"You are more than the choices that you've made, you are more than the sum of past mistakes, you are more than problems you create, you've been remade....this is not about what you've done, but about what's been done for you, this is not about where you've been but what your brokenness brings you to...."- Tenth Avenue North

"So Father, give me the strength to be everything I'm called to be. Oh, Father, show me the way to lead them.  Won't You lead me?  To lead them with strong hands, to stand up when they can't, don't want to leave them hungry for love, chasing things that I could give up.  I'll show them I'm willing to fight, and give them the best of my life, so we can call this our home, lead me, 'cause I can't do this alone.  Father, lead me, 'cause I can't do this alone..." -Sanctus Real



I went to see my son's therapist today, without my son, which in and of itself is rather funny.  There is a trickle-down effect to therapy, though, so if she can help me with parenting, she is, in essence, treating my kid too.  I count the presence of this woman in our lives nothing short of a miracle and have no idea how we could have come this far without her.  This doctor can make sense of everything, even when I'm lost and stumbling around, headed down a dark road.  I would liken her to a GPS for our lives, though less plastic, more soul.

Today was a long one for me- up at dawn, story gigs at the nursery school up the street, parenting, more parenting, and lots of hours in waiting rooms for various members of our family.  So after some chit-chat, I looked at the Dr. and just said "I don't know, I haven't done so well this afternoon- I feel it coming....," the it being the pangs of anxiety I've become all too familiar with these last few months.  We sorted through the muck for a while- and she took me to task about my "story."  These words that I tell myself about my life, my days....she has advised me to move on from that story- its an old one- not actually my truth anymore, but one I've grown used to, and learned to believe over the years...  Many, many years.  So we worked on writing a new story- no pen or paper- just back and forth about the truth which lies before me, that I've learned not to see.  And I've agreed to begin memorizing the facts better, for when the crazies come, and they will, like today, and I need to tell myself the truths of the "now Judy. "

Then, this evening, after a quick dinner, I took my son Benjamin to the pediatrician for an emergency visit.  We waited an hour and forty-five minutes in an office the size of a closet, to be seen. You must believe me when I tell you that we both should have left with a trophy, as well as a substantial cash reward for that feat- being as no felonies of any kind took place (a little misbehavior, yes), despite both of us wanting to put our heads through the wall.  There were so many moments, truthfully, when I got lost in silliness with him...where we played games with what few things the room had to offer, and found ourselves in hysterics together.  First he weighed himself.  Then he weighed my purse.  Then he weighed himself with my purse.  Then he sorted through my purse for gum.  Then he weighed a stack of magazines and books, none of them the slightest bit interesting.  Then we played the "lets see how fast we can spin in the Dr's. swivel chair" game.  I being nearly emptied of all patience and energy, not only agreed to this, but actually spun him around with fervor.  This took up about a half hour- counting how many revolutions with his feet up in the air, down toward the floor, arms at his sides, on his belly....Then I taught him a hand game we used to play on the playground at my "ghetto school"...except I took out nearly all of the inappropriate language...except for the "your butt stinks" part.  Those three words were enough to ignite in him amazing belly laughs, from deep down in his gut, with his dimples flaring- he just fell over to the ground.  Suddenly I didn't mind the wait anymore.  I just enjoyed him- in all of his energy, impatience, and fidgeting.  We had to be creative, but I learned how to love him by stooping to his level and remembering what it was like to be eight years old, and to be just like him. 

The crazies went away, I had fun in a germ infested pediatric building, and now I'm going to bed to rejuvenate.  All miracles.

I can almost see it

That dream I am dreaming
But there's a voice inside my head saying
"You'll never reach it"
Every step I'm taking
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking
But I gotta keep trying
Gotta keep my head held high
There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb
The struggles I'm facing
The chances I'm taking
Sometimes might knock me down
But no, I'm not breaking
I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I'm gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going
And I, I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on
'Cause there's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!
There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Somebody's gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!
Keep on moving, keep climbing
Keep the faith, baby
It's all about, it's all about the climb
Keep the faith, keep your faith, whoa
-Myley Cyrus

I haven't posted in a while.  Mostly I've been living out my days without much time to ponder them- self-preservation at its finest, my friends. 

There were moments, tonight, though, around the kitchen table, which caught my breath and lead me to you- thinking you might want to share in this story with me.

Its been a long day.  Busy with stuff- all of it mundane, yet important.  Lily and I were  eating dinner, later than the rest of the family, and she says to me, without pomp and circumstance, "I gave my presentation in English today and you were my personal connection..."  I was so tired and worn-out that I almost missed it...."I was your what?"  "You were my personal connection....I was speaking about the Miley Cyrus song "The Climb" and I told my class that you were hospitalized last fall with anxiety and how you made it through and you are a great mom." 

For a while I just stared at her, trying to absorb the wonder of her words, all at once.  Trying to appreciate, fully, the fact that I am so imperfect, yet apparently making such an impact that my teenager doesn't care that all of the kids in her school know that I am kind of a nut job.  This amazes me more than I can speak about right now.  And moves me to the core.

I may just be the luckiest mother alive, which would make every moment that I've spent in total despair totally worth it.  And without a doubt, I would do it all over again, go to hell and back, just to make an ounce worth of difference in this girl's life.