“You know,” he began as we drove home, “I wouldn’t trade you and the kids for the world…but if I had it to do differently, I don’t think I’d have moved in with you when I did.”  –He was talking about 7 1/2 years ago, when I hastily asked my then-boyfriend if he wanted to move in.  Truth is, as soon as I’d said the words “Guess you could always move in here,” I’d regretted them, frantic at what my parents would think (not even taking the time to consider what I thought).  It was one of those you can’t go back now moments – someone was going to get angry and hurt no matter what.

“But if I had it to do differently…” The words echoed in my ears.  Truthfully, there are probably a million things I would love to be given a chance at a do-over in my life.  But then it occurred to me:   What if life wasn’t really made up of mistakes and victories, or failures and successes?  –What if it was simply a series of choices, some of which may not turn out quite the way we’d hoped? I’m not proposing that sin doesn’t exist (it does), but what if some of our less-than-great ideas weren’t really mistakes, just choices?

My husband had begun the conversation, meaning only that he would have waited.  He wouldn’t have been so hasty.  He would have saved his money and….  But, the truth is:  Neither of us were the people we are today.  Seven-and-a-half years ago, my sweet husband hadn’t yet learned some of the financial wisdom he now knows and understands.  Back then, he would’ve made promises to save for our future, but as soon as the first pretty toy came along, his savings would’ve been depleted.  I would’ve seen him as a flake.  Dishonest.  Bad news.  I wouldn’t have stayed around long enough to get engaged, and would probably not be with him today.  We wouldn’t have gotten married.  We wouldn’t have had the opportunity to pull through some really rough times together.  We wouldn’t have these two beautiful girls together…and we wouldn’t be building this amazing life together.

It’s easy to say from the outside looking in that the choices we made were a mistake.  And while some of the choices we’ve made may lack a certain degree of wisdom, proclaiming them a mistake is extremely short-sighted, because none of us can see from one brush-stroke what the masterpiece will be when it’s finished.

How silly is it to judge who I was (or others!) by who I am today?  Who I was 5 months ago is VERY different than who I am today…much less who I was 7 years ago.  Wisdom rarely comes easy, it’s our “mistakes” or the consequences of our choices that break us down only to build us up, making us stronger, wiser, and more compassionate people.

Welcome back!

Still counting… 77 to 100:  Friendships that weather the storms. Intricacies of life.  The calm before the storm.  The cheerful songs of birds.  Fun music welcoming me home.  The promise of Jeremiah 29:11.  Never really having to be alone.  Porch swings and gentle breezes.  Bathroom ambushes.  Tufts of bright green grass.  Slow comfort seeping through my veins.  Quiet time.  Senses of humor.  Conquering love – love that conquers.  Treasures amidst the rubble.  Warm embraces.  Family.  Compassionate people willing to serve.  My favorite purple scarf with tiny poof ball fringe.  Shelter in the storm.  The smell of steaks cooking on someone’s grill.  The ability to forgive.  Being forgiven.  The gentle rock of a porch swing.

The past few days have been…trying.  From harsh words to a beating heart, stilled…to bad news and even more complexities in an already uncertain situation.  Ah yes, trying.  Tough.

But, even as the tears rolled down my cheeks, I kept counting.  I kept being thankful.

Then, there was yesterday and I could feel the adrenaline leveling out, leaving me at some low place with little to say, and only the past day’s events circling through my head.

But today, as I sat on my porch swing, journal in hand, I forced myself to name at least one thing I was thankful for.  And with that first scribbling of ink, many more poured out of me.  Thanksgiving poured out, and yet I was filled up.  Amazing, how that is.

Storms are moving into our area, potentially devastating and frightening storms, but for the moment, the weather outside is calm and warm.  It  reminds me a lot of how I feel my life is right now – so many things stacked up, not going the way I’d hoped.  And, in certain areas, things promise to get harder before they get better, and yet I move forward, face towards the sky.

I just wish I was better at this.  It takes practice, I know.  Walking and living in constant thanksgiving must be learned, but oh how I could use it now!  I wonder if I’ll always need to be reminded (like the Israelite people coming out of Egypt) of God’s greatness, always counting, or if I’ll ever be able to just hold onto it.

But, then again… I’m not sure if I’d have it any other way…I kind of like finding the treasures amidst the supposed rubble.

1-49.  The ways God loves me:  Dressing up with my girls and twirling around like the princesses we are.  Snow days spent building forts with my family – love watching them play.  Knee-high trudging, snow balls.  Barely able to to move.  Snow food.  Cornbread (from scratch) with chili and cream cheese.  Sleepy baby smiles.   Snuggles with my girls.   Little arms wrapped around my neck.  Holding hands with my sweetheart.  Laughing with my honey at the movies.  Driving at 5:30 AM – sky navy blue, glowing ground.  Watching the sky turn pink and orange as the sun peeks.  Warm sunshine kisses on my cheek.  Roses, the color of sunset, a gift from my mom.  – A little bit of “happy” when I was feeling down.  Friends visiting church.  Being able to return a kind gesture.  Sunshine.  A call from my sweetie.  Sweet giggles and laughter filling my ears.  A “date” with my aunt and Grams for hamburgers, tatertots, and strawberry cake.  A sweet, understanding woman on the other end of the phone when I went to pay a bill.  A bag full of clothes just for me!  A sweet email from a close friend that lifted me up.  A bird singing outside my window.  Wind chimes playing.  Lunch from a much-loved friend.  Supper with my parents.  A wonderful surprise to greet me.  The sweet smile that comes before the peace as my baby drifts to sleep while snuggling close.  Warmed by the sun.  Company of friends.  Naptime.  A show of the sunset from my front porch.  “Quiet time” provided by my mother.  Group time.  Bible study.  Impromptu day with my aunt.  Long naps.  Tickle wars.  The way the sun’s rays fall on my jar of roses.  Realizing we had enough leftovers for supper again so I wouldn’t have to cook.  Songs without words (sung by Rora).  Lala hugs and “I love yous.”  Waking up with energy.  Feeling of accomplishment.  Visit with a much-loved friend.  A blessing from our postman.  A book in the mail.  Warm days.  Fresh lovely breezes blowing through the window, making my curtains dance.  Sweet snuggles with the baby.  Laying in my 3 year olds’ bed with the lights off, just breathing her in.

Part One.

Part Two.

I think it became evident when the anti-depressants stopped working for me.  – That this had become a heart matter. *

And as big of a realization as that was, it still left me standing in the middle of nowhere, clueless and directionless.

So, now what?

How could I possibly fix my heart if the things in my life that were breaking it were still in place?  How could I change my life if everything was going to stay the same in it?

Looking back, I can now see God in the details, even through the darkness.  As close as I’d come to completely wrecking, He’d always sent someone (or something) to cushion my fall a little.

Consistent sweet texts for a time, “Good morning, Princess!  How is your day?  Love you much!”

A flurry messages checking in on me.

Flowers.

A friend bringing food by.

A sweet card.  Gifts on my doorstep.  A rainbow in the sky.

Wind-chimes.  Birds singing.  A sudden unexplainable burst of joy as sunlight warms my face.

In the darkness, I had thought I was hitting rock bottom.  Instead my Savior was catching me.  It was His hands I had felt underneath me.

Feeling like I was at the end of my rope, I walked into a group of women one night – I felt defeated, hopeless, and angry.

Truth be told, I was there because of a relationship that was hurting me – I was there because I wanted to know how I could fix that relationship.

As a couple dozen eyes turned towards me, I could feel my insides ripping loose, as I dumped the raw hurt all across the table.  Years of pain slipped between my lips, filling every silent corner of the room.  Tears, like little highways, made their way down my face.  After being bottled and shaken for so long, I just couldn’t be still any longer.

For a few terrified seconds, I waited for the roof to cave in and collapse on my head.  It didn’t.  Instead, I found love, compassion, understanding, and a sense of camaraderie.  They may not have lived my exact story, but we were all sinners just the same – and together, we were embarking on a journey both inside those walls and out in the “real world”…

*When I say it was a heart matter, please understand that I’m not minimizing my (or anyone else’s) depression.  I had MAJOR depression, but the fact of the matter is that medication has it’s limits.  Sometimes, it just can’t cure everything.  Due to a hurtful and hard past and current events, my heart was broken and shattered.  I needed to look at the CAUSE of my pain and affliction, rather than just medicating myself and trying to wish it all away.

(Part One Is Here)

This journey, I can’t say exactly where it began because it feels like I’ve been trudging uphill most of my life.  Perhaps I have.  But, I can tell you the point when it turned a sharp curve and headed steeply downhill.

Being as it shadowed most of my history as me, I began to wonder if perhaps I was just never made to be happy.  –If maybe, just maybe, I was a defect living in this happy “normal” world.

And so things went, these thoughts always looming in the back of my mind, following me.  They say life is like a roller coaster, and boy was mine.  Except, somehow I got on the broken, rusty ride where when you took a dip, you never really knew if you’d ever stop safely at the bottom – sometimes, you felt like you’d just crash to smithereens.

I had bad days and I had good-enough days.  Two steps forward, one step backward.

Wearing someone else’s smile, shoving the hurt deeper below the surface as it threatened to seep out.  A room full of people, yet so alone.

My worst enemy had become myself, yet I didn’t feel safe anywhere I stood.  I had engaged in one of the most complicated and dangerous wars – the kind from within.

Thoughts attacked me.  Worthless.  Ugly.  Good-for-nothing.  Loser.  Un-Loved.  Incapable.  Not good enough.  If anyone knew you, they’d leave too.  Oh, and how they went on.  There were days when I’d lie in bed, unmoving, only because I feared that if I moved, I’d be pulled toward a tool to end my life like a strong magnet.  I would grit my teeth, crying out in anguish to my God.

My first breakthrough came with a sudden thought.  My daughters.  Beyond the initial pain of losing their mother, but to their future.  Could I really rob my daughters of a best friend?  Could I rob them of hugging and holding when they first experience heartbreak?  Or, consoling them when life seems too big?  Was I willing to take away the experience of being able to be there for them as they each walked down the aisle?  No.  I couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.

It became a switch, this new realization that even if I couldn’t fight for me, I would fight for them.  While I may have seen myself as one big, drippy mess…they were pure and lovely.  So, as the darkness creeped in, I would use my switch (and, often).  It didn’t make the darkness go away, but it made me safer.

Despite my major stride, I was still floundering through life.  I was barely floating, sputtering for air as my head kept going under – darkness clouding my vision.

Part Three.

…because there’s a difference between looking back to see how much you’ve progressed and looking back only to get stuck in what was…

Like black charcoal dust, the secrets swarmed inside, swelling, threatening to burst out at my seams.  It seemed the harder I tried to succeed at LIFE, the harder I fell.  Even in the simplest things, my life felt like a never-ending arrangement of falling dominoes.  I wanted it out of me, this swirling of secrets and lies, but sometimes it’s just not that easy.

And so, I would pour out just a little of my black dust over a cup of tea, but it never went down right and left me anxious and regretting that I’d ever even let it out.

So, I’d pull it all back in, letting it swirl and poison my insides.  Slowly, parts of me began dying away.  I could feel it eating me alive.  I could feel it sucking my joy dry.  It’s an interesting feeling – wanting to escape this death and wanting to escape by death all at once.

I was crushed.  Drowning in quicksand.  The more I flailed, begging for help, the more I sank.  A message board.  A counselor.  Advice from well-meaning people.  My own thoughts.  – They all told me the same message in different words.  This thing I was trying to save?  USELESS.  (And, some even ventured to tell me that it was me who was useless.)

I laid on my pillow, soaked in my own tears, crying out to God, pleading that He’d just take it all away.  That He’d just tell me what to do.  But, when the tears dried, I busied myself with “concocted plans” of things that *I* could do.  I asked for God’s help, but since it didn’t come immediately, I figured He had left me too.  Who am I, that even my own God doesn’t love me for all of my secrets?

And as much as it made sense for me to quit altogether on paper, something held me back.  I couldn’t see this invisible force that pulled me back, time and time again.  But, the things that made sense on paper just didn’t make sense in the bottom of my soul.

I was in a maze, trapped, every exit was nothing but an illusion.  I wanted out.  I was alone and drowning and it felt like I had nothing but a shore of spectators.  So, I reached out even further, hoping someone would just help me out of this.  The truth is, no matter how much you may think you want to die, when the air begins to leave your lungs, your survival instincts kick in, propelling you towards life.

And thus, someone suggested I just pray.  “JUST pray?”  I asked, incredulously.  Didn’t they get the memo that God didn’t care about me anymore?  Besides, God was great and all, but what was He going to do?  I didn’t need a little help, I needed full-blown resuscitation.  Besides, I wasn’t too sure I hadn’t gotten my answer.  But, who were these crazy Jesus-freaks, thinking that ALL I needed to do was PRAY?  Sure, praying was great…you know, AFTER I had a real plan.  I think I saw prayer more as a complement to a plan of action, rather than the other way around.

Then, there was the issue of God’s plan.  I never really doubted God’s plan, but when people used it as a form of reassurance for me, it made me cringe.  I knew God had a plan, but I didn’t really think it involved much of anything for me that I’d LIKE.  I’d already seen how a good portion had turned out in my personal life, and I wasn’t really impressed.

I looked around and saw all of these people with “normal” lives, people that were happy, and I wondered how the heck I got the short end of the stick.  And, while I knew that someone stuck in the quicksand couldn’t possibly pull another person out, I didn’t really want these “happy” people telling me how to be happy when they could never understand.  But then again, I really wanted that “happy” – I wanted to have “my time” in life where things would stop flying at my face.  And, I really wanted it RIGHT THEN.

(Part Two.)

This life…it holds so many choices. – Including the choice of how we will choose to view our life.  Will we see only the holes and shattered dreams broken around our feet, or will we use those holes to see past ourselves and into the wonder of God’s great glory?  Will we walk past the beautiful sunsets, unable to see past the thoughts in our own heads?  Will we ignore the gift of a beautiful bloom or a hug at the very right moment?  Will we see the gifts that have been set in our lives just for us?  Will we fail to notice our God who loves us so compassionately that He continues to pursue us, no matter how often we fall or turn away?

Life is simply a series of tiny moments.

We either cherish them or take them for granted.

So, here’s the beginning of my list…the things I’m grateful for, the things that make me smile.  These are the things I cherish.

1.  Dressing up with my girls and twirling around like the princesses we are.

2.  Snow days with my family and watching their delightful expressions as they build forts and catch snowflakes on their tongues.

Two years ago, there I sat, my heart shredded and my thoughts pounding the back of my head, threatening to explode if I refused to un-cork them.  It was in those darkest times that three words slipped between my lips.  Give me grace.

At the time that I first uttered this secret whispered prayer, this thing that was somewhere between a plea for help and warrior’s cry, I don’t believe I fully understood the thing that I was asking.

Grace?

I mean, why not pray for strength.  Or, peace.  I can think of a million other one-word things that would’ve made more sense.  But, grace?

Grace… it’s finding favor with others and having good will towards them even when they don’t “deserve” it.  – Even when they’re the ones that made you hurt.

Little did I know that God was working in the depths of my darkness so that I could experience the light, and that this little three-word prayer would echo back to me two years later.

For a season, my heart bled ink onto the pages of my blog.  It was open, honest, unfiltered and raw.  It also tended to be discouraged, angry, and bitter.

Then, the Potter began kneading out the knots and air bubbles in my soul.  Before long, just living life as my Father began scraping away became my ultimate focus.  Most days, I was too physically and emotionally drained to press my fleeting, whirling thoughts and feelings into coherent words, much less sentences.

Seasons in life are inevitable – just like the seasons here, where I live.  During the winter months, when the air turns frigid and nips at your nose and the wind bites at your back, there’s one thing that I miss even more than the sunshine.  I miss the sweet songs of the birds.  As much as I love looking straight up into a flock of dancing, fat snowflakes, I do miss the beautiful melody of our winged friends.  I suppose we all go through our seasons of silence.

It’s not because I’ve figured everything out that I’ve found my voice again.  Quite the opposite.  It’s that I’m no longer trying to figure it all out.  And, with that…comes an amazing freedom.

I’m reading this wonderful book, One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voscamp, and don’t want to put it down.

We all have those moments, days, and even years where our life seems to have crumbled to shambles beneath our very feet.  This book is about the dare to live fully right where you are.

Join the author, myself and many others as we come together to discuss this wonderful life-changing book (HERE).