Hymns

I had awful post-partum depression with my first babe.  Fear and self-doubt shrouded the joy of new motherhood with their lies.  For months, I hid the misery until I couldn't stuff it anymore.  Then, tentatively, I started to share it with people.  At the time, I was attending BSF, the John class.  When I hinted at the torture I was going through, my discussion leader suggested I sing hymns.  That advice became a lifeline and in the dark of the night when the voices threatened to overwhelm me, I would go into the bathroom and weep and cling to those hymns as a drowning man clutches a life ring.  I would stand on the promise that God inhabits the praises of His people (Ps 22:3), and in desperation lift those ancient words.  And the voices would fade and peace would return and I began to heal.*

As I read Ann Voskamp's post for today, I was reminded of that time and of the wealth of truth and comfort and strength found in these songs.  Songs written by brothers and sisters of faith who struggled and ached and broke and proved the faithfulness of their God.






*Please know that I am not suggesting that hymns can cure PPD, although they were incredibly instrumental in my healing.  PPD is a serious condition and can require counseling, medication, and/or professional help.  Please do not hesitate to pursue such avenues.  There is no shame in seeking help.

Cheer Up!

I've been overwhelmed the past couple days. My to-do list is lengthy, my prayer list longer. Many of the needs are weighty, serious. Some seem like I've been laying them at His feet for ions. My heart throbs with impatience, longing to see an answer, wondering how much longer I have to plead. Yes, God has granted peeks at answers, literal "glimmers of hope" to remind me that He hasn't forgotten, that He's still at work. But for whatever reason those glimmers have dulled and keep slipping from the forefront of my mind where they ought to be.

Last night I hit the breaking point. Funny how it's the little things that push me over the edge. The pup -- yeah that cute little thing from a couple posts ago -- decided to dig in the mud at bedtime, track it all over my new carpet, and initiate a rousing game of keep away when I tried to hose off his feet. I thought labs were supposed to like water ... ? Someone forgot to tell Koa. As I knelt and scrubbed carpet, my eldest, who should have been fast asleep, softly crept next to me and told me to close my eyes and open my hands. I resisted the urge to tell her I wasn't in the mood and send her back to bed. Instead, I complied and felt a piece of paper fall lightly into my palm. On my knees, emotional, I opened my eyes and saw evidence of a child who hadn't yet considered sleep. Instead she had been making a card.

Dear Mommy,

Cool down, I love you.

I hope you feel better in the morning.

You know, have a fresh start. :-)

I love you lots,

A----

Of all my children, this is the one I fight to understand. She is an anomaly to me and we have had our share of duels. In my struggle to relate to her, I haven't always been nice. (Or I could say, in our struggle to relate to each other we haven't always been nice.) I get frustrated, impatient, desperate for simple obedience without the constant questioning the brilliant mind she got from her daddy demands. Her compassion, empathy, concern for this undeserving mama humbled me. No, that's not completely accurate. It simultaneously warmed and broke my heart.  Grace does that.  Is mom-guilt part of the gig? Does it have to be? I'm not particularly a fan. If I could just achieve perfection, it wouldn't be an issue, but alas, I can't seem to get there!

Sometimes I read Peter's promise that "love covers a multitude of wrongs" (1 Peter 4:8) and it seems too good to be true. That there can't be enough grace to cover the days that I'm rotten. Tender moments like last night make me think that maybe there is. That maybe my kids know, despite my tantrums and faults and failures, how much I love them. That just possibly, by God's grace, I'm doing something right and they are learning to look beyond themselves, love, empathize, forgive. Huh. Maybe in that little card that now hangs on my refrigerator, God was giving me another glimmer of hope. A message to remind me He's still working.

Paper Snowflakes

I have these paper snowflakes hanging from the chandelier over my dining room table. They are tiny, delicate, delightful.  And they remind me of my mum.  When I was pregnant with #3 and the hospital was too full to induce and babe had no intention of forcing their hand by coming on her own, I was restless. It's amazing the things you have time for when it hurts to move and your body is swollen past what seems to be the bursting point. So we entertained ourselves with jigsaw puzzles and answering strangers' "when are you due" questions (their alarmed "oh no is she gonna deliver right here" reactions were great!)...

...And cutting snowflakes.  My mom, my eldest, and I.  Three women, three pairs of scissors, three kinds of snowflakes.  Some boxy and awkward from little hands still learning the art of handling scissors.  Mom's, lacy and small and beautiful.  And mine, ever so wanting to be like mom's but never quite losing the squarish look of a grammar school snowflake.

As I glance at the intricate paper slowing spinning above my table, I am lonely. I miss the camaraderie and companionship of doing something as simple as snipping snowflakes together. I'm disappointed that distance prevents us from enjoying such activities.  The longing makes me ponder days gone by when ladies would gather around a big farm table and quilt and chatter. Or can the harvest and chatter. Or whatever ... and chatter. See, while I like the handiwork, it's the chatter I miss, long for. I was reading one of Ann Voskamp's recent blog entries about generations gathered around a sewing machine and that same yearning nerve was touched.

Doesn't it seem like the Titus 2 thing would happen so easily in such a setting?  That the younger women would naturally learn from the older?  That not only would the art of keeping a home be handed down, but that that big comforting table and the ladies around it would offer wisdom and respite and reassurance for the young mom, whose quiver is full not only of kiddos but laundry and interrupted sleep and middle of the night self-doubt.

Somewhere with all our women's rights and equality, we've lost something valuable. While we were fighting for equal rights and recognition and gaining the opportunity to pursue dreams once unreachable, we abandoned the days of gathering over fabric and needles, wood stoves and canning jars.  The super-woman complex was born, and we proved we could do it all and do it better.  And we walked away from the support and camaraderie of that big table.  

I desperately wish we could find our way back.

A Girl's Best Friend

I sat down to blog about something completely different, but I ran across this pic and had to brag about this guy who's stolen my heart.

As an only child, my siblings were my two dogs. Unlike true siblings, though, there was no rivalry; we were best pals. I remember as a little tyke, perched on the deck in my back yard, ice cream cone in hand, between my two terriers. I'd take a lick, pass to the right, take another lick, pass to the left. Doesn't get much better than that!

When my husband and I got married, I knew we needed a dog. 12 years, 3 kids, new furniture, and lots of hemming and hawing later, we finally got one. By then I was hesitant. I still wanted a faithful side-kick, but was fully aware of the work the new family member would bring (and was mindful of my long-anticipated new furniture!). Not for a minute did I believe all the "but mo-0-0-0-0-m, I'll do all the work. I'll clean poop and walk him and feed him and and and..." I knew when we got a dog I needed to be ready for a fourth kid. It took watching #1's grief after the death of her frog to convince me it was time.

It might sound funny, but I immediately started praying. I don't deliberate well. Once I make a decision, I'm full speed ahead, let's get this thing done. I accomplish a lot with this mindset, but I also have a tendency to run ahead of God. With last winter's depression and overwhelmedness still fresh in my mind, I did not want to get wrapped up in the romanticism of a new puppy and miss a possible "wait" whisper from God. So I prayed and looked at newspaper ads. Long story short, we found a breeder that had pups available. And a short few weeks later we brought home a 10 pound yellow fluff ball we named Koa. Isn't he the handsomest thing you've ever seen!

Thoughts

My errand list was lengthy this morning as my eldest and I set out to see how much we could accomplish.  It was the kind of day that begs to be filled with old movies, apple cider, and cozy blankets.  The rain has been coming down so hard the last couple days, the pup of the house takes a look outside and opts out of his daily walk.  And he's a Lab.  A water dog.

Anyway, we had things we needed to get done before Thursday's holiday, so off we went.  We hadn't gotten far when we came upon a woman clad in rain gear poking something in the standing water that poured over the road.  At first glance, both DD and I assumed her cane was stuck in the puddle.  I pulled over and hopped out, thankful for my Columbia jacket.  (There is a reason Columbia is an Oregon company.)  As I approached the woman and offered my assistance, I realized she was trying to clear the storm drain.  The fallen leaves had successfully blocked off nearly all water flow to the drain, causing the small lake over the road.  As we stood in the rain talking, I was shocked by how many people drove by with little care for us there on the edge of the puddle.  Car after car didn't so much as slow down or widen their berth around us to avoid splashing us.  As car spray splattered me, I commented on their actions.  "Oh they think it's funny," she explained.  She went on to tell me that every year the drain gets plugged and every year, she's out there with her shovel to clear it.  She's concerned that if she doesn't, drivers will hydroplane and get into accidents.  Ironically, these drivers who she is concerned about and willingly getting drenched to help are the same ones who carelessly pass by with little thought for the wave of water their cars throw at her.  The kicker of the conversation was when she told me in the 10 years she's lived at that house, I'm the first person to stop to offer to help.

I returned to the car dismayed.  How could ten years go by with no one stopping to help this woman?  Have we really become so self-centered as a culture?  Granted, I know I can be as self-focused and oblivious as the best of 'em.  And I know that in many situations, women especially need to be cautions from a safety standpoint.  But there was nothing threatening about this situation.  Nothing that would cause a person to pause and wonder if it was unwise to offer assistance.  Nope, from my standpoint, all evidence pointed to dozens of self-absorbed, rushing people.

The situation afforded an awesome opportunity for conversation with my daughter.  I have harped and nagged at the kids to think about how their actions affect others.  To slow down long enough to consider how someone else is feeling.  To develop empathy.  As I related the woman's and my conversation to my daughter, she was able to see why I've been hounding them.  She gained a firsthand knowledge of the value of service and the cost of self-centeredness.  And I was thrilled to see her believe that God had wanted her to come with me to be a part of that experience.  She even excitedly planned to buy a card, thanking the woman for being considerate!

Ironically, as we went on our way, I found myself fighting to slow down and practice what I'd been preaching.  Stores were crowded, traffic was obnoxious, people were feeling rushed, and that panicked holiday spirit permeated the air.  Isn't it sad that the one time of year folks should be more joyful and charitable and gracious is actually the scariest time of the year to leave the house?  My desire is that this little moment in a busy day will serve as a valuable kick-off to my holiday season.  That rather than becoming caught up in the rush and panic, I will slow down, smile, extend grace.  As my daughter and I agreed, what better way is there to share Jesus, than to have your actions stand out from others'.  Sometimes it's hard to know how to do that.  I daresay a smile and common courtesy may be a good place to start.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Blue Skies, Gray Skies, and Learning to Trust

I think I live in the wrong place.  While it seems laughably obvious, I had some sort of epiphany this summer.  Allow me to backtrack a bit.  We had an odd summer.  In reality, we had one week, maybe two, of true summer, (true summer consisting of 85+ degree days that begin with the bright sun bursting through the blinds in the morning, and end with deliciously warm nights).  The rest of the summer months more closely resembled really nice spring days --- cool cloudy mornings, sun emerging late afternoon with just enough time left in the day to push the mercury to 74.  Don't get me wrong, I like 74, but 85 energizes my soul and makes me giddy.  Ninety degrees is even better.

My epiphany arrived the first part of August along with the stores' fall/winter lines.  As if on cue, friends and acquaintances began mentioning the fall chill in the air.  Fall chill?  How could we have a fall chill when we never had a summer sweat?  (I struggle to maintain my gracious Christian attitude when people speak excitedly of fall chills.)  It was one weekend when I had an unusual amount of people mention their anticipation of the winter rain that I realized I was not designed to live in the Pacific Northwest.  That rather than all these people being really strange to love rain, maybe I was the strange one for being here.  I realized God created this section of the world for people who actually like gray and wet.  If He put an ounce of such appreciation within me, I have yet to find it.  I appreciate the greenery the rain affords.  I tell myself I wouldn't have the green without the rain, and then I see places like Hawaii that feature both sun and green and figure the two do not have to be mutually exclusive.

For those who have never experienced anything resembling Seasonal Affective Disorder, all my whining may seem like a bunch of hooey.  For those of us who feel like Eeyore when the sky turns gray and quickly resemble Tigger if the sun peaks through, the oppressiveness of nine months of gray skies is overwhelming to say the least.

The epiphany, coupled with my current study of 2 Corinthians, inspired my quest to make peace with my current setting.  Granted, we could pack up the family and move.  That is an option.  And if God says to move someplace tropical, I won't argue.  (Although if I step back and honestly assess the situation, I have to admit it would be incredibly hard for me to leave the support system and friendships I have established here.)  But, I'm increasingly aware that I need to be content where God has placed me.  And that means not whining about gray skies and rain.  That maybe (gasp, shudder, shake my head in denial), just maybe, I can be at peace with gray.  I know God could even get me to the point that I like the wet stuff, but that seems almost like I'd be betraying myself, so my goal at this point is peace. :-)

As I've read about Paul's life - his travels, heartaches, trials, persecutions - his faith and trust in God's sovereign plan for his life has convicted me.  He embraces weakness and rejoices in affliction for it affords him the opportunity to boast in God's strength.  He believes God's strength is perfected in weakness, and he truly sees difficulties as opportunities to watch God work.  I want to be like that.  When I wake up on dark, gray, gloomy mornings and would prefer to return to dreamland under my cozy covers, I instead want to bounce out of bed with thankfulness on my lips and excited anticipation to see God's handiwork in my day.  I want to bloom where God has planted me, focusing on His abundant goodness rather than the color of the sky.  I want to trust that He has put me here for a reason, even if it is "just" for me to become more dependent on Him.

Last night my kids and I watched Disney's Johnny Appleseed.  Do you remember the song?  I sang it in elementary school and Girl Scouts.  It's very simple, but sometimes wisdom resides in the simple.

Oh the Lord is good to me,

And so I thank the Lord,

For giving me the things I need,

The SUN and the RAIN and the appleseed.

The Lord is good to me.

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