My mountain

There is an old bush in front of our home.

An enormous bush. 

It sits stubbornly in its spot, where it will remain 'til the end of time.

It's not just the height. It's that this bush is a dark sphere. Like an entire planet, right next to our dining room window.

Round, huge, monstrous.

The issue? 

Is that about once a year, this bush reveals to the neighborhood its need of a haircut at the very tip-top. Its wide sides are trimmed often, but its top is like a bad (terrible!) hairstyle that needs those split ends chopped off.

Only, even a ladder doesn't easily allow one to reach the center of this bad boy. 

The task becomes daunting.

I have the desire to pretty up this green monster- and I've found that trying to ignore it never seems to dissolve those awful split ends!

I appreciate when things look lovely. 

  But I've grown to be quietly obsessed with this monumental challenge.

I am tall. 

  But not that tall, to get it done on a whim.

I am not afraid of heights. 

  But I have a fear of falling backward. (Thank you, horrible repelling incident decades ago!)

On this hot July afternoon, it was time. 

This ragged bush needed to be reckoned with. No more noticing-and-forgetting to get the job done. No more mental complaining. Just time to tackle the beast. That mountain.

And as I grit my teeth and began to cut, it suddenly became emotional to me.

I could feel a burning in my eyes.

Suddenly,

the struggles that had been pressing in on my life took the shape of this awful green mass of branches.

This past month of July:

• Family decisions- uncertainties of the future.
• Choices of others- for better or worse.
• A lack of control over circumstances- adjusting as life kept coming at us.

And then my rehashing of last year's month of July:

• Holding in early news of our pregnancy- carrying joy and such emotion (and such sickness).
• BAM- News of my big sister's breast cancer. Initial worries and then sobs during the phone call that revealed the diagnosis.
• Another BAM- News of my father-in-law's leukemia. Sliding down onto our kitchen floor in disbelief.

It was a time of shock and processing and coping.

When life would never seem the same again.

So. 

This bush this afternoon... it transformed into something much bigger than it was. 

Much bigger than any neighbors or cars driving by could see.

It turned into my own personal battle to work through.

Seriously? Yep.

I tackled that thing like never before. 

Focused. 

Eyes narrowed, brows furrowed.

Arms reaching up with those long, worn garden shears in hand.

Tip-toed in my old $1 Walmart crocs, hands stretched as high as possible.

Grabbing for branches. 

Fierce in my chopping.

Sometimes even missing those bunches of evergreens, but never, never stopping.

Sweat was dripping down my face and neck, and prickly green bits were sticking to me. 

Dirt was clinging to my skin. 

And it all made me even more determined.

Scratch marks appeared on my arms, and it felt right. Like battle scars I was earning as I didn't give up. Chop.

In the physical work of chopping, my mind was racing through the strains and struggles and emotions of the past 12+months.

Tears would come, and then increased resolve.

Prayers, and then some inner pep talk conversations.

Tight lips of concentration, and then a tiny proud smile.

When I reached as high as I could to no success, 

I decided to push forward into the bush. That was, um, new. (Smart? Not sure.) But once I started, it felt good.

Like I was living a metaphor. Physically seeing a lesson being taught to my heart.

Pressing into the problem, pushing through the looming circumstances right up in my face. 

And so I stood, arms up with the shears from inside that mountain of a bush. Reaching like mad -with a wry smile- whenever the blades found success.

The bright sun of the early afternoon was blinding. I was a crazed branch-chopper who only wanted to fight harder. I couldn't see squat, but just dove forward and kept chopping at whatever I could connect with. 

Unable to see through the brash sun and sweating with needles jabbing all around me.

But the outer discomfort made sense with the inner battle going on.

It was so right. I didn't want to be anyplace else but in that jungle of a bush.

Thinking, feeling, facing head on.

As we (and our circle) have gone through some challenging circumstances these past few weeks, a family friend asked this question:
"What can we learn from this?"

And that thought has stayed near.
It's not just a processing of events and concerns we got through.
It's moving beyond that. "What can we learn from this?"

And so, in the middle of tackling this mountain of branches, my mind whirled with that question, over and over.

I couldn't give up.

I could have stopped chopping, 
and no one may have noticed what I had accomplished
and no one may have noticed where I had to just let the beyond-reach branches remain, imperfect and all.

But I was compelled.
To finish that task, to not be defeated.

Eventually and very grudgingly,
I had to retrieve the fancy ladder from the garage.
And then had to find the delicate balance of where to prop and rest that heavy silver thing so together "we" could reach the center of that giant green ball of a bush.

And when I got to the top of that shiny ladder, the task was (BAM) suddenly manageable. 
What was impossible and never-ending from below, 
What I strived for, over and over -with some success- to do on my own,
was completely different from above.


I had just wanted to accomplish the task without any help- just me.
But that had worked only a bit, and then failed me.

The new vantage point. 
Using a tool beyond myself. 
= Helped me finish that battle.

(What had gotten me through the shocks and trying times of the past year, current days included?)

It wasn't all easy with that ladder. It took determined effort yet.
It still took stretching and reaching and courage to push farther than safe.
But it worked.
That mountain of mine was reckoned with. At least for today.

A different vantage point? Deciding to use that tool to assist you the rest of the way?
What would that be for you?

To some of you, this seems ridiculous. 

A bush? Tears? Really?

But I know we each have our own daunting "thing" that looms in front of us, mocking and refusing to be ignored.

What would yours be? 
And what can you learn from it?

Somehow, chopping away at those prickly branches brought me through a journey of emotions and thoughts that had been tucked away for months...

• Sister's chemo, loss of hair, weariness and sickness. The whole shebang.
• Father-in-law treated in a hospital bed, weeks on end. Not sure what was next.
• Other circumstances out of our grasp that have angered and saddened and discouraged.
• Life sometimes seeming overwhelming in the day by day.

But these moments of sweat-drenched hacking at pine needles grew to reveal the okayness of feeling weak and pained. 
And that personally choosing to step into the challenge and the pushing through of the yuck and ugliness from the scratches on my skin and dirt combined with sweat and pine needles sticking to my hair was worth it... because conquering that mountain meant something to me.

Proud. A good proud.

Blessings,
Elizabeth


(The funny, haha, thing? 
As I was just about to wrap up my chopping afternoon, a cherry picker type truck drives on by. Without a care in the world, just driving on down the road, somehow laughing at the ordeal I had put myself through that past hour. Groaning, straining, strategizing. Where this cherry picker could have nailed this trim job in 2 minutes flat. Smooth sailing. Geez.

...But the job got taken care of- with a whole lot of heart.)

What is helping

As someone who has struggled with postpartum emotions and anxieties, these pictures represent some big things this past week.

Between processing the change and loss of leaving pregnancy behind and welcoming an actual LIFE into my world… Non-wrapped gifts are presenting themselves each day.

The moments of strong ups-and-downs still try to push themselves into the forefront, but right now, the gifts of these past days are staying in the lead.

• During our hospital stay, one evening was especially hard for me. Anxiety suddenly begun rushing in on me. It was almost hard to breathe and seemed impossible to shake it off. Nate went to run an errand, and I planned on spending the next hour having a good cry. But 5 minutes later, Nate walked back in the room, followed by a longtime friend. She had decided to stop by our room just to drop off a gift, even though we had decided to limit visitors that day. But she followed her instinct and came to see me. My big tears at seeing her surprised them both, but was as though God had picked her up and dropped her right in front of me at the moment I absolutely needed someone there. The next few hours were filled with deep, heart honest conversation between two girlfriends who have walked through some big stuff of life together. The sweetest medicine for my anxious heart. Like an angel had visited. God showed me His care in such a clear way.

• Before we left the hospital to head for the familiarity and noise of home, Nate laid down on the inclined bed, holding Anna close. This duplicated a scene from the past, where we had been in a hospital bed with our newborn middle boy on leaving-day. So, on this day, instead of leaving the hospital right away after being discharged, my cue was clear, to lay down with them. The three of us. So still, so calm. Like a bubble around us, protecting us from the rest of the world. Completely safe, quiet, worry free. For those long moments. The best gift.

And since returning home… 

The gifts continue.

• The purity and tenderness of a particular baby girl with deep blue eyes, round cheeks, and a soft swirl of dark hair who has entered our family and home. And older brothers who have taken her in, each in their own way. Wrapping this baby in blankets that have been given to us out of love and care.
• Laundry friends, who have taken totes of clothes to their own homes to help tackle the stress when our dryer stopped working. With a newborn. A family of 6. Mountains of clothes that had nowhere to go, until friends offered their time and kindness to meet such a need.
• Meal friends, who have dropped by our front door with homemade meals for my family. Daily blessings.
• A friend who has come over to stay with the youngest ones so I could venture out with the older ones. Who took one on a playdate so there could be a quiet morning.
• Sunny afternoons, when the guys get dirt covered in the backyard playing baseball. Ice cream, root beer floats with their daddy.
• An old dryer being removed and a new one being installed. After weeks of struggle, the whirring sound of working machines sounds so, so good.
• Friends who stop by to meet the newest member of our family, and to just talk. And let me take their picture. What is better than someone you care about loving on your child? Memories. 
• Tears in my eyes this afternoon at a good doctor report, that our youngest one will be the only one of our children not to need extra care for jaundice concerns. There have always been tears for me with this certain baby issue, but this is the one time they were tears of such relief and thankfulness.
• And the looking-forward-to of friends coming to visit. And my mom coming next week. And those who haven't met our sweet one yet. Loved ones.

And so, this day, what struck me, that being on the constant lookout for gifts is what is helping my spirit. 

My emotions may nose dive time and again, and not everything is smooth. 
But celebrating the gifts as they come, one hour after another? 

It is helping. 

(Thank you, each of you, friends and family and nurses and doctors, who have lavished care on my family. You are beautiful gifts.)

That January 31st

At some point, 
we may all have one of those turning points...

Not a pretty turning point, 
but one that comes from a deepest crisis in our life.

Crisis:
1. a stage in a sequence of events at which the trend of all future events, 
especially for better or for worse, is determined; turning point.
2. a condition of instability or danger, leading to a decisive change.
3. a dramatic emotional or circumstantial upheaval in a person's life.
(http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/crisis)

For us, our Big One was 10 years ago today.
(Funny how some dates will stick forever in your memory.)

On January 30, 2006:
We had been married almost 2 years and were walking along pretty confidently down a certain path, with major life goals and changes coming together.

On January 31, 2006:
BAM.
BAM.
In the space of one unexpected morning phone call, I found myself crumpled on the floor of
our hallway, head in my hands. 

Life had crashed. Big time.

Suddenly all was an unknown.

All was uncertain. 

All my control was GONE. 

The rug had been completely pulled out. We were sitting on nothing but air.

So scary.

That day and the next overflowed with rawness.

Adrenaline to exhaustion. 
Exhaustion to heartbreak. 

Heartbreak to anger.
Anger to peace.

Peace to emptiness.
Emptiness to adrenaline.
Adrenaline to exhaustion.

And back and forth.

Constantly.

What do you do, 

but make yourself pick up one foot and then another. 

And repeat. 

You turn to those you absolutely trust to walk with you, 

to buffer you from falling,

to hold up your arms when you can't.

You guard yourself from those you just don't have the capacity to open up to in such an intense time.

You live one short moment at a time.

You (Psalm 23) "walk through the valley" knowing Someone is with you.

And you make choices.

BIG ones. 

Will I turn away?

Will I turn toward?

The initial days crawl by.

The world seems so different.

Life is normal for everyone else. 

But not you.

Not at all.

What is next?

When will life feel familiar and safe again?

The weeks go by.

Life continues: Survival and a New View.

Not easy. 

Like each step is through the thickest mud.
Through sadness. Anger. 
Wondering "if only..." 
Asking "what is next?"
"Will we recover?"

More weeks go by.

And then months.

And then the years.

Life continues, 

but down such an absolutely different path than ever imagined.

Not all bad though.

Just so different.

The grieving of the loss of the former path, the old familiar.

But, it is not all bad.

And sometime along the way, the "not all bad" shifts into an undiscovered kind of beauty.

What was once coping has gradually turned into a new normal...
and that new path has a completely different, personal, bittersweet beauty.

Bittersweet from going through the valleys and the struggles... 
But also a changed perspective.

And a loosening of those lost expectations.

Agonies and despair and uncertainty that have grown ever-so-tenderly into a deep, deep appreciation for what is lovely and positive and REAL.

Hope grows out of losses and hardest days. And what is more pure and rich than that?

The little is never little again.
(Not looking for the huge moments to see that beauty, but instead seeing it in the tiniest, simplest bits of life.)

"The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears." 
(Native American proverb)

And if seeing life and its ups and downs in that way doesn't bring some healing and gratitude...

• For a once-broken heart turning more tender.
• For no longer dwelling on what cannot be controlled.
• For the 'big stuff' not seeming as all-defining.
• For the once-unnoticed blessings being SEEN. 
• For absolute realization that Hope has always been there.
• For seeing the loss and grief and helplessness of someone nearby going through her own crises. (And yearning to walk alongside her.) 
• For that pure, indescribable gift in the recognition and appreciation of the good.
• For an inner radiance that could only grow from such painful days. (The light after trudging through such darkness.)

What is the only thing we have any smidge of control over?

Whether or not we can pick up that one foot and put it in front of the other. And continue.

Ever so slowly at first, but turning into a new boldness and gentleness. 

A different awareness.

You keep close to you what you need to hold close to you.

You trust that inner circle when you need to lean on someone else.

You see in the eyes of others whether they have had their own crisis moment.

You never forget the rough path of your journey, and you savor the sweetness when the path isn't so rocky anymore.

"Victories don't come by accident."

("War Room")

We have recently been reminiscing and reliving these past 10 years... 

The memories are still so strong and vivid.

BUT the milestones to look back on of how our path has been readjusted and recreated show us at least some meaning for we've been through. 

The painful memories don't disappear, but they are gently buried and remembered from a familiar distance.

Not ever wanting to go back through the hard steps again, 

but GRADUALLY seeing the crisis-to-survival-to-new-life with a gratitude for how we have been changed. For the richer. 

(Wrinkle lines and dark circles under our eyes and all.)

We would not be the same people AT ALL if not for that huge valley 10 years ago.

We would not be the same Team together if not for that shared trial and journey.

And I would not trade that for ANYthing.

No power of hell, 

No scheme of man,

Can ever pluck me from His hand.

("In Christ Alone")

And not a tear is wasted

In time, you'll understand:

I'm painting beauty with the ashes

Your life is in My hands.

("Just Be Held")

God has been in control.

God is in control.

God will stay in control.

Have hope.

Elizabeth

The Parts of Our Stories We Don't Like

I finally sank into the chair by the Christmas tree to catch my breath.

Struck again with the anxieties of this season: 
This season of the year and all its expectations.
This season of life and all its weariness.
From the daily-of-life to the enormous-of-life.

Wondering the whys of circumstances and challenges.
Why are there those parts in our stories that we just do not like?

Why did this past July have to hold such enormous news and emotion: 

• of our pregnancy
• my sister's cancer
• my father-in-law's cancer

And the longer-ago lingering events:
Why did we have to go through such a loss in our first year of marriage?
Why did my husband have to lose his mom when they were both so young?
Why did our friends have to lose their babies?
Why did our loved one have to go through the loss of a marriage? 
Why did each of our boys have the diagnoses that needed surgeries at their little ages? 
Why sudden pains and losses and life changes we just don't want to swallow.
...Oh-so many more stories we just didn't want to include in our stories.

These longer-past events, they may have some sort of answers and meaning.
But the raw, fresh circumstances? So hard to see as clearly.

Can we trust there is a purpose for those things?

As I took a moment of somewhat-quiet while the boys watched an old children's Christmas movie I grew up watching, it suddenly hit me: 

• When Mary and Joseph arrived at the inn "late" and all available rooms were taken, it SO would not have seemed ideal. Not one bit. Yet that was part of The Big Plan, for them to not have all the comforts and expectations of theirs met how they probably wanted. Not how they dreamed. NOT IDEAL.

• And before that, when they had to face the reactions of their peers and community with their unplanned-by-them pregnancy... that had to have been a horrendous experience to live through. Not easy. NOT IDEAL.

• And when they had to take that long and uncomfortable journey (pregnant and dusty and riding a donkey? As someone on my fourth pregnancy, I just cannot imagine. Not comfortable!) NOT IDEAL.

• And so when they finally arrived at their destination (later than all the others in the crowds), discovering there was no private space to rest in? Not lovely or pretty. NOT IDEAL.

But, was there meaning and reason behind each of these ordeals? 
These parts of the story they probably didn't like? 
Or times we felt "late" and that the timing was off (late to arrive, not how we envisioned a life event, our hope to be comfortable and at ease)?
Absolutely.  
And it's what we treasure about the story of Christmas: 
The sacrifices, the trust, the love, the faith. In something bigger than themselves or what they could see.
It just didn't seem clear or lovely way right away.

When I look back at those earlier past questions, I can see some meaning...
Why such losses and why such tragedies.

 


 The beauty from the ashes.






The deeper love for another.

The deeper appreciation for the good.

The deeper maturity in your soul.

The deeper faith grown.

The deeper understanding that we are not the biggest thing in the world. 
(There is something more.)

This quote stands out in my mind as these thoughts flutter around:

"The demanding of my own will is the singular force that snuffs out joy." 

(Ann Voskamp, 

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2014/12/light-the-candles-advent-devotionals-week-03-joy-video-experience/)

So. 
When my expectations and will for the rest of this week (and this life's season) may not turn out how I had hoped... 
And when I wonder and question why certain circumstances are the way they are:
This is okay, even the best way. 
Letting go. 
And resting in the larger meaning, beyond what I can see right now.
Trusting that one day, someday, it will be clear.

"Rest happy and love this story of a coming King 
who prepares the downtrodden for Christmas by becoming the Way, 
who lays Himself down in the creche, on the Cross, 
so we can lie down and rest."
(Ann Voskamp, "The Greatest Gift")

So I am slowing down and trying to remember to shut out all the clutter and worries, 
huge and tiny.
May you slow down also, and look back on the meaning in how your story has gone...

(At least for the moment.
Then we'll need to be reminded again.)

Blessings on your own season, 
Elizabeth