Wow! It's Still Here!

I thought that my blog was taken away from me by the great god of the blogosphere. In fact, I even got a message saying that it was being removed. That's my excuse for not writing, although I just checked, and voila! It's still here!!! I have so much to share and no time this morning, but I WILL be back!! God has been showing me many wonderful things about exactly what He expects from me, not what Kitty expects from herself. How freeing!! Slowly breaking those bonds!

I do have a prayer request that I hesitantly share. My momma's heart is breaking for one of my precious angels, Carson. First off, HIGH SCHOOL SUCKS!!! Now that that's off of my chest, I'll give you my prayer request. After reading Carson's text messages and seeing God's working in His life recently, my heart became broken for him. He has been his usual happy, funny, engaging self. He has still been involved with the family, enjoying time with his dad and even his momma (smile). He's been playing guitar like a mad man, enjoying leading worship for the youth and on Sunday mornings for "big" church. In fact, he's been listening to a lot more Christian music, posting Bible verses on Facebook, and going through a book on being a Christian teen with his dad (at Carson's suggestion). All in all, he seems to be in a very good place, although school is still a thorn in all of our flesh!

His texts revealed a boy who feels very alone, who is being made fun of for listening to Christian music and posting Bible verses on Facebook, who wants to get away from his high school desperately and focus on real friends, family, and God. There were other heart-breaking things that have happened at school and possibly at School of Rock (just not sure). I can't share them all, but I bowed before my God last night and placed that tiny baby (who's now 15 and WAY taller than I) into His hands once again. I'm praying for one good friend, one person who gets him, one person who will laugh with him and hang with him. The request seems simple enough, but it feels like asking God to move a mountain. I've even had to ask God to help me in my unbelief because I don't see anyone around who could be that friend. Please join with me in praying for him. He'll be homeschooling next year, but I don't want him to feel more isolated. God has the answer; clearly, I don't. As I lay this before my Heavenly Father, I look SO forward to the day that I can give Him the glory for the greater work that He will do!

Looking for the Lost Laugh

I recently returned from a great trip to New York City where I met my sister-in-law, Danea, and my niece, Amanda. Danea has been my best friend and confidante for 25+ years, since the birth of Amanda. Throughout the years, we have shared all of life, laughter, tears, fears, disappointments, joys, blessings...... We've never kept secrets from each other and have always loved and encouraged one another. Certainly, we have disappointed one another on occasion, but those times have been very, very few. God has blessed us with the kind of friendship that most in this world never experience, and I am overwhelmingly thankful for His blessing.

This trip was not our first to NYC or our first time to be together without the guys, but I noticed something different on this trip. While we were still close, still shared our deepest thoughts and wishes, there was something missing on this trip. As we were riding down the elevator, bags in tow, preparing to check out of the hotel, I realized that we were missing the laughter. We were missing the tears-streaking-down-the-cheeks kind of laughter, the laughter that cleanses one's soul, that takes on a life of its own. There were no naked flips onto the bed, no singing as we walked down the street, no getting so tickled that we just laid on the bed laughing.

Where was the laughter? Has life become so heavy, so full of worries, concerns, and to-dos, that there is no room for the can't-catch-your-breath laughter? How many weeks would we need to spend together, away from the realities of life, in order to experience that kind of laughter? Is it like the core of a head of lettuce, hidden beneath layer after layer of suffocating leaf? Does lack of laughter mean lack of joy? If so, hasn't God promised me that joy? Am I looking in all of the wrong places? Am I even looking?

Obviously, I don't have any answers, but I definitely have many questions. At the heart of this girl named Kitty is a girl full of laughter and joy, a girl who can make people feel good, who can make people laugh, who loves to laugh herself. I know she's in there; she couldn't just disappear. How does one go about looking for the lost laugh? I refuse to give up on it. I just need to find it again.

Blind Walking

When I was younger and thought about having children, I knew that I wanted to have several. Having always loved children, I played with my baby dolls for hours on end. When I would go to take a nap, I would hold my favorite baby, Cindy-doll, and pretend that we were on a trip West in a covered wagon. I loved that doll so much that I even took her to college with me.

Since I didn't get married until I was 28, I was anxious to begin my trek into motherhood. Rowland was a great husband, but I still felt that the one thing I needed to make me "complete" was a child of my own. Two days before our first anniversary, Carson was born. I still remember 15 years ago as I did the Caesarean shuffle through my house holding my baby, standing in front of the hall mirror in disbelief that the tiny boy in my arms was actually mine. I was a mommy, and nothing could have made me happier!

After four years of enjoying Carson as an only child, we decided to have another baby and had William. Then, after a night of too much wine, we became pregnant with Kitty, and she was born 16 months after William's birth. As if our plate was not full, we began the adoption process for our fourth child when Kitty was three years old. A year later, we brought Jia, almost two years old, home from China. Let there be no doubt that our family was complete, and this momma was more than complete!

I truly adore each one of my children; they are my heart and soul! When they're happy, I'm happy with them. When they're sad, I'm sad with them. When they were little, it was easy to know the proper discipline for each, the best way to reward and motivate each of them. Life was more black and white, easier to maneuver as a parent. When bedtime came, I put not only the children to sleep for the night but also my mind to rest. I didn't lie awake wondering how to handle situations or pray throughout the entire day as I fretted over decisions made or to be made.

Those days have passed, though, and now I do awaken in the night, asking God for clear guidance in how to handle each of my children. I feel as if I am praying for them constantly, praying for God to transform their hearts, for His guidance as I walk through this parenting forest. As my children leave the house to head for school, my heart is often heavy, knowing their struggles, their sorrows, their pain and realizing that I have little power in healing their hearts or filling them with joy and laughter while they're gone.

Books have been written; speakers have spoken; and endless telephone conversations have been had as I have sought clear answers to this path of parenthood. I have learned that there is no magic formula, no two children who are alike, no "right way" to handle each situation. Instead, I am learning to close my eyes tightly, pray to God desperately, and put one foot in front of the other.

Happily Ever After

Once upon a time...and they lived happily ever after. Almost every fairy tale begins and ends with those words. "Once upon a time," there was someone who needed something, was lacking in some way, and in the end, that person's need was filled, and "they lived happily ever after." The demons of life were slain, forever put to rest, and only a bright future remained.

In the "real" world, though, as Rob Thomas sings so accurately, "nobody told you it was gonna be hard!" Life is littered with beautiful, happy moments that bring tears of joy to your eyes; however, life is also full of difficult, wilderness times that bring tears of pain or emptiness to those same eyes. To me, the hardest part of this journey of life is that those wilderness times usually catch me by total surprise. I'm never quite prepared for the dry, desolate, sometimes painful desert, but it always arrives, usually knocking me to my knees.

As I walk through my own wilderness right now, I am continually trying to determine when I first stepped into the dry sand. Unfortunately, it seems that I walked for quite a while before my thirst overtook me, before I realized that I had indeed entered the desert. As I look around me for an oasis, for my "happily ever after," the blowing sand has clouded my vision. My mind is full of thoughts, running into one another, constantly moving, yet never being able to identify how I got here or where to find the lush garden of respite I so desperately need.

I'm not depressed, but I am concerned. I am concerned about each of my children. I am concerned about my husband. I am concerned about our family as a whole. I am constantly going to God, pointing to the miracles in the past, praising Him for those, and asking for His touch in my life and in the lives of those living in my home. I do know that He will show up in a mighty way, but I'm uncertain when that will be and how He will do it. Will He take me from this wilderness in a grand way, or will the journey be long and painful? Will the result be the one for which I am asking, or will His plan differ greatly?

The Scriptures tell me that "I WILL see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living," and I bank on that each day. In eternity, I am assured of my happily ever after; however, here on Earth, I'm sad to admit that, to me, happily ever after is only for fairy tales.

My Mixed Blessing

I lay there with knots in my stomach feeling like a little girl in trouble, waiting for a disapproving look, listening to the noise downstairs. I hear the rattling of pots and pans, dishes being put away. Chairs are being moved around as if someone is sweeping under the kitchen table, straightening up the room. Every once in a while, a father's voice sends one of the girls upstairs to put away toys left in the den.

The knots in my stomach tighten, and the tears fill my eyes as I begin reprimanding myself, reminding myself of how just how short I fall as the homemaker. As I go through the list of my failures, my inadequacies, I hear the vacuum cleaner begin its roar. My throat tightens, and I will myself to get out of the bed, to face the world outside of my room.

As I descend the stairs, I smell the familiar smell of cleaning products and wonder if the bathrooms have been cleaned as well, hoping that they've been left for my hands, for my redemption. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I see my husband vacuuming the living room, and the guilt is all-consuming. I speak to him, expecting to hear a single "hello," recognition mixed with disapproval.

Instead, Rowland says to me, "I thought I'd give you a head start on your week" as he gives me a kind smile. Instantly, the knots disappear, and the little girl stands there, appreciation washing over the fear of condemnation. I walk through the room, picking up a blanket and a throw pillow, helping straighten ahead of the vacuum cleaner.

Once the vacuuming is finished, my husband goes into the kitchen, talking to the girls about what they'd like for dinner. After all, it's 6:15. I should have considered dinner but instead was too consumed with my own thoughts, reprimanding myself for who I wasn't, the good wife, the good mother. Still pleasant, Rowland begins making dinner, moving through what should be my duties.

Yes, I'm thankful for a husband who is involved, not just with the house but also with the children. I'm thankful that he takes the initiative and jumps in to help. Yet, at the same time, this "blessing" seems to take my place so easily. My blessing reminds me with his loving actions of just how short I fall from the mark, just how often I fail to do "my job," just how little I do compared to those mothers, wives, homemakers around me. Feeling defeated, I trudge through the rest of my night, trying to leave my mark somewhere, hugging my girls as they cry, emptying suitcases, beginning the laundry. At this point, I'm incapable of enjoying the relaxing evening that I had planned. I MUST prove my importance, my irreplaceability in this group that I call family.

An Anxious Warrior

Interesting that I've been thinking so much this week about love, empathy, and compassion. Interesting also that I've been specifically thinking about Jesus' Commandments to Love God and Love Others, summing up our role as followers of Christ. As promised in God's Word, the Devil is always lurking, ready to take us down, watching for the precise moment when he can throw us into a maelstrom and try to drown us. Certainly, my life is no exception; while I have the armor of Christ, as long as I'm in battle with the Devil, I'm a target of his.

The words of the day are confrontation and anxiety, two of my least favorite! What does it look like to be in confrontation with another who's not a believer and still show Christ's love? As my precious friend Grant used to say, "That's the slippery slope." What does it look like to love your child with a mother's heart and still show Christ's love to someone attacking your child, attacking your character as a mother, questioning your skills as a parent?

Oh, I'm definitely not one without pride, and I definitely care what others think about me. Probably, I care a little too much most of the time. This morning, though, as my stomach is filled with anxiety, and I run back and forth to the restroom, I am trying to discern Jesus' will for my MOUTH. I am perfectly capable of "dressing myself up" with a happy smile, a self-assured posture, and the look of someone excited to face the day. I'm not so capable of controlling my tongue when it comes to defending my children and even myself. Yes, Jesus, You know me! My MOUTH is the problem.

I honestly don't know what form the confrontation will take today, but I am certain that it will come. I have three valentine parties at school, and it could quite possibly appear at two of those parties. I'd like to just cry, take my "part" of the parties to school, drop the items off, and feign a migraine. And I could do just that; however, there are two problems with that scenario. Foremost is that my children would be sad. They don't care about adult confrontation; they care about their momma's showing up and being a part of their special day. I WON'T let the scariness of the word confrontation cause me to disappoint my babies! And secondly, probably most important to God, is that this confrontation seems to be preordained. I have a sense that God is asking me to walk through this in the power of the Holy Spirit, that my words and actions today are part of a much bigger plan. As my sweet friend Amy told me last night, He may be asking me to "take one for the team."

Instead of seeing this as my character on the line, my parenting being an issue, my child being accused, perhaps I should instead view this as God's character being on the line. Maybe today, instead of being the scared warrior hiding in her house, God is asking me to put on His armor and be the soldier He has called me to be - not to fight for my rights or those of my child, but to show the true character of a Christ follower, of His warrior.

Holy Spirit, fill me with Your love, Your compassion, Your empathy as You empty me of my pride, my own sense of justice. Let Your lamp truly be a light unto my path THIS day, and in the end, may You, Jesus, receive the glory and honor that You so rightly deserve!!

Empathy for All But One

Empathy is a complex word, an even more complex feeling. The dictionary definition is "identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings, and motives." Differing from sympathy, "a general kinship with another's feelings," empathy involves a "vicarious participation" in another's feelings. Basically, it's a deeper level of sympathy.

As someone who has been hard-wired to be deeply compassionate, full of mercy, I am also someone who has great empathy for others. At times, that empathy can feel more like a curse as it drains me of so much emotional energy. The empathy that I feel pushes me to action, to somehow "help" the person for whom my heart aches. It also gives me great feelings of joy as I watch others celebrate. Yes, I am one of those people who not only smiles at the preacher while he's talking as if it offer encouragement but also one of those people who smiles at those on television as if I am able to offer them encouragement as well!

I often pray, asking God to show me ways that I can make a difference in people's everyday lives, and He offers me those opportunities. In a public restroom yesterday, a lady in a wheelchair was struggling to get into the stall since there was no handicapped stall. I offered to help her stand so that she could walk into the restroom, knowing that it might be awkward but feeling that she really needed my help. As I was leaving that same building, an older lady was standing by the door with a cane, waiting for someone to hold the door for her. Of course, I jumped at the opportunity. Then, only a few minutes later as I was driving home, I came upon an old car stalled in the middle of the road as the driver stood watching car after car go around her. I offered to call someone for her, and in minutes, she was in my car as I took her to the gas station, the bank, and back to the gas station.

I'm not singing my praises as I write this but instead am giving you a glimpse into who I am, how deeply I am concerned about others. This glimpse is to drive home the great insight of my therapist as we sat yesterday and discussed empathy and compassion. As I was sharing with her how painful it can be to step into all of the shoes walking through my house as well as those shoes that I encounter throughout the day, she made a great observation.

In explaining my feelings to Meg, I related an argument that my husband and I had had on Monday night in which I felt that he didn't validate, empathize, or even recognize my feelings. Upon his leaving, I sank into a pool of tears at my computer, broken-hearted and feeling that, while I try to offer great compassion for every single person in my home, there is sometimes none given back to me when I need it most. Suddenly, I had the overwhelming desire to cut myself, to hurt myself physically so that the emotional pain would be pushed away. Eventually, I headed to the kitchen where I ate the last six pop-tarts, knowing that I would purge them immediately and that all emotional pain would be gone, at least for the moment. And it worked. Momentarily.

Truly, though, in that moment what I wanted, what I needed, was empathy, compassion, someone to step into my shoes. There was no one in that particular moment....or was there? Meg showed me that while I can have great empathy for the man on the corner begging for money even if he put himself in that situation through drug use or laziness, I can find no empathy for myself. I'm able to be empathic with criminals when I see the way that they have been raised, the lack of nurturing and stability, yet I'm unable to extend that same empathy to myself. Am I not just as deserving of my love, my compassion, my kindness, my feelings as those around me? As a mother, why do I feel guilty, selfish when I NEED, going so far as to label those needy emotions as selfishness, self-pity, unworthiness? So full of empathy.....for all but one.