What if it's not all about you?

It’s September 23rd. The calendar above my desk thinks it’s still August.

Hurricane Irma stole most of this month from me. We started hearing about her at the end of August and by Labor Day we knew she was coming for Florida. We evacuated to Georgia on the 7th, she hit on the 10th, we came back on the 14th. I was on high alert the entire time but I feel like I’m just starting to wake up.

If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook you saw my attempts at documenting our story. I also shared about evacuating on Sarasota Mom’s Blog.

I’ve always believed that God led us to this place at this time for a reason. How else do you explain moving to a place where you know no one and have no rational excuse to do so? From the time I came home from work and said, “Let’s do this,” to the way our house sold in one day, to the fast connections we made when we got here, I knew that we were doing what we were meant to. But I always thought it was for us, for me. The first 22 days of September have shown me how wrong I was.

There was a point as the hurricane was getting close to making landfall and I was tired of being anxious and scared. Instead I got angry. Why would God bring us to this place only to put us in the path of a storm like this? Why did we give up everything in Colorado to come here and possibly lose even more? We had come here to reset, to heal, to grow and now all of that was being tested. It didn’t take long for Him to answer, “What if it’s not all about you?” Oh, ok then.

After we got home, took care of the leak from the bedroom window, did laundry, cleaned out the refrigerator, and tried to get back into our normal, we started hearing about those that may not have a normal for a long, long time. Homes that had been flattened or flooded, possessions destroyed, jobs and businesses lost. The poorest among us that were already living with next to nothing now literally have nothing.

The stories keep coming. This video broke me wide open yesterday. Before the hurricane I was crying for myself, now I’m crying for them. And now I know what He meant. We did come here for ourselves, but He knew better. We are here for this. For the help we can provide and for the work he’s doing in our hearts.

The Beginning and End of Crib Season

I snagged my son’s crib off a listing on Craigslist.

It was an Ikea one, simple but sturdy, and came with the mattress. All for $40. I stood in the Craigslist stranger’s garage, surrounded by other outgrown baby gear and two kids who rode their bikes in and out without much regard for who was in the way. The original owner told me how to put it together, and as I handed her the money and put the pieces in my Jeep, I wondered if she was sad to be giving up this season of her motherhood. On the outside she didn’t seem to be. She seemed relieved that it was going, making space for the next one.  

Like many naïve first time moms, I thought that crib would be used right away.

Read more at Sarasota Moms Blog. 

Pieces

I search through the pieces 

Trying to find the whole

The broken outnumber the perfect 

Once all the same 

Jagged edges and reshaped lines

Reveal their true beauty 

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I remember when I was twelve and approaching my thirteenth birthday. I was SO excited to turn thirteen. I would finally be a teenager and imagined how cool and different it would be when I wasn’t a “kid” anymore. Of course all thirteen got me was an awkward body and middle school. I don’t recall being that excited about a birthday since (well except maybe for twenty-one).

Today I turned thirty-four and my husband said something that has made me want to rethink how I approach birthdays. He asked me if birthdays even feel like birthdays anymore. They definitely don’t feel like they did when I was younger and even if we celebrate with dinner or an event the anticipation that I felt when I was little just isn't there. This could just be the nature of getting older, but what if I could recapture even a bit of it?

I’m going to start by making a list of what I’m excited about in my next year of life. I’m excited about doing more writing and seeing where that goes. I’m excited about exploring parts of Florida that I haven’t been too yet. I’m excited about opportunities at work and work travel. I’m excited about friendships that are growing deeper. I’m excited (and terrified) to see my son as a three year old.

What are some things you’re looking forward to about your next birthday?

Corner Man

Some days I don't want to go to the fight. We've seen this opponent before. He's bigger, stronger, unforgiving, and lethal.

But I go because you are my fighter and I am your corner man. 

I tape you up and put on your gloves. I say a prayer. You are shaking and unsure. There is fear in your eyes, but I try not to let you see the fear in mine.

The fight starts and he has you against the ropes. I feel every punch, every cut, every breath he knocks out of your lungs. He wins the first round.

I wipe the sweat and blood from your face. I bandage up the cuts and tell you, you can do it. You say you don't know how. Please God, I pray, please give him strength.

The round starts and again he overcomes you. He is beating the life out of you. There is nothing I can do but watch. Round two is over. You are bruised, bloodied, torn.

Round three. This is it. You are exhausted and he knows it. He has worn you down and now goes for the kill. He has you on your knees. The ref is counting you out. You look at me and I see you want to give up. Please God, give him strength. You stand and face him.

There is new life in you and you start fighting back. Now you are the one on the offense. Round after round you keep fighting. He isn’t giving up, but now you know his moves. You intercept his next attempt. With one last blow you knock him out. 

You raise your hands in victory.

You are my fighter and I am your corner man. 

Blinking

With every blink

Tick of the clock

Inch you grow

Time is taking you away from me

And me from you

Two blinks ago you were

Laying on my chest

Our souls merging

To the rhythm of sunrises

And sunsets

A blink ago you were

Crawling into the future

Dragging my heart with you

To the place

Where time stands still

In the next blink you will be

Walking into the unknown

Leaving me behind

Standing in the shadows

Blinking

Riding the Wave

The gulf isn’t known for it’s waves. You won’t find any surfer dudes down here, just tourists on floaties and locals stroking by in their stand up paddle board clubs. But recently when we went to the beach and heard the waves breaking from the parking lot, we knew some decent swells awaited us. As we stepped off the boardwalk and onto the white, shimmering sand, we could see that the crests were several feet high.

M took to the ocean the first time he met it at a year and a half old. We took him out to the beach the day we moved here, and I saw him fall in love as he touched the sand, first with just a finger tip and then his whole, chubby hand, and let the water kiss his toes. A year and some months after that first encounter, he rarely hesitates to get in.

This day was different. I’m sure a lot of it had to do with the intensity of the waves, but his fear was evident as he stayed on dry sand. Now almost three, he’s at an age where fear is starting to creep into his life more and more. At bedtime he tells me he doesn’t want the dark in his room and so he has two night lights and the door stays open until he falls asleep. Scary characters on TV elicit a “Don’t like that mommy,” and he sees imaginary monsters hiding around the corner.

  

As he starts to understand more of the world around him, he also starts to lose the sacred ignorance I wish he could keep. 

So how can I help him navigate his fears?

Acknowledge and asses the fear. The waves were high and the noise of the force of the water hitting land was loud. The usually clear water was dark and the ocean floor was hidden. M’s fear was legitimate and he didn't know what to do with it. He turned from the water's edge and ran back to the safety of my arms. I told him it’s ok to feel afraid, but that the waves on this day, while unusual, were not too big for him to deal with.

Show the way. M saw other kids playing in the water and his Dad walk out first. Ryan encouraged M to follow, splashing the water and joyfully jumping into the rolling waves. Then, when M was still unsure, Ryan carried him out and held him as the ocean broke over them both and patiently waited until M had enough confidence to stand by himself.

Praise for overcoming. Soon M was facing the waves on his own. He saw one building, knew it was coming, and instead of turning away he jumped into it. He came to shore, sand and a smile plastered to his face. “I rode the wave, mama!” “Yes you did buddy,” I replied as I wrapped him in a salty hug, “You did so good!”

Overcoming fear isn’t unique to the little ones, and as an adult I often find myself in similar situations. My fears look different than his (although I don’t always like big waves or scary monsters either) but they can be tackled in the same way. When I’m dealing with a fear I need to figure out if it’s a warning or a hindrance. Is it protecting me from an unsafe situation, or is it keeping me from an experience that could be perfectly harmless? I need to find someone that’s been there before. Sometimes I need others to show me the way first, and I might need to be carried for a while until my legs feel strong enough to carry myself. And I need to know I did good. When I am recognized for accomplishing something despite my fears, I have faith that I can do it again.

There have been a few more big wave days since that time and M has continued to conquer his fear. Now when he knows we’re headed to the beach, he fearlessly claims that he’s going to ride all the waves.