Look at the Bright Side

Under any normal circumstance, if anyone were to utter the phrase "Look at the bright side" to me, I might have to high five them. In the face. With a closed fist. Today, however, I'm telling it to myself. And since I'm not one for self-induced pain, I will forego the knocking around and simply actually focus on "the bright side."

You see, this weekend hasn't been one of my favorites. My home is more of a mess than I can remember it being in a long time. And if you know anything about me, you know that physical chaos creates emotional and mental chaos for me, and if I can't clean my house, I end up in a corner somewhere, drooling, while reciting random quotes from Pee Wee's Playhouse. (A little sarcasm, folks. But only a little, because I really do go nuts...)

On top of a messy home (and therefore messy mind), my kids have been whiny, crying, cling-ons (and not the sci-fi kind) all weekend long. I couldn't pass them off to hubs because he was gallivanting around the country side shooting stuff up and reffing a football game. And then there was this thing where he had to fix our van so we wouldn't wreck and die. Whatever. He was gone, and I was without a vehicle, and therefore my kids were especially dramatic, and I was trapped. Trapped.

So I'm looking at the bright side.

My son didn't want me to part from him all weekend long. Annoying, yes, because it makes it hard to do *anything* while holding a 14 pound head-banging sumo baby. However, he sought comfort in his mama's arms, and that is totally and utterly sweet. He smiled and giggled and cooed for me and those faces and sounds are so entirely precious. He fell asleep on my shoulder, which doesn't happen too much anymore, and he let me sing to him for almost an hour last night as I put him to bed. I gotta say....that is a moment in bedtime history that will remain forever special to me.

Little Miss chose her own outfits all weekend, and no, they did not go together. Unfortunately it would appear she inherited my complete and total lack of style and goes solely for comfort and convenience. She put this heart shirt on and came downstairs beaming, pairing it with purple corduroy pants. Who still makes corduroy pants, anyway? Wasn't there a law passed against that at some point prior to the early 2000s? I thought for sure it was a Clinton administration thing. I digress. She pointed to the giant heart on her shirt and said, "Mama, when you look at this shirt, does it remind you I love you?" Melt into a puddle of parental goo. "Yes!" I answered, fighting back those sentimental mom-tears. Later, as I was trying to soothe Little Man during one of his fits of rage, I hear, "Mama...." and glance up to see what she needed. Smiling, she pointed to the heart on her shirt. She wanted me to know in that moment, she loved me. Melt again. Fight back more sentimental mom-tears. Little princess of sweetness...

I took the kids for a walk yesterday, and we went nearly two miles while I pushed them around in the wonky stroller. The weather was perfect for walking, though I had to make sure they were warm since there was a cool breeze out. We ran across an angry squirrel, an apple tree that couldn't hold on to its bounty anymore, some flowers, and a puppy. As Little Miss so eloquently stated "It smells like dog poop right here." It did. Unrelated, but relevant, it wasn't until we came home and I was a sweaty, sticky mess, that I realized I hadn't remembered to put deodorant on. Now tell me why my husband wouldn't want to be waiting at home for his hot mess of a wife to come wafting walking through the door... It's a miracle I was showered and dressed, and taking the kids on a walk. One small victory at a time here. I was dog tired after taking them out, but so glad I made the effort. They were both a little happier for having the fresh air.

Last night I got about 45 seconds of sleep. I have a hard time falling asleep these days, and I'm not entirely sure why. I usually end up going to sleep after Brent. After he was everywhere but home yesterday, he was pretty wiped when bedtime rolled around. He went to bed, and I don't know if any of you ladies married a guy like this - but when he is wiped out tired, he rattles the windows with his snores. After several nudges and love-shoves, I soon realized there was no rousing him from his exhausted slumber. I grabbed my pillows and a blanket and headed to the sofa. No sooner had I finally gotten comfortable enough to catch some Z's, I heard our bedroom door open as Brent was headed to fetch a screaming baby. I didn't have to get up with him, but I was awake the entire time they were. I finally drifted back to dreamland only to be awoken by one of the loudest claps of thunder I had ever heard in my life. I held my breath to see if Little Miss was awoken as well. Sure enough, I heard the doorknob. In her sleepy, scared state, however, she couldn't get the knob open so she started knocking on the door. Poor thing. I raced over to save her, and Brent met me at the door. I think he whispered "go get your pillow", (it's hard to say with a hearing loss paired with sleep deprivation) so I did, as I held Little Miss. I took her and my pillow and went and snuggled with her in our bed. She laid in between us, snuggled up tightly against me, and patted my arm as the thunder raged on. And on. And on. And on. I don't know what time it was, but eventually I heard her ask, "Can you carry me to bed?" In my most empathetic voice possible, I barked "No." Mother of the year here, folks. She did walk herself back up the stairs, and I started to fall asleep again. Little Man woke up needing to be fed a couple of hours later. Have you ever seen the Jim Breuer clip on why moms need their sleep? I'm pretty sure he'd been spying at me in my lifetime and did a comedy bit about it. I'm so not nice when I don't sleep. Even when I do sleep, nice is questionable at best. 

Church was powerful, as usual, and the worship made me cry. Big surprise there. I was sleep deprived, personal-space deprived, and ended up crying in church? Weird... I was super excited for nap time today, though. And you know what? Little Man was not at all excited about it. In fact, he boycotted it, beginning 12 seconds after I drifted off into dreamland. 

I'm tired. My house is a mess. My husband is off saving the world. Or the vehicle. Or the dishes. Whatever. But you know what? I got to have moments like this... and moments like this make bad days good, and bright times even brighter. I love these little stinkers, and they are absolutely my bright side.

"Trust Me"

I've had so much on my mind lately, it's hard to settle on a single topic to post about. I've been dealing with an overwhelming sense of anxiety and oppression lately, though, so perhaps this post stems from those feelings.

As Little Man came upon four months old this week, and as the leaves outside are not only changing color, but starting their descent to the ground, I came to terms with what I believe is a season of preparatory change. For the last few weeks, I've felt the Lord has been leading me to and through a time of preparation. I have no idea what for or what that means, but I see things being put in motion that confirm change is imminent. 

The problem I have, however, is I don't know whether the change is going to be easy, good, stressful, traumatizing, or neutral. I have no idea. I have no control. I have no way to prepare other than to just go with the flow. Being a control freak, this sense of knowing change is coming, not knowing what that change is, and knowing there is nothing I can plan for to contribute to it's success or implementation sends panic and anxiety pulsing through every vein in my being. 

"Trust me." I hear. But what does that mean, to trust?

Up until last year, I always acted as though trust was circumstantial. I trust, in this instance, this will be the outcome. I trust, in this instance, I can rely on this process. I trust, with this information, I can tell this person. Never have I associated trust with an all-encompassing purpose. Even when trusting God in all areas of my life, those areas were compartmentalized separately, as was the trust associated with them. There was no blanketing with a single hope or purpose. "Everything" was one thing at a time, dealt with one piece at a time, with one feeling of trust at a time.

It makes sense in my world to have a place for everything and everything in its place, and making exceptions for emotions or feelings did not compute. Even now, I struggle with an all-encompassing degree of trust, but I'm learning how it benefits me far greater than piecemeal assembly.

We have a women's ministry event coming up, that I have once again been asked to emcee. Prior to being asked, I was writing in my prayer journal a very woe-is-me prayer. I have emceed three times, and knew for sure they were tired of me, I had played out my welcome, and the baton would be passed to someone else. I was feeling sorry for myself because emceeing these events absolutely fills my tank to overflowing. I want to emcee for my own selfish reasons of being filled. The very next morning I got an email stating, "You're probably emceed out, but would you consider being the emcee again..." I felt about four inches tall. Here I was having a pity party, and for no reason. "Trust me." 

Since the planning stages of this event, the Lord has, very purposefully and intently, laid a verse upon my heart. Matthew 11:28 "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." 

I am weary. I am certainly burdened. Instead of approaching Him for rest, however, I walk in big circles all around him, dragging my baggage behind me. I can see Him, always keeping at least the corner of my eye on His whereabouts. I can hear Him, keeping Him close enough to catch anything He might say. But I keep my distance, and tread in the path I've indented in the ground, from never straying away from it. What will it take for me to climb out and approach Him, to hand off my weighted worry, fear, doubt, and anxiety, and to trade it all for rest? "Trust me."

But... I did. I did trust you, and my daughter died. I trusted I would finally have a normal pregnancy, and instead we buried our baby. After losing her, I trusted we would bring a baby into this world without a stressful or tragic pregnancy. It was such a close call. Too close. Rather than trusting you now that Little Man is here safely, I focus on the fact he nearly wasn't. "Trust me."

We've had some situations arise very recently that give us cause to worry and fret, that make us uncertain about our future and stability. When the ground has been so shaky beneath your feet for so long, it doesn't take too big a jolt to knock you off balance. We have no idea what's in store for us, we have no idea what these circumstances or situations mean, we have no idea the purpose for them, or the plan for us. We have no idea. "Trust me."

I've realized, today, I'm tired of worrying. I'm tired of fretting. I'm tired of those feelings and emotions being completely unproductive in changing any results. I am not the provider for my family. God is. I have to trust Him. I would much rather lay my burdens at His feet and have rest in return, than continue to carry them and entrap myself in the same rut, as I go about in circles avoiding the One who can help me.

"Trust me." I'm not sure I know how to do that completely, but I've got to try. I can't compartmentalize pieces of my life, or of my trust. It's all or nothing. Here I go, Lord. Head first. Grant me rest.

The Challenge That Rocked The World

You've seen about it, heard about it, and even participated in it. I'm talking about the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. It has caused a big stir, mostly positive, around the world in raising awareness (and research funding) for ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease). Of course, we can't have a positive movement without criticism and fuddy-duddy retorts. "You can't cure ALS with a bucket of ice, so I'm not gonna do that challenge." Whatever. Just shush, and listen up. Here are five reasons you should be proud of this movement, whether or not you or someone you know is currently affected by this disease.

1. People are uniting for a cause.

Raising awareness, or money, or both, people are coming together and calling upon one another to take a stand. It's not anything you've heard of or knew much about before? Huh. That was us before stillbirth. We didn't know babies could die. Our babies. Stillbirth isn't something people talk about. Neither is ALS. It's real, it's out there, and it deserves medical research and advances as much as any other ailment or medical anomaly. A bucket of ice won't cure ALS, or prevent stillbirth. But you know what it will do? Get people talking about it, get people thinking about it, and moving the needle to a worthwhile cause that doesn't get the spotlight as it rests in the shadows of other, also worthwhile, causes. Stillbirth research will always have my heart because of what we've been through, but you know what? I'm okay giving to other causes because I hope one day, those people will want to give to stillbirth research and prevention. Just because.

Celebrities, neighbors, kids, coworkers, bosses, friends - everyone is on the same playing field in this cause. People of all ages, genders, beliefs, and backgrounds are coming together to say "this disease is brutal for those who have it, and I'll support it, if only for five minutes and ten dollars." They may never think about it again, but the point is they're thinking about it now. And they're setting all differences aside to come to aid of those who need it. That is powerful.

2. People are showing self-sacrifice.

Ice water is cold. Really, really cold. Having it dumped over your head makes you really, really cold. It's uncomfortable. But it's temporary, and being temporarily uncomfortable in an effort to show solidarity with those who are uncomfortable living with the disease, is nothing to shirk from. You know what else is uncomfortable? Talking about it. Talking about muscle atrophy. Death. But it's happening, and it needs to be talked about. Another uncomfortable thing - more for some than for others - is to open that pocketbook to give to a cause. Some don't have the extra bucks. But they have heart. Good for ALS for raising research funds they've only dreamed of previously. And kudos to everyone who has chipped a little from their budget to make it happen. 

3. It's tapping into a creative, innovative vein.

I've seen so many videos of the challenge, and people coming up with as creative ideas as possible for having ice dumped on them. I've seen people be incredibly creative with how, who, and where they give money to. I've seen funny videos, I've seen tear-jerking videos, and I've seen videos like mine - no frills and to the point (and hard to hear). But there is a desire within the people who are participating to really make this a memorable experience, and I love that. They're also being creative with who they nominate to take the challenge. Cookie Monster was nominated for pete's sake! I love it. Keep on creating, people. Don't stop putting your imagination to use!

4. It is raising awareness.

It's raising awareness for ALS, absolutely. There are other groups, causes, and people who have had awareness raised for them as well, and I love it. Get out there and shout your cause from the mountain tops! The next time I feel like I'm talking to myself begging for help to clean the kitchen, I might just dump a bucket of ice water over my head, because it will get the attention of my family! This awareness has exploded, all because of a simple challenge, and that. is. awesome. It also raises awareness in the reward of charitable giving. People are learning the meaning of it being better to give than receive. This is a lesson that everyone, everywhere, should be made aware of, and the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge is helping spread that message. 

5. It's teaching our children.

I've seen so many families partaking in the challenge together. Kids filming parents. Entire families dousing themselves. Kids seeing their parents involved, seeing others they respect and look up to involved, and being involved themselves, teaches so many valuable lessons. It teaches them there is power in standing together for a cause. It teaches them giving doesn't have to be hard or only ever out of obligation. It teaches them to think outside the box when faced with a challenging situation. It teaches them about facing adversity. It teaches them about hope. It teaches them that they, even as kids, have the power to make a difference. My heart swells up thinking on this last point alone. Go get 'em, kids.