I sometimes wonder what a normal life would look like. What's normal you ask? Well I guess it just depends on the day, but today I feel normal would be working at a place with predictable hours. Having a career where you can walk away after working 8 hours and not worry about how a family is doing with a new family member that beats other children. Or being able to step away from work long enough to not respond to emails, JUST so you don't see a "142 Unread Messages" next to the Inbox tab. I wonder what it would be like to get home at a decent hour-not leave the house at 7 and return at 7:30pm. I wonder what it would be like to just participate in church activities instead of "lead" them, or be the "head." I wonder what it would be like to feel like I've got enough time in with my family, and can spend time with just friends. I wonder what normal health would look like. You know, when you're pregnant and glowing because you're actually feeling great-that normal. I wonder what a date night looks like with the love of your life. I wonder how normal people keep up with the dishes, with the paperwork, with the Christmas shopping. I wonder how people even make time to get more conditioner. I've been out for days.
I list this all out and realize that others wish they had a "normal" life like me. Maybe because someone they love is sick, or hospitalized, or they're out of work when they wish they weren't. I get that. I'm not complaining. Really I'm not. I'm just overwhelmed. So today I wonder what uneventful, normal looks like. It's been a while since I've felt that normal, and sometimes it's just tiring to keep up with life.
But maybe I don't really want "normal." Maybe normal is boring and gives a feeling of no purpose. Maybe normal is unfulfilling. Maybe normal doesn't encompass God's beautiful and precious plan for an individual life. Maybe normal was never the plan to begin with.
So for now I'll live with chaos, with stress, with the go go go, and with constant adrenaline running through my veins. And somewhere in the "abnormal" maybe I'll see the waters begin to calm.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Thursday, July 10, 2014
What is joy anyway?
This year, 2014, has thrown a few curve balls at our family. Some have resulted in personal growth, some in just disappointment. Through some situations we've rejoiced, and others grieved until our whole body ached. 2014 has been a roller coaster to say the least. Every once in a while though, I'm blessed-more than I deserve-when I have a moment where I feel like the world stops, and my perspective is brought back into check.
Tonight was that moment.
We met up with some friends in Long Beach at a concert in the park, and it was breathtaking. Not the view (although it was really pretty incredible), not the band (let's be honest, we don't really go for them :), but the calm...the peace...it took my hurriedness away by the time I sat down on the perfectly laid out blanket. I'm not sure what it is about this place, but it just feels so peaceful. I sat sort of quiet throughout the night, just basking in the present moment. It's not often that happens. The setting is more like, rushing here, rushing there, filling out this report, calling for this appointment, telling Patrick what to pick up at the grocery store, get home make dinner quick, change diapers, yadda yadda yadda. My life isn't really in a "be in the moment" stage right now.
The peace washed over me and it was simply incredible. I enjoyed spending time with wonderful people, and was even grateful that my son stayed up until 9pm to let Mommy have some grown up time.
We left, and then came home. Put jammies on, and he said, "Mommy, duermase mi nino." We layed down on my bed, he rested his head on my chest, and I sang him the song my Grandma sang me...
"Duermase mi nino, duermase ya
Porque esta nino, muy cansada estan
la la la, la la la"
(Don't know if those are the right words-that's just what I remember my Grandma singing :)
I stroked his blonde, thin hair and sang those words over and over. His eyes grew heavy, he snuggled his arms in tight and fell asleep. I stopped signing and just stared at this beautiful boy. How did I get so lucky as to be the mother to this incredible child? Time stood still, and I laid there for just a few minutes longer. I remember that feeling of him cuddling with me-his body warmer than mine. I recall the smell of grass on him mixed with oatmeal soap that we just washed his hands with. And my heart began to run over. My joy was complete.
I really think it's in those moments that I'm reminded of what joy really looks like. This is joy. The extremely full week I just came out of-that doesn't even matter-this, this is joy. All 42 hours of unmedicated labor and then a c-section were worth this reminder that life is beautiful, precious, and so very sacred.
And it's not that life without a kid is lacking in joy. Quite the contrary. I believe joy is waiting for you to discover it, no matter what life stage you're in. This just happens to be the easiest way I discover my joy.
Don't forget to appreciate the joy in your life. It's there, I promise. Sometimes what's needed from us is a little moment and space for the joy to be revealed in it's full glory.
Tonight was that moment.
We met up with some friends in Long Beach at a concert in the park, and it was breathtaking. Not the view (although it was really pretty incredible), not the band (let's be honest, we don't really go for them :), but the calm...the peace...it took my hurriedness away by the time I sat down on the perfectly laid out blanket. I'm not sure what it is about this place, but it just feels so peaceful. I sat sort of quiet throughout the night, just basking in the present moment. It's not often that happens. The setting is more like, rushing here, rushing there, filling out this report, calling for this appointment, telling Patrick what to pick up at the grocery store, get home make dinner quick, change diapers, yadda yadda yadda. My life isn't really in a "be in the moment" stage right now.
The peace washed over me and it was simply incredible. I enjoyed spending time with wonderful people, and was even grateful that my son stayed up until 9pm to let Mommy have some grown up time.
We left, and then came home. Put jammies on, and he said, "Mommy, duermase mi nino." We layed down on my bed, he rested his head on my chest, and I sang him the song my Grandma sang me...
"Duermase mi nino, duermase ya
Porque esta nino, muy cansada estan
la la la, la la la"
(Don't know if those are the right words-that's just what I remember my Grandma singing :)
I stroked his blonde, thin hair and sang those words over and over. His eyes grew heavy, he snuggled his arms in tight and fell asleep. I stopped signing and just stared at this beautiful boy. How did I get so lucky as to be the mother to this incredible child? Time stood still, and I laid there for just a few minutes longer. I remember that feeling of him cuddling with me-his body warmer than mine. I recall the smell of grass on him mixed with oatmeal soap that we just washed his hands with. And my heart began to run over. My joy was complete.
I really think it's in those moments that I'm reminded of what joy really looks like. This is joy. The extremely full week I just came out of-that doesn't even matter-this, this is joy. All 42 hours of unmedicated labor and then a c-section were worth this reminder that life is beautiful, precious, and so very sacred.
And it's not that life without a kid is lacking in joy. Quite the contrary. I believe joy is waiting for you to discover it, no matter what life stage you're in. This just happens to be the easiest way I discover my joy.
Don't forget to appreciate the joy in your life. It's there, I promise. Sometimes what's needed from us is a little moment and space for the joy to be revealed in it's full glory.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
No words
G,
You'll have to excuse me and my poor way with words tonight. I just came from the hotel bar where myself and a BUNCH of others toasted to you. It was kind of weird though without you there, because it was totally your kind of party. A bunch of choral people, drinking, laughing, loving...it was definitely your kind of party.
I'm sure you saw (in some way or another) the service held in your honor today. It was beautiful. But I'm not going to lie, it was really draining. I don't remember grieving that deeply for anyone else in my life thus far. I'm going to choose to be grateful on that one. There were so many different perspectives spoken tonight. All about your childhood, your career, the lives you've touched, the love you spread to so many. A couple of things really spoke to me tonight. Things that made me realize how intimate of a relationship you and I had-you also had that with so many. So many people I didn't know-you touched their lives in such a similar way to mine. And it's funny because while that could be taken as me not feeling special or unique, I actually see the scope of your influence to surpass maybe even more than you knew! Or maybe that was your intention all along-to get to the innermost person and be deeply connected to the core of who they are. Either way, your sphere of influence was great. And just like A said, "I don't like speaking in the past tense"-neither do I. I think your influence continues to perpetuate forward. Each one of the people you knew is better because of you. And M charged us all to be responsible in carrying that forth into the world. I'm going to. And I'm certain many more just like me will as well.
It still feels weird to see all these choral folk, Jon, and not you. Not sure how long I'll feel that way. Or if I'll ever get over it. But for now I'll use this medium to share with you what I always would in person. There are so many things I wanted to share with you tonight. Stories that I know you would crack up over, moments watching C be hilarious, and mindless shenanigans that always ensue around the choral folk. (I shared the kissing love spot story with her by the way. She laughed and didn't remember at all, lol!) So many things I wanted to share with you, as I always have. But you're not there for me to tell these things face to face. So I trust that somewhere, somehow you just know. You know what went on tonight-to see how much people loved you (and their stories of how much you loved them). I trust that you saw how deeply moved people were to have known you.
I know you live on, and will continue to do so because I met S for the first time tonight. She told me how she's been teaching for two years and isn't quite sure if she's in the right place. She said you told her that she has to talk to me, so she's been asking all your friends where to find "Andrea." We chatted for a little bit tonight-and what a cool person. I gave her my email address, and I'm really hoping we keep in contact. She told me that you've been mentoring her, and she feels it an honor to be the last mentee you had. I remember that feeling-every time I walked away from us hanging out I felt stronger, better, more empowered, and so loved. I remember that so clearly.
I had some interesting encounters too with people of my past. I talked briefly with L before the service started, told her I was doing foster care and adoption social work. She didn't say much at the time, but then I saw her after the service and she sought me out. She said I was an amazing teacher and that there are students out there that are missing out because I'm not teaching. Pretty incredible what she said actually. I don't feel great at all around all these other "greats." On the way to Tucson I asked Patrick if I made a mistake by leaving music. He told me I could always go back. And I've really given thought to it, but here are some of the other interactions I had tonight. KT of all people came up to me and wanted to tell me how much she admired the fact that I left teaching for purpose of a heart's calling. Kinda random, and yet, wow. Wasn't expecting that at all. PM also said a similar thing and wished me well. S and I had an incredible discussion about how you-you, were the only one that got it. You were the only one that supported my decision to leave teaching, to follow my heart. And I'll be honest G, I'm not entirely sure where this call on my life is going to end up, but I know big things are ahead. Selfishly, I'm sad I can't share those with you over coffee or drinks. But truthfully, I feel spurred to become better, to become more influential, and to create greater change in this world. I remember you once said, "We teach music, we're not curing cancer." And yet, the power of music-what brought us all together today-that is a powerful, powerful force. So maybe it's closer to curing cancer than you think.
What an honor it is to know you. Yes, that's present tense. To me, you live on. That's not denial, that's an intentional statement that I plan to carry forward from today. It is an honor to have shared these many years with you in this capacity. From the moment that you congratulated me for making it into All-State Jazz as my student teacher, to the night I dropped you off at the Long Beach airport for one of your many trips back to Stockton just a couple of months ago, and beyond. I carry you with me. I always will. Thank you for believing in me, for loving me, for setting me up for success, for encouraging my potential, for teaching me about life, for being the example I aspire to be. Thank you for laughing with me, hugging with me, sharing with me, and being compassionate with me. How remarkable you are.
Love always,
Andrea
Sunday, June 8, 2014
To: G
German,
I can't fall asleep tonight, even though my eyes are burning so badly. You see, I got a call from a friend today telling us that you had passed away. That you were gone. It didn't make any sense to me, so I texted Sandy. When I saw her immediately show up as the pending call, my heart dropped. There was a lump in my throat. She said that you had a stroke and died in Italy. She said Matt called her, and I cried even harder. I somehow wanted to believe that Sandy was mistaken, that she heard a rumor from a Mesa High student, and you know those crazy Mesa High kids :) But she said Matt called her. Matt's your best friend. The rest is sort of a blur. I think I felt it necessary to tell as many people as possible, so I didn't have a chance to sit with my emotions. That didn't really work. I texted with some friends I haven't talked to in a while, and it doesn't make sense, G. I was just dropping you off at the airport a couple of months ago after a good coffee talk. We had just talked about life, and discussed huge decisions (like they always seem to come up when we're together). You had just admired Denzel and told me how beautiful he was, and smart. You had just hugged me and said, "Thanks friend."
I looked through some of your pictures on Facebook, and I increasingly could not make sense of the news I was just given. I even told Patrick, "But he's right here (pictures on the screen), how can he be gone?" I don't get it. It doesn't make sense.
I've known for 3 hours now, and I expect it to get better, but right now I can't really deal. It seems so surreal, so dreamlike. It doesn't make sense. German, you were the one who taught me about life. You taught me how important it was to feel, to express, to dream, to love, to inspire, and to follow your calling. You taught me that. I looked up to you when I was 16, when you were my student teacher. You had a passion for music that paralleled your passion for making a difference in lives. I saw you grow as a teacher when I was in college, and even had the honor to be your student teacher. What a blast we had! Do you remember all the jokes we made that only you and I got? Do you remember how much coffee was consumed before PLCs, concerts, finals? Do you remember the deep conversations we had, not just about music and teaching, but about life and purpose? Taking over your program at MHS was really hard. Those kids worshipped you. And rightfully so, I was doing my best, but you were a tough act to follow. And yet, you NEVER allowed ANYONE to speak badly about me. You set me up for success, just like you always did. You believed in me so much, from day one, through my student teaching, and through my career change. Of everyone, you were the one who accepted me as Andrea, not "Andrea who was supposed to be an amazing choral teacher." You supported my decision to follow my heart's calling, supported me, and encouraged me the whole way. My mentor German became my friend.
We continued to get together whenever possible, both in AZ and CA. I still think it's hilarious how Jon knows Patrick and I know you...crazy. I was overjoyed when you sent me the picture of your rings. I'm so sorry friend, that you weren't able to say your vows to the man you loved. I can't stop thinking about him and feeling so helpless that I live 20 minutes away and have no idea how to help him. I'll make sure to check in with him often.
I'm really writing you because the tables have turned. I'm now the one who needs therapy, needs direction, needs some coping skills, and this is the best thing I could come up with. Because you see, I would have loved to have said goodbye. I never thought there was a goodbye so close ahead. I was so looking forward to the day you'd be here in Long Beach, which was soon! I was looking forward to hearing all about your trip. I never planned to say goodbye, but I need some way to tell you what you did for me. Because it's no small miracle that I am who I am today largely because of you. Ironically, I'm sitting here with no words to say thank you, because there aren't elegant words enough. Or maybe I don't want to believe we won't ever have another coffee date, or text each other with big life changes anymore. I don't want to think that the impact you had on your sphere of influence has stopped momentarily. I can't bear the thought that Denzel won't be able to know you when he's old enough to appreciate your wisdom. And I refuse to believe that it stops here. Because as much as I can't come to grips with you being gone, I REFUSE to let your influence stop. You didn't only change my life, German, you taught me how to live. So while you continue to sing with that incredible voice of yours, the ripple effect of you will continue for generations to come. See, because I plan to carry all that you've taught me and spread it wherever I can. I can't even imagine the numerous lives you've touched through music making, through relationship, through the intimacy of knowing you.
Facebook is blowing up with pictures of you all over the place. It's hard to see you every where and think that pictures are what remain. You will forever remain in my heart, and in my mind.
I love you, G,
Andrea
I can't fall asleep tonight, even though my eyes are burning so badly. You see, I got a call from a friend today telling us that you had passed away. That you were gone. It didn't make any sense to me, so I texted Sandy. When I saw her immediately show up as the pending call, my heart dropped. There was a lump in my throat. She said that you had a stroke and died in Italy. She said Matt called her, and I cried even harder. I somehow wanted to believe that Sandy was mistaken, that she heard a rumor from a Mesa High student, and you know those crazy Mesa High kids :) But she said Matt called her. Matt's your best friend. The rest is sort of a blur. I think I felt it necessary to tell as many people as possible, so I didn't have a chance to sit with my emotions. That didn't really work. I texted with some friends I haven't talked to in a while, and it doesn't make sense, G. I was just dropping you off at the airport a couple of months ago after a good coffee talk. We had just talked about life, and discussed huge decisions (like they always seem to come up when we're together). You had just admired Denzel and told me how beautiful he was, and smart. You had just hugged me and said, "Thanks friend."
I looked through some of your pictures on Facebook, and I increasingly could not make sense of the news I was just given. I even told Patrick, "But he's right here (pictures on the screen), how can he be gone?" I don't get it. It doesn't make sense.
I've known for 3 hours now, and I expect it to get better, but right now I can't really deal. It seems so surreal, so dreamlike. It doesn't make sense. German, you were the one who taught me about life. You taught me how important it was to feel, to express, to dream, to love, to inspire, and to follow your calling. You taught me that. I looked up to you when I was 16, when you were my student teacher. You had a passion for music that paralleled your passion for making a difference in lives. I saw you grow as a teacher when I was in college, and even had the honor to be your student teacher. What a blast we had! Do you remember all the jokes we made that only you and I got? Do you remember how much coffee was consumed before PLCs, concerts, finals? Do you remember the deep conversations we had, not just about music and teaching, but about life and purpose? Taking over your program at MHS was really hard. Those kids worshipped you. And rightfully so, I was doing my best, but you were a tough act to follow. And yet, you NEVER allowed ANYONE to speak badly about me. You set me up for success, just like you always did. You believed in me so much, from day one, through my student teaching, and through my career change. Of everyone, you were the one who accepted me as Andrea, not "Andrea who was supposed to be an amazing choral teacher." You supported my decision to follow my heart's calling, supported me, and encouraged me the whole way. My mentor German became my friend.
We continued to get together whenever possible, both in AZ and CA. I still think it's hilarious how Jon knows Patrick and I know you...crazy. I was overjoyed when you sent me the picture of your rings. I'm so sorry friend, that you weren't able to say your vows to the man you loved. I can't stop thinking about him and feeling so helpless that I live 20 minutes away and have no idea how to help him. I'll make sure to check in with him often.
I'm really writing you because the tables have turned. I'm now the one who needs therapy, needs direction, needs some coping skills, and this is the best thing I could come up with. Because you see, I would have loved to have said goodbye. I never thought there was a goodbye so close ahead. I was so looking forward to the day you'd be here in Long Beach, which was soon! I was looking forward to hearing all about your trip. I never planned to say goodbye, but I need some way to tell you what you did for me. Because it's no small miracle that I am who I am today largely because of you. Ironically, I'm sitting here with no words to say thank you, because there aren't elegant words enough. Or maybe I don't want to believe we won't ever have another coffee date, or text each other with big life changes anymore. I don't want to think that the impact you had on your sphere of influence has stopped momentarily. I can't bear the thought that Denzel won't be able to know you when he's old enough to appreciate your wisdom. And I refuse to believe that it stops here. Because as much as I can't come to grips with you being gone, I REFUSE to let your influence stop. You didn't only change my life, German, you taught me how to live. So while you continue to sing with that incredible voice of yours, the ripple effect of you will continue for generations to come. See, because I plan to carry all that you've taught me and spread it wherever I can. I can't even imagine the numerous lives you've touched through music making, through relationship, through the intimacy of knowing you.
Facebook is blowing up with pictures of you all over the place. It's hard to see you every where and think that pictures are what remain. You will forever remain in my heart, and in my mind.
I love you, G,
Andrea
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Aware of the beauty
Today I experienced incredible beauty. I sat in a circle of women for Bible study, at 7:30am on a Saturday nonetheless, and I got a mere glimpse of humanity at it's finest-raw, real, vulnerable, precious, funny, serious, tender, but above all, it was beautiful. This group of women continue to pour out their hearts in struggles of every day life, in the victorious moments, and in pointing out how much we really are like each other. (And how often we feel like we're alone in that thinking, or this action!) I heard woman after woman describe their own instance of feeling sub par, less than, or just boring. This morning though, God let me see each of these women through his eyes. I saw beautiful diamonds, and what they saw of themselves was a work in progress, a dull stone.
Later this afternoon, Patrick's parents came over to work on our garden and organize our garage. RIGHT?! I know you're jealous (and you should be!). They came over just to help. It was the most incredible blessing because Denzel was sick, really clingy, and didn't get much of a nap. So he and I laid on the couch while they worked. What incredible sacrifice (NOT ME! Them of course!!). This act of glorious generosity would be enough, but what's more, is they let me and Denzel stay the night when it was 100+ one day (and we have no A/C), Jane watched Denzel the next morning while I went into work, AND dinner was made for us by 6pm. If that's not beautiful sacrifice show in incredible love, I don't know what is.
This afternoon I also had a chance to Skype with two of my college roommates. It was so good to see their faces. We laughed, made small talk, but then got down to some deep stuff. Some life-purpose stuff. And just like that, I saw the glimmer of light shine through for my friend who feels she's in a dark place. Her sense of the unknown, of feeling utter despair--I've been there. In fact, I was there just a few months ago. It's hard. No. It's impossible. And at the risk of sounding disturbingly morbid--that, that feeling right there is beautiful. Because that is real. This is real life, those are real emotions, and God does not make us void of emotion. He does not create us and say follow me like a blind bat-I'm sorry I don't believe that. I think God creates us, intricately, and uniquely to experience relationship with him in a very real way. And I can say this now, now being on the other side-that despair is beautiful because there's so much room for the beauty of God's purpose for her life, the beauty of Him giving her direction, a vision, and trajectory. There's beauty in the potential. And for that reason, I see the light at the end of the tunnel for her.
Denzel is sick, and he's been sort of up and down in mood. He'll be jumping around for a couple of minutes, then laying on the floor the next few with his ban-ket. It's been a patience-building day for me as he refuses to sleep, refuses to listen, and even slapped me in the face a couple of times. Yes, even sick kids get to sit in time out in our house. But as I caught myself cleaning, and doing mindless things, I realized what I actually needed to be doing was just being with him. So I did. We watched multiple kid shows on Netflix (he NEVER has screen time because he's 1.5, but I felt that this sickness justified being a bum), played catch, watered the plants several times, laid on the floor together, fed Kiri, ate dinner ourselves, and laughed at a lot of silly things. I was reminded again of a new perspective as we read about the little children coming to Jesus in his Toddler Bible. Jesus saw the beauty and the innocence in children. He welcomed that, and challenged everyone else to do the same.
Today I saw incredible beauty, but became painfully aware of how much I miss beauty all around me every day-in every one and every thing. Not any more. I see too much pain, daily, to miss the beauty-God's beauty-evident in all things created by his hand. You. You were created by God. And you are beautiful. What would your life look like if you started to believe that truth?
You are beautiful.
It's a weird thing to think right? How hard we are on ourselves about our career, lack of career, lack of direction, wrong direction, raising children, not having children, hating our spouse, loving our spouse, wishing we had a spouse, wishing we looked different, had a different education, more friends, less health problems, more confidence...I could go down this path all day. But what if, you recognized those things as separate from how God sees you. He sees beauty when he sees you. So live in it. Live in the beauty, and forget the rest. Fix your eyes on the maker of all things beautiful, complete, and whole. Today, choose beauty.
Later this afternoon, Patrick's parents came over to work on our garden and organize our garage. RIGHT?! I know you're jealous (and you should be!). They came over just to help. It was the most incredible blessing because Denzel was sick, really clingy, and didn't get much of a nap. So he and I laid on the couch while they worked. What incredible sacrifice (NOT ME! Them of course!!). This act of glorious generosity would be enough, but what's more, is they let me and Denzel stay the night when it was 100+ one day (and we have no A/C), Jane watched Denzel the next morning while I went into work, AND dinner was made for us by 6pm. If that's not beautiful sacrifice show in incredible love, I don't know what is.
This afternoon I also had a chance to Skype with two of my college roommates. It was so good to see their faces. We laughed, made small talk, but then got down to some deep stuff. Some life-purpose stuff. And just like that, I saw the glimmer of light shine through for my friend who feels she's in a dark place. Her sense of the unknown, of feeling utter despair--I've been there. In fact, I was there just a few months ago. It's hard. No. It's impossible. And at the risk of sounding disturbingly morbid--that, that feeling right there is beautiful. Because that is real. This is real life, those are real emotions, and God does not make us void of emotion. He does not create us and say follow me like a blind bat-I'm sorry I don't believe that. I think God creates us, intricately, and uniquely to experience relationship with him in a very real way. And I can say this now, now being on the other side-that despair is beautiful because there's so much room for the beauty of God's purpose for her life, the beauty of Him giving her direction, a vision, and trajectory. There's beauty in the potential. And for that reason, I see the light at the end of the tunnel for her.
Denzel is sick, and he's been sort of up and down in mood. He'll be jumping around for a couple of minutes, then laying on the floor the next few with his ban-ket. It's been a patience-building day for me as he refuses to sleep, refuses to listen, and even slapped me in the face a couple of times. Yes, even sick kids get to sit in time out in our house. But as I caught myself cleaning, and doing mindless things, I realized what I actually needed to be doing was just being with him. So I did. We watched multiple kid shows on Netflix (he NEVER has screen time because he's 1.5, but I felt that this sickness justified being a bum), played catch, watered the plants several times, laid on the floor together, fed Kiri, ate dinner ourselves, and laughed at a lot of silly things. I was reminded again of a new perspective as we read about the little children coming to Jesus in his Toddler Bible. Jesus saw the beauty and the innocence in children. He welcomed that, and challenged everyone else to do the same.
Today I saw incredible beauty, but became painfully aware of how much I miss beauty all around me every day-in every one and every thing. Not any more. I see too much pain, daily, to miss the beauty-God's beauty-evident in all things created by his hand. You. You were created by God. And you are beautiful. What would your life look like if you started to believe that truth?
You are beautiful.
It's a weird thing to think right? How hard we are on ourselves about our career, lack of career, lack of direction, wrong direction, raising children, not having children, hating our spouse, loving our spouse, wishing we had a spouse, wishing we looked different, had a different education, more friends, less health problems, more confidence...I could go down this path all day. But what if, you recognized those things as separate from how God sees you. He sees beauty when he sees you. So live in it. Live in the beauty, and forget the rest. Fix your eyes on the maker of all things beautiful, complete, and whole. Today, choose beauty.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Life changed for me 20 months ago
20 months ago, my life changed in the most incredible of ways. I became a mom to the most incredible little boy. Of course you expect me to say that-I gave birth to the kid-but he really is a remarkable person.
I was looking back on how it all happened...and maybe if you're pregnant for the first time you shouldn't read this...I don't want to scare anyone away :/ The fact is, my birth story was a little...extreme? I know there are some worse ones, but I've heard plenty of easy peasy birth stories too, so just know every person is different. And even after all that I went through-going all the way to 41 weeks, being 190 pounds (I see your eyes bulge out of your head! I can laugh about it now, so don't feel bad), going through a 40 something hour labor unmedicated, ending up with a c-section...my arch enemy at the time, having heart issues in the hospital, struggling to bond with Denzel, etc. etc....do you know that I would do it all again? Is that insane or what?! I would do it all over again.
STOP. I'm not pregnant. So don't ask me, because I will assume you think my belly looks pregnant, and I might just slug you. No baby in there, just the aftermath of my son. Yes, it looks like world war III on my body, but meh, whatevs. He was worth it.
In these 20 months, Denzel has taught me that I have FAR more patience than I ever gave myself credit for. He taught me priorities in life, something that I continue to keep sacred at all costs. And he taught me that the relationship between a parent and their child is one of the deepest, most intimate things you can experience here on Earth. When I look at him, I see God's love for me in the purest form. I know it sort of sounds selfish, but truth be told, he has taught me way more than I can take credit for in teaching him. And he keeps growing. Keeps learning. Keeps loving.
Denzel is one of the most loving children I've met. He regularly asks for hugs and kisses, lays his head on his daddy's shoulder any chance he gets, and shows incredible empathy for people when they get hurt or are upset in some way. He is more than I could have dreamed of. Of course he has tantrums (although they're not that big a deal), and he gets sick, which requires sleepless nights and super cranky parents, he even doesn't listen from time to time...he's human. But his spirit is remarkable, and continues to flourish and develop into the man that God designed him to be. Even before I had thought about having children (that was most of my life, ha ha ha!) God had a plan and a purpose for this beautiful boy. What an honor it is to see that plan unfold before my very eyes.
I love you baby. You have made me a better person, a more caring individual, and have restored my faith in human kind. I love you.
I was looking back on how it all happened...and maybe if you're pregnant for the first time you shouldn't read this...I don't want to scare anyone away :/ The fact is, my birth story was a little...extreme? I know there are some worse ones, but I've heard plenty of easy peasy birth stories too, so just know every person is different. And even after all that I went through-going all the way to 41 weeks, being 190 pounds (I see your eyes bulge out of your head! I can laugh about it now, so don't feel bad), going through a 40 something hour labor unmedicated, ending up with a c-section...my arch enemy at the time, having heart issues in the hospital, struggling to bond with Denzel, etc. etc....do you know that I would do it all again? Is that insane or what?! I would do it all over again.
STOP. I'm not pregnant. So don't ask me, because I will assume you think my belly looks pregnant, and I might just slug you. No baby in there, just the aftermath of my son. Yes, it looks like world war III on my body, but meh, whatevs. He was worth it.
In these 20 months, Denzel has taught me that I have FAR more patience than I ever gave myself credit for. He taught me priorities in life, something that I continue to keep sacred at all costs. And he taught me that the relationship between a parent and their child is one of the deepest, most intimate things you can experience here on Earth. When I look at him, I see God's love for me in the purest form. I know it sort of sounds selfish, but truth be told, he has taught me way more than I can take credit for in teaching him. And he keeps growing. Keeps learning. Keeps loving.
Denzel is one of the most loving children I've met. He regularly asks for hugs and kisses, lays his head on his daddy's shoulder any chance he gets, and shows incredible empathy for people when they get hurt or are upset in some way. He is more than I could have dreamed of. Of course he has tantrums (although they're not that big a deal), and he gets sick, which requires sleepless nights and super cranky parents, he even doesn't listen from time to time...he's human. But his spirit is remarkable, and continues to flourish and develop into the man that God designed him to be. Even before I had thought about having children (that was most of my life, ha ha ha!) God had a plan and a purpose for this beautiful boy. What an honor it is to see that plan unfold before my very eyes.
I love you baby. You have made me a better person, a more caring individual, and have restored my faith in human kind. I love you.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Free
It's been a pretty reflective kind of day. I think Good Friday naturally causes that to occur in me, but I felt extra aware of what was going on today.
This morning was totally peaceful, quiet, still. Denzel spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's, Patrick went to work around 3am, and he took the dog with him. I was all alone with my thoughts. I don't know if it's so rare that I'm alone with my thoughts, but for some reason they were loud this morning. Yup, my thoughts were loud.
I got ready for work and the house was silent. I was maybe even feeling a bit lonely because Denzel wasn't there-maybe I wasn't used to the quiet-who knows. All I could think about was this dreaded meeting I had to go to. Not dreaded as in it's going to be so boring. Dreaded as in awkward, unpredictable, and ALL about me. It was the kind of meeting where someone who is unpleased with you is about to unleash all their frustrations and paint you in the worst possible light. That's the kind of dreaded I'm talking about. I texted a few friends who knew about the meeting and they encouraged me a lot. I tried further to keep my mind off of it (so as to not aggravate my psychosomatic symptom--a stomachache that was literally making me sick). Sorry, I'm a social worker, I diagnose, that's what I do.
I was ready much earlier than normal-duh, I had no kid around! So I went outside to water my plants. Gardening has always been a peaceful and calming thing for me. I walked around to each of the plants and gave them the life that they've been starved of the past week. Sorry little plantys, I've been busy this week. I got to the apple tree-planted before we moved in, but obviously still very young-and in a world of hurt.
The owner before us was training the limbs of this tree to grow out on a wire like wine grapes. I know, it sounds weird. She had the branches tied down tight to make sure the branches grew horizontally, not like the tree is supposed to. I've been wanting to cut the branches free for some time, and I had a couple of minutes. I grabbed some scissors and started to cut it free. Tie after tie I cut loose, and I swear I heard the tree gasping for air, like I was giving it freedom. Freedom from these ties that someone else imposed on this poor tree. I was sort of expecting the branches to resume their natural shape immediately. Not really sure why I thought that would happen-it had been several months, maybe even a year or more that this tree was being trained like this, and honestly, I was a little disappointed when it didn't work out that way. Isn't that just like life though? We've been trained for so long to do something that wasn't natural, or not the way it was intended, and when we're cut loose it still takes a while to resume our natural shape. I know, I know, it's a crazy epiphany to get from a tree in the backyard, but I'm not exaggerating--this tree spoke to me. I started to tell Patrick about it tonight and he started to chuckle a little. I told him I was so serious about how much I've been thinking about it. I think he felt bad for laughing :) But...I would laugh too, it's sort of silly.
I went to the meeting, and honestly, it was a joke. Insults were passively thrown at me, false accusations were made about what I'd said or done, and I really didn't get much of a chance to speak up about it because she (the accuser) talked for 1 hour and 50 minutes of the 2 hour scheduled meeting. I literally just sat there and took it. And in the end nothing was resolved. Duh.
I continued my rushed and semi-stressful day, and now I find myself in a similar position to this morning. Kiri is asleep on her dog bed, Denzel has been asleep for a while, and even Patrick is passed out. I'm here alone again, with my loud thoughts.
Something brings me back to the tree. I don't know why. But I keep thinking that the apple tree and I have a lot in common. For so long I've operated a certain way-stressed, busy, frantic, exhausted...and repeat each day. But a couple of weekends ago, God cut me free. He came by with the scissors and cut off my ties. I was free! But my branches haven't gone back totally to what they should be. I think part of it is figuring out how I operate with this new heart-this heart transplant that I've received from God who so faithfully pursued my heart-how do I fit that into the life that continues to be stressful, busy, frantic, and exhausting? It all started with attitude, which, let's be honest, is a BIG deal for me :) My attitude was 100% transformed. So now it's learning to live with a different shape-the shape I was intended to be. I'm going to stop reaching out for what feels comfortable, and reach for the Lord who spoke my very existence into being. The very Creator that said Andrea will be a treasured woman, an advocate for children, my precious daughter...and not a tree. But I'm grateful for the tree, because today it made me think.
On this Good Friday, I challenge you to think about what is tying you down and let God free you from this distorted idea of what you think you should be. Freedom is precious, and breathtaking, but it's not always easy. How remarkable though, that the path was made for us on this day, so many years ago. Today was the day Jesus decided that your freedom was more important than his life. So he's waiting to cut the ties and let your branches free.
**Picture of this apple tree is not the one in my backyard, but this one is being trained in a similar way.**
This morning was totally peaceful, quiet, still. Denzel spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's, Patrick went to work around 3am, and he took the dog with him. I was all alone with my thoughts. I don't know if it's so rare that I'm alone with my thoughts, but for some reason they were loud this morning. Yup, my thoughts were loud.
I got ready for work and the house was silent. I was maybe even feeling a bit lonely because Denzel wasn't there-maybe I wasn't used to the quiet-who knows. All I could think about was this dreaded meeting I had to go to. Not dreaded as in it's going to be so boring. Dreaded as in awkward, unpredictable, and ALL about me. It was the kind of meeting where someone who is unpleased with you is about to unleash all their frustrations and paint you in the worst possible light. That's the kind of dreaded I'm talking about. I texted a few friends who knew about the meeting and they encouraged me a lot. I tried further to keep my mind off of it (so as to not aggravate my psychosomatic symptom--a stomachache that was literally making me sick). Sorry, I'm a social worker, I diagnose, that's what I do.
I was ready much earlier than normal-duh, I had no kid around! So I went outside to water my plants. Gardening has always been a peaceful and calming thing for me. I walked around to each of the plants and gave them the life that they've been starved of the past week. Sorry little plantys, I've been busy this week. I got to the apple tree-planted before we moved in, but obviously still very young-and in a world of hurt.
The owner before us was training the limbs of this tree to grow out on a wire like wine grapes. I know, it sounds weird. She had the branches tied down tight to make sure the branches grew horizontally, not like the tree is supposed to. I've been wanting to cut the branches free for some time, and I had a couple of minutes. I grabbed some scissors and started to cut it free. Tie after tie I cut loose, and I swear I heard the tree gasping for air, like I was giving it freedom. Freedom from these ties that someone else imposed on this poor tree. I was sort of expecting the branches to resume their natural shape immediately. Not really sure why I thought that would happen-it had been several months, maybe even a year or more that this tree was being trained like this, and honestly, I was a little disappointed when it didn't work out that way. Isn't that just like life though? We've been trained for so long to do something that wasn't natural, or not the way it was intended, and when we're cut loose it still takes a while to resume our natural shape. I know, I know, it's a crazy epiphany to get from a tree in the backyard, but I'm not exaggerating--this tree spoke to me. I started to tell Patrick about it tonight and he started to chuckle a little. I told him I was so serious about how much I've been thinking about it. I think he felt bad for laughing :) But...I would laugh too, it's sort of silly.
I went to the meeting, and honestly, it was a joke. Insults were passively thrown at me, false accusations were made about what I'd said or done, and I really didn't get much of a chance to speak up about it because she (the accuser) talked for 1 hour and 50 minutes of the 2 hour scheduled meeting. I literally just sat there and took it. And in the end nothing was resolved. Duh.
I continued my rushed and semi-stressful day, and now I find myself in a similar position to this morning. Kiri is asleep on her dog bed, Denzel has been asleep for a while, and even Patrick is passed out. I'm here alone again, with my loud thoughts.
Something brings me back to the tree. I don't know why. But I keep thinking that the apple tree and I have a lot in common. For so long I've operated a certain way-stressed, busy, frantic, exhausted...and repeat each day. But a couple of weekends ago, God cut me free. He came by with the scissors and cut off my ties. I was free! But my branches haven't gone back totally to what they should be. I think part of it is figuring out how I operate with this new heart-this heart transplant that I've received from God who so faithfully pursued my heart-how do I fit that into the life that continues to be stressful, busy, frantic, and exhausting? It all started with attitude, which, let's be honest, is a BIG deal for me :) My attitude was 100% transformed. So now it's learning to live with a different shape-the shape I was intended to be. I'm going to stop reaching out for what feels comfortable, and reach for the Lord who spoke my very existence into being. The very Creator that said Andrea will be a treasured woman, an advocate for children, my precious daughter...and not a tree. But I'm grateful for the tree, because today it made me think.
On this Good Friday, I challenge you to think about what is tying you down and let God free you from this distorted idea of what you think you should be. Freedom is precious, and breathtaking, but it's not always easy. How remarkable though, that the path was made for us on this day, so many years ago. Today was the day Jesus decided that your freedom was more important than his life. So he's waiting to cut the ties and let your branches free.
**Picture of this apple tree is not the one in my backyard, but this one is being trained in a similar way.**
Friday, March 21, 2014
Storm
"I'm actually okay." Are the words that I continue to hear from my husband. And he's sincere. But I didn't really understand how he could be okay. His grandpa Bill passed away last Friday in his fight with cancer, and his family is actually doing okay. There's been a lot of grieving, a lot of crying, but there's been a lot of fond memories, storytelling and laughter too. And while I'm so appreciative that they remembered him in his truest form-a man that constantly told hilarious stories, knew the history of *everything* that went on in Southern California, and the only person I've ever known to have a smile on his face every single time I saw him-it doesn't really make sense to me. That's just not my experience with death. I've only ever known intense sorrow, mourning, and lots of unanswered questions. That's been my last experience with death, until Friday. But with Bill, I've had a whole new reaction altogether.
I've questioned God a lot in the past month or so. Not the existence of God, but how and why he does things, or why he even allows certain things to happen. I've justified some of my questions with biblical truth, but there came a point where I felt eye to eye with the creator of the universe and said, "You are not good. This is not good." Someone with incredible wisdom and incredible experience at church said it like this, "There are moments that you feel like saying F you God." Now. Peel yourself off your chair. Gather your chin off the floor. Yes, I said F you. But listen, I believe God knows my heart BEFORE I even put these thoughts together. So what I'm being right now is honest. What I'm being right now is truthful, vulnerable, raw and real.
What could I possibly question God on that would cause such a reaction? Well, death is an obvious answer in light of recent events. Or how about children who suffer? I have seen and heard stories of things that happen to children that would make you vomit. Seriously. And you tell me that I'm out of line in questioning God on that? I heard about someone else's story with their first born. The baby was overdue and placenta wasn't functioning fully. They did an emergency c-section, but the baby couldn't take her first breath because she developed a lung infection in utero. The baby basically suffocated and died immediately. You know what their reaction was? They grieved for a time and said, "God is good." Are you serious right now? How does that prove God's goodness? Did I miss something?!
I've felt bombarded with these huge issues, and have thought What if what I believe isn't really true? What if Heaven is just a place we here on Earth talk about so the loss can be bearable, and help us manage the sorrow? What if I'm wrong?
Well, God heard me loud and clear, and met me intimately, personally and perfectly in Bill's memorial service.
Patrick, his siblings, myself and a couple other people they knew sang Biebel's Ave Maria at the beginning of the service. It wasn't really a problem for me to sing through the whole piece-even with all three endings to that first section. Everyone had kept their emotions under wraps for the whole 5 minutes. Huge relief once it was over. Then the pastor came up and spoke. What I appreciate most is that there was so much hope in what he had to say, but it didn't at all dismiss the hurt, the pain that people were going through. So often I feel that funerals are all about looking toward Heaven, talking about hope-and while I think that's a necessary part, I don't think it's healthy to ignore or quickly breeze over the hurt. This guy didn't do that at all. He talked about Jesus and how he wept for Lazarus. Oh yeah, he did weep. He talked about how God doesn't just walk through life with you as a support (he does), but he hurts with you too, he grieves with you. My heart started softening in this pivotal moment that I remembered that Jesus was fully human, and...he gets it.
Then the line that I feel was spoken directly to me yesterday, "If God was good before, then in His very nature, God is good *even after* Bill's death." It was spoken so tenderly, so beautifully, and yet it pierced my heart so deeply, I thought I might be actually bleeding from the inside. Ok Lord, I hear you. You took my questioning, defiance, whatever you want to call it, and met me so intimately, so personally, that I can't help but feel loved by you. See, some other God could have struck me down dead just for questioning his plan, his reasoning. I DON'T EVEN DESERVE TO HAVE THE ANSWERS, and yet God spoke a small piece of truth that would resound with (maybe) only me. I don't feel shame, I don't feel guilty, or bad, I feel intimately loved by the hand that made me intricately in the womb. And maybe you read that statement and are thinking, "Ummm, okay?" Maybe it doesn't mean anything to you. But to me it was the open arms of God, embracing me where I am, all the while settling my heart of unrest. In that alone I can say, God. Is. Good.
The storm isn't over. In fact, I have a feeling it's only just beginning. But if this is what it takes to go deeper with God, so be it. I think maybe that's the first time I've ever said that in my life. I can't guarantee that I'll always have this attitude, but at least for now, I've been satisfied enough to see what else is in store.
And with that, I'll leave you with a song:
I'll praise you in this storm, and I will lift my hands.
You are who you are, no matter where I am.
Every tear I cry, you hold in your hands.
You never left my side, and though my heart is torn.
I'll praise you in the storm.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Bill Anderson, the man that helped build the family that I now have the pleasure of being a part of. The man that worked hard, loved harder and joked the hardest. The man that loved me like one of his own, and loved my son, his great grandson, even more. We love you great grandpa, and don't worry, we'll keep telling your stories for years to come.
I've questioned God a lot in the past month or so. Not the existence of God, but how and why he does things, or why he even allows certain things to happen. I've justified some of my questions with biblical truth, but there came a point where I felt eye to eye with the creator of the universe and said, "You are not good. This is not good." Someone with incredible wisdom and incredible experience at church said it like this, "There are moments that you feel like saying F you God." Now. Peel yourself off your chair. Gather your chin off the floor. Yes, I said F you. But listen, I believe God knows my heart BEFORE I even put these thoughts together. So what I'm being right now is honest. What I'm being right now is truthful, vulnerable, raw and real.
What could I possibly question God on that would cause such a reaction? Well, death is an obvious answer in light of recent events. Or how about children who suffer? I have seen and heard stories of things that happen to children that would make you vomit. Seriously. And you tell me that I'm out of line in questioning God on that? I heard about someone else's story with their first born. The baby was overdue and placenta wasn't functioning fully. They did an emergency c-section, but the baby couldn't take her first breath because she developed a lung infection in utero. The baby basically suffocated and died immediately. You know what their reaction was? They grieved for a time and said, "God is good." Are you serious right now? How does that prove God's goodness? Did I miss something?!
I've felt bombarded with these huge issues, and have thought What if what I believe isn't really true? What if Heaven is just a place we here on Earth talk about so the loss can be bearable, and help us manage the sorrow? What if I'm wrong?
Well, God heard me loud and clear, and met me intimately, personally and perfectly in Bill's memorial service.
Patrick, his siblings, myself and a couple other people they knew sang Biebel's Ave Maria at the beginning of the service. It wasn't really a problem for me to sing through the whole piece-even with all three endings to that first section. Everyone had kept their emotions under wraps for the whole 5 minutes. Huge relief once it was over. Then the pastor came up and spoke. What I appreciate most is that there was so much hope in what he had to say, but it didn't at all dismiss the hurt, the pain that people were going through. So often I feel that funerals are all about looking toward Heaven, talking about hope-and while I think that's a necessary part, I don't think it's healthy to ignore or quickly breeze over the hurt. This guy didn't do that at all. He talked about Jesus and how he wept for Lazarus. Oh yeah, he did weep. He talked about how God doesn't just walk through life with you as a support (he does), but he hurts with you too, he grieves with you. My heart started softening in this pivotal moment that I remembered that Jesus was fully human, and...he gets it.
Then the line that I feel was spoken directly to me yesterday, "If God was good before, then in His very nature, God is good *even after* Bill's death." It was spoken so tenderly, so beautifully, and yet it pierced my heart so deeply, I thought I might be actually bleeding from the inside. Ok Lord, I hear you. You took my questioning, defiance, whatever you want to call it, and met me so intimately, so personally, that I can't help but feel loved by you. See, some other God could have struck me down dead just for questioning his plan, his reasoning. I DON'T EVEN DESERVE TO HAVE THE ANSWERS, and yet God spoke a small piece of truth that would resound with (maybe) only me. I don't feel shame, I don't feel guilty, or bad, I feel intimately loved by the hand that made me intricately in the womb. And maybe you read that statement and are thinking, "Ummm, okay?" Maybe it doesn't mean anything to you. But to me it was the open arms of God, embracing me where I am, all the while settling my heart of unrest. In that alone I can say, God. Is. Good.
The storm isn't over. In fact, I have a feeling it's only just beginning. But if this is what it takes to go deeper with God, so be it. I think maybe that's the first time I've ever said that in my life. I can't guarantee that I'll always have this attitude, but at least for now, I've been satisfied enough to see what else is in store.
And with that, I'll leave you with a song:
I'll praise you in this storm, and I will lift my hands.
You are who you are, no matter where I am.
Every tear I cry, you hold in your hands.
You never left my side, and though my heart is torn.
I'll praise you in the storm.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Bill Anderson, the man that helped build the family that I now have the pleasure of being a part of. The man that worked hard, loved harder and joked the hardest. The man that loved me like one of his own, and loved my son, his great grandson, even more. We love you great grandpa, and don't worry, we'll keep telling your stories for years to come.
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