no, I didn't use ratiocination...

I've spent the last week and a half learning about the writing process and creating a fabulous piece to publish in our workshop anthology, but I have no intention of applying ANY of that tonight.

I finished the latest rewrite of my anthology piece (number five, maybe?) this afternoon as I sat cross-legged on the examining table in my cardiologist's office waiting to hear the results of my latest EKG. I knew it would be normal (they always are), but I almost hoped for an irregularity... something tangible to show what's going on silently inside my chest. Instead, I got the normal result I expected and a week to look forward to the next round of tests.

I'm thrilled to know that the doctor believes I have a healthy 26 year old heart... possibly a heart rhythm problem that can be easily treated, but nothing unmanageable... but in the back of my mind a persistent voice whispers doubt. What if it's not simple? What if there IS a serious problem? What if, what if, what if... it's an evil little question.

I have a feeling the what ifs will be hard to drown out this week. The anxiety that had ebbed a bit as the doctor calmly explained how the electrical system in my heart works and what he thought might be going on is slowly rising again, and suddenly I'm without words to express the fear that's tightening its grasp on me.

August 6 cannot come soon enough...

OMG! The Jonas Brothers are AWESOME!!!

Conversation as I watched Hannah Montana in 3D...


Bailey: (excited) I can't believe the Jonas Brothers are moving to Texas!

Brooke: (seriously) I know they'll be like 30 or 20 minutes away... we could MEET them. But you wouldn't want to...

Bailey: (confused) Why not?!?

Brooke: Well, you might faint, and you wouldn't want to faint.

Bailey: (swooning) For them I would...

a long, long week

The first weeks back at work after summer always feel about three years long, and this one was no exception. I'm still loving Abydos... it's cathartic to have hours devoted to nothing but writing whatever I want... but the early mornings are killing me.

I'm spending the weekend with two of my favorite little girls... one of whom is playing the piano for me at the moment (sorry, P, we're up really late!!). We've had a fun evening. I've fed them far too much sugar and junk food, and I have plans of continuing this tomorrow along with letting them play with my Wii and watch the Disney Channel for hours on end... this is why they request me to babysit!

I'm being summoned to watch more tv, so I should finish up I guess.

Check out our friends Chris and Lindsay's blog... they could use your prayers.

the beginning of a journey

Today was the first day of my district's Abydos writing institute.

I've been VERY ambivalent about going for the past several weeks. I love writing, and I had heard this training was amazing. But, twelve days of training at the end of the summer is a huge commitment. I ended up going, and so far I have no regrets.

Tonight I have homework for the first time in five years, and rather than dread, I'm filled with excitement. The topic interests me, and I'm authentically engaged (I know, the WOW training is coming out!!)... something I could rarely say in the past. In fact, today as I worked on a project about my previous experiences as a writer, the overwhelming pattern was that I hated writing in school. I was told how to write. I was told what to write. I was told how long to write. Writing always felt like a chore... just another thing to check off the list. The assignments weren't authentic or important. There was no audience. I had no investment outside of getting a good grade. Today was different.

I could go on for hours about the writing I did today. I'm proud of it, even though much of it was atrocious. I explored ideas and started stories, and while many of them will never be finished, a few might. I felt safe in trying things out because I knew I wouldn't receive a grade or be forced to share when I didn't want to. I can't wait to go back tomorrow and write again... I've never been to a training like this.

I pride myself on making my classroom a safe and welcoming place. By all accounts I do, but after experiencing this for myself, I know I'll look closer at the words I say and the procedures I put in place. What a goal to strive for... that every child would be authentically engaged and internally motivated to learn. That classroom would be a true joy!

I can honestly say that I'm excited about teaching, and I haven't felt that in... well, a really long time.

I'm sure I'll have more to say over the next three weeks, but for now I'm going to rest. Even a fun day of training is long after this many weeks off.

beyond my wildest dreams

Three years ago this week, my life was in turmoil.

On July 8, 2005 I was packing the moving truck that would take all my belongings to Dallas and only days away from my wedding. I was excited and hopeful and lost in my own little fairy tale dream of how perfect my life was going to be... then I answered my phone.

When I think back to that week, I remember very little, but what I do remember is incredibly vivid. I remember the exact spot where I was standing in the parking lot of my apartment when I got the call about Kim, and I remember leaning on my car and letting the metal burn my bare skin as the words I heard slowly sank in. I remember leaving a wedding shower then running for miles and miles in the suffocating July heat as tears ran uncontrollably down my cheeks because the physical pain somehow alleviated the aching in my heart. I remember racing through my bridal portraits then ripping off my veil and quickly throwing on a black dress to attend a funeral that never should have happened. And I remember moving numbly through my wedding, still a bit in shock at how life was continuing as if nothing had happened while my emotions hadn't yet caught up.

My husband and I mark our third anniversary today, and while I love my husband dearly and cannot fathom my life without him, this day is always a little bittersweet. The memories of our wedding will always be intricately woven with the memories of Kim's death... a bit of a blessing and a curse.

My idyllic bubble burst that Friday morning, and shortly after our wedding I fell into a deep depression. I was utterly unequipped to deal with the grief I was experiencing, and everyone around me expected a glowing, happy-go-lucky newlywed. I was alone in Dallas, miserable in my job, and desperately missed my friends and church in College Station. My safety net was gone, and I crashed fast and hard. Within a matter of months, I was hardly eating, and I was sleeping more than I was awake. Though I covered it well in public, I was falling apart... and for the first time in my life I couldn't run.

In the book Sacred Marriage, Gary Thomas suggests that God's plan for marriage has far more to do with our holiness than our happiness. I can't speak for everyone, but in my case, it definitely works. Though there have been moments of tremendous happiness, these three years have been filled to the brim with struggles that have pushed both of us to increased holiness. I'd be lying if I said it had been easy or even that I've recognized all along what a blessing I was receiving because, honestly, it's been rough. There have been many days that I wanted to walk away, and many more that I was angry at how hard I was having to work just to find some semblance of normalcy. It's only been recently that the balance has shifted.

Most of the first three years of our marriage have been defined by my illness. I've wished more times than I can count that I had gotten help earlier, before I involved someone else, but I recognize now that outside of marriage, I would have never had a reason to put myself through the pain that comes with healing.

I know I wouldn't have chosen this path... the path of discomfort, struggling, pain. I would have much preferred the easy road... the fairy tale I dreamed of. Fortunately, I didn't get to choose. The God who knit me together before I was born had a greater plan than I could have ever asked or imagined.

love you, B. Happy anniversary.

my love affair with cupcakes

Although our actual anniversary is Wednesday, my husband and I celebrated yesterday, and because he is the best husband EVER, he got me a fabulous gift. What you may ask? Jewelry? Flowers? Something ridiculously expensive and totally frivolous? Nope. None of the above. He bought me a dozen cupcakes. I was so thrilled when I opened the box that I collapsed on the sofa in our hotel room in a state of sheer bliss.

These weren't just any cupcakes. They were cupcakes from one of the best bakeries in Dallas. Cupcakes in three flavors, each with different icing and sprinkles. Fattening balls of pure sugar with no dietary value... my dream come true! I must have found my Prince Charming :-)

But on a more serious note, our third anniversary was definitely the best so far. We earned it, for sure (maybe I'll post a little about that later this week), but for now I'm just glad to revel in the fun we had this weekend. We spent the afternoon exploring the Bishop Arts District before dinner at Hibiscus (amazing!) and spending the night downtown at the Adolphus (and then waking up at the crack of dawn to serve at OYM). It was the perfect way to celebrate how far we've come and how much we've shared in our life together.

It's a little hard to believe that we've been married for three years, but at the same time it's hard to remember what it was like before I was married. I so look forward to coming home to my husband and my puppy that I cannot fathom how utterly miserable life must have been before. Ok, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but as I sit here tonight with Maggie snuggled up at my feet having just finished cooking dinner with my husband, I'm so thankful for my own little family... the safe, warm, loving home I always dreamed of. Though we've definitely had our rough patches, I wouldn't trade this weekend for the world.

my chemical imbalance is cooler than yours...

I know it will shock some of you, but I religiously read the website dooce.com. If you're brave, you can check it out... it's one of my links. The author, Heather Armstrong, is pretty much everything I'm not: an outgoing and vocal ex-Mormon who can be crude at times.

I respect her immensely.

Last December I opened my inbox to find a link to one of her recent entries:

http://www.dooce.com/2007/12/13/because-i-couldnt-say-it-phone

I read it mostly so I would be able to have an educated discussion if that friend asked what I thought, but I was immediately hooked. Her honesty hit straight to my heart because I could relate to every word she said.

Like Heather, I've dealt with chronic depression and anxiety for most of my life. I knew as a young teenager that something was very wrong, but I chose for years not to get help. I was afraid of the stigma of therapy, not to mention a label, and I was steadfastly opposed to medication... until I finally hit rock bottom and all the prayer and Bible study in the world couldn't pull me out of my darkness. I realized I had a choice: treatment or death. I went with treatment.

For a long time, I kept my choice a secret. In fact, to a number of people I know, it's still a secret, and that saddens me. I consider my experience in therapy and my relationship with my therapist to be one of the greatest blessings in my life, and though I'm still not a fan of needing daily medication, I'm thankful for the stability it provides. I've learned a tremendous amount about grace and what it means to love like Jesus from the people who've walked through treatment with me. I've finally begun to see myself as He sees me. Recovery has been excruciating at times, but I have never experienced God as tangibly as I have during these months. I couldn't be luckier.

Unfortunately, in the conservative Christian circles I run in, far too many people still believe that mental illness and particularly being on psychotropic drugs makes a person less of a Christian. This ignorance deeply saddens me. So many aching people are isolated from the mainstream church because we hide our hurts, habits, and hangups for the sake of looking like the picture perfect congregation. So many others hide within the church for fear of being ostracized if people knew who they really were. That so many might miss out on the healing God can bring because admitting their imperfections would open them up to ridicule breaks my heart.

I hope that as mental illness slowly loses its stigma in society in general, the body of Christ will follow and envelop the hurting in its loving arms. Until then, I pray that the hurting people around me will find the courage to seek recovery even if it's not easy. I did, and it is a choice I will never regret.

the abundance of summer

It's 1:30 am, and I'm wide awake. What better time to start a blog, right?

This summer has been a joy... quite a distinct difference from others in recent memory. I'm enjoying my house and my new dog. I'm reading voraciously. I go swimming and get sunburned and have fun just for the sake of having fun. I'm relaxed (for the most part) and happy. I think this is how regular people do summer.

When I think about seasons, I think of Parker Palmer and his use of seasons as a metaphor for our lives. These past calm months mark the longest and most bountiful "summer" of my life, a summer I never really believed would happen. Most of my life has been filled with alternating falls, winters, and springs. But when I think about the kind of summer Palmer describes... that abundance hasn't been there.

I've spent the vast majority of my life paralyzed by fear. I don't know when I first closed everyone out, but I remember even in preschool being petrified of letting anyone see my imperfection. I continued through adulthood to carefully erect giant barriers to keep people from getting too close with the result being my own impenetrable fortress. I didn't allow anyone to see the real me, not even myself. I thought that was the way to find the abundance I longed for... to earn the love I so desired by being outwardly perfect. How wrong I was.

Over the past year, as I've slowly let down my walls, I've found that abundance in authentic community. By the grace of God, I have a place where I've been able to lay my faults and wounds bare for all to see, and rather than being abandoned as I feared, I'm loved all the more. I'm free to be the joyful woman God created me to be, and in that freedom, to continue to grow and find who that woman is. That kind of love, that freedom, that joy... that's the abundance I was missing.

I'm glad to have experienced the bounty of summer, though I know fall will return all too soon.

I'll close with a quote from Palmer:

"In the human world, abundance does not happen automatically. It is created when we have the sense to choose community, to come together to celebrate and share our common store... Authentic abundance does not lie in secured stockpiles of food or cash or influence or affection, but in belonging to a community where we can give those goods to others who need them – and receive them from others when we are in need."

Good night.