One Might Hope

Hope.
It is the best of feelings,
It is the worst of feelings.
(And yes, I think 'ol Charles Dickens would totally agree.)

Hope can be the only light to get you through an incredibly dark situation.
It can be the one thing that keeps you hanging onto a lifeline in seemingly impossible circumstances.
It can be the tiny warm spark that keeps your dwindling light from being extinguished.

When life comes crashing down...we--as humans--are wired to hope for something better. Having that belief that something better could possibly happen, is to have hope.
It helps us see potential beauty where there is currently none.
It enables us to move forward in anticipation of a better situation than the one we are in at the time.
It gives us courage to keep trying because we know there is a possibility of success.

Hope can make us strong, help us persevere and bring us joy. Even the bible tells us that, until the day when we're finally standing next to God, it's one of the three most important things we can have in this world (1 Corinthians 13:13). Hope is good. It is so so good.

Hope, the expectation of something good coming, is even more beautiful when that expectation becomes a reality. When a hope is realized, no matter how big or small, there is something that happens in a heart that is almost indescribable. It's like a missing piece of a huge vase is finally snapped into place and whatever has been slowly trickling (or pouring) out is stopped and suddenly, finally, you have the capacity to be full and whole again.

But, there is another side of hope.

It's the side we experience when an expectation simply dies.
When we face a reality that is not at all what we hoped for.
When what we so desperately wanted is no longer a remote possibility.
When we have to face the realization that the success of a particular dream has simply not happened, and never will.

Depending on what that particular hope was, the failure of it can be the most devastating and crushing feeling in the world. The weight on our chests of a failed hope makes it hard to breathe, hard to stand, hard to keep going.

When God's answer isn't, "Wait.", or "Maybe later."....but a quiet firm, "No.", it can feel like the most severe punishment in the world. It can make us question our desires and doubt everything we have worked for. It can bring us to the point where we know we will never, ever, ever try something again.

You see, when we experience the soul-crushing that can come along with a dashed hope, we often make a seemingly wise choice: to not put ourselves in that precarious position again. If we don't allow hope to wrap a delicate tendril around our situation, then we don't risk ripping it into shreds when that situation explodes around us. No hope at all has to feel better than pulverized hope, right?

The simple answer? Sometimes yes. And sometimes no. If I've been in a particular situation dozens upon dozens of times...and each time it's ended in the exact way I hoped it wouldn't....it might seem better to stop hoping for a different outcome and consistently getting my heart crushed. Truthfully, it would probably be even better to stop putting myself in that same situation and make some different plans..but, if that's not possible, I think it sometimes is better to accept reality and stop hoping it will be different. For instance, if every single time I present an idea to my boss (feel free to substitute spouse, parent, friend or whatever here) I KNOW that she will make a snide comment and then later claim it as her own brilliant idea...if I KNOW it will happen because it's happened a bazillion times before even though I've talked to her about it...then I might as well stop hoping she will respond with respect and subsequently getting my feelings hurt. Since I can't avoid this person, it would help me to just go into the situation knowing what's going to happen, and possibly even finding some morbid amusement over it. Here, suppressed hope is probably best. Then, if there is another outcome...I'll happily take the surprise.

Other times I don't think we're supposed to deny ourselves hope, however scared we are of the outcome. After all, it's the idea of hope that allows us to forgive someone for the 77th time and let them try to make things right again.  It let's us keep trying to make something better that's been so difficult....because we see a possibility of a improvement. It's what makes a kid ask EVERY SINGLE NIGHT OF THEIR EVER-LOVING LIVES if they can have dessert before dinner...because there is a super slim possibility of a "yes".

Sometimes we should accept a situation for what it is and stop adding hope to an equation that always results in hurt. Other times we should do everything we can to fan the little flame of it because we truly believe it's possible. The hardest part sometimes, is knowing the difference. So how do we?

Well, we ask.
We pray and ask the One who knows what the future holds if it's time to give into acceptance or to keep fighting the fight. Believe me...God is well aware of what a powerful emotion hope is. In fact, the bible tells us,

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
But a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."
(Proverbs 13:12)

God knows how crushing a denied hope can be...how sick it can make our very heart. But, He also knows that our very soul can draw strength and life from prayers and hopes that are answered in the way we dream about. When we don't feel released from something...when we feel compelled to keep praying for a certain outcome, when we feel drawn to hope for something that seems impossible to the world...that just may be the Holy Spirit stirring up those embers to make sure our fire doesn't die out. Sometimes, having the strength to keep hoping can only be done by believing that God is way bigger than the circumstances. At the same time, having the strength to gently lay that hope aside and accept what life has dealt you can only be done by believing in God's promise that He only wants the best for you...that He has something better in store for you than what you were hoping for in the first place.

And that's an answer in itself now, isn't it? When you do experience the devastation that comes with a deferred hope (because if you live long enough.....you certainly will!), truly believing that God has a better path in store for you just may be enough to keep a tiny sliver of that emotion alive--even if it's hidden underneath a whole lot of ugly debris.

So I guess I need to amend my original statement a bit.
Hope realized is an amazing feeling.
Hope denied is an awful feeling.
But hope itself is simply necessary. It keeps us living, keeps us trying, keeps us going.
And one day, one beautiful day, it just might get us dessert before dinner.

Wrestling Match

You know how sometimes God puts a book in your hands that PERFECTLY speaks to you and the place you're living in at that exact moment? Yeah. That.

I've been reading this book called Daring to Hope by Katie Davis Majors that's doing just that for me.  In it, the author recounts the story from Genesis where Jacob wrestles with a man sent from God. The wrestling match by the river goes on all night, and though he can't win, Jacob refuses to let go. As dawn is approaching the heavenly guy touches Jacob's hip, divinely wounding him, and Jacob still refuses to release him. Jacob audaciously demands that this being bless him, and the warrior does just that...while giving Jacob a new name at the same time. The meaning of the new name is "one who has struggled with God and with men and has prevailed." As Jacob limps away with his withered hip he names that place "Peniel", which means "I have seen God face to face and my life is preserved,"
(Genesis 32).

The reason that the book's author fixates on this story is because she has been doing some struggling of her own with God. She has asked some hard tough questions of Him...mixed in with some big doubts and heartbreaks from answers she's received. Through all of her questioning though, God never let go of her. Katie says that at the end of this gigantic wrestling match, even though she was battered and scarred, she had a new closeness with God that hadn't been there before.

It's a beautifully written story. I highly suggest you read the whole book...and the one she wrote before it too! But before you think this is just a book promotion, I'll add the personal blog point of it too.

I've had times this year where I've definitely struggled with God. I would even say I'd struggled against Him sometimes. But, instead of wrestling with my fears and hurts...I've taken another route. I've smiled and said "Father, I accept this and thanks for being here with me through it."And I've believed it with all of my being!

Now listen. I know this alternate route I've taken is a good one. The right one. The one God wants me to be on and the one that I myself want to be one. So what's the problem?

Well...there also came times when I wasn't fine. When I'm not fine. And in those moments...the ones where I was truly afraid or angry or sad or overwhelmed....I just put on the same smile and told myself I was JUST FINE. Instead of asking the hard questions and beating on His chest with my struggles, I told Him and myself and anyone who asked that I knew God was in control and everything was going according to His plan.

Did I believe that? Yes, I did and I do. But I still had struggles. I still had hurts. I still had my "injured hip" and I was finding it very hard to walk along in a normal life with such a profound limp.

You see, even if we are given an initial crazy-peace and acceptance that passes all understanding of something we are going through...there's always a "later" when troubles can pop up. Satan sometimes waits until the big crisis is over and the prayers wane a little bit to slip in and bring some old fashioned doubt, pain and hurt with him. That's the point where we make a choice: do we bring these struggles before God and wrestle with Him over their validity? Or do we just paste a smile on our face, shove them deep into the some hidden part of our heart and tell everyone (including God!) that everything is JUST FINE?

That's where I have chosen poorly in the past. It's hard for me to rationalize slipping back into distress when God's already allowed me to overcome so much. Sometimes I feel the pain from that "wrenched hip"and think to myself, "No no no no....I cannot go back there and re-live this....it really hurt and I am way to exhausted and overwhelmed to do it again. I'm fine. By God's grace I'm truly OK and I can't chance NOT being OK."

So I bury my issues and throw myself into living. For the most part, I do quite well with it. I truly do believe that God is real and big and beautiful and loving, and that He wants good things for me. But, at some point the buried issue pile gets big enough to cause a bump in the carpet of my life...and being the clumsy being that I am, I will eventually trip over it and things Will. Scatter. Out.

So you know what I'm learning? I've got to take these struggles to the mat. Every time. I've got to hash them out with the only One who's big and strong enough to take it...whom I don't have to worry about wounding with my angry words or blaming tone. I need to be honest with my Maker. Tell Him that I am scared. That I am mad at what's been lost. That sometimes my hurt overwhelms any healing I've had. I can't hold anything back; I have to wrestle with every ounce of strength in my body. When I do that then I will know that I've given Him the very biggest worst version of my doubting self. And then when He scoops me up and pulls me close, when He cups my chin to turn my tear-streamed face so its right next to His...well, I know if He won't let go of me at that point, then He never will.  Wrestling with Him brings me close to Him. When I've seen Him face-to-face He preserves the life He wants me to have.

Then, when I look at my scars (be they hips or other injuries...) I can remember what He brought me through. Instead of being afraid of the pain that came with the infliction, I see the strength and consistent presence that healed and restored me to a new version of myself. I have a new name.

If the struggles come back (because so often they do!), then I know I can look at my scarred self and instead of feeling exhausted and wounded, remember that I am a "new self" with a proven track record of God being on my side. I can stop and deal with those hurts again...but each time will be easier as long as I put them on the mat in front of God and let HIM do the wrestling. You see...God is pretty big. And (spoiler alert!), He always wins. But He can't beat those struggles if I don't bring them to Him!

I'm thankful I found this book. I'm thankful for the reminder that "Fine" isn't a permanent state of being, but that it can be restored even when it's lost. I'm thankful that God is better at wrestling than I am, and that He's always willing to go a couple rounds with me when I need it.

Lastly, I'm thankful that I can still beat my 14 year old son and nephew in real-life wrestling, even though it may cost me a couple of chips in my teeth. It's the little things....

Gripe Session

I'm feeling a little frustrated today. I'm ready for things to be back to normal. I think I look normal(ish), and for the most part act it. But, in all honesty I just don't feel it.

That's a problem you see, because when people in my life (and on the periphery) ask how I am doing,  I say "fine".  And because all appears "fine", they believe it and expect me to act fine.

(I don't want to tell every single person how I feel, and I don't want to bug anyone with my complaints. It's much easier to say that all is well and move on. Sure we're supposed to be honest...but to be honest...it's annoying for anyone to hear constant whining!)

The truth is...I feel tired. Really tired. My arms and legs are heavy and my head feels like there is a weighted blanket draped across my brain. My headaches are still there...not constant but appearing toward the end of the day and running from behind my eye to the back of my head. If I have to talk with someone about something slightly tricky (including my fam) then the headache gets worse.  It's fine when I'm having a normal conversation with just one person, but if two or more people start talking to me at once, or I'm supposed to be multi-tasking, or if someone is speaking loudly in my face everything in my body tenses up and I get almost shaky. I can't focus and I either get totally overwhelmed to the point of tears or get ridiculously angry and snap. Hence...I'm not such good company.

Then I get into bed and I can't sleep....and I'm actually normally an amazing sleeper! I've tried getting up early the day before, taking a nap to "reset", working out twice and nothing changes. But...I can hardly get up in the morning too. Weird.

There are some lifestyle changes I'm going to have to make. No caffeine for one, a bunch of medication every night, being super cautious (and worried) about migraine triggers, and bowing out of certain commitments. So I'm doing it, but I'm not really focusing on the fact that these changes are life long. I'm just doing them day by day and not facing reality, if that makes sense.

When I think back to the other big life-changing crisis points in my life, I remember feeling like this. I slept very little and made it though the day with tons of coffee, then passed out late at night and woke up early. It must be my coping mechanism, flawed as it may be. Put one foot in front of the other until one reaches a point that one can face the new normal. It's worked for me before so I trust it will work again.

The only difference here is that it's possible that some of the meds may be causing the tiredness, and apparently a "post-stroke-brain" normally has issues with lack of concentration, trouble multi-tasking and emotional lability. Whichever....it's here. It's just hidden and I have to try to feel as normal as I look. It'll happen someday, or I'll get used to this normal. I hope I won't live in fear, and I hope I won't make my kids feel badly when they're stressing me out.

That's it...just wanted a non-burdening place to gripe.

I'm 43 and I had a Stroke

I have a joke for you:
--How do you know when date night is over?
--When your wife comes downstairs dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and tries to talk to you but her speech is so slurred that you can't understand her and you realize half her face is totally drooping.

Ok, it's not funny.
I know.
But sometimes a scary reality is best smothered in humor so that it can be told without abject fear piercing through it.

(I think this technique only works if you yourself are the subject of the situation. That Friday night, I was the subject, so I'm going to use my "humor deflection" whenever I feel I want or need to. So there.)

The younger two kids were at their cousin's birthday party overnight and Barrett and I were enjoying a glass of wine with our neighbor and my mother-in-law.  My 16 year old had joined us and we were chatting (actually, THEY were fiercely debating and I was looking on with some amusement) about politics and the application of the Constitution. When we had solved the world's problems Bennett left for the homecoming game and the adults finished their glasses and headed home. Barrett and I realized that we had the house to ourselves for a few hours. This NEVER happens, so we decided to go out back and relax in the hot tub for a while. We looked at the stars and chatted about life until we were hungry and came back inside. I went upstairs to change out of my wet suit while Barrett stayed in the kitchen.

Upstairs I sat on the bed and started to scroll through the emails on my phone. I had a bunch of junk I needed to delete, and I started checking the ones I wanted to move to the trash. As I was doing this I realized that I felt really really tired. The kind of tired where I wasn't sure mu eyes were totally open and my body just sort of wanted to sink down into itself. (You know when you wake up in the middle of hte night...but you're not totally awake and you try to wake up some more but your body literally pulls you back down into sleep? That kind of tired.) I also got hot. Not "on fire" hot...but definately hotter than I was in the hot tub. I pushed myself up to sitting straight and realized my throat felt weird too--as if it was catching on itself. This all happened in an instant, and I was still trying to focus on the emails. Next I realized that I was having trouble tapping the screen with my right hand. My left was working fine, but I couldn't get the fingers on the right side to touch the phone correctly. I transferred the phone to my right hand, and then lost the ability to even hold it.

As I watched my phone fall quietly to the carpet I finally became aware enough to know something was really wrong. I did a mental "systems-check" and ascertained that the right side of my body was very numb and heavy, but the left side felt ok. I pushed up to standing, and while my right leg felt utterly numb and dead, it held me. It even listened to me when I told it to walk to the bathroom. Once I caught the first glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror I knew for certain what was happening. The right side of my face looked a couple inches lower then the left. My eye was sagging, my mouth was sagging....it was pretty obvious. Still, I dutifully went through the steps I remembered from nursing school: try to smile: only one side of the mouth goes up.  Stick out your tongue: it deviated far to the side.

I was having a stroke.

I never doubted or questioned it. Instead my practicality took over. It was time to go to the ER, and one couldn't do that in one's bathing suit. I quickly changed into jeans a a t-shirt. I remember I had trouble with the button on the jeans, but I used my left hand to pick up my phone and stuff it in my pocket and grab a pair of shoes. I don't remember walking down the stairs, but I do remember Barrett's face when I walked into the den. He looked up from his phone totally confused at my appearance. He asked me something along the lines of, "Is everything ok?" I tried to answer him, but just weird sounds came out. I had to super slowly and carefully articulate the words, "I think I need to go...." and he finished for me, "To the hospital? Do we need to go to the hospital?" I nodded yes, and sat down on the floor to put on my shoes. Barrett raced upstairs to change.

From the floor I called Barrett's uncle who lives a few houses up. He's a physician and, at this point, some doubt was creeping in. I was starting to think that maybe I was just crazy and I wanted "professional confirmation" that this was really happening and that this is what it was. He answered and I managed to ask him where he was. He said he was out at his farm and asked what was wrong. I tried to tell him about my symptoms...that I couldn't feel the right side of my body and that my face was drooping and that I was having trouble talking (duh!)...but I'm not sure how much he caught of that.  His reply was simply that he would meet us at the hospital.

I walked into the garage and grabbed my purse from my car and got into Barrett's truck. I remmeber thinking how weird my mouth tasted...so I grabbed a piece of gum so that my breath wouldn't be bad. We had some trouble figuring out which entrance to go into at the hospital, and when we finally found the right door Barrett rushed ahead of me to the admitting desk. I don't know what he said, but when I got up there they had a paper ready for me to sign. I couldn't hold the pen very well, but I scrawled something. I handed some lady my license and insurance card, and the next thing I knew there was a wheel chair waiting for me.  I remember there was a little boy waiting to be seen: he had a magazine wrapped around his arm and was holding in gingerly. He looked at me in astonishment as they nurses took me in first, and I felt so bad for him...

From that moment on it was a literal whirlwind. A CT showed I had no large bleeding in my brain so it was off to the MRI.  That was a little bit harder because the staff wasn't sure what magnetic power they could use on me due to a little plug I have in my heart. I remember the nurse and I googling it, I and was thinking---"this can't be OK!" I remember asking Barrett to call the hospital in Kansas City where I'd had my surgery and having them verify it. All this time my speech was getting better, then getting worse. Better, then worse. Nurses and doctors were circling my bed (as well as a couple of EMT students learning to start IV's!).

I finally made it into the MRI. Once I was convinced that nobody had gotten the power wrong and that little metal plug wasn't going to come forcefully shooting out of my chest, I had a chance to think about what was going on.  I'd like to believe that any medical professional who could have access to my thoughts during that 20 minutes in the loud metal tube would have been utterly impressed with my reason and logic. I'd LIKE to believe...

I am not a candidate for a stroke...I'm young(ish) and a runner. I eat pretty well and don't smoke...and my blood doesn't have the propensity to clot too much. I take aspirin every day! I have been having a lot of migraines lately though. Those might be from little clots.  Hey...maybe this is a screwy migraine. One of those hemipeligic ones I've learned about. That can totally mimic a stroke. And that would probably be caused by a vasospasam...which could tighten and loosen...which could be the reason my speech is waxing and waning! There! Diagnosis complete! Who needs the hospital??!

As I exited the MRI room there was a new person standing there. Wearing a long white coat and looking very official, she greeted me and introduced herself as a neurologist. I said "hello" and realized my speech was good again. As she walked back to the ER next to my wheelchair I explained what my certain diagnosis was, and how even though it wasn't a great experience to have it was way better than a stroke.

The doctor was strangely silent as I got back into my ER bed and she pulled up some MRI images on a screen.

"Look here," she said, pointing to a bright white line in an otherwise darkish area of the left hemisphere of my brain. "You've had a stroke."

She continued talking about the pros and cons of starting TPA (a clot-buster commonly used to treat acute strokes) but I don't think I really heard her. I nodded appropriately and let her perform another stroke-scale evaluation, but wasn't really able to engage in what was happening. Then she said something about needing to consult with someone and stepped out.

At this point Barrett's uncle looked at me and said, "Can I please call your dad now?"
And Barrett said, "Can I please text your Bible Study and ask them to pray now?"

"Yes."

The doctor came back in and I asked her if there was anything I needed to be on the alert for when I went home. She stared at me slightly incredulously.
"I'm not letting you go home.  You just had an acute stroke!"

From there the whirlwind turned into a tornadic frenzy of activity... there were more tests that night and the next morning then I can remember. I was moved into another room with people who did neuro checks every 30 minutes. The decision was made to transfer me to Kansas City to the hospital where I'd had my heart procedure done 5 years prior. They had a Level One Stroke Team and were able to do additional testing if needed, plus they were familiar with my heart device. The next day around noon I was bundled into an ambulance and carted north. I asked the driver to PLEASE abstain from lights and sirens....I was already past my limit of drama that day...and he agreed.

I spent the next four days in the KU hospital with an amazing team caring for me. My dad and step mom met us in KC, and my dad's experience as a critical care pulmonologist helped ease our minds as we tried to figure out what was happening. I had just about every possible test invented...and a few I suspect where created just for me!

Over and over I heard from the doctors, "You're not our typical stroke patient! Your heart/arteries/clotting factors/vessels/cerebrospinal fluid/blood tests/blood pressure/cholesterol look amazing!"

Lovely compliments certainly--it's not every day ones cerebrospinal fluid is compared to "champagne"!  However, it left us with no good answers.  There is a possibility that my stroke was caused by a migraine...that's happened in rare cases. That doesn't mean it WAS a migraine unfortunately...it just means that certain kind of migraines actually cut off blood supply to the brain by means of a micro-clot or a severe vasospasm, causing an acute stroke.

So, by diagnosis of exclusion, we can say that my stroke was either caused by a migraine or it was cryptogenic (of unknown origin).  Either way we treat it...with blood thinners and migraine-preventatives.

Will it happen again? Maybe. Maybe not. Only God knows what's in store for me. But, considering how well He worked out the details and every facet of my experience last time...I know He's there and will take care of me no matter what happens. For now it's enough to keep on moving forward...to keep living.

Once again I was given a gift of changed perspective without anything too horrible happening. I have friends who have gotten testing done because of what happened to me. I have reordered my priorities. I have remembered how to be humble enough to accept help. I have learned to slow down and just be present.

God's done a beautiful job of restoring me. I have a few struggles which are gradually disappearing, and I believe I will be all I need to be soon. I have had a lot of people ask me if I'm mad...or if I'm asking Him, "Why?", or if I'm scared.  Truthfully?  I don't understand why it happened, but I'm not angry about it. It just DID. God didn't cause it, but He certainly helped me through it..and I feel a huge sense of thankfulness for that. Am I scared it's going to happen again? Well, I don't really WANT it to, so I'll do what I can to prevent it. But...I might get hit by a car tomorrow. Or a meteorite. Or worse...something could happen to my family. If I really deeply considered and focused on all the things that COULD happen I wouldn't be able to leave my bed in the morning. So I don't obsess. I just remember that what's going to happen is going to happen: I pray for protection for my friends and family, and I do what I can to keep all of us healthy.

So forgive my bad joke at the beginning.  I could blame the stroke for my altered sense of humor, but that would just be lying: it's always been off!  However, I am totally going to pull the "stroke card" next time I can't remember some one's name, or birthday, or commitment I made, or when I forget to bring something. Good can come from anything you know...we just need to see it.

(view from my hospital window in KC)

Beautiful Disasters

Disasters.
There are many
many
many
many
different levels of disasters.

My daughter's room after a 12 minute play-date:
Disaster.

My teenager's closet after he "organizes" his room:
Disaster.

My RH's bedside table (which is piled so high with junk important stuff that it's continually toppling over in the middle of the night LOUDLY):
Disaster.

Really...I've found that I use that word kinda often.

The state of my garage,
An attempt to make banana bread in a convection oven,
The basement after a ping pong tournament,
The kitchen table after six kids devoured cupcakes,
The idea of doing "summer math",
RH's dog's encounter with a skunk,
Shake's being out of wedding cake for my concrete.....

All things I've labeled "disasters."


But seriously?

Whatever.
Minor inconveniences, really.
Many of them are even kind of humorous.
(But not the Shake's one.  Not at all.)

Real disasters.....
Those are different.

A tornado ripping through your town?
Pretty disastrous.

A tornado taking away someone you love?
Even way way worse.

Disasaters are relative....
and there is always something worse.
Always.

My family and I saw our town turn into a disaster area a little over two years ago.
Literally.
'Ol Obama himself came and declared us an official disaster zone.

We walked over it.
We climbed on it.
We smelled it.
We lived in it.

It was hard...
And sometimes kind of scary.
But after a while we became somewhat....
well...
Accustomed to it?
Used to it?
Pretty blasé about it?

Maybe.
You almost have to, sometimes.

Then a year later we were in Indiana a few weeks after some horrible tornadoes had ripped through several communities.

The damage was no where as wide spread as Joplin....but it was pretty nasty.

I was worried about how the kids would react to seeing the damage around us.
Would they have flashbacks?
Would it be scary to them?
Would it bring back memories they'd worked to overcome?

Well....
We pulled into town and came up to some of the more damaged areas and turned off the kids' (mind-numbing keep-'em-quiet for the trip) movie and told them to look.
They did.
And kind of shrugged their shoulders.
"Looks like Joplin.  Not as bad.  Where are the people we can help?"

Ok then.
Have they become numb to disasters?
Are they compartmentalizing?
Have they run out empathy?

Fast forward to Hurricane Sandy.

I have family on Long Island.
They had to evacuate and we kept in close contact with them.
When the ocean met the bay over their home....we tried to convince them to come to Missouri.
("Forget it! Too many tornadoes there!" )

My kids were worried about their relatives....
But didn't seem too shocked by the pictures of the damage.

When we went to New York this summer and saw a boat still in someone's front yard they thought it was interesting.
Interesting.
Hmmmm.

We were in Moore, Oklahoma this summer where the damage is still quite fresh.
I believe that it's an official disaster as well....thank you Mr. Obama.

Again....the kids were relatively unimpressed with the rubble fields previously known as homes around them.
Again....they kept their eyes peeled for people we could make contact with.
People who wanted to tell their stories.
People who wanted to be heard.
People who wanted cookies.

That afternoon we went to the Memorial Museum for the Okalhoma City Bombing.

Wow.

(Side note:  That might be the most impressive and heart-wrenching place I've been to. 
Beautifully done.
Impossible not to be touched deeply.)

Lots of pictures and examples of the debris.
Lots of survivor stories.
Lots of tributes to those who were lost.

As I walked around I noticed that my kids were drawn to the pictures of rescuers.
They seemed most interested in the stories of the people who came to help.
They loved seeing a wall of T-shirts with all of the places on them that people had come from to help.

Now.
I realize my kids have been exposed
(purposely in some cases)
to many "disaster areas".

I've had people question my reasoning and parenting in allowing them to see these things.

Here's the deal.
I did NOT choose to expose them to their first "big disaster."
But it happened.
And they saw.

And....as they kept seeing....
Their focus became directed toward the "helpers."

And...
Eventually....
to how they could help.

Apparently the legendary Mr. Roger's had a quote he used when disasters were unfolding: 
"Look for the helpers.  You will always find people who are helping."

Well....
My kids have not seen Mr. Rogers.
I'm relatively certain they have no idea who he is.

But....
Kids (and people) WANT to find the good.
They WANT to find the helpers.

They naturally search for the good....the Godly....the pure .....in the midst of disasters.

Even when I find myself tearfully aghast at someone's story....
I have a kid tugging on my sleeves and smiling and waving at volunteers walking toward us.

They look for the good
Because they know there IS good.

Have I done something to teach them this?
Heck-to-the-no.

They just haven"t (perhaps)
Grown up enough to become negatively focused.

Where I might see shattered dreams....
They see cool youth groups coming to help clear someone's lot.

Where I might fixate on the "could have been so bad"'s.....
They focus on the "it turned out ok!"

When I might see an overwhelmingly huge (literal) debris field...
They notice the sunflower growing next to piles of smashed homes.

My kids have shown me lots.

Some of it I don't always want to see like what random food they're currently chewing on  because, as an adult (or is it just me????) I need to see the "ugly" so that I can empathize and sympathize and be 100% ready and willing to sacrificially help.

But....when I do see what they see....
I find hope.

And don't kids live in a perpetual state of hope?

And isn't that a pretty darn good state in which to live?

(Less tornados there, I think.)

Point being....
I think it's ok for my kids to see real life.
I think them seeing that bad things can happen
(because they do)
is ok because THEN they see how goodness blooms out of all of that dirt.

That being said...
I don't let them watch certain movies.
I turn off the news when certain stories come on.
I monitor what they see on the computer.

I want to preserve their innocence to certain kinds of ugliness for as long as I can.

Because,
I know,
That someday they will be thrust out from under my wings into the real cold scary world.

I pray that by then they will be so good at looking for...
the helpers,
the good things,
the way God brings beauty out of disaster..

That they will be able to keep on keepin' on without
cynicism or
despair or
paralyzing fear
or anger....

That they will be able to look past the "yuck" and find the hope.
And...that they will be able to search for ways to serve and help.

I want my kids (and I want myself!)
to know know know know know
that in the midst of any type of disaster....
God is there.

And when He is there,
Because He is there...
it will,
eventually,
truly,
be ok.

And doesn't God, in His awesomeness, sometimes use people to show other people how He loves??

By being there...
By being in the "disasters"...
By being ready and available....

Maybe we can be lucky enough to be used.

So we will keep on.
Trying to be there.
Looking for ways to help.
Searching for the good.
Pointing out the helpers.

Learning gradually daily minutely to focus on the bits of beauty amidst the chaos.

And maybe...
Just maybe....
we will even be able to find the clean spot on my daughter's floor and use it to stand in as we begin cleaning up the mess.

Maybe.

Splinters

A while back my dear father said,
"I think your whole town has PTSD."

I agreed then that at that point....he was probably right.

However....we've come a loooooooooooooooooooong way.

We've grown.
We've healed.
We've learned.
We've eaten Shake's.

Last week-ish we had our first really big bout with severe weather since the tornado.

(Not counting that micro-burst that hit us the first morning we were in our new house and literally knocked me over on my screened in porch and messed up our new roof.....)

When the horrible storm hit Moore, Oklahoma
the images and stories hit awfully close to our Joplin hearts.
Then we saw the storm coming our way.
Then the sirens went off.
In fact....the sirens went off THREE times.
People scattered to their various shelters.
(and the the weirdly humorous and slightly self-deprecating comments
began flowing all over fb and texts:
"We are the mole-people!"
"I think we live in Meerkat Manor!"
"Dang...left my wine on the counter!")
And it was over without incident.

Then the anniversary of our May 22nd storm came along.

And again....we were basically ok.

Yes.
There were memories.
There were fears.
There were tears.
There was mourning.

But we were ok.

(And to make this self-centered....
I was ok.
I was cautious.
I was prepared.
I had my little ducks all in a crooked screwy row and within arm's reach.
I was prayed up.)

And we did it.
We made it through.

Hooray us.
Hooray me.
Adios PTSD!

Ha.

Ha. Ha.
(Can you hear the slightly maniacal inflection in that laugh?)

Sooooo......
Yesterday it was stormy again.
In fact it was supposed to be pretty darn stormy overnight too... and my eldest wanted to stay the night at a buddy's house.

I actually considered keeping him home....
but realized that was neurotic and crazy and pretty non-trusting of the Father that loves him a HECK of a lot more than I could.

So I checked with the other mom and made sure they had a safe room in a basement (they did)...and I dropped him off.

And my stomach was actually kinda twisted about that.

The other two wanted to eat at the mall and then do some shopping.
While we were eating the sky got really dark....and I got the "tornado watch" text from the local weather station.

I told the kids I didn't have "the right part of my wallet" (What?!?!?! That was a graceful sense-making--lie-under-pressure) and we needed to run home for a minute....and we left the mall right after eating.

Wait....
I'm NOT neurotic.
Right?
I said, RIGHT???

Anyway....I screwed my head back on and weheaded out a few hours later
for Ethan's saxophone lesson.
(Hooray again....neuroses conquered.)
It was a little rainy then, but nothing too bad....so we zipped over to the 15th St Walmart to grab a few groceries. 

(Mind you.....this was the store that was smashed two years ago....where quite a few people lost their lives....where two of my friends and their sons survived but went through a terrifying experience that they had just shared with me last week.)

As we were shopping it began to rain REALLY hard.

I noticed a group of  Walmart manager-types marching en masse down an aisle.
Then they marched back the other way.
Several times....not smiling....just purposefully marching somewhere.

We finally got to the check out....and it was raining so hard it was hard to hear people talking.

Our cashier was a young lady who looked at me nervously and said,

"Are you from Joplin?"

I knew exactly what she was asking.

"Yes.  Are you?"

"Yeah.  Were you here for the tornado?"

"Yes.  We weren't at Walmart though....were you?"

"No.  I was at my pastor's house.  But it got hit.  Demolished.  Only thing left standing was the bathroom we were in...and that had a hole in the roof where we should have been pulled out."

"That 's really scary."

"Yeah.  And see the mangers all marching back and forth now?  Looking out the doors?  They were doing this last week when all the sirens started going off."

"You were here?  Where did you go?"

"There's a big shelter here now.  We went back there. "

"That's good.  That's safe."

"Yeah....I hate this.  I can't even hear with this rain.  I hate this."

I reminded her that God had kept her safe before...
And that there is a safe place in the store now....
And showed her on my phone how the radar showed the storm was passing....
And held her shaking hand.

And cell phones were ringing all around us...
And the man behind me was assuring someone loudly that "It's just rain!"....
And the managers kept marching quickly without smiles...
And the thunder rolled.....

And I smiled at my kids and told them we could run by Shakes on the way home.
(Hooray...I am the comforter and Shakes-provider and I neuroses conqueror.)

We stood at the door with our cart for a moment trying to decide if we should get wet or wait.

A Walmart employee swam walked in, looked directly at me and said,
"I really don't want to be working here in this weather."

The rain poured but the thunder had stopped and the kids wanted to
go go go go go go.
I put them in front of me and opened our tiny useless umbrella and told them to hang on to the cart...
And out we went.

JUST AS SOON AS we shot out into the downpour my cell phone alarmed.

Not the gentle "You have a text" ding....
But the

BRAAAAH 
BRAAAAH 
BRAAAAH

alert that you can hear above a pounding rainstorm and loudly laughing kids.

And I stopped in the middle of the slick crowded parking lot
and frantically searched through my now sopping-wet purse for my phone
because IF the alarm said a tornado had been sighted.....
Well....
I was going the heck back to that safe room with my babies.

And my stupid phone said:

"FLASH FLOOD WARNING"

And I shoved it back in my purse and kept running and tried not to throw up.

And as we tumbled into the car and threw the groceries all over the drenched seat I could feel my heart literally pounding faster than I could comprehend.

Was it because I didn't have Bennett too?
Was it because it was a genuinely scary situation?
Was it because the moon was in the 7th house and Jupiter aligned with Mars?????

I don't know.

But I know that after I slowly drove home (via Shake's and I didn't even get anything because my stomach hurt so badly) and parked the kids in front of only the dear Lord knows what on TV....

I needed to sit down, closed my eyes, and just breathe some deep shaky breaths for a few minutes.

Maybe there is possibly some PTSD involved.
But I guaran-dang-tee you it's not just me.

I read THIS ARTICLE in our newspaper that said the combination of events last week (Moore, our tornado anniversary, bad storms and sirens here) resulted in a larger group of residents requesting mental health assistance than has happened since the year (or so) after our tornado.

It also said that just because you are aware of the weather conditions and take precautions....
it doesn't mean you have some severe post-traumatic issue.

It just means you've learned your lesson.

Lesson learned.
Gratitude in place.

I was working on a blog post about how I thought the Moore, OK tornado affected Joplin.

My ideas included some things like:

--Because we've recently been thorough such an eerily similar situation....we are in the strange position of being able to anticipate what they will need right now and in the near future.
--Because of this, we are able to offer a special kind of help.
--This help is a true blessing TO US....because it helps us turn our focus to healing someone else instead of dwelling on what happened here.

While I think all of this is still true....today showed me that we, as a city, may still have some healing to do ourselves.

So....WHAT'S my point in writing this out?

I guess it's just this:
Be gentle.
Be soft to people.
It's been two long years....but sometimes scars re-open.
People might still need to tell "their story".
Let them.

And maybe buy them some Shake's.
Or a latte.

Because I heard those help.