Brant

Brant Hansen is one of my personal heroes.  He's had his own show on Air1 for awhile, and he is able to represent and explain Jesus in a way I have never known anyone else to do.  It's nothing less than profound to me, and has brought so much healing and joy to my life.  Plus he's absolutely hilarious.  You can listen to two minutes of him on the air and both cry, and then laugh until you cry again.

As of this week he is no longer with Air1 and I am so deeply saddened.  I've very thankful he has his own blog so I can keep following him.  Check him out.  He's so honest and deeply refreshing.

http://branthansen.com/

An Alarmingly Validating Blog Post

http://marklovefurniture.com/blog/2013/07/06/eleven-things-you-might-not-understand-about-your-minister/#comment-28232

I have too much to say about this blog post, so I will not post my thoughts today.  Please read it.  SO good.  I wish my dad was here to send this to.

Another "Missing Dad" Post

I find myself going to my dad's facebook page at the end of most days; it's like a gravitational pull.  I'm always disappointed, but I'm not sure what I'm hoping to find there.  There were these months of crying each time I drove in the car by myself, sat at the computer by myself, or talked about him.  There has been disbelief, layer after layer of it, sadness, anger, joy, and bitterness.  I think right now, though, I am just stuck at Frustration.  I don't cry most days now, and the sting of his absence is less, but watching everything crumble around where he should still be standing is unbearable in a new way.  Oh, how much his wisdom is missed.

His gentleness, sincerity, his humor.

The way I believed - truly believed deep down in my bones - that I was safe with him near me.

Now it's just........gone.  The newness of his death has worn off of most people.  The company has gone home.  Long-lost friends who initially started calling to console are now distant again.  All the "first's" have passed: first birthday without him, first Christmas, first wedding anniversary, first Father's Day, first anniversary of his death.  It feels too soon for the "others" in life, i.e. coworkers, neighbors, friends, acquaintances, etc. to move on.  Uhh, hello!  Jeff Woods is still gone.  The world is still not normal and never will be again!  Everything has changed and it sucks.  This man is GONE!  How can you dare to laugh? Doesn't his life mean ANYTHING to you?!  

People now ask how I'm doing so nonchalantly, lacking the caution and sympathetic look they used to give when they asked me that question.  Sometimes I get so offended about that!  How am I doing? You know my dad's still dead, right?  What do you mean, how am I doing?

I miss our life.  I miss the way things made sense and how there was an order to the universe.  Arguing politics and religion was safe with my dad.  Everyone left with their tails a little ruffled but the next conversation was back to silly and comfortable as usual.  We all had our roles, we all knew when it was time to stop being ridiculous, to stop behaving badly, or start listening to our parents.  Now our roles have been thrown to the wind, and we're all trying to grasp at them.  It didn't make sense, it's constantly evolving, and there is nothing sturdy about them.  Security has been lost.  We're each left trying to grapple at how to navigate this life without him, both independently and as a family.  It's like shifting sand now, never stable for a second anymore.  As soon as things start to settle, a wave crashes and everything has changed again.  I sooo long for us to go back to how we used to be, when we knew our direction and didn't need to seek out fleeting and foolish illusions of happiness to sustain us.  I thought we were stronger than that, more solid.  I'm not recognizing our once-strong family anymore.  Part of me hopes that Dad can't see us from heaven because I think he would be so sad at what he sees.

Still Gives Me Chills

Feeling helpless and unworthy

Please please pray for wisdom for Mark and I as we try to figure out what is best for Izaiah.  He has been getting increasingly aggressive and explosive, and we are struggling just to breath.  There are no good options available to us.  There are great resources, such as respite, mentors, therapy, inpatient treatment, residential programs, behavioral school, etc., but each of those things comes with a cost.  For example, if we have Izaiah stay a weekend at a respite home - even a GOOD respite home - he feels abandoned and fearful that we do not really want him, and he acts out aggression for a week afterwards.  Not to mention it takes several therapy sessions to once again make any seemingly small progress at convincing his bruised and battered little heart that his mommy and daddy can be trusted and adore him beyond words.  If he attends behavioral school he has more staff who are trained to deal with his aggression and has therapeutic services going on all day.  BUT his quantity and quality of education severely suffers, and he is re-exposed to violence from other kids on a daily basis.  I become so weighed down with despair that I cannot provide the supports he really needs, that it feels impractical to even get out of bed.  I feel like I'm failing at being a mom, both for him and Dre.  I could cry all day if given the time to.

I'm so grateful for God's grace for me.  I struggle with being depressed and having this high anxiety, but at the end of the day He provides a soft spot for me to land, and He is my comfort when there is no other comfort to be found.  My "church issues" have been creeping back up, and I once again find myself in this place of anxiety, isolation, shame, heavy self-criticism, and feeling unworthy.  Aren't I just a piece of work, geez!  The enemy doesn't have to come up with new tricks to break me, because the same ones work on me over and over and over and over.    Ugh, I want to tell the enemy to "Go to Hell!!!" but I think he likes it there. He's like a prowling lion, looking for someone to devour (1 Peter 5:8).  I'm glad that at the end of the day, God gets the last word, and His word is that I am His beloved.  Some affirmations I am printing out for my office (aka cubicle):

I am chosen and beloved!
I will not be condemned by God.
I have been set free from the law of sin and death.
I have been accepted by Jesus.
In Christ Jesus, I have wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.
I am a new creature in Christ.
I am no longer a slave!
I have been set free through Jesus!
I am chosen, holy, and blameless before God!
Because of God's mercy and love, I have been made alive with Christ!

Dad's Playlist

I can't do much else than sit and listen to the playlist I made of my dad's favorite songs.  It's pretty old-school...and AWESOME.

On the dreaded one year anniversary of his ascent to heaven (doesn't that sound so much happier than another word I could use?) I stayed home and this is what I did.  It was a ROUGH. DAY.  And then I found out that my favorite band, the most awesome, amazing band, Needtobreathe, is coming to STL for a FREE concert!!!!  It was like a present from above, especially since one of the reasons I love them so much is that they sing about experiences I've had and remind me of my dad.  So thanks to whichever Dad up there orchestrated that! :)

David

I fully intend on posting my "Eric, Part 2" post, just not today.  I have to be in the right mood to write, especially when it is emotional content.  I don't want anyone to think I am writing to badmouth anyone or take out revenge on Eric by slamming his character on my blog.  The story has a good ending, an ending God orchestrated beautifully and hopefully you will be blessed by hearing about it when I finally post the ending.  Such suspense.  Fun fact: Sometimes I watch the end of movies first because I can't stand the suspense and anxiety I feel throughout the movie if I don't know whether or not it has a happy ending.

My baby brother graduated high school over the weekend and I am one proud big sister!  Not because he graduated...I would be proud of him regardless.  He's such a great kid, I mean, man!  It's hard to believe he is 19 years old!  Fun story I just thought of.  After Hannah and Jonathan were born, I guess I really still wanted another sibling.  When I was 8 and 9 I would BEG my mother to please have another baby.  I wanted another baby brother so badly.  I begged and begged and prayed and prayed and prayed.  When I would blow out my birthday candles I would wish for a baby brother.  When I would blow dandelions I would wish for a baby brother.  Finally one day my mom brought me into her bedroom and sat me down for a very solemn talk.  She told me that my dad had a vasectomy that week, and it would not be possible for me to have another baby brother.  Oh, how devastated I was!  Mom, did I cry?  I'm sure I cried.  Fast forward a few weeks.  My mom brought me into her bedroom for another talk.  She sat me on the bed and told me that she was pregnant!  I was elated!  God listened to that little 9 year old and gave me the desire of my heart!  Once he was born you could not pry me away from him!  I was his "Sissy Mama" and have been in love ever since.

Congratulations David!  Remember...wear sunscreen.

http://youtu.be/sTJ7AzBIJoI

Jesus > Religion

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IAhDGYlpqY

Betrayal, Part 1

I was 11 when we moved to St. Louis.  My dad took a position as Youth Minister at a church in Ladue.  We were closer to my grandparents and dad's side of the family, to my dad's lifelong best friend, Steve, and back in his hometown.  Moving to St. Louis felt so glamorous and mature to me.  I made fast friends in the youth group, and being the daughter of one of the ministers, quickly inherited 400 people who loved me and my family and were for us.  It was instant acceptance and instant family.  I was excited to be a part of that church.  I felt alive and like I had another chance at reinventing the "cool" me that I desperately wanted to be.  Everything was exciting.  My friends in the youth group were all older and just so cool.  I got to spend tons of time with my dad since we were always doing youth group and church activities together.  Since my dad was my favorite and most beloved person, this was heaven.  He was my best friend, the one I confided everything in, although I would not have admitted that at the time.  He was just so COOL.  What daughter wouldn't be so proud of a dad that teenagers wanted to hang out with, ones who were fine with being seen with him at the movies on a Friday night.  This was a charmed life, at least when I was with him.

Every Sunday morning we went to church, stayed for lunch in the Fellowship Hall, drove the 25 miles home to relax for about an hour, and then my dad and I would head back to the church for youth group that evening.  If we didn't have youth group, a bunch of us were usually hanging out anyways.  Wednesday nights were devoted to youth group, and at least that Friday or Saturday was spent doing activities like video scavenger hunts, service projects, and lock-ins.  At least every other month we took a weekend trip, whether it was to Pinecrest, youth rallies, Cardboard Castles, or Spring Sing.  There were church ladies retreats at Camp Lakewood, family retreats at Neotez, the most wonderful place on earth.  During the summer, we spent at least one week at Neotez and we would drive the five+ hours to Arkansas for a week of Uplift on Harding's campus.  There was always a week-long mission trip or camping trip to Colorado.  Tuesdays were service project days that usually ended at the pool or getting ice cream.  Bible class, church picnics, Small groups, singing group, girly sleepovers.  Aside from school, my world was church.  I loved knowing every single person at church, feeling like every mom there's daughter; even the constant hugs from the old ladies and lectures from the grown-ups.  This, to me, was family.

My dad had replaced the former youth minister, who was one of his closest friends.  Eric was fired from being the youth minister after his wife left him, and there were "concerned parents" that were afraid that Eric, being in his twenties, would take solace in romancing one of their beautiful 16 year old daughters.  I remember sitting at a Dairy Queen, pretending not to listen as Eric told my dad he had asked the elders to replace him with my dad, because if his youth group had to go to anyone else, he wanted it to be him.  I probably would have felt bad for the guy, but his misfortune meant a whole new world for me.  Eric kept going to that church and even kept helping out with the youth group.  My dad was always the most loyal friend.  He knew how hard it must have been for his friend to not only lose his wife and his job, but also to feel like he lost his own kids, because that's how close he was with the youth group.

There was one Sunday night, not too long after my dad moved us to St. Louis, that the youth group decided to hang out after Sunday night service.  This was before cell phones, when you had to make a solid plan in advance in order to hang out with your friends.  The youth group stood around and talked about options of where to go.  Eric spoke up and offered for everyone to come to his place.  I could tell this was a little awkward for my dad, as he was still the new youth minister, trying to earn his place among a youth group who still were so deeply loyal and attached to the former one.  Was it okay to go hang out at the old youth minister's house?  And with the new youth minister?  I watched everyone intently, like the scene from a movie.  I have always been so vigilant and watchful of other people.  My dad made light of the awkwardness I'm sure everyone felt.  People started deciding who would ride with who over to Eric's apartment.  Naturally I was going to ride with my dad.  Eric offered to take a car full.  It seemed like everyone else had driven their own cars or were riding with their friend who had.  Somehow no one ended up riding with me and my dad.  Everyone walked out to the parking lot together.  My dad and I sat in the humming car, windows down, waiting to be part of the caravan while everyone else stood chatting at Eric's car.

"Go on ahead!  We'll be right behind you," yelled Eric to my dad.

My dad and I drove to Eric's apartment and waited.  No one came.  We waited for at least an hour.  We waited at his door, then stood down in the parking lot, but no ones' car pulled in.

My dad always had the kindest and most compassionate eyes.  His whole face smiled, and he was always in a good mood, always wise and statuesque.  But I remember the look on his face that night, as we both realized no one was coming.  He'd been tricked, left out, ditched, and we both knew it.

"Well...that's alright Babe," he said as we walked to the car.  "Probably just a mixup."  He half smiled but I knew that was just to hide the pain he felt.  I could see the pain of betrayal behind his kind eyes. I didn't fully understand it, but I sensed the awkwardness, the way everyone avoided eye contact with my dad that next Wednesday.  I'm sure someone gave an excuse as to why none of them followed us to Eric's house as planned, but I don't remember.  I just remember the tension in Eric's voice as he sat in the room of teenagers when we walked in.

"Hey, Jeff," he said, with a smug look on his face.  "Sorry about the other night," he offered, mentally daring my dad to confront him.  I watched my 6'4", confident, built, seemingly untouchable Daddy lower his head like a puppy with his tail between his legs.  I wanted to kill Eric.

Valentine's Day

This was my Valentine's surprise from my boys when I got home from work!

Leaving the garage......

Entering the back door.....

White chocolate covered strawberries AND a Reese's!!!!!

On the wall.....

Card from Izaiah :)

I was too busy loving on my boys to snap the end result picture of finding them, but you get it.  You know what they look like.  Swoon :)