My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

The wicked flee when no one pursues, but the righteous are bold as a lion. When a land transgresses, it has many rulers, but with a man of understanding and knowledge, its stability will long continue. A poor man who oppresses the poor is a beating rain that leaves no food. Those who forsake the law praise the wicked, but those who keep the law strive against them. Evil men do not understand justice, but those who seek the Lord understand it completely. -Proverbs 28: 1-5

When he leaves everyday I tell him “Be Safe.”  I have loved him since I was 17.  Before he wore a badge.  When he still wore Simple’s and a “Save Ferris” T Shirt.  

A lot of people meet their significant other after they have been doing the job for a while.  But we went into this career together. We prayed about it. 9/11 changed us, and he had a yearning to do more.  So we did.  Together.  While I nursed and cared for our newborn son at home, he worked all day and went to a reserve academy at night.  Then we left our sweet little home and moved to where he has built his career.  It is not our identity but it has changed much of our reality…If he was still a real estate appraiser I can guarantee this:

I wouldn’t have slept on the couch until he made it home for 7 years. 

He wouldn’t have missed years of Holidays and Birthdays. 

He wouldn’t have been called in on our Anniversary or Mother’s Day. 

We’d have a subscription to the paper. 

We wouldn’t be guarded about what he does. My kids don’t tell people about their Dad’s job until we know them well, we don’t talk about it in public places, and we don’t publicize it.   For all of our safety. 

I wouldn’t have been emailed by a “high school” friend to ask about my thoughts on marijuana and when I have a noncommital answer, they emailed others and said I’d become judmental. 

I wouldn’t clean my house before bed when he was at work in case someone came to tell me the worst had happened. 

I wouldn’t have his best work friends’ funeral plans saved on my computer and in my safe. 

I wouldn’t have had to think about the what if’s.  

I wouldn’t have asked (which I still regret) his best friend to always protect him. 

I wouldn’t have had to see him come home, time after time, after being spit on, cussed out, fought, after tackling a high naked guy and watch him lay on the floor reading to our boys like it was just a normal day.  

He wouldn’t have to sit with his back against the wall in a public place,  where he could see the door.  

We wouldn’t be at his childhood church, approached by a lifelong family friend whose first words were, “So have you shot anybody yet?” or at a family event and have one of my family members say “Why do cops keep shooting people.” 

We wouldn’t have had multiple friends shot, three friends die due to a gun shot wounds, and another killed in the line of duty. Good People. Hero’s.  So very missed. 

I wouldn’t have a list of people that are to come to my house if Hell happens and they have to knock on my door. 

And yet…

We wouldn’t have become friends with some of the bravest most wonderful people I’ve ever met.  He wouldn’t have trained under amazing FTO’s and had Sergeants who are true leaders and loyal to him.  He wouldn’t have been able to take me and our friends on ride a longs, and put really really bad people away where they couldn’t hurt people anymore. He wouldn’t have been driving one night and felt the urge to go back to the station on a different route, only to be flagged down by a little old lady who had broken down, and after he brought her home invited him in and had him change her light bulbs and fix her window.  He wouldn’t have taken kids out of a home so deplorable and delivered them to my friend, a social worker’s arms. He wouldn’t have brought a girl he was arresting a birthday cake on her birthday, because no one else remembered. He bought a homeless family dinner. And these are just the stories I thought of right now.  The ones he’s shared with me. He works so hard, and he does such good work.  

And Yet…

He is still him.  He is still funny and goofy, mildly inappropriate.  He still lets our daughter paint his nails, and plays dollies with her.  He plays ping pong with the boys, and coaches their teams. Together we raise beautiful respectful god-filled children.  We pray together.  And he loves me. 

He treats people with respect.  He is good to his friends.  And right now, he is at work…it is dark, and the last week’s media reports have left me with a deep sense of fear for his safety.  Because I never know.  I pray every day, that he or anyone he works with never has to make that stop, make that call, take the shot, because we never know what those moments are like. We. Don’t. Know.  But some of his friends do, and the story is always so much more complicated and the tragedy is always so much different than what is percieved. 

But what I do know is that I want him to come home safe.  What I do know…when I say “Be Safe” it is words weighted with every prayer and ounce of love I can give so that he can lay next to me again.  So that he can say good morning to me.  So that I can pray with him again.  Hold his hand. Make love to him again.  In good times and bad, in sickness and in health. Until death. 

He promised to honor me my entire life when he proposed as he washed my feet. And he has.  Because he lives a life of honor.  And he is surrounded by people who are the same way.  They span the country.  They leave their families each day, put on a badge and belong to a city, a county or a state.  They do a job, and make choices that are second guessed and criticized, and have to make split decisions that can lead to so many things.  And there are days when nothing they do is right.  But they were just doing their job.  But because they belong to the city they have to be questioned and judged, and they wake up the next day and do it again.  All to come home to the people who see them for who they are…the real Heroes. 

When he comes home, He is ours. He is a Dad, a Son, a Brother.  He is a Friend, a Neighbor, a part of the Community. He is a man of God.  And he is my one true love. The love of my life.  

Be safe my friends. Be safe my love. 

This summer has been different than the others.  It didn’t start out as intentionally different.  But because of my own need for less of a schedule, more simplicity, and down time it became something that seems a little more like summer.

In the past couple of years our summers have been jam packed…the older boys had weekly book clubs at our house, we did multiple sport camps, music lessons, swim lessons, lots of traveling, and a list a mile long of what we were going to do.  And as school ended we made the list, we started the end of the school year with a trip that ended in car issues, and a whole other slew of circumstances took our summer in a different direction.  And I realized we had an opportunity to do something different. That we needed to…take back summer.  Without really planning we took on the Fruits of the Holy Spirit and began to do summer differently.

So here’s what we did…

Love. Taking back the love of Baseball.  We never really stopped LOVING baseball, but this summer we enjoyed it more than ever. So we took a break from any sport camps.  My boys just played baseball.  In the back yard.  With their teams.  Daniel’s team made it to the championship and took second.  Jonah’s swept districts and went to State.  And it hasn’t stopped. They play baseball for hours every day, together.  We don’t have to set an alarm and they play until it’s dark outside. Maybe next summer will be different, but this summer – they had enough magic with their teams to last the rest of the summer. And the magic wasn’t because their teams did well. It was because they were surrounded by kids who loved the game like them.  We all loved every minute of it.

Joy. Taking back the joy of Simplicity.   I was feeling bad one day the first week of summer that we didn’t belong to the local swim and tennis club, that somehow they were missing out, when Curly and Grace got out the back yard hose.  And played for four straight hours.  They’ve played in the sprinkler and the hose every day.  And when friends come over they do the same.   Last week the kids had made up a game with the hose and a cooler — they spent all day playing it in the heat.  No complaints. Simple dinners on the back porch.  Paper plates.  Simplicity is beautiful.

Peace. Taking back the peace of Last Minute.  I was sad at first, Daniel is full of ideas but we needed to just be and not have any book clubs or weekly things at our house.  So we have done a ton of impromptu play dates.  Last minute.  Nothing planned for weeks ahead. At any moment my husband comes home to kids playing in the back yard, and last minute sleep overs.  Our summer has been filled with laughter and cul de sac marshmellow baseball games, legos and forts, darts and ping pong.  Notebooks are full of comics from comics that Daniel and Micah draw. Grace wears princess dresses and swim suits almost every day.  No one wears shoes. Friends on road trips have stopped by and stayed for hours.  We’ve gotten to hold babies and eat popcicles. Somedays we have just jumped in the car and went to a $1.50 movie.

Patience. Taking back Patience with myself. It’s taken longer then I thought to get past all the hard stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year. What I think of as “the sadness.” Many days have been hard for me to not give into the guilt that I’m not doing more.  Being more for my family.  But than I’ve realized that they didn’t need more.  They just need me.  And so I’ve given myself a pass. A pass to work out because I’m worth it.  A pass to not have my house be spotless  or stress out when people come over and there’s laundry or papers on the counter, because I’m not spotless.  That’s never going to be me.  A pass to have days where I can just sit under the sun and watch my kids play, drinking my diet dr pepper. A pass to forgive myself for not being able to be more to so many people, and to hope that someday they’ll know how hard I was trying.  Trying to get better.  And to work at being ok with that.

Kindness.  Taking back Kindness over Competitiveness.  Recently a good friend told me how a family member was competitive with her, in some invisible competition she was never aware she was a part of.  I thought of how often we are competitive with each other, and I’ve fallen into that in the past summers. We need to do more camps.  More activities. More vacations to keep up.  So instead I am working on just being really kind to every one I meet.  To not falling into any competition.  Because you never really know what someone is dealing with. How a Mom is struggling with parenting. How a couple is struggling in their marriage.  I’ve found that we should rejoice in the kindness we can bring.   Most people could do with a little extra kindness. A little more love is a victory within it self.   And letting that kindness extend to ourselves so we don’t feel pressure to be someone else.  We don’t have to compare. We can just be Real.  Authentic.This summer I’ve been Me, nothing more.   And I’m being kind to her.

Goodness.  Taking back the goodness in “the living is easy.”  Taking a walk around the neighborhood in the evening as a family.  The good stuff.  Going a friend’s house and being the last to leave. The good stuff.  Piling all the bedding downstairs and watching 80’s Movies with the kids that we both loved as kids.  The good stuff.  Sleeping in and eating poptarts for breakfast. The good stuff.  Going to Art in the Vineyard to listen to Danny’s teacher.  The good stuff. Going to a garage sale with Grace and letting her buy something.  The good stuff.  Sitting on my sisters back porch with a glass of red wine. The good stuff. Watching Mariner’s games.  The good stuff. Watching my kids play baseball until dusk.  The good stuff.

Faithfulness.  Taking back our faithfulness in God.  Every night Daniel reminds us to read about the Saint of the Day and pray together as a family.  We make it to daily mass when we can, and try to hit confession.  We light candles after mass.  We even go to mass when we’re camping. Because we all need the sacraments.  Sadness doesn’t go away, but praying helps.  Everyday. This summer we have worked really hard as a family to have faith be the focus.  There is some real evil in the world. It’s not arbritrary or irrational, it’s real.   Our world has been rocked by the horrible atrocities being brought by terrorists on Christians and others with differing faiths in the middle east. Real Horror that I can’t even tell my kids about.  But I can tell them about God. And as a family we are staying united in prayer.  My Mom always says to God be the Glory. She and my sister pray for me everyday and check in.  To God be the Glory.   I believe this.  I need this. We all do.

Gentleness.  Taking back Gentleness in life.  I am far from a perfect wife.  I am not the perfect mother.  But I vow to love those around me.  I vow to try.  I vow to forgive, because I know how much it hurts when someone doesn’t forgive you.  I vow and am working so hard this summer to be gentle with myself.  Gentleness comes in so many ways. A phone call. A text.  Snuggling with one of my kids. Staying up with Jonah when he’s had a hard day and can’t sleep. Offering to help someone, not expecting anything ever in return. Praying with someone. Giving.  Receiving Love without apologizing for being an inconvenience.   Enjoying things that remind us to be gentle…babies, a sick relative, and those prayers we pray late at night when we think of people fighting much bigger things.  Be gentle. Life is Fragile.

Self Control. Taking back self control as a good thing for Summer.  My kids do chores every day, and some days when the living is really easy they don’t all get  of them done.  But this summer they have had more responsibility, and do a list of chores daily.  Jonah has learned to wash his own laundry.  Daniel mows the lawn and waters my hanging plants.  Micah is in charge of feeding the dog every day and making sure she always has fresh water.  Grace is in charge of putting away shoes and dish towels.  And it’s nice to have the help.  One day we spent 8 hours weeding. Another day we spent hours pulling out concrete(okay Grace and I didn’t help much). If you know me, you know I abhor video games — so we haven’t done many of those except for Wii Sports and Just Dance– games where they can enjoy them together and communicate.  And while we haven’t become totally Mobile free in the evenings like I’d like, we’re working on setting limits and being present  to each other always.

Maybe that’s been the biggest lesson this summer.  We shed and took away all the extras and what we got was time together. There really is nothing like that togetherness.  Jonah told me yesterday this is one of the best summers he’s ever had.  And instead of allowing my thoughts of failure get in the way of his words I allowed myself to hear him.  We still have a few weeks left and there’s more to come…for that I’m blessed.

I love my husband. I love my kids. I love Summer.

(I feel competely honored to have my dear friend Mandy be a guest blogger for Joyful Mysteries…her faith is amazing and she inspires me daily.  Enjoy. K) 

As I was putting on mascara this morning (a rare but glorious occasion), a random thought crept into my wandering brain…as is often the case when it (my brain) has a moment.  Handsome Husband was on The Boy (darling son) patrol.

And here’s the thought: Celine Dion. 

 Yep, that (or she) was where my brain went at precisely 9:07 a.m. while getting ready for mass.  Not quite the spiritual exercise one might hope for on a blessed Sunday morn but thankfully, it evolved.  I think I read once about some preposterous requirements she had about her dressing room and what she HAD to have in it.  Something to the tune of only green M&M’s facing “M” side up.  (Please don’t quote me on the details or say that I should google it, just ride the ride with me ‘k?)  Ridiculous.  Right? 

The thing is, I definitely have my own preferences.  I have even called myself “particular”…and at my own wedding!  I like my hot coffee hot (though this rarely happens with aforementioned darling son).  I like my beef cooked “medium”.  I like clean sheets and clean bathrooms.  I like feeling like I’m being heard.  I like being liked.  The list is endless, mostly likely longer than yours just because that’s how I am.  And the thing about these things is, they are all good. 

The difficulty can be that when my coffee is cold, or when the bathrooms aren’t clean (or pick any number of things that I probably prefer because I probably do prefer them and probably in a particular way…that’s how particular I am), ESPECIALLY IF THERE ARE A NUMBER OF THESE NON-PREFERENCES HAPPENING ALL AT ONCE, I tend to let it do serious damage to my day.  And those little things, well they build an attitude of preferences and “have-tos”.  So when a big thing happens (moving, illness, death) that isn’t in line with my preferences, I sometimes don’t know what to do with myself or my relationship with God.  Perhaps it’s because I’m already lamenting how un-preferred my life is that any heavy weight pushes me over the edge.  It’s not that I don’t think I should know what I like…it’s that if I do not rein myself in, my likes become necessities and so numerous that I am unable to “perform” (at least happily) if they go awry.  Ultimately, it’s my pride.  Preferring to be preferred and to have my preferences.  Being a wife & mom is my road to sanctity by just fighting with this one sin every day.  Thank God that I was not left to my own devices. 

Knowing that there are those of you reading with more faith and perhaps more of a “whatever will be will be” attitude, pay no attention to me and my rant.  Maybe my perfectionism kicks my butt more often than the average person.  But if you “get” anything that I’m saying, take a 5-minute break, put on some mascara or polish your toes (or both, God willing) and ultimately, just try to be grateful for what you have.  Cold coffee is better than no coffee…at least that is what I keep telling myself.  And my bathrooms are never “gross” – just in case you decide to visit.

That’s the balm to my wounds (the big and the littles): Gratitude.  I know.  I forget.  I remember.  I try again.  And sometimes in my life (thanks be to God), gratitude has been my attitude (seriously, can someone make me a t-shirt or a decorative pillow?). 

(A bit of practical application: If I’m stuck in a bad rut, I refer back to a Thanksgiving themed youth group I led sometime in the far distance past.  I had “my” kids to the ABC’s of Thanksgiving.  For each letter, they had to come up with someone or something that God had gifted them.  My nature likes the order of this type of gratitude giving, though I often can’t make it past the first few letters, too many blessings to count.  Anywho – if you are in a rut or a rant or just seeing far too many bits and pieces of your life that really are not your preference, try the ABC’s.  Works like a charm for me.)

Yesterday I posted a pretty raw picture of my last year.

By the time I usually post something it’s when I have already been working, dealing, living through something for a while.

It’s like when you scraped your knee as a kid, but the scab is so itchy you scratch it off and the skin underneath is pale pink, the beginning of a scar but still very thin- still very sensitive.

So, not quite healed. Not quite ok. Exposed, but getting better.

That’s where I am.

And it was scary to reveal that. Because I don’t want people to judge me. Because it’s not pretty or comfortable. Because worse than judgment is pity. Because I should have been stronger.

While my hope still is a bit
Blurry, my God has been amazing.

Our God is amazing.

My husband put it so well- he explained that this past year a lot has happened, way more than we could have ever anticipated, and much of it was hard and harsh, the wind whipping and slapping us down. And then I got all crazy and put myself out there and started pursuing ministry again. And when you’re already parched and looking for water and you place yourself out in the middle of a desert a lot of times you search for a while. It’s hot. And I’m thirsty. And I can’t find my way.

My own desert.

But suddenly I find shade. And I sit under it. And I allow myself
To lean in, and be tired and be emptied. And admit that it’s much harder, and going to be a much longer walk than I expected.

That’s. Where. I. Am.

But I know that the burning I have in my heart is for God- calling to me and telling me that I have made it this far, to keep going, and hope will flow over me like the living water only He can provide. I thirst for him. And I am so glad I kept walking.

I may be in desert. But I’m not alone.

We may be in the desert. But. We. Are. Not. Alone.

Keep walking.

Almost a year ago I opened my hands up to the possibility of something new.  I held my hands out and kept them open to whatever was supposed to happen.  I let myself be vulnerable.  I allowed my heart to be open.  I tried new things.

I became open to having another baby, and adoption.

I went back to school, full throttle, but it slipped out of my hands. It wasn’t the right fit.  In fact I failed at it.

So than I thought maybe the lesson through it all was a lesson in failure.  In fact I spent a greater part of the last year, seeing all my failures as a woman, wife, mother, and friend and used that as a lesson in my speaking, in my writing, in my daily life.  I saw it as another opportunity for me to be more transparent, more present.   The only problem is when you’re gossamer thin; you are much easier to tear.

Five years ago I was stronger.  Two years ago I was stronger. Last year I was stronger. Because I had more faith.

On Sunday Daniel accidently broke a vase on the front porch. As I went to pick up the pieces I picked up a large piece and it shattered right in my hands.  Teeny tiny little shards of shattered glass in my hands.  The glass was already too thin; it wasn’t strong enough to hold on its own.

I am shattered.

It didn’t happen overnight. Slowly as each day turned into months and heart ache turned to tragedy, and prayers turned into feeling helpless, a small crack entered my hope.

It slowly spread.

All of the things I know became the things I questioned.  My self-worth. My friendships. My marriage.  My role as a daughter, as a sister. I removed myself from groups.  I stopped returning calls.  I stopped wanting to go to social events, because I didn’t even want to be around me.  I started to become self-conscious again about how I looked all the time.  I started getting scared at night again. I stopped sleeping.  I wasn’t funny anymore.  I wasn’t comfortable.  I was so so sad. And I cried all the time.  Because I had failed.  I failed as a wife. As a friend. I’d failed as a daughter.  And I’d failed the most as a sister.

Was I less of a Mom? No.  That is the only area that has been held in place.  By the grace of God though. By the grace of God.

Other words for it…anxiety.  Depression.

My word: Shattered. In a million pieces.

My hands were open and this is what I got.  I got to a place where I had opened myself so completely that it didn’t take much to break me.

And once we’re shattered it’s so much easier to let all the bad stuff in…Comparisons. Despair.  more sadness.  Because what’s one more piece to fall?

This isn’t meant to be a sad blog.  Or a post in order to ask for help or for advice, because Lord knows I get enough unsolicited opinions. It is a reminder that everything can be shattered.  We can all be shattered and still live.

We can be vulnerable, and still survive.

I spent months pretending that I could hold it together and then lost it on a Sunday.  I cried my heart into my comforter as the love of my life finally heard where I was. Of course He knew something was very wrong, because I’m not that good of an actor, but he didn’t really know, because I didn’t trust him with my brokenness. But when I allowed the pieces to fall away I was allowing him to love me. And that’s what I need the most right now. Love.

Honestly, I still have not completely found my hope.

With each step I take, each time I set a boundary, each time I allow myself to not let every failure of the last year invade my thoughts another piece of the puzzle is replaced.  It won’t look the same as two years ago.  I won’t be the same, but I will be here.

Honestly, I don’t know what God wants, but I do know in those moments there was Grace. Grace to stand up for a friend in a very social way when I knew that in doing that I would become the center of attention and judged, the thing that terrifies me most right now.  Grace to be present to my kids when I’m completely emptied.  Grace to know I did everything I could.  Grace to admit that I don’t know a lot– but I know what love is, and how powerful love can be. And if I do everything with the intent of Love for another I cannot be too far from God.

I’m not brave. I’m scared.

I’m not strong.  I’m very weak.

I’m shattered.  But I’m loved.

I’m still here.

So much of what my kids bring home I end up having to recycle…but the good stuff I keep. I even laminate.

I love the real stuff. The stuff that shows who they are. Not the easy. But the nitty gritty real.

What I love about having a big family is how incredible it is to watch them just know what it’s like to share, and sacrifice. Everything is earned and usually every one is grateful.

But you’d better believe it’s not easy. They are human and sometimes they want their own space, quiet, a little more peace and not have to share their parents.

So I save the authentic pieces, like this list of questions one of my kids wrote before bed to discuss with me, the next day.

You see, they get annoyed with each other- they are the ones that hate when one is not home for the night. They hate when we are all separated. As spring turns into summer I listen to them laugh as the sun sets as they play baseball for hours.
Because while it seems too much sometimes…this is the good stuff. This is what gives me hope most days.

So here are my answers:

1. Reader–I can’t give you this question or answer, if I did I’d have to kill you.

2. I know how important siblings are. They will be your best friend someday. They probably are now, but You are used to them- and probably forget how important they are. But I promise someday you’ll understand.

3. People are annoying. Period. And the people you live with will always be the most annoying at times. Because you see the good, the bad, and the annoying.

4. You are a part of a family. Your brothers pick up your messes too. But don’t get me started on the picking up of messes. Suck it up. And I love you.

5. What’s a break? When you figure it out let me know. But if you need space, I’ll help you find it. Thank you for being such a good kid. Thank you for being open and honest. Thank you for being just like me, and yet, so uniquely you. You are treasured and I will always always live for these notes.

Hold onto the “real” friends.

This. Is. The. Good. Stuff.

Dear Mary,

Today you would be nine. I spent the morning with you on your hill but I knew you weren’t there. Still it is nice to have a little spot that is all yours.
I gave you daisies and little pin wheels and a pink butterfly. I wonder if pink would still be your favorite color if you were here. Even though I never got to see you outside the womb I just knew that would be your color.

I listened to my song for you “The Promise” as I drove to your hill. It’s amazing how that song sums up so much emotion and longing about the vast space in my heart that is always yours.

Mary Therese. My daughter. I love your name. Last week I woke up so sad that I couldn’t get out of bed. It was a weary sadness and I kept thinking that this year would be different. This year I wouldn’t be so sad. This year I wouldn’t miss you so much. Because it’s been nine years. Because I should be okay that you are in heaven, and not here.

But that’s a lie. I’m not over it. I always miss you. And while I am okay, and many days I am at peace that you are with Jesus, I’m never okay that you aren’t with me. You are such a huge part of us. Your sister told me yesterday that you are always with her. Thank you for being such a good big sister to her from heaven.

Today, I went to “Heaven is For Real” by myself. I sat in the dark theatre, tears streaming the whole time, as I watched the true story that helped heal my heart, and I thanked God for the gift of your little life. A life you get to spend eternity in. A life that I carried with in me. I didn’t have to apologize once for my tears. And I was able to think of you the whole time.

Mary, I can’t wait to see you again. When Uncle Robert died, I knew he got to see you that day. In fact, I was actually a little jealous of him, because I bet he just loves you. I would do anything for five minutes with you. And I know you love him- he’s the absolute best. Will you tell him how much we miss him?

I…miss…you.

Tonight I will go to work and your brothers will have baseball and I will think of you constantly. Life has moved, but today is always your day and you will be my inspiration- to live a life however short or long with the intent to “leave a mark.” Tonight, I will open your box and hold your blankie and I will think of the mark that is left on my heart. The mark that is part of my soul. A mark only for you. And I will do my absolute best to live a life worthy enough to join you, with Daddy, and your siblings someday- in the presence of Jesus.

I know I can’t be the Mom with you right now, so please see your name sake, Mother Mary if you need anything. She is a good mom and I hope to be just like her.

I love you so much Mary. I always will.

Please wait for me.

Love, Mommy.

It’s amazing how much we filter in our lives.  We filter our time.  We filter television shows with our dvr.  We filter through emails.  Social Media pictures help us to filter pictures, to cut and angle, to make edges less harsh – wrinkles less noticeable.  In so many ways it is a good thing.  We save time, we look better.  We think we feel better. But there is the other side…we look better but it’s not real.  And do we feel better? Really?

Life is full of spam and messiness, things that take our time.  We are inundated with information of how we should be better, less wrinkly, and less real — and a lot of it is stuff we bring on ourselves.  It’s why I fail at Pinterest. It’s why many people I know get bummed out by social media.

A while ago I decided to stop trying so hard to make things look easy and just be myself. Not that anyone was fooled, but I was trying really hard.  And failing. Today I was thinking about how amazingly exposed I’ve felt this year…

About a year ago I woke up with a “burning” feeling that God was calling me to speak to Women. I didn’t know how or where, but I knew exactly what I was called to say.  A month ago my first official speaking job since the burning started happened as I spent a weekend with a beautiful group of Mothers in Central Oregon.  I spoke of things I’d never shared, completely exposed, and so did they.  I can’t even begin to describe how God worked, but it was far beyond anything I was capable of. And being open to what was next.  And Now?  I. don’t. know. What’s. Next.

I told you I’m scared of change right? I said I was allergic and here I am all open to it, and stuff.

Being exposed to me is scary. In fact I’ve had multiple dreams that I was completely naked, trying to hide myself.

And that’s a nightmare…you won’t catch me posting pictures of myself in a bath tub showing my legs…I’ll barely undress in a dressing room. I don’t wear shorts for goodness sakes.  I’m really afraid to be exposed – of being “naked” and being judged.

Because…

What if it’s not God’s will?

What if I’m bad at it?

What if I fail?

What if I end up naked and people see all my wobbly-stretch marked-saggy bits- or notice that the clothes I have are grass stained and have mustard on the sleeve.

This year with all the hard stuff, has also taught me a lot about failure.  I’ve failed. A lot. Why would anyone want to listen to me? Why would anyone want to still be friends with someone who cries so easy, or who really can’t have a long phone conversation unless it’s after 10 at night and there’s a good chance I’ll fall asleep.

And  I want people to like me. And I’m insecure when they don’t.  Recently I was at a birthday party and all the people around me were taking pictures and talking about trips together, and I wasn’t included.  I started to think it was me — because I’m insecure and my day had sucked, and I was so mad at myself that it mattered to me.

Because I want to matter to others.

As a mom, some days I feel so invisible.  I get up earlier and get things ready, and things pass in a blur between lunches and laundry – and I’m only needed when I’m in the bathroom.  Fights will break out about dishes and the dog. No one will notice that their laundry is clean, and that I got them all to baseball on time.  So when that happens and I feel invisible to adults as well, I feel more exposed than ever.  It’s like the Moms group at our church that I started that had fizzled out, and when it was resurrected I wasn’t even invited.   It hurts and stings.

Why would anyone want to hear me?  When I’m not valued by the people I love most…now that the filter is gone. The edges aren’t soft and the angle isn’t good.  It’s just me.

Exposed.

The burning returned.  It returned five days ago when I woke up so incredibly sad I couldn’t get out of bed.  I tried to work out to get it to go away, and it stayed put.  It overwhelmed and laid on my shoulders, weighing me down.  I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror because it looked back at me. I couldn’t even go to church yesterday because it made me feel sick and weak.

But today, as I showered and I watched the steam rise and fall on my shoulders and dissipate. I prayed and I heard.

It’s okay to be broken.  And to want to feel wanted and appreciated. And loved.  

I think that’s why many of us love when people “like” our posts or respond to us, because we want to be seen.  Because when the filters are removed life isn’t easy.  And being exposed opens us up to failing. But it also gives up a chance to live…again.

So I can’t ignore the burning to talk about what I know.  Being a woman. Being a Mom.  Being Invisible.  Being Broken.  Because I get it…I’m learning that filters don’t hold a candle to being exposed.  To being real.

I’m very blessed but I’m also very broken — and I’m finding there’s a freedom in admitting it.  So I wait. I wait for the next step, with all its edges and angles.  And I hope that as I use this little “life” of mine to shine, it will help others to feel less invisible and so very loved.

Because you are. Loved. I see you. And I get it.

For You… I threw up behind a Chinese restaurant as your dad helplessly rubbed my back, because I couldn’t keep anything down while I was keeping you safe. 

For You…my ankles swelled, my heart burn would only subside from ice cream, and I’d lay on my side after drinking orange juice to count your movements. 

For You…I felt my body torn apart, and watched through hazy eyes as your Dad held you, and named you because I was too weak to hold you. 

I had never been more emptied. Or full. Or blessed. 

For You…I waited at another doctor appointment, to be told once again there was nothing they could do. I would never grow a child in my womb. 

For You…I cried at every Mother’s Day card, every child’s ornament, and at every baptism of a baby that reminded me I was broken. 

For You…I took the classes, I cleaned the house, we waited…and got the call. You would be ours. My whole life led up to this. 

I have never been more scared.  Or brave. Or blessed. 

For You…My body would leak, and I would cry because things were cracked and you were crying and wouldn’t sleep- and I didn’t have a shirt that did not smell like spit up.  

For You…I would sit in the doctor’s office, my legs shaking as I had to admit that I could still hear your screams in my head, as I hated myself and thought dark thoughts. Because for the first time in my life I was scared of myself. 

For You…I had to carry you out of the grocery store, cart full and left behind as you screamed, “But I NEED a balloon!” thinking I’m just so glad I was wearing a bra. 

I have never been more exhausted. Or ashamed.  Or blessed. 

For You…I had to deal with everything she took when you were in her womb, every side effect and hold you and ask God to let me be your Mom forever, and for being jealous that she got to grow you. 

For You…I watched as she holds you and loves you, and I thank her again for letting me love you.  And we both cry because we love the same person so much and I feel guilty for getting to keep you. 

For You…I will never ever be able to thank her enough.  And as we work and bond, I can’t remember the day you weren’t mine. 

I have never been more emotional.  Or exhausted. Or blessed. 

For You…I walk away from him, even though everyone says I am making a mistake…but his choices, will hurt both of us. You are all I see. I need to protect you.

For You…I let you go.  Because I know I can’t give you what they can.  Even though I love you more than the world, but my world is too dark for you, and they will love you.  

For You…I don’t graduate from college.  I give up a salary and benefits for you to poop on me. 

I have never been more afraid.  Or grieved.  Or blessed. 

For You…I stand in a home full of meth, feces on the floor, as you cling to me scared, and your Mother screams “How dare you take my baby.”  I am away from my own babies, as your Mom takes you for granted. 

For You…you scream “You’ll never be my REAL Mom!” And you’re right, I won’t. But my heart still stings.

For You…I fall in love again, because while no one will ever replace your Dad…you deserve to see a happy ending. 

I have never been more helpless.  Or hated. Or blessed. 

For You…I cry, curled up with your blanket against my nose and I wish it still smelled like you.  I would do anything for even five minutes with you in heaven. 

For You…Holidays hurt.  And my heart aches.  And I think about how long your hair might be, and if you’d have woke me up with your brothers and sister. 

For You… I wonder if it will always hurt, or if you’ll ever know how much I love you and am so blessed to be your Mom. 

I have never been more sad.  Or heartsick. Or blessed. 

For You…I spent your entire life building and growing and loving you. 

For You…you were the first thought when I got sick, and the only one I worried about. 

For You…I am so sorry you are spending Mother’s Day without me, because being your Mother is the best thing I spent my life on earth doing. 

I have never been more proud.  Or missed. Or blessed. 

Happy Mother’s Day to All of the Mothers in the trenches, the Moms who are missing their own Mothers, and to my amazing Mom, my Mother-in-Law, our Grandmothers, and all my sisters…Missy, Erin, Susan, and Jodi. And all of the people who are trying to make it through this day.  

I am surrounded by beautiful amazing, strong women.  This is for you. -K

I’ve lived in Oregon for 16 years.  I have never had any of the allergies that seem to hit and stay and bully people in the Willamette Valley.  Until this year.

This year, I am sneezing and droopy.  I am teary and drippy. I am a mess.

My son Jonah has suffered bravely for years.  He’s on two different allergy meds, he takes showers every night.  No windows are open during this time of year, and he has three inhalers on hand at any time.  He can tell you when the pollen count is high just by stepping outside.  He is a rock star.

I am not.  Because they suck.  I can take meds and then go outside and take a whiff of some cotton pollen and suddenly I look like I just got punched in the eye.  I already cry easy, so this is absolutely ridiculous…

Which brings me to something that really hit me today.

I am allergic to change. But suddenly in the past year, as our life has been turned and twisted and wrung out, I am ready for it to stop spinning. I want it to stop.

I want easy. I want predictable.  I want what I know.

I was never like this before.  Dyp and I drove two hours once to get sandwiches, just because.  I embraced change. I embraced every new stage and every new week.

Until this year.  Until the spinning started.  Until things got absolutely ridiculous.

If you saw me this morning, you would have seen me praying with my husband before a huge trial.  For the first time in years, he was nervous. It was a solid case, rock solid in fact, but still he was nervous.  I held him close, so handsome in his suit and prayed with him, resting my chin against his freshly shaved cheek.  I knew it would be ok, but then again I’ve thought many things this year…and they weren’t.

If you saw me when I was waking up the boys you would have seen how pale Jonah was, how he couldn’t seem to open his eyes, and how I just knew he wasn’t feeling well…so my planned day was changed.

If you saw me at the school, you could have sworn it was allergies, but it wasn’t.  Dyp was under subpoena for trial,  and he couldn’t go to Daniels field trip out of town…the first time we’ve missed one.  And I couldn’t go to Micah’s field trip because Jonah was home sick…so I cried.  And I could blame allergies, but I had to trust that others would look out for my boys. Which is hard for me.

If you saw me at Grace’s school you would’ve seen me cry because I saw the date when her little preschool graduation is…when we have been scheduled to have been gone, for the past year. Of course it’s on that date.  I felt so defeated.

Only God saw the next two hours when I came home and prayed.  I prayed for Dyp at court.  I prayed for Daniel on his Field Trip, and Micah on his.  I prayed that our family graduation would be enough for my Grace, I prayed that Jonah would start feeling better.  My self-esteem has taken quite a hit lately, and I’m not sure if it’s the work I did at the women’s retreat I just spoke at (future post) or just…me.  So I prayed because some days seeing things is hard, and being seen is even harder.  Maybe people will see the huge allergy circles, or the way my clothes seem to fit wrong, or the sadness.  Because there’s a lot of that right now.  So I just prayed and prayed, for me to love and see what God sees in others. In me.

And then I picked up Grace.  Jonah was awake by that time and came with me, and as we were driving we stopped at a red light.  He was talking, and I was listening and the light changed.  And a car honked, I thought behind me, only when I moved the car in front of me didn’t and I hit him.

If you saw me there, in that moment, I had rear ended someone. I have never done that. The car in front of him was texting (another long drawn out- get off your freaking phone and live your life) and didn’t see the light change…so the car in front of me honked, and I saw the green light and there you go.  It was my fault.  Since my car is the size of a submarine it was not hurt, but the other car was hurt a little on the bumper.  I was shaking and crying, and shocked. He was a perfectly pleasant man, we exchanged info, and went our separate ways.

Then I pulled over and a few things happened fast…So if you saw me you would have seen that:

I cried some more and called my Dyp…who was on his way home to tell me the trial was quick and the guy changed his plea to guilty.  Then he came and met me and hugged me, and loved me because he does that so well.  And then my neck started to hurt, so I made an appointment.  Then I was hugging my husband again.  So next thing I knew I was seeing my doctor.  And he said I was fine, but I would be really sore tomorrow, and then something happened…

Earlier that day I had prayed. What I didn’t mention earlier is that there is a part of my life that has been really hard for a while. I’m even careful typing this.  It’s a part that few people except close family and friends know and are a part of…I have taken on a role in the past year that I can’t even describe the magnitude of spinning. I love someone so much… Who has something so incredibly toxic and dark and at times it has been all consuming.  The feelings of my own failure that I couldn’t solve or make it better are real.

So I told my doctor as we talked about other things, my stress level– my extremely low blood pressure, my clothes not fitting right and my self-esteem and  then I told him about this part of my life. And the earlier part of my day, which was me pleading to love and see God as he sees me was revealed — my doctor turned to me and his face suddenly looked different and he said that all of those things, the things that have been hard and I’ve been pleading to be different don’t matter compared to what truly counts…what I have done for someone I love.  All of the moments where I have saved her life this year.  And that’s what makes me who I am, a beautiful human being.

And then I cried.  Because what he said was something I needed to hear.  From his face I knew it wasn’t planned or rehearsed.  But God works.  All the time.  Even when we think we are invisible, our “work” means something.  And I haven’t failed, because I’ve been there – everyday.  And so has He.

So…If you see me tomorrow I’ll be sore. I’ll still hate change.  And my droopy allergy eyes will be hidden behind my movie star sunglasses.  But I’ll be there, present, living the life I’m in.  Things may spin but as long as I keep praying, and showing up, so will God.  Life isn’t predictable but God is.  And for today, that’s what counts.