Where Is My Footing

I am not the most sure-footed person. My vision and some health history make me feel pretty unsteady at times. I am not a fan of stairs. I don’t walk on rocks if I can help it. Striding on sand is not my thing. I am slow and careful.

Except in my faith. I have always had a home in the church since I first started attending at age 4. I jumped right into the Christian subculture. I went to Christian schools for part of my growing up and for college. I went to purity conferences and Christian concerts as a teen. Church camp from age 9-16. Went back as a counselor in college for a couple of years. I even traveled with a Christian music group as their interpreter for the Deaf after college.

What I am trying to communicate is, I wasn’t just a Christian, it was my culture, how I voted, and how I viewed the world.

It is still how I view the world. I am first and foremost a Christian.

But somehow I left the culture. I left that world.

I still attend church and I still love to tell people about Jesus. I am still a Christian who homeschools my girls.

And yet, I am not at home in the culture.

By and large, if people in the community knew how I voted I am afraid I would be looked down upon. Don’t get me wrong, I am not necessarily quiet about my views so many know, and most who do still love me, but I keep quiet a lot in order to keep the peace. My poor husband and kids get an earful but I really do bite my tongue.

It is hurting me.

I want to scream, if you disagree so much with someone for their life and choices that you villify them, how will they believe you if you say Jesus loves them?


If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. I John 4:20.

One version of the Bible implied this only meant other Christians but I disagree that is what was meant here. If you want to really speak into someone’s life, you must sometimes say hard things, you sometimes challenge someone. Who do we accept this kind of talk from? Someone we don’t know? No. Someone who we know dislikes or disapproves of us? Surely not. Like never. Does that mean I have to agree with everything someone says in order to talk about Jesus, no, but it is highly likely that if I decide to talk about Jesus, I better have chosen to be authentic, loving, and involved beforehand.

Does this mean I am only loving and nice if I want to talk about Jesus? No. That’s not authentic or invested either. I should be loving and nice regardless.

Honestly, I can only take care of my own behaviors regardless of what I think someone else should be or do. My job is me.

Unfortunately, some of those claiming to follow the same Jesus I do make it hard to walk in peace. I spend more time explaining the hatred away that those I want to talk about Jesus with see than I do talking about the truth of Jesus. And I am tired of it.

And I am out of step with so much of what I used to think it meant to be a Christian. And that leaves me feeling like I am walking down a set of stairs to the rocks below and right into the sand…uncomfortable and unsteady.

I don’t like it.

I find myself less and less interested in hanging out with other Christians. I told my hubby that and he said, “But what about all the swear words and the foul language?” Right now I would rather deal with that.

I would rather sit with the sinners than the saints.


I like to count things.

For example, I can tell you we have had 34,632 diapers donated to be given to refugees and New Americans since the first days of the COVID lockdowns. Almost every single one has gone back out to the refugee and New American families to help take care of babies. Fun fact, none of the social safety network covers diapers.

But that is not really my point.

My point is counting.

Since each of my girls was born, I have been counting. Well, it actually started the moment I found out I was pregnant with each one. Counting the days I was pregnant, counting to the end of the first trimester. Counting the days until each midwife appointment. Counting the hours of laboring. Counting how many hours old they were. Counting how many days, weeks, months, years…counting.

A new counting started last May…how long until Caitlyn’s graduation? And Saturday, while driving home from a college visit, we hit 3 months until said graduation.

And I am not sure I have really breathed since.

Hasn’t Much Changed

I remember it like it was yesterday, Caitlyn was 8 weeks old and I went to Target by myself. It might have been my first outing without her. I wasn’t even back to work.

But there I was, hiding in Target having a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe and I was sobbing. Like bent over sobbing. Because she was going to grow up and leave me.

That feeling actually goes back to the moment she was born.

After 25 hours of labor, they put this baby on my chest and I realized from that moment I would have to share her. I had her all to myself for 9 months but even in this moment, the midwife had touched my baby first and was going to take her away to do all the medical checks.

I was going to have to share her for the rest of her life.

Not wanting to come across as psycho, I shoved that feeling as far down as possible and began our life together. I must have done alright because my mother-in-law complimented me on how gracious I was in sharing her. I brushed it off saying I knew I got to take her home no matter what but in all honesty, I was internally gritting my teeth every time I had to share her.

But share her I have. Yes, we homeschool, but she has a full social life, volunteers, works, all the things. Now we are on the cusp of really having to share her. She has been accepted to 20 colleges/universities so far. And she is going to go to one of them. I will be so excited to see her grow and do things and pray that she knows we are always a safe place to land.

But for today, I stand at my computer trying to write something for her senior yearbook.

Words escape me. But tears don’t. I am back hiding in that Target struggling to breathe and crying.

Doing All The Things I Love

Our family does some volunteering that I love. It involves helping people, meeting amazing people, living and loving with people very intentionally and hopefully well.

It has been the joy of my life to have this opportunity over the last several years. Truly. It can be an emotional work being truly in people’s lives, but I recommend it 200%.

The last couple of weeks has been incredibly rewarding as we have met new families and are getting to know them as they build their lives. But when I tell you it is exactly where I want to be, I am not kidding or exaggerating.

It has even given me many, many opportunities to use the Arabic I have been studying for the last 5 years. And it has been amazing. Challenging and exhausting. Exposed my weaknesses while encouraging me in how much I have actually learned.

My kids are working hard and succeeding in their studies. They are really great and fun kids. They continue to me witty, heartwarming, thoughtful, and smart…seriously, I can’t complain.

The only problem is me.

I hate myself.

I cried on my run today while considering my day.

Every interaction I have is tainted by how much I talk. I talk too much. It’s not because I want to monopolize the conversation. I truly can’t help it.

And it ruins me after every social interaction. I often say I am afraid to be around people. That is not incorrect but to put a finer point on it, I hate who I am around people. My stomach hurts just thinking about it. Actually, my whole body hurts.

I also hate the feeling that people really don’t want me around. I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop–walking on eggshells because I am sure people are angry with me and going to yell at me. I don’t intend to be needy or desperate but I am scared–all.the.time.

Scared of friends. Scared of family. Scared of acquaintances. Scared the things I love will be taken away from me as punishment. It never ends.

My life is amazing. I only wish…

I am Tired

For the last 6 years our country has been turned on its ear. I thought it would be over when TFG lost the 2020 election and yet…

Two years ago was the attack on our Capitol so TFG could try to stay as president. I remember standing at this very computer with my mouth agape and tears running down my face. My husband came home and we stood there shocked. I sat for two days in a stupor telling my best friend over and over, “what has happened to my country?”

There was hope in 2020 and some things have gotten better but still every day I am afraid of what has happened to my country.

And I am tired of that question.

Shut It Down

So I had planned to shut down this blog but I can’t figure out how to print it all and I don’t want to lose everything which brings me to–I guess I better get writing to justify its existence.

I’ll start by writing about something that brings me great joy–reading. Not mine, but my girls’.

I love to read. My mother loves to read. My grandmother loved to read. I always assumed my daughters would love to read…alas, it did not seem that was going to be the case. Once, my mother even yelled across a family, “didn’t you think you would raise at least ONE reader?” I felt this criticism deeply and was so embarrassed I had not…, particularly as a homeschooler. But alas, Caitlyn only loved to read to learn things, i.e. Pinterest or other websites. Sue loved Graphic Novels and Patrice, well, she saw reading as an extension of school and was not a big fan. I, as a book snob, did not see graphic novels, or even audiobooks, as real reading thus I was left with no readers.

Then, last summer, something changed, Caitlyn decided to volunteer at the local library. She goes every Thursday afternoon for two hours.

Caitlyn helping at the library fair last summer

I hoped, but thought it was ridiculous to consider, that she would fall in love with reading somehow while she was at the library…AND SHE DID! She discovered there were a lot more books out there than what mommy had chosen over the years.

Now, in my defense, she has chosen some of the genre I used to buy for her but they are a little more grown-up than I chose. But now she reads lots of things. Authors and titles I never would have thoughts. She and her friends give books as gifts and hang out at bookstores! I am still thrilled and in awe. I am sure I make her crazy because I keep commenting on it. I try not to but…I try.

Another thing happened that has helped my perspective–a year or so ago, maybe longer, I discovered audiobooks. I just don’t have all the time to read that I would like but with an audiobook I can run and “read”–it is wonderful. And this past summer, I discovered graphic novels! I thought they were just that, novels–basically comic books, but turns out you can find biographies, history, all sorts of things–I have two on hold at the library right now–which makes me a lot more accepting of what Sue, and sometimes Patrice, like to read.

I guess mom’s can use an education and an attitude adjustment!

Don’t mind me, I’m just over here giddy as I see my kids reading all different genres and formats!

Feeling Good and Bad

One step forward, two steps back.

November was my things have to change moment. I have spent years totally immobilized when it came to getting my health back. It has been a mix of how do I change my eating without my three daughters learning disordered eating or that their worth comes from the number on the scale and feeling totally overwhelmed whenever I looked at changing my foods. Like, take anxiety medication overwhelmed.

And then Covid. My biggest risk factor for Covid complications is my weight. At 4′ 9″ tall, it doesn’t take a lot to put me in the obese category. And that made me mad.

Need to make a change!

So November, I decided to start even if I didn’t know where to start. I started logging my food and slowly lowering how many calories I ate. I saw 10 pounds drop in pretty short order. And that was beyond fantastic.

In early May, I took the plunge and started intermittent fasting. That got me out of slump I had been in. So at the end of May, I jumped into Keto.

And I have lost 23 pounds. I have gone down a size in shirts and some jeans.

Progress but I want more

I have 35 more to lose if I go by my goal and 41 pounds more if I go by the charts.

I really am thrilled but things have slowed down again. I am not seeing a big drop like others talk about with Keto. I am still losing and gaining. I get at least 10,000 steps every day. Some days walking and more and more back to running. I have even started going to the gym with my daughter.

Where is my quick loss others talk about with Keto? Why am I still creeping down, back and forth?

I am thrilled at the 23 pounds gone but will I get the others gone or am I just fooling myself?

I want to wallow really bad but I am going to head outside to play a game of crossnet with my girls.

Goals Goals Goals

Starting our third year in a pandemic is getting more than a little old. I speak for everyone when I say how desperately we need something else to think about, talk about, and do.

Our family has been, and continues to be, pretty limited in our activities. And I am okay with that but like all I am tired of living, thinking, and breathing about covid.

So I have decided to tackle something that is not easy but I have more control over it–my weight.

I have been putting off the weight I need to lose for a long time. My reason, one among many, I was afraid to undertake all the changes and teach my daughters the diet culture or put them at risk with disordered eating.

And I am still afraid of that–I have a 15-year-old, 14-year-old, and 11-year-old. All girls. How do I navigate this while getting myself healthy? So I took the first step in November. I started logging all my food. Then I gave up Diet Coke (for another reason but hopefully it helps here), and got to moving some more. I learned some things from others, gave up bread, and set some goals.

Sixty-three pounds is a lot of my very small body. I followed some advice from a YouTuber who has lost 183 pounds and set some goals. Two weeks ago I hit 10% of my goal lost and today I hit my first 10-pound goal.

This evening I excitedly ordered myself some new hair bobbies to celebrate my first 10 pounds!

So here we go…

The Days Move On

Two years ago today my family sat together and spent my grandma’s last moments with her. We laughed and we cried as we lived together in each breath.

I mark time. I always have. Memories, anniversaries sit there waiting for their moment. Waiting for the chanced to be breathed in and out once again.

Two years ago it came time to mark the final moments with my grandma.

On December 12 my mom had called to say it was time to come home to see grandma. I had a cold so took a nap to prepare for the drive up. And then my grandma rallied so I told my mom we weren’t going to come–I didn’t want to make anyone sick. The next call was to come…it seesawed back and forth a bit until my hubby came home and declared, “no, we’re going.” Hubby and girls dropped me off at my grandparents for the next day and half to be with my family.

My grandparents have always been a huge part of my life. I spent a lot of time with them. Playing with baby dolls and a fisher price telephone. My grandma sewed dresses, halloween costumes, doll accessories. One year my grandma decided my cousin and I should experience a fancy lunch so she took us to a resort in the area that had a beautiful restaraunt. She made me chocolate dipped pretzels each year for Christmas.

I could list things all day. I really could.

My grandparents were snowbirds for many years–they headed for warmer climates when our harsh winters were settling in. Oh how I missed them when they were gone. They were a safe place to me.

And here we were. In the final hours with my grandma.

As I walked in to her room, having no idea how to act or what to say I said, “I love you grandma” and she spoke what would be her last words “I love you.”

And just two hours later we marked the moment of my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary. Fifty years. They were a team. Each having their strengths and their challenges. Having each other to lean on.

Two years later and time keeps going. Chaotically and in ways none of us ever imagined but it keeps going–waiting to be noticed, waiting to be tucked away.

I don’t know if my soul can bear all these days since then. I am buckling under the weight, the grief, the uncertainty.

I need my grandparents desperately right now. I need that safe place. I need to have them, not their time.

My grandparents many years back.

Just so you know

This is from 5 years ago so Patrice was just 6. Her personality hasn’t changed. And no, I don’t starve her.

Leah is the sweetest 6-year-old ever. She got a pouch of goldfish crackers in her trick-or-treating loot. I told her tonight she could have that with lunch, so before going to bed she comes up to me and says, “just so you know, I might ask you over and over tomorrow if it is lunchtime yet!”