Acting in Faith

*First off, I noticed that a few old blogs popped up as new blogs.  I have no idea how that happened, but I've pushed them back again.

What I am really excited about--even though I am still acting on faith 100%--is packing for a move.
Midnight came n' went the other night, as I pulled out a binder and began my "To Do" lists. 
I live by lists.  It helps me to relax knowing that I've done a brain dump of everything on paper.
So far, I have three pages of stuff that needs to get done before putting the house on the market.
It starts with purging belongings that we no longer need in this season of our lives and then onto the Repairs, Replacements and Rearrange the house for staging.
Luckily, my family knows how to stage a house from working with me for over a decade. They know what it needs to look like before we put that FOR SALE sign in the yard.
It takes a lot of work in the beginning but give me two weeks of hard work and the rest is cake.

After the big purge, comes the repairs and replacements such as a new sink in the kitchen and new light fixtures on the exterior of the house, addressing the flooring and painting of each room, deep cleaning everything to shine like a new penny!
Then, the house is ready to stage for photos and showings.  Which is honestly, the easy part.  Homes are selling like hotcakes here in the Springs, so I want to get this process over ASAP!

Acting in faith that this is the path we're taking--moving to Oregon--is full of mixed emotions...we have only told our immediate family and closest of friends.  Putting it out here is my own benefit of documenting the process.  Noone I know even reads this little blog anymore so I am certain that when we announce that we're moving, it might come as a surprise.

I've been looking at homes in Eugene--there's not very many of them in our price range.  And most are super old and bleh, really.  But holy smokes do those people love love love brightly colored rooms! Red, teal, Oregon Ducks colors: yellow and green, pink, orange--they really love to color their world.  I'm wondering if its' due to the gray, rainy weather?  I'm not looking forward to that.
We get over 300+ days of sunshine a year here--which helps to endure the snowy winters. 
Someone suggested "happy lights"--so we'll have to look into that.

Kent leaves this Wednesday to check out the new job.  Holy smokes.

Staring Into the Sun

Super Bowl Sunday,
on the way to Church:
Momza: "So who are we cheering for today--anyone?"
Joseph: "PATRIOTS!"
Dad: "Yeah, gonna go with the Pats."
Momza: "Me too. Definitely the Patriots.  Bee?"
Arianna: "I don't really like football."
Dad: "Get out."
Joseph: "Tuck and roll, Ari. Tuck and roll."
****
Set-Up:
Joseph has been getting alot of attention from girls at school this year--he thinks it's because he's been using the AXE body soap/deodorant/spray/gel line of products. I have been talking to him alot about girls and all that goes with that--for another post--but yesterday he asked me to buy a 4 pack of AXE body spray from Costco, so this conversation took place at dinner:

Momza: "So why do you like 'AXE' body spray?"
Joseph: " I dunno."
Momza: " Is it to get girls' attention?"
Joseph: "No."
Momza: "Well you know how to get girls' attention right? What's the most attractive thing in a nice young man?"
 (totally fishing for him to say something about a good character, or a kind word, a smile, friendship--something positive)
Joseph, chuckling: "Yeah. Dad told me. My butt."
Momza, to Dad: "Really? THAT'S what you're teaching him?!"
Dad's eyes water and he can't open his mouth for fear his dinner will spew out, with laughter.
Momza, shaking head: "Nice."
****

Joseph: "Mom, can I ask you a question?"
 "Sure. I say. "What's up?"
Joseph, sheepishly: "Well, there's these girls on the bus and they're touching my hair n' stuff...and a girl in school is always staring at me. What's that about?"
Hmmm. I look at him and think.
"Their flirting with you.  That's what girls do when they think a boy is cute."
Joseph, shyly smiling: "Oh. It's weird."

I look up from my chair
into his eyes and know this is an important teaching moment.

"Joseph, girls mature quicker than boys. That means that their bodies and minds are thinking about the future.  They notice boys in a different way. And honestly, it kinda makes 'em a little crazy. For the next few years, they're gonna be giggly, loud, travel in packs like wolves, and smile at you alot.
And you'll probably get attention from a few of them because you're a good lookin' young man, but there's also something else about you that will draw girls in--it's your goodness.  And that's the most attractive thing in a young man.  You shine from the inside out and girls won't know what it is about you that they like, but really, it's because you hold the Priesthood. That's a big deal, Joseph.  And you have to protect the Priesthood by keeping yourself clean and honoring it.  So (big breath), girls may ask you to do things with their bodies or ask if they can do things with yours and you're going to have to tell them 'No' to protect yourself so that the Holy Ghost is always with you and you'll always have that glow inside that, someday, will attract the right girl for you to take to the Temple. That's the goal--to go to the Temple with the most beautiful girl in the world."
I stand up and put my hands on either side of his soft cheeks, and look deeply into his beautiful brown eyes,
"I love you. If anyone, I don't care who they are, wants to touch your body in ways that makes you feel uncomfortable or in a way that you know isn't right, you have the right to say 'No', Okay?"  Then I kiss those baby cheeks and hold him in my arms.
He looks side to side, smiles at the wonder of the changes a'comin his way in life and nods his head, "Yeah."

From The Bed

It's after 9 am here this morning,
and I'm still in my mis-matched pj's in bed.

I'm not sick.
I don't have a flu or a cold
a broken-anything
for what I would call a "good excuse"...
but here I am.

Remember when I had that surgery last April,
the "uterine ablation"
where my insides were toasted like a bagel
and supposed to be the end of all future
baby-makin' productions?
Yeah.
My motherly body isn't havin' any of that.
It's revolting that idea in a very big way.
So, I'm on bedrest.
I called my doctor's office yesterday
to make an appointment,
but the triage nurse surprised me
by saying,
"Oh, dear, you're hemorrhaging. You need to go to the ER."

It's not that I was not aware of what was happening,
that's why I called the doctor's office.
But seriously,
I didn't feel like my condition warranted a trip to the ER.
I called my husband at work,
told him what was going on,
and he left to come home.
I called a friend to pick up Dara from school,
as I knew if I did go to the hospital,
she'd still need a ride home and to work later.
My awesome friend is also my Relief Society President--
(the women' auxillary in the Church),
and without asking,
she also brought in dinner last night.

Anyway,
I wasn't feeling light-headed,
I drank more water,
took some iron supplements
and was
"timed-out" by my family to my bed
for not choosing to go to the ER.

Why didn't I go, they asked.
I hate the ER.
I hate the waiting.
I hate the $200 co-pay.
I didn't want to hemorrhage in the waiting room.
None of that sounded good to me.
So, I waited it out.
I took care of my own needs and see if my body responded.

Well, the fact that I'm typing proves
I ain't dead.

Patience Rewarded

Faith is its' own reward.
Holding onto faith when the reward is not evident
is the test of faith.
Staying in the boat of "faith"
even  especially when the seas of uncertainty threaten with fear and destruction
is critical to proving one's faith.
Faith in the belief of God's existence, bare-bones, cut-to-the-core kind of faith.
As in,
Is He real?
Does He know me?
Will He protect me?
Can-I-trust-Him-to-take-care-of-the-things-I-cannot-take-care-of?
kind of faith.
The real deal kind of faith.

We've been going through some tough trials this past year, one month and 7 days
as my husband was laid-off work and has been unemployed since then.
I cannot tell the amount of tearful prayers I have offered--
so many more than the actual number of days and nights.
Fasting and praying too.

What have I learned?
Well, everytime I prayed for a job that Kent was interviewing for,
I got more opportunities to work.
Seriously.
Doing things I could already do--like home staging--
but also opportunities to learn new things like
fresh floral weddings and watercolor home portraits and temples
and even illustrating a book!
Truly, it has been the weirdest thing and in perspective, I see God's purpose in the way my prayers were answered.

In keeping me busy, I could more easily endure the trial.

I had reasons to keep going when I wasn't sure I could--

creativity kept depression at bay and pulled these small hidden talents out of me

like a refiner's fire.

As the trial demanded patience,

I have learned how to endure patiently.

And it's not like I thought it was--

there's a difference between going to Heavenly Father and saying

"Help me to see what you want me to see and thus this trial will be removed."

AND

"Help me to have the strength to endure this trial no matter what it costs. I surrender to your will, Father."

I don't know if I even explained this difference of understanding well enough,

but the truth is, I have learned for myself the essence of patiently waiting on the Lord.

I surrendered to His will, earnestly, without reserve or condition. I simply let my own will slide away into nothing and focused solely on being a better, quieter, more still, daughter of God.

There is peace in that process I have not felt in my life in a long long time.

I have had moments where I needed to declare outloud:

"I will not be moved."

"I will stay in the boat. I am lashed to the boat."

"I am curious enough to see what happens at the end, rather than quit now."

I said those words outloud, and I listened to myself.  I trusted in my faith--

the faith I have nurtured and built over a lifetime--

I leaned into it and trusted that I had made the right decision a long time ago

to follow Christ.

Two years ago,

I shared in a blog about my feelings of moving to the Pacific Northwest.

Last December, we came awfully close as my sweetheart was offered a job in Corvallis, Oregon--

only to have it rescinded in the 11th hour.

It's seven months later and just this week, another job offer is on the table for a different company

in Eugene, Oregon.

It feels right.

It feels scary.

I am torn between screaming off the rooftop that our trial is over

and sobbing that I am leaving my beloved Pikes Peak mountain--

of which I freely admit, I am codependent upon.

What makes this week different is that two nights ago,

our wonderful home teachers came over--one of whom is our Stake Patriarch--

he's been our home teacher since Joseph was in 3rd grade. 

Joseph will be a senior (12th grade) this next month.

To say we love our hometeacher is an understatement.  He's our friend. He's family.

So two nights ago, he and his companion came to visit us

and after their lesson they asked if we needed anything else...being fully aware of our circumstances.

Kent asked for a priesthood blessing before he heads to Oregon this week.

The Spirit was so completely present as they pronounced a blessing upon him--

and left no doubt that we will be moving to Oregon.

Hugs and tears of gratitude flowed between us all

as we felt the great relief and reward of faith, patience and trust in God's plan for us

was extended.

This has been a long, difficult trial--combined with other challenges all through out it as well--

and I can say that on this side of it-- I have learned that patience in the Lord is worth what it costs.

Stay in the boat. Lash yourselves to it. Be patient in the process. Lean into your faith and trust in God's power and plan for your life. Surrender your will and be still. God will show you the way through your trials and your faith will be rewarded.

LDS Church: Patience in the Restoration

Perspective is everything.

I remember exactly when I experienced the Internet in 1996.  Just a little over 20 years ago...it went from floppy disks, to CDs, to straight up internet communication and continues to evolve today--we're all just waiting for the next big development in technology, right? The tech world makes sure that we don't get too comfortable with our devices, processes and applications by introducing new products all the time.  We not only look forward to it, we count on it, am I right?

The topic today is patience in the ever-evolving LDS Church.
If you're a member of the Church, you probably know someone who is struggling to stay active, or stay at all.  There's a tide of members flowing out of the pews ever-so-quietly.  It's come up in conversations with my family and friends...we wonder what can be said or done to help our members "stay in the boat" with us as we sail through this difficult sea of emotional, turbulent times.

At church Sunday this topic came up...why people leave.  One comment was a simple, "they don't have good habits of prayer and scripture study". And it's true that someone who's living the gospel daily is much less likely to exit, there are also those who are looking for reason to leave due to transgressions such as sin or pride. Still, I offered that  in my experience, we don't always know why people leave--so it's important not to judge hastily--because some people who withdraw from their faith are usually in pain and cannot find relief.  It might be emotional or temporal pain, or it could be intellectual pain--where they're trying to reconcile what they feel they know with the teachings of the gospel. I've seen this more recently, as people confide in me their personal struggles. They're not rebelling, they're searching for answers.

I've had my own experience with withdrawing from activity in the church--while going through a horrid divorce, I lost my way. Some members who knew nothing of the abuse were harsh and cold towards me, and left me feeling like I didn't belong there. The pain was real.  I stayed away to heal my self when healing could not be found there.  I had no issues with church doctrine--I loved the church, but it was the people that I could not endure combined with the ugliness of divorce.

I came back when we moved to a different state.  I needed a fresh start and included the Church in my new life.  I was patient and optimistic. My new ward was welcoming and made all the difference in my ability to return. I came back with a more mature testimony; understanding that my testimony revolved less around the social aspects of the church and more centered on the doctrine. I was able to separate my true faith from the culture of the church, rediscovering my place in it, which I so love.

If you've been raised in the church or a convert, there are sure to be seasons in your life where you are defining for yourself what it means to be a Latter-day Saint and how that life looks in real time.
You may wince--as one of my children have--at the politics of the members of the church, or at the feminist values of the culture (or lack therof, depending upon who you talk to), or other issues--in short, you may have a sticking point that rubs your conscience raw to the point of irritation when you don't get the answers you are looking for to assuage your mind. 
That's normal, so hang on. It will resolve.
It is intended that you evolve and ask questions as you sojourn through life. General Authorities have stated many times that we welcome questions about culture and doctrine and it's healthy to think for ourselves and to ponder where we are in the scheme of our membership of the LDS Church.
President Uchtdorf stated:

"Now, the next issue. What about doubts and questions in principle? How do you find out that the gospel is true? Is it all right to have questions about the Church or its doctrine? My dear young friends, we are a question-asking people. We have always been, because we know that inquiry leads to truth. That is how the Church got its start, from a young man who had questions. In fact, I’m not sure how one can discover truth without asking questions. In the scriptures you will rarely discover a revelation that didn’t come in response to a question." 

When I consider issues I do not fully comprehend or agree with, I remember that I'm invested enough, I have faith enough, that I can wait to see what happens by holding my place, by standing firmly where I am, by "staying in the boat" and see where it leads. Experience has taught me there's no other path that leads me to my Heavenly Father and His eternal promises.  That's more important than any trial I face. I've learned to trust in His plan and His timing...it's worth the wait.

I saw this on pinterest and it stuck in my heart:

I've learned to appreciate evolution-- how learning and patience encourages growth in myself and my family, my friends and my leaders, and yes, in the LDS Church.  It is a natural progression for things to change, you can count on it. Trust in God's timing, the answers will come maybe not how you want or when you want, but they do come and bring peace and understanding where there was none before. Sometimes it might be helpful to remember the church is a relatively young and worldwide church.  Keeping perspective of that increases understanding on things too.

"Remember, the Restoration is not an event, but it continues to unfold." -M. Russell Ballard, (10/2016 General Conference, To Whom Shall We Go?)

If you or someone you know is on the journey of faith, encourage them, save a seat for them, pray for them, and just love them. Recognize their pain and give them the latitude to discover for themselves the path of peace and healing.  That is what is needed more than anything else in these troubling times: to love one another as [He] has loved us. Show up.  Be there for someone else.  Don't rely on social media to reach out with a simple "like"--that's a hollow, counterfeit expression for true compassion.  Reaching out in meaningful ways does so much for healing.  To quote a man that I respect, "We are needy, needy people. We need each other, we need a Savior, we need the love of our Heavenly Father."

And finally, the gentle invitation from our Savior: Matthew 11:29-30 King James Version (KJV)

²⁹ Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
³⁰ For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Here's a nice link that will help you feel good today: Does God Know Me?

*I'd appreciate any comments that may prove helpful in understanding this topic.

How I know God is Real

The question is:

How have I come this far in life

with a strong belief in God?

How have I come to know that God is real?

Because as a child I was taught about a man named Jesus Christ.

His father is God, our Heavenly Father.

I was taught to pray at the side of my bed

and to trust in His will

by a mother who struggled with depression, alcoholism, and mental illness.

Out of sheer necessity,

I prayed to the heavens for help

when she wasn't capable of being a mother.

The first time I knew God heard my prayers

was when I was in 5th grade,

sitting outside on the front porch

on a Friday night,

praying that my dad's car would come around the corner

*right then*

to save us kids from our mother's fury.

And he did.

My dad's car lights came around the corner,

and he pulled right into the driveway

just like I needed him to make my world safer.

I learned from that experience that God is real

and He listens to me and blesses me with answers to my prayers.

My strong belief in God continued to grow

because I continued to pray to Him--

I needed a Heavenly Father.

I still do.

Years later,

I would ask another question:

"Is the LDS Church true?"

I'd been receiving missionary lessons for several months

and they invited me to pray and ask God to know for myself

if what they were teaching me was indeed, true.

I hadn't ever asked a question like that before--

to have a spiritual knowledge of something.

And I did as they told me to do--

I asked the question and was given a specific answer:

"It's true, hold on."

I was 15 years old.

Holding on meant I would be kicked out of my parent's home with the clothes on my back

on a snowy Colorado day.

Holding on meant I would live with people I barely knew and finish high school.

Holding on meant my life would change in ways I was unfamiliar.

Holding on meant I would never let go.

Years later,

I gave birth to a special needs son, Dean.

My heart broke into a thousand pieces--

I begged and pleaded with Heavenly Father to not make me go through

that unfamiliar path.

He didn't change the diagnosis--my son was not miraculously healed.

But I was given the strength I needed to care for him and my other children.

One very long night though,

I was walking the floors with baby Dean--who was very sick.

As I was considering how I could make him feel better

I remembered that we had a humidifier...

I went to the closet we kept it in--in our very small two bedroom apartment--

but it wasn't there.

I looked in the kids' closet, my closet, under the sink in the bathroom--

still, I couldn't see it.

At 2o'clock in the morning, I was exhausted and filled with worry over my son.

I stood in the dimly lit hallway

and prayed outloud,

"Heavenly Father, I need this humidifier. I know you know where it is. Please help me to see

it clearly."

I opened the hall closet once more--and there it sat on a shelf eye-level, right in front.

I knew it was an answer to my simple, sincere prayer.

How do I know God is real?

Because of these sweet experiences and hundreds more.

Because I need Him. I need His comfort, His wisdom, His strength

and all else to get me through this mortal experience.

He has never failed me.

I have learned to trust in His timing, His ways, and His love for me

and my family.

For ways you can strengthen your relationship with Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, I invite you to https://www.mormon.org/beliefs/god .

Home Stories: What I've learned From Painting Homes

Earlier this year, I found my niche in this season of life.
Watercolor home portraits.
I discovered that I enjoyed watercolor so much
but I wanted more than just to paint landscapes and flowers.
I needed my art to have a purpose.

That "need" sent me to my facebook page,
asking my friends if they'd like me to paint their homes.
The response was overwhelming, YES!

It's been amazing.
I feel like I have won the lottery of Artistic Expression--
the intimacy of people's lives has been gifted to me like
I am part of their family story.
I love it so much that I cannot foresee a day when I am not painting homes.

One of the things I've learned is that home size doesn't matter.
I've painted huge ones, like the one above--
a stately Georgia brick home,
being sold after the family living there downsized it after 17 years.

Or this one:

I like this one ALOT.
The woman who commissioned it was not raised in it,
but her mother was...and it was interesting because I was sent two photos to re-create it as it was in the 70s...one of the photos was when it was brand new, the yard was dirt still, but those little tulips popped up. Her mother was a child, standing in the door way. The other photo was present--painted white with green shutters, mature landscaping with huge trees in the yard.  But she wanted it as it was when her mother lived there.  I just loved that.

This is actually the first one I did.  A family home in Midway, Utah, that is now on the Historical Society Home registry.  What a treasure for the family that lived and loved there!

This was actually commissioned by a friend for her employer--a gal who endured a divorce and then a subsequent death of someone she was dating--and had reconnected with a high school sweetheart, remarried to him and this home is their "fresh start" together with their families. 

This is another sweet home in Georgia...a new home for a couple who just had a new baby. New memories are being created within those walls daily!

This house belonged to an Air Force family that we got to know while they were stationed here. IN fact, the family also commissioned another portrait of the previous home they owned in Texas before coming here, and want a third portrait of the home they're building in North Carolina--their current assignment!  What sacrifices our men and women in the military give to protect our country! Their roots are planted all over the world.

This West Yellowstone, Wyoming cabin was built by and served three generations of the same family.  The memories made there have blessed their family for decades!!

This little home in Maryland held a lot of love and provided safety and security for a large family. As soon as it was delivered to the mother of this home, the rest of the now-grown family wanted their own portraits.

These three homes were all new beginnings for families--stories I don't know, but commissioned by their realtor as closing or anniversary gifts. 

Now these last two are what prompted me to write this blog today:

This house no longer stands--it was burned to the ground in the Waldo Canyon fire in Colorado Springs, five years ago. The family lived there for 14 years.  They'd been out of town when the fire started two days earlier, and once they got word of the imminent danger, they raced home, grabbed what they could and were directed to safety by the fire fighters.  The home was engulfed in flames just minutes later.

This home is also a memory.  It was destroyed a couple of years ago by a tornado that ravaged the entire street it sat on.  The little family that lived there almost destroyed too. They declare that angels held onto their children, preventing them from being sucked into the sky.
Can you even imagine?

Home is more than brick and mortar.  It is sanctified by the love created between the families who live in it.  Sacrifice, hard work, charity, compassion, and promises to love one another through thick and thin, as they say-- these are the things that also build homes to last. 

I love home stories.
If you're thinking you'd like to have a special home done in watercolors, you can visit my etsy shop: etsy.com/shop/DawnDesignsHomes. 

If you'd like to learn more about why I believe Families are SO important, I invite you to look right there: https://www.mormon.org/beliefs/the-family.

Mental Illness: Dying from Natural Causes

She was never going to die of  typical "natural causes"...
That's the bottom line.
Save it be a car accident,
death by natural causes just wasn't in her genes.
Not cancer, not Alzheimer's or another disease.
What was in her genes?
Mental illness.

I was getting out of the shower last Sunday,
thinking of the church meetings I'd be attending later--
when my phone dinged
dinged again
dinged once more.

I'd missed three calls already,
two messages from my brothers,
"Call me. I have some bad news."
"Hey Dawn, Call me, ASAP."

I knew.
It was about Mom.
Just the night before, I'd had a feeling that I wanted to talk her,
but that feeling was chased away quickly by the thought,
"She doesn't want to hear from me."
So I didn't call.

It's been a week since I got the news
that my mother took her own life via an overdose of pills.

I have never grieved like this before...
waves of sadness, then hours of quiet, and overall fatigue...
I'm still processing it all.

I like being logical over emotional.
Emotions make things messy and lengthy
especially when it comes to my mother.

I hadn't spoken to her since last December
before Christmas.
I had decided to call her after many months of silence and years of estrangement.
It was a conscious, methodical choice.
Before I even made the call,
I'd written down on paper what I would and would not talk about,
what my expectations were of her,
and were not.

• I would not expect her to ask about my self or my family.
• I would not expect her to be kind or personable.
• I would ask only how she is doing. Is she happy?  Does she have plans for Christmas? Is she feeling okay these days?

And that was about it.

I made the call, she answered and was a little surprised to hear my voice on the other end.
The call lasted almost an hour and a half and went like I planned.
She didn't ask about me or my family and I didn't offer up anything.
I asked about her and she spoke about how unhappy she was, how aimless she felt, had no plans for Christmas, etc.--
which, in reality, I thought was both sad and good for her as Christmas was always traumatic
growing up with her.
She got a little testy with me and I let her know that I wasn't calling her to fuss,
but to check on her.
I wished her happy holidays and hung up the phone.


The day my mom decided to take her life--
wasn't last Saturday afternoon,
although she did text a younger brother, living in another state,
that she was going to take her life, often throughout the day
while she spent most of the day with the oldest brother and his wife and company,
drinking and chatting.
She didn't let the people that were sitting with her know that she was suicidal.

No, she didn't decide to take her life on an especially hard day
because every day was a hard day, for as long as I can remember.
The first time,
I was almost 10 years old.
In the middle of the night, I woke up and saw a light coming down the hall.
I was always a sound sleeper, but I was wide awake and aware.
Walked into the kitchen through the saloon doors
to find my mother standing at the kitchen sink,
pills all over the counter top,
she reached out to me and said, "Dawn, help me." as she collapsed to the floor.

We had no phone,
so I ran across the street in the dark night in my nightgown,
to a neighbors house and ran the door bell until Mrs. Dornan answered.
Our street lit up with the ambulance lights bouncing off everyone's house.
Another neighbor came and stayed the night at our house,
until my father returned from a business trip the next day or so.
Mom was in a psyche unit of the hospital for several weeks.
She came home fragile and never spoke of that night again.

That's when her alcoholism began.
I used to go to AA meetings with my mother...
"Hi my name is Dawn. I'm Janie's daughter."--I've said those words in a smoke-filled room
of adults trying to claim their sobriety--since I was 14 years old.
I was painfully shy and only went to hold onto my mom so she would hold onto us.
I hated it when she drank--she was unpredictable and scary.
And so sad.  Always so sad.

Alcohol wasn't her problem. 
It was only the symptom of her problems.
I see that as an adult.  But everyone kept pointing to alcohol as the source--
"if only she could stop drinking" became the focus.
My mom had pain so deep, that only the constant flow of alcohol could numb that pain.
When she wasn't drinking and wasn't sad,
she was vibrant and exciting, creative and musical, encouraging and sentimental.
She was generous with everything she had--
she'd give the shirt off her back to anyone.
Her sense of humor and laughter was loud and vivacious!
I thought she was the most beautiful mother in the world.
I look more like my father, but I wished I looked more like her.
She danced in the kitchen, sang while she cleaned the house,
played games hanging the laundry,
pranked my dad by throwing cold water over the shower door while he was in there--
she loved a good prank!
When her demons weren't running the show,
she was in-charge and methodical--the house was immaculate, dinner was delicious, and life was sweet.

But when her pain dominated, the drinking followed
and living with her was nearly unbearable.
My father wasn't capable of helping her and didn't force her to get help.
Instead, he checked out and stayed away from the home as much as his job allowed.
Men are like that--when dealing with a mentally ill wife,  they stay away as much as possible.
I don't know why that is, but in my experience, it's true.
We needed dad at home so much.
I needed him because he was stable, predictable.

The cycle went like this:
Jane's fine until she's not,
Jane lashes out at others,
Guilt sets in,
Drinking follows,
Anger runs the show,
Depression sets in--
at this point she's in either in Fight or Flight mode---
While Fight mode meant a vitriol rant that went for days towards everyone in the family
until she ran out of angry steam or until we were all crying;
Flight mode took her on spontaneous trips for weeks at a time,
leaving without telling us where she going,
returning as though nothing happened,
OR flight mode meant Suicide was an option.
Pills were her go-to...she topped off her alcohol with pills
and I knew that so I'd hide whatever pills I could find in the house. 
Honestly, we all wearied of her "attempts" to the point where we too,
wanted out of the house.
It's hard to love someone who hurts you.
It's hard to love someone who tells you she wishes
you'd never been born.
It's hard to love someone so much that
you worry if they're going to take their own life
every time the wind changes.
The older she got,
the more the wind blew.

She definitely had mental illness.
Progressive, untreated mental illness prevents healthy relationships.
All of us kids left the house by the time we were sixteen. 
Sixteen years old, unprepared for anything, we left to save our selves.

One would think that after a brush with death,
it'd be enough to awaken the senses and realize the intrinsic values of life--
my mom tried taking her life so many times,
we became numb to her illness.
She wouldn't seek treatment and healing,
which affected my relationship with her to the point
there was nothing to hold onto.
I married, began having children and my life moved in as different a direction
as I could make it from the scenes of my childhood.
Evolving and changing so much,
leaving my mother behind--stuck where I last left her--
in the world between her ears.
She didn't know me anymore and hadn't seen my children
but once in 16 years.

To protect my family,
I kept her on the outside.
That's a hard place to be--
I loved her, needed her, hated her disease--
but essential for my own children.
She'd written dozens and dozens of letters and emails,
left dozens of voice mails
cussing me out,
telling my children they were going to hell,
using the most vicious language to express her rage at my absence.
And then within minutes,
leave messages and emails recounting all of it with sorrowful apologies.

Mental illness is a natural cause of death.
It took a long, dreadful, miserable route,
until there was no reasonable thought left in my mother's brain
except to look again at suicide for relief.
This time, she cried "wolf" and no one heard her.
My youngest brother, whom she'd texted about her plans,
didn't answer or act on her texts.
He has dozens and dozens of emails and texts stating the same things from her
from years of depression.
He's 9 years younger than me.
She's been suicidal his whole entire life.
He didn't think to act.
She'd taught him not to and while one could say he should've anyway--
I'm not judging him.
He had the same mother I had, but not the same at all.
Even when she was in a "good" place,
suicide was always just under the surface, always an option.

So, no she was never going to die of the typical "Natural Causes"--
not from a disease, or sudden acute illness.
She was going to die of an illness that took 73 years
to take her sanity,
her sense of humor,
her talents and abilities,
her hope and reason,
her marriages,
her daughter and sons,
grandchildren and great-grandchildren,
parents and siblings,
careers and hobbies--
her mental illness increased until there was no room
for anything or anyone else
in her life,
taking every purpose for living away
and leaving a handful of pills as the only option to end the pain.

Natural causes.
Mental illness naturally causes
pain,
depression,
hopelessness,
darkness,
and if left untreated,
death.

How could it be otherwise?

My grief is assuaged by my deepest heartfelt hope that my mom didn't die alone.
That in her final moments, Jesus was there with her.
Loving her pain away.
That her folks and sisters and brothers who've all left this life--they were there too.
And my greatest hope is that one day,
ours will be a sweet reunion.

If you or someone you know struggles with mental illness,

please get help.

The National Alliance of Mental Illness (NAMI) is a great place to start:

800-950-6264

Happy I HATE MOM Day!

In honor of I HATE MOM DAY:

Ways That I am the Meanest Mom:

·         I made David Scott wear his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pjs to school when he was in kindergarten because he wouldn’t get ready for school on time.

·         I didn’t run the kids’ lunchboxes to school every time they forgot them, so they had many pb&j samiches from the nice lunchroom ladies on those days.

·         I made them all do the dishes.  Multiple times.  Over many years.  Enough dishes to feed an army of people—at the height of our “Familyhood” there were 9 people eating every meal together.  That’s a lot of dishes.

·         They all had chores—taking out the trash, doing their own laundry, making their beds, washing windows, bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming, mopping, sweeping—I made them all learn how to do it and Saturday was a busy day!

·         I also didn’t run forgotten math books, spelling binders, tennis shoes, etc to school every time they forgot them at home.  Sometimes I did.  But not often.

·         I didn’t care what their friends’ moms’ rules were…my house, my rules.

·         My kids wore handmedowns—we didn’t do Name Brand clothing unless it was on Clearance. 

·         Everyone had to share nearly everything in the house, unless it was Valentine’s or Halloween candy.

·         I made the kids walk to school in the heat and in the snow, over many years, uphill both directions.

·         One time I made David Scott walk home from school (he normally rode the bus), after a school detention, in Arizona. He had to cross a large desert field in the heat of the afternoon.  He said he liked the walk, but I don’t recall him earning another detention that year.

·         I made them Observe the Sabbath which meant attending Church every week for three hours, No playdates or birthday parties, No going out to eat, or shopping, no Sporting events on Sundays. Sundays were spent at home with family—sometimes whiney babies, whiney teens and even whiney mom and dad.  And Naps.  Glorious Sunday naps.

·         I made my kids apologize when they hurt one another, “I’m sorry. I will never do it again.”

·         I lectured them ‘til my brain hurt about the same darn things, over and over and over again.

·         I hid all of Dara’s favorite things in her room for a week when she wouldn’t stop taking others’ things without permission.  Oh, and I took the door off her bedroom when she kept slamming it.

·         I tracked my teens down, on foot, by phone or car when I didn’t know where they were.

·         I embarrassed my kids by telling them “NO” in front of their friends.

·         I made my teens introduce me to their friends and their dates…no one was allowed to just run off with complete strangers.

·         Curfew.  Those that needed it, had it. Those that didn’t, didn’t. (the guilty parties know who they are!)

·         We didn’t have Allowance.  It takes a family to take care of a family. I am not a personal maid or servant for all of these human beings.  Money was given when it was earned in other ways.

·         I never lied for them to their teachers—no, I won’t sign a form or make a call saying they were too sick to go to school or too sick to turn in homework, unless they really were.

·         I made them write Thank You notes for gifts and services from others before they could use the gift. 

·         I made them call their own doctors for appointments when they were teenagers.

·         I didn’t let them take phone calls after 8pm when we had landlines. They needed to rest up for the next day.

·         We didn’t buy our kids cars while they were in high school. They had to do that the summer after graduation—on their own. And had to work to pay for their insurance and gas.

I did all of this horrible stuff and MORE, with the hope that I’d raise kids into Responsible, Loving, Faithful adults.  Mistakes were made, tears were shed, bribes were offered—some were accepted, others rejected, apologies extended, compromises created, lines were drawn, feet were stomped, doors slammed, feelings hurt, lessons learned and love saved us all.  And I would do 99% of it all over again in a heartbeat.

Happy I HATE MOM Day!

Media Fears: Who's Protecting the Children?

The World is Angry, with a capital "A".

I haven't felt so much anger in my life on this planet 

since I was a child of the '60's/70s

and the Vietnam War was on the lips of everyone back then.

We had three television channels,

and when the evening news came on,

a message to parents would signal them to excuse children from the room

because of frightening content regarding the War, was going to air.

I remember POW/MIA bracelets

I remember the college protests, and the Kent State massacre headlines--though I didn't see them in real time, because there was no such thing as re-runs of news back then. But I did hear about them.

At the same time, there were the segregation riots. 

Growing up in the South,

we had to take buses far from our neighborhoods

to the other side of town,

for the sake of segregation.

There were school days when I was told by my black friends

not to come to school the next day because of planned riots.

And then, on top of all that was the Women's Movement 

of that decade.
I guess one could say, I've seen much of societal turmoil in my life.

Because there was no such thing as the Internet back then,

it wasn't shoved down my throat from every direction.

Afterall, we were living in the South. 

You'd have to be a complete ignoramus not to know what was going on...

or be a child.

There was alot of fear-fueled anger then.

But, the adults protected the children from the awfulness of it.

As bad as I knew, I didn't know how bad it all was,

partly because the adults protected the children from the hard truths of a hard situation.

They excused us from the room when tones changed from civility to ugliness.

The turned off the TV, telling us to "go play".

The newsmen back then, Walter Cronkite, David Brinkley and their colleagues

were actual "Reporters" of the news, not creators of it.

They shared the events of the day as they knew them,

and then, in their honest efforts to be responsible journalists,

would offer what they called

an "Editorial"...stating with clarity that the next part of their presentation

was their own Opinions, based on investigating and observance.

It was generally a pretty short segment of the show,

but those men built their entire careers on integrity.

Back then,

Corporations took seriously, the need for Peace.

They put their money in it, such as the Coca-Cola TV Commercial:

Everyone knew that song.  It was a call for peace in brotherhood.

In my days, the messengers of peace were called, "Flower Children" or "Hippies"-- artsy-fartsy labels that sounded juvenile, but accurately described a grassroots movement for change.

I decided that I was a potential "Flower Child" because I too, wanted peace. I wanted the fearful and the angry to reconcile with love and peace. And I knew the adults in my life--my neighbors, my friends' parents, my teachers at school and church--they all wanted it too. 

Since 9/11,

we haven't had the opportunity to shield our kids from the realities of this life...

we've trained them to be aware of the possible dangers in the world they live in--

from child abductions off street corners to sex traffickers, drug pushers, insane people at the movie theaters, and of course, the Middle East terrorists that made "9/11" the Memorized Date in history

that it is...

and the hardest part of training our kids is that we don't get to frame all of this in a responsible narrative that would also protect our children's hearts from the awful weight of the world.

No, that narrative is lost in the intrusive, loud, crass, ugliness that is promulgated by the unspoken rulers of the world--The Media.

Depending on who owns the collective media outlets,

the "news" is presented to fit their agenda, which has little to do with any actual truths

and more to do with how quickly they can fill their pockets.

In an effort to close out some of the noisy, intrusive media,

we shut-off the cable/ Direct TV to our home three years ago.

I thought we were brilliantly responsible in doing that--

but apparently, it was only the tip of the Media Iceberg.

There's no such thing as Responsible Journalists left anymore.

No warnings exist on social media--

just alot of selfish agendas clamoring for validation in the forms of LIKES

screaming for attention

from every wanna-be-celebrity across the globe.

Every news station is precarious perched upon a three-legged stool of agendas:

Be First, Be Sensational, Be Unaccountable.

Truth is irrelevant in the media.

Opinions stated come with a quick one-sentence sound bite,

engineered, orchestrated, contrived so that it can pull in more money for the owners/ board members, stockholders, and everyone else on the payroll.

The Social Conscience Responsibility is nowhere to be found.

The Media machine is a fierce, capable, Enemy of Truth.

And we have a couple of generations of children

who have grown up with a smart skepticism of Authority.

Who can they trust?

Who's got their back?

Who's protecting their interests?

All of this leading me, 

a mother of seven children to ask the question:

Is it no wonder our children are struggling with the demands of life?

Struggling with relationships--in the family and in society.

Struggling in school--with the programs, with the teachers, with the extreme, outrageous government-implemented "Common Core", and "Leave No Child Behind" acts.

Struggling to Live.

My youngest two children attend Discovery Canyon Campus.

Google it and you'll come across this Newsweek Article:

http://www.newsweek.com/2016/10/28/teen-suicide-contagious-colorado-springs-511365.html

Two of the young men and two of the young women mentioned in the article were friends of my youngest children.

We've been to more funerals in the past year,

collectively,

than I've been to in my entire life.

One of the young men took his life the day after his mom brought cupcakes to school

to celebrate his birthday, 

with his friends. My son included.

For those kids left behind after a classmate takes their own life,

the school itself feels contaminated, scary, risky.

We've talked about moving our kids from DCC next year if we're still here in Colorado Springs.

Alot of students have moved, and noone blames them.

It's hard.

It's harder than we are able to grasp and put a narrative on--

the kind that frames the experience and puts it into a less-threatening situation

because truly, 

these suicides exceed our capacity to do so.

My own daughter is in counselling now because she is experiencing anxiety beyond what 

we could help her deal with...

she doesn't know from one day to the next who's going to choose to take their life

from her student body.

She takes cookies to her friends weekly,

she makes sure to tell all of her friends how much she loves them,

needs them, wants them to know she is there for them.

And she's sad to her bones for the ones she didn't know were going to take their own lives.

The impact of the world's anger/uncertainty/chaos

is shattering our kids' worlds too.

How can they have hope in their future when they are being bombarded with 

adult opinions on the certainty of failing securities to protect them?

What can we do?

Practice Peace.

• I'm trying to make our home a haven. Practice the Danish "hygge" this winter, especially.
• Blocking out the negativity as much as I can. "Unfollowing" is a habit now for my own sanity, those who engage in the chaos, the anger-baiting, the hateful diatribe on the topic-of-the-day.
• Using my social media: Facebook & Instagram to share messages of Peace, Gratitude, and Faith.  I don't care if I get any "LIKES" or whatever, I know that my children see MY social media posts--that's the point, right?  
• They see it.  
• I want to be a voice of calm, an example of hope and steadiness in a loud, pessimistic, fear-fueled angry world.
• More hugs, More eye-to-eye conversations about their strengths and future plans.
• Less, "did-you-get-that-and-that-and-that-done?" commands.  Not right now.  Those directives can take a time-out.
• Practice Peace.
• Serve your neighbors. Bring the teens with you to serve someone else.
• Say kind words to them, about them, with them, about others.
• Practice Peace.
• Express Hope in the Future. Make plans for enriching activities and trips.
• Practice Peace.
• Pray for our world.  Pray for the leaders of the nations to be soft when they can be, and to be strong when they must, and to be fair always.
• Pray for ourselves to feel God's love for us always and to direct our paths.

We need to protect our children. Our children need protection. Above all else on our plates, this is number one priority: Let the Children Play.