Just Left of Center

Blair Walsh had one job. As the clock ran down on the game, the Minnesota Viking's kicker was one 27-yard chip from helping the Vikings pack their bags for a game in Panther territory, and sending the Seahawks home to pack away their gear until next season. 

I have faith in my Seahawks until the end. I've been a fan long enough to know that if there's a way for the Hawks to pull through for a win, they will find it. Kristi and I never leave our seats at home games until the final second has ticked off of the clock, or until the last knee is taken, declaring a team the winner. I have faith in my team. 

As I watched the game and witnessed Kam Chancellor lose his coverage on Kyle Rudolph who took advantage and snuck up to the 27-yard-line, my heart sank. Out loud to my girls I said "They're going to lose this game..." I sent a text to Kristi with a similar message...I had faith. But I also knew what an easy, straightforward shot Walsh had. Twenty-seven yards was a piece of cake. I sat at the edge of my seat and prayed for a miracle. As they lined up the kick, the girls and I held our breath and we watched it sail past the goal posts...the outside of the goal posts. "He missed it!" I screamed! "He missed it! He missed the field goal!" Emerson grabbed my hands and started jumping up and down. Then time to celebrate our fortunate victory. Until we saw Walsh's poor, sad, horrified face. Amelia's eyes turned to me, and we watched, sad for him as he trudged off of the field. Happy our Seahawks had won, but sad for the one man that lost the game for the Minnesota Vikings. 

How awful would that feeling be? Knowing that your teammates were celebrating on the sidelines just a mere twenty-seven seconds before. Knowing that his teammates had trusted him as their kicker, had placed all their confidence and hope in him. Knowing that his foot, the direction of the laces, the wind direction had kept his team from advancing to the next level. 

A few days after the game, a group of students were in my office. One of my boys likes to chat football with me and he started in talking about this game. How lucky the Seahawks were (he's not a Seahawks fan) and how lucky we were to be going on to the next level of play. The other boy in that group has no interest in football...at all. But, he did ask why we were lucky. What had they other team done that helped us win? I explained the situation to him. He didn't quite understand what the big deal was. Why people felt sorry for him. I explained to him how missing that field goal could be the end of his career.  Still not understanding, my student asked me, "Why?"

I looked at him and told him that this moment will define his career. And either he will let this get to him. He'll never kick again. He'll be traded and laughed off the team. He'll lose his confidence and will replay that moment over and over and over again.  He'll crack under the pressure and shame and never be a strong kicker.   It will impact his career from this day forward. 

OR, he'll take the other path. He will use that moment and rise above it. He will continue to think about that kick and he will use it to rise to the next challenge. He will practice and practice and practice some more.  And he will not allow that one moment, that one loss define him or his career as a football player. He will remember that in that same game where he missed a field goal that could have won them the game were also nine points on the scoreboard that we're all scored by him. 

I tried to link it to a real life lesson for my boys, to give them an idea that this is how life works in general. We all make mistakes. We all do things that make or break our lives. There are defining moments for all of us all throughout our lives. We are presented with opportunities for success and moving forward often.  We all have moments where we must make a choice. And that choice will impact the way our path goes from that point out. Or rather, our reaction to those moments will define our lives. 

I often ask myself what is it between people that determines how they'll handle life situations? When I think of the trials that have crossed my path, how is it determined who will rise to the challenge and make a better life for themselves, and who chooses to succumb to the darkness and despair that follows? How is it that the girls and I have pulled ourselves up in adversity and slowly, one step at a time, have found the higher road and continue to rise above our circumstances, and yet Brian chose to end his life, to walk away from it all and choose to let his circumstances drag him under. 

My answer? For me, Jesus walks with us. It's nothing that I do, other than have faith that there is more to our story. I have faith that our story doesn't end like this. I have faith that Jesus is going to give the world a message through our mess, a testimony through our tests. We are rising above our circumstances. We have risen above the demons that threaten to drag us into the depths. We have risen above the terror by night. We have risen above everything that has been thrown into our path. The girls and I have faith! 

Do I have moments of despair? Yes! Do I have seconds where I question God's path for us? You bet! Do I have days where I call my friends and scream "I'm done!" Absolutely. But, I also have friends and family and support who remind me of my purpose. Who remind me why I'm here and what I still need to accomplish. Who remind me who is in charge and to just have faith. And then I dust myself off, refocus, and look towards the future.  

So, my friends, have faith that your path is exactly where you are supposed to be, and that the yuck that rises up every once in a while will be things that you can face, with love and peace and a little help from your whole team. Choose to use your experiences to grow wiser and stronger and braver. Continue to kick the field goals, even though you might miss a few here and there. And when you do miss, don't be ashamed! You surely scored some other points in the game. Use the experience to learn a lesson. Line up again and go for it! Make the choice to stay in the game, and make yourself better than ever!  Be of good courage! Have faith!

Last Kiss...

I am a very private person. I don't like to share information about myself typically. There are only a few people that I trust implicitly with details of my life. Parts of this post are hard for me to fathom writing. But as I was walking tonight, I kept hearing a message. I have been struggling with some things lately. Demons have reared their ugly head as they often do in this world and they have been relentless lately. As I was walking, I heard "Show them how strong you are. Tell your stories so that they know that you have turned your test into your testimony. Show them your courage and not your fear." So this blog post flooded into my head for the remainder of my two mile walk. 

I remember the last kiss...both of them. The first last kiss I remember was the one when he woke me up as he got home from work at 2:30 am on September 29th. He told me he loved me and was going to make a snack before he came to bed. I smiled, rolled over, and went back to sleep. The other last kiss I remember was several weeks later in very different circumstances. We had just unloaded the last of his things into the driveway of his parents' house. We were standing behind my truck. He began crying. I began crying. I asked him "Why? Why did you throw us away?" He didn't have an answer, and there wasn't any answer he gave that would have fixed the fracture in my heart. I clenched my fists and hit the tailgate of my truck in anger as I choked back sobs. I walked towards him, put my hand on his cheek and kissed the other. I told him I loved him and that I just didn't understand and I walked around to the driver's side of my truck and jumped in. As I backed down the driveway, my headlights silhouetted the man that I had picked. The man I said "I do" with. The man I'd created my beautiful girls with.  Standing there forlornly in the midst of piles of boxes.  He was sobbing. And I was also as I drove away, unknowingly closing the book of The Story of Us.

The first last kiss was in the early morning hours before my life would slowly begin to unravel. Just twenty-four hours later I would find out something so sinister about the man I had married, it would lead to him being arrested and charged with two felony counts days later. The second last kiss would occur three days before he would kill himself. I will never forget those kisses, or all of the moments surrounding those kisses. 

Who would have thought that would have been my last kiss? I didn't have any suspicion that life would soon be unraveling when he woke me that morning. Would I have done something differently? Would I have pulled him closer, lingered a bit longer, told him how deeply I loved him or how happy he made me or how thankful I was that he was my husband? And I certainly didn't know he was inside his parents house right before I got there, sorting his belongings into piles to distribute among his family. Would I have done something differently? Would I have prayed with him? Would I have told him how much I loved him? Would I have tried to convince him not to follow through on that plan?

You never know when it will be your last kiss. What if we treated every kiss like it was the last? What if I lingered just a bit longer as I'm kissing Amelia and Emerson as I leave the house in the morning on my way to work? What if I kissed my daddy's cheek more than once as I throw my arms around his neck and tell him how much I love him? What if we made passion-filled kisses with our spouses be the kind that fills your head with sparks and your stomach with butterflies, just like the first kiss?

And what if we extended this last kiss idea to just general feelings and interactions with others? What if our encounter with the bank teller was treated in the manner that it will be your last encounter with her? That your interaction with her will be the last thing that speaks to who you are. Would you even know her name? What would you want her to remember about you? Were you kind? Were you polite? Or were you in a hurry and chose to take your bad day out on her?

Or how about the students that I work with? Do I want them to remember me to be kind and loving and honest and an advocate for them? Will they remember that I loved them? Or will they feel like they were a bother to me?

The last kiss...the last interaction...what do you want your legacy to be? Too often we rush through life, giving each other quick pats on the back or little pecks on the cheek as we rush through life from one thing to the next, not knowing that it could be your last time with that person. How do you want to be remembered? What do you want your last interactions with that person to be? Quick and insignificant? Or do you want them to know exactly how much they mean to you? How much you love them?

I am not satisfied with my last kiss. I want a redo. I don't know what I would change for sure. I don't know how it would look differently. I look at my test and I do see the testimony that I now know. I see the blessings that have been interjected into my life because of the circumstances that we've been through. But I would like another last kiss chance. 

Since that last kiss, I have worked hard to make sure that my moments with people, should they be my last moment with them, are filled with love and joy and peace. It doesn't always work. I have mild cases of road rage while I'm driving with the best of them. I get frustrated with co-workers. I let moments slip by where I neglect to call that friend I haven't talked to in forever. But losing someone changes you. You begin to look at moments and think about "what if I never see her again?" Or "what if this is my last conversation with this person?" It seems morbid, but it's just something that happens. So, my motto is always to be kind. Remember that they are fighting demons too and they need a hug or a smile or a chance to hear that they are loved or a prayer or a shoulder. 

Tomorrow, I am attending the funeral of a man who is very important to me. I have known him literally most of my life. He sat in the pews behind us in church from the time I was a little girl with pigtails sitting in front of him and still sat behind us when I carried my own little girls into church. He was a fellow Husky and was a die-hard Seahawks fan. When I would describe him to people that didn't attend my church I'd call him my football grandpa. He passed away on New Years Day. He had been ill and had to have surgery to have stints put in. There were complications and he slipped into a coma. He fought hard, but he just couldn't fight any longer. The middle of December, I had an appointment at Swedish, where he was a patient. I went to my appointment and checked the time. I could catch an earlier ferry and get back to work, but I felt like I needed to go visit him. That needed to be my priority. I went to his room and greeted him and his wife. We sat and chatted for about an hour. We laughed and talked about the Huskies and the Seahawks and church and how everyone missed him. I showed him pictures of Amelia and Emerson in their advent programs. I decided it was time to go and catch that ferry so I stood up, patted his leg and blew him a kiss. The last kiss...he would never make it back home. I am so thankful that I stopped that day. I'm so thankful that I was there to tell him I loved him and to give him that kiss. The last kiss...

So take a second with the people around you. Be kind. Be thoughtful. You never know when it will be your last kiss. You can live in fear thinking it will be your last. There is a balance. But my message is to just pause and appreciate those moments with your loved ones. Each and every moment. There is no pain like the regret of needing to redo your last kiss and not getting that chance.  Be kind and never regret your last kiss...

She Laughed...

The new year always brings so much anticipation. New goals. New dreams. New start. The girls and I started a tradition last year where we made "Rememberlutions Jars." Rather than making resolutions, Amelia decided it was terrible to focus on flaws we needed to fix and we needed to focus on the positives. So every day, we write down the best part of our day and put it in our jar and on New Year's Eve the next year, we read through our year. I love this tradition we started. 

This year, the jars were changed and prepared for another year of memories to share with each other. But I felt like I also needed to make some changes. Some resolutions to get my focus back for things that are important to me. Things I need to work on. Things I need to fix in my life. So I made some resolutions for myself. I'm sure the list looks similar to yours: lose weight, exercise, plan my meals every week, save money, keep my house picked up and clean, read my Bible and do a devotion every day...there's more but baby steps, right?! I need goals to help me focus. To keep me grounded. To help myself feel like I have a purpose. 

The biggest one for me? Losing weight and exercising. Most of you know I've had a weight problem my whole life. I've always been heavier. Bigger boned as people would tell me when I was younger to make me feel better. My weight has been a yo-yo as long as I can remember. I remember being mortified in high school when my volleyball coach had us all stand in a line and step on the scale to see 240 as a sophomore. And I'll never forget the day I first walked into a WeightWatchers meeting some 15 years ago and they handed me my weigh-in book. The sticker said 361.6. I couldn't believe what I had done to myself. Thankfully, I'm not the 360 pound girl I was. Sadly though, I'm not down to that 240 pound sophomore either. So, I've committed myself to losing weight. I joined WeightWatchers officially again in September and go to meetings. And I'm almost 20 pounds down since then. Still yo-yoing but overall heading down. 

But I decided I needed to step up my exercise. I despise exercise. I hurt. It hurts. It's not fun. I hate it. But I decided I needed to add it in. So I downloaded a Couch to 5K app and I started on Monday. 

You all know my Amelia to be loving, kind, compassionate, caring, sympathetic...all of those things. She is an amazing person and I cherish her beyond measure.  She is also human. She and Emerson were on my bed as I pulled on my leggings and tank top and laced my shoes. I started the treadmill at my walking warm-up. Then, five minutes into it, it was time to do a one minute run. I pushed the button to make the treadmill go faster and started my chubby, awkward running. I was very conscious of my joints, feeling them pulling and stretching and grinding. I had a million thoughts running through my head: Can I do this? Is my hip going to hold up under my weight? Is the floor going to fall through? And suddenly, I realized that Amelia was laughing. I turned to look at her and she was looking at me. She laughed...

I asked her what she was laughing at. She said "You. You look funny." And I immediately started fighting back tears. I knew she must be right. All the negative thoughts I've ever had and all the fat comments I've heard and read came flooding back into my head. I scowled at her and took a breath and steadied my voice and sternly said "You are insulting me and you are embarrassing me. I am doing my best and if you can't say encouraging things, please leave my room." I could tell by her face that she knew as soon as the words left her lips it was the wrong thing to say. I could see her silently wishing she could pull the words back. But it was too late. 

For the rest of my thirty minute walk/run thoughts whirled in my head. Good and encouraging thoughts. Bad and self-defeating thoughts. Towards the end though I found a determination. I needed to use this as motivation. I never wanted anyone, but especially my children, to look at me running and laugh and say I looked funny. This was what I needed to keep going. 

As the treadmill wound down, I grabbed a towel and sat next to Amelia on my bed, her head hanging low. She immediately said "I'm sorry." 

"I know. But you really hurt my feelings."

"I didn't mean to laugh. I just have never seen you run."

Tears stung my eyes. Not because her words were mean now, but because her words were true. I don't run. I barely walk sometimes. When the girls are running and playing, I'm following them around the yard with a lawn chair. When my sister is playing tag with them, I'm sitting on a bench. When they're playing chase at the park, I'm at the picnic table. She was right. 

And then my next thought was how much time I've already lost with my precious babies. Emerson is five and Amelia is eight. Let's assume that I've been the best mom for all of those years mentally and emotionally (that's not true, but let's just pick on me for one reason right now) So let's assume that. Physically I haven't been there for them. I haven't been with them for a lot of things because it's too physical. So, that conversation, paired with the stinging pain of Amelia's laughter, is driving me to better myself. To keep going. To keep running, even if I look funny. 

So, Day Two 5K training happened.  I was on the treadmill and my girls were both sitting on the bed watching me.  Emerson says, "Mommy, I can't wait for summertime when you'll be able to play tag with us instead of just watching."  Tears again...because THAT is going to be the inspiration and the audiotape that I'm playing in my head.  My girls are 5 and 8.  Soon, they will be too old to want to play tag with me, or run around in the yard.  I don't want to watch that time slip away any more!  I'm running...and walking...and eating better...for myself, but also for those two little girls.  And my implications are even greater, because I'm all they have.  Their father killed himself five years ago.  I am their only parent.  They are counting on me to fight and stay alive and raise them.  So...for them...I'm running. 

She laughed...and she most likely lit the spark that will save my life. The spark that got me back on the treadmill tonight and will get me on the treadmill next week. She isn't mean. She doesn't like to hurt anyone's feelings. I think perhaps the message she sent me was meant to be said. Some divine intervention to get me moving. So I can be alive to watch my girls grow up. I will keep running. And I will get stronger. And I will build muscle. And the weight will melt off of me. And I'll get the last laugh...

Comfort and Joy

The holiday season seems to be flying by, like usual. The hustle and bustle of the season is in full swing. In my errands this week I've only been honked at a few times. The girls and I start each outing with a prayer...a prayer for protection, a prayer that others will be happy and joyful...a prayer that the Christmas spirit will be filling all those we run in to. And for the most part, it has worked. I wasn't paying attention in Safeway and completely backed into a woman, who was also not paying attention. She laughed and said that she guessed we were both doing the same thing. We wished each other Merry Christmas and went on our ways. At the post office, I walked in before a gentleman who was grumbling about being behind me in line. I smiled, wished him a Merry Christmas and offered him to cut in front of us. He took me up on the offer and when he was finished, he smiled and thanked me and wished me a Merry Christmas back. Slowing down and savoring the season has been important to me this year. 

And as much as I have willed holiday spirit and good tidings to everyone around me, I have let sadness and tears creep into my own heart and my own home this season. Grief is a hard thing. And it strikes at the most inconvenient times. The anxiety and the sadness have been building. And I work very hard to stuff that all down, and walk through each day with a smile on my face and joy in my heart. But it's hard. And each step closer to Christmas Day that comes, the harder it gets to hold the floodgates closed. 

Several times over the last few weeks, I have seen my friends and family post that thing on Facebok that talks about how the holidays aren't happy and fun for some people. And every time I read through that, my heart hurts for those people. I have friends that will be spending Christmas in a hospital bed. Friends who have just gotten news that is enough to shatter their worlds. Friends who are setting their tables missing one or more beloved family members. And the holidays, though a happy, blessed, peaceful time, are also painful reminders of change. Reminders of differences between Christmasses passed. Reminders that things aren't the way they used to be, or should be. 

This Christmas for me has had sadness. Waiting in the Santa line and seeing the families...whole, complete families, has been hard for me. Moms and dads and kids with rosy cheeks and faces glowing. Posts about sisters hanging out together and being together, while my own sister and her family seem to be millions of miles away in Japan. Talking about plans for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and knowing that very important members of our family won't be with us. I don't remember a time when the Deems weren't with us for Christmas Eve. And it just seems like yesterday it was last Christmas and hearing Tom coughing and talking about what on earth could be wrong with him, not knowing he'd slip from our grasp just a few short months later. Hanging the stocking by the mantle and finding our sweet Sissy dog's stocking and knowing she won't be here with us for the first time. Tears well in my eyes, and I close my eyes and pray for God to calm my heart and dry my tears. 

Walking through Safeway yesterday, I was walking down the beer aisle. I reached for a case of Blue Moon, Brian's favorite. I wasn't going to buy it...I'm far enough in my journey that I don't "almost" buy things for him anymore. But I was sad that I couldn't buy my husband his favorite beer for Christmas Day celebrations. Grief swept over me in the middle of that aisle. I clutched my chest and quietly sobbed in the store for a few minutes. 

Luckily, my Heavenly Father watches out for me. I felt His presence there in the aisle and I heard Him lean in and whisper "Joshua 10:25, my daughter" I texted a friend, because I didn't know what the verse was off the top of my head. She texted me back that it was awesome news! Joshua 10:25: 25 Joshua said to them, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Be strong and courageous. This is what the Lord will do to all the enemies you are going to fight.”

The enemies I'm going to fight? The enemies of sadness and pain. The enemies that keep me in this cycle of grief and pain, of worry and anxiety. My heart was calmed. 

I know I am not alone. And I am filled with comfort and joy! The new King is born! My Heavenly Father is with me always! I am blessed! I have an amazing family! I have the best friends in the whole world! I have been blessed with the best little girls anyone could ask for. Their joy and happiness are contagious this season! Their eyes twinkle, the magic of the season is in their souls, everything is an awe-inspiring moment of love and peace and joy. 

So, I will think of the people that are missing from our home and our lives. I will shed tears as I'm orchestrating the magic of Christmas all alone in my living room. I will miss the Deem family, wanting to hug them and hold them as they experience their first Christmas holiday without Tom. I will be sad when Sissy's stocking remains empty Christmas morning. But I will be happy and filled with comfort and joy, knowing that I am safe and resting in the arms of my loving Father.  I am blessed! Blessed to have had the experiences I had with the people (and puppies!) that I am missing. Blessed to be surrounded by such love and kindness! Blessed to be a daughter of the King, knowing that through Him, I will survive anything. 

Wishing you comfort and joy in this holiday season, and holding you all close in my heart with love and peace and prayer. Comfort and joy! From my heart to yours...

Please Mr. Postman

I love our Christmas traditions! We have many, and I'll be blogging about some of them throughout this holiday season as they relate to things that are on my mind. 

Right now, spread across my table, is one of my favorite Christmas traditions of sending out our family Christmas card. I love thinking about our cards and the photos of our family and planning out how that all will look. It all starts with the perfect pictures! Capturing the moments and the memories of our holiday time together is super important to me. So I employ the best in my cousin, Kayla! If you have never heard me talk about her, you should totally check her out. She works magic with a camera and captures the most stunning photos ever. Her Facebok page is under Kayla Lynn Photography and her work is amazing! I'm trying to convince her to come to our little town next fall for mini sessions so for all my friends and family who want the perfect pictures - pay attention around August!!

Anyways, we get our pictures taken. I choose our favorites and add them to our card. I'm so excited to get them back and see how beautiful and grown up my girls are in print!  This part has always been the best part of the process. 

But this year? My favorite part of the process has been addressing the envelopes slowly, one at a time, and seeing where I send these pictures.  The cards that we send span the United States, and now thanks to my sister and brother-in-law stationed in Japan, we've even gone international. 

As I was addressing my cards this year, I took time on each simple address...thinking about the street names...marveling at the various states that are represented in my address book...thinking about the impact that each person on the receiving end of these cards has had on our lives. So many friends and family, people that crossed our path and never left, people I hardly ever speak to except for the yearly Christmas cards that we exchange, people I see in a daily basis and love dearly. There is a large list of friends and family that I send to. I've thought about paring it down over the years, not sending them to everyone in my address book. Choosing only a handful to write to. Not sending a card to people that don't write to us. And the thought of that makes me sad! I enjoy sending my cards. I like showing off my girls and my little family. But most importantly, I hope that the recipients of my cards know that they are each sent with love and admiration and a thankful heart. For the people that I send the cards to are people that are important to me.  They are an important piece of the Duncan puzzle. They had some part in getting us to who we are today.

There are teachers that I had in my elementary school days at Peace that I still keep in touch with. They raised me and watched me grow in that small Lutheran school. They helped get us to church and played a big role in my early days of learning my faith and beliefs. There are aunts and uncles and cousins who are part of the best family in the world! I love my cousins and I'm thankful for a chance to reach out and let them know they are loved. There are college friends who were lifesavers in more ways than one, who were there for late night chats and the days when I'd lock myself out of my dorm room. There are current co-workers, who have helped me learn my trade in the elementary schools, and much much more! There are friends that walked into our lives because of Brian's work with the State Patrol and Cencom, and his volunteer work with the fire station. Those people who still check in on us and make sure we're ok. The troopers who still drive by our house at night to make sure the bad guys stay away. And the fire department friends who still "blip" the siren at my girls and me if they see us in the yard. There are the friends who we've picked as family...the ones who have always been there for us and who I know will always be there for us no matter what.

And then there's the missing ones. My grandparents. My husband. My other dad Tom. Laurie's momma Nancy. The ones that I so badly wanted to make a card for, to send to them and know they were here. I'll still take a card down to my grandparents and leave it beside their grave. And Sherri still gets a card from us, just not with Tom's name this year. And I texted Laurie and we talked about her momma and what a great lady she was. And how I'd addressed her envelope before my heart sank and I realized she wouldn't be there to receive it. 

So as I continue with getting my cards completed, I will continue to think and be thankful and praise my Heavenly Father with thanks for an address book full of addresses. And I send prayers to those friends and family in Washington, Idaho, Oregon, California. Friends in Oklahoma and Texas and Maryland. Friends in Florida and Montana and Indiana. Missouri and Georgia and Nebraska. And even all the way over in Ikego, Japan (Hi, Sissy!!)

We are blessed with love from all over the map! And blessed with an amazing network of people right here in our hometown and people who love and care for us and support us. We are blessed! So, when you get our Christmas card, feel the love and joy and peace that the Duncan girls send. Know the prayers and the care and the thankfulness we share with you. And know that we sent God's love with every Christmas card we wrote! 

Here Comes the Sun

It's been raining cats and dogs (and maybe even elephants and hippos too!) the past couple weeks here in Washington. My backyard has become Duncan Pond thanks to Kubert Creek from the neighbors up the hill. Everything is drenched. Trees across the county have toppled over. Many of my friends have no power more often than they have power lately. There is water everywhere!! As of a few days ago, there's even water in my master bedroom thanks to the window leaking :/ Luckily my daddy will save the day and fix the window...as soon as it stops raining long enough to let him!  It's been a wet, soggy mess for weeks. The skies are gray, it seems like it's nighttime all day long, it's cold and wet and dreary. 

Except for a couple of mornings ago. The girls and I were hustling through our morning routine before leaving for school when suddenly, rays of sunshine were streaming in the front door window. Emerson ran into the kitchen with a huge smile on her face and yelled "Mommy! The sun is back!!" Amelia looked at her and said, "The sun never went anywhere. It's always there. It was just buried under some clouds. But it's always there, even when you can't see it." Emerson scrunched up her nose, tilted her head to the side, and asked, "So the sun is just like Jesus?" Amelia and I looked at each other and smiled and I said, "Yes, Em.  Just like Jesus."

The sun is always there, making its way around the world day to day. And even when it's cloudy and you can't see it through all the gray, it's there, waiting for the perfect break in the clouds to shine it's light on the world. 

The same is true for the other Son. Jesus. He is always there, walking His way through your day. And even when it's cloudy, and there is absolutely nothing going right, He's still there, waiting for the perfect break in your heart to shine into your life and keep you safe from the storm. 

Over my lifetime, I have seen storms. I have been to the point where I don't know what to do. I have relied on myself to fix everything. And I have failed. So I've needed helpers along the way. Helpers that have guided me down paths to get the assistance that I have needed.  I have mentioned before that I go to counseling. The person that I go to now is amazing and she is walking me through a healing process that has been eye-opening and life-changing. 

I have been stuck. And although I have taken baby steps forward, I tend to reach a point where I'm stuck. Or where I fall backwards and stumble and don't know how to keep my footing. So, being the strong and stubborn person I am, I try to pick myself up. And it just doesn't work. 

In my last session, we were walking through a few things. The sessions that we have are led by the Holy Spirit and He was leading me towards a particular life scenario that I needed to work through. I was asked "Do you see Angels?" In this particular scenario and I said "yes". She asked me where they were and I told her they were standing all around me in a circle. She asked me how that made me feel. I paused. A long time. Therapy is hard for me because there are two parts of me. The part of me that is dark and hurt and injured and dead and wanting to run away and disappear forever. And there's the part of me that wants to bury those ideas and not let anyone else know that I have those thoughts. So in my head, the latter me was formulating an answer that I thought she would want to hear. I was working on saying "I feel happy and safe and peaceful and I'm so glad they are there ." But...someone very dear to me had recently shared with me how important truth is so that healing can happen. So I looked her in the eyes and I told her "It makes me angry that they are there." In her most gentle voice she asked me why it made me angry. With tears streaming down my face I told her that I was angry they were there now, but that they couldn't be there to save me from what I had been through.  We worked through the rest of that, and eventually I realized that they were with me then also. In every single life moment, the Angels are there. And so is the Son!

Tears right now. And wanting to go back to the lies where I pretend everything is ok. Why am I sharing this? Why am I using this very personal example in my public blog? Because if I can save one person from walking down the path that I have been down, then I will share. I will share my thoughts and feelings so you know you're not alone. 

The Angels, and Jesus, and the sun...they are always there. There are things that cover them up, or things that block them out, but they are always there. Even in my darkest hours through my life. They are constant and good and warm and they are always there. I have faith that they have always been there, and will always be there. 

The sun is always there. The Son is always there. We only have to have faith that even when the clouds bury them in darkness, and the storms take over, they are there, waiting for just the right time to burst through the clouds and make everything right with the world again. The storm clouds will be there. It's not an easy path. But you are not alone in your journey. Jesus is there with you, even when you don't know He's there. Here comes the Son...to bring you peace and healing and love. Here comes the Son...

I Walk the Line

I was furious! I had been seeing my therapist for a while starting a few years ago and I was starting to get my Explanation of Benefits from my insurance company. It wasn't the copay that I was upset about. It wasn't my insurance coverage. No, the item on this sheet of paper that had me seeing red was...the diagnostic code. Written in the middle of the paper were the words "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." What? That was impossible. I checked to make sure they hadn't accidentally sent me someone else's paper. Nope. My name was printed at the top. I called my therapist and left a frantic message to her, imploring her to call me back as soon as possible. About an hour later, she was on the phone with me. I calmly explained to her that there must have been some mistake. That I just got my Explanation of Benefits and it said Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There was a long silence and she replied with, "Yes?"

"Well, THAT can't be right! I don't have PTSD! I need you to change that."

"I can't change it. That's what you have."

She went on to explain my symptoms and asked if I had any questions. But I couldn't even think. Didn't even know what questions to ask. I quietly told her I didn't, hung up the phone, and snuck into the bathroom to collapse into a puddle on the floor and sob quietly to myself.

This couldn't be right. How embarrassing! Me? Diagnosed with a mental disorder? PTSD was reserved for those brave men and women in combat who fight for our freedoms. The soldiers who see atrocities that my brain can't even fathom. The military personnel who watch their buddies or commanders die right before their eyes. I couldn't possibly have PTSD. I didn't do anything to deserve this! Nothing happened to me like the things that people who should be diagnosed with PTSD go through. 

My next session with my therapist was painful. I cried. I sobbed. I denied that I had PTSD. I told her that was impossible. And I cried some more. She handed me a list...a list of the symptoms of PTSD:

1) Reliving the event/re-experiencing the symptoms

2) Avoiding situations that remind you of the event

3) Negative changes in beliefs and feelings

4) Feeling keyed up (hyperarousal)

The bullets that were under each number described me. I had difficulty sleeping. I experienced flashbacks. I had trouble concentrating. I avoided situations. Nightmares plagued my sleep. Certain things could trigger me into a panic attack. My world came crashing down around me. I was horrified to admit that I had PTSD. 

I am healing. My nightmares are less and less. My triggers don't send me reeling. I'm sleeping better. I am healing. 

And then, new demons began to plague and torment me. Knowing that I was not at my strongest and healthiest, the enemy began a spiritual attack on my soul. Convincing me that I was worthless. That I was a terrible mom. That I was incompetent in my job. And for a while I believed them. I was confused. I felt worthless. Sometimes, I felt like the only way I was going to find peace might be to exit this world. Give my girls a chance at a better life. And when you find yourself in that place, it is terrifying. Everywhere you look there is chaos and hopelessness. Everything you hear is a voice telling you that you are nothing. That no one would miss you. That your are worthless. And I almost gave in to those tricks. 

But faith! Faith pulled me through. Amazing family and friends pulled me through. Staring into the eyes of my children pulled me through. Reading my Bible and taking communion and journaling pulled me through. 

I am not completely free from those demons, but I am in a much better place. I know that I am not alone in my battles. That God is with me, right by my side, and that He will never leave me. That I have a wonderful team of family and friends here on this earth that help me walk through. That pray for the girls and me. That will be there to remind me that I am so loved by my Heavenly Father. I am blessed! So very blessed!

Last night, Emerson and I were walking to McDonalds while waiting for Amelia to get done with dance. As we were walking, our path crossed an older lady pushing a cart. She was dirty and looked tired and she was talking to herself. As we were approaching her, Emerson started to sing a little Bible song that she had learned in school. I started singing with her. As we approached the woman, Emerson kept singing and I silently prayed for this woman. She was talking to herself, swearing and looking so very agitated. And my heart broke for her. Experiencing PTSD symptoms and the spiritual attack pieces, I could understand maybe a little of what was going through her head. It is a dark and scary place to be.  

We kept walking and praying for her, and then I thought about the line. The very fine line between this woman and me. Without people who are willing to fight for me. Without the countless people that have prayed for me over the years. Without the power of the God that I have faith in. That woman could have been me. There were times that I just wanted to stay in bed all day and hide from the world. There are times that it took every inch of my being to not put my girls in the truck and run away from everything. There were times in the middle of the night that my anxiety and flashbacks were so strong that I would have given anything to make it stop. There's a fine line between this woman and me. 

But I walk this line, and I fight everyday to stay on the OK side of that line. With the help of my Father, and with the help of Jesus, and with the filling of the Holy Spirit, I walk the line. And they walk with me. As I think about my experiences, and as I remember how it feels to be in those moments where I slipped below that line, my heart aches. My heart aches for the many that deal with PTSD alone. My heart aches for those that walk the streets and look "crazy" but just need a boost, a support system, and a knowledge of a loving God that can carry them through. I know that I need to do something. I need to help! I need to pay forward the love and kindness and faith that was instilled in me, carrying me from dark moment to dark moment, and helping me walk the line. It is my calling to spread the word about PTSD perhaps, and help people understand the horror of that, and then the awfulness of being under spiritual attack. For honestly, I believe we all walk the line. And I hope and pray that I can help people walk theirs. It can be a lonely, terrifying walk. And not all people are as blessed as I am with love and support and faith. 

I say this often, but BE KIND! For we are all fighting battles. And we are all walking our own lines. Be kind, and have compassion, and pray for those of us who are struggling with the line. And reach out for help if you are the one struggling. It's hard to admit to others that you think you're crazy. It's hard to face the fact that you are maybe not mentally at your best. It's hard to admit or even know that you are under attack from the enemy. Don't be afraid to ask for help, or reach out to a friend or a pastor or anyone! Don't feel crazy! We are all fighting battles that no one knows anything about. Why do we do this? We should be here on this earth to love and support each other. We should be ok reaching out for help before it gets to the point where we are below the line. Where we are drowning and can't get out. And we should also be ok reaching out and helping the ones that are struggling. 

Be kind. And if you are struggling, continue to walk the line, and try to stay on the OK side of that line. And if you're close, give me a call. I've been on the not OK side. And I don't want anyone to get on that side and silently suffer. God will rescue you! God loves you! And I do too!