Sharing My Life

I married Boss right after my junior year of college and promptly dropped out of school. I remember arguing with my dad about that choice. He seemed disappointed. I cried on my bed just days before my wedding, wishing that people, my parents, the world would understand that college was not what I wanted for my life. I had (and still have) nothing against an education. I am very thankful that Boss has both of his degrees and a good job that supports our family. I just wanted something different for myself.

 I wanted only to be a mother.

Many asked what I planned on doing with my days once I left school. They wanted to know my plan. My dad wanted to know the very same thing. Not because he was controlling, simply because he was caring, though it took becoming a parent myself to understand the difference. A decade ago I was not sure what my future days would hold, but I was sure they would be good. And nine years in to my job as mother, I can assure you that my days are indeed very, very good.

Even though I am a mother of (soon to be) four children, yesterday I spent the day with just one. A rare treat. My daughters went to serve at Matthew 25 Ministries with Boss, so Jack and I had the day to ourselves.

Our day started with frozen waffles and blueberries. Minus the frozen part, it was the breakfast of champions.

With bellies full, we cuddled on the couch and watched cartoons, because there was no one there to tell us that we couldn't.

As we were snuggling Jack fell asleep, so I went with it. Back to bed, just the two of us. It was glorious. Jack slept, but I memorized. His soft hair, the suck suck of his mimink. His syrupy breath and his sticky fingers in mine. My son is perfection, and I drank him in. He may not be my baby for much longer, but he will always be my baby. You know? If you are a mother, then you know.

When he woke up, we hopped in the bathtub where my son pointed out every single flaw on my body that he could find. But I told him that some of those flaws were because of him. Love flaws, which makes them not really flaws at all. More like beautiful marks of motherhood. We played whale and duck and made soap bubbles, and when our toes turned wrinkly we got out.

And then I announced that it was time for an adventure, so off to the bookstore we went. What better place to lose ourselves than in the land of stories? We drank chocolate milk, and played with trains, and filled our minds with exciting tales about baseball and fast cars.

And I fell more in love with my son, as if that was even possible. Turns out it was.

When we were done adventuring we drove home. The rest of our family returned and life was just as it should be.

And that was my day.

I may not have made any money, and I may not have worn a trendy suit and heels, but the work I did was important. My day mattered, because my son matters, and there is nothing more rewarding than investing my days, and my time, and my life in him. In all of my children. So the world can think it strange to enjoy spending my days with small ones, and they can scoff at the mama who dropped out of school with only one year remaining, but I know in my heart that I am right where I should be. Sharing my life with the ones I love most.

YES

(here is the LINK for this project)


I love this. I really do. Another way to shine the love of Christ in a dark world. Because Christ? He offers the gift of water, too. To the woman at the well (John 4:1-26). To me. To you. But he doesn't just offer water. He offers the gift of living water, so that all who drink of it might never thirst again. And if all of us who already know what it is like to never thirst (physically or spiritually),  if we all partnered together to offer a village in need the gift of drinking water, perhaps that very village just might catch a glimpse of living water in the process? Perhaps, because of you and me, they might catch a glimpse of the very One who saves?

Can you imagine going from feeling a physical thirst on a daily basis, to your very soul never thirsting again?

It seems impossible, but that is exactly what God does. He makes the impossible possible.

Yet even still, I must confess that this is hard for me. And I hate that. I hate that mint green and coral dresses were already calling to me from the aisles at Target (silly Target, always trying to trip me up). And I hate that I actually feel like I might suffer a small bit if I don't get to buy those dresses. Because in reality, I know NOTHING of suffering! My babies are hydrated. My babies are fed. My babies will look beautiful, whether dressed in mint green and coral or not.

So why is it so hard? Why do we cling so tightly to the luxuries of this world when our brothers and sisters go without the most basic of necessities? Why is it so hard to let go, to live fully for Christ? I yearn for the day when it is not so hard for me. When living for Christ comes as naturally as breathing. So this challenge? If you are like me and struggle with the laying down of self, this might be a good place to start. Because if Easter is all about Christ, about his sacrifice and ultimately his resurrection, can't I sacrifice even something small of myself? I think I can. I know I can. And I can't wait to share this challenge with my children tomorrow morning. Our family will be joining in.

And always remember.

The point of everything is to point to God in all things.

Even in the small things, like the (not) buying of a new dress, no matter how beautiful the color of that dress might be. Because the laying down of self for a brother or sister is more beautiful than any mint green or coral dress ever could be.

When you are radically grateful for being blessed — you are radically generous to the oppressed. - Ann Voskamp

Speaking Up

(source)

It started in junior high. There were cruel classmates, a brother that left home too soon, grieved parents, and a young girl who thought it was her responsibility to hold everyone in her life together. A young girl who believed that if she could only be perfect, then everything else wouldn't fall apart.

That young girl was me.

And then there was that Lifetime movie. The one with Tracey Gold. For the Love of Nancy, I believe it was called. Did you see it? I watched as the girl on the screen lost more and more weight, and instead of seeing the pain, and the hurt, and the body destroyed, I saw only answers. If only I could be thin, then classmates would not be cruel. If only I could be thin, perhaps my brother would find me fun and come home. If only I could be thin, maybe my mom would not be so sad. And most importantly, if only I could be thin, perhaps everyone would be okay again. Including me. So I began to practice.

I practiced learning how to have an eating disorder.

Before I had reached thirteen years of age, I taught myself how to count calories, and how to measure portion sizes, and I did not allow myself to go over five grams of fat per meal. And then came the vomiting. Truthfully, that took lots of practice. It was not as easy as it appeared in the films. But I kept practicing until it became easy. And over my remaining years at home I practiced these learned behaviors and my life took on a pattern. When life was good, I ate and allowed the food to remain in my body. When life became overwhelming, I took control of the only thing I knew for certain that I could control. My body.

And then came college, and new amounts of stress, and more people and feelings that I could not control. And without parents around to notice, my eating behaviors began to completely consume me. Food consumed me, where I was going to eat, and what I was going to have. The scale consumed me, sometimes weighing myself every hour on the hour. And the extra weight went away and clumps of my hair went away. And my heart continuously raced and I was sure I was dying. And I was, if only on the inside.

I knew that I needed help, but I did not know where to find it. So I began to pray and God faithfully answered. At a retreat during my sophomore year of college, a girl stood up and bravely shared her story. She talked of the place where she had finally found healing, and I knew that I wanted to go there. I knew that I needed to go there. Because my only dreams in life were marriage and children, and if I could not learn to love me, then how could I ever love somebody else? And if I wasn't living whole, was I really even living? So I asked my parents if I could go to this place of healing that she spoke of, and seven days later I landed in Arizona. And Remuda Ranch became the place where I got a second chance.

Treatment was hard. The entire first week I cried. I cried because they made me finish my plate at every meal, and I cried because they would not tell me what I was weighing each day. I cried because I did not want to face the feelings that were behind the food, and I cried because I felt as though I had failed. The only thing I had ever wanted was to hold everyone together, but in striving for that I had torn myself apart.

But even in the darkness, God was there.

As I sat and daily read his Word, and began digging deep with my counselor, and learned how to just be, I felt him there. And I knew that this was my chance for healing. My second chance at living the life I desired to live and becoming the person I desired to become. I found healing in the friends I made at the Ranch, friends who finally understood the real me and liked me anyway. I found healing in writing out the words I could never seem to say. I found healing in learning to let go of the grip of the scale. Remuda Ranch taught me that I was more than a number, and that I did not have to be perfect to be valuable. I learned there, that while often painful, life could still be enjoyed, and that the only feelings I was responsible for were my own. And in the healing I finally found the freedom I had been looking for. Freedom to let go of the past and to move forward towards my future.

I found the freedom to be me.

A decade has passed now. I am a wife and a mama just as I always dreamed of being. Life is not perfect, but it is good. And I can honestly say that I have not restricted or purged in ten whole years. But some of the scars still remain. I still let food consume my mind if I am not careful to take captive every thought. I still struggle to be in the kitchen. I still struggle with the thought of dieting, knowing full well that there is a quick way out of the extra weight I now carry. But my biggest struggle of all is knowing how to raise my own two daughters to love themselves for who they are.

I learned many lessons in treatment that I will carry with me for a lifetime. I learned that nobody is perfect, even if they appear that way on the outside. I learned that eating disorders don't discriminate. I was in treatment with women of every shape, size, age, and background. I learned that keeping silent is the very worst thing that you can do. Whether it is silent about your own struggle and story, or silent as you watch someone you love suffer.

Several months ago I was asked to share my story with a young girl who was suffering in the hospital with Anorexia. Her mother had hoped that if she could talk to someone who had overcome, if she could see that there is beautiful life on the other side of addiction, that perhaps that would help her daughter to heal. And I really wanted to go, to sit with that girl and hold her hand. To tell her that I understood. But I didn't. I was too afraid. I was afraid that girl would look at me, would look at the shape I am now, and think if recovery brought on extra pounds then she would want none of that! I let my old fears of not being good enough return. I told myself that I needed to be perfect before I could share my story with others. So I kept silent, and I have often regretted that.

This week is National Eating Disorders Week, so I decided to speak up. I decided to share my story. It's not a perfect story with a perfect ending, but it's the story I have. The slogan for National Eating Disorders week is EVERYBODY KNOWS SOMEBODY. So in case that is true, or in case that is you, please know there is hope. Healing can be found. And with that healing comes freedom. Freedom to be the very real, beautiful you that you were meant to be.

(source)

God IS Working

(Image found HERE)

It's fitting that I recently wrote about trusting God's providence, because right after I shared those very words, our family was stretched. Our finances were stretched like never before, our faith was stretched, and even our hope was stretched a small bit. I do realize that even our greatest problems are still first world problems. When all we can see is loss, another still looks at us and sees luxury.

So even when I can't see straight for all the stretching, I can still see the blessings that abound .

And I really do believe that this stretching is for a reason. We have simply yet to see it. But that doesn't change the fact that the growing pains still hurt.

When we left the children's home last year and moved into our little cottage on Fieldcrest Lane, I thought that surely we deserved it. Deserved a nice home, more free time, more of 'us' (our family), and less of serving others. After all, we had been houseparents for nearly seven years time and we were tired! We deserved a break, right? And while I thought that our motives for leaving were good, and they mostly were, a small part of me got caught up in desiring a piece of the American Dream. And while I thought that we were being wise with our choices and our finances, and we mostly were, therein lies the problem. They were our choices and our finances. We did not include God in our decisions. At least not in the way that we should have. It was all about us, what we wanted, our dreams, and our finances. Because we deserved it. And so, we have been stretched. Stretched this year in the way that one is stretched when they try to do life on their own.

But God is faithful, and he is working, always working to draw us back to him. To set our feet on his path for our lives once more. And I told Boss last week, that even though many aspects of this past year have felt like a giant FAIL, if the only two things I do well this year are birth a beautiful new son and know God more, then the year is still a SUCCESS.

So our family is working. Working our way back to where we belong. Working on our priorities, making sure that all of our choices align with God first, family second, ALL else third. Working on our finances, asking God to show us how we can live on less in order to give away more. Working on desiring God's ways more than we desire the world's ways. Working on teaching our children the concept of less of me, more of Thee. And these lessons are hard, because they are completely opposite of all that we know.

But God is working.

We know things must once again change for our family. Life is a consistent pattern of growth. And while it is scary to lay your life before God, to ask Him to do his will, we know it is the only way. And so we lay, and we pray, and we ask God to intervene. To set our feet on the right path. And we trust, even though we can't see today how our story will end, because we know that God is working on behalf of our family. And for today, that is enough.

Making Muffins




(Image found HERE)

A decade ago, food consumed me. It didn't consume the insides of me, I would never have allowed something like that back then, but it consumed my mind, and it consumed my heart, and it consumed my days. Eventually, intervention was needed, and my parents gave me the gift of sending me away to Arizona to find help. But I found more than help in Arizona. I also found healing. And now, a decade later, I can honestly say that food no longer consumes all of me. So many other things now consume my heart and my days.... my husband, my children, my love for God, friendships, homeschooling, adventures. But my mind? Food sometimes still has a hold there. Probably more of a hold than I would care to admit. And I know it really is not about the food (trust me... I know), but since I don't care to delve into my feelings further at this time, we will go with it being about the food.

Ironically, I no longer have a problem consuming food. Want to eat out? Perfect! But kitchens? And preparing food? Well, some problems remain. And unfortunately, this has greatly challenged my role as mother. Because Boss and the children need to eat! And there is something so beautiful about the family table. About loved ones gathering around and sharing a meal together. And it's just not the same if that meal is take out. So, in my recent efforts to master all things 'mother' (I have been finding inspiration in the form of my beautiful friend), I have been tentatively working my way back in to my kitchen. I want my children to remember Mama baking goodies, and chopping fruits and veggies, and even better, I want them to be in there doing it with me. We have not had enough kitchen togetherness in this family. And it's a shame, because we have a really cute kitchen!

 

And so, my efforts began. I started with a couple of hot breakfasts last week. Kate and I made those delicious muffins pictured above on Wednesday. Add some fresh blueberries and a glass of orange juice and I had three happy children! I also tried a couple of new recipes for supper (one found HERE), and Boss was a happy husband, too. And while I won't deny that it was not a struggle for me, I can absolutely say that this journey into the kitchen will be worth it. My children thanked me for the meals we ate this week more times than I could count! And so I gave myself a pat on the back and considered it a job well done. Or a start well done. Because I still have a long way to go. But every journey must start somewhere, and my kitchen journey started with a batch of warm muffins. And I know it really is not about the muffins. It's about the time spent together, and the memories, and the atmosphere, and the love of home. It's about consuming the beautiful things of life, hungering after all that is good, and letting go of the rest. One meal, one day at a time.