You Have to Move Toward Him, Even When it Hurts

In life, there are good days and bad days.

I've written about how we've been dealing with this pressure sore on M's bottom for the last couple of months. Some days, it's better and he's up and everything feels normal.

I like those days.

Then, other days, it flares back up, and he's stuck in bed on his side and that's no fun for anyone. There is a lot of sweating and discomfort, and flipping from side to back to side, and there are lots of pillows and teeth brushings in bed.

It sucks, actually.

We had a good day, despite all of this, the other day. Followed by a really bad couple of days.

Thank God for grace. If we didn't have grace with each other, I'm sure we wouldn't be able to keep going, because this is really hard, and it won't leave us alone and we're so tired.

The other night, I slept in the guest room. It was sad. I didn't want to be alone. But the muscle spasms wouldn't stop and I couldn't sleep, so Michael insisted I go.

I begged for mercy as I finally fell asleep on my tear-drenched pillow. I was pretty much out of hope. But, I eventually did fall asleep.

In my dream, Michael was standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom (which is upstairs), telling me it would be okay. I felt comforted in my dream, but then when I woke up, it actually made me feel worse, because I know that's never going to happen.

He'll never stand in a doorway. He'll probably never even see the upstairs of our house. He'll never be able to scoop me up, and carry me and hold me. He can tell me it's going to be okay. He can give me a pep talk, and pray for me, and be strong for me emotionally and spiritually, when I'm spent.

But not if it's not for grace.
Because, he's not perfect, he's human. And I'm not perfect, I'm human.
And this big, huge thing in our marriage also isn't perfect, but it's not human, so we can't even reason with it, or bargain with it.

It's concrete. It doesn't budge.
So, we must.

I cried so many tears over the last few days because I just wanted so badly to be rescued. I want that man standing in the doorway, surprising me with his strength, to scoop me up and save me.

I get so tired of saving myself.

The thing about being married to someone who sometimes literally can't move toward me, is that even when I don't want to/don't think I can/I'm sick of doing it myself, I have to be the one to move.

I have a choice. I can move away from him, or I can move toward him.

Often times, I don't get this right on the first try. And all I do is make things worse. I hate it when I do that.

To the other wives in this situation, make the right choice. Move toward him.
Husbands, remember that your wife wants to be rescued. She understands what you can and what you can't do. Rescue her in the way that you can. It means so much.

John Eldredge describes this need that we as women have, so well:

“I wasn't mean; I wasn't evil. I was nice. And let me tell you, a hesitant man is the last thing in the world a woman needs. She needs a lover and a warrior, not a Really Nice Guy.” 
― John Eldredge, Wild at Heart: Discovering the Secret of a Man's Soul

This morning, I told Michael about my dream. I don't usually tell him about those dreams, because I can't say the words without tears and I can't stand to see tears well up in his eyes. But, I told him, then I laid down next to him and we held on.

Now, as I write, and process, I'm reminded of a Susan Ashton song from the 1990s. This song was on one of the first "Christian" CDs I owned as a new Christian teenager. I've always loved it.

So, you'll pardon the cheesiness of the 90s with me, right? Because here it is, in all its YouTube glory:

You Move Me

by Susan Ashton

This is how it seems to me

Life is only therapy

Real expensive

And no guarantee

So I lie here on the couch

With my heart hanging out

Frozen solid with fear

Like a rock in the ground

Oh but you move me

You give me courage I didn't

Know I had

You move me on

I can't go with you

And stay where I am

So you move me on

Here is how love was to me

I could look and not see

Going through the emotions

Not knowin' what they mean

And it scared me so much

That I just wouldn't budge

I might have stayed there forever

If not for your touch

Oh but you move me

Out of myself and into the fire

You move me

Now I'm burning with love

And with hope and desire

How you move me

You go whistling in the dark

Making light of it

Making light of it

And I follow with my heart

Laughing all the way

Oh 'cause you move me

You get me dancing and you

Make me sing

You move me

Now I'm taking delight

In every little thing

How you move me

So, let's be brave. Let's move toward each other. Let's give and receive grace. Let's rescue and be rescued. And hold on tight. Because the bad day won't last forever. And when it is over, we want to be closer to each other, not further apart.

I Wish I Didn't Like Stuff

Sometimes I look back on my single days so fondly.

Like, what did I do with all of my free time?

Oh yeah, I wandered around my apartment, wearing a cushy blanket and eating Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and Meatballs and eating Famous Amos cookies, and watching seasons of Gilmore Girls on DVD and I read Nicholas Sparks books.

The truth is, those days weren't really all that great.

But, the shopping was!

The other day, I had to go to Target and spend $93.00 on things like allergy medicine, and medical supplies and ziploc bags and I had to just walk by all of the fun stuff.

Target is evil, because they make you pass the cute stuff to get to the necessary stuff.
But, I stayed strong.

I did not buy any of the following three things that wanted me to buy them.

1. The Choose Love/Be Amazing/Choose Happiness/Be Peaceful/Feel Beautiful candles. I think these candles smell so good, plus I'm such a sucker for cute packaging. But, nothing was on clearance, so I walked away.

2. New scents of Mrs. Meyers Clean Day. I'm addicted to this stuff, but I usually stock up around Earth Day, when the coupons are awesome.

3. Random blue Ball Vintage Style Mason Jars. Pinterest pretty much exploded in my brain as I walked by, and I thought of like 47 cute things I could create in/with these jars.

I actually left Target the other day feeling kind of down. We had a very tough Summer, financially. And things are finally getting better, thank the Lord! But, I can't bring myself to spend money on things we just don't need.

I wish I just didn't want stuff! It would be so much easier. I wish if I had an extra $30, I wanted to spend it on something noble like feeding hungry kids or giving so they can have clean water, or saving those sad, slow motion dogs in those Sarah McLachlan commercials, and I do want to save those dogs and feed the children.

But I also want all this cute Target crap that I don't need.

Oh well. I'm proud of myself for walking away.

Because I'm a grown up now, and I have to make wise choices with the money that we're blessed with.

I miss the rush of shopping, but I have learned to get a little rush out of saving money instead of spending it.

Saturday, I went to Sam's Club thanks to my new membership (thanks, Mom!) and I'm so excited to save money by shopping there again.

Also, I realized that the Jiffy Lube Groupon is back, if you live in Hampton Roads, this is a good one and I'm always so happy when it coincides with when our vehicles are due for service.

And, I found out that emeals is running a Cyber Week special, so you can get 30% off their meal plans. This is awesome for us, because I loved doing the Fresh20 meal plan, but we stopped doing that when we started eating Paleo, and having to plan my own menu each week is just too stressful and I usually fail and end up at a drive thru or ordering food through an app or standing in line every Thursday at Chipotle, and that's not cool.

I hope those links help you if you're in a similar situation.
I've also found that pinning things I want on Pinterest is a fun window-shopping type experience that is generally free.

This Love Is Ours

I wake up at weird times on the weekends, because I work at weird times during the week.

I don't hate it.

So, yesterday, I was peeling sweet potatoes in my kitchen at 5:00 a.m.
I was sliding the potato peeler toward the stainless steel bowl, careful to make sure the peels landed inside the bowl, when I noticed a little brown spot on the potato.

These potatoes are a couple of weeks old, and the only reason I was peeling them at 5:00 a.m., was to throw them in a breakfast skillet, because I knew they needed to be eaten soon.

I took a closer look and noticed it was a heart!

I ran it into the bedroom to show Michael.
I thought it was extra cute, because I don't know if y'all know this but, Michael calls me "Sweet," short for sweetheart - which I have no idea where I got that name, because I am a lot of things, but I am generally not very sweet. But anyway, somehow I have him fooled, and for that, I'm grateful.

I served M breakfast in bed, then I highlighted my hair, and took a shower, then I was going to get him up. We were easing into a weekend that included fun, festive plans.

But then, when I rolled him over, getting him ready for the day, I noticed that dang pressure sore, screaming back at me.

Y'all, it's back.
Well, I guess I shouldn't say back, because it hasn't technically gone away since before July, but it's back as in it's mad again, and I had to be the mean nurse lady, and put M back on bed rest.

I don't know if we are finally getting used to this crap, or if maybe a bunch of people are praying for us, but it was really okay.

I was kind of sad to miss the Christmas Parade with my family, but my number one priority was taking care of my husband, and doing everything I could to cheer him up. I want to be his helper in a way that makes things better and easier for him, not in a way that makes things worse.

So, on his side he went.
I went out and ran errands, then came back, and we had sushi in bed and watched a few episodes of Homeland on the iPad.

We were sweet to each other.
We cuddled a lot.

I got him up late afternoon just long enough for him to shave and wash his hair. Then put him back in bed, and I cooked and cleaned a little, and watched the news.

I made pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, because those bring cheer.
I ate four.
The fourth one was outright sin.
I may or may not have eaten three more before writing this blog post at 4:00 this morning.

Before we fell asleep, we laid in bed, both on our side, and Michael and I took turns reading from the book of Philippians, and we prayed together.

And I remembered, that as long as we lean into each other, as long as we lean into the Lord and really trust Him, and as long as we don't zoom out too far and look at ourselves and especially if we don't allow ourselves to feel sorry for ourselves or each other, we really can do this and it really isn't that bad.

There has been a lot of not-fun in our lives this year. Dreams not coming true. Bills not being paid. Pressure sores not healing. Us not sleeping.

I bought a 2014 planner the other day.
I can't wait to get the new year started.
This one has been a hard one.

But, at least we've done it together.
We are a team.
No added annoyance or challenge can take that away from us.

I think we make it through because we really mean it.
We really love each other.
Deep down.
Beyond the platitudes and beyond the routine.
Our 'survival mode' is rooted in hunkering down and holding on to each other.

So, I'll take days like yesterday that don't go as planned, but end happily and together. I'll take as many as I can get.

Because, to steal a line from a Taylor Swift song, this love is ours.

Happy Fifty to my Wonderful Wife

Today is our fiftieth! Fifty months, that is.

Somewhere early in our marriage I suggested we celebrate our "monthaversary" of our wedding. It seemed like a novelty for the first year, but four years later the gag is still going. 

A year is too long to wait to recognize our special commitment and in the days and weeks we are overwhelmed with the routine crises. But every month on the sixth I remind Dana how much I love her and how glad I am to be her husband. 

I imagine in forty-six years we will enjoy a well-deserved getaway. But until then I'll keep remembering the monthly celebration of our special day. 

You Need To Read: A Million Little Ways

This morning, I finished a book.
Then, as soon as I had the chance, I went online and ordered a copy for my friend Kimberly.

You know a book is good when you can't wait to share it!

I received my copy of A Million Little Ways at Allume. Emily Freeman spoke briefly before dinner that night, and I remember just wanting to hear more from her.

Because her message, about uncovering the art we were made to live met me right where I am right now. I've known for a while that I have a story to tell. Recently I got a couple of big, bold nudges to jump into the book writing world.

I'm terribly afraid of the rejection that you read so much about.
But I also know that if I don't put myself out there right now, and try, that I'm being disobedient.

I have to live the art I was made to create.
It's against the grain for me.
Because I'm a list maker, not a dreamer, by nature.

I don't go slowly.
I don't savor.
I don't, as Emily would say, 'let my soul breathe.'

But, I'm taking this big risk.
And one of the only things that brings me peace is the fact that I do feel like it's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing right now.

I think everyone should read this book, and check out Emily's blog, Chatting At The Sky.

I personally can't get enough Emily Freeman right now.
In the least-stalkery way possible, I want to drink the wisdom God has penned through her hands.

Seriously, y'all. I'm not getting paid to write this. This book is beautiful. And not just because the cover matches my life, but because the message matches my desire.

Chapter 7 is my favorite. I think I underlined every other sentence.

Here are some of my highlights:

Art makes it possible for us to remember both the beauty and the horrific, the lovely and the loss. Art numbs the wound just enough for us to be able to access the source of it, to reach down into the depth and pull it up to examine.

As important as it is to embrace the gifts you have and the unique ways you can offer hope to others, you also need to recognize and embrace what brings out the hope in you. What touches your soul so deeply that it causes tears to come out? We're talking about magic water that pours out of your eyes. Maybe paying attention to what calls the water forth will give us a hint as to what it is that makes us come alive.

... maybe tears are tiny messengers, secret keepers of the most vulnerable kind, sent to deliver a most important message - Here is where your heart beats strong. Here is a hint to your design. Here is a gift from your inner life, sent to remind you of those things that make you come alive. These tears carry the gift of your desire. Listen to them. Change in the world comes when we acknowledge what moves us and why.

Y'all know, I write a lot about the things that make me cry. So it should come as no surprise that my major takeaway had something to do with tears.

I'm a feeler, what can I say?

Get this book and let me know what you think. Happy December.

Thankful.

It has been such a glorious Thanksgiving weekend.

We ate at my sister's. FaceTimed with my brother. Drank mimosas from Brandy's mimosa bar. I snuggled Caplin for HOURS. I put way too much food on Michael's plate. Jimmy made a delicious feast. I love my family, and Thanksgiving Day represented all that is good about living at home.

I spent almost all of Friday, on the couch. I think I watched episodes of Dateline that went back to September. The TiVo literally thanked me. Michael and I ordered pizza and a movie and for the first time in years, I stayed awake for the whole thing.

It was Silver Linings Playbook, and I loved it.

Yesterday, I spent the day decorating this house for the first time for Christmas. I repurposed decorations we've had for years, and I had a lot of fun.

I decided to do the tree in just green and teal and silver and white, so that it didn't clash with the already-established theme of the living/dining area: teal and coral.

I put the red stuff upstairs.

I put lights on the balcony.

And in jars...

It was a blast.

Now, I drink black coffee, and write by the light of the Christmas tree and I kind of don't want the sun to come up, because it's just so beautiful.

Michael is doing so much better. We are pretty much back to our little normal.

And, I'm thankful.

Made Up Meal: Pork Tenderloin & Veggies

I try to plan our menu each week and prep meals on Sundays, so that I don't end up at Chipotle every Thursday, dropping $20 on a burrito and a salad.

For the past couple of months, I've been working my way through the Practical Paleo cookbook.
But every now and then, I like to freestyle.

I've had a couple of big hits at our house, so I thought I'd share them with you!

I wish I could come up with awesome Pinteresty names for my made-up meals, but I'm just not that committed... so I'm calling this one "Pork Tenderloin & Veggies."

I know.
You're inspired now, aren't you?

Well, here's what you need:

1 garlic pork tenderloin (I bought mine pre-seasoned, at Trader Joes. It was about 2 lbs)
1 tbsp coconut oil
1 tbsp olive oil
1 large sweet potato
1 red bell pepper
1 red onion
1 zucchini
1 gala apple
sea salt
pepper
dry rosemary
dry basil

Heat the coconut oil in a skillet, then sear the pork tenderloin on all sides, then take it out of the skillet.
Add the sweet potato, red bell pepper, red onion, zucchini (all sliced into approximately one inch pieces) to the skillet with olive oil, sea salt, pepper, dry rosemary and dry basil. Cook on high heat, searing the edges.

Put the seared pork tenderloin into a baking dish.
Surround it with the seared veggies.
Top with a chopped up gala apple (skin on).

Bake at 350 for about 35 minutes*, uncovered.

*Or as long as it takes for your tenderloin to reach an internal temperature of 145 degrees.

I hope you like it! If you make it, let me know!

Ready.

Yesterday, I was grocery shopping at Kroger and a lady stocking the yogurt mentioned that Thanksgiving is later than normal this year.

I hadn't even noticed, but I think I like it.

There are two groups of people, you know.
Like Republicans and Democrats.
Calvinists and Armenians.
There are those who are okay with doing Christmasy things before Thanksgiving and those who wait until after Thanksgiving.

I'm on team After Thanksgiving.

Mainly because Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love food.

I will admit... I bought a pack of Holiday Blend K-cups.
Yesterday, I had a Peppermint Mocha.

I actually feel the pull towards Christmasy stuff.

This morning, I woke up early. I was going to write, but all I could do was reminisce and read Emily Freeman's archived blog posts about writing.

When I was walking down the steps for 6:00 a.m. snuggles with Michael, I thought about digging out the Christmas decorations.

But, I will wait.
Because I'm off on Thursday and Friday, and I'd rather do it when I can finish it, than start it and have a mess around here for a few days.

I remember this time last year.
Being tired and worn out and war-weary in my post-election fog.
I didn't want to make any big life decisions until I took a month off of work.

So much for that.

I took a phone call at work one day, from a 757 number.
It was some guy named Jim who wanted to talk to me about WAVY and journalism and news philosophy.

The next thing I knew, I was talking to him on the phone again, in the Panera parking lot.
Then, I bought a brown suit and went in for an interview.

The next thing I knew, boxes were piled seven feet high in our apartment on Christmas and I was neck deep in a search for a house built on a slab, with a downstairs bedroom and bathroom with 31 inch door ways.

I decorated our little Northern Virginia apartment for Christmas, one last time.

We moved in January.
So that life could slow down.
No commute.
No travel.

You know the story.
Because I've been stuck in it for the last year. It's all I can seem to write about.

Moving back 'home' hasn't been what I thought it would be, in a lot of ways.
This turned out to be a hard year.

Financial challenges.
Health challenges.
Workaholism rearing its head in a big, ugly way.

I've been learning a lot about myself this year.
That is never fun, but I do encourage it.

I feel ready to decorate for Christmas.
I feel ready to celebrate.
I feel ready to welcome a new year.
I feel ready to share parts of myself with you in a new, fresh way that scares me.

And most of all, I feel ready to move on.

Why It Hurts When Something Messes With Your Normal

I haven't cried in the last 24 hours, I don't think.
And that feels great.

Because there has been a lot of crying around here for the last week.

I feel obligated to open up and share about what's going on with us, because I'm starting to get messages on Facebook from concerned friends.

First, know this: We are fine. We will get through this. Things like this happen. They will happen again, I will cry again, we will get through them again. 

Michael has been in bed for three weeks with a pressure sore. If you don't know what that is, just Google it, and I advise you to do so while not clicking on 'images.'

This one was a bad one.
He's had them before, smaller, not as deep, not as angry. And he's laid over on his side for a couple of nights, and they've gone away.

This one was not so easy to deal with.

I blame myself, first because that's what I enjoy doing apparently, and second, because the reason he got this sore is because he lost too much weight and he has no butt to begin with. (I love you, honey.)

I could sit on my big butt in the same position for years, and I would never run out of skin.

We've been eating a Paleo diet and it's been great for me. I've lost almost 40 pounds, and I feel great. But Michael lost weight, too, and clearly not in the right places.

So - yeah.
It's been three weeks. And it looks like it will be another week before this thing is gone.

I did break him out of jail for the couples' retreat, and to celebrate his birthday last weekend.

He is a champ.
He has only complained a little about being stuck in bed. He figured out a way to rig up his shower chair cushion under him so that he could sit up and get work done on the computer.

That's my guy.
He just figures a way around a challenge, and works around it.

Then, there's me.
I have to kick and scream and complain and gnash teeth about everything.
I hate this.
This does not come naturally to me.
I like for things to go my way.
I like to be in charge.

I work very hard.
I work very long, odd hours.
During our 'normal' (a.k.a. when Michael is up, and not in bed nursing a pressure sore) we get little time together.
It's usually the last few minutes before we fall asleep in the morning - when I lay my head on his chest and we talk until I fall asleep. And when we eat dinner (or whatever meal you call it at about 11pm when it's your first meal of the day) for about 20 minutes before I go to work.

Well.
The pressure sore stole all of that.
So, I was left feeling like I don't belong here.
I was PMSing last week, so I knew some of it was drama. I'm not stupid.
But this past week, I wasn't. Yet, I still cried my eyes out every night on my way to work while our home health aide served him dinner in bed, and I snuck out the door to the garage, with my dinner packed in a plastic container to eat at work.

I ate every meal at work.
Because that's where I felt like I belonged.
That's where I can do a good job, and I fit in, and my efforts seem to make a difference.

At home, I just felt in the way. I was standing in front of the trash can when the aide needed to throw something away. I was standing in front of the drawer where she needed to get the ice cream scooper.
I spent as much time as I could upstairs. But I could still hear them talking and laughing downstairs.

And my heart just hurt. I'm not jealous of her in the sense that I think the two of them have something going on. Not at all. I trust Michael 100%, and she is a doll. But I WAS jealous that she was taking care of him. I wanted to take care of him. But I couldn't, because I have to work every day.

Sleep was non-existent. It's harder to fall asleep knowing he may need to be turned or need something at any moment. It's also harder to fall asleep when I can't lay my head on his chest and have that normal cuddle time I'm used to, because he has to lay on his side.

I felt so lonely.
Not alone.
I knew I wasn't alone.
Thanks to the online community of SCI sisters I have, I didn't feel alone.
But I did feel so lonely.

Things are better now. Michael is healing, and we were able to reconnect as just us - like the married couple that we are, in a way that makes him feel like a husband and not a patient, and me feel like a wife and not a slave. And we moved out of the way and put God back where He belongs - in the middle.

Because we have to be reminded from time to time, we can't heal each other's hurts! We can't be enough for each other. We can't be each other's joy. Only God can fill those huge holes!

Yesterday, I got Michael up in sweats and we took it easy around the house. And I went and picked up take out from the Cheesecake Factory, thanks to a birthday gift card from my mom, and birthday money from his parents that we used for a tip.

And a light bulb went off.
This made it easier.

This made it feel like we are an us.
Not like I'm a cook and a maid and he is a patient, and we can have a second where we eat together, then it's back into work mode.

So, that's why I made the post on Facebook:
To all of my friends who always ask if there is anything you can do to help, besides prayer and I always say no. I have decided, you can give us restaurant gift cards.  Oh, and send wine. 

Not because it's the end of the world or because someone is dying or something.
Because people do ask me if there is anything they can do. Honestly. I get asked this a lot. And I always think 'no, there's really not.' And I realized last night, that there is!

Because it turns out cooking and cleaning up after cooking - on top of working 10-12 hours a day (at night), and managing a household while your husband is bedridden - is actually pretty hard.

And picking up dinner from a restaurant and throwing a bunch of plastic in the trash can feels pretty stinking normal, and that feels pretty stinking good.

To My Husband, On Your Birthday

This is your fifth birthday since we’ve been married.

Time is flying.

I remember the first year, when I tried to make you birthday cinnamon buns in the morning, just like my friend Jennifer Petterec, who does really creative, beautiful things for her family, like serve cinnamon buns with birthday candles in the morning.

Except that I stuffed the candles in the buns when they were piping hot, went to get you up and dressed, and then breakfast consisted of cinnamon buns with icing... and green wax.

You were so sweet, and ate around the wax.

I remember the third year, when ‘three’ tried to rob us of your birthday, but we pulled together, got through it, and ended up celebrating with a group of friends at a sports bar, where you asked for Coffee with Baileys, and the waiter brought you a cup of coffee... with BAY LEAVES.

Earlier that day, I held you while you cried, then you held me while I cried, and in the end, we were closer for it, and we won.

Last year, we went to a Jazz Brunch in DC where the guy in the gospel band was singing and talking about the ‘woman with the issue of blood,’ as I sipped by bloody mary.

We still joke about that.

Happy Birthday to you, my Love.
There is no better day to celebrate, in my eyes.

I’ll see you in an hour, when we will have chocolate cake and Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla, for breakfast.
Because that’s our little tradition. 

And there's no candle wax to eat around, I promise.

Tomorrow, we celebrate 6 years since we had that awkward conversation about how I didn’t want to be your ‘buddy.’ More about that, tomorrow.