Michelle N. Files's Blog

Here We Are Again #Confessions #SixYearsofWidowhood #SixYearsofLifeChanges #SixYears #BrokenGlassCastsMoreRainbows

Here we are again, October 25th. Every year since
this date became one of the most significant turning points in my life, I’ve
found October has brought with it a different cocktail of emotions. The journey
is always different but consistently meaningful. For those of you reading this
who don’t know what I’m talking about, October 25th is the day Chris
left this world for the next. That day was a Friday and this is the first time
since the date has fallen on a Friday.

As I’ve done often in these last six years, I must confess
and share my feelings of how this October has affected me. This has been an
October with great highs and great lows and so many plot twists in my life that
it should be no surprise as to why my neck hurts. (Seriously, my neck does hurt
either from age and/or emotional whiplash.)

First off, there’s been an intense uprising of anxiety
within me. Probably the most intense I’ve had or rather remember having in the
last several years. I credit part of that to being “awake” again. I’ve been
walking through a period in my life of unhappiness, confusion, and sadness.
Truly, I’ve felt like my own version of the walking dead. I don’t know exactly
how I “lost” myself again or how I fell back into a lifeless stupor but I’m
sure the additional losses in my life have played a factor.  That coupled with an insanely busy schedule
with no writing time and almost non-existent “me” time contributed to the state
I was in.

As God always does, He found ways to speak to me again, ways
to remind me of who I am, and who I’m capable of becoming. He again provided
the grace and divine providence to wake me up. And again I’m so thankful. With
this re-awakening all the feelings have flooded back in full color and so it
makes reasonable sense that anxiety has found its way back in with the other
emotions.

This time God’s providence came in the forms of a book and a
person. I was reading the last assigned book in my first doctorate class, Who
Moved My Cheese? by Spencer Johnson. If you’ve never read it, you should.
It’s short and the story rings true. It is all about change. After reading this
book, I recognized that at some point I’d become complacent in my life and I’d
lost my focus. I’d stopped seeking my “cheese” and had allowed the waves of
life to push me out to sea not realizing that I had oars I could use to get me
back to shore.

Equally well timed, the next day my path crossed with a
significant person in my life and instead of floating out to sea I grabbed the
oars and rowed towards my goal. Anxiety and fear splashed in my face but I still
kept rowing. After spending an evening with this special person, I suddenly
remembered who I was and realized it was time to make changes in my life
because I wasn’t living MY life I was living someone else’s life. I was trying
to fit myself into a box that wasn’t right for me and then wondering why I was
so uncomfortable and unhappy.

I have this plaque thingy I bought from Hobby Lobby this
past spring. It has a quote on it that says, “If you don’t sacrifice for what
you want, what you want becomes the sacrifice.” It spoke to me at the time but
I couldn’t figure out how it truly applied to my life because I felt
complacent, scared, and frankly too busy to think about what I wanted in my
life.

I talked a lot this year about how I felt I’ve lost my hope
and I’ve had a hard time chasing it down and keeping hold of it. But after
reading a book and spending an evening with an amazing person and all the
prayer I’ve done along the way, I realized I’d stopped moving towards my
dreams. I’d stopped making plans and doing things that actually made me feel
alive. I’d given up on how to get there because I had no idea what to do next.

At my Mamall’s (my grandma’s) funeral this past summer, I
spoke about this wall hanging she had above her chair. The wall hanging carried
a simple three-part recipe for happiness. It said in order to be happy we need
someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for.

I’ve had so many “somethings to do” for the last fourteen
months that it hasn’t allowed me the time to properly love the “someones in my
life” or hope for something more. Suddenly the perfect storm hit—the book, the
person, my personal limits—they all slammed into my spirit.

I pray every single day for my person and for a family of my
own. Every. Single. Day. I pray for this. I pray for him. I pray for us. I pray
that I am doing all the things to become the woman who is worthy of him and
them. Every day without fail and sometimes multiple times I pray for this. I’ve
prayed rosary after rosary, prayed novenas, lit candles, kneeled in church on
Sundays, and wrote letters to God. I continuously petition for this BUT I
haven’t been moving towards it. I’ve been letting life carry me wherever it
wishes instead of taking intentional steps to get to him, to get to them, to
prepare my home and my heart for them. Nope, instead I’ve just been working my
butt off on a relentless cycle.

That all changed this month. I’ve made choice after choice
and have been listening to the quiet voice that whispers to us all. I’m making
accommodations so that I can write again. There are other things in the works
like a podcast and a nonprofit organization—all centering on the one thing most
dear to my heart—family. 

October carries harsh memories for me but it also carries
the most important one and that is change is the only guarantee in life. The
leaves change during this month. My life dramatically changed during this month
six years ago.  Death is real and it
comes for us all. But life is just as real and it is brief. If we don’t change
and pursue those desires of our hearts, our true purposes of this life, then
we’re crawling into our coffins while there are still beats left in our hearts
and breath left in our lungs.

I distinctly remember the first time I was at the cemetery
and I had this feeling that I needed to leave because my life wasn’t in the
cemetery. I was trying to crawl into my coffin well before my time and then I
wondered why I felt so dead. I guess I didn’t learn my lesson the first go
around so I’m circling this mountain again, but that’s okay. I’ll get it down
eventually.

Answered Prayers, Anxiety, and Counseling #Confessions #BackToCounseling #HealingNeverEnds

It’s October. I didn’t even fully recognize that until this
week because life has been moving so quickly as it often does. It amazes me how
even after six years this month still triggers a vicious cocktail of emotions
in me. It doesn’t matter how much you fit into your daily schedule or how
relaxed it is, the truth is we can never escape ourselves. We can’t escape our
inner voice. We can’t escape the scars. We can’t escape the inner demons.

I’ve learned with time we can cleanse ourselves of certain
demons and others well they hide in the dark recesses of our spirits. Waiting
for the right moment to attack, waiting for us to be too busy to deal with
them, waiting for the right timing, and then they strike.

This has been a trying year, but I’m not sure I can look at
my life and find a single year that wasn’t trying. Maybe what I should say is
this year has been full of changes that have cut me to the core and tested my
resolve and my faith. This has been a year where I’ve had to search deeper
within me and around me to find the light.

I could tally up my losses for the year or earmark the
struggles but that’s not what this is about. This isn’t a “poor me” post. This
is a reminder that life isn’t always as it seems for those around us. A
reminder that the comparison card is one that results in faulty assumptions and
lies.

We all have battles we face. We face them daily—physical
illness, mental illness, family difficulties, career troubles, loss, and the
list goes on and on. We all have a choice to fight or forfeit. God gave me the
heart of warrior and He gave you the same, the question is whether you’ve
chosen to put on His armor and fight or to run from battle.

No matter how much I wish I could run from battle in those
moments of extreme exhaustion, I cannot. I am a warrior and I fight for love at
every corner. I fight for real love—love that can heal hearts, love that
teaches others how to make difficult choices, love that is righteous and seeks
truth.

I put my love into action with my words, with my body, with
my heart, and with my spirit. I pray and move. That isn’t easy and it’s hard
for a lot of people to understand. But I will always fight for love. I will
always seek to do whatever it is God is asking me to do, even if it’s hard,
even if I don’t see how its going to help me, and even if no one understands.

But I still have demons to fight. This time life events and
October have brought them full force into my face again. Confession—my fear of
loss is so incredibly real at this very moment. And with the fear of loss comes
all the other demons especially anxiety.

I have amazing things happening in my life right now. I’m
working at a job I prayed for, for many years. I’m blessed with great
friendships and relationships that I’ve also prayed for, for many years. I’m
changing my approach to my life and being bolder—standing up for what is right
for me and going for it. I’m ditching complacency and being active again.

All those things aside, I’m scared to death of losing it
all. I’m scared I will do something or say something that will drive people out
of my life. I’m scared that death will come for the people who shine so much
light into my world. I’m scared I will lose it all. I’m scared I will be all
alone—no friends, no family, no significant other, no one.

It is true that we will all face death—we will bury ones we
love and we will face it ourselves one day. But as I sat in my living room this
evening praying I asked out loud, “What am I afraid of?” I listed off all of
these things mentioned above and more. Then I asked, “What is the truth?”

The truth is not a single one of those fears will kill me.
Not a single one of those fears will stop me from being the woman God is calling
me to be. Not a single one of those fears will stop God’s promises as long as I
keep moving through the fear.

And so I decided after a few year hiatus that it is time to
go back to counseling. I’ve hit another wall of anxiety. A barrier that I need
help knocking down. For me to move to the next level in my life and my
relationships, I have to fight this battle. I need help with the battle plan.

Do I have time for this? Ha! Ha! If you’d look at my
schedule you’d wonder how I even have time to go to the bathroom. But I’m
making time for this. It is something I need to do.

I learn my greatest lessons through experiences with other
people.  As I was spending time with
someone who’s very special to me, I began to see parts of myself being
reflected. Parts of myself I wanted to believe I didn’t have time for, parts of
myself that I thought could wait, parts of myself I thought I’d gotten over or
kept hidden. But in those moments with that person, I realized those parts of
him I saw clearly, also reflected parts of me. And I realized he saw those
parts of me I couldn’t see without him. With him I saw myself again. Some
people have this ability to hold up a mirror and force you to look at
yourself—see your flaws, see your strengths, and see your weaknesses. See what
you can work on to be better. I’m thankful he was able to do that with me. I’ve
needed that more than I could even know.

I’m not perfect nor am I seeking perfection. I merely want
to be growing into the woman I’m called to be and counseling is the action
needed for me to get there.

Six years after everything in my life dramatically changed,
six years after I thought my entire life was over, six years later I’m still
rebuilding. I’m still healing. I’m still growing. And that is a blessing. Six
years later I’m still living. I’m still fighting.

And so, I share this because this is important for someone
else to read right now. I share this because I’m called to. Our stories are not
just our own.

I hope you are still healing, still growing, and still living.  And as for me,  I’ll rest when I’m dead.

Confessions of the Impossible #ImPossible #Confessions #AlmostQuitter

Six years ago today was Chris’s last birthday on this side of heaven. Six years. Six years. It has been SIX YEARS (to be exact six years shy of two months) since my whole world changed. Six years. So much has changed.

Six years ago today I was about to go to my surprise 30th
birthday party. Today I’m sitting at the library at Shepherd doing homework for
my doctorate class, which I’m totally procrastinating on by writing this post
at the moment.

Six years later, I’m so many things I wasn’t back then. Adversity
has the capability to change us into beautiful creations, if we allow it to.
I’ve learned so many valuable lessons since then.

I must confess life in these past six years hasn’t been smooth sailing. I’ve gotten some monumental breaks, truly I have, but I’ve suffered and struggled to get to each blessing. I had a lot of “I quit” kind of days.

Yesterday, was one of those days. I completely lost my crap. I’m talking angry screaming at God kind of crap losing. I’m exhausted. I’m frustrated. I cannot begin to fathom how I’m going to make it through three years of doctorate classes with minimal time to spend with those I love or to write all the creative crazy that lives in my head. This is exactly what I was dreading. This is exactly what I thought it was going to be—time consuming, lonely, and exhausting. 

I truly wanted to quit yesterday (not my job—I love that) but I seriously wanted to quit. I even started to run through the potential consequences and scenarios. 

Today as I was driving from my favorite coffee shop to campus, I was thinking about life after Chris these last six years. I thought about the woman reflecting back at me in the rearview mirror and how different she is. Right now there are several things in my life that feel utterly impossible.

Six years ago, I was on the cusp of undergoing the most severe and traumatic change of my life. I had no idea what was just around the curve. Five years ago, I was in such devastating pain over Chris’s first birthday in heaven and the anxiety of my first birthday without him. In those days it felt impossible that I would ever love again or that I would ever feel alive again.

Have you ever been asked to believe in something impossible? Have you ever been told to keep believing in something that felt completely out of the realm of possibility in your life? I have no doubt that you have. I also know that some of you are still waiting for that impossible “thing” to become a reality. And some of you have experienced the impossible become possible right in front of your eyes. If you’re anything like me, you entertained the thoughts of quitting more than once during that time.

I used to carry the weight of despair and a shattered heart around in my chest. It felt impossible that I would ever be able to breathe without searing pain. It felt impossible that I could heal.

I used to stand in front of the mirror and hate my
reflection. I hated the outer shell of myself as much as the person I lived
with inside. It felt impossible that I could ever love my reflection. It felt
impossible that I could love myself.

I used to think that no one would ever want to date someone who was as damaged as me and a widow at that. It felt impossible to be loved by another man.

There are so many other things in my life that felt
impossible. The list is too long to share, but I hope you get the picture.

 It felt impossible
that I could heal, but today despair does not reside in my chest and my
shattered heart has been fused back together again. It felt impossible then,
but today I’m healed.

It felt impossible that I could ever love my reflection. It felt impossible that I could love myself. When I see my reflection now, I think ‘wow God thank you for making me HER.’ I can’t believe that’s me. All the flaws and imperfect body parts I hated before make me who I am. This outer shell is a gift as much as the inner shell of my spirit is. It is MY shell and I love her. (Ha! See what I did there.)

Unpacking the Last Ten Months (Part 3) #FindingHope #FinallyCaughtUp #NeverGiveUp

Heaviness was in full swing and then Lent began.

This was my second Lenten season as a Catholic and again
my faith served me well. I’d decided after lots of thought and prayers that for
lent I would spend thirty minutes a day every day walking the indoor track at
the gym while praying. First of all, I hate exercise. I mean really, really
hate it. I suck at it. It is one of the things that I consider to be one of my
weaknesses. I’m not even remotely athletic and I trip over air and did I
mention that I hate it?

I thought setting the intention of walking and praying
would combine two important things I needed to do especially during my busy
semester. Turns out I was right. I managed to walk every single day during Lent
for thirty minutes a day. I was so excited that I was able to keep my
commitment to walk and there were some days that it was incredibly difficult to
do so. One night I was walking at 9:30 after the longest day of classes ever.
But I managed to do it. I made my daily walk with Jesus and I know that is how
I survived the semester. Lent was an extra tough season for me.

I walked a total of 78.68 miles with Jesus. (Specific
right? You can thank my walking app for that.) I prayed about so many things
during that time and asked a lot of questions. Sometimes the walk started with
“God I don’t know how I’m going to make it these thirty minutes, you’re going
to have to carry me through this.” And I made it through every single walk—He
carried me through like He always does. We talked about my job and the future
of my career. During this time I was in the middle of the interview process in
order to be rehired for the same position. The interview process took a lot of
my time. I was searching for some stability in my life. I was hoping that
knowing the outcome of the job would help with that. I desperately needed to
mark some things off of my long and heavy to do list. When that process was
over it helped but with the end of interview process came the next large to do
list item—my doctorate. That’s right starting this fall I will begin my
doctorate program. I registered for my classes last night.

Jesus and I discussed this again and again. Pursuing my doctorate was never on my things to do with my life list, but now it is and it is happening. And I’m having a hard time with it. I’m sure I’ll eat my words at some point and I will be able to look back on this and see some semblance of the tapestry God is weaving in my life.

Why does this bother me? It’s not the work that truly bothers me (although that doesn’t thrill me either) and I know I can do this. I’m more than capable.  This is what gets me–I don’t want another title. I don’t need another framed certificate on the wall. No, I want framed wedding photos and family portraits instead. I don’t need another title—I need my family. Another professional title is meaningless to me. I’d rather have the personal title of wife and mom/step mom. And I have no idea how to get there. I have no idea how to earn those.

I make the joke that I need a new last name before I’m
done my doctorate. Then all of my higher education degrees would have a
different last name on them. (Bachelors – my maiden name; Masters – Files; and
Doctorate ???) That may sound silly but somehow I feel like it would make
getting my doctorate feel less burdensome. If I knew I’d have my own person to
share it with, our own family to share it with at the end then maybe it would
feel less burdensome to me. It really feels like more of the same. Don’t get me
wrong, I’m not taking my education or career for granted but those things have
been settled for me for quite some time. My heart isn’t settled. Again same
story. Different day.

But of course feelings are just feelings so all of those
maybe’s and theories could be completely untrue. I’m working very hard to see
all sides of this.

I know I’m looking at this through the lens of pain and
not the lens of opportunity. This is something I’m working through right now.
Prayer by prayer. Day by day.

During one of my Lenten walks with Jesus I found myself saying, “God I don’t know how this is getting me to my family but I trust you.” As I made the lap, the sun was shining through the skylight casting little prisms across the track lanes. As I came upon the prisms, the miniature rainbows had formed the shape of the cross. What better reminder of God’s promises—a rainbow shaped cross! I had my phone ready to take a picture when I came back around but within that minute and a half the cross was gone and in its place scattered prism lines. God never forgets His promises. I know that. I just didn’t know how I was going to make it to the actual realization of those promises and that added the next layer of grief to my life.

I knew (and still know) that God is going to deliver on His promises but when and how? I haven’t made it to that promise yet but like my Lenten walks with Jesus, it is step by step, day by day. Some days are easier and my pace is quick and light and others are tough, my pace slow and heavy.

I’ve cried so much this year. I know part of that was from physical and mental exhaustion and part emotional exhaustion. I’ve taken to counting the span of days between tears again. I know they will eventually be further apart than before. The seasons always change and so will this one.

I lost my hope during this time but I still had my faith or so I felt. That may sound ridiculous but that’s exactly how I had been feeling. A hopeless heart with a head knowing, trusting, and believing in God’s abilities to get me to where I belong, to get me to who I belong with.

It’s a little ironic I named my new vehicle Hope and yet I felt like during these past few months I’ve lost my hope. A few weeks ago, I was at the gym taking my walk (I’ve continued the habit after Lent now I pray the rosary while I walk followed by a few moments of focused listening) and it hit me, I never lost my hope I just couldn’t feel it. The sadness, the grief was blocking the feeling of hope. I felt like hope had died. Some days hope would prevail and lighten my heavy heart but as quickly as the light would fill me it would dissipate into the darkness.

I’ve been working on getting myself back to me or at
least caring for myself these last couple of weeks. Manicure, pedicure, fresh
hair—those things coupled with drives with the windows down and the music up, good
coffee, friends, and writing. Those are the things that help level me out (on
top of prayer of course but I’ve been doing that all along the way.)

I heard a song on the radio the other day and I’ve decided it is my current theme song, “The Stars Are on Your Side” by Ross Copperman. Music speaks to me and it is one of the ways I feel God speak to me. During my walks he tended to use Journey a lot (which made me chuckle) and there’s a few other songs that remind me to never give up, but this song soothed me and helped me understand that my hope was never lost. It was hidden beneath exhaustion and grief but it was never completely gone. It was always there waiting for me to notice it again—to feel it again. It was the new dependable car taking me to and from work. It was the friends and family continually praying for me.

It is the light in my eyes, the faith in my heart, the reason I keep moving. It was, it IS all around me.

Nothing is wasted when God’s involved and I know He’s in
this. All of this. So, I’ll take care of all of these things on my plate. I’ll
get up each day and do the things I need to do because at some point he’ll be
there (my person,) at some point they’ll be there (my family.) Because like
I’ve found myself saying over and over recently to people hurting and
struggling, “God never forgets His children. And He never forgets His
promises.” While this may all take so much longer than I wish it would, I am
His child and He hasn’t forgotten me. He remembers me and the promises He made
with me. I have nothing to fear.

Same goes for you. You have nothing to fear. If you feel
like your hope has died today, remember it is still there even if you can’t
feel it. Don’t give up just yet.

Get up, raise your head towards the sky, and let hope wash over you. Never give up on your always and forever no matter how long it takes, no matter how much it hurts to wait for the things that are already set aside as yours, the day will come when you will be living a life that you never thought could be yours.  One day we’ll look at each other and say I’m so glad we didn’t give up on our always and forever.

Faith welcomes hope. Hope waits for love. And love is yours–always and forever–yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Love never fails. Love never dies.

Unpacking the Last Ten Months (Part 2) #TraumaticTriggers #Coping #Grief #Healing

I’m baaaaack! 
Here’s part two of my longest blog post ever. (See prior post for part
one if you missed it.)

What caused my latest tailspin of emotional turmoil?

It was a weeknight in January and I had to make the 911
call. Thank God I didn’t have to do this one alone. The roommate and I heard a
loud bang bang and moments later I was on the phone calling in the single car
accident. Sadly, there was nothing we could really do. Thankfully the emergency
personnel arrived quickly and dove into their work. A scene reminiscent to one
I remembered all too well. I stood as close as I could to the accident site
that night—just a few steps away from my driveway as the roommate and I prayed
for the person. We prayed so very hard for him.

Things were different—this person wasn’t Chris but he was
close to his age, this was a car and not a bike, it was night and not the evening,
I’d made the call instead of walking up to the person on the emergency call,
this wasn’t my husband but he was someone’s special person.  I watched the medical examiner get in his
truck and make the calls. In that moment I recognized the aftermath of tragedy
that was about to rain upon an unsuspecting family. I worked through the event
doing all the of the right things with a level head but this time I was fully
aware of the state of shock I was in. I knew I would crash and I did in the
days after. The crash was slow but no less violent than all the times before.

Death had come banging at my door. It didn’t stop around
the corner before my house—no, this time it had banged at my door. This time I
didn’t drive past it. It had come directly to me. I made the call for help—a  call that felt helpless and completely
fruitless.

And thus began the tailspin.

I was locked in my traumatic response the next day and I
didn’t want to talk to anyone. I did the things I needed to do, went through
the motions as the shock waned and the emotions filled in the cracks. The
sadness weighed me down. I prayed so hard. I went to my nearby special spot
because I didn’t have the energy to drive to the grotto. I couldn’t cry but still
the tears were choking me. My roommate experienced a similar response and I
hated that he was suffering too even though I took solace in knowing that I
could coach him through it. I went to dinner with my family that evening and
then came home still stuck in the emotional process of the tragedy.

It wasn’t until a short phone call that night with
someone who understands me well that I was even able to feel the emotions pour
out of me. I sat on the floor of my bedroom recounting the accident, my voice
finally breaking and tears pooling in my eyes. I was so frustrated with myself
and my reaction. But somehow that listening ear on the other end of the phone,
acknowledging the level of crap I was facing and giving words of strength
helped me keep moving through the trauma.

Although I was working through it, it was a slow walk
through the darkness. More and more people around me began moving from this
world to the next.  Funeral after
funeral. Loss after loss. Heaven’s doors must’ve been opened wide during those
few months.

The compounding losses left me feeling unbelievably sad,
incredibly frustrated, and angrier than I’d been in years. Then I was
physically ill—again. This time I woke up with the room spinning and it scared
the crap out of me. I was dizzy and all I could think coming off that terrible
migraine a little over a month prior was that I had a tumor or something awful.
(Yes, I’m dramatic and no I don’t need Google to help me come up with possible
diagnoses. I have a wild enough imagination on my own.) I went to the doctor to
find out that I had vertigo. Annoying especially when I suddenly had to walk
slow and deliberately and I couldn’t make any sudden movements as to not invoke
an episode.  Oh yeah and I couldn’t drive
for almost a week. Goodbye independence. Hello new level of irritation.

During this time, I decided it was time to say goodbye to
the truck. I’d started the process of purchasing a new vehicle the week before
my nasty vertigo put me down and out. I was so upset that I couldn’t drive my
truck into the dealership to trade it in and obviously I couldn’t even drive my
new vehicle home either. It sucked. Like majorly sucked. My heart was bleeding
again. I was cussing a lot. I was so angry. I was not myself. I was struggling.

I was so incredibly frustrated at how with even the
passage of time, all the counseling, and healing that I’d been through I still
had this type of reaction to death. At least when it comes to the traumatic
scenes, it feels like I should be over this. I’ve learned the lessons, done the
time, and should have moved on to the next level. Why don’t I have a handle on
my emotional responses yet? Why can’t I be in control of my reaction to this?
Why can’t I just be past this?

Truth is I am better than I once was at this even if I’m
not at the level that I want to be at. This is where I can recognize how my
overachieving nature is both a double-edged sword of positive and negative. It
is good that I push myself to be better. That self-imposed need to move further
and be better is a positive thing. However at the same time I could easily slip
into the trap of berating myself for not being at the level of healing I think
I should be at with these responses. If I step outside myself, I can see that I
handled this well. I coped well with what was thrown at me. Did I cope as
quickly as I wished I would? No, but this isn’t about wishes its about the
reality. I would rather brush the trauma I’ve suffered off as no big deal, but  it still is a big deal. In a few short
hours, my life went from ordinary to tragic and then somehow I’m expected to
return to ordinary unscathed. If a friend was telling me this story, I would
tell them that’s an unrealistic expectation to hold themselves to because it
is.

I’m not saying poor me here. This isn’t a pity party;
however, it is a moment of raw honesty. It’s a weird thing to wish so deeply
that I’d never went through tragedy and yet at the same time I’m so deeply
grateful for how it changed me. Rather a more proper statement would be I hate
how tragedy wounded me but I’m grateful for the healthy coping habits and
lifestyle that it forged.  None of it was
easy though and it’s always a new level of challenging.

I was so deeply heartbroken over so many things from
January to April and it truly has taken me until these past few weeks to begin
to feel myself again. Writing this out allows me to see outside myself for a
bit. In doing this I can truly acknowledge the level of difficulty and cut
myself a break for all the feels and all the sadness I was working through.
Excuse me while I pat myself on the back.

Unpacking the Last Ten Months #Feels #GriefStrikesAgain #Coping #MovingForward

It’s been over ten months since I’ve been able to sit at the keyboard and write without deadlines, holidays, course prep, and everything else. It’s no wonder that for the girl who needs to write as much as she needs to breathe that I’ve felt like I’ve been suffocating. Minus a short two week break where I felt completely myself, I’ve been running a marathon and I’m not a runner. Cardio is SO NOT my thing.

So much has happened in these past ten months that it’s going
to take more than one blog post to fit in all the feels, all the lessons, and
all the actions, but I need to unpack this and someone out there needs to read
it. If life has taught me anything its that my story is not my own and neither
is yours. Our stories heal each other, motivate each other, and teach one
another. Thank God for the gift of a story. Thank God for the gift of writing.

I’ve just wrapped up my first full academic year as a
full time professor and like everything I do in life it was full speed ahead,
no time to think—it was go time.

During these past ten months I’ve been to the ER, taught eleven classes (six total during one semester at one time at two different schools), attended two funerals, interviewed to be rehired, fostered my best friend’s cat, moved two different people, made a 911 call when death came to my front door (subsequently fought through the traumatic trigger said death caused), fell in love, was left on the side of the road again by my truck, was diagnosed with vertigo, couldn’t drive for almost a week, traded in the truck for a new vehicle, found myself missing the living as much as the dead,  taught my most memorable class to date, experienced how much more students can change my life than I could ever change theirs, prayed harder than I ever have, kept a Lenten promise to walk with Jesus everyday for thirty minutes (found healing and physical health in that), worked more hours than I ever have in my life (and I used to work tax season crazy hours), lived knowing how deeply I was relying on God’s grace in the very moment it was happening, found reprieve and comedic relief with three amazing young men at the stool of a coffee bar, and those are just the things I can remember at this point.  (Side note: that was an intensely long sentence that is probably not grammatically correct but perfectly sums up my life recently.)

The first half of my whirlwind journey into full-time
academia was riddled with car troubles and so much work I can’t even begin to
explain it to you. I truly went from zero to a hundred in three seconds without
a reprieve until the end of December. Six classes at once—seriously intense. I
used to take six classes at once as a student and that was rough but as an
instructor that’s a whole other level.

This was the semester with my most memorable class to
date for many reasons, but they were one special group I looked forward to
seeing each week. I remember being in my car driving from college campus to
college campus being exhausted functioning only on caffeine and Jesus wondering
how in the world I would get it together to be able to form a coherent sentence
much less teach accounting. And somehow I did it and miraculously they appeared
to learn something. When I questioned myself as to why I was torturing myself
like this in my mind and often out of my mouth would come the words, “because
this is what God is asking you to do. It is the right thing. You’re honoring your
commitments.”

Do you know why people tend to have such deep respect and
admiration for people who follow through and honor their commitments? It’s
because it is hard as crap to do. If I told you it was a breeze that would be
the biggest lie ever. You would probably see flames erupt around me and hell
open up below because August to December was a serious struggle! I even landed
myself in the ER with a terrible migraine (FYI that was my first trip ever to
the ER and I only went because I thought I might be dying—dramatic much?
Sometimes but it had to be at that level or me to go.) Come the Monday after I
was walking into class with the lights half off, coffee in hand teaching
because it was the week before finals—no sick days for this gal. My students
needed me to show up for them and they didn’t seem to have a problem with the
dark classroom. Probably because it made it easier for them to sleep through my
lectures.

Trusting Illuminates… #Faith #2019Slogan #NewYear

This morning I watched the sun rise. It lit up the clouds with bold pinks, yellows, and oranges. It was so bright and beautiful but then almost as quickly as it illuminated the sky it disappeared leaving behind a sky of blue. I know the sun is still there. It is sitting behind the blanket of blue clouds. That knowledge of the sun’s existence comes from faith and reason, because even if I hadn’t seen the sunrise this morning I would know the sun is still there. I trust the sun is there.

2018 grew my faith deeper than I thought was possible. It was a difficult year without a doubt. There were great blessings in that year especially my job opportunity. With some time and new experiences, I expect that I will gain a deeper sense of gratitude among the pains it caused.

Growing isn’t easy, but it is worth it. I was incredibly aware how much of my life was operating by God’s grace last year. That was a valuable lesson. Walking into a classroom, driving down the road, and crawling into bed—time and time again I remember praying, “Jesus I don’t know how this is going to work, but I trust you.” He never let me down. He didn’t always work things out the way I expected but everything worked out. Even in the moments when everything was breaking and I was hurting so deeply, He was there. I clung to that knowledge in those moments.

Surviving a traumatic loss, while wicked and painful beyond
belief taught me life does not come with guarantees aside from one exception.
The exception? God. God is the guarantee whether you believe or not—He’s there.
Whether you turn to him or not—He’s there. He’s always there with open arms of
love and healing.

Knowing that releases the snares of control—the control of
others, the control of the world, the control of darkness, and the control of
our own sins.

For 2019 I had picked a word for the year, a word for contemplation and reflection. I’ve never done that before but I thought why not? My original word was ILLUMINATION but I’m changing that. Cause I’m a woman I can change my mind.

Merry Christmas Eve #WeSeeGod #WeCelebrateHim

December has been a rough month for me, at least the first
half of it was. Everything broke and when I say everything I mean everything.
My truck broke down, my coffee maker broke, I had a terrible migraine that sent
me to the ER, and then fuzzy brain for a week—the week before finals I might
add which is the week I needed my brain to work the most. Somewhere as
everything was breaking it was like my heart was breaking too. I felt lost and
like I wasn’t doing the right things.

Everything was going wrong so I had to be doing something to cause it, right? Not necessarily. Sometimes things break. And in the brokenness I was boldly reminded that I am not in control. That recognition incites a momentary fear and anxiety and then I’m reminded to trust. I’m reminded that God loves me and I need to trust Him.

Even in my whining (and oh I did whine once I had enough
energy to) I said, “I know God works best in the brokenness. I know that in my
head I just can’t feel it in my heart right now. I’m hurting.” Somehow vocalizing
that reminded me to trust and allowed me to move past the feelings.

This morning I sat with my cup of coffee in the quiet stillness of the morning. I haven’t done this in a while and I have forgotten how much I need it. I sat and watched the clouds out my window. I watched as a small circle of light burst through the gray clouds. Slowly but consistently the light continued to spread and I sat here with tears in my eyes. (This shouldn’t shock you. You know I’m a crier. LOL!) In watching the light break through the clouds I felt a comfort deep within my soul. A joy that two weeks ago I couldn’t fathom, slowly burst into my heart.

In the brokenness, God works. He works through all things
but in those moments of despair He is most boldly visible to us. We can see His
hands moving because ours have given up control and stopped trying to fix it
ourselves.

So this morning, when I should be wrapping gifts I’m glad I
sat in silence watching the clouds because I saw Jesus. I felt Jesus, and He is
the reason we celebrate. He is love sent to heal the brokenness in each of our
hearts. I’m so very grateful for that. And I’m also very thankful that my
broken coffee pot has been replaced by TWO coffee makers. Double for my
troubles.

What is the Meaning of Life? #DeathGivesLifeMeaning #MyConfession #NotASadPost #Faith

It has been my privilege to be so incredibly busy with all things professor that I haven’t had much time for reflection or writing. After surviving midterms week, I’m stealing a few moments for both because I can and because I need it.

In working with students, I often find myself in the conversation of what is it you want to do with your life? Of course that’s a broad question and I leave the phrasing open on purpose. I love hearing their responses especially the ones who don’t know at all what they want to do. Honestly, that has been the most frequent response I’ve received. I don’t find that concerning at all, instead it’s refreshing and honest and that place is the best place to build a future from.

I remember being in my twenties and having conversations with my friends as we’d ask ourselves, “What is the meaning on life?” We were both a bit arrogant and naïve to actually believe we could find actually answer that question. Instead the question we should’ve been asking was, “What gives meaning to our lives? What gives meaning to my life?”

I’ve heard the cynical response from students and career professionals alike. I’m sure you’ve heard them if you aren’t guilty of spouting them yourself. The phrases like, “Life sucks and then you die.” Or whenever someone is looking at things from an overly negative tone and they follow it up with, “I’m a realist.” There are mounds more but they make me roll my eyes so hard I can’t remember them.

There’s one solid thing I’ve learned about myself and what gives meaning to my life and that is death. Death and everything about it gives my life meaning. That sounds a little creepy but I promise I haven’t crossed over to the dark side.

He Never Forgets His Promises #BackToSchool #FiveYears #TheJourneyContinues

I’m sitting here at my coffee table covered with binders, books, planners, notebooks, and pens getting myself ready for the six classes I’m about to teach this semester as a full-time professor (that’s right I’m a full-time professor with an office!) And I’m crying. Not because I’m stressed. Not because I’m worried. Not because I’m overwhelmed. I’m crying because I’m here and this is really happening.  The tears of joy and gratitude are spilling out as I’m reminded of the things my late husband said to me five years ago weeks before his unexpected death. I’m remembering  all the trying times that have led to this–all the confusion, the heartaches, the up and downs, all those moments I was misunderstood and alienated.

Most of the time, doing the right thing isn’t easy. It’s scary. It’s rough. It doesn’t always make sense. We don’t have any idea where we are actually going or if we’ll end up on the higher ground we think we saw when we started the journey.

This fall will mark five years. Five years since I taught my first class accounting class as an adjunct professor. Five years since I unexpectedly lost my husband. Five years ago the puzzle of my life that was starting to come together got thrown into the air and it shattered my heart. Thankfully, time and effort can heal a heart in surprising ways.

One of my best friends and I were talking the other day. He was telling me this story about this bamboo fable he’d read. How the bamboo is in the ground but for years but no progress can be seen. People ridicule and discount the man’s faith, effort, and time he puts into growing this plant. But he doesn’t give up. He keeps caring for this bamboo seed until suddenly in the fifth year the bamboo sprouts and grows incredibly fast in a short amount of time. If he’d stopped caring for this seed or walked away from it, he would’ve missed seeing his plant grow. He would’ve missed seeing his faith turn into a real tangible representation of his work. He would’ve missed the success of his efforts.

I could look at this moment, the unexpected phone call on a Wednesday afternoon that lead to my full-time position, as a stroke of good luck but that would mean completely missing the message. That’s like standing at the top of the mountain and forgetting all the steps and rough terrain you climbed to get there. Like you magically transported yourself to the top. (Well if you could’ve done that all along why didn’t you?!)

This full-time teaching position was a right place right time thing BUT I wouldn’t have been in the right place at the right time if I hadn’t been taking all of the steps to get there. For five years, I’ve worked for this. Class after class. Hour after hour. The last twelve months of my life have been some of the roughest I’ve had in a long time. I’ve watched my mother-in-law fight cancer and find her seat in heaven at the end of it. I’ve been knee-deep in loss—loss of life, loss of health, loss of financial stability, and loss of relationships. I’ve sat in tears on my kitchen floor, been stranded on the side of the road, sobbed at an altar, held a dying woman’s hand, wrapped my arms around hurt children, and poured my heart out to Jesus on my knees multiple times.

Each time, God provided. Sometimes it was the strength to pull myself off the floor and put myself to bed. Sometimes it was the humility to call for help from a friend. Sometimes it was an instant feeling of inexplicable peace and comfort to dry the tears.

The puzzle is being put together again or rather I can see it forming before my eyes. I keep picking up the pieces, putting them on the table, and asking, “What next Jesus, where does this one go?” Last year’s big piece was my conversion to Catholicism and this year’s big piece is this job. Neither did I see coming.

When we let God put the puzzle of our lives together for us, we don’t always understand His designs, His process, but He does things best. After all He created this puzzle, who are we to doubt His capabilities to put it back together?

Let my life remind you, to keep going. Don’t give up on what God has put in your heart. Keep doing the right things. Keep taking the steps. Some days everything seems impossible but if you don’t give up you’ll see the top of the mountain. I know that’s not always easy to believe but try. Let this special moment in my life, be hope for you and your struggles.

Today I’m thankful for those people who never let me quit, who always pick me up, who remind me of who I am, and who are the reasons why I keep doing the right thing. Just because you can’t understand why or how something can work out doesn’t mean it won’t. Just because you can’t see the progress doesn’t mean things aren’t moving.

Pray hard. Work hard. Love hard. And never ever EVER give up on your always and forever!