Enough

My sweet girl and I have a lot in common, but we have one fundamental disagreement every single day: Her hair.

I want to brush her hair, and braid it, and put in the sparkly clips, and then braid it some more, and then maybe add a third braid.

She (begrudgingly) agrees to the brushing, but she must brush it herself. And that’s it. Usually no clips, no braid, no head bands. She likes it down and then she’s off, an independent woman ready to face the day.

I try not to force it – it’s her hair, after all, and this isn’t exactly a safety issue like a seat belt. It’s not worth the inevitable fight. But there is still a part of me that feels the need to brush it just a little more, to suggest one more time that she let me put the clip in, instead of her doing it herself on the back of her head where it clings on by one strand of hair.

It was during one of the “suggestion sessions” that she turned her sweet little face to mine and sighed. “I like it this way, Mommy. I wish you did, too.”

Ouch.

Oops.

Crap.

These were all the thoughts that went through my head as I listened to my five-year-old talk. I realized what I had been doing was not giving helpful ideas, but sending her the message – over and over again – that she could be improved upon, that her beauty was not up to par… that she was not enough.

I didn’t do it on purpose, of course. I would never willingly hurt her that way. But I have a had a lot of practice at it, because I do it to myself all the time.

I am too overweight.

My house is messy.

I am disorganized.

My face is too round.

I don’t have real talent.

I’m not a good mom.

People think I’m weird.

Why do I act so obnoxious?

I talk too much.

I’m not as smart as my friends.

I wish I were taller.

I wish I had more money.

I wish I was a better mom, wife, sister, daughter, friend.

I am not enough.

Through my extensive 3.2 decades of living, I know I am not alone in these feelings. Most women (and probably men, too – shout it out, men; we take all kinds here) struggle with the balance of mom life, wife life, employee life, friend life, and everything in between.

We are told to flatter our features with make up, and we learn that make up is what makes us beautiful. We are reminded that our children need us, and we learn that they will become our sole identity. We are encouraged to keep our homes clean, and we learn that failure to do so makes us a failure, too.

For the record, there is nothing wrong with wearing make up, or raising children, or cleaning your house, or anything else that is a regular part of your life. These things are not inherently bad. But, at least for me, they quickly consume every part of my being, leaving me with the knowledge that, because I can never do every single thing (or anything) in my life perfectly, I am not enough.

I am not enough.

Then I go hang out with friends, and, because I am already prepped to believe the worst of myself, I spend more time analyzing my own words and actions than actually enjoying fellowship with my friends. I talk to my husband with the goal of proving my worth to him, and list out all the ways I have added value to our household. I meet new teachers and coworkers and bosses and pastors with the sole intent of hiding who I really am, so they might be willing to look past all the ways I fail and think well of me anyway.

I am not enough.

It’s not a fun way to live. And, after you live a certain way for a long enough period of time, you start to forget that this idea of not being enough was never true; that it was something of your own creation. You start to believe it, and you can’t remember life before it. You just know it is true.

But it isn’t true.

Genesis 1:27 says, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”

Psalm 139:14 says, “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”

The Bible tells us that we are made in the image of God – in the very image of God Himself. It goes on to remind us that we were carefully and lovingly crafted, each part of us made to glorify God and His wonderful works. A passage in 1 Corinthians reminds us that none of us is identical – we all have different talents and gifts, and the body of Christ is at its best when everyone utilizes their unique attributes. John 3:16 tells us that God loves us – we, who are not enough – so much that He sent His Son to die for us, just so we could be with God in heaven in one day.

Does that sound like someone who is not enough? Or does it sound like we have each been meticulously put together, each with qualities that we may not understand or enjoy but that are an integral part of who we are? How can we possibly improve on the image of God, on the way He has specifically created us? Am I arrogant enough to think I could do better myself?

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t mean this to sound like I am enough for myself and therefore have no need of a Savior or time in the Bible or wise guidance from leaders. I need Jesus in an increasingly desperate amount of each hour of each day.

And in that knowledge of my need for a Savior, I can also realize that the way I am – the way God Himself created me and the quirks and traits He has given me – is perfectly okay. He is the one who gave me the very qualities that I consider my worst imperfections.

There will always be things we want to improve, and things that we should always strive to do our best in. For instance, I have yet to reach the stage of my life where I feel like I really pray enough every day, and should probably cut back. I should definitely keep feeding the kids. I want to improve the quality of my work in my jobs inside and outside of my home. I do need to eat more healthy food; not because I need to be a certain size, but because I need to take care of the body and life I’ve been given. I will keep seeking ways to walk closer to Jesus and reflect Him back to my community, because that is something I will never be perfect at this side of heaven.

But the times where that voice in my head criticizes my singing during worship, or reminds me of the way I talked too loud at carpool, or pointed out that my van looks like my family has been living in it for a week – those are the times I will remember that God Himself has told me that the way I am is perfectly okay.

I am disorganized – and I’m still enough.

I talk too fast – and I am still enough.

I yelled at my kids – and I talked to them and made it right, and I am still enough.

I am overweight – and I took a step in the right direction to eat a little better today, and I am still enough.

I didn’t finish the laundry – and I am still enough.

I’ll never be a mathematician – and I am still enough.

My face is round – and I am still enough.

I’ll never be a famous singer – and I am still enough.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made – so I am enough.

You are enough, too. If you’re not sure, or if you don’t believe me – look it up for yourself. I didn’t make up those words – they came straight from the Creator. You will mess up, and you will break promises, and cheat on diets, and fight with your spouse, and neglect your home, and slack at your job. You are not perfect – none of us ever will be.

But you are enough.

Five Years of You

Dear Jenna,

Happy, happy 5th birthday!

Every year on both of your birthdays, I like to stay up until midnight, so I can sneak a peek at you or Josh right as you are turning another year older. I always look forward to it. But this year, I will admit to being a little less excited about it. Not because I am unhappy it’s your birthday, but because a little part of me is sad to see my smallest baby grow into such a big, wonderful girl.

This year has been amazing for you. The transformations I’ve seen in you have been unbelievable. You learned to swim! That was what we spent most of last summer doing. You went from being too afraid to let go of me in the water with floaties on to pushing me away so you could do it all by yourself.

Doing things by yourself has been a theme for this year. You constantly tell me, “Mom, I got this,” and you do not want any help. That has been another change for you – I remember you coming to me at the beginning of the school year and telling me you couldn’t open your applesauce by yourself. Now, you get mad if I don’t give you a chance to try on your own.

Your confidence, while always one of your strongest qualities, has grown so much this year. You used to shy away from strangers, only talk to one or two friends at school, and hide behind me when someone at church said hello. And that was all okay – I never want you to feel like those were bad things to do! They were great things, because they were you. And now, you are the girl who jumps in front of me to greet people, who introduces yourself to new friends, who has gone from one or two friends to a whole classroom full.

You love babies. You loooooooove babies. And you are so patient with them! You let little cousins and little siblings of friends play with your toys, and you walk with them to get to where they are going, and you laugh and gently tell them no when they go for a fistful of your hair. I love that about you – I love how patient you are, and what a generous spirit you have.

This year, you have also learned a lot about what it means to be a sibling of someone with special needs. Through countless therapy visits, doctors appointments, and one memorable hospital stay for Josh, you have never complained. I want you to know that, even though I don’t always get to spend the time I want to with you, I love you SO much. I love you and Joshua the same, and I wish I could always give both of you 100% of my time. But you are my strong, independent girl, and you give me the time I need to help your brother.

That isn’t to say we don’t get our fair share of play time! You and I have had countless adventures together, mostly in the mornings before school when we play with ponies, build with blocks, or explore in the resource room for craft ideas. We pretended to be invisible ninjas, and got to watch baby chicks grow. At home, we were Barbie sisters, Shopkins pals, and had dozens of “sleepovers” in the middle of the afternoon. You are always up for a new adventure, and your imagination never stops.

Your career goals have changed a little – now you want to be a fancy hair stylist for ballerinas. You will drive a van around to the fanciest places and give ballerinas the fanciest hairdos. You will call your business Orange Grape Clips, and you will also have a fancy dog. Just remember your un-fancy mom during all this, okay? I need help with my hair all the time.

Fancy things are your favorite. You love to come into my room and go through my jewelry box. You always walk away with a prize – a bracelet or necklace that was mine as a kid, and you add it carefully to your own “colleption” of beautiful things that you keep inside your Build-A-Bear wardrobe. You love make up and dresses and picking out your shoes always takes some time – and you never pick the ones I think you will.

You even wore a skirt while you played baseball – it was very “A League Of Their Own,” and you did not care one bit that it might be harder to play in a skirt. Although I don’t know if you were in baseball for the game as much as you were for the accessories… You may not ever want to do it again, but I am proud of you for finishing the season and getting your trophy!

The most exciting thing this year happened just a couple of weeks ago – we were driving Josh to school when you asked if you could pray to become a Christian and follow Jesus forever. I was so, so excited for you, and I love that you were bold enough to ask. Things like that can be hard for you – you don’t always love being the center of attention when you don’t expect it. But you asked and we talked and you prayed and it was wonderful <3

Jenna, these last five years with you have been fantastic. You are funny, and silly, and sweet, and smart. One comment I always get about you is how you are always willing to pitch in to clean up, to help out, or answer a question. You get so much joy from giving others joy. I want to be as generous as you!

You have your moments – we all do :) but even in those moments where your lip is out and your foot is stomped and your arms are crossed, I thank God for those qualities (sometimes it takes me a few hours…), because you have a boldness about you that I want you to always have.

And you are still little in just a few ways – you still use “m” for some “n” sounds, like when you “meed” something to eat. You still add an extra “ed” to things you want to make past-tense, like “fixeded.” You still believe that magic is real and that Rapunzel really did escape her tower and that unicorns live in the woods. You don’t really care if your shoes are on the right feet, and you think glitter is the answer to everything. I am clinging to these little girl qualities about you, because I know you are growing before my eyes.

Happy, happy, happy 5th birthday to the best little girl I will ever know – my Jenna, my Jenner Benner, my Beaner Girl, my Jenster, my baby. You will rock kindergarten – because you got this.

Love you forever – or, as you would say, for 9,000 days – ,

Mommy

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  “I can’t believe you forgot about me. Again.”

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Stop It

You’re in the grocery store with your baby. You have made it almost all the way through, and now you just have to grab some ice cream – uh, organic carrots, and you will be done! Your baby is still smiling from her seat in the cart, you have found your last item, and – uh-oh.

You’ve been spotted by someone. She sees you, and she sees your baby in the cart. You try to turn around, but you’re blocked on that side by one of those weird cart things that are used for stocking shelves, and why do you always manage to come on restocking day, anyway? Is there a schedule you can see to help plan your trips? Are they following you? Will they be mad if you take an item off the shelf that they literally just placed there, ever-so-carefully?

You emerge from your restocking reverie to find that the worst has happened – the stranger in the grocery store is now touching your baby.  Sure, she is only touching the baby’s hands – you know, the one place your daughter is certain to immediately stick in her mouth.

“She’s so cute!” the stranger croons, while pulling your baby’s eyelids apart and coughing directly on her iris.

You nod and smile, trying to think of a way out. Short of running this woman over with your cart – which will land you in prison, so try to resist – you have only one defense left: Your words.

But what to say? You don’t want to sound mean, because you know this woman means well. On the other hand, it is FLU SEASON, y’all, and you did not Lysol your entire house and force your family to wash their hands 80 times a day just to be brought down by some lady in the frozen foods section.

I used to struggle with this a lot for my son, but I got a super fun bonus added because he was, at separate times, on oxygen and then in a helmet. Instead of just touching my immuno-compromised baby, I enjoyed strangers asking me all sorts of personal questions, like “What is that giant green tank?” and “What’s wrong with him?” and “Do babies really need helmets?” as if I was teaching him how to rollerblade right there in the pasta aisle.

It’s easy to drink the hater-ade here and talk about how everyone is so dumb and doesn’t understand, as if I have never asked someone a silly question before. But, really, it isn’t about the people – 99% of the time, the people mean well. They just need boundaries.

Which brings us back to the question: What do you say? What do you do? It’s perfectly reasonable to not want someone to touch your baby, but you really don’t want to throw down with Stacy from the produce section just because she sneezed in your child’s ear.

I have given this a lot of thought – too much thought – because I am a people pleaser. I am also someone who has received (and continues to need) a lottttt of grace for things I have said or done, and I want to give that grace back and share the love of Christ. But in the moment, it’s really hard to take someone down the Romans Road when you want to beat them with your loaf of bread for insinuating that something is wrong with your child.

So, in my opinion, you just have to keep it short and simple. You don’t owe anyone an explanation, but since I have literally seen two women fight because one of them bumped the other’s cart and didn’t apologize well enough, maybe don’t go the super-aggressive route, either. What you need is a happy face and firm words. It goes like this:

Step 1: Stranger approaches. Stranger reaches hand out.

Step 2: Back up if possible. Block stranger’s hand and find your happy face.

Step 3: Say, “Oh, it’s flu season, sorry.”* Even if it isn’t flu season, just use that line, because the time the stranger realizes it’s July, you are onto….

Step 4: Get the heckola out of there. You don’t need to hit the turbo drive, but it’s a lot harder for someone to touch your kiddo from ten feet away.

Step 5: Don’t forget to go back for your ice cream.

See? Simple, and you have a valid medical reason (at least from October – April) that doesn’t make it personal. And you have ice cream!

*Sometimes, I also say, “Oh, he has been sick recently.” That usually gets people out of there really fast. Sometimes my daughter answers questions for me, and since she is four, she does it with the highest level of disdain in her voice that is possible to be conveyed by a human. Feel free to borrow her.

This next part is just for the strangers in our scenario. Yes, Ethel, I am talking to you – you, who thinks it’s perfectly fine to touch a baby because new moms worry too much about germs and when you were a kid your parents took you to ERs to lick the floor and let you use needles you found under the couch. I get it, girl. Babies are cute. It is not a typical occurrence for you to see a child with a helmet, or using crutches, or flapping their hands. You don’t mean any harm. You just want to visit, or you just have an innocent, curious need to know about this child’s special need.

But, sister, from me to you, heed these words:

Stop it.

Seriously. Stop it. No more touching. Don’t ask weird and very personal medical questions in the middle of the floral department. Approach from a distance, and, by all means, have a conversation! Compliment the heck out of that baby, and tell that parent what a great job they have done. Don’t make jokes about kidnapping, or offer advice. Smile, wave, and move on.

Because while I know you mean well, I also know you’ve been in my shoes before. You know what it is to have young children who you are just trying to keep healthy and happy for the duration of your grocery trip. You raised children, you love children, and you know how hard being a mom is. Bring those memories to the front of your mind with every interaction you have, and remember the days where you just wanted to keep everyone’s snot a regular, clear color, just for one week out of the winter.

When in doubt, consult Bob Newhart.

And then stop it.

Shop on, moms – don’t be afraid to speak up for your kids! And always, always – like for real, always – carry hand sanitizer in your purse.

The Day(s) My Marriage Ended

I married my husband, Daniel, on a warm spring day in 2011. Actually, since we were married March 19th, it was still technically winter. But a Georgia winter, meaning it was 65 degrees and sunny.

It was a beautiful day. My father-in-law performed the ceremony, and that day still goes down as one of the most fun of my life. We danced to all the wedding cliches, had enough candy to feed a medium-sized village, and even broke out into a flash mob at one point. It was perfect.

And then real life began. Ours, like so many young couples’, began with a joy all newlyweds have: The joy of lying. Not big lies. Not like you forgot to tell them you’re wanted in five states. But little, easy lies, like, “This dinner is delicious!” or “I definitely like this painting.” I used to sneak out of bed in the morning and brush my teeth before Daniel woke up so he would think my morning breath was naturally minty-fresh. You’re welcome for that free tip, humanity. We wanted to make each other happy, so we were willing to overlook towels on the floor or accidentally-destroyed projects (I’m still really sorry, Daniel). We made the extra effort because it was worth it.

We had been married for a year-and-a-half when we found out we were expecting our first baby. We were thrilled! As you probably know, our firstborn arrived a bit less traditionally than the average bear.

And that’s when our marriage ended the first time.

Gone were the days where our biggest worries were over whether to order pizza or go out for dinner instead. I didn’t get enough sleep to even think about waking up early to brush my teeth and sneak back into bed. Towels on the floor became just one more nuisance on a never-ending list I kept tabs on in my head.

Joshua needed our constant attention. After four months in the NICU, he came home to therapies, specialists, oxygen tubes, apnea monitors, and more. As time went on, the needs changed, but the stress of having a special-needs child didn’t.

You want to know one of the truths about having a kid with special needs? It kills your marriage. Kills it. We were both still there, still married, but the marriage we had known was gone forever. In its place was something almost unrecognizable. And it was getting worse every day.

I’ve said before that having a child like Josh changed me. In so many ways, it changed me for the better. It made me more compassionate, and more understanding of the struggles of others, and opened my eyes to an entirely new world.

In some ways, though, the changes weren’t as great. These were the changes that were the hardest to resist. I was so angry at God for allowing Joshua to have so many issues. I was angry at myself for not realizing something was wrong sooner in my pregnancy. I was angry at everyone around me. And while throughout the day, I made an effort to at least smile at other people, by the time I got home from the hospital or new specialist or therapy session, I decided I had given all I could. I couldn’t possibly deal with one more thing. And I took it out on Daniel.

Every forgotten task, every misunderstood conversation, every dish I washed alone – I kept track of it all. I knew how many times I had done the laundry and how many times Daniel hadn’t. Sure, he was working all day, but I was busy with the baby. It wasn’t fair. That’s what I kept repeating to myself. It wasn’t fair. I was a stay-at-home mom, but not by choice. I had never asked for this. I wasn’t even sure I wanted it for a long time. But then it arrived and was so much harder than I expected. And I knew I wasn’t up to the challenge. And not being up to the challenge made me defensive. And being defensive made me resentful. And being resentful made me bitter. And all of that culminated in my marriage slowly dissolving into two bickering parents who didn’t know how to stop arguing.

No one is ever 100% innocent in these kinds of things. But I will be honest and tell you that a lot of this was on me. Daniel tried his best to help me, but I didn’t want his help. And then I got angry at him for not helping me. And then he tried to help me again, and obviously that meant he thought I wasn’t doing a good enough job, and then I was angry again. And then he didn’t help, and how dare he not help me? It was a vicious cycle.

We went on like this for a few years. We had our daughter, Jenna, just 15 months after Josh was born. Daniel worked full-time, and I worked part-time for a while, eventually moving to a full-time position where I worked from home. We had two kids under the age of two, hectic jobs, financial struggles, and so many appointments to go to. Life was busy. Too busy. Jenna was a fussy newborn. Josh didn’t walk until Jenna was almost a year old. There was no rest, no time for our marriage anymore. Even if we had wanted to work on it, there was simply no time.

Same people. Different marriage.

And then one day, Daniel and I had a big argument. (I’m not trying to air our dirty laundry or anything, and I asked Daniel if he was okay with me writing this. Just want to put full disclosure out there.) It was bad. I was so angry and so tired. Josh had started an intense feeding therapy program. Daniel was dealing with some (thankfully resolved!) health issues. It was stressful. And we argued, and then I shouted that I wanted a divorce.

It wasn’t true. I didn’t want a divorce. I was so tired, so angry and bitter, and I just decided to say it, to goad my husband into arguing with me. But he didn’t argue. Instead, we sat in silence for a while. I knew I should apologize. But I wouldn’t. I didn’t.

I thought that I was already so broken that nothing could touch me anymore. But I was wrong. The look on Daniel’s face when I said those words to him made me feel like I had shattered all over again, like the day Josh was born, and all the days after when we heard more bad news. And so I made a choice.

I decided to try to let the little things go.

It was hard at first, and is still a struggle for me, if I’m being perfectly honest. But my goal was to stop looking for ways to blame Daniel, and instead look at the ways he loved me and showed me his love every day. I decided to think about his intent – did he not take the garbage out just to make my day harder? Probably not. Probably he had just come home from a really hard day at work and it slipped his mind while he was helping me with the dishes or feeding the kids. Probably I could just remind him, or even do it myself. And then we wouldn’t have to fight. Things didn’t have to turn into an argument every time one of us made a little mistake.

My other goal was to get to back to reading my Bible every day. That isn’t meant to sound self-righteous; I just knew I needed to hear what God had to say instead of screaming my own words at Him. As we say in this house, it was no longer my turn.

So I started working on my goals. And I’ve messed up so many times. But it’s been getting easier and easier.

And that’s how my marriage ended the second time.

Same people. Different marriage.

Slowly but surely, the arguments grew to be less frequent. We sought ways to work together instead of ways to blame each other for the stresses in our life. Our other situations didn’t change. Josh still had a lot of needs and was a lot of work. We still had two very little kids and very little time for ourselves and our marriage. Those things wouldn’t change. But we could. We did.

When I first decided to write about this, I was hesitant. I didn’t want to paint Daniel in a bad light, because he is a wonderful, godly man, who married a slightly crazy, super short woman. I didn’t want people to judge us. I didn’t want to come across as having so many struggles.

But I don’t think we’re alone in these struggles. Even if you don’t have a kid with special needs, your marriage has likely hit a rough patch. If it hasn’t, please submit yourself for testing at the nearest health facility, because you might be a robot.

And if you do have a kid with special needs, and your marriage is struggling, and you’re not sure how you will possibly make it through one more day of therapy, and leg braces, and helmets, and practicing stairs, and giving choices, and being a constant cheerleader and advocate for your child so they never have to feel different – it’s going to be okay. Things might not change. But you can.

Same people. Three different marriages. And we would never change a day.

The Meaning of Easter

As I scrolled through my newsfeed on Facebook this week (do you notice how many posts start with that sentence? I need an intervention), I saw lots of posts about what people are getting their kids for Easter.

That concept by itself sort of surprised me. I grew up celebrating Easter, but we stuck to egg hunts and chocolate bunnies and maybe a Backstreet Boys t-shirt (or was that Valentine’s Day?). We gathered as a family, enjoyed a meal together, and celebrated our risen Savior.

I’m not saying that to be arrogant – this is a testament to how my parents raised me, not the good choices I made. But as I see more and more posts about Easter baskets stuffed with presents and toys and more presents and more toys, I realize I do have a choice to make. Daniel and I have to decide what celebrating Easter means for our family.

I struggled with deciding how to go about this for a few days. I am what you would call a Stage Five Overthinker, and soon I was in a spiral of “NO PRESENTS AT ALL but but but other kids get presents and mine will be left out THEY MUST LEARN TO DO WITHOUT SUCH THINGS but but but a little stuffed bunny never hurt anybody NO ONLY JESUS-RELATED THINGS but but but what about an Easter basket with a cross on it??” and so on. You should see me try to decide what to order at a restaurant.

However, as I was walking through Target (all hail), huffy and alone in my principles, I saw a sign for Easter candy. The sign read “Make Easter a Little Sweeter.”

And it was there that I had a moment of clarity. I find that candy often brings me clarity.

There is no way to make Easter sweeter. It’s impossible. It’s impossible because the reason we celebrate Easter is that Jesus died for my sins and rose three days later and made it possible for us to spend eternity with God.

It just doesn’t get sweeter than that, y’all.

Easter is about remembering a time when God’s Son volunteered to come down to Earth, live among sin and sorrow, and then die a terrible death so that no one would ever have to die again. He chose to make my wrongdoings His wrongdoings and gave me the chance to walk with God every day. He did that because He loves us. He loves me, and you, and everyone.

Don’t get me wrong – I am not condemning presents on Easter. I am pro-egg hunts and may or may not be snacking on some Whopper Eggs while I type. My kids will dress up a little fancier for church tomorrow and we will have a fun day together.

But as we hunt for eggs and open our baskets and pass the rolls, let’s remember why we’re celebrating. Remember why you’re with your family this weekend. Remember why this is a holiday. Remember the real meaning of Easter, and teach it to your kids, and then break out the chocolate.

And then send me some, pls & thx.

Happy Easter, everyone!