community motherhood

time to thaw.

My friend sat on it for a few weeks before she brought it to me. “I’m not big on prophetic stuff unless I know for sure it has a meaning. This could be nothing at all. But I had a dream about you and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

She went on to tell me a beautifully vivid storyline that came to her while she slept. My four babies and I were on a sailboat, dressed to the nines and pulling up to her dock (neither of us have boats or docks, but wouldn’t it be nice?!). The wind blew through my hair and I leaned in toward her, a huge smile on my face. As we docked, I couldn’t contain myself. I looked straight at her, put my hand on her shoulder, and said

I have been on the adventure of my life, and I cannot wait to tell you about it.

I got to call my friend a prophetess. I got to tell her that her dream was from God and that it was her mission to tell me about it. I got to repent.

I know this dream was from God, for one reason alone, and it was this: that storyline was not real life for me. My friend had no idea. Most people wouldn’t. I may have been on the adventure of my life until now, but I could not see nor express it when it related to my children. In fact, I’ve spent the sum total of my birth babies’ existence just trying to keep them alive. Early on, I went numb in favor of spending my emotional energy on their dad and brothers. After I established solid relationships with my husband and stepsons, the numbness toward my biological children just felt easier.

I am not naturally laid-back. I am not naturally snuggly. I am not naturally messy. Small children require flexibility with all of those things. I was either too tired or too scared to to deal with the numbness, and so it turned to a sense of cold.

Until this summer. My friend shared the dream a few months ago and I knew it was time. I have more responsibility and less free time than ever, and still I know that now is the time to thaw. To be present. To stare at those four kids and pull them close. To let them see me, know me, forgive me, serve me, and love me. I’m asking God to help me learn the art of laid-back, snuggly, and messy.

I have been on the adventure of my life, and I cannot wait to tell you about it.

health & wellness life lately

thoughts on breaks from the internet.

I’ve been online, in some capacity, for more than two decades. I played games on dial-up in the 90’s, I started blogging in 2003, and I’ve loved social media since its inception. After babies, though, I realized how easy it was to use the internet as an escape. I could numbly scroll through news headlines or cloth diaper sales pages (it’s real) and forget about how much money we didn’t have or how many hours I’d have to work the next day or whether or not I’d be able to pump enough milk.

I have learned so much from being online. So much. I’ve always been a voracious reader, but having articles and blogs and think pieces at my fingertips has just taken me to a next level. Drake released a new album. Do we think he’s really talking about XXXTentacion in that one track? Ominous blurbs about China and Canada filter through my car radio. What actually is a trade war, and are we in one? A patient swears she doesn’t use cocaine and thinks her marijuana might have been laced when her drug screen comes back positive. Is that possible? Beth Moore writes a powerful open letter to her brothers in Christ, calling them out and up. Historically, what is the Southern Baptist Convention’s track record with their treatment of women?

Skincare. Fashion. Theology. Parenting. Medicine. Google is one of my best friends. And if you come at me with some outlandish headline, I will definitely Snopes it on the go.

And don’t even get me started about social media! I learn more, laugh more, grow more, and love more than I ever could have imagined, just from connecting with others through platforms like Twitter and Instagram. Old friends stay close and best friends point me to Jesus, every single time I open those apps.

But along the way, it became apparent that I’d need to build some boundaries. My parents had obviously grown up without the internet, and my friends were on the front lines next to me. How much time is too much time? Where to keep my phone at night? When to delete apps and take a break? Who to follow and unfollow? How to talk about my kids online? How do I want to feel when I get on and then hop off again?

The weekend break was, and still is, a great idea. I try to delete social media apps from my phone for at least a day or two each week. Turning off all (ALL) of my notifications helped, too. I still stick to that one. Whatever it is, I’ll find out about it when I sign on. Lastly, being intentional about who to follow and what to click became a priority. I try to only consume that which is life-giving, whether online or off. But even with all of these safeguards, anxiety crept in now and again. A general, unsettled feeling settled upon me as soon as I posted something, or when I anticipated checking in again.

So I started taking real breaks. One month last summer. Christmas Break. Special trips or adventures. Another month this summer. And I got hooked. Whenever I go dark, I go all in. I leave my phone behind, forget the world, get lost in the moment. It’s an incredible feeling. Intoxicating, almost. I once told someone it felt like being the only sober person at a party on a yacht at sunset, when everyone else was partying too hard to soak up the vibe.

But there’s a dark side to going dark, and this is something I rarely mention. I ignore the news. I miss a friend’s birthday. I don’t return texts on time. It’s sort of like getting a scary bill in the mail and quietly placing it, unopened, in a drawer. I base each day off of how I’m feeling, how I want to feel. Is there a thing as being too self-aware? Because getting caught up in one’s feelings and thoughts is certainly real.

I think what I’m saying is, I make my internet breaks all about me. I get away for the right reasons, but I want to stay away for the wrong ones.

I do not have an answer for this dilemma. I do not think I can find it on Google. Here is what I do know. I know that the Bible has answers to everything, answers that never go out of style. That book has taught me so much about work and rest and people and life management and how to keep my soul healthy. And so, I know that I will continue to stay online and stay on guard. I know that there is no such thing as balance. I know that the internet is incredibly useful and most likely here for my forever. I know that I lean towards introverted selfishness when left to my own fleshly devices.

I know that rest is important, and that pausing to check my heart and soul and mind is crucial to my lifelong mission of making Jesus known. But I know that too much navel-gazing makes me dizzy. It leads me straight into walls, or onto my head. I also know that when Jesus pulled away to rest, he was always interrupted. He rolled with it, and it changed the world.

health & wellness the whole & simple gospel

when I write for others: Upwrite Magazine

Occasionally, I get to write for magazines, newsletters, blogs, and everything in between. It’s neat to go back and read my words from another time. There’s always room for grace and growth and a smile or head nod. Here’s a piece from December 2016.

I figured I might as well start my self-care journey in the bathtub. It sounded like the most obvious (bubble baths! candles!), and it just so happened to be the very spot where I’d experienced suicidal thoughts just a few months before. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I married, inherited and/or birthed six children, built and sold and bought a couple of houses, started my career as a nurse, and jumped into vocational ministry alongside my husband, all in a span of five years. If it sounds like a lot, of course it was. It absolutely was. But it just didn’t feel like it – not at the time. I’ve always wanted to be a grown woman with a man and a job and some kids. I’ve always been a high-capacity, keep-my-plate-full kind of girl. So I just went about my business one day at a time, until I broke.

I hit rock bottom one cold winter morning, after a few months of mild depression and a few precipitating events. My husband sent me to take a bath after I blew up at one of my daughters, and I found myself thinking of all the ways my family would be better off without me. After entertaining dangerous thoughts for a few minutes, I sent my husband a text. I need help. I don’t feel safe. He immediately went into action, and I’m forever grateful for his initiative.

Over the next few months, we walked a beautiful, painful, and simple road together. I started therapy and I cleared my social calendar. I said no a lot that year. I only attended counseling, church and small group, and family events. I fought hard to find joy when I looked into my kids’ faces and by God’s grace, I found it. I also dove head-first into the idea of self-care. It felt unbelievably exhilarating to get a little self-indulgent and spend more time on myself than ever before. And I had permission, nonetheless!

Like I said, I started with the bathtub. There were weekly bubble baths and face masks and magazines and candles. I did a lot of online shopping, and my husband made room in the budget for biweekly manicures. I practiced yoga for the first time ever, several nights per week in my bedroom. There was a lot of introspection and belly gazing. All of those things sound luxurious and amazing now, so it might sound crazy to say that they were hard at first. But depression is a beast. Back then, the bubble baths and the manicures actually had to be put on a list and checked off. They required effort. After awhile, though, I developed a sense of discipline with my regimens and my boundaries and my schedule. Those things became easier. They each tell a small part of my redemptive story of healing now, but I didn’t do everything right during that season. In fact, I got a big chunk of it dead wrong.

Somewhere along the way, I fell for the lie that said self-care started and stopped with me. I fell for the lie that said I had to look out for myself, that nobody else had and nobody else would. I fell for the lie that said I could somehow achieve my way to peace and wholeness, by being more disciplined and taking better care of myself. Looking back, I think my problem lay in my own definition of self-care. It was too small.

Self-care is about so much more than self. For me, it is the exploration of two key ideas. First, for whom am I getting healthy? Sure, I want to be stronger. I want my post-baby body to be able to do the same things that my pre-baby body could. I want to feel attractive when I look at myself in the mirror. I want to read about beauty products and understand what the heck the experts are talking about. I want to feel in the know, up-to-date, and relevant. But it is so much more than that. I want to be healthy for my people. I want my husband and kids to look at me and be proud of me, but also spurred on to become their best selves, too. I want the people in my community for whom my heart breaks to receive the best parts of me, in a way that doesn’t drain me when I pour out for them. I want my patients at work and the folks at church and the people online to be blessed each time we interact. And so I take care of myself. I take it seriously. But it’s not just for me.

Second, what is the aim of my discipline? I grew up in a Christian, upper-middle class family with doting parents and opportunities galore. And yet, I spent most of my life convinced that I needed to earn approval, and that I was only one bad decision away from falling out of right-standing with God. Once I went through counseling, I realized that even I need grace. No amount of striving can help. Grace is not just for the serial killers and the prostitutes out there.

If sin is nothing more than separation from our Creator, then we’re all outside in the cold. Grace is just an invitation inside, a seat at the fireplace with the One who makes things right again.

So I refocused my sense of discipline off of just self-protection and self-preservation. I dug into the spiritual disciplines that people have been using to take care of their souls since the very beginning. I began reading my Bible every morning, and spending more time with God. I practiced exploring humility in a very basic way – confessing and repenting in front of my husband and kids on a daily basis, and asking for help when I needed it.

Reshaping my life around these two ideas has completely revolutionized both my healing process and my working definitions of self-care. It can start in the bathtub if it needs to, but it can’t stop there.

People are literally dying to get a little good news from those of us who are healthy enough to carry it.

life lately motherhood

the run-down list.

There are approximately seven minutes between when my head hits the pillow and when I fall asleep. Do not be jealous. I have worked hard at this over a number of years. I am now the proud owner of a brain and body that can power down anywhere, anytime, on short notice. For me, sleep hygiene is unrelated to stress. I’ve simply trained myself to sleep. I think it might have started back in Alaska, during that summer when the sun never set. I was a confused nineteen year-old kid with just a bunk and a sleeping bag. We made it work.

Before I give in to sleep though, my heart and mind and soul partner together to review what I now call “the run-down list.” Almost all of the items on the list are completely unnecessary and even worse, pointless to mull over in a dark bed. But hey, baby steps. At least I’m not losing sleep over here. I touch on each topic as it comes, speak truth or encouragement or humor to it, and move on to the next. Here is the list lately.

my kids’ souls
my kids’ self-esteem
my kids’ destinies
did I lotion up my feet
did I use my new essential oil blend on my nails
why do we never seem to have enough money
why do I keep looking at money the wrong way
would Chris be willing to check me for lice again
does anyone in the house have pinworms
was that a throw-up cough I just heard
is using a sound machine app on my phone poor parenting
it feels so good to prepare for the next day the night before
it feels so good to be dairy-free and have clear skin again
will I ever get a massage again
will I ever get a facial again
will I ever get to the gym again
is my pillowcase the right kind for my face and hair
is my sleeping position the right kind for my muscles and bones
can’t wait to pick up where I left off on my Audible book tomorrow
can’t wait to sell and buy some more stuff on eBay
what a time to be alive in the Church
what a time to be alive in America
what a time to be alive as a woman
when will I eat tacos or sushi next
will Chris sleep okay tonight
do I need to pee one more time
are my slippers next to the bed
why is the Bible app’s verse of the day is always so timely
look at God
love you God
goodnight world
five things on a friday

Five things on a Friday.

Life lessons learned from the 70+ crowd at the gym:

1. Make an experience of it. While exercise takes up merely a fraction of my day and my brain space, it appears that the older generation builds their entire day around their time at the gym. In the locker room, there’s talk of waking up hours before their swim class to let dogs out or read or get warm enough to make the drive over. Bags are packed the night before, and plans are made for showers or lunch or an errand afterward. Naps are a must, too, and built into the schedule. And don’t worry, we’ll all have a lengthy conversation to help them weigh the cost of whatever decision must be made or a plan that might need adjusting. Whatever they’re doing, these people soak it up for all of its worth.

2. Sit down when you need to. Contrary to my prideful personality that does not like to take a timeout, I’ve seen women cut out of class fifteen minutes early. Sometimes, it’s to get the shower stall they want, but often it’s because they’re just plain tired and over the exercise. Some of the men in the weight room seem as though they come just to chat. They spend exponentially more time in a chair in the trainer’s office than they do on a treadmill. I think I’m the only one who doesn’t take a rest between showering  and getting dressed. I’m hopping into my scrub pants with water droplets still on my legs. My workout buddies know how to pace themselves. But again, see #1. They’re in it for the experience.

3. Pay attention to your surroundings. I’m hyper-aware of my environment most of the time, but it comes from an introverted, anxious “I hope I don’t get attacked or have to talk to people” perspective. The old folks at the gym are not afraid of engaging. I’ve never seen people react so harshly to their routines being interrupted. I watched as a woman came back to her locker one day, dripping wet from the pool, to find someone else’s lock on it. Apparently, she’d taken their regular spot and would have to learn the hard way. I’ve also never seen such community like the friendships at the gym. The older people take care of each other like nobody’s business. I’ve found treats and presents for my kids tucked inside my gym bag, once I’ve left it in its usual spot on the counter long enough for them to trust me. It pays to follow a routine and play nice with the locker room ladies.

4. Take your time. I try to be in and out of the gym in under an hour, even less if I’m not showering there. Not my elderly friends. Some of my favorites are the ones who arrive at least twenty minutes early for their class or personal training appointment. One reads in a lawn chair in the locker room, and another loves to chat so much he could talk a brick wall into working out with him. I also love the folks who know when to call it quits, sometimes before things ever really get started. I saw a woman literally leave the gym and not go to class one day, because she’d left something in her car and figured she’d miss part of class by the time she got back from the parking lot. These people do not hurry. They have no need.

5. Say what you mean. I have learned more about conflict resolution from seniors than any other group. These people know how to speak their minds and it’s beautiful. They tell the teacher if they didn’t like her music choice. They call each other out if they haven’t been to the gym in awhile. Last week, a larger woman wrapped in a tiny towel walked right into the tiny sauna while I was in it, got comfortable next to me, and asked me to adjust the light for her. If the roles were reversed, I would have skipped the sauna that day to avoid bumping up against someone else’s routine. Not her. See #1. We’re really missing out if we aren’t treating each day like a luxury to be fully experienced.

EDITED TO ADD: A reader added an incredible lesson... self-confidence and body image goals! Those gals strip down in the locker room like it's no big deal, never glancing around or at themselves in the mirror. They don't give a second thought to how they look in a bathing suit or workout gear, either. One of my favorite ladies literally pulls up a chair and sits beneath the hand dryer in the bathroom, chatting with everyone while her hair dries. Talk about efficient!
community politics & leadership the whole & simple gospel

Love goes first.

We were out of town at a family wedding two Aprils ago, getting ready in the hotel room, when I heard the knock. I’m sure I was in my robe, curling my hair or something. My husband let my grandfather in, and I could tell right away Papa meant business. He started moving furniture (89 years old, post-back surgery) and set up a little conference area by the window. He tapped the small side table he’d set up between two chairs, a signal I’d long ago learned meant that I was to sit down. This was to be was a legacy talk, the kind that outlasts him.

You see, my grandfather is pretty healthy. He’s overcome war and illness and injury and still lives independently, with my grandmother. He still attends church and works his land and exercises regularly and tutors kids at the nearby middle school. He’s got that vitality life on lockdown.

But my grandfather is fascinated with his mortality. Ever since I could remember, he’s been happy to discuss his final arrangements with anyone who will listen. Over the last several years, though, he’s become very focused on his legacy. What will they remember me by? Do they understand what I believe? Do they feel what I feel? Will they keep what I share?

And so we have these talks. Sometimes they’re back-to-back, and sometimes a few years passes between. Once, when a boy asked me for a kiss on a camping trip, Papa overheard. He called me into the camper, literally packed the place up and changed campsites, and had me draw a pie chart about the whole thing on the trip home. He named it our “I-85 conversation.” Needless to say, my first kiss did not happen for years.

Before the weekend of the family wedding, I’d never pushed back on Papa’s viewpoints. Usually, I took notes and kept my mouth shut. I’ve always been here to receive. My grandfather is the wisest man I’ve ever known, and never had it crossed my mind that I’d challenge and stretch and grow him like he had done me.

Until the talk that weekend. Election drama was heating up, Donald Trump was headed to our family party’s national convention, and Papa was unsettled about the direction of our country. He asked me to write two words on a piece of paper. Truth, and Righteousness. Don’t forget the capital letters at the beginning. And then he pointed at the words scrawled across the hotel stationary, with that arthritic finger of his. Those are the only two things I want to live by for the rest of my life.

As he unfolded his argument, I felt the Holy Spirit hover between us. This man with whom I share blood, and a love for Jesus, was suddenly on the very opposite side of the very small table that very much filled the room. I did not agree with my beloved Papa, and I was about to go there.

I don’t know, Papa. I don’t think I see it that way.

He paused. He smiled, eyes glistening. He cocked his head, hearing aids tilted it in prime position. And he invited me in. So I went there.

I only see one word with a capital letter in Scripture. Love. I see Jesus caring about truth and righteousness, but I see him repeating over and over that our only job is to love people. I believe that it’s dangerous to plant a flag on any argument other than one that aggressively, unconditionally, loves people like our Savior did. I believe that there are lot of tenants that sort of just naturally flow out of our focus on the one commandment – Love. With a capital. Love is what I want to live by for the rest of my life. I asked him to dig through the Bible and ask God what he thought. I think love has to go first.

He told me I’d given him a lot to think about. We’ve never revisited the conversation. But in the last two years, I’ve watched a 91 year-old man attack the life he has left with a renewed sense of vigor. Dripping with Love. With a capital letter.

health & wellness household management motherhood

this is how we do it: WELLNESS

I started this post during my "this is how we do it" series in 2017, and am only just now finishing it! Carry on.

Obviously, ground rules first. I’m a registered nurse and I only just started vaccinating my kids. So there’s that.

I get a lot of questions about health and wellness because of my profession, and because of my family size. When one of of us comes down with something, we typically all follow suit at some point. It gives me that much more motivation to try and keep us all as healthy as possible. I know as soon as I publish this post, my family will contact some bizarre exotic virus. However, I’m writing it anyway, for two reasons. First, we were recently kicked out of our primary care office for being too healthy. Like, we did not use a single sick visit all year and were therefore going to be charged as new patients… even for the kids’ yearly physicals. Second, last winter was the first one without a single stomach bug in the house. After twelve straight months of no vomiting, I decided to start writing this post, most assuredly to seal my plague fate for this winter (it happened).

PREVENTION.

Like any good healthcare provider, I’m going to tell you to stay healthy so you don’t have to get healthy. In our family, that looks like one might expect. We exercise, we eat healthy at home, we drink a lot of water, and we try to sleep well at night. I carry disinfectant wipes, hand sanitizer, and Lysol in my purse at all times. But my kids also bathe only once per week and eat off of the actual ground, too.

I take supplements every night; I do believe they help with immune support. My regimen currently consists of a probiotic and turmeric every night, with garlic and cranberry on occasion. I’ve noticed improvement in my gut, my skin, and my mood. My husband puts me on a short course of zinc whenever I feel I’m getting a cold, and the kids take a multivitamin when I remember to hand them out. In the winter, I keep an essential oil blend in a roller ball bottle with me at all times. It goes on the kids and myself most nights (feet and belly buttons and sometimes spines). We also take colloidal silver and elderberry syrup during episodes of the creeping crud.

A giant jug of hand sanitizer sit on the bathroom floor by the door, so even the little kids remember to clean their hands on the way out. I clean the bathrooms with bleach, and the doorknobs and light switches with Lysol, on the same day every week so I don’t forget.

TREATMENT.

When we’re sick, we start by trying to wait it out. My kids have never been to the doctor for symptoms of a common cold, stomach bug, etc. We figure that since typical viruses aren’t treatable anyway, what’s the point in spending all of that money to hear someone tell you to go home and wait it out? I also don’t treat fevers most of the time. Because a fever is the body’s natural response to a foreign invader, I’d rather get the whole battle over with as quickly as possible. The exceptions? I’ll medicate a fever to help my children rest for a short period of time, and I’d also medicate if a fever was getting really high really fast. I just caught myself doing that parent fib thing. The truth is a) it’s been years since I used a thermometer and b) new literature actually links febrile seizures to genetics and not a sudden temperature spike. Long story short, all of our family fevers have resolved with sleep and a good sweat session.

WHERE BEING CRUNCHY HELPS.

We swallow garlic cloves  whole and tape them into ears. We take shots of apple cider vinegar. My husband makes a drink that will knock a chest cold right outta here. Coconut oil is our lotion of choice. Essential oils really do work for us, when it comes to certain ailments. I’ve used them every which way possible, from drops in the bathtub to capsules to undiluted to a blend with a carrier. Generally, I believe that nature has a place in healthcare culture, even in the world of advanced medicine and technology. My wound care weapons of choice? Apinol for cuts/scrapes, and honey for open wounds that take time to heal.

WHERE BEING A NURSE HELPS.

I have to regularly remind myself that bacteria and viruses are very different processes, with different symptoms and different treatment protocols. Diarrhea is typically defined as several loose stools in twenty-four hours, not just one or two. Kids are typically much better nourished and hydrated than we think, and even adults can go a long time with very little to eat or drink. I never panic about oral intake as long as everyone is still making urine. A lot of rashes are a mystery to even the doctors, and tend to be self-limiting or treated easily at home. I try to avoid antibiotics for the little things, because I want them to work when it really counts. Even in my own practice, I’ve seen patients have to switch drugs mid-regimen, because of overuse.

I think that about sums it up. Oh, and if you want my prescription for lice or pink eye, hit me up! My mania has actually paid off toward a pretty effective protocol, if I do say so myself. Best wishes on a healthy household.