tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42134992196697094542024-02-07T00:58:03.741-08:00midge writes.lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.comBlogger663125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-86410397150899885432016-08-13T02:21:00.000-07:002016-08-15T07:52:21.584-07:00Dedicating The Last Mile<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><br /></span></b></span></span>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">Hands, put your empty hands in mine</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And scars, show me all the scars you hide</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And hey, if your wings are broken</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Please take mine so yours can open, too</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">'Cause I'm gonna stand by you</span></b></span></span><br />
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--Rachel Platten<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ON MARATHONS:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Back in May of 2005, Ben ran his first (and only--so far) marathon. He read a couple of books on how to train, and he successfully ran it with his sister and my brother by his side. He had been a runner for years, but not this extreme distance. Though he trained, prepared and finished, it was still incredibly difficult for him to do. His stomach had revolted during the race which held him up for 20 minutes, and for about two weeks after the race he hobbled around like an old man, the sides of both of his feet bruised and painful from swelling inside of his shoes during the 26.2 miles. When he finished the race, we both cried as we hugged, celebrating his victory. The entire process of it all was extremely inspiring and emotional. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ben told me after the race was over that in one of the books he had read to prepare, it shared a tip to maintain motivation during the race by dedicating each mile he ran to someone significant in his life. He said he dedicated all of his to different people; his parents, his friends, his teachers, his siblings, to me, to our unborn son (who would be born 2 weeks later) and to the other children who would follow, to God, to himself, to his sister and my brother. He said thinking of who he was running for kept him focused, pushing through the exhaustion and pain.</span><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="text-align: center;">Oh, tears make kaleidoscopes in your eyes</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And hurt, I know you're hurting, but so am I.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And, love, if your wings are broken</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Borrow mine 'til yours can open, too.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">'Cause I'm gonna stand by you</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Last weekend found us in the kitchen, once again crying as we held each other. We are on the final mile of the marathon he has been running for the past 8 years. You would think being at the end of this grad school process....being able to see the faces of loved ones come into focus through the crowds....the color of the finish line ribbon brightening as it nears.... knowing these are the very last steps he would have to run before finally being done would bring some sort of relief just because he is so close. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Instead, the fear of falling and not making it back up, the worry that he may cross too late to be awarded the accolade for starting and finishing this near-decade journey has gripped him. The terror that the voice in his head that has tried for eight agonizing years to convince him he will never be Good Enough has finally become so loud that it is all he can hear, it has stopped him in his tracks. He is frozen and immobile. </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="text-align: center;">Even if we're breaking down, we can find a way to break through</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Even if we can't find heaven, I'll walk through Hell with you.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Love, you're not alone, 'cause I'm gonna stand by you.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am not, and never have been, a runner. However, I am a pretty great cheerleader. I've been given the Gift of seeing the best in others. I'm great at motivational speeches and finding a silver lining, at seeing Gifts of others no matter how deeply buried they are, and doing all I can to bring them to the forefront. Somehow when the mountain becomes steeper and the path more rocky, I can summon Faith, Courage and Belief in the Good that it could overcome anything--especially when it comes to those I love. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">Oh, truth—I guess truth is what you believe in</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And faith—I think faith is having a reason.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And I know now, love, if your wings are broken</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Borrow mine 'til yours can open, too.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">'Cause I'm gonna stand by you.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm sure being on the receiving end of me as a cheerleader could potentially become extremely obnoxious to someone who just wants to hear the words <i>"It's okay to give up. You've done enough, you can stop running now. Just sit down and rest, breathe. Don't push yourself anymore."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The thing about the marathon of grad school is that there have been <i>so many times</i> through this process I have felt God inside of it--writing this story, molding and shaping both Ben and I to become who He wants us to. With each hurdle that has been put along the miles Ben has run and I have cheered along by his side, I have the sense that there is a greater purpose at work. So the blistered feet, the scrapes and stumbles, the mistakes and disappointments we have continually faced have not devastated me, but only caused me to feel this purpose even more intrinsically than before. My push to finish the race, my belief in the Good, my motivational speeches--they're all extremely sincere. Where they come from inside of me, I can only describe that place as Truth. Something I <i>know</i> without knowing how I know it. It's just there, existing as honestly as something I can actually see or touch. </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: black; text-align: center;">I'll be your eyes 'til yours can shine</span></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: black; text-align: center;">And I'll be your arms, I'll be your steady satellite.</span></b></div>
<b style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: black; text-align: center;">And when you can't rise, well, I'll crawl with you on hands and knees</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black; text-align: center;" /><span style="color: black; text-align: center;">'Cause I... I'm gonna stand by you.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Aside from potentially driving a runner crazy, another problem with being a cheerleader is that there is only so much I can do when it really comes down to it. Ben is the one reading, training and running. No matter how many speeches I yell from the sidelines, how many cups of water I hand to him as he jogs by me, no matter how much <i>I</i> can feel that he can finish this, I have no control over how much <i>he</i> feels it. I cannot physically move his legs for him, breathe more air into his lungs or transfer my adrenaline into his veins. If I could--believe me, I would. Over and over again, no matter what that sacrifice might to do my own body. I would do it. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">You're all I never knew I needed</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And the heart—sometimes it's unclear why it's beating.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And, love, if your wings are broken</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">We can brave through those emotions, too.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">'Cause I'm gonna stand by you.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When we stood holding each other last weekend in the kitchen while our baby girl slept above us in the crib on the second floor and our two middle girls played together above us in their bedroom and our son cheered and yelled at the game system above us in the loft, I felt this as a Moment for us. Time slows, and I'm keenly aware of all of my senses, combined with the feeling of him with me. We've had several of them in our marriage--most of them happening during the past eight years of this marathon we have been participating in together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Do you remember telling me when you ran your marathon you dedicated each mile to someone, to help you stay motivated and to finish?"</i> I asked. <i>"Will that help? I want this last mile to be for you, for you to feel your worth and acknowledge all you've been through and how hard you've fought."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"No,</i>" he replied. <i>"This last mile is for you. I would not be here if it weren't for you, I would have quit long ago. This last mile I dedicate to you."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I hugged him tighter and cried harder. <i>"Don't give up. You finish this."</i> I whispered, handing another metaphorical cup of water to my weary, incredible runner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After a few minutes we separated, Ben picked himself back up and began running his last mile again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Much later that night, while the kids were asleep and Ben was downstairs working, I prayed. <i>"Please, please, please,</i>" were the only words I could say as tears streamed down my face. Even though I couldn't say any more, I silently finished my prayer. Asking directly for the things Ben and I were both fighting for, even if that required a miracle happening. Pleading for that miracle to come to pass. Also adding in though, that if that miracle is not part of the story He is writing for us, to be able to withstand the blows. As much as I really, really want him to receive the certificate he has been working for years to receive, I care more about the state of my runner when this is over. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Miracle or not, this will end regardless. Just please give us the strength to still stand whatever the outcome is."</i> These were the words I silently ended my prayer with. I felt immediate reassurance from that Truth place, that my words were heard. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was then that I decided. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ben may be dedicating his last mile of this marathon to me, but I am dedicating my last mile as a cheerleader and a support of this marathon to God, because without Him urging me and strengthening me so I could encourage Ben,<i> I </i>would not still be here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And now as the finish line approaches, and Ben gives the last of this marathon everything he has, and I yell my words of encouragement while he makes his way down the final path, and God continues to write Our Story,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">we wait. </span><br />
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<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-19644051700818948532016-05-13T11:25:00.000-07:002016-08-07T22:25:51.172-07:00swinging and bending, part 8: Elastic Heart<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6irAiaN0KNJATVIf9l1ga4nT1oBMm_9YZ90tHPouQyAn7h1oziaHkXnkn4e851-viRG540nVKix8XetO5b6RTI14yYlTgM9EEPBamuIMKSCkWsTmUJN6ZC8pWuJYhhbCEHeuAfmvgRoM/s1600/flying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6irAiaN0KNJATVIf9l1ga4nT1oBMm_9YZ90tHPouQyAn7h1oziaHkXnkn4e851-viRG540nVKix8XetO5b6RTI14yYlTgM9EEPBamuIMKSCkWsTmUJN6ZC8pWuJYhhbCEHeuAfmvgRoM/s400/flying.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b>"And I will stay up through the night</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">And let's be clear, won't close my eyes.</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">And I know that I can survive</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">I'll walk through fire to save my life.</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b>And I want it, I want my life so bad</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">I'm doing everything I can</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">Then another one bites the dust</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">It's hard to lose a chosen one</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b>You did not break me</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">I'm still fighting for peace.</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b>Well, I've got thick skin and an elastic heart,</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">But your blade—it might be too sharp</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I'm </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: center;">like a rubber band until you pull too hard,</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-align: center;">Yeah, I may snap and I move fast</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-align: center;">But you won't see me fall apart</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: center;">'Cause I've got an elastic heart</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">."</span></div>
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<b>{somewhat} continued from <a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2014/03/swinging-and-bending-part-7-book.html" target="_blank">this series</a>. </b></div>
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I am no stranger to mental illness. </div>
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Physically, Mental Illness hurt--the raised welts left by a wooden spoon or a hard plastic brush on my small naked backside and thighs subsided. The stinging red finger marks pulsing with my own heartbeat across my cheeks as a teenager faded. The headache that was a result of being hit more times than I can count on the head by a heavy college textbook while I sat hovering on the floor, both arms wrapped around my face to withstand the blows only took a couple of hours and 800 milligrams of ibuprofen to melt slowly away. </div>
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But the emotional pain Mental Illness inflicted, those are wounds of a different nature. Those are the wounds that do not fade--they create. They create three children with no sense of self, no ability to express healthy emotions, no idea of what they need or how to ask or even have room in their lives for needs even if they could ask for them. </div>
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I sat at the dinner table and watched as Mental Illness hurt my sibling with their words and their hands. I stared down at the cooked broccoli on my plate, silently pleading with my sibling to just agree--to anything--so it would calm Mental Illness and the storm could pass. When I began to work through some of these scenes years later in therapy, my silent pleadings for their submission morphed into internal roaring as loud as a lion's--an indignant rage over the knowledge that I had been witness to the breaking of the soul of an innocent child, one I loved so deeply yet could not protect. </div>
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I heard Mental Illness tell my siblings and I why they were choosing to leave our family to be with another, full of self-lies so thick and deep they were convinced those lies were now reality. Months later I watched Mental Illness sweep back through the home with promises of a fresh start, of trying again, of this time being different. My ears heard the words but my heart knew--these would fall short and fail as they had already so many times before, as soon as Mental Illness was triggered and rose to the surface once again.</div>
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Mental Illness used God to shame, to manipulate, to twist, to control. It wanted the outside of our family to look a certain way to deflect from the inside chaos. It told my siblings and I that we were only lovable if we played this part--cutting our hair to depict our righteous dedication, wearing clothing that covered the bodies they had created in the way they felt was appropriate and pleasing to God. Otherwise we were not Good, and Mental Illness made sure we knew it. </div>
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Mental Illness was addiction, divorce, rage, shame, lies, self-loathing, deep chasms of insecurity, manipulation, jealousy, control, and unending amounts of fear. Mental Illness took every ounce of Safety and replaced it with internal chaos and torment. It wreaked havoc through my childhood, destroyed a marriage, shattered a family. In its path of destruction it left pain, confusion, fragility. </div>
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A book once described me, the role of the All-Good Child of Mental Illness, as "a porcelain soul with tiny fractures," and when I read those words I cried and cried. They were my worst fears written on paper, naming what I had suspected for so long: I was broken. </div>
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I have worked and dug and inspected the darkest corners of the fractures inside of me with a magnifying glass. I have laid out my most terrifying vulnerabilities on a table and offered them up as a sacrifice to Healing. </div>
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I fill the cracks of my own fractures created by the lies of Mental Illness with Truth about my worth, with gentleness and forgiveness for my shortcomings and mistakes, with calling myself out on even the slightest shred of dishonesty and forcing myself to admit to myself and others when it exists, with admiration for not quitting the often-draining work it is to Heal, with acknowledging and often clinging to the beautiful and bright pieces of my experiences, with expressing gratitude for the Life I have been given, and the gift it is to know I can make choices that not only defy the laws Mental Illness tried to place upon me, but to completely abandon those laws and forge a new, healthy path. I fill the cracks with having boundaries for every relationship in my life--including the one I have with myself, these boundaries creating the ability for me to feel Love all of its forms while also continue to maintain living in a space of emotional integrity. I fill the cracks with God, and a self-love that can only come from Him. </div>
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I have looked at my past with an objective eye, taking my siblings and I out of it and looking at Mental Illness for who and what it is--two souls even more broken than my own fractured one. Forgiveness and unending amounts of Love poured out for Mental Illness, when I could view it this way. Understanding and compassion replaced blame. </div>
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Then I brought the three children back in, and saw us as innocents who--regardless of the broken state of Mental Illness--deserved better, more. I gave myself permission to allow the emotion for these three who deserved better to take over and drag me under...to Anger, Fear, and extreme Sadness. I sat inside of these rooms of often suffocating emotion and felt every inch of their walls. As uncomfortable as it was and at times continues to be, I know I cannot leave the room until I allow it to be as consuming as it needs to. Only then does it pass, I rise to the surface, and can move on. </div>
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These three children grew up to sit with therapists to help them search for a reality outside of Mental Illness. They constantly worry and check in with one another, terrified Mental Illness has found its way inside of them. Any anxious thought, any insecure feeling, any moment of depression has them second-guessing. They wear Mental Illness like a shadow. Is it their turn? Will the shadow catch up and envelope them? Their ability to gage what is normal is forever skewed. </div>
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For years they have clung to the hope that with time, work, and loving themselves and each other through this, they can break the cycle. They cling to this hope still. It is the only thought that keeps the shadow where it belongs, sitting on the outside edges of their lives. </div>
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My sister, my brother and I, we are the ones who Know. We have sat next to each other on the couch in the middle of the night, wearing pj's and rubbing blurry eyes, our young, bewildered minds trying to make sense of Mental Illness as it fought, yelled, pushed and shoved only feet away from us. We have heard each other's tears through the adjoining wall. We have had a front row seat to the screaming, the locked doors, the damage control, the hammers breaking through walls, the uncontrollable sobbing, the consequences, the open-hand slaps, the silent treatments, the barefoot chases on snowy afternoons, the shattered mirrors, and the betrayals. </div>
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We have cried to each other as adults over the pain we experienced, still trying to make sense of it all. We have called in the middle of the night, showed up on doorsteps, taken last-minute flights and fought for each other to sort through the shadow of Mental Illness and cling to the Light and Love we can feel, and the Worth we see in one another. We bond over the Knowing--a deep, interwoven bond that at times finds us tethered together, unable to decipher where one of us ends and another begins. </div>
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It is from this tethered place that I write. It is tough to find boundaries here. When one of them is in pain, I can not help but feel it with them. When they are breaking under the pressure of the memories and the faulty core beliefs placed upon them by Mental Illness, I feel the pull of their breaking as though it is an actual part of me. When the Shadow that has followed for years finally looks as though it may be catching up to one of us, I know I must do all I can to push it back where it belongs. Internally I struggle between the person I have been, and the person I have worked so hard to become.</div>
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I do not know what this last-minute flight will bring. I do not know if the Light I can still see and the Love I will always feel will be enough. I worry it will not, I worry I'm too late. </div>
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But I have to try. </div>
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-31463938774791969342016-02-14T00:43:00.001-08:002016-02-15T12:16:34.111-08:00A Love Letter About Tiny Houses<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIGOfqOzgCALiyEwpaK70Q9i66fuYfqjggeeaZI8se4m8ltGyhiPf4DY5XsG7-5lQh4HaJKIY2lOgecJx_A2b8BL8wvWG-WRVOdtHwzj2K6wEIEyZHLNS85OWaEaBAkG_5plWo6XU8nFu/s640/blogger-image-1135266233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIGOfqOzgCALiyEwpaK70Q9i66fuYfqjggeeaZI8se4m8ltGyhiPf4DY5XsG7-5lQh4HaJKIY2lOgecJx_A2b8BL8wvWG-WRVOdtHwzj2K6wEIEyZHLNS85OWaEaBAkG_5plWo6XU8nFu/s640/blogger-image-1135266233.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear Ben,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's 1:28 in the morning. I'm here alone in our bed while you're sleeping on the top bunkbed in Caleb's room. You've taken on the responsibility of handling our vomiting son while I handle our teething daughter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the morning when we're woken before our bodies have gotten adequate rest, and we blink our blurred eyes and rub our dark undereye circles and walk slowly downstairs to make our kids breakfast, they will be greeted at the table with the stuffed animals you bought for them and the books I bought for them, and we will tell them Happy Valentine's Day! And let them know they are loved. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then we will make them breakfast and take care of whoever has needs and our Valentine's Day gift to each other will most likely look like trading off taking naps. Some days just turn out this way and we do the best we can. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight before the vomiting began and the teething baby woke up crying, we were watching an episode of "Tiny Houses" and you asked me if I would ever live in one. At first I said, "No, never!" You know I'm a girl who needs her space to think and just <i>be</i> for a minute before joining back in the group. But then I watched the episode and changed my answer. "Well, not with our kids, I wouldn't. But if it were just with you, I could do it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I really do feel this way, you know. Even after thirteen years. <i>Especially</i> after. I think that says something about us, don't you? To not mind living in a 200 square foot house together, to still like each other that much? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know you know me well enough that there would be times I would need to curl up in the small space next to the washer and dryer to write something without interruption or read a book and you would give me that time. And I know you well enough that there would be times you would need loud music and loud laughter and lively conversations that would fill the 200 square feet from corner to corner so full it would threaten to burst the teensy glass windows. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I would decorate our 1'x1' back porch with those backyard lights I love so much and we would drag our small folding breakfast nook outside and eat dinner together there on autumn nights. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And if we argued or things got tense because I grew tired of cooking on a one-burner stove and you've had it because I let my hair clog up the drain in our kitchen/shower....what then? Maybe I would hide under the covers for a minute and you'd step outside and stare at the enormous sky and inhale deeply? The good news is, I'm not really worried. We would figure it out. Even in a Tiny House, I have every confidence in us that we would be okay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've written about us many times, and will continue to. I want our children to know who their parents were as they were growing up. Right now they're self-consumed in their own needs, without any real idea there are two adults in their peripheral vision who have emotions and needs as well. This is how it should be, I think--within reason of course. The day will come soon enough when their horizon will broaden. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When that day does come, I want them to know our story. After 12 years of leaving his wet-from-the-shower towels everywhere <i>but</i> on a hook, their dad showed their mom how much he loves her by starting to hang up his towel during their 13th year together. And I want them to know that after 12 years of wearing wrinkled clothes, their mom showed their dad how much she loves him by opening up the dryer and folding laundry that was still hot enough that the buttons on the jeans burned her fingertips, because their dad loves un-wrinkled clothes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our love is a work in progress of the very best kind. It's one built on all of the experiences we have had and will have. Our kids are lucky to have parents who still try, and work with and for each other. I think one day they'll realize how rare this is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love you, Ben. Your voice is still the one I want to hear when I'm worried or feeling lonely. Your Big Laugh still makes me laugh, every time. You walking through the door at the end of work is still the best part of my day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thank you for the last 13 years of Valentine's Days and for loving me every day in between them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Love, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your Favorite Wife</span></div>
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-13770347991671453122016-01-12T09:14:00.001-08:002016-01-12T11:39:15.524-08:00Self-Love in 2016.<div>
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1) a terrible complexion </div>
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2) excruciatingly painful, long-lasting headaches</div>
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3) severe (like first trimester of pregnancy severe) sluggishness and lack of energy.</div>
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So when I woke up today to find a small, yet very defined pimple on my top lip (yes it is absolutely as attractive as it sounds), which went smashingly with the angry ones smattering my cheek, and was barely able to focus my vision before 8:00 am, and had to medicate myself around the clock for the 3 days prior due to a pounding headache above my left eyebrow....I realized it was time to re-learn a painful lesson.</div>
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I started working on body acceptance in 2009. I wrote a blog post about living my life up until that point equating feeling fat to feeling ugly and inadequate. I was done with that form of self-hatred and worked hard to find a place of love and acceptance for my body just the way it was, right then--without any changes. I let myself eat what I want when I wanted to, and stopped the negative self-talk, replacing it with positive things instead. </div>
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As my body shaming decreased, I found something interesting: loving myself on the inside caused me to really look at what loving myself on the outside required. </div>
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I began exercising--not to torture my body, but because I wanted to begin really taking care of it. It became my daily form of Self Care, and the one hour each day I kept sacred as only for me. I watched my body become strong and endure more than it ever had. I grew proud of it, and felt confident about it, regardless of what size and shape it was.</div>
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In 2012 I challenged myself to a sugar-free diet for 40 days, in honor of Lent. I honestly did not believe I could keep that challenge--I had zero faith in my own abilities. Sugar had been a lifelong friend and addiction. In spite of my lack of faith, I was able to go the full 40 days with only one tiny lick of my daughter's birthday cake frosting (which was gross by the way). </div>
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What I found during that time was a powerful combination of emotional and physical positive outcomes. My skin was clear, my usual nagging headaches were gone, my energy was sustained throughout the day....and instead of feeling deprivation through completely shutting down and controlling my sugar intake, I felt empowered, courageous, in awe of my abilities and more than anything....I felt self-love. </div><div><br></div><div>My kids watched me going without sugar, Caleb especially commenting that he thought I was crazy. I have never used the word diet, only talking about how I felt like sugar controlled me and that I knew it wasn't healthy for my body. That I wanted to take care of myself, and this was a way I could do it. </div><div><br></div><div>That 40 days started me down a path that I continued for several years. </div>
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When my unexpected pregnancy with Claire showed up, I went straight to survival mode to get through that time and the stressful year after my pregnancy, where I could only function on survival instead of being thoughtful of what I ate and how I took care of my body. </div>
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So here I am in 2016, with my lip pimple, headaches and exhaustion, ready to reprogram my brain after slipping back into old unhealthy, destructive and addictive habits. </div>
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Today I'm on day 1 of being (refined) sugar free. And I'm on day 1 of exercising. This work is tough in all areas and takes me a while to actually enjoy it. But I have also been down the road far enough to know it is completely worth it, and it's a healthy way to show my mind, emotions, spirit and body the love and treatment it deserves.</div>
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If anyone wants to join me, I always enjoy company. Here's to the new year, and to self-love.</div>
lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-92043738264300032762016-01-11T21:16:00.002-08:002016-01-13T12:45:47.602-08:00All you can take with you is that which you've given away.<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is a true story about Prayer, and one written to inspire Hope.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is one of those miracles we hear about that can either be acknowledged as coincidence, or luck, or the Universe, or karma--or it can be acknowledged as a direct answer from God given to two people who were at their breaking point last Christmas. While this isn't how every story goes for every person, I share this for our children (or anyone else) who will find themselves at their own breaking point in life. It is written as a reminder that when they think they have done all they can, they may realize there is more they can do. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); color: #454545; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>"Hello?"</i> I picked up Ben's phone call. It was close to midnight, one week before Christmas last year. I had just finished feeding and changing 3 1/2 week old newborn Claire.<br><br><i>"Hi. Ummmmmm, do you know how much money is in our bank account?"</i> He sounded really frustrated.<br><br><i>"Not the exact amount, but it's not much,"</i> I answered.<br><br><i>"I'm here in Ohio at the car rental place, trying to pick up the car I reserved. They're telling me I can't get it."</i> He said.<br><br><i>"What? Why? You've already paid for it!"</i> I replied.<br><br><i>"I know, but you have to have at least $200 in your bank account in order to pick it up, they put a hold on that money in case something happens to the car."</i><br><br><i>"Oh. Oh no...."</i> I trailed off. I didn't know the exact amount in our account, but I did know we did not have $200.<br><br><i>"Yeah. Tomorrow is pay day, but they don't deposit the money in to the account until like two in the morning. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm stranded in the car rental place. It's really late here, and the people I'm staying with tonight--I would feel awful having to wake them up. I barely know them and they're letting me stay as a favor to a mutual friend! And they would have to bring me back by 6:00 in the morning so I can come and pick up the car in time for my interview. This is so humiliating."</i><br><i><br></i><i>"I am so sorry Ben. What are you going to do?" </i><br><i><br></i><i>"I don't know,"</i> he paused, and I could hear it in his voice, and in the silence following his answer--it was the sound of someone broken. <i>"I'll figure it out and call you back in a little bit."</i><br><i><br></i><i>"Okay. I love you."</i><br><i><br></i><i>"I love you too,"</i> his voice was subdued, the life having gone out of it.<br><br>I hung up the phone, leaned over, put my head in my hands, and began to cry. This was not the first time in the past couple of months our bank account had been almost completely empty and we had held our breath until payday.<br><br>I knew he had several more upcoming internship interviews. I also knew rent was due in 2 weeks. I knew the amount of money coming in from pay day, and I knew that it was not enough to cover our rent as well as cover the traveling expenses of the interviews. I knew we would have to make a decision.<br><br>My chest felt tight. I could picture Ben there in the car rental place, defeated. I knelt down and prayed. For me, for Ben, for the ability to endure this emotionally taxing time.<br><br>When he came home from his trip, we sat at the table and talked. It was the most weary, humble, worn-down place I had ever seen my husband.<br><br><i>"I've looked at flights for the next interview, and there's just no way it's going to happen, "</i> he said. <i> "We just don't have enough."</i><br><br><i>"I know, </i>" I replied softly. <i>"I've been thinking though--do you remember what Paul said to us during their visit a month ago?"</i> My mother in law and her husband Paul had stayed with us for a few days after Claire had been born.<br><br><i>"No, what?"</i> Ben asked.<br><br><i>"He asked us if we had ever prayed and asked God directly for what we need. He asked if we had ever prayed for money. At the time I thought that sounded so...wrong to do. It felt greedy and selfish and temporal. But maybe it's not? I've always prayed and asked for extra strength to get through financially hard times, or for the ability to find more work to pay the bills, or to be able to find someone we can sell some of our things to. God has always answered <b>those </b>prayers...maybe He would answer this one?"</i> I explained.<br><br>Looking at me from across the table, Ben shrugged his shoulders and said, "<i>Well it's worth a try I guess. We know right now we're doing everything we can to get through this. We're both working, we're both trying to raise good children, we're both consecrating the time that we can to God and serving others. We're not asking for money for a boat, or more jewelry....we're literally asking so that we can further our chances of getting out</i> of <i>this financial situation, and to finish school." </i></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i><br>"We know our hearts are in a good place, and God does too,</i>" I agreed.<br><br>So that night we knelt down together and again separately, and asked God directly for money.<br><br>The next day my mood was somber. I began opening </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">the mail, looking forward to the Christmas cards of friends that always make me so happy. </span></span><br>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the pile was a letter from one of Ben's aunts. I opened up the card, and gasped as money floated out of the card and rested on the counter. I picked up the money and stared. We hadn't heard from this aunt in several years, and she had never sent us money before that I could remember. Goosebumps lined my arms and tears filled my eyes. I could feel God telling me this was a direct answer to the previous night's prayers. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I continued going through the pile of mail when I came across another Christmas card--this time from Ben's grandma in Indiana. When I opened up her card to find a check written from her, with enough money to completely cover one month's worth of rent, I went straight into what I like to call The Ugly Cry. I read her words as tears poured down my face, with her explanation that she and her husband had worked very hard to earn that money and saved it for years, but that she realized it might be needed in our lives. She asked us be wise with it--if it was needed then to use it, and if not, then to put it in an account for our children's college funds. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I could not stop crying, and I'm crying again now as I'm writing these words. I took pictures of the money sent by Ben's aunt and the check sent by his grandma, as well as pictures of the words of love and support they sent along with them. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I sent the pictures to Ben while he was at work, saying that our prayers had been answered. Within seconds he replied, saying he couldn't believe it and could not stop crying either. After texting him, I went into my bedroom, dropped to my knees and cried through my spoken words of gratitude to a God who had answered my prayers, and asked him to bless the lives of those who had allowed Him to work through them. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For the rest of the afternoon my heart felt so full. My eyes were puffy from crying every time I thought of the cards we had received. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Ben called to tell me he wouldn't be home from work until about 10 o'clock, so after dinner I started the bath/bedtime routine on my own. </span>Claire would not stay asleep unless I held her, so I tucked her tiny body into the baby wrap and walked around until I had bounced her to sleep laying against my chest.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I put Leah and June in the bath and they immediately started fighting. Leah (who was having a rough night) began screaming and crying, which woke up Claire who also began crying. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was trying to lift a dripping, refusing, screeching Leah out of the bath when I heard a knock on the front door. I set Leah back in the bath and tried to calm down Claire. I was flustered and slightly embarrassed to know whoever knocked probably heard the insanity going on inside. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I opened the front door, there stood our bishop and friend Jon Mabb. My hair was everywhere, my clothes were wet from the shenanigans with Leah in the bath, Claire was crying against my chest and I could still hear screeching from the bathroom. I gave a little laugh and a look like <i>"Well, this is my life! I'm a mess!" </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He smiled and said simply, "<i>Merry Christmas. This is from the ward.</i>" He handed me a red envelope and turned to walk away. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"<i>Oh, well thanks</i>!" I said, thinking the envelope must be a Christmas card the bishopric was doing for the members of the church. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then, I remembered. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few weeks earlier I had seen an email from Bishop Mabb to our ward members, saying there were some families in need for Christmas and to let him know if anyone would like to anonymously donate to them. Ben and I had talked, both wanting to give something to people we loved so much, especially during Christmas. As we talked we realized we sounded nuts--we couldn't even afford our <i>own</i> lives at that point! What were we thinking? <i>"There will be a time and season we can donate money...right now is not our season,"</i> we told ourselves. Still, it was hard for us to not do <i>something, </i>so we picked a couple of families we knew could use some help and decided to serve in other ways. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I held the red envelope in my hand I realized what it was and began to cry again. I had not considered the fact that <i>our</i> family might be one of those he was mentioning. I could barely open the envelope because I was so overcome with emotion. I slid down against the door and sat down on the cold tile floor with Claire still attached to me. I opened the card to find more money, generously donated to us by those doing the work of God. I sat there for several minutes letting the tears fall again, feeling so completely undeserving yet so completely grateful at the same time. I texted the bishop to tell him what this meant to us, I texted Ben to tell him of the third miracle of the day, and I offered another prayer to God, thanking Him for showing us of His awareness of us as individuals, and His love for us as His children. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Growing up, my family used to watch the movie "It's A Wonderful Life" every Christmas. I found it incredibly dull and boring. But about 7 years ago, I bought it and began the tradition of watching it every Christmas Eve while I wrapped presents. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Watching it as an adult was a different experience. I began to completely understand and relate to every emotion George Bailey felt. I watched as his shoulders grew more hunched and the furrow in his eyebrows grew deeper, and I knew that weight and worry. So did Ben. I watched as he almost threw the broken piece of the stair banister and Ben and I knew that inner rage and desperation. I watched as he pretended to fix Zuzu's petals in order to preserve his daughter's innocent happiness, and I knew that feeling of love and the need to protect. I watched as he yelled at the teacher for being the culprit of his child's illness and I knew that feeling of the need to find blame somewhere, anywhere. I watched as he stood on the bridge staring into the dark water, and I knew that feeling of wondering if the lives Ben and I have lived really even mattered, or if somehow we were just doomed to feel like it would always be this excruciatingly painful uphill struggle with ridiculous hurdles that continued to land in our paths. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it's the final scene of that movie, that makes me Ugly Cry no matter how many times I watch it. George, Mary, and their children, surrounded by those whose lives they have affected by love and service, being lifted from their darkest moment by those who could give their love and service in return. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I sat on the tile floor leaning against our front door, I knew it was only myself and my baby in that room but I also knew what the Bailey family was feeling as I wept, surrounded by the knowledge that our lives do matter, and though monetarily we could not show up for others...that the ways we had shown up, for each other and for others, in the eyes of God, had been enough. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was a life-changing day for Ben and I, and we both know we will never be the same. Because we asked, God answered. We were able to pay our rent and Ben was able to go to the rest of his internship interviews, specifically to the interview that brought us to San Antonio. Our financial struggle did not end that day, but our needs were taken care of. It was enough. It was<i><b> so much</b></i>. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We are forever grateful. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">"All you can take with you</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Is that which you've given away."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>It's A Wonderful Life.</b></span><br></span></div>
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-52401157685084419562015-12-27T07:03:00.001-08:002016-02-14T06:39:47.408-08:00Lucky number 13.<div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="color: #454545; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><b><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">I remember all of the things that I thought I wanted to be</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">So desperate to find a way out of my world and finally breathe</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Right before my eyes I saw, my heart it came to life</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">This ain't easy it's not meant to be</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Every story has it's scars</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">When the pain cuts you deep</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">When the night keeps you from sleeping</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Just look and you will see</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">That I will be your remedy</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">When the world seems so cruel</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">And your heart makes you feel like a fool</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">I promise you will see</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">That I will be, I will be your remedy</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">No river is too wide or too deep for me to swim to you</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Come whatever I'll be the shelter that won't let the rain come through</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Your love, it is my truth</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">And I will always love you</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Love you</span></b></span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">--"Remedy"--</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A couple of months ago we had an honest, vulnerable discussion about walls built within marriage. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I knew when he spoke, he saw me--for one of the first times in a long time, I felt understood on a deep level. I knew when he saw me, it was a cross roads. I could either admit the hard things I didn't want to admit, or pretend they didn't exist, hoping for them to disappear. But I know things like this don't just "disappear." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I see couples in Hollywood crumble all over the place. Sometimes I wonder about them--why can't they hang on? Is it because they didn't know each other well enough? Is it because they didn't know themselves well enough? Is it because their work requires them to be apart for long periods of time? Is their foundation not strong enough to withstand the distance? Or did they merely stop needing each other, because they couldn't--because physically they weren't there to BE there for one another? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ben and I are no Hollywood couple, far from it. But we are a couple built inside of 2 years of a solid, happy, loving foundation followed by 2 years of extremely stressful, fearful parenting, followed by 1 year of traumatic, chaotic group home managing, followed by 7 years of separating grad school living combined with three more amazing, yet needy children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These things take tolls on individuals, which in turn take tolls on marriages--there is no way around that. Our needs as humans had been put on the back burners for so long there have been days/weeks/months/years we had forgotten we even HAD any needs. Our marriage also had needs we had forgotten, not because the love has not been there....they've been forgotten more because there had not been the space to take care of it. And honestly? We took for granted the two solid years of foundation we had built in the beginning. Our love, happiness with each other, and strong friendship and respect for one another could withstand any storm, we believed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So far, that has worked. I truly feel if our foundation had not been as strongly built from our beginning, we would have crumbled like so many we see and hear about. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yet we remain standing, though the stress and time apart has taken its toll. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a firm believer when the rope of marriage begins to fray, it takes each person to work individually on their end of the rope before they can work on things together. We are complex humans, bringing lives together that are full of two entirely separate experiences, strengths, weaknesses, needs and emotions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But individual work is scary, isn't it? It's so much easier to blame the whole of the sum instead of the parts, when those parts are made up of yourself and the person you love most in the world. It's easier to blame a baby with seizures, and teenagers with rage issues, and grad school with its so many demands, and financial struggles leading to multiple jobs, and young children with their neediness and moving 14 times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know what it means to look in the mirror--really look--and realize I have personally contributed to my own unhappiness, my own loneliness, my own fears. It is extremely vulnerable, painful, honest work. Ben also knows this individual work and what it means to look in this same mirror, owning his parts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As painful and scary and hard as this work is, it is also the work of Healing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have seen the ends of our individually frayed ropes begin to heal, as we each pulled apart layer after layer of our own experiences to get down to the core. I have never been more proud of myself, or Ben, than when we are working this way. We have allowed one another to see each other in our most vulnerable places, and a love I never could have imagined has grown from seeing each other like this. As individuals, we watched ourselves begin to Rebuild, and we were each other's cheerleaders and best support system. Once the two pieces of our marriage had begun healing, we then needed to work on the sum of our parts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So when it came to that crossroads a few months ago, looking at him in our dimly lit kitchen around 2 am, I chose to let him see me again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As much as I want to be that perfect wife, I know I never will be, because I am not perfect. As much as he wants to be that perfect husband, he knows he will not be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But that night we laid our offerings of who we actually ARE, on the sacrificial table of marriage, again. With our strengths, weaknesses, hopes, needs, and love for ourselves and each other. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We promised during our 13th year, it was no longer the time for rebuilding ourselves individually, it is now the time for Rebuilding Our Marriage. We have talked about what that looks like for each of us, with an understanding that it will take time. As quickly as the Crumbling appears to happen--it doesn't, not really. It's something that is slowly picked apart and chipped at, until finally a cornerstone has been worn thin enough to fall, taking the entire structure with it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rebuilding is a process of picking up one piece at a time, with the hope there will now be extra support built in surrounding it now, after we know better, after the individual Healing has taken place. It takes patience, and heavy lifting at times, and always--that constant self-check of fear and needs and individual vulnerability and honesty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some may read this and think it might be a depressing Happy Anniversary! post. But I feel the complete opposite. I am so proud of us, and of our marriage. Weaker people and weaker love would not have been able to even get to this point. We are still here together, after the dust has settled, picking up our pieces and Rebuilding. We are still laughing and holding hands, and looking at each other with a newfound admiration and strength in our love that did not exist before the Crumbling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thirteen years of being married to this incredibly strong, good man. Thirteen years of being the one he comes home to. Thirteen years of feeling his warmth on the other side of the bed, of wrapping his arms around mine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love you, Ben Strader. Ours is a courageous Love Story. And I'm so grateful we have chosen each other all over again. Here's to our 13th year. </span></div>
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-90304732428982550302015-09-04T21:03:00.000-07:002015-09-05T08:51:47.705-07:00The Unseen Disability, and The Hike.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifV81ZlnMDvcXn2eMOv-9Zg9F1272p45jZqCLMpq_JGt6wCoccC1N2NJr-sZvo30bdpMmeC96914WJftLtgkKxKa9BsiqEDU9MpRqQ9tXf_icOPP0WGAIzbD8uXstBu11lGzuEg3U_PI1p/s1600/calebandclaire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifV81ZlnMDvcXn2eMOv-9Zg9F1272p45jZqCLMpq_JGt6wCoccC1N2NJr-sZvo30bdpMmeC96914WJftLtgkKxKa9BsiqEDU9MpRqQ9tXf_icOPP0WGAIzbD8uXstBu11lGzuEg3U_PI1p/s640/calebandclaire.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"To believe I walk alone</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Is a lie that I’ve been told</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">So let your heart hold fast</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">For this soon shall pass</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">Like the high tide takes the sand</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">At the bitter end</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">Salt and liquid blend</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">From the corner of my eye</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">All the miles wrecked</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">Every broken step</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">Always searching always blind</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Never fear, No Never fear</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">So let your heart hold fast</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white;">For this soon shall pass</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There's another hill ahead"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">--Let Your Heart Hold Fast</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last year, on an overcast but warm afternoon in February, the front door of the Grey House swung open, then closed with more force than usual. Caleb was home from school. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Hey buddy, how was the hike?"</i> I asked. Today was the 4th grade hike he'd been looking forward to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"It was HARD. I'm never going hiking again!"</i> he replied, with a lot of emotion behind his words. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"What happened?"</i> I asked, but wasn't too worried. Caleb is an emotional kid, and sometimes just needs to get the big emotions out by venting, then can see through them a little more clearly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"It just was hard, and I hated it. And I'm never going again!"</i> he repeated, yelling this time. I asked a couple more questions but he still didn't open up, so I dropped the subject and moved on. Today was Leah's 6th birthday, and we were going to go out to celebrate. I asked Caleb to get his homework done and clean his room, then get ready to go to the restaurant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Normally he would react well to going to his favorite place to eat, it would be a motivator to get him to stay on task and move quickly. Not today. His foul mood continued and affected anyone who crossed his path. He complained with the small things I asked him to do, he purposely looked for ways to bug his sisters, and he wasn't just teasing Leah--he was picking on her and criticizing her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Each time he did, I stopped him, telling him to change his behavior or earn a consequence. When he continued, I pulled him aside, reminding him of how he had treated Leah last year on her birthday. He had been so kind to her, and so thoughtful and fun, and it had meant the world to her. I asked him to try harder to remember this is the one day a year that's just for her. I also asked him if anything else was wrong--did something happen with his friends? Did he do poorly on his spelling test? Was he tired? He said "No" to all of these. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the past when Caleb has treated her this way, we've been able to trace it back to an experience that's recently happened that has made him feel really insecure or embarrassed. He takes those insecurities out on her until we can get to the root of the problem and talk about what is really bugging him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Okay, well I'm here to talk with you if you want me to. But if you don't want to that's fine, but we do not deserve to be treated the way you're treating us. If there isn't anything else wrong then your behavior needs to change. Now."</i> I said firmly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We all got in the van and drove to the restaurant. While we were being seated, Caleb refused to sit by Leah, saying she always had to sit next to him. The look on Leah's face was enough, she was devastated. I gave him the stink eye and told him with a low voice to sit down and knock it off. He stayed quiet, but inched over to the edge of his chair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We ordered our food and while waiting for it, began the tradition we have on birthdays, to go around the table and everyone says what they love about the person we're celebrating. We went around, and then it came time for Caleb's turn. He gave a half-hearted, generic answer, and wouldn't look at Leah when he said it. I watched him inch away from her again. That was IT.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ben was talking with the girls when I leaned over the table and with my voice two octaves lower than normal said,</span><br />
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<i>"One more thing, Caleb. If you do or say <b>one</b> more unkind thing to your sister on her birthday, you and I are taking Dad's car and you're going home to bed. I have been as patient as I can be. If this weren't her birthday, I would not feel so upset right now. But she does NOT deserve this and you are not stopping. When you act this way and can't control it, you're telling me you're too tired and you just need to go to bed."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He looked at me from across the table, and his face just crumpled. Tears spilled onto his cheeks and he began to sob. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Buddy, come here,"</i> I said with my voice softened. He walked around the table and stood next to me. <i>"What is it? Please tell me, I'm here for you."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then it all came tumbling out, in between sobs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"The hike was so hard, Mom. SO hard. My legs ached and kept shaking so hard that I kept falling, and my group left me--the only one that stayed with me was the mom of one of the kids, because she felt bad for me. I was so slow, I could barely make it. I was the last kid up the mountain. By the time I got to where we were supposed to eat lunch, everyone was already eating and most of them were finished. I was so tired and wanted to turn around but I couldn't. I fell over and over again, even wearing my good shoes. It was so embarrassing, and I felt so stupid and slow."</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My heart broke. As he cried, I did too. I hugged him tightly, saying,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Oh Caleb, I am so sorry and am so glad you told me. I had no idea. I don't know why your group didn't stay with you, and I wish they had. But more than anything? I am SO proud of you. So, so proud.</i> (I could barely speak because I was crying so hard at this point.) <i>The other kids don't know what it feels like to be in your body, with your muscles. They don't know what it takes for you to make it up that mountain. But I do, and your dad does. We know the tightness of your muscles that makes it so much more difficult, and that your legs tremble when they're working hard. We know how far you've come, and how you have to work twice as hard to keep up with others</i>. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The thing is? You don't look different. And while that's a blessing most days, today made things more lonely for you. If you had crutches, or a wheelchair, or were still wearing the orthotic casts you used to have to wear, people would know, because they would be able to see the difference. And I'm guessing that if the kids in your group knew, then they would have stayed with you.</span></i><br />
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<i>But the fact that you didn't quit--that you finished, you got up to the top of that mountain and you made it all the way back down, it proves again to me just how strong you are on the inside, regardless of your body's strength on the outside. You did it, without the help of anyone. Just you and God, getting up that mountain together. </i></span><br />
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<i>I know today feels like it was an awful day </i>(Caleb nodding his head fiercely), <i>but I have a feeling that you're going to look back on this day as one that was a turning point for you. One where you can feel proud of not quitting, regardless of how hard it was. You have yet again made me feel so grateful, and lucky, and blessed, and proud to be YOUR mom."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I held him while he cried for another minute, then calmed down. The rest of the night he was back to his normal happy self and treated Leah amazing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Watching his tears fall in the restaurant, I found myself in a strange place as a mother of a kid with an almost unseen disability. For over two full years, Caleb's disability was obvious. But once he learned to walk and his seizures stopped, he just kept moving forward. He's on the small side still, but unless you look closely or know what you're looking for, you can't see his struggle. Physical therapists spot it right away and ask, but other than that, most are surprised to find out he has Cerebral Palsy. I have been amazed at how his body has grown, and how he has compensated from his earlier days. I've been grateful he hasn't had to live life in casts, or with his walker. But with this hike, I realized I was almost wishing he <i>did</i> look different, and stand out in some way, so others would know and be more sensitive to it. Then I caught myself--what kind of a mother wishes for their kid to have more challenges than they already do?? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After we were home and the kids were in bed, I told Ben about Caleb's hike. As I told him, I could feel the Mama Bear in me rising. I had purposely written on Caleb's consent form for the hike that he has CP--even though his teacher already knew that, I wanted to give her a reminder. I wrote that he tired easily and had less endurance than the other kids his age. Why didn't she give him a hiking buddy? Why wasn't there more supervision over the groups staying together? Why didn't they start out with the slowest kids in the front, like they do in Boy Scouts? I wanted to protect him from feeling the way he had that day, but I couldn't--it had already happened. So getting angry seemed to be the best secondary option. I wanted to write her an email that night, giving her my very strong opinion of disapproval at the way my son had been treated. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">From the time we first knew something was wrong with Caleb, I worried about moments just like this one. I did not know how I could bear having him hurt, or made fun of, or left behind. I wanted to protect him from any heartache. A few years ago, I realized </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">that if I did protect him from all of it, I was holding him back from the opportunity to grow. I knew</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> the best thing I could do for him was to let him fall and teach him how to get back up, and support him by being there for him, loving him, and teaching him how to love himself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I believe every moment--good and bad--is a teaching opportunity when it comes to my kids. And I know my son. He was born with a fire in his belly, a big fun personality, and a spirited, competitive side. He was also born with a body that has set limits on what he can do, so his spirit and his body are in a constant state of battle with each other. The problem is, he's so competitive with himself that when there is a physical feat standing in his way, he just wants to avoid it all together. If he can't physically be where he pictures in his mind he should be, or if he's set up to compete one-on-one against someone bigger/stronger, he doesn't want to try. We have been through this many times.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If he's on a team, he'll go for it because the spotlight isn't on him. But if he could potentially fail on his own, or look slow or weak--then he digs his feet in and refuses to budge. Ben and I have had to learn how to navigate this. We are still learning. We want to work within his limits and be sensitive to them, while also pushing him to just do the best he can do and not give up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn't send the email. Instead I decided to sit with all of this for a couple of days and see how I felt after the weekend was over. The more I thought about this hike, the more important I felt mine and Ben's reaction to it was. We could either make this a big Victim moment for Caleb, or a big Victory moment. If I really believed the words I had told him--how proud I was of him, then I wanted to focus on that. I wanted this hike to be known as a victory. The Mama Bear inside calmed down, and my anger and protectiveness melted away. I did want to mention it to his teacher, but more to help her be aware of what had happened, so that maybe they could do things differently for next year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We've talked about the hike, since that day. We focus on the getting up part, not the falling. We focus on the finish line, not the part where he was left by his peers who didn't know what he was experiencing. We focus on the courage it takes to keep going, one foot in front of the other up the mountain, driven by this God-given gift of his big personality that pushes his tight, but weak muscles to move forward. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And every dang time I talk to him about it, I cry. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am so grateful I get to be this amazing boy's mom, and watch him learn how to pick himself back up, focus on the victories, and keep going.</span><br />
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<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-60762901226611396252015-08-09T22:25:00.001-07:002015-08-10T10:40:58.774-07:00Finding the Magic again.<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxwDuL5Ti4M5b3Q75SgMuODc0TwkPrY52sN8xQSs8KNbdJjrZewmSEjZjfjRGvswRyHYD281nyPM7ugCnRVhWavbUaZ05pAgzf9a9iO6ovYBwLwiJaW2_hla5qK7OmM9ew78-2eGwJqzn/s640/blogger-image-2091127408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSxwDuL5Ti4M5b3Q75SgMuODc0TwkPrY52sN8xQSs8KNbdJjrZewmSEjZjfjRGvswRyHYD281nyPM7ugCnRVhWavbUaZ05pAgzf9a9iO6ovYBwLwiJaW2_hla5qK7OmM9ew78-2eGwJqzn/s640/blogger-image-2091127408.jpg" width="640"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Leaving:</span><br>
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In the early hours of tomorrow morning, Ben will leave for field training. For the next 3 weeks he will be gone Monday-Friday, jumping out of helicopters, crawling through trenches, getting tear gassed, shooting guns, and other exciting and really tough things, and will come home Saturday's and Sunday's.</span><br>
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We're all feeling a little sad because not only will we miss him, but this is the first year he won't be there for the kids' first day of school. That may not be a big deal for some, but it is for us--we recognize we're still living in the years our kids WANT us to be there with them their first day, and we know this won't last forever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.........</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A Gift:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our daughter Leah was born with the Gift of Making Everything Magic. From the time she was a baby, she could entertain herself with the most simple things like a piece of paper, or a rubber band, or her own fingers because she would see them with eyes that turned them into butterflies, fairies and dolphins. This is what I love most about her, yet some days I worry. I know too well the world can be a harsh place for those who see things not as they are, but as what they can become. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know, because I was born with this Gift too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">........</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">An Ugly side of me: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As a young girl, I was an optimist. I remember feeling happy almost all of the time. I loved easily, sang and danced my way through my days, was surrounded by friends, lost myself inside of a book, laughed a lot, and lived in my imagination. I believed the world was full of Good and Beauty, and I believed I was going to become someone amazing when I grew up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Little by little, I began to change. Vividly traumatic moments, cruel words, lies, hypocrisy, anger, and volatile tempers taught me to bury this Gift, replacing it with Fear into my world. I tried to hold on and trust in the Good, but with each passing year, as the circumstances remained and continually broke pieces of my optimistic heart, this became more and more difficult. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I became an anxious, insecure, and wary version of myself, but kept these things hidden. I could no longer sing or dance in front of others on my own, I had to have the safety of a group. I hated the spotlight being on me, I was too insecure to stand in it. The friends I had I believed deserved better than me, so I worked to become someone who could make them laugh, so at least I could contribute something. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My anxiety and low self worth exhibited itself as not setting goals I felt I was not good enough to achieve. I felt comfortable in allowing myself to sit in the path of least resistance when it came to academics, dating, jobs, and plans for college. I no longer dreamed big dreams for myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I longed for affection, but was taught and grew to believe that anyone who showed me attention only did because they wanted something from me, and would take advantage of my easily trusting heart. So, I trained myself to stop searching for love built from respect, and allowed myself to fit this role, to be used for another's purposes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I formed an outer shell called Prepare For The Worst. This became my protection from pain, contention, and the Dark parts of the world I had come to understand too closely. This shell served as the way I separated from the Darkness and did not allow it to drown me. If I was prepared for it, it could not hurt, or disappoint me. This is what I told myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then, I met Ben. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, I re-met him, after we had grown up and out of high school and all of the shallow facades we live in during that time. I re-met him during a time we were both Searching. For ourselves, for something real, for some way to be who we had been born to be--who we had protected inside for so long with the Shells we created to survive. I came to realize he had seen even more Darkness than me, and was shocked at this knowledge because for me, he was Sunshine. He had a Light that had somehow survived all he had been through, and when I was with him, it was contagious. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It took time, but eventually my Prepare For The Worst shell began to crack, as time and again through our dating and married life, I've found that Light can not only survive Darkness, it can overcome, and shine through it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I have worked to find myself again. Habits are hard to break though, and I have stumbled and fallen backwards in my climb. But I have found my footing, and not stopped climbing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It has been tricky at times. The shell that once protected me was no longer needed, but I knew there was no going back to my naive childhood. I had to find a balance of a thicker skin while keeping a soft heart, of seeing through the broken pieces of others, while still being wise to not let their broken pieces take me down with them. And lately I've been really working on a balance of using common sense and knowledge of the World and its Dark and Ugly, combined with an adult-sized Faith and optimism that regardless of any circumstances, God and I make a great team. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As a wife and mother and individual, I am still working. Right now I really want that optimism back, that Gift I pushed down and buried so long ago in order to protect it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've been thinking about this, as I've been preparing for Ben to be gone. I feel like emotionally that protective shell is trying to return, out of fear. New situations always add a piece of overwhelming for me, and since everything right now falls into that category in my life (finding doctors, babysitters, registering for new schools, meeting new neighbors, making new friends, finding my way/getting lost basically everywhere), I can feel the need to protect, to pre-stress, to worry, and to walk myself through the worst case scenarios while he's away sitting on the edges of my thoughts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Protect, protect, protect. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some form of protection is good, healthy, and necessary. My form though, causes me to isolate and build walls. To not let people in, to not emotionally connect. To not be my best real, vulnerable self. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't want this. Not for me, not for my kids, not for Ben, not for our lives. I may never be the carefree child I used to be, but I still have that Gift--I still believe in the Magic. I'm surrounded by it every day, when I'm out of my shell and looking for it, I always find it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so, for the next 3 weeks while he is gone, I will be looking for Magic and documenting it. Even on the hard or overwhelming days--especially on those. I don't want the time that I have with the family I've helped create and absolutely adore, to go to waste in the land of fear, guilt, stressing, and insecurity. I've given too many of my good years over to those anyway, they don't deserve an extra three weeks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because honestly, Life really is such a beautiful thing, isn't it? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's to Finding the Magic. </span></div>
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-78550313573077495952015-07-23T08:16:00.001-07:002015-09-06T13:44:10.124-07:0035. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdx-q-DJVcUAnrtMcuQjyoEMNadH9xkhP6WKEWr0jYOItaoLm3VtZ7VuVwpI4OnyYJGQsrlV5OuEzvET7S04mjjo0jB9BvLkHtzYAyieksvu0e7p_r9U3NZSVVJr9RnKEu2XVtjn7ROaBy/s1600/picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdx-q-DJVcUAnrtMcuQjyoEMNadH9xkhP6WKEWr0jYOItaoLm3VtZ7VuVwpI4OnyYJGQsrlV5OuEzvET7S04mjjo0jB9BvLkHtzYAyieksvu0e7p_r9U3NZSVVJr9RnKEu2XVtjn7ROaBy/s400/picture.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(pic credit: 3 yr old June)</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3000011444092px;">For years I struggled to find my goodness, beauty, or worth--on an intrinsic level. I did not believe I deserved good things, mostly Love that came from not having to do anything or be anyone. Love that came from just merely existing. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have worked hard to learn differently--to change habits and thought patterns I have used for years. These habits that used to feel so comfortable but ones I recognize have failed me, because they have taught me to live a life as less of a person than I could potentially become. Than who I actually AM. And though there are some days they creep back in and whisper and try to force me back down into momentarily believing I have nothing worthwhile to add to the world, overall I feel I have won--and am continuing to win--this battle. I have the choice to listen to the whispers, or I have the choice to fight. Daily I choose to fight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As an introvert, birthdays have been difficult for me. There are a lot of moments of being in the spotlight, with presents, songs, parties. But compounded with my struggle to feel my worth, my birthday was a day I wanted to avoid altogether. It was an actual celebration of ME, which challenged all of my years of internal struggle. Ben and I joked that my ideal birthday would be spent alone in a dark bedroom reading books, with zero celebration. Only I wasn't joking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today I woke up next to one of the best men I've ever known, a man who has spent the last 12 years telling me and showing me that I am beautiful and lovable. Not once has he given me a reason to question how he feels about me. I was bombarded with three kids yelling HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Begging me to find the presents they had hid around the house. I picked up a sweet, beautiful baby whose arms outstretched for mine with a big smile on her face. The love I have for my children and the love they have for me has been a reflection of God's love since the day I first held them. I went throughout my day with phone calls, texts, and messages coming through on my phone. Packages were delivered to me from friends and family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The whispers were also there today, telling me I don't deserve this love, telling me I am not worth being celebrated. Telling me to not let the actions and words to sink in. I worked hard to shut them out, to focus on the life that I have, and on who I actually AM. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am a good person. It's taken me 35 years to be able to type words that probably seem so easy for others. That's okay--they have their own struggle. This is mine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm a good person who is healing wounds created long ago. I started the healing for my children, so they could be taught a different way. For my husband, who deserved a better wife than I felt I was. For all of the people who had to interact with a girl who apologized too much, felt guilty too often, whose actions were mostly made out of fear of not being accepted and liked. A girl who could not let their love sink all the way in. But as I worked, and began to patch myself back together, my perspective changed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My focus is no longer on them, to make myself better so I can be better for them--I am here for me. I am fighting for me, I am healing for me, I am working for me. The relationships in my life will be positively affected by this change, but I am here for me. I am worth saving. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am worth celebrating. Happy birthday. </span></div>
lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-74094322326088713702015-06-28T01:36:00.000-07:002015-06-28T14:37:53.241-07:00San Antonio.<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>Hold on to me, as we go.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>As we roll down this unfamiliar road.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>And although this wave is stringing us along</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>Just know you're not alone</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>'Cause I'm gonna make this place your</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i>Home.</i></span></div>
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--"Home"</div>
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Phillip Phillips<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLcxiMFPGQhEMD9LRL4nGMk4JimC4bTvnnCzylpn1uvQE_p-MvQ4LAKoWPuhgfXmzYeEP7ycfY0N0uXoPWXDK-sqmeBtI7yd9HWB70Y7STnpdZj0QulMad1JqxlK5GuZoZUOMyAQXT5CT/s1600/house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLcxiMFPGQhEMD9LRL4nGMk4JimC4bTvnnCzylpn1uvQE_p-MvQ4LAKoWPuhgfXmzYeEP7ycfY0N0uXoPWXDK-sqmeBtI7yd9HWB70Y7STnpdZj0QulMad1JqxlK5GuZoZUOMyAQXT5CT/s640/house.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On a Tuesday morning, I pressed my nose to the glass cutout in our new front door. Cars zoomed forward, then slowed as they braked for the speed bump, right in front of our house. There was a lot of life moving around, just feet away from where I stood. For me though, the life was foreign and felt very overwhelming. I watched for a few minutes more, just like this. Nose to glass, sighing every now and then. Feeling the weight of it all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We had rolled into San Antonio in the early evening the day before. Ben, Caleb and Claire were ahead in the minivan while Leah, June and I followed in our white car. It had been a long 3 day trip full of sad goodbyes, dead car batteries, washing laundry in a hotel until 2 am, and trading off sleeping sideways on a queen-sized bed next to two extremely rowdy little sleepers. We had fun along the way though, mixed into the normal chaos. Frozen yogurt stops, swimming, and dance parties to loud music in the car. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I stared at the green trees lining the highway as we drove through our new city, trying hard to tell myself that one day this would all be familiar instead of new and somewhat intimidating. As we turned onto our new street, kids playing soccer scattered out of the way of our caravan-ing cars. <i>This is good</i>, I thought. <i> Lots of families. </i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We parked in front of our new home, and I took a picture as the three oldest kids ran up the green front yard onto our porch. Ben found the hidden key, and unlocked it. I could hear the squeals and yells of excitement as they barreled through the entryway. I picked up Claire from where she was waiting patiently in her car seat, handed her to Ben, and walked into our new home. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TA1r337R0sx9ZnOQCG_BdodB1HABYl-xSetMYwJCrsk9FHBHrGzgqjrZNl0fpeYqRHY9u-r1MdUpSxxUxV7NKxHxUpRX6RrNlwjGVe613NKsz5nj7gDPa_PI5UPoL51kn0iFo9mvSM8R/s1600/new+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TA1r337R0sx9ZnOQCG_BdodB1HABYl-xSetMYwJCrsk9FHBHrGzgqjrZNl0fpeYqRHY9u-r1MdUpSxxUxV7NKxHxUpRX6RrNlwjGVe613NKsz5nj7gDPa_PI5UPoL51kn0iFo9mvSM8R/s640/new+house.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We searched each room, noticing the size of them, the insides of the closets, the number of sinks. It had a good feeling inside of it, with a lot of space and light. We walked out on the back porch, and I smiled at all of the green facing us. There were no homes behind ours, just masses of trees so thick you couldn't see through to the other side of them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ben, Caleb and I unpacked our cars, and met neighbors who came outside to introduce themselves. Our first family meal was Chick-Fil-A, eaten at 10 pm, while sitting on the floor. Then we unrolled sleeping bags, brushed teeth, changed clothes, said a family prayer, and after finally winding down from the excitement, fell asleep. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It has now been almost 3 weeks since the first morning we woke up in our new house, and I pressed my nose to the glass on a Tuesday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Some people look at a big move to a big city as a big adventure. Ben is one of them. I am not--but I'm trying. I signed on to this move, with 100% support, knowing it would be difficult for my personality. I am a lover of comfort zones, and for the past few years have felt such an intense need for setting down roots that the knowledge we are still several more years and a couple of more moves away from that makes me want to openly weep and then crawl into a hole. And then take a big long nap. (But that last part is irrelevant--naps always sound like a great idea, to me.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The three weeks here have been nothing short of a little ridiculous. The first week, Claire got a major fever, then June started up right behind her. Soon every single one of our family was hit with some sort of a major flu bug, except for me. June and Claire had it the worst, I have never seen June this sick. Every night she would throw up from coughing, and her fever was 104 for 4 full days. We had no insurance, no money, no belongings aside from one pillow and blanket for everyone, a few toys, some clothes, a couple of towels, a T.V. and a very small amount of kitchen supplies. When June would throw up on what we had brought, we would do laundry in one of the bathroom tubs, and went without our own pillows and blankets. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The second week, we discovered a mold problem in our master bathroom. We're grateful they repaired it quickly, but this entire week was spent cooped up while waiting for them to finish. Two days ago, we found a scorpion in Caleb's room. After panicking a bit and trying to find creative ways to remove everything off of the floors we had been using as our dressers, we got a pest control company in here and bought traps. Fingers crossed the scorpions are managed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We are on week three now, still without our belongings. Luckily, Ben is finally a legit member of the army, we have insurance, our friends lent us a card table, chairs, and a couple of games, June is back to her hilarious self, we were paid a portion of our move reimbursement, we are learning to live with less, and I have finally made peace with the laundromat and the homeless "regulars" who initially terrified me. Not only that, but we've felt the love of our family and friends from far away. They have checked in on us with phone calls, and texts, sent letters or packages...and those things have meant the absolute<i> world </i>to us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This life will take some getting used to, I know. It will take a lot of pushing and stretching, again. These are the parts that are uncomfortable, but bring the most growth--when I can look back at them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In the meantime, I'm trying to stay sane in this big, empty house that I can't feel settled into yet without our pictures and curtains and furniture. I'm trying to get out and drive and find libraries and parks and fun things for our kids to do. I'm trying to not let loneliness swallow me up, and walk outside to meet neighbors and make an effort. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">San Antonio is beautiful, and the people of Texas are friendly, and I'm trying. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And it will take time. </span><br />
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-17818931201219622092015-03-14T01:55:00.001-07:002015-03-15T11:33:33.162-07:00She is God's work.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zXL90iWwKCO6pGLv1KqHMVBVfXcmg4MXd-Ms5T1h7X3sGT3FFZRJrM2D3egEY34wFxFSuaOrsahmX1HD2sHHHSniss7twZCgKq4UMfcx5xQ5rNP1B3OdU112HSiYVFFjmoU6hrDTpWh4/s1600/momandclaire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zXL90iWwKCO6pGLv1KqHMVBVfXcmg4MXd-Ms5T1h7X3sGT3FFZRJrM2D3egEY34wFxFSuaOrsahmX1HD2sHHHSniss7twZCgKq4UMfcx5xQ5rNP1B3OdU112HSiYVFFjmoU6hrDTpWh4/s1600/momandclaire.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">I don't need nobody</span></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">I don't need the weight of words to find a way</span></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">To crash on through</span></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">I don't need nobody</span></div>
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13.4399995803833px; text-align: center;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">I just need to learn the depth or doubt</span></span></div>
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of faith </span></span></span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to fall into</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="text-align: center;">"Needs"</span></span></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="text-align: center;">--Collective Soul</span></span></div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tonight I fell asleep unintentionally for 2 hours during "Friday pizza and family movie night." When I woke I felt dazed and fuzzy, unsure of where I was or what had happened, surprised I had somehow pulled a blanket on top of me without even realizing. </span></span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once the fuzziness wore off, I thanked Ben for letting me rest and putting the older kids to bed, then said goodbye to him as he left to watch a movie at a friend's house. Claire woke from her late nap, and I got her ready for her nightly bath. She looked up at me from the warm water with her serene, content smile she reserves for bath time, and diligently tried to grab the wash cloth I used to soap her up. I finished rinsing her, then wrapped her in the soft bath towel, turning her toward the mirror to the reflection of her two bright blue eyes peeking out. </span></span><br />
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>"Hi baby Claire!"</i> I said to her reflection. This time her smile was full, showing the roundness of her cheeks and dimples on each side. </span></span><br />
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I lay her down on the bed, kissing her freshly-washed, soft baby belly as she laughed a still-new-baby giggle. I rubbed the lavender-scented lotion between my hands to prevent shocking her warm skin with its cold texture, then snapped up her pajamas and wrapped her up in a blanket, holding her in my arms and feeding her as her eyes closed, her left hand gripped around my right middle finger. </span></span><br />
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After I lay my sweet baby down, I realized I had been given something I hadn't had in weeks, possibly months:</span></span><br />
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">time on my own, and energy after the kids were in bed and the house was quiet.</span></span><br />
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I immediately knew I wanted to write, and write and write some more. So many words have swirled in my head for too long and I have lost many of them. I tell myself hopefully that when life slows down, they will return. I need to believe this.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Earlier today, the words that could not stop swirling were about the curly-haired baby I had just now snuggled to sleep. One phrase over and over again came to my mind as I went throughout my day living Motherhood to its fullest--washing and feeding, holding and wiping, teaching and correcting, smiling and sighing : </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>I used to be afraid of her. </i> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">The first time this thought came, it shocked me, and I tried to reject it. <i>No I didn't,</i> I argued. <i>How could I think that? What does that even <b>mean</b>?</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Last year when I had gone back to group therapy, I learned more about myself--outer layers were peeled away yet again to reveal self-discovery and insight. One thing I learned that was so fulfilling in a way I'm not sure how to describe, is that I am a Sorter. Meaning, someone who needs time to sort through thoughts and emotions. I put a lot of pressure on myself to immediately know things--either the <i>right</i> thing to say, or the way I'm <i>supposed</i> to feel, and in the past I have lived untrue to myself because of it. This is why small talk with strangers can be anxiety-provoking, or public speaking makes me want to run away and hide and my insecurities flare up in a very real way. This is also why writing is so good for me, why it brings so much peace. Writing helps me sort. It's a way I take care of my emotions and needs, and can let go and just <i>be</i>.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">The point is this: today that thought of being afraid of Claire came, and even though I wanted to reject it, I felt instead that I needed to sit with it, giving myself time to sort. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">So I dragged laundry baskets full of dirty clothes close to the washer, and sifted through lights and darks as I let the thought settle. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>Afraid of her? Of that extremely easy-going, happy, chunky baby? </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>Yes. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>But why? </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I turned on the washer, watching the water fall over the clothes. I filled the plastic cup with the liquid deep-blue soap and slowly poured it into the gushing water.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And then the realization came:<i> Because I was terrified of being needed by another human being.</i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I was already so overwhelmed with the needs of 3 children and a husband in grad school and full-time work, my own part-time job, relationships with family members, friends, time-consuming church callings, etc. I felt stretched thin, barely making life work as it was and was terrified that another child would take away my ability to be the mother/wife/friend/sister/daughter/church member that I wanted to be. I didn't know how to give more than I already was, how to let go more than I already had.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Last January, I had made a silent promise to myself for the year of 2014. I promised myself it would be the year for Me. That may sound selfish, but I knew this was not a selfish promise. I have lived the majority of my life for others--taking care of their needs and emotions before I would take care of, or even before I could recognize, my own. Though I actually really <i>like</i> this care-taking side I was born with, I have known for a long time that it's out of balance. This was the year I wanted to really push and work on that. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Going back to therapy was the first step, something I had been wanting to do for over a year and had held back so that Ben could go. I had learned so much and had loved therapy the first time, I felt ready for more. (I<a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2011/09/what-i-have-learned-in-therapy.html" target="_blank"> <b>wrote about it here.</b></a>)</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"> I was ready to jump in and eager to work again. Once I knew we could financially afford it, I signed myself back up, this time with a new therapist I had wanted to work with for years. She is gifted and a pusher, and I knew I was ready, for the challenge and desire to learn more. To stretch myself emotionally in new ways and become even more vulnerable and insightful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Physically I was also putting my body and health in the forefront of 2014. I had been working on a lifelong sugar addiction, as well as emotional eating, and it was showing. I was exercising for no other reason than the intention of showing my body love and care. I was also working on a huge issue I have regarding Body Shame and had set some pretty scary, but life-altering goals for myself.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Spiritually I was in a more real place with God, and there were moments in the months before my pregnancy that I felt I had been given the ability to see and feel things that created peace inside of my religion where before I had been unsettled. I also was beginning to see not just who I am with God, but the potential I have as a human being. Because of my emotional and physical work, spiritually I was starting to truly get a glimpse of what my purpose might be. Doesn't that sound big? It felt big. Not boast-y though, in fact it felt the opposite. It felt humbling and overwhelming and amazing.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">When I found out in early March that I was pregnant, I had been digging in to all of this, and was excited to see what was going to come from this work, and where I would be at the end of 2014. The positive pregnancy test sent me reeling.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I don't consider myself an angry person, in fact, anger is an emotion I struggle to allow myself to feel. But I can say that for around 9 weeks, the only emotion I could focus on when it came to this pregnancy was anger. I was angry that I was being shown that yet again, I was not in control of when or if I choose to have more children, no matter how much I try to prevent it and be in control of it. I was angry that I was pregnant when I didn't want to be, but was close with several who want to be, and who could not be. I was angry that I was so sick. I was angry that I was so tired. I was angry that I could no longer give emotionally or physically what I had been to my life. I was angry that my goals for the year were derailed. I was angry that my body and my emotions were not my normal, and would not be for at least another 18 months. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">And I was angry that I felt angry. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">After about 9 weeks, I decided I had enough of the anger, reminding myself that I had choices--I always do. Keeping my pregnancy is a choice, and one I was making, so I needed to accept the choice and stop wallowing in anger. Also I knew that anger is a secondary emotion, meaning one that masks the real emotion underneath, and one people can become easily stuck in. Anger is falsely empowering, and easily victim-creating. I needed now to let go of it so I could become un-stuck and figure out what was underneath it. I talked about it with Ben, and in therapy, and with a couple of people close to me. Through talking it out and sorting the emotions, I realized I was actually very scared. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Which brings me to today, watching the suds and bubbles of the laundry soap rise as the water continued to fall, thinking back to the time before having four children was my new normal. Before Claire was the baby I now adore and can't believe I'm lucky enough to get to be her mother. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Yes, I was afraid of her. Not <i>her</i>, but the idea of her. I worried I wouldn't be able to be the mom I wanted to be to my other kids with a fourth child to care for. I worried my marriage would again take a backseat to a miserable pregnancy and the newborn stage of life. And I worried about the goals I had set, to prioritize myself in a way I had never before would disappear. I was scared I was going to revert backwards from the progress I had been making. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">But the truth is this. I was starting this pregnancy in a better emotional, physical and spiritual place than I had been in any of my previous pregnancies. I think God was prepping me for what was to come, and the blessings that would be given to us during that time and when we were on the other side of the trials that year. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">That pregnancy rocked my world--and not in a good way. My body literally shut down on me, making the smallest daily task feel insurmountable. Our life was chaos last year. Job loss, another move, external family issues, time-consuming church callings, Ben finishing his last classes then scrambling to finish his dissertation, then both Ben and I working two jobs each to try to cover financial strain, along with his traveling the last two months of the year.....</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">The goals I had set for myself in 2014 were not accomplished the way I had imagined or hoped them to be, but that doesn't mean I didn't accomplish anything. I can look back now and see the way I was molded and pushed and stretched-- p</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">hysically, emotionally, spiritually--just not in the ways I had anticipated. F</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">ar more than my limited perspective could have ever planned. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">I closed the lid of the washing machine and heard the swishing of the water and the clothes as I shut the laundry room door and wondered to myself, </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><i>Maybe the work I really needed to do was to allow God's will over my own, yet again? </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">I walked over to where Claire had been sitting in her swing, contently sucking on her fingers and picked her up and kissed her soft,edible cheeks. As I talked to her and told her how much I love her, a thought came:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><i>She is God's work, in me. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">And with that realization, I kissed her once more, and took a picture. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"> </span>lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-17574503663104898072014-12-27T13:40:00.000-08:002014-12-28T21:30:46.289-08:0012.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #fafafc; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">I've been around the world but never in my wildest dreams</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fafafc; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Would I come running home to you</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fafafc; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">I've told a million lies</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fafafc; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">But now I tell a single truth</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fafafc; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">There's you in everything I do</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fafafc; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">--Imagine Dragons</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafc; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">"Bet My Life"</span></div>
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<i>"Are you happy?" </i> he asked me tonight, and it caught me by surprise. I paused, which he took as a bad sign--but it wasn't, I was just reflecting. I was thinking about happiness, and my definition of it, seriously considering whether the current state of our lives, and the current state of myself, fit within the realm that I judged the word 'happy.'<br />
<br />
I had been staring at sweet, sleeping baby Claire when he asked me this question, listening intently to her breathe. She is 5 weeks old now and has come down with her first illness, and I had been debating all day whether or not to take her into the doctor. I'm not in a good place when my small babies are sick, it brings up old feelings of fear that I have to work hard to fight my way out of. Luckily her breathing was soft and quiet, clear of the mucus-filled cackles I had been concerned of earlier. <br />
<br />
I looked up at him, sitting across the room, running his hands through the thick hair he had been begging me to cut for weeks. The glow of the lamp next to him cast a soft light on his brown eyes.<br />
<br />
<i>"You know, I was thinking about our life this week,"</i> I began, <i>"and how I'm really not a very romantic person. I don't need flowers and gifts and big romantic gestures, though those are nice every now and then. But what I am, is a sentimental person. When I step out of my daily life for a few moments, and pretend I'm someone outside of our home, peering in the window and watching us, my perception changes. When I look back through pictures and think of our memories, I'm overcome with emotion. I remember when I was younger, picturing what I wanted--writing a list of things most important to the least. On the top of that list was being married to a good man, and the next one was being a mother to a lot of kids. I know when I wrote that list, I had no idea what marriage would be like, and knew even less what motherhood would be like. I was so naive, back then. But I'm no longer naive. Marriage and motherhood can be incredibly hard, and most of the time I'm so caught up in the tantrums of our children, what I'm making for dinner, or the never-ending laundry piles, or the constant compromise and teamwork that marriage requires, that I forget to step back and peek into our windows. Right now, I am living my own dream, with you being the good man you are, and these four incredibly beautiful, amazing children. So yes, I am happy."</i><br />
<br />
He nodded and sat quietly, soaking in the words I had spoken. Then came the next question.<br />
<br />
<i>"Will you still love me in 10 years?</i>" This was another that I took time to consider. It wasn't because I wondered whether or not I would still love him, because I easily knew the answer to that. I was taking time to remember <i>why</i> I love him now, and how there could not be doubt of the knowledge of my love for him continuing through my life, well past 10 more years. <br />
<br />
Memories of us flashed through my mind. There were so many--of us at our best moments, and of us at our worst--but one was more vivid than all of the others.<br />
<br />
5 weeks ago, I was in the middle of the most painful labor I had ever experienced. I had been dilated to a 9 for four hours, but the baby would not drop down into the birth canal because my water hadn't broken yet and was so big that the baby couldn't move past it. My midwife was concerned--if they broke my water and the baby's head came down first, I was okay. But if the umbilical cord came first, I would immediately have an emergency C section. So they waited, and adjusted my positions, hoping it would help either move the baby or break the water. <br />
<br />
In the meantime I could feel every contraction, and my back was in such excruciating pain that there were moments I couldn't focus on anything else except the blackness of it. I cried and tried to breathe, and visualize the baby moving down, but each time the contraction started up again, the blackness returned. I felt like I would lose my mind to the pain, and honestly came to the point where I was convinced I would die within it. The only thing that brought me back from the dark that threatened to consume me was the feeling of Ben's hand gripping mine, and the sound of his voice:<br />
<br />
<i>"Okay, here's another one....this one is really big, but you're almost at the top of it....okay, you're at the top, you'll start to go down soon.....breathe, keep breathing, you can do this.....okay! You did it, you're going back down now.....you're almost there....you did it. (a few moments later) Alright, here comes another one--I know, I know, it's okay.....It's okay, you can do this, you can do this, keep breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, okay you're climbing to the top......</i>"<br />
<br />
He could not take the pain from me, but he was there inside of it, with me. I focused on his voice and his hand, and fought the waves of blackness.<br />
<br />
As I thought of this memory, it was symbolic to me of our 12 years together--through all of the mountains we have had to climb, we have been each other's constant. Our voices offering laughter until we cried, words of love and support, sometimes frustration, but continuing to see the best in each other. Our hands gripping tightly, holding on as we faced some of our best accomplishments and biggest demons. Together we have been the one temporal thing that has stayed the same through the darkness and the light.<br />
<br />
I tried to picture replacing his voice with another's, his hand with someone else's, and could not do it. I knew I loved him now, more than I ever had, and that in 10 years my love for him would hold another decade of memories and depth. <br />
<br />
<i>"Yes, of course I will love you in 10 years. You are not only what I hoped to find, you are more. I love you, Ben." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I love you, too,</i>" he replied. <br />
<br />
We stared for a few minutes at the newest miracle we had created together, watching her tiny chest rise and fall. With God as our guide, we had come through another year. <br />
<br />
And I knew we would continue through many more. lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-56530874547497870672014-11-22T20:37:00.001-08:002014-11-22T20:37:43.861-08:00Introducing....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Claire Edith Strader</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #60636d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 13.9636354446411px;">Birth story to follow, for now here are</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #60636d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 13.9636354446411px;">pictures from Claire's first 24 hours.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #60636d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 13.9636354446411px;">We love you, baby girl! Happy Birth Day.</span></span></div>
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-58339360962004661702014-10-15T10:30:00.000-07:002014-10-15T14:22:38.436-07:00Water balloons.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(What my pregnancy feet look like at 9 am, and then at 9 pm.) </div>
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<br />
Every morning when I wake up, I have little to no use of my right hand. The nights bring a continual loss of circulation in my fingers stretching all the way up to my elbow, and by the time I rise, my fingers are so stiff and swollen and in pain that I have no grip or ability to hold even a knife to butter toast for my children. <br />
<br />
I can no longer style Leah's hair--which completely thwarts her plans to look as much like the Fancy Nancy book character as possible. She cries as she begs for a bun or a braid, and I apologize that the best I can do right now is a haphazard ponytail, or to brush through it and clip in a flower or place a headband. I allow her to work through her 5 year old emotion without feeling guilty, because I know I'm doing the best I can. Some mornings I'm more patient with her emotions than others.<br />
<br />
At breakfast, I gag down my liquid iron and wait the 30 minutes required before eating while I prepare a protein smoothie and toast for my kids. I now allow them--once they're completely ready for school--to watch a morning show while they eat, because it diverts their attention to something aside from each other to bother and screech at. <br />
<br />
I try to find something acceptable to wear in public, though I really don't care much what others think. By "acceptable," my standards have lowered extremely, and the most I do is brush my teeth, put on my contacts, deoderant, and grab my sunglasses. Because of the constant loss of circulation in my right hand, I save makeup-wearing days for Sunday. And because showers cause severe swelling in my feet, I save showering for just before bedtime.<br />
<br />
By this time, the iron has settled in, and my stomach lurches but I know the only way to get through it is to force down food to absorb it. So I do. And take some deep breaths to keep the food down.<br />
<br />
Their backpacks are on and we figure out whose turn it is to pray, as we fold our arms. Then we are out the door. <br />
<br />
My morning routine used to be coming home with June after dropping off the older kids and letting her watch her favorite movie "Bolt," while I lay next to her on the couch. But that has become a luxury now instead of routine, due to an increase in visits to the doctor or specialist.<br />
<br />
This morning, I packed snacks and a drink as well as our ipad (in case of 3 yr old tantrum emergencies) and drove the 20 minutes with June to my consultation with the hematologist. Usually we are quickly seen, but this morning the clock ticked loudly as the minutes dragged on. June ate one snack after another--her string cheese, applesauce, crackers and fruit snacks--while she chatted with me and stared at those coming in an out of the waiting room while we stayed put. <br />
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I was feeling particularly sorry for myself, staring down at my feet which had begun to seriously swell during the 38 minutes we had been waiting. I was feeling apprehensive about this appointment, nervous about the outcome of my current blood draw and iron count, because I had heard the results of them over the phone the day before, and gagging down the liquid iron twice a day had not seemed to make much difference. I was disappointed at the outcome, because there had been days where the iron had made me so sick I had to make sure I was close to a bathroom for the majority of the morning. I had changed my diet to include iron-rich foods instead of the carbs I adore so much. I endured the weeks of stomach discomfort because of a purpose, and now it all seemed to have been for nothing. <br />
<br />
I knew this would mean taking more extreme measures, and just the thought of the options discussed at a previous appointment made my forehead break out into a sweat and a wave of nausea overcome me. I tried to distract my discouraged and nervous thoughts. <br />
<br />
Looking up, I noticed a beautiful woman and her good-looking husband walk through the swinging glass doors. June noticed her as well. She checked in at the front desk, and they settled into a seat across from ours. I guessed she was maybe 10 years older than me, wearing grey skinny jeans, a cute sweater, sparkling earrings, her makeup flawless. She carried a soft, tan and white, chevron-patterned blanket and a large water bottle. She wore a stylish grey hat that matched her jeans. <br />
<br />
Underneath the hat, she was bald. <br />
<br />
The hematologist I see works at the Cancer Institute, and the majority of those surrounding us in the waiting room were those who were in different stages of illness and treatment. But there was something about this lovely woman, whose swollen cheeks from her medication did not match the rest of her thin body. She did not carry the air of defeat so many others I watched seemed to. <br />
<br />
June continued to stare at her, and I wondered if she was going to blurt out something in 3-year-old fashion about her hair being gone, but instead she said loudly,<br />
<br />
"<i>Momma, that pretty lady is so very firsty,</i>" meaning <i>thirsty</i>, as she watched the woman take another drink from her pale pink water bottle. <br />
<br />
The woman turned to us and smiled, waving at June. June shyly tucked her head behind my arm, but lifted up a small hand to wave back to her. She giggled as she hid, so I asked her what she thought of the pretty lady's earrings. <br />
<br />
"<i>Oh yes, I love hers earrings. She's so fashion, Mom</i>!" And she peeked around my arm for another glance at her new friend, who continued to smile at us. She asked June her name, and a few other questions, and June replied to them from behind my arm, peeking around and smiling as she answered.<br />
<br />
Just then, the nurse opened the door and called my name. I gathered up our belongings and reached for June's hand. She shyly waved goodbye to the woman in the waiting room, and softly said, <i>"Bye, friend,"</i> as we walked around the chairs. I told her I hoped she would have a good day, and she waved goodbye to us. <br />
<br />
The hematologist delivered the news I had been anticipating--iron infusions would begin in two weeks. Because of a couple of seriously bad experiences with having my blood drawn, I have an extreme aversion to needles and especially IV's, and I gulped as I heard the appointments would take 30 minutes to an hour each time, depending on "how difficult it was to find a good vein." I knew my veins are not ideal, and thoughts raced as to what "finding a good vein" might entail. <br />
<br />
But the face of the woman in the waiting room came to my mind, and I remembered her reason for being there. That could be me someday, waiting for the appointment to have a chemo infusion instead of iron, praying that the medicine that would make me so sick and exhausted would fight the enemy inside of my own body that was threatening to take my life. Right now, my story is so much easier than hers. <br />
<br />
This doesn't mean right now isn't hard, it is. And it has been. I have become a "bare minimum mom," one who yells across the house because the thought of walking on my water-ballooned swollen feet from the kitchen to the bedroom feels like too much of an effort, the one who has fallen behind on helping my kindergartner keep up with her extremely easy homework, because after lunch I am so desperate to lay down that I push quiet time and nap time as quickly as I can instead of taking that time with her. Baths are skipped, clean laundry piles up, crumbs stay on the floors. Our nights are a scheduled routine that doesn't leave much time for doing anything fun, and usually end with me laying between the girls on their bunkbed so their nightly shenanigans will end quicker. I crave peace and quiet and rest, and feel like that's what has been motivating most of my actions and emotions lately. <br />
<br />
Perspective is something that I continually search for in my life--not to invalidate my own struggles, but as a reminder to allow them, but not wallow in them. <br />
<br />
I rushed from my appointment to pick up Leah from kindergarten, then walked into our home to get lunch ready. I thought about the woman from the waiting room the entire time as I served strawberries, cheese and turkey to my girls. I gingerly walked on swollen feet into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. The speckles on my forehead and around my eyes from the weird "pregnancy mask" that has shown up this time used to bother me. Now I stared at those speckles and told myself they will fade soon enough, and to stop focusing so much on what doesn't matter, so I could use my energy to focus on what does. I have hair that isn't falling out, and a body that is not at war with itself, but is instead giving everything it has (especially all of its iron) to grow a new life.<br />
<br />
And that is a beautiful, miraculous gift.<br />
<br />
This pregnancy is a season, and though it is wearing a times, and I have had to lean on others to do things I am normally capable of doing on my own, it is one I am strong enough to get through. Water ballooned feet and all.<br />
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-6227853501394075302014-09-26T22:39:00.001-07:002014-09-26T22:43:04.371-07:00When men should have bangs--Confronting Anemia--and Naked Windows. (Or, a small and somewhat meaningless update.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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{the morning after we moved.}</div>
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<br />
I am supposed to be working, while watching one of the two shows I actually sit down for during the week. <br />
<br />
No, this isn't true. I'm <i>supposed</i> to be cutting Ben's hair, which he has been asking me to do for about two weeks now--but he fell asleep on the lower bunk where Leah and June sleep together (vertically, in their full-sized bunk bed) while trying to get June to <i>"calm down and stop pretending to karate chop her Curious George blankie."</i> Those were my words, not his, that I said to June right before Ben switched me places and I came out to the family room to settle my swollen feet on the ottoman next to the couch to begin my nightly computer work.<br />
<br />
However, he fell asleep, so I don't feel guilty that the haircut isn't happening for yet another night. Besides, I really like his hair long, when it begins to curl. This is something we've disagreed about for going on 12 years of marriage, and I will admit there have been times when I've avoided those haircuts as long as I possibly can so I can enjoy one more day looking at the dark curls that grow. <i>"Men should not have <b>bangs!</b>"</i> Has been his motto. Sometimes I agree with this--but in his case, I do not.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I sat down to work and instead began reading blogs and started wondering if there would be a time when my words would come back to me to write again....it has been a long, long time. I miss this side of me. So, I decided to just begin.<br />
<br />
The months that have passed so quickly have provided our family with a lot of twists and turns. Caleb turned 9, June turned 3, I turned 34, Ben turned 35, we went to Utah to visit family, Ben found a new job, we made it through another stifling Arizona summer, the older two kids began school, Ben passed his dissertation defense, and....we have unexpectedly moved (again).<br />
<br />
I'm attempting to gain the attitude of expecting the unexpected with our lives, because that is the way it continues to go--thinking that the element of shock and stress and surprise will leave and I can roll with it better. Or this is my hope.<br />
<br />
I could tell I was in a funk when we had been in the house for 3 weeks and not one picture or curtain had been hung yet. Not one! This is unheard of, for me. I worried I was depressed, honestly. Or just avoiding the unpacking because I'm anticipating another move in our future and leaving everything ready to go at a moment's notice. It turns out neither of these was true.<br />
<br />
About 3 weeks ago, at the doctor's office for my glucose pregnancy blood test (so extremely un-fun), I was told I have a severe case of pregnancy-induced anemia. How it was caused is unsure and something the midwife/doctor team is still puzzled about, referring me to a hematologist to double-check things next week. In the mean time, I have been put on a high dose of iron and have been informed to take this matter seriously. <br />
<br />
Week one and two of my iron dose seemed relatively the same, but last week--something clicked. The iron pumping through my system started working and I began to feel human again. I no longer had to come home from dropping the older two kids off at school and beg June to watch a movie so I could lay like a zombie on the couch or sleep until it was time to pick up Leah from half-day kindergarten. I no longer lived on Tylenol or Excedrine (the one without aspirin) because of the constant and persistent headache I had been enduring for almost 4 months. The room no longer spun each time I stood up. I no longer had bouts of time (sometimes up to 20 minutes or more) where I struggled to breathe and my heart could not slow down.<br />
<br />
And, I began hanging pictures on the walls.<br />
<br />
I'm now answering phone calls, scheduling play dates, making dinner, and occasionally taking my kids to the park. Every day no longer feels like I'm crawling my way through it, but actually getting up and walking through, with possibly a small spring in that step, even. May not sound like a big deal for some, but unfortunately just existing day to day had become my story before the iron supplement.<br />
<br />
Though I'm not grateful for the overly and intentionally sweetened glucose drink I had to consume that day in the doctor's office, I am grateful this anemia was discovered through that glucose test, and handled so I can come back to life just before this fourth baby enters our world.<br />
<br />
Our new home is beginning to feel like us. Curtains still need to be hung though. Why do windows look <i>so naked</i> to me without them?? We will get there.<br />
<br />
For now, I will settle with finally writing something, and getting to look at Ben's curly bangs one day longer than planned.<br />
<br />
Also? This is me, just after drinking that nasty sugary drink, before the iron supplement began, at 29 weeks along. Anyone in the mood for a cupcake?<br />
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<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-45075581909497394032014-07-03T00:14:00.000-07:002014-07-03T21:17:18.055-07:00Halfway.<br />
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Today I lay against the crinkly tissue, which wrinkled and ripped each time I moved--even when the only movement I made was to crane my neck around to the left and steal glimpses of my children watching the screen above us glowing its fluorescent purple. It was the first ultrasound they have been to, and will most likely be the last. <br />
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We were shown the brain, the eyes, the nose with the sinus cavities, the ears, the abdomen, the bladder, ten fingers and ten toes that continued to wiggle and wave as the probe pushed down against the cold, clear jelly on my stomach.<br />
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"The baby isth sthooooo cute!" Leah lisped with excitement, her hands clasped together.<br />
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"Dat baby looks like it's gonna eat dat shark," June explained, trying to make sense of the images before her.<br />
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"Is it a boy or a girl?" was the only thing Caleb continued to ask, until the technician finally answered.<br />
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Girl!<br />
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I watched Caleb's face crumple as he brought his knees up to his chest and buried his head down. Ben reached over and wrapped him in his arms.<br />
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"It's okay to be sad, Bud," I said gently, attempting to comfort him while he was out of my arm's reach. The technician's eyes widened and shifted from my face over to Caleb's tears and I quietly explained, "We knew this would be hard for him, he's wanted a little brother for so long. The good news is, wanting a little brother has never stopped him from loving his little sisters." <br />
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"He's not the first one to cry, it's usually the mom though," was her upbeat response.<br />
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We continued the rest of the anatomical exam with a more subdued mood than we had begun, but it was still miraculous to see. There were so many parts and pieces working, dependent upon each other to connect and form together. The femur bones, the four heart chambers, the umbilical cord, the curved spine. I stared at her perfect little profile and tried to visualize the movements on the screen happening inside of me at the same moment.<br />
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I have admittedly been one who stays emotionally unattached--or mentally unattached?-- during my pregnancies, which used to bother me. I've wondered why I was not the type of woman to talk directly to my unborn child, or sing to them, or read them stories, or be able to associate my protruding stomach to a little baby <i>actually alive</i> inside of me, like I have heard so many do.<br />
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I've stopped being concerned with trying to be someone other than who I am, because the moment my child is placed in my arms the overwhelming love is so immediate, so thickly bound, that it feels like the missing piece of a puzzle I have been working on for 10 months is finally put in place. My brain can suddenly compute and accept the reality of growing another little human, and the disconnected time during pregnancy washes away.<br />
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One thing that <i>does</i> connect me during pregnancy, is to decide on a name. And I have, both a first and a middle name, one that jumped out at me a couple of months ago, and I haven't let go of since. It is a sweet, peaceful name with the middle one also belonging to two women of strength in my life. Ben isn't completely convinced yet, and this is the first time out of four that we haven't easily agreed, settling as soon as we heard the gender.<br />
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When the ultrasound was over, I met my midwife. I've always wanted to work with a midwife, and was excited to hear at my last doctor's appointment that our insurance covered them, so I made the switch. We spoke of what the next few months together looked like, and as she spoke, I felt a familiar feeling creep to the surface of my emotions--one I am currently digging through in therapy to continue to overcome. <br />
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Fear. <br />
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More specifically, Fear of my own abilities and strength. I have barreled through many other Fears the past few years, and yet somehow as the midwife spoke, I recognized this Fear as one of the most deeply-buried, intrinsically ingrained of all of them. Working through this one will reach out and cause a shift, changing other areas of my life, I can sense it. These next few months will be interesting--that I know--and if I can meet the hurdles I for see ahead with faith in God and my abilities, they may also become one of the most challenging and rewarding of my entire life. <br />
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My little family went to lunch together after the appointment, all five of us sitting in a rounded booth. The girls passed the ultrasound pictures back and forth, and Caleb cheered up over his pasta and mandarin oranges. I found myself wondering how the dynamics of another girl will alter what we have in this moment, and could tell Ben was contemplating the same.<br />
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I am almost 20 weeks along, and feel that Halfway is very much a metaphor of my life right now. There are so many things unsettled, unfinished, unknown, waiting on one thing or another, still in Forming Mode. <br />
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Ben's need for full-time work that will make enough to support us continues, his dissertation is set to be finished (<i>finished!</i> I can hardly understand this concept! ) and defended by August 20th, our house may be sold while we are renting it, beginning any time after August we could be handed a slip of paper and told to find somewhere new, Ben will begin the application for interviews again in October, and---if all goes well--leave again for the majority of December and January while I do my best to juggle a newborn and three tiny people without the support of family close by.<br />
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The unknown of all of this can feel suffocating and terrifying, if I let it.<br />
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Like the tiny body parts I watched on the screen today, these pieces of our lives are dependent upon each other in order to grow, systematically working together to create what will become Our Future. Ben and I are doing our best to hang on, trying not to stress over <i>how</i> it will all come together. <br />
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We are trusting the process we are in, trying to believe in our own abilities and strength, waiting patiently while Halfway continues to develop, in both our lives and with our baby.<br />
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<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-39045865198472850442014-05-26T00:12:00.000-07:002014-05-26T00:12:20.008-07:00crawling out.It feels as if the last almost-four months has been dedicated to sleeping, or laying down wishing I was sleeping. Also simultaneously wishing my olfactory system no longer worked so I wasn't constantly fighting the feeling of an impending vomit session. I have really come to believe my highly advanced sense of smell needs to take much of the credit for the non-stop nauseousness as it kicks into overdrive when pregnancy arrives. Why do I blame my nose? Because around week 12, I was hit with a nasty sinus infection that lasted a total of around five days. At that same time, I was tricked into believing the nausea was finally coming to an end. I couldn't breathe properly whenever I lay down, but I didn't care. I stuffed tissues up my nose and reveled in the glorious idea I was feeling human again. Until the sinus infection was over, and suddenly it returned. It was a mean little trick to play on me, as I felt swept back under into the darkness of exhaustion and nausea that doesn't care if it's morning, afternoon, evening, or waking me in the middle of my sleep as the sun began to rise.<br />
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I am slowly crawling out though, with one or two good days each week now. It isn't consistent, and I can't figure out what causes the temporary relief, but have learned to just take each day as it comes. {Otherwise I've been found to spend them feeling sorry for myself on those hard days of sickness, asking overly-dramatic and obnoxious questions like, <i>Will this everrrrrrrr ennnnnnnddddd????</i>}<br />
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In spite of feeling as though I've lived in a cave, life has carried on. <br />
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Before I was sick, there was Valentine's Day:<br />
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Beautiful, imaginative, emotional, soft-hearted, constantly singing and dancing Leah turned 5:<br />
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We took a real family vacation, with Andrea and her family!</div>
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Ben finished his FINAL, LAST EVER class, and celebrated with a nap on the stairs:</div>
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I took a quick trip to Vegas and Utah for a siblings weekend:</div>
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Then the sickness hit, and the next thing I could remember was my sister and her family visited over Easter weekend. I was so sick and felt so badly I could barely get out of bed, but did manage one night to get a babysitter, go out to a fancy dinner and REALLY celebrate their company and the end of doctoral classes:</div>
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Preschool graduation:</div>
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Mother's Day:</div>
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Our awesome, energetic Caleb turned 9:</div>
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Then finished 3rd grade:</div>
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And those are the highlights! </div>
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Ben has been the champion of champions while I've basically checked out of life,</div>
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only putting on makeup maybe once per week, and emerging from the house about the same. </div>
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Before he started his new job, he took on kid-duty, grocery shopping,</div>
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laundry and cleaning. Those were a couple of weeks I barely remember, but am so grateful for, </div>
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because I'm sure he remembers them. </div>
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Now he's working in a new job and is gone several nights a week again,</div>
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and I say a lot of prayers and honestly? The kids watch a lot of t.v. </div>
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I'm hoping I'm getting to the end of it though. First trimesters are rough, what else can I say?</div>
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<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-54949427000811458742014-05-09T17:23:00.001-07:002014-05-14T22:53:31.735-07:00Motherhood, take 4.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>“Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did - that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that - a parent's heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.” </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/27399.Debra_Ginsberg" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Debra Ginsberg</a></b></span></div>
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this Mother's day weekend, </div>
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i'm focusing again on the choice and privilege i have of being their mom,</div>
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all four of them. </div>
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due november 27th,</div>
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we're trying to wrap our brains around</div>
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how one more member of this family will change us.</div>
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and can't wait to find out!</div>
lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-87977458248335664952014-03-28T09:11:00.000-07:002014-03-28T09:22:28.208-07:00living in a Moment.<br />
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Yesterday's late March afternoon was unusual for the simple fact that Ben was home. Most weekdays, it's rare when we are in the same place at the same time before 10 pm.<br />
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The girls were playing in the toy room, and I could hear their squeals and screeches as the ponies in their hands danced and jumped. They had purposely dressed themselves alike today, in matching grey t-shirts and poofy skirts. In between fighting, they have become very good friends.<br />
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I found myself laying stomach-down on the white comforter of our master bed, only feet away from Caleb who was sitting at the desk finishing homework. In between helping answer his questions, I was reading a sentence here and there, desperately trying to finish the book I had started over the weekend while I was away on vacation. I was determined to finish it--the pile on my night stand of half-read novels was getting too high. Besides, I had been swallowed up by the characters and couldn't leave them until I knew what happened in the end.<br />
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It was right as I read the sentence when one of the characters in the book died, that Ben joined me on the bed, laying down the same way so the sides of our arms were touching. He was texting a friend who needed advice about a car their family was buying. <br />
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Though I was engrossed in my book, I felt my senses becoming aware of my surroundings--something I usually tune out when enveloped in words on the page. I heard the soft whirring of the ceiling fan, the light scratching of Caleb's pencil on his paper, the tick-tick-ticking of Ben's phone as he replied in text, and the girls' sometimes shrill but happy noises. I felt the comfort of skin from my arm touching Ben's, and became aware I had absentmindedly hooked one of my feet around his, bouncing it up and down on the bed as I was reading. I saw the afternoon sun coming through our bedroom window, softly enhancing shapes and shadows.<br />
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As my senses heightened to the moment I was living in, I remembered words from a television show I had once heard,<br />
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<i>"You know how people talk about the Good Ole' Days? I wish you could <b>know </b>they were the Good Ole' Days when you were actually <b>in</b> them."</i><br />
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I closed my book, laying still, focusing. I thought of taking a picture so I wouldn't forget what was happening, but didn't want to disturb anything. Instead I climbed on top of Ben, resting my head on his back, my cheek against his shoulder blade, wrapping my arms around him so they were in-between his chest and the bed.<br />
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I knew I had been caught up in the story of the dying character, but as I clung to Ben I faced the thought that one day I would not have the opportunity to wrap my arms around him, or help Caleb with his homework, or listen to my girls happily imagine. <br />
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<i>"Well this is nice, what is this for?"</i> Ben asked about my sudden change in position. <br />
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<i>"This life, that we've created together,"</i> I began, and stopped because I could feel emotion welling inside of me. <i>"We just have a really good life, and I'm grateful for it." </i><br />
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I lay there quietly for a few minutes, letting the beauty of our right now consume me. And then Caleb finished his homework, and the girls chased each other into our bedroom, and life began moving forward again. <br />
<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-26533298014529283152014-03-26T10:40:00.003-07:002014-03-28T09:23:13.990-07:00swinging and bending, part 7: the Book.<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: 16.363636016845703px;">
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<b style="line-height: 16.363636016845703px;"><i style="line-height: 16.363636016845703px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b style="line-height: 16.363636016845703px;"><i style="line-height: 16.363636016845703px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 23px;">Read the first part of this story, </span></i><span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 16.363636016845703px; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 23px;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2012/11/swinging-and-bending-part-1.html" style="color: #bb5421; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here</a>.</span> </i></span></span></b><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 16.363636016845703px; text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 23px;"><i><b>the second part, </b></i></span></span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 23px; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #b45f06;"><a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2013/04/swinging-and-bending-part-2-gathering.html" style="color: #bb5421; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here.</a></span></b></i></div>
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<i style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 23px; text-align: center;"><b>the third part, </b></i><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 23px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2013/05/swinging-and-bending-part-3-carrying.html" style="color: #bb5421; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><b>here</b></a><b>.</b></span></i></div>
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<b style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: normal;"><i>the fourth part, </i></b><b style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: normal;"><i><a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2013/05/swinging-and-bending-part-4-breaking.html" style="color: #bb5421; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.63636302947998px; line-height: normal;"><i>and the fifth part, <a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2013/08/swinging-and-bending-part-5-friendship.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #b45f06;">here</span></a>.</i></b></div>
<b><i><span style="background-color: white;">and the sixth part, <a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2013/09/swinging-and-bending-part-6-tempest-of.html"><span style="color: #b45f06;">here.</span></a></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>THE ALL-GOOD CHILD:</b></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>"Perhaps the most devastating psychic conflict the all-good child experiences is inauthenticity--feeling as if those who perceive her as good or competent are mistaken.</b> </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The all-good child is the parentified child--trained to parent the parent. All-good children are typically obedient and loyal, and may function as little therapists in their families. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All-good children repress awareness of their true feelings and, consequently, are likely to suffer from depression and anxiety. Because they are preoccupied with the emotional state of others, they have difficulty experiencing pleasure. Although they are acutely perceptive, they lack insight into their own psyche, and may be unaware of subtle depression. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They.....may feel undeserving of a good life. They feel as though they have already been given too much, and do not feel entitled to having more. They may compulsively provide for others what they need for themselves.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Consequently, the all-good child is susceptible to emotional depletion because of the compulsive approval-seeking behavior. They can feel overwhelmed with responsibility for caring for others, yet not deserving of being cared for themselves. They have difficulty articulating their feelings and needs, and are extremely uncomfortable with recognition and attention.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In adult relationships, they are often overcommitted and emotionally preoccupied because they fear disappointing others. They simply cannot say no. Minor mistakes can trigger a catastrophic plunge in self-esteem, and internalized anxiety prevents them from enjoying their accomplishments. The emotional energy of the all-good child is heavily invested in avoiding mistakes that could shatter the foundation of the self.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If it were possible to x-ray the self of the all-good child, one might find a porcelain soul with tiny fractures. Although outwardly appearing uninjured, a child with a fractured soul lives with an inner sense of fragility. All-good children suffer silently, unable to articulate the source of their pain that is too deep and too old to identify. Although a fractured soul cannot fully mend, the all-good child learns to protect it from further injury. Defenses such as denial, repression, and sublimation keep awareness of their pain at bay. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While all-good children need therapy as much as the no-good children, they are unlikely to seek treatment."</span></i><br />
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Late one night, in the summer of 2008, I shuddered as I read these words. <br />
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I knew this "All-Good Child" well. She had blonde hair, blueish/green eyes and dimples. She laughed easily and rarely cried. She was there whenever anyone needed help, but could not ask for support because she could not even recognize her own needs. She hated being on stage, or celebrating her birthday, or being the new girl, or announcing pregnancies--anything that put her in the center of attention. Her emotions were based on the emotions of those around her--if they were content, so was she. If they were sad, she was rushing to comfort, her heart breaking with theirs. If they were angry, she was afraid, and tried to pacify them with either humor or kindness. She did not know who she was as an individual, but I knew her.<br />
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She was who I looked at in the mirror every day.<br />
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I was staying at my dad and stepmom's home for a few weeks on our way from the group home in North Carolina to Arizona, where we would begin Ben's journey of doctoral school. My brother Tyler had let me borrow the Book, one he'd been recommended by a therapist he'd been seeing for a couple of years.<br />
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<i>"She said I might be able to find something that relates to my childhood, but I haven't read it yet. See what you think and let me know,"</i> he said, as he brought it to me. I wasn't sure what to expect, but started reading. In less than 48 hours I finished the Book, underlining and highlighting entire sections of it. <br />
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I called my brother. <i>"Holy crap, Ty. HOLY CRAP. Have you even started this book? I'm going to have to buy you another copy, I need to keep this one,"</i> I said over the phone. <br />
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I explained to him the Book had shaken me, in a most unexpected way. I felt at times like the author had filmed scenes from my childhood and written about them. In the Book, I read about my parents, about my siblings, about myself. I read about my grandmother. I read about who I had become as an adult, my weaknesses and strengths. I read about my marriage. I read what I would continue to struggle with as I aged, and I read that I would be the least likely of the entire group to seek therapy--because I viewed myself as a survivor of trauma and doing "just fine," instead of as someone who could not recognize my own needs and emotions due to stuffing them down for so long.<br />
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It was both validating and terrifying, to read the words of my life. Validating to know someone out there really <i>understood</i>; terrifying to realize that now that I knew, I would need to <i>do something</i> about it. I had never been to therapy before, and had attached the stigma I know so many attach to it: therapy was for people with <i>real</i> problems, who are a <i>mess</i>, who can't <i>cope</i>, and the list goes on. I wasn't fitting into any of those categories, yet I knew after reading this, therapy was something I needed to pursue.<br />
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This Book altered the course of my life, in many ways. It continues to alter it, for the better. Because of this Book, I was brought down a path of self-awareness that eventually helped me to find self-worth, learning to untangle my emotions and needs from those of others around me. Eventually it is what led me to seek help when my lack of ability to believe I deserved good in my life created situations that threatened to take the things I loved most away. <br />
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And when my own self worth was finally planted and I could truly feel it, I finally had the ability to help others, with similar stories, find theirs too.<br />
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The Book started me on this journey, but it took years before I could reach the end of it, an ending that led me to much closer to Peace. But there were much more difficult things I had to face first.....<br />
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lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-43979337526853193052014-03-06T08:31:00.000-08:002014-03-06T12:59:08.479-08:00scattered.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><b>It's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore</b></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><b>I am sorry</b></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><b>I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are</b></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;"><b>You make it hard</b></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></span></b></span></div>
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</span></b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other<br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Oh, babe have mercy<br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now<br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I am not dreaming<br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are<br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />You make it hard</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">--"Suite: Judy Blue Eyes"</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">Crosby, Stills & Nash</span></span></b></span></div>
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<br />
aside from ben's school, there have been other difficult things going on in the past couple of months. writing honestly? my dad is going through his second divorce. unlike my parents' divorce seven years ago, this one came as a surprise, and (also unlike the first one) was finished swiftly. i know that how it appears on the outside isn't necessarily the truth of the inside, but my brother, sister and i were very surprised--and devastated.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2013/09/swinging-and-bending-part-6-tempest-of.html" target="_blank"><b>after years of my childhood spent in an unwanted front row seat of a somewhat fractured and chaotic marriage</b></a>, i found myself ready to see both of my parents start over--beginning with a new person, hoping this time would be different. coming from a fragmented family made me peer through leery eyes as to what this new picture would look like, but i was willing to be open, and try. <br />
<br />
what i found on the other side was the gift of getting to know some new really amazing people... most importantly, my stepmom. brenda has this incredible capacity to immediately love and accept others, without judgment, question, or conditions. because of her, i was given the ability to heal pieces of my heart broken long ago, ones i thought could never be healed by another. <br />
<br />
though i understood that this decision of divorce was made with a lot of thought and prayer, to hear that she and my dad were no longer going to be together terrified me. truthfully, it still does. i don't know what a fractured-family-from-a-fractured-family looks like, and i'm worried. about my dad, about my siblings, about our relationships with those who have become a significant and important part of our lives for several years.<br />
<br />
as i was driving caleb to school this morning, a song from my childhood came on ben's classic rock station on the radio. i turned it up, yelling back to caleb, "i <b>love</b> this song!" and started singing along.<br />
<br />
immediately i was flooded with happy memories as a kid with my dad in the family car, beating his hands on the steering wheel like it was his own personal drum, belting out harmonies with a smile on his face as he sang these same words. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Something inside is telling me that I've got your secret</span><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Are you still listening?</span><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Fear is the lock and laughter the key to your heart</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: center;">And I love you</span> </span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></span>
in my memory, i could see my young father, probably around the same age as i am now. he was full of music and corny jokes, even amidst the havoc in his life. i imagine that he visualized his life in his 60's as a time of stability and calm, watching grandchildren grow as he retired and looked forward to hobbies, traveling, and family barbecues. <br />
<br />
right after we learned of the divorce, he spent a couple of weeks with us here. through him i saw such a strong desire to feel hope again that was palpable. it was difficult to know how to help or what to say. i was also working through my own complicated feelings, but because i love him and wanted to be supportive, i tried to put those on the backburner. i wanted to tell him everything was going to turn out alright for him, but i was no longer sure. i worried he would sense my hesitancy, so i hugged him and told him how much i loved him, and that he could come back whenever he needed. as i watched him drive away, i felt hollow. <br />
<br />
after dropping caleb off this morning, i sat in the car in our driveway and continued listening to the song that reminded me of my young father. the tears came, and i let them. i cried for what has happened, for all he has lost, for his present day that looks so unlike what i'm sure he had idealistically pictured his story to become, for the choices he's made in this life that require him to start over yet again. <br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: center;">Tearing yourself away from me now you are free</span><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And I am crying</span><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">This does not mean I don't love you, I do, that's forever</span><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">Yes and for always</span><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are</span><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="text-align: center;">And you make it hard</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
between this and the roller coaster of ben's school situation, the month of january shook me up, leaving me feeling separated and tossed into the wind to be scattered around. the month of february helped me find and gather my scattered pieces, and march is already helping me to patch myself back together, preparing for wherever the wind tries to carry me next. <br />
<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-56216805214646977852014-03-04T21:56:00.003-08:002014-03-05T16:20:59.261-08:00what matters most.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI50CdCoLQ_ntxr9bRgBkTAufXJYuh6wcGzGk6lnrTXowrv7QTbxia9ev0e2M06_unMjtr-uVsbRNi5w1Ui5u-B_u-HrCtk8PhzRxNEMAmUlXulOMvP6_WeNK97rx84vxed9E8VXl-OqQp/s1600/temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI50CdCoLQ_ntxr9bRgBkTAufXJYuh6wcGzGk6lnrTXowrv7QTbxia9ev0e2M06_unMjtr-uVsbRNi5w1Ui5u-B_u-HrCtk8PhzRxNEMAmUlXulOMvP6_WeNK97rx84vxed9E8VXl-OqQp/s1600/temple.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">But I will hold on hope</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And I won't let you choke</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">On the noose around your neck</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And I'll find strength in pain</span></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And I will change my ways</span></span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I'll know my name as it's called again</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
--"The Cave"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mumford & Sons</div>
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<br />
i feel like i closed my eyes to blink, and opened them to realize february has come and gone.<br />
<br />
i can finally write freely about the past few months with ben's school, because it is over. we both did the best we could, and gave it everything we had.<br />
<br />
ben's ability to match and leave on internship by this summer has been denied, the process of all of it hitting every angle it possibly could; mental, physical, emotional and even--maybe especially?-- spiritual. the hits have not all been delivered negatively however, there has been so much good we have seen and felt, and will not deny that. <br />
<br />
we are here another year in arizona, and though there was disappointment about not being where we had hoped when it came to this already-lengthy process of school, prolonging the finish line even further, i was surprised at the amount of peace i felt when the decision was finally made for us.<br />
<br />
i have learned many lessons during the past 5 years of ben's doctoral program....but i think the most important lesson for me has come in this last trial of our life in limbo for months, decisions made out of our control, then denial of our hopes, and it is this:<br />
<br />
<i><b>stop waiting for happiness.</b></i><br />
<br />
i've felt many times through grad school as if i've been enduring some sort of punishment, waiting for it to end so i can finally begin---but begin what? this is the question i've been asking myself, trying to shift the paradigm that the rest of living my life has to be put on hold. having babies, traveling, my return to school, taking up yoga, becoming more social--these were all things i've been terrified of or avoided because i was waiting for this period of our lives to be over. i was waiting for help during dinner and bath times, waiting for someone to sit next to me at monthly boy scout meetings, waiting for date nights, waiting for someone to pack up the picnic i had prepared for the day trip with the kids, waiting for someone to laugh with over late movies under blankets on saturday nights. <br />
<br />
to be honest, i've been waiting to get my husband back.<br />
<br />
a couple of years ago i realized how lost i felt without ben. it was at this same time i realized how lost ben was in school. being an introvert and marrying an extrovert had perks i hadn't understood until they were taken from me and i was left to my own devices. suddenly i found myself a shy homebody who felt trapped in her own life, sweating in the heat of arizona, caring for two kids with an unexpected third on the way, mostly flying solo in parenting, socializing, taking care of the home, and other areas. <br />
<br />
i blamed what i could for this entrapment--the stifling heat, the advisors who viewed ben having children and a wife as a liability, the full-time overnight jobs he worked, being without a car, having no family close by, our extremely limited budget, having friends who had their own lives and didn't need to be bothered....the list went on.<br />
<br />
but i learned {the hard way} that i was the cause of my own suffocating. <br />
<i><br /></i>
there are <i>always </i>options.<br />
<br />
i just continually chose not to see them. it has only been the past couple of years when i began to start viewing life differently, realizing i could be whoever i want to be, living however i want to live. even with these options before me, i purposefully chose this life, with these circumstances. there is so much good here, so much love, and so much ability to be happy that i hadn't even tapped into. this was when i started choosing happiness <i>within</i> this life, and stopped waiting.<br />
<br />
i stepped out of my comfort zone to a job that has been financially helpful, i started reaching out to others for social things regardless of whether or not ben would be there with me, i got to know a lot of babysitters in the neighborhood so i could set aside a few hours in the week--even if all i did was go grocery shopping on my own. i began more proactive and intentional parenting, and proactive and intentional time as a couple with ben. and when i felt myself emotionally carrying more than i could handle, i signed back up into group therapy for an automatic safe place to emotionally release when i needed to without unleashing my often-overwhelmed self on the three innocent little people i adore who didn't deserve it.<br />
<br />
i have no idea how long school is going to take for us to be finished with it. i have no idea if, once it's over, ben will be able to find a normal 8am-5pm job, or will have to take what's offered. and heaven forbid, what if the time away from his family is even <i>more</i> demanding than school has been?? what then? i need to know i'm going to be okay, regardless. not just okay, but happy. <br />
<br />
and the good news is, i actually <i>am</i> happy--more so than i have been in my life, ever. and more fulfilled as a mom and a wife because i'm more fulfilled as an individual. i'm not waiting anymore. <br />
<br />
so the internship not happening this year, was it disappointing? sure, it wasn't ideally what i had hoped for. i'd really love for ben to just be done with school. but was it devastating? not even close. we have a really good life inside the walls of the Pink House, even in the often stifling heat. what matters most is here. the rest of it--whether it's a doctoral certificate or all of the other outer layer things that can feel so important sometimes, those are the distractions to take my focus off-kilter.<br />
<br />
we find ourselves readjusting, once again. and although it's our third extra year of graduate school, and the finish line feels further from our reach, this time we're readjusting with smiles on our faces, looking forward to what this extra year has to offer us. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQn9eSM20o61MpVV_TYbDzlwgYRiEJ7GNFJvZzNeAYg8eO0AfI4kdGmtPniZ4CkEJHa2BRvsVovpWsOQXbR0pHVlrO_bKxyrHvmd2oJDRwdl1Qci513J27ntvayWnabdMxRoXtTeyPacd/s1600/bennyandjune.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQn9eSM20o61MpVV_TYbDzlwgYRiEJ7GNFJvZzNeAYg8eO0AfI4kdGmtPniZ4CkEJHa2BRvsVovpWsOQXbR0pHVlrO_bKxyrHvmd2oJDRwdl1Qci513J27ntvayWnabdMxRoXtTeyPacd/s1600/bennyandjune.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dwD02T2DcXNs6nMO37qIqOIHwKIa6-DVmbHq5SKl6RjP3qzflAPWiyIbi-ZplSE4vm7VMZgRoQ5z6MWYDIuPzrQDaIC5vKZgyExVcnt-XhNJRUBhi0TTKQMFINDM_nl3N1Aesk1NSSv0/s1600/crazysubs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dwD02T2DcXNs6nMO37qIqOIHwKIa6-DVmbHq5SKl6RjP3qzflAPWiyIbi-ZplSE4vm7VMZgRoQ5z6MWYDIuPzrQDaIC5vKZgyExVcnt-XhNJRUBhi0TTKQMFINDM_nl3N1Aesk1NSSv0/s1600/crazysubs.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvCdy3F1sTn446rfDlHIigVUruAAv-2LNHCMoqC4jeadONyPrPntHbb1H_aHkL86R7NqT6a631X7XY8sL5OIVJYpmJFT_kvwEbB83QkvUa7kj2Z5znLtodDV-lVK84To0IGArRJxTt1wb/s1600/family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvCdy3F1sTn446rfDlHIigVUruAAv-2LNHCMoqC4jeadONyPrPntHbb1H_aHkL86R7NqT6a631X7XY8sL5OIVJYpmJFT_kvwEbB83QkvUa7kj2Z5znLtodDV-lVK84To0IGArRJxTt1wb/s1600/family.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-70886664640291569722014-01-26T20:45:00.000-08:002014-01-26T21:25:14.801-08:00the power of words, and muffins.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDh6b5TmR4lObCbRTiEw79j_acHLuy3h6T-c0D66coS8dlZIbdB0TzCbOpCaxIxSeEH1wEutpVNIm8YgEGUzBT9VjDwJDrcd6gcVuJ9P40EYAPcU_5G3ooNXy7e52n4aIUV7SxCXc1WSr/s1600/kelly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDh6b5TmR4lObCbRTiEw79j_acHLuy3h6T-c0D66coS8dlZIbdB0TzCbOpCaxIxSeEH1wEutpVNIm8YgEGUzBT9VjDwJDrcd6gcVuJ9P40EYAPcU_5G3ooNXy7e52n4aIUV7SxCXc1WSr/s1600/kelly.jpg" height="640" width="544" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">{this is my friend kelly, who will probably kill me for posting this picture of her cleaning my house.}</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>“In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.” </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11679.Elizabeth_Gilbert" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Elizabeth Gilbert</a></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
what a difference one week can make.<br />
<br />
i don't often reach my breaking point. i'd like to believe it's because my rope has a longer tolerance than most, but unfortunately it's more likely because it's hard for me to recognize my own needs and emotions. this is something i've been changing for the past 4 years, but sometimes i fall back into old habits of pushing my needs back down and shouldering on through whatever difficulty i'm treading water in, carrying the emotions of others and answering those whose needs feel more urgent than my own. i have a tendency to shut down and isolate, and though i'm getting better with this, i'm still a work in progress.<br />
<br />
after <a href="http://benseyleb.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-awakening-of-resistance.html" target="_blank"><b>my last post</b></a>, i realized as the words flew through my fingers without stopping, they were serving two purposes:<br />
<br />
1) to update friends and family. i'm not great at talking about it unless asked-- it's a complicated situation without a clear answer yet, but i knew there were a few people wondering what was going on with ben's school situation. <br />
<br />
2) to recognize i do actually have a breaking point, and had reached it. <br />
<br />
after posting the words, i found myself wanting to take it all back--to say life is <i>fine</i>, and i am <i>fine</i>, and what's going on will be <i>fine</i>. i felt vulnerable--or embarrassed? a little? that i was weaker than i wanted to believe, or wanted others to believe. i worried i would be perceived as searching for attention, and began to minimize my feelings, questioning why i was having such a hard time with all of it, when i genuinely find so much happiness in my life.<br />
<br />
i thought about re-writing, making sure to end it wrapped up in a nice, neat package with an inspirational quote about perseverance or not giving up. because that <i>is</i> what i actually know, and who i am, most of the time.<br />
<br />
instead, i decided to let the words sit where they had been placed, and find peace inside of not always having to be fine.<br />
<br />
<i>it's okay to not have to always be okay, </i><br />
<br />
was the phrase that continually rolled through my mind on wednesday.<br />
<br />
and then,<br />
<br />
comments and texts in response to my post began showing up... extending love, kindness and validation. i read them, letting them sink in as i went throughout my day, feeling my weariness lifting.<br />
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ben was interviewing in ohio at the time, and would be driving to pennsylvania that night for another interview, not to come home for 3 more days. a friend of ours had found a family willing to let him stay in their home, which blessing came when we needed it most--checking our bank account daily with the hope of seeing a student loan deposited, and biting my nails off when each day passed without it happening.<br />
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he called me on his drive to pennsylvania, telling me of the family he stayed with, who had opened their homes as well as their hearts. he was given food that lasted him the entire day so he didn't have to spend money we didn't have. he was taken care of and had been treated as a friend instead of a stranger.<br />
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his interview in ohio had gone really well. at one point, all of those being interviewed were in the same room together, and began talking. out of the entire group, only ben and one other were married while in school, and ben was the only one with children. <i>"my wife and i have purposely waited to have kids while i'm doing my dissertation and interviewing--we're too stressed out, "</i> he was told by the other married man. ben was asked how he was surviving a doctoral program with three children and a wife, while also working for almost the entire 5 years.<br />
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<i>"i told them,"</i> ben said through the phone, <i>"it was because of my amazing wife."</i> <br />
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as he spoke those words, his voice cracked and he began to cry. and oh boy, nothing makes me cry more than when someone i love is crying. we both sniffed as he continued to tell me how grateful he is for my support and efforts in this much-longer-than-planned journey of school. i didn't know how much i needed to hear him say that, but i did. and let those words sink even further, as more weariness lifted.<br />
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the rest of the week was full of family and friends extending more love and kindness. as hard as it was, i forced myself to accept help, and by friday morning i was feeling much better emotionally, ready to handle life again. there were dishes and laundry and sweeping to be done. also? it was mid-january and my christmas tree was still up, though i had pulled the empty tubs waiting to be filled with holiday decorations out over a week ago. for some reason i had a mental block about taking it down by myself, but finding a night where both ben and i were together wasn't happening. i had decided this morning was <b>it</b>, and resolved to take it down alone.<br />
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then there was a knock on the door--my dear friend kelly, who showed up with muffins in hand. <i>"i made extra this morning and thought you might need some,"</i> she explained as she and her adorable daughter vi walked into my disorganized home. <br />
<br />
three hours later, we hugged before they walked back out. as i closed the door behind them, i turned around to see an empty and scrubbed kitchen sink, swept kitchen floor, vacuumed living room, and--most importantly--the christmas tree taken down and the holiday tubs filled, ready to be carried into the garage. we talked as we had worked together, and i realized again how important good friends are when family doesn't live close by. those three hours may not have been a big deal for her, but i felt overwhelmed with gratitude.<br />
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just then, ben called to give me details of his pennsylvania interview. as i answered i began to cry, explaining what kelly had just done for me, and all of the other kind things that had happened at the hands of others while he had been away.<br />
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once the phone call was finished, i sat down in the quiet, thinking back through the past week. i've heard those who say they cannot see God during their trials, only after they are over--only during the times when things are going smoothly or miracles are taking place can they recognize His goodness and love for them. yet our trial with ben's school was not over, not by a long shot. not much of our situation had changed at all, in fact. we know there are still mountains to climb. but by allowing myself to <i>not</i> be okay, i allowed others to love and take care of me, and i found God again, through them.<br />
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and was (and still am) so, so grateful.<br />
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thank you.<br />
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<!--3-->lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-55690015440278414812014-01-14T22:29:00.002-08:002014-01-14T23:24:52.681-08:00the awakening of resistance.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_dz7Jkg1EnmDrTaPEQBAv4VymPSilmwrYqdCvdG99zwKjhUokWYVzxf7F9_fnVhh_B5IBkUkBDSlTQRd6HD_ilkwPKm2DLqdGM0PY9fzEMNSVRc23tRuffrshxdfZNxiwtGjCPk2f6JC/s1600/ben.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_dz7Jkg1EnmDrTaPEQBAv4VymPSilmwrYqdCvdG99zwKjhUokWYVzxf7F9_fnVhh_B5IBkUkBDSlTQRd6HD_ilkwPKm2DLqdGM0PY9fzEMNSVRc23tRuffrshxdfZNxiwtGjCPk2f6JC/s640/ben.jpg" width="478" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>“Life always bursts the boundaries of formulas. Defeat may prove to have been the only path to resurrection, despite its ugliness. I take it for granted that to create a tree I condemn a seed to rot. If the first act of resistance comes too late it is doomed to defeat. But it is, nevertheless, the awakening of resistance. Life may grow from it as from a seed.” </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>― <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1020792.Antoine_de_Saint_Exup_ry" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Antoine de Saint-Exupéry</a>, <i><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2639067" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Flight to Arras</a></i></b></span></span></div>
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i've felt a little lost, all day. for so long through this ride called Graduate School, i've felt surety and seen clarity--even when ben could neither feel or hear those things himself. today is rare, when both of those things have been missing inside, and the void of them has knocked me off my normal balance. <br />
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it looks as though the Miracles he has been working so hard for are not going to come to fruition--again. if we accept what he is being told, (which we aren't being given much of an option) then we will be accepting a 3rd extra year of school. extra. on top of what is already required. and as much time as i've spent emotionally preparing myself for this possibility, because i could see us heading for it months ago, today i've finally felt a piece of what this good man has felt for a long time:<br />
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weary.<br />
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he came home tonight and we hugged, holding on like two deflated balloons trying to cling to whatever small pockets of air were left. i told him for the first time in a while, i didn't know whether he could look to me for the usual pep-talk-filled-with-affirmations i provide when he walks through the front door of the Pink House with furrowed brows and sadness in his brown eyes. i no longer felt sure of my speech--tonight i needed someone to give <i>me</i> that lift. <br />
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though we will most likely be here another year, we are learning--ben is learning-- this battle is not just about Graduate School, but is his lifelong battle of Worth. for some that battle takes place in relationships, or careers, or childhood trauma, or addictions. for him it takes place in School.<br />
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we are used to defeat, and have accepted it too easily for most of our lives. it is what we have both known for so long, in different ways. but we have been changing these past few years, building ourselves up from the rubble of defeat we once accepted, because we have seen Worth, and God, within us. this is what pushes us to keep climbing.<br />
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he began the <i>real</i> fight today, one that has the potential to turn ugly, quickly. it's against the grain of our characters to fight this way, contacting Legal Advice with the intention to take this war to the top of the chain of his school. i'm purposely withholding the details until i can say more, but just the thought of what we might be in for makes the Peacemaker within feel drained. how is it we can be tired before we've even begun? <br />
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we've considered this option in the past, but were too fearful of its repercussions, and held back. last year the theme was mine to combat Fear in my life, and this year he told me he has adopted the theme as his. and so, we're 14 days into january and that theme is being challenged. God hears you when you make these commitments to growth, did you know that? we don't get to choose how He will show up, whether in small hills or enormous mountains, but we <i>do</i> get to choose to stay committed, take risks, fight fear, awaken our resistance, trust Him--or to run. <br />
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ben is packing his suitcases right now, choosing to stay committed. i am worried for him, and proud of him.<br />
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more than anything? i'm hoping my balance returns tomorrow.<br />
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<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213499219669709454.post-44783145232286580162013-12-17T01:04:00.000-08:002013-12-17T15:18:17.526-08:00miracles on Pink House Street.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0p3TJyvm6LN9tFaxmey3BDPyzNS23XxjkNJBMnaBJacH7T62-vVVQUct0qYyrPamfLXR9pwof5fCHLFCzYKdS9W0o_hX23dacfSvGrB-vYzNRS1TeN2_Hnt0ksvy8SeCRB4_3SE0uDmb/s1600/drivingfromchurch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0p3TJyvm6LN9tFaxmey3BDPyzNS23XxjkNJBMnaBJacH7T62-vVVQUct0qYyrPamfLXR9pwof5fCHLFCzYKdS9W0o_hX23dacfSvGrB-vYzNRS1TeN2_Hnt0ksvy8SeCRB4_3SE0uDmb/s640/drivingfromchurch.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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woah, my goodness.<br />
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here it is--almost christmas...yet the high for tomorrow is predicted to be 80 degrees. 80! this afternoon i cleaned the backyard while simultaneously playing house with leah (she was the mother, i was the daughter, and Hippo played the newborn baby), and i began hosing off some of the dusty/dirty outdoor toys. i rolled up my jeans to hit just below my knees, preventing them from getting wet with the spraying water. i worked from one end of the yard to the next, throwing away broken plastic, sweeping leaves and wiping surfaces, all the while quietly cracking up as i watched leah bounce around with baby Hippo on her hip. <br />
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when i finished, i came inside to dry off my legs, and noticed i had new flip-flop tan lines. tan lines! on december 16th! i'm a girl who was born of christmases filled with frigid temperatures and falling snow, and though this will be our fifth winter in arizona, the december warmth still takes me by surprise.<br />
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we are currently working on Miracles over here, in our Pink House.<br />
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ben is scrambling to write his dissertation, with the hope he will be able to actually attend the interviews for internship he has accepted to show up for all over the country during the month of january. his adviser has (again!) told him to accept the fate of not going out on internship this year, with the very unlikely possibility of his dissertation being finished and defended by the date of january 31st, 2014. we are continuing to (again!) ignore his persistent opinion of ben's demise and push on as though it's meant to all come together. are we delusional? quite possibly. at this point, delusion is all we have.<br />
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so although he has been unemployed since the end of november, i have not seen much of him and expect to see even less with the coming weeks. <br />
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i have signed myself back up in a group therapy, have i written that yet? probably not, since i haven't written much lately. this is something i've wanted to do since the beginning of the year, and for several reasons purposely held off until october. i am back to fighting that fear again, pushing myself out of my comfort zone in many ways--and then in other ways i am so <i>comfortable</i> in this environment. i absolutely love it, surrounded by women who are digging out unhealthy while uncovering the source of its roots so they can be moved, changed. i still have roots there, more subtle and less deep than the last time i started, but they are there. i sense them when i feel discomfort or fear of vulnerability or desire to be liked. this environment helps me to sense them quicker and more often, so i can begin my own digging again. it's both exciting and terrifying, in almost equal parts.<br />
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it's come at a perfect time, when i am giving so much that monday mornings have turned into my sanctuary--what i have to count on, just for myself. i used to feel guilty about needing this. i no longer do. after what i learned the last time in group therapy, i know this will mold me to becoming a better version of myself, spilling over into all of my different roles. i know good comes from this, when my heart is open and vulnerable.<br />
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i have my theme for 2014 already picked, but i won't say it yet. it was a thought that came to me a few days ago, and once it was there, i knew that was <i>it</i>. working on eliminating fear in 2013 was a stepping stone to getting to this new one, and i can already feel the difficulty that lies ahead. but i look back at what i have learned this past year, and how free i have felt. the best part is that i can't remember a time when i <i>didn't</i> feel this way, which is surprising on its own. i used to recognize this feeling as foreign and new, and was hungry for more of it. now it is what i know--and i feel this is my own small Miracle.<br />
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the kids are doing well--leah has recovered from her tonsillectomy but unfortunately still has the sleep apnea we hoped would be cured. we'll do another sleep study in january to see where things are at with her. caleb has lost his two front teeth, and went on his first bike ride without one of us there with him. another Miracle. ben and i cried when he came home and we heard how well he did. these things that are so easy for some and a struggle for others--that's what life is all about, isn't it? recognizing them, overcoming them, crying when we return from the battle. june is fighting a beast of an illness right now, and is passing it on to us as we drop like flies one-by-one, but otherwise is her usual chattering, puppy-pretending self.<br />
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we are busy and happy and stressed and grateful. i don't love that i haven't made the time to write, because when i look back it appears i've missed so much that's important to remember. even though i'm living fully in them, when i can't look back and read about them, the hours seem to slip through my fingers as if they've never happened.<br />
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though now that i'm looking back, it seems december is like this every year, isn't it? so i guess we'll just roll up our jeans, enjoy the tan lines while we can, and keep working on Miracles. <br />
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<br />lynseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02981934198309586284noreply@blogger.com3