Trying to Take Back Christmas: Grieving and Changing Traditions (Another U-Turn)

Every year when Christmas rolls around, it's like I'm on a zipline that's about to go off the cliff. I'm deathly afraid of heights, so it's not something I would do willingly. But that's just it, Christmas comes every year and every year I face the traumas around my daughter's death one week before Christmas. So here I am, strapped to this zipline at the top of the cliff and Time pushes me off and all I can do is close my eyes, hang on with all my might, and wait for it to be over. And just like every year, when it is over, I open my eyes to a mess of Christmas decorations that I get to tear down with all the bitterness of my heart. 

Believe it or not, Christmas used to be my favorite. I couldn't wait for Christmas to come. I decked my halls with a lot more than holly! Red and green colors would burst from every corner of the house. But the grieving journey has other plans for me. For whatever cosmic reason, I decided to change my color scheme that year to blue and white. The Christmas tree hung tons of blue and white balls and it was beautiful. It was one week before Christmas, we were at my mom's house putting together Christmas baskets with goodies. My daughter Sarah died during her nap in my mom's room that afternoon. After we got back from the hospital, without her, I spent the whole week in that very room, breathing in what was left of her spirit. The day after Christmas, we finally came home for the first time. Sarah's nickname was "blueberry" because of the blue hemangioma on her nose and our tree with all it's blue balled ornaments, looked like a blueberry bush. At that moment, I saw it as this beautiful message that "Sarah was still among us for Christmas." That was my beautiful reminder. For years, I would put all those blue ornaments on the tree, faithfully bringing her message back to us. It was comforting. 

But then something switched in me. I got really sick and extra sensitive to everything around me. I stopped celebrating her birthday the way I normal would. All the things I did over the years to help me cope with Sarah's absence were now incredibly hurtful. I had needed those things during those years, and now I didn't. I needed something else now. I'm still sorting through certain triggers around Christmas, but a big one this year were those damn blue ball ornaments on my tree that no longer made me feel her, they made me feel her absence all the more. They took me back to that awful day when we came home for the very first time with empty empty arms. Those balls reminded me now of my emptiness, that hole that no God can ever fill until I see her again. 

So after talking with my wonderful therapist, I decided to not only take them off of my tree, but to destroy them. Just me and my husband set out to destroy this awful trigger. I stood at the tree and bagged up all the blue balled ornaments of that awful day and started towards the back door. But I was stopped by my 12 year old son Isaiah. The only child that was actually here when we lost her.

"What are you doing with those?" He asked me, staring me down. 

"I'm taking them down and getting rid of them this year." I tried to be delicate with my voice. 

"No! No! No! Put them back! Put them back!" tears were welling up in his eyes. The desperateness in his voice broke my heart and I started crying with him.

I didn't even think about his feelings with these.  "I'm sorry sweetie, but I have to do this. They are too painful to keep. This is something I have to do." 

"Put them back, please, put them back!" He just kept repeating it through his tears. After that I took him to a private place so we could talk and it was decided, after both of us bawling, that we would put a mini tree up in his room and he can keep one single ball from the bag. As a mother who understands that he has his own unique journey of grief, I had to compromise in this.  

So with my heart now torn to shreds, I went to the garage with my husband who had a tarp down and ready and we smashed the shit out of those ornaments. They were not easy to break either, because they were plastic. Especially the ones that we more solid plastic. It made us angry that they weren't glass that would break easily. But that's just it, isn't it? It's not easy removing triggers from your life. I can smash these ornaments, but the traumatic memories they triggered will always be there. I felt like this was our ceremony of trying to "take back Christmas." This time of year will always be hard, but I want to love Christmas again. I can't promise that this will do it, but it will definitely help. And it's already easier to breathe without staring at those ornaments all day, every day. 

My encouragement to you, if you struggle with grief this holiday season, is don't let traditions prevail if they start hurting you. My husband even added, "Well, it's like we always kept putting those ornaments up for tradition so we don't offend ourselves." Allow things to change as you change. It's okay to give yourself permission to do so. Life changes us so much as we continue to grow and experience new things, new trials, and new victories. Let these traditions change with you as you need them to, in order to cope the only way you know how. 

~Love yourself enough to prove it. 

Elora, The Therapy Puppy

 If you follow me on facebook, you know that my puppy broke her hip. If you don't, now you know my puppy broke her hip. I have not officially introduced my puppy to my actual blog, so I will do so now.

We had decided 6 months ago that I needed a therapy dog. Being chronically ill and having chronic pain can be very isolating. I also deal with depression, anxiety and PTSD that I takes meds and am in therapy for. Having a therapy dog brings joy to those that are hurting, no matter the hurt. So it's been on our radar to keep our eyes open for a dog once we settled in our new house this last spring.

My sister's dog had puppies. Thee cutest puppies you've ever seen. She spotted one especially that she wanted our family to have. She was near and dear to my sister, but also very sweet. At first, I was hesitant because everyone knows puppies are work! But I do have 5 kids at home to help out when I can't do it, so I tested them with the job of helping me potty train my 2 and 4 year old and well.... by the time the puppy was 8 weeks and ready for a home, she came home to us and now I don't have to buy nearly as many diapers! woohoo!

Elora Dannon (Wing)

We named our puppy Elora Dannon (Wing). (for all the cool folks, that names from Willow. It's so fun to call out, "Elora.... Elora Dannon!" and have this sweet little puppy come running to you) She had so much energy, we thought she'd favor the kids. Not so! She's so attached to me. She goes where ever I go, unless there's paper products on the floor to get to, of course. I'm in pain in some kind of way every day, so to have her next to me, or on me cuddling close, or curled around my head at night, I've been brought so much joy by her presence. Her and I have bonded quicker than I thought was possible and she has been a great therapy puppy.

Well. Yesterday afternoon, my 2 year Ruth (-less Honey Badger), was carrying her around and fell. Ruth is fine, but Elora was not. I knew something was terribly wrong with the way she wouldn't stop crying and then limping off a particular leg. We took her into the Pet ER and xrays showed that her hip has a clean break! My heart sunk and I started bawling even more. (I had of course, been crying on and off this whole time) He said that if we didn't have the surgery, she would have life-long severe chronic pain, with the possibility of losing her leg eventually. He said, with surgery, she wouldn't be 100% but she would be almost that, learn to walk on her leg again and live a long happy life. I remember hearing the words, "She won't ever be 100% but she will be close" and thinking... 'What two peas in a pod her and I are now. Both unable to achieve 100% but can get as close as we can.'

This is her right hind hip that has a clean break. 

How much for the surgery? $2000! I heard the words surgery and knew it was gonna be bad. We are a one income family, so you can imagine the impossibility for us to have that kind of money, let alone spend it on a pet. But Elora was so special and she is such a perfect little therapy dog for me, my husband right away declared, "We are not giving up on her!" I was so happy to hear those words, but how were we gonna do it? The sweet receptionists at the pet hospital encouraged us to start a "Go Fund Me" page for her surgery. With all the more serious things I've gone through in life, I felt so silly doing a "go fund me" page for a puppy. My heart was so torn and I couldn't stop crying, even in front of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist said, "You gotta swallow your pride and try." So we went home with pain meds to keep her comfortable, to give us a couple days to come up with the money and started a "Go Fund Me" page. In less than 24 hours, we are just a couple hundred dollars away from meeting that goal to afford her surgery. All these people came together for Elora and for me and my family, to be able to give her a good life, and allow me to keep my therapy dog.

I can't even begin to explain how humbled and grateful I am that so many care enough to help and that with many people doing just a little bit (some of you a lot!), it makes the greatest impact. I am overwhelmed.

Although I am so glad to be able to get this surgery done for her, I am still broken about how much pain she has and that this happened at all. My heart hurts for her. We are able to keep her comfortable in the mean time, but it just rips at my heart. It has taken a big toll on me emotionally, which effects my CFS/fibro. Her spirit, though, has lifted me still even with her own broken hip. She still wags her tail when she sees someone she wants attention from. She still gives kisses to everyone, even the Ruth-less Honey Badger who got her into this mess. She still rolls over on her belly to have it rubbed. Her spirit has been motivating and inspiring to me, to say the least. It's amazing what these therapy dogs do for people in need of them. They are so noble and loyal. If you suffer with any form of sickness or pain, especially mental illnesses too, consider a therapy dog. They are so healing in so many ways.

Now I commence cute pictures of her below! Enjoy! And Thank you again, for those that have contributed to our fund for her surgery. Tears in my eyes, thank you so much!

(if you wish to help us with the last bit of our goal go to our page here and donate!)

Yoga with Elora. 

My 6 year old has a favored calm spirit. 

Every night and morning. At my head. 

Ruth-less Honey Badger with Elora. They do love each other. 

I wake up every morning with her next to my head. Every. Morning. Love it.

Bad morning. Loving puppy cuddles. 

She lets us cradle her often. Such a baby. :) 

follows me everywhere. 

Me, passed out on the couch with a mother migraine. Her passed out next to me. 

More migraines, the cuddles never stop. Seriously love her. 

Depression: I stopped making my bed...

I stopped making my bed...



Depression.

An old friend. Sometimes she visits when I expect her to. A situation may call for her and she’ll be there, faithfully by my side. And I’m okay that.

Then there’s the times when I’m feeling okay for the most part. Everything is as well as to be expected. I’m not having a horrible day, but then I can’t quite peg why it’s not necessarily a good day either. I call it a funk. But it’s her. She’s there. Depression.

I can’t answer why. She’s just there. Doesn’t even knock to come in. She just walks through the door. Most times, I don’t even hear her come in. She’s pretty sly.

But when she does come, she’s the only company I can handle. There’s the lucky lucky few that can dwell in my bubble when she’s with me. The words that go through my mind when she’s around are:

Small. Burden. Unworthy. Unloved. Despair. Alone. Out of Control. Ghost. Unable. Cold. Numb. Self-directed anger. Anxiety. Conspiracies. Forgotten. 

The other night I went to bed fully aware I was depressed. Then in my despair, I noticed my blankets. I then realized it had been so many days since I stopped making my bed. It snuck up on me. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal. For the most part it IS truly a small thing. But what it translated to me was that little red flag that she was stepping over that threshold from my mind (something I can't control) to my heart (something I'm able to control better). A while ago, I started making my bed. It became a goal, that thing in the morning I could do. No matter my pain or fatigue, I could make my bed. It gave me that little piece of my humanity back; to get me through the day. So when I went back to bed completely drained and in pain, fatigued or feeling horrible and defeated (no matter the time of day), my bed was still made. I had done that with my own hands. “Kailan was here,” it whispers to me. And it comforts me.

So when I realized my bed had been neglected, I resolved to make sure that I make my bed in the morning. And I did. I took that piece back.

It doesn’t make the depression go away. She’s much too stubborn, I can't stop her from coming. But she understands she is not wanted. 

And that’s where I want her.

Update on Me: Chronic Illness Awareness (while we are at it!)

It has been beyond challenging to write lately. The fog that these illnesses leave me in is debilitating most times, no matter how much or little pain I'm in. But I've promised myself that I would keep writing or at least keep trying. So here I am.

The diagnoses keep coming and so do the pills. I take so many pills, that are both prescription and supplements, I never would've thought this would be me. The picture is just my morning doses.

Good news is I'm responding well to certain meds that help stabilize me enough to keep me out of danger. The bad news, I'm still very "sick." I still have my good days and bad days and very bad days. I will have bouts of days (sometimes a couple weeks) of good days that bring me under the delusion that I'm better. But then I flare again, and it's a reality check of how sick I still am. My good days consist of low pain, low-moderate fatigue, and 20%+ brain fog. My bad days consist of (having at least a few or all of these): high pain, migraines, chest pain, burning arms and/or legs, stiffness, back/neck pain, feet pain, ankle (from my past sprains) pain, ringing ears (6 months going strong), nausea, loss of appetite, dizziness/vertigo, major sensitivity to light and sound, and lots more brain fog.

The depression and anxiety that comes with chronic illness is just as debilitating sometimes. Being stuck in constant pain, fatigue, and fog can leave you feeling very alone and frightened. Watching everyone else doing things around you while you sit, makes you feel like a burden. The never ending question of, "Will this ever lift?" ransacks your thoughts like a dog gnawing at it's bone. It's depressing. Then comes the anxiety of being in situations that bring you more pain, and/or embarrassments and the judgments that come. Sometimes, it's pretty obvious I'm in pain. You can see it in my swollen pale face. But most times, my challenges are invisible to the world. I've been forced to give up so much. So many of my outlets for release have been taken from me, most the time.

I finally gave in to seeing a therapist. I was noticing that not only did my body flare because of the weather, or I overdid it, or I ate something, or it's my time of the month, or my body just felt like doing whatever the hell it wanted to and that day it decided to set my arms on fire..... Sometimes, my emotional instability will cause a flare. When I was making that separation, I realized that not only do I need to work on my body physically, but emotionally/mentally as well. The way I cope with stress is so unhealthy due to my tears and shutdowns ultimately leading to my body shutting down with pain and fatigue. So.... to the therapist I go!

Me with Merlin (my newly named icepack). 

I've also been doing a good job at failing at my new diet plan. The struggle is real! Especially when you are ill and all your comfort foods are "no no's."

So this is just a small glimpse into life with chronic illness. There are so many different kinds of chronic illnesses out there and I do count my blessings when it comes to things I can still do, that others can't.

If you are suffering with chronic illness, I am so deeply sorry. Know that you are not alone and find support groups whether in person, or there's some great ones online. Keep pushing doctors to find out your diagnosis and proper treatments. And love yourself enough to rest as you are able.

If you know someone who is suffering with chronic illness, believe them. Learn about their diagnosis' (the most romantic thing you could do) and how you can help them practically. Buy them fuzzy pajamas, slippers and socks, heating pads, ice packs, movies and don't forget the sweets! (that is, according to their diet restrictions) Give their caretakers a break. Love on them by appreciating that every day they live out their awful disease. Your support means everything to us.

Living With Chronic Illness: "Dear Flaring Kailan..." A Letter to Myself.

Living with chronic illnesses takes it's toll on my emotional/mental health. It's like being stuck on a never-ending roller coaster... and I HATE roller coasters!

On my bad days, (when I'm flaring) I feel like I'm "in the depths of despair."* The world goes on with or without me and I'm forced to choose to be ok with it going on without me. And then my mind travels to the ecstasy of dying. I think, "If the world can go on without me, then why do I even try? Why not die right here?" Its certainly the thing that will ensure the pain will stop. Yes... my bad days are dark days. It never fails. I cry a lot and bleed with love for my caretakers while hating my body.

But then, something happens! The flare lifts enough for me to breathe again. My energy is returned only in very small increments and then I taste life again. My eyes open wide and I feel thankful to still be alive. Thankful for having survived what I've survived. I do a little cleaning and cooking and actually hold conversations with my beautiful, quickly growing, children. My sarcasm returns with the husband and we actually laugh together. It feels like "a high." (I've never smoked weed before, but I can imagine being "high" feels a little like this)

I feel like two different people with these extremes.

So I decided last month to write a letter to myself. I wrote it while I was "high on life" and directed it towards my "flaring" self. I wrote it in hopes to reach out to myself, to save myself. I loved myself enough to at least try.

I had to pull that letter out today. I've been in so much pain this week and I could feel myself going down into my depths. I decided to share it with you as an example for you. I encourage anyone dealing with chronic illnesses to do the same. Wait till you are having a decent day where you are glad to be alive and encourage yourself. Pull it out on your bad days and hold it tight to your heart.


Dear "Flaring" Kailan, 

     Take a deep breath. Slow way down and hold this Truth as close as you can to your heart. You will survive. This is not forever. This flare will eventually lift and you will feel more confident then. You will feel hope again. I know you hate this part of the ride, but it will not last forever. Your kids love you, you are their favorite. Your husband loves you, you are always his best friend. Remember he's always so optimistic? Trust his heart. I know your fantasies of ending it all, but trust ME. When this lifts (because it will) then you will want to live. You will be back. Your laughter, play, silly-ness, singing, reading, writing.... it will all be back. I love you. This disease has changed your life, but it has not changed who you are and what you mean to everyone around you. 

                                                                    With all the GRACE in the world, 
                                                                         "Better Days" Kailan 


I made myself cry. Thank you Kailan.

What would you say to yourself? 



(*Anne of Green Gables)

Open Letter to the Chronically Ill Parent: "There is no replacement for you!"

I am so honored to share my space here with a very good friend of mine Melissa Glennon. We knew each other from church years ago, but have recently reconnected since I've been chronically ill. She's married with a quiver full of children. She is so faithful, always asking me how I'm doing and praying for me. Her friendship has meant the world to me. The unique thing about her is that she grew up with a chronically ill parent, who still battles with it today. I've talked to many chronically ill people, and the common "woe" (besides the obvious pain and suffering) is our "mommy guilt" or "daddy guilt." The guilt that comes when we can't do certain things and our children also suffer the consequences.  I'd bring my "mommy guilt" cry to Melissa and she'd encourage me like no one else could. I found myself using her words to help me comfort others. Then I thought... "I should just have her write an open letter for me to share." And of course, she's amazing so she wrote this very sweet open letter to her dad, who suffers with chronic pain. I'm so thankful for her letter, it encourages me as I continue to raise my own children in the dynamic of chronic illness. My hope is that you find comfort in her unique perspective also.

Melissa writes:

"Dad,

  

   You carried me on your shoulders. I distinctly remember the flip flop my stomach made when you swung me into the air and placed me up to see the world. You took us fishing and always baited my hook. You played catch with me, you wrestled with us, and built us snow forts. You led our family to know, love, and trust in God. I was loved deeply and I knew it!

   As I reflect on my childhood and growing up with you having chronic pain the most striking revelation is that my memories aren't centered around pain. I don't remember many moments where I felt that my dad was different or our family life was affected by the pain. It was simply the way things were and I knew no different. We knew your limitations and lived our lives accordingly.

We all believed that your first back surgery would "fix" you. Your pain seemed less for awhile and we were all so happy! But then came another surgery and another and another... And your pain never got better. I don't remember you complaining about the pain but I also don't remember asking you how you were doing. I am sorry! I am sorry that I was selfish. I remember thinking at times, "He could do it if he really wanted to." Or "He doesn't feel that bad." I wouldn't be able to empathize with you until years and years later.

   I remember you going to the Mayo Clinic to take pain management classes and it being a defeating time for you. Living with the pain seemed like the only option left. I remember being sad that there seemed to be nothing left to fix you.

   Your faith in God never wavered. And if it did, I didn't see it.  I still look at you today as a man of strong faith and that is something that has comforted me my entire life.

   Fast forward, a decade or two, and I am pregnant with my fourth child. Unbeknownst to me, I have a rib out of place and I am in horrible pain. I am unable to turn my neck. Pain shoots down my arm and I can't sleep or eat. After three weeks of pain and stress, a heavenly chiropractor finds the problem and my pain is gone. It was the closest thing I had ever gone through to where I could relate to what you have dealt with for the past 25 years. There really are no words to describe the sadness I feel for your daily affliction. For years, I have prayed that God would heal you, completely, "Take away his pain." One day while praying this it hit me, "What if God's way of taking his pain away would be to take him to heaven?" It stopped me cold. I am not ready to lose my father, and the selfish part of me wanted you to stay... Even if that meant you lived in pain. Again, I am sorry for my selfishness but I love you.  I will continue to pray for complete healing and trust that God's will be done.

   Thank you for loving me, my mother and my siblings, so completely through all your pain. I know you feel bad that you can't do more for us, but I never saw it like that. You have always been more than enough for me. I love you Dad!

To all parents out there with chronic pain: Thank you for loving your children through your pain!! There is no need to feel guilty about what you think we are missing out on. We would rather have you in our lives than any thing else. There is no replacement for you. We love you!"


This was very sweet. I wanted to share her dad's response when she sent him this very letter. 

"Melissa,  I think this is an excellent letter and I hope other parents out there have a daughter like you!  After being injured in Vietnam I learned to deal with pain, so I had a lot of time to prepare me for what lay ahead for me.  You don't deal with chronic pain alone and I'm thankful for my prayer group at work, the Mayo Pain Clinic and of course your mom ( my best support person ), who knows better than any of you what chronic pain is all about without having it.  There is no need for you to ever feel guilty, after all life is what molds our character and I think we're all hanging in there as a family!  Thanks for taking the time & sharing your thoughts.  Love, Dad "

I Believe Jesus: Finding Hope While Chronically Ill

It was so quiet and beautiful being out in the plains of Iowa. I sat on my folding chair, watching the nervous groom precede his wedding party down the aisle. I thought about how delighted I was to actually be there and witness this with my own eyes. It was very hot that night. I had prepared myself to be overheated and in pain, so I had my medication with me, along with my ice packs in a mini cooler bag and a battery powered fan. The faithful trees shaded me. I had pushed so hard to be there that night. I kept saying "the universe is against me!" as I watched all our kids, including myself, come down with colds. I was flaring and sick and still my mother sacrificed her plans to take my sick kids so I could push myself to go to this wedding. It was special. Not only was an amazing young couple getting married, but my husband was officiate for the first time. I was proud of all of them. It was simple and beautiful and I was honored to be a part of it in this small way.

Not only did I have my physical obstacles, but I admit I came with a heavy heart. I'm tired. Tired of being sick. I ebb and flow with wanting to live vs. wanting to die. I question God as to why I have to be sick all the time. Not only have I not gone to church because of my sickness, but my heart still distrusts the whole business of church in general. Once you've gone through the hell of feeling outcast and betrayed by a church, it's hard to trust again. I have been so depressed, spinning in this never ending circle of healing the emotional so I can heal the physical, whilst fighting the physical trying to keep my head about me. It's a cruel cycle of catch 22. But it's left me feeling weary. Broken. Unfixable. Futile toiling. Breaking me bit by bit. And it was winning.

But I made it to this wedding. I sat in that congregation of family and friends joined to witness this couple's love for each other. I was proud of myself.

The vows began. They wrote their own and it was the bride's turn. I was so moved by their sweet words to each other but then she started speaking the words that were about to grab my heart. Within her vows she said, "If Jesus believes that marriage can last a lifetime, then I believe it too because I believe Jesus." It was an epiphany for me. Tears fled from my eyes in an instant and I had to take a deep breath so I didn't make too much of a spectacle crying like I was. People must have thought I was being way too emotional. Ha. If they only knew how my heart swelled as I longed for that touch from my Savior. I know the words she was saying were meant for her husband just then, but the power that radiated from her mouth to the ears listening in, I was truly humbled by this young bride's faith. I immediately started to interpret to my heart as I chewed on that phrase. She even kept it a simple mantra throughout her vows. "If Jesus believes it, I believe it too because I believe in Jesus." Oh! My weak spirit! My weak faith! I was being restored with each tear I had to wipe away.

* Jesus said, "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."

If Jesus says I will find rest, if Jesus promises restoration then it will be.

Because if Jesus believes it, then I believe it too. Because I believe Jesus.

I have learned much from this experience of being chronically ill. It has stretched me like no other obstacle has. And I had forgotten Jesus'promises. I had forgotten how much I believe in Him. And how much He believes in me.




Thank you sweet Mallory, the young beautiful bride. May He bless you both.

*Matthew 11:28-29

When I Fell and Couldn't Get Back Up: Chronic Illness

How do I explain what's happening to me?

Last July (2014), I fell sick. And never recovered. How do I convey to you, the hell I'm going through?

I lay in bed most days, most hours and watch the world go by.... without me. How do I explain my grief?

Sometimes the pressure and pain and the heavy fatigue is so great that I stare off, listening to my heart pounding and the sound of my breathing, waiting for my last breath to take me away from it all. How do I put into words my despair?

This has changed me. It's changed my husband. Planning things is like trying to write on wet paper. There's a dry piece with Plan B on it. How do I explain my guilt?

I watch my husband come home from his stressful job to taking care of our 5 kids at home, cooking, cleaning.... things that were my job. I am so dependent on him. How do I explain this helplessness?

I'm fortunate to have found a doctor that believes me, even though when I tell him my concerns for worsening symptoms, his response is "unfortunately, this is part of the disease." No answers. Not enough research out there to tell me why I'm, all of the sudden, living in this hell when I was a healthy young woman, excited about turning 30. I'm trapped in a young body that is giving out like an elderly person. How do I say how lost and alone I feel?

I am also fortunate to have friends and family that will lay next to me when they know I can't come to them. Every time I look at my husband, I cry because my dad was right.... I have never felt more loved than I do right now. Those that take me seriously, when they are near me, I hear God whispering in my ear, "See? I haven't left you."  How can I begin to explain that kind of comfort?

But when people look at me, they don't always see a sick person. They hear me speak somewhat coherently and hear me lecture my kids, and flirt with my husband and laugh at jokes, assuming that I'm not sick. They say my 5 kids at home is the answer to my "tiredness." How do I even begin to rant about how offensive and suffocating that can be?

I've had to give up so many things. Things I can't physically or mentally do anymore. My kids watch me in disappointment, too young to be satisfied with my best efforts to care for and love them. I can only hope they will grow up someday, remembering all the times I still held them when they cried and understand that I tried my best to be there and maybe they'll excuse me and forgive the disease.   Injustice. It's like a thief, it has stolen a presence.

I have been diagnosed with SEID (systemic exertion intolerance disease, formerly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and Fibromyalgia. The most recent diagnosis is Hashimoto's (auto-immune) Disease. Everyone is unique in their symptoms, diagnosis cocktail, and finding their recoveries, that is if they ever do find it. No two are alike. But it's still good company to talk with someone that's going through hell similar to my own. Not a day goes by without thinking about my illness. It's like a chain that's always making my skin bleed, never allowing me even a full day to heal.

I can't even cry my eyes out without pain and pressure shooting through my head.



It is very hard to focus enough to write, so you won't be hearing as much from me here as often as I used to write. I've been put on pause, for the most part, until we can figure out a recovery plan that works for me, if there is one out there. If you know someone with "a chronic illness that you can't see", hug them gently and take them seriously. Talk with them. Respect the boundaries of their disease and help any way you can. Those are the characteristics of the most helpful, supportive people in my life right now.

Mastery: Letting go of being free of your struggles

In a crazy cycle recently, (where my depression spirals because I rarely feel well, making me crumple in a fetal position, crying, wanting my life to be over because I feel so worthless) I came to a certain resolve. I wanted to be free. Free of the depression, free of the stress, of the health issues. I would plead to God to take it away, but still I struggled... every day... trying to find the reason why I want keep fighting, even though I don't feel well.

Can we ever really be free? Free of illness? Chronic illness? Free of mental issues? Depression? Anxiety? Anger? Debilitating conditions?

Scriptures say “we are free.” What the hell does that even mean? I mean, let’s talk spiritually speaking here. We are stuck in this world, this fallen world. Jesus came and said the words Himself, “if the Son sets you free, you are free indeed.” But in context, He was talking about sin though. We are free from the bondage of our own sin. (note to self: that doesn't mean the sin against us from others and obviously, this didn't stop the consequences of the physical fallen world, since we still get sick and die, BUT...) We are made spiritually new. (And when we rise, we will be made physically new) We will be found clean in the face of God when we meet Him, because of the freedom we have received from the Son. Does this give me hope? Yes.

But, but, but…..

What about today? What about now? I don’t mean to sound impatient, but not only have I been dealing with this illness, this depression for so long now but…. Where is the respite? I believe in miracles, but after watching Dad die of cancer, I learned that miracles come in different forms and not always the way you want them to happen.

I went through a serious bout of more depression recently that circled around that fact that I may never be free of this illness, this depression, this fatigue cycle. Once again, God was just a figure standing there with His back turned away from me. “Not this one. Not this time” was what I kept hearing in response for my pleading with God to release me from this struggle. I didn't understand why. I still don’t understand why. But something had to give. I wanted to give up but that’s where it got complicated. Can’t give up something that is in you, something that you are dealt, something that you've lost. Giving up was impossible, unless I was willing to kill myself. Sure. I thought about it. I thought about releasing my husband from a sick wife, releasing my kids from a sick mother. But then… I’m too much of a pansy and well… my babies are… babies. I couldn't even think about doing that to them. It was devastating losing my dad at 16, I didn't want to put them through something like that. No. I wanted to live… But I want to LIVE. Like really live, like tear up the yard because all my plans are ridiculous and so…. *Kailan*. Like paint and decorate weird things on my walls for company to find as they creep through our house. Like not only school the kids in just the basics of education, but really take them out and let them experience things to the fullest. Like actually play with them again. You know? LIVE!

But if I can’t be free…..where’s my hope in that? Sure, I may get better some day. I may not. But what I do know is that “today” I must.

I started reflecting on something then. God told Cain that he must master his anger. (I use this lesson a lot in parenting) Was Cain wrong to be angry about Abel’s offerings? (because Abel gave better than Cain) No. But he was angry at the wrong person. His anger was a trigger, given by God, something beautiful. But his first mistake was getting mad at the wrong person, second mistake was he didn't heed God’s advice. Third mistake…. He went ahead and killed Abel in his anger, permanently silencing him and permanently stirring his own demise…. All because he couldn't- wouldn't master it.

I found myself realizing that if I wasn't going to be free of depression, and maybe even this sickness, then I must learn to master it, before it kills me.

So the research went into hyper-drive. The first things Jesus did was help the physical. I needed to be my own Jesus. (is that sacrilege to say?) I needed to help myself physically. Things like getting my ass back into the doctors office and not giving up on that part of things. Eating healthier, drinking more water, and taking my vitamins. I don’t have a second head that’s going to do all this for me. (well... it seems I do have a second head, but she isn't very helpful) I have to stand up for myself and master as much as I can for my body’s sake. I’m still figuring all this out.

Then the emotional/mental; counseling and talking with intimate friends, people I trust. Letting them in. Doing things that fill me up. I’m an introvert, so my things are reading, writing, making music and art. An extrovert may want to get out and run with a bunch of people… (oh wait… my husband does that.) A big one here is forgiving my bad days and embracing my good ones. I’m still figuring all this out.

Then the spiritual: I’m on shaky grounds here. I question everything I knew. Sometimes I struggle in vain…. Heh… most times I do. I try to keep my head about me, but then lose it. I get mad at people when they start talking spiritual to me about my health issues. “You’re going through this for a reason.” (makes me feel like a puppet on a string) “God will never give you anything you can’t handle” (right. And that’s why Christians kill themselves…. Or are killed. And actually, that line is often misquoted, so boom.) “Can’t you just shake it off and keep moving?” (shake it off… without breaking out in song, I ****ing wish I could shake it off and move the body that has it’s own agenda…. Ah! Dang it. Now that dang song is struck in my head) But in all seriousness, I'm letting myself wrestle with my faith. I love God. He is awesome. I just don't always "feel" His awesomeness. And maybe that's ok?  I’m still figuring all this out.

I've made up my mind though. I’m going to master this.

I watched the movie “The Gabby Douglas Story” recently. (awesome movie on Netflix, btw) and as I watched this sweet girl’s young life unfold, I saw the struggle, the passion, the desperation, and the hope. I saw this extraordinary family come together around this girl with extraordinary talent, but ultimately, it was up to her to find her teacher, do the work, fall and rise, and master her skills. She killed it at the Olympics, by the way.

There’s going to be a lot of days when I fail, but this is my trying. Mastering this doesn't even mean that “all will be well”, it just means that I have a plan to discipline myself. On my good days, I’m going to play and laugh, get stuff done, make my weird "kailan" creations. On my bad days, I’m going to cry, not eat when I don’t want to, slow down, forgive myself, cuddle a lot (since that’s the main thing I’m able to still be good at) and go to bed early. Mastering this means I’m going to stop telling myself that I’m not worth it. Or that I’m not a good wife and that he could do better/ have better. Mastering this means I’m going to change that self-talk. I am valuable to Him. I am talented. I am really really good at cuddling no matter what state I’m in. I have a husband, my support system, who goes to the moon and back for me because he thinks I’m worth it. I have friends that love me and all my quirks.

Any time I want to simply be free of my depression and illness, I just get more depressed.

That only leaves me one logical living choice. I must master it.

And so far…. I’m starting to have real hope.

My "Lost" Girl

photo by Tesh, my 5 year old

I was doing some yard work this last weekend.... I know.... shocker.... anywho... it was finally nice outside and a lovely city animal helped itself to our trash can, breaking open a trash bag and making it rain trash all over the yard. While the hubs was gone running, I decided it would be good to get out of the house and pick up some trash! :D Yay!

Only 2 kids came outside with me. My 3 and 5 year old. They were having a blast! (and by blast I mean, bickering every 2 min. over the swings and something about where the umbrella was on the slide.... I quit listening to specifics after a while... anywho... ) As they played in the back yard, I was minding my own drama free business, with my gorgeous grocery sack in hand, picking up glorious amounts of trash around the yard. This animal must have been taking some anger out with all this trash. Good night! I walked around the house, slipping out of sight, looking for stragglers from the wind blown consequences and faithfully found more. I could hear the laughter and bickering and laughter and bickering coming from the backyard, all pleasant noises telling me exactly what they are doing, where they are in the yard, all that good stuff. I moved to the front, still being able to hear them and determined to get this yard clean. Thankfully, there wasn't too much in the front... how embarrassing right? (let's keep all that in the back... shall we? at least the animal had that much respect ;)

So I come around to the other side of the house, still out of sight, all the same playful bliss noise coming from the back. As I scrape across the driveway, inching my way back to the original crime scene where our garbage cans are I'm thinking, "Man! We use a lot of paper towels." Then I hear my 5 year old yelling,

"Mom? Mom?!.... Mom!! ... Mom!!" I stepped back into sight, "Hey sweetie! I'm here!"

"We were lost! We were lost and I couldn't find you. We were lost!" she exclaimed.

"You weren't lost, silly girl!" Yes, I chuckled, we have a small yard and there's no way to get lost. "You never were lost." I tried to explain, she cut me off -

"No, we were lost! We were!"

 "I knew where you were this whole time. I just went around the house. You couldn't see me, but I heard you the whole time, and came to you because I knew right where you were. That is not lost. You were just scared because you couldn't see me."

the "lost" girl

She finally conceded.... I think... she at least dropped the argument anyway. So when she's 16 and she tells the world that I "lost" her when she was 5, She is totally lying!!! ehem... misunderstood... moving on...

But that made me think. That whole encounter. Her brain fascinates me, but is it not true of us as adults when we think about God and whether or not He's absent based on our feelings/fears/confidence/etc.? I wonder if God chuckles when we argue are "lost-ness" or their lost-ness. (when I say my made up word "lost-ness", it reminds me of the Loch Ness monster which has nothing to do with this post.)

Why do we even use that word when speaking about such things?    "lost"

Maybe I'm arguing semantics but I know when I feel "lost", I'm swelled with fear and anxiety. I know God cares for me, and that He loves me and that I am His...But I can't "see" Him. I can't always feel Him....  But I do know He'll always know right where I am. He never does lose me.  

It's simply impossible. 

I'm sure there's a title here...

It is such a struggle to write. I love writing. But sitting down, with 5 kids running a muck, interrupting me every 2 minutes, and having been dealt with a lot of sickness the last month, I have wondered whether or not I should be writing right now. But when I think about taking one of the few things that keep me sane as I sit outnumbered by minions in my own house, I realize how absurd that truly is. So I must continue to figure out how to protect this time to keep working on projects and sharing with all of you. (or the few of you.... ;)

I rung in the new year with a sinus infection! It's been awesome. (catch the sarcasm) I'm still on the mend from this painful illness. My headaches have been better though, that's a plus! They are still around, but so weak most of the time, all it takes is for me to eat and get out of the situation I am in and then I'm ok. I told a friend recently that working through my chronic stress and depression is like mastering life with an amputated leg. (no, I'm not comparing it to it's entirety, because, yes, I do still have my legs) But I feel as if I was strolling along life with a certain speed, with certain clarity, and then BAM, I'm sickly, headaches all the time, weak, irritable, stressed, anxious, triggers everywhere, all of it. It's taken sacrifices though, things I used to do, or be able to handle, I just can't right now. And I have to be ok with that. I have to learn my limits, my boundaries, my body's health needs, and allow the spiritual process of all of it to fall into play. But it's been hard. Very very hard. And I don't do well at this most of the time, but I can't tell you how thankful I am for my husband and my close friends.

My husband..... he's on this new kick. He's always been way more fit than me, always has more energy (being an extrovert) and I'm pretty sure he's related to Hercules in some way. He started running a couple weeks ago, in our east-side, scary when dark, just outside downtown still within city limits (what is that called? anywho) . At first he would be gone for 15 minutes. Next time turned into 30, within the next week turning into an hour. It was then he realized that he could really run... and far... stretching to 5 and 6 miles after just a few weeks. He wanted to make his New Years resolution something that seemed impossible and something he's never done before. But he wanted it to be something, that only a still small voice could say, "yes, you can accomplish this." He decided to start training for a full marathon that he will register for in about a month or so, and race in October, here in our city. I know my "Hercules" can do it. I've been watching him with pride as his health has improved, his stamina has strengthened, and his mental focus is ready. Of course, I'm pretty disappointed that he lost his "man" belly. I liked hugging and snuggling to that. But I support him, he needs this, and he deserves this. (for putting up with all my crazy, God bless him.) Follow his journey here.

In all this excitement, I was constantly reminded of my own health. My throat, almost every night, still hurts from being sick. And because it's been so long of it, I found depression visiting me like an old friend. (although, she's never been a good friend) She sits with me and tells me quiet things like, "Look at how sick and weak you are. And look at him. He's living... and you? You are dying. Poor kailan. Never will you really live."

I looked at my thriving husband and started crying. I knew I needed to talk to him and I did and he found me. (in fact, I don't think he ever "lost" me) He was on to her sly ways and guessed right, when pegging why my depression would set right now. Oh... to be understood! He's so romantic when he does that.

My heart was pleading for him to take me with him on this health journey. That his energy would pull me up from these depths and help me to "run" with him. (er... get healthier... write... stay sane...you know, translate it in a kailan-friendly way.... I will never be the adrenaline junky that he is.)  He gladly agreed to hassle me about diet, vitamins, doing low key exercises like yoga. Truly, I need to let his energy right now be an encouragement to me. Although our journeys and outcomes will be different, they can still be accomplished. Even though it feels impossible right now for me to be healthy again, mastering depression (not free, but I choose the word "master" very particularly and I'll write about that later), I need to let that even quieter voice (quieter than her voice) tell me, "You can accomplish this because you are Mine."

As I sit here, with a tinge of a headache creeping on me as I finish this, I know that it's time to step away from the computer, eat some lunch, and trust that I will make it.

Dancing with December

O December

You never evade me.

My heart betrays me.

It’s a painful price to even look at you.

8 years passed.

In my head, she dies again…. Every time.

All treasonous senses so religiously remind me.

Time’s repetitious dance is my enemy.

If I could blot you out, I would.

Useless to pray you away.

My old love for you remembers better days.

Days filled with light passed, now clouded by darkness.

Days with joy and excitement passed, now knocks dread.

Warm family closeness wrestles isolation.

Why must I take your hand as you escort me through memories I wish I could forget?

Your swift movements lure me in, arms remain warm as the silent snow falls.

I feel your attempts to cover my eyes from the sight of her empty face, but it’s no use.

I hear your song, “Because of the One we celebrate this season, we have Hope…”

It’s not that I don’t take solace in those words. I do.

It’s just the measure of my heartache is that great.

And you know this. Every year you know this.

You are one of the precious few who know me this well.

So this ornament, made with my own careful hands, will whisper in my ear

"Just breathe." 






(In memory of Sarah Layne Wing 9/7/06 - 12/17/06)

Awake: Surviving Depression

It's been 3 months since I've written anything. There's good reason to my hesitancy in publishing anything within those months. I've been unwell. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months of laying on the couch, in so much pain and weakness, watching my children fall into routine of taking more responsibilities because I was unable. Headaches and fatigue ruled my life and my mind became captive to it. My thoughts had no clarity, in fact the only thing that I could make out were words that said, "You are a burden." Those words drove me to desire death, so that my loved ones could go on with someone else, someone new, someone able. I never attempted suicide, but dreamed that God would just take me somehow. I had already been in the thick of the headaches, and the Spirit of God gave me strength and an oasis to spend the time I did with my Uncle Bud before and during his death. I found myself jealous of my uncle's passing, wishing it had been me. Any logic that was left in me said, "GO TO THE DOCTOR!!"

 I gave up. I surrendered. I tried all my natural home remedies. Any time I brought God up in it all, I condemned myself or felt God being passive to my suffering. I was in a physical, mental, and spiritual fog. I had successfully isolated myself away from most of my family and friends (because I "was a burden" remember?) My husband, (who is the best husband in the world, by the way) would come home from his stressful job to all the housework at home, five little kids yearning for his attention, needing his referee-ing. Not knowing what to say to me, he just held me. Whenever I asked, he held me. I would cry guilty tears of not getting anything done around the house. He'd coach me saying, "This too shall pass" but those words were muffled to my ears. I was stuck in "the now." I was overwhelmed with the endless torment my body had apparently betrayed me with, waiting to die, wanting to die. My husband took me to my first appointment.

I remember sitting there in disbelief that it had gotten this bad. My health. My depression. They were spiraling together, sinking me down and tying me to the bottom. My bonds were just too tight. Out of boredom of waiting in the doctor's office, I surfed through my email and found an article titled, "You Are Not Alone." I took a deep breath.

The doctor found my thyroid issues, and we started the long trek of balancing that out. Then continued on more meds for my depression. I had started this unique therapy with my Uncle Ed (who is a gifted counselor) called "EMDR Therapy" and it has greatly improved my mental clarity. Two mentors, who are some of my best friends, never left me in the dark alone. They walked with me, listening to my anger and desperation, never judging, turning my face to the hope of tomorrow. I finally started feeling better and then sprained my ankle, making me bedridden once again. Another bond, another weight. I felt so defeated. I asked God why He wanted me this way? Why He isn't protecting me or healing me to be able to live the way He says He wants us to? But I continued to take my meds, do the therapy, allow my body to heal, talk to my mentors, and ask my husband to hold me.

I still have my bad days of headaches, but each week seems to get a little better. As the bonds fade, my mind becomes clearer. This is not some miraculously quick healing for me, but the miracle here is what I have become even more aware of during this process. I found my Beloved Lord again. Not as this passive God who just stood and watched me writhe in pain, nor as a condemning God for not being the wife/mom/friend that I needed to be. He was in the doctor who sat and heard my ailments and knew what would help me. He was in my Uncle who so gracefully counseled me in the safety of his love for me, with a therapy he knew would help me. He was in my mentor and friend that sat across from me til midnight every Tuesday night at that restaurant, relating to my struggles, reminding me that life is hard, but we can do life together and we'll get through this. And He was in another mentor that corresponded words of wisdom and understanding, challenging me to grow and to see beyond myself. And my favorite, was when He held me through the arms of my husband, "this too shall pass" "this is only a season" "I know you are hurting. I know. And I love you."  I had found myself again too. My notorious God-given "strong-will" that has gotten me, truly, this far in life and then... I didn't want to die anymore. (I mean, don't get me wrong, heaven is going to be awesome, but...) I wasn't so ready to leave right now.

I want to live. I see God everywhere.

In this slow healing, I am learning patience, grace, new appreciations, and new perspectives.

I finally made it to church this sunday, after months of being absent, and my pastor put it perfectly, teaching us (from the example of the Hebrews being freed and wandering the wilderness for so long) that you can be taken out of slavery, but it is through the wilderness, the slavery can be taken out of you.

God has, indeed, freed me from my bonds through Jesus Christ, but it was the bonds that were in me that I was feeling still. This world is the wilderness, for which I will learn how to live in this freedom from my bonds.

And every morning, I wake up, making it a point to say, "I am fine."

Suffering Always Leaves Behind a Gift

This last couple months has been extra hard for me. I was extra depressed, not able to deal with certain anniversaries and I have been having health issues. I had decided enough is enough. I signed myself up for some counseling and finally went to the doctor for whatever drugs that may help me. The doctor actually found that I had hypothyroidism, which explained almost all of my symptoms. So... I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy....  I'm still seeing my counselor for the chronic stress part of things.

Things kinda got worse before I started feeling better (for now), so I feel like I'm coming out of this dark cave of sickness and finally getting some light on my face. 

So.... in efforts to get back to blogging more regularly, I wanted to share with you this nugget. This video always reminds me of the gift that suffering can bring. I hate suffering. I have fought and wrestled with "why we are here if all we do is suffer" as it seems to be so much of the time, especially when I'm in these caves of darkness, and I know I'll continue to wrestle. The cave consumes me and tells me lies that this is all there is. But it's simply not true. When I suffer, those are some of my most intimate moments with God. When I suffer, it shows me empathy that I can then share with others who are suffering and lost.
I know the cave. I can acknowledge that it's there.

But it is not all there is.

And you will get out. 

And it's not until you get out, that you see the gift that it left. 


Enjoy this video "Rain" by Rob Bell from his Nooma series. (it's 10 minutes long, but it's well worth the encouragement) 

Not this time. Not this year. Making U turns in the grieving process.

 On the 7th of September, every year, I open the box of yellow cake mix, stir in the oil and eggs, and then slowly and gently fill each paper cup with that thick pudding-like batter. As they bake, you can smell cake throughout the whole house. After they cool on the cooling racks, I carefully smooth the chocolate fudge frosting over top. A bowl of M&M’s waits patiently to be picked through. The blue ones are what I’m after. I place a single blue M&M in the middle of each cupcake, donning the symbol of her endearment, “blueberry.” It is her birthday after all. What’s a birthday without cupcakes?

I raise no decorations throughout the house. No presents are ever bought. Only letters are written. Notes from the kids; from siblings, cousins, and the friends she would’ve had, tucked away in helium balloons to send off to the sky in imagined hopes of her retrieving them. Then we eat the cupcakes.

The cupcakes that were meant for a little girl…

…a little girl that’s not. here.

Not here.

I’m a jealous mother. I want to hold and squeeze my blonde hair, blue eyed 8 year old girl. The one that would be turning into a little woman so fast before my eyes. The one that would be my niece’s sanity in the midst of being surrounded by boys. The one that would be teaching her younger sisters everything she knew, because... you know... she would know everything... Ah, I am so very jealous! It makes me angry. But mostly, it hurts. It hurts a lot.

This year will be 8 years. Why, after doing this for 7 years, am I coming to a point this year where I don’t want to do it? (I’m not sure I have an answer to that) I can’t promise I’ll feel like this next year, but for some reason, I just can’t do it this year. Not this time.

And that’s okay.

I’m not okay. (Don’t worry, I’m getting help for that.) But it’s okay that I do what needs to be done. If it’s going to be too much this year, then I call it off. This is part of my process. And I’m allowed that.

Sometimes in the midst of doing things consistently, you have to check yourself and make sure you are still okay with it. It’s okay, to be okay, with things that people deem weird. And it’s okay for you to not be okay, with things that people are expecting. You may get some push back, but it’s not about them. This is about allowing yourself to process your own grieving journey.

For me, this year it just feels like a slap in the face. I don’t know how I did it all the other years, but this year, my face already hurts just thinking about it. (literally and figuratively) I want to be able to just break down and cry without my whole family and the few close friends watching me. My closed doors have their freedom in that. Sarah’s siblings demanded to be able to release balloons still and that’s okay, I’m conceding for them. I need to allow them that because that’s also part of my job as their mother too. They still want to celebrate her birthday and I love them for that.

Obviously no one is safe from making “U turns” in their grieving process, no matter how long it’s been. This year has been an extra hard year for me and I’m making a lot of changes. I didn’t foresee me making changes here too, but it’s what feels right, right now. And I must follow it out. There will always be next year. I’m just glad I have a supportive family that keeps up with my change of weather, call it quirky, and love me anyway.


Not-so-Happy Birthday, my sweet Sarah. Your mother just simply misses you. 

Read her story here.

Read what we did last year for her birthday here. 

Snow White is Right!

Corrodi-Schneewittli 1866/67

Our family has been binge watching Once Upon a Time, TV series. If you don't know what binge watching is, it's when you have Netflix and you wait forever for your favorite series of shows to appear for instant streaming (a whole season) and when it does, you eat, sleep, and breathe that series until it's over. It's a little sad, I admit, but most, if not all Netflix consumers do it.

There was a particular episode that stood out to me that a little voice inside my head said, "Yes. You need to write about that." It was so encouraging. Even my husband who must have been creeping on my face said, "The look on your face is priceless." -meaning... I had the cheesy, feel good smile on my face as I watched Snow White talk to her Prince Charming. Snow White said,

"How could I bring something good into a world when there was always something bad out there.... But Regina (the evil queen) will always be a problem. If not her, there will be someone or something else. There will always be something else. We can't let it define us. We have to find the good moments in between all the bad ones." 

Preach it, girl!

It is so easy to look at all the bad things in life and make that your center focus of "how your life goes." I sat with my counselor last week and listed off all the things I've been through. I spoke mostly on the bad stuff, (which is essentially part of why I'm there) but I barely mentioned the good stuff. You know... the fact that I have the best husband in the world, or about each and every one of my successful birthing stories, or that I'm blessed to be able to be home and home school, none of that. I mean, I mentioned them quickly, "Yeah, I have 5 kids at home and home school.... but but but... then THIS happened.." and the list went on.

It's so easy to get so boggled down with all the bad stuff and let it paralyze you. (and yes, I'm talking to myself now as well) It reminds me of the story of the elephant with the string wrapped around it's ankle. When they are babies, their trainers will chain them to a post strong enough to hold them. They'll struggle and struggle to get away and can't. Then as they grow, the chain slowly evolves into a simple string. All it takes is to feel that material around their ankle when they move to remind them that they are stuck and they give up, when in fact, it will take the slightest effort for them to break away.

That's what I mean by paralyzed. By fear of all the bad things that keep happening, there comes a point where one just gives up and gives in to it. "I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears." * It wraps you up like a blanket, ailing you further as times go on without your awesomeness.

When will it stop? When you choose to listen to Snow White.

Yes. Bad things happen to all people, good and bad. We all have a rough go of it. But the beauty that you are truly defined by lies within those moments in between. Counting the blessings you do have. Nurturing the friendships you do have. Raising the children you do have. Serving the community you do have. Breathing while you have breath. Speaking while you have words. Loving because you are human.

If you are waiting for your life to stop having bad moments in order to start enjoying the good things, you are missing the point. You must steal back your time. Seek out the good. Even if it's just for a moment depending on the season, seek it out. It does not come easy to do this. It's hard for some of us. Ask your closest lighthearted friend to help you. But you must walk, when you can because you can.

And because you. are. awesome.






* Psalm 6:6