fellow classmate of Micah’s Mom had a baby…we spent two months together this summer when our boys played baseball and I had NO idea she was expecting. She even showed me a picture and said “I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

Well…can I be real?

I don’t notice people’s looks. I notice people’s hearts. I noticed she was a great Mom and so patient. I noticed she always brought extra waters for kids who forgot.

I consider it a great gift…but I also notice something else, which hasn’t always been a gift. I notice the ugliness in people. I will
meet someone and can see them, the real them.

It’s like that movie with Jack Black, Shallow Hal, I see people for who they are. Sometimes I just hate it, because people will really want me to like someone and I just can’t…because I see that they gossip, or aren’t trustworthy…I see that they use people, or take advantage. I see selfish and mean.

Because I see the ugliness in others I also see the ugliness in myself. A few months ago “a girl” did something incredibly hurtful and public to one of my dearest friends…even when I hear this persons name my skin crawls. I didn’t know her really, only through mutual groups online, so I didn’t get to meet her or see her…which is the downside of this virtual world. Because if I would’ve met her, I would’ve known and seen her- and been guarded and not been so surprised by her actions.

I need to see her…sadly, the ugliness in me hasn’t forgiven. The ugliness in me has held resentment and bitter words in my mouth. The ugliness is something I have to always work on, because I’m finding I’m not as good at forgiveness as I once was. When I was young I used to be able to brush it all off, but my own perspective and growth wants people to Try to be more…and that causes Ugly in me.

Real Ugly.

Isn’t it amazing when we share ourselves, how we feel the need to have disclaimers? Like my disclaimer that I can see people for who they are…but that means I carry a lot of ugly in me?

As if we weren’t good enough to begin. As if I’m not good enough. But I do it. Because I want to make sure you know…I have a really hard time saying Thank you when you compliment me. I have a really hard time seeing beauty in myself, because I know…I know me.

But let me be clear. These people that shared their eyes and their faces…they are beauty.

They are beautiful. And not just on the outside…they are beautiful real souls.

If you saw them on the street…you may stop and look, smile, and say hello. You may see their beauty, but I see them…and I’m blessed to see and know them.

You wouldn’t know…

That one has been taking care of a dying parent. One prays the Rosary every day for different people. One has a doctorate, but more importantly taught me how to get out of a car like Dukes of Hazzard. One is the mother of twins.

You wouldn’t see that one just got off the night shift at the hospital. One is moving. One just lost her Mom. One is in love. One hasn’t worn make up in years. One has five kids on earth and one in heaven. One used to be a firefighter. One doesn’t have any family in town.

You wouldn’t know that one is the biggest prayer warrior I know and takes care of everyone. One has adopted all her children. One has had back surgery. One is not sure if she should have another baby and hates working out.

And all don’t know how beautiful they are. How real they are.

No filters. Just real.

No Ugly. Just Lives being lived authentically. Who are so beautiful.

The sun is out. It is absolutely glorious.

Feels nothing like January. The skies are bright blue with streaks of white clouds.

These are the kinds of afternoons I relish when the dreary seems so far away.

These boys. The ones with the dirty knees…

They make the most of it. Four boys who play every school day in rain and sun. Their siblings, the Middle Schoolers, get out later so they take over a patch of grass. Last year they built a club house in the branches of an old tree but the school cut it down over the summer. Last year they were pirates, and kings, and had sword fights on the small tree branches. But this year when the tree was gone and they found new things to play farther back on this patch of grass.

Football, tag, professional wrestling, and million other things to pass the time. They argue. They make up. And laughter. So much laughter.

It’s a magical time where they can just be boys. Before lessons and practice start. Before homework needs to be done, and chores need to be finished. This time is theirs, where play reigns over any pixel filled screen. No one keeps score, no one is the winner, they just play. They are in that space where they are not little boys, but yet they are still little to me.

Magical boys.

Some times that 45 minutes seems like an eternity. The days where I’m tired and they are cranky. Where everyone is an expert, and they test me, or step in dog poop and get in the car. But today was blissful. The sun was out, they ran and fell and played. Four boys with grass stains and sweaty brows.

Next year two of them will not be there. They will be in class as the two younger ones wait. I know this time is fleeting.

But today…Today, I took this picture with the sun resting on my neck, freezing time with one of my favorite images. Of childhood. Of lifelong friends. Of brothers. Of dirty knees.

Someday I won’t sit in this car, with children at this school. Someday I won’t have 45 minutes to just watch them fall and tumble over each other in laughter. But today I did.

Grace who read with me in the car asked, “Is it really this warm today, for real life?”

Yep, magical unfiltered sunlight for real life…on a glorious January day with musical laughter.

Can you hear it?

Today was not a bad day.
But it was unpredictable.

I slept in. Accidentally.
School started back a week too early.
Most of the things I planned didn’t pan out.
My husband is working late.
I won’t get to work out.

Kids are tired, have homework, want freedom, want food. We don’t have groceries. Or clean laundry.
I want a nap.

So today…the real is just cherishing the little sweet moments.

Like watching Grace hug Annie- and knowing the day didn’t turn out as I planned but that doesn’t mean it is a bad thing. It’s just another opportunity where I can try to see the good on Monday, which always keeps it real.

And there is a whole lot of sweet to see…

They called her Mother Nature right below the Wild and Scenic part of the Rogue River where she lived.
She is a legend there.
Virginia. Mother Nature. Granni to my husband. Granni Great to my children.
Living in a town of population 17, she lived among bears, a family of Robins, hosts of deer, a mangy orange cat named Daisy, and a Fox we all called “Foxy Foxy.” Over the years She has been featured in Papers, on the Today show, and is lifelong friends with baseball great Bobby Doerr.

A real life fairy tale life. Not the one where money and possessions are important- but the fairy tale where love is a magical gift, and life is waking up every morning being so grateful for your surroundings, and wild animals wait for you to feed them.

She lived in a One Room School house, renovated by her husband Grandpa Casey. He died of a heart attack too young, in his boat, with a fish on a line. He was also a legend on the River. My husband was 8. I so wish I could have known him.

Three years ago she fell, and couldn’t live on her own anymore. My lovely mother in law Joan, her only child, brought her to Grants Pass, to a place Granni calls the “institution.” In reality it is a beautiful assisted living facility, full of wonderful people. But it’s not her people, her animals, her woods, her river.

She said to us today “I was the most rich woman in the world for many years, because I was so happy.”

She is loved. By Joan. By all of us. At 97, she still twinkles and laughs. While we were there she gave Grace a big pink fluffy rabbit, and Grace named her Strawberry. She loves candy and she and Grace shared a few pieces, and even let the boys have one or two.

Every Thursday a woman comes and gives her communion. The local priest comes as well, and they discuss fishing.

She calls my big strong husband, her youngest Grandchild, her “sweetheart.”

Every time we are together we talk about God. We talked about how God always brings us comfort. She shared how he comes even when she wakes up and doesn’t know how she will find happiness in her day. He is there. Giving her a nudge, providing grace for her. She said in 97 years her faith, and her religion is her one constant.

Today we reminded her of a time where she listened to God and followed his lead….

Because once upon a time in the fall of 2001, after 9/11, the nation was deeply affected. We all were shaken and terrified, and the world seemed to tilt in uncertainty. And everyone was changed in a different way- a big nation full of little worlds. Our world had a newborn baby, our first house, and suddenly one income. Dyp worked as a Commercial Real Estate Appraiser, and worked on commission. When 9/11 happened, every financial real estate institution was paralyzed, and his job was not exempt from the impact. He had been hired on as a reserve police officer but it was unpaid. And the work just…stopped. Jonah was four months old in February. We hadn’t had a paycheck in two months. Our small savings had dwindled and we couldn’t afford groceries. He took a job as a security guard on the nights he wasn’t in the reserve academy. He had applied at Safeway, we sold our canoe and other things. We only had two diapers left. We were thinking of going to the Church and asking for assistance. But felt like we didn’t qualify. We had went to dinner with friends and had to pretend that we’d already eaten because we couldn’t even afford to buy a meal out.
So one day– we sat down in our front room with our beautiful Jonah and prayed that God would help us. It was a Saturday, and Dyp had just gotten home from the academy. After praying we bundled up Jonah, and walked around our little neighborhood, a neighborhood we loved and didn’t know if we’d be in much longer, and got the mail. There was a card with name Mother Nature written in the upper left corner. I remember the card had a grey cat on it, and in it Granni wrote that she received a check once a year from the Carpenters Union Grandpa Casey had been a part of. She wrote that God had told her to give us that money. In the card was a check for $700. My husband, who has only teared up in front of me a handful of times in our years together- began to cry. And then I did. And then Jonah did too.

God had provided. So greatly. And we were grateful. So grateful.

After we told her today, she hugged us both and said “That’s Faith for you…”

And it struck me suddenly as we hugged of how desolate a life without that perspective is. How life is truly rich when you have love and faith. And how truly rich you are to have gratitude for both. It doesn’t mean life is easy. And it doesn’t mean that there are always happy ever afters.

But if we trust, we will always be provided for.
Taken care of. By God. And sometimes, if we are blessed enough, through Mother Nature.

And that makes me so happy.

When he brought me here 18 years ago it was dark outside. I didn’t understand why this place held such a huge part of his heart and who he is. For me- home was never a place really…I mean I feel most at home during Church, or at my Grandmothers kitchen table, sitting outside the cabin with my Dad, on a walk with my Mom. Home for me is the smell of my Grace’s hair first thing in the morning, holding Micah’s hand after school. Singing with Jonah, having Daniel lean on me. Home.

For me, home has always been the people I’m with or the intimate breath between Me and My God.

But for my husband, who 19 years ago was just my boyfriend, home was land and a place. It is his place. The River near his Grandparents. And the land where he grew up. Even after all these years and kids, this is Home. As we wind up the road to his parents, life and his job and the responsibilities release with a big exhale. And the morning after I arrived here I understood. It is beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking.

The kids feel it too. Here they run free and wild. Through the fog. Above it. Down the big hill and toward me, after the deer. And back again. And it’s real. And it’s beautiful. Micah has fallen three times already in the mud. We have washed his pants. Three times. But then he’s off again.

Micah said this morning to me that life seems like “It’s just tying and untying your shoes over and over again.”

And Daniel followed up with “But you’ve gotta do it still, if you want to run.”

So today my real is watching my home, be most at home.