Why not?

I've honestly never given anything less thought.

One minute, I was dropping my youngest off to play with his grandparents, the next moment I was sipping coffee and knowing that something absolutely had to change.

In December, I wrote about being at the edge of myself. That years of extremely challenging parenting paired with a diagnosis of PMDD had left me a shell of myself. Sad. Exhausted. Purposeless. Isolated.

This morning was during that period of feeling lost. And as I sipped my coffee, I stared at a wall. I didn't read, I didn't pray or write. I didn't scroll mindlessly on social media pretending it fulfills a deep ache. I just stared...and then asked God "what next?"

I wish I could put the next few minutes into words...but I don't really know what happened. One minute I was on the verge of tears, of giving up and the next minute, I had pressed "submit" on an application to a college course to become an EMT.

Before I had really thought about it. Before I had called my husband. Before I had looked carefully at our life to see if it was possible.

I pressed submit.

Because, friends, it was SO clear that I needed to press submit.

A lot of people have asked me what led to me becoming an EMT at the age of 40.

And to be honest? I don't really know.

Something made me search EMT programs in that moment after I asked God that question. Something made me keep reading.
Something sparked a deep interest, the tiniest flicker of a brand new dream.

I knew literally nothing about emergency medicine.

But, I pressed submit.

I didn't call anyone, ask if I should go for it.

I pressed submit.

I am not generally rash or impulsive.

I pressed submit.

And when I did, something lifted. Some horrible, heavy weight of sadness shifted just the slightest bit.

And because I have arguably the most genuine and generous husband on the earth, he greeted my impulsive decision with nothing less than clear delight and determined support. We would make it work no matter what.

Seriously, he is the best one out there. No contest.

Within a day, I had been accepted to the college. Within another few days, I had been accepted to the actual program. I was transferring transcripts and signing up for a medical physical and scouring amazon for textbook deals and ordering a stethoscope and cargo pants. (Which I have to admit, I truly love and wish were still fashionable like they were when I was in high school.)

I was diving into hope.

Friends, that was just six months ago. Six months that ended up being filled with hard work and new friendships and a new, budding dream of loving people well on what could be the scariest day of their lives.

I truly loved it. Loved using my brain again. Loved learning something totally new and different. Loved it. Something I literally didn't think through for more than a few minutes.

So here I am, certified in-state and nationally, a smile on my face, with two interviews lined up next week for local ambulance corps.

Why did I become an EMT?

Well, all I can honestly say is "why not?"

Shoots

I stop him just before he charges into the garden. Just before his little shoe tramples what looks to be a hint of green. I bend down closer to look, figuring it might be just a blade of grass as my preschooler careens off in a new direction, content as long as he is allowed to run.

And there it is. A shoot. The first sign of spring. On January 21st. Some days I really do love Virginia.

We have actually had a winter this year. A cold and snowy one, though not a long one. And because I love my garden, I welcome the winter. I welcome the months of moisture and quiet that prepare my plants to rise again from the soil...stronger, prettier, fuller, more vibrant. Maybe even large enough to divide and transplant, giving life to another part of the yard or a neighbor's garden.

And this little shoot is proof of what has been going on under the surface. The bulb that leads to this daffodil has been soaking in water and nutrients for months. You couldn't see any of it happening, but the shoot is proof. Life goes on. One season ends and another begins in faithful cycles.

Last week we had a lot of snow days. The few mornings that I usually get to myself when all three boys are in school didn't happen. I felt completely full of what I could handle. Exhausted, really, but functioning. Cheerful, even, at times.

A month ago if that had happened, I would have retreated into full, collapsing survival mode. We would have hunkered down and never left the house. I would have said words of defeat over and over to myself. There would have been nothing in me that would risk a public fail.

But last Friday, something happened. What has been hard and dry and worn out and fearful produced a tiny shoot of green. I felt ready for something. I felt hopeful.

I piled my 2 and 4 year-olds into the van and drove over to the Y.

That alone, is a bit of a miracle. I haven't had the energy in months to head over there and we'd been stuck inside for days due to the snow and their particular disdain for all that is cold. (The oldest would happily live in Northern Canada and has to be practically bribed to come indoors in the winter but the middle child believes cold is a personal affront to his happiness.)

After my workout, though, after they had played happily and without incident (thank you, Jesus!) in the Child Watch, we went to the pool.

THE POOL.

Confession: I have never once been willing to take both of them to any pool by myself. Not one time.

When you have one nugget in the throes of the terrible twos and the other one who lives his life in the land of the imminent, show-stopping meltdown, you get used to public humiliation. You still venture out to Target because sometimes being a public spectacle is still preferable to losing your ever-loving mind stuck at home. But mostly you stay home. Or in the backyard. I fully believe every person in our neighborhood recognizes us because we are always outside. Making lots of noise.

But the pool?

The pool takes a lot of energy. Yes, physical energy, but that's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the kind of oomph you need to pull your mind and heart around being in a public space where one or both your kids could go off the rails, where you could have to wrestle a wet screaming child and lose, where it's very possible that one could run away while the other refuses to get out of the water. And where you know there's the very real possibility that you'll have to rely on the kindness of strangers to keep someone from drowning.

I haven't had that oomph in awhile. I haven't wanted to risk the emotional chaos of failure.

But we went. And they played and smiled and laughed and jumped in a hundred times and made the older women who were doing their water aerobics smile. They spread joy.

JOY.

And yes, it could have gone badly and I would still have had to process that. It didn't this time, for which I am grateful. I needed that win.

Because here's the thing. I've been learning something new about myself.

This fall was incredibly challenging - and it didn't come after any kind of easy season. We were going through some really hard stuff with our middle child. Things that were beyond our control. Nothing I did was making it better. Not my advocacy. Not my research. Not calling a billion different people. Not lost sleep. Nothing.

I was powerless.

And what I am coming to see is that powerlessness is my own version of personal hell. I am a doer. I make lists, I check them off, I get things done. Everything I've ever tried to do or really wanted to do, I've pretty much done. I am an ISTJ on the Meyers-Briggs and a 1 on the Enneagram. I DO. I FINISH.

But I couldn't do anything to make it better and had to watch my son suffer.

That led to me feeling like a big, raging failure in my life. It didn't matter that someone might tell me I am a good mom and doing my best. To me, it wasn't my best because nothing was changing. And the inability to accomplish anything took me down, friends. I felt exhausted. Overwhelmed. Useless. Sad. Depressed. Confused. Alone. Angry.

Somehow, somewhere and with the encouragement of some dear friends, I dug deep and realized I needed counseling.  Needed help. I wanted my boys to see their mom smiling again.

It's funny what happens in counseling. Someone asks you a question. You answer. They tell you what they hear you saying. You clarify. They clarify. And things begin to emerge. (Well, at least after that first session during which you just sob uncontrollably because apparently when you feel all the aforementioned things but don't let it out, your brain and heart explode when someone says "tell me about it.")

And just being able to see something about yourself, to learn why you feel so out of control, to say it out loud. Well, that's a huge part of the healing.

And then to finally, after months of effort that you've made, to see things start to happen for your son. To see what comes of the prayers and the phone calls and the appointments and the asking of questions.

That's the shoot, friends. This little spot of green that says something is happening. Something is changing. God is at work. Your work alongside him is not in vain.

The shoot is not a daffodil yet. There is still much to be done. There needs to be more water and sunshine and fertilizer and time. For me, there needs to be more counseling, more prayer, more risk-taking, more phone calls, more letting friends in on the process.

But slowly, sometimes uncertainly, the oomph is coming back, will come back. And knowing what takes me down frees me up to fight it. To look the feeling of failure in the face and say "Not today, Satan." Just because I feel powerless doesn't mean I am a failure and that is the darn truth.

Friends, all we can really do is the work in front of us. The next phone call, the next meeting, the next mountain of paperwork, the next prayer, the next counseling session, the next moment with friends or family who are loving us through it - even when we don't see that shoot yet, we water, we till, we fertilize and we pray for sunshine.

We stay in the fight and wait for the shoot.

After This I Looked

20,000 people standing together in a great crowd, singing without the help of guitar or drum, just voices. People from countries all over the world. From every state in the union. People who spoke English and Mandarin and Spanish and Igbo. People who were joined together, in all their beautiful differences, by their belief in a good and beautiful God.

I once stood in the midst of such a gathering.

Putting that moment into words is nearly impossible. That many voices joined as one. To be able to hear the solitary voice next to me while at the same time hearing the words "Hallelujah, salvation and glory" sung in glorious harmony by thousands of others, a song that literally shook the rafters of that colosseum, well, there are really no words.

It was a taste, just a taste, of heaven. 

And it was a taste that I know has driven much of who I have become. 

Revelation 7: 9-11 says this:

After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. 10 And they cried out in a loud voice:

“Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb.”

That scripture, that perfect picture of humans, fully reconciled, fully themselves, worshiping together in harmony. Not in one assimilated "heavenly" language. Not as ethereal whitish beings floating around. But as God's glorious creation, without hatred, beautiful in their outward differences, free from division, worshiping as one.

That picture is beauty my friends. 

And that scriptural picture is one I hold tightly side by side with my shining earth-bound moment of tasting it. I let it drive what I see and what I hope for. I let it color my conversations and anchor my faith. I learned at some point to pray the Lord's Prayer often and fervently. To pray it as more than a discipline, but as a declaration. The calling down of God's presence here on earth. Saying over and over again "on earth as it is in heaven" and believing that even though we know the world will always be broken, that God is active and loving and calling us into the work of hope and action that believes we can see the beauty of heaven in the everyday. 

For the last three months, I have been privileged to co-lead a group that is trying, in our tiny little corner of Virginia, to be a part of inviting God's will for reconciliation and diversity into our church. 

For three months, we have studied the scriptures and talked about justice and oppression and hope. For three months we have talked about slavery and the Native American Genocide, about power, about Black Lives Matters and police brutality, about unfair housing practices and redlining and whitewashed school curricula and segregation and white supremacy. We have talked about awareness and self-education and lament and repentance and forgiveness. We have shared our own experiences of race in America and in the church. There has been anger and defensiveness and tears and frustration and guilt. And sometimes, yes, even joy and laughter.

It has NOT been easy. 

Why? 

Because it is not supposed to be easy. 

in his book "Coming Together: The Bible's Message in an Age of Diversity" Curtiss DeYoung says this says this:

"Systems of injustice in society and in the church exact a heavy cost on those outside the centers of power and effectively block reconciliation" and "declaring that we are equal without repairing the wrongs of the past is cheap reconciliation."

The true work of reconciliation is deep, hard, soul-wrenching work. 

We could have sat around and declared our equality in God's sight and charged forward together singing Kum-Ba-Yah. But that is what churches have done over and over again and change never happens. It's cheap reconciliation that is not founded on repentance and hope. It's cheap reconciliation that seeks action without personal and communal repentance. 

We wanted better for our church. For our tiny little piece of heaven on earth. Our emotions in this process don't scare God. The Be the Bridge curriculum we have used says that the "ultimate aim of reconciliation is the restoration of broken relationships, whether between individuals or entire communities. True reconciliation requires commitment and sacrifice from both sides." 

As anyone knows, the work of restoring relationships is some of the hardest work we are ever called to do. It can be painful. It can require us to work through anger and bitterness. It usually invites us to lay ourselves down for one another. That is messy, gospel work.

So here we are: 

Men and women (with a few precious faces missing) who participated

Black and white. Men and women. American-born and internationals. Northerners and southerners. Republicans and Democrats and Independents.

Falling at the throne of God together to ask for deep grace and forgiveness. Admitting the ways we have not known. The ways we have failed to act. The ways we have chosen comfort over risk. And clinging to the hope and beauty of the cross together as we do it. 

We want more. More for our church. Our neighborhoods. Our schools. Our nation. 

And so we will continue to meet. We'll talk about reparations and restoration. We'll dig into the continual and cyclical process of awareness, acknowledgment, lament, repentance and forgiveness.

And we will do it together, messily and unashamedly and in ways that will bring healing and positive changes to the world around us.

Because that, my friends, is what the church does.

Diving Into the New

If anyone has read my two posts about finally admitting my struggle with my skin and the amazing success I've had with trying a new product, you'll know that I am not in this because of skin-deep beauty. Like much of the progress in my life, I feel like God constantly has me moving in healthier directions, deep, holistic directions. Healthier expression of emotions, better intentionality in relationships, life-giving parenting strategies, a truer understanding of God and how he works. And yes, a healthier body on the inside and the outside.

I've had some people ask if I was paid to write the post I wrote yesterday. The answer? Nope. I honestly went into using these products with hope and skepticism. I've tried a lot before and while the pictures of other people I was seeing were undeniable, there's always that question: "Will it actually (finally!) work for me?"

I took a big risk and spoke about the journey before seeing major results. And 60 days in, when I saw my pictures next to each other, I couldn't believe it. I'm glad I shared before I knew if it would work but I am also really thankful I've had results.

So, while I have not been paid for anything up until now, that is going to change.

I believe in this so strongly, I believe in any person's decision to try to move forward in healthy ways in his or her life, that as of today I have joined the Rodan & Fields team.

If you had asked me even 3 months ago when I was thinking about using these products if I ever thought I'd be a part of this company, I would have laughed. Me? Sell skincare? Not on your life.

But the invitation to join in on something that has actually been life-changing for me? The invitation to have adult interaction during the week and still be able to frolic in the backyard all day long with my boys this summer? The invitation to some income that I can save for graduate school and to spend on my gardening obsession and my love of DIY projects?

That invitation is too much to pass up right now.

So while this is probably not a forever decision, it fits. When my husband is busy publishing and making connections so we can have a good future with him as a university professor, when my youngest child still needs a lot of hands-on attention, when I am at transitional place in terms of career, this works.

So, friends, if any of you are excited about what you've seen or heard or have a story similar to mine, I'd love to listen and talk and tell you about my story and what I've done. And yes, if you would like to try it, I'd love to help you see if this company might help you, too.