Friday, August 31, 2018

Tell Them Why They're Great

I have never suffered from mental illness, from extreme anxiety or depression AND I PRAISE GOD FOR THAT. Of course, never really experiencing any of those things means that I don't understand it on a lived-through-it kind of level.

Last Friday, Andrew Stoecklein, the pastor of Inland Hills Church in California, took his own life. He attempted suicide inside the church and died hours later in the hospital. He was 30. He had three sons, a wife, a mom, a sister, and a brother. He had an entire mega church. And he had anxiety and depression that led him to end it all.

I wrote on Facebook that I cannot stop thinking about this. I really can't get his wife out of my head because I really keep thinking, "WHAT IF THAT WAS TROY?" What if he took his own life or, even, died tomorrow in a car crash or had a heart attack or a stroke or, or, or...

A friend of mine from high school just lost her husband. She is my age. He died suddenly. She lost him. Quickly and without expectation.

I know I shouldn't be consumed by this. I know I should pray and give it over to God because who of us can add a single moment to our lives by worrying? But it really makes a girl think. What if he suddenly wasn't there in the bed next to me? What if his smile and his laugh were gone from my life? What if I had to learn how to mow the lawn?

I don't want to mow the lawn.

And I don't want to sleep in my bed all alone.

I love him more than anything else on this earth. Oh sure, my kids are there with that unconditional love stuff but I know as well as anyone that one day they will grow up and leave me forever and it'll be just their dad and me again. Like it was in the beginning.

I would never say that my husband is the very best husband who ever walked the planet. I see that so often on social media and it always makes me laugh because usually I'm thinking to myself, "Well, but no." Because the bottom line is that your husband is (hopefully) the very best husband FOR YOU. But if I was married to him, the world would probably explode. Or something. Your husband and me would probably be a real mess. Honestly, I don't really believe in soul mates. Still, there just might be only one man on the face of the earth who could deal with me day in and day out and it's the one I've got. And you can't have him so there's no point in my telling you why he is the best. I don't actually want you to want him.

Kayla Stoecklein has been writing letters to her husband in an attempt to process her grief. They're beautiful and, for her, they are necessary. They're filled with how she's doing and how she vows to use his death to shed light on mental illness. I believe she'll have an incredible ministry if and when she comes out on the other side of her pain. I'm sure he knew--in his life--how much she loved him. But it's made me think about how we all need to say these things in the here and now, while we're all still breathing.

While I've never struggled with mental illness on any sort of diagnosed level (probably we all have mental health issues of some kind) I've found myself kinda freaking out in these past few days. I want to make sure I know where my husband is at all times. I don't want him to die. Even though I know I can't do anything to control that. So in my recent panic, I had a thought.

TELL THEM WHY THEY'RE GREAT.

We know this. But do we do it? Don't think about the myriad of things that you would change if you could. I can't make my husband taller and there's no point in wasting time thinking up ways to make him grow or make me shrink. And I can't get him to stop untucking the covers at the foot of the bed because his feet are hot. So why worry about those things? Where there are faults (and no, I don't actually think being a shortish man is a fault) pray and keep your mouth shut. I'm generally kind of a nag so this is as much for me as anyone. But their great successes need to be celebrated.

Troy tells me all the time that I'm a great wife. The best wife, actually. Best of wives and best of women. I mean, he stole those words from Alexander Hamilton but still. I'm not always entirely fun to live with and yet, he will often just wrap his arms around me and tell me how thankful he is to have me.

He takes such very good care of me and our children. If I am sick or need to be gone for some reason, I don't worry at all that life will go on and he'll get it all done. In fact, when I am sick, he encourages me to just get in bed and rest. Or he tells me to see a doctor which I never want to do willingly because I'm a tightwad. And if I want to do something he almost never tries to dissuade me. "You were asked to speak at a retreat in California? Do it!" Even if I say I can't or spout a million reasons I shouldn't, he is quick to tell me I should. He believes in me SO MUCH MORE THAN I BELIEVE IN MYSELF.

He does laundry, dishes, vacuums, and scrubs the floors. I hate scrubbing floors. So he does it.

He's completely invested in our kids educations, sports endeavors, and, above all, their spiritual maturity. He is constantly teaching them about what it means to be a follower of Jesus Christ.

These are just a few of the things I love about my husband. What do you love about yours? Tell him. Remind him of all the reasons you love him--while you can. I've seen, too many times in the past few weeks, how short life is. These women--my friend and this pastor's wife I don't even know--can no longer hold their husbands and tell them all the reasons they love them.

But we still can.

Song of Solomon 3:4 "...I found the one I love. I held him and would not let him go..."

Friday, August 24, 2018

Oh Hello Again

You know what will get a girl up and blogging in a hot second? Seeing her blog linked to on social media with the sentence, "...a link to her blog so you can get to know her better." Yikes! Maybe I should start blogging more than once every full moon. Right now, if you were trying to learn more about me from my blog you would think I never wrote anything. And also, maybe, that I want to move to New York. The last time I blogged was just on the heels of our New York trip.

We're all back at school now. I officially have classes coming to me on Monday but the boys have been in full fledged school mode for three days now. Three days down. 177 to go. Or something like that. But who's counting? ME, THAT'S WHO! I miss summer the moment it leaves and eagerly anticipate its next arrival.

Not that I don't love teaching drama to elementary school students. Because I totally do.

I'm off on Thursday and Friday and do you want to know what Will did today? He climbed all the things. All of them. Closet shelves, pantry shelves, counters. You name it. He climbed it. I'm going to need to invest $100 dollars into MORE baby proofing despite the fact that he is two and NOT A BABY. The kid is part monkey. I'm sure of it.

My schedule is packed full of work and ministry and preparing for our church retreat in October--not speaking, just singing and administrating--and preparing to speak in three weeks at a retreat in California and running Garrett to baseball and scouts and getting Matthew to his extracurricular events and keeping Will alive. The last one is a full time job for two parents. I assure you that raising that kid is not for the weak or faint of heart.

Garrett has a friend over now in my attempt to be THE HOUSE WHERE ALL THE BOYS WANT TO BE WHEN THEY'RE TEENAGERS. My theory is that if they're here, they're not out making bad choices and smoking pot and hanging with any ladies. In order to be this house, I feel like I need to have enough money to make the good nachos. If there are nachos, they will come. He's 12 now so I feel like Operation Nacho House needs to commence fairly quickly. I should point out that, at this point, my son is not the least bit interested in girls and he had better not be the least bit interested in weed.

Matthew didn't come home from school complaining about it so I will take that as a complete WIN. He did say that he took a reading test and his teacher wrote 0. Not gonna lie, the over achiever in me wants to send her an email right this very moment and say, "Help a mama out, did my kid fail reading on the third day of 4th grade?" But here's what I am doing instead. I am ASSUMING that meant that he made 0 mistakes and I will continue assuming this until told otherwise. I forced him to read all summer long against his wishes and often with the threat of maiming if he refused. (Actually, I didn't threaten that at all but it may be a new parenting tactic I've just landed on.) I can't bear to think about all that reading and a 0 to show for it.

I'm neck deep in Ruth. After spending all summer with her and then feeling the Lord's leading to talk about her at the women's retreat, I feel like she and I are the very best of friends. She, however, is A MUCH BETTER PERSON than I am. She's the girl that all the moms want their daughters to hang out with. She's the daughter in law that every mom wants. A woman of noble character. That's our Ruth. And boy do I wish I was more like her.

I feel, though, that my personality would overwhelm Ruth. "I need to find a new field, Naomi. There's a real weirdo in the one I'm working in. She is routinely dancing badly and singing show tunes."

Anyway. I was totally working on my power point when I decided that there should be something new on my blog. Something that isn't three weeks old and about New York. But I do really, really love New York. New York is not dead to me. You know what is dead to me? United Airlines. Because they still haven't gotten back to me and it has been much longer than the 7-10 business days they promised. Okay. Back to Ruth. Or maybe trying to call United again...

Saturday, August 11, 2018

NYC

My mom and I took Garrett to New York City and he hated Times Square.

I can't honestly remember my very first impression of New York. I'd flown in on a red eye and my friend deposited me in her room to sleep while she went to class. I'm sure I had an initial impression but I don't know what it was. And I don't remember at what point on that trip The City grafted itself into my blood so that I loved it in a magical kind of way.

On my second trip, I came up out of the subway station and there were fat raindrops falling. I was in Washington Heights which feels so different from other parts of Manhattan and I just remember smiling and feeling at peace even though New York is really not overly peaceful.

We came up out of the subway and into the edge of Times Square at 40th Street and 8th Ave. There was a weird door that led to an adult movie store. There was always a drunk guy passed out right in front of the door. It was never the same guy.

Garrett loves hotels and ours was a hit.

He enjoyed Madame Tussaud's.

He loves history and the day we spent at the Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island/911 Museum/Trinity Church was right up his alley.

He laughed hysterically throughout the play we saw.

He liked going up into the Empire State Building.

He absolutely adored Central Park.

But he hated Times Square.

We'd be walking through and I would suddenly feel his hand on me--as though afraid he might be swallowed up whole. I tried to make it fun for him by taking him to the M&M store and Junior's for dessert. But he was scared for life by a grown man dressed like a baby trying to get money.

By the end of our four days there, he would say things like, "Does it involve going through Times Square?" If I replied no, he sighed in relief.

I think he enjoyed the experience of NYC. He saw things some 12 year olds only know from books and movies. But he was in his element in Central Park--where he could climb rocks and catch turtles. On our last day, in our last two hours, he asked if I would take him back to Central Park. I wasn't sure I could make it happen given our time constraint. But then I totally did and he got a full half hour with those turtles.

And then we came up out of the subway station. Past the adult movie store door. Past the drunk guy. Onto our street and back to the hotel.

And then it took us a full 18 hours to get home because our flight was delayed and we missed our connector. So he slept on the floor of the Denver airport. It was certainly a trip to remember.