A Year in a Life Like Lombard Street

Looking back, I am blown away by how much my life has changed in just one short year. 2017 was unlike any of my other 37 years in existence. There were more twists and turns throughout my entire year than there are on San Francisco's famed Lombard Street. A hand full of jarring events led to this sensation that was at times unbearable, others stupendous, yet all were miraculous. No. I'm not bipolar. I've just dealt with some pretty heavy stuff over the past twelve months.

Since all three of our kids were finally in school, I felt it was time to put to use the alternate teaching certification I obtained back in 2009 while pregnant with Cooper, my middle dumpling. Though I never taught a day after I completed the unnamed college's program, I was assured by the Dean of Education that taking time off "would not be a problem." I had earned a certification from an accredited college after all.

Last year on January 9th, I entered my first classroom as a teacher in a Caddo Parish transformation school. This was a failing inner-city school that had been taken over by the state with hopes of having a greater impact on the students and their families which would then create a thriving school. It was filled with kids who, let's be honest, looked different than me. I knew what these kids needed more than anything was to be loved and validated. In my mind, I was going to be the next Ron Clark or Michelle Pheifer in Dangerous Minds. From my new home away from home, I drove to the school board office to fill out the employment paperwork. Backwards, I know.

The following day, I was notified by the HR lady at the school board office that the administration of the college I obtained my certification from had changed over the course of the past 8 years and felt as if too much time had passed. I was reminded of one last step during the first year of teaching for the certification to be considered complete. Since I never taught that first year and participated in the final step, the new administration refused to honor all the time, effort, and money I invested in their program. If I wanted to teach, I was told that I would have to complete the program again. This could have been done while teaching, but honestly, it was hard enough to stomach the idea of going back to work after 10 years. The moment I accepted the position, a myriad of emotions engulfed me including sadness. I knew I would not have the ability or time to continue doing all the things I always have for my kids and husband. There was nothing palatable about going back to school, holding a full-time job, all while continuing my duties at home as a wife and mother.

To say that this was an earth-shattering event in the heat of the moment is putting it lightly. I was a complete mess. I could not make the tears stop for a number of hours. I'm usually not one of those "crazy psychotic girls we all question on the Bachelor" type, but that's exactly what I turned into for the next 48 hours. I was ashamed of my carelessness and embarrassed by my failure. I lost my sense of self-confidence and found it quite difficult to face my children and husband. Eventually, I found my feet again and pulled up my big girl panties. Many of my friends and family suggested I fight the school's decision to not honor my certification, but when I really dug deep, I was surprised to find relief as the strongest emotion.

Two weeks following this emotionally crippling blow, my mother-in-law was hospitalized with complications from AML. To my wide eyes and listening ears, God seemed to be giving me an explanation of why I wasn't meant to be a teacher... for right now at least. A full week of late mornings to early afternoon hours were spent visiting with my mother-in-law while my father-in-law went home to shower and nap. Almost immediately, my greater meaning in life outside my household duties seemed to be revived as her health improved. Once she was healthy enough to be discharged, I found joy and gratefulness for the time I had to prepare meals for them.

March rolled around, and despite all my best efforts, my stress levels were at an all-time high. 11 months previous, I had been in a near-fatal parasailing accident followed a week later by the unexpected loss of my daddy. Throw in a few other minor moments in life that seemed to be pulling me down, and I found myself in a place I hadn't been familiar with in a long time. I knew I couldn't continue to live my life with so many internal struggles going on at one time so I did the one thing that always brought me clarity as a teenager. I began to write in a journal. Each time I sat down to explore my emotions, I prayed for God to show me something about myself that maybe I had missed or forgotten. I prayed for Him to heal me so I could be mentally healthy and strong again.

Immediately, I rediscovered my long-forgotten passion for writing. After the first week of journaling, I felt as if I had been washed free of the mud and muck that had been weighing me down for far too long. Many of my stress-induced symptoms began to fade away as I began to savor each moment of the day again.

One day during my third week of journaling, I sat down to begin my session as I always did, in prayer. I asked God to show me what He wanted me to get out of this time in my life. As I waited for my laptop booted up, I began to envision what my life would look like if I had the type of friend who could pick up on the fact that I'm having a bad day and care enough to make it better despite the lengths it took. The bright light from a  blank Word document startled me out of my daydream.  I didn't remember opening the program up. Autopilot from the past few weeks must have kicked in. I began to write. By the end of a few hours, I had a vague outline of a novel about unrelenting friendships and having faith in God's plan for your life. By the end of the second day, I had a detailed outline of how I was going to make a life-long dream happen.

Three weeks went by as I created a world that contained four different personalities and their lives. I was beginning to feel as if these women were really in my life as I laughed and cried with them. Suddenly reality slapped me hard in the face once again. My mother-in-law had once again fallen ill. This time her eyes and breath told me that only God's ultimate healing would make her better. Within fifty-one weeks, two amazing grandparents were taken out of my children's lives. This time around, it was easier for the kids (ages 10, 7, and 5) to comprehend the fact that their Nana was no longer sick and in pain, but was instead happy and healthy in heaven with God and Granddaddy. Emma (5) found our copy of the kid's board version of Heaven Is For Real and clung to it for dear life over the next few weeks. The sobering thought occurred to me that Sara, now age 10, would be old enough to have some memories of her granddaddy and nana that would stay with her the rest of her life but Cooper and Emma's memories would be quite limited. The thought of my kids forgetting these two incredible people was heartbreaking.

Life eventually returned to a new sense of normalcy as the kids returned to school and I went back to writing. With this new idea of "normalcy" came a few changes in our life. While we loved the church we had been attending in Shreveport, we began to feel led to visit a church within our own community for the third time. I have no idea why it took us so many attempts to recognize the amazing ministry was taking place there and the remarkable group of people who worshipped within its walls. Perhaps it simply wasn't our time on the previous visits. Regardless, we braved the uncomfortable moments and fears that come along with stepping out of our comfort zone and found a new church home for our family. Our two younger children now get to worship God with their friends from school and our oldest is continuing her growth and reliance in Christ by going to the youth program on Wednesday evenings. Considering how much our children have grown over the past several months, I would consider this move to be one of the top five greatest things we have done as parents to date.

This past summer I forced myself out of my comfort zone once again by joining a Women's Bible Study group. I knew only a few of the twenty or so women going into the first gathering. To me, the most fascinating part of the night was that our ages ranged from the lower-20's all the way to the mid-60's. This allowed for quite a wide range of perspective on various topics as we read through the book of Romans. Over time, I came to know and love each of the women. This was the first time since leaving my hometown back in 1998 that I had successfully surrounded myself with so many women who will encourage me to be a better person, wife, mother, and best of all, child of God. (I'll explain why this took so long another day.) It was as if a jolt of electricity shot through me the moment this realization sank in. Finally, some of the questions I had been plagued with for far too long were beginning to be answered.

Before I knew it, the calendar on my refrigerator read November. The first draft of my novel and the first round of edits were long completed. I had come to a place where I knew the overall story was excellent, but ultimately I needed to fine-tune my craft in order have my manuscript go anywhere beyond the screen of my critique partners. Unlike writing the first draft of my novel, though, I had no idea where to start. My frustration levels peaked when I realized the completion of this project would not comply with my ideal timeline. A women's retreat weekend with promises of restoring souls sounded like the perfect way to take my mind off of my frustrations for a while. I decided to close my laptop and began praying for God to revitalize all of the attendees and for a meaningful weekend of fellowship.

I walked into that weekend thinking I would gain patience with my manuscript but God had something totally different in store for me. By Saturday morning, He laid it on my heart to gain a full understanding and give ultimate forgiveness to someone whose actions altered my life 24 years ago. I came home from the retreat, and the following Monday morning, as soon as my kids were safely at school, I opened my laptop once more. Only this time, it wasn't to work on my manuscript. It was to write a letter. Tears of relief from every word I wrote made their way down my checks, some onto my shirt. I didn't care. The cathartic letter gave me freedom from the pure hatred and disdain I held for another human being for far too long. By the time I signed my name, my breath had become lighter. Years worth of struggles to find it in my heart to forgive someone who once hurt a young child version of myself was finally over. I bowed my head and cried tears of joy and gratitude for quite some time that day. Two weeks later, the recipient of the unreceived letter passed away. That, my friends, is the true definition of a "God thing!"  Never would I have been able to say the things I said in my letter to someone who had already passed away from this world.

I do not pretend to have everything figured out in my life. Clearly, I don't. I also do not pretend to know all of the "why's" and "how's," although I'm asking and listening. What I do know for certain is that I'm thankful for the moments in life I can later look back on and say, "Thank you God for allowing that to happen in my life to prepare me for this..." While 2017 started off as the second consecutive hardest year in a while, it turned out to be one of the best yet. I am grateful for every tear shed, every time my heart felt like it had shattered in a million pieces, all of the new people in my life, and the new skills and experiences in my toolbox. I'm looking forward to seeing how God chooses to use me in the coming year.

Interested in the manuscript I'm working on? Click here to read the blurb for Beauty from the Ashes.

Click here to listen to my anthem for the past 18 months -
"Just Be Held" by Casting Crowns