I stumbled upon an article today {here} that seemed to have been written by me. Aside from the whole Puerto Rican bit, and the mentioning divorce, I could have written that myself.
Everything else was spot on.
If you know me, you know I want another child. If you've known me for a long time, you've known that fact about me for a long time and you've known that it has not faltered over the years. Ever since I was old enough to name and play with my baby dolls, I wanted at least 3 children. In my fantasy, they were a set of boy and girl twins and one other boy..maybe even another girl, too. But of course, your fantasies rarely come true and you often find that your reality is even better.
I've got two amazing, wonderful, handsome, intelligent, healthy boys. And I thank God for them. And I cherish them. And I realize how much of a blessing they are. I try with all my might not to take them for granted. I want them to know they are precious to me, they are irreplaceable to me, they complete me.
But, I still want another. I'm often caught off guard by how many people believe that my wanting another equates my not appreciating the ones I have. I do appreciate them. I appreciate everything about them--that is one reason I so long to have more.
If I would have had children and realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be--maybe I saw that my lifelong dream was silly and it left me feeling regretful--I wouldn't have wanted to continue building a family. But it was quite the opposite. Although I realized raising children was much harder than I could have ever expected and much more demanding than I could have ever prepared for, I also realized it was much more rewarding and sweet than I could have ever dreamed.
My boys are the most important things in my life. I have other loves and I enjoy other things. I never want to say that my life has no meaning outside of my children, because that indicates that without children life can have no meaning. And that is not true. But what is true is that when these tiny humans invade your world, they become the most meaningful thing in it.
And I want more of that.
I love my children with my entire heart, and if I never had another, I would continue to believe I've been blessed beyond measure. But there is a part inside of me that longs for, aches for, another baby.
Each time my oldest enters into a new phase of life (he'll be starting Kindergarten this fall..say it isn't so!), I feel a bitter-sweetness that is indescribable. Here he is, growing before me, and try as I might I cannot slow time down. He's reached the age where the moments of his life that were spent toddling and learning basic human functions are outnumbered by the times that were spent running, climbing, and carrying on intelligent conversations. His baby days are long gone.
And then, you have the times when my youngest meets certain milestones. And in addition to a feeling of bitter-sweetness, I feel a sense of shear panic rise inside of me. "Is this it?" I ask myself.
Not too long ago, we moved our littlest man into bunk beds with his brother. The crib was taken down and stored in the garage, until I could bring myself to sell it (which btw, hasn't happened yet). Shortly thereafter, I was going through the boys' closet and moving summer clothes into their dresser when my mom stopped me and said "And what about this drawer full of crib sheets? You don't have any use for them anymore."
Tears. Tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about the fact that those old, worn-out, sometimes discolored crib sheets were no longer needed.
At this age with Xander, we already knew we were expecting another baby. I kept every article of clothing, every sheet, every blanket, every bottle.
Now, there's a very good chance that those things will not be used again in this household. And it tears me completely apart.
I've been trying to convince my husband to have another child since Archer was born. "Just one more..down the road.." I'd say. But he's held firm to his decision to be finished at two. And there seems to be no budging in sight.
This last summer, knowing we had a big move ahead of us, I finally gave in and sold the baby items we'd been storing in the garage. It was a little bit freeing to say goodbye to that swing--the one bought for us by dear friends, used for both of the boys. The one that they both spent acid-refluxy nights sleeping in. The one that cast stars on our bedroom wall at 3am. The one that eventually needed to be pushed to get it to start up, after years of use. It was freeing simply because it was a placeholder for another baby that may or may never come. And every time I looked at it, I wondered.
We let go of the bouncer, the high chair, and about 10 totes of baby clothes. I stuffed all my just can't part with stuff into one tote and that tote made the trip with us. It's now sitting in the garage, calling me to go look through it with tears in my eyes but I just can't.
The problem with freeing myself from those place holders is that I have two little reminders of my adoration for motherhood right here with me, every day. Like I said, every new milestone that is met, every cute little "I love Mommy" shirt that is grown out of, these things beg the question for me: is this it?
Contrary to what this blog may make you think, I don't really want another baby right now. I just want one someday. Maybe in a year or two, or even three. I just want the promise that we'll try again. I just want the comfort that these toddler days are not my last.
As my boys grow, they will do amazing things. And I vow to enjoy every single stage of their lives. I know that even when they are 14 and 16, my heart is going to ache a little bit that next year, I'll never have a 14 year old again. Even if I have four more kids, I know that those days will come.
I am just not ready for them yet.
I am not ready to give up or give in. I am not ready to throw in the towel. I am not ready to say "this is it."
My husband is by no means a bad guy. He wants the best for this family and he has his own vision of what that is. He is an amazing father. He loves our boys, he plays with them on their level, he dreams of their bright futures. And I respect him, as much as I want his mind to change. I realize that he has his reasons for being done, and I realize that as much as I want him to "come over to my side", he is wishing the same of me.
It breaks my heart that we're in this limbo. Of course, I want us to be on the same page. But I'm not ready to concede and neither is he. So we continue to go back and forth, we continue to talk, we continue to wait for the other.
No one knows when the wait will end. People say when you're done you "just know". Our problem is that he knows and I don't. And like the woman stated in the article above, it is a bad situation because there has to be a "yes" or "no" answer. Someone is the winner and someone is the loser. And who that is is yet to be determined.
The thought of having another child overwhelms him. It makes him anxious. It worries him. It causes him strife.
The thought of not having another evokes the same things within me.
I cannot stand the thought of me having had my last trip to labor and delivery 2.5 years ago. I cannot stand the thought of the newborn smell having drifted away from my nostrils, never to return again. I cannot stand the thought of not having the ability to nourish another life with my own body ever again. I want another baby, but I also want another child. I want the toddles again. I want the first day of school again. I want more field trips, more first dates, more weddings, more grandkids. I want it all.
When do I decide that these wants are irrelevant? When do I decide to let them go, to give them up, and to move on?
I don't know. All I know is that it isn't now. I'm not ready yet. It remains up in the air.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Thursday, March 13, 2014
I miss you.
This morning I heard a radio segment about a girl who called in saying how she felt overwhelmed and upset. She had moved away from home, and when she moved back she felt like all her friends had moved on and she didn't have the connections with them that she longed for. The radio hosts were quite mean, and basically told her to grow up. "You should be so busy going to college and taking care of your own business that you don't even have time for those friendships, anyway.", they told her. "You're sadly mistaken if you think that the friends you have at 20 will be the same friends you have at 30, so it doesn't matter anyway."
I thought to myself, maybe I'm just odd. Maybe I'm the exception. I had a discussion in one of my social networking groups recently that brought this to my attention, as well. The question was "Is your husband your best friend?" Most people answered yes. Now, I love my husband a great deal, obviously. And we have a great time together. But my husband holds a different position than friend. Husbands and wives have a different relationship than friends have, in my opinion. And while I can do the things with him I do with my friends, I still need my friends in my life. They fulfill a part of me that others don't. Just as my family fulfills a part, my husband fulfills a part, my sons fulfill a part, etc.
I realized in talking to most of the people who said that yes, their husband was their best friend and that honestly, they talk to other friends but they don't feel they need them, that I was the odd-ball. I'm 26 years old and my closest friends are ones that I've had since I was very young. One of which, I've had since I was 5 years old. And most of the others came along during middle school. I feel like I do need them. Of course, I've met other friends in adulthood and some of them have become very dear to me, as well, especially my brothers and sisters in Christ who have shown me such true love and important lessons. And I do need these people. I need them because they remind me of who I really am.
I love being a mother. I love being a wife. But those titles come with expectations. There is much pressure to do and to achieve. The relationships rely on certain expectations being met. I can't say to my kids "I need to just do me for a minute." That's not possible, not acceptable. If I have a rough day, it's hard to tell my husband "I just really wanted to sit here and just veg out today.." because that means that the functioning of our household got put on hold--things weren't cleaned, dinner wasn't planned, more work was made for him.
I have a certain expectation to remain strong in my household. I have an important position and everyone relies on me in some way. I understand how much of a blessing that is, but it also comes with a price. I love to serve my kids and my husband, but I can often get caught up in that and forget about the things that are just "Robin things".
I rely on my friendships to remind me.
If I want to turn on Erykah Badu and dance around for hours, my friends get that. They'll do that. They won't ask questions or be waiting for something else to happen.
If I want to watch Ax Men for 2 hours..not because it's a good show..but because it's just so easy to laugh at..my friends are fine with that. We do that. And they don't get upset that we talk the whole way through it. That's part of the fun.
If I want to drive around, and yell at people that are out in their yards..even if all I yell is the exact thing they are already doing (Yeah, you mow that grass! Walk that dog!), and it brings me an illogical amount of joy lol, my friends do that. They yell things like "Geneva Convention!" and "You're fake bald!" and we laugh at the looks we get until our sides hurt.
No one expects anything from me but to just simply be me. I don't have to look a certain way, I don't have to be making plans or fixing things or explaining myself.
I'm just Robin. And Robin is all that's needed in that moment. It's refreshing.
I often think about how I miss the days before my life became such a blur. I'm not at all saying I take these things for granted--my husband, his military career, our children..they are all blessings to me and I couldn't imagine my life without them. But that doesn't mean I don't miss the way things once were..when I actually saw my friends more than once a year. Or when I made it to my family functions and celebrated everyone's birthdays. When I had the time to do the things that brought me pleasure--like singing, and writing, and scrapbooking, and watching late night talkshows.
I try to make time for those things in my life now, but it's next to impossible. I want to write, but I don't have the time. Between the boys and school work and house work, it's just not there. Pumping out a quick blog like this is about all I can count on. I don't have the time or the focus to organize my thoughts for much of anything else. I want to sing, and I make time for it when I'm cleaning around the house..but there are always distractions. There is always a chaotic backdrop to my voice. There is no silent intimacy in which I can communicate my deepest fears, deepest passions..in which I can connect my heart strings with God's. I want to laugh with my family and friends, to goof-off, to let my guard down and just "be". But they are all hundreds of miles away..living their own lives..being everything for everyone around them, just as I am doing here.
Maybe I do need to grow up. Maybe this attachment of myself to other people is unhealthy or unnatural. I expect them to hold onto a piece of me that I often leave behind, so that when we are together, they can give that piece back to me, little by little. And perhaps, I'm asking too much.
But, that's just the way I am. I thought maybe I'd get used to the way things are now. I thought maybe I'd "grow up" and "move on" and I'd find that I didn't need those pieces to be held onto or replaced anymore because I'd discover how to nourish them and protect them alone. But that hasn't happened yet and I don't foresee it happening any time soon.
Here in this life I'm living--full of love, full of happiness, full of blessings and rewards, full of laughs with my husband, kisses from my children, pride in my educational accomplishments, experiences that I never thought I'd get the chance to experience...
There is still a heavy emptiness that hangs around me. There is still an image of my closest friends, and a piece of my true self with them, somewhere off in the distance. I reach out and I try to grab a hold, and even if only my fingertips rest there, I will not let go.
I miss you, friends. I miss the well-rounded feeling that you provide me. I miss the belly-laughs, I miss the shoulders to cry on, I miss the complete acceptance that I feel around you. I miss myself..the carefree person that you allow me to be.
I thought to myself, maybe I'm just odd. Maybe I'm the exception. I had a discussion in one of my social networking groups recently that brought this to my attention, as well. The question was "Is your husband your best friend?" Most people answered yes. Now, I love my husband a great deal, obviously. And we have a great time together. But my husband holds a different position than friend. Husbands and wives have a different relationship than friends have, in my opinion. And while I can do the things with him I do with my friends, I still need my friends in my life. They fulfill a part of me that others don't. Just as my family fulfills a part, my husband fulfills a part, my sons fulfill a part, etc.
I realized in talking to most of the people who said that yes, their husband was their best friend and that honestly, they talk to other friends but they don't feel they need them, that I was the odd-ball. I'm 26 years old and my closest friends are ones that I've had since I was very young. One of which, I've had since I was 5 years old. And most of the others came along during middle school. I feel like I do need them. Of course, I've met other friends in adulthood and some of them have become very dear to me, as well, especially my brothers and sisters in Christ who have shown me such true love and important lessons. And I do need these people. I need them because they remind me of who I really am.
I love being a mother. I love being a wife. But those titles come with expectations. There is much pressure to do and to achieve. The relationships rely on certain expectations being met. I can't say to my kids "I need to just do me for a minute." That's not possible, not acceptable. If I have a rough day, it's hard to tell my husband "I just really wanted to sit here and just veg out today.." because that means that the functioning of our household got put on hold--things weren't cleaned, dinner wasn't planned, more work was made for him.
I have a certain expectation to remain strong in my household. I have an important position and everyone relies on me in some way. I understand how much of a blessing that is, but it also comes with a price. I love to serve my kids and my husband, but I can often get caught up in that and forget about the things that are just "Robin things".
I rely on my friendships to remind me.
If I want to turn on Erykah Badu and dance around for hours, my friends get that. They'll do that. They won't ask questions or be waiting for something else to happen.
If I want to watch Ax Men for 2 hours..not because it's a good show..but because it's just so easy to laugh at..my friends are fine with that. We do that. And they don't get upset that we talk the whole way through it. That's part of the fun.
If I want to drive around, and yell at people that are out in their yards..even if all I yell is the exact thing they are already doing (Yeah, you mow that grass! Walk that dog!), and it brings me an illogical amount of joy lol, my friends do that. They yell things like "Geneva Convention!" and "You're fake bald!" and we laugh at the looks we get until our sides hurt.
No one expects anything from me but to just simply be me. I don't have to look a certain way, I don't have to be making plans or fixing things or explaining myself.
I'm just Robin. And Robin is all that's needed in that moment. It's refreshing.
I often think about how I miss the days before my life became such a blur. I'm not at all saying I take these things for granted--my husband, his military career, our children..they are all blessings to me and I couldn't imagine my life without them. But that doesn't mean I don't miss the way things once were..when I actually saw my friends more than once a year. Or when I made it to my family functions and celebrated everyone's birthdays. When I had the time to do the things that brought me pleasure--like singing, and writing, and scrapbooking, and watching late night talkshows.
I try to make time for those things in my life now, but it's next to impossible. I want to write, but I don't have the time. Between the boys and school work and house work, it's just not there. Pumping out a quick blog like this is about all I can count on. I don't have the time or the focus to organize my thoughts for much of anything else. I want to sing, and I make time for it when I'm cleaning around the house..but there are always distractions. There is always a chaotic backdrop to my voice. There is no silent intimacy in which I can communicate my deepest fears, deepest passions..in which I can connect my heart strings with God's. I want to laugh with my family and friends, to goof-off, to let my guard down and just "be". But they are all hundreds of miles away..living their own lives..being everything for everyone around them, just as I am doing here.
Maybe I do need to grow up. Maybe this attachment of myself to other people is unhealthy or unnatural. I expect them to hold onto a piece of me that I often leave behind, so that when we are together, they can give that piece back to me, little by little. And perhaps, I'm asking too much.
But, that's just the way I am. I thought maybe I'd get used to the way things are now. I thought maybe I'd "grow up" and "move on" and I'd find that I didn't need those pieces to be held onto or replaced anymore because I'd discover how to nourish them and protect them alone. But that hasn't happened yet and I don't foresee it happening any time soon.
Here in this life I'm living--full of love, full of happiness, full of blessings and rewards, full of laughs with my husband, kisses from my children, pride in my educational accomplishments, experiences that I never thought I'd get the chance to experience...
There is still a heavy emptiness that hangs around me. There is still an image of my closest friends, and a piece of my true self with them, somewhere off in the distance. I reach out and I try to grab a hold, and even if only my fingertips rest there, I will not let go.
I miss you, friends. I miss the well-rounded feeling that you provide me. I miss the belly-laughs, I miss the shoulders to cry on, I miss the complete acceptance that I feel around you. I miss myself..the carefree person that you allow me to be.
Monday, February 10, 2014
I am not disgusting.
Before hopping in the shower this afternoon, I looked in the mirror and my first thought, surprisingly, was "I am not disgusting."
There are many things I've been called in my life regarding my weight: pathetic, lazy, gross, repulsive...but the D word, disgusting, is the one that tends to stick in my brain the most.
It's the one I conjure up when I'm slipping on my swim suit to head to the beach. It's the one I repeat to myself when I am meeting new people, when I'm shopping for new clothes, and pretty much every single time I eat anything.
And it's the word I usually use to describe myself, in my own mind, when I look at my body in the mirror. But today I said to myself it's not true.
I decided to look at my body for what it truly is, beyond what may be seen with the naked eye. I looked at the parts that I usually look at with disdain and I thought about what they represented for me, as an individual..as a living, breathing human being.
My "huge hips"...they may be wide, but they aided me in delivering two healthy baby boys. They are perfect for slinging a toddler on or pulling my 4 year old's head into when he's scared or sad.
My breasts may not be as perky as they once were but they have provided nutrition for two sweet, tender lives.
My stomach is covered in stretch marks but those are my constant reminders of housing my sons, of my body making room for theirs.
My body holds a brain..a very intelligent one that has helped me through countless years of education and will lead me to obtaining my second college degree this year.
It's a creative brain..one that enjoys expressing itself through writing, one that loves to learn, one that remembers all the sweet details of my childhood, my friend's birthdays, my loved ones' most precious moments.
My body houses a voice that led me to discover my very first true love and passion--music, particularly singing.
My body houses a heart that in the literal sense keeps me alive every day to enjoy my life's many blessings. In the figurative sense, it loves deeply, it cares strongly, and it embraces thoroughly.
My body is much more than can be slipped into a size 18 jeans. My body is mine and it is not disgusting. It is quite the opposite.
My body also struggles to overcome the effects of a disease, PCOS. This disease makes gaining weight very easy and losing weight extremely hard, due to insulin resistance and hormonal imbalances.
But I am not trying to make excuses for being overweight or to even say that I couldn't stand to lose some weight for my health. I could. And I should. And I will.
It may take a lot of effort; I know it does because I've done it before. I also know that in order to make the changes I need to make, I have to believe that I am worth the hard work. I have to believe that this struggle is worthwhile and that I have the power and the strength to succeed.
That comes with believing that I am valuable.
To put it simply...
I am overweight, but I am not disgusting.
No matter my size, I have something to offer and I am beautiful both inwardly and outwardly.
From this day forward, I refuse to allow myself or anyone else to shame me into believing I am the D word.
There are many things I've been called in my life regarding my weight: pathetic, lazy, gross, repulsive...but the D word, disgusting, is the one that tends to stick in my brain the most.
It's the one I conjure up when I'm slipping on my swim suit to head to the beach. It's the one I repeat to myself when I am meeting new people, when I'm shopping for new clothes, and pretty much every single time I eat anything.
And it's the word I usually use to describe myself, in my own mind, when I look at my body in the mirror. But today I said to myself it's not true.
I decided to look at my body for what it truly is, beyond what may be seen with the naked eye. I looked at the parts that I usually look at with disdain and I thought about what they represented for me, as an individual..as a living, breathing human being.
My "huge hips"...they may be wide, but they aided me in delivering two healthy baby boys. They are perfect for slinging a toddler on or pulling my 4 year old's head into when he's scared or sad.
My breasts may not be as perky as they once were but they have provided nutrition for two sweet, tender lives.
My stomach is covered in stretch marks but those are my constant reminders of housing my sons, of my body making room for theirs.
My body holds a brain..a very intelligent one that has helped me through countless years of education and will lead me to obtaining my second college degree this year.
It's a creative brain..one that enjoys expressing itself through writing, one that loves to learn, one that remembers all the sweet details of my childhood, my friend's birthdays, my loved ones' most precious moments.
My body houses a voice that led me to discover my very first true love and passion--music, particularly singing.
My body houses a heart that in the literal sense keeps me alive every day to enjoy my life's many blessings. In the figurative sense, it loves deeply, it cares strongly, and it embraces thoroughly.
My body is much more than can be slipped into a size 18 jeans. My body is mine and it is not disgusting. It is quite the opposite.
My body also struggles to overcome the effects of a disease, PCOS. This disease makes gaining weight very easy and losing weight extremely hard, due to insulin resistance and hormonal imbalances.
But I am not trying to make excuses for being overweight or to even say that I couldn't stand to lose some weight for my health. I could. And I should. And I will.
It may take a lot of effort; I know it does because I've done it before. I also know that in order to make the changes I need to make, I have to believe that I am worth the hard work. I have to believe that this struggle is worthwhile and that I have the power and the strength to succeed.
That comes with believing that I am valuable.
To put it simply...
I am overweight, but I am not disgusting.
No matter my size, I have something to offer and I am beautiful both inwardly and outwardly.
From this day forward, I refuse to allow myself or anyone else to shame me into believing I am the D word.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Attitude Adjustment
"You need an attitude adjustment."
If I had a dollar for every time my mom uttered that phrase in my presence, I probably wouldn't need to worry about paying off student loans as much as I do.
As a child or teenager, I didn't put much stock into that statement. It was just one of the things my mom would say that meant we weren't currently on her good side. It didn't hold any weight. Now, as a mom, I can definitely say that my boys need an attitude adjustment from time to time and I probably will catch myself saying so to them in the same hopes that my mother said it to me.
But are there times when that statement rings true for me as well? Yes, I think so. And I think now is one of those times.
Lately I've been feeling really down. It comes from a lot of things, both big and small "issues" in my life at the moment. And I've always been the kind of person to make light of any kind of struggles I'm facing. I'm always the type to say "Everything is okay" when asked, even when things aren't okay at the moment. I guess it's because I know that things will be okay. And I know that things could be much worse. I'm known for being a happy-go-lucky and positive person and I'd like to continue to be known for that. Because I believe I am that person. Even when times are a bit tough.
But, given that I tend to keep my problems to myself, I can often start to dwell on them and let them overtake me. This leads to a change in behavior on my part and that comes as a surprise to anyone around me.
The other day I was just going about my business and my mom stopped to ask me if everything was okay. "Yeah, everything is fine" I responded. Then she said something I wasn't ready for: "Well, you seem a little on edge."
Me? On edge? No, that's not how I want to be. I'm not on edge. I'm patient, happy, positive Robin. I'm fun. Right?
Wrong. I stopped to think about what could make her think that I was on edge and realized that, well, I'd been on edge.
I'd been snapping easily at the boys. I'd lost motivation to do things around the house or run the errands I needed to run. I was becoming easily annoyed and argumentative with my husband. I didn't really want to be bothered by anyone and the tension in my household was high.
Some of my behavior is due in part to some hormonal issues I'm dealing with and hopefully those will be cleared up soon. But some of it is just plain and simply a bad attitude.
I've been in a place of feeling sorry for myself these last few weeks and I guess I wasn't hiding it as well as I thought. It was becoming apparent to those around me that something was under my skin. And honestly, I hadn't even realized that something was bothering me enough to change me until I looked at it from the outside in.
It's okay to feel the way I do about certain things. And I guess maybe trying to hide them only makes it worse.
I'm sad that I've left my church, my friends, my normal life of the last 5 years. I'm anxious about starting over, learning this new place, meeting new people.
Having to meet new people and make new friends always reminds me of how much I miss my old friends. It always leaves me nostalgic and wishing for a time that we're all in each others' daily lives. And it always leaves me breathless knowing that a time such as that may never happen again.
Like I said above, I've been dealing with some hormonal stuff and that's made me feel pretty bleh a lot of days. I'm also really struggling with my weight and while I could write and entire book about the way that affects my life, I'll just sum it up here by saying that it's scary and overwhelming to know you have every reason to change something, to know that you want and need to change something, but then to continue to fail to do so each time you try. It's draining.
My marriage isn't perfect. We're still very much in love, but we've hit some rough patches readjusting to life with each other every day and while it's good for the most part, working out the kinks can be tiring.
The boys are both in difficult, demanding, all-consuming stages right now and when patience is already running thin, that can be disastrous.
Even though my little ones run me ragged, somehow my heart aches for another baby. I don't want to accept or believe that the season of newborn cuddles is past. I can't bear to imagine an empty womb from here on out, an empty crib, an empty place on my chest that a baby fits so perfectly. And while I know we don't know what the future holds--my husband could change his mind and I suppose so could I--it's the unknown that bothers me.
And so I've felt like I have a lot to complain about. I've felt bitter and sad and angry.
And although I know that I'm blessed, I've allowed myself to think more about the hardships.
I need to practice an attitude of gratitude.
My life is not perfect. There are fears and tears and clenched fists and "just make it through one more day"s. There are times when I feel like I'm failing as a mother, as a wife, as a friend. There are nights that I lie awake wracking my brain for solutions to problems that I can't even explain.
And yet, I am blessed. I am blessed beyond measure. I am blessed and even if nothing else in my life ever goes right again, I have been blessed. I have much to be thankful for. And I am grateful.
So why do I let myself forget that? Why do I spend more time crying out to God for help, or even admittedly avoiding him than I do pouring out my heart in thanks?
I may miss my friends, but at least I've been blessed with people that are so easy to miss. I may argue with my husband or feel defeated sometimes but I know I'm loved and I have a partner all my life. I may be at my wits end and in tears some days with my boys, but they are mine and they love me and there is no greater gift than them. I may long for another baby, but I've been lucky to carry and deliver two healthy children and nurse them and cradle them as they grew. I may be overwhelmed with school work but I am free to have an education and free to pursue any career I choose.
And I have been given the simple things--I am living and breathing. I am writing this from the comfort of my warm home..using my nice laptop and high speed internet. Last night I had dinner and this morning I had breakfast and this afternoon I'll have lunch. I sent my little man off to school this morning and I, too, grew up going to school. I graduated. I got married. I moved into a place of my own.
So often we mistake life's grandest treasures for the mundane or the guaranteed. And they are neither. And some people aren't lucky enough to experience the things we expect to experience each and every day of our lives.
Starting today I'm going to try to remember that. I'm still going to allow myself to feel upset, sad, or let down, but I'm not going to allow those things to build up until they change my demeanor or leave me "on edge". That is not the person I want to be. I want to be a person with an attitude of gratitude. It's time for an attitude adjustment.
If I had a dollar for every time my mom uttered that phrase in my presence, I probably wouldn't need to worry about paying off student loans as much as I do.
As a child or teenager, I didn't put much stock into that statement. It was just one of the things my mom would say that meant we weren't currently on her good side. It didn't hold any weight. Now, as a mom, I can definitely say that my boys need an attitude adjustment from time to time and I probably will catch myself saying so to them in the same hopes that my mother said it to me.
But are there times when that statement rings true for me as well? Yes, I think so. And I think now is one of those times.
Lately I've been feeling really down. It comes from a lot of things, both big and small "issues" in my life at the moment. And I've always been the kind of person to make light of any kind of struggles I'm facing. I'm always the type to say "Everything is okay" when asked, even when things aren't okay at the moment. I guess it's because I know that things will be okay. And I know that things could be much worse. I'm known for being a happy-go-lucky and positive person and I'd like to continue to be known for that. Because I believe I am that person. Even when times are a bit tough.
But, given that I tend to keep my problems to myself, I can often start to dwell on them and let them overtake me. This leads to a change in behavior on my part and that comes as a surprise to anyone around me.
The other day I was just going about my business and my mom stopped to ask me if everything was okay. "Yeah, everything is fine" I responded. Then she said something I wasn't ready for: "Well, you seem a little on edge."
Me? On edge? No, that's not how I want to be. I'm not on edge. I'm patient, happy, positive Robin. I'm fun. Right?
Wrong. I stopped to think about what could make her think that I was on edge and realized that, well, I'd been on edge.
I'd been snapping easily at the boys. I'd lost motivation to do things around the house or run the errands I needed to run. I was becoming easily annoyed and argumentative with my husband. I didn't really want to be bothered by anyone and the tension in my household was high.
Some of my behavior is due in part to some hormonal issues I'm dealing with and hopefully those will be cleared up soon. But some of it is just plain and simply a bad attitude.
I've been in a place of feeling sorry for myself these last few weeks and I guess I wasn't hiding it as well as I thought. It was becoming apparent to those around me that something was under my skin. And honestly, I hadn't even realized that something was bothering me enough to change me until I looked at it from the outside in.
It's okay to feel the way I do about certain things. And I guess maybe trying to hide them only makes it worse.
I'm sad that I've left my church, my friends, my normal life of the last 5 years. I'm anxious about starting over, learning this new place, meeting new people.
Having to meet new people and make new friends always reminds me of how much I miss my old friends. It always leaves me nostalgic and wishing for a time that we're all in each others' daily lives. And it always leaves me breathless knowing that a time such as that may never happen again.
Like I said above, I've been dealing with some hormonal stuff and that's made me feel pretty bleh a lot of days. I'm also really struggling with my weight and while I could write and entire book about the way that affects my life, I'll just sum it up here by saying that it's scary and overwhelming to know you have every reason to change something, to know that you want and need to change something, but then to continue to fail to do so each time you try. It's draining.
My marriage isn't perfect. We're still very much in love, but we've hit some rough patches readjusting to life with each other every day and while it's good for the most part, working out the kinks can be tiring.
The boys are both in difficult, demanding, all-consuming stages right now and when patience is already running thin, that can be disastrous.
Even though my little ones run me ragged, somehow my heart aches for another baby. I don't want to accept or believe that the season of newborn cuddles is past. I can't bear to imagine an empty womb from here on out, an empty crib, an empty place on my chest that a baby fits so perfectly. And while I know we don't know what the future holds--my husband could change his mind and I suppose so could I--it's the unknown that bothers me.
And so I've felt like I have a lot to complain about. I've felt bitter and sad and angry.
And although I know that I'm blessed, I've allowed myself to think more about the hardships.
I need to practice an attitude of gratitude.
My life is not perfect. There are fears and tears and clenched fists and "just make it through one more day"s. There are times when I feel like I'm failing as a mother, as a wife, as a friend. There are nights that I lie awake wracking my brain for solutions to problems that I can't even explain.
And yet, I am blessed. I am blessed beyond measure. I am blessed and even if nothing else in my life ever goes right again, I have been blessed. I have much to be thankful for. And I am grateful.
So why do I let myself forget that? Why do I spend more time crying out to God for help, or even admittedly avoiding him than I do pouring out my heart in thanks?
I may miss my friends, but at least I've been blessed with people that are so easy to miss. I may argue with my husband or feel defeated sometimes but I know I'm loved and I have a partner all my life. I may be at my wits end and in tears some days with my boys, but they are mine and they love me and there is no greater gift than them. I may long for another baby, but I've been lucky to carry and deliver two healthy children and nurse them and cradle them as they grew. I may be overwhelmed with school work but I am free to have an education and free to pursue any career I choose.
And I have been given the simple things--I am living and breathing. I am writing this from the comfort of my warm home..using my nice laptop and high speed internet. Last night I had dinner and this morning I had breakfast and this afternoon I'll have lunch. I sent my little man off to school this morning and I, too, grew up going to school. I graduated. I got married. I moved into a place of my own.
So often we mistake life's grandest treasures for the mundane or the guaranteed. And they are neither. And some people aren't lucky enough to experience the things we expect to experience each and every day of our lives.
Starting today I'm going to try to remember that. I'm still going to allow myself to feel upset, sad, or let down, but I'm not going to allow those things to build up until they change my demeanor or leave me "on edge". That is not the person I want to be. I want to be a person with an attitude of gratitude. It's time for an attitude adjustment.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Modern Warfare: How Social Media Turned Motherhood Into An Epic Battle Royale
Picture it: June 3rd, 2009. The day my life began.
Not really. I had a meaningful life long before I had my first son. But motherhood was definitely a new and uncharted part of life for me. One filled with wonderment, grandeur, and of course the occasional (when the occasion comes more often than not) "failure". Part of motherhood [and by motherhood, you can assume I mean parenthood in general, although I will use the term motherhood because I am a mother, not a father], perhaps the biggest part, is being faced with decisions and realizing that you are making them for another human being. I don't know about others, but before actually lacing up my mommy shoes, I never really thought about that. Every single decision I have made from that point on affects not only me, but my children. And many of those decisions are solely geared toward their well-being, and theirs' alone.
From the moment they come into this world: Do you vaccinate? Do you breastfeed or formula feed? If you breastfeed, do you pump too? If you formula feed, what brand? Do you rock them to sleep or put them down awake? Do you let them use a paci to comfort themselves or do you see it as unnecessary or even possibly a hindrance to your breastfeeding? Will you use a stroller or will you always wear your baby? Will baby always be held or will you "hand them off" to a swing or bouncer? If you have a boy, will you circumcise? If you have a girl, will you pierce her ears? When will you introduce solids? Will you cosleep? Will you put baby in his or her crib right away? What if it takes baby too long to sleep through the night? Will you sleep train? Use CIO? How long is too long before they STTN, anyway? Will you push your baby to learn new things like crawling or walking or talking or will you sit back and let it come on its own? Will you use a carrier or convertible car seat? And when will you turn that car seat forward facing? Will you take your child to church, involve them in your faith or will you teach them to feel it out on their own? Will you spank, use time out, just try to reason with them? Will you homeschool or send your child to public school? Will they go to school with organic packed lunches or will they eat what the school serves? Will you give your child an allowance? Make them work for it? What about when they turn 16? Do Mom and Dad buy their first car or should the child buy his/her own?
You will be making decisions for your child from the moment they are born until they are well into adulthood.
Before becoming a mom, I would think about these things from time to time and think "No big deal, we'll cross that bridge when we get there." And sure, there were some that I immediately answered "No way." or "Of course."
I knew all of these decisions would be of some importance in my children's lives. I probably didn't realize of how much importance.
But what I definitely didn't realize was how important my decisions would be to nearly every other mother I know. Now, keep in mind I said "nearly". I just want to point that out before I continue.
When I was a child, I remember overhearing my mom talk with her friends about my brother and I. Occasionally she'd seek parenting advice from one of her close friends, a church lady or my grandmother and aunts. Honestly, though, I think my mom's philosophy was this: Love them, feed them, clothe them, show pride in them, discipline the wrong, praise the good, and wing the rest.
Were there times she made the wrong decisions? Of course. But I don't recall many specifics. And I also don't recall anyone ever saying to her, face to face, "Oh no. You can't do that. You can't spank your kids. That causes brain damage." Or "You really had your son circumcised? You know that's inhumane, right?" Or "That's really sad that you had a C-section with your second. That's like you didn't even give birth to her."
Yet, I see these things on a daily basis now. Let that sink in. Daily I see mothers being constantly and obsessively criticized for the way they raise their children.
It has become so easy. Moms everywhere are using their fingers and keys as deadly weapons on the battlefield of Facebook. Or Twitter. Or Instagram. And every other social media site you can think of.
Why is this okay?
Sure, it's great that you are able to offer instant advice for mothers who are struggling with some of those tough decisions. But more often than not, that advice is really just pokes and prods, meant to be hurtful, aimed at frail women seeking some kind of support during some of the hardest days of their lives.
And what's worse is that we've all been there. As a mom, in this technologically fueled environment we live in, we have all gone to our respective outlets and vented our frustrations about a baby that's been up every 25 minutes for the last 7 hours. We've all posted that article that seems to state just what we were thinking about vaccinations, or circumcision, or sleep sacks, or whatever. And we've all posted that celebration status about breastfeeding for a year now or having a baby that walks at 8 months or rear-facing for 3 years or potty training at 18 months.
And it's all fine. But when you posted that you needed help choosing a formula, you never dreamed someone would actually comment "None. Breast is best." And you never dreamed that comment would lead to several other people discussing how giving formula is mistreating your baby and you should be ashamed. And how your child would be getting the nutrition he or she deserves if you would just have had the gutso to stick it out. When you posted that article that talks about how vaccines save lives you never thought someone would accuse you of poisoning your baby. When you posted that your baby was trying her first green bean and loving it, you never dreamed someone would give you a lecture about how solids aren't good for your child before 8 months or even necessary before a year..that is if you were breastfeeding like the mother you should be.
And 'round and 'round we go. And we get our feelings hurt, so we have to retaliate. Or at least, we have to defend. And that can get messy. And tiring..my goodness, does that get tiring.
You know what standard I want to live up to? I want to teach my kids to love God, to love others, and I want to provide them with food, shelter, and education. I want to do those things the way that my husband and I have decided to do them. And if we're happy and our kids are happy and healthy, then I want that to be that. The end.
When I reach out for help, I want just that. I don't want to be shot down or told how I'm wrong.
Newsflash--we're all wrong. Isn't there always room for improvement? I can't be perfect and I can't do every thing the best way. I try, but I know that there are going to be times that it just doesn't work.
And those are the times when I, as a mother surrounded by other mothers, need support. Not criticism.
Seriously, to all fellow mommies out there. To the mommies-to-be..to the TTCers..sit your weapons down and walk away. Motherhood is a hectic, tender, and sometimes very fragile state we're in. It's hard enough making the big decisions for the lives that you took on the responsibility of bringing up. It's even harder when those decisions are being scrutinized by everyone around you.
So, I leave you all with this:
The only battle that should take place in your state of motherhood is the battle between your own will and the will of your tiny, courageous, world-changer. Not between you and all other mothers.
You are doing just fine and your children can survive, can thrive, in many different circumstances and situations. Our children are going to make up the world's population one day and they will be thankful that they are all unique.
So, step back. Step down. Disarm.
Not really. I had a meaningful life long before I had my first son. But motherhood was definitely a new and uncharted part of life for me. One filled with wonderment, grandeur, and of course the occasional (when the occasion comes more often than not) "failure". Part of motherhood [and by motherhood, you can assume I mean parenthood in general, although I will use the term motherhood because I am a mother, not a father], perhaps the biggest part, is being faced with decisions and realizing that you are making them for another human being. I don't know about others, but before actually lacing up my mommy shoes, I never really thought about that. Every single decision I have made from that point on affects not only me, but my children. And many of those decisions are solely geared toward their well-being, and theirs' alone.
From the moment they come into this world: Do you vaccinate? Do you breastfeed or formula feed? If you breastfeed, do you pump too? If you formula feed, what brand? Do you rock them to sleep or put them down awake? Do you let them use a paci to comfort themselves or do you see it as unnecessary or even possibly a hindrance to your breastfeeding? Will you use a stroller or will you always wear your baby? Will baby always be held or will you "hand them off" to a swing or bouncer? If you have a boy, will you circumcise? If you have a girl, will you pierce her ears? When will you introduce solids? Will you cosleep? Will you put baby in his or her crib right away? What if it takes baby too long to sleep through the night? Will you sleep train? Use CIO? How long is too long before they STTN, anyway? Will you push your baby to learn new things like crawling or walking or talking or will you sit back and let it come on its own? Will you use a carrier or convertible car seat? And when will you turn that car seat forward facing? Will you take your child to church, involve them in your faith or will you teach them to feel it out on their own? Will you spank, use time out, just try to reason with them? Will you homeschool or send your child to public school? Will they go to school with organic packed lunches or will they eat what the school serves? Will you give your child an allowance? Make them work for it? What about when they turn 16? Do Mom and Dad buy their first car or should the child buy his/her own?
You will be making decisions for your child from the moment they are born until they are well into adulthood.
Before becoming a mom, I would think about these things from time to time and think "No big deal, we'll cross that bridge when we get there." And sure, there were some that I immediately answered "No way." or "Of course."
I knew all of these decisions would be of some importance in my children's lives. I probably didn't realize of how much importance.
But what I definitely didn't realize was how important my decisions would be to nearly every other mother I know. Now, keep in mind I said "nearly". I just want to point that out before I continue.
When I was a child, I remember overhearing my mom talk with her friends about my brother and I. Occasionally she'd seek parenting advice from one of her close friends, a church lady or my grandmother and aunts. Honestly, though, I think my mom's philosophy was this: Love them, feed them, clothe them, show pride in them, discipline the wrong, praise the good, and wing the rest.
Were there times she made the wrong decisions? Of course. But I don't recall many specifics. And I also don't recall anyone ever saying to her, face to face, "Oh no. You can't do that. You can't spank your kids. That causes brain damage." Or "You really had your son circumcised? You know that's inhumane, right?" Or "That's really sad that you had a C-section with your second. That's like you didn't even give birth to her."
Yet, I see these things on a daily basis now. Let that sink in. Daily I see mothers being constantly and obsessively criticized for the way they raise their children.
It has become so easy. Moms everywhere are using their fingers and keys as deadly weapons on the battlefield of Facebook. Or Twitter. Or Instagram. And every other social media site you can think of.
Why is this okay?
Sure, it's great that you are able to offer instant advice for mothers who are struggling with some of those tough decisions. But more often than not, that advice is really just pokes and prods, meant to be hurtful, aimed at frail women seeking some kind of support during some of the hardest days of their lives.
And what's worse is that we've all been there. As a mom, in this technologically fueled environment we live in, we have all gone to our respective outlets and vented our frustrations about a baby that's been up every 25 minutes for the last 7 hours. We've all posted that article that seems to state just what we were thinking about vaccinations, or circumcision, or sleep sacks, or whatever. And we've all posted that celebration status about breastfeeding for a year now or having a baby that walks at 8 months or rear-facing for 3 years or potty training at 18 months.
And it's all fine. But when you posted that you needed help choosing a formula, you never dreamed someone would actually comment "None. Breast is best." And you never dreamed that comment would lead to several other people discussing how giving formula is mistreating your baby and you should be ashamed. And how your child would be getting the nutrition he or she deserves if you would just have had the gutso to stick it out. When you posted that article that talks about how vaccines save lives you never thought someone would accuse you of poisoning your baby. When you posted that your baby was trying her first green bean and loving it, you never dreamed someone would give you a lecture about how solids aren't good for your child before 8 months or even necessary before a year..that is if you were breastfeeding like the mother you should be.
And 'round and 'round we go. And we get our feelings hurt, so we have to retaliate. Or at least, we have to defend. And that can get messy. And tiring..my goodness, does that get tiring.
You know what standard I want to live up to? I want to teach my kids to love God, to love others, and I want to provide them with food, shelter, and education. I want to do those things the way that my husband and I have decided to do them. And if we're happy and our kids are happy and healthy, then I want that to be that. The end.
When I reach out for help, I want just that. I don't want to be shot down or told how I'm wrong.
Newsflash--we're all wrong. Isn't there always room for improvement? I can't be perfect and I can't do every thing the best way. I try, but I know that there are going to be times that it just doesn't work.
And those are the times when I, as a mother surrounded by other mothers, need support. Not criticism.
Seriously, to all fellow mommies out there. To the mommies-to-be..to the TTCers..sit your weapons down and walk away. Motherhood is a hectic, tender, and sometimes very fragile state we're in. It's hard enough making the big decisions for the lives that you took on the responsibility of bringing up. It's even harder when those decisions are being scrutinized by everyone around you.
So, I leave you all with this:
The only battle that should take place in your state of motherhood is the battle between your own will and the will of your tiny, courageous, world-changer. Not between you and all other mothers.
You are doing just fine and your children can survive, can thrive, in many different circumstances and situations. Our children are going to make up the world's population one day and they will be thankful that they are all unique.
So, step back. Step down. Disarm.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Third Time's A Charm
Hello, bloggies! My, how it has been a while.
What have I been doing this past year, you ask? Well, I spent a good portion of it missing my other half, going to church, working, doing school work, chasing after kids, cleaning house, trying to find time for a shower that lasted longer than 5 minutes. I spent a good portion of the last year surviving my husband's 3rd, perhaps last, and longest deployment.
February 7th, 2013 we drove down to the pier and braved the cold in order to bid my husband, and the boys' daddy, farewell. It was a difficult morning--one we'd been anticipating for months. The boys didn't quite understand what was in store and as we watched the ship slowly float away, I'm sure our thoughts were much different. The boys, I'm sure, were thinking Daddy would be gone for a few weeks and back again. They were amazed at the size of the boat, in awe at all the sailors in their dress blues manning the rails. It was the 3rd deployment Xander had been through but the first I felt he would truly feel the severity of the separation. It was Archer's first deployment experience all together.
The thoughts in my head were much less like awe and excitement and much more like dread and worry. I could already feel the loneliness creeping up inside me--not just for me, but for my boys. I was already envisioning each holiday and birthday that would be missed and the looks on their faces when they realized that this time Daddy was going to be gone for a very long time.
But, I knew we'd get through it. What is another 6 months apart when you have forever together to spend? I knew with a lot of prayer, a brave face, a little determination, and a lot of love and support from my family and friends, we would make it through this deployment with flying colors just as we had all the rest.
We were less than a week into the deployment when I went to strap my son, Xander, into his car seat and noticed he had silent tears running down his cheeks. It was late--we were leaving church after a Wednesday night service--and I assumed he was tired and ready to get home. "We'll be home soon, Sweetie.", I said. His reply took me off guard. "I'm not sad about not being home..or being sleepy. I'm not even sad about wanting to play my games or watch a show or play cars. I'm sad because of my Daddy. And I just want him home and he's not. And I just don't know when he will be again."
Shew. Immediate tears. Gosh, I usually make it through month 1 or 2 without having a good, hearty deployment cry. But not this time. I realized then that this deployment was going to be by far the hardest one I'd ever been through. I had experienced the antsy toddler who asked for Daddy at bedtime and carried around Daddy's picture to kiss when he got sad. I expected that. And I knew I'd have that with Archer this time around. I hadn't yet experienced the preschooler who was a little too smart for his own good..who realized that Daddy was going to be gone a long time and who was able to express that in such a breathtaking way.
Now I had both ages and both stages. It was going to be a challenge. But again, we could do it.
We knew what day he'd be home--August 4th. I used special days to help the boys countdown to Daddy's return. We'd get through February and celebrate Valentine's Day. We already made up cards for Daddy to take with him and open that day. We'd get through March and look forward to the cold, dry weather leaving and the warmer winds of spring blowing in. April would bring a trip home to Ohio for us and we'd be able to spend time with our family. We'd send Daddy another package for his birthday. In May, Xander's school year would end and summer break would begin. In June, we would celebrate Xander's 4th birthday and send Daddy a Father's Day package. July we'd plan some fun trips to the beach and enjoy the long days of summer. And once July had come to a close, we'd welcome my love home.
But, you know what they say about the best laid plans...
In May we got a phone call from Robert early one morning. It was much earlier than he normally called and I almost missed the call because I was asleep. I was excited to hear his voice. He didn't get to call often--that was probably the second phone call we'd had. My excitement was quickly deluded when he said he had some bad news. Their deployment had been extended for six weeks; they'd be home September 16th.
Sigh. Okay..no big deal, right? I was lucky enough to have my mom living here with us and helping entertain the boys and keep the loneliness at bay. It was just another month to tack on to the countdown. He'd miss Archer's birthday, September 8th, but we'd just celebrate it when he got home a week later.
I explained to the boys that we'd be waiting another month on Daddy and although they were a little disappointed, it didn't seem like it changed much.
Shortly thereafter, my husband reenlisted in the Navy for another 5 years. He got a new set of orders. We found out we'd be relocating to Pensacola, FL and we were set to move on October 1st.
Whew, that means we'll only have 2 weeks between when he returns home and when we leave this area, I thought. I didn't want to spend that time hectically packing or organizing, so it became my mission to do so before the hubby returned home. I busied myself with organizing the garage, the shed, the walk-in closet. I cleaned out all the clothes closets, sorted through and boxed up most of the electronics, the books, the DVDs. As September approached I felt good about what I'd gotten done around the house and we began to officially countdown until Homecoming day.
The last week of August, I headed in to our housing office to turn in our notice and sign the paperwork stating we'd be moving October 1st. Things were coming together. I needed my husband to review some paperwork so I emailed him about it. I waited for a response and didn't hear anything for a day..3 days..8 days..I began to worry. One of the great things about having a husband that works on the electronics on the boat is that he has access to the internet often and he normally doesn't go more than a day without emailing me. Something was up. I began to really pay attention to the news. The last time something like this happened, I flipped on CNN and saw my husband's ship launching tomahawk missiles at Libya. I had a feeling that something like that had to be happening...and I was right. I saw all the things that were going on in Syria and I knew my husband was involved. Over the next few days, I spent my time bouncing back and forth from actively stalking news channels and websites to actively avoiding them. Still no word from my husband. His homecoming date was quickly approaching and yet, I had no clue where he was or what he was doing.
I finally heard from him. He had fallen and cut his knee. He needed stitches and was able to quickly email me from Medical. He said he was fine, not to be worried, but that the schedule had changed and "when we'll be home is up in the air right now."
Sigh. Really? It became apparent that they were awaiting orders from President Obama on what to do about the Syria conflict. Would we attack? Would we retreat? Those were the questions. Amidst the debate of whether or not to move in on Syria in some way, we also had Russia to worry about. Putin announced he was moving ships to the Med as well. Everything was escalating so quickly.
I had my own questions circling my mind--Was my husband truly okay? Were they in danger? Would he be home before our move date or would we be moving to Florida without him?
I later found out that during the time that my husband wasn't able to speak to me, they were being tracked and followed by Russian ships. Those are the times when you realize how thankful you are for information you don't know.
September 16th came and went. No word on when my husband would be here. The boys and I stopped counting down--what could we count down to? Toward the end of September I was able to chat with my husband. He told me that they had a new homecoming date. "I'll be there the day after your birthday", he said. Awesome! My birthday wasn't too far away..just a couple weeks. I began to plan once again.
The next day, my husband called me around noon. He told me that the Captain had called a meeting on the ship--they wouldn't be home on October 3rd as planned. In fact, they wouldn't be home in October at all. "Sometime in November" was the only time frame they could give us.
I cried. For the first time in receiving extension information, I cried. How many times was this going to happen? How many times would I tell my sons that "Daddy would be home soon" and realize just days later that was a lie? What would happen with my husband's orders to Pensacola? We had already turned in our notice to move on October 1st..would I have to leave Virginia for Florida not even knowing when my husband would be back on US soil?
Thankfully, I heard from my husband about a week later that his Chain of Command was taking care of everything with our housing office and had succeeded in getting his orders to Pensacola extended. We could wait here in Va Beach for his return and we'd move to Pensacola sometime in December.
In the back of my mind I thought "Yeah, that's the plan until we find out you're not coming home until January." I was beginning to become a bit of a pessimist. But, as a mom of two little ones who are confused and missing their Daddy, you can't be pessimistic. We decided we'd make Daddy a Halloween package and send that off. It'd been a couple months since we sent a package, since we didn't know how long he'd be gone. We had a blast decorating it and my 4 year old seemed to think that when his Daddy opened it he'd be so scared that he'd jump right off the ship. Lol.
Toward the middle of October we received another Homecoming date. They'd be pulling in on November 8th. Would this really be it?
As we began to get nearer and nearer to the date, things started to come together. Our Homecoming brief with the FRG was scheduled and perhaps the best news of all--the ship had actually left the Med. They were actually on their way home! Our household reeled with excitement. Homecoming shirts for the boys were made. I got my hair cut, bought my Homecoming dress. Notified our Homecoming photographer of the 4th change in his return date.
This was it. This was the one.
Up until 3-4 days before he returned, I still wondered--would I get yet another phone call? I could not bear to hear that word "extension" again.
And, to God's glory, I did not! On November 8th, after over nine months of separation, my husband returned home. After 3/4 of a year, 4 extensions, 4 birthdays, Father's Day, Mother's Day, several new milestones met..274 days..my family was whole again.
What a whirlwind. I can't say it was easy. This deployment brought a lot of emotions, some arguments, a whole lot of stress, some "I can't do this" moments, loneliness, and tears. But it also brought the one thing that makes all that worthwhile--a strengthening of our family unit. The resiliency that grows and prevails during those long months of separation is something that I find it hard to describe. There is a sense of euphoria when we come back together--that first embrace, that first kiss, the smiles of pure joy on the boys' faces..they all represent the reason we do this. Love. Love can conquer all things and it does. That moment that we are made complete again does not erase the hardships of this lifestyle. However, it shines a light on them that makes them seem much less significant than they did at the time. It provides us with the willingness to do it all again because, in the end, we can look back and say "totally worth it".
What have I been doing this past year, you ask? Well, I spent a good portion of it missing my other half, going to church, working, doing school work, chasing after kids, cleaning house, trying to find time for a shower that lasted longer than 5 minutes. I spent a good portion of the last year surviving my husband's 3rd, perhaps last, and longest deployment.
February 7th, 2013 we drove down to the pier and braved the cold in order to bid my husband, and the boys' daddy, farewell. It was a difficult morning--one we'd been anticipating for months. The boys didn't quite understand what was in store and as we watched the ship slowly float away, I'm sure our thoughts were much different. The boys, I'm sure, were thinking Daddy would be gone for a few weeks and back again. They were amazed at the size of the boat, in awe at all the sailors in their dress blues manning the rails. It was the 3rd deployment Xander had been through but the first I felt he would truly feel the severity of the separation. It was Archer's first deployment experience all together.
The thoughts in my head were much less like awe and excitement and much more like dread and worry. I could already feel the loneliness creeping up inside me--not just for me, but for my boys. I was already envisioning each holiday and birthday that would be missed and the looks on their faces when they realized that this time Daddy was going to be gone for a very long time.
But, I knew we'd get through it. What is another 6 months apart when you have forever together to spend? I knew with a lot of prayer, a brave face, a little determination, and a lot of love and support from my family and friends, we would make it through this deployment with flying colors just as we had all the rest.
We were less than a week into the deployment when I went to strap my son, Xander, into his car seat and noticed he had silent tears running down his cheeks. It was late--we were leaving church after a Wednesday night service--and I assumed he was tired and ready to get home. "We'll be home soon, Sweetie.", I said. His reply took me off guard. "I'm not sad about not being home..or being sleepy. I'm not even sad about wanting to play my games or watch a show or play cars. I'm sad because of my Daddy. And I just want him home and he's not. And I just don't know when he will be again."
Shew. Immediate tears. Gosh, I usually make it through month 1 or 2 without having a good, hearty deployment cry. But not this time. I realized then that this deployment was going to be by far the hardest one I'd ever been through. I had experienced the antsy toddler who asked for Daddy at bedtime and carried around Daddy's picture to kiss when he got sad. I expected that. And I knew I'd have that with Archer this time around. I hadn't yet experienced the preschooler who was a little too smart for his own good..who realized that Daddy was going to be gone a long time and who was able to express that in such a breathtaking way.
Now I had both ages and both stages. It was going to be a challenge. But again, we could do it.
We knew what day he'd be home--August 4th. I used special days to help the boys countdown to Daddy's return. We'd get through February and celebrate Valentine's Day. We already made up cards for Daddy to take with him and open that day. We'd get through March and look forward to the cold, dry weather leaving and the warmer winds of spring blowing in. April would bring a trip home to Ohio for us and we'd be able to spend time with our family. We'd send Daddy another package for his birthday. In May, Xander's school year would end and summer break would begin. In June, we would celebrate Xander's 4th birthday and send Daddy a Father's Day package. July we'd plan some fun trips to the beach and enjoy the long days of summer. And once July had come to a close, we'd welcome my love home.
But, you know what they say about the best laid plans...
In May we got a phone call from Robert early one morning. It was much earlier than he normally called and I almost missed the call because I was asleep. I was excited to hear his voice. He didn't get to call often--that was probably the second phone call we'd had. My excitement was quickly deluded when he said he had some bad news. Their deployment had been extended for six weeks; they'd be home September 16th.
Sigh. Okay..no big deal, right? I was lucky enough to have my mom living here with us and helping entertain the boys and keep the loneliness at bay. It was just another month to tack on to the countdown. He'd miss Archer's birthday, September 8th, but we'd just celebrate it when he got home a week later.
I explained to the boys that we'd be waiting another month on Daddy and although they were a little disappointed, it didn't seem like it changed much.
Shortly thereafter, my husband reenlisted in the Navy for another 5 years. He got a new set of orders. We found out we'd be relocating to Pensacola, FL and we were set to move on October 1st.
Whew, that means we'll only have 2 weeks between when he returns home and when we leave this area, I thought. I didn't want to spend that time hectically packing or organizing, so it became my mission to do so before the hubby returned home. I busied myself with organizing the garage, the shed, the walk-in closet. I cleaned out all the clothes closets, sorted through and boxed up most of the electronics, the books, the DVDs. As September approached I felt good about what I'd gotten done around the house and we began to officially countdown until Homecoming day.
The last week of August, I headed in to our housing office to turn in our notice and sign the paperwork stating we'd be moving October 1st. Things were coming together. I needed my husband to review some paperwork so I emailed him about it. I waited for a response and didn't hear anything for a day..3 days..8 days..I began to worry. One of the great things about having a husband that works on the electronics on the boat is that he has access to the internet often and he normally doesn't go more than a day without emailing me. Something was up. I began to really pay attention to the news. The last time something like this happened, I flipped on CNN and saw my husband's ship launching tomahawk missiles at Libya. I had a feeling that something like that had to be happening...and I was right. I saw all the things that were going on in Syria and I knew my husband was involved. Over the next few days, I spent my time bouncing back and forth from actively stalking news channels and websites to actively avoiding them. Still no word from my husband. His homecoming date was quickly approaching and yet, I had no clue where he was or what he was doing.
I finally heard from him. He had fallen and cut his knee. He needed stitches and was able to quickly email me from Medical. He said he was fine, not to be worried, but that the schedule had changed and "when we'll be home is up in the air right now."
Sigh. Really? It became apparent that they were awaiting orders from President Obama on what to do about the Syria conflict. Would we attack? Would we retreat? Those were the questions. Amidst the debate of whether or not to move in on Syria in some way, we also had Russia to worry about. Putin announced he was moving ships to the Med as well. Everything was escalating so quickly.
I had my own questions circling my mind--Was my husband truly okay? Were they in danger? Would he be home before our move date or would we be moving to Florida without him?
I later found out that during the time that my husband wasn't able to speak to me, they were being tracked and followed by Russian ships. Those are the times when you realize how thankful you are for information you don't know.
September 16th came and went. No word on when my husband would be here. The boys and I stopped counting down--what could we count down to? Toward the end of September I was able to chat with my husband. He told me that they had a new homecoming date. "I'll be there the day after your birthday", he said. Awesome! My birthday wasn't too far away..just a couple weeks. I began to plan once again.
The next day, my husband called me around noon. He told me that the Captain had called a meeting on the ship--they wouldn't be home on October 3rd as planned. In fact, they wouldn't be home in October at all. "Sometime in November" was the only time frame they could give us.
I cried. For the first time in receiving extension information, I cried. How many times was this going to happen? How many times would I tell my sons that "Daddy would be home soon" and realize just days later that was a lie? What would happen with my husband's orders to Pensacola? We had already turned in our notice to move on October 1st..would I have to leave Virginia for Florida not even knowing when my husband would be back on US soil?
Thankfully, I heard from my husband about a week later that his Chain of Command was taking care of everything with our housing office and had succeeded in getting his orders to Pensacola extended. We could wait here in Va Beach for his return and we'd move to Pensacola sometime in December.
In the back of my mind I thought "Yeah, that's the plan until we find out you're not coming home until January." I was beginning to become a bit of a pessimist. But, as a mom of two little ones who are confused and missing their Daddy, you can't be pessimistic. We decided we'd make Daddy a Halloween package and send that off. It'd been a couple months since we sent a package, since we didn't know how long he'd be gone. We had a blast decorating it and my 4 year old seemed to think that when his Daddy opened it he'd be so scared that he'd jump right off the ship. Lol.
Toward the middle of October we received another Homecoming date. They'd be pulling in on November 8th. Would this really be it?
As we began to get nearer and nearer to the date, things started to come together. Our Homecoming brief with the FRG was scheduled and perhaps the best news of all--the ship had actually left the Med. They were actually on their way home! Our household reeled with excitement. Homecoming shirts for the boys were made. I got my hair cut, bought my Homecoming dress. Notified our Homecoming photographer of the 4th change in his return date.
This was it. This was the one.
Up until 3-4 days before he returned, I still wondered--would I get yet another phone call? I could not bear to hear that word "extension" again.
And, to God's glory, I did not! On November 8th, after over nine months of separation, my husband returned home. After 3/4 of a year, 4 extensions, 4 birthdays, Father's Day, Mother's Day, several new milestones met..274 days..my family was whole again.
What a whirlwind. I can't say it was easy. This deployment brought a lot of emotions, some arguments, a whole lot of stress, some "I can't do this" moments, loneliness, and tears. But it also brought the one thing that makes all that worthwhile--a strengthening of our family unit. The resiliency that grows and prevails during those long months of separation is something that I find it hard to describe. There is a sense of euphoria when we come back together--that first embrace, that first kiss, the smiles of pure joy on the boys' faces..they all represent the reason we do this. Love. Love can conquer all things and it does. That moment that we are made complete again does not erase the hardships of this lifestyle. However, it shines a light on them that makes them seem much less significant than they did at the time. It provides us with the willingness to do it all again because, in the end, we can look back and say "totally worth it".
*Special thanks to Kimberlin Gray Photography for being so patient during this deployment and for capturing our special day for us.*
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Start Counting
I've heard that if you are one who has trouble controlling your temper, when something begins to anger you, you should start counting.
Take a moment and count to ten. It's something I've seen my husband practice and it's something I'm sure I will be teaching our sons (who inherited their father's short fuse).
But maybe, for me, "start counting" means something different. Maybe in order to be the best person I can be, I need to start counting something other than numbers.
On Thursday, I attended my bi-weekly Women's Bible Study, as per usual. The lesson, given that day by our minister's wife, was entitled Don't Waste Your Trials. We began our lesson by reading James 1:2-8, but for the sake of this blog, I will simply share James 1:2--Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds.
Pure joy during trials? How can that be?
As we went over the lesson, we discussed what "joy" really meant to us, and how we could achieve that joy even amidst life's many trials. Remember, joy itself doesn't always mean happiness. Joy is a reason to rejoice. And, maybe, if we look deep enough, we can find a reason to rejoice in ALL things. Even our struggles. Even our disappointments. Even our pain.
I ended up spending Thursday afternoon/evening in the ER (7 hours to be exact). No worries, I am fine. That is a completely different story.
As I sat there, I fought off the urge to become restless and even annoyed as the hours passed by. But I chose to remember our lesson from that morning and embrace the blessings that came along with that waiting room silence.
Silence. A blessing in itself. And the fact that I spent that quiet time reading a book, Sacred Influence about be a blessing to my husband? Even better.
The fact of the matter is, sitting in the ER, no matter what may have been going on with me, it's not the end of the world or anywhere near it. There were many blessings to be found in that commonplace, slightly annoying, mildly frustrating situation. And that principle applies to every circumstance in our lives, no matter how challenging.
Let me take a moment to share a couple (very opposite-end-of-the-spectrum) examples of my own:
In November of 2010, my husband and I suffered a miscarriage with our second child. It was devastating to us. We had been trying to conceive for a few months and were feeling so happy and blessed that it had happened so quickly for us. My husband was set to deploy in just a couple short months and things seemed to be falling right into our time-frame and plan. But our plans are mere ideas, dust in the wind. God's plan is the only real plan.
Finding out I was in the process of losing the baby we had only known existed for exactly one week was one of, if not the hardest, things for me to go through.
Within a few days of finding out the news, I decided to call my dad and let him know what was going on. He had called me the previous week to congratulate me, as he found out I was pregnant through a common family member who found out on Facebook. (Yes, I know. I dropped the ball there. But my dad and I are not close and we very rarely talk.)
When I called him and told him about losing the baby, I expected he would say "Oh, I'm sorry." and that would be the end of it. But I heard my dad's voice shake. And he asked me something I had never had someone ask me outside of a church building, and certainly not over the phone: "Would it be okay if I prayed with you?" Of course I wasn't going to turn it down. And so there we were, hours and miles apart, and yet together in the eyes of God. My dad prayed for healing for my body and my soul. And it is one of the most precious memories I have of my father.
Maybe it is because we aren't close, and yet we were sharing such an intimate moment...or maybe it was because I felt like he truly believed that God would take care of it, and so could I...but, something changed in me after that phone call. I decided to try (let's face it, it's not easy) to accept the loss and understand that everything happens for a reason, even if I didn't yet know that reason. Even if I never would know that reason.
Three weeks later I got pregnant with Archer. And here he is now, 1 year old, full of life and energy and smiles.
Shortly after finding out I was expecting Archer, my cousin lost her second baby. Over the past couple of years, many ladies I know have gone through miscarriages and losses of children. Just recently, a very dear friend of mine miscarried her first baby.
And I can't say with certainty that my words truly help them. I can't say that I am a comfort to them, although I hope I am. What I can say is this: I know that my trial prepared me to be a better blessing to them. When I say "God is your comfort.", I really mean it. When I tell them "God has a plan for your family.", I deeply trust it.
And I can rejoice in the trial I faced because I can use it to bless others.
Just yesterday, I found myself having a hard time with the kids. I wasn't feeling in my best shape, the house needed cleaned, I needed to email admissions advisers about school and put in some more applications and and and...And the kids were, well, being kids.
Xander decided to bring his bike into the house and proceed to ride it all throughout, and of course when I told him he needed to take his bike outside, he refused. I gave him the option of taking it out himself before I removed him from the bike and took it outside myself, leaving him kicking and screaming. Then I planted his little toosh in time-out. After telling him to get back in the chair three or four times and doing my best to avoid his flailing arms and legs as I sat him back in the chair each time, I was getting pretty frustrated.
"Mommy, you're dumb!!"..All it took was those three words to set me over the edge. [SN: The downfalls of preschool: new, colorful language]. I lifted him out of the chair and I swatted his butt. Hard. Harder than I should've.
At that point I went and sat myself in time-out. I knew I couldn't continue to stand there and let his actions control my own. I sat down on the couch in the other room and prayed this prayer:
God, thank you for my children. Thank you for the blessings that they are and the joy that they bring me each day. Please guide my hands to help them and not hurt them, and please build my patience with them. I pray that I can be humble in front of them and in front of You. Amen.
And I walked back in and apologized to my son. Not for putting him in time-out, and not for disciplining him, but for losing my cool while doing so.
Later on, when it was just about nap time and Xander was slap-happy and singing at the top of his lungs..and Archer was walking into the walls and stumbling over his own feet...and I was trying SO hard to just simply get the floors swept, I had to take another moment to stop and find joy in my trials. I thanked God for a house to clean. I thanked him for a place to lay my kids down for a nap. For food that leads to dirty dishes. For a husband that may not be home to help me so much, but only because he is working endless hours serving our family and our country. For a mother who is willing to be here, in a place that is not her own, making less money than she was before, in order to help me out with the day-to-day activities.
I simply thanked God for my life. And everything in it.
And you know, after doing so, finishing up those floors and taking time away from cleaning to lay down with my Goob wasn't so bad. It was good. It was joy.
So, try to take some time to truly appreciate life's blessings, even if they are laced with struggles. Even if your life is mostly struggles, you cannot claim you are not blessed. Do you love? Are you loved? Then you're blessed.
If you're going through a trial and you can't find the blessing, that's fine. Do these four things and see what happens:
Ask yourself if, under different circumstances, would this be a trial?
(Example: If I didn't have a ton of housework and another screaming child, would I have gotten so upset over Xander's misbehavior? Probably not.)
Ask yourself if your struggle can be seen as a blessing to someone else.
(This may be difficult, but I think if we dig deep enough, helping someone else can feel like a blessing to us as well.)
Ask yourself if there is anything you can change in order to turn your trial around.
(Of course sometimes it's completely out of our hands, but others, we can. We've all heard Let go and Let God. Sometimes that means seriously, just let go. But other times, more often, it means let go of the control, and let God lead your actions.)
And finally, pray. Ask God for direction. Ask him for comfort. Ask him for wisdom. And thank him for all He is, all he has made you, and all he has done in your life.
It's not easy, but it's simple. In ALL things rejoice.
Get ready, Get set...
Start Counting.
Take a moment and count to ten. It's something I've seen my husband practice and it's something I'm sure I will be teaching our sons (who inherited their father's short fuse).
But maybe, for me, "start counting" means something different. Maybe in order to be the best person I can be, I need to start counting something other than numbers.
On Thursday, I attended my bi-weekly Women's Bible Study, as per usual. The lesson, given that day by our minister's wife, was entitled Don't Waste Your Trials. We began our lesson by reading James 1:2-8, but for the sake of this blog, I will simply share James 1:2--Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds.
Pure joy during trials? How can that be?
As we went over the lesson, we discussed what "joy" really meant to us, and how we could achieve that joy even amidst life's many trials. Remember, joy itself doesn't always mean happiness. Joy is a reason to rejoice. And, maybe, if we look deep enough, we can find a reason to rejoice in ALL things. Even our struggles. Even our disappointments. Even our pain.
I ended up spending Thursday afternoon/evening in the ER (7 hours to be exact). No worries, I am fine. That is a completely different story.
As I sat there, I fought off the urge to become restless and even annoyed as the hours passed by. But I chose to remember our lesson from that morning and embrace the blessings that came along with that waiting room silence.
Silence. A blessing in itself. And the fact that I spent that quiet time reading a book, Sacred Influence about be a blessing to my husband? Even better.
The fact of the matter is, sitting in the ER, no matter what may have been going on with me, it's not the end of the world or anywhere near it. There were many blessings to be found in that commonplace, slightly annoying, mildly frustrating situation. And that principle applies to every circumstance in our lives, no matter how challenging.
Let me take a moment to share a couple (very opposite-end-of-the-spectrum) examples of my own:
In November of 2010, my husband and I suffered a miscarriage with our second child. It was devastating to us. We had been trying to conceive for a few months and were feeling so happy and blessed that it had happened so quickly for us. My husband was set to deploy in just a couple short months and things seemed to be falling right into our time-frame and plan. But our plans are mere ideas, dust in the wind. God's plan is the only real plan.
Finding out I was in the process of losing the baby we had only known existed for exactly one week was one of, if not the hardest, things for me to go through.
Within a few days of finding out the news, I decided to call my dad and let him know what was going on. He had called me the previous week to congratulate me, as he found out I was pregnant through a common family member who found out on Facebook. (Yes, I know. I dropped the ball there. But my dad and I are not close and we very rarely talk.)
When I called him and told him about losing the baby, I expected he would say "Oh, I'm sorry." and that would be the end of it. But I heard my dad's voice shake. And he asked me something I had never had someone ask me outside of a church building, and certainly not over the phone: "Would it be okay if I prayed with you?" Of course I wasn't going to turn it down. And so there we were, hours and miles apart, and yet together in the eyes of God. My dad prayed for healing for my body and my soul. And it is one of the most precious memories I have of my father.
Maybe it is because we aren't close, and yet we were sharing such an intimate moment...or maybe it was because I felt like he truly believed that God would take care of it, and so could I...but, something changed in me after that phone call. I decided to try (let's face it, it's not easy) to accept the loss and understand that everything happens for a reason, even if I didn't yet know that reason. Even if I never would know that reason.
Three weeks later I got pregnant with Archer. And here he is now, 1 year old, full of life and energy and smiles.
Shortly after finding out I was expecting Archer, my cousin lost her second baby. Over the past couple of years, many ladies I know have gone through miscarriages and losses of children. Just recently, a very dear friend of mine miscarried her first baby.
And I can't say with certainty that my words truly help them. I can't say that I am a comfort to them, although I hope I am. What I can say is this: I know that my trial prepared me to be a better blessing to them. When I say "God is your comfort.", I really mean it. When I tell them "God has a plan for your family.", I deeply trust it.
And I can rejoice in the trial I faced because I can use it to bless others.
Just yesterday, I found myself having a hard time with the kids. I wasn't feeling in my best shape, the house needed cleaned, I needed to email admissions advisers about school and put in some more applications and and and...And the kids were, well, being kids.
Xander decided to bring his bike into the house and proceed to ride it all throughout, and of course when I told him he needed to take his bike outside, he refused. I gave him the option of taking it out himself before I removed him from the bike and took it outside myself, leaving him kicking and screaming. Then I planted his little toosh in time-out. After telling him to get back in the chair three or four times and doing my best to avoid his flailing arms and legs as I sat him back in the chair each time, I was getting pretty frustrated.
"Mommy, you're dumb!!"..All it took was those three words to set me over the edge. [SN: The downfalls of preschool: new, colorful language]. I lifted him out of the chair and I swatted his butt. Hard. Harder than I should've.
At that point I went and sat myself in time-out. I knew I couldn't continue to stand there and let his actions control my own. I sat down on the couch in the other room and prayed this prayer:
God, thank you for my children. Thank you for the blessings that they are and the joy that they bring me each day. Please guide my hands to help them and not hurt them, and please build my patience with them. I pray that I can be humble in front of them and in front of You. Amen.
And I walked back in and apologized to my son. Not for putting him in time-out, and not for disciplining him, but for losing my cool while doing so.
Later on, when it was just about nap time and Xander was slap-happy and singing at the top of his lungs..and Archer was walking into the walls and stumbling over his own feet...and I was trying SO hard to just simply get the floors swept, I had to take another moment to stop and find joy in my trials. I thanked God for a house to clean. I thanked him for a place to lay my kids down for a nap. For food that leads to dirty dishes. For a husband that may not be home to help me so much, but only because he is working endless hours serving our family and our country. For a mother who is willing to be here, in a place that is not her own, making less money than she was before, in order to help me out with the day-to-day activities.
I simply thanked God for my life. And everything in it.
And you know, after doing so, finishing up those floors and taking time away from cleaning to lay down with my Goob wasn't so bad. It was good. It was joy.
So, try to take some time to truly appreciate life's blessings, even if they are laced with struggles. Even if your life is mostly struggles, you cannot claim you are not blessed. Do you love? Are you loved? Then you're blessed.
If you're going through a trial and you can't find the blessing, that's fine. Do these four things and see what happens:
Ask yourself if, under different circumstances, would this be a trial?
(Example: If I didn't have a ton of housework and another screaming child, would I have gotten so upset over Xander's misbehavior? Probably not.)
Ask yourself if your struggle can be seen as a blessing to someone else.
(This may be difficult, but I think if we dig deep enough, helping someone else can feel like a blessing to us as well.)
Ask yourself if there is anything you can change in order to turn your trial around.
(Of course sometimes it's completely out of our hands, but others, we can. We've all heard Let go and Let God. Sometimes that means seriously, just let go. But other times, more often, it means let go of the control, and let God lead your actions.)
And finally, pray. Ask God for direction. Ask him for comfort. Ask him for wisdom. And thank him for all He is, all he has made you, and all he has done in your life.
It's not easy, but it's simple. In ALL things rejoice.
Get ready, Get set...
Start Counting.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)