Pastor MomMe

“Have you ever felt depressed before?”

Yes.

“Did it stay that way? Has it felt the same ever since?”

No.

“So at some point, in some way, it improved.”

When it is darkest, it truly is hard to remember light. It seems like it’s always, only, ever darkness, that I cannot and will never again see anything clearly.

And whether or not the particular low I find myself in is exactly like any previous bouts, the point I took from her questions and cling to whenever I think of it again is: the darkness has changed before, and will change again.

This week has made me keenly aware about some things about myself. Primarily that losing things makes me anxious. Like, BIG TIME. Saturday morning I lost the garage door remote from my van, and couldn’t remember when I had last seen it. I recalled all the place I had been- including Costco where I accidentally left the side door open during my entire shopping trip, and ALDI where I heard a crunch under my tire as I pulled out but didn’t notice anything in the parking spot I left behind. I panicked that perhaps I’d inadvertently left the van unlocked in the driveway at some point and a potential thief had taken it to strike when I wasn’t home- like at the time when I was headed into a meeting, boys in tow, and discovered it missing.

Before heading in to the meeting, I rifled through the clutter in my car to no avail, and while I thought it was my exhaustion catching up with me that brought me to the brink of tears by the end of the meeting, I can look back and see it was intense anxiety over my missing possession. When we got back to the car I scoured it- under and between seats, inside bags, cup holders, and storage compartments. We had somewhere to be so I was about to go when I decided to check my trash can- if it had fallen from the visor to the between-chairs tray, it could have them been knocked into the garbage. And sure enough, that is what had happened. HUGE WAVE OF RELIEF.

Of course, my day moved on to other iterations of stress, but nothing went missing.

Until three days later. I wear a nose stud in the piercing I got on my first trip to India to meet John’s family. Indian-style nose rings are two piece and threaded- very secure as you literally screw them in place. His parents have bought me a variety of nose studs over the years, and I occasionally switch them, like I did a couple weeks ago for the holiday season.

The one I had decided to wear was a bit more bling than I typically wear, but it reminds me of a snowflake so it seemed fitting. But it wasn’t- fitting, that is. The threads were loose and I knew it- I had to push the two parts back together a few times a day, which I was cautious to do out of fear of losing it. Well, in the throes of solo-parenting during hubby’s hunting trip, we got to my umpteenth stop of the day, Cub Scout den meeting, and I realized it was gone. That was it. It set me off. Anxiety again. Made it through the meeting ok, but mentally reviewing where I had been that I might have lost it- how many stops ago can I be sure I’d still had it? I did remember blowing my nose in the car, and wondered if I had somehow missed it coming dislodged at that point. But it was close to bedtime and I was spent, and just wanted to get the boys to bed so I could look for it. Judah wanted to call his dad and then his bff, so I let him and meanwhile took a flashlight out to the van. I looked around my seat, in the seat, and then on the floor between the front seats, I found the nose-ring backing. That was very promising: so then I went to where I had been successful before- the trash can. I took out the top couple of kleenex and squeezed them for anything hard. I almost thought it wasn’t there, but knowing how small it is, I got even more thorough. And sure enough, there it was, tangled up in tissue. And again, HUGE WAVE OF RELIEF.

Now, there are certainly other factors contributing to my stress levels this week, hubby gone, home problems, holiday prep, etc, but going through trees two incidents has highlighted for me just how losing something affects me, steals my peace, as well as my full focus, preventing me from functioning normally until I am assured of the location of the missing object. I can identify too on Monday how I relentlessly searched for the set of auction hooks I knew I had, remembered seeing together in sifted clutter, but could not determine where they had ended up. I did a LOT of scrambling and more clutter-shifting that afternoon for the sake of finding them, to no avail. And life moved on so I had to let it go. Then, as I was searching for Judah’s Webelos book, I found them. In a box I hadn’t even noticed in the garage.

There’s more to this- years ago I read the book, Jesus, Life Coach by Laurie Beth Jones. In it she described a practice she had in her walk with God. She decided to ask God to use ladybugs as reminders of his love for her. Kinda like an inside joke or secret code, whenever she notices a ladybug, she takes it as a message from him. She relates how once, when she really needed it, she even encountered one on a snow-covered car windshield. She then encourages readers to find their own secret signal for receiving reminders of God’s love. So I did.

It started off as socks. I had received a set of fun socks as a gift at a surprise party thrown by a group of very new friends, fellow new moms, and not sure what else to choose, I though, “socks.” A few months later, floundering through the chaos of first time parenting, I found myself frustrated at missing *ONE* of a pair of tiny infant socks. How?? How do you lose ONE BABY SOCK? It annoyed me, but there was nothing I could do about it. But then, low and behold, when I changed the sheets and decided to take the entire crib mattress out- there it was, the missing sock. Not long after that, vacuuming under our bed/behind the crib after moving it out of our room, I heard a loud clinking sound and stopped the vacuum right away. To my utter amazement I found a small gold stud earring that had been given to me by my great-grandmother before I was born. I had lost it a year and a half earlier and given up on ever seeing it again. It was at that moment that my ‘secret code’ with God was sealed. Life-especially with kids- involves losing things, no matter how careful you are. I decided that I would worry less about losing things because that would give God an opportunity to remind me of his love when I was reunited with them. And often that’s how I look at it- if I can’t find something, it just a set up to be shown that God still loves me at a time when I probably really need it.

I’ve been meaning to blog again for a while now, yet never seem to get around to it. But with current events, here I am finally taking another ‘tumble.’ I’ve been processing through social media, and am taking a moment here to collect those fragments into a statement.

I voted Clinton. And though I could give an lengthy explanation how I got there from supporting Bernie, you’ll have to take me out for a Frappuccino for that. I’m writing here to walk through a fear realized, that the man whose candidacy seemed certainly to be a publicity stunt is now our president elect. And though I’m still deeply disappointed and less then optimistic, I am not terrified for what the next four years hold. Allow me to explain.

Over the past several months, I’ve repeatedly said that though I can respect Trump supporters, understanding they anticipate something positive from his presidency, of all the people on this planet I CANNOT respect the man Trump himself. However, I believe ALL people deserve love AND respect, so it would appear God is taking me to task for my brazenly confessed insolence. 

 In my desire to respect the ‘other,’ I read articles that I knew I wouldn’t necessarily agree with. And I came across one or two that convinced me that what Trump supporters want is what I want- change for the better. I didn’t necessarily agree with how they thought that could or would happen, but understood that they found hope in this political outsider with a propensity to buck convention as potential solution for the progress they seek. That helped me hugely in being able to maintain civility towards 'others,’ preventing me from flat out villainizing anyone who would dare consider supporting the man. 

But I also have to mention glimmers of decency on his behalf that were shared. While I remain thoroughly appalled by the outrageous examples of his shameless vileness, I will not discount that Trump has reportedly responded in some situations with generosity, a donation to a family in need or the like. I’m not about to set up scales or give gold stars, but I say this to acknowledge that however meager, there is evidence that the man can demonstrate compassion and act in the interest of someone besides himself. It’s clearly not a developed or defining characteristic, but by not dismissing it for being too infrequent or insignificant, I can restore some semblance of humanness to the Donald and perhaps move closer toward a measure of basic respect as a person.

 I'm not trying to convince anyone that he's a good guy. Most of us on either side can agree that he's not. (I can't comprehend how Kerry got flack as a 'flip-flop' when you see how easy it is to catch the Donald in his own inconsistencies. But that's besides my point.)  In my random reading, I’ve come across multiple predictions that Trump could/would never win, that he’s simply been doing this all for the ego-stoking, that he’s just riding on the exhilaration of the win and not a genuine desire to be responsible for the governing of the American people.  Some even suggested that by now he would have dropped out or self-sabotaged in order to escape the burden of the actual job.  And yet here we are. 

I think the point I’ve come to is recognition of where the power truly lies- with us, the people.  And though some claim that he won on support for all his vices- and truly there are those who supported him for precisely such (the KKK for example)- I know far too many decent people who are not racist homophobic bigots that supported him. I know that they don’t intend to excuse his undeniable ugliness.  I trust that those people will stand up alongside us if or when Trump tries to do things that threaten the freedom, dignity, and well-being of ALL Americans, regardless of race, gender, faith, or lifestyle.  In fact, I intend to hold them to exactly that.  If they do not, then I will call them out on their actions (or lack thereof).  

But that’s just it; I will judge based on actions.  So far, Trump is all talk.  He clearly loves to talk much more than he likes to think.  He has some rather cockamamie ideas, and I certainly don’t think he’s thought them through.  I for one will not stand for them, but they are at this point words, ideas, and only that.   I choose not to fear the man’s words that may never have the opportunity to flower into action.  It’s noise. Loud, offensive noise, but simply that. I came across this quote from Manga author Masashi Kishimoto,“The weaker you are, the louder you bark.” My take on Trump is that his terrier-like toupee is a metaphor for his person.  Man, can he BARK.  But that simply says to me that he’s not as powerful as he’d like to think.   

I doubt that anyone who supports Trump supports all (or perhaps even much) of what he says and claims; he makes that pretty difficult what with his ever changing stories and stances, and outright vulgar statements and conduct. I believe he won on other benign issues, and that the voters will take him to task to accomplish those things without letting him down rabbit trails of walls and such. Sure, there are some who want to restrict immigration with measures such as walls, but will we really allow extremes, like a return to concentration camps?  Have we honestly not learned?  No, I refuse to judge my friends and fellow Americans based on this man’s words; I will not let this one terrier-toupeed man determine my perspective of others.  

 Clearly in this election the people have spoken, but I don’t think they’ve said what so many fear.  That’s not the part of Trump’s message they endorse.  I haven’t heard a single contact of mine say “I voted for him because of what he’s said about Mexicans or Muslims” or any such thing.  If you want to judge the people you know on that one factor, it will be your loss. I for one will continue to trust in the decency of my fellow Americans, as well as embracing the truth that the same God that carried the Obama-is-the-end-of-America conservatives through the past eight years will carry us all through the next four and beyond.  

There is an African proverb that says “The lion does not turn around when a small dog barks.” My faith is in the true ruler of all that is, the Lion of Judah, who, believe it or not, was in control when Hitler committed his atrocities, when he himself died upon the cross, and will ever be in control of all that is.  To him my allegiance lies, and in him rests all my security.  He is good, all the time.  All the time, he is good. And no matter what comes my way, I cling to this with all my being. 

Most people know I’ve been counting down until the first day of full day kindergarten, when both my boys will be in school. I carry a twinge of guilt over my level of excitement, but this is something I’ve seriously craved since my firstborn was a newborn. Time alone, at home. No interruptions, no outside demands. A chance to read, write, create, rediscover all that I used to enjoy. (Of course, I will also be allowing myself time to simply sleep. That’s another thing that’s been neglected in the throes of raising these puny people.)

Most people also know that on the day before the last day of school, my then four-year-old tried to fly over the rainbow at the park district play-place and broke his arm. While it wasn’t on my watch, I don’t blame the staff there at all- #itwasgonnahappensometime -and I am thankful for how they cared for him and refunded the pool party and summer swim passes we could no longer enjoy.

Today marks 40 days. Forty days of a neon pink cast on a high octane now five year old, and forty days until his first day of school. I sat down to write this post simply because it was the midpoint of my summer, but the significance of that particular number is not lost on me.

It has been a rough 40 days. There have been too many other stressors simultaneously slamming me. And the hardest part for me is that there’s been little to no breaks. It’s like the 40 days of rain Noah & co. endured. I’ve had to close myself in with all the chaos at home right now, which has also meant stepping away from my responsibilities at church, which kills me, and weighs on me still. And while I’d love to be able to say I’ve persisted and resisted like Jesus through his forty days in the wilderness, my fuse for the past week has been shorter than the boys’ attention span. And my volume louder than their incessant whines.