Braking for Butterflies

Self-care has been the topic of conversation in the homes I visited this week.  As Mother's Day approaches, I felt it was timely to remind these new and young mommas to put themselves first - at least once a day.

That's not easy for most moms.  It's natural for us to want to help and care for others and put ourselves last.  But, if we are running on empty, we aren't offering anyone our best.  Practicing self-care is the one time in our day it is ok to be selfish.  Mommas, you need this time.  

It doesn't have to take long or even cost money.  In digging online to find nuggets of inspo for my visits, I found two great resources that I'll share with you too:  31 Quick Self-Care Tips and a Self-Care calendar.

I also found a list of Affirmations I'll challenge each of you to print and read to yourself as you begin or end every day.

In my final visit of the week, as we were painting butterflies with tiny baby footprints, a mom made a suggestion that changed my day.  She mentioned that if I drove a different direction home, I'd come across a spot where butterflies liked to play.  Little did she know how special those tiny flying creatures are to me.

Butterflies, specifically yellow ones, have been a sign from Austin since we lost him in 2008.  He's sent them at times there can be no other explanation than to know it was heaven-sent.  For instance, we've been visited by butterflies in the middle of winter, upon freshly fallen snow.

As I headed out her driveway, I began to make excuses as to why I didn't have the five extra minutes it would take to go another direction.  But a persistent little butterfly cut in my path and demanded my attention.  It danced in front of the car as if to say, follow me!

I'm so thankful I listened.

What a difference one turn or choice makes in our day.  Within moments, it felt as if I was on Butterfly Drive because I had to slow down, just to prevent hitting them from fluttering across the road.  Easily finding the spot she'd recommended, I pulled over to take in the scenery.

They were very camera shy so I didn't capture any to share.  Honestly, I was so mesmerized and at peace, I didn't think to take any until almost ready to leave.

I did pause to take a photo of a nearby creek because it was also breathtaking and stilled my soul.

Though I stayed only a few moments, it was sustenance I didn't even realize I needed.

Upon leaving, I broke down in tears and found myself in prayer the remainder of my drive.  Mother's Day weekend will always be bittersweet.  When you have lost a child, it changes the holiday forever.  And although I am beyond blessed to have a towering gentle giant still at home, I will never forget the one who made me Mom first.

Though I prayed for peace and strength as I face the weekend, what I found is that most of my prayer was gratitude.  For the 14 years we had with Austin...for the way God has healed us through this journey...and for the sneak peaks of Heaven he allows when Austin sends us whispers of love.

If you are facing this holiday with loss, whether from a baby you never got to meet, a child gone too soon, or even your own mother's passing, my heart goes out to you.  Be extra gentle on yourself this weekend.  Allow tears to fall.  Embrace the memories.  And if one dances by, brake for butterflies.

The D-word

I hate depression.  

I've watched it cloud, choke, and transform people into shells of the person they once were.  It isn't just an emotion or shifting of mood but for many, a disease that invades and destroys.

When someone you love has depression, you feel trapped on the other side of the mirror.  You can see them but not reach them.  Touch them but not bring them over.  And some days it seems they get deeper inside.  Another layer away.

Unlike a terminal diagnosis, there is little understanding or empathy for someone battling depression. Most people assume you can just "shake it off" and look on the bright side.  Yet for those trapped within the clutches, there is no bright side to see.

I've been depressed and have endured great darkness in losing my son, but I can't say I've suffered from chronic depression.  For that I am grateful because I know the pain of depression, and how it hurts both the one suffering and those that love them.

There is a difference in grief and depression, though often they go hand in hand.  Grief just adds to the weight of the already sinking.  Like throwing bowling balls to someone drowning.

Then you add the holidays, which for many are a time of rejoicing, but for others are impossible expectations.  And of course, the changing of seasons, where sunshine is harder to find and days turn frigid, gloomy and cold.  It is no surprise why the most wonderful time of the year is also the most difficult for the depressed.


Tim and I handled the grief of losing Austin in very different ways and it taught me, firsthand, how unique grieving is.  Though he was never diagnosed, there were periods I would say that Tim fought depression.  The weight was tangible, as if he carried a heavy coat on his body that wouldn't come off.  It wasn't just triggers, anniversaries, or memories that resulted in his sadness but a heaviness that clung to him.

And I prayed fervently for it to be released from him. It's with extreme gratitude to God that I see a change, knowing the weights have been lifted.  Of course, we will both always carry sadness in the loss of our son, but the clouds of depression are no longer in view.

This is one of the most difficult posts I've written because I find myself tiptoeing around what I want to say and worrying someone will take it the wrong way.  And also because even though this was my experience, it doesn't mean it to be so for everyone.

But I know that the only reason I have survived the loss of my son is because of God.  He gave me strength when I didn't have it.  Helped me find hope where there was none.  Gave peace in moments that surpassed understanding.  And brought joy back into my life.

When you fill your empty spaces with light, there is less room for darkness.

The closer I've seen my husband grow in his relationship with God, the more I've seen the darkness fade.  I know Satan uses whatever tools he can to hurt us and pull us away from God.  He hisses in our ears and clouds our thinking.  He hides the silver lining of every day.  He revels in depression because where it is, joy cannot enter.

If you're facing depression, there are so many options for help for you.  You are worthy of help.
You matter!

Seek support.  Exercise.  Eat well.  See your doctor.  Take care of yourself!  
Pray.  God will walk this journey with you - and carry you when you can't walk.
Practice the power of positive thinking.  Light cancels dark!  One day, one step at a time.

Reach out if you need help.  You are never alone in this.  Someone cares for you.
1-800-273-TALK is just one of many resources available.

Know I am praying for you.  If you need specific prayer, comment below or message me.

My prayer for all is that you'll find the hope, peace, and joy that can only come from One source, this season, and always.

When December is Hard

Maybe you've faced the start of Advent with more of a feeling of hopelessness than hopefulness.
Perhaps the joy of the season just feels a little too overwhelming.  And the smiles, scents, and sounds of the holidays are more than you can muster.

It's ok.  I have been there, friend.

Sometimes, like a few days ago, I am there still.

We "made it through" the 29th better than I expected.  When Sunday came and the fog rolled in, it actually took me by surprise.  Joy was nowhere to be found and it took everything I had in me just to get to church.

Sometimes grief hits us like that.  One step forward...twelve steps back.

I expected it to come on the anniversary of our loss, but it didn't.  In fact, it was a beautiful day filled with family and giving back, of remembering him.  There were many signs from Austin letting us know he was there, which was a comfort, as well as the prayers and texts sent from those who haven't forgotten.

When night came, there was a peace that surrounded us and we went to sleep without the horrible flashbacks and painful memories.  Tim even grabbed my hand before we drifted off and said,
"It's been a good day."

Six years of healing will do that, or so I thought.

When morning dawned, it was the only brightness to be found.  There was a hurt I could not shake. Tears kept welling up in my eyes, for no reason other than to blind and sting.   Instead of the message bringing me comfort at church, it brought more pain, as our pastor shared a message of hope.  Of miracles and prayers of healing.

For a mother who prayed fervently for her son to survive one November night, it was difficult to hear.  Not this weekend.  Not now...

Evil hissed in my ear and brought back the flashes of my son that didn't come back.  Evil told me my prayer wasn't heard.

Though we had family activities and busyness the rest of day, the heavy coat of grief would not let go.  It made the process of putting up the Christmas tree, our final activity with Austin, even harder to bear.

The next two days played quite the same.  Murphy's law came for an unwelcome visit and lingered.  Monday night found me sobbing in the laundry room, after everyone had gone to bed.  Though it was hateful words said from an uncaring soul that broke my spirit, having an already broken heart allowed for the easy fall.  That night made up for Saturday's lack of tears, I guess - and then some.

This is how I welcomed December.  No tinsel and merriment, only heartache and grief.  And for a moment, I feared this is just how this month would be.  That this Christmas would somehow disappear into darkness.

But as God often does, He found ways to send me hope each day I found despair.  Sunday, a ding on my phone brought a hug to my heart, in an unexpected message from someone who found a RAK.  Their daughter holding a toy from the reverse shopping spree and filled with joy.  Monday random check-ins from family at just the needed moment and more messages of RAK recipients.  In all the years we've done the reverse shopping, we've never heard back from those who found them.  I guess God knew we needed it this year.

And Tuesday, exhausted and spent from the hours crying the night before, I entered the house to find a package on the doorstep.  Hand-addressed to me.  Priority packaging.  Whatever could it be?  Though the gift was visible, the card was the first thing I grabbed, although tears (happy now) soon made it impossible to read.

A friend, remembering Austin and knowing my love for butterflies, sent a beautiful afghan.  It arrived at the perfect moment.  I dropped everything, went to the couch, sat under the lights of the Christmas tree and wrapped myself in love.

This afternoon, home early, found me on repeat.  Sitting in the quiet of the living room, the soft glow of the season all around me, I realized joy had returned.

In truth, it never left because He never leaves us.  Grief can cast a shadow but The light will always find a way to overcome darkness.  And for that I will forever praise Him!

So, if you're facing loss this season, I'm lifting up a special prayer for you.  Whether it has been five minutes or fifteen years, I know grief knows no timeline.  There is no magic ending, no pill, or therapy, or neat little bow to wrap it up and put on a shelf.  If I've learned anything in this walk, is it to be gentle with yourself, to allow tears to fall when they come, and to let God hold you through the journey.  He will bring you to joy again.  I pray it finds you this Christmas.