Life Interrupted

All we have—ourselves--to Him, and if that be all, that is enough. --Watchman Nee

So, I began this blog with good intentions. Of course, every failed diet I've began was with good intentions too. Nevertheless, life was interrupted since I last haunted these pages.

You know what they say God does when you make a plan? He laughs. And if I've learned nothing else, I know that man has a rip roaring, hilarious sense of humor! I'm a walking one liner on most days..."What happens when Heather screws in the lightbulb?...Yeah, who are we kidding? She met an old lady while buying lightbulbs and bonded over brownies and old lady perfume. That was three days ago and I think the old lady is moving in." I have a husband for that pesky task of light sources. (Thank you, honey!)

So, let me fill you in on my plans and how God delights in bulldozing them, leaving space for bigger and better things.

 I was a preschool teacher planning on being a working mom when we became pregnant with our twins. When that second little monkey showed himself on the ultrasound, that plan was out the window. I would have been working full time, hardly seeing my children and giving up my whole paycheck and then some. It just didn't make sense. I was stunned. A stay at home mom? Me? I had no example, much less, desire to follow that path. But you see, God knew what was going to happen in my heart when our babies were born. I looked at my husband, Joe, a week after they were born, and told him there was no way in Hades I was going to let someone else take care of my sweet babes and that it didn't matter to me if pigs flew, Mike Tyson really DID address his sociopathic behavior, or if the Solid Gold dancers came back together (God, hear this prayer!), I was never, ever, ever, ever going to be able to return to work after seeing their sweet faces. Plan B commence.

So, after six years of being at home full time, working part time jobs from time to time (mostly to converse with adults), I prepared myself to address this stirring feeling I had been having in my heart for years to go into ministry. It was scary, to say the least (have you read about my spiritual foundation?), and took me an entire year to say aloud to my husband. It took me another year to have a conversation with someone I respect a great deal in ministry, knowing she would be supportive and help steer me in how to proceed. I had become more comfortable inside the walls of the church than I was anywhere else. I wasn't sure how that happened but I was spending 4-5 days at my church, involved in various ministries, attending worship and consumed with the feeling that this was was where I belonged. Really belonged.

You see, I am a very outgoing person and I meet people easily. I come across as someone who has "it" together whatever that "it" is in your opinion. My dirty little secret? I had struggled with my own identity since caring for my father ended with his death. I had held onto that identity so tightly, hoping that it would bring me closer to him and foolishly hoping it would delay the inevitable, but all it did was leave a feeling of hopelessness upon his death. Now, what? I wasn't sure and if I'm honest, scared about what that next step  without my father meant. I tried on different hats- wife, mom, teacher, volunteer and yet, this stirring in my heart wouldn't go away. I felt called to do more. Be more.

I pushed it down and it bubbled to the surface. I squashed it with a great job that was wonderfully challenging and matched my previous work experience. It didn't fill the hole I was feeling. I signed up for every bible study, committee and ministry project I could get my hands on, thinking it would satisfy this hunger I was feeling. It didn't. And once I accepted, that once again, God was interrupting life as I knew it, I took a big breath and exhaled. I am called.

And the thing is, once I accepted it, no, embraced it, God laughed. He dropped a wonderful opportunity into my path and I am embarking on my next great adventure into ministry. The thing is, the fear isn't gone. It's that the passion, the excitement, the feeling that God is blessing this effort, overrides the fear. The first step is the hardest, they say, and I'm skipping right over it into my future, serving Him, serving the church, and serving children. All three of my passions coming together. He called. I answered. Thank you God.

Why Blog?

We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face... we must do that which we think we cannot.
Eleanor Roosevelt

 For the last couple of years, friends have been telling me, "You should write a book about this stuff!" or "Why don't you have a blog?" My response in regards to both has been "Who would want to read about my crazy life?" The answer- my children.

Why blog now? For two reasons: fear and love.

Growing up, I was secure, safe, loved. Two parents, no siblings, center of my family's universe. When I was 12, that all changed in an instant. My father left our family at the same time he was also diagnosed with cancer. My security? Poof...gone. Safety? Shattered. Love? Distantly present with certain qualifications.

Struggling with my father's decision to leave our family after having an affair and picking up with her children and his new family where we had left off was a blow, to say the least. A cancer diagnosis for the once invincible man I imagined my father to be? Crushing. I felt torn between feeling betrayed and feeling guilty at being angry at the frail, miserable man my father had become.

Over the next five years, I grew up fast. My parents' divorce was ugly at times, custody issues abounded and my father's cancer progressed. My relationship with my father suffered greatly and as much as I wanted to stay angry with him, I wanted his love even more. So, I set aside my needs and attended to his. I began caring for him, getting an education in legal disputes, hospital protocol, cancer treatments and home healthcare. A child shouldering the responsibilities some adults don't see in their lifetime.

On Christmas Eve, 1997, my father passed away. He was 41. I was 17. I was angry. I was angry at the world, and questioning why God would make someone suffer as much as my father had. Just eight months later, I was at college, out on my own, navigating the world with unimaginable grief. I made poor choices and learned little of it. I felt broken.

Fast forward to 2005. I am newly married to the love of my life and am preparing to have our children, twins, a boy and a girl. Life can't get much better, and yet, I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing good in my life had come without a price tag so I felt like I was tempting fate, having a great marriage to a wonderful man and asking for two healthy babies to be born into my messy, mixed up world of doubts.

At 32 weeks pregnant, the other shoe dropped. I found myself lying in the same hospital I had come to know so well during my father's cancer journey, begging God to let me have what I felt I didn't deserve- two healthy children. Over the next two weeks, let's just say I had some pretty intense conversations with God, pouring out my anger and fear, asking that he replace them with hope and health. I specifically asked that he give me two more weeks, the deadline the doctors had given us, that would significantly improve their chances of survival and health. I hadn't asked God for anything in almost 10 yrs. The last time I asked for healing didn't work out so well for my dad.

Exactly two weeks later, my children were born, with minimal complications. Three weeks after that, we went home as a family of four. Over and over again, I felt God whispering to me, "You can trust me." Months later, navigating postpartum depression, he continued to whisper, "You can trust me." I hadn't FULLY trusted anyone since my father left. Not even my husband- I gave him an out before we were to be married, telling him he could leave if he wanted to. He didn't, thank God.

My family is my greatest blessing. I could not put into words the amazing, amazing, amazing love for my children that filled every hole in my heart I didn't know I had. I can say that I am working on trusting God fully each day. It's a struggle, despite His fulfilling of so many promises in my lifetime.

So what does this all have to do with blogging?

Since my children were born, I have kept a journal for them, detailing little milestones in their lifetimes. Sorta like a baby book on crack. It contains all their funny little sayings and questions. It details difficult medical appointments. It has things in it I want to remember forever and for them to cherish when I'm gone.

You may wonder, "Is this where she says she's sick? This woman is a walking Oprah special!" I'm not ill. I recieve the usual doctor's note- eat less, exercise more and de-stress. What I'm struggling with is fear. Textbook fear. If I'm honest and transparent, I can admit that I keep that journal for my children in case something ever happens to me. It's not really about keeping track of all the little details, though I cherish those. The thousands of picturesI've taken in their short 5 years? Not for me to hang on my walls. For them to remember me, remember us together. It's about my fear of leaving my children behind. I don't so much worry about death. I worry about leaving my family behind. My love for them takes my breath some days.

So why blog now? After all the fight I have put up over the last couple of years about it? Heck, I already keep a journal, right? I'm blogging for them. I'm writing so that they may know me more intimately and I can explore my faith/ my life along the way. It may be in fear at times, but I am embracing where I am in that fear and exploring it in these "pages". My journey for more will be about letting go of my fear, living each day present in the moment God has given me, reaching out to whatever He may place in my path and learning to trust Him fully each step of the way. I can't change it... not for lacking of trying :) This journey of mine will be honest, transparent and full of love. It's all I know how to do. This is for my children.