But I do it for the love

I recently had the opportunity to live unplugged for almost two weeks.  We will call it an opportunity, although when the disconnection began, it felt like anything but.

I consider myself a fairly evolved human being.  Intelligent, on most days.  My education is well rounded, some of which I actually remember.  I never realized how dumb doing 100 things at once has made me.  At any given time, I have my laptop, my cell phone, my tablet and either the television with a game or music on.

Our brains were not designed to deal with so many different stimuli at one time.  My pride at being a multi-tasker simply means this - I am mediocre at doing lots of activities.  I have lost the capability to give one thing all of my attention, unless I absolutely need to.

No wonder I've been exhausted, overrun, overwrought.  Anxious, despondent and furiously pissed are all accurate descriptions.  Done, most days.

Amazing things happened when I had to refocus.  I read, a lot, just like I normally do.  I wrote, almost unceasingly, and well.  I listened.  I started remembering things I had forgotten I ever even knew.  I sat, quietly, peacefully.  I watched the world around me and I gave thanks to the Lord for it.  I heard exactly what He had been trying to tell me and I understood it with a clarity that took my breath away.

I saw the sun rise, I saw it set, I watched storms ebb and flow.  And I knew, without having to over think and analyze, that life is good and worth living.  I let others help where I could not and worked on what I could control.

Since I've been home, I am easing back in to the technology tentatively.  The overwhelming urge to turn everything on at once is a hard habit to break.  But the truth is, I don't need to obsess myself with the news.  I don't need to know who had what for breakfast or which kids are perfect, still.  I will pick and choose what I expose my brain to and hopefully keep remembering the things I already know.

There is hope in simplicity, in remembering.

And I know that those who love me, remember that.  I count on it.

Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace

It's been quite a week, hasn't it?  Like most of us, I have run the gamut of emotions.  Fear, anger, hopelessness, anxiety and a feeling of unease, to name a few.  I've watched the news ad nauseam.  I've been even more of a Twitter addict than normal.  Who me, obsess?

I have another emotion that leaves me both confused and somewhat peaceful.  That is pity.  As I am disgusted and horrified by a teenage boy and his barely older brother who could commit such an atrocity, I also pity them.  Maybe it was compounded by the image of a bleeding, most definitely scared fugitive hiding in a backyard boat, after most likely contributing to another death - his brother.  Certainly it is the youthful countenance of this individual.  But why pity?  Who deserves pity after such a week?  Truth is, everyone.  For the same reason everyone is demanding the preservation of his rights under our legal system, I feel this sense of pity.

Mikey and I spent Monday afternoon finally able to sit down and watch Zero Dark Thirty together.  As the movie begins, there is a dark screen with snippets of 911 calls and messages from 9/11.  Every time I watch 9/11 related media, I am struck by how much anxiety the sights and sounds can still provoke in me.  This movie was no different.  We got to the part of the movie where they are ready to move on Osama bin Laden when we had to stop the movie, Bay was on his way home.  I grabbed my tablet and went online and saw what had just recently transpired in Boston.  Immediately, I felt dread.  Deep seated, "oh no, not again" dread.  I am sure most of us felt that, to some extent.  The feeling of what next is something that 9/11 made inherent in my nature.

Here's where things are different than they have been in my past though...after the initial 24 hours I knew I didn't have to be afraid, that God does not want us to live our life in fear.  I followed the story hour by hour with everyone else and grieved with the city of Boston, the mothers of children lost far too young.  As the attempt to flee by the suspects played out on before our eyes on TV and the facts became known regarding these individuals, of course we wonder why?  There may never be those answers, unfortunately.  And please, don't misunderstand my pity for anything other than what it is.  I firmly believe this individual should be tried and face the justice system.  But as a mother and the woman that I am, I can't help but wonder how these boys got to where they did.

So I pray for our country, I pray for the people of Boston, I pray for justice.  I will also pray for the mothers of those lost...all of them.  I leave you with a quote from the pastor of our church from a sermon I listened to today - the radical and scandalous nature of grace is that is available to everyone.  (Thanks Pastor Jamie!)  I will not let this harden my heart.

My scars remind me that the past is real

Oh, poor neglected blog.  How you have been abandoned in a frenzy of misplaced spring fever intermingled with the never ending snow showers, basketball madness and an cacophony of untamed thoughts.  I have found it a much safer option to journal my non-nonsensical nonsense in one of the many journals I keep stashed around the house than to try to compile them into, well, sense.  Which means the work on my writing project - I struggle to call it a novel, not quite there yet - has been incredible.  The more I can't communicate with others, the more I communicate with myself?  Fantastic.  I already communicate with fictional creatures and animals, what's the difference?  (My dog talks to me.  Sorry, if yours does not.)

Yesterday was a day of almost uninterrupted sunshine.  And as I peeked out of my office window, I could see little shoots of green just beginning to show themselves on the hedges outside.  Green, people!  The color of hope!  In this time of rebirth and renewal, just that tiny sliver of what will be is comforting.

You see, I need that renewal.  I crave it.  There are days that I feel it so clearly in everything that  I do, every step that I take forward and don't listen to that voice in my head, telling me, "turn back, you can't do this!".  But there has been something in this long, cold winter that wears on my soul.

I have been reminiscing as well (gee, you?  Yeah, I know).  Last year, the week before Easter was one very different than this one.  And I can say with great clarity that *I* was a very different person.  The struggle with hard, dark thoughts was my security blanket last year, not something I am now desperate to shake off.  Believing another spring would never come was my future, not my past.  Now, I sit comfortably on my couch, listening the cabin fever crazed kids outside play dodge ball, despite the not so warm temperature.  I take comfort in the sights and sounds around me, I feel thankful for the day I have had.  Despite a level of anxiety writing this post, my most pressing emotions involve how long I can stay up to watch the late basketball game and what to have for dinner.

Oh, but last year.  Last year as spring was flourishing in earnest and the faithful were preparing for Sunday, I was in a cold, impersonal hospital room having a life or death struggle within myself.  Wondering exactly how it was that I had come to be here.  Wondering if I was well enough to leave, or would be.  Months, years of spiraling behavior combined with rampantly untreated mental illness had come together in the worst of ways. And there I sat.  Alone with my thoughts, again.

This, my friends, is not my story today.  My scars exist, both physically and mentally, and I will bear them for the rest of my days on this earth.  But in this time of rebirth, I am leaving it behind.  I am not that Shan, not any longer.  There is no changing my past, but those sins, that multitude of twisted, unimaginable sins, are forgiven.  I know that they are forgiven.  Only recently have I come to also know that I can let them go, hard as I cling to them.

My story today is that in that worst of times, I found the brightest of lights and the most comforting of hands grab me and pull me out of the muck.  As I cowered in the corner of that hospital room there it was.  A voice that told me, Enough.  Enough of this.  It is time to get up, and learn to walk again in a different way.  On a different path.  This was not a voice I was unfamiliar with, I hope everyone understands that.  But it may as well have been, because it reached me in a way it never had before.  I'm sure everyone has heard that the Lord sometimes needs to bring you to your lowest to build you back up again and for me, that was absolutely true.  All the times before that I thought were the lowest, ha!  Those were pansy practice sessions.  They built upon each other until the weight was too much, until I broke into a million pieces..

But because there is forgiveness for sin, because there is redemption, I was pulled out by my hair, dragged, kicking and screaming.  I will never forget that time, because it makes me who I am, but most importantly I will never forget that it is a gift freely given, this love and grace.  I don't have to dwell.

This Easter was one of great joy from me.  Unlike last year where I sat in a back pew softly crying, having made my husband take me less than 24 hours after getting out of the hospital, I sat in the front.  Yes, there were still tears, but they were a different sort of tears.  They were a triumphant, joyful, loving and hopeful sort of tears.  Among the gifts I have received in the last year include healing, understanding, forgiveness, a renewal (and saving, really) of my marriage and a another shot at living the life that I was made in HIS image to lead.  This is nothing in comparison to the gift that has been given to all of us.

Love your family today my peeps.  (No, not those peeps.  Those are nasty)

And miles to go before I sleep..

It's March!  You wouldn't know it from the temperature and what seems like endless flurries around these parts, but the calendar and my basketball Spidey senses tell me it is true.  What is it about February that is such a giant drag?  The shortest month of the year feels like the longest to me.  Maybe it has to do with the post-holiday hangover, maybe it is just the waiting and anticipation for spring.  Of course, it's arbitrary - but I always feel a little better when I can flip that page to March.

Things have been unsettled for us lately.  It puts me in a funk and frankly, I don't like it.  I crave my routine and until I have that firmly under control again, I suspect I will remain cranky and just..off.  A couple more weeks at most, I am assured.  I apologize to anyone who comes into contact with me in the meantime.  I don't mean to be a grumpy old lady, I promise.

We recently passed our THIRD anniversary of leaving New Mexico and embarking on our big adventure to the unknown.  Three years.  Absolutely does not seem like that much time has past and yet, life now is nearly unrecognizable to that period of our existence.  Every single day brings new and positive change and I marvel at how God is working in our family.  But the day that we decided to pack all of our belongings into our old car and travel 2000 miles to a place I had never been, that day we were a disaster.  I will say a functional disaster, if you count breathing and existing as functioning.  How things never completely fell apart before then, I really have no idea.  Somehow, we left.  I remember anxiously wanting to pass state lines, to increase the mileage.  We stopped infrequently, despite the fact that the then 4 year old little man was packed like a sardine in the backseat, wedged in between hastily thrown in clothes and other odds and ends we decided not to leave behind.

Three days later, we ventured across the last state line into Kentucky and I can remember looking out into the snow covered landscape and wondering "what have we done?"  No turning back, no possibilities or bridges still standing behind us, we were here and we were committed.  Looking back now, I'm not positive I ever thought we would be here long, though I don't know what I thought we do as an alternative.  We were broke.  Even more than that, we were broken.  The lesson was learned through that period that running away is rarely an effective fix.  Issues tend to follow close behind and come back with a vengeance.  And they did, but that is only a small part of the story now.  Oh, it was everything back then, absolutely all encompassing.  Isn't it amazing how perspective can change?

In those three years, I almost always get the same response when I tell people where we moved from.  "Why?"  No one understands why we would make such a dramatic move, and to a place like this.  Here's the thing they don't understand - we love it here.  I came with an open mind and that attitude paid off.  I'm not sure this part of the country - Midwest, Upper South, Ohio Valley, whatever you choose to call it - is what you would expect, if you have never had the pleasure of visiting.  Frankly, I'm not sure what I expected.  It's cold in the winter.  It snows.  Sometimes into March, which can grow old quickly.  But when spring comes, oh my.  The flowers sprout, flowers I'd never seen in nature before.  The trees bud and oh, those trees.  I have a near unhealthy love for all of those green trees.  They grow thick and dense and when they are at their fullest, it's like a jungle, unpenetrable.  No, there are no mountains, at least where we live.  What there are in abundance are green rolling hills, beautiful and everywhere.  Spring is mild, the temperatures start cold (we are hoping for the 50's for Opening Day this year, which is April 1st) and don't really warm up until late May.  Summer is hot.  And humid, which is obviously a change for us.  Fall seems like it will never come but when it does, it's almost as magical as spring for me.  Colors changing, temperatures cooling off, football, playoff baseball, it's as prototypical as fall can possibly get.

My love affair with all things Cincinnati Reds is well documented, but as it happens in this story, the baseball experience is one of my favorite things about living here.  We are a small market team with fiercely passionate fans. Think Mikey and I fit right in?  People are all about sports here.  Another part of that is that we are firmly planted in the middle of college basketball heaven.  I can't possibly explain University of Kentucky basketball fans.  Despite the fact that we live 5 miles or less from Cincinnati, our area is definitely Kentucky.  You will know this by the omnipresent blue, wherever and whenever.  This is a fanbase unlike any other and I will admit to having more than one chuckle on their behalf.  I can't help it, it's far too easy.

I realize as I sit down to write out what I have been  ruminating over in my head for the last week that I could really go on and on.  Truly, I could work on the tourism board.  I remember the first time the kids came out, I was so proud and excited to show them as much possible.

One of my favorite spots, Newport (on the KY side) looking over the Ohio River to Cincinnati

I'm not sure they shared my enthusiasm on every little thing, but there was definitely more to do than they were used to.  So who wants to come visit next?  I promise to only show you the fun stuff.

Regardless of where we came from and why we came, I can say with certainty that this move was the best for us.  When I am asked if we will ever move back, the answer isn't no, obviously I have no way of knowing what God has in store for us in the future.  But I can say that we are not actively looking to leave here.  We struggled and fought hard to get to where we are now.  So I may moan and complain about another snowstorm, but then I remind myself of everything that I love, that God has given us in our life here, and I just grab another blanket and relax.  While watching a University of Cincinnati vs University of Louisville game, of course.

A Hazy Shade of Winter

I know we all have those periods of time in life where it feels like it's all we can do to pull ourselves together, throw together simple mono-syllabic responses and trudge through our daily life.  Luckily for most of us, those times are few and far between, but for us girls, this may also be accompanied by a raging desire to fight with someone for no reason or eat an entire tub of mint chocolate chip.

But what about when that feeling persists, becomes a squatter in your life?  I admit, I almost always panic.  The thoughts rush, the anxiety sets in and I'm already planning out how best to prepare the boys for my next foray into breakdown-ville.  We've had a series of challenges around here the last couple of weeks, and my thoughts have gone there.  I've been sleeping too little (on the couch, long story, but not so comfortable), having far too many nightmares and generally just surviving, not a whole lot of living.  I really had not understood how important routine has become to me in the last 9 months or so.  Routine or goal-oriented would hardly be a description most would use for me, and I accept that.  However, faced with routine disruption on an extended level really has me out of whack.

Slowly, I have made things part of my day that were not on the agenda before, so to speak.  Reading in the morning and before bed.  Studying, learning, absorbing.  Writing.  I have a journal by me at all times that I jot  things down in - ideas, quotes, prayers, links.  When I looked at my journal tonight, I realized the last entry was over a week ago.  My crafting, as silly as that sounds.  It calms me.  I developed a love for doing origami last spring, which always gives me and my sister a giggle.  Go fold your paper, you will feel better!  It's time for macrame in the rec room!  Really though, give it a try.  You might be surprised at how calming it can be.  Knitting, always.  My 2 projects have barely progressed this week.  See?  My routine, as small and seemingly inconsistent as it may be, settles me.  It helps me take a step back and refocus.  And at this point, those gorgeous colorwork mittens I have sitting next to me might be ready when it's 90 out and I'm ready for fall.

And then of course...we have this.

God, all of your world and its creations are beautiful, things to be awed over.  Some days the beauty of the winter sky are breathtaking.  Then there are other days where I check the tree branches once or twice to see if maybe, possibly, that might be a bud that I see?  Could it be?  Oh, how I love my green trees.  And is it a ray of sunshine I see poking through?  I am starting to long for spring.  Much as I long to be a new, growing creation.

So for now, I will force myself back into the routine, mentally check myself out of breakdown-ville, watch the first Spring Training game on TV tomorrow (!!) and enjoy the ice storm. :)

Your time is gonna come

I am having a bit of an identity crisis this week.  I don't know if it is too much introspection, too much reflecting or just my over-active brain spinning ceaselessly.  But the reality is that my brain will continue to do so and I will continue to be me and the questions I have still remain.

For so very long, I have defined myself by my past.  That's not unusual, certainly.  My problem lies in the staying in the past, defining myself by the wrongs that were done and the hurts that resulted - either by me to myself or what I perceive was done to me.  I can say that having that mindset for most of my life, coming to this conclusion was painful for me.  Continues to be.  That sounds ridiculous, right?  Sounds like therapy 101 and obviously I have had plenty of that.

It comes down to a simple truth.  I don't feel worthy.  It doesn't matter how much I read, how much I learn, how much I'm told over and over again that my sins are forgiven.  I can't forgive myself.  I try and try and sometimes I feel it, right there on the cusp, that glorious feeling of freedom from the burdens I have carried for so long.  But the doubts still creep in and whisper in my ear, "not you.  you have done too much."  I know that whisper.  Oh how I scream at that whisper, hate it.  That talk has no place in my life, in my soul.  Most days I can banish the whisper and find comfort in knowing that I am worthy.  I literally feel the weight lifting and I take deep, long, cleansing breaths.  I feel the Spirit filling me up until I am almost giddy.

This week I have been burrowing deeper and deeper trying to find respite from the thoughts.  I do not want to be known by my past.  I am so much more than mental illness, divorce, broken relationships, that ONE mom who left her kids behind.  I am more than suicide attempts, nervous breakdowns, addictions and failed careers.  I am Shan who is pulling it together and who can safely leave that past Shan behind...can't I?  Each day I grow and learn and thrive in His love.  I see that I was made for so much more, that I have so much to give - in His glory, for Him.

I know that the struggles are still many, and I know for a fact that I am not alone.  Despite the past, I see the future and it is more beautiful than I could have imagined.  What I long for most right now is to not cheapen the relationship I have found with the Lord with my doubts.  I know He is faithful.  All I can do is trust in that with all of heart and soul.  My past can stay right where it is.  

Look at them yo-yo's, that's the way you do it...you play the guitar on the MTV

A conversation with Mikey today reminded me of something that has been on my mind for the past few months. We were in a setting this morning where the topic of spending time together as a couple was discussed, including hours worked.  Afterwards, he admitted to me that he didn't want to discuss where he worked with the group.  This resonates so strongly with me, I hurt for him.  This is something I have struggled with for years.  Why does a job or a career have to define who you are as a person?  I grew up with this mindset, make sure you get the best education possible so that you can have a fabulous career.  I'm not sure where it even stemmed from, looking back.  But it was there, front and center.  If you have this standard to live up to in your head, isn't the opposite true?  If you don't have a fabulous career, then your life is somehow...less.  I have the education.  I *had* the jobs, I was working on it.  Life happened, I got divorced with 3 kids under the age of 5 to take care of and I had to get a flexible job making as much money as I could.  I went back to serving, it provided for my family.  Once I was in a stable enough place to try to get back on a career path, the jobs just weren't there for me.  That's a tough pill to swallow, but it's reality.  It's a  lot easier to hire and pay a new college graduate than it is to take a chance on a mom in her 30-somethings.

I have a job now that I really love.  A job that is perfect for my life and the restrictions I have with life and family.  Is it a career?  It could be.  But here's the thing - I don't NEED it to be, not anymore.  While I had the career-type jobs, I wasn't happy.  I was making money.  I was working.  I wasn't in the field I always imagined myself to be in, but I had myself convinced this was what was expected of me, so it was what I had to do.  I went in to college very idealistic and very, very naive.  I made poor choices, mostly based on boys. I admit it.  Regardless, the choices were made and the outcome was a hastily put together degree in something I had zero interest in.  Sounds like a recipe for success, eh?  I did attempt to make the dream of going to law school a reality, but I chose a different path.  I refuse to regret this path, as it gave me my children in the end.

So here I am.  Working, to work.  Pride makes me struggle with this, because I do worry about what other people think of me.  Fact is, most of my friends growing up who I still love and adore do have those fabulous careers.  It's only human nature to wonder what if.  That "what do you do for a living?" question is dreaded, because I think that people from my past are secretly shaking their collective heads, wondering "what happened to her?  she used to be so smart."  I've heard it from people that are closest to me!  I've been told I'm underemployed on purpose, and just not trying.  These are hurtful things, but if I didn't have that pride, it shouldn't bother me....right?  So again, I ask, why does a career have to define us?  I would rather be defined as being a good mother, a good wife, a good sister, a good daughter.  Someone who cared about others and felt passionately.  Someone in love with the Lord.  Someone who refused to let what other people may or may not think about me alter how I feel about myself.

Truth is, my priorities have changed so much.  Things that used to matter, goals that I felt I could never reach, those are intrinsically unimportant.  I continue to evolve, to learn and to change how I approach every day and I couldn't scream this loud enough to those I love - it is absolutely freeing.  Giving up that pride holding on, making me feel inferior, it feels like letting go.

What my goals are now are simple - to make myself better.  Better at all those things I mentioned.  And there is no reason at all I can't explore doing the things that I love, because I think they are somehow inappropriate or inferior.  I am writing a novel.  THIS is something I have loved since I was big enough to hold a pencil - writing, books.  I was born to be a writer in some way.  I've also decided to open up an Etsy shop for next winter, that was I can use my knitting obsession for good, and not just a way to fill an OCD need.  ;)  If I decide to do whatever, it's fine.  Because I do not need to be defined by what I do for a living, but who I am for a living.