…like, really real.

               If you follow me at all on social media (I’m guessing you do if you’re reading this). Then you have probably seen my “self-care” posts that show themselves on occasion. Now, before I continue, I’m guessing that I can probably draw a line right down the middle of everyone who just read that. One side is screaming “YEEESSSSS!” and the other is rolling their eyes and thinking “self-care, blah, blah, blah” with a shout out to maybe a few people out there who are thinking “huh? Self-care? What’s that?”

But let me tell you something, the ones that are screaming “YEEESSSSS!”? Those are the ones who’ve got it figured out. If I’m being 100% honest with you, I used to be in the group that would be rolling their eyes. You think “self-care is such a scam” until one day, you find yourself at home on your lunch break crying/hyperventilating on your closet and/or bathroom floor because suddenly everything that’s happening is just “too much” and all you can think is “there must be a better way to deal with this.” There is, my friends, there is.

I recently read an article that a friend shared on Facebook that talked about self-care – clearly from the stand point of an eye-roller. And the article mostly talked about how self-care wouldn’t be necessary if the people sitting in their bubble baths would stop ignoring their responsibilities and build a life that they don’t need to escape from. And while I agree – to an extent – I also think whoever wrote the article totally missed the mark.

Is it important to fulfill your responsibilities and not ignore them? Yes. Is it important to build a life that you’re proud of? Yes. Does it mean that if you participate in self-care that you are failing at both of those? No. In fact, I think it is precisely the people who are doing the first two things that so vitally need the third.

As stated previously, I have always been responsible. I’ve never smoked a cigarette (or anything else). I didn’t drink until I was 21, and I still have never been “drunk”, no sex until marriage (TMI?), I’ve never quit a job without having something else lined up. I was married by the age of 21 to a man I love with a dog that’s like a spoiled child. I was a business owner by age 23. I had a mortgage on a house on 5 acres of land by the age of 25 and was debt free (with the exception of aforementioned mortgage) before 30. I have a job that I’ve been at for 5 years and still love to go to (almost) every day. I do a monthly budget AND a monthly meal plan every month. Sounds like I’ve build a life I can be proud of, right? And that according to whoever wrote the article, I should have no need for self-care, right? Wrong.  

A lot of that has happened exactly how you would expect. From hard work and determination. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a good thing. And I’m proud of it. But somewhere along the way, “responsibility” became more important than “me”. I haven’t been on a full out vacation in 8 years. Have I traveled? Yes. But it’s been to business conferences. I haven’t actually taken even a single day off from work in 8 years (except for weekends and holidays) that wasn’t either because I was sick or doing “business owner” things. Why? Because my brain tells me that it’s not “responsible” to just take a day off and sit at home and do nothing. And that it’s not “responsible” to be spending money on things like vacations when you could be paying off your mortgage or saving for retirement, right? Also wrong. But I have a hard time convincing myself of that.

Enter: Self-care.

Self-care means different things to different people. And, honestly, sometimes it means different things to the same person depending on the day. What does it mean for me? It’s a reminder to do something that isn’t necessarily the responsible thing. Does it mean that I am going to go off the deep end and throw all of my responsibilities out the window, never to be dealt with again? No. That would probably send me to the loony bin. Self-care can easily be found in the “little things”. “Responsibility” says that you should do the dishes right away but “self-care” says the dishes will still be there in an hour (or tomorrow) so if you want to sit and read a book for little while, do it. “Responsibility” says that you shouldn’t buy the premade cookies, because you can make your own for much cheaper. But “self-care” says that you don’t have the time/energy to make your own, so just buy the premade cookies. “Responsibility” says that you shouldn’t do things like snow-tubing because you might break your leg which not only would be a major pain when it comes to hobbling around, but also expensive. But still, “self-care” says that broken bones heal and that’s what insurance and HSA’s are for.

Let’s be honest. Adulting? Not nearly as much fun as I had anticipated it would be. But I’ve discovered it’s largely because of what I’ve trained myself to believe. That adults must always choose the most responsible/safe/cost effective option in every situation. But I’m finally learning that that’s just not true. And that I need to stop and ask myself “what do I want to do?” And I need to ask myself every day. Because if I don’t, I fall right back into forgetting that I can choose something other than the most responsible option.

Don’t take being an adult too seriously because it will drag you down. Choose to do the things that maybe aren’t expected. Choose to do the things that a younger, carefree version of yourself would have done without thinking twice. Choose the things that will make you a happier person. Because the happier you are, the more of a difference you are likely to make in the lives of others. And that’s what really matters. Not whether or not there’s dishes on the counter or the floors have been vacuumed. Not how many days you’ve worked without a day off. Not the kind of car you have parked in the driveway or how many square feet your house is.

It’s how many rides you give in that car and how many people you invite into those square feet. But you can’t do that if you can’t get off of your closet/bathroom floor so if taking a 5 minute break from your day and eating a brownie (regardless of how ‘unhealthy’ they are) will keep you from that, then I say take 10 minutes and eat 2! (Kidding.) (Kind of.) Taking a 5 minute break from your responsibilities isn’t going ruin your life. Unless, of course, your current responsibility is putting out an actual fire. In which case you may want take your brownie to go and call the fire department between bites. J

Take the break. Eat the brownie. Choose self-care. And choose it daily. 

Let's just be real...

              So, I accidentally wrote a novel. Which I feel like requires more explanation than I originally intended to give so here it is in a nutshell. If this is the first you’re hearing about it, don’t feel bad or left out. I think the number of people I have intentionally flat out told is right around five. There may be a few more who stumbled across things that I have said that gave them the pieces they needed to put it together themselves.

               How do you “accidentally” write a novel you ask? Well, I was reading for a friend who is pursuing authordom and since I have an overactive imagination, I thought, “I wonder what would happen if I just wrote down some of the things that float around in my head.” So, I did, and within the matter of a couple days, I was about ¼ of the way through my first novel. Since it’s not within my nature to not finish something I start, I had to finish it. And I did. Whether or not it’s actually any good remains to be determined. I have sent it to my friend who will hopefully be able to help me determine that.  Whether or not I will do anything more with it even if she tells me it’s the best book she’s ever read also remains to be determined. I never wanted to write a book. I never wanted to be an author. It just kind of happened. So the likelihood that it will just hang out on my computer for ever and ever with nothing ever being done with it is very likely.

               That being said, since I have sent it to my friend I am now calling it “off limits” for me to do anything more with it until she’s finished reading it and given me feedback which is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated. Apparently when you spend five months thinking about what you’re writing and the characters in your book, you become a little bit attached to them in a way that makes quitting cold turkey rather difficult. I tried to throw myself right into “Project #2” (a second novel) that also started accidentally as a result of “Project #1” and already has a fairly significant start to it that happened during some writers’ block on “Project #1” but then quickly got left by the wayside when the writers’ block disappeared. I’m hoping that a little bit of semi-related but not really THAT related writing will help ease my mind out of my first novel and give me the “transition” that I need to force my brain to think of other things so hopefully in the near future I can dive into my second.

               So what does all of this have to do with getting real? Well, writing is honestly like therapy and I don’t even mean just the “good” parts of therapy where you leave feeling all happy and wonderful and like everything is going to be okay. In some ways it’s kind of the ugly part of therapy too. You know, the parts where you realize what landed you in therapy in the first place and it makes you wonder how in the world you got there.

I’m not sure if it’s like this for everyone or just for me, but what I found throughout this process is that who I am, who I was and who I want to be, somehow finds its way into at least one of the characters in my book – usually more than one. And throughout the process of basically recreating myself as a fictional character, I have discovered that I have changed – a lot – from who I used to be. Now, a lot of people who are my age and make that realization about themselves would probably be glad that they aren’t who they used to be. Because a lot of people who are younger than me aren’t really making the best decisions (it’s part of being a teenager/young adult, right?). But not me. Anyone who had known me for the majority of my life will tell you that I was always fairly responsible and well-behaved.

But do you want to know what else I was? Fearless. And I’m not talking just about the “Let’s go do something dangerous and hope we don’t die.” kind of way. Although I was probably that too. I’m talking about when it came to relationships. There was a fairly brief time in my life that I was completely fearless when it came to relationships. I was comfortable with who I was. I wasn’t afraid. I would talk to anyone, regardless of whether or not I knew them. And not only would I talk to them, but I was genuine about who I was all the time. What someone might think of me didn’t scare me. And honestly, some of the most authentic, unconventional friendships I have experienced stemmed from that time in my life. I found myself becoming friends with people who I never in a million years thought I would be friends with. Because they were people who I never pictured myself being on the same playing field with – because they were “better” than me. And somehow we became friends anyway and I’m not just talking “Facebook friends” – like actual, legitimate, I can tell them everything about everything and they tell me everything about everything, friends.

But then something happened. Something that completely changed who I was. My fearlessness disappeared because it came back to bite me in the rear, or at least in the eyes of a teenager. There were some people – people who I thought were my friends (not my authentic, unconventional friends, but some less authentic, but still unconventional friends) – that started making fun of me. The worst part was, that they were more or less doing it right to my face (via a nickname that had more meaning than I knew about it) and I didn’t even notice – which I’m sure only made it even more fun for them. When I finally realized the meaning behind the nickname, it changed me. It made me less confident in who I was as a person, and suddenly that teenager that was fearlessly friendly to everyone became a little bit closed off out of fear.

Ironically, the authentic, unconventional friends who, in my mind, had every reason to join in on the fun (because they were “better” than me by high school standards), didn’t. But, still those friendships fell by the wayside and no longer exist. Now I can’t help but wonder if It’s because I pushed them away. Out of fear. Fear that they would hear what others were saying and run in the other direction, not wanting to be friends with the girl that everyone was making fun of.

For about 10 years now, I have been progressively moving backward from who that girl was. The girl that used to thrive around people – strangers or friends – and talk to everyone is gone. The girl who tried to be everyone’s friend is gone. The girl who was unashamed to be herself is gone. The girl who was authentic is gone. The girl who was fearless is gone. Somewhere along the line, she was replaced with someone who tries to avoid people – especially people she knows – at all costs. Someone who tries to keep conversation to a minimum. Someone who doesn’t make much of an effort to get to know new people. Someone who is too filled with fear to be who she was meant to be. And to be authentic. And to be fearless. And somehow that fear just became a part of who I am. Now, 10 years later, I am looking back and realizing that I was so happy with who I was back then because of my fearlessness. Because I was unashamed and not afraid to be authentic.

Even if my friend is the only person who ever reads my novel and I never do anything more with it. It was worth the hours upon hours of work that I put in it because it gave me the desire to become fearless again. I’ve gotten over what took my fearlessness in the first place. I have been “over it” for a while. I don’t know if the people who said what they said even remember saying it, but I’m still “Facebook friends” with them and I’ve seen how much they’ve changed since that time too and I’m confident that if they do remember or were reminded that they would feel badly about it. It was high school. And while it seemed like a big deal at the time, in retrospect, it wasn’t that big of a deal and I’ve already let it affect me for longer than it should have. The hard part is going to be undoing 10 years’ worth of regression to get back to being the fearless, authentic person that I was before. But maybe with this writing therapy thing I’ve got going on I can get there.   

Bloodlines, Battlefields and Legacies

               If I had to choose two traits that define the Cooper bloodline, I’d choose resiliency and stubbornness – or, as I prefer to call it, determination. Every family has them – two or three of these traits that are stronger than the rest and that somehow get carried through generation after generation after generation. It’s just in their blood.

               We all always hope that we will only pick up the best of the best when it comes to these traits and then hope that our children will do the same. But it doesn’t always work that way and sometimes you have to make what you do get work to your advantage and adapt. Hence the determination.

               The Cooper family tree – especially my grandpa’s branch of it – has seen their fair share of struggles. Or battles. Struggles with illnesses. Lives of loved ones ended far too soon. But they are a resilient bunch. It’s in their blood. So they carry on. With more grace than most others would ever be able to – likely out of sheer stubbornness – determination.

               Farming was my grandpa’s livelihood. It was what he loved. What he looked forward to. And what he built his life upon. One of my favorite – and most prevalent – childhood memories of my grandpa is when he would take both me and my brother out to the cattle yard to do chores with him. We couldn’t have been much older than 6 and 8 when he started taking us out there and how he ever had the bravery, or willingness, to take two kids out there with him, in the pens, with cattle that weighted more than double of all three of us combined, I will never know. But then again, the Cooper blood runs strong in Derek and I, too, so maybe he didn’t have much of a choice.

               Stubbornness kept him in a tractor, working the fields for far longer than he should have been. And when he finally let go of his stubbornness about that, it was his resiliency that gave him something new to be stubborn about – staying on the farm place for as long as possible.

               In more recent years, when farming was no longer front and center, my fondest memories revolve around going to my grandparents’ house on weekends when I was at school and during a period of my life in which I have never been more thankful for the Cooper resiliency that also runs in my blood. It was when I realized that my grandpa’s compassion stemmed from his resiliency to the battlefields – figurative and literal – of his own life.

               It was the figurative battlefields – the emotional battlefields – that fostered his consideration for others and led to his insistence that it is always important to be kind to others. Even your siblings. Because he knew all too well that anyone could be gone in an instant and without warning.

               It was the literal battlefields from his time in the war that gave him his heart of concern for those in similar situations – especially Steve. It was those battlefields that led to an immediate bond between the two of them and formed some of my favorite memories of more recent days – listening to them discuss the ‘thens vs nows’ of the military – usually while sitting around the kitchen table over a good ol’ game of dice.

               His resiliency to these (and many more) struggles and his stubbornness determination in his desire to overcome them is what made him the man he became. It’s his bloodline traits and how he utilized them throughout his life that led to his compassion. His drive. His kindness. His legacy. And it is through his bloodline that his legacy will continue to be carried.    

Ice Bucket Challenge...

I know what you’re thinking – “is she FINALLY returning to blogging after her 2+ year hiatus?” The answer is no, probably not. Mostly, I just felt that this belonged somewhere other than a “blip” on my newsfeed on Facebook.

I was nominated for the Ice Bucket Challenge by my friend, Ashley Bossuyt. While I have gotten a little annoyed with ALL of the Ice Bucket Challenge videos that show up in my newsfeed (probably because most of the people who show up there, I don’t even know, but they “tagged” friends of mine), once nominated, I felt OBLIGATED to do it. As my 24 hours to complete the challenge progressed, I started to get a little more excited about it, because I decided to break the rules a little bit (if there even are any “official rules”) and do it my own way – a way that was more meaningful to me. In light of recent news that Steve and I received, I have chosen to donate to the USO instead of ALS.

This past weekend, we found out that one of Steve’s buddies from the Marine Corps took his own life about a year and a half ago. I had met him a couple times, and he and I bonded over a fear of water, while sitting on boogie boards in the Atlantic, past the breaking point of the waves, at 2 in the morning, while the rest of the group swam out deeper and played water games with glow sticks. We had surprisingly serious conversations while sitting out there, considering we had only met a couple days prior. I guess you could say we were “fast friends”.

Eventually he and Steve ended up getting separated when it came to the Marine Corps, and as happens, they kind of became disconnected from each other.

Despite my best efforts in trying to track him down on Facebook since Steve got out of the Marine Corps, apparently there are quite a few people by the name of “Will Smith” in Seattle, Washington, and just the world in general, and I was never able to find him.

This news came as quite a shock to me, and in the 24 hours since I found out, my heart has just grown heavier. I have become more upset that I wasn’t able to track him down, and that I will never know if I could have had an influence on him and his decision if I had. My heart feels heavy for his friends and his family that he left behind, but it feels even heavier for what he must have been feeling in the days, months, or even years leading him to that decision. My heart breaks for what his heart must have been feeling.

While I don’t know exactly what lead him to this act, I do know that life threw him some pretty wicked curveballs leading up to his exit from the Marine Corps. He was on about the same “scheduled” as Steve, which means he would have been out for about a year and a half, before he took his life. I can’t help but believe that at least part of what led him to that, is the struggle with reintegration into civilian life. I know, from experience, that it can be difficult to adjust and to recreate your “niche” in society. To try to pick up old friendships where they left off 4+ years ago. And to try to force yourself back into a civilian lifestyle, when the military lifestyle is all you have known for the past 4+ years. After 3¹/₂ years of Steve being out, I’m still not sure that we are “there” yet (wherever “there” is). We still struggle with fitting ourselves back into society. Even I have struggled with this and I technically never left the civilian lifestyle.

So, there it is – the reason I have chosen to donate to the USO instead – in hopes that I can help USO to help someone whose heart is heavy with the stress of reintegration.

And here it is – my ice bucket video. Could I have donated to the USO without “publicly” drawing attention to myself by dumping ice water over my head?! SURE I could have, but where is the fun of that? Plus, I thought it would be a good walk down memory lane of the ice cold, over-your-head waves that you have to combat in order to get past the breaking point of the waves in the Atlantic…

Lessons

I originally wrote this post about 2¹/₂  months ago, but it never actually made it to my blog, although I really wanted it to. Since then, some of it has been rendered irrelevant and “outdated”, so, here goes version 2.0.

I have been job searching – which stinks – and I haven’t found anything yet. I have applied for some. Some that I would really like doing, but the verdict is still out on them. And lately, there hasn’t been much more to apply for. I am hoping that one of the “outstanding ones” pulls through, or some others come up soon so I can at least feel like I am ACTIVELY searching and not just sitting around.

That being said, I am beginning to reconsider some things. I am not sure why God decided that the job I was working wasn’t the job for me, but He did. And luckily, I have found many positive things that have happened because of it.

I have been able to spent some time with my niece and nephews. One of my nephews, I was able to watch for 4 days – and he is the one that I see the least out of my 3 nephews and 1 (now 2) nieces. It was nice to be able to hang out with him and do activities with him. He is 4 and I think that is such a fun age because you can actually DO things with them that younger kids aren’t old enough to do, and older kids aren’t interested in doing.

I was also able to spend some extra time with my twin niece and nephew while awaiting the arrival of their new sibling (a sister), and after the arrival of their sister. I was happy that I was able to help out my sisters-in-law and spend time with my nieces and nephews all at the same time!

Another positive thing that has come out of this is that I was able to help with my cousin’s benefit more than I ever would have been able to if I was working 40 hours a week. When I was still working, I purchased a pattern for a cross-stitching that I wanted to complete and donate for the silent auction part of the benefit. I purchased it with less than 2 months to finish it. I knew that in order to finish it, I might have to pull some overnighters, maybe sacrifice some summer fun, or risk being viewed as anti-social by bringing it to family events and working on it there. But the image on the cross-stitching was just too beautiful and too “fitting” for the circumstance to not do it. So, I was willing to take on no-sleep, no-fun, and being anti-social. However, since I wasn’t working, I was able to work on it at a semi-leisurely pace and finish in enough time that I could get it custom framed. After it was finished, I realize that I would have gotten SIGNIFICANTLY less sleep than I had planned if I was ever going to finish it and work at the same time. I was also able to help with fundraising, advertising, and putting on the benefit. What a wonderful thing to be able to participate in!

The cross-stitching I donated for the benefit, titled "In His Hands".

My most recent positive about not working, is that I was able to help my dad out on the family farm. I have never been interested in farming, and the closest I ever really came to “helping” was doing the occasional pig chores, and rock-picking. Earlier this week, my dad called me and asked if I would be interested in driving semi for him while he combined. I decided I would give it a shot. Shocking, I know. Most people don’t know this, but I have yet to learn how to drive a riding lawn mower because I was too terrified to learn. I also vowed that I would never get a driver’s license up until the day I actually started Driver’s Ed in high school. I have never been interested in learning to drive things. But, there I was sitting in the semi, learning how to drive the 4 miles to the grain elevator and back. I thought for sure I had that mastered and of course the semi broke down. So, before I knew it, I was being trained in on how to drive the combine, where I spent the remainder of my week.

I am glad that I was able to help my dad out. There were so many points during the last week of helping him that I have wondered “How would he have managed this, if I weren’t here?” I’m sure that he would have, because I know he has done it by himself before, but hopefully I made it a little easier by helping him out! I’m also glad I was able to learn about farming and could contribute to the harvest for once in my life. And it was also kind of cool that I was able to conquer my fear of driving new types of vehicles by learning to drive TWO new vehicles in TWO days. I’m thinking a riding lawn mower should be a breeze now!

During my time of unemployment, I have also spent some time considering self employment, until I realized that the only thing I know how to do confidently enough that I would be able to take it on myself is accounting for Matco Tools distributors. So, unless like 20-30 distributors decide to turn their accounting over to me, I wouldn’t really be able to make a living off of that! I have also considered just not working and hoping that now that we have somehow magically maneuvered our way through the pile up of expensive inventory from the Tool Expo, that the business can support us on its own. Of course, then I would feel COMPLETELY lazy, being a stay-at-home wife with no children. I know, I know – there is an “easy” solution to that – just not sure I am ready for that step yet!

Anyway, aside from precious time with my nieces and nephews and time to help someone who needs it, I feel like God has been pulling me to get into His Word more and to spent time thinking about all it has to teach me. I am still working on this. But, then again, isn’t something like that ALWAYS a work in progress? It is always teaching, always showing us new things, always helping us to realize the love of the Father and the value of ourselves through His eyes.

One of the hardest things about losing your jobs – even when it’s through no fault of your own – is the feeling that comes afterward. The feeling of worthlessness, of shame. The feeling that you did something wrong. It took one COMPLETELY tear filled church service and 2 months for me to realize that I didn’t lose my job because of something I did. I didn’t lose it because I was worthless or incapable of performing my job. I didn’t have any reason to feel ashamed. I lost it because God has a different plan for me. A better plan. And that is something I should feel proud of. That He loves me enough to take matters out of my hands, into His own, and take over completely, shaping it into something I never dreamed of. And to help me find the lessons that He is teaching me. It is like He grabbed my face – smushed my cheeks between His hands, forcing me to look at Him and said, “Hey! I’ve got this! Don’t worry! Just enjoy the ride!”

I hope that these little lessons will help me form meaningful blogposts. Whether they are just meaningful to me, or meaningful to others, as well. I want to remember lessons I’ve learned, things He’s taught me.

The Storms We Share, Part 2

I have been neglecting my blog. It has been 4 months since I have posted. There’s really no good reason, no excuse that is sufficient. Truth is, I actually had a blog post all typed out, ready to post over a month ago and I never posted it because I wanted some pictures to go along with it (pictures always hand me up when it comes to blog posting). But, I am thinking now that it is okay because I think it “fits” better after this post anyway. So, now with a heart that needs healing and a new “twist” to my old blog, I am starting to post again. And even though I have said this MANY times before, hopefully this time, it will happen regularly. I have 3 posts ready to go already and inspiration for many more!

I have recently picked up and dusted off my version of Streams in the Desert that I received as a wedding/pre-deployment gift from my mother-in-law and sister-in-law.

Upon reading the July 28^th entry, I found a whole new meaning for the title of my blog. Upon starting my blog, THIS is the explanation I gave for naming my blog what I did. And while that is still very much true, I found this passage, also very fitting.

This is the July 28^th Streams in the Desert passage:

I remember when I was a young person attending school in Mound Pleasant. One day I sat on the side of the mountain and watched a storm as it moved through the valley. The skies were filled with darkness, and thunder began to shake the earth. It seemed as though the lush landscapes were completely changed, and its beauty gone forever. But the storm passed quickly and soon moved out of the valley.

            If I had sat in the same place the following day and said, “Where is that intense storm and all its terrible darkness?” The grass would have said, “Part of it is in me.” The beautiful daisy would have said, “Part of it is in me.” And all the other flowers, fruits, and everything that grows in the ground would have said “Part of the storm has produced radiance in me.”

            Have you ever asked the Lord to make your like Him? Have you ever desired the fruit of the Spirit and prayed for sweetness, gentleness, and love? If so, then never fear the fierce storms that even now may be blowing through your life. Storms bring blessings, and rich fruit will be harvested later.

God gives us “storms” in our lives for many reasons. In the physical sense of the word “storms”, He gives them to us to remind us of His power. To remind us that nothing is out of his control and nothing is too powerful for him to handle. When we are feeling our lowest low, we can rest comfortably knowing that God is all-powerful.

In the symbolic meaning of the word “storm”, he sends them to our lives. The difficult times. The times that our outlook becomes filled with darkness, fear begins to shake our nerves, and it seems as through things are never going to improve, never get better.

But we must always remember that the end of the storm is coming. We won’t always be trapped in darkness and it won’t always seem like things couldn’t get any worse.

God gives us those storms to teach us to be more like Him. To give us the virtues we desperately need.

How would we ever learn to love and learn what love actually is without first having to endure heartbreak? How would we ever feel joy if we didn’t occasionally have to endure deep sorrow that comes with life’s trials? How would we know what peace is if we never had any reason to experience unrest and uneasiness? How would we ever learn patience if we never had to wait for anything? How would we ever recognize and appreciate God’s kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and gentleness if He never put us in situations in which He could demonstrate them for us? And how would we ever learn them for ourselves?

A “perfect world” would never be perfect because there are so many emotions we would never feel. We would never have the “bad” emotions, but if it weren’t for the bad emotions and the bad situations, or “storms”, the good ones wouldn’t be all that great.

God gives us storms to teach us to be more like Him and to give us a change to experience the true greatness of the good things in life.

And the best part of it all, is that no matter what the storm may be – a lost job, a death in the family, deployments, whatever, we never have to worry THAT much about it (as hard as that is to remember when your standing in the middle of a hurricane!) because God won’t let it get so out of control that we can’t handle it. He will push you until your breaking point to provide with the blessings he know you need and just when you think the storm is about to bring your demise, He will step in and remind you that He is all powerful. He is in control. And He is.

He displays His power in the whirlwind and the storm. The billowing clouds are the dust beneath His feet.”

Nahum 1:3

Strength in Weakness

I am trying to be a good little blogger girl and keep up with my blog and my New Year's Resolution that I have failed miserably at for the first 3¹/₂  months of the year. And I guess I am still failing...I had this one written a week ago, but am just now finishing it and posting it.

This week, I have found myself thinking about all the different ways that strength shows itself and how your true strength almost always really shows to others, when you feel like you are at your weakest.

I recently attended a storm spotter class and learned about how to identify different  parts of storms, how to  estimate the intensity of the storm, and how to determine just which direction that storm is traveling. I also discovered that I have a new found love for storms and think it would be pretty awesome to be a storm chaser (Note: the class did not encourage storm CHASING, it encouraged storm SPOTTING). Anyway, I won’t give you ALL the details because if you really wanted to know, you probably would have gone to the class yourself. Plus, I don’t think I could explain it in a way that makes sense without drawing you a picture, and since my drawing ability is limited, that probably wouldn’t help either. Anyway, here it is, in a nutshell:

Assuming that the storm is coming directly at you, (besides being in a VERY bad location), you would  first experience wind—it could be the damaging type, or just strong winds, depending on how strong the storm is. The next thing you would experience is rain and/or hail. The stronger the storm, the bigger the hail. Most of us would think that the strong winds and the rain and hail would be the “fury” of the storm. It’s the most visible, the most tangible. It almost always comes with the flashes of lightning and the booms of thunder. It seems so powerful. But we’re not done yet! After the strong winds and the rain? The calm. Again, I won’t bore you with what is REALLY happening at this point, but I will say this—if all the conditions are right, and the storm is strong enough, this “calm” is most often where tornadoes are born.

How ironic. Storms really show their strength at the point when you would think they would be the weakest. Not unlike people.

It is very rare that military wives are recognized or commended as being strong when their husbands are stateside, and working what is (more or less) a 9-5 job. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with that—they don’t do it because they want to be perceived as strong, or because they want to be commended for it. They do it because they love someone who has a desire to defend the freedoms of those he loves.

It isn’t until their husbands are deployed for an indefinite amount of time, that these women start to hear the “You’re SO STRONG” comments. But they don’t FEEL strong. They feel like the weakest person in the world. Especially during those first couple weeks after deployment. They feel weak. They feel lost. They feel like there is no way they will survive the coming months. There’s a good chance that most of them feel the weakest they have ever felt. The weakest I have ever felt was the period of time that I found out Steve was deploying to Afghanistan, and leading up to the 2-4 weeks after he left. I had to make some big decisions during that time period and never once did I feel strong. I don’t think that I felt strong again until I was dropping everything and boarding a plane to North Carolina—and that could have just been the fact that I was carrying 2¹/₂  bags of clothes and a carry-on full of books. J

I find it so strange that those moments of weakness are when their strength really shows. Those moments of feeling weak, and lost, that they somehow harness the weakness that they’re feeling and turn it into, what appears to others, as strength beyond what most people could imagine.

My cousin recently had an adorable baby boy. At less than 1 month into life, he had to have heart surgery. On the morning of the day that his heart surgery was supposed to take place, I found myself crying as I was driving to work. I don’t know if I was feeling over-emotional that day, or if my motherly instincts that you supposedly get when you reach child-bearing age finally kicked in, or what. (And no, that is not some “hidden” illusion to any big secrets). All I could think about is if I were in my cousins place, how I would feel. What I would do. How completely weak and helpless I would feel, knowing that my 3 week old baby was going to have major surgery, and all I could do was sit and wait and hope.

I wasn’t waiting in the hospital at all with my cousin while she waited out her baby’s surgery and recovery, but I could feel her strength emanating from her Caring Bridge posts, that I followed religiously. I could tell that she was handling it incredibly, and that strength, that even she probably didn’t know she had, was showing itself. Right then. Did she feel strong? I doubt it (although more power to her if she did!). I would guess that this was probably one of her weakest moments. And yet, once again, strength beyond what most people could imagine was showing itself.

Not to mention her 3 week old little boy—at arguably his weakest stage of life—who recovered from his heart surgery 3-6 days ahead of schedule, and is still doing wonderfully! Praise the Lord for that!

So, after a few days of feeling “weak”, I must remember that those moments of weakness are just ways of finding strength. Those moments that you feel weak, aren’t actually weakness at all. They are moments of strength that are disguised as weakness. They are the moments that you will look back on and remember as a time that you had the strength to make it through something that you thought was impossible.