Chicago Marathon Re-Cap

Coming into 2016, I wasn't planning on doing a full marathon. I keep meaning to take a year just to dedicate to speed and half marathon distance at most-now my 2017 plan. So all of you runners out there better not come and try to peer pressure me into running a full with you this coming year because I have plans,  people! 

But-when two of my sweet running friends mentioned entering into the Chicago Marathon lottery, I said-well, what they heck? I only had a 50% chance of getting in anyway, so highly doubted I would even be chosen. After finding out we all three made it into the lottery system, training kicked in full swing. I began training on my family beach vacation, completely high from the idea of running with my friends in such an amazing place. 

For whatever reason, training for this marathon was much different than all my others. Perhaps part of it was that I am pushing myself more than ever pace wise and so that comes with totally new obstacles on top of the already long distance. All previous marathon training has been laid back and easy. This was marathon #8 for me, so I went in feeling like some sort of pro (certainly not, obviously) but as time went on, the training got tougher. To start, I had that random foot problem for a few weeks that I was afraid would put me out of the race. Foam rolling, icing, compressing, elevating, stretching, cross training, etc. all got me through that issue-though the tenderness came back mid race this weekend and then mysteriously went back to hell where it came from afterwards (hooray).

I know that this season of life is by far the busiest season I have ever had. I'm not whining because I actively choose to do everything that I do and I LOVE all the things I am privileged to participate in-but hell, training for a full marathon amidst my already insane life was pretty rough. I was often overly drained and under-rested for my training runs and by the end of training I think my immune system was shot to hell. Granted, my longest training run (22 miler) felt amazing. That was a nice confidence boost and the average pace was right on target. 

To the important stuff:

Chicago is a beautiful city-there's no doubt about it, but I can tell you that I don't truly appreciate city living. I could live forever without visiting all the big cities, pushing through disgruntled people, waiting in all the lines and feeling like a fish out of freaking water. If it weren't for the company, I would have been extremely home sick. Side note-the expo is freaking great, so there's that. 

The crowd support IS as huge as people say it is-you literally feel like you're at the finish line the entire race because there are over 1 million spectators (literally) on the sidelines throughout the entirety of the race. There are 40,000 plus runners, which also means 40,000 plus paper water cups every mile or so for you to nearly trip over. There was also a banana station-just picture a cartoon Britney trying not to slip on a thousand banana peels mid marathon. Yeah. 

Through Mile 15 I felt pretty incredible and already had a PR in the bag, but after that my body was screaming at me that it was tired-so, so tired. My body had felt worn down like it was coming down with something a day or two before the race, but I had come too far to back down, so I took vitamin C and chugged through, hoping that good sleep, carbs and hydrating would do the trick. Ha, false. Even though I was running my fastest time yet, my body was revolting. I became extremely disoriented, drank 5 plus bottles of water and still couldn't get enough to drink. I normally don't hydrate nearly that much-just ask anyone who runs with me. The weather was perfect, cool and breezy, yet my body was reacting like it was in the summer heat. Each time my partner and I would go through a tunnel, I felt like I could fall over, kind of like the most disturbing tunnel scene in Willy Wonka that you could imagine. 

I pushed as hard as possible to the finish despite the rebellion of my own body. I am not a quitter, it's just not a trait I have in me. I finish whatever I start and I dictate when enough is enough. I do not let my feelings dictate if I will reach my goals or not and despite my collected and cool personality, when it comes to running-I am extremely competitive, but mainly with myself. I have always enjoyed overcoming my own mental blocks and physical limits, and despite everything, Chicago was no different. Chicago's finish line was like a break-through, a birth. It was so painful, each step of the last 6 miles was a tearing, a crowning of my own stubbornness and strong will. I believe that runners are the strongest people, not because I am one or because I think we are above people who don't run or don't like to run. I believe it because I have experienced great pain off and on the road and those that share miles with me show more strength than anyone I know. I have seen the pain in a fellow runner's face on the course, barely able to walk, yet stumbling to each mile marker. I have ran through the most painful moments of my life. I have ran through divorce. I have ran through thinking my father was going to die. I have ran when I had nothing left. Runners take their pain and use it to their advantage. That is the strength of the runner. 

 Each marathon I run, I finish it, because even amidst the greatest pain, I look back on my life, everything that hurt me and continues to hurt me, and I refuse to let the pain win. I see the struggles, the adversity, the victories, the people who have loved me and also the people that just sucked and I realize I am stronger than all of it. I am stronger  than them. I let the words of a recent adversary echo in my head and I decided to rise above what was said to me. I decided to rise above the voice that degraded me as an individual, the voice that tried to knock me down as a parent to my boys, the voice that has ever made me feel out of place, any voice that tried to tell me you don't belong in this race. Wrong. I not only belong, I am meant to dominate. 

So I bit my lip, let fire fuel me once again and pushed through. 

After crossing the finish line and finding my partner, I felt my body break. My vision blurred, my legs gave out and I hovered over the nearest recycle bin (probably not the kind of recyclables they wanted). I became "that girl" that gets carried to the medic tent to suck on Gatorade, prop her feet up and gets asked in 500 different ways if she knows where she is. 

Don't worry, I think I just ran myself into the ground and I am totally fine. My body served it's purpose and landed me my fastest time yet, despite the hell it took to get it. I was extremely angry with my body at first for forcing me to lean on two strangers to make it to a medical cot, but days later I can look back and smile. I look back and I see one freaking badass chick who doesn't quit, even when her feet go numb, her hands tingle, her vision becomes impaired. When others might have pulled to the side, that girl pushed through-that girl only listens to the voice that matters, the voice that tells her keep going, you belong here. 

Chicago Marathon Re-Cap

Coming into 2016, I wasn't planning on doing a full marathon. I keep meaning to take a year just to dedicate to speed and half marathon distance at most-now my 2017 plan. So all of you runners out there better not come and try to peer pressure me into running a full with you this coming year because I have plans,  people! 

But-when two of my sweet running friends mentioned entering into the Chicago Marathon lottery, I said-well, what they heck? I only had a 50% chance of getting in anyway, so highly doubted I would even be chosen. After finding out we all three made it into the lottery system, training kicked in full swing. I began training on my family beach vacation, completely high from the idea of running with my friends in such an amazing place. 

For whatever reason, training for this marathon was much different than all my others. Perhaps part of it was that I am pushing myself more than ever pace wise and so that comes with totally new obstacles on top of the already long distance. All previous marathon training has been laid back and easy. This was marathon #8 for me, so I went in feeling like some sort of pro (certainly not, obviously) but as time went on, the training got tougher. To start, I had that random foot problem for a few weeks that I was afraid would put me out of the race. Foam rolling, icing, compressing, elevating, stretching, cross training, etc. all got me through that issue-though the tenderness came back mid race this weekend and then mysteriously went back to hell where it came from afterwards (hooray).

I know that this season of life is by far the busiest season I have ever had. I'm not whining because I actively choose to do everything that I do and I LOVE all the things I am privileged to participate in-but hell, training for a full marathon amidst my already insane life was pretty rough. I was often overly drained and under-rested for my training runs and by the end of training I think my immune system was shot to hell. Granted, my longest training run (22 miler) felt amazing. That was a nice confidence boost and the average pace was right on target. 

To the important stuff:

Chicago is a beautiful city-there's no doubt about it, but I can tell you that I don't truly appreciate city living. I could live forever without visiting all the big cities, pushing through disgruntled people, waiting in all the lines and feeling like a fish out of freaking water. If it weren't for the company, I would have been extremely home sick. Side note-the expo is freaking great, so there's that. 

The crowd support IS as huge as people say it is-you literally feel like you're at the finish line the entire race because there are over 1 million spectators (literally) on the sidelines throughout the entirety of the race. There are 40,000 plus runners, which also means 40,000 plus paper water cups every mile or so for you to nearly trip over. There was also a banana station-just picture a cartoon Britney trying not to slip on a thousand banana peels mid marathon. Yeah. 

Through Mile 15 I felt pretty incredible and already had a PR in the bag, but after that my body was screaming at me that it was tired-so, so tired. My body had felt worn down like it was coming down with something a day or two before the race, but I had come too far to back down, so I took vitamin C and chugged through, hoping that good sleep, carbs and hydrating would do the trick. Ha, false. Even though I was running my fastest time yet, my body was revolting. I became extremely disoriented, drank 5 plus bottles of water and still couldn't get enough to drink. I normally don't hydrate nearly that much-just ask anyone who runs with me. The weather was perfect, cool and breezy, yet my body was reacting like it was in the summer heat. Each time my partner and I would go through a tunnel, I felt like I could fall over, kind of like the most disturbing tunnel scene in Willy Wonka that you could imagine. 

I pushed as hard as possible to the finish despite the rebellion of my own body. I am not a quitter, it's just not a trait I have in me. I finish whatever I start and I dictate when enough is enough. I do not let my feelings dictate if I will reach my goals or not and despite my collected and cool personality, when it comes to running-I am extremely competitive, but mainly with myself. I have always enjoyed overcoming my own mental blocks and physical limits, and despite everything, Chicago was no different. Chicago's finish line was like a break-through, a birth. It was so painful, each step of the last 6 miles was a tearing, a crowning of my own stubbornness and strong will. I believe that runners are the strongest people, not because I am one or because I think we are above people who don't run or don't like to run. I believe it because I have experienced great pain off and on the road and those that share miles with me show more strength than anyone I know. I have seen the pain in a fellow runner's face on the course, barely able to walk, yet stumbling to each mile marker. I have ran through the most painful moments of my life. I have ran after leaving a man I thought loved me. I have ran through thinking my father was going to die. I have ran when I had nothing left. Runners take their pain and use it to their advantage. That is the strength of the runner. 

 Each marathon I run, I finish it, because even amidst the greatest pain, I look back on my life, everything that hurt me and continues to hurt me, and I refuse to let the pain win. I see the struggles, the adversity, the victories, the people who have loved me and also the people that just sucked and I realize I am stronger than all of it. I am stronger  than them. I let the words of a recent adversary echo in my head and I decided to rise above what was said to me. I decided to rise above the voice that degraded me as an individual, the voice that tried to knock me down as a parent to my boys, the voice that has ever made me feel out of place, any voice that tried to tell me you don't belong in this race. Wrong. I not only belong, I am meant to dominate. 

So I bit my lip, let fire fuel me once again and pushed through. 

After crossing the finish line and finding my partner, I felt my body break. My vision blurred, my legs gave out and I hovered over the nearest recycle bin (probably not the kind of recyclables they wanted). I became "that girl" that gets carried to the medic tent to suck on Gatorade, prop her feet up and gets asked in 500 different ways if she knows where she is. 

Don't worry, I think I just ran myself into the ground and I am totally fine. My body served it's purpose and landed me my fastest time yet, despite the hell it took to get it. I was extremely angry with my body at first for forcing me to lean on two strangers to make it to a medical cot, but days later I can look back and smile. I look back and I see one freaking badass chick who doesn't quit, even when her feet go numb, her hands tingle, her vision becomes impaired. When others might have pulled to the side, that girl pushed through-that girl only listens to the voice that matters, the voice that tells her keep going, you belong here. 

Skinny Jeans Won't Make You Happy

You turn side to side in your bathroom mirror, sucking in and pulling on the loose skin that hugs on your hips.
Sigh. If I just _______, I'd be happy!

Dear Sweet Friends,
Nothing you change about your body is going to bring you happiness or make your life better. 
I know it's hard to believe that when you see the fitness ads and all the women are thin, have six pack abs and are jumping for joy over their awesome life and their awesome body and are just oozing with awesomeness! But please hear me out- I have been my unhappiest at my lowest weight. I fit into the pants that I wanted, could wear a bikini with pride, was the friend that constantly got doted on for being the "thin one," but deep down things were amiss. My soul was sad, my mind was tired, my body working hard to fit into a container completely unnatural.

Things in my life were chaotic and somehow I thought that if I controlled food, controlled my pants size and fit into the skinny jeans, that my life would come together and I would find happiness. 

Wrong, loves. So, so wrong. It wasn't my pants size I needed to change, it was my circumstances. Whatever your desire is to keep shrinking yourself, step back and re-evaluate why you're doing it, who you're really doing it for and determine if somehow deep down, you're trying to fill a void, mask a heart issue, escape from reality, cover your secret stresses, etc.

Shrinking your waist will never shrink your problems-they will still be there when you're skinny. People won't like you more, he won't love you any differently, she won't be more jealous, your life won't change when the scale changes. Your life will change when you get up and change it yourself.

I'm sorry to tell you that buttoning those pants may give you a temporary high/ satisfaction, but it will not bring you true happiness. Perhaps it's time to look at your heart, your life and find where the unhappiness is stemming from in the first place.

Maybe it's time to lose things that are weighing you down aside from inches-things that will actually make your life lighter and better. 

I have been there, sweet friend. You must step away and re-evaluate your motives. Is being healthy and active a positive? OF COURSE! But-it shouldn't rule your life. Exercise, eat good food, go out with friends, drink wine with your husband, belly laugh, swim with your kids, wear dresses and throw your scale to the curb.

How much do I weigh?

Honestly? I have no idea right now. There is no scale in my home. The scale is a reminder of a dark place that I once found myself years ago-a time that I looked to whatever number it decided to spit at me that day to determine my mood, my happiness, my drive. What a sad, lonely place that was! I never want to return there again and I will spend time investing into other women, writing, screaming from the rooftops to others as long as it takes so that they never visit that place, much worse-begin to reside there.

You have to find happiness for yourself, sweet girl. Maybe it's in a new hobby, new friends, or an entirely new life. Maybe it's on the square in your favorite coffee shop once a week, or a new career, a volunteer position to fill your hours.

Living a whole, fulfilling life is happiness. I have drinks with my girlfriends, eat salads but also can devour pizza. I wake up early, drink morning coffee, eat whole foods, laugh at my husband's jokes across the dining room table, kiss my kid's goodnight, read bedtime stories, give piggy back rides, sometimes eat asparagus and sometimes jars of peanut butter. I am happy and lack nothing. I do not deprive myself of life's pleasures-including gelato! (delicioso!)

I don't know who this post was for today; I typically don't post twice in a week. But-for whoever you are, I made the exception.  I felt like someone needed to be reminded of her priorities and needed to step back and spend time in meditation about what she wants her life to look like OUTSIDE of her skinny jeans.

So, whoever you are dear-grab a glass of wine, get in that bubble bath, love your body and find your own happiness...wherever that may be.

"Kissing Shame Goodbye"

I grew up in the 90's and though didn't reach my teenage years until early 2000's, I was raised in the prime stomping ground era of the "Kissing Dating Goodbye"/purity ring craze. I cringe when I tell people, but I was even on an "Abstinence Only" church team that went to the nearby public schools and put on skits.

You know the ones. The crying girl ripping petals from a wilted rose. The pubescent and pimply faced kids lined up in white t-shirts (not sexually active) against the black t-shirts (sexually active).
I am embarrassed and mortified looking back on it, honestly. To think I possibly played a part in a young female (or even male) believing she or he was damaged because of a sexual act that might not even have been their choice makes me ill.

It's a hard balance when you're a Christian and do believe that sex is best when kept in the marriage bed. I firmly believe that the most blessing comes in these circumstances, but I also have become more aware of the world, the culture, the statistics concerning abstinence only teaching/programs and the harm they have caused on those I know and the continuing generation.
Before I go further-know that I believe in aiming to teach our children to be smart, to be ready and to be educated in the aftermath that sex can bring when had with the wrong person and before they are mentally/physically/emotionally ready. It can bring brokenness, so much brokenness to both parties. Yet, to educate about sex we must really educate, not close the blinds and turn our eyes away, slapping purity rings on our children or ourselves.

The abstinence only reign that began in the early 90's was brought on by Joshua Harris (just a child himself at the time), author of "Kissing Dating Goodbye", a popular book that encouraged evangelical Christians to only date with the intent to marry the person, pledging abstinence and insinuating that those who had sex outside the realms of marriage were tainted. This is where my embarrassing white t-shirt days came in. Fathers were watching their daughters sign "no dating/sex covenants" and teens were sporting their purity rings. Unfortunately, the abstinence only program only brought one message and never educated this generation on anything but "don't have sex." Not only did this lead to complete ignorance in regards to sex, a huge gap in our sex education throughout schools and the home, but confused and guilt-ridden adults. Many either fit into one of two categories:

1. Those who didn't save themselves for marriage, often ridden with guilt and shame for decades even after marriage. (You can now find testimonials online of those hurt by Harris' book.)

2. Those who did save themselves for marriage, often leading to broken marriages and unsatisfaction in the bedroom because they too are ridden with shame because the idea that sex is dirty/forbidden is so ingrained in them that they can't bare to have a healthy sex life with their spouse.

Many marriages also struggled because this movement encouraged young people to not "date around", throwing out the idea that if you dated someone, they should be the person you married. This led to many young people marrying the very first person they really dated (me included), only leading to heartache down the road when they realize they were only children when they married one another, but because they "saved themselves" for one another-everything would be triply blessed and wonderful.

Also, as someone who was raised in the evangelical church and never experienced sex education, I was led to believe that any sexual encounter was like the white t-shirted teenager plucking a petal from my rose, that even my rape was something to be ashamed of, something that broke me and I deserved guilt and someone else who was broken/tainted. This led to years of hiding sexual assault from friends and family, leading to depression and anxiety. I felt that the only thing as a woman I had to offer my future spouse was my virginity, that my body was the ultimate gift.

I am obviously an advocate that your body is your own and have spent years rebuilding myself after burning "Kissing Dating Goodbye" and taking courses to educate myself as much as possible on human sexuality and the dangers of not teaching abstinence (I don't think this is bad, per-say),  but teaching ONLY abstinence, refusing to give our young people the information and tools to be as safe and healthy as possible in all realms of life.

It is also ironic to note that Harris is now re-evaluating many of the claims he made in his purity-themed books now that he has quit his high paying job and started to continue his education! He is now a father of teenagers and asking people affected by his books to reach out so that he might discuss/sort-of (emphasis on sort-of) apologize for the massacre that ensued after their publishing.

This is not a blog that is telling you to tell your kids to go off and have sex. This is a cry to my generation that was raised in the abstinence-only era, but now has access to so many resources to educate our own children, to re-evaluate how sex was presented to you and how you really want to present it to this generation. I don't want this generation to be as clueless as ours was and afraid to ask questions (especially of their parents). I want this generation to have open communication about their bodies, not to hide in shame. I want this generation to speak up about sexual assault/abuse. I want this generation to realize that they have more to offer than their bodies-now that is a message that can change the world of so many young people. 

Happy Father's Day, Love.

To my Lover on Father's Day-

I'm starting this letter nearly a week early because today was a hard day and I think God is okay with us receiving gifts when we need them, even if it's not on man's earthly schedule. 

Today the Enemy came rushing in and tried to instill fear, doubt and hate into our little family. He wanted us to lash out with tongues of fire and venom, drawing swords of hate to match our attacker. 

That would have given him exactly what he wanted-to see a Godly father lose at what matters most; showing his boys how to react when war rages. Yet, you react in the way that makes me fall in love with you over and over again-with grace upon grace. 

This, my love, is why you deserve to know what a great daddy you are to three precious, wild, beautiful and impressionable boys. You understand the magnitude of every action and decision on their tiny hearts because God has fathered you through the years and has handled your heart with extreme delicacy, understanding, desire and mercy. Because Christ so loved you, you are daily striving to be the best daddy that you can be to the boys-raising them with directness, but above all mercy. 

You consistently step outside of your own wants, needs, desires, dreams and agenda and claim not your own will, but God's for your boys. You handle every decision with care. You weigh every choice and outcome with diligence and prayer. You never throw the boys into the midst of an oncoming wave to save yourself, but rather you constantly sacrifice yourself to protect them, cherish them, shield them from the ugliness of the world around them. 

That's what we all want, right? We want to shield our children from the cold world for just a little while, not forever, but ...a little while? Long enough for fearless tuck-ins, park dates, picnics and innocent car conversations. 

That's what we do as parents. We hold the hand of our spouse and form a barricade around our most precious and prized possessions, protecting them from earthquakes and oncoming disasters at all costs, even if we are taken over in the process. 

Three years ago you invited me to stand alongside you to form the strongest barricade the boys will ever see. I didn't just say 'yes' to you as a husband, a partner, a best friend, but above all I said 'yes' to a father-and a hell of a good one. I said 'yes' to ball games, practices, fevers, sniffles, checking homework, home runs, dirty socks, getting splashed at the pool and boy jokes. I also said 'yes' to wage war against any power, person or principle that would try to seep into our boys' hearts, our family's home or our marriage. I vowed to fight for three souls, three minds, three hearts, harder and more intensely than I had ever fought for my own. 

So here we are, holding hands, forming a wall and fighting. 

There's a reason why armies once marched side by side-weapons up and horses high.

They were protecting often an unseen treasure, forming a fortress around the one they were to ultimately fight for and die for. They went to the front lines to protect the life that was of utmost importance. 

This is what we do, love. This is a father's love. God demonstrated the ultimate love of a father for us, the love of a mother for us. He knew we couldn't handle the huge mess, the huge battle ahead-so He went through the gates of Hell to grab the keys FOR us. He sees the ugliness and He weeps, but He is maternal and soothes us, all the while waging war for us, carrying mountains for us, destroying burdens for us. 

This is a father's love. 

This is you. 

You are the front lines for those boys. 

You are the shield.

You are the soother.

You are the wager of war in prayer. 

You are the reader of bedtime stories, the best bed tucker, peanut butter and jelly maker, kite flyer.

But-don't forget, my sweet boy, there is a Father also out fighting for you, too. He is also out carrying your mountains, destroying your burdens, on the front lines, shielding, soothing, waging war and reminding you that you need not fight battles that aren't yours. He already possesses them, along with your family, your home, Caler, Corban and Cannon. 

How amazing and cool is that? He is holding you and you are holding them-talk about a mighty fortress around our boys! 

I love you for so many reasons, for being an amazing partner, but I love you most when I watch you being a daddy. 

Grace upon Grace.

-B

Take Up Space

I wish I could tell you where it started, why it started, that there's some magical equation or scientific reasoning to it.
I can't. I'm grasping at straws here, really.

The desire to take up as little space as possible can be traced back for decades.
It hangs on your mother's face as she turns side to side in her full length mirror. It fills the racks of Target's summer swimsuit line. It comes in waves, in media, in fads.

We cross our legs, fold our arms and self-observe in our school desks, our work chairs, as we stand among our smaller friends in photographs. We hunch with our arms crossed across our bellies as we sit and turn to the side with hand forcing an hour-glass shape when posing with loved ones. We are constantly self-adjusting to take up less space. 

A survey of 2,000 women revealed that the average woman self-criticizes at least 8 times per day, the majority regarding how much space she's taking up. One in seven of those women admitted to criticizing themselves throughout the entirety of their day, reaching a number of self-criticisms they can no longer count.

I am past the stage of wanting to be the size of a small child. It's ridiculous to aim for your pubescent body and leads to a downward spiral of unhealthy habits. Yet, like many other women, I can often find myself confused as to why I desire to take up less space. Why do I self adjust? Why does the stigma of smaller equals happier even still exist when we know it to be so dangerously untrue?

I wish I could answer these questions, dear one. I wish I knew all the reasons, the histories, the solutions. I don't have it. All I have to offer is potential healing before we step full swing into the summer months. Why do I talk about body image so often, year after year? Because it's relevance never fades. Year after year sweet friends and beautiful women cover, hunch, readjust to take up less space and I'm tired of it.

It's not fair and we weren't designed to live like this. 

We weren't designed to pick the plainer one piece simply because someone else says that "your body just isn't two piece material" or that some stupid pool mom gives you the eye when your curves and glorious, glowing stretch marks block her view of her own reflection. Honey-you were designed to be confident in your body, bask in the greatest creation and buy the damn two piece.

You were not designed to take up less space, but to multiply and build a fortress. 

Make the world your fortress and conquer it with your dreams and success! As women we are constantly being told that we should be smaller in every way- our success, our goals, our dreams, our passions, our bodies, so that we might not intrude on the territory of the man.

Screw. That. 

I'm done with that and I want to be the kind of girl that takes up space! I want to be successful and not just "successful for a woman."

I want to wear the two piece and laugh with my girlfriends over a glass of wine and not think twice about how many calories are in a glass of merlot!

I want to expand my dreams all over!

I want to waste time away laughing with my children at the pool, not covering and concerning myself with the way I look, because that is such a small, insignificant, earthly and fleeting thing to expend energy on.

I want you to sport that neon bikini this summer, stay up too late with friends, grab ice cream cones with your kids or have more than one glass of wine with your girls, all while looking freaking fabulous.

That extra skin? That's just the many, glorious pizza nights with your babes while you still have them.
That curve that folds a little extra over your bikini bottom? That's just the evenings of sharing a glass of wine with your lover and best friend over bad horror movies.
Don't waste moments like that worrying about taking up less space.


Get out there and take. up. space.

Chronicles of a Stepmom: The Last Will Be First, Even Though It Sucks

Yesterday was Mother's Day. 
Cringe. 
It's a hard day for many, including stepmothers.
I won't sugar coat it for you reader, being a stepmom is hard and often an unrecognized, thankless job. We're seen more as glorified babysitters than mothers and typically are hanging out behind the curtain or the backseat to parenting.
Some weeks we are doing "too much", taking on duties that are labeled "BIO PARENT ONLY PLEASE", while others we're not doing enough, rather that be discipline wise or other.
It's a hard balance and many step-parents decide to become more apathetic as time goes on because they feel they can never measure up or even measure down to what is desired from them.

Some families live in an ideal divorced situation, with both parents separated yet harmonious with one another. They co-parent well, leaving the snarky remarks and manipulation to the junior high hallways. I applaud those families for being selfless enough to put their own ambitions, agendas and grudges aside to band together and love their children in separate homes.

Unfortunately, this is most likely not the case. It's a rarity-like a divorce unicorn. The chances of you finding a smooth divorce or a seamless co-parenting (especially when new spouses are involved) situation is slim to none. The majority have behind the scenes issues, whether it's aired on your news-feed or not.

All that being said, what do you do as a step-parent when you're faced with turmoil and disagreement? What do you do when you are attacked? Do you stand up and fight, lay down like a doormat or withdraw into a lethargic/careless state?

Remember those corny W.W.J.D bracelets we all wore in middle school? Okay, we thought we were cool repping that Jesus Freak movement. Newsflash: we were lame.
Go back to that time with me. No, I don't want you to literally order a W.W.J.D bracelet off of Ebay.

(Though if you're interested...http://www.ebay.com/itm/1-WWJD-W-W-J-D-What-Would-Jesus-Do-woven-wristband-bracelet-C18-/371561394616?var=&hash=item5682c8f1b8:m:mAKB2d246tdUh9-UaaIizog)

Rather, I want you to live that out instead. Pretend it's there on your wrist every time you find yourself in the midst of hatred, turmoil, attacks, harsh and personal words.
Divorce sucks for everyone and ultimately was never in God's design, but we know that He still knew we were a broken world and that the enemy would try to destroy the strongest unit on Earth-family. God saw divorce, he saw the fights, the brokenness, the loneliness of the process and even the re-marriages and gracefully offers us restoration through these new, sometimes dysfunctional blended families. 

So, I would suspect if God knew of this brokenness ahead of time, we can assume He has a plan and a response for every trial we face within the aftermath of divorce. 
I have received the blunt end of some pretty painful remarks since stepping into this challenging (and beautiful) role as a stepmom. Man ya'll, can I be real here? They hurt. Bad. Like hell, even. They made me question my abilities to help raise three of the most beautiful, kind (and messy) boys you'll ever meet. They made me doubt that I might ever "fit".

I don't know your situation, where you are in your journey of blending a family, but it can be messy momma. You know that. One thing you need to know-you ARE capable. Doubt, shame, guilt, all of these are attacks on you and your family may be coming from a person on this Earth, but they are merely a vessel for the enemy trying to tear apart your strong, spiritual (yes, I said spiritual!) family unit. Don't let it succeed, momma.

Lost? Turn to the Shepherd. 
Confused? Turn to the Counselor.
Hurting? Turn to the Ultimate Physician. 
Wounded? Turn to the one Who bore stripes for you. 

Want to fight back? It's not worth it. I know as step-parents we take the back seat enough already, but momma (or step-dad!), put yourself last. Again.

"In this way the last will be first, and the first will be last."-Matthew 20:16


Who likes this verse, anyway? Nobody. It sucks. It's hard. Who wants to be last? I don't. I don't like getting picked last, or being last in line for food on Thanksgiving. I like winning! I like to be the leader, the front of the pack! 
Jesus says, "No. Go to the back of the line. Be the last to get served. Be last."

You know how you're putting everyone before yourself? Keep doing it. Would you rather win an argument on Earth or build up treasures in heaven? Sometimes being "right" isn't always right. 

Keep trucking. Keep loving. Keep balancing. Keep lavishing grace. Keep looking at that lame (stylish) W.W.J.D bracelet and go to the back of the line with humility. Keep storing up treasures. 

Keep being you, because that's enough already.

Green Lightening

I know you wouldn't understand this because your memory is beautifully impeccable, but many of our past memories get blurry, mostly blurred together. What night did that happen? What was I driving then? Why did I choose the creme dress over the red dress, or was it the other way around?

Yet some memories are still so vivid that I sometimes forget they happened years ago, like I just arrived home from smelling fresh lake water or you kissing my toes fresh from my favorite shoes? Remember that one? You had me pull over into the gravel just to bend down and kiss my dirty feet. I felt more adored in that moment than ever before.

But the night with the green lightening. That night I remember above all the rest. Did you even kiss me? I don't know. We probably held hands, but even that I don't recall.
I remember the green lightening.
The wind was rocking my cheap Honda and I was afraid. You could see it. You always knew when I was afraid. I never wanted to tell you, though. I wanted to you to think I was fine all of the time on my own. That's just not true. For anyone.

The lake water was splattering on my windshield and my palm sweat drenched the steering wheel. You brushed my cheek and said you would follow me home.

No. I'm fine.

Okay. Are you sure?

You followed me home anyway. You ignored my reassurance because you knew otherwise and you followed me the entire way,
Driving I noticed we were chasing the green lightening down every deserted back road, trees like goblins eating on power lines and leaves diving into our windshields like dead black birds.
You pulled in front of my car and chased the green lightening far from me, taking the blow of branches and limbs.

You have always taken the blow and always tried your best to chase the lightening far from me and my tranquil world.
You have always followed me home when I reassured you that I'm fine on my own.
You have always kissed gravel lot toes and sweaty palms.
I think that night is when I really fell in love with you; when you saw the softness and vulnerability through my strength.
I couldn't fool you. I couldn't get around you or away from you.

I could have written you a card, given you meaningless stale chocolates or a balloon that will pop or deflate next week.
That's not enough for you, green lightening chaser. Toe kisser. Piggy back ride giver.
You deserve much more than I could give. All I can give is me.
But that's always been enough for you.
We're enough.

Thank you for always chasing green lightening so that my world is never disturbed, for taking the blows of branches and stray limbs so they never reach me.

I love you. Happy Valentine's Day.