He who strengthens me..

I ended yesterday's post with the scripture from Philippians 4:13 - "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."  I did this because I know that as I try to improve the person I am today, I can only become that "better me" I long to be with the help of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Of course, it helps to have the support of family and friends.  My sister called me this morning in response to the negative comments I said about myself yesterday.  She told me I need to be more positive, and understand that I am not the only woman who suffers from feelings of inadequacy.  She was hoping to jump start my self-esteem.  And she did just that.  Thank you, Jennifer!  


I was brutally honest yesterday, hoping the revelation of my previously-private struggle might encourage others who suffer the same.  I didn't realize what a comfort it would be for them to admit those same feelings back to me.  But what a relief when I received an unexpected text from a friend who I never would have suspected to be fighting this same battle.  Her text reads, "...you know that blog post you just posted -- I am right there with you!..."  Hallelujah!  I am not alone!  Thank you, friend.  You know who you are!  ;)


Still the greatest confidence booster I received came as I was driving home alone last night.  I was reflecting back on the events of the day, focusing on my blog post, my decision to try again to help myself, my friend's text.  I thought about how I really don't want to fail this time.  So I prayed, "Dear God, please help me in this journey.  Let me never forget You are here with me."  Within seconds "Waiting for Tomorrow" by Mandisa, began playing via K-LOVE on my radio.

The chorus says,

"Can't spend my whole life wastin'
Everything I know I've been given
'Cause you've made me for so much more than
Sittin' on the side lines
I don't wanna look back and wonder
If good enough could've been better
Everyday's a day to start over
So, why am I waiting for tomorrow"

I believe God used this song to remind me that He is my biggest cheerleader.  He knows I want to make some changes in my life that will make me a better Christian, a better wife, a better mother, a better person.  I believe He's telling me this is MY time.  Don't wait.  Let the journey begin.

I want what is best for me. God wants what is best for me.  Knowing we are on the same page... it makes the journey much less scary, and a lot more appealing.

Philippians 4:13
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

 
Click on the link below to hear Mandisa's song - Waiting for Tomorrow
http://www.myspace.com/mandisa/music/songs/waiting-for-tomorrow-80576508




"Waiting For Tomorrow"

Maybe tomorrow we'll start over
Maybe tomorrow I will finally change my ways
Said the same things yesterday
Don't know why I'm so afraid
To let you in
To let you win
To let you have all of me

Can't spend my whole life wastin'
Everything I know I've been given
'Cause you've made me for so much more than
Sittin' on the side lines
I don't wanna look back and wonder
If good enough could've been better

Everyday's a day to start over
So, why am I waiting for tomorrow

Maybe today I'll start believing
That you're mercy is really
As real as you say it is
It doesn't matter who I used to be
It only matters that I've been set free
You rescued me, you're changing me
Jesus take everything

Can't spend my whole life wastin'
Everything I know I've been given
'Cause you've made me for so much more than
Sittin' on the side lines
I don't wanna look back and wonder
If good enough could've been better

Everyday's a day to start over
So, why am I waiting for tomorrow

Oh, I'm makin this my moment now
To grab the hand that's reachin down to save me You saved me
And I'm makin this my moment now
To grab the hand that's reachin down to save me You saved me

Can't spend my whole life wastin'
Everything I know I've been given
'Cause you've made me for so much more than
Sittin' on the side lines
I don't wanna look back and wonder
If good enough could've been better

Everyday's a day to start over
So, why am I waiting for tomorrow

I'm gonna grab the hand that's reachin down
And I'm not gonna wait until tomorrow
Oh, tomorrow

Better me, here I come

There are so many journeys I would like to embark upon in this life.  A journey to Jesus, in which I might walk closer to Him.  A journey to better health, in which I wake up feeling good every morning.  A journey to inner peace, in which I am able to let go of all the turmoil that dwells deep inside me.

When I look closely at what each journey entails, I realize they are not three separate journeys with three separate outcomes.  They are all the same journey, with the same outcome...  a journey to a better me.

Right now I am not a fan of the person I see looking back at me in the mirror.  She seems so weak.  She gives up so easily.  Some days I even I hate her.  She's such a loser.  As I remind myself that person is me, I become disappointed in many qualities of who I am, and what I continually find myself unable to do.

I have started this journey so many times in the past.  And I have failed every time.  Why?  Lots of reasons.  Time, or lack thereof.  Priority, or lack thereof.  Motivation, or lack thereof.

I realize the key to my success is self-discipline.  I have my list of things I need to do to make this journey a reality.  Now if I would just stick to it.  In the famous words of Nike, Just Do It!

Why am I telling you this?  Why am I putting myself out there like this?

I guess I'm hoping for two things.

#1 - All of you who think I have it so "together" will realize I am not perfect.  Perhaps you will find comfort in knowing I have struggles of my own.

#2 - Knowing that you know I am struggling with this, will motivate me to do better than I've done in the past.

Maybe you are struggling too.  I invite you to go on this journey with me.  My plan is to blog about every aspect of this journey ~ what I plan to pack, how I plan to get there, what stops are involved along the way (all figuratively speaking).  Prayerfully, this will keep me accountable not only to God, and to myself, but also to you.

So, here I go.  Let the journey begin.  Better me, here I come.

Philippians 4:13
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants

When I was a little girl, my heart craved to have time alone with my parents.  As one of five children, this was not a common occurrence.  When I was a teenager, my heart was happy when I was with my friends.  They seemed to be the only ones who understood me at that age.  In my early twenties, my heart was overflowing with love for my husband, Keith Bray.  We were young and in love and destined for lifelong happiness.  In my later twenties, my heart was wrapped around the fingers of my two little boys.  Who knew having babies changes EVERYTHING. 

I've been married for 14 years.  My boys are ages 9 and 7.  I am still so incredibly in love with my husband Keith, and I am still wrapped around the fingers of my precious boys, who are not so little anymore. 

But now, at the age of 35, my heart wants what it cannot have...   another baby.

I wish I could let this go.  Believe me, I have desperately tried to let this go.  There are times when I've thought I had let it go, but then I hold someone else's baby, see an ultrasound picture, observe a baby bump, hear a pregnancy conversation...  The longing returns, usually followed by a few weeks of a hidden, deep, dark depression.  That's where I've been the last few weeks - in a dark place. 

I spent the first week of April in Kentucky, helping my best friend as she welcomed her brand new baby girl.  I am overjoyed for her, especially as this baby was preceded by some heartbreaking disappointments.  While I was up there, I was so happy to be a part of this baby's first days.  I have no regrets about going.  The hard part was leaving.  I had to do it quickly and not linger, as I'd done a fairly awesome job of pretending I was okay with the fact that she has a third child, and I never will.

But then I had the 8 hour drive home.  My still-precious cargo of two handsome boys played quietly in the back seat.  It gave me too much time to think about those ten little fingers, ten little toes, beautiful eyes, soft hair and that new baby smell.  If I'm logical, I understand why this can't be mine.  But I'm not always logical.  I've not been logical for the past two weeks.

This past weekend I finally reached the point where I could hardly get of bed (again) because I was so overcome with the grief of what I can't have.  I finally cried until I could cry no more (again).  I finally got on my knees and prayed for comfort (again).  I finally gave it to God (again).  I finally opened my Bible and let Him speak to me (again).  I say "again" because God and I have had this exact conversation so many times over the last six years.  I don't know why I hold onto the grief for so long every time.  But in the end, I always ask Him to save me from myself.  He's the only one who can.  And thankfully, He always does.

Today I am logical. Today I am in my happy place. Praise be to God.



Still, the heart wants what the heart wants.  My heart wants another baby.  I doubt that desire will ever go away.  So I know that everytime I go back to that dark place, there is only One who can and will pull me out.  I'm so thankful He is a patient and loving God.  Glory to His name.

Evil Electronics

There were five kids in my house growing up.  We did not have a nintendo, and my dad swore we never would.  I always assumed it was because my parents couldn't afford to spoil us with luxury electronic items.  Now, as a parent, I understand why he forbade electronic games.  It's because they are evil. 

I was reminded of this as my two boys and I ate lunch with a friend today, along with her two boys.  One of her sons brought along his Nintendo DS.  My children do not own a DS.  Not because we can't afford one. It's because I don't like who they become when in the presence of these games.  One second they are my sweet, obedient, thoughtful children.  As soon as the evil DS is introduced, they become selfish, whiney little brats who do not hear a word I am saying.  It is infuriating!

At lunch today, my youngest son fell under the spell of his friend's DS.  He was almost in tears when he was forced to put the game away so he could actually eat his food.  He wolfed down his hot dog in record time, and pushed away his fries, thinking he would then be able to continue his game.  He was literally broken-hearted when I told him that was not the case.  I made him finish his meal.  Of course, then all the other boys wanted a turn at playing.  So he sulked while impatiently waiting to play again.  When it came his turn, it was time to go.  He didn't get to play again.  So I am now officially the worst mother in the world.  All because of a stupid game.

They do get this obsession honestly.  I wanted so much to enforce the "no-electronic-games rule" as my father did.  BUT I gave in to allowing a Wii in our house.  Not simply to pacify my children, but moreso to spoil my husband.  Unlike me, he grew up playing the Nintendo.  So I knew he would LOVE the Wii.  We've had the game system for two years.  Our house has never been the same.  That evil Wii is a prominient source of my frazzled nerves.  First thing in the morning, it's "Mommy, can we play the Wii?"  After lunch, it's "Mommy, can we play the Wii?"  As soon as Keith gets home, "Mommy, can we play the Wii with Daddy?"  Then when they are given permission to play, they get so worked up over winning and losing, that I can't stand to be in the same room.  All three of them, my husband included, yell at the television, complaining about what went wrong during the game. 

So...  I finally figured out a way to overcome the evil electronics.  Ha! Ha! Ha! 

I suggested my husband and children fast from the Wii during Lent, except for on weekends.  This would be a huge sacrifice on their part, and it would bring me such joy to not have to hear about the Wii every waking minute of every day.  Surprisingly, they took me up on it.  One week in, I've convinced myself that I am a genius.  Score one for Mommy!  If I'd only thought of it before...   

Of course, my husband then insisted that he choose what I fast from during Lent.  He first said Dr. Pepper, which I adamantly refused.  I knew what the next suggestion would be, and I knew it would be equivalent to what they've agreed to give up.  So, starting last Wednesday, for the next forty days, I will not be watching The Young and the Restless.  Score one for Keith...  :p

The One You've Been Waiting For...

For those of you who follow me on Facebook, I'm sure you have been wondering how long it would take me to turn our December emergency-room trip with Camden into a blog post.  It was a very emotional and heartwrenching and vulnerable night for my husband and I.  I've written about it a million times in my mind.  Words that I'm certain would bring you to tears.  BUT Keith asked me to keep the details just between us.  What we experienced when faced with the possibility of losing something so precious to us both should not be posted for all the world to see. 

HOWEVER, writing is therapy for me.  So not being able to write about this monumental event has been only making it a bigger deal in my mind.  I've been struggling for about a month now with how to keep my promise to my husband, yet still be able to talk through what I have been going through as a result of that night.  The answer came to me this morning, after watching a broadcast of Dr. Charles Stanley, and after chatting with a childhood friend who recently lost her grandmother.

It's all about faith...

Years ago, my best friend called to tell me they had recently discovered that her daughter has peanut allergies.  I remember thinking, "Oh, I cannot imagine.  If my child had an allergy like that, I would live in a constant state of panic."  A few months later, we had the same discovery about our youngest child, Camden.  He was 22 months old, and decided to take a few bites of his brother's peanut-buttered toast.  I didn't see it happen, but I heard the coughing, and he started crying immediately.  When I got to him, only seconds after those dreadful bites, his face was all splotchy and welped around his mouth, and he was scratching at his neck, and screaming uncontrollably.  Thankfully, his breathing was never impaired.  After some blood tests and allergy tests, it was determined he is in fact not only allergic to peanuts and peanut butter, but he is also allergic to every single tree nut, including pecans, walnuts, macadamias, almonds, etc.

Shortly after that, I really did start suffering from panic attacks.  I truly was in a constant state of panic, worrying about everything he ate, every place we ate, who fed him.  Although, the tests revealed his allergies were not life-threatening, I was told that at any moment they could be.  So I believed his life was literally in my hands. 

Over the next few years, there were a few incidents where he came mighty close to eating something he shouldn't, but thankfully, he faired well.  At the age of 5, he was to be tested again to determine if he had outgrown his allergic reaction to nuts.  He had not.  In fact, his allergies actually became worse, and are now classified as severe.

Camden went the next two years without incident.  I was beginning to feel more confident in my ability to handle his allergies.  But in the last five months, he has come into contact with those forbidden nuts three times.  All three times, I was in the room next door.  The third time, we wound up in the emergency room where he had to be given steroids to counteract his body's reaction. 

Since that night, I've maintained my composure on the outside.  But on the inside, I have been beating myself up.  I can't believe I let this happen.  What kind of mother am I?  He could have died.  He could have died.  That's all I keep hearing.  He could have died.  I don't like who I am when I have this inner dialogue.  I become almost immobile, feeling such self-doubt and unworthiness that I can barely crawl out of bed.  I've been praying for a release from this bondage.  I am so thankful that God has heard and answered my prayer.  Read on, as I tell you how...

A friend of mine whom I grew up with, lost her grandmother just before Christmas.  She shared her experience with me last week. She was with her grandmother when she left this world.  She told me that while watching her grandmother stuggle in pain the last hours of her life, she wondered why God would allow her to suffer on.  While she knew this woman who she dearly loved was in such obvious pain, my friend did not curse God or doubt God.  She actually tried to wrap her brain around what good could come of it.  She found her answer moments later.  But that's a whole other story. 

As I listened to Dr. Charles Stanley teach about faith this morning, I began to see the good that could come from Camden's allergies.  While I have prayed to God almost daily that He would heal Camden of his allergies, I have not asked myself why He has chosen not to do so.  What purpose would these allergies serve?  What good could come from Camden's allergies?  The answer is "faith". 

Mark 4:35-40 reads,

And the same day, when the even was come, He saith unto them, "Let us pass over unto the other side."  And when they had sent away the multitude, they took Him even as he was in the ship.  And there also with Him other little ships.  And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.  And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow:  and they awake Him, and say unto Him, "Master, carest Thou not that we perish?"  And he arose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, "Peace, be still."  And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.  And He said unto them, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"

I wonder, as I worried about every little thing Camden ate, if God said, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"  I wonder, as Camden lied there in that hospital bed, and I prayed so desperately for him to be okay, if God said, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"  I wonder, as I cried myself to sleep, thinking what an awful mother I am, if God said, "Why are ye so fearful?  how is it that ye have no faith?"

My faith has been in myself, and in my ability to care for Camden and keep him alive.  No wonder he ended up in the hospital. 

I repeat what I wrote last August.  If Camden has taught me anything in these seven years I've shared with him so far, it's that ~ if it were only up to me to keep this child alive, I would have failed him so many times. What joy and relief I feel to know that it's not only up to me.

My faith is in the Lord.

My Nightmare

Usually when I am in the midst of a nightmare, the instant I come to the realization that it is in fact a nightmare, I wake up.  That was not the case last night, which made it by far the scariest dream I've ever had.

As the nightmare begins, I am at a fundraiser.  I don't know what the fundraiser is for, or what my purpose there is, or how I even know it was a fundraiser, but I am at a fundraiser.  I am in a state of shock because I've just been told that my husband has been killed in a car accident.  I am looking around the room seeing people who I recognize (high school friends, Stampin' Up! customers, people from church), and I'm wondering if I should tell anyone.  If I do tell anyone, who should I tell first? 

Then I notice these two boys running around chasing each other, laughing and having so much fun.  I realize these are my boys.  The children my husband and I brought into this world.  The products of our love.  And I begin to feel a pain in my chest, like a hole in my heart.  How do I tell them they will never see their father again?

The reality of the situation starts to set in, and I know that I have got to get out of this place.  I grab their hands and try not to let them see that I am upset.  I tell a friend from high school that I have to go, and I wonder if she has heard the news that has suddenly destroyed my life.

I step out of the building onto a busy street, and it hits me.  This is just a dream.  Wake up... 

Wake up... 

Why am I not waking up?! 

Oh no!  It must not be a dream.  This is a nightmare.  This is my worst nightmare. 

At that moment, my pulse begins racing, and I feel a hole in my chest where my heart is supposed to be.  My chest hurts.  I am having a panic attack.  How can I not panic when I've just lost the only man I've ever loved?  How do I live without him?

A million thoughts begin to run through my mind.

"I need to call my mom."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"I don't know what to do."
"How did I get here?"
"We talked about this.  What did he tell me I should do?"
"I don't know what to do."
"What did he tell me I should do?
"I need to call my mom."

I look around, seriously trying to remember how we got to this place where the fundraiser is being held, because if I can't remember that, then how will we get back home.

My boys are smiling at each other, saying funny things to make the other one laugh. 

I tell myself again to wake up.  This is just a dream.  If this were a dream, I would wake up.  But I'm not waking up, so it hits me again that this is real. 

Oh my God.  He's really dead. 

Then my eyes opened, and I found myself lying in our bed.  My heart was racing, and I was in the midst of a real panic attack.  I looked to my left, and was so relieved to find my high school sweetheart sleeping beside me.  He's alive!  Oh thank God.

It was just a horrible, horrible nightmare - the worst nightmare I've ever had. 

I rolled over close to him and forced myself into his arms.  I laid my head on his chest, and I cried and cried and cried.  He didn't have to ask what my nightmare was.  I think he could tell by the way I clung to him.

Having Bryson

Yesterday, we celebrated the birth of my first son, Bryson Daniel Bray, born nine years ago.  Of course, this has me reminiscing about the hours leading up to my first child-birthing experience, and the beginning of my motherhood adventure...

Friday ~ October 11, 2002
My husband, Keith, and I arrive at Randolph Hospital, certain that I am in labor, and certain that Bryson will be born in the next 24 hours.  After a couple of hours in the triage room and walking the halls of the maternity ward, we are told, "You are not in active labor, which means you do not need to be here right now.  However, you are in the early stages of labor, so this baby should be coming in the next 24 hours.  Go walk around the mall, and we'll see you tomorrow." 

Saturday ~ October 26, 2002
FIFTEEN DAYS LATER!  I am at my parents' house, surrounded by my family.  We are celebrating my oldest sister's birthday.  There is so much food.  I am so hungry!  I've been starving myself for the past 15 days, fully expecting to go into labor, and hoping to avoid any uncontrollable bodily functions during childbirth.  However, my contractions stopped about a week ago.  And there is no indication that this baby is coming before Monday, when I am scheduled to be induced.  So, I decide to enjoy the meal.  I eat, and I eat, and I eat.  I even helped myself to a second piece of birthday cake, for the baby, of course. 

Keith and I go to bed that night around 11pm.  Keith falls asleep, as he always does, as soon as his head hits the pillow.  I lay there, wide awake.  I can't get comfortable.  My back hurts.  After about 10 minutes, I decide to get up.  I settle myself in the rocking chair in the nursery, gazing at all the baby stuff just waiting to be made useful.  That's when the contractions start.  But these contractions are different.  They hurt.  So much in fact that I cannot stand during the contraction, and I find myself utilizing those ridiculous breathing exercises, that before this moment, I could not imagine myself doing.  Between contractions, I walk to the bedroom.  I call to Keith, but he's snoring.  I wonder if I should wake him.  I had felt so foolish after convincing him I was in labor two weeks ago, only to be disappointed for the following 15 days.  I decide to let him sleep.

I walk to the living room.  I sit on the couch for a little while, as the contractions become closer and more intense.  The pain is more than I expected, so I pray.  Lord, please help me to know if this is real labor.  Please give me a sign.  I turn on the TV.  I had not anticipated that God would use my favorite show as a sign, but there in the middle of my living room, one of the the main characters on ER is in labor, about to give birth to twins.  I literally feel her pain.  Okay God, thank you!   I stand, fully intending to walk to the bedroom and wake my husband, but I hurt so much now that I cannot move my feet.  I sit back down.  I need Keith.  I yell to him.  Keith!  He doesn't hear me.  I yell again.  Keith!  Nothing.  Ugh!  I turn up the television as loud as it will go, thinking surely this will wake him.  Nope. 

I get on my hands and knees.  This is easier than walking.  I crawl to our bedroom door, open it and reach for the light switch.  Keith, it's happening!  We're going to have a baby! 

Sunday ~ October 27, 2002
When we arrived at the hospital at 2:00 this morning, I expected to give this child the push he needed to start his life on earth.  That is the whole reason I refused the epidural.  I wanted to go all-natural.  I wanted to feel him come into this world. 

Now I lay in my hospital bed, unable to move the lower portion of my body.  I feel so many things right now, and yet I feel nothing at the same time.  That's the only way I know to describe it.  I'm elated that Bryson is finally here, but I am so disappointed that I couldn't get him here.  I labored for fourteen and half hours.  I pushed for two and half of those hours, but I could not get him out.  I had an emergency c-section.  Bryson was born at 2:48pm, but not because of me.  The doctors had to cut me open and pull him out.  I did not see that moment.  I did not even feel that moment.  I feel like a failure.

The nurse asks me again, "Can you wiggle your toes?  Well, look at that.  They're wiggling.  How would you like to hold your baby?"

I cry as I remember the first time I held him in my arms.  I am in shock.  This is my child.  All I can say is, "Unbelievable."  I say it over and over again.  I can't believe he is mine.  I can't believe he is mine.  I can't believe he is mine.  I look into his blue eyes, and I feel an overwhelming sense of purpose and belonging.  I am his, and he is mine.  Thank you God. 

Monday ~ October 28, 2002
Dr. Lennon comes into my hospital room.  "There's the new mommy," he says.  He tells me I did good.  He tells me I am tough.  He tells me I have a beautiful baby.  I smile.  Then I apologize for all those bodily functions I wasn't able to control during child birth.