Maybe We Were Meant To Limp: How To Address Brokenness

I'll never forget the day I dropped her. Her walking had slowed and each step had become significantly more difficult. Her brain was sending out so many mixed signals to her body, but her spirit refused to give up and be confined to a wheel chair.

It was my day to care for Mama. We had been watching some Hallmark movies and crying over hot dogs and soda. She needed to use the restroom. A very complicated and tedious process. She had a gait belt and needed 100% assistance along the way. We would stand directly behind her, (so close her neck could feel our breath), hold tight to the gait belt around her hips, and steer her down the long hall, around the bedroom door and into the bathroom. We had finished using the bathroom and were back in the living room, two feet away from her couch. However, when her eyes saw her couch, her brain sent the signal to the rest of her body to sit. And she sat. I was trying to keep her standing, "Mama, don't sit yet, we aren't there yet. Just a couple more steps. You've got this." As she continued to sit into the seat of thin air, she panicked, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" she said, so flustered and disappointed with herself. "It's ok Mama, it's ok Mama" I whispered into her ear, as I eased her down to the ground. Once we were both safely to the ground, there was nothing left to do but make her as comfortable as possible. I grabbed a pillow, propped up her head and snuggled close until Daddy could come home and help me lift her from the ground. We laid on the floor together laughing about the predicament we found ourselves in. I knew she was embarrassed and confused, because every couple of minutes she would look over at me with this mischievous look in her eyes and say, "Why are we laying on the floor?!" I would circle back through my answer and we'd laugh all over again.

Here, this incredibly strong woman, who carried me in her very womb, bore me, raised me, led me, fed me, bathed me, taught me, protected me, guided me, held me, shielded me, and disciplined me, now lay completely helpless on the floor.

Life.Altering.
Heart.Shattering.

The older I get, the more intentional I am to surround myself and my family with people who invite us into their naked-Noah messiness. People who pull back the curtains and robes of every day moments, and allow us to gently tread in broken places without the mocking laughter of the sons. Let me tell you why. Lean in close friend. Closer.  Let me tell you something. After 28 years of following my Jesus, sojourning through this world that is NOT my home, carrying heavy and impossible burdens along side of my fellow brothers and sister; I've reached the most freeing and life giving conclusion in my dance with the Divine. Sweet Jesus lover, maybe just maybe, we were meant to limp. All of us. Each and every one of us.

Hear me.

I have heard the stories, read the books, loved the souls, listened to the sermons, lived the sacraments, and wrote the words to know a thousand times over; WE ARE ALL LIMPING!!

You can hide it, buy it, bury it, burn it, turn it, spin it, ignore it, forget it, and dress it up with a bible verse. You can call it contemporary, traditional, self-realization, independence or rebellion. You can legalize it, promote it, publish it, record it, and make look it eloquent, holy and honorable. You can rename it, rebrand it, repackage it, and recommit it a million times, but I know better now. WE ARE ALL LIMPING!

And excuse me for a moment, but I cannot think of a more appropriate posture for this side of glory. I cannot think of a more welcoming realization than, "I'm limping, you're limping, can we limp together?!" This could be the motto of my entire marriage. We can better love, minister and mold disciples when we can first admit we are limping.

I can disarm any heated situation with my spouse and my children when I lead with, "Can I show you my messy?!" "Can I show you where I went wrong?!" "Can I show you how my brokenness has contributed to your pain?!"  When we are willing to own our junk, name the wounds that make us limp, (and consequently have made others limp) God does the most incredible miracle!

I've watched Him, season after season, story after story, day after day, sickness after sickness, fall after fall, failure after failure.... He takes the willing limper and He makes her leap! He takes the most wounded, broken, and battle weary soul and lifts her up to leaping. Most of the time, the leaping does not always look like what the world tells you it looks like; financial freedom, complete healing, prosperity, happiness, redeemed marriage, reconciled child, comfortable living, endless resources, full churches, job promotions, and the elimination of suffering and struggle altogether. No, no, the leaping that Jesus offers comes in the most mysterious way.

All those hours, all those steps, all those trips to the bathroom with Mama limping by my side, forced me to walk slow enough to find her. In those years of shuffling, I exchanged more meaty conversation with my mom than ever before. My love for her deepened. My respect and admiration grew as her body broke. God chose to not heal my limping Mama on THIS side of glory, but He did allow her limping to lead us to a rich well of relationship.  

Fellow limpers, I believe our Savior desires to use our limping to draw us to the everlasting well of relationship with Him. He desires to use our limping to slow us down in order that we might FIND HIM, KNOW HIM, SEE HIM, and DEPEND ON HIM like never before.

We are all limping.
All of us.
The more we expose our brokenness, the more willing we are to lead with a limp, the clearer we will be able to see His body broken for us, and the promise of an eternity of leaping.

Here's to you dear limper!
~Sara

The 2 Most Powerful Truths After 12 Years of Being A Stay-At-Home Mom

*clause*

When I write from my heart about being a stay-at-home mom, part of my boldness withers because I in no way want to diminish the other fierce roles women are choosing/have chosen. I DO NOT want this post to be about stay-at-home moms vs. working moms. For real? There is already a long enough buffet of differences for us to feast on. Please hear my heart, I'm not starting a food fight. Today, I'm tracing back through my own journey trying to offer hope, hilarity, and human experience.

*clause over*   

We were so stinking cute; 17 and 19. We had been an official couple for all of one hot week. We were sun-baked, self-focused love birds. All I wanted was him, in every holy and fleshly way. AHEM. But I needed him to know this one thing. Being assertive was a weakness of mine at the time (16 years later,  I think he wishes I was a little less assertive :) None-the-more, we arrived at a moment where I owned 'assertive soul'. 

"I want to be a stay-at-home mom. I will live in a card board box if that's what it takes. But I want to raise my own kids!"

It was bold. It was risky. It was a non-negotiable in my mind. As much as I wanted him, if he had put up any type of fight, I would have walked away. Passionate has never been a weakness. ;) He didn't fight, he didn't hesitate, he said, "ok!" 

At the time, neither of us knew what we had just signed up for.

Fast forward 12 years. There is a series worth of book material I could spew about the 12 year journey of "swimming across the ocean without a life preserver" (thanks, Ames :) One week from today, I will officially step down from a role I have intimately known for 12 years, 24/7, 365 days a year. No one pours their bone marrow into a career for 12 years, and simply walks away unscathed. One week from today, I will drop off all FOUR of my babies into the care of another human soul. I will walk away from each of them and walk back into our quiet, still, and empty home for the first time ever. And as sure as the sun will rise, I will grieve.  

Here are the two most powerful truths I've learned the last 12 years.

1. There is nothing sexy about being a stay at home mom. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing, sexy about this role. It is the hardest, longest, least accolade producing job on the planet. The mundane repetition required, HAS to kill brain cells. There is no lunch break, vacation, sick leave or mental health days. There is no income, 401k plan, health insurance, over time, Christmas office parties, or monetary bonuses. There is no yearly review, raise or promotion. The majority of this job is spent in the sleepless, thankless, over-worked trenches. Knee deep in poop, crumbs, toys, tears, whines, Barney, diapers, and wet gold fish. Most days, your sucked on, climbed on, spit on, peed on, bite, hit, and hated. You have no company car, no reimbursement plan for work attire, and no plush conferences in Vegas on someone else's dime. The work never ends. There is no closing time. There are no weekends for a stay-at-home mom. Your job performance is based on a trip to Walmart, while of course, your child screams the entire trip and mean people give you ugly looks. 

#FAIL

It should not at all surprise us then, that many SAHMs are depressed. VERY DEPRESSED. When we elevate the position of SAHM without very clear warnings, we end up with isolated, lonely women who are vulnerable to believing lies and then acting on them. Once upon a time, SAHMs had this beautiful protection called community. Moms, grandmas, sisters, mother in laws, sister in laws, cousins, aunts and friends all lived in community. The saying, "it takes a village" is a sweet reminder of how it used to be. They all lived in a village together where the weight of raising human souls was shared. Today, we do a HORRIBLE job supporting the family unit in a community type setting, but the pressure to be 'fruitful and multiply' remains as oppressive as ever. So many of these mamas are drowning without a prayer, without a friend, without a safe place to share their struggles openly and honestly. I want to hug every young mama I know and whisper in her ear, "Get help. Ask for help. Hire help (even if it means going in debt...Tell Dave Ramsey to jump in a lake...) Go back to work if you need too. Admit your broken and tired places and oh btw.... GET HELP!!"

We had just welcomed Julia into the family. Katie was 26 months, Mark was in his first year of engineering school taking 18 hours, and we had just moved into a new town with few friends. I was tired, SO TIRED, far from family, isolated, lonely, and TIRED...SO TIRED. Zero kiddos to one, was a major transition. One child to two, almost killed me.  My sweet husband, who was intently watching and helping as best he could, made an executive decision to hire a babysitter once a week so I could have a four hour break. It saved my sanity, my life, our marriage. Thank you, love!

Being a mom is so hard! ALL TYPES OF MOMS! We must lean into these women, pull them out from themselves, help them, engage them, encourage them. Rescue them in their weariness, redeem them from the mundane, offer them space and a place to recharge. We can do better! 

2. I am NOT a victim, I chose to be a SAHM.  

I chose this. I still CHOOSE this. The last 12 years, I re-upped, I re-signed, and extended my maternal contract. No one forced my hand. I willingly walked back into the throes of this position, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, year after year. And now the chapter is over, and I can hardly catch my breath. I have no pay check stub to prove my worth. I have no degree to solidify my education. I have no marketable skill competitive enough to out pace my peers. These four kids are my ONLY resume item. I put ALL of my eggs in one basket. 

And...

And...

And...

I don't have a SINGLE regret. NOT ONE!

For the last 12 years, I intentionally chose to be the full-time museum curator of my children's hearts. It has been the hardest thing I have EVER done. It has required GREAT sacrifice and struggle in EVERY department. I have sweat, celebrated, bleed, laughed, cried, complained, rejoiced, enjoyed, hated and quit every other day.

But oh friends, there is zero regret in penning this story hand in hand with my children. Zero regret in molding, folding, and holding their every days, their little moments and great big moments, their success and failures, their firsts and lasts, their good days and sour days... I was there, and I am so glad I was!

These four:

My masterpiece.

My final project. 

My thesis. 

My dissertation. 

My manuscript. 

My magnum opus.

My life. I chose life. I choose life.

And know what?! I'd do it all again, if it meant I got to do it with them! 

Here's to you Mama!

~Sara

3 Reasons I Stopped Homeschooling

I finished my last year of "full load" homeschooling, during the thick fog of my mother's illness and death. I had a 4th grader, 1st grader and Kindergartner. It is by the grace of God, the girls were able to be retain and advance academically. The gorgeous gift of homeschooling, is the freedom to do school from the bed, the park, the nursing home, the pool or the museum. The sweet schedule of homeschooling, allowed us to persevere during this really difficult time in our home, and still actually learn something together.

By the time we entered the final stretch of stale, slow, sanctifying January; I knew deep down into my toes, it was time for traditional school.

While I continued to keep Anderson at home for preschool and Kindergarten, I was ready to relinquish the girl's schooling. I knew this was necessary because of these 3 reasons. Before anyone loses their 'happy' with me, rest assure I know these are the 3 reasons WE chose traditional school. There are a myriad of reasons to stop homeschooling, this is just our story! There are also a myriad of reasons TO homeschool, and believe you me, I am a fierce defendant of the homeschool option! It is NEVER off the table for us.

1. Grief:
Because of the intense grief churning in my gut, lots of places in me were exposed. Namely my inability, at the time, to continue to homeschool while I grieved. Grief requires a margin of space unlike any other emotion. There was no space for my grief while I was homeschooling AND still raising babies. Giving up homeschooling stung BADLY. My pride took a major hit. I ultimately loved teaching my kids. It was SO fun to discover new and exciting concepts together. It was incredibly satisfying to watch them learn under my care. But bearing the entire weight of overseeing someone's academic life, (in ADDITION to overseeing every other area of their life) can be stifling, incredibly demanding and destructive if not managed correctly.

2. Damaged Hearts:
Homeschooling was causing an unhealthy rift in my relationship with our kids. When we started the homeschool journey, I envisioned homeschooling allowing us to build a tighter relationship with one another, and it DEFINITELY did for a season. But the entire list of our reasons to homeschool, became null and void when I began to feel their hearts pull away from mine because of school. I was unwilling to sacrifice my relationship with my kids, all under the banner of maintaining "control" of their schooling. Our relationship is forever, school is only for a season.

3. My kids needed sandpaper.
There comes a time in everyone's life, when one must learn to listen to another voice of authority outside of one's parents. There comes a time in everyone's life, when one must learn to learn under another method outside of their parent's method. Our kids needed another voice speaking into their lives with responsibility AND authority.

School is SO MUCH bigger and broader than just reading, writing and arithmetic. The sandpaper of other voices, including the voices of their peers, has been the greatest launching pad for our kids wild growth with other humans. Mark and I desire for our kids to be academically strong, but our GREATEST desire is for them to be able to navigate all kinds of relationships successfully. Relationships with teachers, peers, older students, younger students, difficult relationships, encouraging relationships, strained relationships, awkward relationships, blossoming relationships, painful relationships, and unknown relationships. Traditional school has offered us all of these fundamental situations AND MORE! Each encounter has allowed us to gently guide our kids through the terrain TOGETHER, while they are still under the safe space of our home.

I thought I was homeschooling for all the right reasons, until I stopped homeschooling and the grossness floated to the top. Much of my motivation for homeschooling was founded in fear, control and pride. All very bad reasons to homeschool.

Raising kids, is learning to constantly balance and define our motivations and intentions, against our own junk.  IT IS SO HARD!

Please do not hear what I am NOT saying, I know so many amazing people who have struck a beautiful balance in the homeschool world. I respect them and support them with all there is in me! My sister, who is my best friend, is one of them. And I in NO WAY, want my readers to use my words as weapons against one another. NOT OK. But rather, I know some Mama out there needs permission to walk away, guilt-free, from the homeschool world. You are not failure dear friend, if you need to let go, walk away and make a change. You are not less than or unworthy. You are a woman of valor, who is seeking what is best for your child and your home. I applaud you. I support you. YOU ARE NOT ALONE!    

Happy Traditional Schooling!
~Sara

How A Mother of 4 Spends Her Summer

Oh, heeeeeyyyyyy!

Long time no typ-Y. Or typ-IE. Or typ-EY.

Recently, some one inquired after my seemingly silent presence on the blog for the last month.
"Are the culture wars too overwhelming for you?" "Are you formulating your response?" "Are you about to make a big announcement?"

I giggled inside.

Actually...... my children are at home. Every writing cell in my brain has been dead on the bottom of the fish tank since the summer bell rang and the monkeys came home. Every sane thought has washed out to sea. Question fatigue, in a Pac-Man like manner, has eaten all the neurons in my brain. Every day our need for Jesus and August grows exponentially.

It's so crazy, for ten years we spent every day, all day together. But when the great need for natural space and healthy margins were an absolute, we all learned to function with a larger bumper in our lives. So.....when you throw us all back together for endless days and weeks, we begin to rub each other raw. We are beyond nap times, early bed times and quiet times. But in exchange, I get to sleep in every morning, I have the option to go for a walk or run an errand BY MYSELF, and we can hang out late into the evening at a friends house with no remorse of people missing their bed time. All in all, it's a pretty sweet exchange. But it's been A LOT of togetherness. I'm the mom that always cries on the first day of school, and the first day of the second semester. I honestly enjoy having my kids at home, I really do! But I also enjoy the natural and healthy space we gain when school starts.

We've had a good mixture of busy and bored this summer. Just how I like it. My kids work endlessly during the school year, so I love for them to actually get to unwind and be still for so long, they bottom out in boredom.

One of the BEST things we have done this summer, is grow our very FIRST garden. After 12 years of motherhood, I felt like I finally had the mental and physical energy to oversee another living creature besides my own four, small children. So Mama with wee ones, NO GUILT because you have no garden plot outside in your back yard. NO GUILT, because you can hardly see straight just keeping up with feeding your mini-me around the clock. NO GUILT, over stuffing your face with french fries and chicken nuggets... I've SO been there, and I am harvesting vegetables especially with you in mind. Your time will come and you too can join the garden club. :)

Any who!
I wanted a small garden with 6 items. Because Mark and I are garden virgins, I wanted something small and manageable.... Ok, ok, controllable. Enter Mark. 22 items later, we have an out of control jungle. But oh my, we are having a complete BLAST!

(Isn't that gardener sexy in that straw hat? And his little helper is just too much! :)

The garden has been sweet therapy for the soul. Pruning, pulling, tending, nourishing, and picking. All good processes as you process. And we've had some stuff to process, yeah?! When I'm in the garden smelling dirt, pulling harmful weeds, killing squash bugs, standing in awe over the fact we actually produced a crop, eating tomatoes from the vine, and dancing in delight over the cutest watermelon baby you've ever beheld; God is so near to the weary places threatening to consume.
And we all have weary places, yeah?! There is no doubt in my mind now why God placed Adam and Eve in a garden, and birthed His intimate relationship with them amongst the zucchinis and lilies. It comes full circle for me, when I contemplate the hallowed garden ground He bleed upon when He honored His father and drank the cup of suffering, and then again when He crushes death and His resurrected body take its first steps onto the soil of a garden. God has a long history of dwelling in garden spaces.

At each sign of precious garden life, we've celebrated. I mean, for real. When the first seed sprouted and pushed up through the earth, we jumped with joy. And I have a fierce fight in me, when I see the tiniest squash bug trying to destroy my handi-work. I'm all, "DEATH! DEATH TO YOU, SQUASH BUG!" Then I dance again when the enemy is overcome with dish soap and water. VICTORY for the gardener. Y'all, I'm dancing over onion seeds and pepper plants. I cannot imagine how my Savior dances over me; a soul. A soul made, copy and paste, of His soul. He keeps a tender and watchful eye on me at all times. He dances when I bare up under the weight of this dry and parched land, and He rejoices, as He and He alone, infuses me with the power to overcome the bondage of sin and death.

We serve a great, attentive and kind gardener. He knows His crops, and He knows the enemy of His seed. He remains faithful, tried and true. He knows His land and has promised to tend to His crop until the fruition of His plan has blossomed. His way is not thwarted by storms or droughts. He is not overwhelmed by bugs and floods. He gently paces His perfectly planted rows and speaks joy and wonder over them. He calls to them to grow up from under the darkness of the dirt. He calls them to LIFE. Real, unashamed LIFE!

I'm more in love with my Gardener today, than ever before!

Happy Gardening!
~Sara

A Page From My Heart: Anxiety About Abuse

*Clause*
Sweet readers, I know some of you are victims of abuse. I want you to know I write very delicately with you and your abuse in mind.  I've cried for you, I've prayed for you, I've stood in awe of you, I've recounted your bold and brilliant stories of redemption out of abuse, and I've said your names out loud in the fog of night. You do NOT walk alone. I hear you, I see you, I treasure you, and it's because of your experiences of abuse I refuse to remain silent any longer.

My very closest family members, friends and people who I allow to have an on-going influence over me, continue to be women and men who are willing to talk about REAL life happenings in a subdermal way. In other words, I appreciate people who cut the crap and talk to me about a page from their heart. I strive very hard to offer my readers a very raw glimpse into some areas of my own home; marriage, parenting, spirituality, basically my heart. After five years, I've had to pick and choose what makes the blog and what does not. I have to protect my family and my friends. I have to write what is ALWAYS TRUE, and I have to be able to sleep at night with those closest to me still able to trust and respect my care of them through my art. At times, it can be terrifying and straight up alcohol inducing. I've experienced several vulnerability hangovers, but my inner circle continues to whisper in my ear, "Keep writing! It's making a difference. People are reading. People are being blessed. God gave you a gift, use it!" I love my inner circle!!

And so I write.

For several weeks now, I've been waking up in the middle of the night completely unable to go back to sleep. Zach would tell you it's because I've been sleeping in til noon, I would tell you he might be partially right ;)! But the other part, the part where it isn't about getting too much sleep, I would tell you it's about some anxiety I'm experiencing.

One of my mother's most famous lines was, "All of our strengths become our weaknesses!" She was RIGHT on. The very strength I possess is also the thorn waking me up at night. I am an intentional person. Primarily intentional when it comes to relationships and the study of people. I read, I'm an avid self-educator, I love learning and watching and listening to people's stories. Every time some one shares a little piece of themselves with me, I feel honored.

Much of the research I've been working through is about childhood abuse. And like with many topics of abuse, the research, stories, and theories can begin to sew itself into your thought patterns. And for the record, Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off" formula doesn't aid in un-ringing the bells that now chime regarding abuse.

My anxiety? I am afraid Anderson will be the victim of sexual abuse.

Yes, I know that I have 3 girls who could be victims of abuse. Yes, I know most people spend their time worrying about protecting the vulnerable lives of little girls from abuse. AS THEY SHOULD! But what I'm learning, what I'm seeing, stories people are telling me is this; little boys need warriors to protect them from abuse also. Because Anderson is getting ready to stretch his independent legs for the first time with some wonderful activities this summer and this fall, I feel myself more aware of his vulnerability, and more concerned about potential abuse.

Simultaneously, I find myself discovering day after day, grace after grace, how sexual brokenness in adults originated from childhood abuse. And as I have said before, sexual abuse it not just limited to the act of molestation, rape or incest, but leading childhood psychologists are also recognizing that when a child is introduced to sex in an unhealthy, unsafe way, ripples of distortion, perversion and abuse remain on a child's heart.

Statistically, little boys tend to be more sexually curious than little girls. I am very slow to use words like ALWAYS and EVERYONE, because I know little girls can be sexually curious also, but God wired little boys in such a way their intense curiosity is far more frequent and stronger than little girls. We also know the average age of children viewing porn is 8, and it is becoming clearer and clearer most parents are not taking the time to educate themselves nor their children about sex and sexual abuse, AT ALL. Consequently, we have loads of children walking around with a strong curiosity, uneducated parents, a brain full of Rolodex images and no where and no one to talk to. It is because of this research on abuse, these stories about abuse, these statistics on abuse, I REFUSE to bury my head in the sand and allow abuse, darkness, secrets, lies and naivety to reign and direct the conversation about abuse.  Sexual abuse is real my friends, very real.  Sexual abuse has affected someone you know right now. And my fierce, "oh hell no" side, wakes up when I realize abuse is happening right now to a child in each of our lives.

1 out of 5 girls will be a victim of sexual abuse. 1 out of 20 boys will be a victim of sexual abuse. And 3 out of 4 adolescents who are victims of abuse, will have these horrific experiences of abuse at the hand of some they know very well. We also know the majority of sexual predators are males.

Enter my son.

I have mental images of men, older boys, peers taking advantage of him and abusing him in the restroom, locker room, an empty class room, Sunday school room, in the quiet corner of a yard, a birthday party, a friends house and I'm not so naive to believe abuse couldn't happen in my very own home. I envision Anderson accidentally coming upon pornographic material on someone's ipod, iphone, ipad, personal computer, laptop, etc... And because we function in a "not if, but when" world, we are trying to prepare him (and our girls) with a plan about what to do with those images when he first discovers them.

I had a major fight with anxiety last night and my fear of abuse. It has been trying so hard boss me around and gain a foothold in my heart. My anxiety about abuse has been working towards paralyzing me and undoing me. For me, the root of all of my anxiety is unbelief. Unbelief in who God says He is, unbelief in His promises, unbelief in what He has ALREADY done for me and what He says He will do for me. My anxiety says to God,  "I don't believe in who you say you are!" And because this is not my first tango with anxiety, I have learned how to go to war with my anxiety. I do not sit idly by and let it take root. I call it out, I name it what it is, "fear, anxiety, unbelief" and I cling to my Refuge.

What am I doing to combat this latest anxiety about abuse? Mark and I continue to have proactive conversations with Anderson (and all of our kids) about safe situations and unsafe situations, proper touches and improper touches. We speak very openly and honestly about abuse in all forms. We don't have male babysitters, and our kids aren't left alone in the company of just men. We are incredibly particular about the girls who do babysit, we ask a lot of questions and we don't do sleepovers.

The main place I've been retreating to with all these heavy thoughts and fears regarding abuse, is Jesus. He gently takes my chin and tips it up so I see His eyes, He draws me close and says,
"Do you believe who I say I am?!"
"Do you believe I love your son more than you do?!"
"Do you believe I am in the business of redeeming broken things?!"
"Do you know that my grace is sufficient for you day by day, and today I'm NOT asking you to walk with your son through an abuse?!"
"Not today, Sara! I have not asked that of you TODAY! You are grieving in body, soul and spirit something my grace is not covering because it's not reality! That's a dangerous and lonely road to walk!"
"Be ALL HERE, Sara! Be wise, not wimpy. Be a warrior, not a worrier. Be intentional, not insane. Be an advocate, not an addict to anxiety. Be cautious, not controlling."

So there it is, a page from my current heart. Anxieties I'm struggling with, wrestling with. Pray for me if you think of it, I would so covet those prayers. Thanks for walking with me. Thanks for allowing your heart and your head to come out of the sand of abuse.... Our children, their stories and their hearts are worth the awakening!

~Sara

 


    

Dan's Story

By Andrew Hall:

I've hijacked my sisters blog. 

I meant to do this months ago because a story came into my life that needed to be told and we Halls, being story-tellers, I wanted to tell it.   I haven't told a story in a long time but this one was close to me, strong in my mind and it pulled at me in ways that most stories don't. But for some reason at the time, I didn't tell it.  I don't know why. 

Well, the story changed this week. In fact, someone died.  It's tragic and it hurt and I'm still reeling. Now I know, it's time to tell the story.

At this point, I want to give credit to my sister. She is a writer because she writes. I am not a writer because I don't write. The formula is that simple. And because Sara writes, she has become a very good writer.  Again, it's that simple. Good job Sara, keep writing. 

I originally wanted to call this article, 'Doctors On Drugs'. I wanted to talk to you like Sara talks to you: honestly, upfront, in a Mike Rowe, down-home, back-porch kind of way. I can often hear in my mind, softly in the background, the evening cicadas calling and my nieces and nephews playing in the backyard as I read her blog. I like that kind of scene and it is the sign of a good writer to create a place like that, were we can all meet.

On the porch you can be at your best and most real.  On the porch it is usually your best audience because they are your best friends.  But the danger of the porch (you have to remember) is that this audience knows you best and they won't let you get away with anything other then you being authentic.  My sister has perfected this in her blog and in respect of this tradition, I will do the same.  

Months ago, I really wanted to tell you about Dan. He is a patient of mine and no, that's not his real name.  I've changed a few other details as well, so don't worry about that.  Dan came to my office at 28 years old with back pain, neck pain, trouble sleeping, headaches and migraines; depression and fatigue.  All of these were made worse by his morbid obesity.

Being a chiropractor, these are the things I see pretty regularly and frankly, I'm really good at helping people get better. Not just good, really good. I'm not bragging, it's just the truth for those who don't know. 

What caught my attention most though was Dan's story. 

It was hard to hear, even for a doctor.  With the help of his Dad, who was with him at his new patient exam, I heard his story. 

Dan told it to me unblinking. He did not hesitate once, he did not turn his eyes, his voice did not waiver, like he was telling me about his morning routine or what kind of work he did. It's not an easy story, so if you are not in the place for this, here is your exit ramp. 

At the age of 9, Dan took swimming lessons at the local YMCA. During the time, he and eight other boys, over a period of months, were severely molested and sexually abused by a swim instructor.  His parents did not know about this for years. Dan's parents are not neglectful parents either, they are upstanding Christians that hold esteemed places in our community and were/are engaged in their children's lives.

 Again, kudos to Sara for writing about talking to your kids about sex and protecting them here. Most parents have no idea of the predators out there. They are there and are very, very real. 

By the time Dan's parents found out and the man was brought to justice, the wounds were very deep. So deep and horrific was the abuse, that of the nine boys molested, eight of them committed suicide before reaching 25 years old. Sit on that for a minute. Dan was the only survivor of this abuse. 

As I sat and listened to his story in my new patient exam room, this is the part where my hands started to tremble and sweat. I can't remember that ever happening during a new patient exam. 

He continued on.  

He said that during his late teen years he coped with the abuse by working out and going to the gym. He became quite strong and proficient at lifting weight.  I imagine that not only was he trying to find solace in lifting weights but he was trying to build strength so that no one could ever hurt him again. A wall of muscle. But those are just my thoughts.

As he worked out at the gym, he injured his low back lifting weights. A common injury for weight lifters, especially young, inexperienced weigh lifters. Most gym-rats report that at one time or another they have had at least a sprain/strain injury of the back. It was the same for Dan.

Dan's parents, being concerned, took him to the local medical doctor and he prescribed heavy pain medications. Vicodin to be exact. 

For those of you who don't know, Vicodin is a very strong pain analgesic, of the opioid family; in the same group as opium, morphine and heroin. It's strong, efficient and addictive. After taking his first dose, Dan remembered thinking, "This is the high I have been looking for." He was 17 at the time.  

He told me that a month later he was shooting heroin into his veins on a regular basis. He says he spent the next 10 years of his life an addict. He stole, he lied, he did anything necessary for his next high.  When his parents finally threw him out of their house after repeated attempts at rehab, he slept on heating vents during the winter nights on the streets of Boston, stoned out of his mind or in such bad withdrawal that he could barely move. He did this for ten years. Ten years as an addict. 

There is a lot of noise in mass media about 'Gateway Drugs' and for good reason. The illicit drugs out there being pushed towards kids are dangerous. But the most available and often times the most addictive 'Gateway Drugs' are the ones in your medicine cabinet right now. The ones that you have forgotten about or the ones you use only now and then when the pain or the headaches get really bad.  Those are the ones your kids find and try. 

I remember as a young man having four of my wisdom teeth being pulled at once and having a prescription of OxyContin given to me. I took them once right after the surgery and was a total zombie for an entire day. I remember never wanting to be in that state again. 

Later that week, I had a co-worker at the restaurant I worked at offer to buy them from me because, "They were a great high.  The real professional shit."

I didn't sell them, but I do remember never wanting to be involved with that kind of scene. I was 19 years old, busing tables in a breakfast restaurant in the suburbs.  

But back to Dan's story.

Dan continued with his story about drug abuse, the multiple times in and out of rehab, in and out of his parents house. He said that it had all started back with the sexual abuse and wanting to get away from it, wanting to get away from he pain. 

He sat in front of me and said that he was now in a place of recovery and that he wanted help with the migraines, the neck pain, the back pain, the obesity he was currently dealing with and he wanted to get his health back on track.  He felt like he was finally 'waking up' after 10 years of addiction.  

Dan started care with me and I began adjusting him.  It was hard for him; he didn't like being touched, (understandable) and he had a hard time getting out of bed some days because of the depression. (I would have too).  

Dan did get better.  Dan's body responded well and he started down the road to recovering his health.  He even got a job at the local Salvation Army helping other addicts to go through the recovery process.  He was doing really well. 

That was the original story I wanted to tell you:  Dan's story with lessons about protecting your kids, knowing that some of the most addictive and dangerous drugs out there are given to you in round orange bottles; that the road to recovery is possible, that even when health seems to be lost, it can be recovered.  But all of that is over now.  Dan died last week.

His dad emailed our office and told me that it wasn't because of drugs;  Dan died in his sleep because of sleep apnea that was made worse by his obesity.  His heart stopped and he died, I pray, peacefully and quietly.  

I have heard an idea that at certain times in our lives, God gives us an 'out' of this life.  We reach a point where this life seems to have taken so much from us: the pain, the despair, the dirtiness of existing in time and space seems too great and God speaks to our spirit and we can choose to come Home early.  

The freak accident, the young marathoner dying from a heart attack, the fatal occurrence that would have never happened without perfect timing, a loved one slipping away in their sleep; these things that seem unexplained and tragic really aren't.  It is just a life-weary soul whispering to their Maker, "I am ready for Home." and our ever compassionate Creator reaches out and whisks this soul immediately into His Presence. No more pain, no more suffering and with the view of Eternity, the soul understands all of the 'why's' of their journey.  

I believe this to be true and I believe that Dan took his 'out' last week.  

I'm not writing this to give a lesson at the end, not anymore.  I think there are lessons to be learned here if you choose to hear them, but that is not why I write about Dan.  

His life, like all of our lives, was too big, too complex, too meaningful to sum up in one simple cliche or sentence like, 'Don't do drugs' or 'Watch out for sexual predators.'  

I wrote this because Dan's story touched me, from the time he began to speak during his new patient exam, to the point where his father wrote an email to my office telling me of his death.  It is still touching me, affecting me, pushing me deeper into this life.  Into the dirtiness, yes, but also into the glory of it; the beauty of each moment and the overwhelming Grace of God that is always with us.  

Dan's story needed to be told. Here, on this porch of my sister's creation, here amongst friends and the evening calls of the cicadas, because I am a story-teller and maybe even a bit of a writer still, I stepped up and told it.  Thanks for listening.

Andrew  

The Greatest Lie Pastors Must Silence For Their Kids

When I walk into a new church, I immediately try and make visual contact with the pastor's kids, and NOT for the reasons other congregants try and pick out the pastor's kids. I try and find the pastor's kids because I want to see their faces, take a mental pictures of them (in a non-stalker like way ;) and begin to pray prayers of protection over them. I have the absolute biggest and most tender heart for pastor's kids, because I am one.

Thirty three years of surviving tried and true "PK jokes" with predictions of my rebellion and scandal waiting at the punch line. It would just be best if no one ever told another "pastor's kid" joke. EVER.

There are often deep waters of insecurity, panic and indifference pulsing through the hearts of a pastor's kids. There are unspoken standards, many in the church, try and presume on the life of pastor's kids. And when pastor's kids are unprotected by their parents, from these pressures, lies begin to seep through to the inner chamber of their souls and take root.

Here is the SINGLE greatest lie pastors must silence for their kids, in an attempt to circle the wagons around their eternally, impressionable hearts.

Lie: The church and her members are more important than your mother and you.

My heart threatens to burst into a million pieces anytime I see pastor's kids suffering from this despicable lie. Unfortunately, for many in full time ministry, this lie, in all actuality, is the truth being written in our pastor's homes. Pastor's kids are more damaged by the reality that their dad is having an affair with the church and all her alluring ways, then any other pseudo reasons one might want to derive. Pastors, YOUR GREATEST ministry is your marriage and your children!! The best sermon you will EVER preach is faithfully and passionately loving your wife. The kryptonite to bitter, broken, pastor's kids who choose rebellion and scandal, is the CONSISTENT message in word and deed to them "YOU WIN! My ministry to you is more important then my ministry to the church and her members."

Pastors, if your church, church members and church leadership do not value your marriage and your ministry to your children, ABOVE your ministry to the church; RUN, do not walk out of that church.

Church leaders, if you do not value your pastor's marriage and your pastor's ministry to his kids, ABOVE his ministry to you and the church, you are allowing a foot hold for the devil in the destruction of a family, and ultimately the destruction of a church body.

With tears streaming down my face, I have witnessed this destruction far too many times.

It doesn't have to be this way!! By the grace of God, I am the daughter of a pastor who CHOSE ME! Who chose my mother, my siblings, and our family above the white noise of full time ministry. Pastor's marriages and pastor's kids hearts, do not have to be the collateral damage of seminary degrees and pastoral robes. When a pastor's full time ministry is his marriage and children, the church will benefit from the sweet aroma of joy filling the pulpit and the pew.

Oh friends, we must be fierce in fighting to protect such sacred places and spaces. There are so many hearts at stake when this lie is allowed breathing room and false validation in our churches. The church is constantly under attack, and our pastors, their marriages, and their families are often the first victims Satan picks off.

I am card carrier of a unique club, "pastor's kid; unscathed." There is so much beauty and redemption when a pastor is given the freedom to pursue his first loves; his wife and children.

Now go on and be a voice seeking to cherish and protect such sweetness!!

~Sara, a pastor's kid