30th Manifesto

My 30 Year Manifesto

I turned 30 on June 1st. 

Now, I am not one who dreads birthdays. I don't fear growing older.  I don't check the mirror frantically for gray hairs and wrinkles.  Every day is a blessing, every year is a blessing.  I have everything I had ever dreamed to have at this point in my life, and much more.  But still, turning 30 felt like a pretty big deal.  

I did a lot of thinking and praying leading up to my birthday.  I felt a pull to step forward into the next 30 years with more purpose and understanding than I've lived with for the last 30.  

I prayed, reflected, and listened.  I decided that the themes for my 30 Year Manifesto just HAD to be moderation and intentionality.  I won't go as far as to say balance, because there are definitely things in life worth tipping the scales for.  There are causes and beliefs that I am passionate about, people I will move mountains for.  I believe that is good.  But I also know myself well enough to know that I am a "knee jerk reaction" kind of person.  I act with my heart more often than my head.  Fortunately, I'm a pretty smart girl and that part usually takes care of itself...to say, it usually all turns out okay in spite of my strong emotional motivations.  

So, I sat down and wrote up a list of "guidelines".  I won't call them rules, because they aren't hard and fast.  Just general "good ideas" and "bad ideas" for moving forward and growing in the right direction.

So, without further ado:

My 30 Year Manifesto

~Eat food that makes me feel good after it's swallowed.

     I have a list of specifics here, but mostly I am sick of eating something that is supposed to taste amazing, only to be let down by the taste, and later let down further by the headache, nausea, bloat, and general discomfort.  

~Record more positives.

     Good things are happening all around me all of the time.  It is so easy to let them slide by unnoticed.  I want to be more intentional about noticing the good things, the little tiny rays of sunshine in the day to day.

~Focus intentional energy in my areas of calling on a regular basis. 

     For me these have to do with relationship building and self-care.  I have set specific intervals for girls nights out, date nights with Snuggs, writing and reflecting time alone, quiet time with God.

~Treat my body as a temple of the Lord.  Be healthy and strong for myself and my family.

     Countless tiny steps resulted in my first half-marathon less than 2 months before my birthday.  I just registered for another one.  I don't have big impressive PR goals.  I don't have a weight goal, or a size goal.  I just want to be healthy, be able to chase my kids for fun without being winded, and feel comfortable and confident in the body God gave me.  I want to be a good model for my daughter of how to view and treat her own body.  I want to be a good example for my son of what REAL female beauty means.  A slightly more complicated part of this has to do with ending the comparisons.  God didn't make me tiny, and that doesn't make me any less worthy or beautiful than those who occupy a smaller amount of space than I do.

That's it.  That's my 30 Year Manifesto.  I may stick with that until I'm 40.  I may decide next year that it needs to be changed.  But for now, that's where I am, and it feels pretty darn good to be there.     

 

I'll elaborate here a bit on the last tenant of my manifesto.  It's definitely the hardest for me.  I was never very body-confident in the first place, and then I had two relatively humongous children back to back.  Cricket turned one a week after Buttercup was conceived.  He weighed 9lbs 4oz, and she weighed 8lbs after 40 weeks of hyperemesis gravidarum.  My body did a whole lot of changing in two short years, and will continue to change because I can't, for the life of me, get her to wean.  I've been nursing or pregnant (sometimes both) for almost exactly five years.  FIVE YEARS. 

I could tell you about what that means, specifically. I could tell you about the cup sizes I've gone through, sometimes in one day.  I could tell you about the ridiculously large diastasis recti I've worked for almost a year to correct.  I could tell you about the pounds, the pants sizes, and how much I HATE to feel hungry.  But none of that matters anymore.  It did matter.  It matterED.  Those experiences were all valid and transformative.  But none of them define who I am as a child of God.  

I made a decision today.  I decided that I was going to go to the pool with my friends and our children.  I decided that I wasn't going to worry about my body.  I decided that other people probably notice and care about my body approximately as much as I do theirs, and that's pretty next to nil.  I will say, I was a bit taken aback by a woman in a see through tank and no bra in the pool today.  THAT is what it takes to catch my attention.  I don't know or care what size suits my friends had on.  It doesn't matter that it may take one ounce more or one ounce less to sunscreen me than it does to sunscreen you.  

There has been A LOT of hard work done to get to this place.  And by that, I don't mean pounds lost.  I haven't shred a one since I decided I really needed to reconcile my body issues about six months ago.  Exercise is important.  It matters if you want to feel good, function well, and honor what God has given you.  Good food is important.  It matters if you want to feel good, function well, and honor what God has given you.  But you know what, neither food nor exercise has changed my body image.  

That hard work looked more like this: Long, uncomfortable, embarrassing, revealing conversations with trusted friends trying to wrap my mind around HOW I could POSSIBLY be beautiful.  

Tearful prayers of surrendering shame. 

 Snotty sobs on my husbands' shoulder as I sorted through all of the lies I'd been told for 30 years about who I am and how that just isn't enough...or worse, too much (that's a different post).

Hard conversations with mentors about what I'm teaching my daughter without even trying to.  

And yes, the half marathon training and improved nourishment helped.  But not in a calories in/calories out, losing weight sort of way.  Rather, I got another look at how beautiful it is to be STRONG. I learned that my body can do hard things, really hard things.  I learned that I am worth more than the cast off food scraps of my kids, or the leftover junk from a meal out that I would NEVER feed them.  

I learned that a big part of the problem is that I was just spending too much time and energy THINKING about it.  Guess what, my body, regardless of size, shape, and squishiness, was created by God (which inherently makes it amazing, beautiful, and more than good enough) to do His work (which involves a lot more serving others and a lot less worrying about myself.)

So, I went to the pool today.  I went with my saggy boobs that traded perkiness for the nourishment and comfort of two babies.  I went with my squishy tummy that traded firmness for life.  I went with my cellulite, and my bumps and bruises, and the most absolutely ridiculous tan lines from my orthotic sandals.  I went with my hair in a messy bun, and sunscreen in lieu of makeup. And nobody cared, and more importantly, I DIDN'T CARE! And I enjoyed my kids and my friends for WHO they are, not HOW they LOOK, and that love was returned to me.  And tomorrow I will put on decent clothes, makeup, and do my hair, and I will feel pretty, because God made me that way.  I will wear my invisible crown because I am the daughter of The King.  (And I'm considering wearing an ACTUAL crown from time to time, just to reinforce those concepts.)    

 

To the "me" of 5 years ago

Newly engaged, I had never been happier. I couldn't imagine being happier. This picture speaks volumes. The way I held his arm and hand, the closeness. I was safe, well loved, and so deeply joyful. 

I look at this picture and I am absolutely blown away at the thoughts and emotions that flood my mind. Most prominently, "I HAD NO IDEA."

I had no idea how good it would be. 

I had no idea how well he would love me.

I had no idea how little the actual wedding would matter.

I had no way to know how many times he would hold me gently while I cried.

I had no way to know how strongly he would carry my burdens. 

I had no way to know that one awful day I'd look at him and whisper-scream "Get out!" And how blessed I would be that he didn't listen. 

I didn't know a thing about whole foods, GAPS diet, or Sensory Processing Disorder.

I didn't know a thing about hyperemesis gravidarum, or diastasis recti. 

I didn't know a thing about what tired really meant. 

I couldn't anticipate how much of my life would be out of my control-the day to day things like being on time and having a clean shirt.

I couldn't fathom how much I would love my babies the very first millisecond I laid eyes on them. 

I couldn't comprehend how complicated it would be to just get showered, let alone dressed and made up. 

I look at that girl, and mostly I feel GRACE. 

Sweetie, it's okay that you don't deserve such a good man. God is giving him to you as a gift, a blessing. You don't have to "earn" him, you just have to love him. And let him love you, just as messy and complicated as you are. His love will teach you so much about how to love yourself. He will get you there one tiny painful step at a time. 

Sweetie, it's okay that you will stare at his entire huge family you hardly knew and completely panic walking down the aisle. Nobody will know what is going through your head, and you will make it to the man. All they remember is the food, anyway. (Side note-anyone getting married in the fall should serve Thanksgiving dinner at the reception. Everyone still goes on and on about it.) The pictures will be great, the food will be great, I would even go as far as to say the vows will be great. But none of that matters as much as forgiving and trying again to love well tomorrow. 

Sweetie, you think you are in charge, and you are so wrong. But God knows you. He knows your strong will. He knows your tenacity. So He will teach you in the form of a teeny baby girl who will demonstrate to you daily that you are not in control, and that you will only survive by relying on God. She will reflect to you the clearest image of yourself, and you will stand there scratching your head. The question won't be, "How am I supposed to deal with this?" But rather, "How do people deal with ME? (Because she IS me.)

Sweetie, your body is lean. You count your calories the way you will someday count his breath every night for the first two months of his life. You consume things that you would never fathom feeding your children, because you love them too much to fill them with chemical crap. Someday you will shake your head in disbelief every single time you serve your children a snack in a tea cup, because that used to be how you measured your meals. 

Sweetie, that body is also very firm. You worry, as you lie on your side and he holds you, that he can feel your fat. That it will gross him out. That he will want someone else. You would be mortified to know the things he will witness happening to your body through the growth and birth of two children. You can't imagine that squish could be beautiful, but it is. A tummy that has stretched to accommodate a total of 17 pounds and 4 ounces of babies IS beautiful. Someday you will look back and momentarily miss that firm, flat tummy, and then in the next moment you will know with every fiber of your being that you wouldn't trade a single moment  with those sweet babies to have that body back. 

Sweetie, you will be broken. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. You will break. And somehow from the middle of your mess God will put you back together better than you've ever been. You will spend an entire year healing your destroyed stomach muscles. You will spend two learning how to truly love someone who you will never fully understand, someone who makes you completely insane. You will learn, painfully, that this is not your show. It's God's show, and he calls the shots. And you will learn to trust Him when you don't like it and don't understand, and that will be the closest to heaven on earth that you will ever come. 

Sweetie, enjoy the time and space now. Enjoy the sleep, the sleeping in. Enjoy the showers without a toddler repeatedly pulling the curtain out and pouring water all over the floor because you've been out of sight for 30 seconds and YOU ARE SORELY MISSED. Enjoy the time to style your hair, change your mind, start over, and still have time to make it out the door and to your destination without anyone else's bodily fluids on your clothes...or face. Enjoy the boobs that are the same size day and night, regardless of anyone else's appetite. Enjoy the idea that they aren't anyone else's personal belongings, they are just yours. Enjoy these things now, so that when they change you can enjoy the new. Someday very soon you will enjoy rocking a baby all night long regardless of how tired you are. You will also enjoy the friends who bring you Starbucks. Someday you will enjoy the tiny face that peeks into the shower and squeals in delight as the water splashes his face. Someday you will enjoy a ponytail again, and again, and again, because babies need burped and diapers need changed and nobody has time for hair in their way! Someday you will be relieved that at 3am, when you have no idea what is wrong, your boobs have magical milky powers over the fussiest of babies. Someday you will be truly amused as she asks for "the nother one" so many times that you begin to wonder just HOW MANY boobs she thinks you are hiding under your shirt. 

It's not going to be like you think it will be. It's going to be a lot messier and far more exhausting. It's going to require more apologies and forgiveness than you can actually muster at this point, but it's ok. You will learn. Your humility will grow and grow. Your firmness will turn to mush well beyond your belly, deeper than that into your very soul. And it will be good. Even when it's stretched out, running late, and covered in snot, it will be so very good. 

You are a JERK

Let me tell you something about you. You are not too busy. You are not too stressed. You are not even too lazy. You are just downright too damned mean. 

It's hard to write this, because I love you. But I'll go ahead, because I'm completely certain that even if you read it, you will have no idea that it's about you. That would require considering someone else's feelings, and that's just not how you roll. 

"I bet you think this song is about you, don't you? Don't you?"---no, that would be ME, the one who cares about other people's feelings. 

I have two children, one of whom has some special needs; a husband who works long and unpredictable hours, who also has some major medical issues; I'm training for a half-marathon, and I still manage to find time to look outside of myself and my situation. Why? One simple reason: basic human kindness. 

I'll admit, I'm more willing to love on people who reciprocate at least a little. But I know all too well that you can't use that excuse. I know because I have tried and tried and TRIED to love you well. But my well is running dry, and I'm fighting bitterness. 

The saddest part about the whole thing is that you are completely and entirely unaware that you are a huge selfish jerk. I want to say it's not your fault, it's got something to do with how you were raised, but at some point you've got to GROW UP and take responsibility for who you CHOOSE to be as an adult.

Jesus demands that I love you, that I'm kind to you, and that I keep trying because He does. But I'm not Jesus, and I promise to keep trying, but I don't like it and it's HAAAARD. 

I'm not keeping score, but if I had to guess a ball park, I'd say I've done approximately a dozen nice things for approximately 8 people outside of my immediate family in the past MONTH. It makes me happy to make other people happy. I love to love on people just for the sake of doing it. I know, I am a servant by nature and you are not, but could you possibly muster a single solitary effort once...ever? 

I have gotten more legitimate thanks and appreciation and reciprocity from people I hardly know, people who I served because they had lost a loved one, had a major medical issue, or just added a child to their lives. People who truly don't have time to reciprocate, people whose hearts are absolutely broken, people who are scared and hurting, people who have fluids leaking out of every orifice in their body and are rejoicing and soaking in every crooked sleepy smile from their FOURTH dependent.

Don't get me wrong. I don't do it for the appreciation. I don't do it for the thank yous, the facebook posts, or the favors in return. But a "hello" or a smile, perhaps a response to a question or invitation...THESE ARE BASIC HUMAN DECENCIES! 

I admit, I've gone through seasons of being more served than serving. Buttercup was a DIFFICULT baby to adjust to, and it took me a while, a bit too long really, to pull myself out of that hole. I even missed the boat on loving some people who really needed it because I was too caught up in my own junk. But I've recognized, apologized, and tried to make it right. You aren't in a "season" because seasons change, and this story has remained the same for aaaages. 

I will conclude by pulling a complete 180 and thanking YOU. Thank you for teaching me by example that it doesn't matter how smart you are, how beautiful, how "successful", how eloquent. None of that matters if you are a jerk. You've taught me so much, and it matters. 

It matters because I am teaching my children. I am teaching them that NOTHING is more important than BEING the love of Christ. We aren't put here for any reason other than to glorify God. And there's a one word "to-do list" for that purpose: LOVE.

Fortunately, He gives me plenty of tools to keep on working that one word list even when the going gets tough. For now, I'll focus on grace. You're welcome. 

In my falling short

I haven't opened up too much here about Buttercup and our struggles in parenting her. The last thing I want is for her to one day read this and hate me for it. But I also know that if I don't get some of it down, I will lose it. And it matters. The mess matters. The hard matters. The sometimes humiliating admission of my weakness matters...because that's where I find His perfect strength.  

So, without further ado:

Our previous OT told me that Buttercup's case was one of the most difficult she had encountered. Today our current OT repeated the sentiment. 

We have an Autism screening next week, are expecting a second sleep study soon, more blood work, and have a recommendation for a neuropsych eval. It's amazing, because most people who meet her would never know she is any sort of different. 

Being her momma has been the hardest thing I've ever done, and we are only two years in. 

I don't tell you this for your pity-I don't need it. 

I don't tell you in hopes that you will understand-it's almost impossible. 

I tell you because I want you to know that I don't have it figured out. 

Most days the fact that I can stay upright until dark with less than 4 hours of non-consecutive sleep is enough to amaze me. I whisper to my husband in the middle of the night, "I don't want to parent her. I don't like parenting her." I cry, because that feels awful to admit. 

I cry because I have a history of emotional management struggles, and that gives me a tiny inkling of what she's dealing with, and it's no rosy road.

But I do. 

I do parent her. 

I do love her with all I have even, when I don't want to or don't feel like it. God gave her to me because He thought I was the best candidate to be her momma. And if I claim to trust Him, I have to trust Him in this, too. 

I'm also not trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.  I know many families have much harder struggles than ours. But this gig is hard, and I think transparency somehow makes it easier. 

So, when you're struggling, know that it's ok. I'm struggling, too. When you want to quit, and feel awful for wanting to, know that it's ok. Sometimes I wish she'd scream for ANYONE other than me for the 40th time that night. Daddy? Minnie Mouse? Elmo? Bueller? No. Only "Neeeed miiiine mooooom!" 

When you feel like you are failing, like you couldn't possibly be doing this thing right, know that God chose you. He matched you and your baby perfectly by His design. Seek Him, and press on through the tears. His strength is made perfect in your weakness. 

To quote my favorite doula, "In your falling short, they (your kids) are led to His never failing." AMEN to that. Amen. 

Ho Ho No

It's Christmas Eve, and no, my kids are NOT excited for Santa to come. Can I tell you how much I wish you would quit asking?

We made a very intentional decision while pregnant the first time that Christmas in our house would be about CHRIST. 

Yes, they know who Santa is. I think they parallel the modern day "Santa" to Mickey Mouse. He's fun and all, but he's "a joke".  They've heard the story of St Nicholas, and think he had some good ideas! They know that each person gets to believe what he/she chooses. They've been walked through what it sounds like to respect someone's beliefs that are different from their own. 

If at some point one of them chooses to believe in Santa, there's not much I can do to stop that. However, they know where Snuggs and I stand. 

It hadn't surprised me or bothered me much until we went to church tonight. At the Christmas Eve service, my children were asked seven separate times if they were excited for Santa to come. Guess how many times anyone asked anything about Jesus? 

NONE!!!  

AT CHURCH! 

It's hard enough to "go against the world" by choosing to celebrate CHRISTmas instead of SANTAmas. I want, so badly, for the questions AT church to be about Jesus. 

Ask them how they shared the love of Christ while we waited for this night.  Ask about our nightly advent readings. Ask how they served another in Christ's image this season. Ask what they are excited to GIVE as a gift. Ask how we will celebrate Jesus' birthday tomorrow. Ask if we have a nativity, if it is to touch or just to look at, if the baby Jesus is there already or if we are waiting for Him. Ask what they sacrified in order to focus more on Him and loving others and less on themselves. Ask if their Daddy gets to be home with us or gets to help other people on Christmas. But, honestly, for the Love of Christ, don't ask my kids if they are excited for Santa in the middle of worship. 

To Protect and Serve: The one in which I call bullshit

I spent a week away from social media. I needed time to sort this out. I needed time to feel less defensive and grow a gentle heart towards those who can never understand my situation. I prayed, I read reports, I asked my husband a million questions, I pondered all the sides, I prayed some more, I wrote, rewrote, deleted and tried again. Here's where I stand today: 

Today, my children are too young to be aware of the happenings in Ferguson, Missouri. Yet, I must prepare myself today, because someday they will no longer be too young. Someday the questions will come flooding out of them, and when that happens it's too late for me to start trying to figure it out. 

I can hear them already. Every time I see the news, every time I read a Facebook post, every time I read an article, every time I overhear a conversation. I hear my children's tiny voices and what they will say when they are old enough to be aware of national events. 

I have sympathy for the momma who is without her son. I have compassion for an entire race of God's creation who feels like they have to fight for their right to basic human respect. I don't pretend to be blind to the fact that racism is real and this world is a sad and fallen place. But, I also can't go along pretending that your police bashing posts have no effect on me. 

I don't know Darren Wilson. I only know what the rest of the world has been told about him by the media. But here's what you may not know. Darren Wilson is my husband. No, not literally. But because I love a Law Enforcement Officer, every single word spoken about Officer Wilson hits my heart as though it's spoken about MY OFFICER. 

MY OFFICER, whom I hug and kiss before whispering, "I love you. Be safe," as he heads out the door every day knowing full well he may never make it back to my arms. 

MY OFFICER, who kisses my babies' booboos when they fall down. The one who snuggles them to sleep on his rare nights off. The one who held my hands and prayed like crazy, and was the perfect source of strength and comfort for me, as I groaned and cried and brought their little bodies into this world. 

MY OFFICER, who tackled a man who was stupid and reckless enough to intentionally light himself on fire. My husband who rolled around with him on the ground until the fool was put out and safe.

MY OFFICER, who bear hugged the guy who was high on bath salts and hell bent on destroying himself and anything in his path. Who called me on his way home and said, "I'm covered in blood, but most of it isn't mine," while I started the shower and turned the washer on hot to attempt to rid his uniform of the damage left behind. My husband, who waited with me for 72 nervous hours for the blood results to come back clearing him of any...well, you can only imagine. 

 

MY OFFICER, who turned around and put his bare hand on an open stab wound to help save a victim of a horrible crime. The love of my life, who didn't say, "Uh, hang on a minute while I run and grab some gloves. Uh, try not to bleed out." 

MY OFFICER, who fought back the tears as he wrote the case notes required of him, taking down the time of death while standing in the back of the ER watching a momma sob because her tiny baby was gone without any explanation at all. 

MY OFFICER, who has worked all hours, all holidays, all horrible circumstances you could possibly imagine, not for his own benefit, but because of the duty to which he has promised. 

I met him on match.com. "TP&S" was his username. "To Protect & Serve." It's who he is. It's every beat of his heart. He leaves his wife and children, whom he is crazy in love with, to go out and serve a world that hates him.  A world that damns him Monday for a traffic stop and calls him Tuesday for a domestic. He does it because he is determined to make the world a better place. 

Yes, there are awful cops out there. Just like there are awful doctors, awful teachers, and awful anything else. Read the statistics and you will see in an instant that the good FAR outweigh the bad. I can't account for any other man, but mine is good. Damn good. I'm telling you, if they were to perform open heart surgery on the man, I would quite literally expect to see gold. His heart is truly that kind. 

I want to tell you to imagine, just for a minute, that it was your husband. Imagine the love of your life stuck inside his car by someone else's body weight against him, being battered, and unable to escape, attempts being made to disarm him, to turn his own weapon against him. Then tell me you wish he would've just sprayed some mace in the guy's eye. Tell me, honestly, that you'd be there cheering through the window, "Honey, be gentle with him!" Go ahead and tell me, and I'll tell you...BULLSHIT. 

I can't speak for Officer Wilson, but I can hope that MY OFFICER will make it home to me. I can hope that whether his offender is black, white, purple, or family, that he will do what he needs to do. I can hope that if someone is battering him, confining him, and attempting to disarm him and use his own weapon to harm him that he will put an end to that nonsense and come home and kiss me. After all, his promise to protect and serve doesn't remove the value from his life. His life holds value, too. 

What about the other case that's not receiving quite as much screen time, the 12 year old Cleveland boy fatally shot by police. We can entertain those ideas, too. Go ahead and imagine your husband asking a male, reported as looking to be about 20 years old, to show his hands and being faced with a gun instead. Did you see that gun? I see weapons everyday and would never have guessed it to be anything besides a handgun. Can you tell me you would want your husband to stop to ask politely if the gun was real? Or perhaps the age of the person wielding it? "Well, since you're only 12, I'm just going to stand here and hope you don't shoot?"  BULLSHIT. 

I want to tell you to imagine, but I realize that you probably can't. So, let me tell you...

He is a good man. Nearly all of them are good men and women. I know. I've read the statistics, and more importantly, they are my friends. I've delivered food to their homes after the birth of a baby, I've laughed at their parties, and cried at their funerals, I've prayed for their safety with their spouse's hand in mine. They've show up at my house when my husband was gone and I needed help, they've cleaned my house when I was too sick to stand. They know my babies nicknames, and their favorite treats. 

They make a promise to protect and serve, and all too often, at the price of their own lives. But that promise is  to be a servant, not a martyr. They WANT to make it home. It's mind boggling to me to live in a world that clearly demonstrates the selfish nature of so many people, and yet it's made out to be inappropriate for my husband to desire to protect his own life. 

And let's not even get started on the fact that when this world isn't so self absorbed to be taking countless "selfies" that they can find a minute to turn their phones around and video record every move an officer makes. We live in a world where a man or woman in uniform is required to make a split second decision in the face of immediate danger, knowing full well the video will be ultra-zoomed and super-slowed to allow all of the nation to nitpick the very hairs in their nose. If you don't have the balls to strap Kevlar to your chest everyday, I wish you'd turn off your damned camera and shut your mouth. But, alas...America, so I know better. 

See, the problem isn't "racism" alone. The problem is hate. When you are hated because of your skin color it's called racism. But , what's it called when you are hated because of your profession? It's called the life of law enforcement. And hate is a learned behavior, one I absolutely refuse to teach my children. 

So, all of this leads me here, to what I will tell my babies when they inevitably need to know, because none if my adult language above will be fit for their ears. 

"Your Daddy is a good man. He made the very best decision he could at the time. I believe in him even when it's hard and unpopular.  He didn't do a "bad thing," but there's a chance that what he did didn't turn out the best way.  Sometimes people make really bad decisions, and even though Daddy tries to help them, sometimes they just keep being mean and nasty. There are so many people in this town who need Daddy's help, that part of his job is making sure he is able to go on tomorrow and help more people. Sometimes that means that someone who is trying to hurt him has to be stopped. If they won't respect his words, he has to use his other tools to do his job. So, we'll go on doing the same thing we always do. We'll pray for God to be with Daddy every breath and every step, because God is in control of this, and He loves your Daddy, and He always does what's right."

Every Breath and Every Step

I remember it so clearly. We were dating, not yet engaged, but definitely in love.

 We had set up a 45 minute "no panic policy," because being in law enforcement means he often thinks he will be able to make the 9pm check in call all the way up until he gets a crazy dispatch at 8:59. I've always been a worrier, I've always been working on it... But knowing that I needed to table the worry for 45 minutes was good for me, because even a minor damage accident can take that long if people are being a pain.  

So, we hit the 45 minute mark and I tried not to flip out. By 50 minutes I had texted him, "You ok?" I got no response. At the 57 minute mark Snuggs called and blurted out the following; "I'm okay. I'm pursuing some idiot with a shotgun, but I'll call you when I'm done." And he was gone. And I was left sitting on the other end of the line wishing he hadn't called at all. 

A couple of months into dating a cop you only know enough to be dangerous to yourself. My mind raced. "He's out there in the big bad world literally chasing some maniac wielding a shotgun in the friggin dark. He says he's FINE? WHAT THE HECK! I'm just supposed to sit here in my jammies, two hours away, and feel okay about this? Please, God, keep him safe." 

I loved him, but I didn't trust his training, I didn't trust his coworkers, and I was doing my very best at trying to trust God without a full understanding of what that even meant.  Not to mention, right on the edge of engagement, I knew there was no way in the world I could go on without him. I did a lot of holding my breath, literally. 

Flash forward a few years. In 9 days we will celebrate our 5 year wedding anniversary. We have two kids. I love him so much more than I did then, more than I even knew I could. I've learned to trust his training. I've learned to trust his coworkers, and I've learned a lot more about trusting God. 

Now I know I could go on without him. Not that it wouldn't hurt like hell, or that the thought of it doesn't make me tear up and feel like vomiting, but I know I could go on. He has helped me create two children who would simply require that of me. I wonder sometimes if that was part of his child making plan. 

I'm a strong woman in that I am capable of many things, but in loving him, and in his loving me, I've softened and weakened. I need him in a way I never thought I would. I love that. That's exactly how God intended it to be. But that also terrifies me for what my life would look like if he wasn't here with me anymore.  I try not to think about that. It doesn't do anyone an ounce of good. 

I no longer secretly wish he'd turn and run. That doesn't do any good either. It's not a job for him, it's a calling. It's part of who he is in the depths of his being. He wants, with all of his heart, to make this world a better place. When everyone else runs from the risk, LEOs run towards it. So my hope is that he will be strong and push on and catch the dirty crapper. 

Nevertheless, about once a month I get a phone call or text message that still knocks the wind right out of me.  Immediately, I pray. I pray the same prayer that I've prayed every time for the last three or so years. "Lord, be with him every breath and every step." Then, I open my eyes and go on with my life. I go on sweeping crumbs and wiping booties, I go on reading stories with my lap full of littles, I go on breathing, I go on. 

Part of it is that I've learned to trust him, to trust his training, his judgement, his will to make it home. Part of it is that I've learned to trust his backup. I know the faces that go with the names. I know their wives and their kids.  I know who will hold his hand and pray with him if he needs that. I know they want to make it home just as badly as he does, and will do everything in their power to make sure they all stay safe. It really is a brotherhood. Part of it is that I've heard enough stories, and seen enough footage that I've been a bit desensitized to it all. 

But more than any of that, this is what makes the difference: the growth of my faith in God alone. 

Being a Law Enforcement Officer's Wife isn't an easy job. The wife behind the badge. But it's driven me right to where I need to be, in the arms of my Creator. 

 

I don't pray for God to keep him safe anymore. I want him to be safe, always. But, my will is not God's will. God has called him to be a hero, and that comes with a price, sometimes the heftiest price. God is in charge of that, just like He's in charge of everything else. 

I've changed my prayer, and I can't foresee a time when I will stop praying the very same prayer I prayed today. "Lord, be with him every breath and every step." God knows I don't want him to go. I'm not ready for that. But I know that has zero bearing on when God calls him home. So, my hope for him today, and every day is that God would be right there with him. Lord, bless him. Lord, protect him. Lord, guide him. Lord, keep his focus sharp. I could go on and on, but God knows exactly what Snuggs needs far better than I do. So, I keep it simple. I keep it real. 

"Lord, be with him every breath and every step."

And that is enough. It has to be enough.  In Christ, alone, my hope is found.