Faceless

A year ago, I was immersed in overwhelming grief. Not one, but two more babies gone before I knew they existed. It was a deep, dark pit that I struggled to accept.

There was a period of time when I had barely enough energy to crawl out of bed and I spent most of my days crying, sobbing and lost. I questioned why I would be stuck in this strange place all alone and be forced to deal with even more loss.

I don't know when it ended. In reality, it didn't end. The tenderness of loss never truly goes away. It changes. The days slowly return to a normal routine and the loss no longer consumes the majority of your thoughts.

Now, a year later, I know that pain only surfaces when I see a newborn or hear a baby's cry. And for a brief moment, I wonder why such precious moments would incite high emotion in me. Then I remember.

As I was coming out of my grief induced fog at the end of last year, I watched my hair stylist enter hers. I didn't know her well at the time and we aren't super close now. She lost her four month old. Because she is so open and honest and well known, her loss has been very public.

She posted something on social media yesterday that opened my eyes to a part of my grief I rarely consider.

It wasn't the first time, but she posted a photo from a year ago of her baby boy. A chunky little guy who was full of life. She mentioned that she disliked and liked those reminders from a year ago. The photo made her sad and made her happy.

Most of the time, I can somewhat identify with the pain parents feel when they lose a baby. We've been down that road ten times.

There's a difference in miscarriage. I've been told more than once that miscarriage should be easier to grieve because you never form a true attachment to the child. I don't think that could be any more incorrect.

With miscarriage, there is a deeper grief because you grieve everything. You grieve not giving birth, not naming the child, not knowing the sex, not touching their cheek, not changing their diaper or hearing their cry. You never see their precious face with their tiny nose. They are a faceless being who only ever existed to you.

Your grief is over so much and it's rare for anyone to understand unless they've had a similar experience.

When I see a newborn or hear a baby cry, it touches that place inside me where the grief is tucked away. It reminds me that my grief is faceless and all I've lost.

Healthy Belly

So, this health kick has been interesting and about far more than just weight loss. Way back in April, it started with some serious consideration with what was happening in my stomach.

Just a recap of what I've said before about my stomach prior to taking a probiotic.

For years, I've had pain. Sometimes severe and others less so. Sometimes I felt like someone stabbed me seconds after ingesting anything. Dairy has been off limits, along with greasy, spicy or fried foods. I've had a long list of medical tests run. Besides an MRI, I've had every scan and ultrasound of my abdomen done in the last 18 months.

For a year, I was on three double doses of prescription antacids just to keep heartburn at bay. I had reflux often and it was painful. None of the tests showed anything. I was told late last year that I needed to have my gallbladder taken out and be on mess for irritable bowel syndrome, even though there were no positive indications for either.

I also went through periods of depression that couldn't be tied to anything specific. I know there were some that were, but not all.

Fast forward to April through now and I can tell you that I am far more educated.

I enjoyed May through last week without many stomach issues. I didn't change diet much, but did start trying dairy in small amounts. No severe pain and no heartburn. I was able to get off all but one antacid, which was a single dose per day.

My change was getting on a good probiotic. I believe it has healed a lot of what was causing the pain in my stomach.

There are two really important things I've learned.

Keep in mind, this is a very dumbed down version of what I've read and may include theory as much as fact.

Serotonin is produced in the belly. Serotonin is the chemical that makes you happy. Not to be confused with melatonin, which is produced in the brain and aides in sleep.

It completely makes sense that people with unhealthy guts are going to have a tougher time producing serotonin. A lack of the chemical could increase the chances of suffering from depression. When the belly is healed and the serotonin can be produced normally, it makes sense that the person would naturally be happier.

I have experienced less depression and more organic happiness since being on the probiotic. I know some of that is exercising, but I noticed the change prior to exercise.

Over the past few years, I've heard how terrible wheat is for you and awful it is for your digestive system. For that reason, I stopped buying whole wheat products. I changed our bread to whole grain white and stopped buying wheat pastas.

Because I'm a sucker for anything pumpkin flavored, I indulged in the new pumpkin spice mini wheats a couple weeks ago. Oh they were good! A box and a half later, not so much. I was bloated, gassy and in pain. I was that way for 10 days.

Not only that, but it was like all the work my probiotic had done was completely undone. I was in pain and am still dealing with things like heartburn. I increases my probiotic dosage last week and am slowly getting back to normal again. I hate that I've had to get back on higher doses of antacids, but am hopeful that will be short term.

Obviously, wheat is every bit as bad as suspected for me. My husband finished off the half box and had a similar reaction. No good!

Regardless how good something tastes, it's important to know what your putting in your body and the effect it will have on your health.

This journey is far from over. These stomach issues have been discouraging and a minor set back. I'm ready to have my healthy belly again. It'll make me much happier!

Identity in Christ

Our preacher is going through a sermon series about growth in Christ and spending time on the identity piece of it.

It hit me this morning that my identity in Christ is part of the struggle I've had recently with my feelings toward one of my brothers.

For the most part, I don't struggle as much as others I know with my identity in Christ. Honestly, that has nothing to do with me being better or more adaptable or smarter than anyone. It's because God put two very strong, godly people in my life for six years who constantly taught me where to find my identity. I'm also not saying I don't ever struggle, it's just not my biggest struggle at times.

Those two people put a lot of effort into teaching me that I am first and foremost a child of God. God created me and knows me. He hears my prayers and he loves me regardless of how awful I am. God does not see me as my biological dad does. He doesn't treat me that way and he isn't warped like him. Nothing that is said or done to me is a reflection of how God thinks of me.

It was eight years ago this month that I was baptized. Eight years ago last month that I cut ties with my family. It has never been easy to trade my dysfunctional family for God and a church family. It has been unbelievably hard to trade that last name and turmoil as my identity for the identity of Christian and child of God.

On 9-11, my middle brother went to Wichita and did the high rise stair climb in honor of the fallen heroes from the Trade Center. A few days later, there were pictures on social media.

Firstly, I didn't recognize him. It took deductive reasoning to figure out who I was seeing. When you are looking at a picture of your own brother and you don't know who he is, it rattles you. I love my brother, but the years have stolen some of my memories of faces and voices. Or, maybe I have tucked them away in a place where they won't illicit pain or memories.

The emotion didn't stop there. He's a firefighter. That makes me proud of him. I have hoped and prayed that our dysfunctional lives would not keep them from having a caring, serving heart. I have wanted and hoped for them to have a softened heart under their rough exterior and broken lives. Both of my brothers are firemen. So proud!

There was harder emotions to overcome. I've been told over and over how physically unhealthy he is. Here he is, a firefighter. Either he's had healing in miracle proportion or we've been lied to for years. Knowing my family, it's more likely that we've been lied to for 20 years. Not surprising, but it's hard to swallow.

Another thing that struck me was the comparison. They are serving their communities. They are putting their lives on the line. They work full time jobs and care for their families. On the surface, they have everything. They look happy.

A couple things about that, things that are dangerous to think when you don't consider or see the whole story. They are so much better than me. They struggle less. They are happier. They have everything I want. They serve in ways I never could. All while I sit at home everyday and do nothing. I struggle. I don't have what they have. They don't need me. Their lives have gone on without any feeling of loss, while I grieve losing a relationship with them. I agonize over what we went through and pray for a better life for them, when they apparently don't need me or anything better than what they have.

All that would be true, IF my identity were still solely found within that family of origin. It's not though. My identity is different now. The difference isn't that they are better or happier. The difference is that my life, heart and mind have been transformed. I know the back story. There's not health for them. The things we find important are worlds apart.

I am a different person. I hope that if my brother saw me, he wouldn't recognize me. If hope he'd see a happier, more adjusted person. I hope he'd see that I'm a softer, loving person who cares deeply about him. I hope that after a few minutes, he'd see his sister by looking into my eyes. I hope he'd see that I am a Christian and those changes aren't to be feared but embraced.

Finding that identity in Christ has not been easy, but I'm thankful for it. As painful as it can be, I'm thankful my identity has shifted from that terrible life I left behind to what it is today.

Catholicism

With the Pope's visit to the U.S. Coming soon, there is a huge amount of media coverage on the preparations. As I see more, the clearer it becomes that I do not understand or subscribe to the Roman Catholic religion.

Honestly, so many of my friends who do identify as Catholic don't really seem to understand it either. All they really know is that they grew up and remain Catholic. Some, who can not give me a basic understanding of the religion are being raising their children as such.

Here are some basic things that I know about Catholisism. Not that it is all correct, but it is my perception from family members and friends, what they've said and how they live their lives.

My understanding and relationship with Jesus is not the same as a Catholics. When I pray, I have a direct path to Jesus and God. The bible is clear that I don't have to be perfect to come to them, nor do I have to go through anyone else. Catholics have an indirect route to Jesus and God. They have saints they have to petition to, so their prayers can be relayed to God.

To be forgiven, I only need to ask for forgiveness from God. It doesn't matter the type of sin, I am forgiven and need to turn away from the sin. They require a confession with a Priest, who then requires verbal repentance and the Priest offers forgiveness once that is done.

I am saved by grace and grace alone. I can do nothing of my own power to make myself good enough to enter heaven. The only way I can get to heaven is the grace offered to me and the sacrifice of Jesus. They believe there are a long list of things that have to be done before you can get to heaven. Otherwise, you are stuck in pergatory until your family has paid your high penitence.

For the most part, you can see Jesus in the lives of most of my friends. Most of them do not drink alcohol and not heavily. They don't smoke or swear. They go to church. Don't get me wrong, those things do not make you a Christian. However, those are the common marks of those who are.

I'm not trying to over generalize, but that's not the case in the lives of so many of my Catholic friends and family. They are excessive drinkers. They swear like sailors. They rarely go to church. I would say 19 out of 20 of my friends and family fall into that description.

There are so many little nuances between the religions. Too numerous to name.

Obviously, I don't understand those differences. I also don't understand why a visit to the U.S. By the Pope has Catholics crawling out of the woodwork. Even non Catholics are excited about the visit. I don't get it. I've been taught that there is no higher power than God. Nobody should be idolized. But here we are, as a nation, waiting in excitement for someone who is favored above God and Jesus. Someone who is idolized.

Keep in mind, I'm only being honest about my own confusion. I'm not pointing fingers or saying someone is right or wrong. But, it doesn't align with what I've been taught. Godly, wise people have put a lot of effort in teaching me. They laid out a gospel that looks nothing like what I see in Catholics and definitely not what I see in this media spectacle for the Pope's visit.

With all transparency, I have to say that my first experience with a Catholic priest was not favorable. As my cousin molested me in a Catholic Church yard, I watched in anguish as a priest watched through his parsonage window and did nothing to help. I've long since forgiven and this has nothing to do with my opinions now.

Truly, my only opinion is that I'm sad for my friends and their children. I'm sad that they are stuck in a religion they cannot explain. I'm sad that they don't believe they have a direct route to Jesus. I'm sad that their relationship with God is circumvented by their church and distorted from the true gospel of Jesus Christ.

Exciting Times Ahead

When things are going well, my default is to start anxiously waiting for the bad to happen. I'm not saying things are perfect at the moment, but they are pretty good.

We have a few hurdles coming over the next few months. We have travel and my husband has a surgery coming that will sideline him into the winter months.

There are a couple new things that are exciting and came completely out of left field.

The first is our involvement in our church's youth group. We have prayed for a place in the church where we could serve together. We make a great team and together felt like we could adequately support one another in serving. Since we belong to a small church, there aren't a lot of opportunities to serve and rarely any together.

Occasionally, I volunteer in the office and my husband helps in a rotation on the sound board during morning service. Both are very comfortable places for us to serve. A couple months ago, we worked together on a community service project and it was a joy. That was the point we decided it would be great to find a place to serve together.

A few weeks later, we listened to each ministry leader talk about their ministry and share the ministry needs. Honestly, we left a little irritated. There was really no place to serve unless we wanted to help with children. No thank you!

Fast forward a whopping two hours later and the Lord was working on our hearts. A young couple up the road lead our junior high youth group. They had asked for help with the group or even just events. We discussed it and decided that since we have a large vehicle and the time, we'd happily help with events. But events only!

Again, we began to discuss and learned the two were pretty much leading all alone. So, we prayed and discussed. Wouldn't you know it. We felt led to help and get involved as much as possible. We really felt led to help the couple leading, but after one event, the kids are a huge pet of it too.

Don't get me wrong. It's way out of our comfort zone. After spending an evening with them, I think we both are excited to share Jesus with these kids.

There's another super, big, gigantic change coming in our lives, mine specifically. I have prayed a very specific prayer for several years now and had pretty much given up, as if it was not the plan God has for me. And no, it has nothing to do with a child.

I'm bursting at the seams to tell everyone what it is, but the timing isn't quite right. I'm still cautiously optimistic. There's still too many unknown details. But as soon as I can, I'll explain a bit more.

It is absolutely answered prayer. When it was laid in front of me, I didn't get excited and I didn't develop an opinion either way. I talked with my husband and prayed. Asking God if this was the answer. The answer is waited for and had always learned it wasn't the right time.

This is definitely one of those times when we are both praising God and know it is His perfect timing.  I can't wait for the perfect timing to share more.

Of course none of these things will come without some adapting. After 18 months of adapting, you'd think we were pros. But I'm a realist. I know there will be some bumps and routine changes. There will be things to learn and our paths will cross with many different people.

Regardless, we are excited about what lies ahead.

The 50th

Earlier this month, we celebrated my husbands 50th birthday.

I'm not even going to try to fake it. It was a hard day, hard week.

The longer I'm married, the more I love my husband. And, the more I hurt when he hurts.

It was his first birthday ever spent away from his family. His family means the world to him. He still calls his dad once a week and calls his siblings on birthdays and holidays.

However, it's not reciprocal. Even though I reminded everyone, he got one call and one text on his birthday. His dad called a day or two later. A card came about a week later. It was sad to say the least.

I tried so hard to make it special for him. I asked his friends and family to please send cards. A friend and our previous pastor sent cards and I'm so thankful. Sad, but thankful. I also planned a small surprise party with neighbors and a couple friends.

We made special trips to eat some of his favorites. We also spent his actual birthday evening at the fair with friends. It was hot, but fun.

It was absolutely a joy to see people celebrating my husband.

But it was sad. The people he wanted and needed to hear from didn't bother. I know how hard it is to go through big things and feel forgotten or alone. I recognized the look in his face. That feeling of not being loved.

I'd like to tell you it's his misperception, but I don't think so. His family ha shown a very ugly side to themselves, very self absorbed. They definitely aren't nice to me and have been that way toward him more than ever.

I don't want this to turn into a bashing of his family, even though I have a ton to say. It's painful to see this once loving family fall apart.

My husband would tell you that his birthday was just another day. A 50th birthday isn't just another day. I know it was tough for him.

Honestly, my husband turning 50 was hard for me too.

We obviously don't have a clue how long we will live. I've had 22 years with him. Another 22 and he will be retired and 72. He's getting older and I can't stop that. I wish I could make time stand still so we could enjoy this time and this place. I'm not ready for time to be gone. I love him and want him as many days as I can have him.

I wish the depth of my love covered the love he's missing elsewhere. He's a wonderful man. I can't help but want others to love him as much as I do. I'm thankful God loves him even more and has given me the opportunity to live life with him.

Two Months

As of yesterday, it's been two solid months since I jumped into this healthier living journey. In so many ways, I can't believe it's been that long and at times it feels like a year long journey.  

I never thought I'd stick with it through two months. There were times I really felt like giving up, but I didn't. 

There have been plenty of days when I didn't get much exercise. Either the weather or my motivation didn't cooperate. However, I have stuck with my goal of walking at least 4-5 days a week. I may have had one week where I only got three days. 

There have been plenty of days when there was no diet plan and I blew it completely. I usually give myself one day on the weekend to eat without tracking calories. What I've found with calorie tracking is that eating wasn't really my biggest problem. On a typical day, I was probably not going over 1500-1800 calories. That's not a lot to start with for someone my size. The difference is definitely in the exercise and probably be more aware of what is going into my body. 

One thing I keep expecting, but hasn't happened yet is having a weight gain for my weekly weigh in. I know it'll eventually happen. I've expected it the past two weeks as I haven't been as diligent or motivated. 

I've been fighting that motivation thing. That's a hard one. I've not been sleeping well, so I've slacked off. Then I don't sleep well cause I've not been active. It's a vicious cycle. I've also not had the level of encouragement I had at the beginning. I can't say enough about how much that helped keep me going in the beginning. Having cheerleaders and encouragers was such an important part of the success. It's still important, but life and seasons change. 

So, here it is. My update for what I've lost the past two months. You don't have the weekly average, but it's about 2 lbs and 1/2-1" per week. 

Weight -32 lbs

Hips -6"

Waist -9"

Chest -9"

Shoulder -11"

Arm -4"

Thigh -7"

My clothes have finally started to be too big and I fit comfortably into all the size smaller clothes I bought last fall. Now if it will just get cool enough to wear them. 

Probably my only disappointment is that I don't see that much change. The weight is coming off all over. Even my socks fit differently. I put on a pair of knee socks yesterday that wouldn't go above my knee in the spring and now they go about three inches above. I have shirts that have never fit in the arms and now they do. I've never lost weight all over like this. 

Bare with my craziness for a second. There's been a fleeting thought for me with continued loss. Of course I want to continue. At my current average, I could lose another 32 lbs by years end. That would be awesome and I want that. But, a few more weeks of this continued pace and I'm not going to have any clothes that fit me. 

That's a wonderful problem to have, right? Of course, it means I have less fat and am far healthier. Here's the reality. I'm going to have to buy new bras, undies, pants and shirts for winter. I'll wear my hoodies until they fall off. But everything else won't fit soon. We don't have that kind of extra cash. 

I've started looking at second hand and sale sites, but have only found summer clothes in what I need.  I'm obviously not in desperate mode yet, so I've tried not to think about it. But how can I not? I'm already needing new pjs. Even Walmart pjs are expensive. I don't work, no income. So, it's crossed my mind to stop and call it good. That would be the cheapest decision, but I know the wrong one for my long term health. 

Anxiety

Lately, my anxieties have increased. I've noticed that when my regular daily routin is or is about to change or be interrupted, my anxiety increases.

Not that there aren't other things. Since getting Bell's palsy in January, I've have a list of residual issues. One of those is pain in and around my right ear. It's a little long in the recovery process, but I can't do anything about it. If I'd have chosen medical intervention and steroids, I might not have the issues. My right eye still twitches and I can tell my muscle tone is not normal.

Fall is the worst time for allergies for me. My allergies flare and then my sinuses are irritated. When that happens, my ears ache and I get pain down into my neck. It's the norm and has been for years.

Those swollen sinuses and Eustachian tubes are even more painful and pronounced now after the BP. The vertigo comes on fast and furious. The muscle spasms are hitting me hard at night.

It's all a bit anxiety provoking.

But those are probably minimal compared to routine changes.

We are getting ready for vacation. I should be excited and I am. But my anxiety spikes.

Vacation isn't for a few weeks, so I hope it will improve.

Because I recognize this pattern, I can deal with it now.

After communion at church today, it hit me that I don't really have to worry about this. I have the ability to pray about it daily. But it's more than that.

I know this, but it was a gentle reminder from the Holy Spirit. There's nothing that's going to happen that God doesn't already know. He knows.

Even better....no matter what happens, my place is secure in heaven.

As much as I want to be here on earth and live my life and love my husband, I don't have to worry. When that time is over, my eternal life begins.

It was just a good gift to be reminded that worrying about the day I will die is stealing the days I can live.

Oh Lord, I need that reminder often!

Time After Time

For whatever reason, I still cannot shake this current cycle of dreams and memories of my brother. As I've said before, it's been well over eight years since I've seen him and we never had much of a relationship as adults. When we were with each other, our relationship was toxic and physically and emotionally destructive. That doesn't negate the feelings I have for him.

From afar, I love him. We are both products of a severely dysfunctional family. I chose a path of health and he has not. But I still care deeply.

Also as I said before, he's a complete stranger to me now.

With the memories and dreams, I can't help that my heart is breaking and I am fully immersed in the grieving process.

This weekend was his 39th birthday. It's never forgotten. It's the same day as my husband's childhood friend/best man at our wedding. They share the same name and same birthdate.

Even though he's not much younger than me, I still helped raise him. I was there for him when he was hurt as a small child. And that was a lot of the time. I was the one who made sure he was fed, had clean clothes that fit, and his homework was done.

I know I've shared this before, but it's heavy on my heart again.

In 1983, Cyndi Lauper's song "Time After Time" hit the late night videos. At all of eight years old, the words of the song seemed to accurately describe how I felt about my brothers.

"If you're lost you can look and you will find me."
"If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting."

I know this song isn't exactly about being there for your brothers, it's about a relationship. Maybe I didn't know quite everything at eight years old. What I did know is that when I sang the song to my brothers, it was comforting to them.

The words were valuable. In those moments when we all felt the world spinning out of control and completely alone, there was comfort in brief moments of quiet.

Now there is a commercial which plays often with a cover of this song. The memories flood back each time it comes on tv.

Our relationships all eventually fractured. We were pitted against each other. We also learned it was survival of the fittest. We all learned to fight for ourselves and against each other. It's a natural response when you are fighting for your life.

Despite what I've said, I believe I've held onto some faint hope of reconciliation with my brother. Now, realizing he's been a stranger to me for far longer than eight years, I'm finally being forced to let go.

Do you know how badly that hurts? To know you have a sibling who is living and breathing, but you must grieve them as if they are dead?

It's not the same as just being estranged or having a strained relationship with a sibling. I have that with my other brother. No, it's completely different. This is a loss. A loss that is far harder to understand than any death.

For the past month, I wished away these memories and dreams about my brother. Now I understand it's my mind and hearts way of letting go and moving on. I'm finally letting go of that tiny bit of hope which was buried deep inside me.

I'll always love him, much in the way I love others I've lost.

Bob

Note:  Since I do my best to not discuss specific people by name, I've changed this persons name.

So...Bob.

Bob is an older man in our church. He shook my hand this morning, as he does most Sunday's. As he started to walk off, he stopped again and said, "You look really good."

I thanked him and smiled.

My 30 lb weight loss is finally beginning to show, slowly. That in itself has caused several people to offer compliments and encouragement.

That may have been where his compliment came from, but the entire relationship is worthy of sharing. It's one of how God softens hearts, especially mine.

A little over a year ago was the first time I met Bob. Bob was an existing member of a bible study we started attending. Our first impression of him was that he was kind enough, but bitter and a whole lot judgemental.

Bob always had something to say during bible study. He came across as very black and white, very opinionated. Bob is an elderly man and I believe has lived in this area most, if not all, his life.

I believe because of those things, he has little tolerance for this progressive world. His era was filled with hatred toward blacks and absolutely no understanding of homosexuality. He's from an era where both were shunned and not shown God's love.

Those feelings and beliefs oozed out in passionate conversation during bible study.

Not knowing anyone very well and not having a good understanding of this very sheltered area of the U.S., we often didn't know how to comprehend what was said. It came out as offensive and hatred to us. Not at us.

One night, I left bible study in tears after Bob and his friends spent a good chunk of the study sharing their hatred toward gays. There was name calling, blaming and shaming.

I have friends and family who are gay. I love them. I do my best to love them how God would want me to love any of his children. So, I was taken back by such hatred spewed from mature Christians.

That night and many months after, I held onto hatred for Bob and his friends. People explained a little bit to us why Bob was the way he was. I was hearing none of it. He was hating people and I wasn't going to stand for it.

In the coming months, I got really sick and then hit an emotional low. That study group were the only ones who really had any clue. They saw the color fade from my cheeks and checked on me often. They were the ones who eventually saw the color come back to my cheeks and that I was improving.

During that time, Bob made a point to check on me on Sunday mornings. I didn't realize at the time, but that's what he was doing. About a month ago, he told me he was glad to finally see me smiling. The next week, he let me know he had been and is continuing to pray for us. And not just for our struggles, but specifically for us to have a child.

Piece by piece, he's let me know and not in a prideful way, that he has followed, checked and prayed. His heart may or may not have been softened toward us at first, I don't know. But I know now, it is. He's been loving us in his way.

I only begrudgingly shook his hand for months. But then God softened my heart toward him. I began to pray for him months and months ago. I began respecting him and his life's journey. God put it in my heart to love Bob and his friends.

I do. I love these people who once offended me. I care so deeply for them. I've checked on them when I haven't seen them at church. I've taken meals when they've been sick. I've sent cards when I've felt led. I've prayed and praised God for how they serve the church and set examples.

The compliment this morning was lovely. But, the evolution of the friendship and how God has worked in big ways....that's beautiful!

Slump

Tomorrow is my weigh in and measurement day. It might be the first one I'll skip in 7 weeks.

This last ten days have kicked my butt in so many ways.

Up to this week, I got plenty of exercise. Between cleaning and prepping for a guest and then going a lot while she was here, I didn't slow down much.

It is always good to have visitors. Don't get me wrong! But it's stressful and definitely gets me out of my regular routines. I won't say much more about the visit because it had special stresses. It kicked up a lot of OCD in me.

Since I was out of routine, I was only able to get 2-3 hours of sleep for night. That left me completely exhausted. A week later and I am finally feeling like myself again.

During that same time, I had a minor health crisis. Nothing that isn't getting under control now, but one that took me a step backward with my blood counts. There's a good reason why you cannot donate blood for 2-3 years after low platelet levels. It only takes a minor crisis or bump in the road to set you back.

All that to say, I'm just now getting some energy back. But this week has been hard. I haven't gotten much exercise.

I've also struggled with some emotional issues. Dreams about family have continued. I don't have a true place to process and download most of that.

We are coming through one year anniversaries of very stressful and tough times. A year ago today, I had surgery. It's also when we found out how close to death I'd been. This month will mark a year that we learned of our miscarriage and had another. Not that I'm stepping back into that realm of grieving, but it does stir up some emotions.

In some of my dreams, I am desperately trying to get my mom to be with me through some of the emotions and her response is always the same. She stands at a distance and laughs. Sad, but that's how she dealt with my rare displays of emotions as a child.

All of that has been a pretty heavy load to carry. There's only so much I can share with my husband. His shoulders are already full with his own stuff. Exhausted, alone and deflated has made this a rough week.

It's the first week that I haven't paid attention to diet or even cared. It was the first time that the idea of losing only one or two lbs discouraged me. It was the first time in seven weeks that I really believed that I was wasting my time. It was the first time in this journey that I was content to just be a fat girl forever.

I know some people use a list like that to push them to work harder. Not me. It was my white flag moment.

Of course, I won't stay in this place. But I have to be honest about where I'm at right now. I have to know that every step of this journey wasn't easy. Not every week was about weight loss. I have to remember that some weeks were just about getting to the next week. I have to be reminded that weeks when I sabotaged myself, I could still start fresh the next week. I have to know that there were weeks when I was carried and the journey was never mine to take alone.

Comfortable Life, Bigger Plan

There is probably more than one post about this and there should be a lot more. Sometimes, and not often enough, what Jesus did for me overwhelms me and brings me to my knees. 

Admittedly, I sometimes don't pay attention to the communion devotion at church. They sometimes include personal stories or sports analogies that distract me and I try to focus solely on Jesus on the cross. Last Sunday was different. I hung on every word as the guy talked about how Jesus left heaven to be with us. 

Jesus came to earth in human form. His life was designed and formatted with purpose to teach us about sin. His life was intricately written to be a guide for us and how to live our lives. 

It wasn't all roses and sunshine. He had to convince people of who he was and fight their unbelief. I mean without the written prophesies at their fingertips, most had no reason to believe God would separate himself from heaven and come to earth in flesh. 

He was hated and even those closest to him doubted. If heaven is all its said to be, why would anyone trade it to be amongst sinners clinging to a fallen world?

I don't know about anyone else, but I don't like to step outside the comfort of my own little self created world. My house is clean, there's a pumpkin candle burning and soft music playing. The temp is a perfect 72 degrees. It's going to be near 90 degrees outside today. The flies and wasps are on their last leg of summer. 

It's a safe to say I'm going to hang out on the couch today with the TV, book or craft project. There's very little that could change my plans to stay where it's comfortable. There's very little I trade these comforts for today. 

That's a fairly accurate description of how we live life. Only big things ever change our desire to be where it's comfortable. Only crisis or God will push us out. And when that happens, we can trust that there is a bigger plan. 

Exactly! There was a bigger plan for Jesus living on earth. His death. Not only did he teach and leave us a guide for living, he came to die. 

I know I've said it before, but his sacrifice is more than I can comprehend most of the time. 

He didn't die a quick death. He was beaten mercilessly and nailed to a wooden cross. He died on a cross so that we could be forgiven. His death on the cross created our other to heaven. He gave it all for us. His life and his last breath. He gave it all. 

Jesus sacrificed his life so that we could one day know ultimate comfort. 

It's hard to believe most days that there's something more comfortable than my current surroundings. But there is. I know there will be plenty of times when I get pushed out of my comfy house. I just hope I always remember there's always a bigger plan. I know there is because Jesus gave his life for it. 

Reliving Firsts

Last weekend, my husband and I talked about how hard our first six months were here. It was truly a blur for us. So much was happening and our focus was on illness, finances and we were torn between here and there. 

Going into this fall, we will pass several milestones. Our first year of being free of our KC house. A year since grieving. A year of increasing health. A year of really settling. 

We were probably into this summer before things finally began to feel different, like this was home. That changes the perspective of everything. We had a year of living conflicted and heartsick. Now that those hurts have healed, we are experiencing things for the first time. We are living in the moment. 

Last year, I decorated for fall. It took me three days to clean and swap out decor. I had no energy and my heart wasn't in it. This year, it's taken a couple hours and it's made my heart so happy. 

I'm ready for the change of season. I'm ready to experience the Ohio fall when I can soak it in and enjoy it's intricacies. It'll be my first Ohio fall where I can see it with fresh eyes and a heart of thanksgiving. 

Not that I would have chosen how last year went. Up until then, the seasons changed and I rarely got so excited or felt as though I was experiencing it for the first time. Missing a year of changing seasons has given me a new perspective. 

Even though it's only September 1st, I'm ready for this next season. I'm ready for the smells of fall, changing leaves, pumpkin everything and the sounds of harvest time as I enjoy the cool breeze on the deck. 

I'm thankful to be in this place in life at this time. I hope it stays for a while. 

Cheaters

While making the hour long trek back from Dayton Saturday, my husband I had a long discussion about the Ashley Madison website hack. No, neither of us can be found on the website. But it's worth the time for us to discuss. 

Until it hit the news, neither of us had heard of this website. That's a plus for our marriage. We were both amazed by the amount of information could be found after the hack and how brazen some people had been. Using work email and time to cheat on their spouses. We weren't judging, just surprised. 

We were also heartbroken for all the people who now have relationships to mend. Even if the site membership never led to an affair, there is still a brokenness which must be dealt with by the couple. 

There was an equal surprise that there have been lawsuits filed against the website. We understand if the sole purpose is regarding the personal information now available for the world to see. But, if it's because they were caught, then that's frivolous. 

I've tried to write about this subject before and have mentioned it in passing. Infidelity is something that plagued us early in our marriage. So, we both have ample ability to speak on this and know it's not about judgement. In fact, I share in all honesty knowing it can bring judgement on us. 

There's a lot I can't tell you and much that won't seem in context. But, I'll be as transparent as I can. 

My husband didn't cheat. To my knowledge, he's never even had a huge problem with lust. However, he has fallen into the throes of women who were looking to prey on his genuine care and kindness. He's a bit naive. He never saw flirtations for what they were. 

Me, however, I was the cheater. I won't romanticize it nor will I make excuses for it. But, I ask that you do two things. Understand as best you can the extenuating circumstances and believe me when I say that I am NOT a cheater now. 

First of all, I was not a Christian. It was 16 years ago. I had no moral compass. All I had was 23 years of watching how my parents dealt with their marriage and problems. They were cheaters. I was still being emotionally and physically abused by my dad. Unless you've been down that road, you can't possibly understand how that warps your needs and desires, as well as your ability to cope. And there's a lot to deal with in the beginning of the marriage. I also believed my marriage was of no value. I sought ways to drive my husband away because I believed he would leave anyway. I also believed I was unworthy and incapable of being loved. 

Again, those aren't excuses. But me cheating wasn't about lust or love. It was purely based on dysfunctional, sinful living in a time of life when nothing was stable. 

I admitted my mistake to my husband. He was crushed and I offered him an out. He stayed. He stayed and loved me even more. I won't say he automatically forgave me. He didn't. That took years. Trust took even longer. 

My life and our marriage changed long before we started going to church, but going to church was the start of having a guide for our marriage. I changed long before becoming a Christian, but becoming a Christian began building that moral compass. 

Neither of us would tell you that I'm a cheater. We'd both tell you that cheating and lust are not a part of our marriage and not a sin with struggle with. We are both confident in our commitment to each other. We would both tell you that was another life ago. 

My husband could have left. He had ample reason and biblical grounds for divorce. I know, even though we weren't in church at the time, it was God working on his heart. I know God had a plan for us to stay together through it. 

A couple months ago, our preacher touched on something that was like a dagger to my heart. I had a moment of true repentance. Not that I'd never before, but a moment that allowed me to put it completely in the past. In tears on the way to lunch, I told my husband how sorry I was for hurting him all those years ago. 

He let me know he had long since forgiven me. But, I needed him to know how truly heartbroken I was over the pain I had caused him. It was the first time I'd ever really known he'd forgiven me and that it was completely in the past. 

As I sat with the Ashley Madison hack list in front of me this weekend, I thought about searching for names of family and friends. I didn't. I don't need to know. Knowing would only give me opportunity to judge. I don't want that. Each person has their own demons. Each person has a responsibility to repent to two people, God and their spouse. I have no part of that and neither does anyone else. 

Cheating isn't just a problem for men. Plenty of women struggle with it. 

Having been down this road, I'd like to offer some sound advice. Avoid your natural instinct to be angry and judge people you know. It's a sin problem and no different than the sins we all struggle with. If you know a cheating spouse or someone who's been cheated on, don't assume their needs to be a divorce. God's plan may not include divorce but a stronger relationship. God can and will use this for His glory. 

Be compassionate for both and I know that's hard. Judgement isn't going to help. God loves sinners and is near to the broken-hearted. Show them the overwhelming love of Christ and point them back to God in the darkest of days. 

We made it through without God's people, but I know not without Him. 

My husband would tell you the same things. He would also tell you that my mistake has made him a better husband and proven to him that he can love me through the better and the worse that we pledged on our wedding day. 

I'm not thankful for my mistakes, but I'm thankful for the ways I've grown through them. 

Not Wasted

This week has been long and tiring. That's good and bad. A deficit of sleep has finally caught up with me. Things that have happened have continued to pile on my shoulders. Things have poked at my anxieties and emotions.

There's no denying, the past six weeks have been good. They've put me on a high mentally, emotionally and physically. A high that allowed me to ignore the times when my body and mind were crying out and trying to get me to see that I was being falsely confident in my own abilities.

We need times like that. We need times that are good and help us move past tougher times. But that doesn't mean we can forget what we've just walked through or out of.

I've had great results from exercise and diet. The results push me to keep going. But, I can't always do that. I have irritated old injuries and ignored my sheer inability to tolerate allergens. I've stayed busy in ways like I used to when I held a full time job and went all the time. The truth is, I can't do that. I can't go from couch potato six weeks ago to going like a teenager now.

It's a process. A process that I must respect in order to not overwhelm my body and mind.

The physical activity has given me an excuse to ignore the mental and emotional parts of life. When it hit me this week that I've been doing just that, there was a huge message the Lord laid on my heart.

I can't ignore and leave the trials alone. I can't pretend they aren't or haven't been there. Obviously, there is a high probability those trials will resurface if I'm just ignoring them.

The bigger problem is that tossing them aside like dirty laundry is wasting them. Of course it's easier and less painful to turn your back on them as if they were just a blip in life. Don't get me wrong, they may have been. But if I toss them aside, I'm wasting the trial.

It's taken years for me to fully grasp this. A trial is wasted when we do not allow it to grow us. Trials should change us. If it changes us in no other way, it should at least drive is closer to the Lord. But they can grow us in so many ways.

Trials can humble us, teach us grace or patience. They can shine a spotlight on relationships we should value and even those we should let go. They can guide us to make life changing decisions or changes. Trials can teach us dependence or imdependence. They will break us and show us all that we cannot do alone.

Ignoring the trial is completely turning out back on the opportunity to grow and change.

I've done that plenty this past year. I've complained and whined. It's been hard. I've chosen the easy way to react. I've also allowed so many of the trials to change me.

It took seeing someone else not use a trial as an opportunity to grow for me to see I often do the same.

Here's the giant neon flashing sign that has been sitting in front of me since then....Hey don't waste the trials. Allow them to change you. Use them. Use what you've learned to love others.

Sometimes it's hard to put into words something so big and so personal that's been laid on my heart. It's even harder to listen, do and allow the Lord work when it's so much easier to ignore.

Skeeter

That's a random name for a beautiful, happy Sunday afternoon. Honestly, it's a random thought that keeps coming back to me.

Facebook creates this alternate universe where my little brother and I are friends even though there is no contact. We know what is happening in each other's lives to the extent that we are willing to share with the world.

However, I have no fake or real contact with my other brother. In fact, most people don't even know I have a second brother or another niece and nephew. I think maybe I forget sometimes too.

I do. He's the middle child and 16 months younger than me. Thanks to a few weird dreams and seeing a few men who resemble him, he's been on my mind this week.

Skeeter is his nickname. He's had it since we were kids. Even my brothers kids know him as uncle Skeeter.

He's a complete stranger to me now and probably always has been. I know 18 years of his story, but can't possibly fathom how it has altered his life.

The last time I saw him was somewhere around nine years ago. We weren't close even before my departure from the family.

He was married to a woman for several years and left her probably 10-11 years ago. He viciously lied about his ex, claiming she was a lesbian. It wasn't until years later that we learned he cheated and left his wife for a woman my moms age. To my knowledge, he is still with her.

If I came into contact with my parents today, they wouldn't be strangers. No amount of time or distance will ever erase the vivid memories I have of them. It would never change exactly what I know of them.

But my brother.... I can't even wrap my head around having a brother out there that I don't know.

Dreams and reminders of him make me sad.

There's a good reason we don't have a relationship. We cannot. We are toxic together. I know what 18+ years of abuse made him and therefore cannot be near him. One of the last times I saw him, he left me with a black eye, busted lip and concussion. That alone is reason enough to never be near him.

Given what my little brother has shared, it is safe to say that a reconciliation will never be possible for us. It's another long term effect of growing up in a living hell. That orphan feeling runs deep.

Most days, weeks and months go by without thinking about him. But that hole, that sadness always resides just below the surface. It's deep and wide. I can't even describe it. I hide it as it comes and wish away the longing for family.

These, these are the ripple effects of surviving abusive parents.

Six Weeks Ago

A few minutes ago, I made two trips down my driveway and back. My driveway is a little under a tenth of a mile long. No big deal right?

I have this deal with our puppy. If he goes to potty when it's time to go get the mail, he gets to go. By go, I mean I carry him. He likes it and I don't trust him off a leash. Today, there was no mail, but I had two trash cans to walk back to the house. So, him in one arm, I made two trips to get the trash cans. He was in heaven.

Six weeks ago, I would be out of breath by the time I got to the end of the drive and nearly hyperventilating by the time I got back to the house.

I was seriously out of shape. I still am. But not that bad.

On my last trip to the house, I thought about all that has changed for me in the last six weeks.

Six weeks ago, I sat and longed for a time when we could be back in KC. I hated life here. I was miserable with my life in general and I felt terrible about myself.

I did that walk today without breaking a sweat or even raising my heart rate. I was breathing easy. Such a huge change.

Even though I'm in disbelief because my clothes don't feel that much looser, I've lost a whopping 24 lbs. I don't think I look any different. My belly isn't shrinking fast and neither are my cheeks. Those are two things that happen when I do crash fad diets or get sick.

Thankfully I started measuring myself or I would have never believed the scale. Here are my totals so far:
Hips -2.5"
Waist -5"
Chest -5"
Shoulder -7"
Thigh -2.5"
Arm -2.5"

That makes the number on the scale make so much more sense to me. I am losing weight in healthy ways and it's coming off all parts of my body. I know I've said that before, but I can't help but remind myself. I'm doing it the right way. My pants aren't going to fall off me at 24 lbs cause I'm not just losing weight in one place.

Size is such a small prt of it for me though. I am amazed at how
Much more I do and want to do.

Six weeks ago, I was doing good to get 1200 steps per day. Maybe a busy, grocery shopping day might get me 2300 or just over a mile.

For a month, I have walked at least five days a week. I get in 3/4 to 1.5 miles before 6:30 most mornings with my husband. I've started walking or getting some exercise in the evenings too. I hit 10,000 steps or more at least 3 days a week and am working on getting more. I've even had a couple two mile walks this past week.

I did try some exercising inside one day. I ended up throwing my back out and might rethink what I'm doing there. However, I did sit-ups and push-ups. I'm still beside myself that I can do any of that. Not since freshman year of high school have I done any of that.

The absolute best part of all of this is I'm not miserable. I'm enjoying life here. I've had some deep conversation. I'm making relationships. Friendships that will hopefully last for years to come.

The best side benefit is that my husband is on board now. He's walking five days a week and losing weight. He started walking for his back and it's helping. But now he pops up out of bed and goes without me if I'm sleeping. He has shirts that he hasn't worn in a couple years that he's digging out of the dresser to wear. I love that and love him. He even says his attitude is better at work. Yay!

I hope the next month is as productive as this one. It would be awesome to write a post at the end of September and have similar results.

FHMCC

First Heavy Metal Church of Christ

That's where we worshipped yesterday. It is exactly as the name implies. If you're thinking it might have been way out of my comfort zone, it was. Yet, it had an amazing impact on my heart.

We had decided to take a couple weeks off from our church and serving to do a few things. This Sunday just happened to be wide open when a friend asked if we wanted to check out this church in Dayton. They aren't members and only attend on occasion. It's about a 75 minute drive. Not close at all.

My friend gave me a list of warnings, but nothing prepared me for what I saw and only the Lord could have prepared my heart.

As we pulled up to the mid 1900s school house, the first thing I spotted was a parking lot full of card just like ours. Modest, family cars and in nice condition. In my mind, that fit for what we are used to at church.

I may have said this before, but all of our current and previous churches are at varying levels of "come as you are." But, we do and have worshipped with people of our common social status. It's just the way it's worked out. We are used to a parking lot of nice vehicles and well groomed people. That's our comfort zone.

The next thing I saw was a Hearst. It was painted with flames and had a pew as the front seat. It had writing on it, but I couldn't really get past what it was. Walking to the door, there were groups of fairly rough looking people all smoking. That definitely wasn't the warmest welcoming. This is a good time to point out that we aren't the kind of people this church caters to and that's really ok.

Inside, it was as you'd expect from an old schoolhouse. Dingy, dark, hot and stale. The musty, ashtray, gym sick smell assaults your nose as you walk in the door. Here's where things got real. While my senses were on high alert, I didn't fail to see how each person who passed us or said hello carried a gigantic smile. It took me only seconds to see how excited these people were to be there to worship.

Before I go any further, I think it's important to explain my reference to these people and why we didn't quite fit. Even in our jean shorts and tshirts, we stood out and so did our friends. Not that anyone made us feel like that.

As the old gym filled with people, I couldn't help but do some good old fashioned people watching. I've never seen such a diverse group of people. All different colors, sizes and ages filled the seats.

There were girls and guys with blue, purple, pink and flaming red hair. Older men and young with beards of varying length and even down to their waist. There were girls ripped shirts and bellies hanging out. Older ladies dressed in all black. There were men in chaps and covered in chains and biker attire. Tattoos were abundant. About 90 percent were dressed in black or FHMCC shirts. We saw about every type of piercing you can imagine.

Speaking of tattoos, we saw several gang and satanic tats. A different art for a past life, obviously. We saw a couple people wearing shirts indicating heroin was their current or past demon.

It's not with judgement that I look at these people as different, but you can see how we might have felt out of place. That was actually a very good thing in the end.

The band came out and I mean real band. The lead singer looked like an older version of Hulk Hogan and the bassist looked and acted like a ZZ Top member. They sang original hard rock/heavy metal songs about God and Jeaus riding a motorcycle and did it very loudly. Not exactly our usual "Be Thou My Vision" kind of Sunday.

However, this was the point I began to feel conviction and love for this church. As the music blared, these people were on their feet, hands in the air and enthusiastically worshipping their God. My God.

If I'd seen these people standing outside an abandoned schoolhouse before yesterday, I'd have thought they were about to be part of a biker rally or even some kind of cult worship. I'd never have believed I was looking at a group of Christians or seekers. Shame on me!

Likewise, I'd never see most of these people in any of the churches where I've been. In those moments, my heart crumbled. These people were worshipping my God with more love and enthusiasm than I've ever had. Despite what they looked like, they were no different than me. A sinner saved by grace.

When the band finished, the pastor came out to Ozzy intro music and armed with a giant squirt gun. Yes, he shot the crowd with it. He was your average tatted biker looking guy with a mic.

I'm so used to well prepared preachers and sermons that get read off an iPad and have multiple overhead screens. Not here. Admittedly, he didn't have the message until that morning. It was typed on a few sheets of paper. It also didn't all flow together perfectly. He literally included random things that were on his heart.

The sermon. Wow! So much of it spoke to my heart. I loved how he prefaced so much of what he said with the idea that there may only be one person in the room who needed to hear the message. Yes! I know at least one who needed it.

One of his points was about church. There is no perfect church, which we know. But we tend to get restless or discontent and want to move on to the next church that will eventually lose that new car smell. Yes!!! It's one of the things that led us there that day. Not that we are or were searching for a new church. We aren't. But we are restless and bored and struggling in some areas.

He was standing right beside us when he quite pointedly said, you need to put down roots. God doesn't want us church hopping. He wants us engaged and involved. He wants us making relationship. Gosh, that spoke to my heart and touched on what I want. I have to be a part of that and get content.

As he went on, he talked about using our gifts. He said God gave us our gifts. If we aren't using them to serve Him, then we are wasting them. I know this. But again, it was a poignant message with perfect timing.

Another point he made was that God wants us exactly how we are. We don't have to quit our addictions. We don't have to give up our idols. He just wants us to come to Him. If we do that, He will begin to work in those areas. He will show his love and mercy as He changes the lives of addicts or the hearts of those bound to idols. He will get the glory. I've known that, but never heard it put so perfectly.

At the end, he closed with a time of unison prayer to commit or reconnect to Christ. He said any pastor not sharing an alter call or invitation isn't doing their job. That was an interesting perspective since some of our churches have stopped doing that.

Before the final prayer, there was a time when about eight people stood in the front and took time to pray with those wanting it.

It was a unique experience to say the least.

It's not a church we will frequent and we may never attend again. Not that we are against it, it's far away.

Here's the thing though, I left feeling extremely thankful for that church. That church is in a rough part of Dayton. It ministers to a people group right here in the U.S. that is largely unreached. They go to places where other churches might serve once a year. They love a community of addicts, metal heads, partiers, cults and doubters.

It's not that our churches don't or aren't prepared. Honestly, most the people in our churches wouldn't know where to start with some of these people. These are the kind of people who, before coming to Christ, would have spit on your tract or ripped you a new one for sharing Christ. Most of these people wouldn't have lasted past one service in our churches. No fault on either side. This church just meets a unique need. They meet people where they are when where they are is darker than what we typically see in our churches.

Even though it's not a place for us permanently, I'm thankful for the experience. I'm grateful for all that the Lord laid on my heart. Sometimes a new and different perspective is exactly what you need to remind you of what you have already.

Anxiety vs Trusting God

It's Saturday morning, a rare Saturday morning. My husband is taking a conceal and carry class. It's just me and the pups and they are sleeping.

There's nothing going on, but I'm sitting here anxious. I don't have big worries. Last year at this time, we had a KC house that wouldn't sell and I was sick and my husbands meds were jacked up. I had plenty to agonize over then.

We don't have any of that stress right now. I feel better physically than I have in years. And yet, I stress over that. I'm prone to anxiety, it's me and how I live. Anxiety takes over when people would turn to other addictions.

There are moments when I can think logically. I'm getting more exercise than ever. I'm more active and watching my diet closer than ever before. I'm working to get off the only two medications I take. My muscles, body and heart should naturally be getting stronger. Things like cholesterol, blood pressure and insulin levels should be coming down or within normal ranges because of the lifestyle changes.

Since I'm moving and exercising more than ever, it makes sense that my body is going to ache and hurt in different places. Sore shoulders, back and ribs have more to do with trying to do push-ups and sit-ups than poor posture or overeating.

I know these things. But, I still let them nag at me. I'll let a little gas or headache drive me to WebMD until I find the surely you will die diagnosis. I've shared before, but my entire life has set me up to always expect the next bad thing. I've never really allowed myself or lived life to expect anything good or plan too far ahead.

My life really isn't that rattled any more. But, you don't suddenly set aside what you've known to be true for 35+ years of your life.

This week I have been tired and had a lot of neck, shoulder and upper chest stiffness and pain. My mind has gone to all those places where nothing good happens. It's a natural response for me. It was a year ago that I slept all the time.

I've only had one day that I slept much over 6 hours. I need a full 8 to really feel good. I've done things like workout and rake the yard. I've spent hours with my head tilted toward the sky looking at meteors. Yes, all of those things make sense.

As a Christian, I know I should rejoice at the idea of going to be with Jesus. And I do. But Christians, do you ever think about how scary it would be to leave your spouse or kids or family? I think that fear is exactly what keeps me locked in anxiety and unable to trust God in these moments and days.

I'd say the same is true with travel anxiety and financial worries. The fear is greater than my trust in the Lord.

Maybe my prayers should be less "Lord please...." and more, "Lord, teach me to trust in You!"

Lord Jesus Come

Those were the lyrics of the last song that played. Some days, it's my prayer. My cry. Today is one of them. This post isn't about Jesus' coming, but it is in a way.

In heaven, it won't matter what I look like or how fat I am. It won't be a struggle for health and constant balancing of what's good and what makes me happy. There won't be judgement amongst the people over what I do or don't do.

Over the past ten days, I've gotten my husband on board with walking. He's starting to be more health conscious. Knowing how to lovingly push him in ways that don't make him feel bullied is a battle. He loves sleep and is the one who hits the snooze seven times before getting up.

In addition to encouraging him, I've had to find the strength to continue the exercising. Unless you've been extremely overweight, you'd probably never understand. It's a challenge physically to get up and go. My ankles, legs and feet hurt. I've got residual hip and foot problems. I know walking will help some of those problems and worsen others. Long term, all of the problems should improve. My back is going to hurt. I'm going to struggle to breathe and often get dizzy or get a headache. It's never easy. Not one day.

Last week, I wrote about how discouraging fat shaming was. This week, satan has decided to attack us both in other ways.

Two of the past four times walking on my road, I've had the same lady smack me in the arm with her mirror. Seriously! Do you get what I'm saying? I don't want to over dramatize it, it was only the mirror and I had only minor bruising and soreness. But, I don't want to minimize it either. A grown woman hit me with her car twice and drove off.

You should know how I walk. I walk on one side or the other and not in the middle of the road. If I see or hear a car coming, I get as far off the road as I can and will stop until the car passes. We start walking about 6:10-6:15 and it is not pitch dark. I can't speak for my husband, but I'd say he probably gets over too.

In the last two days, I've felt under attack for walking in the mornings. There have been multiple people outspoken against us and what we are doing. I don't want to even go into details.

Here's what I will say:

People here absolutely do not get that pedestrians have the right of way. I can't believe what I've seen and been told. It's assanine! Look at state pedestrian laws. Ultimately, drivers have a responsibility to the person on the road unless clearly marked that pedestrians are prohibited.

I cannot believe how completely discouraging people are. One attack was very personal and was more about me being too fat and that the road isn't wide enough for me and a car. I'm tough, but that hurt. I obviously don't want to be so fat or I wouldn't be out walking.

Here is probably the hardest observation for both of us. We aren't doing anything others haven't or don't do. We have lots of walkers and joggers on our road at all times of the day. The difference? We aren't one of them. We haven't always lived here and always walked on the road.

I hate to bring that up, but it's true. We have found that in so many instances, we cannot make the right decision. We have been looked down on or told we shouldn't do or say things that we observe others doing. We abide by the unwritten rules and get told we are cold and standoffish. There's no winning with about 95% of the population. We are outsiders. We are going to be wrong even if we act and look like a local. Keep in mind, there are a handful of people who don't treat us that way.

There's a lady at church who snubs me weekly. She comes over, stands right over me and shakes the hand of the lady sitting next to me. I've tried to shake her hand, only to have her push mine out of the way.

When that happens at church, it's easy to believe people driving on our road would treat us the same. It's sad, but it's reality for us.

Since we've decided to stay, it something we have to cope with. It shouldn't be, but it is. People who can't make eye contact with us, won't shake our hands and hit us with their cars. I'm not angry and it doesn't change how I feel about this community. My God is bigger and has given me a heart for this area. But it doesn't mean I'm not sad. It doesn't mean that I'm not discouraged.