Sassy Pants and Tutus

It’s been four and half years. Most days are ok, some days are even pretty good.

But every once in a while I get an unexpected jolt to my heart, a little zinger deep in my soul that cracks wide open that wound again. The ache returns, the questions, the confusion, the sadness, the touch of anger that will yet again linger just a little too long, which in time I know will give way to an uneasiness of guilt.

It’s the little girl with long ringlets of red hair you catch a glimpse of hanging on to her mamas leg amid the crowd of mourners releasing balloons in the parking lot at a funeral on a sunny Wednesday morning. It’s the photo of a blue eyed red headed little girl with the dimples and precious smile that pops up unexpectedly in my instagram feed. It’s the pink toy aisle at Walmart. It’s the little pair of glittery pink sandals placed neatly on the corner of the cement down by the beach, while its owners little bare feet are down splashing in the water and wiggling in the sand.

It’s the little pink and white Sassy Pants and Tutus outfit hanging on the end of the clearance rack at the local store. The bandages, dog food, and paper plates are all purchased and bagged and in the cart you clank and clatter out the store door as you attempt to both hold open the non electronic door AND push and steer the cart through all at the same time… And then you glance over and see it. You see the little pink glittery outfit and it stops you in your tracks. You stand and look, a little smile, a little catch in your throat, a little snag on the innards all at the same time.

You slowly reach out and allow yourself to touch it, to pick it up, to hold it, to imagine it on the little princess who’s already wearing angel wings and traveling barefoot on Heaven’s streets of gold.

Just yesterday afternoon I found myself in the back corner of our yard with my youngest middle child. We had been gone on vacation and he was busy checking if there were any ripe raspberries on yet. I was hanging laundry on the line and then went back to join him.

There were a few on, and we both had our very first vine ripened, sun warmed, fresh raspberries of the summer. As we were slowly and quietly peeking and poking through the thorny branches in search of the deep red of the ripe berries ready to be slowly plucked, I somehow found myself in conversation with him about Faith.

I’m pretty sure he brought it up, and it started somewhere along the lines that he really wished she was still here, still alive, still on earth. I continued to slowly push away this leaf and then that leaf, occasionally putting a fresh berry in my mouth, and I found myself agreeing with him.

Of course I wish she was still alive and still on this earth with us.

But then I went on and heard myself say that even though I don’t know why it had to happen the way it all did, I do know that she’s actually the lucky one… because she got to go right to Heaven. She never had to experience any of the hardships and hurts and pains and sickness and sadness and disappointments that we have to endure every day here on earth.

I said that at first all she knew was sickness, her body was filled with illness from the very first split of her very first cell. She carried the incorrect number of chromosomes and never in her limited days here, ever knew the comfort and reality of a strong heartbeat, of a healthy umbilical cord, of a head and body not filled with fluid. But… she also got the greatest gift of all ~ she got the gift of absolute health before the world would ever deal their negative hand upon her.

Outside the womb she would never have to know the hurt of harsh words, the pain of bumps, bruises, scratches, cuts, broken bones. She would never have to endure being sick, or sad, or lost, or confused, or scared, or wresting with the general reality of being alive and living within a world filled with sin and sinners.

We talked about how we’re sure she’s playing with miss Autumn and might have even been there to help welcome the arrival last week of dear miss Mya. Oh my heart aches for all the other mamas who have lost children, and often I think about how much more sad it must be for the families who get to take their babies home, make life and memories with their babies, and then lose them much too early. Oh I can’t even imagine. I only get to grieve the what if’s, the should have beens, the could have beens. Although… perhaps they are both, in their own way, equally as sad and just as horribly heartbreaking.  Lord I pray I never have to find out via comparison in my own life.

She was the lucky one I said again. She was the lucky one.

I said it multiple times, trying to actually convince myself of its truth. And I do know it’s true, deep inside I do. Most days I do know that an incredible amount of good has come because of our loss and this journey of faith that we never asked to be placed on.

No, this is not what we wanted, not what we ever imagined, not what we signed up for… but it is what we have been granted none the less… and somewhere deep inside, I do also know that that makes us somehow the lucky ones as well.

She was the lucky one who got to say hello to Jesus before she got to say hello to anyone else.  She was the lucky one who got to skip the sin and pain altogether… and on days like today when my heart hurts and bleeds fresh all over again, I have to somehow also trust we are the lucky ones as well. 

Yes, we are somehow the lucky ones as well, even when I surly don’t feel so lucky, especially when I surely don’t feel so lucky.

Previous blog post { If We Hadn't Lost Faith } HERE

Next blog post { Not Quite As Planned } HERE

If We Hadn't Lost Faith

This morning I ran the Blingathon Dragonfly virtual run. It was what we called the “Powered by Faith” race, with a distance of four miles.

Powered by Faith representing our stillborn daughter Faith MaryJo, and the four mile distance represented the four years she’s had her heavenly wings. In the hospital after she was born we were given a story about a dragonfly getting it’s wings and flying off to Heaven, so dragonflies (and pennies from heaven) have always been something special to our family.

Today’s race was a virtual race, but I am joined by some dear friends and encourager's of mine, who live thousands of miles away, in different time zones, but who chose to get up and get out and join me, to push themselves, to better themselves, to support me, and to honor Faith. I am so grateful and proud of them!

We set this race quite a while back, and this weekend finally arrived!
And then I got to bed late, and then I couldn’t sleep well, and then I realized I’d forgotten to buy more batteries for my noxgear - all that typical “night before a race” stuff that tries to wreak havoc on you.

The alarm went off, and I was up and getting ready, more excitement than dread coursing through my veins. I headed out into the cool early morning dawn and took a left down the quiet rural Minnesota backroad. Since I didn’t have batteries for my noxgear I did wait just a bit longer than usual to start my run, so there was a little more daylight and visibility.

At the half way point the scene in the sky was… breathtaking. The vibrancy of the colors behind the clouds just continued to grow and intensify. I had to stop for a quick photo and continued on to finish. The spot where I finished was also just an amazing view. I stood there watching in silence as the sun continued to rise, as it peeked its first rays over the horizon, as it slowly rose higher and higher, dancing and playing among the clouds also hovering nearby in the sky.

I found myself feeling just so grateful to be right there in that moment, right there in that moment of majesty and beauty, as sweat slowly trickled down my back and forehead from a run that I was just able to complete, thanks to the training and current health within my body that I have been so diligently working on for the last three years.

I was humbled, I was in awe, and I was beyond grateful.

I arrived back at the camper and took just a few more minutes to photo and selfie with my medal and bib (yup, I’m one of those… I admit it… sorry for those of you who aren’t or don’t get it… it’s just something I enjoy and it brings me joy. I love going back through race photos and physically touching those medals, turning them over to look at the stats I’ve marked on each one with a sharpie with that particularly race’s stats, location, distance, time etc. Each race is a story, a moment, a part of my journey. Each race holds its memories and moments, and yes… I selfie with them “insert smile emoji”).

I sat down at the lake for a while, the bib and medal laying on top of the chipped white dock for a while. I was alone, there was no wind, it was warm, and I had that clammy, after-run sweaty feeling where you almost want a sweatshirt, but know you’d just overheat.

The water was lapping softly at the edge of the sand, there was a family of goslings all slowly swimming around the docks and boat lifts, a few clouds hung above the water, a few birds were in the sky and chirping in the trees above.

I breathed in deep and closed my eyes. Wanting to savor, to capture, to remain within it all just a little longer. All of that, right there, was a moment when all of my favorite things aligned. The lake, the sunsetoclock aqua and red Adirondack chairs, the docks, the sunrise I'd stood within just moments before, the run I had completed, the sweat and the sore muscles a quiet reminder of the pace and distance I’d pushed myself through, the texts coming from my friend who was also just finishing this same race all the way over in Virgina…

The moment stood still for just a millisecond. I looked down at the medal in my hand, the dragonfly and it’s beautiful aqua wings (which yes, someday will be tattooed on my body) and I was grateful. Not grateful that it had to happen, not grateful that it had to represent the loss of our daughter… but a recognition of the grand significance of knowing somehow, amid all the hurt and pain and loss, “this” had come out of it…

We would have never ended up at this lake, at this campground if we hadn’t been pregnant with Faith, if we hadn’t had to be ten miles from a hospital, if we hadn’t wanted to find a place to “hide” away (which in turn would turn into a place to also heal and find ourselves again). We would have never bought this camper and been surrounded by this amazing community of friends we now have here if we hadn’t lost Faith. I would have never realized how it feels to be truly and honestly not well for a long and extended period of time, and I would have never had to dig deep to fight my way back to health (mental health, physical health, and spiritual health) if we hadn’t lost Faith. And as I worked and continued on that health journey I found my way into an amazing group of supportive #wonderwomen who have seriously become some of my greatest friends and lifeblood, if we hadn’t lost Faith.

The lake, the camper, the sunsets, the sunrises, the friendships, the miles and miles of training I’ve run, the races upon races I have entered and completed… and honestly the list could go on and on. Things I would have never come to know, experience, love, and cherish had we never lost Faith.

So this morning I sit here on my deck at the lake, slowly sipping some post race recovery while my coffee perks inside… and my heart is filled with gratitude. It’s still delicately laced, of course, with just a touch of sadness, but I am grateful that God has brought me to a time and place (which I realize may be gone again by tomorrow morning at this time) to where I can look behind me and see some of the steps we’ve taken over the last four years on this Journey To Faith that God chose for us to be on.

And today, right now amid that inner silence of pain, and disappointment, and confusion, and anger… there is gratitude, lots and lots of gratitude... and for that, I am grateful.

Previous Blog Post { Giving Myself Grace } HERE

Next Blog Post { Sassy Pants and Tutus } HERE

Giving Myself Grace

So, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything.

I spent the winter in a funk, a fog, a depression. I knew it, I was aware of it. I tried to allow myself to both ride it out, as well as try fight it out.  Neither way was overly successful. About a month ago, I decided it was really time to try to dig in deep and rise (at least a little) from the hole I had again found myself in.

The change in seasons (although this unending rain and these cool temps that continue … I mean come on here Mother Nature, work with us just a little would ya?!) and starting to get back outside for a few runs helped. I have also spent some time reflecting back to times when I had felt well, felt strong, felt on top of the world and not completely buried by it. I identified what I was doing, what I was reading, how I was feeling back then and simply started focusing on trying to get myself back to that place. I am re-reading several of the books I read during that season, I changed my workout schedule to look closer to the workout schedule I had during that season, I am doing similar personal development exercises as I was then.

Now, if only I could fit back into all those clothes I was able to wear during that season…

I have spent time also processing this reality. I am not yet back to the weight and measurements I was then. Does that bother me? Hells to the yes it does. It’s probably the biggest angst and disappointment I have right now with myself. But I also know getting back to that reality isn’t probably an actual reality anymore for me.

I have gone beyond just that initial weight and inches loss of this whole health journey, and I have worked on strengthening and toning my body. I’ve added lifting and cardio and hiit and miles and miles of distance running. And while I might still say I’m really not a “real runner” I think we all know the truth is... that I am (insert sheepish eyeroll from me here). Put all those factors together and my current body composition with the pounds and inches are not the same. It’s not an apples to apples comparison game any more, even though that it what my head is clearly screaming at me that it still believes.

Deep down, deep within, I know these realities. I know I am not a failure, I know that I should not throw it all away and walk away from this health journey I’m on because I have gained a few pounds and I'm not still 'exactly' where I was at back then. I’m still able to wear a large portion of my clothes (a wardrobe that I completely and entirely replaced a few years back) and I’m still in considerably better health than I was when I started this thing (physically, mentally, and spiritually).

Do you want to know my biggest struggle is? I have a very hard time giving myself grace. (gasp... shock... awe... surprise.  #not)

I am a type A, organized, overachieving perfectionist. I tend to set my goals high and I typically don’t like to stop until I reach them, and I am driven like a mad-women in my attempt to take on those challenges and goals. I over think, over plan, and over process everything. I do not want to settle for anything lower than perfection and I am scared to death of failure. And well, when you also don’t even consider yourself a “real athlete” while also putting yourself on a path of improved health and wellness … I’ve found for me it’s been a bit of a recipe for a roller coaster of near insanity at times.

I keep thinking back to that mountain top high I was on a few years ago.

I had just lost the weight. I had just started running. I had just replaced my wardrobe. I had just run my very first half marathon. Yes, I desperately want to be back there again, but the reality is ~ even if I got back down to that original goal weight - it would still not be exactly the same.

I have gone on to run close to a dozen half marathons since.  I have gone on to fight the weight loss maintenance game.  I have gone on to increase my tribe, my support group, my reach to those around me. I have let some go and I have let others in, and I am both the same person and not the same person any more.

So while I work on getting back to that moment, I have come to realize that chasing that dream again will never be a reality in the same exact way as it was back then. I’ve continued on in my journey and I’m working on climbing up another mountain… working on hopefully getting to the top of another peak. This journey is a cycle of ups and downs, no different than any other area in my life, just like it has been for the last forty-four years of my life. I reached a mountain top that I swore I would never come down off of … but I did.

And as I sit here with a picture of a vast and distant mountain scene in my mind, and re-read the words I just wrote... I am suddenly struck with a new thought, an epiphany.

All this time I keep thinking I’ve fallen back down the hill, plummeting backwards back to where I started. But I think perhaps I need to look at it as if I’m simply falling forwards. I’m navigating a new path that is simply bringing me down the front side of that mountain, which is enabling me to continue forward, slowly moving me towards reaching that even bigger mountain further off in the distance that I haven’t even gotten to yet.

Falling forward in progress, not plummeting backwards in failure. What a grace-filled thought that is. What a positive twist on a negative reality that I’ve been beating myself up for for almost a year now.

Surely, I can’t be the only one out there that struggles with this. Surely, there are others who push and push and push themselves and never feel enough, never ever enough. And not just in health and wellness, but in all areas of life… Never a good enough wife, mother, employee, friend. Never thin enough, strong enough, fast enough… I could go on and on ~ I think most of us already have a non-stop running playlist scrolling through our minds, like the credits at the end of the movie. It’s information that is always there, always processing, but we rarely actually stop long enough to really look at it all to see how it's actually a part of the entire end product. It's all the facts, and details, and people behind the scenes directly involved and most are rarely seen, known, recognized as being part of the overall project itself as viewed through the eyes of the general public.

All that scrolling information of credible moments and information, is merging and syncing with the realities of all things involving and affecting us, the intricately woven details of all factors directly involved in the very marrow and inner DNA of our lives from our birth to our present day.  Yet rarely do we even know or realize the actual who's and what’s and why’s of those details in association 

I go back to thinking about the whole thing of granting ourselves grace… I struggle with this, I know I do. I am incredibly hard on myself and seem to always be in battle with my mind over body about something. I'm have a really hard time right now in particular with yoga and my elliptical. And I know this is ridiculous - and I know whenever I bring it up and try to talk about it, I’m usually met with odd looks and short replies that “it doesn’t matter.”

It doesn’t matter… and I know it doesn’t… except that to me I’ve allowed it to matter, and matter too much.

Allowing myself the grace to merely "let it go" and not let it matter is hard for me.

I know the truth deep within, but it's a battle to actually allow myself to get there, to get myself to sit quietly on the same bench with that truth.  For some reason I seem to think that doing yoga and putting miles in on my elliptical is somehow "cheating."  Yup, I said cheating.  That is the lie my mind continues to tell me day in and day out.  I have battled this mindset since the day I bought my elliptical and fell in love with it.  Is it cheating because I actually enjoy using it?  Is it cheating because I can do a mile about a minute faster on my elliptical than I can on my treadmill or outside?  Is it cheating because it doesn't feel as "hard" as running a mile?  And then there's yoga.  Oh how I love yoga.  The calm, the stretch, the inner breath and dialogue.  The meditation and relaxing.  And yet, my mind is always wanting me to say no to yoga because it's not really considered "exercise" because it's not fast and furious and the "high" at the end is actually a "low."

I've been through enough therapy to process that I do think at the very core of some of this is the fact that I want to punish my body for all that it has denied me and all it has taken from me.  This body has never been what I wanted it to be. Never thin enough, never fit enough.  The cellulite, the small chest, the wide hips, the big butt.  This body has denied me fertility and has taken two babies from me.  Why should I love it, why should I honor it, why should I treat it special and take care of it?

This will always be my battle.  This will always be the thing I struggle with.  This is something I know I will never fully overcome, that will never fully go away.   This is something I will deal with daily for every single day I am alive on this earth.  There is no cure for this dysfunction in my mind.  Some days are easier than others, some seasons are easier than others.  Some days it's what drives me to greatness, some days it's what drives me to near insanity.

I think the reality simply is... this is who I am.  This is who I am.  Perhaps I need to stop trying to fight it and somehow befriend it.  I need to stop thinking someday this is something I need to overcome.  I need to stop the mindset that this is a battle to beat and just settle in to the fact that it's not going to go away, it's not going to be beaten, and I am not a failure because of that reality.

God gave us all gifts and talents and quirks and oddities.  And one of mine just happens to be this thing where I battle giving myself grace.  No, this isn't a "gift" per say but I think I need to still come to terms with the fact that it is a "blessed" trait from God.  No, He doesn't want me to use it as a punishment, or belittlement, or cause me angst from it - that wasn't His intent.  I'm sure He does actually want me to love myself better, grant myself more grace, find love, and peace, and contentment within this body He created for me.

Finding grace, love, peace, and contentment within this body He created for me... this body I have never loved, have never cherished, have never honored within the holiness in which I should.  That is some pretty big orders to try come to terms with isn't it?  It's a sobering truth to try swalloww, and yet it's also freeing and humbling as well.

I will continue to fall forward, tumble ahead, slip downward on the front side of this current mountain I'm on. I will continue to work on granting myself the grace and rest required for the long journey ahead, for I am off to conquer a new mountain top ~ apparently I'm no longer just climbing back up that one I already conquered!

Onward... not backward.  Onward.

Previous blog post { At the Precipice Again } HERE.

Next blog post { If We Hadn't Lost Faith } HERE

At The Precipice Again

I found myself walking back up the concrete steps outside work this afternoon on my way back from my lunch break. It was cool and rainy and I found a million random, and not so random, thoughts swirling around in my mind.

I feel, in an odd way, that I’m standing at this precipice in my life ... again. Yes again, and no, I have no idea how many times I have been here previously. Over and over again I seem to end up right back here. I am one that cycles through life on the highs and lows of goods and bads, successes and tragic failures.

This thought does make me smile, as time and again I comment that our son is either at “one extreme or the other – there’s no in-between with him.” He’s adopted and we deal with a few issues, and yet as I’m thinking of myself right now, his non-biological mother that has not given him one single strand of his DNA, I can see I am perhaps quite similar to him in this way if I’m totally honest. Lol.

Yes, here I am… standing at the tale end of one heck of a long winter for me. I’m not sure if it’s an excuse, or just my frank and honest reality, but I struggled this winter. Depression, introversion, weight gain, negative self talk, letheragy… I spent as much time as I could in bed. I didn’t watch any tv, but I did read a litte, I did numb on social media a little, and I slept a lot.

Just get the ticking of the time on that clock to pass by already.

I stopped blogging, I stopped scrapbooking, I avoided people and public whenever possible. I stopped doing my devotions, I stopped going to church. It wasn’t that my faith or beliefs or love of God had changed, I just lacked the desire or discipline to do it. I stopped weighing in, I stopped most of my inspirational social media posting, I stopped really training and really working hard on my health and nutrition. Skipping the miles, half assing the workouts, eating the crap, and mentally beating myself up every single day. I let myself believe that I had nothing to say, nothing to share, nothing worth showing up for (myself included), with an underlying whisper in my ear that I was a fake, a fraud, a phoney.  I needed to be quiet and I needed to hide.

How could I go from the top of the world back to the bottom of the mountain so quickly?

But the reality is, I did. I somehow lost my steam, my vision, my devotion and dedication.  And I sat there for a long time, a really long time.  I'm still sitting here in it all. Some days I fought it, some days I honestly just didn’t give a crap. Most days I did honestly attempt to fight it, but just wasn’t able to find it in me to actually do anything about changing my current trajectory. 

I tried to keep showing up for myself, tried to keep myself accountable, keep fighting the battle within mind, body, and soul. I weakly held on to the good days, but I wasn’t where I wanted to be, wasn’t where I had once been at.  I didn’t want to admit to failure, shame, regression.

I knew I’d gained some weight, heck I’m the one wearing it with me everywhere I go.  I knew I was in a rough place, I knew I wanted to stop, change, get back up… but I didn’t, I couldn’t.

I ran a 15K race this past weekend, and as I dragged my out of shape tired ass across the finish line and stood there holding my metal and looking at the stats on my garmin watch and runkeeper app, I had a bit of a reality kick in the butt. It was more than “a bit” – it was a big ol ice cold slap to the face. Yes, I had started and finished and earned my finishers metal, but I was not trained physically, and I was not in a good place mentally. The sad state of both of those together literally ripped open my little achy breaky heart right then and there.

I don’t consider myself a real runner or real athlete, but this was the first time I had entered into a race that I was not fully trained and ready for. It was hard on my body, it was hard on my mind, and even though I finished, I knew it was time to get my shit back together… somehow, someway.

It was either time to get it together, or it was time to quit it all together. Quit myself, quit my running, my health, my healing, all of it all together.  It was time to figure out how to get back to being either all in, or all out.  This see-sawing back and forth has again taken it’s toll on me and it’s kill’n me smalls.

I’ve slowly been trying to take a few steps forward throughout the past several weeks, but like the entire winter – I would get a few steps ahead again, only to suddenly let myself get thrust ten steps backwards and end up further and further behind. And while I grumbled and grumped about it, I didn’t actually get back up to do anything about it.

So I continued to retreat. To hide. To sleep.

I didn’t want to let people in and see the ugly within me that had again returned. I didn’t want to be honest about my struggles and setbacks. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone I may have once impressed ever so slightly. I didn’t want to own up, admit to, take ownership of my sins and weaknesses.

I told myself my sudden lack of blog followers and interactions was because of facebook's dumb new algorithms, which may have been the case, but I also silently started believing that no one wanted to know, to follow, to interact with my life, my story, my reality, my issues, my struggles anymore.

I let myself believe the lie that it was me, it my was shortfalls, and that I still wasn’t enough.

You know, I was afraid and so hesitant to share about my wins and weight loss when I was still winning the health and wellness battle, and then I was afraid to share about my failures when I started once again losing that same damn battle, all while knowing no one is really even reading what I write about anyway.

But it’s time to take a deep breath, and let out an "oh well, I don’t give a shit" exhale. Well I do, but I think it’s time to just get over myself and my worry about what others will think of me, and start once again focusing on what I’m thinking and talking to about myself, and focusing on how I’ve stopped loving myself as well as I should be, and know I could be.  It's time to spend some time in silence and reflection, going back to the time and place when I was still feeling strong and successful, when I was still slaying my dragons and fighting off the negativity and insecurities. Once I am able to figure out how I got there before, I can start to work on what I can do to find my way back there again.

Baby steps.  But, better baby steps then no steps at all.  Better baby steps forwards than leaps and bounds backwards.  Baby steps indeed.

A small part of me can’t help but think I am not the only one coming off a long hard winter this year. I can’t be the only one who is struggling, who has gained some weight, who has battled the inner demons of not enough and depression. I cannot be the only one riding on life’s hot mess express right now.

Please, someone else just raise your hand and give me an “Amen seester, I am right here with ya girlfriend!”

If you are out there slaying your dragons, getting those miles in, losing those pounds, rock'n your days – I am so happy and excited for you! Honestly I am! I remember that feeling and it’s awesome – ride that high as long and as far as you can! And if you happen to think of it, I’d love if you’d turn around , reach out and let me grab you by the hand and ride on your shirttails of success just a little, or just reach out and give me a big 'ol high five as I'm standing over on the sidelines cheering you on.

If you are out there struggling, floundering, slipping, sliding, desperately grasping for something... anything to keep you stable, keep you afloat... well my loves, you are not alone! Oh Lord you are not alone.  And I'm here with a hug and a tissue and the promise that you will never cry alone when I'm around.  Dare to be vulnerable and dare to take a tiny step forward, to just try be a little open and a little honest with yourself and a few others you trust. 

We can't do it alone, and we shouldn't have to.

(And yes, for all of you wanting to leave a comment about taking some meds and getting some therapy... you don't need to, I'm already on it and doing it, and I'm not ashamed to admit that either.)

{ Previous blog post "Spring Is In The Air" HERE }

{ Next blog post "Giving Myself Grace" HERE }

Spring Is In The Air

I realize I haven’t written much lately, or at least I haven’t been publishing much of what I’ve been writing lately. I haven’t been scrapbooking lately. I haven’t taken any photos lately. I haven’t been running much lately. I haven’t been doing much of anything lately.

Except climbing back into bed.

I’ve spent the majority of this winter getting up, and then going back to bed. I’m in bed almost every night by 7:30pm, doesn’t matter if it’s a weekend or weekday.  Early to bed, early to rise. So yes, I do get up between 3-4:00am every morning seven days a week. I sometimes work out, I sometimes make coffee and read. I sometimes just sit in the still and dark quiet of the house, doing absolutely nothing.

And when the rest of the house starts to waken and the sun starts to come up, I just climb myself right back into bed.

I’ve stopped laying my clothes for working out and for work the night before (probably because most of those clothes don’t fit me comfortably anymore). I’ve stopped tracking the books I’ve read and stopped logging the miles I’ve run.  I’ve stopped counting my transformer numbers during the occasional time I talk myself into doing a workout video. I’ve stopped counting the points of the food I eat.

I care. But at the same time I absolutely don’t.

I keep thinking, hoping that the promising arrival of spring will help lift my spirits and help light that lost fire in my belly again. I keep hoping that the sunshine and warmer temps will finally help kick my sorry ass out of my bed and back into the big overwhelming world again.

But… it really hasn’t. At least not yet.

I have a 15k race coming up this weekend. And I am not ready, not ready by a long shot. Not ready mentally, not ready physically. I have put in some winter miles in the basement on my machines, but that transition back to outside in real life, with real hills, and real gale force winds of Iowa - it’s brutal (for me anyway). I’ve only gotten outside to run less than a handful of times, and every time it was met with epic failure in my mind. Every time I am again reminded about just how far I have regressed over the last year, how faster and farther and thinner I was a year ago.

You would think that would be this fantastic instigator, motivator, incentive to kick it in the jimmy… but for some reason it’s not. And I’m finding that even more frustrating than you can imagine.

It’s been a season of hard for me lately. A season of heavy and unnameable burdens. The weight on my shoulders feels like it’s overtaking me most days, and I hide in the shadows of shameful regression most days. Surely, how could I come so far a two short years ago, only to slip so far backwards so quickly yet again.  Surely, we aren't supposed to admit our struggles, share our inner fears and pains and insecurities.  Surely we aren't supposed to own up to the wispers of our own demons of depression and darkness within us.

Ahhhh, the epic story of my life. And here I thought maybe for once, for once in my life I had finally done it different, the right way, the slow way, the hard way, and it would stay… but obviously that is not the case.

This past weekend the sun was shining, the wind was blowing at it's typical tundra force, and the temperature was finally in the sixties. I did not want to, but I finally convinced myself to lace up those damn running shoes and at least attempt a sizable training distance. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t mind over matters, I couldn’t mind over miles… and as I fought and fought for each one of those redicuously horrible five long miles on the hard concrete streets in my little town, I found myself fighting back tears.

Anger. Frustration. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Exhaustion. Giving up.  My body hurt, my legs hurt, my feet hurt... and my heart hurt.

Before I had even started out, I had told myself I would run five miles and allow myself to power walk four miles. The five miles would be through town on concrete roads. Theast four miles would be on the local trail that was once a railroad path, which I knew would be muddy and a little tricky to navigate while running. Well, at least that’s the story I allowed myself to believe, the excuse card I wrote out in my mind and handed over to justify what I knew was going to be less than what I was wanting.

I finally reached the trail entrance and took a left turn and started down the way. I went from a concrete curb and gutter view, to suddenly… a view of nature. It was a beautiful mix of old, drab and dead with that of a vivid green new growth with its promise of tomorrow, and hope, and God’s faithfulness.

All those bright green little shoots of grass popping up through the dormant earth, peeking and poking their way through that once frozen black ground, reaching, stretching, clamoring upwards toward that sunshine.

I walked and walked, and watched the passing sides of the trail from one end to the other. Four miles of those magical pops of green, four miles of life and death, rebirth and growth, so clearly displayed in its most bare and raw natural environments. A visual and tangible reminder of God’s goodness, His grace in granting new life, new growth, new opportunities. His gentle touch of healing and His granting of the passing of time, the celebration of the change of seasons, the continuation of His faithful promise to never leave us, never forsake, never forget us.

Had I continued to push myself, continue to curse myself, over the course of those last four miles, I would have never taken these sights and these thoughts in. I would have continued to fight it all, to push and punish, and stay blinded by my own disappointment, my own lacking, my own judgement, my own condemnation of not enough.

But I chose to walk. I chose to listen to my body. I chose to give my mind and my body a small reprieve from its mental insanity… and in that slowing down, in that stillness, in that season of defeat I would look down and see those first little hints of grass, of growth, of glimmering hope in what’s to come tomorrow.

Life didn’t stop all together in that season of cold and harsh winter that spread behind it all those long several last months. Life slowed, it changed, it evolved into something nearly unrecognizable, but it didn’t stop all together. It rested and it waited for the gentle but firm touch from God to signal the time for change, the season to start to grow again.

I couldn’t help but feel an ache within me, an ever so slight pull within me as I thought of all this, knowing that God isn’t done with me yet either. He may have me in a season of hiding, a season of dormancy, a season of lost and laonely and hurting and sadness, of being bleak and cold… but it’s not going to stay that way forever, I need to remember and trust that this isn’t going to last forever.

I need to trust God will grant my current winter season to again evolve into a new spring. I need to trust He will reach out, reach in, to gently touch the current cold, lifeless soil of my soul and ignite in me a time of renewed growth and hope. Oh may this winterness pass soon. I long to return to that which I once knew… that which I once had accomplished… that which I had once conquered.

And as I type these words and bring these thoughts to a close tonight, I’m reminded of the words of a song… I google them, read them, listen to them. And in closing shall share them.

May we all find the strength and patience to weather our storms of inclemency. May we all hold strong in our weaknesses and lacking. May we all have open eyes to not miss the budding hope of new growth and opportunity all around us.

You Breathe In Me by Michael W Smith

You breathe in me
And I'm alive
With the power of your holiness
You breathe in me
And you revive
Feelings in my soul
That I have laid to rest

So breathe in me
I need you now
I've never felt so dead within

So breathe in me
Maybe somehow
You can breathe new life
In me again

I used to be
So sensitive
To the light that leads
To where you are

Now I've acquired
These callouses
With the darkness of
A cold and jaded heart

So breathe in me
I need you now
I've never felt so dead within
So breathe in me
Maybe somehow
You can breathe new life

In me again

{ Previous blog post "Finding My Forward" HERE }

{ Next blog post "At The Precipice Again} HERE }

Finding My Forward

Two years ago. Two years ago I was about fifteen pounds lighter and was doggedly training to run my very first half marathon. I’m not a runner and that was way out of my comfort zone, but it was something I'd had on my bucket list for years and had finally decided to just go for it.

I had spent half a year sick and in bed which ended with a funeral at the local cemetery with a tiny white casket with a light pink rose delicately laying on top and our stillborn daughter inside.

My physical sickness may have ended, or at least start improving slowly after that, but my mental and spiritual sickness only continued to worsen.

A year and a half later I found myself driving away from our beloved camper and our beloved lake campground community for the season, and had decided it was time. It was time to change. It was time for ME. It was time to start to heal, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

And it wasn’t.

I slowly started making healthier eating choices. I slowly started to exercise again. I slowly started losing a little weight again. I slowly started reading personal development books again. I slowly started therapy and working on coming to terms with myself, my body, and with my anger and frustration and disappoint in God.

And the tiny spark began to snowball and every day it seemed to grow a little bit bigger and brighter.

I trained and trained and you know what ... this non runner ran her first half marathon without stopping once. Wow. That is a feeling of accomplishment I will never ever forget. It was a rush. A high like I’d not experienced before.

In time I would donate basically my entire wardrobe and replace it with all new clothes. Smaller clothes. Stylish clothes. I was a new me inside and out.

For the first time in my life I remember feeling both beautiful on the inside and on the outside.  All my life I have battled with a perfection complex. All my life I have battled body image and self worth issues. I’ve dealt with the demon of an eating disorder my whole life... always just right around the corner trying to take over and sabotage.

All my life I have battled not being enough. Always driven and searching, seeking for something greater, bigger, better, more. And all my life I have never found, achieved, accomplished, acquired, attained what my mind has continually been drawing me, propelling me towards.

For about two years I held on, kept the spark kindling. Kept the weight off, kept the training up, kept the outlook strong and positive.

And then mid summer this past summer something started to change, to shift... ever so slowly, ever so gradually.

A few pounds gained. A few morning training sessions skipped. A few inner lies listened to. A few more inner whispers believed.

Days and weeks and months passed and the downward spiral was well in motion. I tried to fight it, but its pull was so strong... the path so engraved with all the times in the past I slid backwards down that path, over and over again. I had gotten to the very top finally this time, seen the view, tasted the sweetness... only to lose my footing and slipping, tripping, stumbling backwards, yet again.

The upwards path had been new and hard but exciting. That top, that summit, had felt so great and glorious. But this path back down, this is as dark and rough and ugly as it has been every other time I’ve found myself on it.

I don’t want to be on this downward path. I don’t want to be dealing with the demons of depression and weight gain and inner dialog feeding me with all those not-enough adverbs and adjectives over and over and over.

I don’t want to have again outgrown my favorite clothes. I don’t want to spend the weekend in bed doing nothing because well, I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to "people", I don't want to go out in public, I don't want to go to church, I don’t want to write or read or blog or share. I feel like a big fat hypocrite, a fraud, a disappointment. What would people think if they really knew?!?

I'm Sad. Frustrated. Lost. Disappointed. Angry. Hopeless. Do I need to continue?
Ok, am I being a little overdramatic here and feeling sorry for myself? Sure, of course I am.

I’ve felt the fire and tasted the success, and now there is nothing. The forward motion gone.

The forward motion gone.

Writing these words make me stop. Stop and just look at those words, that sentence, that reality.

I need to find my forward back. I know I do. Lord knows I want to. I would love to be back on that mountain top of success and achievement again. But you know what, I just want to be air lifted back up there- you know, picked up at the bottom and gently dropped off on that flat sunny spot on the very tippy top. Back to when I was healthy inside and out. When the scale and the running was still exciting and on my side. When hard work was still my friend and rewarded me eagerly and generously.

I don’t want to do it all over again. I don’t. I don’t want to have to climb all the way back up... through the mire and mud and muck. It is hard and unpleasant and uncomfortable, and I’ve already done it once. I’ve done more than once, who am I trying to kid.

I told myself never again. Never again would I slip backwards. But I did. And I’m still continuing. And it’s slowly killing me... although obviously not enough to actually get me to dig in my heels and stop the damn avalanche around me.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything, especially anything hard. But I know if I want to somehow feel like I felt two years ago I need to figure out how to stop this free fall. Stop the hollow empty within and relight a fire deep in my belly. A heat I haven’t felt for almost nine months now. I am desperately trying to find it, light it, ignite it, fan it, flame it...

But my insides are wet with the tears of defeat and depression and apparently not allowing those embers to embed.

So the backward continues and the forward waits. But I pray it’s not for much longer. Oh I pray for this winter and cold and arctic season of empty within me to again experience warmth and heat and expansion and sunshine and slowly find its way forward yet again.
I can. I have.
I can. I will.
I can. I must.

{ Next Blog Post "Spring Is In The Air" HERE }

{ Previous blog post "Journey To Faith ~ Season Four" HERE }

Journey To Faith ~ Season Four

I lay here in the quiet dark of early morning. The rest of the house sleeps, but not me. I find myself laying here thinking, reliving moments and memories that have decided to revisit.

They haunt me, hurt me, grieve me, and yet oddly fill me.

Four years ago I was laying in a darkened room, warm jelly on my stomach, hot tears in my eyes and slowly leaking down my cheeks.

I was waiting to find out the cause of the heavy bleeding I’d been experiencing and overall fullbody illness I had been having for the previous several months. I laid there with a trace of bitterness and anger as I waited for a possible hysterectomy diagnosis or some other cyst or growth or cancer.

I laid there with a broken heart, thinking of the last ultrasound I’d had seventeen years earlier, that had delivered the news that there was no heartbeat, and at twelve weeks along, it appeared the baby had passed when it was about seven weeks. Five weeks I had lived and loved that which was already gone.

And then the tech had jolted me back to the present as she began the procedure. She put the instrument down into the jelly on my stomach, and with an “Oh...” immediately pulled it back up. I looked over at her, I looked over at the screen up on the wall.

And then I heard those words that will forever ring in my mind.
“There’s a baby in there.”

That moment in time will be clearly etched in my mind forever. That exact moment in time when life both stopped and life began all at the exact same moment.
And that baby wasn’t dead. That baby had a heartbeat. And I heard it, and then I saw it move. Alive. A baby. Alive. But how?

My eyes glued to that monitor on the wall, my hands clutching my heart, forcing myself to breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Willing myself to attempt some thread of rational sanity.

Nearly two decades of infertility. Nearly going broke paying for treatments. Nearly going broke and losing our ever loving minds every single day after we entered the adoption world and reality. Nearly getting divorced over the hardships and stresses it all left wreaking havoc on our current marriage. Nearly giving up all hope and rational reasoning of having a biological baby and any semblance of a "normal" life.

But suddenly, at the age of thirty-nine, there, in that room, in that moment... was a heartbeat. Was a life. Was an answer to years of pain and sorrow and pleading and begging and downright groveling with the Lord.

The little hands were clasped together in front of itself, the little heartbeat showing like little light explosions behind those clasped hands.

Life. Life we had created. Biological life that was 50% me and 50% my husband. And it was alive. And it had a heartbeat.

And it was going to be twelve weeks along the following morning. Three months old and had been hidden and unknown until that exactly moment.

Surreal. Unreal. And yet absolutely real all at the same time.

And that is what I’m laying here thinking about. In the dark, all alone this morning.

I can still remember it like it was yesterday, and I can’t honestly believe that somehow four years have already slipped by since then. Four years. Some days it feels an eternity, some days but a blink.

I can remember the feeling of the whirlwind of emotions of my life immediately before that moment. The pain, the sorrow, the previous miscarriage, the infertility, the struggle, the frustration, the devastation, the lost, the helpless, the hopeless, the anger, the fighting, the disappointment, the resentment, the envy... and now four years later I would come to know that all of those exact same things, and so much more, would again be experienced in a much bigger, greater, more intense way. 

What we had experienced in life up until that one exact moment ... we would soon learn would be nothing compared to what we were in store to experience and endure in the days, weeks, months and years ahead.

No that baby with that little heartbeat that day is not a beautiful, sassy, spunky three year old right now in our home. There are no pink dresses and sparkly shoes and hair bows and little dollies anywhere in our house four years later. No. There is only a gaping hole in our hearts left there when we had to lower her into a hole in the ground on that unseasonably warm late March day in the cemetery on the other end of town.

Time does not heal all things. It may temporally dull them a little, but I don’t think this is something I will ever fully heal from this side of heaven. Most days I’m ok with that, most days I have come to terms with the hand life has dealt me... but some days I’m not.

Some days I am still overtaken with an intense anger at God. Some days I’m am still overtaken by an intense grief from a loss I cannot honestly fathom or fully bear. Some days I am still so completely lost and hurting inside it leaves me almost unable to go on, to function, to continue forward.

Some days I do at least attempt to trust the plan for my life and humbly trust and obey... but not today. Today I’m choosing to allow myself to sit in my grief and tears and mixing in my anger and frustration and overwhelming disappointment. And you know what - that’s ok. It’s ok to not be ok. And that is going to be me today.

Today I will remember when I first saw her, first heard her precious little heartbeat, first learned of her miraculous existence.

Today I will hurt and I will grieve what was taken from me and what was not fairly dealt to me. Today I will feel anger and resentment towards a good God, an awesome and mighty and powerful God. Today I will ache for all the things lost and taken from me and from within me. Today I will allow myself to remember and to feel and to hurt and to be emotional. And today that will be ok.

Tomorrow I will maybe work on viewing the positive side of all this again, and maybe it won’t be until several tomorrows from now. Yes, I know deep inside that this was all meant for good and had made me a better person overall, but to be completely honest, that reality is a hard reality to have all the time.  That reality takes a lot of work to keep up and keep strong in front of me.

Today I don't want to be strong. Today I'm going to remember, and hurt, and grieve that which I wanted and fought so gallantly for for so so so long - and would then come to lose almost as quickly as I was given. And I don't care how good God is, or how positive a person can be... that... that reality, my friends, sucks and is utterly not fair.

Today I am going to allow all those broken shards still deep within me, still pricking and bleeding within me, to pierce me with all their pain and sorrow and unrest. And it will be fine... and I will be fine.  Yes, this too shall pass, it always does. But for today, and for this season in which I am yet again going to re-enter for the forth time, it’s going to have to be ok if I let the hard and ugly stay just a little while longer and not let it pass. 

Today I'm officially entering season four of our "Journey to Faith" - our love and our loss of our precious little Faith MaryJo, my greatest gift and my largest tragedy suffered thus far in my life.

I will remember, I will hurt, I will grieve, and I will celebrate her in all she was and all she never was able to be.

{ Previous Blog post "Dreams Are A Funny Thing"  HERE }