Making Room for Baby: Project #1

Before

I love our house. What I do not love is that I am a packrat with lots of stuff, and that our house - with its few closets - has trouble accommodating me and said stuff. In anticipation of another little person joining our ranks, and knowing full well that said little person will have lots of stuff of his or her own, Scott and I made plans to build a new closet in what will be the baby's room. Well, let's be honest. We made plans for Scott and his dad to build a new closet. This ambitious project commenced yesterday.

Dad on the floor playing with the electrical stuff. Scary business.

Scott cutting the drywall

This one makes me smile.

Inside the "closet"

I'll be honest here and tell you that I vanished downstairs for awhile. I think I was of better use just staying out of the way. They worked and pounded for several hours, and when I came back upstairs, I found this:

And this:

After. Well, after their work from yesterday. The inside isn't finished.

11 Weeks

I can say with no hesitation that this week was infinitely better than last week. No emergency room visits! I've probably been feeling about the same as far as typical pregnancy symptoms go, but the pain and discomfort I felt last week is long gone. (Praise God!) It was a good week. I even anticipate that it will get even better over the next couple of weeks as I venture into the second trimester.

I don't think there were any new symptoms that emerged this week, other than impatience. (Seeing your sister advancing 10 weeks ahead and finding out exciting news you can't know about your own baby will do that.) Many continued, though. At the top of the list:

Food aversions and a general obsession with food. Eating is a necessary chore. It takes an eternity to decide what to eat, and heaven help me if it takes more than 15 seconds to prepare or retrieve it. By the time the food itself is in front of me, I won't want it any more. Even if I can get my first bite within a few seconds of deciding it sounds good, that first bite will probably make me change my mind. As soon as I finish eating, though, my mind becomes consumed by trying to figure out where the next meal will come from. There, the cycle begins again. I'm actually worried that I'm going to get in trouble for not gaining enough weight. I'm just going to assure my doctor that I'm eating all I can, even if it's not much. I think he's probably seen this before.

Sleepiness and easy fatigue. I went to the grocery store the other day and slept for two hours when I got home. I get out of breath when I, well, stand up. I know I should be taking walks, but walking to the end of the driveway is an accomplishment. For someone who is generally in pretty good shape (that'd be me, by the way) it's kind of like living in someone else's body.

Of course, there are all of the *other* symptoms that I've had since the beginning but have not written about. Some, well, just cannot be appropriately written about for general audiences, and others aren't very entertaining (even though poor Scott gets to hear about them ad infinitum).

I have a doctor's appointment on Wednesday and I can't wait. I don't know if they'll do another sonogram or not, and really I'm okay either way as long as I get to hear the baby's heart again. If they do a sonogram, expect pictures!

I want to say here that I do not write about any of these symptoms in order to complain about them. Honestly, I find them all amusing. It's like my body has been hijacked and I get to be the journalist on the scene to report what's going on. This pregnancy has been a blessing and I do not in any way want to imply anything to the contrary.

Photo Op: Pregnant Sisters Together

Yesterday Mom and I had the awesome privilege of going with Ashley to her 20-week sonogram. (The wee one cooperated and we found out some very exciting news.....which I'm not going to share......I shall leave that up to Ashley......Hurry up, Atty!) Mark, her husband, couldn't go because her doctor rescheduled her appointment so many times that he couldn't get off work. (Long story, which can best be summarized by saying, "Boo to bad doctors, and HURRAY for good doctors!") Before we left for the appointment, Mom had to capture the image of her two pregnant daughters in a photo shoot in the back yard.

Ashley at 20 weeks

Me at 10 (nearly 11) weeks. Methinks some big changes cometh in the next few weeks. (Believe it or not, I was actually quite poochy yesterday. I had to, um, make some adjustments in my pants to accommodate me.)

We find the differences amusing.

Ashley: "What are those things?"
Me: "Those are my feet."
Ashley: "Huh. Do I have those? I can't see."
Me: "Yeah, you do.....they're right there!"

Me: "Ma.....she's freaking me out. Why's she looking at me like that?"

Ashley: "Girl, lemme tell you all about it......."
Me: "Oh, no.........."

Ashley: "I just feel so........uuugghhhhhhhhh."
Me: "Hahahahahahahahahaha!"

Ashley: "Yeah, you just keep laughing. You'll be here soon enough. You'll see. And then I'll get to laugh at you because I'll be done and you'll be HUGE! Just keep laughing. Laugh on."
Me: "Oh, no.......................really?"

Two Weeks Notice

The latest big news? I quit my job yesterday. I put in my two weeks notice and am not looking back.

Anyone who's been around here for any amount of time knows that it's been a long time coming. It's been a lot to handle for awhile, and I think I've only recently reached that critical tipping point. It finally got to me and was really affecting me in ways it should not have been allowed to, and I couldn't let it happen any more.

I felt as though I was heading down an all-too-familiar road, with familiar milemarkers that indicated my nearness to a destination I have no desire to reach again. It's that place of desperation....of panic and fear....of crippling anxiety and nerves of....well, nerves of whatever material could be considered the opposite of steel. It's not a good place to be, and my nearness to it was enough to convince me that something had to give.

Something had to change. I couldn't put myself, Scott, or the baby through any of that anymore. The normalcy of stress and anxiety was unnerving and not something I wanted to encourage.

I don't have a definite plan now, which is a little bit scary, but I really feel that God is going to take care of us. I'll start looking for something with less pressure - something of less importance that will let me concern myself with my health and wellbeing. I will write. Ultimately, that is what I want to do, and this gives me a good opportunity to pursue that. I feel peace about my decision and I know that I've done the right thing for myself and my family.

That's what's most important to me.

While in the above movie Sandra Bullock does play the part of an assistant to an overly busy real estate developer person, I have to be sure to point out that the resemblance between the two of us ends there. I do not anticipate the end of my movie here at Boss Man's Concrete Company to look anything like the end of Sandra's movie. I'll leave it at that. (Though now I do have the urge to watch that movie. It was good.)

10 Weeks

I'm officially 1/4 of the way there....nearing the sought-after end of the first trimester.

This week was a rough one. There were the normal reasons, of course, like being crazy hungry but not wanting any food known to man, and nausea when I picked the wrong food or waited too long to pick something. (Poor Scott. This has been a challenge for him. Halfway to a restaurant, I'll decide that where we're going isn't going to work, but I don't know where will work. Lots of fun as I start feeling sick because I'm getting hungry and he's panicking because he doesn't know where to go or what to do.) New this week: sinus problems. Netty Pot to the rescue! (Ashley - I hope you're happy.)

Aside from that stuff, though, when I tried to think of a way to summarize the week, this was the best I could do:
I realize this requires some explanation, so an explanation I shall provide.

First of all, that's my wrist with my accessories of the week. The tan thing in the middle is a band that's for my nausea. It has a magnet that presses into a pressure point on my wrist and thereby reduces the symptoms of nausea. Mom's acupuncturist gave them to me, and while they don't work 100%, they do work well enough for me to continue wearing them despite their goofy appearance.

The white band to the left is a hospital band. Last Sunday night when I laid down to go to sleep I couldn't breathe. Could not. It felt as though my throat was closing up - I had to cough just to breathe. Sitting up helped very little, but I drank some hot tea that eventually helped some and I was able to get about 2 hours of sleep (in a recliner). As soon as I woke up Monday morning, though, it started again and Scott took me to the emergency room. They couldn't do much there - no chest X-rays or anything like that - because of the baby, but they did an EKG, which looked normal, and took lots and lots of my blood, which didn't show any signs of blood clots or anything like that. They gave me a breathing treatment and an inhaler and sent me home. My obstetrician (the best in the WORLD) came and checked on me, and wanted me to follow up in a couple of days and just let him know how I was doing. I used the inhaler 3 times Monday but haven't had to use it since then.

On Tuesday, I felt pretty good, except for this somewhat worrisome nagging ache I'd had for several days. My doctor told me it was probably something normal, based on my description of it, so I wasn't all that worried. I was aware of it, but not scared.

Then on Wednesday, I figured that I needed to get checked out. The ache was getting worse, and I was having strong symptoms of.....a urinary tract infection. I've had them before, so I knew what I was looking at, and called the doctor's office and told them what was going on. I went and had some lab work done to confirm my suspicions and was told they'd let me know. I didn't hear anything on Thursday but was getting increasingly uncomfortable. On Friday morning I was in agony and called the doctor as soon as the office opened. I told the nurse that my back was hurting - in my kidney area - and the UTI symptoms were worse. Based on that, she told me to come in and see the doctor on call because my doctor was out of town at a funeral.

Let me say here that I do not like the other doctor. Let me quote her: "Oops. Made you bleed. Sorry!" Yeah.

She gave me some antibiotics and something for my discomfort and sent me home. An hour after I got home, the pain got bad enough, all of a sudden, that I was close to calling an ambulance. I called Scott instead, though, bawling, and told him something had to be done. I have never felt pain that intense. It was so scary.

He came and took me back to the emergency room. (Hence the second hospital band, on the right in the above picture.) Again, because of the baby, they couldn't do all the tests they normally would. Scott and I had a feeling that it was a kidney stone. The doctor (the same one who saw me Monday) told me that they'd do the same thing for a kidney stone and a UTI for a pregnant woman. They did give me some vicodin, though, for the pain. (I was assured by several doctors that everything they were doing and giving me was safe for me and the baby.)

Me likey da vikey.

After one dose the pain evaporated as quickly as it came, and now I'm just fighting the UTI. No fun, for sure, but at least I can move. Baby steps.

There's my week in a nutshell. Fingers crossed for a better week this week.

Nine Weeks

Here I am at nine weeks. (I usually don't look quite so......hmm.....awful. Ironically, I've been told that I've begun glowing this week.) I know there's not a whole lot to see there in the midsection area, but I figure if I post ones where there's not a whole lot to see, it'll be much more exciting when there is something to see. So, yeah. Here I am with minimal midsection pudginess. Actually, there is some expansion there (and this time, it's not because of a huge Mexican meal like it was the first time we took one). My books tell me I should be experiencing "some minor thickening" in the waist, so I think that this is what that looks like. (There are bare midsection pictures in existence, but I'm going to leave that to your imagination.) (Actually, no. Scratch that. Don't, under any circumstances, imagine my belly. That's weird. Stop it.)

This week:
Nausea morning, noon, and night, but as long as I eat approximately every 14.6 minutes, I'll be fine.

Food aversions. Do not, under any circumstances, present me with the same meal I ate a few hours ago. Leftovers, which were once barely tolerable, are now abhorrent.

Pressure. I'll leave it at that (and fully expect that you experienced ladies out there to say something along the lines of, "Just wait," or, "You think that's bad?").

I am narcoleptic and my legs get tired after a stroll around the back yard.

Shopping for the wee one for the first time. Among our purchases:

Oh, come on. You know I had to.

My mom, hereafter known in this context as Weezer, bought this. I. Love. It. Nearly makes me cry.

Which, by the way, is not unusual this week.

Finding Out The News: May 13, 2008

Because a couple of people have requested the story and because I think it's a good one and so classically us, I shall share the story of when we found out the news.

We decided that Tuesday night - the Tuesday after Mother's Day - would be the Night of Testing. We had our suspicions, of course, but had been hesitant to test too early and get a false negative or something equally frustrating, so a lot of thought went into when we were going to actually take a test.

Scott got home and we had small talk and then finally got around to the thing we were both anticipating greatly but weren't talking about. We went to the bathroom and I, well, did what was necessary on the expensive plastic stick.

For three minutes we again talked about.....whatever....but not the little stick on the counter. Finally we got to look. We peered at it together, and saw......

"Wait. Is that one line or two? I can't tell! There are two lines, there, I think, but it's faint......... Babe, it seems like I read somewhere that if you see the second line AT ALL it means....well, it means you're pregnant. I think I read that.....!"

We were looking at the instruction booklet that came with the test and trying to see if there was anything in there about a faint second line. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

We went to the family room to try to get on the computer to go to the First Response website to see what they had to say on the subject. Waiting to start up the computer. Waiting for the internet to connect. Waiting for the internet to connect. Waiting for the internet to connect. Waiting......for......the.......internet.......to......connect.......... It would not connect. Would not. We tried and tried and tried. (This is where it's not such a great thing that we mooch wireless internet service from our neighbors.) If three minutes seemed like a long time sitting in the bathroom making small talk, this was an eternity!

Finally Scott said he'd go to the store to get a digital test. We had another of the same "two line" tests, but that one probably would have done the same thing, so he figured a digital one might be better. I offered to come with him, but I was *exhausted* so he refused to let me and insisted he'd go. I told him we could get one the next day (not really wanting to do that, but feeling bad that he was going to drive back into town by himself at like 9 at night), and he was like, "Um.....no." I said, "Do you WANT to go?" He nodded. "You wanna know, too, don't you?" He nodded a very enthusiastic nod, and that was so sweet to me - that was literally the first time he had seemed excited or anxious at all to know what was going on.

So he went. And I waited. I would have been watching American Idol to distract myself, but the TV was messed up so I couldn't. (It has been suggested that the broken state of our TV was the reason we got pregnant in the first place. Regardless of the humor in that, it's not true.)

Finally he got back and we went back to the bathroom. And we made more small talk while waiting AGAIN. He went back into the bathroom (we had been sitting in our room) to blow his nose, and when he came back we resumed our small talk. He randomly hugged me, and said, "I saw what it said."

I was like, "Um.....huh?"

"I saw what it said. Do you want to know what it says?"

"Yes! But you weren't supposed to look! We were supposed to look together! But yes, I want to know!"

"I couldn't help it! I just saw it when I went in!"

"TELL ME WHAT IT SAID!"

"It said what you were afraid might not happen."

"Are you KIDDING me?"

And we ran into the bathroom and saw it. Big bold letters this time: PREGNANT.

And I screamed. And Scott jumped. And we hugged and cried and it was all a very sweet scene.

The Biggest News Yet.....or EVER!

Really and seriously.....we're pregnant!

I can't even tell you how excited we are. We're at 8 weeks right now, and everything is going beautifully so far. Even so, we covet your prayers. This little person already means the world to us, and I want him or her bathed in prayer from the very start.

I promise to keep you posted! I'm excited about having all of you with me on this journey.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. (Psalm 139:13-16)

Here's the thing.

I don't know how much longer I can take this. Remember when I said awhile back that I felt that God wanted me to stay here, in this blissful job (is sarcasm a sin?) to learn something? Remember that?

Yeah.....well, that's getting harder and harder. At first, I felt brave and strong and - yes - obedient for staying and not considering resignation as an option. I did.

Now, though......now, the view is somewhat different. I don't feel brave and strong anymore. I feel like a sucker.
Seriously. Every single day, I come to work knowing someone is going to yell at me. Every single day, I know there are going to be things and situations thrown at me and I'm expected to handle....but that I do not have the power to do anything about. Every single day, I'm in charge of appeasing people who would likely panic if the corners of their mouths turned upward in a smile because, frankly, it has never happened before. Every. Single. Day.

Now I must ask myself............um..............why am I doing this?

I told myself awhile back that I would not leave until God opened another door for me. I told myself I wouldn't walk out these doors without having a plan for the other side. I know that's not good for me, and *yet* I find myself yearning for those days of depression and anxiety and unemployment. Somehow, in this disillusionment, that actually looks better, and I can't tell you how that scares me.

Truthfully, y'all? I want to write. I want to get in the door with a publisher and write. I want to have the option, when that day comes, of staying home with my children because financially and emotionally I can. I want to stay at home with my family like my mom did with us when I was really little. I want to focus on what's really important to me.........not a millionaire's desire to mow down more trees in his pursuit of a more grandiose wealth. That, my friends, is not important to me. My satusfaction in life, if wrapped up in that, is not looking good.

And the thing is, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to start. I know it's a long and arduous journey, and I know I'll never make it if I don't get started....but my discontent with where I am now is crippling to my motivation, rather than having the desired effect of driving me toward what I want most. I feel apathetic, and that's scary to me. Apathy looks an awful lot like depression, and that's a view I'm not eager for again.

Something is going to have to change. Scott wants me to talk to our office manager and see what she suggests. Lots of others have come and gone in the position I'm in (the literal position I'm in....as Boss Man's assistant, not so much the emotional position I'm in), and perhaps she has some sort of hints or suggestions as to how I can make it work. I think I'm hesitant, though, because I don't see how this position is ever going to make me happy and fulfilled as long as I'm doing what I'm doing. Unless my job description radically changes, I don't see myself feeling differently.

So I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to pack up my stuff and leave. Part of me, though, says to stick it out.

Most of me, though, just feels like a miserable sucker.

What I'm Clinging To Today

Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold you with my victorious right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)

Don't be troubled. You trust God, now trust in me. (John 14:1)

I am leaving you with a gift - peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. (John 14:27)

The Lord will work out His plans for my life. (Psalm 138:8)

When the earth quakes and its people live in turmoil, I am the One who keeps its foundations firm. (Psalm 75:3)

He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress where I will never be shaken. (Psalm 62:2)

I prayed to the Lord, and He answered me, freeing me from all my fears. (Psalm 34:4)

As for God, His way is perfect. (Psalm 18:30)

Dinner with Granddaddy

Christian Women Online has a terrific blog of devotionals, and while wandering around the site today I found this assignment. I've been out of school just long enough to miss writing assignments, I think, and was inspired to join their meme (what is that, anyway?) they're going to have every week. Can't promise I'll do every one, but this one spoke to me.

If you could have a conversation over dinner with any one person, dead or alive, with the exception of Jesus, who would it be and why?

Granddaddy passed away when I was 4. He and Grandmother lived in Alabama, which was far enough away that my family and I didn't make the trip south from Virginia very often. We would sometimes meet in the middle for time in the mountains of Tennessee, or one group or the other would make the full trek on holidays.

My memories of him are faint, at best. When my sister and I were very little, the memories of Granddaddy that hung on the longest were the memories of his smell. He smoked a pipe, and whenever we caught the distinctive aroma of pipe tobacco one or both of us would say, "I smell Granddaddy!" As a little girl, I had no idea what that Dad's expression meant when we would say that. I didn't know how bittersweet that had to have been for him. I had no idea that it was that smell - or the very thing that caused it - was what made Granddaddy sick in the first place. I didn't realize how sad it must have made Dad to realize that those faint memories would be all we would have of his father. I had no idea that there was no much more to this man that I never really knew.

I remember that far-off stare well. He would smile, but there was something else there. It was a sadness that my heart couldn't understand.

Sometimes Dad gets that same look - the wistful look of someone who sees something familiar yet still very far away - when he looks at me. I don't particularly resemble anyone in my family in appearance. I have Mom's eyes (especially when I smile) and redheaded complexion, Dad's brown eyes, Grandmother's nose (I see that, even if no one else does), and Granny's little hands. Unlike my sisters, I don't bear any striking resemblance to any one particular family member.

What I do have, though, is a spirit that - had it been given the chance - would have bonded inextricably with that of my Granddaddy. I have been told more times than I can count how much Granddaddy would have enjoyed talking with me. I've been told that a particular mannerism or gesture was "pure John," and that Granddaddy would have loved to read my writing. He and I, it seems, were more alike than I'll know in this life.

He, too, was a writer, and he spent his life teaching others to capture and appreciate the written word. He wrote a book that would guide aspiring writers to publication. He left a legacy in hundreds of former high school students who learned not only about Shakespeare and verb conjugations, but also about character and dignity from their beloved English teacher, Mr. Smith. Grandmother has been told countless times how wonderful her husband was, but none of it comes as a surprise to her.

Granddaddy loved a good conversation, a good book, Auburn University, and Jiffy cornbread.

One lesser-known fact about his life, though, is one that I, too, must live with. Long before it was as accepted as it is today, Granddaddy lived with depression and anxiety. I can point an accusatory finger at genetics or can simply choose to believe that God gives us particular challenges - thorns in our flesh - for a particular reason. Whichever approach I choose, though, the fact remains that I will likely deal with this for the rest of my life. Unpleasant though it is, certainly, I count this as another connection I have with my Granddaddy. Sometimes my heart aches knowing that he lived with the same feelings I have, without the benefit of the help that I have, or even a diagnosis. I hear stories of his good times and his bad times and know just how he was feeling. It breaks my heart, yet reminds me that I am not the only one who has ever felt this way, and it helps me to realize that I don't go through these times by myself.

I would love the opportunity to have a conversation with Granddaddy. I would love to talk with him about writing. I would love to sit with a copy of his book open on the table and chat about what I need to do to make this dream of mine come true. I would love to talk about how it feels to struggle with an illness that everyone thinks they understand but no one really does, and I would love to talk about how he lived with it for so many years. I would cherish the chance to talk about Dad when he was younger, life in rural Alabama in the 1930s, and how he and Grandmother made it through when they were first married and still in college.

If I could have a conversation over dinner with any one person, I would choose to have dinner with my Granddaddy.

I don't know what the full menu would be, but we would probably have Jiffy cornbread.

How Monday's Have Earned Their Reputation

Today has been a Monday (all day long, as Dad always says).

I'm not at liberty to discuss all the details, but it will suffice to say that I've had something looming over my head all weekend and it's making me physically ill today because I can't get it resolved,

AND I got to work this morning to find 5 voicemail messages and one email from homeowners complaining about the pool over the weekend. (I told you it'd get worse once they came out of hibernation, didn't I?),

AND Boss Man came into my office this morning just long enough to tell me that there were 4 kittens who had appeared on the job site next door over the weekend, and asked me to call animal control to come and get them,

AND the kittens were really, really cute and I'd have kept them if I thought for one minute that Kitter wouldn't have attacked them,

AND I really needed my appointment with my counselor that was scheduled for this afternoon, but she had to reschedule because of a series of tragedies in her family.

I'm not having a very good day.

I want to curl up into a ball and hide.

In His Hands

Kermit, Wee Kermit, and me

If you know me or have been reading long, you might know that I have a strange fondness for Kermit the Frog. This is not, as you might suspect, a lingering obsession left from my childhood, but rather a newer development that has gripped me (and my household....poor Scott).

I grew up on Sesame Street. Well, not on Sesame Street......I don't think there is a Sesame Street in my town. I did watch PBS's version daily, however, and I could tell you all about it. I probably still could. (I remember Grover explaining the difference between "near" and "far," children showing me how crayons were made, the letter S dancing around with scissors to help me understand how it sounded, the monsters' enthusiastic "yupyupyupyupyup," and the normalcy of a 7-foot tall bird like it was only yesterday.)

I don't remember now what my favorite part of the show was. I do, however, know which character has had a lasting impact on me. Kermit. Dear Kermit. Yes, I am a fan of the work the famous green frog did on Sesame Street, not his collaboration with the other Muppets or his earlier work with the Muppet Babies. In particular, I love his musical ventures and his reporting on the Sesame Street news. ("Hiho, Kermit the Frog here........")

This obsession, as it really is, has developed relatively recently, as I mentioned. I don't know the exact moment that it happened, nor do I know why I've been seized by this nostalgia. What I do have, though, is a theory.

Kermit and Wee Kermit playing a trick on me. My, what little arms you have...or is your head just really huge?

Over the past couple of years, I've been through a lot of personal changes and serious struggles. All at once, almost 3 years ago, I got married, quit my job and was unemployed for several months, changed churches, and moved. Everything changed, right down to my name. These were good changes, but they were not without their stress. Around the same time, I began my struggle with depression, anxiety, and agoraphobia, which - as you know - I still struggle with today. I've had a lot going on, and it was somewhere in the midst of this turmoil that I rediscovered Kermit. A remnant of my childhood, he provided me with some comfort when comfort was hard to come by.

My newest Kermit-themed acquisition. It's pretty unfortunate that I'm obsessed with Kermit at a time when the world wants to "go green." Apparently, all it takes is one song about "being green," and you're set to be a spokesfrog.

Don't we all do something like this? We buy trinkets when we're on vacation, decorate our homes and offices with photographs of us with our families, keep memory boxes full of notes and letters..... We hang onto memories and things from the past because they make us happy - encourage us that perhaps because things have not always been as they are now, they will not always be this way, either. Sentimental or not, I think we all have something we hang onto as an encouragement to us when we're down. What we (I'm guilty, too, for sure!) forget sometimes, though, is that God has another message for us:

But forget all of that - it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do a brand-new thing. See, I have already begun! (Isaiah 43:18-19)

God doesn't want us to forget about our past and where we've come from, but He doesn't want us to dwell on them and lose all sight of the fact that He isn't finished with us yet. God has never once brought me to a place in my life where He did not faithfully carry me through it and do a mighty work within me throughout the process.

I recall all You have done, O Lord; I remember Your wonderful deeds of long ago. (Psalm 77:11)

Regardless of where we have been, God is taking us somewhere better. No matter how unhapy we feel now in comparison to how we've felt before, God will bring us complete joy. He isn't finished, and what He has for us is better than anything we've seen or can imagine. What a magnificent promise! What hope!

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope." (Jeremiah 29:11)

It is wonder ful to know that our God knows that our present circumstances might not look wonderful to us, so He makes a conscious effort to encourage us. He wants us to know that He understands how we struggle, and wants to give us something secure to hold on to when the storms of life rage around us. We can cling to Him when everything is going down around us, remembering the things He has done in the past and hoping in what we believe He will do in the future.

I'm so glad I have Him when I need assurance that things are going to be all right, because Kermit's fun and all, but he doesn't really seem to have things under control.

Obedience?

I'm sorry I've been somewhat........hmm.........absent. For one thing, my mind has been occupied largely by Mom's struggle and honestly, posting any of my little trite thoughts I tend to post seemed thoughtless and remarkably unremarkable in light of what else I have going on.

I have actually had a lot going on, though to those who see me from the outside (hmm......wouldn't that be pretty much everybody?) it wouldn't have seemed like it. I'm a champion at holding things in and insisting that "I'm just FINE!" when I'm really, really not. For that reason, I get lots of weird looks when I tell people of my daily struggles. (For a long time I interpreted those weird looks as disapproval, but came to realize that it was genuine surprise, because apparently I cover things up pretty well.)

In any case, this past weekend and the past several days have been tough on me. I've been thinking about Mom, of course, and my own situation certainly hasn't helped. Let's see....where to begin?

You all know about the issues I've been having with my job - angry homeowners and all that. What I've tried to keep under wraps, though, is the effect it has had on me. As an anxious person, this has not been good for me. Every time the phone rings at work, I feel physically sick - I just know that this is going to be someone yelling at me for something. I even got a phone call on Saturday morning about vandalism at the neighborhood pool. It never ends, and it's wearing on me. It really is. Every morning the first thought that comes to my mind is that I have to come back to this place, and my body responds to that thought with a pounding heart, nausea, and tears. Every single morning. It is physically not good for me. Last weekend I was to the point of wanting to walk in Monday morning and quit. I like everything else about my job - the stuff I do for my boss is fun and interesting, and I really don't mind that part. What I do mind is feeling under attack and impotent against the things I'm supposed to be handling. I mind it very much, and was ready to tell my boss so on Monday morning. Even if I didn't resign, I wanted to tell someone here how hard this is on me. I couldn't help but think that if someone knew what was going on with me, there would be some degree of understanding if it did come to the point of my resignation.

I got to work Monday morning and quickly realized that Monday would not be the day for said conversation. Our office manager, who I had planned on telling about my problem, was not here, and my boss was bustling around getting his feet back on the ground after a week of vacation. It would not be a good day for him to hear that his assistant was on the verge of a nervous breakdown - seriously. A nervous breakdown, y'all.

Sick to my stomach and on the verge of tears, I sat at my desk and tried to focus on things I needed to do. Every time the phone rang, I jumped out of my skin. Every time I saw I had a new email, I nearly hyperventilated. I was not well. I kept thinking, "I have to get out of here. I can't do this anymore. God, help me with this, because I can't do this. I just can't."

Every time I would think about leaving, though, I felt a little pang somewhere in my stomach. There was the feeling of relief that would inevitably bring, as this aprticular anxiety would let up, but I felt something else that led me to believe I shouldn't think about quitting. There was something in my mind that told me that shouldn't even be considered an option right now. Something in my mind said that I needed to stick it out.

"Why, though, God? Why would You want me to stay here?" Everywhere I turned, I found an answer to that question - scripture, the radio.... A friend's blog reminded me that God has a plan and that even if it doesn't make sense, I need to stay where He has put me and follow Him until He moves me. As I read her words, I thought, "God's not moving me. If I left, it'd be because I am moving me."

Y'all, I've done that enough. If you read my resume (who'd do that?) you'd see that I bounce from job to job to job, usually within 6 to 8 months or so. (Hey! I'm there now!) In that amount of time, I usually get sufficiently fed up and leave.....sometimes with clear direction on where I'm going next, and sometimes with no direction whatsoever. I'm a runner. When things get unpleasant and scary, I run. I just do. I like to tell myself I'm strong, but the truth is that I'm just fast. I run away. I get out before it gets too rough.

I feel a clear message from God here: Stay put.

It doesn't make any sense! Why would God want me to stay somewhere where I'm under attack? Why would He put me - ME, with my serious anxiety problems on easy days - somewhere that causes me anxiety every single day?

He's working on me, y'all. He's doing something here. If I'm honest, I don't like it one bit. I don't want to be here, getting yelled at for things I can do nothing about. I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to feel so helpless, but He's teaching me something here - don't want to speculate what that would be - and He wants me to stay here.

It gives me a lump in my throat, and my feet are getting that itch to run away, but I know - deep in my heart - that if I stay here, God's going to do something for me and in me that's infinitely better than that temporary relief I'd feel if I ran. It seems crazy, even to me, but I feel like this is what I have to do.

Flyswatter

I am an anxious person. I always have been. My mom will tell you the profound truth behind that statement - in elementary school, I had something to worry about for every day of the week.

It doesn't take much for me to get myself wound up so tightly that I can't move. Thoughts of things that are happening, have happened, might happen, will happen, or may never happen are enough to paralyze me. I worry about how people see me. I worry about my future. I worry about my family. I worry about my job.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matthew 6:34)

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Mom used to tell me that worrying is like rocking in a rocking chair. It gives you something to do for awhile, but it doesn't get you anywhere. Yeah. I know. All words. Very nice things to think.....until your mind is paralyzed and you can't think of anything at all.

For most of my life, I thought that the worrying was the problem itself, rather than being a symptom of a greater issue. As I've gotten a little bit older, though, the fact has become hard to ignore. I can no longer pretend that I'm just a worrywart and leave it at that. The worrying is bad enough, but the real problem is that my mind does not know how to stop. Any thought that comes to mind has the potential to paralyze me. These thoughts can be, literally, about anything. They come at any time. The one consistent thing about these thoughts is that they do not go without a fight. My mind is a battlefield.

"Your mind and your spirit certainly do work together. Satan, of course, knows this fact, so he attacks your mind, waging war against you on the battlefield of your mind. He wants to overload and overwork your mind by filling it with every kind of wrong thought so it cannot be free and available to the Holy Spirit." (Joyce Meyer)

Few things ring so true with me as the fact that I am under attack. The first time I heard that analogy, I trembled. I knew I struggled with some things, but it had never occurred to me that this fight I had been in for so long was, in fact, a war. This struggle I'd been dealing with was, in reality, a battle. I knew I felt like I was up against something, but I never thought I had an actual enemy. While I may be a worrier and I may create problems for myself that are not really problems, this one was real.

As in many things in life, simple awareness of the problem was revolutionary for me at first and actually helped me to make some headway. Once I knew I was up against a real enemy, I felt stronger to fight it. I wasn't imagining this one. This was real, and I needed to fight.

As you can imagine, though, that only lasted a short while and the situation worsened. I won't try to analyze whether I became complacent and thereby opened myself to greater attack, or whether the attacks actually got more severe, but I do know one thing: the battle was on, and I was losing. Badly. Quickly.

I've been many routes. I've tried many different things to help clear my mind of these violent thoughts - these attacks on my existence. Try as I may, they never let up.

Recently, I was thinking on this struggle and an image came to mind. This image - this illustration - helped to explain why my struggle is so constant and why - despite my greatest efforts - I can never feel victorious.

Imagine a little girl - perhaps 6 years old. She is sitting in her room, playing with her dolls as little girls do. She is immersed in her own little world of tea parties and handsome princes when suddenly, into her room flies her brother. He is 4 years old and brings with him the mayhem that follows little boys. He runs in circles around his sister, zooming a toy airplane around her head and mimicking the roar of a jet engine. She tells him to stop, and he laughs as he makes fun of her little girl's games. She swats at him with her hand and he - encouraged by her irritation - continues. She starts to cry and he believes he has won. She continues swatting......and he continues running and roaring. Her world has been turned on its head and she is powerless to reverse it. Her enemy bothers her for the pure sake of bothering her, and won't quit as long as her defenses are so weak. She is whining, and he is winning.

He is winning, that is, until the little girl wises up and realizes that she has a proven method of defense that she is not afraid to employ. "Mommy! Make him STOP!" Mom comes in, tells him to leave her alone, and she is free to return to her little world.

(I don't have children and it's been a long time since I've been around any such situation. However, this is how I imagine it could be, and it works for the purpose of this illustration, so bear with me.)

In my battle, it is I who am immersed in my little world and vulnerable to a sudden attack from an outside enemy. It is I who find myself, suddenly and without warning, completely disturbed and upset. It is I who, despite the persistence of my torturer, swat and cry and whine.

Given the tactics and motives of my enemy, this defense is anything but successful.

Think about it! The enemy prowls around like a lion! What good is it going to do me if all I do to try to stop him is tell him to "quit it"? Why should he stop if he believes he has me where he wants me?

For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:3-5)

Unless I call on someone stronger to fight for me in this battle for - literally - my life, I will not win. I may as well sit on the floor and cry, unwilling and unable to defend myself. This method will not work. It never has, and it never will. It never will. I need someone stronger.

I have a weapon in my arsenal stronger than anything this world or my mind can fathom. I have a weapon that divides soul and spirit, joints and marrow (Hebrews 4:12). I have a Defender that spoke the universe into existence, reverses the decay of death, and promises victory in the end. I have Jesus, and He stands ready to fight on my behalf when I call to Him.

My swatting is useless until my hands lift up to Him.

My cries are useless until they fall on His ears.

My war is not of this world, but - thank the Lord - neither is my weapon. Like the little girl, I only have to remember my Savior is there and believe in His power to save me.

Landscaping

I got home from the gym tonight and was spending a little quality time with Kitter in the front yard when some little white flowers caught my attention. Obviously, I knew they were weeds - we haven't done a speck of landscaping, so any flowers that pop up are definitely a mistake. My first thought, though, was, "How great is God that he would even make weeds pretty for us to look at?"

Then I went a little deeper. Yeah, they're pretty little white flowers, and yes, God made them. My mind started running rampant with a comparison of those weeds in my front yard and the sins in my heart. Bear with me, please. I don't know how far I can take this, as all analogies break down eventually.

You see, weeds - especially those adorned with little flowers - look nice at first, don't they? These weeds add a little color to my otherwise bland yard. When seen as sins, these weeds are better explained. Perhaps lying gains its appeal as it gets me out of a tough situation, or gossip strikes my fancy when it makes me feel better about myself. Getting out of trouble......feeling good about myself......these aren't bad things, are they? They're nice ideas, and the "little sin" that gets us there is appealing and so easy to be drawn to. Likewise, the eye is easily captured by the one or two spots of color in a dying yard, even if those flickers of color are weeds.

When we focus in and are aware of one or two of the weeds, we feel pretty good. We think we can handle that, if we even need to. We don't have a problem, really. It's pretty well under control.

That's how things look when we focus in so closely that we think we only have one thing to deal with - we're only one step from being where we need to be. We think we're close to being a clean palette. It's not so bad.

When we step back, though, things look differently, don't they? Suddenly, by just taking a step back and getting a new perspective, so many other things come into view and the scene isn't so pretty any more. It's overwhelming. We can never take care of all of that! That will take forever! It's hopeless!

In this desperation, we might resort to running around frantically, snatching the weeds up and hurling them away. We do anything we can to make things look good on the surface, because we cringe at the idea that someone else might see the imperfections for what they are. What we neglect to realize, though, is that while the first flowers are gone after our first frenzy, the roots remain, ready to grow back thicker than ever. The problem is still there, lurking under the surface. It waits for the perfect conditions to rear its ugly head again, ambushing us in our complacency. Desperation will never rid the yard of its weeds. A real overgrowth of weeds can only be taken care of by Someone who knows what they are doing. A serious problem like that can only be remedied when we are willing to ask for help. Our desperate yanking on the weeds is only making things worse and causing us to feel bad. The situation is hopeless in our own hands.

The wonderful and hopeful thing is, though, that while we see a weed-infested, overgrown, unkempt area with no hope of improvement, God sees potential. He sees a clean slate and the possibility of a perfectly groomed landscape. He knows each and every type of weed that threatens our view, and He knows what it's going to take to get rid of it for good. He knows how long we've struggled with it. He knows what foolish methods we've used to try to get rid of them, and how long we lived with the weeds before we even recognized them for what they were. He knows how badly we want the weeds gone, because He wants them gone, too. He knows how beautiful it can be without them. He wants that for us. He made us for that.

All we have to do is stop yanking on the weeds, admit that we need some help, and allow the Gardener to do His work. It'll take a little time, and it won't be easy, but genuine beauty will be unveiled when it is finished.

Extra Steps

I was sitting in church this morning (other stories about that to follow), reading the scripture passage along with the pastor, when I had one of those moments of revelation that you can't make happen. You know the ones - the moments when you sees something again for the first time. Those moments when something you've read a thousand times suddenly strikes you in a new way - something clicks in your brain - and you see it completely differently. The pastor was reading from John 20, when Jesus appears to the disciples behind locked doors after the resurrection:

"On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, 'Peace be with you!'" (John 20:19)

At first what struck me was that of all the things Jesus could have said to them in that moment, he blessed them with peace. He could have said anything at all, but his words were wishing them peace. Of course, he was probably doing this as a way of saying, "Hey, guys. Calm down. It's just me." But I think he wished peace on them in that moment, too, because it was just that important to him that they be in peace. That was a big part of what he had died for just three days earlier, after all.

I confess, though, that my mind wandered to some degree during the message, and I read over some of the earlier parts of Chapter 20, particularly this:

"Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance." (John 20:1)

Again, this was obviously something I had read before. The basic content was nothing new to me. However, the revelation I had when I read it was new.

What, did you think Jesus had to roll the stone away from the entrance to get out? He didn't need to move it to get out! He moved it for our benefit!

Really. Think about it. Later that same evening, Jesus appeared to the disciples behind locked doors. This is God in the flesh! He doesn't need to come through a door to get into a room! He'll go wherever He wants to go! He rolled the stone away so that we could see that He had risen. He rolled the stone away so that we would know what had happened.

I think He hoped Mary would get it. I think He hoped she would see the empty tomb and remember what He had said not so long ago:

"From that time on Jesus began to explain to His disciples that He must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests, and teachers of the law, and that He must be killed and on the third day be raised to life." (Matthew 16:21)

He thought she might remember, because He had said that to help her understand. He said that for her and for the disciples, so that when this moment of confusion and bewilderment came, they would be able to make sense of it all, feeling not fear but peace.

She didn't remember, though, and I can almost imagine that Jesus shook His head and smiled at her, almost in amusement. "Mary," He said. The familiarity of His voice as it spoke her name was all she needed - she recognized Him and cried out in joy. (I remember times when my own parents have looked at me in this way as I wept over something that I was sure would be the end of my world. Knowing better, they would nod understandingly but speak their wisdom into my heart in an attempt at calming me. Sometimes all they would have to say is my name: "Jessica," they would say, and I would take a deep breath and begin to come to my senses. In their wisdom they knew that my world was not, in fact, going to end. In their love for me, they wanted to help me see the same, but the first thing they had to do was help me to calm down.)

The thing about this story is that Jesus knows us just that well. He knew all along that we would need help wrapping our minds around all that He is. He knew it so well that He made every effort to teach in a way that might help us understand, using parables and illustrations that relate to our lives here on earth to help it all seem less mysterious. He knew we couldn't grasp it all. He knew we had never seen anything like what He showed us, and He knew that we would need some help. It was for that reason, I think, that He rolled the stone away. Had the tomb remained closed, Mary and the others might never have believed that He wasn't in there. Had He not allowed them to see with their own eyes that He was no longer entombed there, they might never have made the connection when He appeared to them later that day. Certainly, He didn't NEED to roll the stone away in order to emerge from the tomb. In fact, I am almost certain that He didn't leave the tomb by the same door which brought Him in!

Jesus knows us. He knows that even when we want so badly to understand it all, we can't quite get it. He knows we need some help.

And - because HE wants us to get it, too - He is willing to take those extra steps to help us get it. He doesn't do so much that He removes all mystery and intrigue from His story, but He helps us out just enough that we can grasp it. He helps us understand just enough so that it can begin to change our lives, and works within us until our completion that we might one day understand it all.

I'm so thankful that it means that much to Him that we understand. I'm so glad that He cared enough to take those extra steps, and I'm so amazed that I mean that much to Him.

Standing on the Promises

A gem I rediscovered today:

For this is what the high and lofty One say - he who lives forever, whose name is holy:
I live in a high and lowly place, but also with him who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite.

(Isaiah 57:13)

Moving Day

I'm feeling much better today! Thank you all for your sweet comments, prayers, and genuine concern for me. It means so much, and I can honestly say that they are uplifting spiritually and physically. My doctor told me yesterday that I'd likely be in pain for 5 or 6 days, but today - this afternoon, anyway - the pain is virtually nonexistent. Thank you all for lifting me up!

This experience, other than being scary and making me paranoid about every little ache and pain, has taught me something.

I think I'm turning a corner. For a long time, I've lived on Paranoid Street. I've been so closed in - so afraid to let anyone in to my world - because I've sincerely felt that the more people know about me, the more they have to hold against me, make fun of me for, or misunderstand. "If no one knows anything," I reasoned, "they can't laugh at or judge me." While that reasoning might work sometimes, I'm in the process of learning that just because someone wants to know how I'm doing, that in no way means that they plan on using whatever information I give them against me somehow.

See, it took a lot of time and experience to come to that misguided conclusion. Lots of gossiping, lots of weird looks, lots of betrayal, and lots of pain. A perception like the one I lived with does not develop overnight, and - I fear - will not dissolve overnight. Like I said, though, I'm turning a corner.

The next street over is yet unnamed, because I haven't gotten there yet. From where I'm sitting, though, I can tell a few things about it. I can tell that while it is a somewhat more vulnerable place to be, it allows more happiness and fulfillment. I can tell that while it may be overwhelming, it is also encouraging.

You may ask what led me to this......realization. Having missed two days of work now, I called Boss Man (naturally) to let him know what was going on. However, I overestimated his communication with the rest of the office, and didn't guess that he wouldn't tell everyone else in the office. At about 11:00 this morning I got a phone message from Coworker Girl 1, saying that she was there with Coworker Girl 2 and Coworker Girl 3 and they were all worried about me. Truly, my first thought was, "Why don't they just leave me alone?"

(I have to say here that one year ago, I wouldn't have returned her call. I would have crawled back under the covers and dreaded the inevitable return to work, barrage of questions, and forced explanations. I would have dreaded it to the point that I wouldn't have done it. Period. So.......yeah. Little celebration of progress there.)

I did call her back, though, and when I hung up I was in tears. Flooding alligator tears. I was crying not over my vulnerability or the fact that Coworker Girls 1, 2, and 3 were prying into my life. I was crying because - bear with me here....this was a real revelation - people actually cared.

It never occurred to me that perhaps people actually cared. How sad is that? I've actually lived in a place where the truth could only be that people only asked about me because they wanted to talk about me. I've lived in a place where I was invisible, and where no one was ever legitimately worried about me.

I can never explain to you how lonely that place was, and how bad I feel now for not allowing other people to love me. I've gotten so many phone calls and text messages and emails from people who have heard it through the grapevine that I wasn't feeling well. I've heard so many times that people were just "calling to check on me," and have had so many offers to do something to help. I've felt awkward about it, and weird, and though I honestly haven't needed anything from anyone, I really don't know if I could have asked anyone to do anything because honestly, I didn't trust their motives. I felt weak if I asked for help, vulnerable if I told them I was struggling, and exposed if I talked it out with anyone. On the phone with another friend today, though, I realized that it would probably mean the world to her if she could help. I didn't know that. When people have said, "I'll do whatever I can to help," I heard, "You're weak. If you let me do something to help you, I'll see you as weak and make sure other people do, too."

Incredible.

If I had to have this happen to get it, I'll accept that. I don't know if this is why God brought me to this struggle or if this is simply a by-product, but I'll take it.

You know, I kept praying on my way to the doctor yesterday saying that I trust God and that I know He wouldn't drag me through this if it wasn't necessary.....and I believe that. I really do. There's a reason for this. Like it or not, God's doing something in me through this, and because He is good even when things don't make any sense, I trust Him.

And, should He offer to help me or express His divine concern for me, I'll believe it's out of love that He does so.

Same goes for that sweet kitty cat in the picture above.

Lukewarm Porridge

The average church is so lukewarm that you have to backslide to be in fellowship.

I heard that in a sermon on the radio this morning, and it floored me.