I Miss Back When...

Time is running out for 2017. The clock is ticking off as we are only a few hours from midnight. And the ending of a year has always been a good time for reflecting on the past and looking forward to the future. The ending of this year has me wishing for times before. 

I miss back when I was little and my sister and I would play Barbies for hours on the blanket outside on the lawn. 

I miss back when I was in high school and hanging out with friends and still thinking that I would go to medical school and conquer the world. 

I miss back when I was in college and living in Seattle, “studying” for hours with my friend Jennifer and laughing about everything until we couldn’t breathe. 

I miss back when I first started my job and thought that I was the best SLP in the universe. 

I miss back when I first met my husband. I remember the long phone calls, the agonizing wait for the weekend when he would drive all the way from Wenatchee to see me, the excitement of dating and being together and learning about each other. 

I miss back when Amelia was a baby, smiley and sweet and snuggly. 

I miss back when I first became the momma of two. I miss seeing Amelia’s adoring eyes as she gently held her new sissy Emerson. 

I miss back when we were a family of four, thinking that we had it made and never even knowing what was just around the corner.

I miss back when Tom was here with us. I miss his crooked grin and the way he adored my girls. I miss his burping and farting. I miss him teasing me. I miss him bringing shoes to the house that I would always steal. I miss the gatherings where he was just there. I miss his motorcycle and his leather jacket and everything about him. 

I miss back when my grandma and grandpa were just through the field. I miss running through the tall grasses to get fresh berries or help grandpa or kiss grandma through the fence. 

I miss back when Clay was still alive. I miss hearing him call me “Sweet Pickles.” I miss play dates at Chuck E Cheese and the Bowling Alley and the mountain where he loved playing Gray Wolf. I miss our chats about drums and high school and the girls. I miss his sparkly eyes at my girls’ dance recitals. I miss his hugs. 

I miss back when my sister actually lived in Bremerton and I could run to her whenever I wanted. 

I miss back when we were the Duncan family. I miss my husband. I miss our family. I miss my girls having a dad. I miss our State Patrol family and our fire department family and our Cencom family. I miss thinking that my husband was a hero. I miss holding his hand, three quick kisses before we parted ways, the yellow roses he always bought me, having someone to come home to and talk to and love me. 

All of these back when moments? They all represent moments in time. Time that sucks away all too fast. Time that passes whether we are ready for it or not. And we find ourselves on a milestone of time tonight. As the seconds slip away, as the moments pass, we will all pause to think about 2017. To mourn its passing. To rejoice that it’s over. To mark the moments and their meaning for us. And then, as midnight strikes, we embrace 2018. 

The beginning of a new year symbolizes hope. Hope that the coming year will be better. Hope that we leave behind the bad of 2017. Hope that this year will be the best ever. 

The marks on the chalkboard are erased and we get to start over. Sort of. We walk into each year with the memories of the past. I am excited about the potential of a new year. I’ve made plans. I’ve written out goals. I’ve given a lot of thought to the year to come. But in the back of my mind, I think about my midnight. Another year without my husband to kiss me at midnight. Another year closer to being older. Another year of watching my parents age. Another year of watching my babies turn into young women before my eyes. My emotions swing from one end of the spectrum to the other. 

And then, in the midst of it all, I’m given the theme for the year for me and my prayer partner: Psalm 34:18  If your heart is broken, you'll find God right there; if you're kicked in the gut, he'll help you catch your breath. 

She and I often see and hear “Be still!” Catching our breath. Taking a rest. God is in this time with us. He was in all my back when moments. He walked me through all those years, the goods ones and the bad ones. And in the worry and angst of a new year beginning, in the sadness and heartache of memories past, He is there. Helping us to be still. Helping us to catch our breath. Walking us into the new year filled with hope! 

So, as the clock ticks towards midnight and you find yourself counting down the seconds towards 2018, pause and think about your back when moments. And then think about the hope that fills the new year! And know that our Heavenly Father is with you as the time gets small, and He’s already waiting in 2018 as we begin counting down that year! He’s there to celebrate with you in the good. And He’s there to help us catch our breath in the bad.

I can’t wait to see where this new year takes us! And to make even more amazing back when memories! Happy New Year! May God bless you in 2018 and beyond! 

God Blessed the Broken Road...

My life is broken. Was broken. Has been broken. There are fractures and fragments of the journey that I have taken in this life strewn all over. Pieces of my heart and soul lay shattered along the reflections to the past. Life has been hard. And the scars that I have are deep and infected even at times, some not yet healed. But as I move forward in my faith and in my walk with Father God, the healing that is taking place can be looked at with wonder. 

This past week, another step of healing happened. The relationship that we have shared with Brian’s family has been tumultuous as best. It has been a journey of blame and heartache, shame and finger-pointing, anger and even questionable activity. I have often been left reeling from visits with them. I have attempted to involve them minimally and in a safe fashion to allow them to keep the connection to their grandchildren, but to also protect my heart and my children. So for a long time they got to attend dance recitals and that was it. A public location with family and friends where they could see the girls, give quick hugs at the end, and we could go on our merry way. We would meet in a public location for Christmas gift exchange. It was awkward and weird and always left my stomach in knots and my soul aching that this was how life had to be. Rather than all coming together for Christmas traditions with my husband and his loving family, we had been reduced to just trying to survive interactions underneath the strain of a suicide and some nasty fallout. 

Until this year. I have worked a lot on me and the journey that God wants me to take. This year when my mother-in-law texted back in November to pick a date to meet for our Christmas, I talked to the girls. We decided it was time to forgive and move forward. So, we planned a Christmas luncheon...in our home...and invited them to join us. 

Immediately, Satan went to work trying to derail this plan. My heart began to be unsettled. Things I hadn’t remembered about them were flooding into my memory. I received a card from a relative with what seemed to me like a warning. I began full on grieving the loss of my husband all over again. The steering pain in my heart like a festering wound that had the bandaid ripped off. Nightmares at night. Tears when I couldn’t sleep. The firm footing in my faith was slipping. I was questioning my decision to make this happen. I cried and lamented and prayed and asked Jesus to intervene. 

Then the day came. My house was cleaned and decorated for Christmas. My beautiful tree flowed and sparkled in the corner. The food was cooking and waiting for their arrival. They came. The anxiety melted away as we hugged and talked and ate and exchanged gifts. This visit was as normal as things have been for a long time. There was only love and peace and forgiveness. Some sadness at what things had occurred, and what things had become. Life was different. Brian is dead. His brother divorced. His niece and nephew young parents. And my mother-in-law’s poignant statement: This isn’t the life that we had planned at all, but we are making the best out of it. 

Yes! This! My life plan didn’t include my husband killing himself. It didn’t have room for an assault. It didn’t include losing my grandparents and my husband and Tom and Clay and so many others that I just thought would be around forever. It didn’t include the broken road that winds through my memory. But, the broken road that weaves its way through the tapestry of my life is my broken road. Blessed by God. He gifted me with so many amazing moments, so many wonderful people, so many memories that carry me through the times where all I can do is trip and stumble on the broken pieces. 

God blessed my broken road. Even in the moments that are horrible and terrible and bring me to my knees He was there. He was in every one of those moments, ready to carry me when I surrendered to Him and allowed Him to walk me down my broken road. 

Proverbs 3:6 in the Bible says, “submit to Him in all your ways and He will make your paths straight.” He takes the broken roads that we find ourselves on often and lends them. Replaces the bricks, recements the cracks, paves the bumpy ways. He blesses our broken roads and makes our paths straights. He always makes a way to take any situation and make good out of it. It may not feel good at the time, but keep walking. Keep grieving. Keep forgiving. Keep moving forward one step at a time. He’s there, waiting for you to trust in Him. Waiting for you to call out for help. And He blesses your broken roads. He makes your paths straight. He helps you find the message in your mess. 

My message in my mess.  None of us planned this journey we’re on. But we all need to trust, have faith, know that God is using it for our good. He is blessing our broken road. And we will continue to move forward and heal. Our days will be filled with peace and faith and hope and love. We will grow stronger everyday as we walk in His truth and His grace!

Thank you, Father God, for blessing my broken road. I’m thankful for every loose brick, every crack, every pothole. Because they have made me into the faithful person I am today. They brought me friends and family I never knew I needed. They gifted me a prayer partner to walk me through these messages. They granted me strength, in myself and in my children. 

God blessed my broken road. And He’s blessing yours too! Just look for Him and listen for Him! He’s there! Making your paths straight!

All the Small Things...

Sometimes, it’s hard to fit into this world. It’s hard to feel anything but small. When you think about the expanse of the universe, you are one single little speck in this massive place. Even in the context of your own little corner you can sometimes feel...invisible. There are so many people. So many distractions. So many things that fill the time and space and area surrounding you. Often, when Kristi and I are walking to a football game, people will just plow into us and Kristi will turn and look at me and say, “Am I invisible? Can you see me right now?” In the hustle and bustle of life it sometimes feels as if you don’t fit in the world. You’re too small to have a space. You’re insignificant in the grand scheme of things. 

Things happen in life that add to this idea. It’s not just a space issue. It can be a heart issue too. It’s a lonely world at times, and it makes it hard to navigate life when you are unsure of how you fit into the scheme of things. In conversations with people we can all agree that life is so hard. And when life is hard it can be overwhelming and isolating and downright scary. There are many thoughts that float through my head in any given day. “Why do I matter?” “How do I fit into this picture?” “Where do I stand?” It’s a hard place to be, but I find myself there often. The world is so big and scary sometimes. And when you are a person with anxiety or post traumatic stress disorder or even just someone who has troubles with runaway thoughts, it can be even more so. 

Today was one of those harder days for me. It started off with very little sleep and just sort of spiraled from there. I was ready to go home and crawl into bed around 9:00 this morning. But I adulted though the rest of my day to make it to the end. I dropped my kids off at dance and I had a few choices of what I could do. Go home and sleep. Go somewhere and drink. Sit in my car and be alone. I opted for a walk. So I went to one of my favorite places and walked slowly through the darkening woods. I made it to one of my favorite spots to stop and talk to my Heavenly Father and I stopped and stood there and began to cry. Heartfelt prayers left my heart and my soul as I rocked back and forth in the middle of my spot, singing praises to Him in my head as I cast all my worries and cares onto Him. He whispered for me to open my eyes and when I did and I looked up into the heavens and the picture above is the view that I saw. Expansive trees towering tall over me. The last bit of daylight peeking through the treetops. For a split second I was overwhelmed again with the thought of being small. Insignificant. Unimportant. Standing at the base of the towering trees I felt tiny. And then the following verse popped into my head:

Matthew 6:26 - Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

I am so much more valuable to my Heavenly Father than the birds. More than the trees. More than the hustle and bustle that so often has my head swimming and searching for a firmer footing and elbowing to find my place. 

I am not insignificant. I am not nothing. I am not unimportant. To my Father, to my God, I am His most important treasure. I am the light in the night sky. I am the center of those tall and towering trees. I am so important to Him that He has a plan to love and cherish and take care of me all the days of my life, and even beyond! I am His precious daughter and He loves me. Now and forever. Amen!

What’s My Age Again...

I find myself standing on the verge of the clock ticking to my fortieth birthday. I can’t believe I’m going to be forty! Just as I marvel at the apparent time warp that has happened when I stare back at the faces of my children who are no longer babies, but young ladies, I find myself looking backwards trying to figure out where the last four decades have gone.

Many people fret about turning the big 4-0. Getting older depresses them. They are faced with mortality. They are reminded they’re on the downward slope to the end of life. And I suppose it could be hard to think that potentially I have lived half of my life. If I’m lucky...

People have asked me for months now if I’m anxious about being forty. My reply? I am excited! A fresh start! A new decade filled with potential and possibility. My first decade was filled with camping and playing with my sister. My teen years were stressful as I navigated grades and relationships and being picked on for various reasons. I knew my twenties would be better but it was more stress from college and grad school. I was assaulted. My grandfather passed away. But I met and married Brian in my last year of my twenties. The thirties would be my decade! I had Amelia. And then I had Emerson. And then my husband killed himself. Life unraveled. I developed seizures. Blah. 

So, am I dreading forty? No way! I am loving my life where I am in this moment. I am strong in my faith. I am dependent on my Heavenly Father for my needs and dreams. I am losing weight and feeling good and in the best shape of my life. My girls are happy and healthy. I have worked on my heart and forgiveness and moving forward with life. I am repairing relationships that were important to me at one time in life. I am happy and getting healthier. I am navigating through life feeling good. 

My blog has been about honesty and transparency. I have shared the good with the bad. So, in the spirit of being honest, I will share that as I move closer to my birthday that the feeling of excitement is still there. I am wide-eyed with anticipation that I am moving into a new decade that will be full or peace and love and hope and faith. But there is a feeling of sadness and heartache that is threatening to creep in and cloud out the joy that is in my heart. 

I am going to be forty. And with all of the excitement there is also a sometimes overwhelming sense of sadness. I didn’t think that I would be entering my midlife alone. At the end of my grandparents time together, they were celebrating their sixty-seventh anniversary together. A lifetime of love. That’s what I wanted. As I walked though my twenties I saw the time ticking away, my opportunity for lifetime love sucking away like the sand of time. I was overjoyed when I walked down the aisle towards Brian and the timeline to my lifetime of love started. 

When he died, the turmoil surrounding his desth tore me in two. I was now without the person who promised to love me forever. But he was also a monster that I didn’t recognize anymore. Sadness. Anger. Heartache. Apathy. Devastation. Relief. It’s hard to grieve when you don’t know whether to be sad or angry. 

These feelings are right at the surface as I stand at the halfway mark to life. I have ended my first half of life in turmoil, but also in victory as I have navigated through the process of healing. I am starting the last half in a place of peace and contentment, but with sadness creeping in as I start this journey alone, without my earthly life partner. I am so blessed with friends and family and people who are amazing and incredible and so supportive. The people reading this post, and so many more, have walked my little family out of the darkness with the help of Father God. And for these people I am so grateful. 

I miss my husband. My heart breaks and the tears sit right on the edge waiting to brim over and fall down my cheeks. I wish I was starting this next phase of my life with my partner. With the father of my children. With the one that God picked for me to start my family with. And then I remember that same God that picked Brian and started me on the path to the end of these first forty years. He has a plan. There’s a path for me. There’s a plan. I am right on track where I am supposed to be.

So, on the eve of my birthday, I am thanking Father God for the plans He has for me. For the lessons that I have learned. For the message in my mess. Every step I took in my first forty years has been directed and perfected by my Heavenly Father, to prepare me for the next forty years. I am so grateful to Him, grateful to the people who have walked beside me and in front of me and behind me thus far, urging me to continue. Cheering me on through the times I have struggled. Waiting for me to walk out of the fog and the darkness. 

So, happy birthday to me! The birth of a brand new decade. A brand new part of life. A brand new opportunity to serve my Lord and Savior. A brand new chance to try again with the things I struggled with before. Another chance to love and be loved. The beginning of a new life path gifted to me by God. Another chance for healing and moving forward and coming into the person God is growing me to be. More time to grieve and grow and gift others with my story and my testimony and my message. I can’t wait to be forty! I can’t wait for all God has in store for me! 

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you” declares the Lord...

Letters to You

I have always processed stuff by writing. Not like in a diary or in a journal. Blogging mostly happens lately. When I was younger I would write myself letters of things I was having a hard time with. I would write and write and write and then fold the letters in my pocket and carry them around with me. Any spare moment I got to myself I would read the letter over and over and over. I would squeeze my eyes shut and think and then read some more. I would work through things and then at night I would read my letter. And then I would go to sleep and dream. I don’t know if it was helpful or harmful but that’s how I did things. 

Not much has changed. If there is something I need to process or get off my chest I still write letters. They’re just not to me. I will type something out and send it to my prayer partner to help me process. We talk and pray and listen for God’s voice and insight into the matter. It is so helpful for me to be able to write. When things are tough or I’m having a hard time with something, I am not the most articulate person in the universe. I lose my speech. I clam up. I don’t want to talk or vent or process. But then my prayer partner will tell me to write it out and send it to her. It’s almost as if I think no one is going to read it. The words often flow so easily onto the paper. Just like I was a kid again. 

That’s how I wish things could happen all the time for me. Talking to people is hard for me, especially when I have something big or important to talk about. How bizarre is that? I’m a speech therapist. My job is to talk and use my words. But when things get tough I don’t want to say anything. I once spent two hours sitting on my prayer partner’s couch saying nothing because I couldn’t make myself say the words that were in my head. So much hurt and anger and shame. How do you express that out loud?

I write. And there have been many time throughout my life and my journey on this earth that I wish I could have written a letter instead of talking or saying nothing. If I could, what are the letters I would write?

• I would write a letter to my husband, asking him why he made the choices he did.
• I would write a letter to my in-laws, explaining why I handled Brian’s death in the manner that I did. 
• I would write a letter to my parents, telling them I am sorry for everything I dragged them through. 
• I would write a letter to my rapist, telling him that I forgive him. 
• I would write a letter to myself, trying to work through everything that I have been through and telling myself that it’s ok to not be strong and it’s ok to not be fine. 
• I would write a letter to all of my people, thanking them for always being there for me. You all know who you are. I am surrounded by beauty and compassion and kindness. 

There are many more letters I would write. So much emotion across the whole span of this journey. Gratefulness. Anger. Happiness. Sadness. Joy. Bitterness. Peace. Anxiety. Calmness. A letter for so many people. For good reasons and for negative reason, all pieces in my healing process. 

But there is a letter that trumps any letter I could ever compose. It’s a love letter to us, from our Heavenly Father. The Bible is filled with letters to us. Letters guiding and directing us on this journey called life. Letters of love and admiration for His children. Letters of hope and peace in times of trials and tribulations. Letters from God, to us, for every occasion. There are sixty-six books in the Holy Bible. Sixty-six books filled with letters from God. Sixty-six books with page after page of letters to us from our Father. There are some amazing letters contained in those pages. Many of the letters that I wrote to myself started with bits and pieces of the letters from my Lord. Many of my blog posts share a letter from our Father. He loves us so. He wants the best for us. He wants us to find hope and peace and love and joy. He wants us to have faith in Him and to know that He is with us always. 

Letters from God. Do you have things you need to heal from? Do you have things to work through? Write a letter to the one you need help healing from. Write a letter to your best friend or prayer partner. Write a letter to yourself. Write a letter to me even. And then, when you are finished, open the Bible and read the letters from our Lord and Savior. His words are promises from Him. They are filled with love and light and promises! They are more fulfilling than any letter you’ve ever read!

Letters to You...from our Heavenly Father. 

“For God so loved the world...” John 3:16

Heavy...

Heavy...

Tonight’s blog post...

Another post about my weight...just to warn you! I just stepped off my treadmill for the first time since last Monday. I run Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Last week I came home from a dentist appointment with Emerson and went to bed. And didn’t get up until Friday. And then it was only because I had to. I was super sick. So, two missed runs and a missed kickboxing class made for a rough run today. Having something up with my lungs didn’t help any. But I did it. And this was the topic on my mind my whole run. I really wanted to call this blog post “What’s My Weight Again?”, a parody of one of my favorite Blink 182 songs, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. So now you know the alternate title. 

When I was in high school I weighed 240 pounds. I remember exactly because we stepped on the scale in tenth grade PE and I was horrified. So ashamed. I was athletic but I didn’t control my eating. I would hide food. Sneak food. Spend my money on food. I was ashamed but not enough to do anything about it. 

When I left for college I actually lost weight my first year. I remember weighing 220 pounds as I entered my sophomore year. Still not where I was supposed to be but I remember feeling good about myself. I was walking and riding my bike around campus. Eating better. I was feeling good about myself. I dressed a bit more skimpier. I wore short skirts showing off my legs. I found shirts that I loved. Then I went to a party. And was brutally assaulted by more than one man. Over the next seven years I ballooned from the 220 I was so proud of. By the time I walked into my first WeightWatchers meeting I weighed 341. I had already lost 20 pounds on my own. I worked hard and got my weight back down. 

I met Brian. We fell in love fast. He proposed. Moved to Bremerton. We made wedding plans and the day that I got married I stood at the altar in my wedding dress weighing 220 pounds. I felt beautiful. I felt healthy. I was so proud. Two babies later and time a period where my weight rose above 300 two more times and losing it again in between. Then Brian killed himself. 

My first thought? I shouldn’t have lost weight. I shouldn’t have gotten back to 220. Bad things happen when I get skinnier. I got raped. I met Brian. Bad things happen when I become more tolerable to men. That number - 220 pounds - weighs heavy on my mind. The PTSD feelings surrounding that number gives it a life of its own. I cannot weigh that ever again. I need to pile on the layers of fat to protect myself. If I keep myself disgusting, if I keep myself obese, I won’t be a victim again. I’ll be safe and protected. 

I am nearing that 220 mark once again. I am eleven pounds away. My last weigh in showed me to be 231 pounds. And I can already feel the anxiety and fear building. So I turn to writing. And I’ll turn to God. 

The photo below on the left is me at my heaviest, or at least close to it. I was hiding behind food. Hiding behind the pounds. The girl on the left was full of heavy things. Fear. Sadness. Hidden secrets. A soul that was cracked and bleeding. Flashbacks of trauma and assault. Anger. Confusion. Pain. So much hurt. So much doubt. So much just wanting to die. Just wanting to feel safe and protected in a world that had been shattered to pieces. And then seven years later, I took charge and took the first few steps to healing. To stopping the cycle of weight gain. To finding who I could be. 

When I met Brian I was still on my initial weight loss journey. He was loving and accepting. He knew I was working on me. My weight didn’t bother him and I was looking and feeling so good. The day I said “I do” I was back down to 220. My magic traumatic number. And then just a few years later, Brian was gone. And something that came out in therapy was the damn number. Why did I let myself get down to 220 pounds again? Brian found me attractive. I wasn’t at a point where no one would find me attractive so I opened my heart and let someone love me and then he died. 

That number has become a panic for me. A moment of anxiety. I don’t want to be fat. But I need to figure out how to not be fat and not see 220 on the scale again. When I think about it I am full of fear. I’m full of doubt. I’m full of terror thinking about what might happen. What will happen if I weigh 220 pounds again? 

I posted the two pictures side by side for a reason. I don’t ever want to be 361 pounds again. And I’ve done a great job of not getting that heavy since then. But I also don’t want to be 220. 220 is just a stopping point between here and my goal. I cannot put so much into just a number. Nothing bad happens at 220. Nothing bad is going to happen. Those two events were just a coincidence and I can make it past that number on the scale. 

I have invested so much time and energy into finding out who I am, there’s no turning back with this. I will overcome the trauma of that number. I will get closer and closer and then blow right past it on my way to reinventing myself physically. I am excited about who God wants me to be in my health and exercise. I will not be a victim. I am a survivor. I am a fighter. And I am not going to be chained to a number on the scale, no matter what that number says. 

God has a message just for me, just for this situation: Isaiah 43:19 says “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

See? He is doing a NEW thing! In me! This 220 hangup that I’ve had for a while? This is not part of His plan for me! He has more! So much more! And He needs me to blow through 220, and give all of my fear and worry and anxiety to Him. To have faith and trust in His plan. To cast all my cares upon Him. To know He will walk with me side by side through the rough parts. He’ll cradle my head in His arms as I cry tears of heartbreak. He’ll place His hands on my shoulders as I walk through flashbacks and night terrors. He’ll hold my head in His hands and glue all of the pieces back together as I work through the healing work that needs to be done surrounding this. 

I don’t want to be heavy. And I don’t want to be carrying the heavy burden and heavy chains of brokenness. I will walk through, one step at a time, one day at a time, one pound at a time. I will work towards forgiveness of my attackers, forgiveness of Brian, forgiveness of myself. I will eat right and run and kickbox and pray! Mostly pray! I will get past 220. I will love myself no matter what the scale says. I will trust that He has me, and my path, in His hands.

I Won’t Back Down...

Three times. Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” has played three times today at completely different times. The first time was in a preview for a movie that comes out in January. The second time was in the truck with my family on the way to the pumpkin patch. And the third time was in an episode of Gray’s Anatomy that I was watching randomly. I smiled as I started singing the third time, and realized that God had a blog post for me to write. So I left the TV on in the background and decided to get to work, knowing that He would lead me through the writing. 

I thought about what we could possible cover with this title. I thought about my weight loss journey. I tend to get in a groove where I do well, and then something happens. Last year, almost a year ago, I broke my foot. This year, I’m back on a good streak of losing weight, and Wednesday I was hit with what I’m guessing was the real flu. I have been so sick. Achy joints, headache, back pain, cough, stuffy face. I had been doing great with my eating and exercising routines. Suddenly I found myself wanting nothing but candy and fries, and missing a day of kickboxing and two days of running. My energy is still sapped and a couple hours out of bed st the pumpkin patch has kinda done me in. But I have goals to reach and I’ll pick back up with eating and exercise as soon as I am able to sit upright for more than an hour. I won’t back down...

As Gray’s Anatomy played in the background, I listened to the case that was on TV and smiled again. Another message from Heavenly Father. A man on the episode was having surgery on a kidney tumor. He was afraid. He didn’t want to have the surgery because he was worried about the risks and the complications. I have been told to search for a second opinion. To not just listen to the first advice that told me it was “no big deal.” So, for the kidney tumor part of my life, I won’t back down...

The next item on my agenda was to go through mail.  I had lots of mail to go through since it had been a while. In the pile of mail, I found a bill. A bill for Brian from over seven years ago for money he owed. I shook my head and closed my eyes and prayed for forgiveness and patience. And I offered a prayer of thanksgiving that Father God protected me from so much. I still owe on Brian’s debt. I’m still paying on things that he owes. But there has been so much more that I am not responsible for. So much more that I haven’t had to pay. And I am so grateful. I will continue paying down his debts and moving forward from my experiences with him. And I won’t back down...

As the evening wore on, I started to feel terrible. I am tired from the day and from being ill. I was feeling sick to my stomach being dragged into some of Brian’s mess once again. Just when I get to a point where we are content and maybe not thinking about him, something comes up. And as much as I’ve moved on, as much as I have grown and changed, there are things that happen that suck me back into thinking about him and his mess he left behind. This is exactly what Satan wants. He wants me distracted by this petty little stuff so that I don’t notice the hate and discontent that is growing in my heart. I don’t notice the feelings of yuck and sadness. It slowly starts taking over. And luckily, God has walked me through this before and I am more aware of how I feel and what they try and get me to do. So I pray. And I sing praises. And I wrote blog posts. I message my prayer partner. I lean of Jesus to get me through these moments. And I know that I am loved and taken care of and protected from my Heavenly Father. And I won’t back down...

In everything I have been through, in all the trauma and all the pain, in the heartache and anger God has protected me. He has helped me to stand my ground, to ground myself in Him and His word in the Holy Bible. He has helped shelter me from Satan and his attempts to lure me off of the path God has for me. And God will continue to help me through this life. He will carry me through the moments when I have flashbacks and memories of Brian. He’ll cradle me in His loving arms as I navigate the medical pieces of a kidney tumor and my other health concerns. He will guard and guide me as I walk this health journey and keep exercising and losing weight. 

In all of the things I meet in life, I know He is with me. Matthew 28:20 says, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." His promise to us that He is always with us and will never leave us. He is with me every second of every day. Walking me through the healing I need for my past, and also preparing me for the moments of my future. I know that He won’t back down, and He won’t let me back down either. 

I Hate Everything About You...

Aristotle said, “Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.”

Seven years. Tomorrow will be seven years since my husband chose to end his life. Rather than face the punishment and the consequences of his bad choices, he drove up a quiet mountain road and chose to escape this world and the wake of problems he had caused, only to start the waves once again as he peacefully exited this life.

Emotions get all screwed up when you go through something like that. I remember coming home later from work. I had just strapped Emerson into her car seat for dinner and began the routine of feeding my little girls. Then the phone rang. Wondering if I had heard from Brian. He didn’t make an appointment he had in Seattle. I hadn’t heard from him. But I could try and call him. I hung up with her and dialed his number. It went to voicemail. I went back to the task of feeding Emerson. The phone rang again. It was Brian’s mother, hysterical on the other end of the phone. They had found his belongings in boxes labeled with names and envelopes also labeled with names. And my first reaction? Anger. I just wanted to feed my kids. I just wanted to rewind a couple weeks before and have my life not in shambles. And now he dared to kill himself and leave us and his responsibilities? I called my parents to come home. I called my best friend to tell her that they thought he had gone off to kill himself. I was pissed.

His mother called back to ask if I knew where he would go to kill himself. In the realm of conversations you have with your mother-in-law, I don’t feel like that should ever be one. Of course I knew where he’d go. How awful is that?! I knew exactly where they would find his body. That thought haunts me often. It wasn’t like that was on the list of conversations we had discussed. But I knew. And that was where they found him. And again, I was pissed. 

I made the drive to my in-laws house. I wanted my suicide note. I needed to see what he wrote about. When we got there his mother was hysterical. I entered their home and was angry again. They were angry at me. I was angry at the whole thing. The sheriff’s office arrived at the house shortly after I got there. When Brian’s dad opened the door, the deputy asked who I was. I told him I was Brian’s wife. He blew past me to Brian’s mom. I heard my husband was dead from the back of the deputy. He never told me my husband was dead. And I was angry. I stormed into Brian’s bedroom and began packing the things that were labeled as mine into a box. I grabbed the laptop on the floor and I needed to get home to my girls. I was so angry. Not until I got into my truck for the drive home did sadness creep in. 

I hate everything about Brian. Anger is the one emotion that I tend to reset to. I get so angry. Still. Seven years later I’m angry. I’m angry that he chose me. I’m angry that I fell in love with him. I’m angry that our best date was our last date. I’m angry he hurt so many people, even before he killled himself. I’m angry he was arrested. I’m angry he died. I’m angry for a lot of it. 

And then he was dead. And I was angry to be treated the way I was treated by his family and relatives. I was angry that he didn’t leave us better prepared for his death. I was angry he left me with debt that I’m still working to pay off. I’m angry every time I transfer money to that account. 

I hate everything about him. Which is really hard to stick to when that person was the person you fell in love with. The person you created two beautiful and talented and smart and amazing girls. It’s hard to stay angry at that person. But that’s what I want to do, more than anything. I want to be angry. Because when you are angry, you can’t be sad. You can love and remember the good times. You can’t focus on anything but the searing anger that rises in your chest and keeps you tough and strong. Anger is easy. Sadness and grief are not easy. So I try hard to stay angry. 

As I walk through the grocery store and see his favorite beer, I get angry. As I answer the 500th question about his suicide from my 7-year-old, I get angry. As I walk through the motions of doctor appointments for seizures and gall bladder troubles and tumors without my husband, I get angry. When I relive those horrific nights seven years ago when I close my eyes, I get angry. 

And yet, I am far enough above my journey that I also see hope and peace and love and faith. Those pieces are the pieces that I can finally see in the gloom. I can pause the anger for a moment, and see the blessings of this journey. I can be ok with what has happened and see how much growth I have made and move foreward. 

I am so thankful for a kind and loving Father in heaven that has been so patient and has waited for me to walk out of the anger and into His loving and waiting arms. He wipes away my tears. He calms the storms of anger with His righteous hand. He cradles me and the girls in His arms and soothes the aches and pains in our hearts. 

The grief process include a lot of layers. Anger is one of them for sure. I have had a lot of practice in the anger. But tonight, as we are close to entering the seventh year without my husband, I am choosing to give Him my anger and to help my healing process continue. I can see the blessings! I can see why each and every step had to happen. And as badly as I want to hate Brian and everything he represented at the end of his time here on earth, I am praying for a heart of healing. Forgiveness, love, peace, hope for our future. God has a plan! He had a plan seven years ago when everything seems to be taken away from me. And he has a plan today where I am starting to see everything being given back to me. God has blessed us immensely on this journey. And although the anger may still be there, I am being healed each and every day, each and every step. 

We are thriving in peace and hope and love. The anger and the hate will melt away! We are so blessed! And I can’t wait to see where my little family will grow in the next seven years! No more anger! Only love and peace and hope!

This Girl is on Fire...

Emerson is obsessed with watching YouTube videos lately. There is one in particular that had been on repeat for a few weeks now. It is an America's Got Talent clip of nine-year-old Angelica Hale singing Alicia Keys' song "This Girl is on Fire." If you haven't seen it, google it right now and take a peek. She's good. Very good. And she gets the golden buzzer. Sorry if that's a spoiler for you. Emerson's favorite pastime as of late is to put it on repeat and sit in the tub and, I'm assuming, imagine what it's like to be on that stage. Emerson belts the song at the top of her lungs. No shame. It's a beautiful thing and makes me smile. 

Needless to say this song has been stuck in my head for about as long as Emerson has been watching this video. I assumed that this was because this is really the only thing I have heard for weeks. But apparently, it was a not-so-subtle nudge on the topic of my next blog post.

The words of this song are important to me at this very moment of my life. The lyrics show a struggle of a girl, flowing between negative and positive, gaining strength as the song progresses.  This is a lot like real life for me. 

There's always this fine line I walk, I feel like. This line between being solid in my faith and solid in the plan He has for me and my family, and wanting to crumple into a pile on the floor and be done. It's not a struggle unique to me. I'm sure this is a line that many of us walk through life. The line between feeling our best, and feeling our worst. The line between rocking our job, and begging to be fired. The line between putting a smile on our faces, and hiding the tears. 

This girl is on fire. A phrase with dual meaning. My world, at times, feels like it's literally on fire. My soul sears in pain. I'm getting burned left and right. There is confusion and chaos and sadness. The remains of the world around me are charred and burned, disfigured and unrecognizable. I know that I'm inches away from crumbling. This is especially true now, as we approach the anniversary of my husband's suicide. Yup, it's been seven years. Maybe many of you are saying "Jeez, get over that already." I'm not sure it's ever something I'll just get over. My world burned to the ground that night seven years ago. And I got burned. This girl was on fire for a really long time. I didn't know how I was going to survive or make it through or carry on. And sometimes today, the sadness and the heartache is overwhelming. Knowing that I won't grow old with Brian. Knowing that I won't ever surpass my grandparents being married for almost seventy years together. Knowing that I don't get or have moments where I fondly remember my husband, or have a moment where I am filled with his presence or messages from him. Sometimes, this girl is on fire, and is unsure how I'm going to survive. 

But then I remember Isaiah 40:31: "Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint." I am made strong in the Lord. And although everything around me is burning, He is walking me through, and out of, the fire. He has healed and is healing me in all realms, in all aspects of my life. He has healed me spiritually and has brought me closer to Him in my faith each and every day. He has healed me emotionally where those moments I feel like crumpling happen less and less often. He has healed me physically to where signs of seizures are infrequent to never, my broken foot is completely healed, my joints are stronger. I have confidence that he will also heal my gallbladder and the tumor on my kidney because He is powerful. He has healed me in every area of my life. And I continue to grow stronger everyday. 

So, today? This girl is on fire. I am on fire for Him. I am on fire with my goals and dreams. I am not consumed by the flames, but rather I am using the flames to show just how brightly I can shine. I am on fire spiritually and ready and willing to share the beauty that has arisen from my ashes. I am on fire physically, changing and shaping my body to be the temple it is supposed to be. I am on fire for life! And I will continue to be on fire and to teach my kids how to shine our light for Him each and every day. 

Isaiah 61:3 says "...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor." He takes the ashes from our fires and turns them into beauty. He takes them and makes good out of all things. The horrors that my children and I have witnessed in our years would seem to have wrecked our world and caught it on fire, when in reality, the spark in our hearts were set ablaze with love and peace and hope and faith. We are on fire! And you can be also! Be kind and do better! And live life not in fear of the flames, but thankful for the renewal that comes from the fire. This girl in on fire. My girls are on fire. And we can't wait for our flames to spread to those around us!

Last Resort...

The definition of "last resort" says "a final course of action, used only when all else failed." 

I walked in to the kickboxing studio last night, ready for my Tuesday night workout. I checked in and stood around talking to one of the trainers. Overhead the music was blaring, inviting us to get psyched up for the upcoming workout. I walked back to the locker room when it hit me like an ocean wave slamming me to the sand. The song that was coming over the speakers was the Papa Roach song "Last Resort." The tears immediately welled up in my eyes as my brain made the connection. 

Music is my heart and soul. It defines many of the moments of my past. I am immersed in music much like I require air to breathe. There's a song that pops into my head for almost every occasion. There's a song that reminds me of past events. There's always a song...

For a few years, for Christmas, my sister and I decided to gift each other a trip. Rather than choosing a favorite destination, we would choose a favorite artist, pick a date for travel, and see what city we ended up in to see our favorite bands. One year it was Dropkick Murphys on St. Patrick's Day weekend in Boston. The particular memory that washed over me in the gym was the year we chose spring break to see Papa Roach. The destination? Las Vegas...

The news this past week has been hard enough for my brain to comprehend. But add this memory to the mix and I was overwhelmed by tears and heartache as I hid in the bathroom at the studio to sob into my hands before class. Those people. Those poor people. My sister and I are no different than those people. Music is something that we love. We were in Vegas doing something we loved. They were in Vegas doing something they loved. And many of them were killed or injured because of it. 

This life is tough. So very tough. It is filled with trials and tribulations. It is filled with dark times and difficult roads. Just right now in this moment, I am working through the grief of the anniversary of my other dad's cancer diagnosis and the anniversary of my husband's suicide. Life is hard. And in order to unwind, to escape from it all, I go to concerts. And football games. And events with friends and strangers. The concerts I have attended number in the hundreds. Easily. Those people at the music festival in Las Vegas? No different. Their lives are difficult. Their stories are unspoken. They were at the concert to have fun. Blow off steam. Forget the world. And yet in an instant, their fun and their happy place were shattered into a billion pieces as shots rang out and their lives were in danger. Or worse, taken.

And now, we grapple with the aftermath. Conversations have turned back into arguments. We will hear blame being placed everywhere. Gun control will be brought up. Hotel security was listed as the blame on several news channels. Mental health is touched on a bit. Everyone sends their thoughts and prayers. Many comment angrily that thoughts and prayer don't do anything to help! I agree to an extent. Thoughts and prayers shouldn't be an afterthought. They shouldn't be something that we throw out there in the wake of a massacre. Thoughts and prayer should be the first thing we do, always, constantly, and before tragedy strikes.  

This country is falling to pieces! We are coming apart at the seams. Over the course of the last few weeks, we have torn each other to pieces over a flag and a song. We have been furious with football players. We have been angry enough at each other that we are showing sides of racism and bigotry. People are openly typing out amazingly hurtful comments on social media. We have treated thought and prayer like it is a last resort. Something that we throw out there when everything else is going so wrong. We have thrown God completely out of the picture. He is a last resort for many, a last ditch effort to save or bargain or plead with. 

Thought and prayer and God should be first! Not a last resort. He should be the one that we turn to in good times and in bad. We should be coming together in conversation and dialogue. We should be putting aside our differences to heal our country, to heal our people, to heal our differences. We need to talk openly about guns. And mental health. And racism. And recovery for this great nation.  And all of the hard things.  Because as we are fighting over topics, fifty-nine people were killed for doing nothing more than participating in something they loved. They were gunned down trying to forget the awfulness of the world. They were shot and targeted for taking a timeout from the rat race and doing something they loved.

Be kind! Why can't we all just be kind to each other? Why can't we take care of each other? Why do we have to be so stubborn and opinionated and work hard to make others' time on earth unhappy or miserable. Just love! And have faith! And find peace!  Find the gift of hope! Be kind! Please!

I've been doing a project with my students this week where I have been reading the book "I Like Myself" and then talking about what they like about themselves. Out of around fifty students, want to know how many could come up with something they liked about themselves, even with an example? Three...and two of those three kids answered they liked that they were good at video games. The other student like his hands. That is so sad to me! These kids don't know that they are special! They don't know that they have so many likeable qualities! They aren't taught to be proud of themselves! That's sad! How many shootings may have been stopped by a parent telling their child how special they are? How many angry adults would he healed had they heard the words "thank you" or "you're beautiful" or "I appreciate you"? 

We can do better, friends!! People shouldn't be murdered doing something they love! People need to hear that they are loved. By other people and by Father God. People need to be kind to one another. One small act of kindness could make a huge difference. Don't let kindness and faith and hope and love and peace be a last resort. We need to make it a priority!! We need to push it to the forefront of this life. This hard, difficult life needs the light of people. It needs God and kindness and a revival of basic human decency. We need to step out from behind our keyboards and be the start of change. We need to do better! I need concerts and football and time with friends. And I'm not going to live in fear, but I know there's hope for a future where you don't get shot doing something you love. So talk! Pray! Heal! And have faith that God will carry us through this tragedy and help us all to move forward in love and hope and peace and faith. Don't let God be a last resort. Move Him to the forefront of our lives and watch the world change for the better! Don't make these things a last resort...

Fight or Flight...

"She is clothed in strength and dignity and laughs without fear of the future..." Proverbs 32:25

A few blog posts ago I wrote about light bulbs and the suicide of Chester Bennington, the late lead singer of Linkin Park, who killed himself. His wife recently posted a video of him during family game night. He was playing a game with his wife and children and laughing and having the best time. There was no sign anywhere in the video snippet that would indicate he was going to hang himself just a short time later. There is now an internet campaign where people who are depressed are showing photos of themselves with the caption "This is what depression looks like". The images that follow are "normal" people. Smiling faces. People having fun with friends. People doing what they love. Some admit they are diagnosed with depression. Some are photos other people have submitted of loved ones that followed through with suicide. The message is you can't just look at a person and know whether they are depressed or not. The same is true for people with anxiety. 

I am not diagnosed with anxiety. But I have it. I fret and worry and turn things over and over in my mind a thousand times. I don't take meds, but sometimes I wonder if I should. And I do my best to hide the fact that I worry about everything. 

The speech department had a training on Friday. I showed them a video called "Why Leaders Eat Last." It's a presentation by Simon Sinek. If you've never watched it, I highly recommend it! Towards the end of the video he talks about cortisol and fight or flight mode. And how that stress is killing us. For me, I have been stuck in fight or flight mode for so long, it has rewired my brain. The stress over the years has caused my brain to rewire itself into having a part that triggers seizures. Being stuck in fight or flight is dangerous, and I have experienced this first hand. 

For the longest time, I would fight. I would try and take control and fight my way through my days. I fought my attackers when I was assaulted. I fought through the days when Brian caused our family to implode. I fought through tears and heartache and pain. I fought...

But then I got tired of fighting. And I moved to flight mode. I ran away. I pulled my girls out of school one day and ran away. I would sit in my office at work and feel the tension building until I couldn't stand it any longer. I'd walk over to Diane and Kathy P in the office and ask them to sign me out for the afternoon and submit leave and I would run away. I would push away all of my friends and family and crawl into a hole and drag everything in behind me. And I've been sort of stuck there for a while. 

Recently, I started kickboxing, as an exercise alternative for myself. It looked fun, so I tried it. It was amazing. Not only physically, but emotionally and mentally and spiritually as well. Every class, I fight back the urge to burst into tears and start bawling in front of everyone. As I'm punching and kicking the bag, I am laying everything running through my head on the floor of that gym. Last week, as I was choking back sobs in the fourth round, Heavenly Father asked me why I always revert back to the flight. Why is my first instinct to run? As I mulled this over in my head, I realized my purpose for walking into that studio. I was in training. For myself. But also for Father God. He didn't want me to run away. He didn't want me in flight mode. But did He really want me to fight? Was He training me to fight?

Not at all. He doesn't want me stuck in anxiety. He doesn't want my life to be about either fighting and flying. He wants me to rely on Him. He wants me to trust and have faith and give it to Him. Which, when I'm sweaty and exhausted and don't think I can go another minute in kickboxing, the tears brim and I know I can keep going. 

The Bible tells me everything I need to know about my anxiety and how to cope:

FIGHT: Exodus 14:14 "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." He doesn't want ME to fight. He wants me to know that HE will fight. He will take care of everything for me. I need to close my eyes, be still, and know that He has got me in the palm of His hands. He will fight. I don't have to.

FLIGHT: Isaiah 40:31 "but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." God will help me fly! Not fly away like I would like to, but fly with strength and dignity. He will give me the strength to face what I need to face. He will be with me every step of the way, helping me through it all. 

So as we enter October in just a couple hours, and as I face the painful memories of so many things: Tom's birthday, the destruction of my family, Clay's brain tumor diagnosis, Brian's suicide...I turn to the fight or flight versions of my Heavenly Father. He has a plan. He has the path set for my journey. He knows where I'm headed. He sees me at my worst and helps me to become my best. He is inserting the message in my mess. He is going to build the testimony out of my test. We are stronger everyday in faith and love and hope and peace. And with God's fight and flight plan, we will continue to recover, continue to grow in faith, and continue to soar! I laugh without fear of the future because my God is awesome, and I put all my faith in Him.

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger...

Last Wednesday I decided to sign up for a 45-day body transformation challenge at my kickboxing studio. It's a chance to win $20,000 based off of your body changes. Not necessarily weight loss, but other factors play in too. When I signed up I didn't really sign up thinking I would win $20,000. I signed up excited with the anticipation of having a motivator for getting back on track with my eating habits and exercise routines. I did my measurements. Went to weigh in. Took side, front, and back pictures. Went and did a body composition test. And went to bed that evening with my heart filled with hope and excitement and motivation for starting another chapter of health and fitness. 

In joining the challenge we were also added to two separate Facebook groups for support: the national challenge page and the Silverdale challenge page. Yesterday, a woman posted a rant on the national page. She was upset that she had joined the challenge and that she was a part of the groups because seeing everyone else's posts, she determined that there was no way she would be able to win the $20,000 and was discouraged and not wanting to continue. 

I posted a gentle response to her rant in the comments. I told her that I looked at the $20,000 prize as a bonus. If I won the money, it would make this challenge that much sweeter. But in my head, I had already won! Wednesday I joined the challenge. Thursday I got an email telling me there was a tumor on my kidney. Typically, being an emotional eater, news like that would have devasted me and I would have immediately started stuffing my face with everything in sight. This time? I threw myself into menu planning and meal preparation. I made it a point to exercise Monday through Friday. I have accomplished so much in the week since we started. I've learned a lot about myself and about where my head is. And I'm becoming stronger everyday - physically, mentally, and spiritually. 

This morning was my follow up appointment with my doctor. It was a relief in that he told me the tumor is nothing to worry about!  It was also a stress in that he told me the tumor is nothing to worry about. Everything that I have read about this tumor, although typically benign, doesn't point to the nothing to worry about part of the scale. Mind you, I don't WANT there to be something wrong. But I also don't want to miss something that might be wrong. Part of this is wanting to be informed and wanting to be in control of medical decisions for myself. Part of this is wanting to do everything to ensure that I live a long and healthy life as the sole provider remaining for my children. Part of this is that I am skeptical of doctors and what they say. I have lost so many important people to so many tragic health concerns. So many missed things. So many mistakes. I don't want to be a missed thing or a mistake. I left my appointment relieved that there was nothing to worry about. But also plagued by the "what ifs?" I could feel my anxiety growing. My thoughts racing. My mind going to the what ifs. 

As I lamented and processed out loud with my prayer partner, I finally got to a point where I'm declared, "I guess I just have to let it go and trust that my doctor knows what he's doing." She gently smiled at me and said, "No, you don't trust your doctor. You trust God!" She couldn't have been more right. 

Too often, I try and fix things myself. Too often, I wrack my brain and try to come up with a solution that I want, a solution that I need. Sitting in my truck after the appointment, I brainstormed scenario after scenario. Should I let it go? Should I get a second opinion? Am I putting too much worry into this tumor? What if I never feel ok again? What if he's wrong and it is something to worry about?

It's not...

Philippians 4:6-7 says, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

I know that sometimes this is easier said than done. But in my growth in my faith, I have learned to do better at giving it all up to Him. He takes care of all of us and loves each of us so very much. He is in control of my life path. So I think back to Saturday when I first shared my news and asked for prayers. The first prayer I asked for was for His will to be done. Not mine. Worry is a part of my will. Worry is a part of the plan that I have for me. It is not God's will. He has a plan. He knows my comings and my goings. He is in charge, and I will lay it all before His throne and give it all to Him. Hope in the storm. No worries. Only peace that passes all understanding. 

I still have a tumor. It's in there. And I can think of five hundred scenarios that cause me grief and worry. But that is not His will. 

So, my prayers have not changed at this point. I ask that you pray that His will be done. I ask that you pray that I let this go and give it to Him for it is His problem to handle. I ask that you offer up healing prayers for my gall bladder. There are more tests to be done for that, including a scope procedure and possible surgery. I ask that you pray for the tumor to be healed and removed from my right kidney. Pray for me and my children to have strength and peace and hope and faith and love through this journey. Pray for His will. 

I am humbled and honored to be a servant of God. I am so blessed to be carried in His loving arms. I am so amazed at the power and glory of our Heavenly Father. And I am so thankful that He is forgiving and offers us His grace. 

I will continue the 45-day challenge. I will continue to push through the days with my workouts, even when I don't feel like I can. I will make good food choices.  I will work on getting stronger and healthier. I will compete, because the prize is already mine! I have been blessed with amazing friends and family. I have been blessed with a strong mind and body. I have been blessed with this tumor! For because of it, I have once again been renewed in my strength and in my hope in Him! There is always a blessing and a lesson to learn in every trial and tribulation. And mine are still being unveiled. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger...Stronger in faith. Stronger in hope. Stronger in the Lord!

Do Better...

The beginning of the school year was a little rough at the Duncan house. I really didn't want to go back. I did not listen to the experts and work on backing up bedtime to a decent time so we kinda went from partying all night to 8:30 bed time. The girls were super tired and cranky by the time I picked them up from child care at the end of their first day back. Sitting down to homework that night, Emerson forgot her assignment notebook at school. Amelia was checking her assignment notebook and couldn't find the worksheet for her English assignment. With tears in her eyes she declared that this was the worst start to the school year ever. The first day wasn't going how we had hoped. 

Every year after the first day of school we usually sit around and talk about how great things are going to be. We set goals for ourselves and discuss what we hope to accomplish. There were too many grumpy kids and tears for any sort of discussion to happen. Exhausted and already stressed out, I sighed and told them I was picking our family theme for the year without their input. Since day one seemed to already be falling into despair, I smiled at them and told them that our theme was going to be "Do better". 

They looked at me and asked what I meant by that. I told them that this day was a disaster. Forgotten homework and forgotten necessities and tears and anger and hurtful words - not the greatest start. But tomorrow was a new chance. Another day. We were going to focus not on being perfect. Instead we would focus on doing better. The tension immediately left the room as they agreed that that was a great theme for our family for the year. 

There is so much pressure to be the best. So much pressure to be perfect. So much pressure to get everything right. It's too much. And on days where there are five million things for everyone to do it's just too much. It's a lot to expect that we will always remember homework pages. We have so much to think about like making lunches and remembering to set out dinner. Packing dance bags and grabbing drum sets. Which day is library? Do I need PE shoes today? So we slip up. Amelia forgets a dance bag at home. Em grabs a gymnastics leotard that is too small. No reason to get upset. Just do better!

Last year was rough for me at work. I was working a 1.2 contract and was overloaded and overwhelmed. I missed some deadlines. Forgot to do some paperwork. Missed a session or two with kids. Do better!

I haven't been the best at eating healthy and exercising. I let some gluten slip by. I didn't count points. I stopped running and working out. I don't have to immediately shift into overdrive. Do better!

As corny and as cliche as this sounds, the email I received last week that rocked my world announcing a kidney tumor fits right into this plan. It has forced me to pause and think through things more carefully. What if this is the last thing I get to say to this person? What if this is my only chance to interact with that person? What if this is the last hug? The last email to her teacher? The last text to my bestie? My last prayer? The last conversation? The last time I can react to the car that just pulled in front of me? Our tomorrows are not guaranteed. This is true with or without a tumor. Live for today. Live for the gift of the minute you are in right now. 

Our family motto has always been Be Kind. We're adding Do Better as the next part also. Do better than you did today! Work better. Exercise better. Parent better. Teach better. Drive better. Play better. Live better!

2 Timothy 4:7 says, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith." It doesn't talk about winning. It talks about finishing. Do better. You don't have to be perfect. We don't have to remember everything always. We don't have to teach the best lessons every moment. We don't have to never mess up. We don't have to win at everything every day. We just have to do better. 

Do better! Have faith that God is in control and leading you through life. You only need to trust in His plan and do better! 

Be kind. Do better. 

I Want to Hold Your Hand...

James 5:16 Confess your trespasses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much. 

I am a faithful person. I have grown throughout the years in my faith and belief. I have been strengthened in my prayer life and in my love and devotion to Father God. I know how important prayer is. I love being able to intercede and pray for other people. I love knowing that I have a direct line to our Heavenly Father to be able to pray for my friends and family and even strangers. When someone asks me to pray for them, my heart soars knowing that this is something I can do to help their situation. I can petition God on their behalf and raise them up in faith to our Father for His will to be done. 

I am not great at doing these things or experiencing these feelings on behalf of myself. I feel awkward asking for people to pray for me. I have a hard time letting the leader of our church prayer chain know when I need prayers for a situation. It is out of my comfort zone. Do I want people to pray for me? Absolutely! But I don't want to tell them that's what I need. It's very uncomfortable for me. 

But, I find myself sitting at my kitchen table today needing to suck it up and ask for prayers and intercession. I haven't been feeling well. Some people would say that this is a perpetual problem for me. But when you live with autoimmune diseases, this is a reality. Some days just functioning is hard. It takes all my effort and energy to simply pull myself out of bed and get going. You get used to the fatigue. You get used to smiling and telling people you're fine. You get used to the pain. Well, there was a symptom I have been having that I finally decided I just couldn't get used to anymore. Persistent nausea finally did me in. It was like I was pregnant again with morning sickness all day long. I finally had enough and went to Urgent Care. (I'm NOT pregnant, by the way...so get THAT out of your head!)

Explaining my symptoms he poked and pushed and prodded. He asked about pain and I told him I have pain on my upper right side that wraps around my back towards my kidney area. He nodded his head and told me I needed to see a surgeon. He suspected, especially since I've had attacks before, that this was my gall bladder. My mom had her gall bladder out. My grandma had her gall bladder out. I'm fat, female, and (almost) forty so I fit the profile to a T. I called the next day and made an appointment with the surgeon. After meeting with him two weeks later, he scheduled an ultrasound and a HIDA scan to look at things and see how things were working. 

My ultrasound was last Tuesday. My results were emailed to me Thursday. Which leads us to this plea for prayer and intercession. As I opened the email the first statement says that the ultrasound showed a normal abdominal ultrasound. The gall bladder looks fine and there is nothing wrong with the bile ducts. Relief washed over me! Yay! No gall bladder surgery maybe! Then I noticed the number two bullet point. Probable...was all I read. There were big long words with a lot of letters I didn't know for sure. I took a second to try and parse the words apart from my Latin classes at UW and only figured out it had somthing to do with blood vessels. I did a quick google search of the word and my heart stopped. Tumor. The big long letters spelled out that my ultrasound showed that I have a tumor on my right kidney. In stunned silence, I did some more quick reading, started writing questions I needed to ask my surgeon and took it to Father God with prayer. 

My first reaction was that I wasn't going to tell anyone. No one needed to know. Not a big deal. The more I read the more I learned. It is small right now, but it's a rapidly growing tumor. The problem with the tumor is that it is made primarily of blood vessels from the kidney. So, if the tumor grows too quickly or if I have any sort of trauma to my back or kidney area, the vessels could burst and I could hemorrhage. The next day I called the nurse that works with my surgeon and asked some more and learned some more. Typically the only treatment is surgery. 75% of the time, these tumors are in the right kidney. I'll probably need a CT scan of my kidney. I need to watch for blood in my urine. And we're moving forward with the gall bladder tests to ensure that it also isn't a problem before moving on to what the plan will be for the tumor. 

So, I am reaching out to my friends and family and prayer warriors and partners in faith, asking for prayer and intercession. It took some convincing from friends and family that I would need prayers and love and support. Because I don't really do this. I don't want people to know anything is wrong. Most people don't know I have seizures. Most people don't know I have autoimmune diseases that wreak havoc on my system. And if I didn't have some super passionate friends and family most people wouldn't know that I now have a kidney tumor. 

But here we are. And I'm asking for prayers. I'm asking for prayers first of all that God's will would be done. I know the outcome that I want, but God is the one in charge of my life. God knows my comings and my goings and He knows what is in store for me. So, first pray that His will be done. Then, pray for healing. Healing for my gall bladder. Healing of my nausea (that's the worst). Healing for my kidney. That the tumor would be removed completely and that there is no damage to my kidney. That God would give me the peace and the strength to walk through this journey wherever it may lead. That God would bless my children and give them peace and strength in this journey. I ask that you pray for my doctors and nurses and other medical staff to develop a plan that is pleasing to Father God and that would lead to complete healing. 

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." This news is a mild shock to me. Not what I expected. But I am not afraid. I have the most amazing high God on my side and there is nothing that can steal me from His presence. Not Satan. Not evil. Certainly not a measly little tumor. I am strong in the Lord! He has me cradled firmly in His strong, loving arms. He has already walked me through some tough stuff in my life. And this is no different! 

So, add me to your prayers, please! Add me to your church prayer chains. Share this blog post to your Facebook pages and let's take it to the Lord in prayer! He is mighty and loving and can do great things! 

The Bible says in Matthew 18:20 "For where two or more are gathered in my name, there I will be also." Thank you, prayer warriors, friends, and family for gathering in God's name and lifting me up in prayer. I appreciate you all and I thank you for holding my hand in prayer through this journey! More to learn about God and my faith and myself, I'm sure! 

God bless you all in your trials and journeys also! Let me know how I can reciprocate in prayer for you! For we can only make it through this life with the love and support of our Heavenly Father, and with hand holding and walking through this life with our brothers and sisters in Christ!

Letters to You...

This has been a long and busy weekend. I have had a headache for most of the day today and I am exhausted, ready to fall into bed with the girls after our Harry Potter chapter and spelling word study session is over. So, we angrily read about Professor Umbridge's new Educational Decree, read through Emerson's words of the week, and I kiss them goodnight and roll over staring into the darkness. I wait for the sound of their steady breathing as they quickly drift off to sleep. And then I wearily pull myself out of bed to start the chores of a single mom with two little girls who all have school and/or work tomorrow. Meal prep happened yesterday which made putting lunches together much easier than usual. Amelia is getting hot lunch. Emerson needs cold lunch and she also needs dinner. She has gymnastics and I have a board meeting which means Emerson will need to eat dinner in the car on her way to the gym with Pa. Ugh...I don't feel like I'm winning any mom of the year trophies here. Our schedules are so tightly packed sometimes I don't know how we're going to get it all fit in there. 

So, while standing over the peanut butter and jelly sandwich thinking about how life might flow better, my mom guilt kicks in. So busy at seven years old! I'll leave my house in the morning at 7:30 to head to my job and won't see my girl again until I pick her up at the gymnastics center at 8:00, just in time for a quick car snack, more Harry Potter, another dose of the spelling list and tuck them into bed to start it all over again. 

So, I tear off a napkin, grab a Sharpie, and scrawl out the following: I then immediately burst into tears. It seems so superficial. Conveying my love on a flimsy chunk of napkin. But then I also remember the tears in my eyes when I was little and would find a note in my lunchbox from my mama. It wasn't superficial to that little girl with the Laura Ingals braids. I loved them. Treasured them. I used to store them in my pencil box at school until I couldn't fit any more in. My mama loved me. She cared about me. She wanted me to think about her in the middle of the day. My tears tonight were a mixture of feeling sad and missing the days of summer when I could take care of my own kids rather than other people's kids but also a measure of immense love. As I read my note back to myself my love for Emerson filled my heart so full I thought it would burst! I love my daughters so very much. And the marker ink on that napkin couldn't even contain all of that love. 

What if God wrote us love notes? What if we opened our lunch boxes to find scrawled messages of love and pride from our Heavenly Father. "Tammy, I love you soooo much. You are my rock star! I am so proud of you! Love, Father God" Does that seem silly? Superficial? I don't think so. God doesn't exactly operate that way. He doesn't write us messages or words on a napkin. But, He does leave us love notes everywhere! When your eyes and ears are open to Him, you will soon see that God leaves us messages everywhere. I hear His voice when I am still and just sit in His presence. I see His love notes on the wings of the eagle as it soars over my property. The flowers that sway in the breeze are filled with words of pride for us. His voice whispers that He loves us in the swirling wind. I can hear His kindness and compassion in the giggles of my girls as they run and play together. I hear His forgiveness in the words of prayers from my prayer partner. God writes us love notes. And they are just as meaningful to me as that napkin note will be to Emerson tomorrow when she unzips her lunchbox. 

God loves us so! He's never too busy for us and He shows us how much He loves us in the everyday. His love notes are placed everywhere, just waiting for us to come upon them and realize that they are from Him. So, pause and be still and wait on the Lord! He is there, with messages of love and faith and hope and peace. Think about what His message to you would say! Insert your name into the note I scrawled above and picture it being YOUR message from God! 

God loves you soooo much! You are His rock star! And He is so proud of you!

Amen!

Children of the Sea...

They were my pride and joy. When I was first hired by the school district back in 2002, the first thing I purchased after signing my contract was my shiny red truck. A year later I purchased my babies: two white and maroon 2003 SeaDoo GTX 4-Tec jet skis. They were gorgeous. And they were mine. Everyone asked if I was sure I wanted to buy two of them. I was sure. One for me and one for my friends. I didn't want to go alone, but I didn't want to share either. We hauled those things everywhere. Seabeck. Lion's Field. Several locations along the Columbia River. Mossyrock. Eastern Washington. They were my favorite toys. 

When I met Brian he and I took them on a trip or two together. Amelia was born and our first trip with her was to Mossyrock. She rode on them with my dad. I just knew she was going to be our little water baby. We were going to raise our kids on the water and they would learn to love the water as much as their momma. 

I do love the water. My soul is tied to the water. From the time I was little, my momma had me in the water. We had a pool in our backyard. I have amazing memories of camping and swimming in rivers and streams, lakes and the ocean. We planned our trips around our favorite swimming holes. I remember walking along the beach at Kalaloch and feeling my heart soar. I loved the water. The crashing of the waves upon the shore. The sound of a river swirling and twirling around the boulders on its course onward. The rhythmic pulse of water. And I still love these things. 

When we got the SeaDoos my heart became even more attached to the water. Being on those is like flying on the water. The boats plane as you get up to speed and they glide across the top of the water. The temperature changes as you make your way up a waterway. The waves lapping the hull of the boat. Seals poking their head out of the water in curiosity. The wide, beautiful expanse of the sky reflecting off of the wide, beautiful expanse of the water below you. Being near the water brings me closer to God. Being on the water and I'm right in heaven with Him. 

Brian and I took Amelia with us to Mossyrock in the summer of 2009 with the rest of our friends and family. He died in October 2010. And the SeaDoos sat...

It wasn't that being on them brought too many painful memories. Brian and I hadn't had much time on them together. Stuff got in the way. Grief. Raising two babies alone. Seizures. More grief. Other things became priorities for me. And the SeaDoos sat...

This past summer, I'm not certain what spurred me to do it, but I took the online boaters course since I needed a license to drive a boat now. I walked up to my parents yard where my SeaDoos were parked and made the decision that they weren't going to sit anymore. I called to get them in for service. When the shop heard they had been sitting for eight years they weren't hopeful they could get them running. And so I prayed and my dad and I towed them in and left them behind, confident in the mechanics. 

A few weeks went by. No progress. They needed more money. They thought they were close to figuring out what was wrong. Panic set into my heart. I agreed to let them keep going with them. 

A few more weeks went by. Another phone call. They needed more money. They were certain they were going to figure it out. Sadness crept in. I had ruined the things that I loved. I hadn't taken care of the things that I had to have and I could see the memories fading thinking my boats were bound for the junkyard. I agreed to let them keep going. 

A couple days later another phone call. Tears started welling in my eyes before I even answered the phone. In my head I could hear them telling me it was hopeless. No use. I was bringing home very large paperweights. I answered apprehensively and the voice on the other end said, "They're ready! Want to come get them?" I was elated. We went and got them and brought them home. There were a few snags that needed to be worked out but yesterday, after eight years of sitting, I was driving my babies towards the boat launch at Lion's Field, with my human babies in the back seat asking a billion questions. 

What if we fall off? Are there sharks in the water? Can you just go slow? What if I just want to stay on the shore with MomMom? Emerson maybe even started crying tears of fear, telling me she didn't want to go. My heart understood, but was broken all over again. My babies were going to grown up on the water. Now I was bribing my seven and ten-year-old to just try it. I was praying they would love it just like I do. 

My dad and I dumped them into the water and jumped on. We were both apprehensive as we started out, unsure if they were really going to work like they used to. We got out of the no wake zone and I opened it up. And before long I was soaring over the water, the wind in my hair, the sun glistening off the surface of the water, and the hum of the engine just as I remembered it. And the tears came. Tears rolled down my face as five hundred emotions poured into my soul all at the same time. Sadness of the time I had wasted. Pride at the hard work it took to own these and then to have them repaired. Grief as I remembered the last trip I took with Brian, a picnic on the dock in Kingston where we started the trip at Lion's Field. Happiness as I remembered all the fun times we had on them after I first got them. And a sense of being filled with God's love and grace and mercy as I flew across the surface of the water. That emotion won out in the end as I looked up at the horizon and saw the picture God had painted for me across the western sky. 

I went to open water towards Silverdale where there was no one around and I pulled the key out of the ignition and I just sat and floated and watched the skyline for a moment. God's voice rang out over the water to me and my heart felt as if it were going to burst. He created all of this wonder, this splendor, for us. He loves us so much he sends us the ocean waves and the sunsets and the mountains in the distance. It's all a gift for us. And seeing those pieces of His creation makes my faith come alive. 

I raced back to the boat launch and picked up my apprehensive little girls. They warily climbed onto the SeaDoo behind me. I promised them I would go slow and explained to them how the SeaDoo works and why the key is attached to me and what they should do if we fell off, just in case. It wasn't long before I heard Emerson's little voice squeak around me: "Momma, could we go fast?" I asked if she was sure and they both said yes. So we went fast. Giggles and whoops and cheers of delight rang from their little voices. We went towards Silverdale. I took them the other direction and we went under the Warren Avenue Bridge and the Manette Bridge just in time to see the ferry pulling in. I steered towards the ferry and asked if them wanted to jump the wake of the ferry so we did that. The second time around I misjudged the height of the wave and we came down with a crash as a wave went right over the top of all three of us. I held my breath, waiting for the tears to start, but all of heard was laughter and a declaration from Emerson of "That was awesome!" The three of us had the best time last night. When my dad had brought the trailer back to the launch and it was time to pull them out of the water, Amelia said, "This was the best day of the whole summer." And my heart smiled. 

On the way home we talked about all the things we could do with the boats. They asked if we could take them out again soon and I said yes! And Amelia pointed out how blessed we are. 

Indeed we are blessed. Another stage of healing for our family. Another phase walked through. Another heart moment shared between the girls and me. I had been avoiding the boats. And it kickstarted a whole range of feelings and emotions that sort of rocked me for a while. But, the overwhelming sense of love and peace and joy of being on that water, flanked by my children and surrounded with the ocean waters and the amazing evidence of Father's creation won last night. 

My children are water babies just like their momma. And we are looking forward to many more adventures on the water. And many more days of witnessing God's amazing creation!

The Devil Went Down to Georgia...

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 8:38-39

"The devil is in the details." Ever heard this said? Why do we say that? What does it mean? It's meaning stems from the idea that in order for a project to be successful, every last detail needs to be perfect. And when the devil is present, or when something goes wrong, things don't go as planned.

It's true, you know. The devil is there. Waiting. Watching. Prowling like a lion. Waiting for you to open the door just a crack and let him in. 

In my opinion, we as Christians do a poor job of telling people about Satan and his stealth. We seem to not want to bring him up. If we don't talk about him, he's not there. If we ignore Satan and his minions they'll just disappear. We are doing a huge disservice to people when we do this. The devil is there! It's not like when we were little children playing hide and seek. We can't stand in plain view, cover our eyes, and expect to not be found. We need to talk about Satan. We need to talk about him and how to protect ourselves against his attacks. 

Preaching the good news is so very important! Telling people about how much God loves them should be a cornerstone in our Great Commission to witness to people. But, we have to talk about the other side too. We have to let people know that once they open their hearts and their minds to Christ, once they start believing and praying and seeking His promises, the door is opened and we are involved in a battle. A classic battle of good versus evil. By not talking about it, we are not preparing people to put on God's armor and be ready. 

I have been under attack for a while. They know which of my buttons to push. They know exactly what to whisper into my ear. They know what to play at to take my breath away and make the anxiety pound inside. No one talked to me about Satan and what he could do. I attended parochial school. I've been a member of a church since I was in Kindergarten. And unless I was daydreaming during all those religion lessons and Sunday sermons, I don't remember hearing about how crafty Satan is. How persuasive he is. How persistent he is. And so, rather than knowing I was involved in spiritual warfare, I thought I was crazy. I thought I needed to be committed or medicated. I thought something was wrong with me. I was ready to declare myself mentally unstable, when in reality, I needed to put on the armor of God. 

Satan is ruthless. He is terrible. He knows what is most important to you and he uses all of that against you. He uses my weight. My assault. The suicide of my husband. He uses my parents and my children. He uses my friends. He uses my own thoughts and my own feelings. He uses my insecurities. And, back before I knew what was happening, I was sliding into a pit of despair and confusion and heartache. It wasn't until people who knew more about this than I did explained to me what was going on that I started to realize what was happening. And that, by the grace of God, I had the authority to take control and take charge of my faith journey and my life. And now that I know, I feel like it is somehow part of my mission, part of my calling, to let others know too. 

The weird things that happen that leave you unsettled but are unexplained? You're being attacked. The dark, destructive thoughts you have at times. You're being attacked. The crippling anxiety and depression? You're being attacked. The nightmares and night terrors and things that interrupt your sleep? You're being attacked. The thoughts that you are crazy or that you suck as a mom or that you're too fat or that you can't do your job right? You're being attacked. 

Satan uses a wide range of tactics to try and wear you down and get you to tap out. He is more powerful than churches give him credit for. BUT, the news that the church does get right? Our God is more powerful! Our God can wrap His arms around you and pull you out of the muck and mire that threatens to pull you under. Our God can wrestle those demons, wrestle those evils, tear down those that want to tear us down. He is omniscient and omnipotent. He is the Almighty! He is the one that has given you HIS very own armor to cover you and protect you and save you from the wicked one. 

So, yes, the devil is down in Georgia. And Washington. And all over the world. He is in your cities and is in your homes. He may even, at times, be in your heart. But, in Father God, you have all the tools and all the love and all the peace you need to defeat Satan. Do not be afraid! Do not despair! Do not sink down and believe the lies that he whispers into your ear! And if you feel like you are being dragged to the point of no return, reach out! Ask questions! Be brave and ask for help. 

Along the lines of our family motto of be kind, this also spreads in this message. Knowing what I know now about Satan and his capacity to destroy people makes me take pause and look at our societies. Our communities. That dirty, smelly man begging for money on the corner? Chances are he's under attack. The women who talks to herself and hears voices? Chances are she's under attack. The people who are mean-spirited and rude and angry? Chances are they are under attack. And the more we talk about this, the more we spread prayer and compassion throughout our communities, the faster our churches, our communities, our country can heal! 

Satan thinks he is winning! Satan thinks that we are on the downhill slope to destruction. Well,I hold out faith that he is WRONG! As a core, we are good people. God resides in this world, and He is the one that is in control. We just need to be brave enough to let go, and let God. We need to see the evil and racism and divisiveness and mental health issues that we are experiencing as attacks. Start with a little prayer. Add in some compassion and understanding. Be kind to all you meet and the battles they may be fighting. And our world has a chance to heal. 

I am still under attack. Daily I fight to remember to lean into my Lord and put on my whole armor. Daily I choose to walk through life leaning on Him.  Am I perfect with this? Not at all! I need reminders all the time. Luckily God has graced me with the best prayer partner ever to grab my hands, place my Bible in them, fold them in prayer, and reach out to my God for help. The road isn't easy. It isn't all good. I have been through a lot. Satan has done his best to take me out. But I have faith in my Heavenly Father to carry me through. And I have been blessed, so very blessed, on this journey I have been on and will continue to be on. We are all works in progress. We are all amazing creations. We just need to make sure we are leaning on the right Creator. 

American Girl

Luke 6:35 But love your enemies, do good, and lend, hoping for nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High. For He is kind to the unthankful and evil.

I am an American. I was born and raised in America. My dad was an immigrant from Germany. But he is also an American. He immigrated here and gained citizenship. He grew up in a small town in Michigan and grew up to serve as a hard hat deep sea diver in the United States Navy. He raised my sister and me to be proud to be Americans. To never take for granted what we have and to love and be kind. I have always been proud to be an American. But lately, I am hurt and saddened and confused about what it means to be an American. 

You see, being an American doesn't seem like the noble and honorable thing much anymore. It is an amorphic thing, changing quickly from day to day, from race group to race group. There are times that when I'm watching the news I'm almost afraid to admit that I am an American. You see, I'm also Caucasian. I'm a Caucasian American. Typing that here brings up concern because what if I get lumped into the groups of Caucasian Americans that have been making news lately. Can I be a Caucasian American and state that without someone accusing me of being racist? Do people who don't know me read those words and automatically lump me into the hate groups and the Neo-Nazi gatherings that are being splashed across the media? Do they close their eyes and picture me as a tiki-torch bearing protestor? I hope not because that couldn't be further from the truth for me personally. 

But, as I read Facebook and the news and social media, this is what I am seeing. As ridiculous as it seems that I would be afraid of being judged by the words I have identified with above, it is no more absurd than what is really happening right now across America. People are being judged for how they identify themselves. People are being hated and targeted and even killed for how they identify. People from all walks of life. All races. All creeds. This country is seemingly disintegrating before our very eyes. People are getting bolder in their ignorance. Keyboard warriors are brave sitting behind their screens. Fear and terror are spreading. I, for one, am speaking out. Right here in this blog post I am giving my opinion. At the risk of being called a great litany of things, I am not going to sit in silence anymore. I am using my platform to try and promote peace and remind people of my family motto of be kind. Because even as the world seems to be going mad, it only takes one spark to light a fire. And I have so many kind and amazing and involved friends I know we can start an inferno of love right here in our little corner. 

I am a Caucasian. This means that I am white. I am sure there are people that would say I am steeped in white privilege. There are people that would say I am racist because of pride. I say that I am white. The color of my skin is white. My ancestors were European on both sides of my family. And just as you can't control that your skin is black or white or brown or purple, I didn't have a say in being white. I was born white. I am proud that I am white. I am proud of the German heritage that I was born with. This makes me white. This makes me German. The fact that my father immigrated here from Germany does not make me anti-black or anti-brown or anti-purple. It does not make me racist.  It does not make me superior to anyone.  It makes me white. I am Caucasian. 

I am an American. My grandmother and father came to the United States when my dad was twelve years old. They came here seeking refuge from their war-torn country. My dad instilled in us pride in our America. He taught us to stand for the National Anthem. My eyes fill with tears when I see our flag being carried past. I am humbled by the veterans and active duty and missing in action and prisoners of war that fought for the freedoms we have. My pride in being American does not mean that I hate people from other countries. It does not mean that I get angry at Michael Bennett and Marshawn Lynch for sitting during the National Anthem. Do I agree with them? No I don't, but I also know that they have feelings and they have opinions also. And it is those differences of opinions that our country was founded on. That is what our soldiers and sailors and servicemen and women fight for. Differences of opinion. I am proud to be an American. A small corner of the giant world.

I am a woman. I was born a woman. I had no say in how I was born. I was born with girl parts and girl feelings. Have I been at a disadvantage because I am a woman? In some instances I believe I have. I was assaulted because I was a girl. I have been taken advantage of because I am a woman. Do I regret being a woman? Not at all! I am proud to be a woman. I love my long hair and my soft curves. I love that I was gifted with being able to have children. I love being a woman. I am proud to be a woman. This pride does not make me anti-man. It does not even make me a feminist. It also doesn't make me hate people that aren't sure what they were born. My personal belief that marriage is between a woman and a man doesn't make me against homosexuals. I don't judge others in their choices, or in the way they feel they were born. 

I am a Christian. This is my biggest defining characteristic in my opinion. I have faith in God. I believe that God sent His Son, Jesus, to die on the cross for my sins. I believe that Jesus will come again to take all believers home to heaven. I believe that Jesus paid the debt for my sins and that He loves and cares for me so very much. These beliefs do not mean that I hate people of other faiths. It doesn't mean that I ridicule Mormons or tell Muslims that they are going to hell for their beliefs. It simply means that I follow the Christian faith. 

I know that I am oversimplifying things. I know that the extremist groups that are popping up don't necessarily follow my rainbows and sunshine attitude presented here. But, we can be the change in even these extremist situations. We don't have to all agree with each other! We get to have differences of opinions. We get to have pride in who we are, all of who we are, and not be criticized under the assumption that we are against everyone and anyone who isn't like us. I honestly and whole-heartedly believe that love is the answer! Love your neighbor! Love your friends! Love your family! Love strangers! But even as our verse states above, love our enemies! Love the people who persecute us! Love them! They are missing love. They have hate in their hearts and that is the missing link. They are missing love! They are so driven to just hate others that there is seemingly nothing that can be done. But hating them back won't fix anything. We need to love! We need to be kind! We need to realize that the extremist groups, although prominent in the news right now, are not the majority. The majority of this great nation is still representative of the hard-working, dedicated people that this nation was formed around. The immigrants that came together to form this country! The majority of the people that I know are looking for love and peace and faith and hope! They are looking for kind and loving people that aren't buying into the disgusting behavior of a few. 

Help me spread love! Hug a stranger! Help someone who is on the streets. For every negative thing you see or hear on the news or on Facebook, complete three positive tasks. Keep it simple! Send a card to someone who could use a pick me up! Donate to a charity in someone's name. Talk to the stranger in line behind you. Be proud of who you are and ask about who someone else is. Get off of social media, or at least stop reading the hate! It's permeating our pages and filling our timelines. And when that is all you see and all you read, it is draining. And you start to believe that this is what our country is full of. Hate. Horrible people carrying torches. People tearing our country to pieces. 

Choose love! Choose kindness! Choose to believe that there is more good than hate in the world. Know that I love you all! No matter your skin color. No matter your faith and beliefs. No matter your sexual orientation. I just love! I want to hear the pride you have in who you are. Don't be ashamed to declare who you are! Don't let hate win!

I want to do something bigger than this blog. I'm not sure exactly what that is. A community potluck filled with laughter and love and light? A community service project of some sort? A multi-cultural festival where we learn who we are as a town? We need a movement of love and forgiveness and kindness! We need to come together as people! As people to spread love! Father God is moving me to do something! We need love! So much love...

Love, do good, and lend without expecting anything in return. We can be the change we want to see in these times of hate that is tearing this nation apart! Help me spread love! And kindness. It's maybe not enough to heal everything, but I have faith and hope that a little love and peace can be the catalyst to healing. Help me heal our people! For no matter what we stand up for, I trust that we can come together for the greater good and start the healing of our nation.