Say Something...

Most people know that I love to talk. This love of talking came at an early age. I remember being a very little girl, working alongside my father in the garage. He got me a little blue toolbox filled with a few of my own wrenches. I would lay on the ground under the car with him and I would talk and tell stories the whole time we were working. I'll never forget the day that my dad rolled out from under a car, sat up and looked at me and asked, "Don't you ever shut up?" I remember giggling at him, shaking my head and answering, "Nope!" and continued right on talking. 

I'm sure there are a few friends today who might pause to ask me the same thing. There are many people who come to my office at work, or who I will wander and visit with and they may agree with my dad's sentiments. I'm sure there are more than a few that want to look at me and ask, "Don't you ever shut up?"  Well, yes, actually...

I tend to shut up pretty quick in moments where I probably should be talking.  Therapy. Sharing with others. Talking about hard things. I clam up pretty quick. There are many times that I'm sitting across the table from my counselor and in my head I'm screaming "SAY SOMETHING!" but I just can't bring myself to say anything. So I tell her I need to leave. Or I can't talk about that. Or I don't remember. Anything to avoid the words that I know she wants me to say. It's all hard work. So hard. Talking about my past is not something that I want to do. I'm sure that my counselor is thinking just the opposite of the words my dad said to me. She's probably wanting to scream at me to say something also!

It's hard to talk about stuff that is not pleasant. We all have those skeletons in our closets. The things and events and people that we would like to keep hidden and buried. The things that maybe no one knows about. The events that are too dark, too terrifying to have to relive by sharing with someone else. Sitting in that therapy room, telling things over and over again is horrible. Having PTSD and anxiety makes telling these stories even worse. I have gotten pretty good about recognizing when I'm getting too close to a flashback or getting to far to the brink of being pushed too far, and I have also gotten fairly good at willing those emotions and feelings and reactions away. I change the subject. Or lie. Or sit in silence while my counselor sits and stares at me, wishing nothing but the best for me I'm sure, but not knowing that walking me through these things is like ripping my heart right out of my chest and shoving me right back into those moments. 

So why do we do these things? Why is it so important to say something? Well, I've heard it's healing. I've heard it's good for you. I've heard it gets you to a place where you can talk about these things and it's not a big deal. It's just facts, not like reliving those moments over and over. It's just telling what happened, not feeling the heartache and pain and nausea. It's good for you to get it out and share. 

I think more important than that even is that when you start to share little pieces of your past and of your trauma, you make connections with other people.  That's why I started this blog mostly. I knew that my story couldn't end there. I knew that my story didn't end with me being a grieving widow left to pick up the shattered pieces of our lives. I knew that I was meant to do more. So I started blogging to tell my story, hoping that someone would read it someday and be impacted by these mere words that I put to paper.

After Brian died I started randomly connecting to widows, trying desperately to make sense of this new label that had been thrust on me. But I couldn't. There was no way I could. As I sat with different widows and we began to share our stories I couldn't connect to them. High school sweethearts that had been in love forever. I met Brian online and we hadn't even hit our fourth anniversary. Older women who were fortunate their husbands had set them up so nicely. I was only 33 and we didn't have a penny to our names. A valiant fight with cancer and they had years to prepare for the end. Brian killed himself. There was no preparing for that. Such wonderful husbands that were beautiful people and were going to be missed by their communities. Brian was arrested and charged with two felonies before he chose to end his life eighteen days later. His once amazing reputation tarnished by his bad choices right before he died. There is no common story for me. No bond. 

But, there are pieces of my story that ring true for someone. What if we walked around wearing t-shirts that said what battles we fight in this life? How many connections could we make? I could probably walk the earth forever and never come to another woman wearing a shirt that says "young widowed mother of two little girls who had a husband that threw it all away and then killed himself." But I might find someone with similar pieces. But how would I ever connect to help them if I don't say something?

So I blog. And I tell my story. For the healing and the catharsis that writing has for me I'm sure. But also because that is not how my story ends! I say something to help others. I say something to find my strength. I say something to keep my demons in check and behind me. I say something to let others know they're not alone in their thoughts and feelings. 

There are a thousand topics that I could cover in this say something blog. Weight loss. Weight gain. Poor self-esteem. Suicide. Embarrassment. Wanting to disappear. Crying. Pain. Heartache. And the negative gets you sucked in often. But it's that negative that saying something and finding out you're not alone is so freeing. So normalizing.  Knowing that I am not the only one who has laid awake in the middle of the night panicked and scared and alone and thinking how much better the world would be without me shows me that I'm not crazy. That I don't need to be locked up or taken away. That we all have those fleeting thoughts sometimes. Knowing that I'm not the only one to deal with the darkness and the yuck. Knowing that I'm not alone. Amazing! Say something!

It's not easy to say something. I get to do it behind these words that I post, which has not been easy I will add. Sometimes when I type I imagine that no one in the world is going to read any of this and then I can hit publish. And then I get some likes or a comment or two and I'm terrified to read them, but when I do it's usually affirmation that I am not alone!

So, be brave! Say something! You don't ever know how it will impact you or someone else. But there's a whole world of support and love and caring to be had if you are brave enough to break the silence and say something!  And I will get better at saying something too. I know that my Heavenly Father wants me healed and free and living life to the fullest and that only works if I use the resources he has blessed me with and say something! So you say something, and I will say something too...

Dad Day...

I didn't know I was going to be writing a blog post today, but as I'm scrolling through the Facebook posts this morning, my heart is in my throat. It's Father's Day, and my emotions are high. I'm tired from a long dance weekend, my girls are still sleeping, and holidays are different now. Even six years later, holidays still at some point in the day thump my heart and remind me that things are different.

I have the best daddy in the world! He has always been there for me and he loves me and my girls so very much. There isn't anything I can't ask him to do. Put oil in my truck, more often now that it is leaking. Take my girls to dance if I have to stay late after school for a meeting. He mows my lawn for me, and talks politics with me behind mom's back. He tells funny jokes and loves to tease my friends. He had a hard life growing up and came all the way from Germany. He has survived two bouts of cancer and continues to fight with every doctor visit and blood check. He dotes on my girls and would do anything for them too. He's the best dad in the whole world! I love Father's Day because it's a chance to tell him how much we love him! Today? We get to spend it at the theater watching my girls dance. And I believe there isn't anywhere he'd rather be!

My girls are lucky to have my daddy because their own daddy chose a different path. We had a talk about Brian last night in our very tired hours after the dance recital. Amelia asked if we could skip Father's Day. Emerson asked for the second time this week "Is daddy in heaven?  Because I don't think he is." And then I resent Father's Day. Too many questions that I shouldn't have to answer. Too many tears from little girls who did nothing to deserve any of this. Too many unknowns on my part to know exactly how to answer the questions they ask. I pray often that God would grant me the answers to questions that these smart little ones pose. And I believe that He does and that I am doing my best to answer their questions and help them in their grief process. 

This morning scrolling through Facebook I saw a lot of Father's Day posts. Many of them were wishes that their dad were still with them and lovely poems and memes that I wish I could read to my girls. I wish I could honor their father differently, but his final days with us don't really allow that. Remembering Brian in our home brings more heartache than fondness. It brings tears and anxiety rather than comfort. When I did my check-in with Amelia last night and asked her if there was anything she needed to talk about with Father's Day coming. She looked and me and said "Why?" I told her I was just worried about her around this time and wondered if she missed her dad. She shook her head no and said "I don't really ever think about him. I have more important things to think about." And then she walked away. She paused and turned and smiled at me and said, "Besides, I can't be sad! Look at all the dads and grandpas that we have that have stepped up to help us! AND,

I have the perfect Father in Heaven. He loves me and is there for me always. He'll never leave me and He'll never hurt me. He never asks for anything and I'm always just enough with him! So I'm really good mommy!"

Oh my beautiful, sweet girl! She teaches me and reminds me of more than she'll ever know! She is right! Not only is God the perfect Father, but he has also gifted us with the most amazing men in our lives. These men are made in His image. They are kind and loving and faithful and won't hurt us. They are gentle and funny and are there for any of us. And every day we have our Heavenly Father. And if Amelia knows and can share all of that with me and be confident in her position as a daughter of the King, then we can too!

So Happy Father's Day to all of the amazing dads out there! And Happy Father's Day to the dads who aren't with us anymore! And Happy Father's Day to Brian! Because he gave me two beautiful daughters to love and do life with, and that is the best thing he could have done for me. 

And above all, Happy Father's Day to our perfect Father, God in heaven! Thank you for being that perfect example of a daddy, and loving us always!

The Story of Us...

I know I already posted a blog post for today, but when I am told to write, I write. The last day of school happened today. It's always such a bittersweet time in the school year. We, as teachers and staff and students, pour our blood, sweat, and tears into the work that we complete from September to June. The year goes by in a flash, and with many ups and downs, much like a roller coaster at the fair we will most likely visit over the summer break. There are twists and turns, corkscrews and upside down loop-the-loops, steep climbs and sudden free falls down the the bottom. And then, in the blink of an eye, the ride is over. You get off, wonder if you got your money's worth, and decide you'll get back in line and start the ride over again in the fall. 

I have come to learn that sometimes, cars fall off the track. Some get old and rusty and decide they just don't work anymore. Some decide to try a bigger or better or faster roller coaster somewhere else. Sometimes we send our baby cars up to the bigger track, even when they'd rather stay on our small, safe kiddie ride. 

This blog post isn't about roller coasters, although most of you can read between the lines and see what I was getting at. The story of us! The story that makes up John D. "Bud" Hawk Elementary at Jackson Park. The story of us...

Every year we write another chapter into the story. Every year, we, as a group, open the journal that is HEJP and begin to write our story. We have classrooms filled with fresh, eager faces. They come in wearing their best back to school outfits. There are tears and pictures and quick hugs from trying-not-to-cry mommas. The staff is back, eager to start the new year. Waiting to see which kids will be in their class. Oh I remember your big brother. This is my *insert numbers of years here* year here. That teacher is new to our story. Oh man...not THAT momma. And we begin to write. Back to school assemblies. New schedules. Changes in routine. Remembering how to be a student. Settling into the rhythm that will be your school year. The story of us...

The year flies by. The work gets harder. The teachers get more tired and more stressed. Kids are crazy at Christmas break. Crazier at Spring Break. Unbearable after standardized testing. There's paperwork demands and IEP meetings and angry parents and tired kids. There's new curriculum and not enough time and new contracts and inadequate resources. There's field trips and field day and assemblies and talent shows and So. Much. To. Cram. In. The story of us...

And then, just like a funnel cloud, when you think you can't bear one more thing you are sitting at the last day of school and the stress evaporates. And new emotions flood in. Sadness at losing your kids to the next year. Relief at surviving to the end. Elation that all of the things you were supposed to do got done. Anticipation for a new year as you look around a clean, packed up room and walk out of the front doors of the school until the coming fall. The story of us...

Who is this us? It is the people that make up HEJP. I've gushed about my job and my coworkers before but I truly am the luckiest speech therapist in the whole district. I joined the Jackson Park family almost fourteen years ago and have helped write many chapters in the story of us. There are kids and principals and teachers and staff and parents and so many people that make up the story of us. And it doesn't take much to see the story unfold before your eyes as you walk through the hallways and have conversations with the people there. 

Walking through the school today my heart was filled. Filled with students giving me last minute hugs. Parents singing my praises and giving me treasured thank you gifts. Staff and teachers hugging and crying and saying goodbyes to some of our favorites. A principal that has been with us for ten years walking through our doors for the last time. A beloved Kindergarten teacher moving on to a bigger roller coaster in the park. And friends that have retired coming back to celebrate our year's end. We are so blessed to be authors in this story. So blessed to be partners with such an amazing team of individuals, all working furiously to finish this year's chapter. And to prepare for the next one. The story of us...

When you walk the halls of HEJP, you are touched by the people contained in those walls. You know that you walk among greatness as you move from pod to pod, classroom to classroom, and witness the love and compassion and wisdom being shared with our students. You feel the presence of our retired authors. You understand the efforts of the authors still present. And if you leave after time in our hallowed halls, you leave a piece of yourself behind, and you take a piece of the rest of us with you. The story of us...

Our principal, our leader is moving on. There is fear and sadness and apprehension, but I am not worried! We have the best staff in the district. We have ups and downs but we ALWAYS pull together when we need to the most. And we have yet another opportunity to pull together again. We will only be stronger! We will only be greater! We will continue to add pages to the story of us!

And I firmly believe that anyone who walks into HEJP has been called to work there. Our school is special. Our kids need us. Our families need us. And we need those kids. Standing in my empty office for the last time this morning, I breathed deeply and tears flooded to my eyes. God brought me to that school. And He brought each and every one of you too! My life path has led me to the doors of that school. I am so blessed by my kids and their families and my coworkers. What a team! What a story!

The story of us! So far it's an amazing chapter by chapter account of the lives we have touched, individually and as the family we are! And with each chapter that each author turns in, I can guarantee we're writing a best-seller!

Wishing all of my co-authors an amazing, refreshing, rejuvenating summer! See you in the fall with fresh, crisp paper for chapter 2016-2017! The Story of Us...

Perspectives...

My passion at my job is working with my babies that are somewhere on the Autism spectrum. I enjoy the social groups that I run more than any other treatment sessions that I run. I have often said that my dream job would be to leave my position at the school district and open a private clinic just working with children and adults with Autism. But for now, I enjoy being somewhat of an "expert" in my district with students with high functioning Autism and I am happy in my calling.

Many of the problem-solving instances that I run into with my students happens to revolve around perspective. People with Autism have a very difficult time taking the perspective of another person. They are highly egocentric, only thinking about themselves and their opinions. Many arguments and misunderstandings start because they cannot see the side of the other person. 

This is not exclusive to my special education children. I was witness to a few experiences today where perspective was lost on one side of the argument. I'm not sure whether to feel horrible that our society doesn't get perspective or get excited because that is job security for me. Perspective is so important!

We all fall into this trap from time to time. For example, a few weeks ago, a friend of mine posted on Facebook how wonderful their trip to Sequim had been. What a lovely town and such wonderful people and how they couldn't wait to go back. I reacted poorly and commented with "Yuck!" And the emoji with the mask over his face. Eventually I pulled my comment, apologized to the original poster, and explained my reaction. Sequim is where my husband was from. It does not hold fond memories for me anymore, but rather is an emotional trigger for me and all the stuff we went through. I still can't easily bring myself to even drive Highway 3 north towards Poulsbo. I can feel myself slipping into a PTSD reaction before I've even hit the second Poulsbo exit. Perspective...

Our history or our experiences or our human nature shapes our perspectives. Our reactions to situations are typically based on something that we have already been through. Watching a very angry dad this morning in the school office, I started thinking about this blog post and perspectives. The office had one side of the story. The dad felt another side was true. His perspective was different from that of the office staff. What experiences had he been through that shaped his reaction this morning?

Reactions in typically developing people form perspective differences are usually benign. Often there is an agreement that there was a misunderstanding and life goes on. Sometimes even there's laughter at how silly the shift was. But add in someone with circumstances that make the reaction volitile and people are left in the aftermath. Autism spectrum is only one thing that can alter reactions to a situation. Difficult past. Rough childhood. Distrust of leaders. Being burned before. There's a lot that goes into shaping our perspective. This does not excuse our reactions. My philosophy with my students and with others is to always BE KIND! Be kind! Don't fly off the handle without the facts. Don't get upset without listening to the other side. Don't react poorly to something just because your experience is something different. I apologized to my friend who I blasted about Sequim. That was a knee jerk reaction that I imagine took away a little piece of her fun and enjoyment of sharing her weekend. 

This is not much different from our spiritual walk. Walking a faith journey with God is filled with circumstances and history. We are shaped in our walk by my many things that alter our perspectives. What religion we grew up with. Who pushed something on is that we weren't interested in hearing. The doctrines that we were taught growing up. My perspectives as a life-long Lutheran have shaped me into who I am and what I believe today. But as I continue to stretch and grow in my faith, I am starting to see those perspectives and how they come into play with my beliefs. Things that make me worry about praying. Things that make me feel like I'm not worthy of gifts from my Father. Things I've learned that alter the basis for my last 38 years of beliefs. The bottom line? The only perspective that matters in all of that mess is my Heavenly Father's. He loves me. No matter what I try to do to mess things up, He loves me. He sent His Son to die on a cross for me and He loves me. That is the only perspective I need. 

So when bad things are happening all around you, people are terrible, and you feel like the whole world is against you, first know that there are other perspectives involved in the situation. Those perspectives, whether right or wrong, shape people into who or what they are fighting for. So my first piece of advice goes back to something I say often. Be kind...for we are all fighting battles no one knows anything about. And my next piece of advice is to remember the One that loves you more than anything. Who has the perspective that you an amazing creation. Who has your plans for your future laid out. Who is cradling you and loving you through life, even the days where going on does not seem like an option. 

Keep going. Be kind. Don't let the evil and darkness win. We are all fighting battles. Even the other guy so forgive them and pray for them and know that you tried your best in a difficult situation. Perspectives...sometimes you wouldn't want to know what is shaping theirs...

Anything but Ordinary...

Growing up, I didn't want to be ordinary. I wanted to be the best at everything I did. It wasn't enough for me to be a good writer. I wanted to be the best, and winning the VFW essay contest every year from 3rd through 12th grade was my proof to myself that I was a good writer. It wasn't enough for me to play sports. Highest point scorer in basketball at Peace for the girls and boys teams helped. Best female discus thrower on Olympic High School's track team my senior year was also important. It wasn't enough for me to get good grades. That one A- my last quarter in high school that left me to graduate with a 3.998 and rank 8th in my class of 400 was good, but slightly disappointing for myself. I expected perfection. I expected to be the best. I wanted to be extraordinary. 

These plans carried through into my college years. I was pre-med. I was going to be a pediatric oncologist. I was going to be the best in my field. Plans changed. One slip up on an Organic Chemistry midterm and I knew that medical school was out of the question. My grade would be too low and I couldn't imagine any medical school would accept me as a student. So I started to look for something else to do. I found Speech and Hearing Sciences as a major. It was like the best of both my worlds: teaching and medicine. I'd get to teach like is always wanted, but I'd still get to diagnose too! I threw myself into my major and expected perfection once again. I wanted to be extraordinary. 

In every situation I would find myself in, I would convince myself I was not extraordinary. I was just ordinary.  Nothing special. Nothing spectacular. Just ordinary. 

What is ordinary anyways? The dictionary defines ordinary as something that is "of no special quality or interest; commonplace; unexceptional." My life in the last six years has been anything but ordinary. What I wouldn't give to go back and just be ordinary! Life being ordinary is not a bad thing. Same routine. Same comforts. Same people to love. Same circumstances. Just...ordinary. 

And then life became anything but ordinary. Rather than my days being filled with mundane everyday ordinary tasks, my days soon filled with detectives and CPS representatives. Visits with fire chiefs and head of law enforcement. And then it became filled with paying to get my car out of impound and talking with funeral directors. Balancing life with two baby girls and trying to make arrangements to bury my husband. Anything but ordinary...

I would plead and beg God to make my life ordinary again. To please just help me get back to the days when things were ordinary. Where I was just taking care of my babies and going to work and cooking dinner and it was just plain ordinary. To take me back to days where I didn't feel like I was drowning in my own head and I couldn't come up for air. To just take me anywhere but where I was. 

But He didn't. He didn't take me back to where I was. He didn't take me back to ordinary. Because God doesn't do ordinary. It's taken years of fighting with Satan and fighting with seizures and fighting with myself to realize I needed to stop fighting. I needed to let go and let God take over. I needed to stop trying to fix my life, stop trying to get back to ordinary, and let God step in. And it took me a long time to do that, but I finally did! And what an extraordinary life this has become!

I still have the ordinary, typically mundane tasks such as laundry and cooking dinner and work, but I now get to see them through the lenses of my Heavenly Father. I get to take every day as a brand new day, everyday as a new opportunity to live my extraordinary. The extraordinary isn't anything that I have done. It isn't anything that I create. It's the little things that He creates in my days. My girls and I get to live in His shadow and each and every second of every day is an opportunity to see the extraordinary that He has set in our path. The sparkle in Emerson's eyes as we laugh and play on the couch. The perfect form of Amelia's arms and legs as she shows me a new dance move she learned in class. The Spiritual Gift awards that their teachers granted them because they see pieces of God in their souls. The excitement at sitting down to dinner together. God take life...ordinary everyday life...and turns it into the extraordinary. Extraordinary tiny moments built into our day to remind us of His grace and mercy and power. 

Life will never be ordinary again...not when we have our Heavenly Father walking us through. And I'm not saying all days are sunshine and roses because they're not. Yesterday my grief roller coaster took a fast dip downward and my heart was so very heavy all day. Grieving loss or ordinary. But He was present in that moment also, reminding me that He was there to carry me through. Reminding me how important that cycle is. Reminding me that He was right there, and His path for me in all of the mess is anything by ordinary. 

Your path is anything but ordinary also!  Pray! Talk to Him! Ask Him to help you find your extraordinary through Him! And I will pray for each and everyone of you too! Because an ordinary life is a bit overrated. I want to live my extraordinary life with Him!!

Called to Serve...

The end of the school year is probably one of the most difficult stretches for people who work in a school setting. The fresh-faced teachers and students of September are long gone. People are tired and grumpy. We all start taking short cuts. Longer recess. More fun. There are five hundred end of the year activities. Spirit week. School dances. Building traditions. Good-byes to teachers who are retiring or leaving. It's a grueling, long time between Spring Break and Memorial Day weekend. The teachers walk around like zombies a little bit perhaps, wondering how in the world the clock only says 9:30 a.m. on a Monday morning. The students are hyped up and can barely contain themselves, knowing there's only a few more days to check off before they are free for the summer. It's a tough time. 

I love my job! No, seriously! I love what God has called me to do. I grumble about it from time to time. Too much paperwork. Not enough time. Too many mandates. But, overall, when I look at my career that I have chosen, I can't believe that this is my job. I get to teach kids how to communicate! I get to work with kids and their families and get them to a better place than they were when I met them in September. 

The end of the year is exciting for many of the students. Their goals have been met and they are sounding better in their speech, or they finally understand how those verbs work, or they have made a friend that they wouldn't even talk to at the beginning of the year. Sometimes, however, the progress just didn't happen and that breaks my heart. They maybe lost some teeth or got braces so their articulation didn't progress as far as I was hoping. Or they just cannot let go of some of their quirkiness so they still don't have any friends. I take my job seriously. And I take my kids' progress to heart, as a reflection on me and the kids of what kind of therapist I am. 

I truly believe that God has called me to work with these students at this school. This was not what I had planned to do, and looking at the path I took to get here I can see that this is exactly what God had in mind for me. I was supposed to be a speech-language pathologist at the school that I am at right now. I was called to serve. 

So, when I come across people who are not as committed to the job, it makes me a little bit crazy. Read the comment section of any news article on special education and it's typically full of unhappy parents throwing jabs at how awful special education teachers are. I used to read the comments and get so angry. What are they talking about? Special education teachers are the best! We love our kids! We always want what's best for them. We always fight to get them what they need. Perhaps I am very naive but it appears that I have been mistaken. Not all special education teachers, or general education teachers for that matter, have the students' best interests at heart. 

Psalm 100:2 says, "Serve the Lord with gladness..." and I try to take this to heart as I move into each day. Mid-May is a bit tougher to work toward this as we are bombarded with everything that has to be done at the end of the year. But this year, as I have grown in my faith walk and now strive to glorify His name in everything that I accomplish, I speak this verse in my office each and every morning. I want to serve the Lord with gladness in everything that I do at work. 

I know that I am at a different place in my faith and my life and my career as some of my colleagues. I'm only fifteen years into my career. I am a single mom with two little girls. I believe that every event, good or bad, has shaped my path throughout this life. Things were set in motion many many years ago to get me to where I am today. I know that I have no control over how my colleagues perform, but when their lack of care and concern impacts the students that I work with, I react. I get upset. I get angry. I try and overcompensate for their lack of effort. I have taken on the stress and anxiety and sadness and frustration for a lot of events at work lately. I have vented to other colleagues who I know care and are great educators. I have stayed up nights fretting and worrying about what to do in certain situations. I have tried hard to fix things for my families that are upset with events that have taken place.  Finally this morning, I paused. 

I paused because He whispered into my ear. "Why are you trying so hard? Is that your job to fix this? Do you not trust me to make this work out for My good?"  It goes back to the blog post about fixing things. I will be bold and say that I am good at my job. I am good at what I do. I care deeply for my students, their parents, their families. But, it isn't my responsibility. This isn't my responsibility. My responsibility is to do my job and serve the Lord with gladness. To perform my daily tasks to the best of my ability. To love and care for those babies and to give them the best education I can while they are in my room. And then, my job is to pray for them. To pray that God will protect them and nurture them and place them with people that will build them up and make them the best versions of themselves. I have to serve my Lord with gladness and know that His hand is in everything, including what they do when they are not with me. 

I serve the Lord with gladness. And I pray for my babies as they navigate through their days. As much as I look forward to summer, I also dread those final school days because there is so much to do, but even more because many of them are headed to middle school this year. I will miss them terribly. I don't let go of my kids very well. I'm losing eight of my most favorite boys to middle school. And I worry. I worry about what might happen to them as they enter middle school. I worry that maybe their teachers and therapists won't care about them like I care about them. And then, I'm reminded: this is not my battle, not my responsibility. I have to let them go and let God step in. And pray for their teachers and therapists and families. And pray for them. 

The kids I work with mean the world to me. And I hope that God places them with teachers and therapists that also serve the Lord with gladness.  

It's Too Late...

Its been a while since I've pulled an all-nighter. But as I sit in bed and listen to the birds chirping outside my window, I'm reminded of many days of sitting up through the night. I've always been a night owl. I loved the idea of being able to stay up later as I grew up. In high school I would pour over books and study and when I was finished I either would read for hours into the night or I would stay up to watch The Tonight Show. My mom would come into my room and tell me to go to sleep, that it was too late for me to still be awake. 

It's too late...those words cause my stomach to drop. No matter how you look at that phrase it isn't exactly positive. I imagine sitting at a party having a wonderful time and someone sayin "Gosh, it's late...we need to get going." Fun times are over, the party breaks up, and people head for home." Another scenario is being too late to help someone. Like when I got the call that my grandfather was dying. I raced through the streets of Seattle on foot and on a bus, hoping and praying I would be able to give him one more hug. Or one more kiss. To hear his voice one more time. But I was too late. 

There are many things in life I have felt "too late" for. And when you stay up all night with a racing mind, the hopelessness of the phrase tends to creep in even deeper. There were many times in basketball games as a kid when my shot was too late. I didn't make it, or it was blocked, or I didn't beat the buzzer...too late. I thought I loved a boy in high school and when I finally got the nerve to ask him to a dance, he had asked another girl...too late. I made a decision to go to a party in college instead of staying home and studying for my chemistry mid-term. I tried hard to cram the next morning through foggy thinking, but it didn't help...too late. I was too late to get home to my grandfather. I was too late in noticing that my husband and my marriage were crumbling. I was too late to save him. Too late...

And then there's tonight. No sleep. Tears streaming down my face as I reflect on all of these too late moments. The enemy is present in my house tonight, or this morning now, pushing thoughts into my head to distract me and take my eyes off my Heavenly Father. He whispers "It's too late..." into my ear over and over and over. Wanting me to give up. Wanting me to give in. Thinking that it's too late to lose weight and get healthy. You're thirty-eight years old. You've been fat your whole life. You really think you can turn this around now? Pushing in the message that I have spent my whole life being too late. Figuring out things just one step behind everyone else. Feeling worthless and ashamed. So full of guilt and anxiety. Feeling life being sucked away a moment at a time until I don't think I can breathe and all I want to do is put my babies in the truck and drive away where no one will ever find us. 

Satan wants all those thoughts in our head. He wants us to feel worthless and ashamed and hopeless. He wants us to sit in the dark and watch shadows swirl and be afraid. He wants us to fall into that trap and start the downward spiral that leads to sin and self-hatred and turning away from God and death. 

And then, just when I don't think I can handle any more, light streaks in through my blinds in my bedroom. Daylight is here. The darkness and the night are driven out by the day and it's the start of a new day. Psalm 91 floods into my head and I am free at last to breathe and remember who it is I belong to. 

For with Him, it's never too late. Every moment is a new chance to believe and stand firm in His presence. It's not too late to love and care and forgive. It's not too late to turn your life around, no matter what your transgressions are. It's not too late to ask for help and spiritual healing from the soul wounds that threaten to bleed you dry. It's not too late to find rest in his loving arms. It's not too late to start living instead of merely existing. 

There will be many times in life where I will think "it's too late" and as someone who deals with anxiety and PTSD on an almost daily basis, it is super easy for me to get caught up in the "it's too late" mindset. So I pray. And I read my Bible. And I reach out to friends. And with all of those factors in play, I hope that I can always hang on until that first hint of daybreak. And bolstering myself up in the presence of God, reading His word, and remembering that I am the daughter of the King, I will know that it's never too late to be loved by my Heavenly Father. 

It's not too late! He loves us all so very much and He wants to have a relationship with each and every one of us. He wants to carry us through the darkness of night. He wants us to come to Him in our hour of need. He wants to fix things when it's just too late. 

It's never too late! Don't ever give up...and I won't either...