Friday Night Lights

It's a Friday night in the Fall. Tonight, the school where I teach is playing our only in-county rivalry in football. (Of which we won 54-0) It is also senior night. Many of my sweet students looked at me and said "Mrs. Boso, are you coming tonight?" My answer was "no". This is a multi-reasoned "no":

1) Lee is attending his annual version of jock-fest and soaking up as much of WV high school soccer as possible. Our NCHS boys haven't made it to the state tournament yet, but Lee never misses it. Tonight, he had a blast while sitting with his biggest rivalry's coach and watching the team that kicked our whole region's tail advance to the state championship. (Good luck, Pikeview! Make our region proud!) With that said, I am home with my favorite 3 year old. My students begged me to bring her. In 32 degree weather. That would totally increase my chances of mother-of-the-year. (I would hate for it to be outdone by our incredibly nutritious dinner made for us this evening by Chef Boyardee.)

2) After the miscarriage and all that entailed, this was my first 5-day work week in a long time. I am pooped. As 3:20 mark approached, I began to nearly get giddy in my seat. Maybe that's why I work well with teenagers: because I still act like one. I needed the weekend and I needed it now. I seriously ran home and put on my favorite candy cane pajama pants and reheated leftovers for dinner. I needed the curtains to be pulled at 4:30 and to be securely in my happy family bubble. (That's a lot of "needs". It shows my desperation for the weekend)

So, I love my students and the school where I work. But today, my needed to keep my daughter out of freezing temperatures and my need to be an extreme social hermit won out.

Don't be alarmed by my classy snack and clean eating (literally). I'm watching Julie and Julia, which is a movie about fancy cooking. It totally balances out to be basic middle-class cooking. 

What to think when you're thinking of nothing

I am often described as a multitasker. An energizer bunny. (Sadly, no one under the age of 18 will get that). I once cooked dinner, while talking on the phone, nursing a baby, and making a store list in my head. I'm not exaggerating. I have always been capable of having multiple things going at once and last night, I had a meltdown because I couldn't focus on putting cheese on a pizza because the music was too loud. 

Since the dreaded words from the ultrasound "I'm so sorry", I have thought about nothing. I find myself staring into space and being completely weirded out that, while I'm conscious, I am delightfully only present physically. I have tried to engage myself in Bible study, planning for Christmas presents, deep conversations with friends, and long term planning with Lee and I come out empty. 

When I AM thinking about something, it's not what people would think. This morning, I found myself staring off contemplating a student's cute boots they had on.

Generally, one would assume, an empty mind should be a reprieve from my mind that is usually going 109 mph, but it's disconcerting. My bosses are wanting me to think about graduation, goal setting, lesson planning, and student control. I am thinking about the odd shape of a cinder block, lunch, and the color of floor tiles. 

My Bible study book (that I started prior to the miscarriage) asks me to think about idols, priorities, and bondage and I can't wrap my head around anything but hurt that stings so much that my brain takes a detour to couches or kitchen utensils. (I would love a gray couch)

I desperately want to move on, but I am reminded by the fact that my pants don't button, my hormones are apparent all over my face, I'm still avoided by friends who aren't sure what to say, so they continue to say nothing. I want to have the freedom to be sad, but feel the push to move on. I went back to work and went back to church. Am receiving emails and texts inviting me to social events and I die a little inside thinking of making small talk. I started showering again (I'm pretty sure my family was happy about that), doing my hair and makeup. I cook, I run, and I smile. I hug, I accept condolences, I sleep. 

But inside, nothing. 

I'm not sure how to handle it. I feel that everyone is looking at me to see if I'm on the edge of a breakdown. If I scratch my eye, do they think I'm on the brink of sobbing? I have found that there is a strange thing about the human spirit: we are considerably more aware of ourselves than other people are. Even though MY life is consumed in an abyss, I am keenly aware that I'm just another hurting person in the world. And my goodness, there are many. 

I am reminded of how quick I am to make a judgement of a person's reaction to me based on my interpretation. Maybe a person is less than friendly because they had a bad day. Or, maybe they miss an event I plan because it's all they can do to hold it together enough to cook dinner. Maybe they didn't stick around to talk, because their marriage is in trouble. Maybe a hurt from months ago is still consuming their hearts in a world that says once you're back in it, your pain shouldn't hurt anymore. 

We are inundated by a culture that believes that MY reaction to a problem should be YOUR reaction and anything less is uncomfortable or weird. 

As I have stated before, I have looked for the little bits of gratitude in a sea of hurt and disappointment, but find myself irritated at myself for the times I have concluded that someone must be upset at me because they didn't speak when I saw them. I decided that their indifference to me must mean there is a rift between us. I must have done something to upset them. 

If ANYTHING through this, I am learning about extending grace. To consider more than MY feelings in a world completely covered in more hurt than words can explain. Assume the best and pray for the person. Chances are, they're not at all upset, but distracted, overwhelmed, full of worry, or not sure where their necessities will be found. Maybe, instead of assuming someone's irritation with us, we should think about what their last thoughts are before they close their eyes. Maybe that is when we can fully understand and love each other. 

The pain of loss

When I was twelve years old, my parents pulled my brother and myself into the living room. They asked what we would think about them having a baby. Travis and I both died laughing. How absurd!! I was 12, Travis was 16 and my dad had already had his over-the-hill 40th birthday. After several moments of laughter, mom started crying. They weren't kidding. I started crying for fear of no longer being the baby of the family (judge me) and mom says she could see college funds slipping out of my brother's eyes. We soon adjusted and were overjoyed with having a baby. (And my parents adjusted to my grandfather calling them "Abraham and Sarah".) Unfortunately, 11 weeks into the pregnancy, an ultrasound revealed that the once-heard as seen heartbeat was no longer there. My first exposure to miscarriage.

Since that time, I unfortunately have had many friends and family experience the incredible pain of losing a child. Many of them a loss in first trimester, a few in the awful second and third trimester, and a few after delivering and loving the child. Loss. Pain. Unexplainable. 

When Lee and I decided to tell that we were pregnant so early (I seriously know just a few days after conception that I'm definitely pregnant.), we knew there was the risk of losing the baby. This week, an ultrasound revealed that the baby hadn't grown at all in 8 days and still had no heartbeat. The look on the face of the woman doing the ultrasound said it all and we prayed she would say nothing more. Then she uttered, "I'm so sorry". We said no words and prayed that the doctor would say that maybe we had a slow growing baby and everything would be fine. He didn't. He said that the report from the ultrasound said it was a miscarriage that hadn't happened yet and he believed it was imminent and that the baby had even gotten a tiny bit smaller. We shook hands, accepted condolences and he offered the statistics that 1 in 5 women miscarry. 

As we drove home in silence (except for to say that neither of us wanted Starbucks. A bad sign.) I began to think about the people in our lives that have had big losses: my mom's miscarriage, my grandmother's ectopic pregnancy/miscarriage/hysterectomy, my mother-in-law's 5 miscarriages, Lee's grandmother's loss of delivered twins, my childhood friend's loss of a baby 18 weeks in, and my friend's loss of her sweet Julia 16 years after delivery. I didn't feel more deeply mourned, but comforted that it seems as though, at least in my life, only 1 in 5 HASN'T miscarried. So many of the miscarriages went on to carry many healthy babies or go on to adoption. Either way, they went on. Melissa, who lost her sweet Julia 9 months ago, has demonstrated that looking for joy through pain is a daily task that eventually gets easier. 

Hebrews 12:1-2a says, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses... Let us run the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of faith." The Lord has reminded me that many have come before me with the loss of a child and unfortunately, many will come after me. And that's another part of the "parent club". Not only sharing sleepless nights, diapers, tantrums, hilarious stories, and hugs, but the pain and loss of a child. 

The evening after we got home from the doctor, Colossians 3:15 echoed continually in my head, "Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body, you were called to peace. And be thankful." I had mentioned to Lee last week that I found the fact that "And be thankful." was its own sentence seemed to be Paul using a parent voice to emphasize when we don't feel peaceful, to remind us to be thankful. Be thankful for the lessons learned, the friends that have loved, the distractions of laughter along the way, for the endless joy found in a bag of Cheetos, and for the peace and reassurance that only The Lord can give us. Be thankful. And I am. 

1+1=4?

As we all know, I am a type A personality that has big problems relinquishing control. My friends laugh at me about how I plan out details of my life that I essentially have zero control over. But I am idealistic and have determined how God can most efficiently use mine and His time by following the schedule that I have set before Him. It's a problem. I know.

When we decided to have Nina, our youth kids all laughed about "The plan" and how hilarious it was that God seemingly adhered to our timetable and we got pregnant the first month we tried. However, after 25 weeks until a week after delivery, things definitely weren't in accordance to my plan. Anyone who has ever tried to keep me on bedrest, deserves extra jewels in their crown. And medication. Stat. (Don't be alarmed by my use of medical terminology. I never missed an episode of ER. I'm practically a physician.)

The hardest part of my experience was that I felt like I missed out on the first several hours of my daughter's life. I didn't have the joyous moments of cuddling, nursing, and taking endless pictures with my hair looking like a jungle and exhaustion written all over my face. Instead, I was in surgery, swollen beyond recognition. Receiving unit after unit of blood. Both hands consumed by IVs, a catheter, compression sleeves on my legs, shivered by fever, and starving for being NPO for two days. For years, I was wrecked by the thoughts of what I could have missed if I hadn't made it. Of Lee being a single dad and my daughter never knowing me. 

When we got married, we both determined that we wanted two kids. Both of our families of origin were families of 4 and that is what seemed complete. However, from my delivery, I was crippled. Crippled with fears of "What if?" and "Will it happen again?" Often times, paralyzed. 

Last August, I was at a Living Proof Live event in Knoxville and I realized that I was living as a slave to my fear. If I didn't give God reigns to our dreams of having two children, my fear won. What wonderful joys could this world be missing out on because I was afraid of a "what if?". We decided that after issues were resolved with my sinus infections, we would try again. 

Flash forward to two weeks ago when I was at another Living Proof Live event (I love those things)

I had some time alone in my car where I wasn't singing "The wheels on the bus" or discussing the newest NCHS boys' soccer strategy of executing the 4-4-2 and was singing with my favorite band Rend Collective Experiment and these lyrics came on:

"I do not need safety
as much as I need You
You're dangerous
but Lord, You're beautiful.
I'll chase You through the pain
I'll carry my cross
Cause real love is not afraid to bleed."

I was washed over not with a resolution to try, but a peace to relinquish control. During worship, we sang "in death. In life. I'm confident and covered by the power of Your great love. My debt is paid. There's nothing that can separate my heart from Your great love." I was completely abandoned. 

So, we now have a positive pregnancy test!! Many people choose to keep their pregnancies a secret until the first trimester has passed. As you may know about me, I am an open book (Much too open for many people's likings). When Nina came, we were too excited to keep it secret. (I think we tried, but made it a grand total of 4 hours) (Also, hiding pregnancy from a classroom of 30 teenagers when you're running out of first block to be sick is about as easy as hiding a steak in the house from my dog. They know what's up.) We are making this pregnancy open this early to cover the next 40 weeks in prayer. I am still torn about what is the "right" way to pray for this. Lee and I had a long discussion about if it is the right thing to pray for health when I feel that so much good has come from my lack of health in my previous delivery. So much closer to The Lord and so much control relinquished. I am asking for prayers for wisdom for the doctors treating me. I am asking for prayers for peace, lack of stress, and guidance. I am asking for prayer for God's will to be done God's way.

According to the calcuators, due date will be the first week of June!

"Not to us. O Lord, not to us, but to Him be the glory. Psalm 115:1"

When did I become Type A?!

As a kid, I was known among my family for being super messy person. My mom gave up asking me to clean up my room everyday and opted for asking me to clear a path to my bed every night and to close my door before company came over. And oh, heavens if Nannie was coming over...

(Yes, that's a corded phone and the VHS of Home Alone)

(I cleaned when I knew Nannie was coming over)

(I mean, I even had this poster:)

Love it or leave it, y'all.

All of that changed when I went to college and realized that the matchbox dorm room I was given was my bedroom, living room, kitchen, dining room, and study. That began the beginning of my clean-freak days. My suite mates would try to move things around on my desk to see how long it would take me to recognize that things were moved. My senior year, I was our sorority's housing manager. Which meant I cleaned the kitchen. No words, y'all. None.

When I was in grad school, I lived with my brother and my "rent" was being his housekeeper. During the summers, I cleaned my parents' house too. However, something happened when it became MY house to clean: it wasn't fun anymore.

(Like, when I was a kid, I always loved cleaning my best friend, Ashley's, room and she loved cleaning mine. Odd children)

When I started teaching, I would teach full time and go to classes in the evening to complete my Spanish certification. At the same time, Lee was finishing his masters, and we were doing good to eat 2 meals at home a week (Including our weekly Dominoes run after my Monday night class.) (Gosh, when I think about how little we were home and our diet and *lack of* exercise program, it kind of *really* disturbs me.)

Fast forward a few years and our degrees are done (cue the angels singing), and I am a working mother who THRIVES on a routine and has a rigid cleaning and laundry schedule (thanks to Mia for teaching me about The FlyLady). My friends laugh about how I'm the OCD one. My mom is still fascinated that I WANT to be up early (I mean, as a kid, I had to go to afternoon kindergarten because I was so difficult to wake up.) to get my day rolling.

With school being back in session, I am having a TIME readopting my schedule. During the summer, I kept my laundry schedule going, but I had forgotten that it's toes to the fire from 5:00 am - 9:00 pm of constant on the go. 

And I only have ONE kid. ONE! 

HOW DO YOU WORKING  MOTHERS OF MULTIPLE KIDS STAY SANE!? 

I'M NEARLY IN AN OCD PANIC ATTACK! (Breathe. Breathe.)

Anyway, we have two soccer games this week, which adds to the chaos. But, I'm ready. My first full week of school (preceding Nina's 3rd birthday and Vol kickoff) will not beat me! Now, off to the busy schedule of the grocery store, playing doctor (my creativity with this game is running out), cooking dinner, laundry, cleaning zone 5, planting peppermint, hopscotch, bath time followed by book time and cuddles, and trying to fit in last night's episode of Sister Wives (Now THAT is an idea for cutting the schedule!)

In other (and MUCH more important) news: IT'S FOOTBALL TIME IN TENNESSEE!!! This is my cooking attire for the evening! GO VOLS!

Holy and Dearly Loved

I love blogs. I have a blog reader on my phone where I connect to fitness blogs, religious blogs, blogs of friends... I think it's because I love people. Blogs are basically today's journal, but for the world to see.

My first blog to which I devoted my time was Beth Moore's Blog. This year, I accepted the Siesta Memory Verse Team challenge where you memorize scripture every 1st and 15th of the month. I did it in 2011 and made it to March. This year, I have been much more diligent with the Holy Spirit revealing Himself to me so much through the scriptures.

This weekend, we were out of town at a beautiful wedding for our friend, Jill and I was a little late getting my verse posted. Tonight, as I posted it, I was rushed back to my wedding day as one of my favorite, strongest, sisters in Christ read this scripture at our wedding ceremony. Lee and I chose the scripture to be our reading, but it wasn't until today, as I reheard Rhonda reading this scripture in my head, that I was so blessed to not only have her READ the scripture, but live it out. Rhonda and her husband and children are serving as full-time missionaries in Bolivia. Anyone who knows Rhonda, knows that she embodies this scripture. And as I have the privilege of working with them from the US, I am continually influenced by her spirit, her willingness to serve, to raise her children knowing The Lord, her love for people (both at home and in South America), her service to God's Kingdom, and her ministry. I am so grateful for our friendship and her mentorship to me- not only as a pastor's wife, but as a daughter of Christ. I love you, Rhonda!

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience." -Colossians 3:12

The Pain of a Calling

Yesterday morning, I woke up a little after 7:00, rolled over to turn on the Today Show, grabbed a cup of coffee (we had just started brewing a new bag of my favorite coffee: Seattle's Best!), and grabbed my phone to continue my daily embarkation into the world of social media. My newsfeeds were peppered full of mothers' lamentations about where time had gone and cute kids with new clothes, new backpacks, and not a complaining eye about heading back to the world of education. (Disclaimer: there were no pictures of high schoolers. They will still complain. Trust me.) My home county started back this week, but my current county doesn't start back until next week. Hence my slight giggle as I saw other counties going to school and I was just going to refill my mug. ;)

Flashback several weeks ago when I saw my summer vacation slipping away from me. I began to feel sad about the constant feeling of stress that comes with being a full-time working mom. About barely seeing my pastor-coach-husband as soccer season begins to eat his time and his thoughts. And about the early mornings. At which point, I started my yearly financial analysis where I started to scrutinize our spending to find spots where we can make cuts to justify me quitting my job to stay home full time with Nina. 

(I feel that she would not be happy about this since she has told me several times in the last few weeks that she missed Mrs. Heather. I asked if I was boring. She never replied. She didn't have to.)

However, a funny thing happened to me this summer (not funny "haha", but funny "yay God!"), I was given a different perspective on our family's life of ministry. In the past, I always thought that I was a teacher and Lee was a youth pastor. (I have joked that one of us should have married for money...) After seven years of marriage, I started to look at things differently: I wasn't a teacher, but a minister to students in the school (who also makes them learn a ridiculous amount of vocabulary and conjugate verbs in 14 forms. Grin.) I looked back at when I decided to be a teacher and realized that it wasn't a choice made for the high pay, immense respect from society, and the short work hours (insert sarcasm where necessary). I chose to be a teacher because it is what The Lord called me to do. Nina asked me, "Momma, what is your job?" I told her, "I'm your momma and a teacher." "Why?" (A question I hear quite often these days) "Because it's what God asked me to do and I said 'yes'". The same week, at Sunday School, one of my adopted sons, Jesse, said "I don't think you should ask God to change your situation, but change your perspective." And that week, my perspective changed to tell me that my situation shouldn't. 

When Lee and I were first engaged, I heard him preach a sermon about how, as Christians, we are all called to full-time ministry. Maybe not in a church in the "traditional" setting of ministry. Maybe not preaching sermons or wearing suits. But maybe in a classroom, an office, a hospital, at home, or wherever God has called you. 

As much as I can't change my spiritual gifts, my talents, or my calling, I can definitely change my perspective. And I'm grateful to start a new venture into my calling soon. Sometimes "taking up your cross" can come in all forms. I'm ready.