The reason for the season....

I have been struggling with Christmas this year. Normally this is one of my favorite times of year. I love the lights, the music, the fun with family. I have really come to love playing Santa and looking for and finding the perfect gift for Brian. It's a wonderful time of year.
But this year...I'm not feeling it. The music is not bringing me joy, the season is not filling me with hope, and mostly I feel worried and stressed. And I would venture to say that 99.999% of it is my own fault. Here's why.
I can't be content with what we have. Most of the year I can deal with the fact that my husband and I are poor. We may have middle-class aspirations, ideals, and values...but let's face facts. We are poor. Paying bills every month is a balancing act...do we pay this one or that one? How long can we let this one go before it has to get paid? Throw necessities like paper towels or toilet paper, shampoo, etc. into the mix and it starts to get really interesting. Start adding in needed clothing and well...let's just say buying socks fills me with dread because I worry about all the other things we have to buy, too.
And now..Christmas. The time of presents. My oldest son is old enough to know all about Christmas and presents. And we have gotten him a few things. Nothing big or elaborate, but probably more than he needs anyway. But my husband and I are going on our 4th year of not buying each other gifts. And I don't think we'll be getting our newest little guy presents this year. There's just not room in the budget. And it hurts me to see all my friends and family talking about their Christmas shopping and their budgets and all the things they're going to be getting and buying and doing and hoping for. And I feel so woefully inadequate. What kind of parents are we that we can't buy our children and each other even simple gifts?
I know the platitudes. I know that gifts are not the reason for the season. I know that what we're celebrating is not financial security but the birth of Jesus Christ who came to save us from a lot more than an overdrawn bank account. It still hurts.
I am trying to remind myself that I am giving my children things that do matter. A home, electricity, running water, food, love. And by world standards my family is wealthy because we have all those things and more. And we have a wonderful family that cares for us and I know that my children will not want for anything this Christmas. But I wish I could do more for them. I wish I could give them everything, even though I know that what I am giving them is far more valuable.
I am giving them a marriage that is loving and stable. I am giving them a father who works hard and loves them. I am giving them a mother who is working so hard to finish school and provide an example of what determination and perseverance and education can get you. A mother who loves them. I am giving them healthy meals (most days of the week) and memories of baking and cleaning and playing.
I am giving them so much. But I worry that it won't be valued. That it will be disappointing. That it won't be enough.
We had an interesting sermon this Sunday about blessings. Most of us think of blessings as material things, or stuff that makes us feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I know I tend to think of blessings that way. But here's what I've been thinking all week. God has blessed my family with poverty. We have enough. We do not have an overabundance, but we have enough...barely. Some months I swear we make it with not an inch of breathing room, but we do make it. And yet we still desire to give. We want to help those who are hurting, who have less, who are in far more need than us. Our poverty has given us compassion, empathy, kindness, generosity. We value our things less and each other more. God has blessed us. And when I think of it that way it makes not being able to have a big Christmas a little easier. God has blessed us. We are poor, but I do not believe we will always be so, although I have no aspirations for great wealth. I think we will always have what is sufficient, what is needed. And we will always have a greater strength of faith and generosity and compassion and hope because God blessed us with poverty.
I hope that God blesses you in ways that you do not expect, in ways that bring you closer to Him this Christmas season.
Merry Christmas!

Nostalgia...

Lst night as I was falling asleep I was remembering the day that my children  were born, Brian in particular. I had a difficult labor with Brian but what I was remembering was the moment he was placed in my arms.

We regarded each other for several minutes and I remember this look on his face. This sweet, wondering, trusting look...which gave way shortly to this face:

He really hated the shot and the eye ointment. I also remember that I began to love my husband in a whole new way that day. This remains my favorite picture of them:

What I remember most is how my life changed that day. I love my husband and if I lost him I would be heartbroken. But my children are part of me. They are part of the very essence of me. If I lost Brian or Teddy some essential part of my soul would be broken. Before I had children I had no idea that it was possible to love someone that much. But the very first minute that they put Brian into my arms some part of me changed forever.
I remember being afraid that I would not love Teddy as much, that there was no way I could love any other person as much as I love Brian. I was so wrong.

I remember the days my children were born. They were days that changed me in ways I could never have imagined. My children are vital to me. So even though Brian drives me crazy more often than not, and even though Teddy seems to think that the only time he can be happy is if I am around or holding him, they give me joy. They complete a part of me I didn't know was lacking. They fill me with wonder. Being their mother is one of the greatest privileges I have ever known. I am so grateful and so blessed.

Say what you need to say...

But of course sometimes you just can't bring yourself to open your mouth and say the words. That's why I thank God every day that I can write. It makes saying what I need to so much easier sometimes.
I need to say that watching someone you love die in front of you is hard. Losing someone you care about to disease is hard. When that person is choosing their disease and everyone around has to watch, that's worse. I'd almost rather they had cancer. At least with cancer it's not their fault. They didn't go out and pick up a bottle of cancer.
Watching the people around them try to cope with their sickness, especially when we all know they could be so much more, that's heartbreaking. You want to enjoy being around them, you want to remember the way they were, and instead you are constantly forced to confront the reality that the person you liked and loved and cared about isn't there anymore. It's like watching someone disappear into Alzheimer's or dementia except they're choosing to disappear. And you want nothing more than to make a different choice for them because you want the person you love back.
I don't want this person back just for me, either. I want this person back for all the people who love them. For my children, for my family. I want us all to have many many more years with them. I want Christmases, and birthdays, I want the joy of family dinner without the awkwardness of this giant, reeking elephant in the room. I want to stop being angry at the selfishness and disregard for the pain everyone else is suffering because of their actions. I want to trust them again. I want so many things. What I don't want is to keep watching them destroy their life.
And what I'm afraid of, what terrifies me more than anything else is the thought that the life they destroy might not be their own. Every time they choose to drive I am terrified that someone is going to pay a horrible price. I don't want to see them on the 10 o'clock news because they killed a family. Or a couple of teenagers. Or them self. I don't want my family to have to cope with the repercussions of vehicular homicide, or their own death, or an aggravated DUI. Part of me is furious that they can't see that we would all suffer because of their stupid, selfish choices. Most of me is just waiting for it to happen.
And a really big chunk of me is just angry. Angry that people I love have to be in so much pain while this person tries to figure out what the hell is wrong. Angry that they refuse to even acknowledge that what they are doing is wrong. Angry that they don't understand how many people and lives they endanger everyday. Angry that they refuse help. Angry that I am going to have to tell my son that someone he loves is gone and never coming back because they were selfish, and stupid, and stubborn. Because unless things change, and soon, they are going to die. Or they are going to kill someone else and end up in jail for a long time.
The saddest part is, the person we're all watching self-destruct doesn't really exist anymore. They're a shadow of who they used to be, so in a way they've already died. Or that person is buried so deep that they may as well have. We're all left with a person who is really just a pathetic shell of the person they were. It is heartbreaking and all of us are heartbroken about it. Because we've lost someone we love so much and I don't know if we'll ever get them back.

Another of my favorite things...

Where I live! As I was driving to class tonight I had the pleasure of watching the sun set. At first the clouds were just faintly pink with a lavender tint to the surrounding clouds. Slowly they became bright orange until it seemed as though all the clouds were on fire. It was truly spectacular. But then, we have pictures and memories of many spectacular sunsets. It is just part of the reason I love living here.

I also love the openness of our landscape. You can see for miles and miles. I love watching storms roll in during the summer. I love looking out across the landscape and finding small details that I haven't seen before. I love watching the shift of colors from season to season.
I also love our mountains. Not only does it help give me a great sense of direction, but I love how big they are. They tower over the city and give it a depth and a contrast that I haven't found anywhere else. I love the pinkness of them when the sun sets, and they way they look as though they've been dusted with powdered sugar when it snows.

I love our seasons, our food, and the people who live here. I love that I live in a city but it feels like a smaller town. I love all of our quirks, the richness of our history and our culture. I love laughing at stories of people who think we're part of Mexico and all the crazy misconceptions people have about New Mexico.
Where I live is not perfect. There are some things about my state that I would change. But its beauty, its heritage, and its openness are things I give thanks for everyday.

My favorite things...Music

I am going to be doing a series on my favorite things...at least until I run out of favorite things, which may never happen. Anyway, first up in the series is

MUSIC!

I love music. I listen to music almost every day, and I love all different kinds of music. There are some exceptions, I'm not a huge fan of country (there are some exceptions, mostly just individual songs) and I really don't care for opera. That being said, the rest of the musical world is pretty awesome.
Music is where I go when I lack the words to express something, it is often reflective of my mood, and I have a song for every occasion!
Right at this very minute I'm listening to a play list I put together for Brian, my oldest. It has songs from his favorite cartoon show (Phineas and Ferb), Disney songs, songs from Sandra Boynton, and songs from a folk group called Trout Fishing in America. I love all these songs because they're all intelligent. I'm not generally a fan of music specifically for kids because it tends to dumb things down. These songs manage to be age appropriate, fun, and not stupid. Big win in my book.
One of my few splurges during the year is a Pandora membership. For $36/year I can create as many different radio stations as I like, so I really have a station for every mood! I have classical-one more geared for symphonic/orchestral music and one for more piano music. I have a jazz station that incorporates modern jazz as well as early jazz and everything that came in the middle (good station for rainy days). I have a pop music station (Brian loves to dance), several rock stations (indie, pop, punk, mixed, heavy, classic) a Christmas music station, a Broadway music station, an Enya station (I can't think of how else to describe that kind of music) a toddler music, Disney music, and a lullaby station. Each has a place and I may listen to several throughout the day, it just depends on how I feel. I just realized that I do not have a big band/swing station and I need to fix that!

I also have favorite artists, songs, and genres. I love rock music, then classical. The rest is sort of equally distributed. My all-time favorite group is Green Day. I never get tired of their music. I love anything I can sing along with, anything with great lyrics, but I also love a piece of music that says something without a single word ever being spoken. My favorite is Beethoven's symphony #7. One of the best dates I've ever been on with my husband is the one we went on last year to see the NMSO play this. So much emotion in one piece of music, it is fabulous. The right piece of music can do so much, help me write, help me think, help me clean, help me relax!

Now, I am not by any means a music geek. My mom is, her husband is, but you start getting into theory and all that and I'm out. I can read music and I enjoy singing and I used to kind of sort of be able to play a couple of instruments, but that's about it. And that's enough. I love listening to music, I love being around music, and at times I enjoy helping make music. But I don't need to be able to analyze it.
So to sum up. Music=Awesome. Definitely one of my most favorite things.

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.