With Hope in Mind

Life is hard. Life can stink. Life is not fair. But there is a way to get through with some semblance of peace and happiness. How is that? It's all in your mindset. Life is not controllable. Circumstances happen that completely and utterly take you off course, like the winds of a raging hurricane. You are tossed and battered, bruised and burdened, confused and conflicted. But in the midst of chaos there is one thing that can be controlled. Your mind. What you think will be what you do. Will you quit or will you hope?

There are four types of mindsets that I have observed in people. The Optimist, the Pessimist, the Regretter, and the Planner. These are ways that people try to control their situations. While we all fall into these categories, the extent to which one identifies with a category affects their resilience and ability to hope.

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An Optimist tends to see the good in everything. They look for bright side, they don't like to dwell on negative things whether it be news, movies, situations, and/or people. They prefer to see the world through rose colored glasses. They prefer to think of only things that are pleasing. In fact, if you are a Christian or you have Christian friends, they would say that we should take Paul's advice in Philippians 4:8, which says, “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.” And that is good advice, who wouldn't want to think about great things all the time?

While I think being an optimist is an admirable way to live, I think we can agree it isn't always easy or practical to our highly distractable minds. The negative elements are all around. And if truth be told, more often than not, a true optimist will try to insulate themselves from the negative by building barriers, so that they can avoid the messiness that full engagement often entails. But, no matter how much one sinks their head in the sand, only thinking of good, avoiding the bad, the bad still happens to them and many times they are not prepared to deal with it. They feel blind-sided and let down or worse of all, miss out on meaningful relationships with people that may not fit their optimistic view or notion of worthiness. Being and optimist does not give immunity to trouble.

Then there is the Pessimist. The Eeyore of the crowd. The one who never gets their hopes up or sees

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the good, the one that expects disappointment, not fully grasping that they are becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you look for the negative you will surely find it. It's easy to be disappointed because we live in an imperfect and sinful world. It's easy to have your feelings hurt because people make off-handed remarks. It is easy to be a victim, and it is easy to give up. Again, if truth be told, more often than not, a true pessimist will try to insulate themselves by building barriers, as well, never fully engaging in the people or experiences around them. The pessimist will never find their way to happiness, because they haven't prepared their mind for anything else but failure and their default is to quit.

But there is a third way to be. A hybrid of both and that is the way I prefer live. It has taken me many years and many trials to get to this point. I would call myself a hopeful realist...one who appears to an optimist as a pessimist, to a pessimist as an optimist. WHAT? That sounds like crazy talk. Let me explain. I tend to look at things with the view that it most probably won't work out as I had planned, there may be some form of failure, and I may get disappointed. But when those things happen, that aren't how I had imagined, my mind is prepared and I can react from there. I am not shocked or upset because I figured it may occur and so I go on. I may have to go in a new direction for a bit or try a different tactic, but I don't give up. One of my favorite proverbs...Proverbs 16:9 says, "A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." When I change my mind set to believe that, I find that most times something better than what I thought could happen or better than I could've planned happens. It is the renewing of my mind, as Paul says in Romans 12:2, "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will." The renewing of the mind becomes the optimism that allows me to assess and move on, to not quit, to get through the terrible times.

It is never easy and it can be painful, but the optimism I'm speaking of is really none other than Hope. And hope is a wonderful thing! It is all the cliches'... the sun peaking through the clouds...the light at the end of the tunnel. You can never be confined to sadness, failure, loneliness, if you have Hope and Hope is what sets us free in the end. 

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A person can spend most of the time looking in the rearview mirror of their life...the Regretter. Being filled with regret for all the coulda, woulda, shoulda's. Like the saying goes, "Hindsight is 20/20". It's easy to beat yourself up for the decisions you made with the information you had at the time, but in hindsight may have not been the best. However, all that is really accomplished is that you have missed the here and now, and it is a vicious cycle, because now they have more regret for the things they continue to miss.

A person can spend most of their time looking to the future making their plans...the Planner. People try to account for all the things they think may happen and how to attain their goal down the road. It is their way to try and control the chaos and while planning is good, plans tend to become highly inflexible. The plan becomes the master of the planner instead of a means to an end. All the while, no one knows what will happen in even the next hour, so then it would seem that planning is futile. And while they are making all these plans and trying to make things happen, they miss the here and now and it too becomes a vicious cycle, because they are making concrete plans on the sinking sand of the unknown.

But there is another mindset and that is the one filled with hope. That person can have a plan, live in the moment. Roll with the day and let its surprises bloom like the bright golden petals of the

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sunflower. Sometimes, things come up that seem bad at first, but actually allow you more meaningful experiences than anything you could have ever planned yourself. None of us are guaranteed the next hour, the next day, the next year. But we spend so much time looking at our calendars, confined to our infinite little plans that we miss relationships and experiences that are here and now. What if we learned to trust our gut? What if we learned to listen to the small voice inside that offers guidance, but is rarely heard above all the external noise? Jesus, in Matthew 6:25, 27, 33-34 and asks powerful questions while offering great advice on this when He says, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?....Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?....But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.

Now with all my talk of living in the here and now, am I saying to be irresponsible and do what you want? No, plans are good, regrets have merit, but it's how much flexibility that you allow with those things that will give you the freedom, the hope, and the ability to not fear failure, to enjoy the good surprises that occur in the day to day. I guess all I'm trying to say is renew your mind, change your mindset, be flexible and try living in the moment, that is what we are guaranteed, so live each moment like it's your last. Notice what and who is around you and fully appreciate them. Don't let the fear of failure, past or present, hold you back. Live with hope, for hope covers the past and paves the future, and hope begins now. 

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Tri Hard Win Big

I am a triathlete.  I'm a weekend warrior with aspirations.  I love the sport of triathlon because it is a metaphor for life.  I believe if you try hard at something, then you win big...in so many ways other than just a top finish in a contest.  The definition of Triathlon is an athletic contest in which an athlete competes in three different events: swimming, cycling, and running.  From tri  meaning three and the Greek Athlon meaning contest.  Some say it's grueling, crazy, cultish, liberating, tough, invigorating, but I think most, if not all would agree, that once attempted it changes you and your outlook on life and the way you approach your life's course.

You might say I was a triathlete before triathlons were mainstream.  Well, as a kid in the 70's, my three favorite things to do were swim, bike, and run.  We lived in the city and we had a little pool in our postage stamp sized backyard.  My brother and I would get up in the mornings and swim "laps".  I use that term, liberally because in essence we swam circles around the perimeter of the little galvanized tank we called a pool.  We would swim until a whirlpool formed, or we were so dizzy we were on the verge of puking, and then let the current carry us around.  Once the waters stilled we would start the cycle over in the opposite direction.  At some point my mother realized that we could probably benefit from a larger pool and learning to swim in a straight line, so she enrolled us in swim lessons at the YWCA.  She would take us everyday, whether it was a lesson day or not, just so that we could get our swim fix.  It was here I learned that the only person I really need to compete against was myself and the competition was endless.

Another love back then was running.  I would run everywhere.  To the store, to my friend's house, around the block; walking was just too slow for me. I ran barefoot, in sandals, in my cheap knock-off brand of tennis shoes, it did not matter, I just ran.  We did not have a lot of money, so there were no organized sports for me.  Since running was free and could be done anywhere, it became something I focused on.  I created my own competitions, sometimes enlisting my brother and the other boys in the neighborhood and sometimes just with myself.  I use to run a mile everyday, just to see how much faster I could run it.  Once again, it was me against myself.

And then there was cycling. I lived on my bike....my (what seemed like 300 pound) Huffy counterfeit from Western Auto.  It didn't matter that it was heavy, it had 10 speeds and it was my freedom, my wheels, my way off of the little city block on which I resided.  New horizons were awaiting.  There were miles to ride and hours to do it in.  So much to see and so many places to go. Back then you could leave your house in the morning and go anywhere you wanted without fear...fear of being run over by a texting driver, or fear of being kidnapped...and the only requirements were to check in once in a while and be home by the time the street lights came on.  Summer days provided an abundance of hours to build endurance and proficiency in the saddle.

I guess it was back there in my youth the foundation was set.  I had been training and preparing myself for a sport I really didn't know existed...until one Saturday afternoon in 1980.  I remember tuning into my favorite show, ABC's Wide World of Sports.  There was a new sporting event being televised and it was called The Ironman. I remember being glued to the tv set watching the athletes soldier through the elements and torturous and seemingly unending course.  These athletes were swimming, biking, running, all in the same event!  My little teenaged heart swelled and I thought, "someday I'm going to do that!"

Fast forward to 1990, I'm  25 years old, in the routine of my career life and the only swimming, biking, and running I was doing was sporadic and leisurely at best.  One day my soon to be sister-in-law told me about a local YMCA indoor sprint distance triathlon that was coming up.  Suddenly the voice of the young girl that loved swimming, biking, and running, rose up from within and compelled me to sign up for the race.  I decided I could try it with less than a month of training, how hard could it be?  Let me tell you, while I was not in top aerobic shape, I realized the real obstacle was not necessarily better training...I could push myself physically; no the real obstacle was mental.  I had not foreseen the tediousness and boredom of swimming laps in a pool for 500 yards (seemed like an eternity to me by that age and lack of fitness), riding a stationary bike for 12 miles, and running circles, 55 laps to be exact, on an elevated running track around the Y's gymnasium, until I reached my 3.1 miles.  At least all those circles I swam as a kid helped me from becoming a dizzy mess on that running track.  But after I completed that last lap and crossed the finish line my life was changed.  I learned so much about myself that day and what it means to push yourself mentally and physically.  And I realized that if I could hone that skill, it would be useful in all aspects of life, not just in sporting events, but the real hard events...those that life signs you up for without any notice or any chance to train.  And thus my love affair with triathlon was sealed.

Now let's fast forward again to 2016, I'm 51.  I have 4 children who have grown up on me.  Two are in college and two are finishing up high school.  I am coming to grips with the looming empty nest and the obsolescence of my mothering skill set (see What to Expect When You Are Letting Go if you want to read more on that subject).  I've been facing one of the most arduous and emotionally difficult hills on my course.  Some would call it a mid-life crisis, but I prefer to think of it as finding my new purpose and passion.  I've been searching, studying, seeking my new course and lo and behold, what has presented itself to me, once again, as a way conquer the obstacles that life has to offer?  Triathlon!  

About a month ago, my husband sent me an email with just a link, no explanation or anything.  The link took me to one of the world's finest female athletes, 4x Ironman Champion Leanda Cave's new Team LC's website (see Team LC).  She was seeking two elite women triathletes, and 14 amateur and age group women triathletes to be ambassadors for her foundation.  They would encompass Team LC and compete in races and build a community of active women.  All with the goal of encouraging and empowering women through the sport of triathlon.  



World Champion Leanda Cave

When I read over website and the application, my heart began to beat fast and I was so thrilled at this prospect. To be a part of an organization that seeks to encourage women and empower them to be active and strong was right up my alley.   After all encouraging others is a priority to me. Such a small effort can make all the difference in another's life.  There are so many circumstances that can tear down a person in any given day, and to be able to uplift with a kind word, gesture, or to come alongside and help carry the burden is one of the greatest joys in life...not only does it empower the givee, but also the giver.  And so too it goes with physical fitness.  Fitness is a huge part of my life. I believe by participating in athletics, you learn a lot about yourself and it's a catalyst for growth.  You learn to dig deep, to accept disappointment and rise above, to be strong in body, mind, and spirit.  Exercise and competing helps clear the cobwebs from a tired mind, gets the blood flowing to better health and vitality, and gets those creative juices flowing.  You see your body for the beautiful gift of power and promise that it is.  It does amazing feats and carries you to endless heights and it's something that needs to be cherished and cared for.  Those are the concepts that I want women to realize about themselves...to see themselves as strong, capable, and beautiful. To see each other as teammates and comrades in this tiresome and difficult sport of life. To forget about what the culture promotes amongst women...insecurity, jealousy, comparison and a completely unrealistic and unhealthy definition of beauty.....photo-shopped lies. 

But then the voice of self-doubt began to chatter in my mind and I had a million and one reasons why I was not good enough to ever be considered, much less selected.  After all, I'm an age grouper who has competed in a few sprint triathlons with lofty dreams of a 70.3 Iron Man in my future.  I'm a full time mother, who has to exercise around everyone else's schedule.  I have old knees that hurt and a quirky spine condition.  What do I have to offer?  The litany went on for quite a while, but then that young girl's voice began to whisper and it became louder and louder until I heard it...that same voice that overcame the taunts of the boys, the voice that said you can run as fast as those boys, you can throw the ball as good or better than they can, you can run that last mile, can lift that heavy weight, you can do anything you set your mind too, even fill out an application to become an ambassador for women everywhere.  Suddenly, every circle lap I had swum in my backyard pool, every mile I had ever run, every hill I had ever climbed on my 300 pound Huffy knock-off, every middle of the pack finish in the sprint races I had completed had purpose and meaning and they were all leading me to this jumping off place.  So I completed the application and pressed SEND, with a prayer, crossed fingers, and a resolve that even if I would likely never be selected, out of the hundreds of other applications, I tried! I did it! I overcame! 

Then one day, weeks later, I was having one of those days where you think it really can't get any worse, but it does.  One of those days where you go off alone to lick your wounds, because if you don't you will snap and unleash your fury on every innocent bystander in your path.  It was one of those days and I had walked circles around my favorite park until the sun set....going in circles again.  I'm detecting a pattern here.  I got in my car and checked my phone, trying to prolong the inevitable of returning home to try and carry on with a stiff upper lip.  I checked Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, text messages, voicemails, the light was quickly fading and I was in danger of breaking the sunrise/sunset park law.  Wouldn't that be a fine capper, to get a ticket from the park ranger as he was making his last rounds to run off errant park goers?!  So with reckless defiance, I decided to check my email before starting the car.  And right there on the top of the list in my inbox was an email from a man named Lou.  Truth be told I almost deleted it because I did not recognize the name.  But thankfully, I opened it and read these amazing words, "Dear Deanna, Congratulations! You have being selected as one of our fourteen Team LC Ambassadors!

I read it and re-read it four times and then I began to cry.  The day's oppression released.  It was like I had received an affirmation...that all that I believe about being a strong woman overcoming the negative voices and obstacles that life throws is true; that giving up is not the best option.  That engaging in sport is vital and empowering for women, because participating in athletics (no matter the level) unites us and creates a common bond of camaraderie in strength and knowing.  And finally, it buoyed that bubble of hope that starts deep within that says, even though I'm not the best of the best and am a work in progress, I have something to contribute and there are others out there that believe that about me. Truth is, we all are not gifted to be elite athletes, but we all are gifted to be the best self.  And that best self can offer encouragement and inspiration to another who is trying to become their best self.

I noted earlier that triathlon is a metaphor for life.  There are different aspects that must be faced and must be overcome while finishing the course laid out for you.  Life just as triathlon has rough waters that will crash over you...like the grief experienced when losing a loved one...and you can let it wash you away or you can swim through it. In your race, your swim may not be pretty, you may be flailing and get knocked by others who are battling through their own course, but if you focus on the things you can control, like your breathing, or your form, the fear subsides and sooner rather than later you are out of the water.  Training teaches that perseverance.

Once you clear the water you may find a stretch of flat highway where you can cruise along.  Life is good, all your preparation has paid off, only then to round the bend and come upon the hills of life....like those you encounter in raising children or an battling an illness....the daunting hills, the glorious summits, and the terrifying descents, all discouraging, invigorating, and harrowing, in their own right.  But you chip away, dig deep, grind on up, get out of the saddle, change gears till you reach the summit.  There you enjoy the view from the top and experience satisfaction of overcoming, however fleeting. 

 Because you will soon find yourself on the downhill slope where you hang on and pedal furiously. The euphoria you felt a bit ago has now turned to a white-knuckled grip, as you sail downhill on treacherously thin tire treads.  Ironically, it's embracing and pedaling through the fear  that is the very thing that powers you up the next uphill struggle.  Each part of the hill has benefit.

Finally, when you think you may not be able to pedal another mile, you find yourself on the run.  Legs like rubbery blocks, rebelling with each punishing pounce.  You know the end is just close enough to taunt you.  This is where your real mettle is put to the test.   How easy would it be to just quit, give up...like when you hit a rough patch in your marriage or you have a difficult job situation.....your mind says things like what is this all for?  What will be proven by this?  I'm not really happy right now.  This is not fun!  There's no harm, no foul, if you just walk off the course, right? 

But this is where you decide who will be the victor, your heart or your mind.  The heart wants to soar above the heights, to feel the joy of a job well done, to cross the finish line and fight the good fight.  The mind is bored and restless and filled with all the detritus of self doubt and insecurity.  It allows all those negative voices to crowd in and tell you all the reasons why it's best to give up.  And just when it seems that those voices may elevate to a place higher than the cries of the heart, the finish line appears.  The crowd is cheering, the end is in sight, the body is on autopilot, and the heartbeat swells into a thunderous roar, drowning the voices of the mind.  And as you cross the finish line it occurs to you...."I tried hard and I won big!"  Doesn't matter what place you came in, doesn't matter how long it took, because as your foot crosses that line you realize you won:  heart over mind, finish over quitting, pride over pain, substance over circumstance. 

In life, I have found there is a lot of swimming and running in circles, seemingly endless efforts, but nothing could be further from the truth.  They actually come full circle, for that is where you develop patience, performance, and  purpose.  That is where you sharpened the skills needed to meet and overcome the obstacles you will face. The word Triathlon means three contests.  The word Try means to put forth effort.  The word Win means to be victorious in a contest. In my way of thinking, not giving up, but trying any contest, be it an athletic competition or facing life's obstacles head on is a win, a success, and an achievement to be proud of. It's never too late to get your body moving.  Start small and aim high.  Even the greats had to crawl before they could walk. So why not get out there and Tri Hard...Win Big!

What to Expect When You are Letting Go

One day I woke up to find myself in a dry, foreign, and lonely land.  Just as the early pioneers must have felt as they trundled west in search of freedom and prosperity clinging to the promise of creating the new life they had always dreamed of.  The notion of those dreams being enough to embolden them to leave family and friends, to trade the known and predictable for the unknown and unpredictable, and journey hundreds, even thousands of miles in search of this life.  They braved thieving outlaws, hostile Indians, and treacherous terrain….all fueled by that dream.  I am a mother and I now find myself in this parched place but oddly, I am not in complete defeat and despair.  For on the horizon a glimmer of hope crackles, like the lightning that dances in the clouds of a distant thunderstorm. 

The dream began as a young girl, just as I suspect many other young girls dream.....to have children and raise them into a family of friends.  Isn’t that what we all want? To be surrounded by those we love and that love us.  So after being married for five years, my husband and I began to cultivate that dream of children to share our life with.  To show them the wonders of Creation, share adventures, impart our little bit of knowledge, to leave a legacy, and maybe receive a little joy and satisfaction from the intangible blessings that come from sharing and sacrificial love.  And so the journey into parenthood began and along with it the research.  I bought the pregnant woman’s bible, What to Expect When You are Expecting and I lived, breathed, and memorized it for the entire 9 months.  I could not get enough, everyday reading about my specific month of pregnancy, trying to get to know the life that was growing inside of me. And when I had that one memorized and I could not squeeze one more nugget of knowledge out of it, I bought 2 or 3 similar ones.   At 15 weeks after conception, the baby is 4 inches and can sense light even though her eyelids are still fused.  At 24 weeks she is the size of an ear of corn and can hear what’s going on outside the womb.  I was trying to gain insight about who this developing embryo was and what it needed to grow and gain.  I assigned a personality and athletic feats to my baby, as I imagined it performing Olympic level bar routines on my ribs.  How I loved the child that was growing.  I talked to it, played music for it (because you know, music makes babies smart), I read to it.  For nine months I was never alone, and everything I did, I had the health and well-being of that child in my thoughts.  And then the day arrived when I finally got to meet this little person we had created, and that I had come to know as well as I know my own body.  I knew her kicks, I knew when she didn’t like the supper we ate, I knew when she was content, and now I would finally meet her and hold her  in my arms and look her in the eyes and we would love each other and someday, I hoped would be friends.

 I am a mother and the me I was before, the me I was as Paul’s wife, the me I was in my career had suddenly disappeared and I became just Mom.  That quickly, in the time it took for my daughter to appear in the world, I went from all that I was before to just “her mother”.  The same happened for each new baby I delivered and it was just as intense with my little Guatemalan with whom I suffered the longest birth pains awaiting his papers to finalize; and who was almost 6 and kind of big and awkward to swaddle and cuddle like a little baby for the first time.  And it was good, I loved this new persona, this new career of Motherhood.  It fit me and I could use all of my innate talents of organization, time management, research skills, creativity, domestic engineering abilities, all of it.  Somehow I lucked into the best career ever.  I felt totally at home and right where I knew I belonged.  I even found myself puzzled by other women who were struggling and felt they needed some creative outlet, or to keep their career because the duties of motherhood did not fulfill them completely.  I’m not judging at all, but for me, every aspect of motherhood, especially the baby, toddler, and childhood years was more than fulfilling, exciting, and good.  Even on the most boring of days when I found myself reading the same story, or watching the same worn out kiddie video, or sitting up all night with the croup was fine with me.  I wouldn’t have traded it for a million dollars. 

So how do I find myself in the parched land, if this is what I wanted?  Well, the child grew up.  Plain and simple, I have become obsolete, last year’s model, and it seems, no longer relevant.  I’ve lost my shine and I’ve gone from being the first person she wanted to see to the last.  Oh I don’t blame her, she’s not a bad child, an ingrate (well maybe a little), uncaring, no, she has just grown up.  I did my job and I did it well, so well, that now I’m almost completely out of a job.  Thankfully, I still have a few more at home, but honestly they are young adults, and they can reason and make decisions (most good), and they are independent and don’t really need me much either, except maybe to drive them somewhere or give them money.  It’s all due to the Trickle Down Effect.   That scientific phenomena in which each younger sibling becomes exponentially more independent than their successor.  Thankfully, I don’t have 15 children or I’d have to face the fact that the baby would not need me at all.  I wish I would have had a book to prepare me for this point in the grand scheme. 

A book kind of like the one I studied so fiercely when I was pregnant, except I would call this one,  What to Expect When You are Letting Go.  If I had only known how painful the break would be I may have been able to prepare myself better.  If I could’ve understood how quickly the years would fly…. it’s really not a cliché, it’s a fact….I could have maybe braced myself for it.  Once I heard some wise older mother say to her daughter who was a young mother, “the days go slow, but the years fly”.  She was so right and how does that happen?  If I only had a book that explained, that as you are filling in your calendar in the day to day, raising them to be rockstars, jockstars, and docstars, you become so busy living in the future that you forget to notice the present if you are not careful, and then it has become the past.  All those music lessons, sports teams, and science fairs, scout outings, family vacations somehow cause time to travel at warp speed and then it seems in the difference of one day you find yourself getting sticky kisses from a gooey faced toddler, to waving good bye to your college freshman.

 I have found myself in the odd position of what I imagine it feels to be fired.  I went into work one day with the best laid plans and I am handed a pink slip. “Thanks for your services but no thanks”.  I have been escorted out of the building.  But wait, what did I do wrong?  Can I fix it?  Is there severance package…maybe they could blow me one last kiss????? A gold watch?  Nope, out the door and farewell.  But it’s not the end.  It’s kind of like your worst nightmare, because you’re fired, but they still call you when they have trouble.  It’s like you don’t get any benefits, pay, or the good stuff that came with the job, but you still get to take care of all the problems that arose with the job.  And thanks to modern technology, they can text you 24 hours a day with all the problems that you need to fix but strangely enough, they forget to tell you all the great stuff, because they are so busy living life and having so much fun.  And thanks to technology, you may be fortunate enough to watch from afar through social media and learn of all the fun and great things that are happening. 

It’s not malicious on their part, it’s where they are in their development.  They have just sprouted wings and are learning to fly and it’s an all-consuming effort.  They don’t have children of their own, so they just don’t get it.  They think their life is theirs alone and that they are where they are because of what they did.  They don’t understand all the behind the scenes work and sacrifice that went into getting them to this point.  It’s ok, it’s just the way it is.  I don’t mean to sound bitter or even a little resentful.  I’m not, I’m just learning to acclimate.  I suppose I’m going through the stages of grief, and I may be spinning my wheels in denial a bit long, but it’s just the process.  After all, I had 9 months to get to know and love her with my entire being, surely I deserve at least 9 months notice that I have to let go, maybe even more since I’ve devoted 18, no 20 years. 

So what is the hope that I have?  Well, after being curled in a ball in my closet with my chocolate stash and blankie for a few weeks, I remembered I still have 3 more teen spawns, I mean young adults at home that still need me, at least for a while.  But the greatest truth I realized is that I can get to know me again.  I am certainly not the me I was before I got married, I barely remember that idealistic headstrong girl.  I’m not the me that married and was married to Paul, my knight in shining armor as I recall, for 5 years because we’ve grown, changed, and his armor is a little tarnished...but that’s a whole other blog for another day.  I’m this new me, one with dents and dings, but who is wiser and braver than ever before, because that’s what I’ve had to be for my children all these years.  And that is the hope right there.  I am not obsolete, I’m not useless, I can offer a lot to those around me, because my children raised me to be brave, wise, and selfless and I can face this new chapter with confidence.  I can be whatever and whoever I want to be, just as I taught them about themselves.  It’s a whole new world.  The clouds are separating and the first rays of sunlight are gleaming through.   

The other day my oldest who is now a sophomore in college, texted me out of the blue to say that she loved me and to tell me about her day, and then asked me about mine. It was as exhilarating to me as hearing her say her first words and it gave me hope.  I can see that I don't need to feel lonely or nostalgic because I have a new friend, and we go back a long way.

Message in a Bottle

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It seems, lately, that I have many people in my circle of life who are struggling with dire illness and personal turmoil. I have so much I want to say to them and I want to say to those who are struggling right along with them, as caretakers and friends. What I'm sharing began as a letter to one dear friend, in particular, but as I was writing I felt like others could read it and hopefully benefit from it as well....because I think the struggle is universal. As a person who is living the trial, they need to hear these words of love and affirmation and as the person who is caretaking, they too may find some reconciliation with the pain and suffering and the redemption that comes later, as they are witnessing and experiencing right along with their loved one. So, I give you my Message in a bottle.....

I just wanted to write you because I wanted you to know that sharing this journey called life and all of its ups and downs, as your friend, is one of the greatest privileges I have. I don't want that to come off like I'm some do-gooder or frankly, some holier-than-thou-saint, because I am surely neither, but I am sincere. You and I have experienced traumatic pain and loss and familial dysfunction early in life. We have had ill parents and had to grow up and face the realities that many, many people never come to realize. It's very painful, and feels unfair when looking around at other's and their circumstances. But as I grow older, I actually thank God for the gift that He gave me through those trials. I think that it makes the preciousness of life abundantly clear, and by experiencing difficulty, loss, and pain at a young age, we can have empathy for others who are going through their own trials. We can rise above our own pain and reach out to others. We can heal our wounds by healing the wounds of others.

Let's face it, this life is hell. There was never a promise anywhere in the Bible, after sin in the Garden of Eden, that would suggest anything different. In fact, Jesus very pointedly tells his disciples (us included, as we are just that in this present age) that life here is and will be miserable, especially the deeper our faith grows and the more we share His love, because we have an enemy that wants to discourage. And the more time I spend in the Bible, the older I get, the more life I live, I have come to realize that the great things in this life, those that the world would say are the sole reason for a fulfilled life are an illusion. Yes, there is fun to be had, and we should enjoy all the blessings we have, the money we can spend, etc. But the money, the fun, the material possession are not fulfillment and if you are honest you recognize that. From a worldly perspective, the fun is in the pursuit, but after you obtain something, its luster fades, rather quickly. Real fulfillment and real treasure is the love we can share, the time we can give to someone else, in happiness or sadness, trial or triumph, pain and suffering. That is real, that is life, that is what Jesus was trying to convey and has been trying to convey...and I think being a mother has driven that home...it's what we do naturally, on a daily basis, with our children.

There is no other way to find true fulfillment other than giving sacrificial love, and certainly as a Christian it is not about living a life checking boxes: church - check, Sunday school - check, private education - check, mission trips - check, charity work - check, tithing 10% - check, all the while stepping over and on others, especially in their time of need, because they are inconvenient to the checklist and not part of your plan. THEY are the checklist, THEY are our purpose in this life....to share Christ's unconditional love and unconstrained time in daily life. It's a paradox because through freely offering our time and love we receive more time and love. It's like the miracle story of the loaves and fishes..it sounds cliche' but its true, and I have been fortunate enough to have seen and felt it with my own eyes and heart on many occasions. Just yesterday after leaving you, I had more time than ever to get what I needed done and I felt more love than ever spending those few hours with you. I didn't want to be anywhere else, and I want to thank you for letting me spend that time with you. I know that on your side, it may feel like you are burdening others or making others feel uncomfortable, but you aren't. Let people in, let people love you, it's the greatest gift you can give them.

Although it's not what you would have designed or how you would want, you must believe that you are blessing your children with this trial. It doesn't feel like it, but you are passing along so many tangible lessons...empathy, the value of encouragement, of caring for another, of love, and the realization that time needs to be shared because it is so precious. Even the negative feelings of questioning, frustration, and anger are gifts, because they make you search for something bigger than yourself. They make you question God...the same God who dares you to question Him. He wants you to seek after Him, to hand off your life to Him, for that is when He can show you His power, His grace, His mercy. And when people have it all together, He is the last thing they seek. So yes even this horrible thing can be a gift...just point your children toward God and let Him, through the Holy Spirit, work. They are teenagers and teenagers are by nature struggling with coming to terms with adulthood while still having childish feelings, they can be angry and confused, and these hard life situations are the perfect place to lead by example.

Your bravery is a shining example of hope...your bravery shows when you carry your burden with a stiff upper lip, and it shines when you are curled up in a ball in complete panic and heartbreak. Bravery is not avoiding the difficult and terrifying, bravery is assessing, accepting, and addressing head-on that in which you are facing. And you are equipping them to deal with the realness, the mess, that is this life...you are helping them grow up. You are giving them a greater education than anything any school or university can provide. You are showing them that life is wild and uncontrollable...that they are not the author of life, but they have a Creator who loves them and a Savior who saved them from this seemingly futile existence. And while life will be unfair, unintelligible sometimes, there is always peace to have when we realize where the peace comes from. And the real pursuit in this life should be not be the pursuit of money, prestige, and possessions, but of love, time, and relationships...the most important of those relationships being with Jesus.

This life is but a vapor...I guarantee that even a 90 year old person in pristine health would agree with me...it goes fast, it fades, it withers, but the knowledge of our Savior and the recognition that our whole reason for being is to bring glory to Him by sharing His love with others, does not fade and is what is everlasting. This life is a vapor, but we who are in Him will live eternally together with Him after the mist. How awesome is that...one day we will spend time together without anxiety and worry...but living a life as God originally created it, in pure harmony and peace (maybe even singing Kum by ya :) ) and never again feeling heartache, anxiety, guilt, frustration and above all the loneliness that we feel in this mist. The fog will be lifted and we will be singing in the sun, my friend, in the presence of our Savior, and for that I cannot wait!

I love you more than you know and I am so thankful that God brought us together all those years ago. Keep me in the loop of your struggle, don't shut me out for fear of being a burden, or because in the process of living life a lot of time has lapsed, share your life, it's a beautiful thing.

My Addiction

I’m calling for an intervention! I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown and my Diet Pepsi is the equivalent to the first hit a slack-jawed, jangled nerved, smoker takes. I’m only surmising, as I have never had the desire to smoke. Living with a 3-pack a day smoker father and due to the copious amounts of secondhand smoke I inhaled in my youth, enough to last a lifetime, I have been cured any desire. In fact, now and then I will open my mouth for a yawn and a long trapped smoke ring will find its way to the surface, escaping from my charred and smoke annihilated lungs. But I digress, back to the Diet Pepsi. 

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Hands shaking I twist off the top of one of my miniature bottles. I mean surely if I buy the 12 ounce size, then I don’t really have a problem right? I'm just getting a little taste, at least that’s the rationale. But somehow I don’t think that holds up if I end up drinking the whole six pack at one sitting...but who is counting anyway? It’s all worth it to have the cold, burning rush of bubbles flow down my gullet sending the much needed blanket of calm over my nerves. I have an addiction, I will admit. I’ve been hooked on several soft drinks over the years. 

For many of those years, when my children were young, it was Diet Coke. You should know, I homeschool my children, have since the beginning of time, or so it seems that way to me. Way back when Adam and Eve were out in the Garden. Anyway, when they were young we lived in a subdivision in a rural community, and after a morning of trying to get each to do their lessons, like all the perfect homeschool blogger moms that posted videos of their days, I would begin to crumble. You’ve seen those videos, heard those perfect moms talking, offering advice (unsolicited more often than not, I might add) in a pitying tone to you, about how your kids just lack discipline and routine. Videos showing days filled with little girls in bows and perfectly ironed little dresses and boys in their pressed and creased khakis, proudly reciting the whole book of Genesis, even before breakfast. 

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However, my mornings never went that way, and by 2 pm I needed a fix, a pick me up, something to soothe the desperation and sense of failure. So I would load all the kids in the van and trundle down the hill, 1.5 miles to the McDonalds. McDonald's, where the Golden Arches glistened and gleamed in the sunlight, making me about as exuberant at the sight, as an old miner ’49er panning in a frigid creek in far off Alaska, chewing on his last hunk of jerky and wondering what was he doing, when suddenly he would spot that first glint of gold in the sunlight. I would drive through order my $1 size Diet Coke. The cup was the size of a 2- Liter soda bottle and held as much, but pity the soda girl if she didn’t get that baby filled to the brim. I was entitled to my full due, by golly, I demanded my dollar's worth! I would not be cheated.

My Diet Coke addiction was cured when we moved. No, we didn’t move because of it. My husband did not put the house up for sale in the middle of the night and pack us up, and haul us away from that sinister McDonald’s, the supplier to my habit. No there were other reasons for the move, but in my gut I knew it was time for a fresh start and the move was a place to begin over. We located a house that was too far from any McDonalds and now was the time to clean house! No more chemicals and caramel coloring to pollute this temple, no sir.

Things were rolling along nicely, and then one miserable August day while waiting in line at my neighborhood WalMart, after another long and endless summer day of kids bickering and the looming school year yawing ahead of me, with the pressure of designing lesson plans and school supplies to acquire, I spied a lovely green bottle in the mini fridge in the checkout aisle. It was wrapped in a captivating label. The logo spoke adventure to me and the name of this beverage shouted MOUNTAIN DEW. 

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Something snapped in me and it was like that old commercial that showed a woman in the tub after a long day whispering, “Calgon take me away…” Except, this was a 20 ounce bottle of freedom, beckoning me, toying with me, teasing me to escape the monotonous days that were rolling one into the next. One whose sublime, fluorescent green elixir looked suspiciously like a toxic flow of chemicals, but certainly it was not. It was called Mountain Dew, what could be healthier than dew from a lovely, majestic mountain? 

I paused, made a few furtive glances around me and opened the door to the fridge. My heart was racing, my thoughts swirling in opposition…”don’t do it, you’ve been good for too long”, the other side whispering, “you know you want it, you deserve it”. I’m ashamed but I caved. I grabbed the bottle put it on the belt and when the checker asked if I wanted it out of the bag I spoke a little too quickly and casually. “NO, NO, that’s not mine, it’s for my husband, you know, after work. He likes a little pick me up after a hard day.” “Ooookayyyy”, she replied kind of puzzled at my shrill response. 

I herded the kids quickly to the car and made my way home. I turned on the Sponge Bob marathon and placed the kids in front of the TV. “Mom’s going to take a little nip, er nap, don’t bother me for at least 15 minutes ok?” Silence, the hypnosis had already taken hold and now I was on my way to experience the pleasurable freedom I had dreamt of upon first seeing that bottle. I closed my door, sat down and cracked open the bottle and swilled like a woman who, after spending months crossing the great Sahara Desert, was given her first cup of water. Ahhhhhh the taste, oh the taste, it had the taste of sunshine captured in a bubbly froth. It was my beloved Diet Mountain Dew.

Oh Diet Dew the wonders of you! It was my new fix. I would drink it and feel as if could actually climb mountains! It was so delicious and irreplaceable. How had I ever missed this wonderful concoction? To top things off, it was also really good for my diet, because in drinking Diet Mountain Dew, I never would dare pair it with chocolate or cake or something so sinister to my waistline. I reasoned it was my one sinful pleasure, but really how sinful can something be that contains real orange juice? Never mind that it contains enough caffeine to power a herd of elephants rampaging across the Serengeti! And so the addiction took hold and the rationalizing and the sneaking became common place. I was hooked once again.

Then one day, I was in the dark, in my closet, surrounded by empty Diet Mountain Dew bottles, having guzzled the last of my stash, hands shaking, the kids yelling for me, my husband yelling for me, “Honey, where are you?” and I knew this was no life. I had to beat this monster’s hold. I told myself that I had done it before I could do it again. And so I began the weaning process, and with much effort and hard work I pried the cold, dead grip of that Diet Mountain Dew from my life. Victory was mine, I had a new lease on life. The sun shone brighter, the birds sang louder, I was free, free indeed!

And now you ask, how is it that you find yourself with a new love, a new carbonated beverage with a foothold? Well, it all comes back to the kids, again! I have almost four teenagers (the youngest will be 13 in a month) and I can’t take it! I am at a cross roads, I am reminded daily that I am losing control of them and in no time they won't even need me. They are beginning to fly on their own, making their own decisions. Decisions that will someday come back to haunt me, because everyone knows it’s always the Mother’s fault! Don’t get me wrong, they are good kids, and it’s not their fault. It’s the nature of the job, the way of the world, the natural progression of these things. But for crying out loud I simply cannot take it! I need a fix and so having kicked Diet Coke to the curb and drowning the Diet Dew I find myself with a new seducer, Diet Pepsi.

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Diet Pepsi, with its patriotic red, white, and blue logo and silver (like the betraying strands of my hair) label. It reminds of everything American…tradition, courage, and good old apple pie, although I’m not sure it would taste good with apple pie. That might be something to try later on. "But oh Diet Pepsi", as I slowly and joyfully twist your lid, "I am anticipating your healing bubbles will soothe my troubled soul, at least till I overcome you, too!"