Following the call

When I think back to being a small child and the inevitable "What do you want to be when you grow up?" question, I invariably remember telling whoever asked that I wanted to either teach or help people. As I grew older I decided that I had no idea what I really wanted to do, but I have always had a strong desire to help people who were suffering. Eventually this became an unmistakable call to work in social services. I'm not sure in what capacity that will be yet, but I know that's where I belong. The first class I took that was directly related to the program, I opened my text book and read the description of a social worker and went "Yep! That is me!"
I believe that all people are given skills and abilities that are unique and fit them uniquely to do certain things in life. Some of us are called to be number crunchers (not me!), some of us are called to be doctors or nurses, some to teach. I know that I am called to help others. But that doesn't mean that I do not on occasion doubt myself.
Sometimes I am afraid I am wrong. Maybe I'm arrogant to believe that I have anything to offer anyone. When my classes are difficult, or I look ahead to my Master's program or the state licensing requirements and feel small and inadequate, I think that perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. Maybe all I'm good for is pushing paper and answering phones (horrors! I hate to answer my own phone for people I know half the time...I can't imagine doing it everyday for complete strangers!). Sometimes I nearly drown in a sea of doubt and fear.
But then I remember. I am God's unique creation. I am the only me ever to be, and no matter how many people came before or will come after, there will never ever be another me. That's pretty special. And nobody would ever make anything so special if it didn't have a purpose. I cannot imagine doing anything else with my life. So despite all my fear and doubt and insecurity I know the call of my heart. I have to let go of my limited vision, and my limited understanding and have faith that the caller and the call are true. Because really, faith is the only cure for fear.
So, when I think about my future and what I am working toward and I feel that incredible sense of peace and rightness, I know: this is my direction. I may not know exactly how it's all going to work out, but I know that I am heading the right way to get there.

Scars

Most people have at least one or two scars. I have several. I have a few on my hands from horsing around. I have one on my left forearm I got in a fight when I was a kid. I have 3 part scar on my stomach from an appendectomy. I think stretch marks count as scars and boy did my kids give me plenty of those! I have four on my right ankle/leg. One I got when I was a little girl, the other 3 are the result of surgeries to repair a broken leg/ankle. I have scars on both my shoulders and one on my right arm. All of my scars have a story.
But I also have scars that you can't see from the outside. Places where things have been broken and have healed. I've been seeing something go around Facebook the last couple of days about "invisible illnesses." This is really about invisible scars.
For most of my life I have struggled with an invisible illness and it has left many scars on me and those around me. When I was a teenager I was diagnosed with depression. When I was 18 I was given an official diagnosis of dysthymic disorder (http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001916/) and major depression. I went to therapy for a little while, took anti-depressants, and none of it really helped (funny, since I now want to be a therapist). When I was 19 I attempted suicide and spent several days in a mental hospital. There's a fairly large scar there and I can honestly say I don't remember a whole lot of what went on. I can recall one incident from the ER when they were going to put a tube into my stomach to get the charcoal in and they were talking about restraining me and my mom said no, that I would hold still and I was strong enough to do that. I had never felt so weak and my mom was saying that I was strong enough, that I was stronger than this. I have never forgotten that. Even now when I feel overwhelmed I remember that even at my weakest, I was strong enough.
The funny thing about this scar is that in the long run is has done a lot more good than harm. It was an ugly, terrible, awful thing. I hurt a lot of people, and I hurt myself. But it has given me a passion. I am driven to help people who feel as helpless, hopeless, lost, hurt, angry, confused as I was then. I have never once since woken up and felt that the world would be a better place without me in it. I used to wake up every day and wish I hadn't. I appreciate my blessings more. I am kinder. I have more compassion for people who are hurting. It was a true blessing in disguise.
I will never be entirely free from depression. I may not struggle day to day anymore, but I was told that I will likely suffer at least one more major episode during my lifetime. Maybe I won't, but I could. The day to day depression is gone, although I do occasionally still feel a little blue, particularly when I am overly stressed. But I have learned to listen to myself better, to know my limits and what I can and cannot do and to respect that.
And why have I written about this? Because depression is an invisible illness. Because the person sitting next to you might be depressed, or the guy who made your coffee. You don't know. But like any other illness it can kill you if it isn't treated, and so few people get the treatment they need. Societal stigma, lack of resources, fear, shame. I always avoided talking about my depression because I was afraid of being judged, because I was ashamed. I am not anymore and while I don't intend to take out a billboard next to the freeway about it, neither will I hide it away. It is simply one of many scars and it has a story like all the others. The real takeaway from this is, for me anyway, be kind. You don't know what people are going through. So spend a little more effort and be kind to those around you. Even when you don't want to, you never know when you might make a difference.

Big Weekend

This is a big weekend for us. My son, Teddy, is six months old today! It has really flown by. I feel like it was just yesterday he was a bitty baby just home from the hospital. Brian had his first full week of Pre-K and his first bug from school. Tomorrow is my husband James and I's first wedding anniversary.

Teddy celebrated his birthday by getting shots, which was not his favorite activity, but he is doing great. He is meeting or exceeding all of his milestones and has doubled his weight and grown 4 3/4".
Brian still doesn't tell us what's going on at school but thankfully his teacher includes a "what we did this week" notice every Friday. They worked on writing their names this week and Brian is doing really well. They also worked on science and had chapel and music. I'm sure Brian enjoyed all of it. He really loves to go.
James and I are celebrating by having a kid-free night. We're going out to dinner, and then I have no idea what we'll do. Something fun, I'm sure.

All-in-all this year has been very full. New baby, lots more responsibility for me at school, and the on-going issues with James's job. It will be nice to relax tonight and really take some time to be grateful for all the blessings and gifts that this year has brought us.

Have a great weekend everyone!!

Remembering 9/11/01

Everyone who was alive 10 years ago remembers where they were today. Many of us will spend the day in reflection about where we were, who we were with, what we remember.
I remember 9/11 as one of the most difficult days I've ever lived through. I was home when the towers were hit, and home when they fell. My ankle was broken and I didn't feel like going to school. I remember getting up and seeing the news on TV. I remember asking my mother what was happening and she said we didn't know. I watched as the second plane flew into the tower, I watched as people jumped from the windows and smoke poured into the sky, I watched as the towers collapsed. I watched them re-run the footage over and over. I remember Peter Jennings, tired, disheveled, weary, and just as confused as the rest of us, but remaining calm, remaining reassuring, even as we began to make sense of what had happened. I miss him.
I will always remember that day. My heart broke to see people jump. I have never been so afraid of what tomorrow would bring.
Ten years later we live in a world I don't think many of us could have imagined. In some ways I think this is a world we would not have wanted to imagine. We live in a world of terror threats, terrorist actions, extreme fear. There is great unrest in many places and we remain at war. We live in uncertain times.
However, I remain convinced that in spite of all the unrest, all the uncertainty, some things do remain constant. Love is constant, hope is constant. We may not know what tomorrow brings, but we can hang on to love and hope.
For me I choose love. Not hate. I choose hope. Not fear. I have no control over what tomorrow, or even today, will bring. But I have control over how I will approach it. I have control over what I will do. I have control over my reactions.
I will remember this day with sadness for the rest of my life. So many were lost on this day. So many have been lost since then keeping this country safe. We may lose many more in the future. But I hope that it will not be in vain. I hope that one day we can build a world at peace. I hope that one day we may honor those we have lost by creating a world where no one is lost in such a needless way.
Remember 9/11. Remember those who were lost. Build a future they can be proud of.

Time flies

It's been a busy week for us. We all had Labor Day off and we spent the day doing things together as a family. Tuesday was fairly quiet, but Wednesday was Brian's first day of pre-K.
I think it went well. He didn't cry, didn't cling, didn't fuss. In fact, he acted like he's been going to preschool or daycare his whole life (he's never gone). His teacher had to make him come back out and say good-bye to me. Watching him walk into his classroom and begin this whole new phase of his life was bittersweet for me. On the one hand, I am so proud of him and how confident and open and friendly he is. And on the other I wish that he weren't growing up quite so fast. I've tried to raise him to be self-sufficient in a lot of ways, and he is. And really that's a good thing. But sometimes, just sometimes, I just wish he needed me a little more than he does.
His second day of school was today and went just as well as his first day. And it was a little easier on me. He wanted to stay longer when it was time to leave, but I am glad he is enjoying it so much. He is growing up so fast and while part of me wishes he could stay a little boy forever, most of me is just excited to see who he's growing up to be!

Hope

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

-Emily Dickinson

Friday night was an exciting night for my husband and I. I was getting the baby to sleep, he was carting our old bed out to the dumpster to make space for the new bed we were getting on Saturday. He had gotten the mattress downstairs and was taking the box spring out when I heard a *pop* sound. Now, in our neighborhood we often have people setting off fireworks at all times of the year, so I at first told myself that it was a firework. But then *pop,pop,pop*. No. Not a firework. The very distinctive sound of gunfire. And my husband was outside.
I live in a nice part of town. It's quiet, we live near a police substation. So gunfire is not typical. In the two years that we've lived here we have never ever had an incident like this.
I sat on the couch, frozen, trying to decide if it was safe to go outside and check on James or if I should stay where I was. After all, I was holding the baby. Finally I could stand it no longer and I went outside to make sure James was OK. And thankfully he was fine. He had seen the whole thing though and it appeared that one car was chasing another and firing shots at it. I was just glad he was safe.
Several of our neighbors came outside to see what had happened and to make sure no stray shots had injured anyone around us. Luckily, nobody appears to have been injured in the incident.

We all chatted for a bit, compared notes, and we even met a couple of new neighbors who had moved in recently. We all went back inside and back to whatever we had been doing. Maybe a bit shaken up, but safe all the same.
A friend of mine, remarking on the incident, said it seemed at times as though the world must be coming to an end. After all, in the last week there were several earthquakes, a hurricane was bearing down on the East coast, the economy is struggling, people are out of work, and it seems as though the news can report on nothing but murder, kidnapping, bombings, war, death, famine and so on.

I agree that the times seem bleak. They are dreadful and awful things happening everywhere. Murder, riots, war-the world can be a scary place. And it certainly seems there is nothing good to report or surely it would make the news. Reasons to be afraid, reasons to hide, to despair, are everywhere. Fear is screaming in our faces every day.

And yet, I have hope. We did not cower in our homes in fear. We came out to make sure that we were safe. We began new connections. Our lives go on. My son made two new friends at church today. Apparently he isn't the only one who loves to run around the sanctuary after services. Our baby has learned to sit up by himself and is beginning to crawl. My geranium is finally recovering from the mauling it took last month.
All of these things are small. They are quiet. They almost escape notice. They do not make the news. They do not cry out for attention.

And this is why. Hope does not require our attention to exist. Hope simply exists. Hope is there, waiting quietly, for us to notice. It does not need our regard in order to be. So Hope is a quiet thing. It is a thing told in whispers, in hugs, in laughter, in concern for another. Hope exists in moments of compassion and forgiveness, in moments of grace. Hope exists in peace, and Hope exists in war. In times of plenty or in famine, Hope is there.

Fear, on the other hand, requires a lot. It needs our attention. In needs our anger, our mistrust, our ignorance. It must clamor and shout because if we stop paying attention, if we stop feeding it, it will cease to exist. The more we fear, the bigger it becomes. We have more and more things to be afraid of. Soon anything can be a source of fear. We become paralyzed. We cannot act. And yet...

Hope can be found here as well. Because we have a choice. We can choose to turn away from fear. We can choose Hope. And Hope will always be there for us. Waiting quietly and patiently for us to forget our fear.

Deep cleaning

I will admit now that I am not the world's best housekeeper. I'm not the worst but I struggle with keeping a tidy house. My grandmother's house always looks immaculate to me (I'm sure it has cluttered and messy days, but I've never seen it.). I know how she does it but it just seems to be beyond me to keep my house that way. Oh well, I do the best I can.
However, every few months I feel compelled to clean. I mean really clean. I clean out closets, I clean out cabinets, I scrub everything, I rearrange my furniture. And for a few days my house looks great. And then it goes back to looking like two small kids and a slightly messy husband live here. And I spend a lot of my time just trying to contain all the chaos.
I think some of our problem is the sheer amount of stuff we have. We have clothes for 4 people, we have a couch, a loveseat, a TV and coffee table, DVD cabinets, an end table, Brian's little table and chairs, two beds, a bassinet, 3 dressers, some shelves, a desk for Brian, and that's just the big stuff. I keep trying to downsize, to get rid of things that we don't need or use but it seems never ending. I swear this stuff is breeding behind my back.
I did manage to purge a lot of kitchen stuff and give it away to a neighbor who is just starting a household with her boyfriend. I thought it was fitting since most of it was stuff that James and I had when we first set up house together.
I donated 6 13 gallon trash bags of clothes yesterday. I bet I find more but I still have to go through Brian's closet, again.
It really feels never ending. But as I clean and get rid of the old I feel lighter. And I realized, this is how life is too. Periodically we go through and clean out all the junk. All the relationships that aren't healthy, or we mend the ones that can be saved. We make space for new relationships, new people, new places, new experiences. If we just keep carrying around all our baggage we never have room for anything new. We stay the same.
For the record this cleaning spree was prompted by the imminent arrival of a new bed for James and me. We've had the same bed for almost 10 years and a new one is long overdue. So I've been cleaning and making space. Something new, something good, is coming. It's worth letting go of a few old things we're never going to use again.
So are the things in life that no longer serve a purpose. Old hurts, old anger, old prejudices, old fear. It's time to let those go too. Time for fresh starts all around. I can't wait to see what new and good things come to take their place.