Temporary Insanity...A Story about Long Covid

I've written and rewritten this first sentence at least a dozen times. How do I begin? I have a fear that writing about this will send the wrong message. To be clear, I'm not looking to gain anything from sharing this story. Sounds cliché, but I just want to be helpful. A glimmer of light...a ray of hope...anything that might keep someone from giving up.

If you know me, you know I can't often tell a short story...but here goes it...

I got the dreaded virus back in early August 2021. At the time, I was under a lot of stress, and anxiety was kicking my butt. Without going into detail, I'll just say that several circumstances were causing me strife, and I was a bit of an emotional wreck. I'd experienced bouts like this before, but it had been several years since. The day the fever hit, I was doing ok. I had already been taking all my supplements and remedies because Soren had gotten sick just 2 weeks prior. I was strangely at ease that night as I lay awake with body aches and fever. I thought, "this isn't so bad." And it wasn't. I had a fever through the next day, and by the morning of day 3 I felt great. I cleaned house and even did outside chores! Day 4 I lost my sense of smell/taste and the congestion/cough started to set in. Anxiety started creeping again, but I rolled with it. I figured, "it's just got to run it's course." On day 6 everything spiraled. I had received some gravely troubling news from a dear friend, and I found I couldn't cope anymore. I wrote a prayer to God in my journal that night and I told Him I wanted to die. 

The weeks and months following that day were (insert worst adjective imaginable HERE). I dreamed of being committed to a mental hospital and forced into an induced coma. I couldn't even breathe normally. In that first week, it was like I was constantly mildly hyperventilating. I could not calm down. Could. Not. It felt like I was on a plane that was taking a nose-dive at an accelerated pace...but I never reached the ground. I knew I was being irrational, but thought that this must be what it felt/looked like to be insane. I kept telling myself to "get it together!" I messaged my doctor out of desperation and reluctantly got some medication. My hope was that I could just ride it out and not have to use it. That same day I contacted another doctor in the hopes that I could find some sort of alternate option. By the grace of God, they had a cancellation the very next day. That appointment was a glimmer of hope. Maybe my electrolytes were out of balance? Maybe the virus had depleted some minerals? He armed me with some supplements and I was on my way. 

As soon as I got in the car I took all the supplements he had given me. I hadn't really eaten much in days, so thankfully they could all be taken on an empty stomach. Within minutes my body tingled all over, and eventually I could feel a bit of a calm come over me. Finally, a bit of relief. If only that was the end of the story.

Unfortunately, all the symptoms I was experiencing escalated that very night. Synnove (the last to get the virus) got a bad fever and was absolutely miserable. I did what I could to help her despite myself. Adam, though still recovering, slept downstairs so he could watch over her. I was exhausted from several nights of little sleep and hoped that with my new supplements I'd be able to calm enough to get some rest. I fell asleep for a short bit, only to be woken in the middle of the night by unexplained panic that turned into a full blown panic attack. 10 hours later, another full blown panic attack! "What on earth is happening to me??!!" I honestly thought I was just crazy and that my body was just overwhelmed with stress. I had no idea that this could be related to the virus.

The days were torture. I was completely non-functional. I couldn't read, watch TV, be on social media, listen to podcasts, or do much of anything around the house. I couldn't concentrate or be distracted by anything...there was only constant panic...all day every day. Showering was somehow terrifying, and baths were completely out of the question. I couldn't stand the dim lights in the house. I slept with the light on every night for months. I could only manage to eat bananas and toast and I only ate when I absolutely had to. I was so claustrophobic that I couldn't be in the house with the windows closed. I literally could not sit down during the day, in fact I don't think I actually sat in the living room for any period of time for over 2 months. All I did day after day, hour after hour, was pace back and forth outside and pray. The various supplements that initially helped no longer helped. Even the medication was virtually useless during the day so I just didn't take it. My body seemed to be calmer in the evenings, thankfully. I could at least sit in my bed and write in my journal...but sleep was near impossible. I had to sleep somehow, so medicating at night became routine.

I had blood tests. Everything came out normal, or only slightly off (nothing that would explain the mess I was in). I was so frustrated. New symptoms were developing amidst the never-ending panic feeling. My heart would race at random, but mostly in the morning (every morning). There was no stopping it! One day my heart raced so much my chest was sore for two days after. My resting heartrate was perpetually over 100 bpm. After about a month of this nonsense, my body started to shake. At first it would only shake in the morning, but eventually I just shook all day. You couldn't actually see the shaking, but I would feel it in my body. If I tried to lift even a glass of water you could see the shake...but otherwise it was internal. It was like I was buzzing like an amp that was turned up too loud. I continued to cough for at least 2 months, and in the midst of that my throat started to have spasms and it became difficult to swallow. I had a strange jaw and tongue tightness that would come and go. It's hard to explain, but it felt like my jaw and tongue muscles were flexed somehow, but for no reason. My ears started to crackle and ring incessantly. Noises became greatly amplified. I couldn't eat anything with a crunch...it was deafening. One night I was woken by a tremor in my arm. It felt like my muscles were dancing from shoulder to wrist. It lasted about 2 hours. Every day seemed to welcome something new.

About 3-4 weeks after getting sick, I finally made the realization that I wasn't actually crazy. The virus had attacked my nervous system and I felt powerless to conquer it. No amount of therapy, deep breathing, or meditation was going to calm me down. I was stuck in a constant state of "fight or flight." I did a saliva cortisol test about 5-6 weeks in and discovered my cortisol levels were extremely high until evening. The pieces were coming together and my bi-monthly (sometimes weekly) doctor visits were very helpful. Trial and error, and more trial and error. The process was painfully long. The doc told me that I was basically a guinea pig...a pioneer for learning about the various symptoms of Long Covid. But my symptoms didn't fit into what seemed to be the typical Long Covid mold. I didn't have the fatigue or brain fog, I had the complete opposite! 

Towards the end of September, after lots and lots of prayer, and lots of research (of which I could only manage so much of in my heightened state), I started to make some slow progress. New supplements targeted at stopping the attack on the nervous system were noticeably helping. I wasn't great by any means, but I started to be able to sit for short periods in the day. I could watch one TV show (only in evenings). I could only tolerate non-drama reality shows...so I only watched veterinarian shows...haha! I was still mostly pacing all day outside, but I could sometimes sit in the grass for a bit. I also managed to do mindless tasks like laundry and dishes. But the days were still so very long because I couldn't do much of anything to pass the time.

By early October, I felt it necessary to wean myself off the medication that was helping me sleep. Because of the moderate success of my new supplement routine, I thought I could try to manage sleep on my own. I'd been using the medication for 7 weeks and I took the next week and a half to slowly taper until I didn't take any. It seemed I was doing ok...until I wasn't. I landed myself in the ER and then proceeded to spend the next MONTH detoxing from benzodiazepines. It. Was. Hell. Let's just say there's a reason why people don't often successfully come off of benzos without going to rehab. The perpetual anxiety went into high gear, the weather went sour, and the constant pacing resumed in the house for the next two months.

Fast forward to December. The anxiety/panic feeling was finally starting to feel diminished. I was still shaking, still had elevated heart rate, and still had all the other annoying physical symptoms. But with the anxiety leaving, depression set in. Deep depression. From perpetual panic, to perpetual sadness. I couldn't shake it. I had no reason to be so sad...yet there I was. Seemed I couldn't win. I realized my nervous system was trying to balance. Being in a constant state of fight or flight for 4 months had taken it's toll, and my nerve receptors were also damaged from the medication. It was going to take time and new supplements. You should see my amazing supplement collection!

Christmas came and I managed to survive the family gatherings. I gradually started eating normally again (I had lost roughly 25 lbs), and as of today I've gained most of it back (boo!!).  I spent most of my kids' basketball season slowly re-entering society. It wasn't easy. I went to the games, but any sort of smile or "hello" was difficult. I had to fake it. I went to church and would attend the potluck dinners, but I'd have to take a separate car and leave early. My ears were so sensitive to noise that I almost resorted to ear plugs...but I didn't want to draw any attention. I didn't want to answer questions. I was in a lonely place...didn't feel that anyone could truly understand what I was going through. It still seemed I was a bit of an anomaly. I had heard of people experiencing similar symptoms to mine post-Covid, but nothing as prolonged or severe.

In mid-February I met up with a friend who had been battling Long Covid for over a year. Her symptoms were more typical, but I was curious if she had found success with any treatments. By then I was doing quite well. I felt I was probably 85% recovered. She suggested I join a FB group for Long Covid sufferers. To be honest, I wasn't really excited to join a group where all the people constantly complain about their ailments. However, I wanted to see if there were others like me. I wanted to see if people were having success with treatments I hadn't heard of. I wanted to get to 100%!

I joined, and though they were much fewer, there others who were fighting the same battle I was. These people were desperate, and they are still desperate today. The suffering is unbearable and yet they feel shamed by their friends and family who think that they are making things up. They are dismissed by their doctors and told they just have anxiety. I was one of the lucky ones. I was blessed with friends and family who listened and checked up on me daily. They may not have understood, but they were there nonetheless. I was blessed with a husband and kids who did everything without me. They took up every bit of slack, and did it with grace and love.  I was blessed with those who prayed for me from afar, in person, through video chats, and phone calls. I was blessed with the ability to work with a doctor willing to try, try, and try again. I was blessed with a faith in God that is now stronger than ever. He's the only reason I made it through each day...truly. I'm not sure I'd be alive today without Him. 

The Long Covid group I'm in has over 53,000 members. That's a staggering amount of people. I've been personally contacted by a few whose symptoms fit mine. These people are so excited to hear what I have to say. They are in the thick of it and need support. A few weeks ago I was connected with another person locally through a mutual friend. She feels alone...shamed...crazy. How many more are out there? How many of you are silently suffering because you've been gaslighted?

The shaking finally stopped in early March and I was able to start light exercise a few weeks later. The stress wreaked havoc on my body and I lost much of my endurance, muscle tone, and at least 1/3 of my hair volume. Today I'm probably at 98%...and I've been stuck here for close to 2 months. That means it only took 7 months for me to be almost fully recovered. 7 months may seem like a long time. It was. It felt like eternity. But there are people who have been suffering with this for over 2 years. I just can't imagine how I could have endured 2 years. 

Hear me, and hear me well: if this is you, you are not alone. Email me (nicolelouiseb@hotmail.com), text me, message me on FB. I want to encourage you, pray for you, pray with you, listen to you, and love on you. If you are a Long Covid sufferer and aren't making any progress, I may have ideas for you to try. I believe my experience was extreme, but I also believe that I was guided on an expedited path towards healing. Only recently did I discover what form of nervous system dysregulation I was likely experiencing (read about it HERE). It all makes a lot more sense now. Let me help you...let's make sense of it together.

This Was Meant to be a Post About Homeschooling

I've been over it for months. So completely over it.

*Sigh*

I don't see any point in sharing my opinion on today's headlines. The truth is so far buried under the dirt of world politics that there is little hope for discovery. It's kind of like watching an episode of "The Curse of Oak Island." Have you ever been sucked into that show? They are always searching out new ways to find a legendary treasure that's been buried for centuries. They find new clues and small bits of hope, but never unearth the goal. Every week a new episode, and every year a new season. 

That said, I haven't stopped asking the questions. However, I've begun to lose faith in people in general. For some, there is no such thing as logic, critical thinking, or proper debate. Seriously...it's not a thing. Y'all should read "The Fallacy Detective: 38 Lessons on How to Recognize Bad Reasoning." Answers are hard to come by, and I certainly don't have them. I'd like to be part of the discussion, but I've been reduced to being Charlie Brown's teacher..."wah wah wah, waaah wah waaah." Speaking is a waste of energy because nothing is heard or understood. All of us are enemies, except for those that agree with our "narrative" (getting real tired of that word).

This is what gets me. Why must we be enemies?

The thing is, we are no longer driven by love. We are driven by emotion. Emotions are a blessing, and they give us meaning and personality. However, we live in a culture where emotions are the compass we live by. We are told to live out "our truth" and be who we want to be and do what we want to do. Self-control is a thing of the past. Sacrifice is a thing of the past. LOVE is a thing of the past. Think about it.

I love this passage written by Peter. It explains how it's not enough to have beliefs and knowledge alone. We need to add all the other things to it! When we speak and listen using these principles we will be more effective...

"For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love. For if these qualities are yours and are increasing, they keep you from being ineffective or unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ."  2 Peter 1:5-8

And just because this is a passage from the Bible, written by an apostle of Jesus to first century Christians, doesn't mean it can't apply to you...yes, YOU. 21st century Christian, non-christian, political right, political left...you name it! 

There is no doubt, the world is full of people who care. They want the best of the best. They want peace, health, prosperity. Deep down we are all in self-protect mode. And I think there is grace for that. But just think...if everyone just took a step back and said things and HEARD things using love and self-control? Sprinkle in a little logical reasoning and maybe progress could be made. Maybe we could even be allies!

You know, I had intended to write a post about homeschooling. Ha! Another day. 

 

Fear and the Lady in the Checkout Line

In my past I have lived with fear. Truly crippling fear...fear that plagued every minute of every day. Fear that made me sick, caused my hair to fall out, gave me sleepless nights, and left me feeling so immensely alone. Sometimes that fear creeps back, but for the most part, I have (with God's incredible mercy) overcome. It didn't happen overnight. It took years. And I cannot help but think that so many are in that same boat today as we struggle to stay afloat in this world crisis.

Yesterday I was in the checkout line at the grocery store. There was a lady ahead of me already at the pay station...more than 6 feet away...and her pile of groceries were over halfway up the conveyor belt. Aware of my space, I felt safe to start putting my groceries on the belt. Then, like an exasperated mother reprimanding her child, the lady ahead of me demanded I wait to put my groceries on the belt. I wanted to cry. I decided to find a new line.

I've been in that lady's shoes. I know all too well. And I would do most ANYthing to not ever feel fear like that again. I found that my hands were shaking as I emptied my cart. My heart literally hurt as I contemplated our future in that moment: Our future seems grim. Our future is fear. Crippling fear. And it may take years to recover. 

So many feelings. So many opinions. So many fears. We need to stop viewing each other as enemies with sides. We ALL have fears, and our fears are different! Some are afraid of this virus, some are afraid of losing everything, some are afraid of a communist takeover...etc, etc. We need to stop assuming that our fears are somehow more justified than someone else's just because they are different. I drive down the road and signs tell me to "stay home to save lives" and I think of the 7-year-old who has to go to the store with his single mother. What thoughts plague his mind as he passes that sign? I think of the elderly lady isolated in her room as she struggles to breathe with no family by her side. Does she have the will to breathe much longer when nobody seems to care to visit? I think of the business owner who has been told he's non-essential and cannot fathom how he can recover. Does he feel that the only way out is by a bullet?

Questions. So many questions. Never stop asking questions.

If you aren't on a path towards seeking truth, then I'd suggest a new path. There are rabbit trails here and there, and I'm certainly guilty of going down many of them. I'm the type of person who researches to a fault. I once spent 3 weeks researching car seats for toddlers...spending literally countless hours reading review after review. Hey, when your child AND your hard-earned money are on the line, you better know you're getting the best and at the best deal! I digress...but truth is the ultimate goal, is it not? In John 8:31-32 Jesus says, "If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine, and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." Do you believe that? I certainly do. I'm not a perfect person, but I do know that there is a perfect God and He holds the key to a life free of fear.

All that said, fear doesn't have to win in your life. Maybe take a step back and evaluate what the driving force behind your thoughts, words, and actions are. Fear can bring out the worst in me, for sure! My most favorite passage in the Bible to recite over and over is Psalm 91. When anxiety creeps in, I go to a quiet place and read it out loud to myself. Yes...out loud. I have to actually hear the words, and I believe there is power in speaking Truth audibly (that's "truth" with a capital "T"). Sometimes I have to read it until my heart stops racing, or until I fall asleep. I'll be honest, peace doesn't always come easily. I struggle with doubt, just like every other human on earth.

One last thought: GRACE. In a time when fear is at the forefront, smile when you don't want to, refrain from posting the angry comment, and for goodness sake, give people their space.

 Be well, my friends.

Lost: The Rest of the Story

It's been exactly two years (tomorrow) since I've written on this blog. I had written about the loss of my engagement ring. To me, it was an embarrassing and heartbreaking story. However, I chose to see the good in it and hoped that one day I could tell of how God had had a greater plan.

In the first few months after I lost my ring, I went through a mourning period. Finding a replacement was going to be difficult. I wanted the exact ring that Adam worked so hard to buy. When we got engaged, we were both struggling college students. And in the few months before our engagement, he had decided to take a term off of school to extend his summer internship. I didn't find out until later that his decision was driven by his plan to give me an epic engagement story (ring included). I will never forget looking inside that ring box while Adam awkwardly knelt inside that horse drawn carriage in Victoria, B.C. amidst onlookers awaiting my inevitable reply..."YES!"

There was no option to buy a brand new replacement as the jeweler was no longer local and no longer carried that design (duh...it's been a few years!). There were many many options to purchase ones that were almost the same, but that just didn't feel right to me. Ebay was my best option, and it didn't take long for me to find my ring. The only problem was that it was going to cost over $1k MORE than when Adam had purchased it brand new. I didn't want to pay that much for a used duplicate.

Over the next several months I would periodically check Ebay for 3-stone platinum rings in the hopes that I would find another one cheaper. I didn't have much luck. Then, one day around Thanksgiving  (8 months post-"tragedy") I saw that the ring I originally found was on sale. It was still going to be more than the original price, but by then I had resolved that no other replacement was going to suffice. But to be sure I had exhausted every avenue, I decided to spend a couple of hours on Ebay searching other listings...just hoping I would find one for cheaper. No such ring seemed to exist....until...I found a listing that sparked my interest. The picture was crooked and blurry. The additional pictures weren't much better. In fact, there was even a picture in the mix that wasn't of the ring listed! These folks looked like amateurs. I checked their other listings...all jewelry, and a 100% feedback score on over 2,000 sales. I was hopeful!

I was overcome with excitement at the possibility of this listing being a replacement. The price was almost too good to be true! It was only 25% of the cost of the other listing! I messaged the seller immediately requesting better pictures and asked if there was anything inscribed inside the band. He promptly replied the next morning with everything I asked...and he did NOT disappoint!! I was ecstatic!!!! There's a bit more to that story...but I'd rather not turn this post into a novel. In short, I had it shipped overnight mail (it didn't come!), and it arrived in 2 days...within a day or two of Adam and I's belated anniversary trip to Jamaica.

I really felt like finding that replacement ring was a HUGE blessing. When it arrived, I also discovered that it was the exact same size as my wedding band! It was as if it was meant to be.

Well...fast forward to earlier this month...

It was after church on Sunday, and I received a text from my friend Jackie asking me to call her. If you recall from my last post, Jackie is the owner of the sheep farm where my original ring was lost. She has been in the thick of lambing season and I thought she was wanting to see if maybe I could help out at the farm or something. Quite honestly, I wasn't expecting to hear her tell me a story and end it with."...found your ring." Say WHAT?!?!?!

You see, after searching for hours and hours in the driving rain through piles and piles sheep manure on two different occasions, we gave up. Our metal detectors (one was brand new) had both failed, and the task was just too overwhelming. We didn't know if the ring was even in the manure!

Jackie has a trusted friend that helps out on her farm who does metal detecting on the side. After we had failed to find it, she asked us if we would offer a reward to her metal detecting friend if he happened to find it. We, of course, said yes and offered up a very worthwhile price. Over the last two years that man has tried, on several occasions, to find my ring. 3 weeks ago, he was out trapping varmints on Jackie's farm and decided to take his metal detector. A varmint caught his eye over by that old manure pile, and he almost went back to his truck to exchange his metal detector for his gun...but he didn't. He found my ring instead. Adam couldn't withdraw the money fast enough...and by that afternoon, my ring...my irreplaceable treasure...had returned home.

I won't lie, it was slightly painful to pay that hefty reward after already spending the money to replace it. But, I know God's plans are greater than mine...and today I feel doubly blessed. Thank you Jesus!

Lost.

Yesterday was a full day. I had errands to do, my kids went fishing with their grandpa, we had dinner at my parents, and we ended the day helping a friend at her sheep farm. On my way into town we heard a story on the radio about a woman who accidentally threw her wedding ring away in New York City and the city sanitation workers miraculously found it. The kids and I were amazed as I glanced down at my hand and thought about what I would do if that were me.

Late that night, as I was about to settle into bed, I grabbed my left hand and felt a bare ring finger. Cue immediate panic. I summoned the kids and we started a mass search. My rings have been loose lately as I’ve lost a little weight, but not any more weight than I’d lost before (I had to get my rings sized up after having kids, so that tells you I’ve not yet reached a pre-pregnancy weight!). I went to all the places I’d been since being home for the night…feeding sheep, feeding chicks, the car, exercise downstairs, the bathroom. I called Fred Meyer because I’d been to the fitting room and thought maybe it fell off then. I was scouring my brain trying to think of when I last noticed it on. I wasn’t sure, but I had a strong feeling it was at my friend’s farm.

I prayed, asked my husband to pray, asked my parents to pray, asked Facebook to pray. I was sure that God would lead me to it somehow. I truly was sure. God led me to a lost ring one time when I was young, and that was one of my first memories of God answering a prayer that I had prayed. However, even though I knew that God could take care of this, the peace wouldn’t come. Then, a gift! God brought me a memory of sitting at my mom’s kitchen table playing with my rings before dinner. Phew! Thank you, Jesus! It was then that I knew it was either at my house or at the farm, and not at one of the public places I visited earlier in the day. It was enough peace to help me drift off to sleep.

This morning I woke to a text from Jackie (she’s my friend with the farm). She was headed over to the barn to start looking and suggested I hunt down a metal detector. Thanks to facebook, I was able to find one and after some calling and coordinating both the metal detector (my parents were bringing it from the other end of town) and I headed towards the farm an hour later.

My other friend, Beth, and her son were already there helping with farm chores. Within minutes, Beth found my rings!!! The metal detector hadn’t arrived with my parents yet, so I called them and they returned it to its owner. I was crying tears of joy…I was so overwhelmed. God had kept my rings safe and led us right to them!

I wish that was where the story ended.

Because we were there, we went ahead and started helping Jackie with more farm chores. I was constantly aware of my rings. I didn’t want to put them in my pocket for fear of losing them, so I put them back on my finger and tried my best to be constantly conscious of them. I didn’t really do much work while I was there. I mostly talked with Beth, watched the kids work, and responded to countless messages on my phone (so many wonderful people concerned about my rings!). I stayed in one general area and was constantly checking my hand to make sure my rings were still there. Then, I put my phone in my front pocket, pulled out my hand and realized my engagement ring was GONE! Seriously!?!?

I wasn’t too panicked because I hadn’t really gone anywhere. I figured I’d find it right away. We all started looking, and looking, and looking, and looking….and looking! I was dumbfounded and so embarrassed. I had just told Facebookland that my rings were found. We looked for at least 30 minutes before I finally text my parents to bring the metal detector. My mom came and we searched everywhere…MULTIPLE times. I was on my hands and knees in sheep poo! After everyone left, my mom and I and the kids all went to the giant poop pile in the field to search there as well. There was only a very slight chance it could have been in the poop pile that had just been shoveled out of the area I was standing in…but we couldn’t leave without searching. In total, we searched for at least 3 hours.

It didn’t make sense. I had never left that small (enclosed) area of the barn. In the time that I had it on my finger to the time that I realized it was missing was probably less than 5 minutes…but maybe I’m mistaken? I'd venture to say that it literally vanished.

I left the farm feeling quite defeated and sad, but strangely at peace.

I know where my ring is. It’s at a farm where my friend Jackie raises sheep. Jackie needs help because she very recently lost her husband to brain cancer and the farm chores during lambing season are too overwhelming for one person. Jackie lost her husband. I only lost my ring. And in the time that I was there, Jackie never ceased to encourage me and remind me of God’s power and His blessings. She is a blessing.

The verse that has been playing over and over in my head today…

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good for those who are called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28

I’m praying for the good. Maybe my ring has been hidden from me until God’s decides the time is right? You see, my God likes all the glory…and when my ring has been found, I’m gonna gladly give Him what He wants.

To be continued…

Church is Family

Family. Nobody should be without it.

Yesterday I was one of the teachers for children's church. The Bible application was a bit of a stretch for young kids, but the basis was about how the Lord blesses our families through us. We started out by putting the kids into two groups and asking them to make a list of things they had in common with each other. This was the absolute best. I loved watching them discover one another...smile, laugh, and even share in disgust. The other teacher and I wanted to let this activity linger. We decided that THIS was exactly what we needed to be doing in kid's church every single sunday (in some way). We ended up greatly modifying the lesson, and even changed the memory verse for the week. To be honest, the original Bible application was virtually lost. But hearts were blessed through this little family...the little children's church family.

There's an old chorus we used to sing at church all the time when I was a kid and it started out: "I'm so glad I'm a part of the Family of God..." Inherently, we all want to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. We want relationships. We need them, actually. Instead, so many of us are stuck in our own self-pity ("the church didn't reach out to me" or "the church offended me"), or our own self-righteousness ("I don't need the church"). The Family of God (church) is not immune to drama, scandal, cliques, deceit, failure, gossip, etc. And what's sad to me is that people leave the church because of these very things. As a result, issues are never dealt with and the spiritual growth of the church is stunted. But what the church needs is for those people to stay, share what they have in common, as well as their hurts, fears, joys, wisdom, etc. We need to help carry each other's burdens and love unconditionally. Sometimes, all that requires of us is that we just be there.

I had a lot more written on this topic, but I decided to erase it all. I don't know if it was because of fear (lack of faith), or wisdom. Or maybe I'm just a coward for not pointing out the truth. My imperfections and insecurities certainly don't help me to be bold for Christ. Whatever the reason, I just don't think the easily offended world wants to hear what I have to say.  However, I will ask this one question: If you call yourself a Christian, and you've excluded yourself from the Church (Family of God), what's your reasoning?

"The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don’t, the parts we see and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance." (1 Corinthians 12:25-26 The Message)

We need to stick together through all the "yuck" and all the "yay."

And that's that.

The Good Word

Ever feel like you've been sucked into the vortex of article/blog overload? Everyone has an opinion. It doesn't matter what the topic is, somehow the writer manages to sway you one way or another. You may think you have kept your preconceived thoughts, and you are completely unconscious of the stronghold those written words have had on you. Influence. It's everywhere.

Today, as I was perusing my Facebook feed, I clicked on several "good reads." Some were local articles or news, others anecdotal, and a couple were of the religious/Christian genre. It's the latter that often sparks my attention the most. "What does this person have to say? And do I agree with it? I respect the person that 'shared' it...does that mean that this is what that person thinks? Should I share this post?" And so on. It was today, though, that I had stopped the dialogue going on in my head and said, "Enough."

The pause occurred while I was reading a fantastic blog. I had read it before, and I was going over the eloquent musings all over again. The author was sharing her thoughts on the importance of going to and bringing our kids up in church even when modern Christian-ish culture gives us countless excuses of why we shouldn't have to. My mind began racing. I was thinking of all the "good" sharing this blog could do. I thought, "It might make people question their priorities and make better choices." Then, the dreaded happened. A list of people started forming in my head. And it was then that I stopped myself. I didn't share it...I didn't even "like" it. Instead, I asked God's forgiveness.

I prayed, "Who am I, Lord?"

And then I thought of that blog writer..."Who is she, Lord?"

Thankfully, I knew that the answers were, "You are Mine, and she is Mine."

And that's just it!

Everyone that needed to hear that blog..."They are Yours, Lord...not mine."

Convicted.

Too often, I think, Christians rely on the thoughts of others to guide them through life. We buy the latest book from our favorite inspirational author at take notes in our journal. We attend the church Bible study and eat all the delicious desserts with some lovely people. We watch Christian movies and feel good about making good media choices. We scour YouTube for encouraging tidbits from our favorite pastors/speakers and think, "Ooo, that was a good word!" And I suppose these are all good things. I suppose we should do these things. Don't stop doing these things. But if these are the only things we're doing, then we've got it all wrong. We shouldn't be relying on the thoughts and studies of others, but rather the thoughts of God Himself and what he wants to say to us alone.

Convicted again.

I've got to read my Bible. Our church has been doing a series the past several weeks on spiritual disciplines. And after every Sunday I could honestly say, "Ooo, that was a good word!" Meditation, prayer, fasting, and Bible reading. I'm not doing enough of any of these things...and even if I was doing "enough"it still wouldn't be enough. I confess, I've struggled with reading my Bible my entire life. I've never stopped trying, but it's almost like I don't really know how to do it, how to start...it's overwhelming. I've stuck to the passages I know: the encouraging sections, the Psalms and Proverbs, the Gospels, and I've dipped my toes into the prophetic books. I know there's so much more. I also know God has a plan for me, and if I seek his Word, he'll help me find my way. I just have to start.

For the month of February I'm setting aside the pile of books that sits next to my bed. And for every night this month I'm planning to copy Bible verses in my journal from a list a friend shared. Seems so simple...a bit juvenile maybe...but I'm really looking forward to it. I'm excited to hear what God has to say to me through His "good Word."

Here's the list if you want to try it out too!

PS...

For Christmas I purchased the "Action Bible" for my kids to read. It is a book that has most all (if not all) of the stories of the Bible written in comic form. My kids know that it isn't a full Bible, but a fun way to read and understand God's story. It's a big book...and last night my son (he's 9) announced he'd finished the entire thing. The amazing thing is that he's now my walking Bible dictionary! He helps me figure Bible story details, corrects me when I'm wrong, and knows stories I've never read. Inspiring :) 

Painting Passion

Painting is one of my most favorite hobbies. No, it's my most favorite hobby. There was a time long ago that I attempted to enjoy tole painting, but I found it too technical and frustrating. I would spend hours fixing minor flaws and would end up being unhappy with the outcome. Then one day I decided I wanted to repaint my old gray hand-me-down desk. I can't really remember, but I was maybe 12 or 13 at the time? It was a long process that I didn't know much about. We had a little storage shed behind our house and I laid down newspapers in cramped quarters and started stripping using paint thinner. Oy..the task was stinky, messy, and never-ending. I remember thinking, "what have I gotten myself into?" But, there was no going back, I had to finish what I had started. Once I sanded it, I was ready to paint. It was more difficult than I had anticipated. Painting a chair with rounded legs was a headache...and once I reached the desktop I was struggling with brush marks and paint that was drying too fast. Then there was the realization that one coat of paint wasn't going to be enough. "What?! I have to paint it again?" The entire process took several days; maybe even weeks. Once it was finished I decided that there was no way I was going to reinstall the old bent and beat-up hardware, so I begged my mom to take me to Rite Aid to pick out new hardware. And, I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure I had to buy it myself. Yes, there was a time long ago in which Rite Aid sold a decent selection of hardware...among other things. I didn't fall in love with any of the options, but I was so anxious to see my desk completely finished, that I settled for 5 shiny new knobs. Those knobs were installed within minutes of my arrival home. And it was then that I felt it...overwhelming satisfaction. A few years later I carefully lined all the drawers with elegant wallpaper that matched my room. Later, after I went to college, my mom dressed it up with tole painting (she was always better at that than I was) that matched the wallpaper. The ugly gray desk had become a treasure. A couple of years ago I replaced the second-rate Rite Aid knobs with glass ones and gave the desk to Synnove for Christmas.

Since finishing that first project, my love of painting has only increased. Becoming a homeowner was like wining the painting lottery! I had a whole house to fill with furniture on an extremely tight budget. I shopped Goodwill and my mother-in-law. In the short 2.5 years that we lived in our first home I painted a few walls, 3 dressers, a hutch, a crib, a bed, and a table. If I hadn't have birthed two babies in that time period, I probably would have painted more! 

When we moved into our current house, I had my work cut out for me. The house still had much of it's 1970's flair; wallpaper, white and pastel walls, dirty brick fireplace, and an entire basement adorned with raw tongue and groove cedar. I've since painted 90% of the ENTIRE house inside AND out. I've also painted the ins and outs of many of my friends' houses, my mom's house, my grandma's house, and my sister's house. Of course, this doesn't include all of the furniture pieces I've painted as well. The best part is I've enjoyed (almost) every minute of it.

It isn't very often that I paint something "just because." I usually have a purpose and vision in mind for each and every piece. A few weeks ago I was sitting down to sew a shower curtain at my old drop-leaf table that I painted for my kitchen in my first house. It was a red and yellow table placed in a room filled with beachy grays and turquoises. The only reason the table wasn't a complete out-of-place eyesore was because our downstairs still wears it's 1970's brick red/orange carpet. Originally the table was in storage until I started homeschooling and needed a table for our extra computer. It's placement was meant to be temporary (were intending to get a laptop), so I didn't care what it looked like. We've now been homeschooling for 3 years, and the table has not moved. The doldrums of Christmas break were starting to set in, and I was itching for a new project. This table was screaming to be re-done...so as soon as I finished that shower curtain, I carried that table out to the garage and started right away.

Remember how I stripped the paint on that first desk that I did? Well the experience was so unpleasant that I decided to avoid it whenever I could. I avoided it until my mother-in-law gave me this table for our first house. It had several layers of old paint and stripping it was a nightmare. I wasn't able to get two of the layers off, so I just sanded, primed and painted. Because I knew what was under my paint job from 11 years ago, I decided that avoiding stripping it AGAIN wasn't an option. Ugh. Stripping paint in your open-air garage in the middle of winter is not recommended. I'd say I spent around 20-25 hours over the course of several days stripping, scraping, and sanding. Like before, I quit before getting all the layers off. I primed and painted it a very bold teal color. And honestly, I was just gonna leave it at that...

But then I decided it might look cool with some words painted on it. I thought I'd find a Bible verse or a saying that might fit well with a sewing/crafting/project table. I had some different ideas on how I might do that, but nothing I was finding was exciting me much. I started looking into doing French typography...but creating a French typography stencil was going to be insanely difficult, and I wanted to finish the table within a reasonable amount of time.

I searched vintage graphics on thegraphicsfairy.com and found one of a vintage clothing stamp. I thought it quite fitting for a sewing table and decided to upload the graphic on blockposters.com. Blockposters is a free service that takes your picture or graphic and makes it big and prints it in pieces that fit on standard printer-size paper. To achieve the size I wanted, I needed it printed on EIGHT pieces of cardstock. I then proceeded to subject myself to 8 continuous hours of xacto-knife torture. I take that back...I took one break to make dinner and give my hand a much needed massage.

It took a couple of hours to stencil and touch-up. I also added some touches to the drawers, back cabinet (not shown in pics), and table-ends. Then I shabbied up the entire piece with sandpaper so that some of the white primer would show on the edges, etc. making sure I also gave the stenciled graphic a good sanding as well. It was then that I just left it for an hour or so. I looked at it, and looked at it again. I debated back and forth on if I should add the "dirty" antique glaze. In the end, I resolved to add it.

All that was left to do was to apply a couple of coats of Minwax satin Wipe-On-Poly, and get some new hardware.

I've spent more time and effort on this table than any other piece of furniture that I've refinished. My body ached at the end of every hour of work, but it was all worth it. There's nothing better than the satisfaction at the end of a job well done.

My Home

My home is where I most want to be. To me, living in the country is almost like being on vacation every day the sun shines. When our school day is finally finished, I can't wait to greet the afternoon on my deck. I close my eyes and take it all in...and then when I open them again I can't help but be refreshed by the beauty before me. Sometimes, if I really ponder it, it takes my breath away and can even bring me to tears. I say out loud, "I can't believe this is where I live," and I thank God.

About six months ago our family was able to expand our property line by an additional twelve acres. It took Adam several years of planning, saving, and negotiating to sign those final contracts. As with anything worth having, the sacrifice stretches our limits. However, I find peace in the simple rewards. Joyous squeals coming from my kids who are playing down by the creek. The hum of our antique Ford tractor at the base of the valley. Freshly cleared four-wheeler trails...made by us, not by our trespassing neighbors. These sounds. These views. These moments. Irreplaceable. 

I credit my dear Adam for this beautiful place we call home. With the help of God, he realized our dreams and continues to do so. Our home is perpetually changing. He fixes, builds, plants, and cuts down. It never ceases. His ambition is one of his best qualities. I support him as best I can and bring him down to reason when his imagination runs wild. As we grow more and more accustomed to being married, we learn to trust in new ways. When he says, "I can create that!" I rarely question. And when I say, "I can beautify that!" he rarely questions. When it comes to our home, we have found our niches and developed our rhythm. Working together, our home flourishes.

Rain or shine, we take advantage of every minute. The land allows our lives to be full, yet simple. We cringe on days we leave the sun shining at home to attend engagements elsewhere. And, for the most part, we look forward to the work that is constantly begging to be done. There is great satisfaction and pride within every completed task. And when the day is done, we retreat to the comfort of our lovely house...or to a crackling backyard fire.

If you would have asked me fifteen years ago what I thought my life would look like now, my answer would have paled in comparison to what it truly is. Life is so much more than people, places, things, and actions. It's also full of colorful adjectives and lively adverbs that give depth and meaning. But words often fail...because there's no way to accurately describe heaven. No, my home may not be perfect, but it's the closest place to heaven that I've been to so far.

Blog Reboot and Reminiscing my Pink Nokia

Sometimes I click on my blog to read posts from years ago. The other day I was reading a few and noticed far too many typos and unintentional grammar mistakes caused by auto-correct and brisk typing. It was driving me nuts, but I wasn't sitting at my computer so I couldn't easily click back to edit. I also noticed how boring and meaningless many of the posts were. I was writing 7-10sih posts a month for a while! They were all about the day-to-day happenings of our mundane lives with a sprinkling of my thoughts here and there. Yet, I would constantly get comments from people who loved reading and would complain when I'd take a hiatus. Being a stay-at-home-mom of non-school-age children can be incredibly lonely. At the time, blogging was a catalyst for having presence in a world from which I felt isolated...embarrassing typos included.

It's been almost a year since my last post. What happened? Besides the obvious "my life is too busy" answer, I think that Facebook captured and ultimately satisfied the world's curiosity and need to be heard. Who wants to read a stale mommy blog when you can engross yourself amongst the lives of 500+ "friends?" For me, Facebook spiraled into a craving...an addiction. It was actually starting to cause unnecessary stress and anxiety. Once I recognized it, I reevaluated my priorities and set myself free.

Facebook is an incredible tool. As long as it exists and is used for positive purposes, I will participate. Scheduling events, sharing useful and thought provoking information, catching criminals, and encouraging friends are all excellent reasons for staying connected. However, strong opinions and agenda-pushings have caused separations among friends. The internet has become a smorgasbord of manipulation, misinformation, and misinterpretation. Personally, I carry an ample dose of empathy and a giant pink Himalayan salt crystal with me to every article, status, and blog I read. If I don't, then I might allow myself to exclude some of the people I actually hold very dear to my heart. Maybe more of us should reexamine the reasons why we participate in social media and how it affects us? Once I started thinking about it, I was having a hard time remembering what life was like without it. I now yearn for the days of Nokia phones and incessant email forwards. Ponder that!

So, back to my original thoughts...

I suppose with the distractions of my life today, I had forgotten why I started blogging in the first place. Boring, meaningless, mundane. If that is my life, so be it! It wasn't my intent to please an audience, ruffle feathers, or even boast successes. I think Facebook does a first-rate job of fulfilling those objectives. This writing was meant to document memories for my family and to be an outlet for some of my thoughts. It's a public journal, and you all are welcome to read it. If you are encouraged by it in some way, then I am thankful.

One Year Later

Time has gotten away from me, yet my family has been there at virtually every moment. Haha...blessing? Yes...but there are days I can't think straight, and hours I'd rather be in a quiet room by myself. Sometimes I just want to complain, whine, throw things, or just not say a single word.

Throughout my life, and even as a kid, I've always enjoyed quiet moments of pondering.  It wasn't unusual for me to come home from school, toss my bag on the floor, flop myself on my bed, and stare and the ceiling. Thinking. Planning. Hoping. Dreaming. Praying. Lately, as home-school life has found it's groove, I've been struggling to find a balance. Maybe I'm just experiencing some burn-out? I'm not sure, but I've been craving quiet.

On a typical day, I get up later than I should. My alarm goes off at 7:50, and I usually roll out by 8:30. The kids are usually up by around that time and completing their morning routine. I, on the other hand, find myself dragging my feet. It isn't necessarily because I'm tired, or even that I'm dreading the day. Instead of rushing breakfast to get down to school, I do the dishes, gather laundry, or pull out the broom. Little chores to buy me some solitude before getting down to business. It's about that time that my old friend "guilt" pays me another visit. "Why aren't you downstairs already?" "You should have gotten up earlier." "Goodness, Nicole, why can't you get yourself together?!" That only seems to perpetuate the need for solitude and I find another chore.

The kids are at a point in their schooling where they are able to do a good portion of it on their own. It's a great thing. They know what's expected, yet "kids will be kids" and responsibility often goes out the window. That's where I come in...the "accountability." Huh...well, if I'm keeping my kids accountable, shouldn't I be even more responsible than them? Ugh...hello, "guilt"...we meet yet again.

By around 11:00 I could be in a myriad of places...but most-likely, I'm downstairs climbing the mountain of the day's lessons.  By 11:00 we're finally acquiring some momentum. I'm feeling good, not wanting to stop.  However, by 11:00 stomachs start to growl, and the complaints begin. AHH! Why, why WHY must I feed these kids...AGAIN?! Admit it moms...you know you feel the same way! After lunch the day just seems to fly and we don't get nearly enough done. And it isn't unusual for our day to continue even after dinner.  No, we aren't doing lessons that whole time.  That's the thing...we may school at home, but "life" still has to happen in between...and we do a LOT of "living!"

I'm constantly reflecting on what we did or didn't get done, and constantly making resolutions to do better. But so many school days go by with lessons unfinished.  And when the kids continually go to bed at 9:30 or 10:00, I find I'm still longing for my quiet when 11:00 rolls around.  So, I do a few more chores, and leave the rest for the next day because if I don't get any down-time I can't even sleep. And by 1:00AM I'm out. So much for resolving to get to bed earlier!

So, that's it. I get to the end of every single day wishing for one more hour of quiet solitude. But don't we all? Schooling at home is my full-time job, but so is being a mom, a wife and caretaker of this home. And really, I'm no different than anyone else. I am, by NO means, "super." I don't deserve any pats on the back. And if you think I've got it all together, you are sorely mistaken.

We have many good days. Those good days aren't perfect and many are filled with way too much to do. We also have not-so-good days, and it's then that I have to remind myself of so many things. I have to remind myself that last year at this time I was being beat up and screamed at by an 8-year-old. Today I enjoy calm days with that same kid with only occasional frustrations. I have to remind myself that I get to make my own schedule complete with sleeping in, breaking for sunshine, and playing Wii Dance for P.E.! I have to remind myself that my life was almost just as busy before homeschool but way more rushed, stressed, and unhappy. I have to remind myself that my kids have NEVER spent so much time with their daddy as they have in the last year. How blessed we are for Adam to have the job he has. We may only see him half the month, but the other half is pretty fantastic. I also have to remind myself that I am doing a good job, despite the fact that I can do better.

You know, I really didn't want to write another post about homeschooling. But since reaching the 1-year mark in January I can't help but be proud of how far we've come. This whole experience has been extremely challenging. It continues to be challenging. It pushes me to do things I don't want to do...like have patience! LOL! I wish I loved homeschooling. I don't. Frankly, I knew I wouldn't. Part of the challenge is finding joy. The joy doesn't come from loving what I do, it comes from loving who I do it with.

Blessed to be One of the Committed Few

As many already know, we've been attending a newly planted church in our little town.  It's actually a satellite location for a church down the highway a few miles, in Warrenton.  Being a part of this long-prayed-for start-up has been one of the most exciting experiences of my life.  I could relay all of the wonderfully intricate details of how this idea of a church was thought up, planned, and executed...but I'd rather just move on to the meat of my thoughts.

To say that this church means a lot to me is an understatement.  Oh, if you only knew how much I have vested in this endeavor. Our very first meeting was held at my house with folks I had spent months chatting with...hoping that they might see the value in bringing this church to Knappa.  Thankfully, we now have a committed few who are faithful to be there.  A committed few.

Last Sunday, as I was sitting in the pew with my husband and kids I could hardly focus beyond my thoughts. I didn't even sing in worship, and I half-listened to the message.  My mind was wandering in the valley of anger, worry, and discontent. "Why aren't there more people here?" "Is our church going to fizzle?" "Why don't people make church a priority anymore?"....and on and on.  I knew I needed to change my attitude, but the discontent continued to stew.  I was tired of trying to be a cheerleader for the church, tired of hoping friends would show up, and tired of being one of the committed few.

The pastor's message was coming to a close and he caught my attention with something he's said many times before..."church isn't a social club." And he went on to talk about how church is a safe haven for the lost, and how it's our job as Christians to seek and save the lost.  It's that simple!  So often I get sidetracked into thinking that church is for "me."  When really, "I" am the church!  I don't go to church to be served...I go to serve others.  We all make excuses for not going to church...too tired, need a family day, got a sports commitment...or the biggest one..."I'm already a Christian and I don't need church."  Well, I've got news for you...the church needs YOU!

Pastor Tony really made me think about this, and I wish I could just repeat exactly what he said.  It's nothing that I hadn't heard before, but it was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. The church needs its Christians to do what they are all called to do. What kind of an impression are we making if the "lost" come to church to find that none of its Christians are there?  Do you think those people will ever want to come to that church again?  The "lost" are looking to us (the church) to be an encouragement in a discouraging world. That is our job!

 It isn't about me.  Believe it or not, I actually tell myself this every Sunday (especially on the days I have nursery duty!)...but last Sunday my mind was in a fog, and  I was having a hard time getting beyond "myself."  It was odd timing, as my kids didn't rattle on a handful of complaints that morning about having to sit in service.  We don't have a children's ministry beyond childcare for kindergarten and under.  The fact that we don't have a kid's program is also a sore spot for many.  For some people, they don't come to church because there is no children's ministry.  I understand...having kids in service can be difficult.  I was raised going to church every Sunday, and I spent many many Sundays "suffering" through church during times when children's ministry wasn't available.  Guess what? I survived!  And though I feel bad that my kids don't enjoy a dynamic service geared just for them, I know that (if anything) they will always remember watching their parents worship the Lord through singing, studying, and communion.  It's a good thing.

That brings me to my last thought.  Communion.  Growing up, taking communion was a very serious act.  We were asked not to partake until we understood the meaning, and were able to partake thoughtfully.  Unfortunately, many folks see it merely as a "religious" act and allow their kids to partake even when they don't know what it means.  Our church takes communion every Sunday, and every Sunday my kids take it as well.  Of course, I have spoken to them about communion and they understand.  However, kids will be kids, and it's hard to tell sometimes if they are only eager do what everyone else is doing.  Well, last Sunday, after the pastor had my attention with those last few minutes of his message, we moved on to communion.  I was already prayerfully preparing to receive communion and not paying attention to my surroundings.  Usually, the rustle of my kids next to me is enough for me to open my eyes and notice that the bread and the juice are being passed to our row.  This time was different.  My eyes were open as Synnove and I were handed the tray, but Soren's hands weren't reaching on the other side of me.  I glanced over to see him with his eyes closed and bowed head rested on his folded hands...and his lips were silently moving in prayer.  I grabbed his juice and bread for him and silently wept in thanksgiving to God for showing me, yet again, the reason I'm blessed to be one of the committed few...

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching." (Hebrews 10:23-25)

Thinking of Bryan...

Today was a pretty blah day.  I woke in the wee hours of the morning with my head feeling like it was going to explode.  Nothing was taking away the pain and I was finding it difficult to even pray.  I was frustrated.  I am frustrated.  I was looking forward to going to church this morning...but ended up staying in bed with my aching head.  And what did I do? Well, I just laid there...thoughtless.

I'm wandering in the desert of spiritual dryness.  I miss that longing in my soul to spend time with Jesus.  If you aren't a person of faith...faith in Jesus...then you might think that strange.  There is nothing that compares to the feeling of being so close to my Savior.  I've never been good at being a witness for Jesus because I've got such a logical mindset.  I think that people might think I'm nuts if I tell them that they can have a relationship with God. What does that even mean? And how on earth can I even explain it? Well, I'm not sure that I can...but then again, I'm not sure that I have to.  Fortunately, God is bigger than me...and he can use what I have to give despite my feelings of inadequacy.  In the past couple of years, I've really wrestled with my faith.  I've always believed in God, but never really understood why.  Questions would often arise in my thoughts, but I would rarely pursue them.  I was content to just believe.  It wasn't until I was face to face with the enemy that I had to cinch up my bootstraps and really start seeking out the answers...so I could give them to Bryan.

Bryan Scott Edwards was born on December 18th, 1985.  I was five and he was my very first cousin to be born on my mother's side of the family.  He was a treasure.  Sweet, thoughtful, funny, and oh-so-lovable.  Though we were five years apart in age, we grew up together and I have many fond memories of him as a child.  Everyone loved Bryan, and loved to be around him.  He was always cracking jokes, yet he had a very tender side and was often looking out for others.  Bryan grew up and got mixed up in the wrong crowd.  He was constantly trying to be a better person, but he was really good at self-sabotage.  I can't tell you how many times he was in trouble...serious trouble.  Even so, he continued to try to pursue a career and had landed a deckhand job with Foss Maritime.  It was a good job, he was making some good money, and he was planning for his future.  Long story short, he severely hurt his back, got addicted to pain meds...and it all goes downhill from there. 

It had been at least a year since I had seen him last.  I was worried about him...missed him.  I had known that he was addicted to heroin and was living all but estranged to our family. Bryan was loved by our family...and was very special to me.  He would talk to me, take the time to visit, and he genuinely loved me. He even wrote me letters sometimes when I lived away.  Anyway, I ran into him at Fred Meyer one day (or rather, he ran into me).  It was one of those rare times that I was actually at the store without my kids.  He was on something, but he was happy to see me...in a shy, sort of embarrassed way. We talked...he poured out his feelings in the toy aisle amidst sarcasm and pride.  I talked with him the best way I knew how...with love, humor, and a bit of reprimand.  We talked for at least 15-20 minutes when he asked if I wanted to meet his girlfriend.  She was milling around the store...he caught up with her, and we met.  Bryan was so broken, and despite the fact that his girlfriend wasn't who I would have picked for him, I was glad that he had her.  We talked for a bit, and towards the end he told me that he had been hanging with my neighbor lately.  I was thankful that I caught wind of this...because it prepared me for what was to come.  I openly hugged him, and made sure to tell him that I was praying for him and loved him.  We parted ways.

A couple of months later Bryan's truck appeared at my neighbor's house.  I wasn't quite sure, but it seemed like Bryan and his girlfriend might have been staying there and doing some work for him.  It's not uncommon for my neighbor to have random shady-looking guys doing work for him.  I was reservedly excited and hoped that I would run into Bryan at some point.  We waved once or twice and he spoke with Adam once...but for the most part, Bryan kept a respectful distance.  Bryan had been in and out of jail on various drug charges...and he had just gotten out for selling.  Adam and I were constantly on guard, and all I could do was pray that God would protect us and our home from whatever danger could arise. People aren't the same when they're on drugs...and they'll do anything to get them.

Bryan's truck was parked at the neighbor's with the hood up for a couple of weeks...broke down, no less.  Then, late one night in June, our home phone rang.  It was Bryan.  My heart nearly sank to my stomach in fear at the sound of his voice...what did he want?  Our neighbor was sick of Bryan's truck being parked at his house and he wanted it out, so Bryan asked if he could tow it up the driveway and park it in front of our shop.  I was nervous...if I thought it was good for him, I would have given Bryan anything...but this was a tough call.  Fortunately, Adam was home, and we agreed that it would be ok.  We knew that there were few to no options for Bryan at that point, and how fortunate for him that we lived next door??  Ha ha ha.  Bryan and a friend towed the truck in the dark after midnight that night while we watched from the house above in secret. 

At least 3 weeks later, my in-laws were visiting.  It was dinner time and we were all getting ready to head to Clatskanie to eat...until I heard a strange car pull up down at the shop.  It was Bryan.  Adam was in the shower...I ran to tell him the news and then rushed down to greet Bryan.  He was extremely apologetic as I jokingly gave him a hard time for dropping his truck and leaving it without ever calling or coming back. Then I saw his face....broken and emotionless. I said "are you ok?" and he couldn't speak.  Ever-so-lightly, he shook his head "no" as a lone tear streamed down his cheek.  Bryan was a very proud young man, so to see him like this made my knees go weak.  At that point he was pretty drugged and was frustrated with the fact that he couldn't even think, let alone try to fix his truck.  His girlfriend had kicked him out and he had been sleeping in a car (not quite sure where he got the car) in the woods for a few days.  In order to get to my house, he'd actually run out of gas and sat by the side of the road until someone came to help him.  He had nothing...and he asked for nothing.  We talked for a bit and he was afraid because he was probably going to be going to prison in a month or so.  I was torn because I wanted to stay and talk with him, but we were headed to dinner and Adam surely wasn't going to leave me alone.  Before we left he had asked for an empty gas can to siphon the gas that was in the truck to put in the car he was driving.  We gave him one and left...but not without me giving him hugs and telling him that I loved him.  I wanted to give him more, but I didn't have time to run back to the house.  I was sick to my stomach all the way to Clatskanie.  I text my mom and sister and asked them to pray right away.  I was so worried.

When we arrived back home, over two hours later, I was SO excited to see Bryan still siphoning gas out of his truck.  Why was he still there? Well, God kept him there...no doubt in my mind.  As Adam drove up the driveway, I leaped out of the car before it even stopped.  He had fallen asleep in his truck and had woken minutes before we arrived back home. Praise God! I immediately struck up more conversation and asked him if he would like me to get him something to eat.  He respectfully declined and I insisted.  I knew he had to be hungry.  I told him to wait while I ran as fast as I could to the house.  I packed an unopened bag of jerky, and huge bag of goldfish, and a few sodas.  I also ran to my room to frantically grab a couple of books.  I grabbed "Streams in the Desert" (a devotional) and "Heaven is for Real."  I didn't care if Bryan was too "macho" to read those books, I had an opportunity, so I took it!  When I got back down to the shop, Bryan was finished.  As I handed him the bag of food and explained the books, the look on his face was so telling.  He was so ashamed to be taking the food...ashamed to be there in the first place.  I continued to smile and I hugged him over and over (he never hugs back, by the way).  I told him I missed him, that his family missed him, that we loved him, etc, etc.  Then, with tears streaming down both our faces I looked him straight in the eyes and told him to not even THINK about taking his own life (not in those words exactly). I didn't let him leave until he agreed with me...then I cried as he left.

The following few weeks were rough for Bryan.  He eluded the police in a car chase, and again on a different date on foot. Bryan knew his fate was sealed, so he decided to "have fun" until the inevitable happened.  One night, after the police arrested him, Bryan went into convulsions in jail and he was taken to the hospital.  The police told the doctors in the ICU that "he took his 'stash' before his arrest" so he was OD'd on heroin and needed to be closely watched and they chained him to the bed before assessing his needs.  The next morning my mom called me and told me that Bryan was close to death and in an induced coma.  After much prayer, I decided to go see him in the ICU.  The police had released him despite the charges against him, but the plan was to keep Bryan in the dark about the release until he asked.  They were in the process of gradually pulling him out of the coma when I arrived at the hospital.  He declined seeing me, but the kind nurses allowed me to do as I pleased.  I entered the room and he immediately buried his face into the side of the bed.  Shame. So much shame.  I was upset with him because, from what the police said, he was taking a risk at ending his life by taking his "stash" of drugs.  Bryan was barely responsive, but I spoke my heart nonetheless.  I even went so far as to place my hand on his shoulder and pray out loud for God to release him from his chains.  I bawled.  I didn't want to lose Bryan...yet he was on a path of destruction.  I continued to voice my concerns to him and forced him to answer me...in the first 20 minutes that I was there, his face never came out of the corner of the bed.  There are many more details to that afternoon, but eventually my mom came and we both prayed some more and tried to talk with him. By the time we left, he was sitting up and eating, but he still didn't speak.  He listened, nodded, and cried.  Bryan absolutely refused to see his parents.  The next day he found out he was released by the police and left the hospital despite their urging him to stay and seek help.  In the last couple of years of his life he had been through a few rehab programs...always returning to his old ways.

A week or so later was fair week.  Fair week is kind of a big deal in the Edwards family.  Bryan's parents are very involved, and his dad is on the fair board.  Both Bryan and his sister Jenessa raised animals and showed them at fair every year while they were in school.  My family also enjoys fair week and visit the fair almost every day that it is open.  One night the kids and I were coming home late from the fair...it was after 9:00 but it was still a bit light out.  We came up the driveway to see Bryan diligently working on fixing his truck...happy and energetic.  I was thrilled to see him looking so good after his visit to the hospital.  In fact, I hadn't seen him looking this good in well over a year.  I pulled over, the kids stayed in the car, and Bryan and I chatted a bit as the last bit of light left the summer sky.  I didn't want the night to end!  He had asked me what had happened that day in the hospital because he couldn't remember from being so sedated.  I told him what the police had said, and he was shocked.  He said he never took his "stash" and that he didn't even have any drugs on him that night they arrested him.  He actually knew he was gonna get arrested that night (there was a warrant out) and he just waited by the road waiting for them to find him...once they did, he ran "just for fun." So typical of him.  Once they arrested him, they asked him what his "habit" was and he told them.  He also said that he had already tried to decrease his "habit" before getting arrested so that he wouldn't get as "dope sick" in jail.  He was frustrated by the justice system, as was I.  But I'm not gonna go into detail about that right now.  The important thing is that I was relieved that Bryan wasn't trying to end his life by overdosing on drugs.  We talked for at least 40 minutes while the kids waited in the car.  We talked about God, talked about family, and about how he was so thankful that I helped him that day when he was at my house.  He confessed that that day he hadn't eaten in a couple of days.  I told him God was watching over him...he didn't disagree...he didn't agree either.  He planned to return the next day to finish up the truck.  I told him I was looking forward to it.

I was beside myself with excitement at the prospect of spending more time with Bryan.  I had so much I wanted to say, but I had to be careful about saying it.  Already, we had talked so much and he was really questioning God, and Jesus...and who Jesus really was.  Because of my lack of Biblical knowledge, I was having a hard time proving Jesus to him in a practical way.  It was a real eye-opener for me, and that forced me to dig deeper in the Word to find out for myself so that I could give an account in the future.  I fervently prayed for God to help me to say the right things to Bryan.  I SO wanted him to return to God and start asking Him for help.  Bryan grew up in the church and accepted Jesus as a young boy. He knew who God was, but he wasn't convinced that He was still there for him. 

When he arrived, I raced down to the shop to meet him.  Adam wasn't home, and the weather was scorching.  The kids played outside by themselves while Bryan and I visited.  The entire 5 hours he was there, he never once asked for anything.  He was always very respectful of the "invisible line" and never pushed beyond what he thought he deserved, which was nothing.  He even declined when I asked him what kind of sandwich he wanted for lunch. Of course I fed him!  He never came up to the house, and was respectful and sweet when the kids came around.  Bryan loved kids and always asked how mine were doing. He attended all their birthday parties as well, when he was sober of course.

I stayed with Bryan the entire time he was working.  We had the best time.  He told me so much of his heart, and we laughed just like old times.  I prayed throughout the day...asking God to give me words.  I needed Bryan to see that he could have life with Jesus and that He would always be with him, no matter what.  I wanted Bryan to know that he was worth it, and that he had everything to live for.  Hell isn't a destiny anyone should desire...or even feel they deserve.  God had a plan for Bryan, and if he could just be open to it, he would see that his life could find purpose.  Of course, I couldn't actually "say" most of any of that for fear that Bryan would just shut off.  I really just had to hope that Bryan would see Jesus through me.  I tried my best...and the rest was up to God. 

Eventually, Bryan fixed the truck and he was off.  That was the last time I saw him.

It was a week or two later and he went to Jail to finally serve some time.  Our whole family was thankful.  He needed that time to think and get clean.  He served 3 months.  In that time I was able to send him some books (at his request and the request of his mother) and I sent him a book of testimonies from reformed outlaw bikers.  We also wrote to each other.  His last note to me was clear and from his heart.  He wanted so badly to be clean, sober, and successful...but he was still so ashamed.  He wrote that he was planning to come to our big family Thanksgiving which was in a couple of weeks.  I really prayed that he would follow through with that. 

Bryan was released from jail in good spirits.  He was ready for a new start, but I think he found he couldn't do it alone.  As I've said before, Bryan had too much pride.  He never came to Thanksgiving, and he shot himself just a few days later.

I was so so very sad.  In my eyes, the enemy had won.  There was no more hope for Bryan, and the thought made me sick.  I questioned myself...wondering if I could have done more, but I couldn't go back.  I did the best that I could, and my prayers had to do the work I couldn't do.  In the days and weeks following his death, I sought God for peace. How could I have peace knowing that Bryan was gone forever?  I needed to know that there was even the slightest hope that I would see his face in heaven.  Well, I sought...and I have hope.  But my search will never be over. I need to be ready next time...next time somebody asks me who God really is...I need to have an answer.

So tonight, as I beat myself up for not seeking God, for being spiritually dry, for having no words when I should be praying, I think of Bryan.  It was a gift to be able to share my faith with Bryan and to be able to spend so much time with him in his last months.  It's so hard to know how to talk to and help those that are so deep in destruction. 

Love.  Love the way that Christ loves. 

I pray renewal over my soul and ask that God send the broken so that I might be a light in their darkness.

 ^"But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect..." (1 Peter 3:15)

Soren's Super Mario Birthday

I really need to get back to picture-posting on my blog.  There are so many events that I've missed over the last couple of years.  I don't even think I blogged Soren's awesome Angry Birds themed party last year! This year, Soren is obsessed with all things Nintendo...especially Super Mario!  Soren turned SEVEN this year!  We had his party on October 6th (actual birthday the 5th) and it was a gorgeous day! We had a houseful...I counted at least 40 people at my house!! I have tons of pictures...but sharing just a very random few will suffice :)

Soren wanted to juice some apples for cider from one of our trees

Soren got surprised by Mario and Luigi (Chris and FiFi)! 

Amanda surprised us by bringing Brandi over from OSU :)

I was impressed that "Mario and Luigi" stayed in costume WITH mustaches the entire party

Aunt Suzie, Ian, and Grandma Q.

Gift extravaganza!

Blue funfetti Mario cupcakes

Mario and Luigi waterbottle and mustache straw favors! Soren is wearing his new Nintendo hat and glow-gloves :)