I've been meaning to write all 3 of these posts for a couple of weeks. My last post got bumped by the ALS challenge post so now I'm doing a Sunday afternoon cram session and squeezing 3 things into one. Take your Ritalin. You're going to need to stay focused.
SCHOOL
Tuesday will start our 3rd week of school. So far, we haven't been asked to remove any children from school. This is an achievement for the Kubnick crew. Last year we had one stand on the lunch room table and refuse to get down.....that was the week after a teacher had to barricade the door to the classroom with her body to keep the same child from escaping (while he was giggling). I'm not kidding. But in all honesty, both Cole and David have loved the first two weeks of school.
Cole is getting to do a lot of Engineering this year in 3rd grade.......which he LOVES and insists that that love was facilitated by watching "How It's Made" on the Discovery Channel (yawn). He's in a smaller class this year (which mama LOVES) and his teacher is, just like every year since Kindergarten, super cute and young and fun. And not saying that he's checking her out, but it doesn't hurt the education process. He's making friends and learning and the best part? He's sleeping at night. Praise Jesus. Sleep and Cole Harrison are like oil and water. Exercising his body isn't enough to get him more than 5 hours in a night, but exercising his mind and the kid is out like a puppy. It's awesome.
David is in Kindergarten. Again. And he is real quick to tell alllllllllllll the other kids in his class that he's already "taken this class". His teacher said he very much realizes that he's a step ahead. And I'm okay with that. Let him be a step ahead. As long as those steps keep stepping. He has done really well so far. His teacher is the same as last year and she's, well, she's a saint. She is an incredible communicator and she has spent so much time researching David's issues and trying to find ways to help him adapt and overcome. She's awesome. And it's super awesome that David knows exactly what is expected of him in her classroom. Since last school year, Davids math skills have improved tremendously. He can add and subtract up to sums of 30 and is working on reading. He's super smart. Sometimes too smart. But nonetheless, he loves school. And that's a blessing. He, too, is EXHAUSTED by the end of the day. Most school nights he's falling asleep at dinner because the rhythm of his chewing is lulling him to sleep. It's kind of funny to watch. But we never ever laugh. Ever. Never. Hopefully, his mind and body will adjust soon........or maybe they'll just give us a homework pass because our child literally cannot stay awake to do it.
And Zella. When I left my super comfy desk job in May of last year, one of the sacrifices that we made for me to be a stay at home mom was Zella's "school". Cole was always more of a homebody. He wanted to be home with Mom and play by himself and organize his Matchbox cars by size and color for 13 hours straight. Zella is the polar opposite. She craves social interaction. She wants to talk. All the hours of all the days. Talk. She desperately missed school and engaging. And yes we did play dates and yes we saw other kids and yes she plays with her brothers when she isn't pestering them but it broke my heart every time we drove by her "school" and she would say "everyone wave to my school!!!! Mommy, I really miss my friends." SO......we made a way. Zella started back to 2 day a week pre-K the same week that the boys started school. When we were fundraising for our adoption, I started painting signs to raise money. And that kind of evolved into people ordering things from me. And that evolved into Carolina Girl Creations (check out our FB page!). Which has now blessed us enough that either Zella HAD to go to school two days a week, or I HAD to stop taking orders. Funny how when God gave us a new son, He gave us a new business to compensate for our lost income, too! He's pretty awesome how He works like that :). BUT, Zella is LOVING being back in school. 2 days a week is perfect for her and so far her proudest achievement is eating all of her lunch (if you have ever eaten a meal with Zella......this is a big deal). She tells everyone in the house "check my lunchbox! I ate it ALL!" Maybe next we can work on anything NOT related to food? She is mine though, so maybe not.
THE BEACH
Every summer, parts of our family descend on Myrtle Beach like Marines on the beaches of Normandy. And it's awesome fun. Last year we couldn't go because we were half way across the world in Ukraine. But this year, we went. And I was a nervous wreck because well, our family isn't quite the same as it was for previous trips and I can't even lie, I had no idea how things would be handled. It was a short trip. We drove up on a Saturday morning and came home on Monday afternoon. But it was a good trip. It was not without hiccups. But considering some of our current issues, the 2 out of 3 awesome days that we got, were just that. They were awesome. And I hated to leave. Because I miss my sister. More than anything I miss my sister. No matter where we are, she feels like home to me. And things have been stressful and my heart has been torn and well it's just been a hard year, and just being in the same house with her, it felt like home. A much needed 3 days of home. The kids played in the sand, and played more in the sand. I'm pretty sure that Triston buried every cousin in a hole that was half way to China. We ate and ate and ate. The kids played in the rain. We all got a little burnt. We had sand in our cracks and sand in our drinks and we didn't care a bit. We laughed. And laughed. And disciplined. And laughed. I looked out over the sand on our first day there and there were 9 kids. 9 of them. All completely different from the one playing/running/eating next to them. On the beach there were 5 moms. All of us completely unique to the children we were given. All of us with a different struggle and different triumphs. This last year has been hard because I let myself feel judged in my parenting of a child that has never been parented before. And I was reminded that day on the beach that there is no room for any of that with moms. We're all barely keeping our heads above the waves. Give that lady marching down the beach, yelling at her husband because her kids are sucking the life out of her, a break. She's no different than the one handing out umbrella shaped homemade pimento cheese sandwiches to her 3 kids in matching embroidered swimsuits. We're all the same. And just for a small taste of how different we all are........here's my favorite story of our little getaway. Because if you know our kids, you have a full visual as you read. So the surf was SUPER rough the first day on the beach (which was day 2 because it rained on day 1). The undertow was insane and we were really really cautious with the kids and their longing desire to be professional boogie boarders. (That, and I could hear Granny crying on the phone to me before we left about how much the water scares her and don't let any of her babies die). So the kids didn't spent too much time in the waves on day 2. On day 3 it was a little calmer so we let them loose and off they went. Well on Day 2, Colton had gotten stung by a jellyfish. No big deal. He's the biggest and toughest of the crew and we rubbed some mud on it and went on our way. In the back of my mind though, I knew how potentially bad this could be. We were getting ready to pack up on day 3 and start our drive home. Cole, Colton, Aubrey and Peyton were on their boogie boards (Triston.....still digging to China). And we hear Colton come up......he got stung again. And then Peyton, dragging his leg. And then Jake. And then Aubrey, limping and whimpering. And all I could think was "dear Jesus, not Cole. We will have to amputate". As the thought ran through my head,
I look down the beach and see a woman jumping out of her beach chair and running down to the waterline to what looks like a heap of convulsing skin. Cole Harrison. I ran down to get him.....more because I needed to claim my mom of the year award than anything.....thanked the nice lady that attended to my sobbing child that didn't pay attention to the current that had dragged him down the beach, and started coaching Cole through what is sure to go down in his memory bank as "the reason I will never ever ever go in the ocean ever again". Again, 4 other people, all fine. Cole, dying. There was a guy sitting next to us that had a bottle of vinegar in his bag (is that the ONLY thing I didn't bring?!!!) so Jake poured it on all the kids and off they went. Guess who talked about his vicious jellyfish sting and how vinegar smells really bad the whole 3.5 hours home? I love my Cole Harrison. Bless his heart. It was a good trip. Next year, we're staying the whole week. Let's book it.
SPIRIT FINGERS
This is the most honest part of this post. Because you know I just know I can't be the only one. But here goes. I have really really REAAAAALLLLLLYYYY (in Ace Ventura voice) been struggling in church lately. For real. I think back to the me that was in the same church a year ago and I was arms raised, sobbing, touched by the Holy Spirit during worship and Amening through every sermon and I felt like God had put the words in the pastors mouth just to deliver them specifically to me. And in the last several months, I'm just not that girl. And it's driving me CRAZY. We go to a spirit filled, Pentecostal church. This is the church that when my Southern Baptist Granny first found out we were going there she said (please insert country grandma voice), "that's the place where they throw snakes on the floor". First of all, no we don't. Second of all, for the first 3.5 years there, I was so lost in worship that if there had been snakes I wouldn't have noticed. We're a hand raising, tambourine playing church. There's people dancing and rejoicing and "THANKYA JESUS!" during worship. And I notice because growing up, in the Baptist and Presbyterian church, this was how it sounded to me......open your mouth and make a deep, monotone "uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh" sound. Now very slightly manipulate your mouth with that same tone and sing "Praise God from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below......". That's how it sounded to me. Dead. And in the last few months.....that's what I'm hearing again. I was sitting in church today and there was a person over my right shoulder that wouldn't stop clicking their pen.....click click click click.......the entire sermon. Over my left shoulder was a baby and a toddler (mind you, I have 3 kids sitting with me.....kids should NOT bother me) and all I could hear was the mom doing the gritted teeth whisper "STOP IT RIGHT NOW". There were people up and down and in and out and a cell phone ringing and kids crying all over the place and GAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! And this is every Sunday. And here's the thing, it's not the church. It's me. That burns a little. And here's where the spirit fingers happen.....
The associate pastor at our church is a BIG dude. He's probably 6'5" and about 280 (REAL sorry if those numbers are off. oops.). He's one of those people that makes you feel imposed upon in an elevator. Until he talks. I always joke when he takes a mic that I feel like I need to do a high kick and throw up spirit fingers. He is literally overflowing with enthusiasm. He talks like he's got a megaphone attached to his mouth and it's not because he's just loud it's because he's really that excited about life. He makes me tired just to watch him preach. And that's awesome. He was on stage today and he came running up there and grabbed the mic and called for an encore from the band and he was singing his heart out and meaning every word up there for the whole world to see. And I know this guy. I know some of what his family is walking through and has walked through in the last few years. And it's A LOT. He and his wife were going through their second adoption process and he was talking to us one night and was like "YEAH! WE STILL NEED TO RAISE ABOUT $20,000 BUT WE AREN'T WORRIED ABOUT IT CAUSE GOD IS GOOD, ALRIGHT!" That's all in caps because that's how he said. Expectantly. Enthusiastically. Without unloading the burden on me......because he had unloaded it on God. And I was watching him today, up there in his Clemson orange shirt (bless his heart) and I was like "that. THAT is worship. I WANT THAT." You know we all go to different churches. We pick and choose based on Biblical teaching and musical style and whether or not a preacher delivers the sermon the way we like. But when it says in Psalm 16:11 "You make known to me the path of life. In YOUR presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand there are pleasures forevermore." Fullness of joy. THAT is worship. And in Matthew 5:16 when it says "In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." THAT is worship. The let the light shine. To stop worrying about "the worship experience" and the hand raising and all of the things that we as Christians think have to go on the light shining checklist, and literally be overflowing with the fullness of joy that comes with the presence of God. THAT is worship. To me at least. And that's where I think I've died a little. Maybe where we've all died a little. That we get so wrapped up in the preaching style and the music style that we forget that we are designed to worship God, not to be entertained by Him.......regardless of whether or not we feel our church needs are met. Does everyone need to be in a church that feeds them? YES. But sometimes, the biggest problem under the steeple, is the hearts inside of all the people. Worship isn't just music. It's everything we have to give back to God. Everything. Let me clean these toilets today as a form of worship. Let me discipline my kids Biblically as a form of worship. Let me be a better person than who I was yesterday out of gratitude and worship for the ONE who loves me even if I fail in my attempt to do that today. Let me be so full of God's love that everyone around me feels like they need to throw up spirit fingers when I talk. THAT is worship. Am I saying that I won't still hear the man clicking his pen next week? No. I will definitely still hear that (for the love, man, stop with the pen). And this will take me some time. I'm cynical by nature. I'm not a pom pom girl. But my prayer is that as I learn to worship God on my own, in my own time and in my own way, that I won't be so codependent on Sunday mornings, so if I get distracted, I won't feel completely drained when I leave. My prayer is that I learn to worship enough on my own, that church becomes a supplement to the base, and no longer the base to a very neglected supplement.
Here's to your extra day off of school this week (packing lunches is the devil), a few more days spent at the beach ( I love SC weather) and spirit fingers and megaphones and poms poms for everyone.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
My ALS Challenge
I got challenged, not once, but twice in 2 days to take the ALS ice bucket challenge. And, just like all of you, my newsfeed has been clogged with challenges being accepted AND articles disputing the actual "help" in the challenge for the last 10 days or so. I've read the articles. And I've watched the challenges. There are always skeptics. And there are absolutely some of you out there that have futures in film. I have been completely entertained! And from the first one that I saw, I knew my day was coming. I've had so many thoughts about this challenge......they start somewhere around here.
Good for you, America! That we've all taken the challenge to raise a ruckus and to raise awareness and let's just be honest, to make cute videos to show to all of our Facebook friends and family AND to prove that we won't back down from a challenge. Isn't this the easy way, though? To dump a bucket of ice....AND then slink away. Will any of us really invest ourselves in ALS research? Will any of us, that haven't been directly effected by this disease, will any of us remember this challenge outside of the Facebook video? In spite of me knowing the answer to these questions, I was totally going to "man up" and dump a bucket of ice water on myself and then I read this blog.....
http://www.bostern.com/blog/2014/08/15/what-an-als-family-really-thinks-about-the-ice-bucket-challenge/
The author says about ALS, "We are in for the fight of our lives with this monster, and the very LAST thing I want is for people to give quietly, anonymously, and then slink away. Raise the roof! Raise a ruckus!". I read that line over and over again. And it was like she was talking about my life.
I think about all of the "monsters" that people face. Things completely out of anyones control. Diseases like ALS and Alzheimers and cancer. They take a slow painful toll on all parties involved and at the fault of no one. But everyone suffers. And then I think about the little boy sleeping upstairs in my house. And I think about the monster that we face every day. And I think about how HE didn't have a choice, but someone did. And he is suffering, because of someone else. And then I think about the kids all over the world....red, yellow, black and white.....that are suffering at the hands of someone else. And the monsters they face both physically, mentally and figuratively, in their present and in their future if the opportunity for healing ever presents itself. And then I thought about the people in our very own country that fight monsters every single day, by choice. These men and women signed up. They enlisted themselves to protect our honor and freedom. And they found themselves wounded, suffering and struggling. By choice. For us. Don't these people, these children, don't they deserve a ruckus? Doesn't everyone suffering deserve a ruckus much greater than an ice bucket challenge?
I believe in this challenge. I believe that as Americans we have change at our fingertips but are too lazy to tap into it. We lack passion on so many fronts. We lack commitment to causes that have nothing to offer back to us. We lack the drive to go past the ice bucket. I took this challenge, and chose to donate my money to the following charities:
http://capabeaufort.org/about-capa/mission/
http://www.nami.org/
http://www.woundedwarriorregiment.org/
These are efforts close to my heart. These are issues that have directly effected my family. These are the platforms that I will stand for in 5 years when the buckets have been packed away.
My challenge to you is to do your research. My challenge to you is to tap into what hits closest to your "home". AND RAISE A RUCKUS!!!! Advocate. Fundraise. There are people living all around you, fighting different fights. Everyone needs someone that cares. I challenge you to be more than just a Facebook video.
Good for you, America! That we've all taken the challenge to raise a ruckus and to raise awareness and let's just be honest, to make cute videos to show to all of our Facebook friends and family AND to prove that we won't back down from a challenge. Isn't this the easy way, though? To dump a bucket of ice....AND then slink away. Will any of us really invest ourselves in ALS research? Will any of us, that haven't been directly effected by this disease, will any of us remember this challenge outside of the Facebook video? In spite of me knowing the answer to these questions, I was totally going to "man up" and dump a bucket of ice water on myself and then I read this blog.....
http://www.bostern.com/blog/2014/08/15/what-an-als-family-really-thinks-about-the-ice-bucket-challenge/
The author says about ALS, "We are in for the fight of our lives with this monster, and the very LAST thing I want is for people to give quietly, anonymously, and then slink away. Raise the roof! Raise a ruckus!". I read that line over and over again. And it was like she was talking about my life.
I think about all of the "monsters" that people face. Things completely out of anyones control. Diseases like ALS and Alzheimers and cancer. They take a slow painful toll on all parties involved and at the fault of no one. But everyone suffers. And then I think about the little boy sleeping upstairs in my house. And I think about the monster that we face every day. And I think about how HE didn't have a choice, but someone did. And he is suffering, because of someone else. And then I think about the kids all over the world....red, yellow, black and white.....that are suffering at the hands of someone else. And the monsters they face both physically, mentally and figuratively, in their present and in their future if the opportunity for healing ever presents itself. And then I thought about the people in our very own country that fight monsters every single day, by choice. These men and women signed up. They enlisted themselves to protect our honor and freedom. And they found themselves wounded, suffering and struggling. By choice. For us. Don't these people, these children, don't they deserve a ruckus? Doesn't everyone suffering deserve a ruckus much greater than an ice bucket challenge?
I believe in this challenge. I believe that as Americans we have change at our fingertips but are too lazy to tap into it. We lack passion on so many fronts. We lack commitment to causes that have nothing to offer back to us. We lack the drive to go past the ice bucket. I took this challenge, and chose to donate my money to the following charities:
http://capabeaufort.org/about-capa/mission/
http://www.nami.org/
http://www.woundedwarriorregiment.org/
These are efforts close to my heart. These are issues that have directly effected my family. These are the platforms that I will stand for in 5 years when the buckets have been packed away.
My challenge to you is to do your research. My challenge to you is to tap into what hits closest to your "home". AND RAISE A RUCKUS!!!! Advocate. Fundraise. There are people living all around you, fighting different fights. Everyone needs someone that cares. I challenge you to be more than just a Facebook video.
Monday, August 11, 2014
May and Me
A few years ago, I read a book titled "The Secret Life of Bees" (if you haven't read it.....READ IT). I won't bore you by rewriting the Spark notes but there was a character in the book named "May". May had a twin sister, April, when she was younger. April was very depressed and committed suicide at a young age. And May was left to live that pain every day. She was extremely sensitive to any kind of hurt. She would read a newspaper article about something tragic or hear a sad story and she would retreat to her "wailing wall" to mourn as deeply as the families directly effected by the tragedy. She felt very real pain. Very very deeply. And it was her curse. Her burden. Her daily battle.
I remember sobbing my way through parts of this book. The storyline itself is tragic but I wasn't sobbing about the main character.....I was sobbing because I felt like May was writing my story. I didn't have a twin sister that committed suicide. I don't have a personally built "wailing wall" out back that I retreat to when my heart is heavy with hurt (though I do have a bathroom that serves quite handy for this matter). But when I let myself hurt, it hurts deep. And it is my curse. My burden. My daily battle.
As I've gotten older, I have developed self coping mechanisms and have learned to increase the inhibitors and decrease the triggers. I've learned to breathe deep- A LOT (this may also sound like sighing. Sometimes it is. I'm Southern. Can't help it.). I go to the gym. Do I want to be skinny? Ummmm...YEP! But more than anything, I want a natural release of serotonin. Do I really, really, lick my lips enjoy several glasses of wine on occasion......Fo' sho!!!! BUT.....even one glass makes me weepy and let's just be honest, NOBODY wants to open the Hoover dam in exchange for 1 glass of wine. So I most often, opt out. I don't watch movies or tv shows that will stick with me anymore. I can't put anything into my mind that doesn't filter to my heart. So, no "Chain Saw Massacre", "300", "Hatfields and McCoys" even a few scenes in the Bible series of people getting beaten and throats slashed......I can't function for days after watching something like that. (FYI.....people that think they CAN watch something and it mean NOTHING because it's "just a show"......you're all lying to yourselves.) I rarely watch the news. We can't deny that we live in an awful, sick, horrible world. If the stories aren't about horrible sins committed against children or the elderly or husbands and wives, then the stories are about the war torn countries throughout the world that are suffering at the hands of their rulers (there is 1 in particular that I feel certain is the anti-Christ). Childhood cancer and orphans and babies being killed by the millions in clinics. People hating people. In the name of hate. And it's too much for me. It's too much for someone that fights every day for joy.
Depression. I was 14 years old the first time a doctor said that word to me. I was humiliated and ashamed and wanted to hide it from the world. I made a lot of mistakes growing up with depression. I didn't do a lot of the things that I do now as means of helping myself. Am I saying that the precautions I take now have eliminated my depression? Nope. I'm saying that depression is very very real and that it's a choice I make every single day.......... To get up. To put my feet on the floor. To participate in life. To recognize when I need an emotion check. To not allow my feelings to be the rulers of my universe. To not always say I'm ok, if I'm not really okay. To talk to someone. To turn on praise and worship music. To open my Bible. To open my eyes. To breathe it in. To ask God to relieve my burden. To hide in the bathroom and cry it out. To hold my kids and let them see that I'm weak sometimes too. To look around and see that God is answering my prayers for relief, but I have to accept the help before it can actually be helpful.
So now in these last few months, my heart is so heavy. No matter how much I hide from it, I'm reading stories and seeing pictures of Christians and CHILDREN being persecuted/executed because they love God. Hundreds of girls kidnapped from their school and sold into "marriage". Entire families being executed in their homes. Wives losing their husbands, Husbands losing their wives. Children dying from cancer. Orphanages being bombed. Vehicles full of children trying to flee the bombing being shot at. Mass human graves being found. Civilian planes being shot down. How is this possible? And it's becoming unbearable. The weight. The knowledge. The inability to hide. The feeling in my stomach that tells me "you are not immune". And we aren't. We aren't immune to tragedy. Every night when I kiss my kids goodnight I kiss, and then peak, and then peak real quick again. Most nights I touch them to make sure their chests are still moving up and down. Because we are not immune. Every time Jake gets behind the wheel. Every time I leave the house with a van full of kids. Every time we go to a movie or for a routine doctors visit. Not fear. Not waiting. But knowledge. Knowledge that this life is just a vapor. Knowledge of the speed at which this life could shift from reading about tragedy, to living tragedy.
And today I read about Robin Williams committing suicide. And it reminds me all over again that this thing that so many of us fight every day is a demon. It is a relentless demon. It shows no mercy. It is both a figurative and literal darkness. I am reminded that sometimes, even people that are a light to so many, fail to see the light themselves. I used to be one of those people. Smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside. Without hope. Just like May.
Here is the difference between me and May. May would have read about Robin Williams today, she would have taken the newspaper article down to her wailing wall and stapled it there. She would have cried over him for days. Hurting. Weeping. She would have taken the photos of the children beheaded by ISIS down to the wall, and she would have walked into the river, never to walk out again, unable to bear the weight of the pain those parents must feel. The difference between me and May is hope. Hope of what is to come. Hope, as an anchor.
Revelation 21 New International Version (NIV)
6 He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. 8 But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”
And I have this hope, because I am redeemed. (2 Corinthians 5:17-18) Thank God, redeemed. I am victorious. Chosen. Adopted. (Ephesians 1:4-6).
My heart breaks daily for so many people. For their hurt. For their loneliness. But I can't fix it. Only the One can. And He hears the prayers of the brokenhearted. He makes a way, as a light in the darkness.
Praying for Christians being persecuted throughout the world tonight. And for so many that don't know what hope means.
I remember sobbing my way through parts of this book. The storyline itself is tragic but I wasn't sobbing about the main character.....I was sobbing because I felt like May was writing my story. I didn't have a twin sister that committed suicide. I don't have a personally built "wailing wall" out back that I retreat to when my heart is heavy with hurt (though I do have a bathroom that serves quite handy for this matter). But when I let myself hurt, it hurts deep. And it is my curse. My burden. My daily battle.
As I've gotten older, I have developed self coping mechanisms and have learned to increase the inhibitors and decrease the triggers. I've learned to breathe deep- A LOT (this may also sound like sighing. Sometimes it is. I'm Southern. Can't help it.). I go to the gym. Do I want to be skinny? Ummmm...YEP! But more than anything, I want a natural release of serotonin. Do I really, really, lick my lips enjoy several glasses of wine on occasion......Fo' sho!!!! BUT.....even one glass makes me weepy and let's just be honest, NOBODY wants to open the Hoover dam in exchange for 1 glass of wine. So I most often, opt out. I don't watch movies or tv shows that will stick with me anymore. I can't put anything into my mind that doesn't filter to my heart. So, no "Chain Saw Massacre", "300", "Hatfields and McCoys" even a few scenes in the Bible series of people getting beaten and throats slashed......I can't function for days after watching something like that. (FYI.....people that think they CAN watch something and it mean NOTHING because it's "just a show"......you're all lying to yourselves.) I rarely watch the news. We can't deny that we live in an awful, sick, horrible world. If the stories aren't about horrible sins committed against children or the elderly or husbands and wives, then the stories are about the war torn countries throughout the world that are suffering at the hands of their rulers (there is 1 in particular that I feel certain is the anti-Christ). Childhood cancer and orphans and babies being killed by the millions in clinics. People hating people. In the name of hate. And it's too much for me. It's too much for someone that fights every day for joy.
Depression. I was 14 years old the first time a doctor said that word to me. I was humiliated and ashamed and wanted to hide it from the world. I made a lot of mistakes growing up with depression. I didn't do a lot of the things that I do now as means of helping myself. Am I saying that the precautions I take now have eliminated my depression? Nope. I'm saying that depression is very very real and that it's a choice I make every single day.......... To get up. To put my feet on the floor. To participate in life. To recognize when I need an emotion check. To not allow my feelings to be the rulers of my universe. To not always say I'm ok, if I'm not really okay. To talk to someone. To turn on praise and worship music. To open my Bible. To open my eyes. To breathe it in. To ask God to relieve my burden. To hide in the bathroom and cry it out. To hold my kids and let them see that I'm weak sometimes too. To look around and see that God is answering my prayers for relief, but I have to accept the help before it can actually be helpful.
So now in these last few months, my heart is so heavy. No matter how much I hide from it, I'm reading stories and seeing pictures of Christians and CHILDREN being persecuted/executed because they love God. Hundreds of girls kidnapped from their school and sold into "marriage". Entire families being executed in their homes. Wives losing their husbands, Husbands losing their wives. Children dying from cancer. Orphanages being bombed. Vehicles full of children trying to flee the bombing being shot at. Mass human graves being found. Civilian planes being shot down. How is this possible? And it's becoming unbearable. The weight. The knowledge. The inability to hide. The feeling in my stomach that tells me "you are not immune". And we aren't. We aren't immune to tragedy. Every night when I kiss my kids goodnight I kiss, and then peak, and then peak real quick again. Most nights I touch them to make sure their chests are still moving up and down. Because we are not immune. Every time Jake gets behind the wheel. Every time I leave the house with a van full of kids. Every time we go to a movie or for a routine doctors visit. Not fear. Not waiting. But knowledge. Knowledge that this life is just a vapor. Knowledge of the speed at which this life could shift from reading about tragedy, to living tragedy.
And today I read about Robin Williams committing suicide. And it reminds me all over again that this thing that so many of us fight every day is a demon. It is a relentless demon. It shows no mercy. It is both a figurative and literal darkness. I am reminded that sometimes, even people that are a light to so many, fail to see the light themselves. I used to be one of those people. Smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside. Without hope. Just like May.
Here is the difference between me and May. May would have read about Robin Williams today, she would have taken the newspaper article down to her wailing wall and stapled it there. She would have cried over him for days. Hurting. Weeping. She would have taken the photos of the children beheaded by ISIS down to the wall, and she would have walked into the river, never to walk out again, unable to bear the weight of the pain those parents must feel. The difference between me and May is hope. Hope of what is to come. Hope, as an anchor.
Revelation 21 New International Version (NIV)
A New Heaven and a New Earth
21 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,”[a] for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’[b] or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
5 He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”6 He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. 8 But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”
And I have this hope, because I am redeemed. (2 Corinthians 5:17-18) Thank God, redeemed. I am victorious. Chosen. Adopted. (Ephesians 1:4-6).
My heart breaks daily for so many people. For their hurt. For their loneliness. But I can't fix it. Only the One can. And He hears the prayers of the brokenhearted. He makes a way, as a light in the darkness.
Praying for Christians being persecuted throughout the world tonight. And for so many that don't know what hope means.
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