Together, We Are Legion

You may not be that familiar with us. You may not even notice when you see us in “your” space. Or, it could be that you resent us taking up space at all. You might be one who sees us with genuine curiosity, wishing to know us better, but unsure how to bridge the divide. Or perhaps, you view us with suspicion, worried we exist simply to take something that belongs to you…your property, your privilege, or your “rights.”

Who are we?

We are members of the disability community, people of color, LGBTQ, and immigrants. Some of us are simply their allies – those determined to make sure they have a voice and that it is heard, determined to find them a place at the table.

Collectively, we are the other.

Some of us met in metaphorical Holland, a place we never planned to even visit, let alone linger. But it’s there we became more aware of the others. That’s when we understood that our exclusion was theirs, too. Our lived isolation was being replicated by other groups. Discrimination is something we’ve all encountered and we all share. Our uniqueness, our different, precludes us from having equality. We are rarely heard or really seen, and when we are, our message is too often filtered through a lens of your privilege.

Maybe we make you uncomfortable. When we speak up, our accents are too thick, our speech unintelligible, or our words too piercing. We upset the status quo. You tell us if we would just follow directions (given by people like you), everything would be fine and we could all go back to “normal.” If we would just stop making waves and settle down, we wouldn’t get arrested, or hurt, or killed. If we would only fit in the box you made for us, we could rise above.

You keep reminding us that good people don’t have health problems. Good people work within the system. Good people don’t need any help. They simply work hard to get ahead.

What you don’t realize from the inside of your box, is that we don’t fit in it. And the system does not work for the many on the outside, goodness be damned. Those living here on the outside disagree on much, but we are united in this: all people have intrinsic value, deserve equality, and desire acceptance.

We may have started out in Holland, but we are coming home. Beware America. We are coming for you. Your status quo is no longer safe. The bubble you have long floated in will burst. We will shatter your box. You who are living under a thin veneer of perceived return to greatness, where you have all the power and are without challenge, are in for an awakening. We will cower no more. We refuse to be further silenced.

And, rather than feeling threatened or intimidated by our presence, you should connect with us. You never know when you might one day need us. While your country of origin, your color, and your sexuality are pretty well set, disability can happen at any moment and knock the wind out of your sails.

We strongly believe that Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. (Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.) Allies are always welcome. Won’t you join us?

Separately, we are minorities, but together, we are legion.

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Dear Pro-life Friends

Well, here we are, America. President Trump was inaugurated less than a week ago.

I am a registered Republican, but I could not and would not vote for him. (This is my third time in a row on the losing end of a Presidential election. Here’s a tip…if you want to win, vote against me.) Many people I know and care about voted for this man for one main issue…abortion. Maybe you were one of them. Maybe you really believed that a vote for him would save a life.

If that was your sole motivation, I can respect that, even if I disagree.

But here’s what I want you to know.

For the last five years, I worked in a skilled nursing facility, or nursing home as they are commonly called. I got to know many of the certified nursing assistants (CNAs), most of whom were single moms. These are the people who provide hands on care to the elderly and disabled residents who live in the facility. They bathe them, dress them, feed them, put them to bed, and change the diapers of those who need it. Those who are good at it (and there are so many), do it all with a smile and a sense of humor. They treat “their” residents like family.

For all this skilled labor, the average pay was $10/hour.

I know these women. I know how much they love their kids. I know how they are barely scraping by, living paycheck to paycheck. And I know what an unexpected pregnancy evokes in them…

…Unabashed fear. 

So many questions…How will they ever manage the co-pays for maternity care from our crappy corporate health insurance? Or the 20% co-insurance for the hospital stay? How can they possibly afford to take time off for maternity leave when all of their paid-time-off was used up caring for sick children? How will they ever be able to pay for childcare for another kid? What about diapers, formula (and/or pumping equipment), etc? How can they continue doing such a physical job right up until the end of the nine months? What if something goes wrong with the pregnancy and they can’t continue working? How will they take care of their kids, then?

These women are not opposed to another baby. They are not selfish monsters if they consider abortion under these circumstances. They are scared moms who feel like they are without hope. Even if they want the baby, they are terrified for the children they already have.

Do you see how a livable wage, affordable healthcare, paid maternity leave, low cost childcare, and even welfare for low income families can reduce abortion? Do you see how they can save a life? All of these things are traditionally shot down by our Republican party.

So, I’m asking you, my pro-life friends, can we please stand up for these women?

Can we support legislation that is not traditionally Republican, but will actually save lives? Or will we continue to call ourselves pro-life but be more concerned about the child in their womb than the children in their living room? Will we stand on principle and insist on being right just because that’s the way we’ve always thought, the way we’ve always leaned, or the platform of our party, even when we know it will drive more women to clinics to end a life for which we say we care so much?

Maybe we can think beyond the legalities of the issue and seek to reduce the demand.

I know it will make a difference.

Hope always does.

 

 

 

Drop the Load

hand2I sit here before a blank page. I’ve been so eager to get back to writing, to find some time, to let the words pour out. How strange to find I have none. Nothing cohesive, anyway. The blinking cursor has been mocking me for quite awhile.

It’s the start of the new year. The last one was all about change. It was exciting and stressful and fulfilling and scary…and so, so busy. So as I sit and pray and reflect, I find myself disconnected from my source. I know about God and I’m somewhat aware of His existence near me, but He’s become this sort of fuzzy, nebulous presence…instead of my Creator, my Savior, my Friend.

And I realize I miss Him.

No wonder I have nothing to write. I have nothing to give. My battery is dead. I’m full of meaningless ideals, insignificant platitudes, and hollow words. I’m an empty shell.

cactusWhile I love it in our new home state of perpetual sunshine, I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge some disappointment in realizing that winter can find me even here. I thought I’d escaped the cold, the darkness, the overwhelming desire to hibernate…to hide. But, while there is no snow or ice (for which I’m so thankful), the days are short. I see each breathtaking sunrise in the morning, and beautiful sunset in the early evening.

And then there’s darkness.

I want to don my jammies and escape into my old friends, television and social media, often before dinner has even graced the table.

Because, winter.
And so, while there are flowers still in abundant bloom, my kids wear flip flops most days, and our heat has been on less than a week in total, I continue to stuff a void and attempt to manage a discontent with unhelpful meaninglessness.

I am afraid of the dark.

dark

It draws me back into habits long held. It weakens my resolve to connect with the people in my world, and more importantly, with my God. Darkness becomes a load I carry instead of a shade through which I walk.

But one heartfelt cry of His name is all it takes to restore relationship. He is in focus once again. He is here. It is the beauty of the cross that one whispered prayer can bridge the chasm and revive the heart. He relieves the burden.

While there are fragments that must be swept away from the chaos I caused fumbling with my weight of darkness, my heart is now at peace.

20170103_111425Earlier today, my non-verbal Serb handed me a multitude of hot wheel cars on the back porch and pushed me into the house. Every time I stopped, I felt his little hands on my rump pushing me forward until, finally, he stopped and pointed with both hands to the floor, indicating I was to drop the load.

Later, my husband prayed, “Lord, thank you for this year you’re pushing us into,” and I laughed remembering determined hands pushing me to an unknown destination. This year, may I be so in tune with my God that I never fail to feel His hands, leading, guiding, and sometimes pushing.

And may I always be aware when He’s telling me it’s time to drop the load.

He Knows

You may feel anxious right now. The fate of our country is uncertain, at best. The chasm we all hoped would settle after the election seems to be ever widening as the ground around it rumbles and shakes. The truth is difficult to cipher. Fake news stories abound and are virally shared.

Add in the usual holiday madness that has become our norm for this month of the year and for some, this is the perfect storm.

But focus on this.

You are loved.

mangerThe King of the world, with you in mind, came to be one of us, to experience life as you do. To laugh, to weep, to be annoyed and exasperated, to feel stress, to be treated unjustly, to have his words twisted, to be mocked. He experienced deep loss and grieved. He knew great agony and physical pain.

He was misunderstood, over and over again. Not one person really knew Him.

He knows.

And while my emotions are running the gamut the last few months, and I could choose to write about so many other things, I’m focusing on this, instead.

He knows…us.

Intimately and deeply, whether we accept Him or not. He is the only one who really “gets” us. You realize you’re not alone in that desire to be known, right? We all want that. Some  look for it longingly in past relationships with parents, wondering why they were never enough. Others in one failed romantic entanglement after another. Some of us find some semblance of it in our marriages, but even that’s not quite enough to totally satisfy the deep need to be fully known and fully loved.

He knows our human experience and what we’re experiencing because He was human. BUT, more than that, He knows our personal experience, our feelings, our darkest fears, our highest hopes, because He knows us.

And He is delighted in each of us. 

The story of Christmas is that God came near. The hope of Christmas is that He is near, still. Emmanuel…God with us.

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Please know, He’s just a whisper away. Merry Christmas, and may God be near to you all year.

Pitchforks and Fruit Trees

So, another popular Christian committed the unforgivable sin. She publicly stepped left of center. Members of our community are tripping over themselves in her condemnation, so eager are they to distance themselves and wave a flag of their own righteousness. LifeWay pulled her books from their shelves. Blogger Matt Walsh was quick to use her sudden infamy for click bait.

If you’re not living in the bubble of Christendom (and I applaud you), I’m speaking of popular author and speaker, Jen Hatmaker. In an interview with Religion News Service, she answered the question, “Do you think an LGBT relationship can be holy?” with:

I do. And my views here are tender. This is a very nuanced conversation, and it’s hard to nail down in one sitting. I’ve seen too much pain and rejection at the intersection of the gay community and the church. Every believer that witnesses that much overwhelming sorrow should be tender enough to do some hard work here.

And Christian evangelicals lost their collective minds.

With a vengeance, she was denigrated in my newsfeed. I read the comments posted to her latest article (which had nothing to do with any of it) and was ashamed to be associated with the people who almost gleefully “straightened out” her theology.

I could almost see the pitchforks and hear the chants of “false teacher…burn, burn!”

orangetree

But the thing I couldn’t…can’t wrap my brain around is the fruit I see. We are told in Scripture that we can know each other by our fruit (Matthew 7:16-20). Jen Hatmaker is a mom doing the holy work of loving kids, former orphans, from hard places. I know from experience that is not a one shot deal, but rather, an ongoing, intentional, sometimes grueling, daily choice. It is messy, exhausting, exhilarating, and painful, and it is holy.

She is also, one of the most instrumental racial bridge builders of our time. She has done more for racial unity in the church, than any of her peers this decade. By her authenticity, openness, and humility, she invites the rest of us to journey with her in a quest to understand the divide, to heal the hurt, and build unity. Repentance, redemption, and restoration follow her.

Love is the over-riding theme to her ministry. She loves big and has enlarged her circle to include homeless people, children of third world countries, Ethiopian mothers, the LGBTQ community, and others forgotten or ignored. Better, she encourages the rest of us to love, as well.

Here’s where it gets especially tricky for me. Some of those with the proverbial pitchforks are people I know in real life. People who posted sanctimonious things like: “We should never add anything to the Word of God!” or “I knew something wasn’t right about her. I guess I have the gift of discernment!”

There is a log in my eye when I say this, I realize, BUT, I look at the lives of those doing the judging of Jen Hatmaker, and the fruit, in comparison, is remarkably sparse. Their lives are are normal, very typical of any middle aged, nice, American parents. To that, I echo Francis Chan, “Something is wrong when our lives make sense to unbelievers.” Those who are quick to jump on the bandwagon of condemnation would do well to compare fruit, starting with their own.

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I’ve noticed something about people who open their hearts and their arms to love big. Their theology starts to alter and they are less dogged about doctrine. Peripheral truths that once seemed so solid begin to shift as the person of our never-changing Jesus grows bigger in their lives. They walk the narrow road of understanding that Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8), and yet, they must keep in step with His Spirit (Galations 5:25) who is forever on the move.

Maybe, instead of eating our own when they deign to step off message, we should first look at their fruit, as Jesus instructs. If they are bearing good fruit, perhaps we should listen to them and find out why; quiet ourselves and seek to hear what they hear.

If nothing else, at least we could offer grace and then tend our own trees?

trees

 

 

 

American Idol

I’m no longer shocked, or scared, or angry. Now, I’m just kind of sad. I feel I’m watching the American Christian evangelical church topple. For years, it’s been perched on the edge of an abyss and the ground is slowly crumbling under it.

Our sin is taking us down. Not the moral failings of our culture, for which we’ve threatened doom over the years. Not the sexual immorality we ignore in our midst but for which we disparage the world. And we can’t blame this one on the LGBTQ community.

For years, we’ve made America an idol.

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We’ve worshiped at the altar of her freedoms, her history (our whitewashed version of it, anyway), the comforts she affords, the safety she provides, and the power we wield in her leadership. We’ve blurred the lines between her Constitution and Biblical truth. We became convinced that WE were God’s chosen people. The abundant life Jesus promised morphed into the great American dream.

Instead of being the bride of Christ, we chose to wed the Republican party. We pledged to them our allegiance and looked to them to feed us, to teach us, to lead us. When they told us morality would save us, we were all in. The war had begun and we were on the side of right.

The men leading it stirred us in passionate speeches about the evils of the left and the biased media who could not be trusted. They pointed fingers at dirty deeds and described them in glorious detail. When some of them were caught in the same deeds, we mourned the fallen, and railed against the media for twisting the facts.

The church is as enamored with America as ever. We are willing to sell our souls for her “greatness.” We are willing to turn a blind eye to the world around us and the desires and needs of the people in our own country in order to protect our rights within her.

In September of 1998, Dr. James Dobson, then president of Focus on the Family sent a scathing letter of Bill Clinton to his supporters. In it he wrote this:

As it turns out, character DOES matter. You can’t run a family, let alone a country, without it. How foolish to believe that a person who lacks honesty and moral integrity is qualified to lead a nation and the world!

Fast forward to 2016, and that same Dr. Dobson, wholeheartedly supports Donald Trump -a known adulterer, accused sexual predator, and habitual liar (among so many other things) – to lead this nation as President of the United States. Moral relativity, anyone?

Dr. Dobson is far from alone. Mr. Trump is the Republican nominee and while many in our party and in the evangelical church have distanced themselves from him, so many more are adamantly in support, simply because (in their words) “he is the only one who can save this country.”

His supporters may admit to his odiousness and moral failings, but they don’t care or are willing to overlook them because we must protect our religious freedom, the second amendment, babies, keep the Supreme Court from being overrun with liberal judges, and seal our borders from those who would blow us up or steal our jobs.

And, as a lifelong evangelical Christian and Republican, I want to know why. Because I look at this list of things we’re selling our souls to preserve and other than the baby part, this all seems completely self-serving. It’s all about our rights, our comfort, our way of life, our status quo. It has nothing to do with Jesus. 

We are admonished in Scripture to take up our cross and die to ourselves in pursuit of following Him. We’re supposed to expect tribulation and trials. We’re supposed to expect persecution, not avoid it. We’re supposed to remember that we’ve not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.

I’ve looked at the two greatest commandments. Loving our country didn’t make the cut. Loving our neighbor did. That means loving our immigrant neighbors, our black neighbors, our female neighbors, and our disabled neighbors, all of whom have been targeted by our GOP nominee.

So what do we do? Most of us find the Democratic choice to be morally reprehensible, as well.

First, we need to examine our individual hearts to see if/where we’ve made our country an idol and placed it before our sovereign Lord. In the same vein seeing if comfort, ease, safety, the American dream, etc, may also be idols, as well. It’s so easy to fall into that in the land of plenty.

Second, we need to stop the Chicken Little rhetoric that would tell us the sky is falling. Fear has no place here. Not only is it contrary to our core beliefs as Christians, but it also undermines our testimony to the world around us. What message of hope do we have to share if we are counting on a human savior to heal our land?

Third, I would love to wrap this up in a tidy bow and tell you, of course, we should all do _______ in this election. But, I can’t. There are third party options. If one should garner 5% of the vote, it allows that party to get federal campaign funds in the next election, therefore increasing the likelihood of a viable third party in the future. Or, you could skip the presidential part of the ticket and vote like mad for everyone else you wish to see elected. Just because we have the right to vote, doesn’t necessarily mean we have the obligation, especially if our own moral code prevents us from choosing any candidate. Don’t let anyone tell you that’s not valid.

Fourth, pray. Like most, I’m concerned about November 9th and beyond, regardless of the victor. Our country has much from which to recover.

Fifth, be the Church. Love your neighbors as you love yourself.

Charity

Be the glorious exception to what the world thinks when they hear the words “evangelical Christian.” Step outside your comfort zone to minister to the poor, give until it hurts, listen when you want to speak, read the other side to every issue, befriend people with whom you disagree and find your commonalities, make orphans a priority, never forget to look for Imago Dei in every person you encounter, and love everyone. Remember to be brave, authentic, full of grace, and to be there.

There doesn’t need to be a GOP President for us to be the Church. We have freedom in Jesus that no government can grant or take away. As my friend and former pastor, Jeremy Bialek commented:

Religious freedom to me is what Christ purchased on the cross. It is a freedom to actually be able to worship without the condemnation of death or slavery to sin. It can happen in a US church on Sunday morning, in a Chinese prison, or in an Arab desert before an ISIS executioner. It is not guaranteed by any governmental edict or court as much as it is by my Sovereign, eternal King. I don’t have to fight for that right. It is already mine and no one can take it from me.

I don’t know where America is headed or how she will recover from this. But I hope the evangelical church can recover by putting Jesus first, surrendering our need to be right, swallowing our pride, and loving people. We need to get away from all the talking and get back to doing, with the end goal of being. In other words, we want to be people from whom loves oozes. Maybe then, we can rebuild.

destroyedsyrianchurch

Picture: One of so many destroyed Syrian churches.

Arizona Adventure

We moved. Across the country. In my last post I shared that I felt nothing, just a numbness. All I feel now is an overwhelming gratitude because, it turns out, there is enough grace for that. And so much more.

The house we ended up in is in a wonderful neighborhood, surrounded by farmland, (Yes, they farm in the desert! I had no idea!) and exactly two miles from the base of the White Tank Mountains and its regional park. It is gorgeous, especially for previous flat-land Hoosiers like us. treesThe one thing I was worried about missing most from Indiana landscape was trees, but we have three large trees with hummingbird and turtle dove nests in our backyard. Amazing!

We leased a ranch style, one-level home which has eliminated so much stress from our daily lives as it makes supervision of Bo so much easier. Just eliminating the frequent adrenaline surges from large objects flying down the stairs from his hand, on a regular basis, has lowered all of our blood pressure to normal levels.

We are all acclimating to the higher temperatures and doing our best to forgive every blasted person who promised us a “dry heat” as humidity levels have routinely soared between 40-60% since our arrival, with temps around 105 daily. Dry heat, my butt. I’m told this is temporary due to monsoon season, but it seems pretty convenient nobody thought to mention it before we moved. Ahem.

neighborhood

My drive home from work. I smile every afternoon. 

School started five days after Shawn and the kids arrived and was very hectic, initially. Arizona schools frankly are pretty broke and have a terrible reputation. We were very worried about the boys, especially as they came from such amazing school situations. It is something that we bathed in prayer and spent way too much time obsessively worrying over.

Bo was in an essential skills class previously and would’ve returned to the same teacher, Miss Julie’s, classroom had we stayed. They shared a mutual adoration for one another and she challenged him in ways no one else could. More than that, she believed in him, even more than we did, I’m embarrassed to say, and he excelled under her tutelage. The thought of him ending up wasting his time in some of the awful situations I’ve read about, was really scary to me. But God knew. He loves Bo even more than I do. He provided Mrs. D. who is a near clone to Miss Julie. She adores Bo, has the same classroom style and set-up, and believes in him every bit as much. She is so impressed with all he learned under Miss Julie and is keeping her goals for his new IEP. The speech therapist is amazing, as well and has big plans for total communication for him, which is what I’ve been shooting for with him. He loves school!

Eon was fully included the last two years and the plan for second grade was the same in his amazing Indiana school. We were unsure how this was going to fly in his new school, although we knew the law was on our side. We also knew that if the teacher is not, it can be a terrible year. We had his transitional meeting on Friday. His teacher loves him. Yay! She does, however, have 33 kids in her class. He will need more support in the classroom. I may have annoyed his mild special ed teacher with my little inclusion speech, and expectation that evidence-based practice be provided. If she plans to pull him from the classroom some, that’s fine, as long as she shows me the current research to demonstrate that it’s best practice. I just wanted them to be aware of my expectations and goals when we reconvene for the IEP so no one is blindsided and we don’t waste anyone’s time. Overall, they seem like a great team and I think we can work well together to ensure his needs are met. He has, however, been playing them quite a bit and he needed a “come to Jesus” meeting when he got home from school. Turns out, they think he needs help carrying his lunch tray (Ha! Uh, no. Tell him to suck it up, buttercup!) and he’s been laying on the floor if he doesn’t want to do something (um, heck, no! Dad will come to the school to put a stop to that if need be! And, why in the world was he coming home with green/good behavior checks everyday?!?) Anyway, we straightened them out that he is very competent when he chooses to be and he WILL choose to be from now on. Ugh. This child.

moth

Giant moth on our stoop.

The other kids are thrilled to realize there are critters to be found in Arizona, too, although in the desert, not the creek. They are undaunted by the heat and spend at least part of everyday exploring the desert and longboarding in the park.

We gave Ellie, 16, the reins to find us a church to visit, and she, being the awesome big sis she is, found one advertising a special needs program. The website said we needed to contact them in advance, so we intended to keep Bo with us the first service we visited. However, when we were checking in the other kids, the volunteer helping us, told us he was more than welcome to attend that very day and her husband was actually working in his class. She took us there, we verbally told them some info about him, they gave us a form to fill out during the service and bring back and he was good to stay! Amazing! Never have we felt so welcomed and wanted in a church. Frankly, the service could’ve been terrible and we still would’ve returned just for that feeling and relief. It was the first time in 3 1/2 years that we relaxed, and worshiped together, knowing all our kids were well taken care of and learning about Jesus. Turns out, It was actually a great service! Ellie went to youth group that night and has since made some friends. We’ve decided to make it our new home church and are looking forward to getting involved in small groups.

park

Our park.

My job is fantastic and I love it! After twenty years of wearing scrubs, I feel like I’m playing dress up everyday in business attire and it’s fun! (although, my feet didn’t think so, initially, but they’re coming around.) I work for a huge non-profit hospital conglomerate in the acute inpatient rehab department as a clinical referral specialist. (although, depending on who you talk to, I’m also called an acute rehab liaison. Idk.) It’s very different from my previous twenty years as an occupational therapist, but I am able to use my clinical judgment daily (which seemed like I was able to do less and less in the SNF environment), therapeutic use of self, and communication skills I honed as an occupational therapist.

Having my parents nearby is a huge bonus. They have been a wonderful help to us and, even though the drive across the valley is long (a little over an hour),  we see them quite a bit. Grandpa helped me with the kids for two weeks as Shawn returned to Indiana to get the house finally on the market. We were so grateful to have him!

I’ll be glad when Google maps no longer has to help me navigate my daily life and when I start to feel like I belong instead of just a visitor, but that will come.

 

Moving Readiness…or Not

Three weeks from today I will replace the lush greenery and farmland of Indiana, for the mountains and desert landscape of Arizona, for good.

My emotions have been so mixed about this move, I have ceased to have any. When people ask if I’m excited, I feign enthusiasm. When asked if I’m sad to leave, I affirmatively answer that, too. Nervous, same. I don’t know what I feel.

The truth is, I don’t really feel anything. I’m over it already. I try to conjure up emotion for the “last times”, but I find there aren’t any and I worry I’ll regret that in the months to come. “This is the last Greenwood Freedom Festival for us, Mom.” Yep. And I only feel a little guilt that I sent you with the neighbors so I could recover from our garage sale.

Nothing is normal and I thrive on normalcy. I try to honor the kids in their need for routine in this stressful time, even though I just want them to stay out of my way while I get things done.20160427_210154 I’m trying to make sure they get to relish in their “last times” as they enjoy romping in their favorite creek and capturing Hoosier critters with their friends. I’m trying to allow teen daughter to make as many memories as possible with all her besties and her boyfriend to carry her through the coming months.

I’m trying to be empathetic as they process their feelings. Oh man, do they have a lot of feelings. Could we all just stop with the feelings, already? 20160625_125549And Eon, bless him, asking me daily, “Move now, Mom?”

Our garage sale was a huge success with blessedly little leftover to load onto the Salvation Army truck. Only to come upstairs and trip over boxes I forgot to take outside. And then find another in my closet…and, oh look! Here’s another in the girls’ closet. Pretty sure we have enough stuff for an entirely new sale, but instead, we’ll just call the truck back.

The hardest part is when people ask me for details. Little things like: When is the rest of the family joining you? How are they all getting out there? Do you have a house, yet? Have you sold yours? You know, details.

Frankly, we don’t really have answers for the details. We’ve never done a cross country move before. We’re kind of figuring it out as we go.

We’ve not sold the house, yet, nor do we even have it on the market. Turns out, making repairs and improvements with a destructo-Serb underfoot and a lot of other kids who need more supervision than they’re currently getting is a lot easier said than done. (Which is probably why it needs so many repairs and improvements to begin with.)

We can’t secure housing until I get out there to see the rental properties we’re interested in. I will stay with my parents temporarily, but my job is in the northwest valley of Phoenix, and they live in the east valley. The commute will be brutal. Hopefully, I will secure housing the first week I’m there before I start my job and I won’t have to do it long. The family will join me after that.

The teenager and youngest will fly out and everyone else will drive. We think. Lately, the Serb has been freaking out in the car and having what appear to be panic attacks. No idea what’s up with that, but if it continues, we can’t subject him to a 2,000 mile car trip. So, I don’t know.

In other words, I don’t know what exactly is happening with my life except it’s all changing, it’s completely stressful, and my response to all of it is to not care. I hope there’s grace for that. IMG_20160527_082511

My Target Bathroom Experience

Today, I needed some stuff from the store. I managed to escape the house without children and drove to our local Meijer store here in Greenwood, Indiana. I sat in the parking lot and began making a list on my phone when I received a Facebook notification. That’s all it took before I was completely distracted and scrolling through Facebook in my car, oblivious to the world around me, or my purpose for being at the store in the first place. (Welcome to ADD…Squirrel!)

I came across a post by one of my friends promoting a pledge by the American Family Association to boycott Target stores because of their new inclusive bathroom policies. It’s been signed by over a million people. It reminded me that I’d read something about protests outside Target stores on this date.

I started my car, left Meijer, and drove to my nearest Target. No protesters. Dang it. I was slightly deflated that I didn’t get to cross a picket line.  I shopped…and shopped…and shopped. Did I mention I didn’t have any children with me? As I headed toward the Market section of the store to complete my list, the inevitable happened.

I needed to use the bathroom.

Dare I? Was it safe? Weren’t there men in there dressed as women lurking in the stalls just waiting to attack or, at the very least, peer at my nether regions? Oh, wait. This is Target. They don’t even have to dress as women! 

Cautiously, I approached. I saw several men go into and come out of the Men’s restroom. None of them even glanced at the door to the Women’s. I walked closer to the doors.

A mother and her young daughter went into the Women’s restroom before me and into a stall. I went into another stall and locked the door. They did their business. I did mine.20160604_114021 Other people came and went. Toilets flushed. Sinks turned on and off. I came out of my stall and washed my hands. Another lady was there and laughed as I waved my hand under the non-automatic paper towel dispenser, stating she did the same thing. At least I think she was a biological female. She could have been a transgender female. I have no idea. Nor do I care. We did our business, exchanged pleasantries, and returned to our shopping.

I used a Target bathroom and I was unharmed. I lived to tell the tale.

You can, too. 

We Are Enough

Earlier in my mothering I struggled with feeling like I wasn’t enough. In fact, five years ago on Mother’s Day, I wrote this post expressing that very idea. Beautiful-Happy-Mothers-Day-Images

I am human and imperfect. My children know this about me and I am sure that picking out the perfect Mother’s Day card is difficult for them. I imagine them standing in the aisle rejecting card after card, until they finally find a safe, funny one.

I hate that the holiday objectifies motherhood until it is something  angelic and saintly like halos and gold dust. I know few women who can live up to that.

It portrays the “good” mothers are those who can read the same favorite bedtime stories for hours on end, instead of hiding the annoying books and leaving out only the short ones….that rhyme.They can create gourmet meals on a shoe string budget, instead of serving frozen pizza for the 3rd time this week. There is no way they have a hidden chocolate stash, but if they did and it was found, they’d be sure to share, instead of lunging for it and yelling, “MINE!”…

…I’m just a mom. I feel like I am failing much more often than succeeding. I notice all the the things I’m not doing, over all I am. I worry that I’m not disciplining enough, enjoying them enough, teaching them enough, loving them enough…that I’m not enough.

I have not changed very much, but my perspective has. Maybe because I’m older, my kids are older, or I have so dang many of them. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been immersed into the world of special needs and the bar has been significantly lowered. It’s hard to worry about Pinterest parties and gourmet meals when you’re just trying to keep your kids out of the hospital or making sure you know every last bit of the law to ensure they get the education they are due.

Last night, at church, our pastor spoke on the idea that mothers walk around with our very own cloud of guilt hanging over our heads. He told us that almost all of us struggle with not feeling like we’re enough. I teared up, not because I struggle with it so much now, but because I remember sitting in that very church three years ago, weeping as he said the same words and I absorbed them for the first time.

I was told I was enough. There was no “but…” attached.

Other than my husband, all my world at that time was telling me differently. The homeschooling community was telling me to be enough I should read the Bible with my children everyday and grind my own wheat. My former church taught me I should squelch all my needs and desires and find fulfillment only in service to my family. BuzzFeed threatened that I should be turned over to CPS for allowing my kids to play unsupervised in the yard. Pinterest showed me that I was failing in every possible way from birthday parties to healthy recipes. And Facebook assured me that everyone else was doing it exactly right.

So, hearing a different song was a balm to my soul. I drank in that message of grace. Like cracked ground thirsting for rain, I could not get my fill of it.

And, as one who has once been so thirsty, I try to nourish other moms with the same grace. You are enough, dear mama. You are exactly the mom your child needs. God chose you, specifically, knowing in advance your shortcomings and failures, to mother the children he has given you. The fact that you have ever worried about failing as a mother, proves that you are not failing, because you care enough to care.

chocolate-03I still have a hidden chocolate stash; my kids wear mismatched socks (and not the kind bought on purpose…I’m talking a cute kid’s sock and a giant men’s tube sock); I’m supposed to cook our weekend meals which means we usually have donuts and McDonalds; Sometimes, I bribe older kids to put little ones to bed; My five-year-old knows all the lyrics to “Stressed Out” by Twenty One Pilots. You get the idea. I am not rocking this motherhood thing.

But I’m enough. And so are you. 

We are selfish at times, most definitely. We are wrong, often. We are human, absolutely. But we love, however imperfectly, and that is enough. Because of Him, we are enough.

There is grace for that.