Nothing… I did nothing yesterday. No workout, no weights, no running. It was not planned or intentional, it just happened. My daughter stayed home from school and instead of tending to me, I tended to her. I love tending to her; it is how I was made. I have tended to my kids for 16 years in utter delight. It has been my number one priority. We wrapped gifts, snuggled on the couch, watched Christmas movies, made soup for dinner and took a nap. Once the boys started coming home, it was time for dinner. We had an unexpected visitor who stayed until 11:30pm and then it was already time for bed.
In the past these days would highly discourage me. I would beat myself up and allow guilt and shame to consume me. Not today. Today I have had enough of that. Today I chose to look at the positive, to keep my glass from getting empty. Today I looked at what I accomplished. I ate well; Cheerios, soup, corn bread, soup again, and wine. I would have eaten a little more; only, I need to go grocery shopping. I spent time with my daughter, just she and I. I cleaned house and decorated the guest house. Our guest was a blessing, we broke bread with him and laughed and talked about intense things of God. My husband was filled and it blessed me.
So this morning as I start a new day, fog still hovering, sun still hiding; I will not let the past haunt me. I will not even plan for tomorrow and what I am going to do. I will just focus on today. Today is big enough.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Weight Inside
I woke up yesterday morning at 9:00am; I didn’t want to get up; I was snuggling close to my baby girl. I crawled out of bed, dreading the first day of this journey. My heart pounding out of my chest, feeling purposeless, feeling angry and agitated, I got up and started to run. I ran to my neighbors house, walked a mile with her and ran back home; 2 miles in all.
I ate every 2 hours, Cheerios, protein shake, grape tomatoes, salad, strawberries, homemade corn tortilla, hummus and pasta and a cookie my daughter made.
I wanted to work out more. I wanted to do a workout video and weights, but the weight of life was too much. I felt angry and frustrated. I told my husband that is was time to move, time to move on. We have been in Fresno almost 11 years now and I am done. I am ready for change, ready for something to move.
Tears swell in my eyes as I feel the angry rise up inside of me. I am swelling with rage on behalf of my son, who has endured too much hardship. Too many times has he been belittled and beat down and overlooked. He asked me tonight, “Am I invisible mom?” Another award ceremony and he did not receive one. The kids that did do not have the stats or the college recognition that he does, yet, the coach, passed him by. I wanted to cuss the coach out and tell him to take his Napoleon complex to another school. I wanted to tell him that he is responsible for building these kids up, not tearing them down. He gave MVP to a player that was most definitely not MVP, and the kid who should have received it, sat quietly next to my son and said nothing. He too receives letters and visits from coaches. I wonder at how this could even be happening.
I came home and wanted to eat ice cream. Luckily we did not have ice cream. I thought, “Do I usually eat when I am pissed off and angry?” I quickly made tea. The flavor, Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride by Celestial, no sugar is necessary, and I sat next to my hurting son and sipped quietly. Both Bill and I gave him parental talks that usually include people like Tim Tebow and Ray Lewis in the examples of overcoming adversity. Bill told him, it is better to receive nothing in high school and play in college and the NFL, than to receive all the awards and never play again after high school. I went to bed scrolling through my phone for jobs outside of Fresno. Day 1 complete.
This morning, as I write, reflecting on my first day of working out and eating, I am trying to see how my emotions tie in with my weight, or if they do at all. I have determined that I feel burdened, lost and disillusioned. I feel irritated at the notion of hope and can’t see the future.
Day 2… I have not worked out yet. It is 9:30am. My daughter is home sick. I have been at the High School since 8am meeting with Elijah’s counselor. She blessed me. She spoke life into my son. I left him there, her hands, thankful I could trust her. I drove home and sat down at the computer. I have been writing for 30 minutes, my day is about to begin…
I ate every 2 hours, Cheerios, protein shake, grape tomatoes, salad, strawberries, homemade corn tortilla, hummus and pasta and a cookie my daughter made.
I wanted to work out more. I wanted to do a workout video and weights, but the weight of life was too much. I felt angry and frustrated. I told my husband that is was time to move, time to move on. We have been in Fresno almost 11 years now and I am done. I am ready for change, ready for something to move.
Tears swell in my eyes as I feel the angry rise up inside of me. I am swelling with rage on behalf of my son, who has endured too much hardship. Too many times has he been belittled and beat down and overlooked. He asked me tonight, “Am I invisible mom?” Another award ceremony and he did not receive one. The kids that did do not have the stats or the college recognition that he does, yet, the coach, passed him by. I wanted to cuss the coach out and tell him to take his Napoleon complex to another school. I wanted to tell him that he is responsible for building these kids up, not tearing them down. He gave MVP to a player that was most definitely not MVP, and the kid who should have received it, sat quietly next to my son and said nothing. He too receives letters and visits from coaches. I wonder at how this could even be happening.
I came home and wanted to eat ice cream. Luckily we did not have ice cream. I thought, “Do I usually eat when I am pissed off and angry?” I quickly made tea. The flavor, Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride by Celestial, no sugar is necessary, and I sat next to my hurting son and sipped quietly. Both Bill and I gave him parental talks that usually include people like Tim Tebow and Ray Lewis in the examples of overcoming adversity. Bill told him, it is better to receive nothing in high school and play in college and the NFL, than to receive all the awards and never play again after high school. I went to bed scrolling through my phone for jobs outside of Fresno. Day 1 complete.
This morning, as I write, reflecting on my first day of working out and eating, I am trying to see how my emotions tie in with my weight, or if they do at all. I have determined that I feel burdened, lost and disillusioned. I feel irritated at the notion of hope and can’t see the future.
Day 2… I have not worked out yet. It is 9:30am. My daughter is home sick. I have been at the High School since 8am meeting with Elijah’s counselor. She blessed me. She spoke life into my son. I left him there, her hands, thankful I could trust her. I drove home and sat down at the computer. I have been writing for 30 minutes, my day is about to begin…
Sunday, December 2, 2012
See Through...
I have lived a very transparent life. I believe that by doing so, it alleviates unnecessary pain. By showing the world my deepest and darkest places, there is really nothing that people can “find” on me that would destroy some false image I have created. I find it to be both extremely liberating and fundamentally challenging to live this way, but freedom has been the fruit of this lifestyle.
Yet, there is a dark gloomy shadow that hovers over me. In my most vulnerable state, I have still had to hide one painful truth; I am overweight. It is evident to the naked eye that I carry excess baggage, but in my attempt to heal from deep pain, I have learned to be comfortable in that excess. I have learned to love myself and have grown to have a positive self image. Years of unsuccessful attempts at weight loss have taught me that beauty lies within, yet, I am trapped in this flesh suit that I cannot escape from and it is affecting my health.
I have, through much prayer and many years decided to make my weight loss struggle public. To share the successes and failures of my journey. My goal is to blog daily and share the journey with you. I am hoping that this will help me to process why I have not been able to lose the weight, after years of trying. I will share whatever the Lord reveals, any issues I find along the way and emotions I encounter along this journey.
I begin today.
Today I am making goals, making charts and scheduling time for workouts. I will document all the food I eat and what time and what workouts I do. I will also be taking photos along the way.
My start weight is 248 pounds. The heaviest I have ever been. I have weighed 235 for the last 15 years and in the last year I have gained 13 pounds; a pound a month. I have also been diagnosed with high blood pressure, which, I am sure is attributed to stress and trauma as well as weight, and want it to be normal. I am not sure what my cholesterol and blood sugar look like, I am getting a blood test down next week.
My cardiologist suggested lap band surgery. I was mortified and freaked out all at once. What? How could I be a candidate for a surgery like that? I am, however, 100 pounds overweight and that is considered enough to warrant the surgery. I have decided to commit to 6 months of intensive workouts and lower my calorie intake to 1500 a day. This is not the first time I have done this. In fact, I have accomplished many things in my weight loss journey over the last 15 years; a triathlon, The Wharf to Wharf- 6K, training to run a marathon maxing out at 12 miles and limiting my calorie intake to 1500 a day. Each time I set my mind to a goal, I accomplished it and each one took a commitment of over 6 months and each time I attempted such a feat, I only lost a maximum of 4 pounds.
So I have become apathetic, discouraged and even angry at the results. I have had my thyroid tested, and other possible reasons as to why my body has not responded to my attempts to lose weight. Nothing was found.
So I told the Lord, I will do this for 6 months and nothing changes, then I may have to consider some medical help. I want to do this without medical intervention. So please pray that my body reflects who God created me to be and to respond to my attempts.
Yet, there is a dark gloomy shadow that hovers over me. In my most vulnerable state, I have still had to hide one painful truth; I am overweight. It is evident to the naked eye that I carry excess baggage, but in my attempt to heal from deep pain, I have learned to be comfortable in that excess. I have learned to love myself and have grown to have a positive self image. Years of unsuccessful attempts at weight loss have taught me that beauty lies within, yet, I am trapped in this flesh suit that I cannot escape from and it is affecting my health.
I have, through much prayer and many years decided to make my weight loss struggle public. To share the successes and failures of my journey. My goal is to blog daily and share the journey with you. I am hoping that this will help me to process why I have not been able to lose the weight, after years of trying. I will share whatever the Lord reveals, any issues I find along the way and emotions I encounter along this journey.
I begin today.
Today I am making goals, making charts and scheduling time for workouts. I will document all the food I eat and what time and what workouts I do. I will also be taking photos along the way.
My start weight is 248 pounds. The heaviest I have ever been. I have weighed 235 for the last 15 years and in the last year I have gained 13 pounds; a pound a month. I have also been diagnosed with high blood pressure, which, I am sure is attributed to stress and trauma as well as weight, and want it to be normal. I am not sure what my cholesterol and blood sugar look like, I am getting a blood test down next week.
My cardiologist suggested lap band surgery. I was mortified and freaked out all at once. What? How could I be a candidate for a surgery like that? I am, however, 100 pounds overweight and that is considered enough to warrant the surgery. I have decided to commit to 6 months of intensive workouts and lower my calorie intake to 1500 a day. This is not the first time I have done this. In fact, I have accomplished many things in my weight loss journey over the last 15 years; a triathlon, The Wharf to Wharf- 6K, training to run a marathon maxing out at 12 miles and limiting my calorie intake to 1500 a day. Each time I set my mind to a goal, I accomplished it and each one took a commitment of over 6 months and each time I attempted such a feat, I only lost a maximum of 4 pounds.
So I have become apathetic, discouraged and even angry at the results. I have had my thyroid tested, and other possible reasons as to why my body has not responded to my attempts to lose weight. Nothing was found.
So I told the Lord, I will do this for 6 months and nothing changes, then I may have to consider some medical help. I want to do this without medical intervention. So please pray that my body reflects who God created me to be and to respond to my attempts.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
The Deep
There is no way to describe individual sorrow. No way to relate to others around us… Each has a deep that is hollowed out by the pain of life and penetrating reality. There is no way to avoid it; the pressure is all around, crushing like the depth of the ocean. I fall into the depth, into the abyss of empty wonder. Not fighting, not hoping; just falling into the nothingness and darkness of injustice and question. My heart feels as if it might burst from the environment around me. I fall deeper and deeper into this place. This dark place.
Yet, something inside of me knows that death is not imminent in the depths. There is provision for the overwhelming pressure; there is grace in the deep sorrow. I cannot escape what is down there in the depths. I cannot run from the truth. I know my salvation is in the deep. In the deepest cavern of my heart, there is light, there is something there waiting for me; as if this is where I was meant to be.
I am weak, not able to fight the drawing in; not able to run from the beckoning. I do not want to be here. It is too hard, too real, and too intense. The world has stopped and all there is, is me and the depth. I cannot face what is here. My heart beats, beats in rhythm, then stops; starts again; rages inside my chest. I feel a presence and cringe at what I might behold. My eyes tightly hold out the image, my body shrinking in defense, every muscle tight with fear.
Do I dare to open my eyes? Do I have enough courage to face what is waiting? I sit, as if a statue, hoping not to be noticed. I wait, for what, I have no idea; yet waiting is the time here. Patience is the minutes and perseverance is the hours. I want to yell. I want to scream and cuss and raise my fists. I want to pull out the promises and the words that kept me from falling here and demand answers for my pain. Instead, I curl up in fetal position, hoping this will all go away.
Then I realize that I am exhausted. My body aches from the fight, from the reality of feeling forgotten; I am done, too tired to fight, to angry to try. I want to be held, to be cherished, and taken care of. I want to experience goodness in the land of the living… but loss covers me like a blanket.
So there I wait. Not opening my eyes to see what is in the depths, not fighting, not even moving. My position is known, I am helpless, useless; all I want to do is hide. There in this unknown place, I wait. I wait for something and nothing and everything. A sigh leaves and my lips and I sink into the place where I lay.
Yet, something inside of me knows that death is not imminent in the depths. There is provision for the overwhelming pressure; there is grace in the deep sorrow. I cannot escape what is down there in the depths. I cannot run from the truth. I know my salvation is in the deep. In the deepest cavern of my heart, there is light, there is something there waiting for me; as if this is where I was meant to be.
I am weak, not able to fight the drawing in; not able to run from the beckoning. I do not want to be here. It is too hard, too real, and too intense. The world has stopped and all there is, is me and the depth. I cannot face what is here. My heart beats, beats in rhythm, then stops; starts again; rages inside my chest. I feel a presence and cringe at what I might behold. My eyes tightly hold out the image, my body shrinking in defense, every muscle tight with fear.
Do I dare to open my eyes? Do I have enough courage to face what is waiting? I sit, as if a statue, hoping not to be noticed. I wait, for what, I have no idea; yet waiting is the time here. Patience is the minutes and perseverance is the hours. I want to yell. I want to scream and cuss and raise my fists. I want to pull out the promises and the words that kept me from falling here and demand answers for my pain. Instead, I curl up in fetal position, hoping this will all go away.
Then I realize that I am exhausted. My body aches from the fight, from the reality of feeling forgotten; I am done, too tired to fight, to angry to try. I want to be held, to be cherished, and taken care of. I want to experience goodness in the land of the living… but loss covers me like a blanket.
So there I wait. Not opening my eyes to see what is in the depths, not fighting, not even moving. My position is known, I am helpless, useless; all I want to do is hide. There in this unknown place, I wait. I wait for something and nothing and everything. A sigh leaves and my lips and I sink into the place where I lay.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Feeling sad, depressed and overwhelmed....
Wondering how I, a woman of God, can have such emotions... and the best part is the cussing... Whew have some of those been flying out of my mouth? Well yes Mrs. Beukers, they have...
Someone recently told me that I am not the same as when they met me. When I asked her about the changes she said that I am not so happy go lucky anymore. That I am not a ball of sunshine ready to give to everyone I meet, but rather sad and tainted and half empty. A huge sigh released from my lips as I realized that not only was that true, it was something I myself had been pondering.
Where did she go, this fun woman? How do I get her back? Its like trying to do sancranized swimming to beautiful music, but forgetting how to swim... I forgot what it is like. I have had so much loss and hardship that I am permenately disfigured from the trauma.
Yet, it is not as though I have never experienced trauma or pain or trial. My entire life as a child taught me how to be positive and happy in the midst of pain and trauma. I learned how to find something to focus on that was positive or funny and that is how I survived. Disney was my something for most of my life and still the songs and movies bring joy to my heart. Something is not right now, something is missing in me. I can not tell you what it is, but it is as if my brain patterns were somehow altered and I forgot who I was.
This RAW life I try to live is a lot harder when you are not the happy go luck person you once were. It is harder to be real and authentic and uncensored. The vulnerability does not help my cause, it weakens it, yet I am constantly encouraged to go there.
I feel as though people expect me to be a certain way and I am not meeting thier expectations, even though I am no longer the woman I once was. I am wounded and grieved and hurting. I feel exposed and abused and taken advantage of. I am nervouse and anxious and fearful. I feel angry and betrayed and lack trust.
Where did this woman come from?
I lay her stripped down to the rawest form of myself. Ugly, hateful, miserable. I am exposed! I cry to the Lord and ask him to cover me with His grace, with His mercy, so that I can hide beneath His goodness. I am tired and full of pain. I want to go back to the time where things made sense and were methodically planned out. I want to be the mom that spent hours doing nothing but playing games and puzzles and reading books. I want my kids to stop growing.
I do not know how to be a mom of a teenager. I treat them like they are still 5 and 3 and hold them as tight as I can... but the Lord is pulling my hands off of them and I have to trust Him with them. I have to believe He is who He says He is... and that is the core of it all... Is He?
Is He the God who saves, the God who delivers us and provides for us? I have all these expectations of God based on what I have read in Scripture and was recently told that I feel entitled. I had to think about that. Am I someone who feels entitled? Yes I am. I do feel entitled... I am the daughter of the King of kings afterall.... is that wrong?
I read Psalm 138 this morning and verse 8 hit me between the eyes..."The Lord will perfect that which concerns me..." That which concerns me? He will perfect or complete that which concerns me? Not what concerns him, but what concerns me... What concerns me? What things are about me or in regards to me? My family? Life, long life without disease or sickness; my kids protection and well being and dreams; my husband, being married to him until death parts us; and death, not wanting to die young, but living a long, prosperous, healthy life. He will complete those things? He will perfect those concerns? Wow...
Am I misinterpreting? Is my God sincerly concerned with fears and desires. The very things that have transfigured me? Maybe this transfiguring is a good thing. Maybe my heart was deformed and through all of this He is perfecting it by transfiguring the deformity to perfect... Maybe I just need to change my perspective.
What do you think?
Wondering how I, a woman of God, can have such emotions... and the best part is the cussing... Whew have some of those been flying out of my mouth? Well yes Mrs. Beukers, they have...
Someone recently told me that I am not the same as when they met me. When I asked her about the changes she said that I am not so happy go lucky anymore. That I am not a ball of sunshine ready to give to everyone I meet, but rather sad and tainted and half empty. A huge sigh released from my lips as I realized that not only was that true, it was something I myself had been pondering.
Where did she go, this fun woman? How do I get her back? Its like trying to do sancranized swimming to beautiful music, but forgetting how to swim... I forgot what it is like. I have had so much loss and hardship that I am permenately disfigured from the trauma.
Yet, it is not as though I have never experienced trauma or pain or trial. My entire life as a child taught me how to be positive and happy in the midst of pain and trauma. I learned how to find something to focus on that was positive or funny and that is how I survived. Disney was my something for most of my life and still the songs and movies bring joy to my heart. Something is not right now, something is missing in me. I can not tell you what it is, but it is as if my brain patterns were somehow altered and I forgot who I was.
This RAW life I try to live is a lot harder when you are not the happy go luck person you once were. It is harder to be real and authentic and uncensored. The vulnerability does not help my cause, it weakens it, yet I am constantly encouraged to go there.
I feel as though people expect me to be a certain way and I am not meeting thier expectations, even though I am no longer the woman I once was. I am wounded and grieved and hurting. I feel exposed and abused and taken advantage of. I am nervouse and anxious and fearful. I feel angry and betrayed and lack trust.
Where did this woman come from?
I lay her stripped down to the rawest form of myself. Ugly, hateful, miserable. I am exposed! I cry to the Lord and ask him to cover me with His grace, with His mercy, so that I can hide beneath His goodness. I am tired and full of pain. I want to go back to the time where things made sense and were methodically planned out. I want to be the mom that spent hours doing nothing but playing games and puzzles and reading books. I want my kids to stop growing.
I do not know how to be a mom of a teenager. I treat them like they are still 5 and 3 and hold them as tight as I can... but the Lord is pulling my hands off of them and I have to trust Him with them. I have to believe He is who He says He is... and that is the core of it all... Is He?
Is He the God who saves, the God who delivers us and provides for us? I have all these expectations of God based on what I have read in Scripture and was recently told that I feel entitled. I had to think about that. Am I someone who feels entitled? Yes I am. I do feel entitled... I am the daughter of the King of kings afterall.... is that wrong?
I read Psalm 138 this morning and verse 8 hit me between the eyes..."The Lord will perfect that which concerns me..." That which concerns me? He will perfect or complete that which concerns me? Not what concerns him, but what concerns me... What concerns me? What things are about me or in regards to me? My family? Life, long life without disease or sickness; my kids protection and well being and dreams; my husband, being married to him until death parts us; and death, not wanting to die young, but living a long, prosperous, healthy life. He will complete those things? He will perfect those concerns? Wow...
Am I misinterpreting? Is my God sincerly concerned with fears and desires. The very things that have transfigured me? Maybe this transfiguring is a good thing. Maybe my heart was deformed and through all of this He is perfecting it by transfiguring the deformity to perfect... Maybe I just need to change my perspective.
What do you think?
Rice Krispies
I found this as I was cleaning out my files, a blog I never posted about my little miss....
My daughter cried as I tucked her into bed this cold night. Her words were mumbled and quiet. I caught the tear in the light as it glistened and sparkled. I couldn’t help but see the beauty in her tears. My mind had not yet comprehended what the wet face reflected in her heart. She slowly said, “I am sorry, mama. I don’t want to make you upset.” I was bewildered at how my child’s tears could upset me. “What is it Pita? Why are you so sad?” Her words came out with a sigh of relief, as if she had just confessed some sin, “I miss Nana,” she said.
My mind lectured my soul for being too emotional to give her freedom to grieve. I knew she was holding it in. I knew the moment she held me hand and wiped my tears that she was going to be my caretaker through the process of losing my mom. I did not want her to be. I wanted her to grieve and cry with me, but her tender heart tended to my shattered heart. I felt, all too often, as a failure. A mother, who could not console her child, but had her child tend to her, was not a place I wanted to be. I have always been the nurturer, the caretaker, the protector and educator of my children, yet had not been able to do so in the last year. I asked her many times if she was sad about Nana, and she eloquently explained that it was not her time to be sad. She would dance for me and sing and be silly to try and make me smile. Perhaps the sadness I carried was too much for her to see. So my little Nita Pita did not grieve her Nana’s death.
“I miss making cookies with her and going fishing in her backyard. I miss making Rice Krispy Treats and gingerbread houses. I am going to miss her taking me somewhere special on my birthday.” Her words were thick and filled with conviction. She had memories of my mom that were beginning to come to the surface. “Can we make Rice Krispy treats tomorrow?” My hand touched her face and pushed the stray hair out of her face. “Yes, honey we can.” Her face lit up and she continued to describe in detail how the treats were made. Her words danced off her tongue and twirled around me, coming to life in my head. I pictured my mom in her kitchen, making these treats with her granddaughter. I saw my mom put an apron on my daughter and whisk around the granite to fetch ingredients.
Silence hung in the air and I realized my daughter had stopped talking. She too must have been in memoryland. I desired to know more, and reached into the depths. “Why now, Carah? Why are you sad now? Did something happen or trigger you be sad?” Her thoughts seemed to take her somewhere other than her room. She was silent for a while and her eyes blinked slowly. “I didn’t process it before. I just didn’t think about it, because I wanted to help you. But now I am thinking about it. I am thinking about all the things we did and all the things she is going to miss.” Tears flooded her face and sobs echoed in the room.
He words hung in the air and I thought about my Elijah playing in the State game and how she missed it. I thought about Noah overcoming his dyslexia and how she would be so proud of him. I thought about Aurora, my new niece and how she was not there for her birth. My sister posted on Facebook that she missed mom. I knew she needed her to be there and do the things she always did for her kids when they have a new grandbaby for her. I thought about my brother’s kids and how they will not get to experience the very things my daughter was crying about. This little girl was speaking in a way that was mature and methodical. Her heart had treasured specific things about her Nana and it was now bubbling over.
I prayed with her and hugged her goodnight. She couldn’t sleep and wanted to squish me. I capitalized on the time and made it “girl time.” We watched Enchanted and squished on the couch. She fell asleep on my legs and I carried her to bed. My breath was heavy and deep. Sighs weighed on my lips. My brain was tired, my heart aching. My body weary from sorrow and grief, I laid down on the soft mattress. I try to comprehend the way of my Lord. I try to learn how to live in this broken world. I do not know how to. I have no clue what to do, where to go or how to get there. I lay in my bed, my love besides me. I snuggle close to him and listen to him breath. I am thankful; thankful that he is breathing, thankful that he loves me and thankful we are still married.
I am learning how to be content, yet I want more. I want a full life with gray hair and grandkids. I want to see my kids live to be old and gray too. I want all of my kids and grandkids to be blessed. I want them to experience a life on this earth that is protected and blessed. I do not want them to have to fight the way we have fought. I do not want them to be tormented the way I am tormented. I do not want them to be afraid or worry or doubt. I hope that in the learning, I am changing the course of history in my family line. I hope that in the learning, my contentment spills over into my children and grandchildren. I hope that in the learning, I grow and the things that have cursed me, no longer have a hold on me or my family. I am learning to be content in the learning, content in the pain, content in the sorrow. I am learning to be content in the discomfort, content in the not knowing, content in the waiting. Yet, I am not fully content. I am learning to be thankful for my trials and tribulations, because I have seen the glory of God in my flesh. I have seen the blood of Jesus alive and real in my life, as healing overtakes me. I am thankful that my burden is becoming lighter and my yoke is becoming easier.
The little mounds of sticky mass melt into a blob of white. The spoon mixes the sticky mess into a mountain of what looks like snow. Little hands measure the crackling rice and it textures the white mass. Memories flood. New ones are made. The book my mom made for her grandchildren, before she died, lies open on the counter. One of the recipes she added in her book was for this treat. Carah reads the directions. Conversation steeps as we debate regular or mini M&M’s to add. Hands are slippery with butter to press the mixture into the dish. Webs of marshmallow string between hand and dish.
There on my kitchen counter sits a simple American treat. The simplicity frames our memory as it has become part of our family legacy. Lips no longer quiver with sorrow, but turn upward in sweet bliss that will satisfy both body and soul. We all enjoy the gooey bar in our hands as we sit around the fire. The grief is captured by the legacy my mom left, which will now become part of my family’s heritage.
Thankful for Rice Krispies, marshmallows and butter. Content in all I have and don’t have… Thankful this life is but a glimpse and we have eternity without the sorrow and pain and loss and fear…. Content as I bite into my gooey memory.
My daughter cried as I tucked her into bed this cold night. Her words were mumbled and quiet. I caught the tear in the light as it glistened and sparkled. I couldn’t help but see the beauty in her tears. My mind had not yet comprehended what the wet face reflected in her heart. She slowly said, “I am sorry, mama. I don’t want to make you upset.” I was bewildered at how my child’s tears could upset me. “What is it Pita? Why are you so sad?” Her words came out with a sigh of relief, as if she had just confessed some sin, “I miss Nana,” she said.
My mind lectured my soul for being too emotional to give her freedom to grieve. I knew she was holding it in. I knew the moment she held me hand and wiped my tears that she was going to be my caretaker through the process of losing my mom. I did not want her to be. I wanted her to grieve and cry with me, but her tender heart tended to my shattered heart. I felt, all too often, as a failure. A mother, who could not console her child, but had her child tend to her, was not a place I wanted to be. I have always been the nurturer, the caretaker, the protector and educator of my children, yet had not been able to do so in the last year. I asked her many times if she was sad about Nana, and she eloquently explained that it was not her time to be sad. She would dance for me and sing and be silly to try and make me smile. Perhaps the sadness I carried was too much for her to see. So my little Nita Pita did not grieve her Nana’s death.
“I miss making cookies with her and going fishing in her backyard. I miss making Rice Krispy Treats and gingerbread houses. I am going to miss her taking me somewhere special on my birthday.” Her words were thick and filled with conviction. She had memories of my mom that were beginning to come to the surface. “Can we make Rice Krispy treats tomorrow?” My hand touched her face and pushed the stray hair out of her face. “Yes, honey we can.” Her face lit up and she continued to describe in detail how the treats were made. Her words danced off her tongue and twirled around me, coming to life in my head. I pictured my mom in her kitchen, making these treats with her granddaughter. I saw my mom put an apron on my daughter and whisk around the granite to fetch ingredients.
Silence hung in the air and I realized my daughter had stopped talking. She too must have been in memoryland. I desired to know more, and reached into the depths. “Why now, Carah? Why are you sad now? Did something happen or trigger you be sad?” Her thoughts seemed to take her somewhere other than her room. She was silent for a while and her eyes blinked slowly. “I didn’t process it before. I just didn’t think about it, because I wanted to help you. But now I am thinking about it. I am thinking about all the things we did and all the things she is going to miss.” Tears flooded her face and sobs echoed in the room.
He words hung in the air and I thought about my Elijah playing in the State game and how she missed it. I thought about Noah overcoming his dyslexia and how she would be so proud of him. I thought about Aurora, my new niece and how she was not there for her birth. My sister posted on Facebook that she missed mom. I knew she needed her to be there and do the things she always did for her kids when they have a new grandbaby for her. I thought about my brother’s kids and how they will not get to experience the very things my daughter was crying about. This little girl was speaking in a way that was mature and methodical. Her heart had treasured specific things about her Nana and it was now bubbling over.
I prayed with her and hugged her goodnight. She couldn’t sleep and wanted to squish me. I capitalized on the time and made it “girl time.” We watched Enchanted and squished on the couch. She fell asleep on my legs and I carried her to bed. My breath was heavy and deep. Sighs weighed on my lips. My brain was tired, my heart aching. My body weary from sorrow and grief, I laid down on the soft mattress. I try to comprehend the way of my Lord. I try to learn how to live in this broken world. I do not know how to. I have no clue what to do, where to go or how to get there. I lay in my bed, my love besides me. I snuggle close to him and listen to him breath. I am thankful; thankful that he is breathing, thankful that he loves me and thankful we are still married.
I am learning how to be content, yet I want more. I want a full life with gray hair and grandkids. I want to see my kids live to be old and gray too. I want all of my kids and grandkids to be blessed. I want them to experience a life on this earth that is protected and blessed. I do not want them to have to fight the way we have fought. I do not want them to be tormented the way I am tormented. I do not want them to be afraid or worry or doubt. I hope that in the learning, I am changing the course of history in my family line. I hope that in the learning, my contentment spills over into my children and grandchildren. I hope that in the learning, I grow and the things that have cursed me, no longer have a hold on me or my family. I am learning to be content in the learning, content in the pain, content in the sorrow. I am learning to be content in the discomfort, content in the not knowing, content in the waiting. Yet, I am not fully content. I am learning to be thankful for my trials and tribulations, because I have seen the glory of God in my flesh. I have seen the blood of Jesus alive and real in my life, as healing overtakes me. I am thankful that my burden is becoming lighter and my yoke is becoming easier.
There on my kitchen counter sits a simple American treat. The simplicity frames our memory as it has become part of our family legacy. Lips no longer quiver with sorrow, but turn upward in sweet bliss that will satisfy both body and soul. We all enjoy the gooey bar in our hands as we sit around the fire. The grief is captured by the legacy my mom left, which will now become part of my family’s heritage.
Thankful for Rice Krispies, marshmallows and butter. Content in all I have and don’t have… Thankful this life is but a glimpse and we have eternity without the sorrow and pain and loss and fear…. Content as I bite into my gooey memory.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Christmas ponderings
The sky was full of sun on Christmas in Portland, Oregon. I woke up to the smells of coffee and sweets in the kitchen. My kids were all around the tree, waiting for grandma and grandpa to come. Auntie Sara was pattering in the kitchen and the dog, Leo was sitting patiently for present time.
My sister, Cari, woke up in the birthing center on Christmas. My new niece was born just 2 days before. My nieces Trinity and Kiara, and my nephew Skyler were home with dad, anticipating the arrival of mom. My brother-in-law made waffles and readied his kids to pick up mommy on Christmas morning. My sister brought life to my world, when death was all around. Her eyes were so full of hope when she had baby Aurora, which it spilled over into me. My little sister is my best friend, and I love her intensely.
Somewhere else in the States, my step dad was doing Christmas. Not sure where or with who. He told me that he would not be alone on Christmas, but did not tell me who he would be with or where he would be. I am assuming he spent it in Gilroy with his children and my half brother, Micah. Micah, the youngest of our blended family is torn between two families, his dad’s children and his mom’s. We were raised with Micah, but there is a definite distance between us of years, experience, belief and perception. I love him with a deep love that cannot be given or shown, as he and I are not close.
In Texas my brother, Eric, went into work. His wife and children were to spend Christmas without him. I am not sure what they did or how they compensated for daddy working. I have never met my niece or nephew and do not really know my sister-in-law. My brothers got married and had kids in the hardest time of our lives, and have not had the ability to go to Texas to see them. I see pictures and read posts on Facebook about their lives. I wish I were closer to my brother. He is just three years younger than I, but was only married 5 years ago. Most of his twenties were spent in school and the military, while I was raising 3 kids and learning how to be a mom. I love him dearly and hold him close to my heart.
My biological father has not spoken to me in almost 5 years. He has this notion that I did some harm to my brother, so he tells my aunts, and that I need to apologize to him. I am not sure why I should apologize to him for harming my brother, but my brother and I are building a relationship as married adults, who love each other and each other’s families. The last time I spoke to him was at the opening of my restaurant, when I, for the first time, told him he needed to take responsibility for the mistakes he made as a father and stop putting them on me. He told me to f**k off and walked out of the front door. I have not seen him or talked to him since. Not even when my mother died, the mother of his children was he able to humble himself and call his daughters to give us condolences. I am not sure what he does for Christmas. He has my brother and his kids to spend Christmas with, he has his step daughter that he adores to spend Christmas with, but 7 of his 9 grandchildren he does not even speak to. Christmas is my dad’s favorite time of year. Like my mom, it was the season that made them into saints, full of love and joy, they both meticulously crafted Christmas into a memory that would turn into a legacy for their children to carry on. I love my dad, and can’t understand why he does not love me in return. I cannot comprehend a man who cannot get past his issues to have a relationship with his grandchildren. It is if I lost my dad 5 years ago.
My mom is resting this Christmas. She was not making dozens and dozens of cookies for all the events she has and attends. She was not wrapping gifts or setting up her collection of nativity scenes. She was not getting her feelings hurt that her kids were all spread out and not at her house on Christmas. She was hurt that no one in her extended family invited her for Christmas at their house. She was not torn about going to her step children’s house, when her own children were not invited there. She was just resting this Christmas. Her worn body no longer had to carry the burden of guilt or shame or hurt or pain. She is resting with the One who is celebrated Christmas day. I love her and miss her.
I sat in the yellow chair at my sister-in-law’s house, this Christmas, pondering these things in my heart. I wonder how it has come to this; this place in my life where we are just floating, with no direction and no plan; trusting that somehow God is going to get us through this. I look around at my kids as they sit around the tree, oblivious of the struggles we face. Unaware of the depression their dad wakes up to every morning he does not have a job. Unaware of the battle I face every night I go to bed, unaware of the fact that we have only $9 in our unemployment account. They sit, patiently waiting for the shower of blessings that is about to cover them. I am blessed to be around family, who, have loved us through this. I am thankful that for Christmas, my mother-in-law gave us money for gas, so that we could be with them and my sister’s family.
There is an abundance of gifts under the tree. They spill out to the left and right of the tree with a circus of colors and sparkle that captures the eye. I made all of our gifts this year. I made things out of stuff we had around the house. Blocks of wood, old frames I painted, food I made, or recycled clothes made into something else. The abundance causes my husband to feel inadequate and overwhelmed. On Christmas Eve, when we watched my sister’s kids, at their house, we yelled and screamed at each other about that very thing. He spattered out how much he hates what Christmas has become and hates that he can’t buy gifts and hates that he is a 40 year old man, who has to depend on the charity of others. I yelled at him and told him that he is checking out and not engaging. I told him that it is not about him, that it is about our kids. He yelled back and told me that he is trying his best. He told me that he was suicidal and wanted to just be done with life, and now, at least he is just depressed. He kept saying, “I am trying my best. I am not even saying anything. I have not said one time this year how much I hate Christmas.” We stood in the kitchen of my sister’s house and he got teary eyed and said, “I am hurt by what was said about me by your family. I have forgiven them, but I know they think I am a lazy and worthless.” I stood quietly in the kitchen, with nothing else to say. I did not know my husband was in that state. He keeps it pretty well hidden from me, to ensure a level of stability in our home. My kids were unaware of our conversation that night. They have no indication of the level of intensity that goes on between Bill and me, in our attempt to hold our family together.
So Christmas morning, I sat in the yellow chair, processing the last year. We went from being homeless, to moving into a beautiful home just before Christmas last year. We spent Christmas alone for the first time in our lives, last year, and were blessed abundantly. My mom fought cancer; my sister got pregnant; my husband applied for lots of jobs and tried starting another business; my son went to public school and played on a winning football team; my middle son played football, coached by his dad; my daughter started to play soccer and I experienced some of the deepest healing of my life. My mom passed away, my sister gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby, my son went to a state championship game, Noah is finally learning in a way that benefits dyslexia, Carah finally has some friends that she loves and Bill and I are still married, after all the crazy we have been through.
We made it to today, Christmas. We made it! Paper started flying around the room, and I came back to the now of Christmas morning. My kids were excited about the gifts they had received and the thoughtfulness of people’s intent of how they gave. I began to open the gifts I had received and was delighted at the things that were now mine. I watched intently, as my family began to open their gifts, hoping they would like the things I made. They all seemed pleased and thankful for the time I spent making these treasures. We still had to go to my sister house and open gifts with them.
When we got to my sister’s house, a new baby sat on her lap. I felt overwhelmed at the responsibly of giving her the legacy of our mom. My sister opened the gift I had made for baby Aurora. It was a quilt. My mom always made baby quilts for each of her new grandbabies, but this baby would not receive that gift. I wanted to be sure that she experienced the same legacy that our other children had received. I was not as pretty or intricate as my mom’s quilts, but it was my best. My sister smiled at me and said she loved it. Then the other gifts were opened. My sister gave me my candlesticks, as she does every year; since she found out a tradition my dad started was not followed through on. She opened the frame I made for her with a pressed flower from my mom’s funeral and a page from the book of Proverbs, my mom’s favorite book in the Bible. The kids all opened their gifts with delight. Skyler and Trinity made their cousins a gift and Carah used her own money to buy them gifts. It was a sweet time of legacy and remembering. The kids went upstairs to play with their new things and Cari and I sat and talked. Our brother, Micah had sent an ornament for each of us, that was inscribed, “In Our Hearts Forever, Chris Schulte “Nana”, November 16th, 1952-September 11, 2011.” It was the last gift we opened, and it was the perfect way to remember her. She gave us all the legacy of Christmas trees and ornaments and cookies and family on Christmas. So when we hang the ornament on our tree, she will always be there, celebrating the legacy she gave us.
Merry Christmas
My sister, Cari, woke up in the birthing center on Christmas. My new niece was born just 2 days before. My nieces Trinity and Kiara, and my nephew Skyler were home with dad, anticipating the arrival of mom. My brother-in-law made waffles and readied his kids to pick up mommy on Christmas morning. My sister brought life to my world, when death was all around. Her eyes were so full of hope when she had baby Aurora, which it spilled over into me. My little sister is my best friend, and I love her intensely.
Somewhere else in the States, my step dad was doing Christmas. Not sure where or with who. He told me that he would not be alone on Christmas, but did not tell me who he would be with or where he would be. I am assuming he spent it in Gilroy with his children and my half brother, Micah. Micah, the youngest of our blended family is torn between two families, his dad’s children and his mom’s. We were raised with Micah, but there is a definite distance between us of years, experience, belief and perception. I love him with a deep love that cannot be given or shown, as he and I are not close.
In Texas my brother, Eric, went into work. His wife and children were to spend Christmas without him. I am not sure what they did or how they compensated for daddy working. I have never met my niece or nephew and do not really know my sister-in-law. My brothers got married and had kids in the hardest time of our lives, and have not had the ability to go to Texas to see them. I see pictures and read posts on Facebook about their lives. I wish I were closer to my brother. He is just three years younger than I, but was only married 5 years ago. Most of his twenties were spent in school and the military, while I was raising 3 kids and learning how to be a mom. I love him dearly and hold him close to my heart.
My biological father has not spoken to me in almost 5 years. He has this notion that I did some harm to my brother, so he tells my aunts, and that I need to apologize to him. I am not sure why I should apologize to him for harming my brother, but my brother and I are building a relationship as married adults, who love each other and each other’s families. The last time I spoke to him was at the opening of my restaurant, when I, for the first time, told him he needed to take responsibility for the mistakes he made as a father and stop putting them on me. He told me to f**k off and walked out of the front door. I have not seen him or talked to him since. Not even when my mother died, the mother of his children was he able to humble himself and call his daughters to give us condolences. I am not sure what he does for Christmas. He has my brother and his kids to spend Christmas with, he has his step daughter that he adores to spend Christmas with, but 7 of his 9 grandchildren he does not even speak to. Christmas is my dad’s favorite time of year. Like my mom, it was the season that made them into saints, full of love and joy, they both meticulously crafted Christmas into a memory that would turn into a legacy for their children to carry on. I love my dad, and can’t understand why he does not love me in return. I cannot comprehend a man who cannot get past his issues to have a relationship with his grandchildren. It is if I lost my dad 5 years ago.
My mom is resting this Christmas. She was not making dozens and dozens of cookies for all the events she has and attends. She was not wrapping gifts or setting up her collection of nativity scenes. She was not getting her feelings hurt that her kids were all spread out and not at her house on Christmas. She was hurt that no one in her extended family invited her for Christmas at their house. She was not torn about going to her step children’s house, when her own children were not invited there. She was just resting this Christmas. Her worn body no longer had to carry the burden of guilt or shame or hurt or pain. She is resting with the One who is celebrated Christmas day. I love her and miss her.
I sat in the yellow chair at my sister-in-law’s house, this Christmas, pondering these things in my heart. I wonder how it has come to this; this place in my life where we are just floating, with no direction and no plan; trusting that somehow God is going to get us through this. I look around at my kids as they sit around the tree, oblivious of the struggles we face. Unaware of the depression their dad wakes up to every morning he does not have a job. Unaware of the battle I face every night I go to bed, unaware of the fact that we have only $9 in our unemployment account. They sit, patiently waiting for the shower of blessings that is about to cover them. I am blessed to be around family, who, have loved us through this. I am thankful that for Christmas, my mother-in-law gave us money for gas, so that we could be with them and my sister’s family.
There is an abundance of gifts under the tree. They spill out to the left and right of the tree with a circus of colors and sparkle that captures the eye. I made all of our gifts this year. I made things out of stuff we had around the house. Blocks of wood, old frames I painted, food I made, or recycled clothes made into something else. The abundance causes my husband to feel inadequate and overwhelmed. On Christmas Eve, when we watched my sister’s kids, at their house, we yelled and screamed at each other about that very thing. He spattered out how much he hates what Christmas has become and hates that he can’t buy gifts and hates that he is a 40 year old man, who has to depend on the charity of others. I yelled at him and told him that he is checking out and not engaging. I told him that it is not about him, that it is about our kids. He yelled back and told me that he is trying his best. He told me that he was suicidal and wanted to just be done with life, and now, at least he is just depressed. He kept saying, “I am trying my best. I am not even saying anything. I have not said one time this year how much I hate Christmas.” We stood in the kitchen of my sister’s house and he got teary eyed and said, “I am hurt by what was said about me by your family. I have forgiven them, but I know they think I am a lazy and worthless.” I stood quietly in the kitchen, with nothing else to say. I did not know my husband was in that state. He keeps it pretty well hidden from me, to ensure a level of stability in our home. My kids were unaware of our conversation that night. They have no indication of the level of intensity that goes on between Bill and me, in our attempt to hold our family together.
So Christmas morning, I sat in the yellow chair, processing the last year. We went from being homeless, to moving into a beautiful home just before Christmas last year. We spent Christmas alone for the first time in our lives, last year, and were blessed abundantly. My mom fought cancer; my sister got pregnant; my husband applied for lots of jobs and tried starting another business; my son went to public school and played on a winning football team; my middle son played football, coached by his dad; my daughter started to play soccer and I experienced some of the deepest healing of my life. My mom passed away, my sister gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby, my son went to a state championship game, Noah is finally learning in a way that benefits dyslexia, Carah finally has some friends that she loves and Bill and I are still married, after all the crazy we have been through.
We made it to today, Christmas. We made it! Paper started flying around the room, and I came back to the now of Christmas morning. My kids were excited about the gifts they had received and the thoughtfulness of people’s intent of how they gave. I began to open the gifts I had received and was delighted at the things that were now mine. I watched intently, as my family began to open their gifts, hoping they would like the things I made. They all seemed pleased and thankful for the time I spent making these treasures. We still had to go to my sister house and open gifts with them.
When we got to my sister’s house, a new baby sat on her lap. I felt overwhelmed at the responsibly of giving her the legacy of our mom. My sister opened the gift I had made for baby Aurora. It was a quilt. My mom always made baby quilts for each of her new grandbabies, but this baby would not receive that gift. I wanted to be sure that she experienced the same legacy that our other children had received. I was not as pretty or intricate as my mom’s quilts, but it was my best. My sister smiled at me and said she loved it. Then the other gifts were opened. My sister gave me my candlesticks, as she does every year; since she found out a tradition my dad started was not followed through on. She opened the frame I made for her with a pressed flower from my mom’s funeral and a page from the book of Proverbs, my mom’s favorite book in the Bible. The kids all opened their gifts with delight. Skyler and Trinity made their cousins a gift and Carah used her own money to buy them gifts. It was a sweet time of legacy and remembering. The kids went upstairs to play with their new things and Cari and I sat and talked. Our brother, Micah had sent an ornament for each of us, that was inscribed, “In Our Hearts Forever, Chris Schulte “Nana”, November 16th, 1952-September 11, 2011.” It was the last gift we opened, and it was the perfect way to remember her. She gave us all the legacy of Christmas trees and ornaments and cookies and family on Christmas. So when we hang the ornament on our tree, she will always be there, celebrating the legacy she gave us.
Merry Christmas
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