Happy Fallmost!

It's fall (almost)! Happy Fall....most. 

Fallmost is my own personal continuous holiday between Labor Day and September 23. It's a time where I can breathe a little more as summer eases off my insecurities, and I can look forward to a season where life is a little easier. 

Fall brings regular routines against the laxadaisy life of summer that sends me on a mental roller coaster. Fall brings cooler weather against the dry, mean heat of Sacramento afternoons. Fall calms my brain, my kids and the dance studio's a/c bill. 

I celebrate Fallmost in a variety of ways - lighting autumny candles and making crock pot soup, deluding myself into thinking it's NOT 100 degrees outside still. I start to dream up Halloween costumes Sam and Charlotte won't agree to, wander through the fall decorations at Hobby Lobby, and plan Apple Hill trips. 

Fall is my happy place. 

However, something changed this year. Fallmost took me by surprise. Instead of summer being my arch nemesis, it became my....for the sake of using as many ridiculous words in this post as possible.....my frienemy. This was a big step for summer and I. 

For the first time, I enjoyed summer nights - the way Sacramento is absolutely lovely after dusk for frozen yogurt, the drive-in and late night chats on a porch swing. 

This was the summer I found myself surrounded by consistent, godly girlfriends who notice when I'm missing and are happy to keep me laughing. 

Summer blessed me with a fighting (although sometimes faltering) spirit that slowly taught me God does not hold me responsible for all the broken people in the world. 

We swam this summer, played board games this summer, made mentos & soda rockets this summer. I truly went to the state fair for the first time and learned how to needle felt a gnome. I found new, unexpected ways to connect with my husband and appreciated my creative mind that came up with some very awesome bedtime stories my children now request over Goodnight Moon. 

This summer, I learned to say positive things about myself. I still may be my own worst enemy, but the war is slowly dying down. 

So, Happy Fallmost. In the midst of my dreaded summer, I found hope. 

Bullies, Bad Days and a Fighting Chance

Sam has been going through it the past week or so. There are bullies on the playground. He goes to school for an hour longer now that he's in first grade and it wipes him out. His little sister loves him - I mean LOVES HIM - she never gives him a break unless I physically remove her from wherever she is holding vigil within his presence.

But something deeper has been brewing.  I'm still not sure what's fully going on, because for the first time in his little life, Sam is clamming up. 

However in the throes of tears last night, after being sent to bed an hour early due to not being able to regain control, he said something that stopped my heart. 

"Mommy, there's so much in my brain. There's garbage just swirling around." 

I was hit with a tidal wave of guilt and fear, realizing that this could very well may be the first hints of Sam's future struggle with depression and anxiety. My genes may be winning out after all, despite how hard I try to fight the constant worry I have about that happening. 

I'm not a therapist. I'm not a psychic. I want to believe that my concerns are just because I'm a mommy and they shouldn't go deeper than that. 

But still, last night I scooped my not-so-little-anymore boy into my arms and told him that sometimes there is scary garbage in my brain, too. 

"Really?" 

"Yes, true story. That's why I went to the hospital last month, buddy. The garbage got so big, I couldn't see anything else." 

"Oh. Is it better now?" 

"Sometimes. But hey, guess what! Did you know that when you feel the garbage in your head and it starts to scare you, you don't need to make bad choices. You're six. You don't want to go to bed at 7pm every night, do you?" 

"What should I do?" 

"Come up to me, wherever I'm at, and tell me that you are feeling junky. And whatever I'm doing, I will stop to snuggle you and pray for you." 

"What about when you aren't with me?" 

"Whoever you're with will have a way to call me. And whenever I can, I will come straight to you. If I'm with a friend, I will come home. If I'm at dance, I'll leave. I will always come as soon as I can and we will cuddle and pray." 

I felt his body relax and he excitedly told me about how I should write down my cell # and put it in his school uniform pocket, his lunch box, his backpack....wherever he will be. 

He rested in the knowledge that if/when he feels that indescribable junk in his mind that frightens him before he's old enough to comprehend a clinical name for it - someone will come running to help him. 

That's all people with this sort of struggle want sometimes - the assurance that in a world that hardly makes sense and is terribly, upsettingly loud with distortions, that someone will always be there consistent and strong.

And my prayer is, if I can exemplify that for Sam now, that it will lead to Him resting assured that God will always come running to him, too. All he needs to do is cry out, and God will hold him close. 

We all need to know that. God's love is fierce but not cruel, passionate but never with ill intent. I want Sam to know he can run to me, so he can then see me run to Jesus. Because, should Sam turn out to have more than my eyes and stubbornness - if this venom is brewing up inside of him - He will know that frequently God is the only quiet refuge. And He's a lovely one at that. 

Sam drifted off to sleep and I prayed over him and wept. I asked God over and over again to protect him from the taunting lies of mental illness. From the grainy mind movie reel running continuously off of relational and experiential wounds. 

I know it was an unfair prayer to pray. But still.....

Sam had a great day today. He was all smiles after school, and was sweet, obedient and loving all evening. 

"Mommy, God puts the words in our head that comes out of our mouth." 

"But only the good ones, right?" 

"Yeah - God only puts the good stuff in." 

Amen. 

Don't Give Pain 9 Lives

Yesterday before church, our neighbor who lives in the "house behind but not directly behind us" knocked on our door. He asked if we have a cat, and when we said no, he informed us that a feral cat had had kittens in our backyard and they were running back and forth between our two homes through a hole in the fence. 

"And I HATE cats." he grumbled. 

So he and Frank repaired the fence yesterday afternoon, and this morning we found the kittens. 

Our backyard is huge, but super neglected because we all singe instantly in the sun. We are Caucasian to the extreme. This, we tend to not be outdoorsy.  For this reason, a few years ago our yard apparently became the ideal setting for a feline brothel. We've heard the mating yowls in the early spring - definitely not the most pleasant sound to fall asleep to....but we always figured they were using us more as a cheap motel than as a maternity ward. 

This morning Frank found the kittens without mama and made the unfortunate mistake of telling me. I'm not an animal person. I love other people's pets, I like watching YouTube videos of animal hijinks, etc - but that's pretty much it. However when I am confronted with something cute and furry, I forget all this and become just like [insert name of passionate animal lover here]. 

So naturally, I run outside, immediately spot a kitten and scoop it up. 

Because really?!?! So sweet, right??? 

The kitten instantly turned into a ferocious tiger and clawed the heck out of me. 

"Why did you do that?" Frank asked in his classic emotionally-stable-and-never-surprised tone that drives me crazy. 

"It's so cute and fluffy! And owwww!" The kitten got a good dig into my forearm and I instinctively tossed it up into the air. It landed on the fence like one of those toy sticky hands the kids love. 

Splat. 

Blood is running down my arm, but who cares, right? Look at how fluffy! 

"Come here, kitty! Come on!" 

Frank cuts off the fun by telling me to call animal control. He's clearly allergic to fun.

I do, but since cell phones are awesome, I also simultaneously gather the children and bring them out to see the kittens first. Frank still isn't convinced that a feral kitten makes a suitable companion - I am convinced I can tame it with love and time - with the soundtrack from a mediocre Disney film playing in the background. 

Animal control tells us they won't take the cats because they are a "free roaming animal" and can go where they please. (Poor dogs! Because clearly that's not fair.) 

"Oh bummer! Animal control won't take them! I guess we have a kitten! Four kittens! What! Happy Labor Day, woo!" 

Frank hands me a box and begrudgingly I help catch kittens and bring the box into the front yard and the kids help me release them.

 They are climbing in the trees right now out front, mewing for their mama.  

I've been attempting to experience God more in the little everyday things. The kittens definitely revealed a bit of a lesson to me. 

I hold on to things that are bad. 

The bad things that have happened aren't my fault. But the way I choose to react to them after a certain point definitely can be. 

Sometimes there are sins in our lives that we hang on to. We grab at them even though we know they will hurt us and fight us and bring chaos into our lives. 

Why do we do this? Why do I do this? Is it possible to get so comfortable with something that flat out emotionally tortures you, that you hang onto it nonetheless because at least you know how to deal with it? That the unknown and the letting go process is so foreign and intimidating that we'd rather live sick instead of healthy? 

Just as my instinct was to grab that sweet kitten that immediately proceeded to mess me up, I find myself still grasping for those who hurt me. And the behaviors and thought patterns that hinder me. Because it's been my home for as long as I can recall. 

It's scary to trust new friendships. It's depressing to realize the world as you used to know it is completely gone. 

But it's also a relief once you finally let go. 

I've been like a cat - angry because I'm afraid, hurtful because I can't trust, suspicious because I've been grabbed at and stolen from. 

Now I'd like to be whatever God intends. I don't want to give nine lives to the struggles I face. I need to release them daily and smile as they run away so they don't even consider returning. 

But gosh, the kittens were cute today. 

And I'm not the only one who thought so....

Visions of Dancers....Dancing in More Space!

So first of all, my vow to blog daily has once again proven to be a big fat lie. But also, I haven't written as intently because I've been BUSY.

First, my baby started first grade. Little jerk. I know we've discussed this whole growing up idea he has, and he keeps denying my requests to stay little.

His biggest fan is not adjusting well to him being gone all day, either.

But as Charlotte and I soldier on through our now much quieter days, I've been positively bowled over by the blessings God has brought to Royal Stage. I mention it along with my children, because in a way, this ministry is my third child (or 2nd, if you wish, since it's older than our daughter).

I find my thoughts constantly wandering toward it, because this summer I had to practice surrender to Christ in a lot of areas of my life, and Royal Stage was no exception. It is the key area where I feel I truly learned to let go, and God revealed and provided some pretty interesting stuff. He gave me such a peace over being an administrator rather than a teacher. He provided incredibly stable, consistent summer camps and the opportunity for me to spend time with what is truly our best staff to date. Kids came to the Lord, teens & adults had a great time in class, at our summer showcase, at the fair, at our Tahoe retreat.....life has been good.

Then we had Willy Wonka auditions. And thirty children signed up to come. I prayed for God to just give us 15, and he decided to be all big stuff and bring us double that! Then, we had call backs, and word got around we were allowing kids who missed Monday's audition to come to audition on Thursday, and we got MORE kids. The terror in Jessica's face was awesome as we realized our little ministry was going to have a cast of almost 40 children.

Now....the new challenge begins. Between all these kids, all of our regular child/adult classes, our touring co rehearsals, our outreaches, our subletters that help pay our monthly rent, and demands for further growth.....our little studio that seemed so huge two years ago when we moved in is bursting at the seams. We have zero storage space, the classes compete for sound and floor time, our landlord sees a continual stream of people come to the studio and so continuously demands more rent and attempts to break our lease.

The truth of the matter is though, we have more kids and teens on scholarship than ever before. We have more people seeking real relationship and an alternative to the typical cutthroat performing arts world than we've ever experienced.

We are sardines.

So my big prayer request for today is for options. We have a building that's perfect for us in limbo, because we have to raise an additional $2000/mo in financial support. We are a non-profit, we are missionaries albeit unconventionally so. Many within our Royal Stage family cannot pay for the facilities and time they use, because at the end of the day that is not why we exist - we are there to serve people as a church or non-profit would, but have this added twist of the same expenses without a regular weekly congregation.

So please be in prayer for us - I know God will provide the extra donors - I mean, at $25/mo, it's only 80 new supporters. No big deal, right? Yikes.

Yeah pray. My dreams are big. God's are bigger.

When I'm 63

I am not a Robin Williams fan. I mean, I am on the level of I've grown up with a ton of his movies and think he is brilliant and hilarious. I was a kid when Aladdin came out and who didn't quote the genie for weeks after seeing it? Mrs. Doubtfire and The Birdcage are both some of my favorites, and I always picture the banqueting table in heaven resembling the big table in Hook where the kids imagine what they want to eat, and poof! 

But, I am not a fan. I know nothing about Robin Williams personally, didn't know about his struggles until after he died, and I honestly just don't have much of an interest in film. I rarely watch a movie twice. I just didn't know anything about him. 

But now, I wonder. Now, I know that he struggled with devastatingly difficult depression - the illness that many people tell its victims to just shake off, to just be grateful for all they have and man up. 

Even though I am not an endorser of suicide, I do understand, 100%, what it's like to seem totally on top of the world to the average observer and yet everything is broken inside. While he was rich, famous, silly, kind, successful and loved.....I completely understand why he did what he did. 

I have a very long time until I'm 63. But I do wonder what I will be like when I reach that age. When I've had three more decades under my belt of fighting this incessant, evil reality of mental illness. Because I'll be honest - I'm in my early 30s and I'm already exhausted from it.

It's an intense punishment to have a disorder (or in both my case and Robin Williams' case, a combination of conditions. It's very rare when a mental illness works alone), that leaves you looking completely healthy on the outside. 

Well-meaning people whose brains produce the correct combination of chemicals try their best to understand. And they should continue to do so - but the truth of the matter is, they just don't understand how ravenous depression and anxiety can be. We come off as whiners, the weak stragglers of the herd, ungrateful, a waste. 

Those who DO deal with mental illness rarely reach out to each other, because one of the key tactics depression uses against us is telling us that we are the only one who feels this way. 

What Robin Williams did was stupid, selfish and wrong. But I get why he did it, and it's okay that he did. Because depression lies. And he likely saw it as truth. Just how enough cupcakes can eradicate a diabetic from the earth, depression displays its final deception by compelling its victims to take their own life. 

"You are worthless. You are alone. You're going to die. And best of all, you are going to be the one who does it. Because what better way for me to remain elusive and misunderstood, than to have you die at your own hand?"

If there is someone in your life who is struggling with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, OCD, whatever........please love them unconditionally. Fight for their value when they cannot. It's really difficult - you'll want to give up on them - but don't. Answering that call at 3am or coming over on a minute's notice, or calling 911 even if you think they're only making idle threats.....it is a huge inconvenience...but it's important. 

I'm not a fan of Robin Williams. But this definitely could've turned out differently. I hope that in the wake of his choice, (and it really cannot fairly be considered HIS choice anyhow), people will take the time to encourage those on the front lines of this battle against the mind. That you will take a moment today to find someone on your Facebook list or perhaps in your neighboring cube at work - and remind them that they are strong. They are loved. They are NOT the only one. And God loves them so incredibly much, despite the fact they may never be able to feel that love here on earth. 

Praise From the Middle

I am a fighter. 

I am perpetually kicking and screaming about something. When I was little I headed up an intense campaign against my Catholic school's uniform policy that didn't allow hot pink shoelaces. As a teenager, I fought EVERYTHING - particular kids in the halls, well-meaning teachers, my family, my faith - everything. I was so incredibly angry. 

When I became a Christian, some of the anger dissipated - but looking at my life and experiences, I found myself being terrified of God. I've mentioned this a lot. Daily I need to wake up and pray against the lethal combination of being angry at my past combined with fearing God in an unhealthy way. It destroys me. 

People will tell me all the time how it's understandable - how key people in my life behaved badly and it's no wonder I feel the way I do about certain things. And, because I hate being out of control and hate having people tell me what to think or feel, I have gotten into the habit of blaming myself for everything. 

These days, I've purged the majority of toxic relationships from my life (or rather, some of them have purged me) and I don't have anyone to fight - except myself and God. 

Why does she get this amazing testimony, God?! When I've asked this "thorn in my flesh" to be removed for as long as I can remember? 

Why does that person get a remarkable  just-add-faith instant healing and I am still over here sinking? 

Why do you send people to encourage me, but their encouragement is always telling me to "fight," when I've been fighting for so long that my spirit is perpetually exhausted? 

Even though I'm very wordy myself, it is really difficult for me to pray for an extended time or pay attention to a long conversation - and I love that God knows this and speaks to me in pictures. 

The other night he gave me a mental image of a huge tree strongly rooted in the middle of the ocean. The sea was raging and the leaves were blowing everywhere, but the center branches were strong and sturdy. On each branch there was a section of what makes up my heart - my marriage/kids, my ministry, my work, etc. 

They were absolutely still and safe. The storm roared, and the branches held strong. And very clearly I knew that God doesn't want me to wait for the storm to pass before I believe confidently in His love for me or my ability to do things. 

I'm so sorry God, I shouldn't have this ministry that's thriving, because I am so broken and I am messing it all up. 

No Tam, that's WHY you need to do it. I love to use pieces just as much as I love to use whole hearts. 

Oh. 

God is capable of daily healings and sudden miraculous transformations. He can make the lame walk and the blind see whenever the heck he wants to. 

Others....and I'm pretty sure I'm on this team....He wants to glorify Him through the process. To boldly agree that even when we are stuck in the middle of something seemingly forever, that does not change God's goodness or God's love. 

I'm so happy I've been chosen to serve Him despite being a terminal work in progress. 

Getting Rid of Paul

There has been a fly in my car since Monday. We've named him Paul. 

Paul is the most annoying thing on earth. We are constantly tempting him with open windows shouting "Go away Paul! Get out of here!" And yet somehow he's bonded to us. 

I thought at first Paul was sticking around for the grape soda Sam spilled in he backseat, because really, what fly wouldn't? But I completely cleaned, shampooed and vacuumed my car yesterday morning and Paul is still with us. 

I've had approximately 50 close calls while driving, almost rear ending someone or not noticing a light change because I have become so obsessed with getting rid of Paul. Opening and shutting the windows, trying to freeze him out with the a/c, swatting at him, trying to crush him with my phone case....whenever I'm on the road, all attention goes to Paul. I hate him. He flies in my face, lands on my daughter and makes her scream, landed on top of my lip gloss....Paul has got to go.

And suddenly, uh oh....here comes one of those life metaphors. As Paul was perched on my steering wheel, (I've given up on freeing him and have decided we're just gonna have to starve him out), - I looked him in the eyes (figuratively, because he's fly sized) and told him, "Paul, you are my past! You are the enemy in my life! You are what's holding me back!" 

It probably wasn't fair of me to place so much blame on little Paul's shoulders -wings- whatever......but he really got me thinking.....

There is a constant presence in my life that I'm allowing. Despite all of the great, wonderful things God has provided me, I can't help but focus on this mundane nuisance from years past. It distracts me, constantly grabs at my attention and continuously almost lands me in relational wrecks because I'm letting it have so much power over me. It's like I can't enjoy life with it around, but I don't know how to make it go away so I have given up and befriended it. I hate it, but at least I know what to expect from it. 

There are a lot of great things trying to get into my heart, but all the doors and windows are closed up tightly. I'm the only one who can let them in - God has given me that choice. The greatest people I know can't do it for me. 

This week I will be focusing strongly on the Pauls in my life that aim to last much longer than my little insect co-pilot. I will be focusing strongly on showing them a way out and away from my heart. 

I'm on a great road - I don't want to veer, wreck, or turn back.