The Longest Year

War movies are my favorite genre of film, particularly those telling the various different angles and fronts of the Second World War. I love the new ones and old ones alike. Anyone who shares this passion has likely seen The Longest Day, maybe the most classic movie out there about D-Day. And, frankly, one of the longest. It tells the events of that day from both Allied and German perspectives - and from most perspectives, it was a day that never seemed like it would end.

This has been our year.

From the moment our middle child learned to crawl, life has been a battle. You name it, it's a challenge. Diaper changes, leaving ANYWHERE, getting dressed, brushing teeth, not getting exactly what he wants in the exact moment that he wants it and sometimes even getting exactly what he wants in the moment that he wants it, because, toddlers. We have changed his diet, sought professional help, tried to chart the things that trigger him the most.

Many days, it seems like being awake is the only trigger he needs for spectacular, screaming, violent tantrums. ALL. DAY. LONG.

And friends? I am exhausted. When you pile on sleep deprivation from an infant and the wonderful, but tiring world of a nine year old who has a thriving social life and extracurricular interests, there is just not enough of me. With a toddler who can wear out both of his parents within an hour of waking, it seems hard to have hope that we can ever be sane again.

We had two golden months around here in August and September. Two months where we could see the good. Two months where he was happy a lot of the day, where the level of chaos and tantrums was normal for a challenging two year old. Two months where my infant slept through the night. Two months where we thought, "Hey, maybe we can do this family of five thing and more than survive it."

We don't know where it came from or where it went.

And now, 3 months later, my husband is about to leave for several weeks of travel. I have plenty of friends in the military who have endured far longer stretches without a spouse. I am not trying to pretend that my situation is dire or that many parents haven't had to endure this for years at a time. I am just trying to be real.

And if I am real? I am scared. Scared that I won't be able to do it. That my toddler will break me.

But more than the fear, I am so tired of being tired. So tired of being hopeless, exhausted, sad, angry, fearful and helpless. Tired of just surviving. Tired of dreading the day's beginning. Tired of looking at the clock every 2 minutes in the hope that is is miraculously closer to 5 pm when my husband arrives home and can take charge of him.

I have no choice in the coming weeks. I will do it. He needs to travel and be his spectacular self and dazzle in his interviews.

I will be home alone, I will be mom, 24 hours a day. And the reality is, that I am not mom enough. I never was and never can be. And, oh, I so want to be.

So, because I am so tired of feeling defeated, from today until he leaves, I am going to make every effort to write one blog post daily. Just one post focusing on something that will help me look at these coming weeks as an opportunity to dig into the deepest wells of grace, hope and forgiveness that I can possibly dig into. Maybe I'll make a list of who, physically, can come take over if I am about to lose it. Maybe I'll have to lean into God's perspective of my boy to see past my anger and fatigue.

Bottom line, I don't know what will come out of this. But I am challenging myself today to find elusive hope. And because, historically, I have been able to find hope in hidden places when I've taken the risk to vulnerably write, then, gosh darn-it, I am going to find the time to write. Every day, even if it isn't pretty or polished. Even if I have to type through tears or with someone screaming in the background, I. WILL. WRITE.

Because, friends, something has to change. If there is one thing I can cling to right now, it is that God is always about redemption, about transforming things from ashes to beauty, bringing dead things to life.

And HE is God enough.

Never Going Back

Recently a friend asked me if I could send him some of my earlier blogs that dealt with infertility and loss. As I began to look through my posts, it occurred to me that I have been at this for over 5 years now. 5 years! I couldn't believe it. What started out as an experiment during my (reluctant) sabbatical when my oldest son was just 2 years old has turned into a very real, very necessary part of how I process life. You could never have told me that would happen.

As I looked back through what I had written, I began to see how much had changed. The secrets, the shame, the frustrations and guilt. So much of that starts to strip away as I read through the posts. I can SEE the work of the Lord happening. The work that I've learned can only happen when I refuse to buy into the lie that keeping it to myself, that plodding through it all in stoic silence, makes me a strong person. The change that occurs when secrets are exposed, when struggles are spoken of before there is victory.

And what I really didn't anticipate was how many people out there would read this, how many would relate to the infertility and the miscarriage and the life transitions and the hard family relationships and the chaos of being a working parent and a stay at home parent and adoption and waiting and weight issues and well, everything I've ended up sharing. Sometimes I think I'm crazy putting it all out there and I haven't always had positive responses.

But mostly?

Mostly what I've seen is that people are longing for vulnerability. For honesty. For someone to voice their own confusion, their own fears, their own failures, successes, hopes and, yes, victories. In a culture that mostly feeds us things that have already been packaged up in lovely boxes or tells us who to be on the surface, we are longing for more. Deeper friendships, healthy living, life abundant.

Possibly the neatest thing for me has been that people who may not agree with my belief system still feel the freedom to read and chime in. That good conversations have come from this. That we can agree to disagree in civility on some things and still find commonality and joyful agreement in others. I love that.

So, as I've read through some of what I've written, I've been truly humbled. Someone told me to take a risk and try this at a point in my life where, as I wrote in my very first post,

"I'm faced with the true situation of my soul. Fatigued, sad, confused, unsure of what's next...my blog is, in a sense, my own personal bomb crater. The place where I will sit, waiting to hear the voice of the Lord, wondering what will next come in this uncertain life and hoping to hear from the "Command" about what next move will advance the grand campaign."  

I thought at that time that the blog was just for me and just for a few months. But it has been so much more. The freedom I have gained from speaking what is hard and hidden cannot be described in adequate words.

So, more than five years later, I want to declare that I won't go back. Tempted sometimes to hide again, to stop, to keep quiet, to recoil in the face of critical feedback, I will keep writing and rejoicing in the changes I see. Changes that are so small I may have missed many of them until asked to reflect this past week. So, to the supervisor who first suggested I try this and to the friend who asked me to look back through and send him some post,s I say "thank you." 

I had no idea how much had changed, how much good had been done in the dark and quiet places. I am so truly overwhelmed and grateful to see the bigger picture of who I am becoming, how God uses truth and community so powerfully and how relentlessly and lovingly God is in pursuit of all of us.