#Bellletstalk then #letslisten

January 31^st is designated as Bell Let’s Talk Day this year (https://letstalk.bell.ca/en/bell-lets-talk-day).  I love this initiative that is working at reducing the stigma of mental illness by opening up and encouraging conversations about how it affects so many of us.  

For me, #Bellletstalk is only one half of the whole.  My husband lives with major depression, and has lived with it for most of his adult life.  We will be married for 29 years this year, which means that I have been living “with” depression and mental illness for that long as well, albeit in a supporting role.

I believe the other vital half is #Letslisten.  I am so thankful for the efforts of others to bring awareness of mental illness and by doing so, encouraging those battling mental illness that they’re not alone and to get help and talk about it.  But the flip side is, when they talk, we need to listen.  I mean, really LISTEN … without an agenda, without trying to fix them, without offering platitudes.   Just listen.

 

My husband said recently “I’m a person, not a problem to fix.”  How often do we half-heartedly listen to someone, all the while processing how we will respond and what we should say, without truly hearing what they’re saying and seeing how they’re hurting?  We're focused on what can be said to fix the situation (fix them), instead of trying to hear their heart and hurt.

The times that I was able to have the most impact with my husband and his struggles, were the times I sat and listened, and perhaps asked a couple of questions to help me gain more understanding.   But I mostly listened.    My husband has quite an emotional response at these times … “I feel like I’ve been heard.” 

I know I’ve truly been able to love him best when I’m able to just listen and hear him. Unfortunately, even in nearly 29 years of marriage, I will admit that I haven’t always done a very good job of listening. 

I had coffee recently with a young woman whose husband has been living with anxiety and depression for the past year or so.  She wanted to meet with me to hear my experience as a wife and support for a husband with long-term mental illness.  I felt like I really had nothing to offer her. There’s no magic pill to take or special mantra to be spoken that makes everything better or easier to deal with.  My advice to her was to just listen. Let him know that you’re for him, and with him; that you’re in his corner and walking through this with him.  Listen to him.

As this young woman described to me a little bit about her husband’s struggles and what he was dealing with, I kept thinking how very different his experience was from my husband’s.  I was reminded that mental illness, like any other form of physical ailment, sickness or disease, looks different in each individual. 

 

One person’s experience doesn’t define what mental illness looks like for everyone. This is why it is so very important to talk and encourage those conversations about what’s going on and the internal struggles.  This is why it is so very important to listen to each one, because each person is unique and each needs to be loved and cared for in the best way possible for them.  This is why each one needs to be heard.

#Letslisten   

From Gross to Grace

We recently had a house full of family staying with us for a few days.  The sad and unfortunate circumstance of a death in my husband’s family prompted their arrival for the funeral.  We don’t have an overly large house, so finding room for everyone to sleep and sit can be a bit of a challenge. 

I spent a few days cleaning and de-cluttering in an attempt to make our house guest-worthy.  But all the cleaning, dusting, washing and laundry in the world can’t erase a major issue in, and I do mean “in”, our house … mould.  I don’t think it’s as bad this year as it was last year, likely due to numerous efforts at bleaching the walls and problem spots, as well as buying a good quality dehumidifier which runs nearly non-stop.

It’s a daunting job, cleaning up mould.  It’s one thing to just wipe it off the walls or wherever it attaches itself, but if that mould gets under the plaster or into the heart of the walls and insulation, it may require major re-construction to truly eradicate it.  Although bleach is a powerful and caustic tool to use, I have often felt like it’s just been a temporary band-aid to our problem.

I’m happy to entertain guests and have people stay with us, but I’m always concerned that they will be negatively affected by the mould in a physical way (allergies, etc).  I’m embarrassed to admit that we have a mould issue in our house that hasn’t been tended to and remedied.  

To take that a step further, I’m fearful that those who come into our home will have a negative opinion of me as a housekeeper, and ultimately, personally.

There are times I feel like my house.  I try and clean up and present myself in the best possible light, but underneath the surface lurks insecurities, fear, pettiness, and all other manner of black “stuff”.   I don’t want to reveal to people my personal flaws so they see just how inadequate I really am.

Matthew 23:27-28 (The Message) says:

“You’re hopeless, you religion scholars and Pharisees! Frauds! You’re like manicured grave plots, grass clipped and the flowers bright, but six feet down it’s all rotting bones and worm-eaten flesh. People look at you and think you’re saints, but beneath the skin you’re total frauds.

I’ve often thought of that Bible verse when I look at those mouldy places in our house.  In the King James Version, Jesus calls the Pharisees “whited sepulchres” and in another translation, “whitewashed tombs”.  Bleached clean on the outside, shiny and pretty for all the world to see, but mouldy and gross on the inside.

So what’s next?  For our house, we will contact someone to take a look at the walls and see what course of action needs to be taken to rectify the situation.

But personally?  What do I need to do to deal with the black stuff in my heart?  Growing up in the church and a faith-filled home, I know all the right answers.  I’ve asked Jesus to live in my heart, and committed to following Him.  I pray often, but probably don’t read my Bible quite enough and I’ve stopped going to church (the latter probably has me destined to hell in some family members’ eyes).

I don’t believe I need to “do” anything else except continue to believe that Jesus is my Saviour and His death on the cross was sufficient to conquer death and sin.  It is done.   I believe Jesus has grace for me to walk through the tough stuff in my life, and as I lean on Him, He offers that grace abundantly.  His grace is a gift free of conditions and restraints.

I don’t need to beat myself up about anything, and I don’t need to do anything else other than continue to love Him and serve Him as best as I am able.  As I live in the grace that He offers me, I find that I have more grace for others.

These words of Paul, written to the Galatians, is what I want and how I want to be known.  I will always have a long way to go…:

Galatians 2:19-21 (The Message)

What actually took place is this: I tried keeping rules and working my head off to please God, and it didn’t work. So I quit being a “law man” so that I could be God’s man. Christ’s life showed me how, and enabled me to do it. I identified myself completely with him. Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ. My ego is no longer central. It is no longer important that I appear righteous before you or have your good opinion, and I am no longer driven to impress God. Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not “mine,” but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I am not going to go back on that.

Is it not clear to you that to go back to that old rule-keeping, peer-pleasing religion would be an abandonment of everything personal and free in my relationship with God? I refuse to do that, to repudiate God’s grace. If a living relationship with God could come by rule-keeping, then Christ died unnecessarily. 

We are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:37-39

Patience

From the Oxford Dictionary:  

patience

NOUN

'a task requiring patience’

SYNONYMS: perseverance, persistence, endurance, tenacity, diligence, assiduity, application, staying power, indefatigability, doggedness, determination, resolve, resolution, resoluteness, obstinacy, insistence, singleness of purpose, purposefulness, pertinacity

ANTONYMS:  impatience

Perseverance.  Persistence.  Tenacity.  Diligence.  Determination.  Resoluteness. Purposefulness.   All good words; words that I hope are, or someday will be, descriptors of who I am.  

But I’m not sure if I’m a patient person or not.   I wonder if it is patience, or if it is actually a form of procrastination?  Sometimes I’m not exactly sure what the difference is.  I can say I’m patiently waiting for something … but maybe I’m just putting off the action of getting it done.

Waiting is tough.   Waiting implies that any action to be taken to resolve or rectify a matter needs to be done at another time or by another person.

I have been waiting and praying for my husband to be freed from the chains of his depression, but after nearly three decades, I am still waiting.  I am patiently expectant that God can and will come through for him, in His time. 

That’s the kicker though, isn’t it… in His time; when God sees fit to work it out.  It’s a struggle for a lot of folks, people of faith and unbelief alike.  I guess that’s the essence of faith though, believing and trusting that God’s got it all in hand and He will work it out ... in His time.  

I might have some seeds of patience in me.  I’m still waiting to find out for sure. 

In the past year I have gained more weight than I would like to acknowledge, which incrementally increases the number of pounds I subsequently need to lose.  I want to lose the weight … now.  Or better yet, yesterday.  Am I willing to put in the hard work to get to that place, and wait patiently for the results to show, knowing that it is going to take more than a day, a week or many months?   If not, does that make me impatient? or lazy?  Or does this just constitute procrastination?  "I'll eat better tomorrow.  Tomorrow I'll go for that walk." 

I have prayed for my truck-driving husband to find “joy in the journey”, hoping that if he found some delight in the path, that it would make the road more bearable.  Am I able to find joy in my journey?  A better question for me right now might be, “Can I find joy in the weight-loss journey?”

I need to keep reminding myself of these words:  Perseverance.  Persistence.  Tenacity.  Diligence.  Determination.  Resoluteness. Purposefulness. 

I need to be mindful that there can be joy in my journey, no matter the mountains and valleys, and no matter the outcome. 

Meanwhile, I’m baking that mix of gluten-free double-chocolate brownies that has patiently been sitting in the pantry waiting to be baked.  They’re ready to eat … now.

Psalm 37:7New Living Translation (NLT)

7 Be still in the presence of the Lord,
    and wait patiently for him to act.
Don’t worry about evil people who prosper
    or fret about their wicked schemes

I'll take Door No. 4

The past month has certainly been an interesting one for me and my family.   I have lived with headaches most of my life and have become accustomed to having a mild headache most days.  But in the last month, my headache seemed to intensify.  At one point I left work early and actually called in sick to the office for two days.  I told my husband that I’m not a very good sick person.  He replied:  “You need more practice.”  I’m not this sick very often.

On my sick days, I basically lay in bed except to get up to go and see the doctor.  I didn’t eat much because I couldn’t keep anything down.  I thought it was perhaps a sinus infection, but the doctor I saw at the walk-in clinic the previous week didn’t think so and said it was likely just sinus pressure.  When I got in to see my regular doctor, she was a bit mystified and sent me for a nasal x-ray, bloodwork and requisitioned a CT scan for me.

In the midst of this, I realized that me living with headaches is just a mild comparison to my husband living with major depression.  Every day he fights to get out of bed and function.  Every day I take an Aleve.  I think I’ve got it a bit easier. 

This realization was a reminder for me to constantly be mindful of my husband and where he’s at emotionally, and to have grace for him to be in that space. I have to admit that sometimes that’s not easy to do and I often feel like I fail miserably.

I’m fairly certain my husband knows that I want him around for a long time, and I certainly appreciated that he was here for me this past weekend.

I received a phone call last week letting me know that I had been booked in for a CT scan on Saturday morning.  My husband dropped me off at the hospital for the scan and while he continued on to Costco to shop for the things on my list, I went in for my scan, fully expecting to be done in time to be picked up on my husband’s way home from Costco.  Easy peasy.

Instead, when my CT scan was done, I was told they were going to be admitting me to the hospital and running further tests, and of course the technician couldn’t tell me anything.  There was something abnormal in my CT scan and further tests needed to be done to determine what the issue was.

According to the report of my scan, the possibilities were:

 

Door No. 1:  an aneurysm

Door No. 2:  cancer

Door No. 3:  high blood pressure   

Since I've never had an issue with high blood pressure, that kind of left Doors No. 1 and 2.  Can I have a different door? Is there a Door No. 4?

Note to self:  Before a CT scan, maybe don’t joke with your boss about not coming in to work the following Monday because of a brain tumor …

The long and short of the next 7 hours of the day were that I was transported from one hospital to another hospital where I had a CT angiogram with dye, as well as an MRi with dye, and then spent more time waiting to speak with the emergency doctor as well as a neurologist.

My recurring mantra throughout the day when I was put on a bed with machines around my head, trying to stay perfectly still and relaxed, was a continual repetition of “Jesus, You are my Rock”.   Whatever the prospect of what the results would be and what was ahead, I clung to my faith and the truth of who Jesus is for me.  He is my Rock.

We met with a neurology resident at the end of the day, and I felt like I got my Door No. 4.  According to the neurologist, I have a cavernoma, which is a cluster of abnormal, dilated vessels that kind of resemble a raspberry.  I'm not sure I'll ever look at a raspberry in the same way.  My first CT scan of the day indicated that the cavernoma was approximately 2.2 x 2.0 cm and had hemorrhaged, with surrounding edema or swelling.   As far as I understand, the hemorrhage would have been the cause of my headache.  

If I had to list the positives for the day, they would be:

• Eric was still home and was able to be with me the whole day (even took the ride in the ambulance with me from one hospital to the other)
• It was a fairly quiet day at Health Sciences Centre and we only saw one person taken away by police in handcuffs, and one person taken away by police to give a statement, and only one patient trying to escape treatment that security had to track down and haul back (imagine some loud, colourful language and you pretty much get that picture!).
• The results gave a better outcome than we were initially given;  I got my Door No. 4!
• According to the neurologist, cavernomas are predictable and low risk.   Since my symptoms are finally improving, it would seem that the acute stage of the hemorrhage has subsided
• Because of the results, there was nothing urgent that needed to be done neurologically and I was discharged from the hospital and allowed to go home … and finally have something to eat and drink!
• When you see your nurse has a Mennonite last name and you start to play the “Mennonite Name Game” and you discover that his wife is from the same city in Ontario that I grew up in, and from the same church, and I know who her parents are, and his father-in-law’s sister is married to my brother-in-law’s brother … and this nurse happens to have been a friend of my nephew since they were little ... this made me smile

Another note to self:  Remember to tell the people close to me that I love them.   Often.

#BellLetsTalk

#BellLetsTalk Day is a great initiative which has done so much to broaden awareness of mental illness across Canada.

I think that as important as #BellLetsTalk is, encouraging people that are struggling with mental illness that there is freedom and acceptance to talk about that struggle, we need to make #BellLetsListen the action that follows.  Those who have become courageous enough to talk and share need to know that they are going to be heard.

My husband has lived with major depression for much of his adult life (40+ years) and has experienced the stigma associated with mental illness, especially growing up going to church.   Forty years ago, the Church had very little idea what to do with someone struggling with depression.

"Get out of bed!”

“Stop being so lazy!”

“Snap out of it!”

All the wrong things to say to someone who is struggling with mental illness.

Early in our marriage, I had no idea what a helpful response should be to someone struggling with mental illness.  Thank goodness for the internet.  I started researching depression and educating myself about causes and triggers, and how to respond in a positive way.     I even took a counselling course to learn how to listen beneath the words.  I definitely don’t do or say everything right all the time, but I hope I get it right much of the time

My husband actually has a Masters in Biblical Counselling, and he is quite self-aware.  That doesn’t mean that he is able to “flip the switch” and step out of his depression.   Mental illness doesn’t work that way.  Because he lives with depression, he is often willing to take the time to listen to someone in need and who is struggling.  He has a huge heart for young men who are dealing with mental illness, especially those young men that are the same ages as our sons.  He’s been where they are and can identify with their struggle.

So yes, let’s encourage openness and talking.  And when someone is brave enough to share the depths of their heart, their aches and fears, take the time to stop and just listen.

Hear them without having an agenda.  Be there, be present and be supportive.

Just listen.

 

#BellLetsTalk … #BellLetsListen

For more information:  http://letstalk.bell.ca/en/

Run, Spotify, Run!

We recently heard the sad news about the passing of another musical great, Leonard Cohen. Some members of our family were hanging out together, watching hockey and discussing music when we discovered the news (because hockey and music just go hand in hand?! … but it was a cool time together as a family!)  My husband was a little surprised that our 22 year old son knew more about the life and music of Leonard Cohen than he did.

Enter Spotify.  Obviously our kids are much more savvy about Spotify than us oldies.  My husband and I are now Spotify rookies.  We download apps like this and our kids roll their eyes.   I have been told by at least one of my sons that “You don’t need to be on SnapChat”.  I think he’s probably right, and I’m perfectly happy not snapping, snapchatting, or whatever you call it.

Add caption

So my husband and I started to “Spotify”, searching for albums and music, highlighting some of our favourites and creating playlists, with the likes of Carly Simon, Bob Dylan, some newly found Leonard Cohen, and Chicago.  This list goes on and on, as our musical tastes are quite eclectic.  My husband never realized that I was a fan of Chicago’s music, and as we played the album “Chicago 17” the other morning, I found I still remembered most of the words to the songs.

The year that “Chicago 17” was popular, I was a student at Winkler Bible Institute and had a certain boyfriend (which didn’t work out, thank you, Lord!), and the songs on that album evoked memories of college life and the relational anxiety of a 19 or 20 year old.

Thank goodness we don’t stay mired in the angst of youth, but we do grow up and mature (at least most of us do! 😉).  32 years later and I know I have aged, and hope I have matured!  My sons are now 18, 20, 22 and 24 and I have been married to my husband for 27 years.

The Boys - 1998

The Boys - 2015

When I was younger, I certainly imagined myself married and with children, but never factored in what it might be like living with a husband under the weight of major depression.  It has certainly been a learning and growth experience.  I’d like to think I’m a stronger person than I ever thought I was or even could be.

I would hope I am not the person I was in that dorm room back in Bible School those many years ago.  I would hope that I have developed into a better version of me.  Real life has a way of happening and God has used many situations and circumstances to change my heart and mind and hopefully shape me into a daughter He is pleased with.

A blogger I follow has written the phrase “He moves how He moves, and He saves how He saves.”  He, God, has moved me … from being a meek follower (in my estimation) to a quiet prayer warrior.  His ways are not always my ways … and I think that’s probably a good thing for me. 

"Lord, Move how You move, and save how You save."   This has become a prayer of mine lately, especially when I’m at a loss for how to pray.  He knows.  His will be done, not mine.

I was using my new Spotify app on my phone and listening to an album by Nichole Nordeman, “The Unmaking”.  The words to one of the songs, “Something Out of Me”, jumped out and caught my attention:

You take all kinds of nothing

Turn it right in to something

I see impossible, but You see a basket full of

“A little bit of this sounds crazy”,

“A little bit of just maybe”

You take every doubt and

You make something out of me

Something out of me

I don’t for one minute believe that I am the final product of who God wants me to be.  I am so incredibly flawed; there are so many blemishes and imperfections that need work.   But somehow, as the words in the song say, “You take all kinds of nothing, Turn it into something”. 

My prayer is that He would move how He moves, save how He saves, and I would continue being shaped into who God wants me to be.  

Nichole Nordeman "Something Out of Me"

Link to Blogger: Jami Amerine, Sacred Ground Sticky Floors

Hebrews 12:1-2Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.

Thankful ... one year later

It’s Thanksgiving weekend.   I don’t as a rule do turkey, but the chickens are thawing and will go in the roaster this afternoon, to be served along with mashed potatoes and gravy.  The pumpkin pie is in the fridge (thank you, Costco!) and miraculously only has one piece taken out of it so far.

I remember Thanksgiving meals when my father would preside over the head of the table and once we had our fill of food, he would say, “Let’s go around the table and say one thing we’re thankful for.”  I inwardly groaned every time, not because I wasn’t thankful, but because every answer, every year, was along the same vein:  “I’m thankful for family and friends and people who love me.”  I meant every word, but I also knew it was the correct answer and what my father expected me to say.

I was thinking back to last Thanksgiving and reflecting on where we were then and what all has transpired in a year. 

One year ago, my husband was an owner-operator driving truck long distance.  He was released from his contract with the trucking company and the truck has been sold.  He tried his hand at selling cars, and might have made a go of it had the effects of his depression that he was trying to tamp down not gotten the better of him.  He is just coming off of 4 months of not working and being on short-term disability.  He is planning on going back on the road as a driver and may be in the truck as early as next week, and he’s OK with that.  One year later.

Sons #3, #1, #4, #2 ... one year ago

One year ago, my oldest son (son #1) was busy with university and a girlfriend and it seemed like he was moving forward with his life and by all accounts, was doing really well.  In spring, the relationship with his girlfriend ended and he was devastated.  It was almost as if he stopped living and put everything on hold while he grieved, and once he was mired in that emotional pit of grief and despair, he had a tough time climbing out.  He opted not to return to university this year and just last week actually found a job and soon will be among the ranks of the employed.  It’s been tough for him, but I think he’s doing better.  One year later.

Son #4 ... one year later

One year ago, my youngest son (son #4) was in his last year of high school, playing varsity volleyball and having a pretty good season.  He graduated high school in June and was accepted at one of the local universities, but was going to have to relinquish any hopes of playing volleyball at the university level.  He was nearly resigned to that happening, until he was contacted by a coach in British Columbia who had seen him play at club Nationals.  This coach saw something in my son that he liked, and he wanted him for his team.  A couple of road trips to BC later, and my son is getting settled in to school life half-way across the country, and if a recent Skype call is any indication, he’s doing fairly well!  One year later.

One year ago, sons #2 and #3 were both ensconced in their respective faculties at university, and that’s where they are a year later.  One year later, it is son #2’s final year of eligibility to play volleyball and he has become the bearded, mature one on the roster, providing the team with maturity and leadership.  He seems to have taken a rookie under his wing, a rookie who is the same age as son #4.   

One year later, son #3 is helping to coach his old high school varsity volleyball team.  He continues to grow (and not just his hair) and mature as a young man.  I’m so proud of these sons who are giving back to younger men; not just imparting their volleyball insights and expertise, but also encouraging growth of character.  

One year ago, I was busy managing life, work and volleyball schedules.   As I reflect back, I see where I have been pushed and challenged to trust God.   I find that I am still busy managing life, work and to some extent, volleyball schedules, but I don't feel quite so frantic and out-of-control.  One year later.

The things I’m thankful for haven't changed in the many years since I sat at that Thanksgiving table with my father and mother and the rest of my family.  I am still very thankful for family, friends and people who love me.  If anything, my list has been expanded.  

I’m thankful for my husband and my family, my sons, and their friends, for the people who love me and the people I love.

And I am most thankful for a Heavenly Father who is faithful and true in all things, year after year.

Psalm 106:1:

Praise the Lord!
Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!
His faithful love endures forever.

Seeds of Hope

Victoria, B.C.

I appreciate beautiful gardens filled with flowers and greenery, but I wouldn’t claim to be a gardener.  I know that seeds need good earth, water, sunshine and perhaps some fertilizer to germinate and grow.   Gardens need a watchful eye and careful tending to pull the wayward weeds that sprout in close proximity, trying to rob the seeds and plants of nutrients and stunt their growth.

We were recently on the west coast, in British Columbia.  We stayed with friends on Vancouver Island who live in a beautiful setting only a few minutes from the ocean.  My friend has landscaped their yard beautifully and created a garden the likes of which you would see showcased in Better Homes and Gardens.  Unlike me, she has a green thumb and loves working in the dirt and among the flowers and plants.  I walked among her garden and admired the fruit of her work on display in the different colours, shapes and textures.

 

There’s a good reason why I don’t garden and have household plants … I have the uncanny ability to kill just about any plant.  Even an aloe vera plant (aka the “healing plant”) isn’t immune to my touch.  I think that the only garden I should be allowed to have is a rock garden.  A rock garden couldn’t be too hard to maintain, could it?

Fun fact:  The longevity of a sequoia tree can be up to 2,000 years or more, but I find it interesting that the seeds sometime remain in the cone for up to 20 years.  Forest fires help open the cones which then grow from the burnt, bare soil.  (from http://www.treehugger.com/natural-sciences/16-spectacular-facts-about-giant-sequoias.html)

How interesting for the sequoia that it may take a seemingly devastating situation like a forest fire for the cone to open, and for the seed to grow. 

Just living is a struggle most days for my husband, who lives with major depression.   It feels like we’re in a forest fire situation with his depression.  In the last few months, he has told me a number of times that even though the heaviness of living with depression is often overwhelming, deep down there is still a seed of hope in him.

Similar to a plant seed, this emotional seed of hope also needs a safe place to develop and take root.  Affirmation, encouragement, grace and unconditional love would be equivalent to the earth, water, sunshine and fertilizer that a planted seed needs. 

Ivy growing wild by our front door

I find myself clinging to my own seed of hope, praying that the hope that is in my husband will grow larger and stronger and take root.  There are some days I feel like my hope that I am clinging to needs to be big enough for both of us.

I’m trying to be patient while hope and health germinate in my husband.  Like any other seed, it’s a process and it takes time – sometimes longer than we would like.

   

Beauty among the weeds in my front "garden"

Despite my lack of gardening skills and a rather black thumb, there is still beauty to be found among the weeds.  There is hope in that.

Psalm 33:20-22
We put our hope in the Lord.
    He is our help and our shield.

In Him our hearts rejoice    for we trust in His holy name.
22 Let your unfailing love surround us, Lord,
    for our hope is in You alone

Just breathe ...

It’s done.  The time has come and gone.  A little more than a month of preparation and somehow it all happened.  Zackery has left home to go to school in British Columbia.  I find myself walking past his room now and wondering when he’s going to be home.  This morning I just stood in his room and looked at the things he didn’t take with him.  But that’s what Wal-Mart is for.

Just breathe.

It was a whirlwind road trip out to BC for Eric, Zackery and me.  We drove straight through, about 24 hours’ driving time in total, and once we found the house where Zackery would be living, we emptied the car and went straight to IKEA to buy his bed and a desk.  As if the day hadn’t been long enough already!   I’m not sure what we were thinking at that point in time, as it was a Saturday afternoon and it seemed nearly everyone in the area was also shopping at IKEA.  But having a bed seemed to be a priority! 

After basic groceries and essentials (a coffee maker) were bought at the nearby Wal-Mart the next morning, Eric and I drove off and left Zack to his new adventure, and we ferried off to Vancouver Island to spend a few days with friends.

Just breathe.

The days of rest on the Island were much needed for me.  For a couple of days, I left behind the stresses of life and getting a son ready to leave home.  I didn’t think about work except to send a picturesque photo of the seascape to my boss.

 

Eric and I had a good laugh when one of our friends suggested that we hit up the local coffee place, browse a used-books store nearby, and then find a beach to sit and read.  Hello?!  That’s just my ideal vacation!  The mocha at the coffee place was divine, and in the next couple of days, I finished both books that I picked up at the bookstore.

Just breathe.

Unfortunately the days of rest and relaxation were over far too soon.  It was time to start thinking about heading home and back to the realities of regular life.   “Regular” life.  I have a daily routine of going to work, cooking, cleaning and laundry, and praying that my husband is having a better day than he had the day before.  Depression doesn’t do “regular”.  We had a bit of a reprieve on our little holiday, but now it’s back to the tough work of living day to day.

For the past few months I have been more anxious, as I anticipated Zackery going so far away to school and with Eric not working because of his depression.  I have felt like I was carrying the whole load on my shoulders, and it was getting heavier every day.  But in those anxious moments, I knew that God was with me and taking care of me (us).   

Just breathe.

Through all my fears and my anxiety, I have had a strong sense that God’s timing was different than mine, and where I like to have all the pieces laid out and ready to put together, I have recognized that this has been a time for me to exercise my faith muscle and trust in God’s plan and timing.   I like to know how the bills and groceries are going to be paid for, and when we’re down to just my income, it’s been challenging to figure out how all those pieces are going to get worked out.   

But in the midst of my fretfulness, I choose to take a deep breath, exhale, and proclaim that God is good and that He loves me.  What more can I do than that?  It may seem trite to some, but He is my lifeline.

Just breathe.  

I heard this song on the radio and it has stuck with me, with the refrain on repeat in my head on some days.

Breathe, just breathe
Come and rest at my feet
And be, just be
Chaos calls but all you really need
Is to just breathe

https://youtu.be/hnjeMwxFuBA 

Philippians 4:6-7

⁶ Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. ⁷ Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

Psalm 46:1-3, 10

¹ God is my refuge and strength,
    always ready to help in times of trouble.
² So I will not fear when earthquakes come
    and the mountains crumble into the sea.
³ Let the oceans roar and foam.
    Let the mountains tremble as the waters surge!

¹⁰ “Be still, and know that I am God!
    I will be honored by every nation.
    I will be honored throughout the world.”

Chapter Closed on Club Volleyball

Another club volleyball season has come and gone.  The last one.  Our ninth year in a row as club volleyball parents … done.  That chapter has finished.   I’m sure there will be time for some sadness and grieving … once the last load of laundry is done and I can purge the sports bag of that pungent odor.

I remember when we started out with our older son and everything about the club volleyball season was new and unfamiliar.  Thank goodness we were surrounded by other parents in the same boat and we all learned together.  I’m especially thankful for one volleyball mom in particular who had been in the game a little longer than me.   I learned so much from her, although I still couldn’t tell you if a player on the court is out of rotation.   We shared bleacher seats during club seasons and school seasons.  Thank you, Friend (I think you know who you are).

  

And just a quick shout-out to the WinMan Volleyball Club, which we have been privileged to be a part of these last nine years.  Who knows??  Perhaps our involvement will continue in some way other than as athlete parents.

The last hurrah was Nationals in Saskatoon this past weekend.  My son’s team was ranked somewhere in the middle of the 40+ teams, and that’s right about where their final ranking in the tournament ended up too.

Photo Credit:  WinMan Wave Camp

I remember when my youngest started out learning the sport of volleyball.  He had the advantage of having older brothers who played, so by the time young Zackery joined a club team, we had about 4 years of experience as club parents under our belts.

Zackery enrolled in Mighty Mites to learn the basics, and went to skills camps in the summers.  When he started out, the camp t-shirts came down past his shorts. 

He never seemed to have any difficulty learning the timing, techniques and footwork needed for the sport.  His love of the trampoline seemed to continuously flow through his legs even on the volleyball court, pushing him to jump higher and increase his vertical.

Photo Credit:  WinMan Wave Camp

We’ve watched him grow, not just in stature, but also in his mental game.  Mental toughness.  That was the mantra at our house one year as my husband drilled into the boys what it meant to play through adversity.  Zack has exhibited mental toughness in spades as he has dealt with various challenges on different teams.  My son amazes me at his positive spirit and never-say-die attitude; always wanting to improve and to be the best that he can be.

I love watching my son play.  He shows grit, determination and passion for a sport that he loves.  He works hard on the court and strives to lead by example.  

He is an encourager, offering a pat on the shoulder to a teammate to commend a well-placed shot or solid block, or to help shake off and re-set after a shanked pass or a missed serve.

This past weekend at Nationals, the team had a fairly decent first day and only lost one match.  That one loss came at the hands of the eventual bronze medallists.  The luck of the draw put them in a very tough pool on the second day against top-tier teams. 

Photo Credit:  Peter Seekings

The result from day two was not what the team was hoping for, as they lost all of their matches.  But the boys Competed.  That’s “Competed” with a capital “C” … and probably an “O-M-P-E-T-E-D” too.  They challenged their opponents in each match and kept each game close.  Parents from other teams commented on how well our team played against them.  Unfortunately, “close” only counts in horseshoes.

There was emotional anguish at the end of day two, knowing that the hope of finishing in the top tier was not to be.  This was their last year, their last chance, and a Tier 1 finish wasn’t going to be realized.

On the last morning of play, the boys lost their first match and their tournament was done.  They seemed to struggle a bit and their legs looked tired.  They finished playing the night before after 9 pm and the morning game started at 7:30 am.  Morning games have never been this team’s forte!  (Because how many teenage boys function well in the mornings?!)

Photo Credit:  Peter Seekings

Some commented that the boys just didn’t want it bad enough.  I don’t think that’s the case at all.  They wanted it.  But sometimes the legs can’t give what the will wants.  The boys had competed so hard the day before that I believe they left everything on the court and had nothing in the tank for the final day.  

My husband talked to a few of the boys afterwards and tried to encourage them with these words:

The measure of who they are as young men isn’t reflected on the scoreboard, by the colour of the medal around their neck, or by their final ranking. 

The measure of who they are as young men is reflected in their skill and the strength of character that they exhibited in how they competed and conducted themselves on and off the court.

Our boys competed.  Our boys showed character.  They showed up and played and I couldn’t be prouder of my boy, and of his teammates.

Well done, WinMan.  Well done, Zackery.