Harmony, in music, consists of multiple notes played at once; this usually involves two or more notes or chords, which is three or more notes—often referred to as a triad. A chord being built of stacked thirds is referred to as a triadic, with a bottom note being the root, a third, and a fifth.
Dissonant chords are combinations that sound jarring, like middle C and the C sharp above (a minor second).
Descant: An independent treble melody usually sung or played above a basic melody.
I’m talking about the Duggar family, so why in the world am I throwing out basic music theory terms? Glad you asked. For so many years I loved and adored the Duggars. I thought they were a family living in perfect harmony. I thought Jim Bob was singing the melody with Michelle and the kids singing harmony parts. Sadly, my ears weren’t “trained.” I so wanted this family to be the picture of what a godly family “should” look like. I wanted to believe Jim Bob was being the true head and that he was in good faith, acting in the best interest of his wife and children. If their family was a true model, then my own upbringing, IBLP adjacent, was acceptable and pleasing to the Lord.
After watching “Shiny Happy People,” I realize how dissonant, off key this family, and truly out of tune this family really is. Jinger is out of the IBLP, but sadly landed in the middle of J-Mac land. She is attempting a harmony part, in an attempt to prove her upbringing was mostly good. Then, you have Jill, who is currently singing the descant to bring true awareness to the atrocities of her upbringing, family, and the IBLP. The reality is the Duggars are more like Milli Vanilli than a trained choral group. I’m sad and angry that I supported them and their values. I held them as a picture of a near perfect family, even if I can’t stand wearing dresses and having super long hair.
It’s amazing to me what we’ll overlook when we so desperately want something to be true. We are willing to look past the legalism, with the insane rules, and near impossible expectations. We see the things we really wanted in life. I WANTED to grow up in a family with 2 parents and a house full of siblings. I WANTED what seemed like the “perfect” Christian” family. I realize now we were seeing what they wanted us to see, but were never allowed to see the wizard behind the curtain, to pull from a favorite childhood musical. The reality is, the family, the “wizard” are nothing more than brand new music students attempting to get some sort of sound out of their instruments, or a choir full of tone deaf singers. They may look great, but the sound is atrocious.
From here I will give the trigger warning of emotional abuse and SA.
Y’all I had NO clue as to how triggering “Shiny Happy People” was going to be. I didn’t expect to want to throw my laptop off the deck and hurl it into the woods (I was sitting on my upper deck while watching).. I didn’t expect the anger, the fear, the shame, the feeling of being totally seen, and the absolute rage at watching this series. While I didn’t grow up in the IBLP, I realize how IBLP my childhood church, the mentality of leaders, and the Purity Culture really were. In the late 80s and early 90s the Southern Baptist Convention was absolutely IBLP adjacent. Even though we were not required to wear dresses every day, nor to keep our hair long, the mentality and the view of women very much resembled the teachings of Gothard and the IBLP.
As an SA survivor and a mama of a daughter, I struggle hard with the purity culture. I struggle and resist the need to make my daughter look like those in the IBLP world. There was a great responsibility to bear on the shoulders of the girls. We were taught that if a boy/ man stumbles, it was OUR fault. When I look at my own story and what I was wearing the assaults happened, there was NOTHING inappropriate about my clothing. When I was R’d for the first time I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Because of the year, I was also in LONG, scrunchy socks. It was the middle of the day and there were no adults in the house. When the other perp came after me for the first time I was wearing a LONG, almost FLOOR length nightgown. I was in MY ROOM, behind a CLOSED DOOR, and IN MY BED!!!!
An interview with a survivor talked about how the girls at “Headquarters” were sitting with a group leader and had to go around the circle to discuss whether or not they had been SA’d. The next part they had to answer was “What could YOU have done to prevent it?” I almost threw up. When I look at my own story, logically, I don’t see fault in how I was dressed, or even where I was. Being IBLP adjacent, I see now where the Purity Culture very much accepted, adopted, and taught that very mentality. I was taught that I was “filthy” and needed to ask Christ to give me a “Second Virginity” because I was not going to be able to bring my husband my “gift” of virginity and therefore as MIDDLE SCHOOLER had already defiled my marriage bed.
Do y’all not see the insanity of this? Do you not understand the damage this does? Do you see how victims/ survivors are held to ridiculous standards? WHY was “I” held responsible for what happened to me in 5th and ALL of 6th grade? The mentality of “Oh, it’s just boys being boys” is so extremely dangerous. My husband and I have now been married for 18 years. I STILL struggle with guilt and shame.I STILL struggle with the fact I wore white on my wedding day and even my wedding night attire was white. Based on Purity Culture, I should not have done either one. Honestly, I made my husband wear his wedding band on our wedding and kept mine on because I was terrified of the Lord striking me dead, if we didn’t. It’s NOTHING my husband has put on my shoulders, but when that’s the mentality you spent the better part of your childhood and adult life in, it’s hard to let go.
I was R’d in Spring of 1989. The SA lasted ALL of my 6th grade year, so 1989-1990. This was at the height of “True Love Waits” and the Purity Culture. It is now 2023 and while the program and the movement are no longer discussed, it has now been dressed as “Biblical Womanhood.” Same mentality, just a different look. Instead of addressing the issues, the SBC has made an attempt to whitewash everything and continues to dig their heels in. (Currently watching what’s happening in the SBC Annual Convention in New Orleans. Once it’s completed, another blog post will be coming based on the issues voted on and their results. Can’t say I’m overly hopeful at this point).
Going back to the Duggars, I hope more charges are brought against Josh and that he ends up rotting in prison. I hope charges are eventually filed against Jim Bob and his fate is the same. For Michelle, the older girls, really all of the kids, I pray they can finally escape, find their way to a SAFE church, and learn what real harmony sounds like. After so many years of living in a tone deaf home and church, my fear is they will never know the true beauty and musical harmony until the Lord calls them home.
The SA and Purity Culture are only ONE issue I’ve addressed in this blog post. There are so many other, horrible issues to confront and address from that 4 part series. This just happens to be the area “I” have struggled with the most. Honestly, as a parent, there are multiple issues and horrendous amounts of abuse addressed in the series. I’m grateful I broke away. I’m grateful my kids can’t relate to anything in that series. My own husband can’t relate to much of what was addressed. For that I’m grateful. I don’t want them to understand. I do want them to be sympathetic. They can’t be empathetic because they haven’t walked it. I’m grateful my husband, my kids, my inner circle, and my therapist have been by my side as I deconstruct and seek healing.
For those who are walking a similar journey, I AM HERE FOR YOU! Please don’t hesitate to reach out. You are NOT ALONE. I would feel horrible, if someone I knew, loved and cared about was attempting to go at this by themselves. Please don’t. Even if I’m not the one you speak your truth to and share your story to, I hope and pray you have the people in your lives who will walk alongside through all of this. We can’t do it alone. We need our people. We even need a church. I left the SBC and have found solace in the Episcopal Church. They are wonderful. Welcoming, and accepting folks. That being said, the Episcopal Church isn’t for everyone, but I do hope you can find a faith community who will allow you the place and space to heal!
relationships
Trail Mix to Gordon Ramsey: A Faith Journey
StandardY’all ride this out with me. My brain is weird and wired differently than most. Oh wait, that’s true because trauma literally rewires your brain. Anywho.. I’m sitting in the sunroom of our cabin in Pigeon Forge, TN as I write this. My family is on a Spring Break trip and a much needed getaway. Hubby and the younger two are over at the indoor pool. The teen has commandeered a space upstairs, playing on their phone.
On Sunday, the mess hit the fan over on social media. I made the horrible mistake of attempting to engage and let someone know how their post comes across to people struggling to process trauma. It did NOT go well, at all. I’ll add that my friends’ list shrank a little that day. It sucks, but it’s the reality of this journey. I did have a good number of people support me, validate my feelings, as well as offer encouragement. True to me, I haven’t been able to let it go. My brain continues to play the situation over and over and over again. My emotions go from one extreme to the other. It’s Tuesday, honestly right at typical session time with my therapist, but I’m not home. Even though I could do Zoom and meet, I’m doing the other thing I do best when I need to process; I’m writing.
My brain loves analogies and metaphors. Most revolve around football, yep the “Good Southern Girl” that I am. I also love analogies that involve the outdoors. People who know me well and even my therapist tell me I am a better and happier person, in nature, especially on the water. The metaphor my therapist uses frequently with me, is an onion. There are a ton of layers to an onion. Just when you think there can’t be another layer, Ta Da, there it is! So, my brain doing what it does, managed to combine food and the outdoors to explain the following analogy.
Here we go….
Make sure your Timberlands are laced up tight. The terrain is a bit too much for my beloved Chacos. I hope you like trail mix. You know, the one with the raisins instead of the M&Ms and lukewarm water in your bottle because that’s all we have. The car is parked in the parking lot and the trail head is just before us. The view at the top is supposed to be breathtakingly gorgeous. The thought is, “This hike can’t be too bad, if the reward at the end is a Gordon Ramsay Steakhouse.” Walking to the trailhead the trail looks pretty. The woods are full and green. At the moment, the sky overhead is clear blue. This could be a great day. The reward at the end will be worth it.
My hiking partner is an expert. She knows this mountain like the back of her hands. She knows the risks and the rewards of this hike. She has led many like me on this journey. She is honest on the front end about the expectations. She tells me there will be times when I won’t want to take another step. She tells me there will be times when the rocks will shift and I will slide backwards. She tells me there will be bumps, bruises, and even some pretty nasty gashes before all is said and done. She also lets me know that I will never be alone. Even when I feel like she has left me because she is out of my sight, she will be there to guide me to the top. My attitude is “Cool, just a few hours and I can trade my trail mix for a Chef Ramsey steak. Let’s GO!” My guide shakes her head and we start off.
At first, things are easy. Nothing scary. The conversation is easy and surface level. This journey is going to be a piece of cake! Oh, cake, that would be a great dessert at the end of this. I can totally do this. The hike won’t be hard and the meal I’ve had my heart set on is waiting. It’s not long into the hike and things are getting a little rocky. Ok, I can do this. The path levels out and the trees are pretty and green. Oh look, a great distraction, there is a beautiful creek just asking to be played in. We can stop, right? My guide tells me to stay focused, we still have a ways to go and the next stretch will require more work than I’ve put in so far. That does not sound like a plan to me. Let me take a break and play and avoid what’s coming. It will only be a few minutes and then we can keep going. My guide is patient. She knows what’s ahead and will humor me for now. After a while, she tells me we have to keep moving.
The next stretch is a little rougher than I expected. My thoughts are telling me this will be too hard. Maybe, I should just turn back and forgo what’s waiting at the top. My guide is gentle, encouraging, but firm that we must keep moving forward. I have doubts and am not sure I really want to do the work to get to the top. Walking away seems to be the easiest option. Instead of anger and frustration, I’m met with more encouragement. Reluctantly, I keep following my guide. She really is amazing, but I don’t like the things I’m being asked to do.
We round the next bend in the next part of the hike. The view is actually kind of pretty. I mistakenly assume we are close to the top. My guide, again kind, tells me we are just getting started. I don’t like the sound of that, not even a little bit. As we continue on our way, we see another set of hikers. Perfect, a distraction and maybe an excuse to take it easy. Can’t let someone do this alone, right? They need a guide as well. My own guide allows me to drag this extra hiker along with me for a little bit. I realize the connections I have to this hiker. I feel loyalty to the hiker. As I continue along with the extra hiker in tow, my guide is helping me to see how much extra work this hiker is for me. This hiker is also out for themselves. They state they want to see me succeed and make it to the top of the long awaited dinner. Instead, I realize the longer I allow this hiker to stay with me, the more banged up I’m getting. I’m not really moving. This hiker doesn’t seem to appreciate that I have made a great deal of progress to this point. They are trying to convince me that I am ok and my guide is unnecessary and I start to struggle. Technically, I could go back down to the trail and forget about the goal ahead. A part of me struggles because I really want the long awaited steak dinner, prepared by Chef Ramsay. I look at the trail mix and wonder, if I really deserve or even should want better than my trail mix. The hiker reminds me I’ve never had the steak dinner, so I should be content with the trail mix.
As I think about my trail mix. I realize, I can’t stand raisins. I’m also up set the trail mix I was given doesn’t have an M&Ms, or even cashews in it. I have a Nalgene, which is great for holding water and is pretty indestructible, but it hasn’t kept my water cold, or even cool. Now wondering why I didn’t grab my Piper Lou, stainless steel water bottle instead. When I comment to the other hiker, they laugh and tell me how it was for them with their water bottle and I should be grateful, I comment about what kind of trail mix I wish I had. Again, the other hiker makes me feel less than. They had it worse and again, they point out they don’t like the fact I have a guide. My inner turmoil is ridiculous. I don’t like feeling like this. I want to find a large rock and hide. Stopping, shutting down, and not talking is the way I cope. I was too easily distracted and now I’ve lost track of my guide. I’m pissed. My guide is patient. She seems to know exactly where to find me.
My guide and I start to have a scarily, real conversation. I don’t like where this is headed at all. For the first time on this hike, my heart and mind are at odds. I don’t know what to do. I know what my ultimate goal is. I know I’m hungry and the trail mix isn’t cutting it. I’ve had dreams about the Chef Ramsay Steak at the top. I’ve worked my tail off to get to this point on the trail. My guide gently points out the mile marker on the trail. I want to cry and scream. I have been trying to move forward for several hours and yet, I’ve only gone about a half a mile. It’s decision time. My guide isn’t one to give ultimatums. She doesn’t tell me what decisions I need to make. Instead, she listens to me whine, fuss, and somehow process the things. Somehow, in talking and walking with my guide we’ve actually made it the next mile marker. I’m finally open and honest and tell my guide, I need to let the other hiker go. I need to let them find their own guide. When I let the other hiker know that I’m moving on with my guide, the anger is scary. The comments let me know the other hiker isn’t safe. Because I’m the person I am, leaving someone behind goes against everything inside of me. I know I need to keep moving forward. Did I mention, I know my husband, kiddos, and inner circle are waiting on me to join them for this amazing dinner? I really need to let this other hiker go, if I want to be with the people I love and care for the most. Shouldn’t I be able to let this hiker go with me to the top? Shouldn’t I be able to care for someone other than myself and still enjoy the long awaited dinner? I continue to try. I can’t leave the other hiker alone. I can’t let them continue on this trail by themselves. Several hours later, my wonderful guide points out, we haven’t made it to the next mile marker. I feel like an ass on a couple of fronts. I don’t want to leave people behind. It’s not who I am. I also want to be with my people at the top of the mountain. I really want to enjoy my steak dinner. I’m hot, sweaty, gross, covered in scrapes, bruises, and have some nasty cuts that may eventually need stitches. I get mad at myself and know I have to move forward. I tell my guide, I need to let the other hiker figure things out for themselves. For the first time on this hike, hot, angry tears fall. Decisions like this should NOT need to be made.
Because my guide is as experienced as she is and has seen this situation over and over again, she begins to ask questions. Now, I know I “hired” this guide, but this is really personal. Why do I need to open up to my guide like this? Shouldn’t I be able to do this and just move on? Do I really need a guide to process this and move forward all at the same time? I break open like a dam. The words are just flowing. I’m emotionally exhausted. This is stupid and I want to be done. I’m starving, and all I have is this stupid trail mix. My water hasn’t been cold in hours. The sun is setting and my guide tells me it’s time to set up camp. Wait! What? Set up camp? Umm.. NO thanks! I have the people I love waiting on me. I don’t have time to stop and deal with this. My guide is now asking really probing questions. I feel totally exposed. I really want to run. There is not enough sun for me to get down the trail. If I stop now, I will never make it to people I love. I freeze. I don’t know what to do. After a meltdown, reluctantly, I listened to my guide and set up my tent. The tears are hot. I’m grateful I can’t see the other hiker. I pray I don’t see the other hiker for a good, long while. At this point in the hike, I’m not sure I want to see, or talk to the other hiker again. I have a crap ton of guilt about that. The guide and I built a fire. She surprises me with hotdogs. I inhale them. I’m still mad I’m not eating my steak dinner. The guide wants to know if taking on the other hiker is worth sacrificing the people I love and the steak dinner at the top. My head is saying “Hell NO!” “My heart hears a ton of Bible verses about this particular hiker. We talk until the wee hours of the morning. I finally curl up in my sleeping bag and fall into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, I woke up and didn’t know which way was up. I “know” the decision to leave the other hiker behind was the best choice for me and the ones waiting for me at the top. The guide and I talk over lukewarm water and trail mix at breakfast. At this point my anger at the other hiker is almost scary. I know I can’t go back and get the other hiker. I can’t carry them and their sack, along with my own and reach my goal. With tears in my eyes, I pack up with my guide and move forward. I have a new determination and a little more pep in my step.
As we move along, the conversation seems to get a little bit easier. As my guide asks questions, I answer them honestly. I’m a little terrified at the revelations made. I’m angry with what the other hiker told me. As I trudge forward with my guide and meet up with other hikers along the way, I realize how many lies the other hiker told me. I also realize some of the things I missed out on because of the actions of the other hiker. These revelations renew my spirit and give me a much needed boost. The other hiker never really cared for me. They really didn’t care if I made it to the top to get to my husband, kiddos, and friends. They wanted their needs met, but had no desire to do any work and would only fight me, as I tried to make progress. My emotions are high, but the guide and I are making progress. She points out the next mile marker and lets me know how far I’ve come since morning. I’m thrilled, but know there are still many miles left on this hike. How many more miles could I have made it on day one, if I would have let go of the weight of the other hiker when I realized they didn’t have my best interest at heart?
The next several hours seem to fly by. The hike is not even close to being easy. The hike gets harder and more steep. I slip more times than I care to admit. Yet, every single time, my guide is there to give me the tools to get back up. She helps me see how much progress I’ve actually made. She won’t let me give up on myself. She won’t let me quit, even though there are times when I’ve really wanted to. She’s given me permission to take a break. She gives me time to take in the view. I look up and want to cry. Why are we not at the top? I can’t believe the sun is getting ready to set again and there is NOT a steak dinner waiting on me at sunset. It’s aggravating and frustrating. My guide tells me that even though this was not the “couple hour” hike I expected, my people love me and they will wait for me at the top, no matter how many days this hike takes.
Again, I set up my tent and cry myself to sleep. I’m now two days into a hike I thought would only take a couple of hours. I’m angry with myself. As much as I trust my guide, I wish I had known ahead of time how this hike was going to be. All I can think of are the people I love and how I am now craving my Chef Ramsey steak dinner. I convince myself that now that I’ve agreed the other hiker was not the best for me and I’ve made this much progress, that surely I will have my reward the next day. The morning dawns and then the sun sets on the next several days. Now, the feelings I’ve kept buried are really bubbling up. Even though I’m not truly angry with my guide, I start to share big feelings and tell my guide how much I hate the feelings, she has the audacity to PRAISE me and congratulate me on these feelings. I look at her and ask “What the actual hell?” She assures me that feeling all the things is a huge part of the hard work on this journey. I’m brutally honest with my guide and call it “bullshit.” There is NO way the emotions need to be processed as a part of this hike. My guide assures me they are just as important, if not more so than the other work on this hike. Now, I’m pissed all over again. I’m too far up to give up and turn around. At the same time, the next stretch is straight up. I don’t know whether I’m coming, or going. I’m not sure I want to keep on going. I don’t know if I can keep going. I want my people and my steak dinner, but this is just too damn hard. Jumping off the cliff seems to be the easiest thing to do. When I think about my people and the steak dinner, jumping doesn’t get me there. The guide and I talk about the desire to jump and I’m afraid of being chained to a tree, so I don’t get stupid. My guide lets me set up my tent. She hands me a couple of hotdogs, tells me to eat and get my tail into bed. This is definitely not going according to plan. I struggle to see why I should have to work this hard to see my people and enjoy a steak dinner. Pretty sure if I eat one more raisin, in my trail mix, I will lose my ever loving mind.
My guide and I go on for several more days. Then, there is a group of seven more hikers. They spent several days with us. Three of these hikers I really connect with. We spend hours talking with each other, their guides, and my guide about where we’ve been. While I don’t necessarily like sharing this hike with that many people, the miles, and the days are flying. Shockingly, I’m making great progress with this group of seven. One evening the group, their guides, my guide, and I had a hard. open, honest conversation. I was shocked to learn we had a great deal in common. I was shocked to listen to the stories of these seven and all they experienced. I realized we all struggled with a group of city dwellers who didn’t have any respect for hikers. The city dwellers had caused a great deal of damage and hurt not just our group of hikers, but large groups of hikers all over the place. If the city dwellers had their way, they would control us, continue to cause harm to us, and refuse to give us permission to hike. These city dwellers only like and respect those who look like themselves. Those of us who are hikers have broken the “rules” set forth for us. As hikers, we want the freedom to explore and see what else the world holds for us. Yes, we actually like “The Gov” over the city dwellers, but they see us, as hikers, as rebels, and those who refuse to conform to the expectations of “The City.” We know “The Gov” and know He didn’t expect all of us to be city dwellers. He knows some of us are different and are ok with being different. We like our jeans, t-shirts, Timberlands, being book nerds, and desiring to be fully ourselves, and not conforming with the rest of the city dwellers. We don’t fit in “The City.” These seven hikers and I share a history of not only being harmed in a specific manner, but also a horrible struggle with city dwellers. None of us are huge fans of these city dwellers. Some of the seven have found their place among the country folk. Others, like me, are still trying to find our place. The seven and I know city dwellers are not safe people. My guide knew I had been through a lot. She knew how tired I was and suggested a night away from the seven and their guides. I agreed. While trying to get some time to myself, I unknowingly ran into a city dweller. This person claimed to be a hiker. It didn’t take long for me to realize this person was not a hiker. This was a city dweller who took it upon themselves to convince hikers to return to “The City.” This person wanted to convince me that my thoughts and emotions weren’t real. They wanted me to believe I was better off in “The City” and “The Gov” preferred me to be a city dweller and not a hiker. Even though I missed a hotdog dinner with the seven, I was able to gain some clarity. Y’all city dwellers are NOT safe people! It’s past time to move on and not fellowship with city dwellers.
Honestly, I’ve been on this hike for more time than I care to even think about. I’ve lost track of time. My hubby, kiddos, and friends are patiently waiting for me at the top. For now, I will continue to eat my sad, pathetic, raisin filled trail mix. I will continue to drink my lukewarm water and trust my guide. I am not done with my hike. My guide assures me I will eventually make it to the top. I wish I could end this story with my Chef Ramsay Steakhouse dinner, but I’m not there yet. My people are amazingly patient. I know the more I climb with the seven and work with my guide, the more confident of a hiker I will become. Eventually, one day, I will reach the top. Once there my hubby, kiddos, and friends will be there waiting for me. I will eventually get to trade in the raisin filled trail mix and lukewarm water for my Chef Ramsay steak dinner. At that point, I will have the most fabulous bone in ribeye steak, with caramelized onions, delicious butter, sautéed mushrooms, a loaded baked potato, delicious honey glazed carrots, and the smoothest glass of semi-sweet, white wine I have ever tasted. There will be a dark chocolate slice of cake that tastes like heaven in my mouth to end the most perfect evening.
I have shared this entire analogy just to say my story is to be continued… I can’t wait to see how my story ends. I can’t wait to tell you, if I become a country folk, or a suburban folk. Not sure where I’ll land, but I know for certain I am NOT a City Dweller. “The Gov” and I will also remain in communication and I know He will show me where my community is and where I will fit in and be accepted.
Mustard Seed Faith
Standard“Because of your little faith, He told them ” For I say if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will tell this mountain, move from here to there and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” However this kind does not come out except by prayer and fasting.” Matthew 17: 20-21
I am reading through the Bible in a year with a group of ladies from #the4500, whom I talked about in my last blog post. Honestly, I didn’t want to read through a plan, especially a year long with anyone. I was determined I was just going to do my own thing, in my own time. The Lord made it clear to me that because of the season I am in, I don’t need to do anything on my own and I need the accountability. Today is day 29 out of 365 days. I’ve missed 2 nights so far, but am caught up at the moment.
Friday night (1/25) one of the readings took us into Matthew, where we read about the mustard seed. It’s a passage I have read 100 plus times over my years of growing up in church. I’ve heard multiple sermons on this passage. I’ve had people quote it to me in different seasons of life over the years. It’s not unfamiliar with this passage in any way, shape or form. However, as I read it the passage was kick in the tail for me. I think I read those two verses multiple times before I continued on to finish reading the rest of the passages for the night.
As I shared in my last post, I am in a difficult season. It’s a desert I haven’t been in, in a good long while. I don’t like desert seasons. I don’t like feeling the way I feel. Really, who does? If I am going to be completely transparent with you, I told the Lord while praying “I don’t know that I have the faith of a grain of sand at the moment.” (Why lie to the Lord when praying, because He knows what you are thinking and feeling anyway)? The Lord reminded me the mustard seed is tiny, yet a great tree grows from it. The tree is strong, even though it came from something so tiny and seemingly insignificant.
I have NO clue as to what lies ahead on several fronts. I know what I hope and pray for. I know the story I hope to write at the end of this season. I also know it’s hard to want to pray, stay in The Word and go to church, especially when you feel the Lord is being completely silent, but it’s the only way to survive this type of season. I know I have to lean in and dig in. If I try to walk through this season independently and attempt to temporarily shelf my faith, I won’t make it. I guess technically, I would eventually get to the other side, but what will I have accomplished in the meantime? If I don’t pray, if I don’t stay in The Word and I don’t go to church, how do I learn? How do I grow? Where does my support and encouragement come from? None of this is fun. None of this feels good. I’d rather stay on the mountain tops, but I am not a better or stronger person if I live there.
I’ve also had a large number of people who tell me I needed to walk some things from my past and walk this current season because I will have a story to tell. I’ll be able to look at someone else sitting in my shoes and tell them about my “But God” story. I get where they are coming from, but honestly, I would love to coast and have life be a little more vanilla. At some point, on the other side of this, I do hope something I’ve walked or something I’ve learned can be a point of hope for someone else. I do hope I can help someone else walk through a tough season. Even better, I would love to be able to walk alongside someone else and help them avoid some of the things I’ve walked.
There are so many hokey, christianese things I could insert here and make myself sound super spiritually mature, but I won’t go there. It doesn’t help me or anyone else for that matter. This current season is hard. My faith doesn’t always look the way it needs to look. Sometimes having the faith of a mustard seed seems like attempting to have the faith the size of Mt. Everest. Be ok with knowing you don’t have a perfect faith all the time. Those who look like they do are just better actors than the rest of us.
Like I said in the last post, if you are struggling, please know you are not alone. Pick up the phone or shoot me an email. If not me, then reach out to someone you trust. I’m grateful for the women who are surrounding me right now. On the hardest days, their prayers and encouragement keep me going.
Forward?
StandardHonestly, I don’t get this word and right now it absolutely terrifies me. Let me back up just a little bit. I am blessed to be a part of online tribe called #the4500. We are a group of rejects the Lord brought together in a way I never could have imagined or asked for. We all applied to be a part of a book launch and were rejected. Then, we were turned around and added to another launch team. As we worked together on this book launch, something started happening. It’s not something I have ever seen or experienced on other launches. Women began to ask for prayers. They began to share their lives. Once the launch was over, the conversations and relationships didn’t come to an end. We moved our group over to a private Facebook page.
We are a group of ladies who come from different walks of life, from all over the US. We come from different denominations and different ends of the political spectrum. The one common thread is that we love the Lord and want to see each other be successful and loved. Over the past several years this group has walked ladies through the mountain tops and valleys of life. I’ve watched as ladies have jumped into help total strangers in other states solely based on the stranger’s relationship to #the4500. I’ve watched as our group has rallied through the beginning and ending of relationships. I’ve watched as our group has rallied around ladies in our group and their families through illness and absolute tragedies. I LOVE #the4500 and what they have come to mean to me over the past couple of years!!!
One thing this group has encouraged over the past several years was to pray and ask the Lord to give us a word of the year. Given we are all in different places in our walks, the Lord isn’t going to have us all on the same word. In 2017 my word was Restore. 2018 the word was Courage. For 2019 it’s Forward. If you know me in real life, you have to realize, given my current circumstances that this word seems like a cruel joke.
On December 17th, I was called into a meeting at the church expecting one conversation only to be told that due to budget cuts I was being let go. Yep, the Lord gave me my word late October/ early November and I was let go in December. I had plans and dreams for my position at the church. It was complete and total shock. When you are a strict Type A personality, who is planner, likes structure and routine, this feels like a punch in the gut and knocks you on your tail. When you were not only staff, but an active member of church, it makes church hard. Church is weird and awkward because I don’t know what I “should” be doing and honestly, I don’t know what to say or do. I am beyond grateful for worship ministry because it’s the one place I still feel connected and gives me place of semi normalcy.
There is another, more private area of life that is topsy turvy right now and it is only adding to my anxiety over what life looks like right now. I feel like I have entered into a nightmare of the Twilight Zone. Every time I think about the word the Lord gave me, I just don’t get it. I don’t understand it at all. When it feels like I am taking 100 steps backwards, I don’t get how any of this moves me forward. Yes, I know the saying about how a sling shot has to be pulled way back in order to project an object forward. Y’all this is about to do me in.
My nickname growing up was “The Major’s Daughter” and right now, my emotions are all over the place. A Major sees an issue, creates a plan of attack and goes in. There are times in life when I can absolutely do that, but right now I don’t know which way is up. As I pray and trust me when I say I have prayed harder and more fervently than I have since we walked the road of miscarriages and fertility issues. The only thing I am getting back from the Lord is “Take the small steps.” In one area I know what that looks like, but not overly convinced it will work. In another area I have zero clue as to what a small step looks like. This post has a very different tone than what I typically post, but I also know others need to know that life isn’t always a tiptoe through Tulips. Life hits low valleys. Life takes long, unwanted detours through the desert. It’s ok to admit that you are struggling. It’s ok to say “I just don’t know.”
A while back our pastor commented in a sermon, “You can’t logic your way through things.” While I get where he is coming from, it’s the only way I am walking right now. If I allow my heart and emotions to dictate life, I’d be in a corner somewhere uncontrollably crying. While I don’t really “feel” like it, I “know” the Lord is in control. I “know” none of what is happening in life right now took Him by surprise. I “know” the Lord has a plan in all of this. Right now, I would really like a billboard or a letter laying out what is coming down the road and what I need to do to get there. This whole taking each day by faith and being patient is a huge struggle for me. I want to know that 2019 will end on a high note. I want to know the Lord will open a door for me. I want to know all of my relationships will be in tact and stronger come December. I want to know that while I am in a desert place, that by year’s end I will understand why I’ve walked what I’m walking. I am honestly, not so patiently waiting for the “But God” in this whole mess.
If you are in a similar place, please know you are not alone. If you are in a similar place, please reach out to me or someone you trust. Please find at least 2 people to walk alongside you, pray with you and over you. If one of those people is a therapist, then great! There is no shame in walking into a therapist office, especially in a time like this. All I am asking is that you please do not walk this alone.
A Saturday Tale
StandardMy Saturday was eventful to say the least. It was also a great reminder of what’s important in life. It was a day of hanging out with some of the people I love the most. A football celebration, followed by a huge “Thank you Lord” moment.
Saturday morning started with a Birthday brunch for one of the best friends a girl could ask for. A group of us gathered at another friend’s home and hosted a brunch for the birthday girl. It was a mix of people. Some of us have been friends for a little over 17 years. Some are newer friends, but those friendships are still just as valued. We ate. We talked. We reminisced and there was plenty of laughter. When you have been friends that long, there are plenty of stories that will make you laugh good, deep belly laughs.
When I looked at the birthday girl and some of the other ladies in the room, I was reminded how blessed I am to have such and incredible tribe. These are women with whom we have ridded the crazy roller coaster of life together. These are women who have laughed, cried and prayed together. These are women who truly want to see each other succeed. There is no competition or oneupmanship in this group. These are also the women who are not afraid to speak truth in love when needed. They are there when you fall and ready to help you get back up, brush you off and take off again. These are the type of women I pray all of you have in your lives. These are the women we need in our lives.
I came home from this beautiful celebration to watch my favorite football game of the season. Whether you have known me since childhood, or just a short time, most of you know I am a die hard Alabama fan. Yesterday was Iron Bowl Saturday, where we take on the Auburn Tigers. While I relished and celebrated our big cross state rivalry win, that wasn’t my favorite part of watching the game.
My boys are pee wee football players and have inherited mommy’s love of football. Watching them watch the game, especially my youngest, was so much fun. I love how they were trying to coach the players and telling them what to do. I have no idea where they learned that… Every time Bama scored a touchdown my boys were jumping up and down, high fiving each other and me. The looks on their faces were priceless.
They showed me their “victory dances” at every TD. I also watched their precious hearts as one of the Bama boys targeted an Auburn player and that player went down. They kept cheering him to get up and then clapped when the Auburn player was finally able to walk off the field. My boys are uber competitive, but they also have huge hearts.
Towards the end of the game my husband and mother left to run over to her place, so my husband could fix something for her. On the way home, they were involved in a hit and run. A guy ran a light, pulling in front of my husband, causing my husband to t-bone the other car. The guy got out of his car and talked with my husband. When he admitted that he didn’t have insurance, my husband called Metro Police. At this point, the other guy got in his car and left. Thankfully, my husband and mother walked away and the van is drivable, although a little dinged up. I know this could have been so much worse, but grateful it wasn’t.
Both my husband and mother spend a lot of their time on the roads for work. Honestly, one my biggest fears is having a state trooper or local officer knock on my door and tell me one of them was in an accident and didn’t make it. I know this sounds extreme and overly dramatic, but the level of carelessness on the roads these days has reached a level of ridiculousness. When my husband called last night, my heart sank. While gratefully, it wasn’t the phone call I feared the most, it was a reminder of what “could” be. I was thrilled to have them both walk back through our front door last night. My husband may not have overly appreciated the extra long hug from me, but I was relieved to know I was going to crawl into bed last night and have him by my side.
I share all of this because yesterday was a truly of day of reminders. I was reminded how blessed I am to have an incredible group of friends who are my tribe. They are women I pray I never take for granted. Even in the celebration of a football victory celebration, I saw the compassion and tenderness of my sons. I also hope and pray they will eventually look back on Saturday football games, both the ones they play and the ones we watch together and remember the feeling of togetherness and the fun times in these games. I am grateful my husband and mother walked away from the accident last night. I’m grateful for insurance who will cover the cost of repairing my van and grateful I’m not standing by their beds in ICU or planning funerals. I’m grateful for my family. I’m grateful last night ended in hugs and “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I’m grateful I was able to sit side by side with my husband in church this morning.
Y’all, look around you. Look at your tribe and your family. If you have them, thank the Lord for them. There are times when these people may drive you nuts, but these are your people. The Lord entrusted them to you. In the crazy roller coaster of life, these are the people who will ride it with you and not jump off. Hug your people a little tighter. Let them know you love them and appreciate them.
I am 1 in 4
StandardStatistics. There’s nothing overly fun about being a statistic. With miscarriage and infertility, it’s not really something you strive to be. It’s not a club anyone wants to join. Yet, here I am. Too many other friends are members of this painful club as well. Every October I am open about the journey my husband and I walked to have our children. Too many times women are silenced and made to feel their losses weren’t real or important. I am here to tell you that you are not alone. When you have a miscarriage, it IS a loss.
Growing up I always wanted to be a part of a large family. The older I got I prayed to have a girl, followed by 2 boys and then another girl. When my husband and I were first married we talked about having 2-3 children. I prayed for twins in order for us to have the larger family. He was aware of what I prayed. It took a long while to get pregnant. When I finally saw the first positive on a pregnancy test in Dec of 05, my joy was short lived. Within a week of finding out we were expecting, our precious child was gone. The next miscarriage came at the end of April of 06, just a week shy of Mothers Day. It would take well over a year before I became pregnant again, only to lose baby #3 in August of 07.
After 3 miscarriages and it taking so long to get pregnant in between, my OB decided to run an extensive blood panel in attempt to identify the issue. After the panel was run, I was sent to a specialist to review the results. My husband and I sat in a tiny little room as the specialist looked at us and told us I was a Type 1 carrier for 2 types of blood clotting disorders as well as a carrier of MTHFR. In short I could continue to get pregnant, but chances were I would never carry a child to term. I remember standing in the stairwell of this building, overlooking downtown Nashville and sobbing. My husband had his arms around me, but nothing could bring peace to what appeared to be the death of the dream I had of being a mother. My dreams of pregnancy, cravings, picking out nursery furniture, baby clothes and hearing “mama” were gone. All I wanted was to be pregnant and my body wasn’t doing what it was created to do.
My husband had talked about adopting. I saw it as an option, but at the time my heart just wasn’t there. In the spring of 08 he broached the subject with me again and I was open to at least talking about it. He was all in. In his mind, the Lord could and would grow our family how He saw fit. All the while my husband was praying the prayers of Sarah, Rachel and Elizabeth. He had the faith the Lord would bless us with a child. Honestly, I felt like the Lord was angry with me and I was being punished for something. My walk with the Lord had been rocky at best since the last miscarriage. My faith was almost none existent at this point. It took a long while to get back to a decent place with my walk with the Lord.
Fast forward to early fall of 08. There was another positive pregnancy test. I distinctly remember telling my husband “Give it a few days and it will all be over.” My loving husband continued to pray. There were several trips to my OB. I was placed on a prenatal vitamin, progesterone, a high level of folic acid (something my body refused to produce or absorb) and a low dose of aspirin to reduce the chance of blood clots. We had multiple scares. I was placed on modified bed rest. I was only allowed to go to work because I was a school based therapist and I could sit most of the day. I had more ultrasounds than most women would have in 6 or 7 pregnancies. It took until December when we had the gender reveal ultrasound before I could get excited about being pregnant.
When the tech told me we were having a little girl, I cried tears of joy. I couldn’t believe I was staring at MY baby on the screen. Her heartbeat was strong and one of the most beautiful sounds I think I had heard up to the moment in my life. When the tech left, my husband prayed over me and our precious little girl. Two days after Mother’s Day of 09 I held my beautiful, healthy, baby girl for the first time.
Based on all we had walked leading up to her birth, all the doctors’ reports, I was positive she would be an only child. Because honestly, there was no medical reason for her to be here. She was truly a miracle baby. I became pregnant again. There were also issues early on in my pregnancy and I was put back on modified bed rest. At this point, even before we knew if I was carrying a boy or a girl, my husband and I decided this would be our last child. Pregnancy was too hard and it was emotionally exhausting. When we found out we were having a boy, we were thrilled. We were going be a family of 4. This was way more than we expected back in 07.
At this point my husband and I were on the same page. We felt a peace about being done having children because of all we had walked. Our little boy came after we had experienced the Flood of 2010 and a summer that broke long standing heat records. When I looked at the picture of the 4 of us, I was honestly content. The Lord answered major prayers and had blessed us with 2 healthy children.
Little did we know the Lord would give us one more blessing. My husband and I were not trying to get pregnant. In fact, we were trying to be careful. Given we found out we were expecting again so soon after we brought our new son home, we were in shock. While a part of me was thrilled, I knew what I had walked with our other 2 children and wasn’t sure I wanted to or could walk it again. The first ultrasound with our third brought another heartache. When we looked at the screen there were 2 babies. I was pregnant with twins! I was ecstatic. The tech would then look at me and said “Baby B has no cardiac movement.” Her tone was harsh and I was again crushed. The tears started and stayed for most of the rest of the day. Based on what the radiologist saw, we were told I was carrying identical twins. We lost baby B due to a chromosomal abnormality.
I can’t tell you the anxiety that came with the rest of that pregnancy. I had similar issues to my other pregnancies, but now there was uncertainty about the health of our baby. I carried my anxiety in private. I never voiced anything to my OB or my husband. Our child was a planned c-section because my daughter had been an emergency c-section and our older son had also been born vie c-section. As soon as my OB pulled out our son I was begging for an Apgar score. I needed to know if he was Okay. Thankfully, his scores were 9 and 9. Even though we had been told he was healthy, I still carried concerns of unknown issues until he actually started school.
Our journey to parenthood was anything, but easy. All 3 of our children are walking , talking miracles. I still mourn the loss of our other 4 children. I often wonder what they would have looked like. What would their personalities have been? What would their interests have been? I try to imagine myself as a mother of 7. Miscarriages and infertility issues caused struggles in my marriage and my faith. I can’t say I handled it with grace and dignity. There were many nights where I cried myself to sleep. I stopped going to church on Mothers Day and Fathers Day because it was just too hard. I would send gifts to baby showers, but wouldn’t attend.
Please know, as long as you are not causing harm to yourself, there is no right or wrong way to grieve your loss. Again, miscarriages are real losses to be grieved. We all handle this type of loss in different ways. One way for me to find closure and peace with the loss of my children was to name them. While I only know for certain the sex of 1 of my 4, I feel in my heart that I miscarried 1 girl and 3 boys. I had several friends who reminded me that even though my children weren’t in my arms, I was still a mother. You are still a mother!
Please don’t walk this path alone. Reach out to your inner circle. Find a group of women who have also walked this path. I was blessed with 2 incredible friends who were there through all of the losses, as well as a church choir who surrounded me with prayer. I was also blessed to find an online group of women who had losses around the same time I did. We met in a forum and eventually moved our group over to a private FB group. Most of us went on to have children. I am still friends with these women today and have had the privilege of meeting a few of them. When my husband and I were talking about adoption I joined an adoption group. Even though we never adopted, these ladies kept me in the group and are just as much a part of my story as the miscarriage/ loss group.
If you need an ear of someone who has been there, please feel free to reach out to me. I will be more than happy to listen and to pray. You are NOT alone!
Why Vulnerability?
Standard“You can’t get to courage without rumbling through vulnerability.”
“Own our story can be hard, but not nearly as difficult spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky, but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy- the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”
Both quotes are by Brene Brown.
Y’all, it seems the word vulnerability has been a reoccurring theme in life as of late. So many conversations from people in different areas of my life are bringing up this word. I’m a part of a wonderful church staff. Earlier this week we had small group conversations around this word. Honestly, at the moment, it’s probably one of my least favorite words. It’s a word that means going below the surface. It’s a word that requires allowing others to see past the mask and the walls. It’s allowing others to see us at our weakest. Vulnerability means letting people into the darkest recesses we swore only the Lord would ever see. It means letting people you trust speak into those places. It means being seen on a level we aren’t really sure we want to be seen.
Vulnerability requires a great deal of trust. When you are not a trusting person, that makes it ten times harder. Vulnerability means allowing people to hear your story in its entirety. It means acknowledging you aren’t as perfect as you like to pretend you are. It’s laying your soul bare and knowing the person sitting in front of you can either honor your trust or completely betray you.
Life happens and throws us curve-balls. Sometimes life hands us situations where shame and guilt come into play. Many of us have stories we wish we didn’t have. Many of us have walked things we wouldn’t wish on our worst enemies. They are things we wish we could permanently block from our minds. The only way to move forward and away from our past is to take the leap of faith into vulnerability. It is probably one of the hardest things we can do.
The question then is, who can we trust? I’ll be honest, I’m grateful for a small group women in my life. Two are friends I’ve had for roughly 17 years. We’ve walked single-hood to engagement, weddings, marriage, miscarriages, children and everything in between. There is another friend with whom I work and I can’t begin to tell you how many raw conversations and tears have fallen in her office. I also have two more seasoned ladies whom I love and adore. They are two of my biggest prayer warriors. You see, I know I am blessed to have these women in my life. They have given me a safe place to land and a place to let down my guard. The Lord knew I’m not a trusting person and He graciously placed these 5 women in my life.
Do you have people like this in your life? Do you have at least one person like this in your life? If not, I urge you to pray and ask the Lord to lead you to that person. Even if you don’t have trauma in your past, we all need at least one person with whom we can be 100% ourselves. We need at least one person with whom the mask can come off and the walls can come down. If you do have trauma in your past, then these are the people who can walk by your side on the hard days. These are the people who will pray you through those days and help you get to the other side.
Vulnerability may also be taking the step of walking into a therapist office. Y’all therapy is hard. It can be extremely humbling, but I think most people need to sit in a therapist office at least once or twice in life. Sometimes it may be for a check up and process some of the smaller things in life. Other times there are a larger issues that need to be addressed. It may be getting to the root of why you struggle with vulnerability.
Vulnerability may be allowing others to step and do something for you. I get the majority of us don’t need to go that far, but to allow someone to bring you a meal or take your children for a few hours can be huge, especially when you are hurting. Vulnerability is really allowing those you trust the most to step in when and where you need it the most. It may make you feel weak, but allowing others to love on you will put you closer to where you need to be.
We may not realize it, but vulnerability can affect all areas of our lives. If we stay shut off from the world and walk through it with only shallow relationships, we miss out on the beauty of the world and the richness of those around us. Vulnerability in the right places allows us to live our lives to the fullest. It means we’re allowing the Lord into those places and allowing Him to place others to be His hands and feet in our lives.
Hidden Value
StandardSometimes when driving down the road the most random thoughts enter my brain. Then I sit and probably way over think whatever it is that has popped up in my head. This is one of those posts.
My husband and I closed on our house a little over 3 years and really aren’t looking to go anywhere else anytime soon. We realize at some point we will probably outgrow our little house and need to give our kids some breathing room, especially the boys, as they grow into teenagers. That being said, it’s still fun to look at random postings as they pop up on social media or to look up properties as we see them. While on a run I passed a house I have passed more times than I can count. The front of the property is gorgeous. There is a gate, so you can’t walk up and look around. From the road I can see the house, a greenhouse and a pond. There is a “For Sale” sign in front of it. I knew it would be listed for way beyond what my husband and I could ever afford, but still wanted to know the listing price.
After watching countless seasons of “House Hunters” and “Property Brothers” I thought I had a good guess as to what the house would be worth. Y’all, I was so far off it wasn’t even funny. My estimate was roughly half a million. When I went into Zillow the house was listed at $1.5 Million! I about fell out of my chair. While I knew the house had value, I could only see it’s partial potential from my view on the road. I couldn’t see anything else the home had to offer. I couldn’t see the square footage of the house. I couldn’t see all of the acreage that comes with the house, nor could I see the Olympic size pool behind the house.
As I was driving and thinking about this house, I started to think about people in general. How many people do we write off as not having much to offer? How many times do we look at another person and know they have some skills, but fail to look farther than we can see and fail to see their full potential? I wonder how many people make it to the end of their lives without ever reaching their full potential because not one person in their lives took the time see what it was or to give them a chance?
When I think about my own kids I see their value, but wonder what else they have to offer? What are their talents and skill sets that have yet to be discovered? At the end of May they participated in a cheer/ football clinic. The son I thought would do ok, ended up shocking me. The child I thought would excel, was the one who did ok. In my own mind, I saw potential in a completely different area for my one son and never imagined that he could do what I saw him do on the field that week. I am now really looking forward to football this fall to watch him grow and develop.
As a parent I don’t need to write off a certain activity because I don’t think my child can excel. I need to be open to letting my kids explore multiple activities and see where their hearts, talents and skill sets take them. I don’t want my kids to miss out because I or another adult in their lives failed to pay attention and miss their full potential in whatever the activity may be.
I also don’t want to be the person to write off someone else because I can’t see them for who they truly are and only look at them on a surface level. In a society where we tend to only see what a person puts on social media, it’s easy to pass judgement on what we think a person may or may not have to offer. How many people have surprised others by what they’ve done, not because they weren’t capable of doing whatever, but we didn’t see them as someone who could do it?
The flip side of this coin is, how often do we hide our own worth? We know what we are capable of, but are content, or too scared to come out of our bubbles? It is often times easier to sit back and let the world go by than to let others in to see our true worth. This has been a struggle for me over the past year. I know I am capable of doing so much more than I am, but have let the fear of being seen prevent me from taking any steps. Even in times when we’ve been given a shot at doing something, how many times do we second guess every little thing? I am a huge over-thinker and a recovering people pleaser (blog post on this coming soon). Even though I desire to do more, as long as those above me are happy with what I am doing, it’s easy to coast.
Remember: When a person shows even a little potential, take the time to see what else may be below the surface. I think most people would shock us if given the opportunity. Also, don’t be afraid to let others see your real worth.
Love Your People Well
StandardY’all it has been a long hard road since last June. That week started out with me heading to MI to celebrate my niece graduating from high school and her acceptance to college. The weekend ended with my MIL being diagnosed with cancer. Talk about highs to lows in a matter of days. This would only be the beginning of health issues and death. I shared in my last blog post about a season of death. Well, that season has been extended by the death of an adult child of a dear friend.
When things like this happen, especially with as hard as this season has hit, it causes you take a step back and take stock of life. It causes you to really evaluate who you are, where you and the relationships with the people around you. Y’all please love your people well. I have been reminded of my former pastor’s statement “There is nothing so certain as death and nothing so uncertain as the time.” You never know when the Lord is going to call you or someone you love home. Again, love your people well.
Life can get crazy busy. I am looking at the calendar for the month of May. It is crazy busy for us. We celebrate the birthdays of two of our children. There is Mothers Day and the anniversary of our engagement. Add to that all of the end year stuff/ activities for church and school and by the end I am so ready for a vacation. What if? What if you gave yourself the permission to say “No” to certain things? What if you took a step back to make sure you had time to really be with your spouse,children and friends?
I’ll be honest, I am a people pleaser in recovery. (This is so difficult for me to say and a whole blog post for down the road). I don’t like people to be upset or angry with me, so I struggle to say that tiny two letter word “No.” As I look back at all that has transpired since last June, will I really be upset when my time comes that I said “No” to others and “Yes” to my family? Will I regret staying busy over choosing to grab lunch with a friend or spending time with my husband and children? Do I want my kids to say “Mommy loved us, but she was so busy with other things that she wasn’t there for us?
The end of the school year is almost here. Summer is knocking on our door. I’ll be honest, I’m saying “No” to a lot this summer. My kids will attend VBS at our church. We will go to MI and visit my sister and that side of my family. My youngest will go to preschool day camp. Other than that, we are going to enjoy a slower summer. My husband and I will still have to work, but we are going to take time to breathe this summer. My kids will be a top priority. We will enjoy some much needed family time. I also plan on getting together with my girlfriends. Time for dinners and play-dates will be made. There will also be plenty of what my kids call “home days.” I will say “Yes” to the ice cream truck. I will say “Yes” to turning on the sprinkler for my kids and their friends. I will say “Yes” to trips to the park, the art museum and the library.
I won’t do any of this perfectly, but I will make more of an effort than I have in the past. I have several friends and family members who are hurting because of this season of death. I pray the Lord will use me to be His hands and feet and love on them. I pray that I can be the ear or the shoulder they need in this time. I pray that I can be the one who just sits there because there are no words to be spoken. Sometimes I think when people we love are hurting that is what they need the most. They just need us to sit there. They don’t need our words, even though they may be well intentioned. Sometimes the silence is more healing than the noise. They need to know they are loved. With the friend who said her final goodbyes to her son last week, all I could tell her was that she and her family are loved.
Side note on dealing with grieving loved ones and friends:
1) Tell them they are loved.
2) Let them know you are OK with the tears.
3) Let them know they have permissions to have hard days.
4) Let them know it’s OK to laugh and smile on the good days.
5) Call or text them and let them know you are praying for them.
6) Call or text and ask them to join you for coffee, lunch, or a movie.
7) Don’t give them trite responses to their grief.
8) Remind them as long as what they are doing is not causing self-harm there is no wrong or right way to grieve.
9) Remind them there is NO timeline on their grief.
10) Remind them grief is not a straight line and the emotions will cycle.
If you are in a season of grief or things are smooth sailing, love your people well and reach out and connect to those you love most.
Death, Grief and Legacy
StandardIt’s been a season of loss. There have been tears shed as well as laughter over shared memories of the past. I tend to keep my emotions to close to me and try to only release them when I am alone or with my husband. Given all that’s transpired, I haven’t done a great job at concealing anything. A part of me knows that showing emotion and not attempting to be stoic around others isn’t the worst thing in the world.
Almost two weeks ago, on a Wednesday night, I completely fell apart. Let me back up just a little. Back in November, we lost my MIL to cancer. My husband and children still struggle with her loss, especially my daughter. At the end of January, I lost a sweet friend to brain cancer. Just shy of 2 weeks after that I walked into my office and learned a friend from church lost her husband. I had only met the husband a couple of times, but hurt for her and her children. Then I lost my beloved college president and my high school choral director within a week of each other. It was on that Wednesday that I learned about my choral director.
I thought I was doing ok. I made it through work. Went home and came back to church, even though I seriously contemplated staying home. I attended my ladies Bible study that night and headed to choir. I was holding back the emotion pretty well, until we started singing. You see I love music and it speaks to the very depths of my soul. There are times when the Lord uses the music more than the sermon to speak to me. (My senior pastor is really a great preacher and I love his solid, exegetical preaching). We rehearsed the first song and I was great. A couple lines into the second song, I was attempting to blink back the tears. By the end of that song, I couldn’t read the music in my hands. Since I was sitting on the back row, I couldn’t just slide out. What did I do? I pulled my hair down over my glasses and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. As soon as rehearsal was over and our worship pastor prayed, I bolted.
I was hoping to make it back to the safety of my van before anyone realized that I was crying. That didn’t happen. I reached the back door at the same time as a friend. She looked at me and hugged me, which only made the tears flow harder. In between the tears I shared what had happened. She hugged me tighter, told me she would be praying for me and we walked to the parking lot together. Later, I would receive a text message and a FB message from a couple other ladies who saw the tears. I won’t lie, I was angry with myself and frustrated that these 3 ladies saw it. On the other hand, it was a great reminder that I go to an amazing church and have been blessed with some incredible friends. Church “should” be the one place we can fall apart. Right? I feel like being on staff I should be able to hide the bad and pretend that all is well, even when it isn’t. If someone on church staff is falling apart, then it must mean that we struggle with our faith and in life, so wouldn’t that set a terrible example for everyone else? I get how stupid that sounds. We are not immune from life’s curveballs or fastballs. We struggle like everyone else. Tears will fall and we have people who love us and will come alongside us, IF we allow them. That is a whole other blog post for me. Death and grief suck.
The other thing death does is cause us to look at the life of those who have passed and our own lives. There are beautiful things we see and there are some not so pretty things we see. I honestly didn’t have the best relationship with my MIL, but I have watched how her death has impacted my husband and children. My husband no longer has any living parents. We lost his father when I was half way through my pregnancy with our middle child. My husband has made the statement several times “I feel like an orphan.” I can’t imagine how that must feel. I have watched my children grieve their grandmother. It’s been a struggle for them to understand why she no longer comes to the house, why no cookies appeared at Christmas and why they can’t just pick up the phone and call heaven. I’ve struggled with how could I have attempted to have made things better with her. There is frustration, sadness and regret all balled up into her death.
My sweet friend Lea Anne was an avid runner. I loved the race pictures she posted, especially when her family was involved. She and I had several conversations about running a race together. This would have meant that one of us would have had to travel. We talked about how once she defeated cancer I would make the trek to Arkansas and run a race in celebration of her defeating that nasty disease. Neither race ever happened. I regret not making the time do what we talked about. My heart aches for her husband and 4 children. Cancer stole a young, active wife and mother. She loved her husband, children and life and now she’s gone. Every mile I run this year is in her memory. It won’t bring her back to her family and friends, but it’s a way to honor her memory.
I don’t even know where to begin with Dr. Potts. You see he wasn’t a typical college president. Judson is not your typical college. There are things about my college experience that would be seen the same as most every other college experience. Then, because of the uniqueness of Judson, it was extremely different. We are small school. Between December, April and June graduates, there were only 40 in my graduating class. Judson is a family and Dr. Potts was the head of that family. Dr. Potts may have technically only had 2 biological daughters, but he treated every girl who walked through the gates of Judson like a daughter.
Dr. Potts knew every student by name. He knew our majors and what extra curricular activities we participated in on campus. He knew our family members by name. He could call them by name even if we weren’t with him. Dr. Potts chose to eat in the dining hall with the students. When we were out walking on campus, it wasn’t unusual for him to jump in and walk with us. He truly had an open door policy. You see he wasn’t some illusive figure head at Judson, he was a part of everything on campus. Dr. Potts loved the Lord and loved to find ways for Judson Girls to serve the community of Marion. We weren’t some small private college who stayed within our gates. Dr. Potts made it a point to connect students and the community.
I counted it a privilege to return to Judson to be a part of the Judson Singers Alumni Choir and sing for Dr. Potts’ memorial service. As I sat there it was surreal to sit and listen to people referring to him in past tense. Honestly, I spent the entire weekend waiting for him to appear and his office doors to open. I sat and listened as people talked about the man, husband and father he was. There were some stories I heard that I had heard a hundred times. There were other stories, I had never heard before. I look at the legacy he left and what he instilled in all of his Judson Girls and I know lives are going to be forever impacted because he lived out what he believed.
The Wednesday of the week I headed to Judson, I received word my high school choral director passed away. Carroll High School and the city of Ozark lost a great man and a talented musician. There were three men who instilled a love of music into my life at a young age and Mr. Shirley was one of them. I had the privilege of being a part of Choral Club and musical theater productions under his choral direction. I won’t admit how long I have been out of high school, but I have loved seeing posts and pictures on social media of him leading the next generation. He was actively involved in the spring production when he became sick. Knowing what I know about him, I hate these students missed out on his leadership the weekend of the actual production. His death leaves a huge hole in the music back home. Mr. Shirley also left behind a wife, children and grandchildren. I can’t even begin to guess at how many students walked through the doors of the choral room and the stage and we all feel his loss as well.
Yes, we grieve and cry. The only encouragement I find in all of this is that we can grieve with hope. You see, these wonderful people had a relationship with the Lord and they are now sitting at His feet. Because many of us share their faith, we know we will one day be reconnected with them. The reunion will be one of great joy. We will all be healthy, whole and will forever worship the Lord side by side. If you have never asked Christ to be your Lord and Savior, I am more than happy to walk through it with you. My former pastor, Bro. Jerry, used to say frequently from the pulpit “There is nothing so certain as death and nothing so uncertain as the time.” He is absolutely correct. I am grateful for my relationship with the Lord and pray those around me who don’t know Him as their personal Lord and Savior will come to a saving relationship with Him.
Please let the people in your family and inner circles know how much you love them. Tell them frequently because you never know when it will be their time or your time to go. My prayer other than people coming to Christ is that the people around us would be loved well.
If you have made it this far, thank you. If there is ever anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask! You are loved!
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