Sitting at the Precipice

One week ago our life was normal. Normal for us, anyway. Last week my husband answers a phone call at dinner that sent our week in a tail-spin. Really nothing changed per se. The guy at the other end of the phone was calling from a respected company suggesting that my husband consider a position doing his dream job. The catch? The position would be in Winkler Manitoba.

For those who are not familiar with their Canadian geography, that would be 2000kms away. That is a big shift in the ‘dream’. I have not got anything specifically against Manitoba, short of the fact that I have had very little experience with it. That is the reason that this possibility is both exhilarating and terrifying. Thus the precipice.

On one side is the familiar. It is a free fall of living day to day. It is a constant rhythm of trusting that God will move and act, and that the people you love will respond to your need. It is a constant need. My husband and I dream of being financially independent, and of being able to make choices in life, instead of doing things, or not doing things out of a lack of resources.

On the other side is something that we did not go looking for, but appears to have landed in our lap. We are afraid to rest our hopes in it because it seems too good to be true. On the other hand we know that if this comes to be, that it is God’s handiwork. That being said - it is daunting to think of moving to an unknown area and starting fresh.

Both options are terrifying, and regardless one of them will be the outcome. Daily - hourly - possibly more - I cry out to God that I trust him. I believe that he is telling me… “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.’” (Jeremiah 29:11-13) I am seeking him, and all he has said is “Wait”. Part of me is okay with that. I have been much more patient that I thought I would. I know that whatever happens, that God will be there, and that he will faithfully provide. My anxiety is coming more from a blossoming excitement that I am afraid to let out, incase I am going ahead of God instead of following him.

I am not sure if there is a lesson in this situation, but there is certainly a test. Am I willing to live the life I intend to. Will I seek after God’s will, or charge off to carry out my own agenda? Will I let God direct my life, or try to direct it myself? I am trying. I am praying to God. I am searching the scripture for the words that he wants me to hear. So far the only words are “wait”, “trust”, and “I am in control”. So here I sit. At the precipice. Waiting to see where God will lead. Praying for the strength to do what he asks. Ready to close my eyes, fall over the edge - knowing that I will land in his arms, and soar on wings like eagles; run and not grow weary, walk and not be faint.

Easter

This Easter weekend was a bit different than some.  We did not have ham, or scalloped potatoes which bothered some people.  DS7 was away, and we always miss him.  We know that he was not taken to church today, since his Dad’s family is too busy with meals to squeeze it in…  Kind of backwards huh?  I worry about DS7 as he gets older and church is ignored by his Dad’s side during the religious celebrations…  Everyone can pray that God will speak to my DS7’s heart, and that he will choose the right path, when the other option is so closely presented to him.

As Easter is upon us, I am facing it with a different perspective as well.  I have been a Christian for a long time - since I was thirteen, but as Christ transformed me back then, I find myself looking for him to do it again.  Although the physical changes are the obvious ones, I have also been looking to Christ to transform my thinking, my habits, my motives.  I have certainly been feeling him working.  It is remarkable the little moments I have found to fellowship with God, when I felt like my days were too busy.  It is remarkable the way that I am feeling more connected to my husband, family, God,…  I know that it is just the beginning.  I need to take the excitement of those moments and turn them into action.  I believe that God will bless that action and plant more seeds in me to grow more.

This spring has been a refreshing one, and as we here in Canada slowly melt as spring comes upon us, I am feeling a huge cloud pass over me.  I am reaching for the warm sun, and doing what I can to throw off the darkness that winter brought with it.  I am so excited to watch the blooms that God is planning for me in the coming months and year.

The 'Move' to Wordpress

I was first introduced to the world of blogging by a good friend. That was good for a while, but I got tired of the day to day dribble, and soon Facebook took over that part of my life. Now what…

With a husband in school, and looking after 3 kiddies at home I found my self envious of the very thing that my husband was trying to force himself to do. Writing. I offered to write his thesis for him, but it turns out it helps to know something about the effects of temperature and moisture on nitrogen availability to write the thesis. Who knew 

I had a friend that had a Blogger blog. She loved the different writing challenges she was involved with, and loved the opportunity to write. Sounded great! I stayed for a while - never got involved, and found that it didn’t address the part of me that needed something.

One day I was looking for help in a message board. I found someone there that has already profoundly changed my life, and my main blog location…

As a girl one of my favorite books was Anne of Green Gables. In it there is a part where Anne is excited beyond belief to find a kindred spirit. That is what I feel like when it comes to my friend Birdy.

We are alike in many ways. We both love to sing (her better than I), we both love our kids, we both love our husbands, we both love the Lord, we both have had struggles with our families of origin, we both have issues with routines and organization (how we met), we both have issues with weight, and the list goes on and on. In other ways we are wildly different. She was born in a foreign country, I have never had the need for a passport. She cooks with curry, and I hate the smell of it (sorry!). She is traditional in ways that I am granola crunching, and visa versa.

Somehow, despite these things, or because of these things she has an amazing impact on me. I know that our friendship has caused a disruption in her schedules and life, and I am trying to give her space to keep her life her own. I also fall into funks when I feel like she gives me more than I give her. She hates it when I do that though. She would rather serve as encouragement than to increase my negative self-talk.

As I make my move to the WordPress community we also are embarking on an adventure together. My code name - GI Jane. 

Consistency

I have determined that the single most important quality of a parent is consistency. It comes into play all the time. consistency tames the two-year old tantrum, controls the seven-year old outbursts, and it calms the teenagers angst.

That being said, consistency is probably the least utilized tool in the parental toolbox. Why? It is HARD! It is perhaps the hardest thing for a parent to do. How do you not give in when you are standing in the department store with your toddler shrieking like you are ripping her hair out? How do you not give in to your youngster when you see them weeping at the prospect of doing anything from homework to chores the 178th time that morning? How do you not turn a blind eye to your child breaking the rules just once, because you want to not have to fight with them all the time? 

Added to that consistency does not have an immediate reward.  Instead it is the accumulation of the little instances that ultimately gives you the reward.  It is not a matter of using your drive and gumption to do something right once - but instead, the repeated response is what works together to create the atmosphere of consistency.  Perhaps the hardest balance to find is the delicate space between consistency and grace...

Earlier this week I went shopping with my two-year old. I know, I know! "You're crazy!", you say? Yes. Yes I am, and their are hundreds of witnesses to prove it. Those are the exact words that were going through my head as I picked up my screaming offspring to drag her from the store, abandoning my Mother in a wheelchair to fend for herself. Now, I could have bought a Dora place mat to immediately quiet the screaming. I would have spent money on it - hated it - and ended up getting rid of it. Instead I risked all dignity and mental fortitude and chose to put said toddler under my arm, and drag her screaming from the store.

That is when I realized that more often than not consistency is both rewarding and useful. Right now the toddler in question is sleeping peacefully in her bed, totally unscathed by missing out on owning such a coveted possession as a Dora place mat. Furthermore I realized that in moments like those none of us are alone in the pursuit of raising our children to be responsible adults. I came to that conclusion as people started to catch my eye, and mouth the words "It'll be okay". Others touched my arm and assured me that it won't last forever. There were females, males, young and old, witnessing my child's meltdown, and almost ALL of them offering words of encouragement and support. It was as though the screams were morphing into the music played as people go to the podium to receive a gold medal. Although I typically have to rely on my own internal drive to stay consistent - with the encouragement of pure strangers the battle seemed a little easier.

Perhaps the most embarrassing aspect of this story is that this was not the first time I received the encouragement of passer-bys. In fact as I stand observing the timeout of my strong willed daughter, or continuing to shop despite the screaming of my 'little princess' while in the grocery store, I have been the recipient of many a stranger and well wisher. Several elderly folk, both male and female, have assured me that "this too shall pass", and "stay strong Mom. It will pay off." Through this I have realized one enormous truth. When you see a Mom struggling to maintain her sanity, perhaps we can take on the role of the 'village' that it takes to raise a child by encouraging the parent. Most are just trying to get through that moment with out giving in. With out your stepping up and saying "I see what you are trying to do, and you are doing the right thing" that parent might not see the fruits of being consistent until they are watching that child grown - and even then it may be too hard to see all those battle's as steps towards the person in front of you. In an effort to not interfere we have completely stepped away from each other. I propose that the job of being a parent was not made to be done in isolation.

I am not suggesting that we should start correcting people's technique. There are certainly many techniques that you just can't, and shouldn't support. What I do think - is that if you see a parent who is clearly trying to stay the course, to do what you can. Smile. Give words of support. Your encouragement might make the difference.

What Child is This?

There is a young child sitting in their school desk. They are looking at their feet. They never noticed that one shoe was scuffed more than the other. The child starts rubbing their foot on the floor to see what movement made it scuff. They decide that if they figure it out that they will even it out. Then they notice that their shoe is making a little bump-bump-bump sound when they rub it. The child is starts seeing if they can make different rhythms with their shoe.

Not certain why, the child glances up. The teacher is looking at them. The whole class is looking at them. "Well?" says the teacher. Well what, the child wonders? Looking around the child notices that some of the kids are laughing at them. Why does this always happen? Stupid shoe.

At recess the child wants to play basketball with the other kids. They look across the yard at the basketball hoop where kids are jostling over the ball. For a minute the child thinks they will go join everyone. The child's cheeks start to blush, apparently for no reason. They are remembering earlier that morning - when the whole class was laughing at them... Well it felt like the whole class anyway. The child plops them self back down on the ground. Why did they have to be playing with their shoe? That was so stupid. The teacher went on and on about how they need to pay attention, like they didn't know that. Then the teacher came over after the other kids started working to explain what the child was supposed to be doing. She was trying to be nice, but every time the child glanced up they saw their classmates glancing at them, and knew that they all thought the child was dumb. They felt dumb. Maybe they were dumb. The child started to think about how maybe they were dumb, and they just didn't know it. They decided that would be very embarrassing. The bell rings, startling them from their thoughts. The child starts towards the door, not sure what they figured out.

Sitting in class the child keeps thinking about what happened that morning. They are determined that they are going to pay attention this afternoon. They are not going to let anything distract them. Sitting in the desk, looking at the teacher, trying to concentrate on every word, the child starts to think that it is working. Suddenly the child hears tickety-tickety-tickety... "No!" The child thinks. "Don't look. You have to pay attention. You need to show people that you aren't stupid." The child continues to look at the teacher. In their mind though they have started to think about what could make that noise. Without looking they try to figure out where the sound is coming from. Slowly the teachers voice has faded into the background, like someone had turned the volume down. Actually the only thing the child hears with any clarity is the mysterious sound. They are now thinking about all the things that could make that noise, is it in the classroom or in the hall? The child's efforts to change the events of that morning are now in vain. All that effort wasted because of what the child determines must be a noisy fan in the ventilation system.

That afternoon the kids all get their report cards. Even though the kids aren't supposed to open them, most do. Not the child. They know what is there. You don't get A's when you can't spell answers properly - even if you tried. Even if you spelled things the way they sounded. You don't get B's when you don't finish your tests. Even if you were solving some mysteries. The child goes through the motions of getting ready to go home, but is spending almost all their energy trying to not cry. This was not a good day. No day is ever a good day. Every time the teacher calls their name to hurry them along, the child feels embarrassed all over again.

The child starts walking home with a friend. Well, the child thinks the other student is a friend, but on the long walk home the child starts to wonder if the other student just feels sorry for them. Maybe it is only the child who thinks that they are friends. By the time they part ways the child has decided it would be embarrassing if they thought they were friends, but really the other student was just trying to be nice because they felt sorry for them. The child decides that they better keep their distance tomorrow.

So what child is this? Whose story am I telling? When I look at my son, I'm not sure. This could describe any number of my days in school - details only shifting slightly for elementary, secondary school, or University. This is my story. Even today I will go through times of feeling insecure about my friendships because of a seemingly catastrophic social blunder.

Looking at my son, getting after him for not paying attention, looking at his homework, trying to help him finish work that he was supposed to finish in school, I remember these moments. Now I am going to be going to Parent/Teacher interviews, playing the role of my mother - advocating for him, trying to help him feel accepted, successful, not dumb. I see his tears over his C's and D's, and remember the pain and loneliness.

Somehow I need to show my son the patience that I never had for myself. I need to have the tolerance that I never had for myself. Even though I too have been distracted easily by seemingly invisible things, I have no wisdom for him. There are no answers. During Church I am distracted by the humming of the lights. By the cough of an elderly person in the back. I try to solve the mysteries of why the lights flicker, what caused the feedback on the sound system, I suddenly notice that I have been staring at someone while I was thinking about something else. I wonder who noticed. I wonder if anyone really likes me, or if they think that I am weird and feel sorry for me.

How does that person teach their son that they are wonderful, smart, loved. How can I show him that I think he is important when I can't pay attention when he is trying to tell me something. When I suddenly look at him, and realize that he is asking me something that I can't answer because I was thinking about something else?

All the tricks I found will sometimes cover it up. Nothing has fixed the problem for me. I hope he figures it out. I hope he isn't held back because he doesn't. My child isn't perfect because I'm not.

Depression: As spoken at Kortright Presbyterian Church on November 1, 2007

I woke up this morning convinced that today was going to be different. Different from what? My house would be tidy, meals on time (and healthy), kids happy (and quiet), husband happy, and able to get in a full days work and some work done on his Masters tonight. I know, I know. It sounds like the rantings of any mother of young kids. What is different about it when these thoughts are in my head?

At first I have this burst of energy. Yes. This WILL be the day when the pieces fall together where they belong. Then I have the sensation of my thoughts, energy, and body coming to a halt, as though the cement around me has begun to harden. How? How am I going to do this? First I have to get out of bed. What then? I am trying to figure out the order. The baby needs feeding, lunches need making, kids need dressing. I need to get dressed… The list is mounting. I have completely lost sight of the beginning and the end… Deep breath. Start where I am.

I pick up the baby, and I start heading downstairs. As I approach the top of the stairs I stop dead in my tracks. A cold chill echoes down my spine as I have a mental picture of falling down the stairs with the baby in my arms. I can see my body landing on his, and I can’t do it. I rush back to the bedroom, and put the baby on the bed. I feel panicked now. I keep touching the baby, and myself, trying to make sure that it didn’t really happen. My husband comes in the room from his shower, and I say “Bring Jordan downstairs for me.” as I slip out the room, and down the stairs before he can say no.

For the rest of the morning I am ‘off’. I am still trying to shake the feeling of having accidentally hurt one of my children – Instead of planning breakfast and lunches I am now trying to figure out how to avoid having to physically carry any of my kids up or down the stairs. If it has been a hectic (or noisy) morning I don’t want to be trapped in the house all day with the kids, so I try and plan a day out of the house. My husband gets downstairs and is frustrated that I have left everything for him to do. I don’t feel sorry. I feel hurt, and angry. I am trying to protect OUR children. Why doesn’t he see that?

The end result is the same. My husband is late for work because he is picking up the slack. Many times my son is late for school (I shutter to think what his teacher thinks of me as a parent). Many times I end up shopping to fill the hours till my husband is home – impulsively spending money we don’t really have. I am just trying anything to sooth the fear, anxiety, and mounting sense of failure. By the time I get Kyle home from school I am exhausted. He wants to play. It’s too loud. I can’t stand the way I feel. I have to close out everything. I call my husband. “Just please come home!” I plead. “I can’t do this!” I am crying now. He makes plans to come home as soon as possible.

By the time he gets here things are sometimes calmer. I have the TV on for the kids, and I am sitting at the table with my head down. Despondent. I immediately run up the stairs calling “Could you bring the baby up to me?”

My husband makes supper. Brings it to me, and puts the kids in bed. Then he works away at cleaning the disaster in the kitchen, and living room. The rooms I was trapped in all day if I was home. Everyday he saves me. I really don’t think he knows how much.

Not every day is this bad, but not every day is this good. Everyday is filled with fear, hopelessness, anger, disappointment, powerlessness, disgust. Everyday I have to fight to keep these feelings at bay. Everyday one of them seems to over-power me. Everyday I have to convince myself that in hoping for better for me and my family, that I am not being unreasonable. I have to convince myself that these feelings are not rooted in any truth about my failures as a person or mother, but rather have a life of their own. I have to convince myself that I am not lying to myself, and hoping for something I don’t deserve. I run out of hope that it will ever change.

This time I am coping with Post-partum depression, but I have experienced depression in different ways, at different times since I was quite young.

These days I feel like I am squandering the gifts that God gave me. Instead of thanking Him for my husband and kids, I find myself asking why He burdened them with me. When my husband looks at me lovingly I see pity. When my son complains that he wants me I search, but can’t find the energy to give him. He wants to be held, and I can’t bear the thought of being touched. Sometimes when I go through the motions I find myself resenting having to do it. When my daughter cries for her dad I know that she wants him because she knows that I am incompetent. She knows that I can’t help her. I can’t leave my infant son. I can’t let myself start. I need to not fail him. I have failed the others, but not him. I HAVE to be there when he needs me. There are people who say things like “He will be fine, Mom. Go.” I CAN’T! He is my lifeline. He keeps me going. For the time being it is easy to please him, and I need that.

In my prayers I beg God for mercy, for healing, for insurmountable amounts of grace. I curse Him for blessing me with a family I can’t enjoy. I pray for their emotional health. No matter how much grace and mercy and forgiveness that I know God has given me – it is never enough.

One of the things that hurts me the most through my journey with depression – is that although I have the disease – my whole family pays the price. My husband misses work – gives up his school work, and other social opportunities to be there to help out. My children miss out on having a mother who is able to give them what they need emotionally. Even my parents and siblings have to pitch in to help pick up the slack. My slack. I take medication. I get counseling. I try to get outside help. At the end of the day I still wasn’t able to do it. I failed again. I failed my husband, kids, myself. I failed God.

When the depression lifts it is not like I wake up and it is over. I just look around me and realize that it has been gone for a while. I always fear the day it will be back. One thing I can count on is that it will come back. When I gave birth to Jordan I found myself waiting for it. Hoping I was wrong - disappointed that I was right.

I feel guilty planning things like more children, or a move that are likely to bring it on. Even when I am not experiencing it I feel trapped by the threat of it.

I don’t know the answer. I wish I did. It would change my life, and the lives of my family. I often question the old adage that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. A lot of days I feel like He already has.

Everyday there is a constant battle in my mind. There is the part that knows how wretched I am. It knows that I am a failure, and useless. It knows that I have no worth. It knows that everything I touch will be ruined. Then there is the part that knows that I am a child of God. That I was created in His image. That he loves me, in whatever state I am in. That when I weep, He weeps. That He has only the best planned for me. I know that because He says so in the Bible. “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: ‘For your sake we face death all day long; We are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8: 35-39). That is my only measure of Truth. Without that I would be completely lost – not knowing what is true. The good I think I must have in me, or the bad that I believe to my core is accurate? I am incredibly grateful for God’s gift of the Bible. Without it I would not have any compass to follow through this darkness that I have found myself lost in. The weird thing is that even though there is no question about the validity of the Bible for me – I still feel like a fraud claiming the Truths within it for myself.

Regardless of how I feel, I know that I need to continue to place my trust and hope in God, and his word. I don’t know why, but this is the life that God has for me. I need to force myself to trust God’s promises. I try to accept any of the help that he sends my way. Sometimes receiving help strengthens the messages of self doubt – after all everyone else does it without this much help… I work very hard to ignore and overcome that mentality. The cycle has to stop somewhere, and I need the help. Finally I know that if anyone can take my illness and turn it into a positive, and a blessing – it is God and only God.

To sleep, purchance to dream - okay I would settle for not smelling vomit!

Having a young infant you tend to perma-smell like spit up. Not my favourite thing in life - but I will get through it for the love of my little one. A few days ago my two year old started randomly throwing up, and since I was busy with things concerning the death of my grandmother, and the post-op care of my baby sister - I really didn't pay it too much attention. She still ate. She still played. Maybe it was the heat?

Then Saturday night my husband comes down from putting Libby in bed, and LEFT HER IN HER BED CRYING! A huge thing - that I have been campaigning for. My excitement was short-lived when I then heard him vomiting in the bathroom. I guess it wasn't the heat.

Tonight Kyle has been up visiting the bathroom, and gravol just can't fight it (I have tried!) He is very matter-of-fact about it, and is praying in earnest that God will help his tummy feel better. Okay. So I feel like I did something right.

Yet all I can think is - I have not thrown up. I have not had diahrrea. I am next! Which leaves me feeling like the Israelites with the passover. You moms know what I am talking about! We rationalize that we are too valuable to the working of the house to be put out of commission! Oh well. I need to head to bed in the hopes that sleep will over-power the bug, and that I will indeed be spared. But I am not counting on it!