Saved

Over eight months ago, my family took the longest ride of my life across the ocean.  I have never enjoyed flying and have only done it a handful of times.  I also can't swim, so hovering for hours over the depths of the ocean was terrifying.  I am not a free spirit by any means.  I like to have a general plan.  And there were no plans to be made for the first time in my life.  I had no idea where I was going.  I had no idea where we would live.  I had no idea when anything that was happening would make sense.  I was forced to give up any feeling of control I ever thought I had on my life.  Above all, I know that I don't have control over any of my life.  And the following months showed me just that.

Traveling across the time zones to the future threw my entire body for a loop.  My circadian rhythms are designed for the Southern United States and I happily lived there most of my life.  The jet lag that hit my body was unlike anything I had ever experienced.  There was a heaviness on my body and a fog that covered my mind.  An overwhelming breathlessness carried me through each moment.  I was unable to eat any food without being sick and I was filled with such exhaustion that I don't know how I got through those days.

Seeing the world around me brought tears to my eyes.  Everything was so unfamiliar and strange and sickening.  There were trees and buildings and people, but those things were full of pain.  I saw no joy in the newness surrounding me.  The only thing getting me through were my four babies who continued to skip through the days with their everlasting curiosity.

It was hard to count it all joy.  It was hard to breathe.  It was hard to understand why I was here.

By the grace of God, I continued to wake up each day.  And each day, God painted a sky for me.  He opened my eyes to the mysterious beauty that existed in the flat nothingness that stretched for miles.
He showed up every day and opened my eyes and heart to how real He was.  He kept showing me that this life wasn't going away, and God is who He said he was.

God offered me a friend to walk alongside me.  Because there are no coincidences, a woman I knew before coming here arrived at the same time as me.  As we learned the ropes and learned to survive in unknown territory, we became deeply known to one another. And new neighbors began to move in one by one, I was led to different things that were prepared just for me.  Simple things, like a conversation or making food for a special occasion, were placed on my heart.

Moment by moment, God continued to show me gracious living in a new country.  There were English speaking people planted to help me in the dairy aisle, or with the parking meter that I had no idea how to use.

God saw me.

Friends from afar were reminding me that they are praying for me and my family.  And those prayers most certainly lifted me up and Jesus gave me strength.

He heard them all.

And God has already seen my days head.  He knows my story, and he most certainly brought me to Germany.  His will for me exists every single day.  I was forced to stop and trust in the Lord more than I have since my momma passed from this earth seven years ago.

We have traveled to five countries now.  Each time, my eyes were curiously open to all those people in the world who were wearing a Cross.  The necklaces were on men, women and children of all ethnicities, from all parts of the world.  These individuals were declaring their trust in the Lord with a simple cross.  I couldn't help but think to myself that I literally will see that person again in Heaven.

Although part of the experience gave me peace, it also filled me with curiosity.  I wished that I could know more about those I would see in eternity.  I wanted to know more about each individual.  What was their testimony?

I understand that not all Christians wear a cross, so there are many more paths I have crossed than I have actually known.  But each time, I felt a real joy of how great God is.

This joy became incredibly real when I stood upon the Alps, which are so magnificent.  My connection to the mountains is as real as a beating heart, and they will always represent the power and majesty of God.  The height of the Alps rose above every living thing, defying what would logically exist.  The Alps were so massive, and rugged, yet smooth and delicate. They embodied everything that Jesus is. I didn't want to leave, because I was surrounded by such peace.

I had always known that within the world, I was just as important, as I was insignificant. As I navigate through the rest of my days here, my prayer is that God will continue to reveal his will for our family in Germany.  I am learning to see the majesty in the flatness that surrounds me.

Go

The weather here has been teetering from 50 to 80 degrees, so the babies and I ventured out to look for shorts.
My former self truly loved the therapeutic nature of shopping.  Touching fabrics really soothed any sensory issues I won't admit to having.  Four children later, shopping has become a source of antagonism.  I really want to, but I despise it, because shopping with children is simply horrific.  I am confident they make it horrific on purpose.  The whole experience would be more pleasant and FASTER if they would just cooperate and follow simple direction.  But, toddlers.

I was the most headstrong person I knew, until I met my children.  My youngest is barely three, and  hangs right there with the rest.

I was ready to leave the store and she refused.  For some reason, despite for screams and demands for the past ten minutes, she was suddenly happy right where she was.

"Em!  We are leaving now!  Come on!"
"NO!"
 "Emme!  Mommy is leaving.  If you don't come, I will come and get you and you will be in trouble."
"NOOOOOOO!"

She dug her heels in the ground and screamed at me like I was hurting her.

Moments like this are always humbling and also a big slap in the face.  This particular moment, her disobedience was an epiphany into all that I had been doing wrong my entire life.

I had been digging my heels in the ground for the past seventeen years.  I became comfortable.  I was safe.  But God told me to go.

Go!  Be a conservative at a liberal woman's college in a Bible town in Virginia. 
Go!  Marry a man you have only dated several months, who will turn your life upside down.
Go the prairie lands and meet people who will change your heart forever.
Go!  Have a baby before you are ready!
Go have a second baby, way before you figured out what to do with the first.
Go buy a house in a new town in Virginia.  And live there.  Alone.  While your mother is dying.
Go to the largest military base in the United States and learn what it really means to be married.

Each and every time, I dug my heels in the ground and resisted.  I did not want to be where I was, but the moment I was told to "Go!" I stopped.   I planted my feet in the ground and I made everything so unpleasant.  I refused to open my arms to embrace what was presented before me.      

I picked Em up and carried her from the store, her screams echoed through the empty mall.
Once again, I am faced with a moment of heel digging.  God is sending us across the ocean.

Go!

I refused to believe that God's plan and the Army's plan was one in the same.

Go!  Go to Germany!

After a week of being a complete emotional train wreck, a friend brought me a danish with a note that said "everything will be okay."  Months have passed since we first found out about our move and in my heart I know everything will be okay.  I know that my sweet friend holds the words of security and grace that only Jesus can provide.

Isaiah 46:3-4

...I have upheld since you were conceived, and have carried since your birth.  

Even to your old age and gray hairs, I am he, 

I am he who will sustain you. 

 I have made you and I will carry you; 

I will sustain you and rescue you.  

 
Everything will be fine, and through each moment I will be picked up by God and carried through, just as I carried my sweet baby.   

My heart still fights with my flesh, because we live in a fallen world.  This whole experience is teaching me to trust in the sovereignty of God more than I ever have.  But above all, I go. 

2 Corinthians 12:9

"My grace is sufficient for you,

 for my power has been made perfect in your weakness."  

Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, 

so that Christ's power may rest on me.

    

  

Failure No More

My husband was recounting an event that happened about ten years ago, and I have no memory of the event whatsoever.  He is in disbelief that something so memorable and detailed to him, could be insignificant to me.  Although, it sounds crazy to him, I am in complete understanding of how such things could happen.  I remember things because of how they make me feel.  I remember details that I am certain he never would.

He asked that I keep a diary for future reference. 
And then questioned why I no longer blog.  I think the older I have become, the more  pensive I have become.  The thoughts that surround me are far too deep for him to take in, and I feel like sharing with the world would be too personal, too open and too vulnerable.  Am I able to share events and accounts that also involve him and my children who are growing up into their own being? 

Things on the internet never die. 

But I have always loved writing.  Writing soothes my soul. 

My first story was printed in the paper in third grade.  I was elated that I was published at such a young age.  I have a laminated copy of the article in my adult version of treasure box.
 
I spent my childhood adoring a wide variety of literature and taking note of how words flow, receiving different meanings and make you understand things that may not otherwise make sense.  Words should never be careless and used hastily.  Writing is loving and intimate and overwhelming.  My love for the Baby Sitter's Club grew into love for romance novels, medical mysteries and then Pulitzer Prize Winners.  I have poems and stories I wrote in high school that all held the same thing.  The words shared the painful emotions of the world.  People you meet don't want those raw and real emotions.  They want happy and giggles and encouraging words.  But to me, that was never real. 

Since becoming a mother, my free time to read books has been pushed aside.  There are always demands and screams and love that needs to be tended to.  I struggle to find time for things I love, to include reading.  I usually get through a book in about a month,  or sometimes abandon them because I get the basic jest of what the book is sharing.  But this week, things changed for me.

 I was terrified, but a book I wanted to read was a SEVEN DAY LOAN new release.  I could not renew the book. I brought the book home, with hope that I would survive the week and not abandon the pages.  Most days, I fall to bed feeling like a failure, thinking I didn't clean enough or love enough or be present enough.  Then, not completing this book would only add to the sense of failure. 

The feeling of being a failure began to sneak in other aspects of my life.  I would go to bed feeling like a failure every night.  The list was always endless.  I didn't clean the kitchen in its entirety.  I didn't prep for the next morning to make things easier.  I didn't get caught up on laundry.  I left laundry in the washer and had to wash them again.  I didn't exercise.  I snapped at my babies.  I am certain you have been there. 
I would throw myself into a heap in the bed every night wondering how I had been able to live one more day with so many shortcomings.  I beat myself up.

And one day, I decided enough was enough.

This season for Lent, I decided that I needed to give up feeling like a failure.  I would whole heartedly give my life and each day to God and stop letting Satan steal my joy.  I have clothes to wear.  My family has clean clothes, and dirty clothes, but clothes..  I have food to feed them.  I can be more patient with myself, and then extend that to my children.

For the past 40 days, I have completely surrendered my sense of failure.  I have never felt like I was failing for living my life.  I can't express the thankfulness I feel for allowing myself to let go and Let God take over.  And I can't express the grace I have received from the Lord countless times.  He has carried me through so many things, and I haven't been a good outlet for sharing every moment.

So as this season of Lent ends, I am committing myself to blog more frequently, to be a messenger for all the sweet things that Jesus does for me.

Mothering is hard.  And no mother should go to bed each night feel like they are a failure.  Whether it is in your parenting skills, your personal life, or your marriage.   I pray that if you are struggling with feeling like a failure that you can surrender that to Jesus.  He wants to relieve you of that and allow you to find the joy that exists in a relationship with Him.

Peace be with you! 

Energy

I learned in college that I was a Highly Sensitive person.  Not in the "highly sensitive" way, but in the world of psychology, I am a person who is highly aware of her surroundings. 

This is often associated with highly gifted people, where I don't feel as such.

I do feel the energy of people, places and things, and that energy affects every ounce of my being.  I suck up energy that surrounds me like a sponge.  I feel things deeply, whether it be anticipating a new project, or the emotions of others.

I have a very low tolerance for chaos, negative energy, gossip, and things that are seemingly out of control.  I try avoid being around people who I feel conduct negative energy.

In Chinese, this energy is known as Chi.  There was a joke in my second year of college, as a very sweet friend would write on my bulletin board "Don't steal my Chi!"  To many, I seem timid or shy.  Others have described me as "guarded."  But it boils down to my level of tolerance for energy.  I have to evaluate what is happening around me and decide if my body can tolerate the influx of energy.

I avoid crowds or busy malls.  I distain entering rooms of people I don't know.  I straighten things that are out of place in the store.  I am highly aware of space around me and whether or not my shopping cart is going to be in someone's way.  I apologize for everything.  I am very intense. 

But what it boils down to is that I cannot connect to everyone that I meet.  I carry such a weight on my shoulders all the time, that I have really struggled finding a place.  I have spent the last three years disconnected and lost.  I have longed for a light to come into my life to help lift my spirits, but it never happened.  I really struggle with why God created me to be this way.   Why would God want me to feel so deeply and fully? And how does this fit in to my world, to the world of military and being a mother of four children (who are also highly sensitive.)

An Alumnae of my Alma Mater, Nobel Prize winner, Pearl S. Buck wrote:

A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.

To him... a touch is a blow,
a sound is a noise,
a misfortune is a tragedy,
a joy is an ecstasy,
a friend is a lover,
a lover is a god,
and failure is death.
Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - - - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating."

As the days drag on, these words could not ring more true.  The battles, the failures, the love, the noise - it is all breaking me without the ability to feel alive from creating something to give back to those around me.

As I venture forward, I long to write without being too vulnerable.  But my goal is to share what introspection I have and finally find my place.

Now

My heart has been longing to write for sometime.  I periodically jot down thoughts in emails to myself and I have wondered if I should just start journaling.  I have ignored the fact that I could start blogging again.  But here I am.  We meet again.

In this very moment, I am feeling helpless and overwhelmed.  I am surrounded by piles.  Piles of to-do lists and piles school papers and piles clothes to fold or wash.  Piles of un-matched socks and old things I need to sort through.  Piles of crafts I want to do.  I don't know where to begin and I struggle finding the time because my kids have to come first.  And even if they didn't, they are too needy to ignore.  The mundane of feeding and washing and wiping intermingles with the color coordination of matchbox cars and manipulating puzzles or Taylor Swift dance parties. 

I think daily about how I would love to have a daily phone-a-friend.  I used to talk to my mom daily, multiple times.  And over five years have passed since that ended and I am still haunted by the need to have someone to get me through life's moments.  A cheerleader.  A listening ear.  A person who would care about my random thoughts or my encounter at the store or my need to brainstorm a simple dinner plan.   I say a phone-a-friend because no one wants to talk to me that much.
So in my dream I have a dedicated friend for each Monday.  Then a different friend who talks to me on Tuesday.  This will continue through the week.  But then I realize that even those people, if they could ever exist, wouldn't want to talk to me then either.  People are wrapped up in their own life.
People don't want to get to know the real me, much less hear my musings on life.

 I just want throw up my hands...

And it is only then do I understand why people standing in a church will throw their hands up in praise.  They throw their hands up to accept and fully extend themselves to Jesus.  And I have to be left alone and desperate and overwhelmed to understand that in my desire to throw my hands up, I simply need to focus more on Jesus.

Guilt

Everyday I feel guilty that I didn't blog. 
I really want to be able to commit to sharing important, yet mundane, tidbits about my life because I think that many things would be useful to others. 

Kind of like a What would Jesus do?  Only Devon Style. 

But alas, commitment is hard.  After all, that is why there are so many people who live together without being married. 

And as I type each sentence, I am opening a can of worms.  So back to the guilt. 

I try not to let it consume me, because I already live my days wrapped up in so much commitment. 
I am committed to my husband.
I am committed to my three babies.  None of which are actually babies anymore. 

Tyson can remember and go through the steps to feed Dixie.  He is definitely not a baby.  He is one going on seven, and I cannot handle it. 

I am committed to feeding my children meals that are as healthy and wholesome as I can achieve on a limited time frame.  This is a whole separate blog post too I suppose. 

And frankly that may not seem like a lot of commitment, but when I go to bed each night thinking I didn't spend enough time with each of my kids, guilt creeps in there as well. 

So I will be making a list to backlog events that have occurred since August. 
Events will include, our beach vacation where my husband lost his wedding band.
Tyson's whole first year.
Meredith's adventures in ballet
Meredith's adventures in Kindergarten
Vomit 101  (because when you get married, no one tells you to see how good of a team you make with your husband when you have to deal with vomit)

I had a friend request a post on my thoughts on spanking - and how friends who spank can be friends with those who do not. 

Should you have any requests, please comment below.  I am like an open book.  You just have to ask the right questions :)

September 6

Today is September 6.
We signed up our kids to be able to do activities here on Fort Bragg after school. 

After we finished all the paper work, we were walking back to our car.  The weather is still quite warm, but you can tell there is a difference in the air.  A woman walked past me in jeans and a long sleeve polka dot denim shirt.

I immediately noted how I would never mix dark denim in that way, although I did really like her shirt.  I almost liked it enough to ask her where she got it, but with three kids in tow, it is hard enough to speak to strangers with a hello, much less awkward questions of "where do you shop". 

As I was lost in my thoughts of how I need to be better at speaking to others if I want to gain pertinent shopping information, I looked down and noticed my own outfit. 

I had been wearing it since this morning, which is a feat for me.  I often have to change my clothes because of my youngest messy machine.  Between his inability to accept appropriate table manners as a way of life, and his new love of blowing snot out of his nose, I am always covered in something. 
But today, I managed to wear the same clothes for the duration of the day. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't until this moment that I realized that I was wearing white shorts.  I had been wearing them for nearly nine hours, without giving them a second thought. 

I was immediately embarrassed!  White shorts?  It is September 6!  Labor Day had passed!  What kind of Southerner am I? 

Apparently moving to North Carolina did not help me to become "more" Southern.  I really am disappointed at myself. 

I hope you will forgive me.