Lenten Challenge 2020

I had heard it for years. “Lay it down. Hand it over to Me. Give this up. It is a crutch and keeps you from Me - from an honest, deep, intimate relationship with Me. It will be worth it.” God has been pressing in on me for years to surrender food to Him. Food? You may ask. How to you surrender that? Don’t we need that to live? We do need food, but not in the way I was using it, or rather, abusing it. For as long as I can remember, food had become my drug of choice. It whispered, called out, and even sometimes yelled to me: “I can bring relief from stress. I can comfort you. I can help sabotage your goals because you will never be good enough so why try anyway. I can be your source of joy.” Food screamed lies to me but I believe them. I gave in. I surrendered to the temporary pleasures instead of what is lasting and true. 

However, as Lent approached this year, this project was also presented to us. In addition, a friend gifted me a book, 40 Day Sugar Fast: Where Physical Detox Meets Spiritual Transformation. My life was not at an easy place and as the weeks ahead would prove unbeknownst to me at the time, it would only get more stressful. But, I knew I had disobeyed God long enough. I knew my sin was getting heavier and heavier to carry around. I was unwilling to go another day serving an idol made of carbs that spewed lies at me. Ash Wednesday was the day. I started the 40 day devotion, committed to eliminating all sugar and flour, and fully expected God to meet me in the space of desperation that I feared yet also joyfully anticipated would come. 

The day my Lenten fast began, so did the heat pour down in a wave that almost seems hard to believe. My two year old son needed emergency surgery, my mom unexpectedly came to visit, my children were on spring break yet my husband had to still work, and then the most striking of them all is that my kids’ schools were closed for the rest of the school year to aid in prevention of the coronavirus. Overnight, I became a homeschool mom to five children, no ability to go to the gym, connect with friends in person, and no concrete knowledge of when this would all end. 

However, God was also pouring down His sweet mercies from Heaven and not only providing opportunities to obey but the power to resist temptation. It was only a few days into the fast, in the middle of the night when one child was sick, then two hours later, another had wet the bed. Then, a storm came through and our shutters were tapping incessantly against our window. It was now 2am and all I wanted to do was go downstairs and eat a huge bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. But instead of getting up, I prayed, and laid in my bed for an hour and by God’s help resisted the temptation I knew I was too weak to face if I got out of bed. Another time, my husband was working late, I had gotten all 5 kids to bed, and was finally alone after a long day and in front of the tv ready to relax. I wanted to eat as a reward and as a relaxer. Instead, I prayed, started my show without any food and was able to resist temptation to use food inappropriately. 

As the days progressed, God, in His kindness, began to reveal just what happens when I was not satisfying temporary discomfort or pain or disappointment with food. I had to actually deal with my feelings. I couldn’t hide them behind the temporary relief of food and then be mad at food and myself instead of my husband or children or mother or friend that actually offended me. I remember in OA a woman saying, “Do you want to find out why you binge eat? Then stop binge eating.” The feelings, emotions, desires all rise up and out of me because there isn’t pizza stuffing it down to remain seemingly peaceable and agreeable demonstrating that this issue of food may in fact, not be all about food. 

“This isn’t about food,” I remember my counselor saying nearly 13 years ago now. My disordered eating took a turn for the worse during my first years of marriage. I couldn’t believe her. Of course this was about food. I’m binge eating, I hate my body, and then I binge eat because I hate my body. But, she was right, partly. It is about food. Certain foods are addictive and as someone like me with addictions running rampant in my family, paying close attention to the real chemical and biological effects of certain foods is real and wise. That is why I chose to fast from sugar and flour. But, on a deeper level, when those foods are removed, the underlying sins, reactions and feelings come flying to the surface shining like a neon sign over my head. 

What I desired more than that cookies or pizza or my “all time” binge food - a Wawa pretzel in my car alone, was to be liked, to be loved, to be what people wanted me to be. I had become a slave to other’s desires and wants. The fear of man was ruling my heart. “Cursed is anyone who makes an idol—a thing detestable to the Lord, the work of skilled hands—and sets it up in secret.” Then all the people shall say, “Amen!” Deuteronomy 27:15. I didn’t want to upset my husband with my difference of opinion. I didn’t want my friend to know I parented differently. I didn’t want my mother to know how much she had hurt me over the years with her lies of where true beauty could be found (hint: it’s found in the pages of Cosmo by the happy, skinny women smiling on the beach drinking Diet Coke). 

But, what if I wasn’t that person? What if I wasn’t skinny and tan? What if I wasn’t okay with the way you spoke to me? What if I was hurt by you as my friend? What if I disagreed with my husband? What if I had to actually confront someone for how they made me feel instead of eating an enormous bowl of cereal to temporarily forget the sadness and yet never dealing with the actual hurt but slowly building my wall of protection for you to never do that again. 

I had been pursuing peace in all the wrong ways. Yes, God calls us to be peacemakers, but I wasn’t actually making peace. I was avoiding the war altogether. Here I was, actually having opinions with no escape to hide behind and felt so very ill-equipped for this war of navigating my emotions, conflict, and relationships. My first few days of this were not pretty. I lashed out at my husband, spoke harshly with my children, and fumbled with my words around my friends. But, with God’s help, I was able to find my footing with communicating hurts, being quick to forgive, and pursuing lastly peace which is on the other side of conflict or misunderstanding. 

This conflict was not only with other people but with myself as well. There were lies about my body and my relationship with food that I have believed for decades that I was ready to face. Without the dulling effects of flour and sugar, my mind felt sharp and ready to fight. War was not scary anymore and I wanted peace. Unfortunately, my mother’s own insecurities with her body and inappropriate uses of food were passed down to me. Her critical voice was still too loud in my head. Overindulging with food would prove my mother right - that I’ll always be this way, I’ll always have to worry about my weight, that I’m not good enough, and that I can never truly be happy unless the number on the scale goes down. I would believe her lie and then use food to punish myself for not fulfilling some unrealistic expectation from her or myself or the standards of the world. 

But, God’s value system is different. Galatians 5:1 reminds me that “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” Because of Christ work on the cross, I am free from her lies, her expectations, and therefore also free from worldly expectations and even expectations from those that I love deeply with regards to my body. God created me “fearfully and wonderfully” with no mistakes. I was reminded in scripture that our bodies are to be used for God’s glory and are His for as long as we are on this earth. “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day”(2 Corinthians 4:16).  

My eyes and heart shifted from reaching for the pantry in moments of concern and instead to the Creator of Heaven and Earth. He was re-writing my story. He reminded me that although this is the way things have been, they do not have to continue. Freedom is here and I can resist temptation (1 Corinthians 10:13). I can find joy and hope without pleasing others but instead in the steadfast obedience to Christ. Psalm 16:11 reminds me that “You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

My prayer going forward is to continue to surrender each day to Christ. I certainly do not know what the day will hold, but I can be confident for this - God is for me, has may a way for me to resist temptation, and is my true judge. What I resisted giving up for some many years grieves me now to know what I was actually giving up - a deep and abiding relationship with Christ in the small, stressful moments and in the big, scary ones as well. Through them all over the past weeks, God has proven His steadfastness and reminded me of mine. I can be faithful because of His faithfulness. I can glorify Him because of his glory. May my hope always be with eyes to eternity and my confidence be in Christ alone.

I Just Cant Bear to Sing

I haven’t been able to sing a song at church since my dad died. Not one hymn, worship song, nothing has been sung aloud in over 3 years. There were Sundays when I would attempt to sing and tears would flow so fast and heavy that I would nervously wipe them away enough to get to the bathroom and avoid the rest of worship time. I grew to hate this part of church. I would go to the bathroom, pretend the baby needed something, get more water. Anything but having to stand there and bottle my emotions why others praised the lord with their voice. My counselor said once, “really, what’s so bad about singing and crying? Why are you ruling out one thing you love because of your emotions which are in an of themselves no bad. Why not just sing?!” He said. But, I couldn’t and still cant bring myself to that much freedom of self to let my emotions take over when I am there. Its not always about the display of emotions but allowing the emotions to come at all. When they come, they take over all my energy, my crying, my capacity for that moment. They have consumed me and with 5 children, a husband, and a home to care for, having no capacity is not a luxury I have. Or, at least, I don’t think so. My husband and children would gladly care for me and give me space if I stole it away but I know the cost of stepping aside, being less than what is needed, and giving in to those overtaking emotions. Sunday morning is not the place for that for me. Its too much in that space with too much ahead for the day. I wish it could be that way. I wish it could be the place that I am free, can release those pent up emotions, be filled with truth and on my way. That sounds like freedom. That sounds like good therapy coming from worship music. That sounds healthy. That sounds like what my soul is longing for. This Sunday, I thought, I can do this. I will just sing a few lines of the song, not just in my head but out loud. I will participate by singing aloud with everyone else. Sure enough, the tears came. They flooded out of me even unexpectedly to me in the amount. It was no special day, anniversary or I hadn’t had some especially hard time with my dad’s death recently. But, the tears still flowed. That connection to the Lord, the emotion evoked from singing, and the deep sense of God’s control is forced upon me with the truth of the hymns. I am faced with their reality and my dad’s death each time I sing. It makes me miss the man who taught me such truths and who seemed to believe them all so easily. It makes me come face to face with the God we sing about, the God who allowed my dad to die and the God I have to believe is still here to comfort me.

Are You Worried about Her Weight?

“Are you worried about her weight?” My mother ask me as we are sitting at the children’s museum. “I know its a sensitive subject.” 

What she means is, I am worried about her weight and you should be too. You should do something about your four year old’s body before she deals with being fat. It’s better to be thin. Thin people are happier people and it only gets harder as she gets older. That’s what she means. 

She believes this too. I’ve heard it after every baby I’ve had. Get the weight off now or it will be harder lately. Have you started working out? Have you tried weight watchers? I’m doing Whole 30. I hate my body. I look terrible in my clothes. Please don’t take a picture of me. No, I won’t enjoy that birthday cake on my birthday but I’ll even up all the edges until its gone once everyone’s in bed and blame it on God knows what in the morning when we ask where all the cake is. 

She means I’m failing her as a mother. She means I am failing at keeping my weight at an acceptable number and therefore setting a horrible example for her. Because, remember, happiness is the ultimate goal and the only way my 4 year old daughter will ever be happy will be to be thin. …To be skinny. To hate her body. To starve herself. To feel shame when getting dressed. To think of nothing but what food she cannot enjoy. 

No, mom. No, I am not failing my daughter. My daughter currently thinks her adorable body is the best thing and loves nothing more than to run around naked, dancing in her room to Disney songs imagining what her castle will be like one day. She loves to eat strawberries, yogurt and oatmeal. She is strong and determined. She is smart and sassy and funny. She gives the best hugs, forces me to kiss her goodnight every night and honestly believes she got the short end of the stick by having four brothers even though she is the only one not sharing a room, myself included. 

She doesn’t know that the body she has isn’t perfect. She doesn’t know that skinny people are happier. She doesn’t know she should ignore the signs her body and mind are giving her to eat when she is hungry and stop when she is full. And, I will force you, mother, to walk over my dead body before you tell her otherwise. 

No, I am not worried about her weight. I am worried of your words, of the world’s words, of the critique and harsh expectations that our society bombards girls with as they become women. I am worried she will be judged wrongly, hurt by friends, heartbroken by a boy, lonely in adulthood, scared to try something new, or anxious about her future. 

But, of my four year old? No, I am not worried about her weight!

The One Day that Changed Everything

Two years ago I sat outside my OBGYN’s office. This was nothing new. I had four babies already at home that included a set of twins. Check ups, miscarriages, ultrasounds, and postpartum visits had all brought me to this waiting room. It carried a lot of emotion for me to sit on those vinyl slick but moderately decorated seats trying to divert your eyes from the others waiting in the room and wondering what they were waiting to be seen for. Had they lost a baby? Were they pregnant but not showing yet? Hows that new mama’s postpartum check up going to go? What about that older woman waiting - what goes on later in life here? It’s hard to imagine later in life when right now my head is so full of the present moment. The present decision to make this appointment with my OBGYN. 

I had called her to set it up in order to removed my birth control. Yes, remove it. You didn’t hear incorrectly earlier - I did say I had four kids that included a set of twins all within 4 1/2 years before I turned 29. As I sat on that slick chair, the one closest to the biggest window, doubt and fear rose up in my chest. Why on earth was I here? Did I really want to have another baby? It was fairly certain that removing my birth control would most likely result in a baby as conceiving seemed to happen when my husband and I just gave each other a high five on the right day. I knew what removing the IUD meant. I knew what I was embarking on. But, I didn’t want to. I had already signed in that day for my appointment but I thought more than three times of getting up and just leaving, calling my husband and telling him I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t put myself through this again. I couldn’t willingly enter the potential darkness that loomed ahead no matter how much we thought someone was missing from our family. 

We did think that. We had talked and prayed for two years about this decision but never ending on the same page. Finally in the last few months, we continued to say that we felt like someone was missing from our family and maybe we should just try one more time. I can easily be swayed by what others think I should do or am capable of and my desire and love for the children I have along with my husbands desire for more, tipped the scales over into favor of more. Could I really be the one that inhibits another child from joining our family? What if we wait another year and then really do want more? The age gap would be too big, id be too far removed from babyhood, id be older. Let’s just do it now. Get it over with, so to speak. 

So, there I sat waiting for my name to be called. I should leave. I should just explain to my husband that I have learned enough about myself over the years to know this is not a good idea. The hormonal roller coaster, the darkness postpartum, the tumultuous relationship with my body as it changes, the immense needs at home. We would be starting over. By the time this baby would be born if I got pregnant today, my youngest would be 3 1/2 - out of diapers and on their way to preschool. My first chance at freedom in the last 8 years would be ushered in with nursing, diaper changes, complete exhaustion, and the hormonal black hole of postpartum. Seriously, why am I still sitting in this chair? Logically, I should be running for the hills. The odds are stacked against me. Three postpartum filled with depression and anxiety, two sets of twins leading to an increase of probability that this pregnancy would be twins, three past miscarriages and the heartache that could possibly come, the disappointment of my mother and her friends who thought a third pregnancy was nuts but realized I couldn’t help having twins making my child count to 4. But to willingly open myself up to the possibility of more - more chaos, more work, more exhaustion… why? Why are on earth am I still sitting here. 

Fear. Fear that I would miss out on what God has for our family if I chose to close this door. I think of my other children and how sad I would be without them in my life. I think of how easily I have gotten pregnant, how healthy I have been in pregnancy, and what good births I have had. Fertility is a gift from God, I hear in my head. 

Pride. Id hate to think that I couldn’t do what is expected or asked of me. I am happiest when I am useful. Here is the ultimate usefulness… carry, deliver and care for a tiny human. Create this big family full of love and happiness, that ensures everyone will have to work hard, no one will be spoiled, they will never be alone, and the burden of caring for my husband and I as we age will be divided. My husbands thinks I can do this. We have learned from my past experiences with postpartum depression on what to do. Take this medication, see this counselor, use this natural remedy, hire help if we need to, hire a doula, talk to the midwife, did I mention take that medication? I can overcome this. I can beat this nasty darkness in order to have what is good. I cant call him and declare defeat. I cant raise the white flag. He thinks I am strong, and capable, and useful. I can fulfill his expectations and mine as to the strong woman I am. 

But, what about the part of me - that deep down honest core of me - that is screaming “run for the hills! Admit your weakness here. Admit the victory in carrying, birthing, and raising 4 children passed toddlerhood with depression, anxiety, grief of the sudden loss of my dad, and a huge move across down. Isn’t there victory there? Why do I need another victory? Run, Get up. Get in the car. Call Jeremiah once you are through the toll road and say “I just can’t do this.” 

But, I don’t. I sit. I sit some more until I realize I am not getting up. I pull out my phone and write a letter to this potential unborn child on the notes app….

I felt like someone was missing from our family. Was it the loss of babies or the family members that have gone before me in this last year? I'm not sure. But laying in bed one night I told Jeremiah of this picture in my head. The brunette bundle of a baby girl who we would call Haddie, short for Hadassah. He beamed with joy. I teared up thinking of her face. I had thought before of her brown hair and sweet skin but put her image away. I thought I had lost her already. I remembered her again when my dad died and I thought he must be holding her tiny hands walking through a field of flowers. She may be one of the babies I'll meet one day in glory or she may be the one God has for us. I wanted to know. 

But having more children? It's terrifying since I currently feel as if I'm failing the ones I have, am fighting exhaustion every day, and fear the darkness that usually looms postpartum. Why enter that? Why chance the fate of healthy children, a potential organized future life, and time to myself? Well, because the love I have for my children, even at my worst moment, is stronger than anything I've ever felt. And to think that there is someone out there still to love that fiercely is not something I could pass up. 

Whoever you are, or maybe there is more than one of you, I love you so deeply already. Our life may not be perfectly smooth or  without challenges but it will be wholly submerged in deep affection and constant love. 

I walked in once my name was called, convinced my OBGYN I was not losing my mind, removed my IUD, and made an appointment for 8 weeks knowing I would be pregnant soon. 

My emotional note to my unborn child carried me through the next three days, enough days to try to conceive. But, then, late one night, I came clean with my doubts, with my fears, with my certainty that if we weren’t pregnant this month, I told my husband, I wasn’t willing to try again. The fear of the life shattering news of a baby was trumping the fear of God or the fear of my husbands or my own expectations. My weakness felt tangible but I was ok with it. I had finally said it out loud and was actually proud of my assertion. 

Two weeks went by and in that time, I buried my grandmother, didn’t tell a soul I have removed my IUD, and bought 5 pregnancy test from the dollar tree - they are actually the best ones for someone who takes multiple ones just to confirm what my body is already telling me. Pregnant. I was pregnant.

Christmas Garland

My twins walked out of Pre-K with two enormous - ok, not enormous, but it looked enormous with their little hands holding it up - Christmas countdown garland. You know the ones with the construction paper rings. Twenty five rings each of construction paper meant to celebrate Christmas’s arrival. Lovely, I thought. Just what my messy house needs - more construction paper. Where do you even hang these things up? Do people really hang these things up? I don’t think I am one of those people that hangs these things up. I have bulletin boards full or their artwork, framed crafts in the playroom, and the occasional little doodle saved in my cookbooks that I do certainly cherish. But, this time of year makes me fully aware of the lack of capacity to add any more - even construction paper ring garlands - to my house, to my mind, to me. Do people really diligently let their children take turns cutting off each ring? Do they remember to do it each day? Does it not get destroyed by rough housing boys, dancing girls, and toddlers that think destruction is playing? People do. Or at least one mom does. I saw it. I went to her house for a Pre-K moms Christmas party and sat on her white furniture with her white carpet. White furniture? Really? That is not even a color I contemplate wearing much less cover major furniture with. I saw her garland. Perfectly in tacked, hanging on her pantry door with exactly 6 rings taken off. See, people do this. They carefully manage these tiny preK projects as they sit in their white furniture. I had convinced myself that those people don’t exist. Its not that I am just a failure at this stuff, its that these people don’t exist and so I shouldn’t feel bad about my lack of ability to keep things neat, orderly, intentional. But, there, that red and green contraction paper decoration threw my theory out the window. Those people do exist and as I walked back into my house from the party, I saw our garlands torn into no less than 100 pieces all over the living room. It had lasted 6 days hanging over our living room bookshelf. Defeat set it. Maybe I just need to surrender that I will always have crumbs on the floor, glitter on the table, shoes strung about, and a lost book bag nearly every morning. I could blame it on my five small children. I could blame it on my lack of help. I could blame it on my inability to nag my children into doing what they should. Whatever it is, I am not a garland maintaining kind of mom. There, I said it. I will throw away your pre k craft when you aren’t looking, I will return kid gifts that have a million pieces, and I will let you snack before dinner. And I will try very very hard to quit feeling bad about that. 

Winter Witching Hour

My mom called it the “witching hour” when we were little. You know, parents, that hour or so before dinner when you are waiting for your spouse to come home to be the perfect distraction to a crazy afternoon. They have had snack, done homework and the energy level is still high. It can be hard a very hard time of day to parent well especially with the cold weather and early sunset. What do you do with your kids at this time of day? Scream? Hide? Phone a friend? As a mom to five children 9 years old and under including a set of twins, this time of day has gotten the better of me more than I would like to say. But, here are 7 ways that I have learned to cope with the “Winter Witching Hour” in our home. 

1. Set a 20 minute timer. Yes, call to Alexa, Google, Siri or your good old fashion microwave timer and set it for 20 minutes. When I want to pull my hair out because I have heard “mama” for the millionth time or the twins are fighting over whether to share their piggy bank money or the toddler is whiny and doesn’t seem to be satisfied with anything, life can seem really overwhelming and if time is moving at a snail speed. Set your timer for 20 minutes and see how without doing much of anything, things will be different in 20 minutes. You circumstances may not have changed, but your attitude just might as you realize nothing stays the same forever, not even for twenty minutes. 
2. Change your scenery. Even if it is cold as it has been during this winter, put on your coats, hats, gloves (there goes your 20 minutes right there! ha!) and go outside. Even one walk around the block, to collect the mail, to take out the trash, or to walk up and down the sidewalk 5x will make the transition from day to evening more enjoyable. 
3. Go play somewhere else! If it is too cold or rainy, go somewhere that your children can safely play contained. Think: Chick-fil-a play space, indoor mall play areas,  YMCA basketball courts, Children’s museum, science museum. This will help get their energy out and allow you to bond with them over a fun activity as opposed to being frustrated with them. 
4. Call a friend! Sometime the change of people can be just as effective as a change of scenery. Call a friend and see if you can swap with him/her. Have her take one or two of your kids and you keep one of two of hers. Or, just have them come over to play. The friends can bring a new energy to your home and allow for creative ideas and games to fill the “witching hour” making it enjoyable for both families. 
5. Family chore time! I have found it effective to “rally the troops” when tensions are mounting and attitudes are flaring. Working together one a project can help re-direct those afternoon crazies and show how much can be done if working as a team. Clean out your pantry, organize a closet, sort through playroom toys, bake together, prepare dinner together can all be good “group efforts” as we like to call them. It may be nice to give your kids a motivator if the group effort is done well like watching a show, dessert after dinner, special art project they’ve been wanting to tackle, making home made play doh, or playing a special game. 
6. Online workout videos are fun and so very helpful on these long, dark afternoons. YouTube has plenty of kid friendly workout videos many of which of themed to their favorite movies and songs. Cosmic Kids Yoga is a great choice that appeals to the wide variety of ages even in my household. She acts out popular movies with yoga moves so it allows each child to take turn picking which theme they prefer like Star Wars or Moana or even holiday themed like Halloween. 
7. Dance Party! This is my personal favorite. Stop what you are doing, crank up the music and dance with your kids! Let them be free to dance and you show them how its done. A few minutes of fast-paced dancing can really change the mood of a home. If you have a smart device like Alexa, having her play freeze dance is especially fun! When the dance party is over, the children have expended energy, you have participated in a fun activity with them, and they can see a fun way to use music as a stress reliever.

As a mom of many littles, I know how hard the winter months are for me. The afternoon and evenings can seem long and confiding with the dark evenings and cold weather. I hope these tips can help you enjoy your children in the late afternoons and turn the “Witching Hour” into a wonderful hour with fun, connectivity, and new memories. 

Time Stopped

Most days I feel claustrophobic in my own mind, my own skin, my own house. I see the people running by my house as the morning light approaches with envy of their freedom. I used to be a morning runner when the world felt calmer, quieter with a secretive quality to the time before you have to share it with anyone. This was one of my favorite aspects of being a Doula. It's dark, the middle of the night and I'm called away to a sweet mama's home. No one knows but us. We hold this sacred secret of what is to come. Work is being done - hard, exhaustive, painful labor - that is untainted by the outside - by noise, by cars, by stuff. It's as if the time stops and you are holding space for a completely new person to join us. The only other time I have felt this way is on the coast of NC. Time stopped, waves crashed, and briefly this world and the next seemed to meet with a calm yet powerful wave that rolls over my feet to remind me of something greater, something more.