One More Light...

John 1:5 "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it..."

When Brian and I were looking at building or buying a home, there were several things that I was looking for. Since he was making me get a manufactured home, I had a specific list of details I was looking for. When we found the model that we ended up purchasing, one of the best features to me was the high ceilings. I loved how open everything looked in the living spaces with the high ceilings. Many people who visit our home comment on how huge it looks on the inside verses the outside. I love my high ceilings.

Until recently...

There is a difficulty with having high ceilings. Changing the light bulbs...it takes quite a bit of effort to change the lightbulbs, usually involving a delicate balancing game on a ladder, or on a counter, or on another random piece of furniture. So when a lightbulb goes out it takes more than just a simple effort to complete the task. 

So, lately, I have taken to not changing them. Call it laziness or apathy or not needing light since it stays light until at least 9:00. But one by one, the lights in my house are burning out. It started out as one in Amelia's bedroom. "That's ok. There's two bulbs in that fixture." Then one in my bedroom. Three in the guest bathroom. The second one in Amelia's room. "I'll change it later. You're not in there that often anyways." Two in the hallway. The light on the porch. They are slowly going out one at a time. And until this blog post was delivered to me by Father God on my afternoon run yesterday, I really still didn't care. 

One light at a time sneaks up on you. It is just one light here or there. And there are other lights we can use. But suddenly, before you realize what is happening, you're in the dark. And you are lost and can't see and struggling and scared. Panicked that the darkness will swallow you whole.  No light to even change the bulbs that have flickered out. 

This is how anxiety and depression and PTSD and other mental illness works also. This is how Satan tangles you in his grasp. One light at a time is slowly extinguished. One light burns out and before you know it, you are dangerously close to being swallowed by the darkness. Life is good and you are moving forward and strong and growing. And then one light goes out. One negative thought enters your head. I'm not good enough. I have no friends. No one would miss me. No one cares. 

Then that leads to another light going out. I mess up everything I touch. I'll never get it right. I'm so worthless. 

Before you know it you are in complete darkness. Unsure of how to change the bulbs. Not able to find enough light to see at all. 

This is a reality that is hard for me to admit in a public forum such as this, but I also see the importance of doing so because I understand that I am not the only one out there that is walking through this journey of life. Not the only one that needs help changing out the lightbulbs.  People are struggling all over the place. There is so much sadness and so much heartache. Lightbulbs are going out one at a time and people don't know how to pull themselves out of the darkness. 

Things are good and life is stable for me. I have been growing in my faith and growing in my health and fitness and growing as a person. And Satan doesn't like that. So, then something happens. It could be one little thing. A friend doesn't message back. Your kids gets upset at you. You feel like you failed at a task. A light goes out. But you ignore it because it's just one little thing. Not a big deal. Then something else happens and you convince yourself that two events make a pattern. It must be me. Another light goes out. But you ignore it because there are other lights. Other fixtures. And before you know it, you are sitting in the darkness and overwhelmed and everything you have shoved down and ignored comes flooding to the surface and you are panicked and terrified and drowning. 

I am so very lucky. I have a prayer partner and friends and family that can simply look at me and realize that a light has gone out. That I am close to being in the darkness. So they help me change my lightbulbs and bring myself back to the strong, confident, faithful person that I am. 

Linkin Park released a new song recently called One More Light. In this song they sing,"Who cares if one more light goes out in the sky of a million stars...Well, I do..." one lightbulb going out can be the catalyst to being thrown into darkness. But one friend, one family member, one prayer can throw the light back on and drive out the darkness. 

I care. I care if one more light goes out. I can't stand to see anyone else hurting. Anyone else going through a hard time. I try and look for people who are losing their light and walking in the darkness. And I am blessed to have people to watch for my lights going out also. 

So, this week, I'm going to buy lightbulbs and change the bulbs in my house. To take the first step to walking out of the darkness and into the light. And I am working on the same for my faith walk and my mental health. I am putting the lightbulbs back in place and choosing light over darkness. I encourage you to check your own lights. Don't live in denial. Don't ignore the bulbs going out. Because suddenly you'll be in darkness. But no matter how far into the darkness you are, know there is help. There are people who love you. There are people that would miss you. And, even more importantly, there is a God in Heaven that loves and cares for you oh so very much! He is always there with you, in the light and in the darkness. Ready and waiting to walk you out of the darkness and into His marvelous light! 

May God bless all of those people who thought there was no way out of the darkness. Who didn't know there's always an option to put the light back on, or have someone help them find the light again. 

I am so grateful for my lightbulb changers...so thankful to Father God for never giving up on me. For cradling me in His loving arms and walking me through the darkness to people and places that help me open the doors and replace the burnt out bulbs. I am blessed. I am so blessed...

I posted Linkin Park's video below. Watch it. It's a beautiful song. Rest In Peace, Chester...one more light gone...

If you'd like to read more of my blog posts you can check out my blog at www.justonemorethingmommy.blogspot.com

Everybody Hurts...

1 Peter 5:7 Cast all your anxieties upon the Lord, for He cares for you.

There are many, many things that are not in the rules or instructions for being a parent. Some things I think should be added: Knowing how to react when your child goes back for their first surgery. What to do when they tell you they stuck a rock up their nose. What your next step should be when your threat doesn't stop the in-public tantrum that is looming. 

I wish there was a handbook of some sort. A reference guide for what to do in certain difficult situations. I met a situation, again, that I prayed for a script for. Some canned statement I could have read to guide me through. For the second time in my career as a mom, I had to tell one of my daughters, that their father killed himself. 

This isn't exactly something that you can prepare for. It's not something that you can practice. It's not something you can brace yourself for. The nausea and heartache that came three years ago when I told Amelia is the same nausea and heartache that came yesterday afternoon when I told Emerson. The worry about how she would react. The fear of what if they think suicide is an easy fix to their problems. The look of horror and confusion and sadness of their little faces as the words "your daddy killed himself" flow from my lips will forever be burned into my memory. And then, Emerson's first reaction: "Well, did he believe in Jesus?" This reaction paralleled Amelia's "why didn't he just pray?" so well. Relief in my heart as I realize that my precious little girls are firmly in the grasp of our Heavenly Father through this journey of life. Their confusion and sadness is because they don't understand why their dad didn't just turn to our Comforter and Savior. And their hope comes from knowing that they can, and will, turn to Him. 

The relief of it being out in the open for all three of us flowed through our evening. Conversation turned back around to Brian and how he chose to end his life throughout the night and weaved in and out of our words. We talked about him. We talked about how it is ok to miss him. It's ok to miss not having a daddy. 

And we talked about how much it hurt. It hurt knowing he chose to die rather than to live with us. We talked about how much it hurt to not know him. We talked about how much it hurt everyone around us. How we hurt and they hurt and how daddy must have been hurting to think that was his best option. And then, I brought it back to our family motto of be kind. And how everyone is hurting. Maybe not with a suicide, but that everyone in our lives has some hurt they are carrying. Cancer. Divorce. Death. Sickness. Mental illness. Suicide. Homelessness. The list is long and staggering. 

And then, I told my girls that right now, tonight, at this moment, we have two choices. We can let evil win. We can let this impact us for the rest of our lives. We can let it fester and grow and eat us alive to where we are mean and nasty and depressed and can't handle life at all. Or, we can search for the message in our mess. We can be kind and love others and show people that we are strong in our Lord. We can be an example to others who are hurting that they can make it through. We can grow and pray and change hearts and change minds through our situation. The girls both agreed that they liked the second option better. 

Does this mean we ignore the sadness and pain? Nope. In the events of yesterday, it is like picking a scab off of our hearts. It is like reopening the grief wound and starting the blood flow all over again. Tears fell freely last night. All night. Nightmares happened that we prayed through. Grief is happening all over again in my household right now as we grieve the loss of Brian. As we grieve the loss of our family. As we grieve the loss of our future. But, we turn to God and give Him our cares. We turn to our family and friends to love us and support us through just another valley on the grief journey. We cry together and we hold each other and we talk about stuff. And we hold hands and move forward as daughters of the King. Stronger everyday. Lives filled with peace and hope and faith and love. 

Everybody hurts. We all carry stuff. But that just means that we "get" it. And we can help each other on this journey of life. What sadness are you holding in? What grief are you carrying? How can the Duncan girls help you? How can we pray for you?

Everybody hurts...just know you're not alone! And we are for sure people you can reach out to! You want to experience something amazing? Have a deep conversation with my 7- and 10-year-old about grief. About death. About life and living! Amelia and Emerson are strongly rooted in their faith. They are strongly rooted in friends and family. They are strongly rooted in their belief. This is simply a bump in our road, and just like always, with God on our side, we'll come out of this even stronger! Stronger in faith! Stronger in family! Stronger in the Lord!

Who Do You Think You Are...

Psalm 139:14 "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well."

I really wanted to title this blog post "An Open Letter to the Jerkfaces I Met on My Walk Today" but decided that didn't really fit with my song-based titles. And I feel more comfortable writing and thinking that no one reads my posts. And you just know those "open letters" tend to go viral. 

So, rather than an open letter with a title that was not so nice to strangers I don't even know, I am coming to my readers with an open heart. A bruised heart. A naive heart. A heart that still believes in the good of people. A heart that has the mantra of "Be kind for you know not what people are going through."

I am writing this post in frustration. In sadness for what our society has become. In hopes that it will fall into the ears of even one person who forgets to "be kind." 

It is no surprise to me that I am fat. I have been fat my entire life. I don't remember a time when I wasn't fat. Maybe when I was a baby.  I was only 7 pounds, 14 ounces at birth. It has not been a secret to me that I am fat. It's been written into my file since I was around nine years old, and I needed a letter from my doctor to play sports at school. The letter had the word OBESE written in red ink and underlined twice. I was horrified. I knew I was fat but to see it written down like that was hard for me. Not enough for me to change my lifestyle necessarily, mostly because of my love for cheeseburgers and fries. But it stung a lot. And my whole life has been about navigating life as a fat person. 

Now, I'm not looking for sympathy for myself. I am fat. But I'm not necessarily happy I am fat. I know about the risks. I know that I have a family history of obesity and cancers, high cholesterol and high blood pressure, joint pain and knee problems. I get that being fat is most likely killing me sooner rather than later. 

And I am also not looking to be any sort of ambassador of the "body positive" front. I am not proud of the skin I am in. I work very hard to pretend to be confident and end up volunteering for a lot of stupid things to practice confidence and public speaking and putting myself out there. I am not proud of my body. My flabby stomach is fat, not just the remnants of being pregnant with babies. My stretch marks are not beautiful to me. They are from years of neglect of my body and yo-yo dieting trying to make myself more acceptable to myself and society. I don't need people telling me "You're beautiful the way you are" or "You're more than a number on the scale." I get those things. But I don't feel like I should be talked out of thinking I'm fat. I am. 

But, just because I am fat doesn't give anyone an excuse to not be kind. People don't know what I've been through. People don't have any idea that I was a high achiever in school and that I felt a ton of pressure on myself to perform well in everything that I did. So in stress I would sneak food or buy candy from friends or hide and hoard food in my room to eat my anxiety away. People don't know that I had to weigh in front of the other students as a sophomore and was mortified when the scale read 240 pounds but went home and gorged myself on pizza. People don't have any idea that I weighed 220 pounds as a sophomore in college, and when I was raped he held his hand over my mouth and told me to "enjoy it because this was the only way my fat *** was ever getting any." People don't know that I'm a single, widowed mom doing my best to not only take care of myself and work full time and keep up on house chores and yard work and volunteer as much as a can at my girls' school, but also provide for my family and raise my girls in this world as strong Christian young ladies who are confident and smart and don't grow up with the same feelings their mother has and the pressure on me for those reasons also makes me turn to food sometimes. 

But, none of those things that people don't know define who I am. So this post, this rant, isn't about any of that. Being obese most of my life has given me a pretty thick skin. And although it does sting a bit when things happen, I have chosen to rise above and think about the things I have accomplished. 

So, thinking back on past embarrassing experiences: to the lady who looked in my cart and told me if I didn't buy cupcakes I wouldn't be so fat: You have no idea that I work hard to plan menus and buy the right foods such as fruits and vegetables and to not be addicted to something I have to face every single day. To the lady that stopped me and told me that leggings were not meant to be worn by people of my size: You're maybe right. That's probably why it took me almost nine months to convince myself to wear them, and only then under an oversized shirt or a dress but I rock them anyways and pray people like you don't comment loud enough for others to hear. And then try to keep wearing them without seeing your face as I pull them on. To the man tonight on my walk that yelled obscenities paired with the word "fat" as you laughed and drove by: You don't know that I signed up for my first kickboxing class just an hour earlier or that I started my third round of my Couch to 5K app yesterday or that you chose those words as I was on mile one of my mile and a half walk. To the impatient man who yelled that he doubted that I could cross fast enough for him pulling all that weight: I lost four pounds this morning. And hauling my 235 pound self through a crosswalk is a lot easier than it was when I was 361 pounds. 

To all of them, and others who just can't handle being kind: who do you think you are? I KNOW who I am! Look at the Psalm I posted at the beginning of this post! I am fearfully and wonderfully made! I am a daughter of the King. I am firmly in His hands and He is guiding me through this life. He was there for every moment of unkindness, protecting my heart and soul, protecting my thoughts of myself. He loved me oh so much at 361 pounds and He loves me oh so much at 235 pounds and He will love me oh so much at 165 pounds when I get there. 

Be kind! You don't know what others are going through. You have no idea! Who do you think you are? I hope that you KNOW that God loves you! I hope you KNOW that you are His child. I hope you KNOW that you are forgiven! By Him and by me!

Who do you think you are? You are loved and amazing and special, no matter your size or shape, no matter your race or ethnicity, no matter your religion or creed, no matter your gender or sexuality. Be kind! For we are all fighting battles!

So who do YOU think you are? I'd love to hear your answers as you reflect on this. Be kind!

I Would Walk 500 Miles...

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."

I used to be a runner. Well, first I was never a runner. And then I became a runner. And as of today about two hours ago, I would say I used to be a runner. Tonight, that changed. I ran again. So, I guess I'm back to being a runner. I downloaded my Couch to 5K app and started again at Week 1, Day 1. 

It was amazing.  Not the run necessarily. I'm back to being slow and fairly out of shape. But the whole journey leading up to this run came rushing back to me as I was slipping my Seahawks leggings on. Tears started falling as I fitted my blue tank top over my torso. I was very aware of my breathing as I laced my sneakers and tied them onto my feet. And then, a period where the flood gates opened and I sat sobbing at the edge of my bed happened. What were the tears for? Elation. Giddiness. Fear. Heartbreak. Relief. Terror. All rolled into one. Is this how every run starts for me? No. Every one of those feelings was well-earned. The roller coaster of my running career has led to this moment in my bedroom, sobbing as I climbed on my treadmill. 

November 5th, 2016. I had just finished a run, halfway through the Couch to 10K app. I was walking through my kitchen, stepped over a box and broke my foot. I now am the proud owner of a huge screw in the 5th metatarsal of my right foot. And my running was done just like that. I got my cast off in March sometime and was cleared for walking and running but fear filled my heart. Just looking at my treadmill filled my heart with anxiety. There was no way I could run. I prayed for healing. I worried about breaking it again. And I felt like there was no way I was going to be able to run again. I just resigned myself to the fact I would never run again. 

And then I started feeling pain in my foot. Another trip to the surgeon and He recommended I get better shoes and wear them always. I got the shoes. And thought about running but was still so afraid. 

My prayer partner and I just the other day read an article on the importance of solitude with Father God. She talked about what her solitary moments with Him looked like and how she finds time to spend with Him each day. And it hit me. Out loud to her I said "Running was my solitude." The realization of this hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only did I lose my physical exercise I had lost my spiritual exercise too.

I made it a goal (just yesterday) for myself to target three areas over the rest of this summer. Stay within my daily WeightWatchers points. Exercise of some sort every day. And get 10,000 steps on my Fitbit. At the end of the evening tonight, I had decided I was only going to accomplish one out of three of my daily goals. I hadn't exercised and I wasn't even close to 10,000 steps. I walked into my bedroom to Change into my jammies for bed. 

As I was digging through the pile of laundry fresh from the dryer for pajamas, my attention was drawn to something else in a pile of shirts in the corner. A tan t-shirt that I didn't recognize. I pulled it out of the pile and knew it was a message. November 5th. The day I broke my foot. Not fifteen minutes before I was sprawled on my kitchen floor with searing pain in my foot, I had completed a virtual 5K. The charity attached to this 5K? The American Cancer Society. Why did I pick that charity? Because Clay, my other dad, had been diagnosed just a month before with an inoperable brain tumor. I had registered for the virtual race in his honor, submitting his name as who I was running for. The medal I received for completing it was given to him the day he finished his chemo and radiation treatments. I had completed that race just fifteen minutes before I broke my foot. And now, here was the t-shirt I had gotten for completing the race. Showing me what I had once accomplished. Showing me the things I had done before my fractured foot. Showing me that I didn't need to be reaching for my jammies. I needing to be reaching for my running clothes. So that's what I did. Using the message that was so clearly laid out for me on my bedroom floor, and using the tugging on my heart by Clay, I got my running clothes on, downloaded my app, and completed Week 1, Day 1 twenty-five minutes later. 

Tears streamed down my face for most of my run. All of the emotions I listed above flooded into my head and into my heart. Elation at the fact that I was running again. Giddiness that I was getting one on one time with Father God and this blog post was being written as I was running. Fear that I would fail. Heartbreak in remembering Clay and missing him with every step on the treadmill. Relief that I wasn't as out of shape as I thought I was. Terror that my foot would break again. And then I heard these four words from my Father in heaven: "Do you trust me?" After a second, all my anxiety and fear melted away and I knew He was with me, holding me and protecting me through my run. 

I am a runner. If I thought that running would have saved Clay from cancer, I would have run 500 miles (even more!). If I thought that running that many miles would get me to see him even for just one more hug, one more smile, one more "Hey, Sweet Pickles!" I'd do it. 

God has blessed me with running. I am a runner. And through my running, I found solitude with my Lord and Savior, I found a way to contribute to a cause that means the world to me, I found a way to honor a man who means even more to me, I found my health and my well-being, I found that I could be broken and heal and pick right up where I left off, I found my inner strength, I found my obedience to God and my faithfulness in Him. I am a runner...and I'll run 500 miles if I have to. I'll run and not grow weary, because I have Father God and His amazing design. I have His plan for my life, even down to the simple things like finding a t-shirt in a pile of clothes to motivate me to lace up those sneakers. I am a runner. And I am eternally thankful for this whole journey. 

Amen!

I Guess I'll Have to Change My Plan

The 4th of July is right around the corner. In fact, it's technically after midnight as I write this so that would make today the 3rd. The 4th of July is one of my favorite holidays! It always has been. When I was a kid I loved the fireworks. I loved Pop-its and Sparklers. I loved the great big party my mom and dad had at their house. We would invite all of our friends who are family over for the day. They would bring meat to grill and side dishes and desserts. They would bring swimsuits and baseball mitts and croquet sets. They would come early and stay late. We would swim and play ball and laugh and have so much fun together.

But my favorite part was the fireworks. Us group of kids would always go to the fireworks tent on the morning of the 4th as soon as everyone got there. All the families would pool our money, or bring their own fireworks, and us kids would run and buy fireworks together. Big box sets of mortars, Roman candles, fountains, parachutes, sparklers. You name it, we'd buy it and light it on fire. My friend Tim and I would always be in charge of the fireworks. Even after that one year when the mortar fell over and we almost killed everyone, they still let us be in charge of the fireworks. It made my heart happy. It was something I looked forward to all year long. 

And then, I got married and got pregnant and had Amelia. At eighteen months, Amelia was diagnosed with sensory processing disorder. Her worst sensitivity? Hearing.  Her worst time ever? The fireworks on the 4th of July.  She cannot stand the fireworks. She hates the sound of them. They terrify her. They drive her to the brink of a breakdown. As soon as the stores start erecting the white tents seen all over the county, her panic begins. It starts small. Just a subtle "oh no, mommy..." and then it's "how many firework tents do we need in this county?" And then it's the dreaded countdown to the 4th of July. 

It's gotten better. There was a time where I would desperately search for places that didn't have fireworks. But that was virtually impossible. This year, the panic hasn't set in quite yet. We have started with the positive self-talk: "I know that it is only fireworks and that I don't have to be afraid of them." But as the day looms closer, her unease sets a little deeper. We haven't set off fireworks for years. There's no more party. No more baseball. 

This year, there seems to be more fireworks festivals. Or at least there are new ones. The Manette Bridge was the new home to a fireworks show this year and I found myself longing to go, wishing I could pack my girls up in the car and go watch the beauty that is fireworks. But instead, we laid on the bed and read Harry Potter in front of a fan, trying unsuccessfully to drown out the monstrous booms that happened just outside our little world. 

How did this happen? How did I go from the pyro queen lighting things on fire and blowing everything up with my bestie Tim, to raising a little girl that's terrified of fireworks? This year for the first time in a while, I'm being a brat about it. I wanted to go to Manette. I want the days of parties and fireworks back. I want to go to the tent at Safeway with my friends and buy the biggest box set of fireworks ever and set them off long into the darkness. That was always my plan. That was always what I envisioned. Bundling my kids up and setting them on the trampoline to watch while mommy gave them a fireworks show to rival the Space Needle. That was my plan. 

But, that wasn't God's plan...

God's plan involved Amelia. God's plan was for me to get to be momma to this amazing, bright, lovable, wonderful little girl who just so happens to have a great fear of something that I happen to have a great love for. God's plan didn't include spending hundreds of dollars on mortars and bottle rockets, but instead saving my money and going to bed early to hold my baby until either she drifts off to sleep or the war zone outside our window ceases. I will openly admit that there are times when my heart is sad and I am so disappointed that I can't do fireworks. That I can't share fireworks with my kids. But, God's plan was different. And I am thankful because I wouldn't trade my babies for anything. Not even fountains and parachutes. 

Life is funny. We make plans. We dream about how life is going to be. We hope and pray for the journey and the ending that we want. But that's not how Father God works. He is the Master planner. He is the one in control. He is the one that has our lives planned down to the very second. He has a vision for us, a life vision for how our days are going to be laid out. Sometimes our plans match His. More often than not, His plan is better. 

There will be moments that don't seem better. There will times where we cry and lament and shake our fists and wonder what the heck He is thinking. Like the fact that two years ago today, he took Tom from us. How could His plan for that be better? We aren't better without my other dad. We aren't better with holes in our hearts and the pain of losing a loved one. But even in that mess there's a message. Even in the sadness of losing Tom, God has a plan. He has a plan for Tom. He has a plan for those of us left behind. The pain of not having Tom with us still stings. I still expect him to come up the stairs when it's pool time. I still think of things I can't wait to tell him. Hoping to share my girls with him. I still wish oh so desperately to be able to hug him one more time. Not my plan to have Tom leave us. 

This life is all planned out by God. He is in control. He is in charge. As Christians, it is hard but it is so important to have faith in God's plan. Even when it's hard. Even when we question what He is thinking. Even when we can't see the good that could come of this situation. God is in control. God is in charge. God is working on our lives. And in each and every situation we will eventually be able to look back and say "There it is!" There's the message in the mess. There's the plan that I couldn't see at the time. There's the blessing that was hiding around the corner. 

So, I'll hold Amelia and I'll walk and breathe and guide her through the 4th of July. I'll reassure her and let her know that it is all ok. That there's a plan for that even. God knows our every need. God even knows the needs we don't know about. He is forgiving and gracious and loves us so very much. So much that He has a plan! A plan that included sending his Son over 2000 years ago to die on the cross and save us from sin. His plan! I'm so grateful for His plan!

So, I guess I'll have to change my plans. All of them. I need to change my plan to His plan! I need to have faith that He is working out all things for my good. I need to let go and let God take control of my life because I need Him to be in charge. It's not my plan anymore...but it never really was...His plan!

Just Who I Am

Jeremiah 1:5 "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; Before you were born I sanctified you; I ordained you a prophet to the nations."

How do you identify yourself? I have thought a lot about this over the last few years, but especially over the last few weeks. I have been through a transformation that has solidified who I know myself to be. The main pulse of my identify is that I am a forgiven daughter of the King. A Christian. A believer in the resurrected Christ. That's who I am and who I strive to be each and every day. But, I am also human. And the definitions that the world imposes on me sneak in every once in a while. And thoughts of doubt creep in and threaten to confuse and derail me. 

I have tried to instill these truths into the life of my girls also. To know that they are so loved by Our Father. But the world sneaks in on them also. And the definitions of who we are creep in whether we want them to or not. 

This truth is never more present than when you are filling out the forms required for doctor visits. As a teacher, I put off doctor and eye and dentist appointments until the summertime, not wanting my children (or me!) to miss school and then I cram them all in in the first few weeks of summer. The girls' physicals were last week, with a brand new doctor nonetheless. I moved them to my family practice physician and they had their first appointments. I was handed piles of paperwork for both girls and Amelia was also handed a clipboard and a pen. Being that she is ten now, she had her own form to fill out. And she was taking it very seriously. She was busily filling out her form, throwing the occasional question at me for help. I was finishing up my forms and I glanced up at Amelia. Tears were brimming on her little eyes and she was squirming in her chair. I looked at her and she made eye contact with me. "Mommy. I don't know what to put." and then she turned a ghostly white as she walked across the exam room towards me. She thrust the clipboard and the pen into my hand and stood there, waiting for me to give her advice, or perhaps give her an out. There, in the middle of the family history chart was a question I never thought my daughters would have to consider. 

"Do you have a family history of depression/suicide?" I closed my eyes for a moment and said a quick prayer for strength and the words to say to my girl. I opened my eyes and said "Well, Amelia...you check yes. And in the blank next to it write the word 'father.'" She looked at me with an unsure look on her face and walked back across the room. 

A few hours later she and I were sitting at a table at Evergreen Park watching Emerson and her little play date friend play. She slowly turned to me and said "I didn't like that question being on that form. Why did I have to answer that?" I explained to her about mental illness and that because her father had killed himself, people wanted to make sure that she didn't follow his path. My heart clenched and I held back sobs throughout the entire conversation. Amelia said things like "why would I do that?" And "just because he did doesn't mean that I will too." And "I am not depressed." And "That's NOT who I am." I listened to her little voice and her thoughts fly out and I finally said "You are right! You are not defined by that check box on the form. You are not a yes next to a box about suicide. You are a daughter of our Heavenly King. An amazing creation by Our Father. And you are not defined by that box, or by any box." She breathed a deep sigh and said again, "I didn't like that question." Tears filled my eyes and I simply said, "I know. I didn't either."

Little reminders of what we have been through happen often. And it doesn't matter if we are prepared for them or not. They never get easier. And it's never easy when my children are brought in. But these moments and the way we handle them get easier as we go along, and especially as we remember to bring Christ to the center of these moments. It's not easy to look into my kids' faces and know they are hurting. To think that they are defined as a check box on a form. Amelia very adamantly stated that she didn't want to be a yes check in the suicide question. And I don't want that for her. But, being strong in the Lord, we know that our identity is not in any check box, or any way that the world tries to define us. Our identity is in Christ. Our identity is in the fact that we are saved and precious in His sight! We are daughters of the King. Forgiven. Loved. Saved. So precious. 

That's just who we are! We are strong and faithful. We are full of faith and hope and peace and love. We are stronger everyday and we are learning how to lean on Him for each and every step of this journey called life. We are learning to see the check boxes of life and know that this is one tiny piece of life. Nothing to dwell on. Nothing to get stuck in. Nothing to define us as believers. 

God knew us before He formed us. He knew exactly what He created us to be. He knew Amelia would someday stand in a doctor's office and debate how to answer a question about suicide on a checklist. He also knows that we are so much more important to Him that any of those events we go through in life. He is with us. He is taking care of us. He is walking through life and showing us the path and the plan He has for us!

Daughters of the King. That's just who we are...forever and ever. Amen!