Together Through Pain {childhood trauma}

As you know, we are working through a series dealing with how to walk helpfully with your friend who is wading through waters in which you have no experience. I am so touched that the following contributor was willing  to serve us by opening up about her painful past and ideas of how to love on the friend in your life who has gone through a difficult childhood. She will do this eloquently but anonymously. She grew up in a home that would be labeled "Christian" but looked vastly different when the doors were closed as her father used psychological and physical abuse to rule the home and to keep up appearances. But I'll stop now and let her tell the story and give the words of wisdom.

When Your Formative Years Are the Source of Pain

For the first two decades of my life, I thought I was from a typical Christian family. But terror was planted in my gut at two years old, and fear was used to control me throughout the rest of my childhood. Fear of my mom being killed. Fear of my mom killing herself. Fear of my brothers being beat beyond repair. Fear of the silence. Fear of being "in trouble" myself. Fear of unknowingly breaking a rule. Fear of losing my salvation. I don't ever remember one day of feeling light, free, or childlike. I remember feeling heavy, frightened, exhausted, and very very alone. Each time fear consumed me to the point of overwhelmment, I prayed that God would literally erase that memory from my mind, for it was more than I could bear. He did. All that trauma, terror, rejection, and pain got boxed up, and I thought, put away forever. During that time, I was taught that forgiveness was being able to not emotionally react to hurt, and also never bringing up what happened again for eternity. And so I took turmoil and trauma inside and didn't allow it to effect my countenance, and I buried each hurt without ever voicing the enormity of it. I stopped feeling. I simply coped. And I thought that all Christian families operated like that. 

It is a modern miracle I still like Jesus. Because His Name was used to control and manipulate us, and His Words were used to be some twisted bandage to our wounds. I remember being told to go to my room and "get right with God" because my standing with him was "on the rocks". Because I moved a pair of shoes. I was told that my intentions were always selfish, flawed, and corrupt. I was told that I was not capable of friendship, that I was a deep disappointment. And I believed them to my core.

I blocked out so much of those first two decades, but I do recall a few ways that God wove glimpses of His True Nature into my life. I remember two teachers who were veritable sanctuaries to me. I literally did not want to go home after school. I would have camped out in their classrooms for the love and acceptance and soft-shoulder they offered. I felt so safe with them. God also saved me through nature. I remember being surrounded by high hills draped in knee-high green grasses, and tromping through daisy fields, and knowing God was there, calling to me, and showing me a small piece of His vast goodness. And I remember being so alone and so disenchanted by surface-y Christians that I gave up on all youth groups and Bible studies and just did life alone. God was my sole best friend, and although I didn't know the faintest facet of the freedom He offered yet, I did know that His company was richer than any others. 

How can you help a child who is so desperate for acceptance, love and safety? Sit by her. Offer your home for dinner or a weekend of normalcy. Feed her with scripture. See the good in her, and speak of and to it. 

But God blew my world wide open when I went away to college. I saw other families that were gentle, tender-hearted, non-judgmental, gracious, and loving toward each other. I met others my age who didn't live life in tension and fear and unpredictability. Who weren't wound up tight in dysfunctional relationships. Who weren't carrying adult-sized burdens on child-sized hearts. And they were still Christians. Ever so slowly, the Lord began to unwind this lie that being a Christian mean fearfully following rules, presenting a perfect exterior, a life of carrying crushing weight, and never knowing when the rug of your salvation was about to be pulled out from under you. 

Fast-forward to my 20's and 30's ... 

I was growing in knowledge. I was married. Physically safe. Separate. It was this promised land I had panted for my whole life. But the emotional trauma had just begun. It was like I lived my entire childhood in "fight or flight" survival mode on pure adrenaline. When the promised land was set before me, and everything was seemingly peaceful and safe, I didn't know how to operate. My body caught up. I began having panic attacks. Chest pains would send me to the hospital, thinking I was having a heart attack. I would lay on heating pads and pray that the muscles that pulled my lungs tight would loosen. I began having night terrors, waking up defeated, exhausted, grieving, heart either racing or broken. All of those hundreds of moments I blocked out and wished to be erased were buried deep and now rising to the surface. 

How can you love an adult in that dark, desperate, confused, exhausted, bewildered, grieving place that follows a broken childhood, so many broken relationships, and a broken picture of God?

1) Understand that it is called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because the real trauma occurs in the aftermath ... Being struck and verbally slayed hurt in the moment, but the real pain comes when you begin wondering why you weren't worth sticking up for, questioning why you were made to feel like such a burden to your family, and trying to piece together how what they spoke of you doesn't feel like who you are, or is it who you are? 

2) Give us permission to grieve ... and maybe do it with us. Just when the weight of these ugly, life-draining relationships with my parents were literally sucking me dry, God intervened. Two couples - my parents' age - stepped into our lives. Not with "honor your mother and father" words of judgement, but with "honor them ... that your days may be prolonged in the land which the Lord your God gives you" that helped us realize that there was no life, much less prolonged life, much less abundant life, trapped in this sick cycle of still trying to "honor" unpleaseable, unsafe, unhealthy, unpredictable parents. This dear couple woke at sunrise to pray with us, came over after dark to pray for us, skipped chemo treatments to cry with us, and most importantly, gave us a real picture of a gentle-man loving a tender-woman as Christ endears His Bride. They showed us what healthy fighting looked like, what healthy loving looked like, and how God can restore a beat-down spirit to the point of feeling free to laugh and feel again. They adopted us in every sense of the word, and so monumentally, pro-actively, and beautifully painted us a fresh picture of Christian family, working in harmony and gracefulness - not just publicly, but also behind closed doors. But perhaps most importantly, they wept for us. They validated our pain. Their eyes filled large with tears as we confided in them. They spoke Jesus' name over us again and again. I saw Jesus' tender compassion for me in their faces. I had never ever known anyone to see into my pain that way. That alone was so healing. They never chanted "He will never give you a burden bigger than you can bear," but breathed words of life into us. Validated our journey. Offered permission to grieve in the valley, and gave their soft shoulders to weep on. That was Jesus-love like I had never seen it before. 

3) Realize that God's classrooms happen in many places. What didn't help was "You can do it!" Scripture-quoting. Because you don't feel like you can do it, and you don't know how to do it, and sometimes, Jesus' timing isn't ready for you to do it. We learn wonderful things in the valleys. We see Jesus' face so clearly in valleys. Valleys are not always to be rushed through. They are dark, long, seemingly-endless, and sometimes that's ok. Come have coffee with me in the valley. Regard it as just as holy ground as the mountaintop you are on. Ask me to guest-blog about my journey (thanks, Alyssa) and trust that, though the surrounding scenery may look different, sanctification can also happen in that desert-place.

4) Probe gently. It also was difficult to answer questions. After two decades of silence, when my body began to break down and leak some of the pain out, well-meaning friends and family would press for details, trying to understand themselves how this on-the-outside perfect family could have instead been something so very different. I had blocked out so much, and being forced to recall and wade through and piece together those years and those instances was so vastly painful. God drew it out as I was ready, and being asked to recall things through the years before I was ready to process them usually sent me into a tailspin. 

5) Realize that sometimes forgiveness doesn't necessarily negate righteous anger. After being taught that forgiveness meant being hurt by someone and not showing even a hint of it in your countenance, not even flinching or wincing, and never speaking of it again ... I had a difficult time with forgiveness. In effect, I had over-forgiven my parents to the point of dysfunction and enablement at times. Having someone hear part of your story, and encourage you to "forgive" is just not helpful at all. You wouldn't walk into a crime scene in progress, and "encourage" someone who is being slowly murdered to step out in forgiveness because that is biblical, otherwise they will drown in anger. I had been taught the opposite. Never to stand up for myself. To just take pain, believe I deserved it, and move on. So having some righteous anger at outright injustice, misuse of God's name, and the cloaking the gospel in Outright Lies --- learning it is ok to be indignant about that has been part of my healing journey. I truly believe that if I had mindlessly forgiven as some told me to, it would have been ingenuine and shallow forgiveness. Instead, I was able to fully grasp the breadth of the damage done, fully feel the pain from it, and still choose to hand it over to the Lord, release that person from ever having to see what they had done to me, instead allowing the Lord's compassion for my ruins be my healing balm, and choosing to pray Godly blessings over their life and future instead. That is a whole-hearted forgiveness He has taught me, and one that I daily have to practice. You simply can't understand how huge forgiveness is until you get how much you are willfully choosing to hand over.

6) Practically love me. I know it sounds funny, but I was more overwhelmed, more desperate, more exhausted, and more needy when I was going through some of the toxic aftermath of these relationships than I ever was when I was sick, had a new baby, recovering from surgery, etc... A meal sent over would have brought me to my knees. Emotional pain was downright debilitating at times.

7) Don't pass on pithy quotes. "Depression is just hatred turned inward." A well meaning family member once told me this. It broke my heart. Instantly, I felt judged. I wasn't experiencing an inch of anger in that season, just pure all-encompassing grief. I felt so mis-understood. I tried so hard to reel-in any evidence of my state of soul to the outside world. In that dark, dark season where I was always exhausted, underslept and puffy-eyed, know that I was puffy-eyed not from crying for myself all day, but from being slain on my belly on the ground crying out "How long, Oh Lord?!" to the only One I knew to call on. I didn't hate them, I loved them and longed for love from them. I wasn't angry, I was alone. When you are tempted to label depression a disease of the soul, know that I stand in agreement with you - for the most part. But there is also a physical element. After twenty-two years of just coping and surviving and trying ... I had nothing left to give. Not one ounce of gumption or coping or trying or moving forward. It was like my body was filled with resources to stand up to life's drama at birth, and not only did I tap every single one of those before age five, I had over-withdrawn to the point of beyond empty. I couldn't cope with big things, much less little things. I spent years like this. Everything was overwhelming. Often, I didn't even have it within me to pray for myself. I remember my lips having so little energy to form words, that I would just fall flat down and weep, knowing that the Holy Spirit was groaning and interceeding on my behalf. Tell that to someone who is experiencing depression of the soul or mind. That the Holy Spirit is groaning on behalf of their broken body because they are so dearly beloved. That is healing. After nearly a decade of feeling judged over having this exhausting state of mind and soul, God breathed new life into me. But it wasn't until I had become so familiar with His face in that dark valley that I stopped wishing and praying that it would end. I began not caring if I walked a slow crawl forever - as long as His voice was pressed to my ears and His face continued to be in sight. He freed me from the guilt of depression by reminding me that David was an all-over-the-map weeping poet, terrified of enemies, exhausted from life, and as he screamed heaven-ward til his throat was raw for God to see, save, and spare him, God shouted back that grief-stricken-valley-dwelling David was "a man after His own heart." God's grace can come in the form of a change in circumstances, His intense nearness, a 300mg pill, a truth-speaking therapist, and everything in between. Don't limit God's grace, and remember that He called weeping Shepard-King nutcases friends of His Heart. And from that emotions-all-over-the-map bloodline, His Son was born.

8) Understand triggers. Sometimes they are words, sounds, places, or even people. They can be ordinary and neutral things - water, a smell, or phrase - that are powerful enough to thrust you back to that place of entrapment and terror. But praise Jesus for each trigger He allows to be exposed, so He can graciously deal with each one, and reveal the origin and show His presence even there. But PTSD triggers are real and cause breathless panic, dagger-through-your-heart grief, and surging-through-your-veins terror. For me, they are mostly places. Houses, rooms, even states. But as the Lord allowed my heart to become less hardened and more sensitive ... as He allowed me to feel again ... even little things would trigger me. I couldn't watch tv or read the news. Anything even remotely anxiety-provoking threw me into a tailspin. It was embarrassing. I felt like such a wimp. Yet God was softening my heart. He began to re-associate these painful moments with where-He-was-in-that-place. Some of my most severe triggers and places of trauma have become beautiful redeemed memories, because now I see where He was hovering, saving, protecting, and waiting for me instead. I know there are probably many more painful places that will be triggered to remembrance in the years to come, but I am also so lucky to have friends that recognize when withdrawing or avoiding is because there is a very too-painful-to-yet-endure place within whose nerve was touched on just then. They have slowly waded through these with me, and shown me that the presence of another to go "backward" into that scary territory with makes it just that much less scary. 

9) Don't leave me an orphan. This last year, I have spent guilt-ridden wondering why I could have this gaping wound in my heart for a mom, and not be satisfied with the Lord filling it with Himself. I prayed endlessly for Him to show me how He is my Father and my Mother ... how His heart is tender and accepting and open toward me, and He is sufficient as my Father and my Mother. To show me how He fiercely protects me, fights for me, claims me, and sees the good in me. And do you know what? I still ached and came up empty.

Meanwhile, over this past year, God has surrounded me with dozens of sweet little old ladies in a women's Bible Study at church who have welcomed me in with such open, eager arms, I would sob in the parking lot afterwards with how touched I was by their affection for me. 

And He continued to nourish my relationship with my mother-in-law .... both in understanding and deep love and devotion for each other.

And this past winter, a woman who I admire so much and has been so largely responsible for being the empty vessel that preached Good News of hope, healing, joy, and freedom to me ... who prepared a heavenly feast for me that I might taste and see how good the Lord is, and feel joy for the first time in my life ... this woman who is missionary to thousands and a warrior with her husband for the lost and broken, and champion of the Church as His Bride ...

She chose me. 

This winter she took me aside and asked me to be her daughter. I thanked her, told her how sweet her gesture was, and inwardly declined. I adore her to the ends of the earth, but not only did I not think I was worthy of her love, I had never received an invitation like that and didn't know what to do with it. It came with almost too much love to comprehend. And secretly --- I still wanted my mother.

A month ago, I was praying to the Lord once more to help me fill my yearning for a mother with only Himself. And He laughed at me, and told me He already had. He gave me a picture of this small girl with her hand outstretched begging for her mother's hand - empty, reaching, and crying out to nothingness - yet surrounded by 100 mothers with their arms outstretched toward her. 

I have found my 100 mothers that were there all along. God has filled my longing for a mother with more mothers than I can handle! I just couldn't see them because I was so busy wanting the one that may never love me the way I ache to be loved. That longing for someone to see the good in me, prounounce that, walk through joy and pain without judgement, and experience healthy relationship with ... He filled my cup to overflowing. His spilled out His Mother-Heart for me in the form of all of these sweet women right in front of my eyes, and I didn't even see it, because I was so busy wanting it my way, from my mother. His ways are not our ways ... If you want to show love to someone recovering from a very broken childhood, don't leave us wanting for mothers or fathers. Be our mothers or fathers. Because family trees look different on this side of the cross. We may not be blood family, but we can be blood-of-Jesus family to each other. And sometimes, that's even more needed.

10) Call me out. We learn from what we are modeled. When you see me parenting from a place of emotionless detachment or unhealthy attachment, when you see me controlling hearts instead of fertilizing hearts, when you see me trying to please man not God, when you see me forgiving on autopilot without first feeling, when you see me surviving not thriving, when you see me preaching a gospel of guilt to myself rather than freedom, when you see me treating play as frivolous and work as sacred, when you see me speaking to the worst within my children rather than calling them by their new names and natures ... Call me out. Correct me. Question me. Sharpen me. Soften me. God uses His people so mightily in this way, and I invite you in my life to continue this good work as His Spirit beckons you to. 

Most importantly, be the messy, broken, awkward, in-progress, beautiful Church. If we had gone to one single church where people were raw and real about their journey - if they were honest that their lives were in shambles and their hope was frayed and their faith was starving and that it was okay to share your story too because God loves broken, scared, reckless people and He is very good at kissing tears and drawing near to the brokenhearted ... I may have just shared my story before it ate me alive for two decades. I may have, at 8 or 9, felt safe enough to call out for help - something that could have also spared my mom and brothers decades of abuse. Throw your awkward sex life, your angry streak, your insecurities, your job-as-identity, your motherhood-fails, your gaping loneliness, your brink-of-despair, your financial stretched-ness, your nagging doubt, your short-breathed faith out there ... In prayer, in small groups, amongst friends, at the alter, in worship ... make it all fair game for God to heal and His Bride to minister to. Because sometimes we need to be carried to the Healer by the faith of our friends (Like 15:17) and we need to know that in God's house it's ok to expose our crippled places while we wait on His graces.

A Little Trip to Africa

I'm about to tell you why I'm headed to Africa next month. I've put off writing this blog post because, to be honest, the words aren't flowing easily since I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it.

It started nearly two years ago at the beginning of what turned out to be a 9 month job loss for my husband. God started to doing something very distinct and unexpected in our hearts. He began gently pressing us to look outside of our own comfort zone and our own world. And He was specific. Over and over we were coming across articles, videos, and sermons that focused our vision on the orphan crisis going on over in Africa. That's not to say we hadn't cared before that point in time. We were planning to adopt from that part of the world, so obviously we thought we cared. But that light burden began to turn into a heavy one. The kind that keeps you up a night and has you sobbing and you kneel beside your bed. 

What amazed me the most was that what God was doing in Steven's heart was so in sync with mine. Date night after date night we would compare notes and be blown away that the very specific ways in which God was at work in my husband's heart were identical to how the Lord had privately been at work in mine. It felt like God was further confirming what He was up to by having us be so in step with one another.

Until one day.

Last spring after a quite few months being in this season, Steven called me over to come talk to him. From the tone in his voice, I could tell whatever he wanted to say was important to him: "I think we're supposed to go visit there next year."

Clueless, I asked: "Visit where?"

"Africa."

"Where in Africa?," I inquired, totally caught off guard.

"I dunno' know. I just think we need to go there next year and figure out what God wants us to do with this burden."

My response showed my extremely faith-filled heart: "Seriously? You want us in the middle of an expensive adoption process to up and go 'somewhere' in Africa? I thought we might do this someday, but next year?!"

Knowing my husband wouldn't say something like this lightly, I concluded, "Okay, can I just pray about it? I have no faith for something like that right now."

And so I prayed and he prayed. We talked to one of our pastors who thought we should go for it and I prayed some more. For my birthday, a friend of mine handed me the book Kisses from Katie. Knowing nothing about what the Lord had been up to in my heart she told me, "God told me to give you this."

I started reading; and at one distinct moment a few days into the book, the Lord told me to listen to my husband and take this trip. At that moment the real miracle happened, as I felt this prompting, faith filled my heart. I walked into the room where my husband was and uttered just two words: "I'll go."

In the next two months, as we checked into different options. The doors began to open to go with a wonderful ministry over to the country of Ethiopia. We were thrilled that God was directing us to the birthplace of our next daughter.

That fall was full of a move, the "paper pregnancy" of an adoption process, homeschooling, a busy photography season, and much more. My thoughts were not often on the trip. And by the time January rolled around, doubts resurfaced in my heart. This was crazy! We were trying to pull the money together for our dossier, and I knew I didn't want to touch the money people had donated to our adoption for this trip. None of this made sense. What were people going to think of us? In His Providence, the Spirit had me in Luke 9 one morning. I read in verse 3 how Jesus sent out his twelve disciples saying:

“Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money; and do not have two tunics"

Well, that didn't seem to make too much human sense either. In fact sending people on a mission with no food, luggage, money, or extra clothes seemed downright stupid. But there was Jesus, the one I'm supposed to follow, doing just that.

A girlfriend encouraged me, "I think it would be a problem if your life made sense to the world." 

Bam. Unbelief exposed, faith renewed.

And God provided the money. All of it; without us having to touch our adoption savings. And then he just keeps confirming this trip in small ways. Like the couple we hardly knew who felt they were supposed to give us the big wad of Ethiopian money they had had sitting in their home for a couple years. 

So in mid-July we're jumping on an airplane, sitting tight for 14 hours, and landing in Addis Ababa. The group we're going with will be coming alongside different existing ministries in the area. We truly have no idea what God has in store or how He's going to use this trip to direct our future. But I rest in the fact that I didn't have this trip on my to-do list, but the Lord had it in His plans for us. So if He took care of getting us there, I'm sure He'll take care of the rest.

(And by the way, we'd really, really love your prayers. Please pray for God to show His glory to us and through us.)

Together Through Pain {chronic pain}

I am nothing short of thrilled to start this series called "Together Through Pain".  I've read many articles written by people who have encounter major trials, but not so many on how to be a good friend to them in the midst of it all. You can read more about the premises for this set of posts HERE. My prayer is that you and I learning from the difficult experiences of these eloquent, godly women will be nothing short of powerful. 

We'll start this series hearing from Molly Mullery who has dealt with a chronic pain almost her entire life. She graduated from George Mason University with an English degree that concentrated on Creative Writing. Molly is currently a freelance writer and working on a series of young adult novels. She resides in Northern Virginia with her husband Colin and their pooch River. You can enjoy more of Molly's gift of writing on her personal blog HERE.

How To When Your Friend Can't

When I consider writing about chronic illness, I can come up with many different places to start. I could start with my own story, a sort of list of credentials I have to even write this in the first place. Then, I think maybe I ought to write a list of the do's and don't's of caring for the chronically ill, or maybe I should stuff the whole thing and just write a poem. But, when I finally sat down to write, all I could think about were days.

Today, it rained. I felt like curling under a blanket with a cup of tea and a book. I'm sure a lot of you feel the same way on rainy days. Those blankets and mugs  get even more enticing when you've got a cold, don't they? Your nose is stuffy, your head feels the size of Texas, your joints ache, and you just want to take a sick day. 

For those of us with chronic pain, every morning feels like a rainy one, our heads never seem to shrink down to normal head-sized heads, our noses run like faucets, and our joints never stop that awful throbbing. Replace those symptoms with those of arthritis, or fibromyalgia, or crohns disease and you get a picture of what chronic illness is like. That sick day, when you call your boss and say, "Sorry, I can't come in today", that's our everyday. 

It's monotonous. It's exhausting. Despite our best efforts it can determine our decisions, our activities, even dictate our interests to a certain extent. It can seem virtually impossible to avoid letting our health issues shape our identities. Other people inadvertently make it worse. When your defining characteristic is a chronic illness, people ask you about your knees, your head, or your stomach before they ask you about anything else. It can feel all-consuming.

So here you are, reader, friend to a person with chronic illness. You don't want to reinforce the life-consuming nature of health issues, but you also want to be a supportive friend. This is a difficult balance to achieve, and it looks different in each relationship. Each person and his pain need a different sort of support and a different face of love, yet there are a few guidelines that stretch nearly across the board.

1. Beware of pat answers. Many sick people have heard verses like Jeremiah 29:11 and Romans 8:28 so many times they can see them coming up in a conversation a mile out. Ask questions. Find out what truths are helpful to your friend and which ones are salt in the wounds. This will be different for each person, so be sensitive to that.

2. Don't fixate on the problem. Ask your friend about work, about movies, about colors, about music. Focus on interests, dreams, and goals. Treat them as you would any healthy person, while leaving the door open for them to bring up their trials. 

3. Reach out. Sometimes it's all a chronically ill person can do to get up in the morning, let alone set up time for fellowship with friends. Be the one who goes to her house, the one who picks up Starbucks. Wash dishes if you see them in her sink, casually de-clutter his living room between rounds of video games, offer to swing by the store on your way over. Small gestures like these, given without fanfare, show your friend love without drawing attention to his weakness.

4. Remember your shared identity. You are not a "healthy person" reaching out to a poor "sick person." You are a brother in Christ, caring for a fellow Christian who would do the same for you were the tables turned. Focus on what makes you equal as children of God, not what makes you different in this temporary world. Pursue fellowship, find ways that your friend can return care to you through prayer or Bible study. Enjoy life in community together.

Chronic illness is isolating, life-defining, mind-consuming. It is exhausting, embittering, depressing. We fight every day to live well and fully in light of the Gospel, just like you do. Help us by not focusing on the difference, but rather rejoicing in our shared heritage in Christ. 

Together Through Pain

The dilemma hit me while grocery shopping recently. Now that I shop alone, I have the luxury of spending the time deep in thought. Something sent me to remembering my pregnancies and the months and months spent debilitated, writhing in pain from the stomach spasms, wishing the 9 month puke-fest would end. I remembered sweet friends who were there for me and well-meaning individuals whose words felt more like salt than band aids.  Then my mind went to my girlfriends who had recently faced far worse situations. I thought about how often I felt I was groping in the dark as I sought to be a true friend in the midst of their pain.

I dawned on me how much we need to hear from the ones who have actually walked through the valley. They’re the experts.  We need to equip ourselves with how best to “weep with those who weep”.

This is why I’m doing this blog series.

I’ve asked some women who have walked through significant trials to share to school us in how to be a good friend to the hurting. Of course, everyone’s situation is not the exact same. But I think you’ll find what they have to say extremely helpful and a great starting point for coming alongside someone in your life who is walking through a similar situation. I know while pre-reading their posts, I have been learning and realizing how things I’ve said or done in the past may not have been as comforting as I thought it was.

Next week, we’ll kick things off with a phenomenal guest post by a woman who lives with chronic pain. Then we will move on with one post a week in this series hearing from women who have experienced childhood trauma, infertility, miscarriage, death of a loved one, and more. These women will share what was and more importantly was not helpful during these times.  We'll call it "Together Through Pain".

Be on the lookout for the first post on Tuesday!

Of Flower Girls, Family, and Lakes

As I mentioned in the last post, we went up to Northern Michigan (my place of origin) to go to my cousin's wedding. My cousin, Carly, is like a little sister to me, and she had asked Adriana to be her flower girl. Our family stayed in a lakeside cabin next to the chapel where the wedding was held. I think the best way to tell about the trip is in my favorite form- pictures. But I have a mother fail here. I spent a lot of the weekend with Adriana as we had girl-time enjoying the many wedding party activities. And Ava was, as always, tagging along as close to her big sister as possible. My boys, however, spent much of the trip traipsing after their uncles and cousins. And when I got home, I discovered that my camera card had not one single photo of my boys from the whole weekend. Not one! And they looked so stinkin' cute, too. Major mother fail.


Freezing water or not, toes must be dipped...




It's a kid's duty to throw back anything that the lake has worked hard to wash onto shore...






After the dress went on: "I feel like a princess...like Daddy's princess."...






With one of my other gorgeous cousins...


Two of my brothers and my sister...








Sweet then natural...


My parents and more of Hannah...


Nephew + bow tie = irresistible


Pre-wedding jitters: "Mom, I'm so worried. What if I mess up?"...


Man and wife...







Two peas in a pod...


It's a treat to have a front-row seat watching their sister friendship develop...




He's all mine...


My mom had just lost her sister unexpectedly a few days before the wedding, so being with her siblings was extra special...


A more realistic family photo. It's fun to watch your mom put on her little sister hat...

Soldier Boy

I'm currently in recovery mode from driving up to my cousin's gorgeous wedding in Northern Michigan. And I truly mean recovery. The ride there we did through the night. Sleeping kids in the car= pure bliss. The way home we spent 15 hours in the car enjoying a range of activities that made me remember why I hate road trips. Tired children entertaining themselves with who they could annoy the most, Ava dumping the food and drinks we were letting her snack on, me puking in a grocery bag as I got carsick in the Allegheny Mountains..the next morning it was like a hangover without the alcohol.

So while I'll blog about the lovelier parts of our trip later, I thought you might enjoy seeing my little brother (the family soldier) and his fiance's engagement pictures that I was able to quickly do when he flew in to meet us for a full day. Just head over HERE for a peek.

I'll see you on the other side of the laundry pile...

Pets

About a month after our wedding, I turned to my new husband, eyes welling up newlywed adoration, and shared an idea that sounded entirely romantic to me: "We should get a puppy."

My romantic puppy snuggling bubble was immediately burst by the horrified look on Steven's face. I was informed that he had no intention of ever owning anything with fur, gills, or scales. Instead a few months later, a sonogram showed that he had gifted me with a little thing that would turn out to have big brown eyes and soft hair. But pets were never to be.

This has found the kids and I doing the only thing there is left to do: making pets out of insects. My kids were jumping up and down with excitement the other day at the siting of the first cicada. (Just you wait, my dears. Just you wait.) Then they spent the better part of the afternoon making pets out of every caterpillar they could get their hands on- naming them, making them cardboard homes, doting on these poor little creatures, and seeing who could use their new "pets" to scare Dad the most.











And if I'm entirely honest, there are many a day that I thank God that my husband refused to give me one more thing to clean up after...

Can I Just Skip Mother's Day?

For the first time, I've found myself dreading Mother's Day, wishing I could skip it. A whole day to celebrate something in which I daily feel I'm failing. Excuse me if that sounds too extreme, but that's the truth.

It sent me analyzing (as most things do): Why is this so hard? Why has there never been anything else in my life that I can seem to get a good handle on? I love my kids, as in crazy-off-the-wall-take-a-bullet-for-you love. So why is this so darn difficult? 

I think I came into motherhood with this divide and conquer attitude. I expected it to get easier the more experience I had under my belt. I do it every day, for goodness sake; so why don't I feel like I get any better at it?

Here's where I think the Lord is meeting me in my questioning. 

This is a ministry.

But it's distinctly unlike most other ministries, since you don't walk away from it. You will often be ministering the moment you wake up before your eyes are fully open or your coffee has even entered your mouth. Ministering when someone has just destroyed one of your favorite possessions. Ministering while you try to eat or prepare dinner. Ministering when you're sick. Ministering when you're feeling especially moody. Ministering to someone who doesn't want you ministering to them. Ministering after you thought you had everyone tucked in bed for the night. Ministering at 2 a.m. when you've not fully cognitive. Honestly, you'll even do some ministering when you're just trying to use the bathroom.

This is not easy stuff, people.

Then I'm reminded of Luke 9:23-24:

"And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it."

So maybe, just maybe, as moms we have an advantage. We get opportunities 24/7 to follow Jesus in denying ourselves. But then, I'm confronted with the fact that I can't do this myself. It's too overwhelming.

Enter Ephesians 3:14-16:

"For this reason I bow my knees before the Father,  from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being,"

So not only has God named my exact family with each of their exact personalities, but then HE supplies the strength through His Spirit. 

This is a daily battle, but also a daily ministry. And if I'm seeking the strength of God's Spirit, I have the opportunity to have an effect on eternal souls even at 2 a.m.

Encouragement Paper

Because, in this house, sometimes we all need to chill with the correcting and start encouraging....

DC Days {American Indian Museum}

Now that the weather is warmer, we're back to our family tradition of D.C. Days, as we now call them. D.C. Days are simple: they involve taking advantage of one or two of the large amount of free tourist attractions that just happen to be short drive from our home, a single backpack filled with the necessities, an Ergo for short-legged little gal in our family, and at least one Starbucks trip. ("It's Mommy and Daddy's reward for keeping four kids alive in a big city.") We've found these days to hold some of our favorite family memories.

This last one was a trip to the American Indian Museum...