Parenting Moments

I had a few milestones today with the kids that I wanted to document. The first one is, Penny turned 3 today! It was so fun to see her and Macy playing in the Columbia River tonight at the same exact spot we took our family/maternity pictures 2 weeks before she was born. Macy was only 5 then. Watching them interact just reminded me how quickly time goes on and how incredibly grateful I am that we added to our family 3 years ago. For those of you who don't know, we had another kid because I was totally not done after having one. And I didn't get pregnant again for a long time (hence the 5 year age difference). Tim was totally satisfied with one kid and I was not remotely satisfied. I was so in love with Macy and just knew I wanted another child. Then came Penny. Just such a magical little creature. She was such a perfect little newborn baby, great at nursing and very happy to be worn by mommy. It was bliss. Simultaneously, we were going through the biggest challenge of our family's existence - Tim's mental health crisis. It was such a strange mix of joy, fear, trauma and deep satisfaction. That health setback allowed our family to face our "stuff" in therapy and learn how to really love and care for ourselves as individuals. We were held up by our community in a real way during that time and I honestly don't know what we would have done without our family and friends. It's crazy to think what our lives would be like if I hadn't been so desperate for a second child. All of our lives would be on a completely different path. Not just because we would be missing the entire incredible element of Penny's existence, but also because it was her birth and the subsequent adjustment to it that forced us all to grow in such deep ways. At first, I felt guilty about how difficult of an adjustment it was for all of us, knowing that I was by far the impetus for such a change. And yet, we owe Penny a huge debt. Her birth and her existence has made us what we have become. I will always be grateful for that. I have this weird sixth sense when it comes to discernment and I'm so glad I've learned to fully tune in to my gut. I knew we weren't complete. And now we are. Thank God for Penelope Jin-Ok Sibley.
The other big thing that happened today was that Tim and I had to make good on a big, looming consequence for Macy. I won't disclose what she's been struggling with behaviorally, but it's an integrity issue that Tim and I have gone around and around with her about. We finally put the biggest thing we could think of on the line. And unfortunately, with full knowledge of the consequences, Macy made her decision today. It was crushing, just awful. So she will not be participating in Journey Theater this fall. No classes. No show. I'm really disappointed because it means the world to her. It had become something we enjoyed together and I'm feeling that loss personally too. It's so important to us to raise a child of integrity that we are willing to allow her to face the biggest consequence we can imagine (based on her priorities) to teach her this valuable lesson. Sometimes being a parent really hurts. But I know deep in my heart that we're doing the right thing. It's so critical for children to learn to take responsibility for their choices and to have natural consequences for those choices play out. Thankfully, I feel no struggle about the actual decision because we literally had no choice. Sometimes your child's choices back you into a corner and not following through is truly bad parenting. We offered her grace. We corrected misunderstandings. We explained things clearly. And she made her choice. I could see her processing and trying to keep her chin up but I knew it as soon as she started shame-spiraling. I saw her internalize her mistake "I was bad" and then projecting the loss as inevitable "I wouldn't have gotten a part anyway (in the play)". Gratefully, I can read her like a book and I immediately spoke into that place. "You're a wonderful child. You made a bad decision." And I provided empathy "I'm so sorry you're having to lose this. It's really sad." I held her for a long time while I watched her process her thoughts and feelings. When I felt tempted to renege, I remembered the parents of the Stanford rapist, who raised a young man without empathy, self-awareness and the ability to take responsibility for reprehensible choices. God knows where his victim would be if they had put his choices and subsequent consequences in his hands early on. Rather, they continue to behave as if rape is accidental, understandable and preventable with sobriety. I hate to provide consequences and yet, I must. For society's sake and for my child's sake. Ugh.

10 Years is Such a Gift and Not Nearly Enough

I'm trying to wrap my mind around the fact that tomorrow marks my 10 year wedding anniversary. 10 Years. For those of you who have been married much longer or even just lived many more years than I have, this may seem pretty small. But to us, this is a big deal. Not that we didn't expect to make it this far (hardly) or even that the time has flown by (though in some ways it has) but just because this day is almost here. As you may have already noticed, I'm quite the sentimentalist. I'm very excited and proud to be celebrating such a big anniversary. 
As I try to process the idea of 10 years, I can't help but think back to our wedding day. Of course, it feels like a lifetime ago, both because 10 years is almost 1/3 of my life and because so much has happened in that time. We're such different people. Our life is so different. We've experienced so much loss (3 grandparents, 1 parent, 1 friend as well as a major job loss and 2 bouts of post-partum depression) and so much joy (2 beautiful daughters, 6 1/2 years in full-time ministry, trips, friends, extended family). The depth and richness of our life together is more than I knew to expect or imagine at the age of 23. 

Sometimes being married feels heavy. It feels adult and it feels big. But most of the time, it is so natural. It's so right and it's so good. We've been through the toughest 3 1/2 years of our lives, with these last 18 months the most fierce. But there is permanence here. It's not our life that gives us permanence. We know that continues to change. It's not our relationship because I'm proud to say that continues to grow, not by accident but with faithful intention on both our parts. It's not even us as individuals because we are both always evolving, which I find thrilling and sexy and beautiful. Goodness knows it's not our family life! The only constant in raising young children is that every day is a transition. So what is that permanence, that thing that tells me I'm safe, I'm loved, I'm okay and always will be?
It's the reality that we haven't just survived the last 10 years. Surely there are days we only survived. But every year we've had we've LIVED not endured. And that is how I know we'll be together as long as we're both here. We'll be different. We'll get better. We'll be more honest, more our true selves, more brave, more gracious, more different and more the same. We'll be less as well. Less fearful, less selfish, less inhibited, less competitive. Maybe we'll be neither more anything or less anything at all. Maybe we'll just be better at accepting ourselves and each other. That would be more than enough for me.
I love the idea of a lifetime of pursuit. Pursuit of each other, of ourselves, of God, of life to the fullest - that we'll never be done or over. There is no arriving , of that I am sure. The more I've accepted that, the more relieved I feel. Married life isn't supposed to be a certain way or look like anything someone else constructs. Marriage is the joining of 2 entire people - all the personality, baggage, family, friends, exes, history, dreams, faith, talent, experience, hopes and quirks of both people. And you build a life on those things - the BOTH and the AND rather than the EITHER/OR. People talk a lot about compromise in marriage. I don't really connect with that. I think of it more in terms of accommodation. We carve out a place for each other. We make space for our other. It's not about finding someone to complete you - you are already complete. But someone who complements you? Yes, that is beautiful, this ying and yang.
Tim has an incredible capacity for kindness towards me. He has seen me at my worst, my most ashamed and spoken words of truth and mercy to me. He has the ability to encourage me while tempering my wildness, not in a limiting way, but in a stabilizing way. When I found him, I was a globe trotter who needed someone who could let me go, but who would also be there when I got home. He keeps those home fires warm for me, while I fly up into the clouds and dream. He makes me want to come home. He is home to me. He's not threatened by me but he doesn't minimize me either. He's incredibly intelligent. He respects himself, which is probably the sexiest quality on the planet, because he is not a pushover. He's not critical of me and thinks I'm a lot nicer than I really am. He believes in me. He loves our children. He's honest with me. He takes care of himself so he can engage in our family life. He works full-time in a job where he kicks ass doing something really important for a low wage (this to me, is the height of nobility). He has magical powers, I can attest, because I do not get sick of him, EVER. Honestly, it's really, really rare. I can't get enough of this guy, which I find baffling. 
I could go on and on, but I fear I'm on the verge of gushing. I will say this, 10 years is more than a lot of people are given, because let's face it, shit really does happen. People die. People leave. People lose their love for each other - whether they throw it on the ground and snuff it out or it slips through their fingers. I have no idea why that's not me, why the shit that has happened to us has somehow deepened our love rather than taken it. I know I should be grateful. And I am. Of course I am. I may be young, but I'm old enough to have seen this shit play out in the lives of people I love deeply and from whom I am no different. All I know is that I am not nearly done with this guy. I'm still hungry for this person, this life, this marriage. And that perhaps, is the biggest cause for celebration of all.

On the Cusp of Something

I'm in that weird vortex between two seasons of life. We all are. I've got one foot in fall and one foot in summer. Macy starts 1st grade on Wednesday. In some ways, this is awesome! I love the fall and frankly, I'm totally over sweating. I want to break out the skinnys and the boots. I want to have pumpkins on my porch and my child in school all day. I love her, but she is my mirror. And sometimes it's hard to look at my precious firstborn and not see myself in all my glory. I see her pleasing. I see her perfectionism. I see her enthusiasm. I see her insatiable need for love and attention. I see her wanting more and more from her loved ones. I hear her voice talking on and on. I see her passion, her anger, her smile, her fear. Sometimes it's overwhelming. Sometimes for my own sanity, I want to set her on a shelf for awhile. It's terrible, but it's honest and there's no way I'm the only parent who feels that way. I'm just that person who always outs themselves in brutal honesty.
I'm ready to slow down. I'm ready to take more time and energy for myself. I'm ready for some quiet. But the perfectionist in me also feels let down. Summer is over. All the things I wanted to do this summer that I didn't get to do are scrolling through my mind like a parade of shame. All the hours I let my kid watch TV while I hid in my room, I remember. I really tried to cut myself some slack this summer, but I still wish I was capable of more, that I could just go on forever. There's a grace in me being unable to do and be everything I want to be (and everything I feel pressure to be). Because if I could go on forever, I would. I would not eat, sleep, rest. I wouldn't. And that is one of the beautiful things about being human. I don't have a choice. Thank God for that.
As a caretaker, I often pull up short when my own needs present themselves. I don't realize I need to eat until I'm starving. I tuck self-care in the nooks and crannies of taking care of everyone else. This is common for women in this "season of life" when you have small children. But when I have noticeable emotional needs, it surprises me. Gah!
When I was in college, my therapist mentioned to me that small transitions require extra self-care for me. (Yes, I'm in therapy now and I was in therapy then. Best time/money spent ever). I need to give myself a little extra grace when the seasons change, when my schedule changes, when my friends leave and when new ones come. The changes don't have to be "bad". In fact, they are often the changes that I anticipate that throw me the most.
This seemingly small transition from one season to another is greatly exacerbated by Labor Day. I know, weird. It's such a non-holiday. But in our family, it has served as a benchmark of pain the last few years. 3 years ago, it was on Labor Day that we walked away (not by choice) from ministry forever. It was on Labor Day weekend last year that I took my husband to the ER and had him admitted for pervasive suicidal thoughts, with 7 week old Penny in tow. He then went to a respite facility for 2 nights, finally with dear friends for 3 weeks in town. In those weeks, I was raising our newborn alone (with MASSIVE support from friends and family), caring for a traumatized 5 year old starting kindergarten, and myself in a frightening post-partum experience. It was, by far, the worst thing I've ever endured. I learned I was capable and that I need help. I learned that marriage is a choice and depression is not. 
Well, Tim had a minor surgery on Thursday that landed me in a medical facility waiting for his medication and discharge for 2 hours with 2 hungry, tired kids. We then ended up in the exact same ER as last year 90 minutes after he was home from the surgery because he was vomiting all his pain pills. I missed Macy's Back to School night because I was juggling my now very mobile daughter while my husband was treated. And since then, I've been racing around caring for the 3 of them on our final days of summer. It's all way too familiar. Tim will have to get a stent removed from the surgery sometime this week, which means there will be another procedure. I've found myself crying in parking lots, crying in my kitchen, crying now at my computer. This is an anniversary I wish to never revisit, a season of life I would like to bury forever. I wouldn't wish the way I witnessed my spouse a year ago on anyone. Sometimes life has a way of sticking it to you, right in your weakest places, making the world that I usually see with naively rosy glasses suddenly feel cold and untrustworthy. 
I know today is not a year ago or 3 years ago, for that matter. As familiar as this feels, it isn't the same. This weekend gives me an opportunity to continue to grieve the pain that was last year and previous years. But it also serves as a reminder that we've come a long way. I choose to sit in that rather than focus on how far we still have to go. But sometimes on nights like this, it feels heavy. I try to be present, to sit in the mess. As you can imagine, perfectionists don't like messes, particularly emotional, familial un-fixable ones! I have a savior complex. Being "in process" myself, not being able to control the processes of my family members, and waiting for simple moments that come more often now but not often enough is not an easy thing for me. 
I'm learning that we don't get to choose our life, only the way we're living it. I choose to live mine honestly. I choose to tell my story when I'm crying in parking lots and when I'm laughing with my kids. It's all part of my story. And I have to believe that ultimately, my story is good, that I'm part of a greater story that matters. Our suffering has value. It's not a punishment. It's a reality, a critical piece of our human experience. In some ways, it is what most greatly unites us. I want to connect with the people around me, with their humanity, with their compassion, with their story. I don't want to live in an ivory tower, rising above everyone else. Of course, I'd love to get out of the trenches for awhile. I don't want to stay here forever. But if being in the trenches makes me a more open, honest, compassionate and generous version of myself, is it worth it? I think it just might be. Luckily, it's not up to me to decide if I stay in the trenches or not. We usually stay in longer than we thought we would or intended to. We're antsy and ready to rise above the ground. I believe I will, stronger than ever, in time. But for now, I'll be down here if you need me, in the trenches. 

Milestones

I've always said that the first and second birthdays are the hardest. Then Macy turned 3, 4, 5, & 6. So far, there hasn't been a birthday yet that hasn't thrown me for a loop. Even though I anticipate my children's birthdays with excitement and I really enjoy making plans to celebrate them, somehow I'm still surprised when they actually happen. Kind of like how you feel when someone who's been sick for awhile finally dies. They were ready. They were looking forward to it. And on behalf of them, you were ready for them and celebrated their release from pain. But for yourself, it's still sad and somehow shocking. I still don't get it. 
My little Penelope is turning 1 year old tomorrow. For those of you who don't know, it took us 2 and a half years to conceive Penny. There was a time that I wasn't sure if we would ever get the pleasure of having another child. That process was such a learning experience for me and very personal in my relationship with God. He spoke to me in those places of longing, loss and impatience. There were times I really thought I was pregnant and wasn't. I tried to tell myself not to get my hopes up only to find myself disappointed time and time again. I remember one month, God actually asked me to thank Him that He did not give me a child. Ouch.
One year into the process, we were fired from ministry. Initially, God was asking me to trust Him with the timing of another child. That turned into a season of Him asking me to trust Him if there was to be no more children at all. And finally, asking me to thank Him for my empty arms. He reminded me that my arms were not empty, that He had already given me a child, whom I loved very much. At the end of all of that, we lost our friend Ryan to cancer. He was 30. In our grief, we clung to each day and to each person whom we loved. And in the midst of that grief, we conceived my precious treasure Penny. 
As I may have eluded in other posts, and will surely discuss many times in the future, my theology has changed a lot in the last few years. It's been a difficult but mostly intentional process. But there are a few things in my faith experience that are incredibly personal to me, times in which I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was working. This fertility process and the timing of the gift of my second and final child is by far the one of which I am most convinced. 
I had a difficult pregnancy which resulted in me slowing down a lot. Her birth was totally nuts (somehow it took 5 days of false labor and then only 1 hour and 52 minutes for her to be born) which resulted in me biting my husband at one point (bet he was wishing I'd had time for that epidural). We went through a very painful post-partum season with Tim's depression, which was so much more severe than we ever could have anticipated. We had the privilege of being loved through crisis. Our life was literally held together by the people who love us. Somehow, in all the darkness that was this year (and we are SO not done), Penny has been the shining light through it all. As much as we've cried, our moments with her have been almost entirely pure joy. She is a gift. I call her my treasure (and then promptly sing Bruno Mars). 
I am so proud of the fact that I have spent night after night rocking her to sleep, nursing her, reading to her, feeding her (which feels like an Olympic sport these days), kissing her, holding her and talking to her. I have not taken her babyhood for granted. When I had my first baby 6 years ago, I was more anxious, almost seeing the baby phases as something to hurry through. Boy, did I regret that! Babies do require a lot of care, duh. But then when I didn't know if I'd ever have another one, I promised myself I would savor it. As much as this year has thrown us some very painful curveballs, ones that we never intend to repeat, I have so many moments with her that have changed me forever. She's changed all of us forever. 
She's made Macy a big sister, which I'm convinced has been as big of a gift to her as it's been to us. I've never been prouder of my oldest than when I've seen her day after day welcoming her little sister into her world. She has grown tremendously this year and I hope they will always have each other. There's just nothing sweeter than watching your kids love on each other. 
There have been moments this year when I've felt anxious about the passing of time. Like an hourglass, the time of Penny's babyhood felt like it was slipping through my fingers. In those moments, I've reminded myself that I really have done the best I could to treasure her, and that the time passing isn't within my control. I only get to decide what I do with the time I'm given. And so, with a heavy heart, I laid her in her crib tonight and kept my hand on her back until she fell asleep (this isn't me just being super nice, it's actually the only way she'll sleep:) And I came in here to capture my thoughts, knowing that the next time I see her, she'll have magically turned into a one year old. 

Setback or Opportunity?

This week our family has had a setback. When I got pregnant with Penny about 18 months ago, I spent 2 weeks in bed. I know that a lot of women have to go on full bed rest throughout their pregnancies, so 2 weeks probably seem like a breeze. But for us, it was really tough. Essentially, when all the hormones shifted in my body, my SI joint went out of place, which means that my hips were literally off-balance. My entire body was visibly crooked. Unfortunately, your hips are kinda critical:) Any kind of weight-bearing activity (standing, bending, twisting, even sitting) requires that your hips work. Mine decided to stop working, to the point that I could not even physically get out of bed without Tim helping me and even then, it was incredibly painful. He learned to wash my hair, which turns out to be quite different than men's hair. It was cute, really. 
In that process, I learned to slow down. If you've known me for many years, you're probably thinking IT'S ABOUT TIME. I've always been an opportunist. To me, why say no to an opportunity that you WANT to take? There is no guarantee in life that any opportunity will come around again. This attitude is what had me spending 6 weeks in Argentina at 17 as a full-fledged member of a mission team with 3 other "adults." I also think I have some sort of shame issue with the idea of regrets. I don't want to have regrets and so if I say no to an opportunity that I want to take and it doesn't come around again, won't I feel regret? Still figuring that one out. 
All of that to say, slowing down was entirely necessary and incredibly uncomfortable for me. I had a lot of regular commitments and rhythms at the time that I just couldn't do anymore. (Once I was able to get back out of bed, I still fatigued easily the whole pregnancy). I stopped working. I stopped going to church. I quit my chorus. The things I brought into my life greatly revolved around my physical health - chiropractic appointments, yoga, massage therapy. I had my first real bouts with anxiety. I got overwhelmed emotionally really easily. I learned to only do things that didn't stress me out and that list was short! 
Slowing down required me to sit in where I get my value from. At that point, our friend Ryan had just died; we were only a year separated from ministry; and I had just gotten pregnant. Being a performance-based person, not doing anything I didn't want to do (and just figuring out what those things were!) was super challenging for me. I had become a really good "yes man." Needless to say, pregnancy the second time around forced a lot of personal growth in me and affected our whole family. It was hard but also really good because it allowed us to re-prioritize and live into our developing values all the more. 
After Penny was born, we were in a bad place. Postpartum depression is really, really tough and in our family situation, it was really serious, really fast. That created a lot of family dynamics that were traumatic for all of us. It required a short-term separation. It required therapy for all 3 of us (Tim and I are each still in ongoing therapy). Our families and friends stepped in massively with staying with us, feeding us, helping with the kids, listening to us, financially providing for us, you name it. Very. Hard. Time. 
We've spent months working on our individual "stuff" as well as how our stuff affects our family dynamic. This is hard work, painful, and long. It is so difficult to sit in the tension that self-work creates. I'm so incredibly grateful to have the marriage, the friends, the family, and the therapist that I have. I've seen this go down in the lives of people around me with majorly different results. We are so, so lucky.
This brings me to last weekend. Tim had a workshop (big work event) all day Saturday and Sunday was Father's Day. Time to spoil daddy. I was so excited! Being a caretaker, I love this stuff and I get my jollys from taking everything on, obviously. Well, I was carrying Penny up the stairs while Tim and Macy were at the workshop and I felt my back spasm. I got Penny on the changing table and it continued to burn and pull. AGGGHHH!!! Not again! (Even though the pain is in my lower back, it's my hips again for sure). 
Here I am, home alone with a 19 pound baby, and I threw out my back. I spent the day doing as little as I could pull off with Penny and hit the sheets the second Tim got home. It's in my nature to be super bummed about Father's Day (completely canceled) and highly concerned about my exhausted husband having to take on all 3 of us when it was clearly planned to be the opposite. He had to miss work all week because I can't lift the baby. I've spent most of my time in bed. It's been lonely, depressing, discouraging, and exhausting.
Here's the thing though, and I think this is a result of a lot of good therapy: this week was an opportunity. I did a lot of escaping (I'm embarrassed to say that I've officially watched many episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians), as well as some great self-care (journaling, reading). But this week, though it feels like a setback, is an opportunity to practice the skills we've all been working on. And I hate to say it, me being completely obliterated physically is really the only dynamic we're willing to sit with this stuff in, at least to this level. It absolutely forces our hand. If I can keep my family going, I will, no matter the cost to myself. It grieves me to admit that. I'm really working on it. I've made some really great strides, but that is still my natural inclination and our family dynamic supports that. 
So I'm learning to rest. I'm learning to speak into my disappointment. I'm willing to cry and journal about my relationship with shame and how it comes knocking when I'm not able to fulfill my responsibilities. I'm not taking on my husband's stress (this is so painful for me). I'm holding my children who miss me and empathizing with them. Tim and I are communicating where we're both at and sitting in the fact that our feelings really differ from each other right now. It's awkward. It's hard. It's sad. It's beautiful. This is our life and this is what growth looks like.

Whitney Houston Had it Right

I view my role as a mother primarily as one of response. My child presents me with a need and I respond to it. While this may seem simple, it certainly can keep me on my toes! My oldest is 6 and I believe I know her the best. But as she is her own person and constantly changing, many times the needs she presents take me by surprise. We have a certain rhythm between us, things we say and do. There is no easier rapport than a small child and her mother. As she grows, there have been many times, however, where I have had to go back to the drawing board in how I respond to her. She does things that are new, takes on different attitudes, grows into herself and so as a mother, I must adapt. 
Of course, I'm changing too. I'm growing older. I'm gaining life experience. I'm working on my own problems and that is making me aware of where I fall short. My daughter, Macy, is a lot like me. In fact, Tim says he can't think of an area of our personalities where we differ. This is a great joy to me and also a terrible burden. I see my own perfectionism in her 6 year old mind. I see her struggle to make her work exactly right. I hear herread an entire book over again if she makes a mistake. It breaks my heart. But I'm happy to say that as I'm learning new life skills (extending myself grace, making my own choices and owning them, dispelling anything that smells like shame), I am simultaneously sharing them with her. We talk about shame and grace. I apologize. I empathize as she struggles with her frustration when her abilities do not reach her high standards. 
I'm writing about this tonight because while I've had many seasons of adjustment with Macy, I'm going through my first real adjustment with Penny. She's 10 and half months old and she is starting to need me less. Don't get me wrong, she fusses when I leave the room, even to use the bathroom. But she's nursing less often. She's sleeping through the night. She's kissing her daddy voluntarily! (I have yet to share this joy). She's feeding herself more. She's walking. You get the idea. And while I'm ready in a lot of ways for a longer leash (it's been a tough year), I have to say, I'm still sad! Penny is our second and last child. 2 incidences of postpartum depression, the second of which was severe, will definitely inform your fertility choices! But she is my little treasure, an absolute joy to my heart. And she's ready to be shared with more people. Our tiny circle of 4 is starting to bust open. 
It's tricky being in an unequal relationship. A dynamic where one person's needs dictate your level of interaction. It's not that my needs don't matter or that I understand the value of setting boundaries with my kids (or at least, I'm working on it) but I believe the parent/child relationship will never be a fully 2-way street. I enjoy a friendship with my parents as an adult, but they will always be my parents. And I expect the same to be true for me with my children. 
I find a lot of parenting philosophies feel like the parents leading the children, enforcing the rules, showing them who's boss, etc. But I feel like in this relationship of response, it's the opposite. My children show me the way to be their mother. Sometimes I come in to reprimand and find they need a hug. And sometimes you nurse a baby every 2 hours until all of a sudden, you realize she can wait half the day at this age! (Sometimes I'm a bit slow on the uptake:)
Maybe this doesn't make me seem very powerful or commanding, but I'm happy to let my children lead me. I respect that they are people, very much a part of me, but entirely separate from me as well. I believe they have things to teach me, thoughts to inspire me, and love to fill me with joy. Yes, of course, I have things to teach them as well. But I'm working on teaching them the lessons they're asking for, moment by moment, as they lead the way. I know I've only been a mom for 6 years and there is a lot of new territory ahead of me, but this is what's worked for me so far anyway. Though I will say, one of the many things I've already taught my girls is that it's okay to change your mind.

"Lived in" Theology

I have many thoughts on theology and they're very different from what they used to be. But my life is very much "in process" and has been for some time. This July, it will be 3 years since Tim (and I) got fired from ministry. That was such a significant loss. If you've never been in professional ministry yourself, it can be hard to understand why this is so much more than a job loss. At the risk of sounding dramatic, we liken it to a divorce. Our church was where we spent the majority of our time. It was where we worked, where we learned, where we found support, where all our relationships came from, where we introduced our precious child to God, where we found purpose and identity. It was our life. Many people who attend church share some of these feelings. It's your "go to" place. Obviously, when you work there, this is taken to another level. And while it is a "family", for us, it was also our livelihood. Leaving your church, when you're as invested as we were, is very disorienting. Many people wanted to know "what happened" when we were fired, but to be honest, nothing happened. Like some divorces, it's a million little things that just don't add up to a marriage anymore. There was no major infraction. It's like, they fell out of love with us. There were things we were unhappy about in our relationship with the church too, and we're not at all claiming that we never made mistakes. But it's a painful reality to sit in that you can be dismissed from your "family." Your family can literally tell you that you no longer fit in it. After all this time, just writing those words brings tears to my eyes.

When we worked at church, our life was a lot more structured. We knew what we were about, as individuals and as a family. There were a lot of mission statements, tiers of leadership, committees. We knew where our life was headed. Our path was set before us. The weeks, months, years just flew by. We were so busy. There were things we felt God pulling us towards (reducing our consumer patterns, being present in our neighborhood, doing less, investing in deeper friendships) that just weren't possible in that environment. We were too distracted by the immediate tasks at hand and were trying to fulfill everyone's expectations of us. I haven't met a minister yet who didn't struggle with people-pleasing. There just wasn't enough space for growth in these areas. I think this is because when you get hired (marry your new church), they ask you where you stand on all sorts of theological issues. You get hired based on whether you and the church are compatible in these areas. The problem is, if you change at all and your church does not, you will eventually outgrow it and vice versa. So you either don't allow your theology to evolve or you try to drag the church with you. I'm not going to lie to you. Every single precious friend we know in ministry carries wounds from this reality. It's very painful. And no matter what anyone says, it most definitely is personal. I think what happens a lot, to quote an amazing Chumbawamba song (yes, I just dated myself), they just "get knocked down, but [they] get up again. You're never gonna keep [them] down..." You just keep going, keep praying, keep trying, keep crying, keep leaving. Until eventually, many of us just get too hurt or too tired to go on. Some of us barely escape with our faith, while others lose it entirely.

There was a new-found freedom to leaving ministry. We could hang out with whoever we wanted to! We had time to build a life for ourselves based on our personal values and needs. We could be in transparent, two-way relationships. We found out we weren't the problem or the solution. We were just regular people trying to make our way in the world and be decent to those around us doing the same thing. We got to ask the questions instead of having to give the answers. We realized we had a lot of unmet needs and a lot of theology to reevaluate. It was the first time in our lives that we were free to believe what we wanted, without feeling the weight of a bunch of other souls soaking up our influence. We gave ourselves permission to wrestle, to grieve and to change our minds, over and over again.

To be honest, we're not nearly done. But all of the things we wanted to be different in our lives are now. It's pretty amazing. And when the shit really hit the fan this year with the postpartum depression, we had the relationships we needed to keep us afloat. We could not have had that level of trauma in our old life. We would have had to stifle it or at least try to contain it. (Ever try to contain grief? Works great, right? Depression...sure, it goes away if you deny it long enough. Ha!) We probably would have lost the job then anyway. Churches don't like to employ openly messy people, especially if this includes their theology.

As a Christian, my theology is the lens through which I see the world, my life, myself. But there comes a point in your life when crazy, unreasonable shit happens. And the frame that you're putting around your life isn't big enough. Your life suddenly becomes an 11x14 and your frame is still an 8x10. What are your choices at that point? Either cut your life back down to an 8x10 (denial, shaming yourself, repressing your feelings, jumping into another situation without processing your loss) or you embrace the mess and get a bigger frame. I firmly believe in a God who's bigger than any frame I've used so far. He's not threatened by my broadening theology. And yes, I would love to pretend that I'm completely open now, living outside any proverbial box. But is that really a fair expectation for myself? I think we all have boxes regardless of our personal theology. Would it be cool to have none? Sure. But at this point, this perfectionist is just happy to know that mine is a bit bigger than it was before.