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Welcome!

I'm so glad you've stopped by! In June 2010 I left a great job to be a stay-at-home momma to my three sweeties. Join me as I explore the joys and sorrows of leaving work, staying home with the little people who matter most, as well as the trials of living on one income, marriage, life, and living by faith. I'm learning so much about myself, my husband, and my kids by writing here and I hope to continue learning to sing praises to the One who gave me this blessed life!

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Today

I had big plans for the day.  You know what I mean. 

The dishes would be done, the kitchen clean.
I would finally get to mopping the wood floors.
I would have a chicken thawed, seasoned, stuffed, and in the oven half-done by the time hubby came home.  Chicken and roasted veggies.  Wholesome, no?
And the diapers would all be washed up and the rest of the laundry would be done.
Hubby would be impressed.

I woke up thanking the Lord--in advance!--for the gift of today.  Wasn't I being a good Christian mommy?

Yeah.

The baby is teething, and all three kids have had a cold.  And for some reason, some obnoxious mood has overtaken them.  They're kinetic today.  Mostly feeling better, but it seems they can't stop moving. 

Even in sleep. 

My middle child rolled off the toddler bed and bounced off a bookcase, splitting his lip, before thudding to the floor.  Howling broke through everyone's nap. 

And the diapers are all I've managed to clean.  I have blood on my sleeve.

Yeah.

Today.  It was one of those, "What in the world have I done?" days. 

So I must remind myself:
Owies kissed and snuggles given.
Breakfast and lunch (so far) enjoyed.
Diapers changed. 
Snacks eaten.
Train tracks laid.
Baby nursed.
Noses wiped.
Books read. 
Giggles shared.
Prayers breathed.

Today has been a productive day after all.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Post-partum Depression, Part 3

This morning in my prayer closet (AKA, the shower), I had a remarkable conversation with God and I came to the realization that I needed to give myself permission to get better. Isn't that strange?

All this time I was praying for the odd combination of numbness and pain to cease, to have it taken from me so that I could get on with my life as I'd hoped it would be. Over the last few months my prayer changed from, "Help me! Take this pain away!" to, "Lord, take me through this," to, "Lord, have your way in me," to, simply, "Be glorified."

Thing is, I've been re-discovering how God uses the difficulties in my life to refine me as a Christian. Not just as a woman, or a daughter, or a mom, or Steve's wife (even though we've been inseparable for nearly 14 years), but as a child of God. God, as my refiner, turns up the heat now and then to burn off the junk he won't use. The fire hurts. It burns and blisters and I cry out in pain even as He re-creates who I am IN HIM. The Refiner holds me tightly in His grip even as I fight the process. I don't need my hang-ups, they can be burned away. I don't need past hurts lived over and over in my mind, nor do I need to let current trials define who I am in Christ. Fact is, I'm a blood-bought princess, a daughter of the Most High, not worthy to be saved but saved nonetheless. Mercy flows over old wounds and I'm healed. Love poured out red at the cross.

I know this might all seem like some weird code for those of you who are not in Christ, and maybe it is! But those of you who DO know Him know what I'm talking about: hope of healing is hope for what we haven't experienced yet, because the PROMISE of healing is all over the Bible. Not just my healing from depression, but from the hurt of disregard, from the pain of rejection and the bitterness of betrayal, to the deep throbbing ache that comes out of mourning. Healing comes. Not in my time, but in His time. And it comes over and over, even as we find we're bleeding afresh.

I think God allows heartbreak in this life so that He can re-shape us, re-work our hearts into vessels He will fill. If the heart is never broken, how can all the selfishness come out? How can we be rid of the junk we invest our hearts in, if they're locked tight against God? I've locked myself up inside for so long . . . and I really thought I was protecting myself, because depression is a self-focused thing.


The reality is, the only way for me to be free of the "me-ness" was for the lockbox I'd made my heart into to be gently chisled open by the wounded hands of Christ. Even as Jesus held me in my pain, I held the hammer that would drive the nails through his flesh and into the cross. MY sin (and yours) held him there. He died. He was buried and when He rose He bought for us new life.

I am humbled. I am brought low in the knowledge that the King of Heaven did this because He doesn't want to part with me, but to be with me for eternity.

I am undone, and yet made whole. A lock box may be whole, but it is locked.

A chipped, marred, uneven and imperfect vessel is more useful than a locked box without a key.

Fill me up and pour me out, Jesus, as imperfect a vessel as I am. I have no need for locks any longer.

You bought my freedom. Please help me not to waste it.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Post-partum Depression, Part 2

This was originally posted as a note on Facebook, on December 7, 2010.
Time to move my writing all to one place, huh?


I keep waking up hoping a new day will bring a change. Today isn't that day. 

Trying not to be too disappointed, just trudging through. This is usually my favorite time of year, when we prepare to celebrate the coming of Christ: God made flesh, Love incarnate. Right now I just don't know . . . I wish I could muster up some excitement for my kids.

Trying to keep a joyful attitude is WORK right now. This stinks because I know that old adage "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" is proving to be painfully true, and the result is kids with stinky attitudes. My attitude sets the tone for my home--but I really just want to be away from everyone, and they just want to provoke each other.

This has been really hard on my girl. She's usually a very jolly kid, but she's been getting mad at me and really sassy. I try to tell her that mommy is just having a sad time right now, and she tries to sympathize as only a 4 year old can, but I can tell that she's frustrated. Naughty behavior= instant attention from mom. Hooray.

My big boy is still not talking and his preferred method of communication these days is the scream--how charming! Honestly I don't have the energy--or the willpower--to enforce house rules (but just how in the world do you enforce "No screaming" on a not-quite-two-year-old who can but won't talk?).

I know God has a purpose for allowing pain as well as joy. I know He is in control here. I'm just so tired of being in this mire. I hope I can learn something from all this..

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Post-partum depression

This was originally posted as a note on Facebook, on Friday, December 3, 2010.
Time to move my writing all to one place, huh?

Why don't we women talk about this? I mean, even to each other?

There shouldn't be any shame in having post-partum depression. I'm working through it myself right now, but for some reason have been reluctant to talk about it with anyone other than my mom and sister, and my sweet husband. Even talking with *them* about it is hard. (Thankfully my husband is the kind of guy that will listen without trying to fix everything for me!)

Hormone levels change drastically during pregnancy, at birth, and afterward when nursing is established: all these changing hormones can do a number on a woman's mood. Add in recovery from giving birth, punctuated sleep and the stress of your clothes not fitting, and drastic mood swings can result. I know a lot of this is common knowledge, but these are things I have to remind myself when the emptiness starts creeping in.

I haven't done the research, but I think the natural hormone change process is interrupted when a woman has a c-section, like me. Does that mean she is more likely than others to have PPD? I don't know. This is the first time I've had to deal with it, after three cesareans.

Depression is not a logical state of mind: after four years of praying and waiting, I am finally able to be home with my children--and I don't feel anything. Not happy, although we were extatic to welcome our newest son; not sad, though sometimes I can't stop the tears. Sometimes I feel lonely when I'm surrounded by my loving family. It doesn't make sense.

I can't sing. Those of you who know me well know that that's just not me. I sing when I'm cooking. I change a diaper, I'm singing to a little someone. When I'm driving, in the shower, cleaning, almost everywhere I go I'm singing something . . . but right now I just can't find the desire.

I'm not sharing this for sympathy, though I would appreciate your prayers as I travel this road. I'm also not looking for solutions--what I'm doing now seems to be working (dietary changes, rest, herbal supplements) and I'm back to functioning normally. I just want to encourage new and experienced mommies to be on the lookout for the signs, and please talk about how you're feeling with people you trust.

My symptoms surfaced suddenly, almost violently, and it was a real struggle for me to acknowledge that what was happening to me was depression. But it is, and I'm getting through it.

I still don't feel like myself but I can laugh with my kids again, and I know the Lord will help me find my voice again.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Perspective

This was originally posted as a note on Facebook, on Wednesday, March 16, 2011.

Time to move my writing all to one place, huh?

It was a hard day, and frankly, the last place I wanted to be was at the grocery store with the whole family. I've had this cold/flu thing, and I just wanted to be back home in my jammies.

The kids had been restless all afternoon . . . cabin fever big time! Picking at each other, picking at me . . . driving me just a little nutso . . . so fighting the dinner-time mob at the store just wasn't where I wanted to be.

The baby had finally fallen asleep in his car seat--poor third child, not allowed to nap by the noisy older siblings--when we got to the checkout. My oldest started asking for everything she saw: "Can I have a princess doll? Can I have gum? Can I have a cookie? Can I, oh they have candy canIhavesomecandymommypleeeeease?" Well, 20 minutes before dinner I was not going to give in to treats.

So she starts crying, which really lifted my sinus headache to a whole other level.

I was just trying to keep it together so we could get out the door, when an older lady approached. She smiled sweetly at the kids, and just as I was about to offer her the older two (for free!), she asked softly,

"Oh, can I just take a peek?" and stopped to admire the baby.

"I think he's asleep." I said quietly. "Finally!"

She gave me a measuring look, as if she was looking straight into my heart, into my bad day, into my headache. She started to speak, paused and pursed her lips, then began:

"We, my husband and I, got our first child when she was 5 months old. We adopted her, you know," she looked fondly at my sleeping babe. "She was 11 months old when the papers were finalized."

She took another deep breath. "A few months later I had this flu I just couldn't shake," she said, patting her stomach. "I finally went to the doctor, and he said, 'Well, we know you can't get pregnant, but we'll check just in case.' Well, wouldn't you know, there it was, we were pregnant after all." I smiled, enjoying the story of her miracle.

She stood another moment, smiling at the baby, then looked up at me through yesterday's tears. "We lost 6 more after that, but I had my girls." She sighed, smiled, then said, "And we fostered more than 300 children after that."

I was stunned. "Oh, well God bless you, what a wonderful thing to do!" I said with tears welling up in my eyes.

"And," she said grandly, "I also have 15 great-grandchildren." She beamed at me, then went on her way with a, "Have a nice evening."

I wish I'd asked her name. If I'd been able to speak, I'd have thanked her for her generous heart, and for helping me to have a better outlook on my day.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

A picture of me

This was originally posted as a note on Facebook, on  Monday, April 25, 2011.
Time to move my writing all to one place, huh? 

The realization took my breath away, literally stopping me in my tracks halfway to the breakfast table.

My girl and I had just gone round and round and round . . . she was crying, screaming, stomping and generally throwing a fit because she'd gotten something in her eye. I kept telling her I needed to take a look, touch her face, make sure she was okay. She calmed down, then the stinging returned and the jumping crying fit started over again. For nearly half an hour we were at it: me, trying to make sure she was not cut or injuring herself further, she, trying to rub her eye and relieve the pain.

Finally she'd cried it out, whatever it was, calmed down, and we were able to get on with making our scrambled eggs.

I finished cooking our meal and was bringing it to the table when I discovered, once again, that God has a great sense of humor. The realization that left me breathless was this: the screaming crying stomping fit I'd been trying to quell was a perfect picture of how I have acted when wounded, though the struggle is internal.

Often in my life, I find that when something hurts I call for help (through prayer), help comes (like me going to my daughter, my Savior comes to me), and I fight the help. I calm down long enough to allow Him to touch the hurting places, but only long enough for the pain to start again, then I start crying and throwing a fit (of sorts). WHY do I do that? Why do any of us do that?! We ask God to help us and when He shows up, we won't let Him touch our wound. It's madness

I'm going through a Bible study with some girls from church--it's on freedom in Christ--and we're tackling the topic of forgiveness. The emotional mess I've found myself in with my PPD has helped to open my eyes to old junk I was hanging on to, specifically--unforgiveness. That was another breathless realization. I honestly thought I'd dealt with some of the old hurts, but in reality I'd buried the pain under performance and a well-polished mask. Yuck. This was not a place I expected to go when I started this study. I was *hoping* for freedom from the depression. Fortunately for me, my Savior knows what I *truly* needed--to let go of past hurts through forgiveness--and He was faithful to lead me to it.

So as I ponder this truth, it brings me to another . . . the reason I haven't been able to sing. Of course, I still have the ability, such as it is, but the desire and real passion for music and praising God has been absent for almost a year. I haven't "felt" it but couldn't put my finger on it. It was like every time I went to lay down the offering something was holding me back, barring me from the altar.


Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.” 
Mark 11:23-25

I had been asking for healing, but not truly believing it would come. My frustrated prayer that changed from "Help me!" to "Be Glorified!" let me see how I was scratching scars and keeping them open, raw, prone to infection. I was rubbing my wounds instead of inviting my Savior to come in and heal them, just like Rachael rubbed her eye when it hurt. Wow. I was carrying hurt around that was keeping me out of the throne room, away from the altar, like when you try to walk through a doorway holding a broom horizontally in front of you, it bars the way. Wow again.

So again I'm laying it down again , and will continue to do so. It's the only way I can re-focus my attention on what truly matters here: giving my Savior what He's asked of me.

Everything.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

The FIRST annual Boy Mom BlogHop!

Mothers of Boys

Helloooo there ladies of The M.O.B. Society!  Welcome to this little corner of my world.

Until recently this little blog o' mine has been more of a diary for me than anything, so forgive the newbie-ness.  I've been a SAHM for just over a year now, and I'm still trying to get it together.  Hopefully connecting with some of you ladies will help! 

My oldest, my girly-girl, is 5 years old, and I have two extremely busy little dudes, who are 2 1/2 and 9 months old.  Oh, do those boys keep me on my toes!  Since they're so little and I'm still trying to puzzle out being a boy mom, I wonder if any other boy moms out there ponder these types of questions:

  • Where did the facination with trucks and trains (and anything with wheels) comes from?
  • WHAT is UP with the crazy gastric noises? My dudes are little, but have full-on man burps. Seriously.
  • And the question I don't think I'll ever answer:  why, when you're about to have photos taken, do they get some sort of scratch/bump/bruise on their face?
I don't get boys yet.  But they sure are a lot of fun  :-)

In the last two years our family has gone through some major changes, I've dealt with depression, had a baby, moved, left a job I loved . . . yeah.  There's a lot going on here!  I'm sure lots of you can relate. 

I recently started reading Notes To Aspiring Writers (<---please read this ASAP!) and have determined to write for that all-important "audience of one," my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  I have nothing worthy to offer to my God but my honest praise. 

Psalm 27:5-7 (NASB)
For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.
And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the LORD.
Hear, O LORD, when I cry with my voice,
And be gracious to me and answer me.

After all, didn't Jesus say that if men ceased to praise Him, the very stones would cry out?  
 
So that's my new goal here:  to daily sing the Lord's praise, to worship Him with thanksgiving, to find the music in the everyday.  When the days are bright, sunshiny, and full of fun, I need to praise God.  Even when the days are hard and it feels like my tears won't stop; even when there's a bad cut that needs stitches; even when I'm too tired to play blocks, or read that Thomas the Tank Engine book again; I need to praise Him. 
 
Will you join me in the choir?

~

Welcome to the First Annual Boy Mom BlogHop hosted by The M.O.B. Society.  How does it work? Glad you asked!


1.Write up a welcome post on your blog
2.Include information about you and what your blog is about
3.Tell us about your boys (age, how many, etc)
4.Share anything you think other boy moms need to know about you (ministries, businesses, etc)
5.Share a few of your sons’ favorite books and tell us the age group they’re best-suited for
6.Visit the MOB Society blog on July 28th and link-up your blog to the hop (use the post’s permalink)
7.Commit to visiting as many other blogs in the hop as you possibly can to make new friends, say “hi” and encourage one another in the Lord.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Depression sucks.

If PPD is "all in my head" then there is something wrong with my head. Because symptoms are trickling down to other parts of my body. My eyes leak the tears I've held back over years of trying to be strong. My heart aches for what I gave up to get where I am. Yes, sometimes I miss being away from it all, even when all I prayed for is in my lap. Or, was in my lap but is now in the other room unloading my bookshelf. Oh brother. I'm really tired of the fight. Tired of fighting back tears, anger, harsh words of frustration. Tired of the reparation when I don't have the strength to hold back. Maybe I shouldn't be fighting. Maybe I need to get out of the way so the LORD can fight for me. But . . . just what does that look like, anyhow? To get out of God's way so that I can be whole again? To "be still and know"? It doesn't seem to be just sitting around on my hands or twiddling my thumbs. Being still doesn't solve the daily dinner dilemma, nor does it conquer Mount St. Helluvalottalaundry. The business of life has to continue while I wait on God, or everybody goes naked and starves. But what am I waiting for? For the weather to change so I can open the windows again? For my husband to get home so I can run away for some peace and quiet alone? For the baby to learn how to sleep without being held so I can have the use of both hands? For my oldest to old enough to go out to play alone? But . . . why should my peace be dependent upon any of this? Why can I not have peace where I am, with dishes undone, with a two-year-old trying to help me type, with my left arm pinned under one who needed to nurse to sleep? The truth is, my peace shouldn't be wrapped up in any of this. My sense of peace comes from the Prince of Peace. If I should not be home with my children, the Lord would not have allowed this to happen . . . would He? So many questions when what I really need to do is trust the One who gave me life. I wasn't expecting this new life to be easy, but I can admit I *was* hoping for a little more peace.

Friday, March 11, 2011

My oldest is 5 today

. . . and I'm typing this as my youngest snores softly on my left shoulder. And my-now 5-year-old tries to type alongside me.

Oh, she woke up the baby. No surprise there!

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That was her helping "write my letter." :-)