Super Bowl Blues

Super Bowl weekend. It's like a holiday for for sports fanatics like me. I'm fixing a pot of chili and we will hang out here, alone, to watch the game. 

There's significance in the word alone. We have been here exactly nine months. Alone is how we have spent most of our time here. With the exception of Christmas Day, we have spent good and bad times alone. 

Here is the other reality for us. If we were still in KC, we wouldn't be spending Sunday alone. Five of the last six years, we have joined friends to watch the Super Bowl. If we were in KC, we wouldn't have spent most of the last nine months alone. We would have had friends with us through it all. 

Obviously, this really isn't about the Super Bowl. 

When we moved, I was excited. My husband's contract was for two years. He came here wanting to do his time so we could move back closer to his family. I didn't do that. I came in wanting to make this my home. I didn't want to put limitations on myself or potential relationships. I worked on my husband. 

For months, he didn't feel like this was home. I spoke directly to his heart. Begging him to embrace the community and to make friends. He has finally done that. He is starting to feel connected to this area and now reminds me that this is home. 

We have really flip flopped and it makes me sad. 

I don't fit here. I don't belong here. This place is not my home. I am finally ready to begin a countdown until we can move back to KC. 

I suppose there has been a little bit of dishonesty in some of what I have previously said. 

There has been truth in what I have shared about the number of relationships I have developed. I have one female friend. Although I'm not a very good friend in return, so we really don't talk much. the minister and his wife are super sweet people and have been kind to us. We consider them friends as well. My husband has made some great friendships with guys at work. 

That's about the size of it. 

The truth is that the struggle has been harder than I've let on or even imagined it would be. When I say I don't fit, I'm not kidding. 

I've said over and over that everyone here is so nice. After nine months here, I can tell you that the majority of my experience has not been so. Here is truth from my perspective. 

People here don't seem to like outsiders. We aren't welcome. People don't go out of their way to get to know us or even make us feel welcome. They are even less welcoming once they've gotten to know us at all. 

The past few months, I have experienced more rudeness than kindness specifically directed at me. No kidding. This week was particularly awful. I had the entire spectrum of ego, attitude, poor communication, and flat out being treated as if I were not human. 

Of course I'm disheartened. It is discouraging to want to fit in and love this place but to be slapped in the face every step of the way. 

I have finally reached my threshold. The point when bad outweighs the good. 

It is evident in most areas of my life. I don't want to leave the house. When we do, we go to Dayton or Chillicothe. We drive an hour away for the simplest things because there is no connection to this area. 

This will be my third week sitting out of church. I don't even have a desire to go back. The worship and preaching is good. Don't get me wrong. I miss that part. But it's hard for me to feel like such an outsider. We have an older man who shakes our hand and one or two people who might talk to us or say hello. We aren't oblivious. We watch others hug one another and have heartfelt conversations. It's not lost on us that we aren't loved that way. We walk away each week knowing we are growing, but feeling lost. 

I'm not placing blame. It is possible that this is the Lord's way of not letting us get comfortable. I am also not naive enough to think that this couldn't be His way of preparing our hearts to be changed and for us to see God's glory. 

That doesn't negate how difficult this is. I feel like I'm a stranger in a foreign land. Its uncomfortable and I don't fit.

Until the Lord moves or shoves me in another direction, the countdown is on...it's 15 months. 

Bell's Palsy

I know I shouldn't, but I'm having one of those "what are you thinking, God" mornings. I know my life is relatively simple compared to others and things could always be worse.

This past weekend, I came down with Bell's Palsy. It is the second time in five years. According to the doctor, I have very active chicken pox virus triggers. Since I live in an area where people (the Amish) don't vaccinate, there is always some disease going around.

Bell's Palsy is an inflammation of the facial nerve caused by a virus. The virus is suspected to be a remnant of the chicken pox virus and the same which causes shingles.

When the facial nerve is inflamed, it stops working. This causes one half of the face to stop working. This nerve goes into the face and ear. The entire side of the face droops and a variety of problems arise. The worst pain is in the ear. There is an excruciating pain that shoots inside the ear and around to the back side.

Beyond the ear, the pain is minimal. While the face isn't numb, it's not painful. The eye is the only other part of this that is painful for me. My eyelid does not close when I blink, so it gets incredibly dry. Dry eye can cause pain and corneal ulcers. For now, I make sure I physically push my eyelid closed as much as possible and use eye drops routinely. The opposite side of the face does get a bit worn out for over compensating and it's tiring.

The worst part isn't the pain, it's the mental wearing.

As you can imagine, this touches on so many of my anxieties. When it comes on, there is a fear of stroke. Loss of movement on one side of your face mimics the first signs of stroke. Thankfully, it doesn't take long to see that besides your face, nothing else is affected.

There is also the anxiety and fear that it will never return to normal. I remember last time going 2 1/2 weeks and thinking this would be my life.

My first signs were probably last Tuesday. I woke up with my tongue feeling funny. It felt like I had burned it on one side and everything I ate tasted funny. However, I couldn't remember burning myself. It seemed to get better but still be present the next few days. During that time, I thought I was getting an ear infection because I had a terrible pain. Friday morning, my right eye felt funny, like it was smaller. By Friday night, I could tell that my face was shutting down. Saturday, I had a little movement in my brow and by Sunday, nothing worked.

But mentally. Man. What a nightmare.

It is hard to do anything. My vision is blurry. The eye that is dry waters non stop or is blurry from not blinking. The other eye hurts from compensating. I won't drive right now because I don't feel it is safe with blurry vision and my one eye is light sensitive. School work is difficult because of the vision problem.

My house is filthy because I have no energy to do more than I am doing right now. When I say dirty, it's probably not what most people would consider dirty. It's dusty and there are dog toys every where. The dining room floor is dirty from paw prints that have walked through the mud and snow. The kitchen stove needs cleaned and there is clutter laying every where. So, dirty for me.

Usually, my husband would pick up the slack but that isn't happening right now. He is just now starting to get over his cold and has worked a lot. He is also dealing with some emotional aftermath of losing his co-worker and woke up last night with an ear infection.

I'm not sure anything is more difficult than looking in the mirror. Half my face looks like a brick. There is no movement. I wipe away the watery eye and then the drool in the corner of my unintentional frown.

Eating and drinking is horrendous. With your half your lips not working, it is almost impossible to take a drink without some of it running uncontrollably back onto your shirt. It's all water for me right now. Thankfully my husband is a good sport. I have to eat with my mouth open so that I don't choke. I can chew on the right side, but can't move food around. Evidently your jaw is not affected by the facial nerve. I'll spare you the details, but eating is messy and I have choked a few times.

I feel a bit forced to be homebound right now. Not that anyone would judge me, but I certainly want to spare them.

Yesterday, I did go to the doctor. I had and will be having electrical stimulation done on my facial nerve for the next five days. I don't know if it will help at all. Since the treatment yesterday, I have had twitching in my eyelid and lip. I hope that is a good sign.

For now, I fight the pity party. I fight my desire to sit and cry until it goes away. I know it could be worse, but it feels pretty bad right now.

Challenging Encouragement

At the end of our bible study this week, our minister gave us a challenge. His challenge has brought me to my knees asking for a change in my own heart.

His challenge was for us to encourage someone to use their spiritual giftedness. Seems simple enough, right?

I love a challenge, but I love encouraging people even more.

Currently, I am in a season of feeling discouraged. Not uncommon, I've been through them before. We live in the middle of nowhere. Really, nobody knows me and I don't know them. The number of people who could encourage me in helpful ways here is minimal. My husband has a little bit broader base of people because of his job.

All that to say, I know how much it means to be encouraged. I know what it is like to be encouraged to utilize the gifts I've been given. One of the most satisfying ministries I have ever been a part of was the women's at one of our previous churches.

The women's ministry leader plugged me into areas where I could be used. Sometimes, I hated it. Who really wants to always be in charge of feeding large groups of women? I mean come on, women are picky and bitchy. However, by stepping into open roles and proving myself, I was able to work into roles that I enjoyed a lot more. Not an easy thing to do.

When I was leaning toward going back to school, I called a string of friends. One after another encouraged me to use what the Lord has given me, both in gifts and experience. It made the decision easier to apply. If they had discouraged me, I would have had to pray through it even more than I did.

Needless to say, I was happy to encourage someone. Therein, I hit my wall.

Because of physical distance, I have been distanced from most of my friends in KC. It's understandable. Almost nine months away and I really have no clue outside of social media what is happening in their lives or how they have changed.

Here, I don't know people. I have a lot of acquaintances through church or who are neighbors. I have two people I would consider friends. Both of those people are using their gifts daily. Not that they don't need encouragement, but this type would probably be lost of them.

It is a punch in the gut each time I inadvertently realize just how alone I am here and how real the struggle is to develop relationships.

In a completely unrelated text thread with someone, I explained again how and why I failed with our small group and why it still affects me now.

Honestly, I wept through the entire message. My double ply walls are up and nobody is getting in and I remain restrained. I realize that the pain in self inflicted, but the fear of offending someone or being hurt is far greater.

I know because it's been said to me that others consider this a pride issue. It's not. It is thoroughly based in fear. I pray about this. I pray for the fear to be lifted. I pray for a comfort to be transparent with people.  The only thing not directed at me specifically is when I pray for the people around me to be accepting of me even when I have different views or ideas. Accepting of me, regardless of whether they agree with my thoughts or not.

My husband laughs at me every time I say I wish I had lots of girlfriends here. He knows me. He knows how hard that would be for me to do successfully. He knows that I am more like him than the average woman. And yet, he knows I enjoy deep conversations and relationships with women.

It was a fair challenge offered by my minister, one I wanted to take on. Even when I am the most discouraged, I can easily be an encourager. But I'm not sure I have the resources to do this one. It is a sad day when you realize you don't know anyone enough to know what their gifts are and how to encourage them.

He is Fearless

When it comes to anxiety, my husband and I are complete opposites. That's true with a lot of things, but this is probably one of the few things where we end up on the opposite ends of the spectrum. 

There was a time in my life when I was fearless. It was when I lived a chaotic life that was out of control and life threatening situations were a norm. I didn't fear because I didn't have any regard for my own life. Sad, but true. 

As I began to live a more average life, I began to become far more anxious about things out of my control. I became a hypochondriac and fretted about everything. Through my time in counseling, I learned that my behavior was a common bi product of my past. 

For the most part, my anxiety is minimal compared to what it was two years ago and beyond. When my anxiety is at its peak, I can't leave the house. In fact, I barely leave my bedroom. The idea of being around people sent me into a panic. Thankfully, that has been minimal since we moved. There have been times when I've hidden, but it's been more emotional than anxiety. 

Flu season makes me anxious. Traveling, especially in bad weather, causes anxiety attacks. Health stuff will cause me minor panic. Those are my major hang ups and the rest are minor that will cause major anxiety when they flare. Not that it's an excuse, but my PTSD does make me prone to anxiety that's difficult to control. 

My husband on the other hand, no anxiety. I'm a bit jealous. I've seen him anxious only a few times in our marriage. Most of them were medication induced and the rest were health related when his bp was high. 

I don't like quips but he's as cool as a cucumber. He's so calm about everything. When we wrecked the truck a few years ago, he was absolutely calm. So much so that the deputy asked me if he was always that calm or if he was on any substances. Of course not. He's just that easy going. 

My husband is the guy that is firm in chaos. He doesn't get overly excited. 

He really fears nothing. Driving on icy roads. Fixing live electrical outlets. He's either fearless or has a solid faith. 

I suppose I have enough fear and anxiety for both of us. I'm glad we balance each other. 

Lord, bring him home safe

That's the prayer I say most mornings as my husband leaves for work. It is my way of handing him over to the Lord and calming my own anxieties. Lord, bring him home safe.

Of course I have anxiety every time he walks out the door. As a wife, it is one of my greatest fears that he will not come home again. If the weather is bad or he is late coming home, my anxiety is even higher. I am like a nagging hag when the roads are bad. I make sure he lets me know he made it and am not settled until I get that text or call.

When my husband walks in the door at night, it is the happiest moment of any day. Not just because he is home but also because my prayers have been answered.

This summer, we went to our first tractor show. There we met one of my husband's co-workers and his family. We visited while the children took turns sitting on a tractor. A sweet family with precious kids who mimicked the sentiment of everyone we have met so far. We chatted about the adjustment and how different the people are and how crazy it is to come to a small community from a big city.

At my husband's company picnic, we had a chance to visit with this same family again. While it was only a few weeks later, the family asked how we were adapting and again we had a short, but sweet conversation.

A few months later, we prayed for this family as the husband had and was recovering from heart surgery. We discussed how difficult it would be for us if Kent were down for a few months and how emotionally hard it would be to watch him go through such an invasive surgery.

This morning, this husband, father, brother, cousin, friend and co-worker was killed in an auto accident. At 38 years old, he was gone and left was a wife, two children, family and community to grieve this loss.

It is almost unfathomable to imagine another tragedy in this small community. Given what I have seen of these people, I can only guess that they will grieve together in deep ways.

There is a sense of shock and disbelief. I heard it in my husband's voice earlier. My husband has lost co-workers and friends before. Most of the co-workers have been older or suffered illnesses. Most of his friends have been not so close, not family men and he has not been overly moved by the loss.

This is a bit different. This community is different. I have said that before and it is ever so true. When there is a tragedy, everyone either knows the person or a relative. This community is an interwoven tapestry that I have never experienced before moving here and is honestly hard to explain.

My heart is breaking for this man's wife. As husband's drive off to work, no wife ever thinks it will be the last time they see or speak to them.

I said before that tragedy has a way of triggering something inside of us. We honestly mourn alongside those around us. We grieve for widows and parents and children who lose their loved ones. But tragic losses tap at our core until we cannot help but be thankful that it was not our spouse or child or loved one. We tend to hug a little tighter and approach one another with more sincerity.

My husband kisses me every morning before he leaves for work. It is something he started doing at the beginning of our marriage. He had an hour drive through the city to and from work each day. I refused to watch the nightly news until he was safely home. I could not watch because I never wanted to see my husband's truck in one of news feeds.

I will grieve this loss alongside my community and do my best to support my husband as he deals with the loss of a co-worker. I will pray for this family and my heart will ache for them. I will ask God to comfort them in ways we never knew possible.

Yes, I will hug my husband a little tighter when he walks through the door tonight. I will praise God a little louder for answering my prayer. And, I will try to hold onto the truth that God's plan is so much bigger and better than our own, even in tragedy.

People

This is fair warning that what follows is a full on rant. It contains my hurt and personality bent, but it's a complete and utter venting of how I'm feeling about people right now. So, if you don't want to see the darkness that spews out of my heart, I'll invite you to exit now. 

It's one of those times when I've let things brew for a long time and my hurt feelings finally burst like hot lava out of a balloon. 

I live my life with the understanding that if you treat people with common courtesy and do your best to not cause them problems, then I've treated them adequately and hope for the same. 

The problem is that I don't get the same in return. In fact, I rarely do. It's rare, not unheard of, but rare to find someone who treats people with basic common courtesy. 

If you send a text, leave a voicemail, send an email, common courtesy would indicate a response. That response maybe a short explanation that there isn't time to respond. Now to be fair, I'm not talking about people who might take hours to a few days to respond. I'm talking about people who just don't. 

A few years ago, I would send a card or email nightly to someone encouraging them. I did that consistently for a year. Every night with few exceptions, I sent something. In that entire year, I only received two responses. The response wasn't why I did it, but the lack of response was why I stopped. If people weren't appreciative of encouragement, then I needed to focus my efforts and energy where it made a difference. 

Do you get what I'm saying? Common courtesy. Basic manners. 

I get equally frustrated when people change what I've done without explanation. If I've done something wrong, then tell me. The only thing I learn when someone doesn't approach me about something I've done wrong is that said person is not a good teacher or mentor. 

Aside from common courtesy, let me cover holiness. Yep, that's right. Christians who somehow think that they are sinless or their sin is less than the next person. I may not struggle with what the next person does, but I have plenty of my own. For the love of God, christians, stop trying to make yourself look better. All your doing is making the person sitting next to you feel like they aren't as good as you and that there is a sin!

And for Petes sake, stop trying to make other minimize their struggles because you don't think its a struggle they should have. I recently told someone I had a lot a going on in my life. The response was off putting. Yea we all have busy lives. Good grief. Let's have a little empathy for one another. Not everyone handles things the same way. 

While I'm there, let me cover another irritant. Stop comparing my life to yours. I've never met anyone with the exact same story as me. I don't want to. My life has sucked at times. Your life is unique to you, just as mine is to me. I worked a lot in therapy to not minimize my trauma. So, when you compare an absent mother or alcoholic father to my story, what you are doing is trying to reduce my life to what you lived through so you can understand it. Don't do it! Not to me or anyone else. 

Please don't think this is a rant about the people here in Ohio. I'm referring to the entire population of earth. In many ways, people are the same here as they are in Kansas and California and Minnesota and Florida. 

I'm sick of self centeredness. The I driven world where nobody matters but self. Even me. I can get like that even though it's not my usual and most commonly comes out with my husband. 

I hate that society has the mentality that it's not my job or someone else will pay the bill or I don't have to give as good as I get. 

It's not biblical and its not good! 

Another reason I can't wait for heaven. 

First Week In

I've squeezed a lot of learning into one week. Not so much in content but I've learned a lot about myself.

There's little I hate more for myself than failure. I don't know anyone who likes it. This week, I chose failure over compromising what I believe. I'm not talking about just being right. It's a deep belief, the center of my beliefs...that God is the center of everything. I learned that I would rather fail than agree with someone who doesn't share that core belief.

My time management skills are less than desirable. It's isnt poor management but I lack balance. When given a task, I pour myself into it and disregard everything else. I spent the first four days of this week holed up in the house, leaving only twice. Sure, I wasn't feeling well. But I didn't do much more than school work and sleep. I didn't eat right, barely showered and let dishes and clothes pile up. I'm hoping after the first week overwhelm is over, I can start to balance a bit better.

I can lovingly disagree with people I care deeply about and it's not the end of the world. I talked to several people about my major before enrolling. My school has two Christian counseling programs. One is psychology and the other religion. Only one person recommended the psychology route. She's definitely one of the most influential people in my life, so that's the choice I made. After a lot of prayer and the first weeks experience, I changed to religion. I believe that is the area where my biggest need lies.

My end goal is to partner with a church and do lay biblical counseling. I don't have any plans to do deep psychological counseling. While I will happily walk alongside people with various disorders, my calling is to point people to Christ. The greatest possible joy for me would be to watch the Lord work in people's lives during their struggles.

Despite my poor grades, I'd consider this week a success. Anytime I can learn so much about myself, it's been a good week.

Im Not Strong

At least not as strong as everyone thinks.

I kind of get tired of hearing people tell me that I'm strong. They hear parts of my story and assume that it was my strength that somehow got me through.

Not true.

My past broke me. My present continues to break me. When I feel strong, I'm reminded how weak I really am.

I will probably continue to say this for years to come, but 2014 (and the first few days of 2015) was the hardest year in our marriage.

A relocation would have been hard on anyone, even the most stable and even if they had nothing else happen. The simple truth is that our relocation wasn't all we had to deal with. I don't need to enumerate it all again.

It was the most emotionally stable year of my life. Maybe On the surface, I looked strong. I can buy that. But make no mistake, that year broke me and is still breaking me.

I had to leave an entire support system. We left friends and family, which was hard enough. But my support system. A group of people that it took years to accumulate and trust. It took years for them to understand me and learn how best to help. I can't emphasize enough just what I had to leave. I had to leave an extension of myself behind, all my comfort and understanding.

Friends. My friends back there are still there, mostly. We just aren't as close. Here, I still only have two friends. When loneliness sets in, like it has, I am acutely aware of just how few friends I have here.

The loss of two babies and now my family has devastated me.

I'm not strong. I'm completely and utterly broken.

This past week has been hard. The culmination of it all has set in and I've fought anxiety and depression.

By the time my husband gets home from work, I am nearing hyperventilation. It takes hours to calm down, hours to feel normal again.

I have PTSD. I'm going to be prone to anxiety when things are abnormal or stressful. That's right, I have a legitimate stress disorder and that means I don't process stress in the same ways as an average person. That's not strength. That's brokenness.

This is one of those times when I cannot wait for heaven. I cannot wait until my strength doesn't matter and there is no more brokenness. I cannot wait until the day when there are no more tears, no anxiety, no PTSD and no depression.

No A for Me!

I feel completely lost. I suppose trying to go back to school after a 16 year hiatus will do that to you.

I've never taken online classes. I consider myself somewhat techie. Most of the time I can accomplish more than the average person when it comes to computers and I usually pick up things quick.

These online formats...kicking my butt. Modules, forums, discussion boards, papers, rubrics, quiz, tests, calendars, etc. there's so much to keep straight.

So that I don't feel behind, I'm trying to get things done quickly this first week. Let me tell you, they don't offer any grace the first week at all.

After several of my assignments were completed, I received emails from two teachers. One was a group email explaining the assignments in more detail. Hello? Wouldn't that info be good to have before the class started? I can't imagine how people with less familiarity ever succeed.

And as far as succeeding goes, I'm certain they set you up to fail. I found out Monday that a teacher had changed books. Then so many of the questions and homework in these basic classes pertains to things that are not basic.

One class expected students within two days to theorize aggressive behavior after playing video games. What the hell? Really? I'm at a Christian school. My theory was that violent video games feed into sin. Evidently, my theory was wrong. Why? I can't prove it has anything to do with sin because the bible does not clearly cover video games. What the double hell?

Another class wanted us to write why we support a concept in counseling where the counselor is capable of curing the patient. Well I don't support that concept. As I stated, I believe God is the only one who can cure anyone. The counselor can be the hands and feet, but have no power to anyone of by their own strength. Fail! My OPINION was completely off base. Like hell it was!!!!

I chose a Christian school so I wouldn't have to compromise my beliefs to learn. That's already happening. I know what I believe from the bible to be absolutely true. So, I have to find a way to compromise what I believe but still give these people what they want.

My OCD, type A personality tells me that I'm a failure if I don't have a 4.0. Two days in...screw that!!! I just want to pass.

Discipline & Darkness

With my first day of classes behind me, I can confidently say that I am not well disciplined. This online format of study is going to force me to get even more organized than I typically am already.

After not working for almost five years, I am not sure how I have managed to keep any sense of routine at all. I suppose that is another reason why volunteering is so important to me. It is as good for me as anyone. It gives some purpose and routine to my otherwise lackadaisical life.

I have somewhat of an idea of how things will flow the best for me. Now we all know that my plans rarely work out as I imagined. However, I still fall back to God being a supplier.

It's a little crazy to think I am a college student. This is really happening. Wow! I wasn't sure this day would ever come. In fact, I was certain it wouldn't even up until yesterday. So many times I thought about backing out. I felt completely incompetent and absolutely unworthy of the opportunity.

As luck would have it, one of my professors changed the syllabus last week and I missed it. So, I'm patiently waiting on a book that I must have and have read before quizzes on Thursday. That was the only thing I was obviously missing. Of course, there was a last minute trip to the store last night for some basic supplies that I needed to stay organized.

I am most definitely taking this journey because I feel God has called me to be prepared to walk with people through the toughest times of life. It wasn't my plan, wasn't the direction I would have chosen. After the first day, one thing is incredibly clear. I am going to grow through this experience. In just my short seven hours yesterday, I can already see areas where I need to pray more and have more grace.

Day two is going to be a long one. I'm hoping to finish all of my reading, presentations and videos today. Hopefully that will give me the next two days to turn in all assignments for the first week and I can end the week early.

Today is going to be long because my husband is leaving town. He won't be gone long. However, it's my first time to be alone here in the country. It's something I will have to get used to. He will eventually travel for work again and will have a solo trip home this spring.

It will be so different without him. He's the reason the lights get shut off at night. I know, I'm 39 years old and I'm afraid of the dark. Don't laugh! It's a bi product of living in complete chaos for so long. Darkness meant something bad was happening.

So, when he is gone, the lights stay on....all night long. When I don't have my big, protective man laying next to me, the place will be lit up.

Enough procrastinating! I have a stack of books to read and a list of lectures to watch.

The Start of a Journey

Here it is, the start of classes.

The next 16 months of my life will be dedicated to getting my degree in Christian Counseling.

I am scared.

Despite my previous thoughts, I did not drop my classes. It's taken a lot of prayer and a lot of encouragement, but the right thing to do was to move forward.

A wise woman has taught me that the Lord will supply me with everything I need to accomplish what He has called me to do. Since this wasn't my idea and something I very much feel called to do, I also have to believe He will take care of me through this.

The past few weeks have unraveled me emotionally. I know that I am facing two surgeries, with one coming in the next couple months. There will be vacations and trips back to Kansas that have to be made. There will be power outages and slow internet connections. There will be other priorities and church commitments.

It was with faith I made this decision and it is by faith I will go forward.

There is an excitement to know the end goal is only a short distance away. There's so much fear. Fear of failure, fear of time management, fear of imbalance.

While the end is already in sight, the commitment is far greater. It is a financial commitment which will take some time to payoff. I have no intention to go into a paying job once I finish, but we will be bound to the student loan for quite sometime.

At $400 per credit hour, we could not have paid for an entire semester plus books. We hate having debt. It will take sacrifice, but we hope to be paying 100% by the last two semesters.

I'm ready but I'm not.

I'm holding on to what I know. He will give me everything I need to do what He's called me to do.

Self Image

For many women, self image and insecurity are daily struggles. I've never been like those women. I'm not saying I'm better than or that I don't have struggles. I do. Just not this one.

Until now. 

I've never cared too much about what I looked like. Before I was married, I really didn't care. If someone didn't like me or how I looked or what I wore...pfft! I didn't care. It probably drove me deeper into embracing who I was and caring even less. It also made me more confident than the average person, which often came across as arrogance. 

Once I was married, it only mattered what my husband thought. 

I've always tried to embrace who I was. I've never been overly feminine. I could go into all the reasons why, but I've never felt much like a girl. I am ok with that. 

I'm also very introspective. So I've spent the past few months searching my heart and trying to understand why insecurity has been eating at me so often lately. 

Little things. Big things. Things people say. It's bothered me more the past few months. I find myself being more self conscious about how I look. 

I've even gone out without my hair done and without make up to prove that I'm not tied to those things or how I look. 

But there seems to be a sensitivity in me that is new. 

Maybe it's a biproduct of the past year. Maybe it's attributable to this massive hormonal shift caused by medication. I don't know. 

Maybe it's a lack of sensitivity from my husband. I know he loves me. However, he's not complimentary. He doesn't give positive feedback. 

I've always known this about him. He used to be, but he's lost that. It only occassionally bothered me before we moved. I think maybe it's a bit more noticeable since it's just him and I most of the time. 

Whatever it is, I'm ready for it to go away. I have enough stuff bringing me down right now. I don't need to add how I look to that list. 

A Stolen Loss

There wasn't any joking when I admitted that what happened with my brother has set me back.

My anxiety has been terrible this past week. More than once I've been awake at 3 am thinking about snakes under the house.

Flashbacks and memories are overwhelming. I never thought my PTSD was gone. But holy wow. My nightmares and time of being locked in flashbacks has increased exponentially. It's been hard on me physically and emotionally.

My anger toward my parents has come back. They are the reason my brother is who he is.

As I sit here watching a tv show, I'm watching this family fearing the loss of their father. It's a show. Not real. But I sat here crying. I could blame the hormones I take, but that's not the case.

When I love someone, I love them very deeply. Friends, family, my husband, I love them. Not the kind of love that slips off the tongue easily. Not the kind that is equal to a love of potato chips. When I love, it's straight from the heart, thoroughly considered and without reason.

That deep love is why being hurt is so deeply painful.

It's not the first time but probably the hardest. I am reminded that along with all the other things my parents stole from me, they also took away every chance I could've had at loving parents deeply. Sharing life with parents. Good and bad. Caring for them in their aging years. I'll never be able to share moments of fear or loss or love with my family.

They've stolen all of that from me.

Lots of bad words come to mind right now. I'm angry. And a bunch of bad words wouldn't change that.

I'm angry. The people who should be there to comfort me and talk reasonably with me are the ones who cause the problem.

How do you ever fully recover from that?

No Family

Today I had one of those moments. One of those moments where I shook my fist at God in disgust and confusion.

They are rare for me.

I've come full circle.

When the dam broke, I blamed myself and internalized all anger. Then, as I learned about God's sovereignty, I was angry with God and blamed him. For most of the past four years, I've learned God's plan is always best and He can redeem it all. That he wasn't the author of evil. I didn't have anger toward him but learned to praise him for what He has brought me through.

But as I thought about my family today, I couldn't help but be angry. That anger was completely placed on God. The bible is clear that God created me, knit me together in my mothers womb.

Why?

Why did he give me to that mother? That family? Why not a loving family? Why not prints who wanted me? Why can there not not be redemption in my family?

God knows my heart. He knows my struggles. It's not a surprise to him that I occassionally break down and ask these questions. So, I'm not afraid of it. I'm not afraid to have those moments of letting him have it.

He also knows it is my deepest desire to be loved and surrounded with family. A desire I never had until I knew Him.

My little mind occassionally reaches a point where I can't reconcile those two things and I have no other choice but to let it out.

The past 18 months, I lived with this false reality that God had restored a piece of my family for me. I believed it was an answer to prayer.

I think many prayers were answered, but not the big one. Not the answer I wanted. After last week, I know the answer is no or not now. And that's hard to accept.

There were no tears. There wasn't much of a pity party. It was a questioning. Self doubt. What have I done to not deserve a family? I've got nobody. No blood relatives that I have a relationship with and it hurts. How could I not have times of feeling as though I'm not worthy or I'm being punished.

I'm thankful I don't have moments like this often. However, I'm glad I do because it opens the door for God to show me something bigger.

I Stood Up

I had a chance to speak briefly to a trusted friend back in KC about the situation with my brother. She offered me a different perspective that was incredibly profound.

By the way, this is why deep relationships are so vital for me. Without trust, without them understanding me, without a consistent stability and faith, I would never believe what they say.

After I explained exactly what happened, there was a brief silence. She knows how hard this is for me. She knows how difficult it is for me to once again require separation from my family and how alone I will feel in the weeks, months and years to come.

She said to me that I had to know exactly what I had done.

I did know or thought I did. I had angered my brother and put myself in an impossible position.

No.

As she went on to explain, maybe those things were true but there was a bigger truth that I hadn't seen.

She said I had done something that had never been done for me. I had done something that I had dreamed for years that someone would do in my life.

I stood up to my brother, an abuser and in front of his children.

This was the exact conversation that happened with my brother and in front of his family after he had finally stopped hitting his kids.

Me:  There is no hitting in my house.
B:  Oh that was me doing the hitting. *giggle* (I already knew this as I had seen it happen.)
Me:  I know and I said there is no hitting in my house. It isn't allowed and is unacceptable. We do not allow hitting in the house.
B:  I'll hit my kids when and where I want. They are my kids.
Me:  I said there is no fucking hitting in this house.

The kids heard. His wife heard. He heard.

I know in my brother's mind, he had the upper hand. He had spoken and that was final. However, my brother went and laid on his bed for hours too. Not sure why, but I have to think he didn't appreciate being told he was wrong.

And that is exactly what I had done. I had told him in front of four other people that he was wrong for hitting his kids.

Nobody ever did that to my dad.

My dad was a bit more restrained and never hit us in front of anyone, not even extended family. He had once. He hit me in front of my grandma when I was 1. The story she always told me was that I had gotten in his way and he backhanded me hard enough to throw me three feet back and smacked my head on the floor. My grandma didn't stand up to him but later told my mom that if she ever saw that again she would take me away. She never saw it again.

Obviously, my brother didn't have the same kind of restraint or he assumed that since I grew up in the same house then I had the same values and would be ok with it. I wasn't.

In front of my niece and nephew, I stood up to their abuser. I planted a seed that being hit and hitting children is wrong. If they've never know this before now, I hope they know now. I hope that if it happens again, they will know someone loved them enough to say no. I hope they understand someday that I loved them so much that I traded a relationship with them at a chance for their safety.

Don't mistake what I am saying, I am not a hero. A hero would have clobbered their dad and had him arrested on the spot. A hero would have done far more than have a verbal confrontation. A hero would have made certain it never happened again.

I'm not a hero. I spoke up and then placed my faith in hope. A hope that seeds were planted with all of them. A hope that it would miraculously never happen again. A hope that my painful loss would have bigger gains for my niece and nephew. A faith that our God is far bigger than me and can work in the most hopeless of situations.

When I was a kid, I didn't have any hope. I had a far fetched dream. We lived close enough to Oklahoma that we only got Dallas Cowboys games. I would watch on Sundays as the big huge guys would take each other down. My dream was that some of those big guys would come in and take  my dad out. That was it. The closest thing I had to stopping the abuse, a crazy dream.

I want my niece and nephew to have something bigger to hang onto than a silly dream.

I will never regret standing up to my brother. I do, however, regret not talking to the kids afterward. I wish I would have told them now that they should not be ashamed of what their dad has done. He is wrong and they have not deserved what has happened to them. That there is a difference between punishment and abuse. That they don't have to keep it a secret. That if it doesn't stop, they always have a safe place here.

Realistically, my abuse didn't stop until eight months ago. My dad continued the physical abuse well into my adult life and I am not exactly certain when that stopped. I do know that he continued the emotional abuse until I moved 14 hours away from him.

It took exactly 39 years to live an abuse free life. While I don't see my brother as a monster equal to my dad, I definitely don't want my niece and nephew to live in fear until they are 39 years old.

Self Inflicted Scars

As I sat in church on Sunday, I fought a flood of emotion. There was so much attention on the loss of the baby that it naturally touched on my own grief. Given the events of the previous week, I was already in high emotion before walking in the door. 

So I did what I do best, I shut down my emotions. There were no tears, nothing extra, just numbness.

It was too much. I'd been in high emotion for three days and couldn't function one more day that way. 

While sitting there, I reached down to scratch my arm. The light and angle was just right to see the scars imprinted on my arm.

They are always there, but I don't always see them. With the freckles and long sleeves, I forget they are there. Honestly, the freckles blend so well that I'm not sure anyone ever sees them. But they are there.

Sure, there are some from a variety of mishaps and abuse. But most of the scars on my arms are self inflicted. 

They are thin, shallow lines. Reminders of how I used to handle high emotion.

Yes, I was a cutter. 

It started as a teenager, slowed down in adulthood and then came back with a vengeance about seven years ago.

As a teen, I'd break something glass like a bottle and cut parts of my body that the outside world couldn't see. It wasn't for attention, it was for release. My world was chaos and I was in constant pain. The only thing that would alleviate the pain others inflicted on me was to hurt myself. 

I know it sounds crazy, but so is living the way I had to when I was young. I don't expect everyone to understand this behavior.

When the dam broke seven years ago, I was overwhelmed with pain and emotion. Cutting was the only relief I knew. 

Again, I don't expect anyone to understand what I am about to say. Most of the cutting I did from 2007-2012 was done in a dissociative state. Meaning I did it, but had no memory of it after because of dissociative amnesia. 

During those years of learning about and processing the suppressed memories, I easily became overwhelmed. It was more than anyone could handle. Flashbacks and reforming my understanding of my childhood was hard. It was probably one of the toughest things I've ever had to willingly put myself through. 

In those times of flashbacks and memories, I couldn't handle it. I wasn't equipped. My pain would push me into running, trying to get away from it and not understanding that I couldn't. 

It wasn't uncommon for me to take off driving for hours and be found at the lake by my husband or counselor/friend. They would often find me cut and bloody, crying and ready to go home. 

I can't emphasize enough that this was very normal for the abnormal life I was living. It also led to me not being allowed to drive for five years. 

The last time I did any cutting was early 2012. I started driving again on a limited basis in mid 2013. By the end of 2013, beginning of 2014, I was back to driving at my discretion. Then and now, I know when it's not safe for me to drive. Not that I fear those episodes, but I do still have insomnia and I understand it isn't always safe for me to drive.

As I sat in church looking at those scars, I was able to understand how important growth is to me.

This past year has and continues to bring me high emotion. It's one for the record books. I don't need to go over it all again. And I'm certainly not over it all yet. 

What happened with my brother was like a final straw for me. The cap for a long, difficult year. 

The emotions are certainly overwhelming me. I don't have anyone to help me process those in healthy ways. The pain is there and I don't want to feel it. I would give anything to relieve the pain.

I'm not sure what to do. However, I know what I won't do. I won't start cutting again. I won't start drinking or abusing drugs again either. That is a part of my growth that I'm not willing to let go of and take a step backward.

I have learned that the relief is temporary and the pain always comes back. It comes back and I have the added shame of the cutting. I'm not willing to go there. 

My scars are a reminder that I have begun to look to God more and try to self medicate less. 

Instead of self harm, I've learned to pray. Pray for comfort, for relief. Pray for healthier ways to let go of this overwhelm. Pray that this year brings some semblance of normalcy. Pray for what I can't change. Pray for protection from old ways of thinking and behavior.

Snowflakes and Quiet

Yesterday was Monday. The Monday after three weeks of hectic planning, doing and regretting. I wasn't motivated. Four extra people in my house for eight days means my house was a disaster. There was laundry to do. Christmas decorations to put up. But I couldn't touch it.

My day consisted of a pre snow trip to the store and a nap and heating up leftovers for dinner. I left it all be. I needed a day of peace to recharge my emotional battery.

Today, well today is different.

I woke up to severa inches of snow and it's still coming down.

It's beautiful and quiet and pure.

Emotionally, I'm still a mess. But the peace surrounding me gives me a bit more motivation.

There's laundry going. The Christmas decor is ready for the trek to the garage. The kitchen is back to normal. Pillows, blankets and board games are back in the closet. The bathroom is once again sparkling.

As I watch the snowflakes drift to the ground and listen to dogs snoring, I am struck by something very real.

I'm alone.

I'm happier when I'm not alone.

I'm extremely happy when their are children in my house.

It's a realization that I have come full circle. I know, it's not a knew revelation but when compared to my entire life, it's still relatively knew to me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not idolizing people or thinking that my happiness is somehow totally dependent on having people near me.

I am sad tht after eight months here, I'm still an outsider. I have a couple friends, but only one trusted female friend. This is still a new place and I'm struggling to fit in. I don't have a lot in common with the women here and I have nothing to share when they start talking about children or childhood or the people/things in the area. I'm not sure that's going to change. I think I have to prepare for a season of loneliness. I will say that I have a new respect for new kids in school.

Despite the really tough time with my brother and the disrespect and the lack of common courtesy, I enjoyed having my niece and nephew here.

I loved their presence. The times when they laughed and played games were amazing. Even the times when they fought and bickered and wouldn't quit picking at each other were wonderful. Having them here have my house a fullness that it is always missing. A little more cleaning, cooking, dishes, patience, it was all worth it.

We don't have to have a baby for our family to be complete, but our family feels incredibly incomplete with just the two of us.

I've always said I was not a kid person. I'll stand by that a bit. I don't like to be in masses of children. I'm still not cut out to take on 50 kids all at once. But my desire to have and raise children has never been stronger.

I happily trade watching snowflakes and the quiet for a house full of bored children or entertaining a group of friends.

Aftermath

We took my brother and his family to the airport Saturday. Not a day too soon and probably three days late.

I've obviously had some time to calm down from seeing him hit his kids. But, it's not over.

The few days following the incident were difficult and tense. We didn't talk about it and nobody could make eye contact.

My brother also spent a few hours on his bed. Not sure why. I have no clue if he had emotion about losing control or the confrontation. It doesn't really matter now.

If it had been cost effective, they would have been flown home that night.

There are a few things still resonating with me.

I don't regret my retreat to the bedroom. I was in a full blown PTSD episode and I would not have wanted my niece and nephew to see me in a reduced state. I do however regret the time lost with them. I also regret not addressing the issue with them. They had visible signs of shame afterward. They needed to know that they were loved by me regardless.

I do not regret the confrontation with my brother. No abuse in my house is a firm boundary. He needed to know that. My regret is that I didn't get physically involved when I saw the situation escalating.

My brother had shared several stories earlier in the visit of how he still beats the kids with a belt. My regret is not sitting him down then and letting him know that isn't normal and isn't acceptable.

My PTSD is not gone. I'd like everyone to think that it's almost gone, but it's not. A big trigger solicits a big response.

Under no circumstance is my brother allowed back in my house. We have a no abusers welcome policy here. He failed to apologize to the kids or us for his behavior. That solidifies that he still believes that it's ok to beat kids. That's not ok. That's not welcome here.

I'm left in an absolutely impossible position. I witnessed the abuse and heard the stories. I don't have a choice but to report him. This sucks. I know, I've done it before. I've only confessed that to one person since I made that call seven years ago. I don't know the outcome. Nobody could have ever known before now that it was me.

This time, there's no hiding it. It happened in a different state and I was a witness. There's no way to be anonymous to my family. As was the case last time, I have this emotional quandary of doing the right thing and the guilt of potentially breaking apart a family. It touches on so many issues in my life.

When we dropped them off, I didn't cry. Every visitor we've had, I've cried when they left. This time was different.

Talking with my husband later, I did cry a little. I wasn't sad they left, I was sad they came. Heartbroken.

If they'd never have come, I'd never have lost them...again.

Once my brother knows I've reported him, I'll never see the kids again. I know how that works. I'll probably never see my brother again.

This is a time when its ok to be all or nothing. Even if he didn't hate me afterward, I'd still not be able to have a relationship with him. I cannot allow toxic people in my life.

The reality is that dropping them off at the airport was more than saying goodbye to visitors. I was saying goodbye to my family. I had them in my life for such a short time and now they are gone again.

Emotionally, I feel orphaned all over again. The rebuilding from the past few years is gone. It's all gone.

We are exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Parts of the visit were good, but they were minimal. We spent a lot of money to fly them out here. We spent a lot of time watching them play on their phones and waiting on them. It's been hard and the difficulty isn't over.

I'm not sure I have what it takes or enough support to be back in this place again. My husband fears I'll become depressed again. He is a bright man.

Grieving Community 2

After today, I'm convinced this subject is worthy of more attention.

I have said it over and over and over again. The people here are different.

Walking into church this morning, there was a heaviness. It wasn't spoken. You could feel it and see it in people's eyes. A seriousness and brokenness that permeated the masses.

We started off Sunday school with a discussion about where we were from, our home. One by one, each person shared where in town or surrounding counties they were from. We quietly sat listening, knowing we were the outsiders.

Leesburg is our home now, but only for eight months. Not that it was the point of the lesson, but it reinforced the understanding that this community is a family. If I had to guess, I would say that 90% or more of the people here grew up in this or surrounding communities or have lived here for 20 years or more.

As the lesson came to a close, we learned the point was that our home is heaven. Our life here is merely the vehicle to our forever home. This led to a brief discussion about the loss of the baby. As the teacher spoke and became emotional, so did most others.

There's something incredibly powerful in seeing a grown man cry. It's moving and pure. I've learned that when a man cries, it comes from deep within and is not to be taken lightly and is more unexpected.

While I watched grown men and women wiping away tears, I couldn't help but consider two things. I first wondered how much emotion was spurred by the idea that this tragic loss could happen to anyone. A loss like this can drive people to hug their children tighter and praise God for the many blessings they've been given.

The other thing was just how deeply this family was connected.

Family is a relatively new concept for me. Even my previous church family was dysfunctional at best. I have never been a part of a family who's suffered loss and felt it collectively.

What I was seeing was all new to me. People, related only through Christ, experiencing a loss as if it was their own. It was their own. A member of their family is gone.

Later on, we sat quietly in the sanctuary. We watched people hugging each other, tears and consoling.

We are a part of this family, but we aren't. We don't know these people yet. They've accepted us, but we are still outsiders. So, we've been fairly removed from the emotion, services, visits, etc. Despite our hearts desire, we haven't been around long enough, people don't know us and we don't know them. We very much have an outsiders perspective. And that's ok, for now. It's allowing us to see the integrity and strength of our church.

Once the service started today, there was a time of prayer. Again, unlike anything I've ever seen. The elder took a knee at the big wooden cross and invited the church to join him. We'd never experienced anything like this and stayed where we were. It wasn't that we lacked compassion. It happened so fast and we didn't quite know what was happening.

Most of the church filled the stage and the isles. They knelt with hands on each other. Yes, I looked. Don't judge. I wanted and needed to see how this family had come together as one. One family, one body. At that moment, they held each other.

Although I had not seen it personally, I've heard stories of how the church family had been holding each other for days.

It's a beautiful thing to see and know. These people have embodied exactly what church was meant to be. I've said it before, these are imperfect people doing church how it was meant to be. The way we were called to be a church. They've embraced what Paul has directed us to be. They love God and love each other.

In fact, it's so overwhelming that as an outsider, it's incredibly easy to not feel worthy to be a part of them.

I've heard so many stories of how this young couple have shown so much strength, grace and faith. I can't imagine. I've not been able to handle my losses that way.

Of the 10 babies we've lost, we've never held them, seen their faces and never said a formal goodbye. I know this fall, I didn't handle the two losses with anything more than struggle and questioning. I'm thankful this young couple has given this community a picture of what it's like to go through loss when your faith is strong.

This experience has certainly given us and even better understanding of who these people are in our community. It's given us a deeper respect for the strength and health of our church. And it's most definitely validated our belief that God has us in the right place at the right time.

Grieving Community

This town and community is small. Smaller than anywhere I've ever lived. Depending on the Internet source, there is 800-1100 people. It's unlike anywhere I've lived, not just because of size but because of the overwhelming sense of family and community.

There's downsides to it, there is anywhere. But the list is short. The list of positive attributes is far longer.

Everybody knows each other, especially those who've always lived in the area. So, when there is a loss...everyone feels it.

A few days ago, a local family unexpectedly lost their four month old baby boy.

The mother is the young lady who does my hair. I first met her when she was pregnant. I met her at church and several people recommended her to me. I've had the opportunity to talk with her a few times while in the shop. I don't claim to know her well, but one thing I'm certain of is that she loves her babies.

Knowing that, I'm certain the loss has devastated her and her family.

The loss has also hit the community. Restaurants, facebook, gas stations, doctors offices, it's being discussed everywhere. Every person I've heard talk about it has known some member of the family or been a customer at the salon.

It's a loss felt by everyone. Not in an "oh that's sad" way, but in a heartfelt sorrowful way.

Again, it's unlike anything I've ever experienced.

As with any unexpected struggle in life, people cling to faith or question their faith. I've heard both.

When an elderly person passes, we are sad but often take comfort in their faith, legacy and full life. When a child is lost, we often struggle to see God's plan or goodness. We question our allegiance to a deity who would take a precious baby. I'm not speaking for everyone. However, I've seen the most mature christians question their faith after a difficult loss.

Having lost unborn children, it's an easy trap to fall into. Our emotions become stronger than truth and we question.

Since I'm the newbie in town, this loss hasn't effected me the way it has others. I'm sad, but I'm more resigned to pray for my community and those who are hurting.

I'm obviously praying for comfort and peace.

There's so much more. God doesn't create a path for us that includes pin and suffering. We have it because we live in a fallen world. Every loss, every pain, God can redeem, restore and use for his glory. It's one of the many ways He shows us how deeply and personally he loves us.

So, I'm praying for God to redeem, restore and use this loss for His glory. I'm praying the faith of this family can be strengthened and an example for the lost who surround them and are also grieving with them.

I'm praying many blessings over this community as they move on from this loss.

I'm praying those near to the family will continue to provide support and comfort to the family in the coming days, weeks and months ahead.

My heart breaks in very intimate ways for this family and community. All I can do is trust God and pray. That's all any of us can do.