This is Day Five

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Today’s the fifth day post-surgery. (I had my stony gallbladder removed for those of you late to the ballgame.)

Today’s the day that I feel well enough to be annoyed with a sinus headache, but not quite well enough to “forget” that I had surgery. (I keep expecting to wake up and not have ANY soreness or pain.)

Today’s the day that I take a shower I actually enjoy, wear real clothes (…ahem…glorified pajamas), fix my hair, and smear a little makeup on.

Today’s the day when the thankfulness that I survived the whole ordeal meets the realization of the mortifying experience that is surgery. (I think I’ve lost count of the amount of people who have seen far too much of my skin at this point.)

Speaking of mortifying, today’s the day when I realize I’m still not over the fact that they shaved my stomach. SHAVED MY STOMACH. What am I, a she-wolf? I’m also not over picturing the horrifying image of being on the table assumedly wearing ONLY the old-person socks with skids they give you in outpatient prep (because that gown is never on you the same way as it was before you went in. Think about it. Or don’t. It’s horrifying.)

Today’s the day where I am able to actually do more than just look at my precious baby girl – all while holding a pillow over my stomach to lessen the blows that tend to come from a flailing 1-year-old.

Today’s the day that everything I was formerly amazed had gotten done in the four days post-move prior to surgery seems minimal and mentally I begin to make lists of what boxes need to be unpacked and what needs decorating.

Today’s the day I’m thankful – INSANELY thankful – for my mother who has essentially stepped in as me while I can’t pick up Elly and who watched football with me while Elly napped. There’s no replacement for her.

Today’s the day I start questioning how I’ve spent my recovery thus far. Should I have attempted to watch all the episodes of Downton Abbey? Should I have written 17 blog posts? Should I have read all the books on my Kindle? I haven’t done any of those things.

But mostly, today’s the day where I fear the future – how I’m going to find “normal” again, how I’m going to be able to do everything on my own again, and how on EARTH I’m ever going to be able to thank all the people that have helped, prayed, cooked, and blessed us during this time.

It’s a big day.

Rain

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I sent a text to Amy yesterday that said, “It can stop raining…”

I was metaphorically speaking in reference to the comment I’ve heard from just about everyone who knows our situation right now: “When it rains it pours.”

Yes, yes it does.

My dad’s sick. It’s not a secret anymore because basically anyone who sees him KNOWS something’s not right. While I’m on this topic, let me be perfectly clear about what exactly is going on. My dad is sick with liver disease, but it IS NOT, I repeat, NOT cirrhosis (especially not cirrhosis as most of us know it). It is PSC, or Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. Yeah, say that 5 times fast. It’s a long story how we got here, and it’s not a good thing on top of everything else he’s been through, and the toughest truth is that the only real treatment for it is transplant. So October 14 begins the likely arduous process of evaluation for transplant and all that comes with it. All I can say about that is THIS IS HARD and please pray.

We’re moving. This first and foremost requires a giant HALLELUJAH before anything else is even mentioned, so HALLELUJAH! However, moving is hard and this is the first time I’ve done it with a baby – one who has learned to climb stairs at lightning speed and can unpack a box like a CHAMP – so it’s a bit challenging. When we first went under contract with the sale of our house mid-August, everything stated that it would be an extended closing at the buyer’s request. Well, with some developments and changes in schedules, etc., closing dates began to be moved up a little at a time and suddenly we were signing an addendum that stated we would close by Oct. 4 – two weeks prior to what was formerly discussed. Ok, a little more stress, but still manageable. Then…

I’m having surgery. I’ll be bidding farewell to the ‘ole gall bladder after it almost tried to kill me on the last day of our trip to the mountains two weeks ago and threatens to do so just about every day since. So after some tests and confirmed “active” gallstones, surgery was recommended “sooner than later.” Sure. Why not. Let’s work in those dates among packing, moving, and closing and the outcome is that we move in 4 days. FOUR DAYS. I’ll have about 3 days to “settle in” to our new digs before surgery and then I’m pretty sure I won’t care what happens for about a week after that, so bring it on.

There are a host of other small ‘issues’ like mom and dad’s air conditioning going out and Michael’s infallible work schedule to name a couple, but in the big scheme of things, they’re not surgery. Because that would be absurd.

Probably no surprise, but it’s been a bit of a struggle to manage a “healthy” attitude in all of this – in fact, daily, sometimes MULTIPLE times daily, I have to remind myself the joy that has come with ALL of this and the unbelievable amount of blessings that have gotten us to this point. And when I say unbelievable, I mean it in every sense of the word. It’s been incredible to watch things fall into place like getting in with my preferred surgeon before he goes on vacation, being able to move in to our house early – the list is long. It’s overwhelmingly humbling. And it’s those small things that when a cranky baby or feeling like dirt prevent me from packing and threaten the joy that is this season, I cling to those blessings like a hawk and believe that He’s going to make a way, even if it’s just to get through the day.

So since I refuse for this to be an “oh, woe is me” post and while I tread lightly on the “bring it on” theory, I am going to claim the joy that is being given to us and take the bad with the good. And ask that you’ll remember us in your prayers if you get a chance.

Ok. Who Started It?

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My precious friend Amy posted this on her Facebook page yesterday:

You know, I’m a bit tired of the mom blogs telling me to surrender my guilt and be proud of the fact that I’m doing the best I can.   Actually, these blogs make me feel worse because they illustrate the fact that mom’s feel guilty about not making cute and healthy bento box lunches, gourmet meals for dinner, Pinterest styled homemade crafts and organic baby food.   I’m perfectly happy with the type of mom I’ve become and excited to see how I grow in the future.   I’m not competing with other moms I’m just being the best one I can be.  So please, mom blogs, quit trying to make me feel guilty for not feeling guilty about all the things you say I shouldn’t feel guilty for.

Pretty profound, right?

I’ve attempted for a long time to give my two-cents worth about this whole social media-driven parenting fiasco that is currently undermining ALL parenting for some time now, but just about the time I get the words to make sense or find an actual point to make, I hesitate, wondering if I’m just going to be thrown into the same category or if I’m just saying the same things 10,000 other people have already said in one way or another, so I just don’t. But the truth of the above statement is so literal and pure that it makes me want to scream that we’re all under so much pressure to begin with. So really, who started this mess? Who is responsible for the first comparison?

Kelly at Kelly’s Korner wrote about comparison today. Ironic. Scathes of other bloggers and statuses are starting to echo the same thing – that we all need to just be the parents we are and live life. It sounds to me like we’re all just sick and tired of trying to out-do one another – but how did we get here? Who started this all-out war on who’s better than who?

So, here’s my two-cents, for all the two shiny pennies it’s worth.

I truthfully believe that parenting has been warped by social media, yes – BUT, I don’t think that parents have changed all that much – it’s just PUBLIC now. Maybe I’m looking for something to blame (social media being the culprit here) but haven’t parents ALWAYS wanted the best for their children? To have the best things, to be the best at this or that? The only difference now is that there is an instant-speed method of promoting such thoughts. Parents have always bragged on their kids (and criticized other parents, for that matter), but it was on the sidelines of ballgames or at the grocery store. People don’t even actually talk at those places anymore because they’re too busy updating their Facebook with what’s going on at the game or asking if they should buy a cereal because it has artificial flavorings. (This fact is quite sad, but that’s a whole other issue.)

Yes, I posted pictures of my daughter’s first birthday, not for someone else to look at and say, “Hmmmph, my kid’s birthday was better/worse than that, so I must be/not be a good parent…” I did if for my own memory and for those that wanted to know. I think that was the original intent of children’s/parenting social media posts from the beginning, but it’s insecurity that got us all. ALL of us. Because let’s face it, there’s no more insecure place on the planet than being a parent. (Something else they didn’t tell you in the hospital before they sent you home with a baby.)

My point is, like Amy said, just parent. Just be you and be the best you for your kids so they can grow up and be the best version of themselves too. And like Kelly said, STOP comparing. If we’re constantly looking at the way others are parenting, that probably means we’re missing something our own kids are doing, so let’s not do that.

So We Partied

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Our precious Ellyson Rose, 

 We can’t believe it’s already time to celebrate your first birthday. We can’t believe the amount of joy that entered our lives a year ago that has only multiplied every day. We can’t believe our petite, helpless baby is quickly growing into a tall, independent toddler. And sometimes? We can’t believe we survived. 

 Your first year was filled with excessive fear and worry, episodes of trial and error, and lots of experimental parenting. We had a lot to learn. The first of which was that everything we thought we were prepared for was evidently just an exercise in silliness on our part. 

 In your sweet little state, you taught us more in a year than either of us had ever learned. We learned how to adapt to change quickly.  We learned that it’s a necessity to take one day at a time. We learned that our desires had somehow overnight morphed into only meeting your needs and wants. And while we’re still learning how to do most of those things on a daily basis, we didn’t need to learn that we could love more than we ever thought humanly possible. That was instant. 

 We have discovered that exponential joy can come in the smallest packages, the tiniest moments, the briefest breaths. We were elated every time we succeeded in a peaceful feeding, a clean diaper change, a smooth bedtime. We were heroes. Then we were humbled every time you had a tummy ache or had teeth coming in. We briefly put aside our hero capes and sometimes just cried with you until we could get to a better day, which always came. 

 We found a new meaning of trust – a trust that you showed us by being fully and completely dependent on us for everything. It’s that same trust that God expects of us and the only way we can be a good mommy or daddy is to trust in our heavenly father, daily. This is a life lesson that it took far too long for both of us to learn and pray you will see quickly the peace that can come from this trust. And be proud that you showed us that. 

 We treasure every precious moment with you and wish we could bottle up a little piece of you at every stage, just so we never forget anything. Our hearts overflow with these memories and burst at the anticipation of what’s to come. You light up our lives every single day and we don’t know how we were ever so blessed to be called your parents. 

But enough about us, today is YOUR day! 

So HAPPY BIRTHDAY to our feisty, kind spirited, beautiful-beyond-words baby girl! 

Love, Momma and Daddy

So we partied!

[We partied a little before Elly’s actual birthday. You know, because Duck Dynasty is going to be in town the weekend closest to her birthday, and heaven forbid we impede on that! :)]

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Why I Don’t Blog

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Well, I clearly  faintly do blog. I mean, I have a blog, so that’s something I suppose. But since any chance of ever actually being a blogger (other than doing some cathartic writing for me, myself, and I) flies out the window at the mere mention that I have a blog, I thought I might take a second to explain why I have a blog, but don’t blog.

1, I’m not disciplined.

Let’s call a spade a spade – I’m nothing if not undisciplined. This soaks into more areas of my life than I care to mention, but it’s probably most obvious in my role as a “blogger.” It’s a good thing I’m not getting paid to be consistent because I would be broke by now.

2, I have a toddler.

I know, I know. There are billions upon trillions of blogs out there that are run by moms – moms of a zillion children, single moms, working moms, blah blah blah. Having a child brings daily change. DAILY. I don’t do well with change to begin with, so trying to be consistent in something amidst constant change is just plain impossible sometimes. Especially when you’re me.

3, I have a love/hate relationship with my own writing.

I have what, 10 posts on here now since February? (Pretty good, in my book, ha!) But the real number of posts I have is about 35. I have tons of drafts that never get published because when I do actually sit down to write, it’s usually during nap time or before bed – fleeting amounts of time at best – so I leave them in draft form to come back to later to edit, tweak, etc. By the time I go back and reread most of the posts, I decide they’re too dumb, too cheesy, too long, too boring, too fill-in-the-blank and I never post them. This may be my biggest hang-up when it comes to blogging now that I think about it. I write when I’m passionate about something – IF I get the chance to write about it at all – and if the moment I was passionate about it passes, the ship is sunk. Whatever was so profound for me to actually sit down and take the time to write about has lost its luster and could likely remain in “draft-dom” forever.

4, There are so many other blogs that people are interested in, why bother?

Here’s where insecurity gets me. I read several blogs – probably only a small sampling of all that’s out there, but enough that I get my fill and mostly stay inspired to continue to make an attempt at it myself. But there are some blogs that I HATE. I mean, despise. Blogs, like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram (you get it) are a perfect way for people to become everything they’re not. Lying takes on a new, fashionable form as people ‘market’ themselves in their own little corner of the web. I can’t stand facades and don’t want to be part of a crowd that thrives on such. Life is actually perfect. When you’re a liar.

5, Most of what I write about would come across as extremely depressing because I write when I’m down.

Truth be told, my drive to write usually comes out of emotion, and often that emotion is not a happy place. This makes it very difficult to write with any sort of confidence because I don’t want to come across as whiny poor-pitiful-me, but sometimes writing is the only way to get whatever is dragging me down off my shoulders enough to see through it. I also feel obligated that if I’m sharing the negative that I need to share the positive too and I’m usually too busy enjoying the positive to sit down and write about just how wonderful something is. See the conundrum? No? Just me?

6, Current events are fleeting.

…and my feelings about them only seem relevant for a brief time. By the time I actually get around to writing about something current, it’s old news. Sure, I could join a chorus about the royal baby, about the latest celeb gossip, about the latest tragedy, and from time to time I have. But looking back, if someone were to read them today and hadn’t followed the story when it occurred, they would be totally confused as to why I was writing about a chick on the Bachelor who is old news now. I’m not a news reporter, people.

7, Procrastination and perfectionism are my worst enemies.

(I think this needs little explanation and has basically been summed up in points 1-6.) But it’s true. Look up the word “disaster” in the dictionary and it will say something along the lines of “wait a long time to do something, then try to make it perfect.” I should heed some good advice I read once – that doing something good is better than doing nothing perfectly.

8, I’m not “typical” in my blogging style.

Unless you count how horribly inconsistent I am – that does actually seem to be a trend among “bloggers.” But aside from that, I don’t have a purpose, a mission for my blog. It’s a place for me to write. That’s about it. Centralizing my blog on one particular thing is too daunting for me, so it’s not like a “cooking” blog or a “crafting” blog. Yes, I like to do those things and would sometimes like to share those things, BUT, limiting myself to ONLY those things is way too confining. Makes me nervous. I’m also horrible at posting pictures. (And even if I wasn’t horrible at posting pictures, I would have some concerns about sharing pictures anyway.) So that leaves very little reason for interest-garnering topics for this blog. “Hi, I’m Cissy. I have thoughts.” Not so interesting.

9, I write for an audience…that doesn’t exist.

Regardless of how hard I try to just write my thoughts – incoherent words, jumbled thoughts, long-winded prose – I still always “edit” trying to make my thoughts viable for someone else’s reading eyes. That’s missing the whole point of a blog if you think about it. I blame high school English for this rule that was beaten into me. “Write as if you know someone is reading…” Well, no one’s reading, so I can do whatever I want, right?

10, I have way too much self-doubt and self-promotion is not my forte.

I couldn’t sell water to a well. I’m not going to force-post my entries all over the place. I just want it to be what it will be and leave it at that. And then I wonder why I don’t have any readers. Or why I have a blog in the first place if I don’t have any readers. It’s a vicious cycle.

Nevertheless, here I am, typing away into oblivion. And I say all of this to say that I do plan on posting all of those “drafts” one day. Some of them are going to be worth the read. Others, well, there’s probably dumber things to read on the internet, so just be glad you supported a self-conscious half-blogger with your time.

Lightning Faith

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I wish I could say that the truth behind this title is that I have faith like lightning – strong, bright, powerful – but unfortunately I’m referring to the speed of lightning which is the best description for how quickly I lose (or abandon) my faith when times get tough, even just a little bit. It’s gone in a flash. Quick like lightning.

Case in point: Elly was up at 4:30am this morning, pretty much for good since she didn’t really go back to sleep until I got up at 5:30 and rocked her for a good hour and she may have dozed on and off for another 30-45 minutes or so until Michael was up getting ready for work and Dozer found something he absolutely had to howl about. Within that time, my mind went from being worried and lovingly concerned about whatever was plaguing Elly preventing her from sleeping to frustration and fear of what the day would be like after such a start to the morning. I was in a full blown meltdown by the time I took her downstairs for breakfast, vowing how much I hate Saturdays and how this one would be just as awful as many others.

Michael works Saturdays. EVERY Saturday. And a regular 5-day work week. So by the time Saturday rolls around, I’m pretty spent and would much rather be able to spend it with my family, like normal people, not having to treat it like another Monday or Wednesday. It just sucks and I hope that changes soon. And this week, because Memorial Day weekend is a huge weekend in the car business, he will be working Sunday too. Lovely, right? With my regular angst for Saturdays already in full swing, plus the way this day had started, I felt entitled to a meltdown, claiming that things must have just been going too well for my “normal” week to continue. I was mad. Mad at the circumstances, mad at myself for allowing my thoughts to control me, mad that yet again, I ultimately flung my faith out the window at the slightest bit of difficulty.

SO. WEAK.

For justification’s sake, I would like to think that this morning’s meltdown was a result of several troubling events/issues this week that I just ‘pushed through’ and that this morning was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. And while I’m sure that’s partially true, to me, it’s a rather puny excuse for immediately jumping to the worst possible scenario – that today was just following suit as a horrible Saturday where Michael wouldn’t get home until after 10pm, that Elly wouldn’t nap AT ALL, that I wouldn’t be able to get anything done, and that the world might in fact end as a result of all these things and I just couldn’t handle it. Defeated before I even give anything a chance. Shameful.

I’m constantly wrestling with this internal back-and-forth, willing myself to allow God to strengthen me, even in the small things, but I still fail too often. I’m hoping all these failures will eventually teach me something or grow me in some way and that the time lapse for me to stay calm will somehow lengthen.

My college roommate sent this to me a couple of weeks ago, and it’s all too appropriate for us, and I’m sure if I were ever a superhero, this would be my identity:

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Except my costume would have a giant lightning bolt on the front. More appropriate.

Reality

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I struggle with how to write about the stuff of life. Even in my own private journal, it’s hard to admit how I really feel because I know there are situations, circumstances, lives, so much WORSE. And while that is true, everyone’s reality is their own, complete with all it’s pain, joy, trials, and triumphs. I can accept that about everyone else’s lives, but I have a hard time accepting it about my own. Plus, as a Christian, I feel held to a certain standard that I’m not ‘allowed’ to talk negatively, that I’m supposed to only think, speak, or believe good things. And while there is some truth to that, the honest truth is that right now our reality is bleak.

I woke up to a flood of media updates of friends running in the various marathons in nearby cities this morning. It devastated me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t run to the mailbox and back without likely collapsing. I’ve been sick and housebound for a week, struggling with a respiratory and throat infection that should have been better in a few days, but evidently thanks to low iron and other deficiencies, I can’t recover as quickly as I should. At least that’s what I’m assuming to be the case, because there seems to be no other reason I have continually felt like dirt for 3 months now.

I’ve done everything I know how to improve – supplements, exercise, water, rest, more supplements, tests…nothing. And for someone who always needs and wants to know WHY, I’m not getting any answers there either. This anomaly has been blamed on childbirth – 8 months ago? That answer only spawns more questions, namely what do I need to do from here since I thought I was doing a good job ‘taking care’ of myself before? It’s so frustrating. And frustration with my health is the last thing I need.

We’re still waiting. Waiting for an answer to an almost 3-year problem. STILL waiting. I recently read that a Russian woman was imprisoned for 13 years (six of which was in solitary confinement) under Stalin’s reign, all for being a teacher. However, she makes the statement that the most difficult time in her life was NOT the horrendous suffering during years of imprisonment, but the three weeks of waiting prior to her arrest – that the uncertainty and anxiety such waiting poured over her heart while she waited for the “unknown” was pure torture. She said that “perhaps waiting for an inevitable disaster is worse than the disaster itself.”

I wholeheartedly agree. Torture.

Remember last March 2? We were expecting some pretty terrible storms – the weather genius Greg Forbes had issued an unprecedented Tor-Con index of a 10 for most of Kentucky and The Weather Channel was deploying their finest reporters to hotspots around the state. The anxiety of what was to come was stifling. Businesses were closing and shelters were being put in place. Preparation for the unknown was difficult, but the unpredictability of waiting for what Mother Nature was going to dole out was far worse. It was exhausting. Try as you will to trust God at all cost, but your human flesh won’t let you forget what could happen.

Now imagine that’s your reality every day, except instead of a devastating storm, it’s one small piece of mail that may or may not appear in your mailbox that day could spell either financial ruin or a chance to end what seems like a never-ending nightmare. That’s our reality. Every. Single. Day.

We don’t know what’s going to happen, what options we’re going to be given. We don’t know WHEN. And worst of all, we don’t know WHY – why we’re being put through another season of difficult waiting and what we’re supposed to learn from it. We cling to what happened the last time we waited: for four long years, we were led to begin thinking children were not part of God’s plan for us. Instead, we were eventually blessed with an unbelievable miracle in our baby girl. It’s all I can do to wrestle away the lies that threaten to take over my thoughts and cling to that sweet tangible promise I hold every day.

It doesn’t get any more literal than saying that psalms are only born out of the qualms of life, so that’s where we are. I’m praying for the day when I can write with abandon how we were delivered through this, whatever the outcome.

Until then, I’m likely to continue writing about TV shows and fantasies and other nonsense because I need some nonsense in all this reality to make me smile.

Current Obsessions and an Anniversary Wish

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So, my life got exponentially better this past Tuesday when the new Justin Timberlake album dropped. Thanks to mom staying the afternoon with Elly while I ran some errands, I was able to stop at Target to get the much-anticipated album (I do it old-school and still buy the CD) and believe me when I say, it’s every bit as good as I had hoped. I’m such a dork for saying that I suppose, being a 32 year old all fired up over a music star and such, but I was in bad shape and needed a pick-me-up, so if it comes in the form of acting like a 19-year old for a few days, then so be it. (Remember when you would get a new CD and listen to it exclusively day after day for like a month so you knew every song? I can’t quite do that with a baby, but I’ve come close. The album is that good.) Plus, music – ANY music, with the exception of whiny, twangy country – is therapeutic to me, so being so excited about this new music has reminded me that I need to seek daily to get a good dose of music – real music, not this Yo Gabba Gabba mess. And Elly enjoys music too, so that’s definitely a win-win.

That said, another ongoing obsession I have is with Jimmy Fallon. I’m probably not the only person to ever have said this, but I truly, 110% believe he is hands-down one of the greatest creative geniuses of my generation. His talent spans all genres and he is a hit at whatever he does. I DVR his Late Night show every night so I can be guaranteed a laugh when needed, whether it’s from his monologues or games or musical parodies. He’s phenomenal. Imagine my sheer delight when I heard it announced that Justin Timberlake was a guest on his show for an ENTIRE WEEK. What?! Unbelievable. I’m just now getting around to watching the episodes and I may never delete them, they’re so good. Those two are peas in a pod when it comes to talent, and when together, it’s unreal. I would KILL to meet both of them.

Which brings me to my anniversary wish.

It’s always been on our vacation list for Michael and I to take a trip to New York – he’s never been and I was 15 when I visited the Big Apple on a band trip, so it would definitely be a trip worth taking.

WELL:

It just so happens that Justin is going to be playing Yankee Stadium this summer on July 19. Now, I have NO idea how much tickets are going to be or whatever, but I would brave crazy, massive crowds for that. Jimmy shoots his show in NYC, so we’d have to make a show or two while we’re in town, AND of course head to my morning favorite, Live with Kelly and Michael as well…And since July 30th s our 8-year anniversary, it just seems kinda like the perfect way to celebrate, don’t you think?

One can dream.

The World According to Sheldon Cooper

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Another show Michael and I have become somewhat obsessed with (yes, we watch a lot of TV – don’t judge) is The Big Bang Theory. Since the show’s inception, I avoided it because I don’t subscribe to said “Big Bang Theory.” I believe in God and His creation of the universe, so therefore I felt it un-Christian of me to watch a show with such a title. That is, until I was stuck inside, 8 months pregnant in the dead of 100-degree summer days and was running out of things to keep me entertained. I caved and watched an episode and was immediately hooked. It took about 2 episodes for Michael to be hooked too, and the next thing I knew, we were at Target purchasing all of the previous seasons of TBBT in order to get caught up.

Sheldon Cooper is the quirky star of the show – actually, “quirky” may be putting it mildly. He’s OCD in the truest sense and for that alone, I immediately loved him. He defines his OCD and it’s necessity quite neatly here:

“It’s been six days since I was supposed to get a haircut. And nothing horrible has happened. …I have spent my whole life trying to bring order to the universe by carefully planning every moment of every day, but all my efforts – our dinner schedule, my pajama rotation – it’s clear now: I’ve been wasting my time.”

His friends then try to convince him that not knowing what’s coming is a good thing and that it could be healthy for him to ‘shake things up a bit.’

And this is what Sheldon does:

Yep. He goes crazy. Plays bongos in the middle of the night.

Oh how I can relate.

No, I’ve never played bongos in the middle of the night as a result of realizing that the world is a collective movement of chaos, but I have had many times when I get so frustrated with the chaos that I figuratively or literally throw my hands up and say, “To heck with it. What’s the point. Everything is a mess and always will be.”

It’s the same principle every single human being, OCD or not, deals with on a daily basis. It’s probably statistically what drives people to drink, smoke, take drugs, or simply act out irrationally. And even the most laid-back, roll-with-the-punches person is subject to something that makes them want to pick up their bongos.

Sheldon eventually gets his haircut and his world is a little less chaotic, but today, as I was re-organizing bathroom cabinets so that the towels were neatly folded in alternating colors, it dawned on me that finding calm in the chaos, however menial it may be, is what keeps us going. I’m a bonafied control freak and struggle with trying to let God temper that part of my personality. When I think back to the times that I have succumbed to the “to heck with it” philosophy, I wonder what would have happened had I not tried to control the chaos to begin with. Having a baby sort-of forces you to do this on a daily basis and some days that drives me banana sandwich. But when I let God lead the chaos – something Sheldon lacks – I’m much more relaxed, and so is everyone around me including my baby. More days than not for the past few months, the chaos we’re living right now has had me wishing for my own set of bongos more than I care to admit. But hopefully I can do a better job of keeping the chaos in perspective. With God’s help.

And maybe Sheldon’s bongos.

The Middle

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Michael and I have become quite fond of the TV show The Middle about a somewhat a-typical suburban family that seem to always have a few more lemons (with which to make lemonade) than everyone else. We like the show because we can relate, but I think anyone who watches the show also gets a faint sense of “well, I’m not that bad, so I must be doing pretty good” when it comes to how they raise their children, tend their marriage, work, etc. And while it does offer a boost of self-esteem, it also puts a simple spin on the everything, reminding us that life CAN in fact exist without trying to out-do one another with Pinterest craft decorations or home-grown organic garden meals and that somehow, everyone will be OK. (I know, SHOCKING!)

I don’t know if ABC intended it this way or if it’s purely coincidental, but the title is more than a little appropriate. The middle is where most of us get stuck trying to figure out how to ‘do’ life. We love beginnings for the most part, and even if endings are sad, they’re still an accepted part of life. The middle, however, is where just about everything happens, or doesn’t happen in some cases.

We’re in the middle right now – in the middle of some messes, the middle of our baby girl’s first year of life, approaching ‘mid’-life. It’s a great place and a horrible place to be. Some days I can relax and enjoy it. Others I’m longing for a new beginning, or (at the moment) I’m desperate for an END to an ongoing problem.

I came across this post the other day and it spoke so richly of the middle:

The Middle: When Pushing Through Brings Joy

The middle. Not many want to go there.

Most of us prefer being shot out of our starting blocks for a new adventure. Or rounding the corner to see the finish line with high fives from close friends. It’s the moment we wait for. At the finish we know that the sweat, the mind games, the times we thought it would never happen were well worth it. We finally hear well done.

The middle is the part most us don’t want to talk about. It’s not glamorous. It’s hard.

The middle is the reason most don’t finish.

But the middle is the secret to the joy that seems to elude us.

This is where love is born. . . right in the middle.

Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.

We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love. {Romans 5:2-5}

Are you in the middle? Worn out? Wondering where you’re going to get that last bit of perseverance you need?

You wonder if this is really worth it.

And joy? Yea, right. That seems like a long lost friend that deserted you at the last pit stop on this long journey.

I have good news.

You’re in the middle. {Sometimes knowing exactly where you are on your God-sized adventure helps. It’s not that you’re in the wrong place, it’s just called the middle and it’s not what you thought it would be. So don’t turn around or give up.}

Since I’m in the last 7 weeks of my pregnancy {a journey with a very long middle – 7 years of waiting and hoping!} I seem to find spiritual analogies every day I watch my baby belly grow.  And during this special time, I have learned a secret about labor and delivery – transition.

The transition is the time between the first stage of labor when contractions start and the second stage where I’ll begin to push her into the world.

During the first stage of labor there is excitement. “We’re going to have a baby! It’s really happening.”  The waiting is over and relief is on the way for a tired mama body that’s about to pop. The contractions begin. It’s time for her to come into the world.

My body will go into a mode it is was created for.

The contractions and first stage of labor can last a few hours to almost a day. Then there is a time of transition to second stage. The transition is where most women want to give up. They say ‘It’s too hard. I don’t want to do this. It hurts too bad.’  Crying, emotional meltdowns and even confusion can occur.

The transition is where I will be truly tested. It happens with every birth. {Whether you’re birthing something in the physical or spiritual realm, there will be a transition.}

What follows is the second stage of labor when I will push my baby into the world.

Without the transition, the birth won’t happen. But the transition will always happen. And is needed.

Our birth class instructor shared this insight, ‘If you’re prepared for what the transition looks like, then you won’t be freaked out. You’ll also be aware that you’re entering the second stage and about to meet your child. This isn’t the time to give up. It’s a time to celebrate since you’re almost there!”

Maybe you’ve been laboring for months, maybe years, and feel like you’re getting nowhere. The process is getting harder. The promise looks like a mirage. The doubts of the miracle promised seem more real than going through the pain of getting to the other side. Remember you’re in transition and the break through is about to take place.

It’s time to celebrate. You’re almost there!

Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. {Hebrews 12:2}

What are you pushing through for the joy set before you? Please don’t give up.

The special love you bring into the world is worth it.

– Stephanie Bryant, inCourage Contributor

So if I took anything from the article it’s definitely the part about delivering a baby, a process that I was absolutely convinced would kill me. It didn’t. And it delivered every bit of joy it promised. Sometimes I do think I would rather go through delivering a baby 15 times than go through a long ‘middle,’ but I have to believe that the length of the transition is directly related to the joy that ‘middle’ will yield.