My spirit was broken.

It felt as if every passion, every desire, every love, vision and dream had been stripped from my soul and I was being asked to face all the truths of reality.

It was brutally quieting and humbling.

Yes, one month ago, I sat meek and mild, hunched over in the middle of our laundry room with huge piles of clean and dirty clothes all around me. I folded the mess and spoke my deepest, most intimate needs through tears as my husband passed on his way out to another 12-year-old baseball game.

“I just really need someone to root for me,” I said, among other significant truths.

This wasn’t a husband vs. wife fight. This wasn’t a me against the world fight. This wasn’t a pity party. This was a spiritual battle, a kingdom battle of eternity vs. reality. An asking all the big life questions kind of moment. An asking what’s the purpose of my life kind of moment, and who’s really, truly in this with me kind of moment.

After all…

“Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 6:12 

I needed to know someone was rooting for me.

I needed to know someone was by my side no matter what.

I needed to know that someone really understood what was going on in my life, in my heart, in my mind, in my soul.

I needed to know that someone completely and wholeheartedly understood and embraced my dreams and visions, even if they’re a little or a lot crazy.

I needed to know someone had my back.

I needed to know that someone was following my story, that someone cared for every detail, that someone was willing to sit down and hear me all out.

I needed someone to believe in me.

I needed someone who understood my most authentic intentions.

I needed a real, live breathing body willing to take time to really get to know me, say “you go girl,” and be all in with me and for me.

I needed more than surface things.

I needed someone who was willing to go far beneath the surface to things that really mattered.

I needed to feel known, tended, and supported for who I was, for who I am.

We’re free and brave in the USA. We love our independence, our autonomy. We’re busy, we’re bound and determined to make a whole lot of things happen to achieve the American Dream in our own little corner of this great land.

But I’m concerned.

I’m concerned we’re far too busy, far too independent, far too bound and determined.

Many of us are missing out on real, deep, authentic connection.

I’ve been told a few times that I’d never share things in “real life” that I share here on the blog.

It’s true.

Or maybe not…

In some cases, I share way more on the blog than people think I should, way more than others would, way more than makes people comfortable.

Do you know why that is?

Because our lives are SO crazy busy that there’s no real place for sitting with someone for hours and learning where they are, who they are, what their greatest dreams and insecurities are on any given day. How many people do you REALLY know? I’m just asking, because generally speaking, I think we’re far too busy to give one another the real time of day.

I’m so over “How are you?” “Good.” “How are you?” “Fine.” I don’t even want to ask or answer anymore.

If you want to know the real me, we honestly need at least a couple hours together in good hearty conversation, maybe three, four or more (without kids). Who has that kind of time these days?

So I share here for those who are willing to listen, for those who are willing to join in the conversation. Real, authentic conversation. Deep, meaningful, sometimes dark conversation. Faith, fun and adventures, dreams and visions, living and loving through the hard and easy stuff, too.

I don’t know about you, but right now, I don’t have a place for the connection and depth I need as a human being. Real, long-lasting community is hard to come by these days.

Our busy culture concerns me.

We’re missing out on connection and authenticity.

People need to be known.

People need to be understood.

People desire these things deep in their souls.

So often, we’re just passing by hurting, needy souls and don’t even know it.

I’m weary of living on the easy, breezy surface.

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” Gandhi

“So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you…”  Matthew 7:12

This morning I woke up with fresh perspective.

I must be the change I wish to see in the world.

I must do for others what I would love to have done for me.

I need to be way more intentional about learning people, knowing people, speaking life to them, understanding them right where they are.

I need to be way more intentional about hearing people, understanding them, believing in all of who they are.

I am going to ROOT for the special group of people God puts in my path every day.

Because somebody needs encouragement. Somebody needs to know they’ve been heard. Somebody needs to know they’re doing okay. Somebody needs to know they’re on the right track. Somebody needs to know they’re known.

This isn’t so much about helping people as it is about knowing people.

This isn’t a “rah rah sis boom bah” kind of rooting. This is a quiet rooting, a listening, hearing, embracing and wholly understanding another human being right where they are, right where God’s growing them and leading them.

I’m rooting for you, friends.

Be the change you wish to see.

Root others on.

Root on.

We must.

You might have noticed I’ve been extra quiet on the blog the past two weeks. That’s because we hosted Christian singer/songwriter, Ginny Owens, for an acoustic house show three days ago!

From day one, the house show was in God’s hands. I sensed God was at work, that He wanted to do something through this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that I needed to simply surrender to His plan. This was a true act of faith for me. But very early on and all throughout the journey, I experienced a spiritual battle of doubt and fear. Faith won. I knew it would. I knew it must.

I journaled my way through the experience of hosting the Ginny Owens acoustic house show. Today, I’m letting you in on my two-month journey of doubt, fear and God’s provision.

May 13, 2015

When I opened Twitter late this morning, a tweet from Ginny Owens popped up in the center of my feed. In-between Ginny’s performances at big Christian music festivals, she and her band were going to be performing intimate acoustic house shows. Ginny was in search of hosts. The thought of hosting Ginny Owens for a concert in my own home sounded AMAZING and I figured there was nothing to lose, so I took 60 minutes to complete the online application and an additional 15 minutes to send photographs of our home. I was convinced this was a pipe dream. I thought there was NO WAY we would EVER be selected to host a Ginny Owens house show. But after I sent the application and photos, I prayed anyway, asking God to make a way for our application to be accepted if this was His will and plan.

May 14, 2015

I received an email from the House Show Agency stating they would love to have a show at our house pending management’s final approval. I was completely shocked. In awe. I had no idea that this pipe dream would become reality. The House Show Agency proposed two potential concert dates, which meant this thing was for real and I’d need to share the news with my husband to see if we could confirm! But there was just one small problem…because I thought it was a total pipe dream, I never told my husband I applied. So when I called him that afternoon, I had to tell him that I had applied AND that we had been accepted and invited to host! My husband was surprised, but thankfully open to hosting the concert at our house with one caveat. He was going to be gone on a three-day business trip leading right up to the concert, so I’d be taking on all the concert preparations by myself. The tweet came through my feed randomly. I applied on a whim. I prayed after I sent the application. I couldn’t deny that God was at work and wanted this to happen, so I sent an email to the House Show Agency stating YES, we are interested. Let’s do this!

June 12, 2015

I didn’t hear back from the House Show Agency for quite a while. So much so that I began to doubt, to fear that maybe we hadn’t been selected after all, that maybe someone better, with a bigger house, more well suited to host had been chosen instead. So much so that I’d resigned myself to the show not being at our house, that it was meant to be, that God wanted to show me another glimpse of the awesome things He could do, but it simply wasn’t happening this time. Just as I’d surrendered, just as I’d doubted the house show wasn’t happening, I received an email asking if I was still saving the date we’d discussed a month prior!

I responded with seven questions, feared and doubted that our house wasn’t big enough to host a small band and 50-person house show. I asked my husband, counted out seats and imagined a bunch of folding chairs spread across our kitchen and living room. My husband assured me fearlessly and nonchalantly, “I don’t think you need to worry, we can make it work!”

June 19, 2015

The House Show Agency responded to all seven of my questions. They wanted to know if “we’re good to move forward” and “get this [concert] locked in.”

I was still in shock, I think. And I was fearing and doubting big time. Would tickets sell? Was our house really big enough?

I sent a friend a Facebook message. I shared all the insecurities I’d been feeling about life and myself, how there’s this very big event we could host at our house, but I’m just REALLY not sure. Maybe someone else would be well suited to host? Maybe I’m supposed to suggest another location? She affirmed me. Prayed for me. Reminded me that I applied and we were accepted. Told me I should leave the rest up to God. After reading her message, I knew we needed to move forward with the concert.

In addition to the message to my friend, I contacted a young Christian singer/songwriter, Jessica Joy, and asked if she happened to be available the night of the house show. She’d come to my mind so many times I felt prompted to involve her. She had the night of the house show wide open and was willing to open the concert pending management’s approval.

June 23, 2015

This afternoon, I signed a contract which means we’ll be hosting the Ginny Owens acoustic house show in less than three weeks! I also sent an email with a special request for Jessica Joy to open the concert (with Ginny and management’s approval, of course). By late afternoon, Ginny’s management sent me a ticket link to share with family and friends.

Tonight, I personally invited five friends to the concert via Facebook message. I wanted to give them first dibs on a small group of discounted concert tickets available to us as hosts. Two were able to attend. Three already had plans for the night. My mind got to worrying. What if everyone’s busy? What if tickets don’t sell? What if Ginny’s team is disappointed in the number of people who show up for the show? What if our house doesn’t live up to expectations? What if I don’t live up to expectations?

June 24, 2015

I sent a message and ticket link to a larger group of 20 people I thought might be interested in the concert. Trickles came in…”Sounds amazing! But so sorry, I’m unable to attend. We have ___ that night.” I was so grateful for the responses, but my mind continued to race with fear and doubt. What if the tickets don’t sell? What if somebody else would have been a better host? Why am I not good at rallying troops for things like this? Peoples’ availability and interest is totally out of my hands, but for some reason, I still feel responsible for ticket sales.

June 25, 2015

Today, we received a “fully executed contract!”

June 26, 2015

We we received first details about the concert and word that Ginny would “love for Jessica Joy to be a part of the house show.” I shared the awesome update with Jessica Joy and the group of 20 on Facebook, and had one party indicate interest in three tickets almost immediately!

June 27, 2015

Only two weeks remain until the Ginny Owens concert at our house! I decided to go ahead and share the news on my personal Facebook page. The post went wild fairly quickly. Within an hour, we sold out of all 20 discounted tickets and were directing people to the regular-priced ticket link. I felt great relief knowing that with one simple Facebook post, a nice little crowd had developed for Ginny’s performance at our house. I viewed it as confirmation that God was in control, that He was going to take care of these tickets I was so worried about, that He was going to orchestrate the details and that I didn’t have to fear and doubt so much.

Behind all my fear was the fact that I didn’t want to disappoint Ginny, her management, or her band. I wanted to make our house show worth their while. I wanted them to feel like they’d made the right decision in choosing us to host.

My ticket sale fears subsided for the moment, but I still didn’t feel secure. My fears circled right back around to the size of our house. Maybe there won’t be enough room for everyone. Maybe our house isn’t big enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have applied.

I decided that I MUST let this fear go. I must TRUST that God opened these doors for a reason, that He wants us to host this show, and that He has awesome things planned for Ginny Owens, Jessica Joy and all the people who will be attending. I decided to view this as a feeding of the 5,000. Jesus took little and made much. He performed a miracle and will do it again. There will be enough space in our house for everyone who comes. I must trust this is true.

June 29, 2015

Jessica Joy shared the ticket link on Facebook and received a nice response. I shared the link on Twitter. And Ginny shared a Facebook post about the concert, too.

July 1, 2015

Today, I started to freak out a bit about ticket sales again. I’m continuing to feel the weight of responsibility to ensure “enough” ticket sales for the concert to be a success. Logically speaking, I understand that it’s NOT our responsibility to ensure sale of the general public tickets. But emotionally and psychologically, I still feel the weight. So today, I sent more Facebook messages…to a group of six women who expressed interest in the ticket link four days ago, to one of the pastors at our church, to my dad’s cousin and her daughter.

July 6, 2015

I disengaged from all things concert for the 4th of July weekend. Today, I put a second notice of the concert on my personal Facebook page. Someone contacted me yesterday to let me know they can no longer attend, so that made two $15 tickets up for grabs again. This was the second time I shared the concert news, so the post received the moderate response I expected. An encouraging comment, another wishing they could attend, and a couple handfuls of “likes.”

As the evening progressed, I became more and more encouraged. Three shares of my post. And one person who said he’d take the two discounted tickets and eight more at regular price. I received his notification when I was at Target purchasing a cart load of water, pop and coffee for the concert. I breathed another sigh of relief. This concert has NEVER been in my hands. It is God’s doing. He has a plan and will make it happen in His own timing.

July 7, 2015

When we stopped by a boys baseball game tonight, a friend surprised me by letting me know she’d purchased a concert ticket. She asked if she should share the ticket link with a friend who might really enjoy the concert. “Go for it! Of course,” I said. God’s lining up everyone who needs to be at the concert. Of this, I am sure.

July 8, 2015

I’m continuing to prepare for the concert as I’m able. With three kids home for summer, my husband at work all day and heading out for a three-day business trip, nearly all of my “free time” this week has been spent doing intermittent concert prep. We have most of the beverages. My mom is making four varieties of bars. I’ve borrowed trays and ice buckets from neighbors, two sets of folding chairs from neighbors and more to come from my mom and aunt. Lining up a coffee percolator, bar stools, guitar stands and a music stand. The carpets have been cleaned. I found a cute caddy at an antique store over the 4th I’m going to fill with old books, vintage vases and delicate flowers for decor. I’m not an antiquey kind of girl, but it seems I have fresh vision.

Despite the forward progression, I’m still feeling a bit stressed. The baby isn’t taking her nap today. Our oldest daughter had a fit about oiling her trumpet valves and taking a bath. And the oldest isn’t being super helpful. I feel like I’m spinning my wheels with house and cleaning prep, but I can only trust that God will make a way, that He will provide time for me to get this place ready for the concert. It’s now 75 hours until Ginny arrives with her crew.

July 9, 2015

This afternoon was a bit anxiety ridden. So much to do, and three kids to mother at the same time. Anxiety was setting in just thinking of all the to dos. And my husband was getting ready to leave for a three-day business trip – Thursday, Friday, Saturday leading up to the concert. If all goes perfectly with his flights, he’ll be home two hours before Ginny & the band arrive. But I got some stuff done. I kept progressing towards the goal of hosting this thing that was God’s from the beginning anyway!

July 10, 2015

We dropped our youngest off with my mom this morning. My parents are caring for her Friday through Sunday so we can prepare for and host the concert. While I love our “baby” heaps, she’s very busy, so it’s tremendously helpful to have her away for the event. As the day progressed, I realized there’s absolutely NO WAY we would have been able to host this concert had we NOT had child care for our youngest. Thank you mom and dad. And oh yeah…did I mention my mom made five varieties of bars for concert refreshments? A life saver, for sure.

Cleaning started strong. We made our way fast – me, our son and our oldest daughter. When our oldest daughter left for an overnight birthday party, time continued to tick super fast, but our progress seemed to slow. At 4 pm, I was feeling good about things. By 8 pm when my mother-in-law checked in via text, I was feeling just okay about where we stood with the to-do list. Now at 11:42 p.m., I feel fine. I have peace. We’re not nearly as far as I’d like to be at this point, but we’ll get things done. It will work out. My in-laws are coming mid-day tomorrow and will help us close the loop. For now, we’ve done ALL we could and had fun doing it!

Ticket sales seem to be going well. 54 hours ago, management reported 18 online ticket sales plus our 20 discounted tickets equaled 38 guests. But since then, there’s been additional sales reported to me, so I know we’ll be near sold out. It WILL be a full house.

Which brings me back to doubt, worry and fear #1, the fear I had from the beginning – that we won’t have enough room for a full house of 40-50 guests + Ginny and her two band members. Despite my fear and doubt, everything has gone like clockwork. All the doors have been wide open. And I’m continuing to remember that I prayed about this, that God’s given us an incredible opportunity to host, that He will make a way. So I am trusting He will part the seas, trusting that everyone will fit, be able to see and partake in this ministry of music.

July 14, 2015

It’s been three days since the Ginny Owens’ house show. It was amazing. Went off without a hitch. With the continued help of our kids, my in-laws, and my husband for the last two hours, we got all the cleaning and preparations completed on time. Jessica Joy’s opening performance was beautifully executed. Ginny Owens’ performance was absolutely amazing! We had a full house of approximately 45 guests. Everyone fit just fine and enjoyed themselves tremendously. And we had the great honor of special one-on-one time with Ginny and her band after the concert.

Doubt and fear worked overtime to steal my hope, peace and joy throughout this two-month journey. But God proved to be faithful and fully in control the whole way through.

Provision.

It’s a miracle.

Pure grace.

For me, you, and Ginny Owens too.

I was a gregarious gal.

I really was.

When we first met at my husband’s fraternity house in August 1994, I remember thinking he was the most handsome guy I’d ever met in my life. I’m not kidding. I remember it vividly.

My roommate and I were college freshmen. It was our first week at school. Classes hadn’t started yet and we had nothing to do. So we decided to walk fraternity row. Both small town girls, we browsed the place like it was a candy shop. House after house, delight after delight lined the long campus.

We were just taking a walk.

My husband likes to debate that fact. He claims we were trolling for guys.

I’ve always denied the trolling. But perhaps it was true just a little bit?

After all, our first meeting by the sand volleyball court outside Delta Tau Delta that day marked the beginning of a 2 1/2 year period of the most extreme extroversion I’ve experienced in my entire life.

I studied hard those years. Enough to land a 3.92 GPA in the end.

But I also lived wild and free.

Gregarious.

Extroverted.

Unhindered.

Fun.

Playful.

A par.ti.er.

I drank beer. Lots of it.

I stayed up late. Really late.

I hung with my boyfriend (now husband) and his brothers at the fraternity house ALL THE TIME. So much so that four gregarious girlfriends and I were unofficially coined “Delt Girls.” So much so that I was officially named the fraternity’s “Sweetheart” two years in.

I socialized like a maniac, danced like a mad woman, took plenty of jello shots, dressed in the most ridiculous party costumes, and did things my children don’t ever need to do.

Yes, I was unstoppable.

And that was just the fun, partying, social side of me. I’m pretty sure I was a go-getter all the way around those first 2 1/2 years of college.

I was on my way to a big, bold life. Nobody could stop me. Everything was grand. I was wild and free, smart and vivacious, witty and kind. I was the girl everyone could love. The girl people could laugh at and laugh with. Words flowed free in dorm rooms, cafeterias, classrooms, libraries, fraternity houses, dances, and hockey games. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t doubtful. I had a handful of really close friends, a lot of good friends and a TON of great acquaintances. Guys and gals liked me, and I’m 99% confident that most people (including myself) would have described me as “fun.”

I liked my new vibrant self. She was good. She was free. She was living more boldly than ever before. She was going places, that’s for sure. Yes, there was never a doubt, never a dull moment. She was going to graduate, go to grad school, get a great job as a speech therapist and live a marvelous life. She was going to be a professional, and a respected one at that. She was going to be a mom, and a good one at that. She was going to be a church-goer, too, and a faithful one at that. She was going to be wife, and an awesome one at that.

Yes, that was me the first 2 1/2 years of college. That was me the first 1 1/2 years I dated my husband. That was me most days leading up to our engagement.

But this story’s about to turn serious.

Nearly 21 years have passed since we first met at my husband’s fraternity house.

More than 20 years have passed since we started dating.

18 1/2 years have passed since we got engaged.

And today marks our 17th wedding anniversary. Congrats, babes. I love you so much. The story God is writing through our marriage is important, noteworthy, blessed and delightful. I am honored to call you husband and do life together, easier days and hard days alike. For better, for worse.

But 17 years into marriage, there’s one fear, one insecurity that’s plagued me this year more than any other.

I fear I’m not the extroverted woman my husband dated.

I fear I’m not the gregarious woman my husband became engaged to.

I fear that the woman my husband chose to propose to is NOT AT ALL the woman he’s married to 17 years later.

And as hard as it is to admit this…

I fear he’d marry “that girl” all over again, but wouldn’t necessarily marry “this girl” all over again.

Sigh…

Exhale.

The truth is, I was the MOST extroverted I’ve ever been in my entire life when we were dating. That extroversion was limited to a short window, a short burst of time. If I look over the course of my life, I know for a fact that my extreme extroversion during our dating years was an anomaly, really. And that fact scares me sometimes.

I am NOT the same woman my husband proposed to 18 1/2 years ago. I am not the same woman my husband married 17 years ago.

I’m back to my fully introverted self now.

I don’t drink beer. At all. In fact, I hate it.

I don’t party with the boys. Ever. (Although I still think men are way more chill than women.)

I don’t dance like a mad woman and I don’t do jello shots except the one time my sweet neighbor forced me to on a hot play day in her front yard. I don’t stay up really late unless I’m blogging, I’m not a social maniac at all, and I’d never use the word “fun” to describe myself anymore.

I’ve chosen to step out of the professional, American dream grind and am staying home when his preference would be for me to work full-time. I’m not nearly as confident in my mothering abilities as I would have guessed myself to be back when we were dating, and I’d much rather go to Haiti or Africa than Las Vegas or Los Angeles.

I’m a wolf. INFJ.

He’s a dolphin. ENFP.

We’re married. 17 years today.

But our personality types are night and day.

Did my husband, a dolphin, know he was marrying a wolf 17 years ago? Or did my extremely extroverted dating behavior lead him to believe he was marrying a dolphin?

Okay. I know this is getting a little out there for some of you. (Yes, real live people have assigned animals to each of the 16 Meyers-Briggs personality types so I’m not making this stuff up.) But hear me out.

17 years in, I’m starting to believe that real life CHANGE is quite possibly the greatest threat to marriage.

What happens when our spouse changes?

What happens when we change?

What happens when we barely resemble the people who stood on the altar and said “I do?”

What then?

Do we give up on marriage?

Do we trash it?

Ditch it?

Give up?

Give in?

Say forget about this, I’m out, this isn’t working anymore, let’s get a divorce?

How do we respond to change in marriage?

What happens when your spouse gains 20 pounds, 30 pounds, 40 pounds, 150 pounds?

What happens when your spouse loses 30 pounds, is suddenly obsessed with their weight and you aren’t so much at all?

What happens when kids rock your world?

What happens when you can’t get pregnant like you thought you could?

What happens when the adoption falls through? Or when she wants to do foster care and you don’t?

What happens when your spouse starts working long, late nights to get that promotion and you’re home alone with the kids day after day after day?

What happens when you have an empty nest?

What happens when one of you goes back to school?

What happens when you have significant financial setbacks?

What happens when your spouse makes a major career change?

What happens when one of you wants to lounge around in retirement and the other wants to volunteer, travel, work, and be with the grandkids all the time?

What happens when your spouse grows lots of nose hairs and chin hairs?

What happens when your spouse goes bald?

What happens when your spouse lies in bed all day depressed and withdrawn?

What happens when your kids go off the rails?

What happens when one of your children has a disability?

What happens when one of your children passes away?

What happens when your spouse’s faith is solid and yours has fizzled?

What happens when your spouse receives a cancer diagnosis?

What happens when your spouse is debilitated by dementia, Alzheimers, Parkinsons?

What happens when your spouse is confined to a wheelchair?

What happens when your spouse requires oxygen tanks to survive?

What happens when your spouse needs help going to the bathroom?

How will you respond? How will we respond?

Change in marriage is inevitable.

What makes or breaks our marriages is how we respond to change.

If you’re married long enough, there will come a time when you’ll realize you are NOT the same person you were when you got married. We are humans. We change. We evolve. We grow and develop over time. We become more of who we really are.

As I’ve been working through this fear, this fear that I’m not the same woman my husband married 17 years ago, this fear that he’d marry “that girl” but not “this girl,” I’ve decided that marriage requires an equal parts accepting, surrendering, fighting, trusting and believing.

Accept that you have changed.

Accept that your spouse has changed.

Surrender to your current reality.

Surrender to the ebb and flow.

Fight for your marriage. Fight to the ends of the earth. Until you can fight no more.

Trust it’s the right thing to do.

Believe you are worthy.

Believe your spouse is worthy.

Believe God brought you together for a reason.

Believe God has a plan for your marriage.

Believe you can make it.

Believe marriage is worth it.

Believe he’d marry you all over again.

Believe she’d marry you all over again.

Believe that “this girl” is just as lovely and beautiful, treasured and true as “that girl.”

Believe that “this guy” is just as handsome and witty, sporty and smart as “that guy.”

Believe you can do this.

Believe you are loved.

Believe that change is not only real, but okay.

Believe that long-lasting love is forged through change, challenges and the hardest stuff life has to offer.

Believe in 40th, 50th, and 60th wedding anniversaries.

Believe in wrinkly hand holding.

In the car ride on the way home from church, he played her “Good Stuff,” his favorite B52s song from days gone by. Days prior, she’d played him “Through All of It,” her favorite new song on Christian radio, the song she can’t stop listening to, the song that resonates with her soul most right now.

A dolphin song. A wolf song.

Somewhere along the way, they met in the middle with a frog and pig song. The Rainbow Connection resonated with both.

Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy. A frog and a pig.

Seth and Amy. A dolphin and a wolf.

Who knew.

They live. They laugh. They fight. They change. They come together, still. They come together, again. Time and time again. For love. Sweet love. 

 

When life is overwhelming…

When you can’t get out of your funk….

When all you can think of is heavy, deep and real…

When you’ve been disappointed…

When your dreams have been dashed…

When everyone seems happier and more peaceful than you…

When you can’t remember the last time you laughed hard…

When adults act like kids…

When kids act like babies…

When people are just annoying…

When you’re tired of drama…

When you have no clue how to answer the problems of the day…

When winter lingers longer than it should…

When you’re tired of seeing brown…

When you need sunshine, blue skies and a gentle, warm breeze…

When the to-do list never ends…

When the house looks like you never lifted a finger…

When there’s junk all over the kitchen floor and you just vacuumed it yesterday…

When you need some time alone…

When you need some time away…

When you need community too…

When you need someone to sit with you for hours and know it all…

When you want to fly away, zone out, drift off to a place where everyone just gets it…

When you need more time to do what you love…

When you wonder if you’re on the right path…

When life feels like a big question mark…

When all else fails…blow bubbles.

 

 

Most of high school I weighed 126 pounds.

Most of college I weighed 132 pounds.

When we got married in June 1998, I was down to a new low of 126 pounds. (I lost 5 pounds the week of the wedding due to crazy busyness. That was, no doubt, a one-week low.)

After college, but before babies, I weighed a steady 141 pounds.

After my first two babies, I hovered around 146 pounds.

After my sister’s first baby, I weighed 151 pounds.

After four months of intense personal training right before I got pregnant with our third baby, I was super happy with a new low of 143 pounds. (But let me tell you, that was really hard work and I was watching my diet like a mad woman.)

After our third baby, I got back down to 146 pounds, but it wasn’t easy. With very regular exercise, I still waffled between 146 and 151 pounds.

By the time I stopped working as a speech-language pathologist, I was at a new steady high of 151 pounds with all the stress.

And after two months of poor eating, poor sleep, and tremendous stress due to my husband’s eye cancer diagnosis, treatment and recovery at home, I was up to an all-time non-pregnancy high of 158 pounds.

I felt like junk, to be honest. The pounds were piling on for no reason. I was beginning to get worried, in fact. My body was taking on a life of its own. It seemed like all I had to do was step on the scale and another pound would be there. Permanently. Like it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Like I had no control over how this body of mine was reacting to life. Like I was barely fitting into my pants.

One day in early March, when I was at that all-time high of 158 pounds, I stopped by the personal training desk and spoke with a trainer. I’d been working out 3x/week like normal, but I was convinced that all the stress and life changes had literally blown my metabolism to shreds, that my body needed a major re-boot. I’d heard good things about some new metabolic, hormone, stress & vitality tests my gym had available, and wanted to see how much they cost. I had a conversation with the nicest, most helpful and kind personal trainer in the world. Heck, after we chatted a while, he even brought me up for a meeting with the gym’s nutritionist so we could look closer at those tests I was hoping to run. Needless to say, the tests were out of my financial league. No personal income to speak of and many doctor bills left me realizing I’d have to walk through this weight problem on my own.

The personal trainer offered me a Sunday afternoon friends and family class for $10 a session, but between family events, my son’s basketball tournaments and my daughter’s volleyball practice and tournaments, I haven’t been able to attend. He also said I’d fit nicely in a group personal training session he runs weekly, but to be honest, I don’t have an extra $50 a week to put into group personal training right now.

Since we met briefly in early March, that personal trainer has been the nicest, most supportive guy in the gym. When he sees me he says hi, and asks how I’m doing. He stopped me on the track the other day to let me know the tests are on sale this month. And he reminded me again with all sincerity, “let me know if I can help you with anything.” A couple weeks ago, I shared that I’m down 4 pounds since I talked to him in early March. “Keep up the good work,” he congratulated.

I’m down to 154 pounds. Still an all-time non-pregnancy high. The pounds are still coming off my body like molasses. But hey, I’m 4 pounds lower than that all-time high of 158.

The past four weeks, I’ve begun lifting weights more than I have for several years. When I spoke with the personal trainer, he reminded me I should be lifting at least a couple times a week. And I promptly reminded him that I hate weight training, that I avoid it like the plague. But I knew I had to change something. I knew I had to kick this body into a whole new realm. I knew I had to do something different. So as much as I hate weights, I began integrating lifting into my workout program again. I’ve actually been lifting 3x/week for the past month.

But yesterday when I was lifting, I realized something. I remembered WHY I hate lifting. I remembered why I STOPPED lifting during my sister’s first pregnancy in 2010.

Because life feels weighty enough in itself.

Too often, I bear the weight of the world on my shoulders. I sense deeply. I feel deeply. I live far beneath the surface in my heart. Lifting extra weight adds burden to my already worn and torn body and soul.

I knew that was true back in late 2010 when my personal trainer was pushing me beyond my limits with weights, when I crumbled in tears and she couldn’t understand why. I knew that was true yesterday when the weight of the world just felt too heavy to lift, when I couldn’t even curl two 10-pound dumbbells three sets of 12 reps.

Yes, it’s all becoming crystal clear. This is an unintended consequence of slowing my life to a new pace, an unintended consequence of shifting directions. It’s all crashing down on me, or should I say, it’s all piling up on me?

I’ve spent a lifetime bearing the weight of the world. I’ve been bearing the unrealistically high expectations I set for myself. I’ve been bearing the unrealistically high expectations I set for others. I’ve been bearing the unrealistically high expectations others have for me. I’ve been bearing the unrealistically high expectation of doing what the world thinks I should do, and being who the world thinks I should be. I’ve been bearing the unrealistically high expectation of thinking I can help, fix, restore, renew and remove everyone’s burdens.

Yes, it’s becoming crystal clear. A lifetime of mental, emotional and spiritual weight bearing has taken a toll on my physical well being. I haven’t known my boundaries. I haven’t honored any boundaries.

158 was an all-time high.

Now I’m at an all-time (lower) high of 154.

What weight do you carry?

What weight do you carry physically?

What weight do you carry mentally, emotionally, spiritually?

Just because we can feel the weight of the world, doesn’t mean we need to bear the weight of the world.

How’s that for a revelation?

Let’s lift the weights we’re meant to lift, and loosen our grip on the weights we’re meant to set free. You and me, friend. Just you and me.