At the Root

My first piece of glitter

          A beautiful piece of glitter first made its appearance in my hair last October (when I turned the ripe old granny age of 39). When I finally noticed it, it was about one inch long and sticking straight up in the air Dennis the Menace style...very flattering. I've anticipated this arrival for a long time (my mom started getting gray hair in her mid-twenties), but now that my grays are coming out, my thoughts and ideas are being challenged. My mom has always been a great example of embracing her age; but with her full head of gray hair, she has also looked much older than her peers. Is looking old bad? No...unless I listen to everything I think others are saying...if I watch their eagerness to rid of themselves of unwanted grays. Is getting rid of my under eye circles with concealer any different? How do you age gracefully minus frump? I think this answer is different for every woman. My hubby has always been pro-gray and anti-dye. I've known this since we starting dating decades ago. I don't have a problem with being natural (but don't take away my concealer). It actually fits me. Even being counter-cultural, fits me. Not feeling beautiful when I'm officially "old", does not fit me (or any other woman that I'm aware of). I'd like our kids to be at peace with when they grow glitter from their head as well, but I don't want them to feel judged if they want dye like I want concealer.
          My hair's not the only root that's been changing. I now have some mineral trioxide deep down in one of my teeth. Just before  my birthday, I had a deep cavity filled for the second time, while being told that I'd probably need a root canal sooner than later. Since my tooth began giving me fits on the weekend when no endodontist is available, I decided to try essential oils. There were all kinds of testimonials about avoiding root canals, but that wasn’t my case.  The melaleuca and clove oil helped me from having a full blown face-swelling infection, but my infected root still died and irritated my other roots.  I did end up finding a biological dentist that does things a little differently than mainstream dentists.  He didn’t stare at me like I had two heads when I told him about the essential oils (or even when I admitted to trying oregano oil—which burned my mouth) or oil pulling.  If he had suggested  giving up my concealer for the sake of my teeth, I’m not sure I would.  Fortunately, he suggested I see a holistic M.D. to look at my calcium metabolism (since I’ve had a few cavities in the past couple of years).  My tooth has been fixed and the root is gone. Hopefully, seeing a holistic doctor while help me get to the root of my teeth issues.

                                As I age, I’m no longer satisfied at just looking at my issues.  I want to know why I have issues (one of my issues is depression).  I was allowed to preview a new book by Jill Savage about friendship (the name of the book is “Better Together”), and I’ve really enjoyed it.  I’ve read a lot of books on marriage and parenting in the past five years, but this is the first book that I can remember reading about friendship in as long as I can remember.  It has lots of helpful advice on what is normal in friendships and how to be a better friend, but the part I really liked was the challenges at the end of each chapter.  One challenge was to write a handwritten note to a friend.  My letter ended up arriving same day that my friend was preparing to attend a funeral for her loved one, and it really meant a lot to her.   I love it when God uses us to minister to others, especially when we have no idea how perfect the timing is.  The past few weeks when I’ve read this book, I’ve felt lighter and less burdened.  I can’t help by wonder if reaching out to other women isn’t a big way of combating my blues.  It kind of makes sense if one of the greatest commandments that Jesus leaves us with is to love others (see Matt. 22:39).  God only asks us to do what works out best for us in the end (even if it’s not easy).  It’s funny that showing love actually made me feel loved. I know it made my friend feel loved too. Sometimes I just need a different perspective to look at what’s underneath it all. That’s what I felt like this book provided for me.

 This past winter, we had some water issues in our basement.  We had a downpour of rain while my hubby Charles wasn’t at home, so I called him to find out when he could come home.  Mary was using the wet vacuum in the basement, while Half-Pint was managing the kiddos, and I was trying to figure out a way to prevent the water from entering in the basement in the first place. I called Charles to ask him if I could use a different wet vacuum outdoors.  Clearly, I wasn’t thinking about the risk of electrocution. Charles let me know the best way to prevent the water from coming in was to clean out the gutters that were overflowing.  Shortly after they were cleaned, the water stopped coming in the basement.  I admit that sometimes I'm short-sighted. I’m praying that God would show me what the root of my issues are.  In the meantime, I’m going to keep loving others and using my concealer while I let my glitter shine.

         

Roses and Thorns

          Back when Mary and Half-pint were youngin's, we started sharing our high point and low point for the day at supper time. What began as a simple way of understanding what we loved and hated about our day has become a happy little tradition around our little house on the prairie.  Every once in a while we put a little twist on it. For a couple of years on every Sunday, we would share what we were proud of about every other family member and skip the highs and lows. About a year ago, we started taking turns being in charge during our evening meal-each member gets a different day of the week. (When you have seven members in your family,  it works out nicely.) My day is Wednesday. I get to choose who prays for the evening meal and ask everyone their high points and low points (and direct the conversation after that, too). Even Mr. Blue Eyes loves the evening recollections. He still gets some words confused and never says "high point", but talks about his "low point" and "low point". (We just interpret his first recollection as his happiest memory). Recently, he shared that his highpoint was..."pooping".  This must be what I would've missed out on had I only had girls, huh? 
         There are lots of ways to label your highs and lows. Lowlights and highlights are another way of saying it. Half-pint loves to ask for our "roses" and "thorns", and she shot the picture for this post. I thought today I'd share some of mine from 2015. Here are a few roses:
1. I was in my first theatrical play, and I really loved it. Acting with two of the girls was just the icing on the cake.
2. I completed four knitting projects. (One that I had been working on for over seven years, ahem.)
3. Mary discovered that she loved theatre more than anything, as she had to save 83% of her weekly allowance in order to perform in a second CYT play (we paid for her first).
4.  Half-pint volunteers every week at a local animal hospital. She found that she truly does want to be a veterinarian. Earlier in 2015, she confessed that she wasn't really sure that that's what she wanted to do; but after a month volunteering,  she said that each time she went it just affirmed in her mind that being a veterinarian is exactly what she wants to do. I can't say how satisfying it is to see her happy face glow when she is done at the hospital (much like Mary after her play rehearsals). I felt super blessed to find a place that allowed this just seventeen minutes away from us. Even Wal-mart is 33 minutes from our house.
5. We had two vacations this year. One was with the kids and one was just for Charles and I. Our last vacation as a family (when we did something other than visit family) was in the Fall of 2012. The last time Charles and I went on a vacation  was April of 2007.
6. Testing of Mary and Half-pint revealed that I haven't messed up their home education (which means I can go back to sleeping at night, instead of obsessing over what they're missing).

And now my thorns:
1. Our treadmill broke right before my birthday, so my love/hate relationship with running has moved outside to our 26 acres (which works great in good weather, but not so awesome with snow/rain or sub-zero wind chills). The part of me that cannot stand running wants to put this on my roses list...and give up running completely.
2. This year we had two surgeries: bilateral tubes in Mary's ears in  August and Missie's tonselectomy in December.  I'm so glad to be past that.
3. I drove through flooding on the road. Ugh! That was not smart. As a result of that I do now have a van with AWD (that I will not be driving through flooded water, just over the snow covered roads).
4. I've struggled more with feelings of hopelessness and depression this past year than any other year that I can remember before. It has been serious work to remember the good things and focus on them. My mood is the number one thing that keeps from blogging. It makes me feel like I don't have anything useful to say, and generally feel like doing absolutely nothing. That's the honest truth.

          There were lots of great moments in 2015 and some that were truly awful. I went to a Joyce Meyer conference in September with my mom, and Darlene Zschech shared a song that comforted her during her battle with cancer: "Good Good Father" by Chris Tomlin. It is a declaration of truth, and I found myself singing the chorus many times this fall when I felt overwhelmed. I couldn't help smiling when they played it in church for the first time this past Sunday. Darlene never shared the verses of the song, but they are truly beautiful. Hopefully, your day is all roses; but if it isn't, have a listen to "Good Good Father" and sing along.

In the Morning

          In the morning,  there is a lot of activity in our house. The baby is babbling in his crib, waking up his siblings.  The dog is begging to be let out, usually only waking up me (the two older ones are able to sleep through it). If I go outside,  there are ducks quacking in their box, waiting to splash and play in their water. The hens are clucking,  waiting to taste the delicious fresh dew on the grass (always on the other side of the fence). The sounds and activity of the morning are soothing to me. It's like slipping on a soft, fur-lined, leather glove in the crisp autumn air...it's comfy. A friend told me that the top three stressful life events are 1) death of a loved one, 2) divorce, and 3) moving. This time around, I would have to agree. Our move last year didn't stress me out in the least bit. Our move this year has been a much different story. Of these three "stressors", I have personal experience with two. Watching another good friend deal with some custody issues, definitely helps me appreciate that moving is not nearly as stressful. There is the obvious thing they have in common: major change. However, they are all, in my mind, mournable as well. This past Friday, we closed on our house in Illinois.  Charles, my hubby, asked if I was relieved; and I am to an extent...but I wasn't thinking about that in that sense this past Friday.  I was in mourning.  I was sad about the loss of a house that had just started to feel like home. I had other dreams that were never realized there.
           In the mourning, I have slammed my hand down in anger, breaking my mascara wand (poor wand...what did it ever do to deserve such treatment). I hollered several times last week that I missed our old house, and I just about lost it when I still couldn't find our toilet plunger after two days of searching and finding a plugged stink bomb in the basement. Charles has been a safe place to confide my frustration,  and I'm really glad for that.  Crying and expressing my sadness really helps me process things and move on. We have both been frustrated with how challenging this has been to close on this house. We are still renting,  but a new bank is now promising to finance it (one that is cool with crazy people wanting a cozy house with lots of land). The relocation package offered by Charlle's work was sweet, but it still doesn't quite cover all this unforseen drama. Sometimes it feels a little like money poured down the drain. Last Friday (when I was tempted to dress in black and sit in the closet with a "do not disturb" sign posted), I read Mark 14 (I'm in the NT in the Amplified Version). It relates the story of the woman who "wastes" a years salary on pouring perfume on Jesus' feet. Jesus didn't see it as a waste, but as a beautiful offering. It struck me that nothing is wasted on God. I'm not Catholic,  but I really enjoyed a series of talks given on "suffering" last summer by a priest. He repeated over and over the thought of "offering up" our suffering so that it is not wasted. Last Friday,  I struggled,  but I gave up my disappointments and frustrations. I told God I didn't understand,  but that I chose to trust Him. I asked Him to accept this as an offering to Him.
              It's been a week. It's morning again; and instead of feeling waves of sorrow,  I'm feeling some waves of gratitude roll over me. It's been awesome to be around my brother and sister-in-law.  They've made me feel so welcome and already had the kids over for a couple of overnighters. They've helped us plug into an Awana club for the kids to go to and a church (we'll be getting out at least bi-weekly). Also, the people here have been very friendly and kind (except the sherrif department),  and I'm getting used to driving 30 minutes to just about everything.  I found Target this past week, and I was so grateful to find the store where I buy phthalate-free, paraben-free mascara in the same strip mall. The friendly clerk/consultant even introduced me to even better mascara for only a dollar more (it's free of mineral oil, triclosan, sodium lauryl sulfate and synthetic fragrances with a cute little bunny sign on it to denote it is also cruelty free...plus it's made in the USA).
      My mom gave me part of my name based on this verse she read on the day I was born, "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Ps. 30:5) I think it's becoming a bit of a reoccurring theme verse for me.
       I don't know if you are suffering or stressed,  but know that nothing is wasted on God. Mourning is tough, but morning is coming.

The Gray Area

         Life is full of black and white; but between the black and white, there is the gray area...that's the tricky part, the part I find the most frustrating and confusing. It's the area that's open to personal opinion and interpretation. Friday night I spent several hours in the local ER with my five year old due to the gray area. She tested positive for strep on her throat on Thursday. When she'd been on antibiotics for more than 24 hours and her fever had jumped from 102.3 to 104.8 (without the ibuprofen) in the same 24 hour period, I began to feel that the antibiotics might not be helping. When I looked at her tonsils, I saw that her tonsils had gone beyond just having pus on them to having great big red streaks as well. I called the after hours hotline in hopes of either being told to sit tight for another 12 hours and watch what happens or to have a different antibiotic prescribed. Instead,  I was told that I had to take her to the ER. I tried to reason with the nurse that I knew the fever was responding to the ibuprofen,  and I could take another temp immediately if that was her concern...but she had consulted another nurse and was concerned that something more was involved due to the high temp. Here was the gray area. I didn't believe anything would come of our visit to the ER. Indeed three hours later when we were seen, she was fever and pain free. However,  there was this nagging thought of "what if". What if there was a bigger problem with her, and my stubborness got in the way of her well-being. It was worth it to me to lose the time, just to be safe.
            Selling a home has turned out to have huge gray areas. There is a fine line between what is legal and what is morally right. We found a legal proposal to fixing our existing septic system, but after third and fourth opinions,  we have chosen to replace it completely...so it is in no way a detractor from someone wanting to buy it. Another gray area we have dealt with recently is whether or not we could keep the earnest money from our buyer that backed out. After looking into it for a day, we were told we had no right to it.
            Our next step is a huge gray area too...not just what to do from a monetary standpoint,  but also from a psychological standpoint. Part of me wants to just leave now and start our new life in Kansas...the other part of me is dealing with closure from all the ties and relationships we have built here for the past twelve years. Today when my eldest daughter said goodbye to her best friend who'd be gone for the next four weeks, I wanted to cry. I doubt we will still be here in four weeks. This could be the last time in a long time for them to see each other. I did cry a little later, but I chose to be grateful that my daughter had another chance to hang out with her bestie. One of our daughters is coping with our move by spending more time alone. She is a natural extrovert, so it's strange seeing her so reclusive.   I talked to her a couple of weeks ago about this, and it was a relief to hear her finally share how she was feeling through all this. We both agreed that the hardest part of this is not knowing what the future holds. Will our next house be as wonderful? Will we find friends quickly? Will we settle for another twelve years? We don't know these answers, but I encouraged her that when these thoughts raced to her mind to think about how God knows all about our future...He has promised plans to prosper us, not to harm us (Jer. 29:11). Our future may be shrouded in gray mystery, but my calling as wife to love, honor, and obey my hubby in both the good times and the bad is not. I made a promise, a vow in front of God and my family. God knew what those words would cost me, and He also knew all the good things that I would be blessed with as a result. I know our future together will hold challenges,  but ultimately good things as well.
        My five year old has been obsessed with drawing me pictures almost daily of rainbows. Below is my favorite that I named "Bridge Over Troubled Water With a Rainbow" (my daughter was willing to sell it for two cents). The rainbow reminds me of God fulfilling His promises.  I need that reminder a lot lately. The bridge reminds me of His help through the rough spots. Life is not just full of black and whites and gray areas. If you look hard enough through the sunlight and your tears, you will see the beautiful rainbow of His promises.

Boot Scootin Boogie

          I have never gone country line dancing before; but when I saw an invite for all her "central Illinois friends" pop up on Jill Savage's facebook page, I thought, "Why not?" After all, I have the boots for it.
          Then it dawned on me, my other four kids do great with a sitter; however, I'd still have my three month old to take along. He is a very good baby, but I wasn't sure about how well I/he would be received at a "Mom's Night Out". Being minus four children is definitely still a mom's night out for me. I asked the coordinator if he could come in a sling. The reply that came was from a mom who would be unable to attend, but stated "I'm just gonna say that personally if I'm having a mom's night out, I don't want anyone else's children there either." That was what I had been worried about, and that night I felt let-down because I had really wanted to go. The next morning, bright and early, there was another comment by Jill Savage herself which said," I think it would be fine!" One of the reasons I love this woman is because she is just so unassuming and welcoming. Then the event coordinator also replied. She went on to comment about how she went country line dancing at 8 months pregnant...she even went bowling for a mom's night out with a baby in a Moby wrap. She echoed the sentiment that Jill had said that I was most definitely invited.
               There is something priceless about a good woman who is willing to extend her hand in friendship. It is good for the soul and definitely a pick-me-up when you are feeling blue. I almost missed the event due to house hunting, but our plans changed (partly inspired by my desire to go...and my hubby's enthusiastic encouragement that I SHOULD go). By the time the evening arrived, I was a little on edge. It was a rough day. Supper consisted of pancakes that weren't even finished by the time the sitter arrived. The last thing I felt like doing was meeting a bunch of new faces to try something I'd never done before. I cringe a little even now as I add the tag of depression to this post, but that is honestly what I've been battling this week. (I cringe only because I wish I could write to you as an expert on the subject...not someone who is still learning how/what to do with her feelings). My three year old threw a super fit when I left, which made me 15 minutes late by the time I left. My GPS led me to an industrial park (and the wrong side of the road). I almost gave up, but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't look a little more for the place.
            I did finally find it. Lessons started at 7pm, and I showed up after 7:30pm...everyone welcomed me warmly. No one cared that I had a baby in tow; and before you know it, I was line dancing. I'd like to say I'm a natural, but I was off more than a couple of times. No one seemed to notice. When I went in, I was greeted with a hug and friendly smiles from all the moms in the group. Jill even mentioned she'd been keeping an eye out for me. When I shared my struggle with even feeling like coming, they all nodded their heads like they'd been there. I felt at ease with them, and I was pleased to sit and chat with a couple of moms while the instructor showed some more challenging dances.
              Nothing makes me feel more like myself (plus gives me a little perspective) like getting out of our house. When I feel blue, I just want to hide. Just the opposite is what helps lift me up.
           I'm so glad I went. I gained more than the knowledge of how to dance to "Cotton-Eyed Joe". I had a night away from my cares with women who cared enough to make me feel welcome, and that alone is enough to make me want to dance in my boots.