Remind me, who are you?

Sometimes you never know exactly where to start. Never know exactly the right words to say to open up the conversation. Never know exactly which task to tackle on the list of chores. Never know exactly which prayer request to offer up first. You can spend forever and day over-thinking it, researching it, worrying about it. Or you just start. Just pick one and go. And hope to hell you picked the right word, the right task, the right prayer. Then like a properly placed domino effect, everything just seems to flow and follow even if a few hiccups occur along the way. You look back then and realize that all that worry was for nothing because in the end, words like “exactly” and “right” are mythical in nature. That outside of math class or that multiple choice quiz, very very few things in life are ever exact or right. They just…are. So we…we just have to start…somewhere…

My name is Amanda. Wife of one amazingly humble man. Mom of 6 amazingly weird and beautiful kids (biological and adoptive). Yes, I’m Catholic and proud of it too. I’m a word-smith. A wannabe actor. And sometimes singer. And comedian. History buff and weed-puller (it relieves stress). Ambivert-leaning-towards-extrovert. I suffer from chronic Ulcerative Colitis. And I battle depression and anxiety daily and likely will all my life.

And this is my first official post on my reincarnated and reinvented blog. A blog I started in 2010 vowing to write in it daily weekly monthly regularly. It was under a different URL and it hit its peak in 2013 with a post that went viral, for me (when you grow up outside a town of 300 and your post gets 800+ hits, I think that qualifies as viral). But I seemed to never be able to get myself to keep it up.

On New Year’s Day 2017, I made up my mind to invest wholly in it. I needed to write. Writing brought me joy and provided an outlet for my creative nature that I so desperately yearned for. I also decided that if I invested more of myself into it, kit might just possibly provide some extra income for our family which would be an additional blessing. My husband was 100% behind me, supportive and cooperative. I was stoked. Energized. Motivated.

For a week.

Then through a series of event and emotions that involved a complex equation of 6 kids, exhaustion, lack of time, misunderstandings, different personalities and approaches to project management, and a serious long-term battle with Influenza A that made the rounds through 7/8 of our household…it fizzled ground to a screeching halt. I had not even written in it ONE TIME. I spent the duration of that week working on and getting caught up in the reformatting to wordpress and the details that shouldn’t have really mattered. All those stories, all those moments, all those feelings and thoughts that ran through my head and screamed at me to be written down just faded into the obscure. And in the end, I hated myself for it. I had failed, at yet one more thing in life. I had once again invested my heart into a dream only to watch it get sidelined by the demands of life that I resented more and more as time crept on. I didn’t even log on to it again for 2 1/2 years.

Until today.

And I am a nervous wreck. I have so much to say, so much to share, and a mission that I feel 100% called to take on with this. But I am my own worst enemy. I over-think, over-analyze, over-worry. I am too caught up in those mythical words “right” and “exact.” I know with all my being how bad those words are to starting out, to achieving goals, to success. But for 40 years, I’ve struggled with understanding that with my heart. I struggle daily to put aside the perfectionist tendencies and ideals that linger inside me.

To let some things go, so others may grow.

I yearn to be able to embrace this. And I try. I do. But it’s a war that must be won battle by brutal battle. And as long as I’m winning more than I lose, I am still making progress. However slow, however tiring it seems, I am still progressing. Still growing.

And this blog…it’s an extension of me. A constant work in progress. As much as I’d love for it to appear perfectly formatted and professional looking right from the start, I have to embrace the fact that it won’t be. And that it’s beautiful just as it is, at every step along the way.

No matter where I am on my journey, I promise you this: I am and forever will be REAL. Even raw. Because I firmly believe that however real, however raw life’s moments may be, it is in those moments where real beauty is seen and from where healing can start.

Now, let’s get this thing rolling. Together.

Raw. Real. Redeemed.

Originally posted January 2013 under the title “Raw. Real. Graced.”

I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I am so sorry.”

I rub his little check and whisper it again. 

“Mama.” He says it so calmly.

That’s all.  Not the beginning of a sentence.  It is its own sentence.  A statement: mama, MY mama.

Deeper my heart sinks into itself, because if I could take back my actions, if I could take back my words from moments before, I would.  But I can’t.  Funny thing about life: it doesn’t promise any do-overs.  

I settle him in his crib and slowly close the door to his room.  I put his big brothers to bed with two chapters and a begged-for third of the latest book.  I close the book to begs for even more.  But not tonight, the next chapter is not of that book.  It’s of me.  It’s a begging of forgiveness from them towards me.  And it’s for the very same moments I can’t do over.

No.  We can’t take them back.  We can’t do them over.  But oh–sweet forgiveness!  The same God that gave me this life in which I can have no do-overs promises me mercy for those same moments if only I ask.  And oh how I ask!  

Grace.  It’s taken me well over 30 years to learn REAL GRACE.  Not a meal-time prayer. Not the smooth elegance with which some move. No. REAL, RAW GRACE.

Because you see, in the screen of my computer before I begin to type, before it is brought to life from its dark slumber, I see a woman.  Tears.  Gray hairs.  Misplaced hairs.  Little makeup and what’s there…smudged.  I want to hug her.  Ask her what on earth is the matter. But I already know.  She’s me.  She’s mad, frustrated, burdened.  She is real and the pain is raw.

And she is tired of pretending she’s the only one who is not perfect.  So she hits the keys on the keyboard and brings the monitor to life.  Tonight it ends, this dance of masqueraded perfection that so many like her try to wear so, well…perfectly.  Tonight she reaches out and hopes, PRAYS that if her flinging off of the mask can help just ONE other person to fling of theirs she can feel better about this imperfect world we live in.

The keys begin to fly and REAL unfolds onto the electronic page.  It will be RAW but that is what she feels it will take to shake others to the realization that ALL are burdened, ALL are imperfect, and we ALL must lean on each other.  We must. Because only then can we see the earthly example of the grace of Him, the grace our Father has for us.  For you.  For me…

I had been reading some new blogs with common themes–find the JOY in life, everyday no matter what.  YES!  Absolutely! One calls it “skimming the cream.”  In other words, skim the cream off the top and partake of the joyous milk of life.  That one writer, she encourages us to do that in our writings, our emails, our banter and chatter throughout the day, our blogs, and–yes–our Facebook postings and Instagram pics. Let the world see your joy not our sorrow.  True, perhaps.  Yet I beg you…let your joy be real.  Let it be raw. Be unafraid to let us see all your sides.  Allow us to see those moments when you have had to dig deep through the sorrow, through the pain in order to find that joy.

My mind is saturated with musings of others in this FB, Twitter, and Pinterest world, and so are most others’ minds too.  And before we know it we can begin to feel overwhelmed.  So many ideas, so many wonderful happy lives, so many updates…and then…we look in the mirror and we see…us.  

Us. Without the Pinterest worthy DIY projects, dinners, and clothes.  Without the bodies or faces worthy of posting online because so many others look better, rum more, eat healthier.  Without the kids getting straight A’s consistently every quarter of every year, or always hitting the ball out of the park for that grand slam just in time to win the game.  Without the fancy homes and cars, all clean and polished.  Without spouses who always look great, smell good, and do ANYTHING for us at any time of day regardless of well, anything.  Without her talent or his genius.  Without.  Without.  Without…

WE, yes WE, you and I and million other people.  We did this.  We both created this and yet we despise it.  It temporarily lifts, and consistently drops us, all at the same time.  

We let the world know of our wonders and joys yet fail to mention we struggle daily too.  Because you do.  You know that right?  Each and every one of us does.  WE ALL STRUGGLE.  Let it be known, right along with your joys.  You needn’t air your dirty laundry.  You needn’t lose your positive outlook on life.  All you need to say–even if just sometimes–is “Today…I struggle.  Please grant me grace.”  Because we will.  He will.  Let it be known.  

And just maybe a million other souls will be inspired to be real.  To be raw.  To bear their hearts, their vulnerabilities, and ask for grace.  And it shall be given.

So let me take the lead.  Let me tell you of my moments this day that–if I could have a do-over on–I would…

In a matter of minutes, I took my eyes off joy.  I see only an hour-late supper, piles of extra dishes, trash and toys to be picked up, and a toddler fresh out his high chair whining.  I see only that he ate little and played with much and I had much to do that was ever so imperfect.  Others cook from-scratch, healthy meals that their families eat up.  Others have husbands and kids who jump up to clean the kitchen and the house.  Others have toddlers who self-feed neatly.  Others.  They don’t struggle…right? 

Then the tray, perched precariously on the only half-empty spot left in the kitchen, fell off, face down, mess all around.  That spark ignited the dynamite.  I blew up.  I lost it.  I screamed.  I scared him, the toddler.  He began to cry.  But all I could see was frustration and anger.  Why me!  Enough!  QUIET!  But no. He cried louder, his brothers still and quiet and then I realize–I must look like a beast.  Not a loving mother.  Not at all.  And I loathe myself for it.  I stop and love them.  The best I can.  The rest of the evening was semi-volatile.  Like the remnants of a fire left to smolder, I was not ablaze but still hot.  I wasn’t completely out until I put my babies to bed and begged for forgiveness.  For grace.  And they gave it.  

From my oldest came the words, “It’s okay mom, I forgive you…you have a lot on your plate.”  Grace and wisdom from a nine-year-old.  

From my middle man, “I always love you mom.”  

And from that toddling babe came that simple statement: “mama.”

I didn’t deserve it, but they gave it.  Just as He will too.  

And you? Stop being afraid to be seen a little muddy and messed, a little worn and raw.  

You are loved deeply.  DEEPLY.  Breathe it in that love.  From us, yes, but oh SO much more so from Him.  And no mud or mess, wear and tear can shallow that depth of His love.  Nor ours.  That is GRACE.  REAL, RAW…and JOYOUS GRACE.

The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

post