OCD or That Moment When I Realized I Do NOT Have the Patience of a Saint!

It has been a while. For that, I am truly sorry. I miss the days when writing was fluid and consistent, when I had the time to sit down and put to paper, er, the computer screen all that had happened that day or week, sharing the laughs and the challenges and the sorrows that came our way.

But somehow, as if I never expected it to happen, life has been so full and overflowing that I have not had a second to spare. Or perhaps, I have not chosen to spare it on writing.

I wish I could report that the last few weeks had been all fun and games. I wish the only story I had to share was the one where Kurt and I were discussing what sport the little boys should participate in and Solomon, having walked in to the middle of the discussion, chimed in, in complete seriousness, "I want to be on a SWAT team."

 Later, when I came up to tuck him in and say goodnight, I found him like this, ready:

I wish I could bottle up his youthful innocence. I wish his 5 year old self could somehow remain close by as he grew up into the man he will become. (And I swear that room was clean and tidy earlier that day!) Sigh.

At any rate, these last few months have made me realize just how flawed I am as a mom. I used to think, 'wow, I must be a pretty patient person to deal with all that gets thrown my way with 5 kids, a husband, and over 50 animals.' But no. No, I am not. 

You see, several months back, we took our oldest daughter, Madeline, to England. She had been invited to train with the Wolverhampton Soccer Academy and we gladly took her. It was an incredible trip. We were so pleased. But upon our return, our world turned upside down. 

Madeline, the child we have never worried too much about because she is a hard worker, a straight A student, a kind and caring person, a talented athlete, (and the list goes on and on), broke.

That sounds harsh, so let me explain. We returned to PA the week before the PSSA testing took place in the schools. This state testing for Pennsylvania takes place over a two week period and the school places a HUGE emphasis on the tests, telling students that they need to do their best because not only is their knowledge being assessed but their teacher's lives are at stake! (Ok, ok, not exactly but the kids are led to believe that they are personally responsible for the assessment of their teachers....they were even told that this test was so serious and important that if they were to vomit all over their test, the school would have to send the test to the state to prove that the child had gotten sick......no pressure or anything.)

Anyway, the Friday before the testing, I got a call from the school. Madeline had broken down in the classroom, would I please come in because she wouldn't talk to the nurse or the guidance counselor. 

I was there in less than 10 minutes and Madeline and I sat in a private office as she told me that she had a problem. She told me that she knew it didn't make sense, that it was really silly but that she couldn't stop rereading questions, even after she knew the answer, she had to loop around and read and reread over and over to make sure she got every word correct. She broke down in the class because after 45 minutes, she had only gotten through two questions on the classroom work. And to make matters worse, if she breathed in through her nose, not her mouth, she had to reread it again. And to prevent herself from erasing and rewriting all her answers, she had to make tally marks on the corners of her papers and in order to get through certain things, she had to tap her thigh and click her fingers just right and......

The list went on and on. She cried and cried. I cried for her as I embraced her and told her that what she was dealing with was called OCD, that it was something we could get her help for and that she would get through it. Feeling slightly better, she went back to class and I explained to the counselor what she had told me.

The next two weeks were increasingly worse. Each day, it took her longer and longer to get through the tests. She panicked every morning when I dropped her off, often going into hysterics and begging to stay home. Each day, I encouraged her to get back into the classroom, to not worry about the tests, scribble on them for all we cared, they just don't matter at all so just guess and move on, or just put all C's for every answer, it simply doesn't matter. But, she is a perfectionist and would die before guessing or answering without fully knowing the answer.....

We found a therapist who used to work in the schools with high-achieving kids like our daughter and we got to work. However, after two sessions, the state testing now over and Madeline now unable to get out of bed, clothe herself or even eat, the therapist referred us to the OCD clinic in Pittsburgh. Our child was essentially paralyzed. She could not get through a morning, much less school or life. We were scared and sad and full of questions. What had happened to our incredible little girl?

Her doctors tested her for PANDAS because of the quick onset of the symptoms but really, when thinking back, she had already been struggling with OCD for quite some time. (If you remember the part of Nemo when Dory suddenly remembers Marlin and everything they have been through, that is like me, when I recognize that we have been missing the signals for a while....) Her second grade teacher had once asked if she was a bit perfectionistic because she erased and rewrote every word on a spelling test at least four times, even though they were all spelled correctly the first time. She had bloody hands every winter from the obsessive hand washing which we thought we had gotten somewhat under control. She had tantrums we just chalked up to hormones. She had freaked out several times this year because of questions like: "What if I cheated on that homework? I don't think I did but I saw someone hand in theirs before I was done and what if I saw the answer and then just used their answers?"

In retrospect, there were already signs but we missed them. 

The Intensive Outpatient OCD clinic referred us to a private therapist whom we began working with. For over a month, Madeline sat quiet, unable to participate and then broke down into full temper tantrums and hysterics the entire 30 minutes home, and for hours thereafter. She could not get out of bed in the morning without my help, could not get dressed, could not pick anything up, touch doorknobs, buckle or unbuckle her seatbelt, or go to the bathroom without staring for long periods of time at the toilet paper and then the hand soap as she washed and rewashed her hands. She couldn't turn on a shower, or bathe herself without me talking her through it, handing her scrub brushes, soap and shampoo, in just the right order. She could not put on shoes without me tying and retying them dozens of time, until they felt just right. And don't get me started on soccer cleats and socks and shin guards. 

For months, we lived this private hell. She would awake screaming in the middle of the night, every hour on the hour. She could not even get to sleep without me holding her down and then sitting in her room for hours. And as Madeline suffered, we all suffered. 

There were moments when I felt like our world was caving in, like we were losing our child. I worried that this was her end, that her brain was literally breaking down and she would be lost forever, like in the movies when the main character sinks deeper and deeper into insanity.

I immersed myself in books, trying to understand this battle we were facing. I spoke to the therapist via email and text, and scoured the internet, trying to understand. This wasn't the funny, "OMG, I am sooooo OCD" type of thing; you know, how we throw the term around when we like things symmetrical, in order or "just right" but really, we just have a strong preference. 

What we were facing seemed more like a monster. What we were experiencing seemed more like hell. 

And this is when I realized, I am not a saint! I know, I know, shocking. (Those of you who have known me for a long time, just go with it.....) Because the more and more I went without proper sleep, being awakened by screaming at all hours of the night, sleeping on my child's floor or draped over her to keep her still and calm, the less well I managed. 

At one point, I recall cursing at her, actually telling her "I F'ing needed to sleep, so please stop the screaming already because I can't do it anymore and I will have to admit you to a hospital if you keep it up." 

(In case you are wondering, threatening a kid who is struggling with a mental health disorder DOES NOT CALM THEM DOWN.)

It has been almost four months since this all began. It has not been an easy ride and I am not as good of a person as I had once thought and am fully aware of areas I need some major growth. (And seriously guys, don't mess with me when I am lacking in sleep!)

That said, I am so happy to report that not only is Madeline functioning again, doing all things for herself that had been temporarily suspended, but she is currently finishing up a residential soccer camp here in Georgia with her sister. She has spent the last few nights on her own in a dorm, training with a professional academy, participating fully in an experience we weren't sure she was capable of only weeks ago. 

And clearly she is enjoying herself!

She is not cured. She is still struggling with intrusive thoughts, "what if" questions about not being able to breathe, about choking, about death, about contamination. She still gets stressed and starts washing hands and repeating things and seeking reassurance. She still calls and asks these crazy questions that she knows are completely irrational but she has to ask anyway, because OCD requires it. But......BUT! 


She still soars......the heights just vary, depending on the moment, and with each passing day, with the proper medication, the therapy sessions that are now productive and making sense, the work we are doing as a family, Madeline is fighting back and is showing us that she will survive this and yes, even thrive. This hardship she is facing will make her stronger, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually....and perhaps the rest of us will grow a little, too. 

So, dear readers, I am sorry I have not written, but life has been full. It has been crazy and hectic, at times hilarious and fun, but sadly, full of scary and painfully challenging moments. Truth be told, it has challenged us to our core and made us reconsider everything we once thought to be true. But it has been real. Even in the midst of despair, as we have wrestled with the unknown, it has been real. And, today, we are thankful.


The Piano Lesson

When our oldest son, Aidan, was just 9 months old, we noticed he could match pitches. He would repeat back to me whatever note I sang and would easily finish the musical phrase I left undone. My parents were so sure of his excellent rhythmical abilities that they bought him a drum set when he was two (a gift I am still pretty certain was some sort of revenge present....) It proved to be a hit (buh-dunt-dum) and he has since become quite the drummer. 

Fast forward several cellos, violins, pianos, and guitars later, all of which he or his siblings are currently studying, and you get to Solomon. 

Solomon has had a major propensity toward music, especially singing. For years, we have often heard him humming the main theme to Star Wars while immersed in his legos or singing along to whatever tune happens to be on. He, too, has very good pitch and around his 5th birthday he started asking when it was his turn for piano lessons. While I have sat with him a couple of times at the piano, teaching him some VERY basic things in effort to appease him, I decided last week that maybe he should get a trial run with the girls' teacher. After all, he is kind of needed to complete our "Family Band" ....(move over Jackson 5!)

Last week, I asked her to just try him out for about ten minutes at the end of Madeline's lesson and so into the practice room the three of us ventured. He hesitantly slid onto the end of the bench, as far away from the teacher as he could muster without falling off.  

"So, what do you know about the piano?" she asked, in her pretty thick Korean accent.


"So, let me tell you something about the keys that is pretty interesting," she went on. "You see, the keys come in two color: These are the white keys and these are the black keys," she said, pointing them out.

Solomon turned and looked her square in the face. 

"Um, that's not actually very interesting," he said in all earnest.

And so ended his first lesson. The end.

No, no, actually, she continued to try and grab his attention for nine more excruciating minutes until he finally told her:

"You know, I don't really want to take piano lessons after all."

And THAT was when she came out to tell me, "Maybe we should try again in a few more months.... or never...."

(Ok, ok, she is too kind to add the "or never" part but you could tell by her body language that she meant every word of it!)

Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there. (And happiest returns on the day to Lily, whose birthday not only trumps Father's Day this year, but also adds her to our double digit kids!)


Extended Stay in Wonderland

Kurt and I were watching the hockey game last night when we heard noise from upstairs.

"Why did we have kids again?" I asked in jest.

"I don't know," he answered.

"I mean, we would be having much more fun without them," I joked.

Just as I finished saying it, we heard footsteps tumbling down the stairs and into the room popped Solomon, completely and utterly naked.

"Mom! Mom," he energetically exclaimed, half out of breath.

"Uh, Solly, why are you naked?" I asked, stifling my laughter.

He ignored me and continued. "Mom, you know those things that hold clothes?"

"You mean, drawers?"

"Yeah, drawers. Well, I accidentally pulled off one of the handles. But, in a way, it's like fixing it because now it is easier to get to my clothes," he explained. I could hear Emeril in my head going BAM!

And by "pulled off one of the handles" he meant "completely demolished the entire drawer."

And that is when I realized that my life is not like a series of short adventures into Wonderland as I had once imagined but more like an extended stay at the Mad Hatter's tea party. And what's more, today, as I sat down to write an email to our neighbor and ended up shopping on Thirve Market, while editing my iPhone's playlist because WHY IS THIS HORRIBLE MUSIC ON MY PHONE?! before unloading half the dishes, writing a partial grocery list, gathering together a dozen eggs to sell, peeking through the mail, and oh what's this? My kid's homework pile and school news......probably need to glance through that....while planning out my garden, checking the calendar, thinking about how to hang the kids' art for their "Home Art Show" that our in-house docent, Solomon, is hosting, (and not finishing a single one of those things!), I realized, not only did we check into this party without an ending date in sight, but yours truly IS THE MAD HATTER!

A Mad Hatter with a team of demolition minions to supervise......who in their right mind thought that this was a good idea?!


Life and Death

I turn my back to the wind
To catch my breath
Before I start off again.
Driven on without a moment to spend
To pass an evening with a drink and a friend

I let my skin get too thin
I'd like to pause
No matter what I pretend
Like some pilgrim
Who learns to transcend
Learns to live as if each step was the end

It was Easter in England. It was Easter everywhere I suppose but we had just landed in England, about to start our grand Footie adventure. Early in the afternoon, a text came from Lily: An egg had hatched! Easter arrived, bringing with it new life! Hope everlasting! We were tickled.

From across the world, I could feel Lily's excitement as nine peeps hatched that week; I sensed her worry as three almost died and her relief when they were nursed to good health by my faithful mom and Best-Neighbor-Ever. I mourned for her heartbreak when one of them did not survive and she buried it by herself next to the shed and wept...for hours. 

My mom cried from Florida, sad she was not still there to comfort and console. Lily cried in western PA, discouraged that the roosters would kill one of their own. I sighed, tears held back, helpless in England. Actually, helpless no matter where. Life can be cruel. But one thing that this life has taught me is that no matter how cruel, life goes on, even amidst sadness and death. We cannot hold onto what we have, what we had, what is to come. But those valleys give rise to great mountains. 

(Time stand still)
I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
(Time stand still)
See more of the people and the places that surround me now
Freeze this moment a little bit longer
Make each impression a little bit stronger
Freeze this motion a little bit longer

England was a fantastic blur (that I hope to share in a picture-post on a different day) and there were many moments I paused, wishing I could somehow capture them and keep them with me. But it was over before we knew it and a few days after we returned from overseas, I went out to the barn to tend to the peeps and found that our bunny, Morgan, had given birth to five kits. They were cold and lifeless. 

Five. Dead. Bunnies.

Shocked and a wee bit panicky, I texted my Best-Neighbor-Ever and she said she'd be right over. I began removing their damaged bodies from the cage. Only two of the kits seemed like they could have been viable. The others had been trampled and were damaged beyond repair. I held one under the heat lamp. Maybe if they just warmed up they'd come back to life. Maybe they were alive and just very deep sleepers. Maybe I was ridiculously hopeful; hopeful that somehow I was mistaken. But how would I tell the girls? Should I even tell them? Did they need to know this? The kits did not move. There were no detectable heartbeats.

"I don't even know what to do," I confessed to my friend, moving in slow motion as if in a dream. 

"Well, we should bury them," she offered, not wanting to look at the little bodies in front of us.

"You're right, " I agreed, gathering up the supplies and bundling up the babies.

We buried the bunnies next to our back coop and added a stone to mark their grave. The girls wept upon hearing the news, hearts broken in pieces. But, life somehow manages to keep moving forward. 

That night, I made the mistake of scouring the internet for information to help me process the dead bunnies and stumbled upon a post from someone who had "brought cold bunnies back to life" by warming them up. I was sick to my stomach. Did I just kill bunnies that could have been saved?!?!?! 

I kept reading, looking for other examples. Most of what I read told about young rabbit mothers often failing to keep a first litter alive; about how frequently first litters are dead upon being born, etc. But I kept coming back to the thought that I could have saved them. After tormenting myself for over an hour, I grabbed a flashlight and headed out back. Almost midnight, it was dark and beginning to snow. I grabbed the shovel and went to the grave thinking that mama rabbits bury their babies to help keep them warm, maybe burying them helped keep them alive. I stuck the shovel into the ground and as I was about to turn over the soil I had a moment of clarity. 

I texted my friend about it in the morning:

Me: So, it took everything I had to NOT dig those bunnies up last night.

Her: WHAT?! 

I watched this video about a guy who revived dead bunnies by warming them up. I KILLED THE BUNNIES! Seriously, three of them were irreparably damaged but the other two were just perfect, you know, outside of being cold and lifeless....

OMG! I HELPED you kill the bunnies!

Well, there were far more articles saying that first time rabbit moms often give birth to dead litters.

Let's go with that.

Even this morning I thought maybe they would still be okay since rabbit moms bury their bunnies to keep them safe and warm. But Kurt said that if I brought them back now they'd probably be like zombie/vampire bunnies and come eat us.

And the girls would be confused and horrified. 

See my dilemma? I actually went out at almost midnight to check on the rabbits and then dig up the bunnies. But then I stopped and said: Wait, this is INSANE! 

Stick with that. This is insane. Dead is dead. 

Yes, it is. 

But will you come dig me up after I die to see if I come back as a zombie vampire?!! After all, that's what friends are for. 


I told you she is the best!

Time has not stood still, try and try as we might....we cannot force it to do so. But in those moments of grief, time seems to move so slowly that one can only believe that that moment will last forever and joy has ceased to exist. 

Not more than a couple weeks would go by before the tiniest Silkie peep hatched whom the girls named Biddy May. The next day, Bingo, our beloved one-eyed duck, was killed by the neighbors Doberman. Once again, Best-Neighbor-Ever came to help dig a hole. Sadly, we are getting to be old pros at this. 

"On the bright side, we know we can dig a lot deeper now," she offered. 

(Husbands be warned.) 

My children have learned the joy of new life, and the heartbreak when it is over. We have learned the art of burying the dead and of saying goodbye. With each feathery or furry friend, a little more innocence chips away. But such is life.

I just hope the burials get easier. 

We bought these pretty lighted flower and globe ornamental garden stakes to mark the graves and as I was sticking them into the ground, Madeline asked, "Wait! Are you sure you are not impaling their heads?"

"No, I know where they are buried and I am not impaling them." 

"Oh good," she said. "Because it just doesn't seem right to impale someone's head, even if they are already dead."

And the eulogies are even worse. As Madeline said some words over Bingos grave, it took everything I had not to burst into giggles:

"Family and friends, we are gathered here today to bury our mostly loved duck, Bingo.....who only had one eye and was blind in the other, so really, he had no working eyes. But we loved him anyway because we saved him when no one else wanted him and he was going to be killed by the farmer. And we kept him alive a year longer than he would have had and he lived a happy life here, but maybe sometimes he was sad because he couldn't see a thing. And that is how he died: He made a mistake and wandered into the neighbor's yard where he was eaten by their dog and he will never do that again. So, farewell Bingo. We will miss you walking in circles. Have a nice life in heaven."

Lily wept out a little more of that childhood innocence. Our sister-like friend hugged her then suggested they go play. 

Life went on and we ate chocolate and everything was essentially okay. 

Summer's going fast, nights growing colder
Children growing up, old friends growing older
Freeze this moment a little bit longer
Make each sensation a little bit stronger
Experience slips away
Experience slips away...
The innocence slips away


Easter Bacon, 2016

"For God so loved the world that he gave us Jesus.....And bacon."

--Kurt (a.k.a. my husband.....there is a reason I do most of the spiritual teaching in the house....)

Seriously, I know it is a time for full rejoicing at the resurrection of Christ but really, bacon is so much more tangible sometimes. All that fatty, salty goodness......I sometimes wonder if God could have gotten away with just the bacon. (No offense, Jesus.....not trying to discount your sacrifice or anything.....I am pretty sure bacon was the gift of remorse God offered after kicking Adam and Eve out of the Garden.....like he felt a little bad so here's a little consolation prize.....definitely softened the blow if you ask me!)

As I type this, we are thousands of feet above the ground, flying toward a land already celebrating Easter Sunday. It’s like our personal attempt to get to Easter quicker, to escape the burden of Lent and the sorrow of that pre-Easter Saturday, arriving where we left off, hopefully with renewed faith and a revival of life.

I don’t fly well; I will admit it. I do not like being so high above the illusion of the sure footedness I feel with the ground directly under my feet. Madeline noted that everything looks so small from up here. Perspective is an amazing thing. Truth be told, most things ARE so small, we just only realize it when we remove ourselves from our norm and look at it through different lenses, from a distance perhaps.

Eating took on a different tune when we stopped filling ourselves with sugar and wheat products. It was scary at first, like taking leave of solid ground, but by the end of Lent, it did not feel so unfamiliar; it had become comfortable, a new norm. Adding candied eggs and treats suddenly this morning seemed odd…..why would we fill our bodies with stuff that isn’t sustaining, that doesn't nourish us? (Ok, admittedly, the kids had no problem tearing into their Easter baskets and devouring that which had been off limits for the last few weeks....SOME even learned why we don't eat the whole darn chocolate bunny at once!)

Cracking through the other forms of wastefulness was a different sort of beast though. It did not take long for me to realize that it was just too big of a feat to conquer. There were too many conflicts, too many justifications, too many temptations.

Oh, and not to mention, I am too imperfect!

While we should have filled dozens of bags or boxes to donate and throw, we got through only a few. While I should have freed plenty of time to finish up my books and devotionals, I am still wading knee deep in the trenches, digging through the muck to recall what I already read so that I can plunge forward again. While our budget should have been rejoicing from all the saving we did, I struggled to make everything add up just right with this big trip looming and the preparations for Easter upon us. 

And the list goes on and on. 

But, Easter is here! Well, it’s Easter SOMEWHERE anyway, and the fact remains, it never disappeared to begin with. All that wandering and waiting, that fasting and pursuing, just a remembrance; a reminder; just a discipline for our spirit, one that gently guides us back into the grace that existed before we began and will continue on until we are no longer even remembered. 

So yeah, bacon is pretty darn awesome. A close second perhaps.... But it can’t free us from ourselves. Only Jesus can do that. And that is what he did between the cross and the tomb and the emptiness and the rising. Our bunnies may be hollow, but His promises are not. We may celebrate with bacon (and/or chocolate filled tummy aches!), but our Easter joy comes from the love of God, and God alone. (And we know he loves us because he gave us Jesus.....and, yeah, bacon!)


On Being Found

Kurt and I are getting ready to head to England with Madeline who was selected to go train with the Wolverhampton soccer academy for a week. We leave the day before Easter so, one day on the way to school, I was explaining to the kids that we would be celebrating Easter early (again) this year. 

"Well, how is the Easter Bunny going to know that we need him or her to come early?" Lily wanted to know. 

"I will just send the Easter Bunny a message like I did last time," I said.


"Well, I will put a note in the mail......or maybe I can tell the chickens who can tell the birds who can take the message to the Easter Bunny," I replied thoughtfully.

"Oh, I know!" she exclaimed. "We could tell the cats to tell the Easter Bunny since they go far away hunting."

"Hmmmm, I sure hope that wasn't the Easter Bunny's liver at our doorstep yesterday," I responded. 

There was a dramatic pause as it slowly registered in their now warped little minds. Then the car exploded in laughter as I said a silent 'You're Welcome' to their future therapists.


I was thinking about it recently: There is a strange sort of beauty in being lost. You see, if you are never lost, then you don't get to experience the supreme exhilaration of being found again. You don't get to experience the joy that accompanies finding your way back home, being welcomed with open arms, rejoicing in reunion. Traveling can do this for loved ones. ("Let there be space in your togetherness," said Kahlil Gibran, reminding us that in that space, in that time apart, we recall fondly those we love and we miss them....something not allowed by continual togetherness.....which is why I send my kids to opposing corners over and over and over again.....)

And while the Easter Bunny is probably very happy not being found (you know, that whole avoiding organ removal and full limb dismantling thing), the rest of us, well, sometimes being found, coming home again, is all it takes to renew our spirits and lift us toward joy. 

Dawson left the safety of the run to find Bingo.....

Lily brought them both home again.
And we rejoice.
(Even if I am still plotting to find them a new home!) 


Who We Are

The night of the Subway adventure, I was awakened a little before 2:00 a.m. by a screaming Madeline:

"Moooooom! Lily is puking all over our room.....ALL OVER MY BED!"

I resisted the urge to pull the sheets over my head and ignore her panic and instead leapt up and grabbed my stash of cleaning supplies that, let's be honest, I think I keep just for this occasion. 

When I arrived, I questioned why I had not gone with my first instinct and I dearly wished I still had on my blinders from the sub shop. My mind raced: didn't we JUST go through this a month or so ago? Doesn't that fulfill our quota for the year?

For the love of......!

Lily, top-bunk sleeping Lily, had sure enough become what might be described as violently ill.....if by violent we are referring to a sudden, torrential attack of projectile vomiting. From the looks of the crime scene, she had been assaulted by the sudden onset of whatever tummy bug Solomon should have picked up from Subway's bathroom floor (again, EWWWW!). Pink, regurgitated berry smoothie was dripping from the top bunk, down onto Madeline's lower bunk, somehow hitting every step of the ladder as well and covering EVERY. LAST. THING. ON. THEIR. OFF-WHITE-CARPET! (Kurt might claim it is a light beige carpet but trust me, from the Contrast Art perspective of that moment, it was definitely closer to white!)

I was furious. How many times had I told them to go clean their room in the last week?! How many times had I failed to follow up and make sure they had actually done it?!

Madeline curled up outside her bedroom door, exhausted; Lily, a pale heap on the bathroom mat next to the sludge covered toilet, quietly shivered. 

It took me a full hour to calm myself down clean up the disaster zone: half a bottle of Lysol, a full roll of paper towels, two full garbage bags of unrecoverable, drenched books, art work, notebooks, pens, pencils (and whatever else I angrily threw in there just because) and eight loads of laundry carefully rolled inward and piled up in front of the over worked machines.....why, oh why had they decided to leave all that clutter all over their floor? (And seriously, why couldn't it have been Solly, sleeping two feet from the bathroom door on the floor of his room? And finally, what's with my kids puking on each other?!)

At one point, after sticking in another load of soiled stuffed animals and sheets, I went into the guest bathroom to wash my hands and was met with this: 

Not only was their room a ridiculous disaster, but they had infiltrated the guest bathroom which was now oozing creativity in the form of ONE. GIGANTIC. MESS! (I refrained from taking a picture of the paint-stained sink and overflowing trash......)

But then something caught my eye. Four simple words.

Oh dear Lord! Why can't I just be mad for one moment before you throw something back in my face?! For, if they are the sheep.....who is their shepherd? And if that is my call in this moment, for this season, how will I tend my flock? With anger? Resentment? Irritation? 

Or will I follow The Way set before me, tending to them with love, compassion, and forgiveness?

(Honestly, Jesus didn't have kids that we know of and I can't recall any stories of him having to clean up the bodily fluids of anyone in the middle of the night while he really needed sleep and as far as I can tell, when he needed a break, he just climbed a mountain or entered a garden and told people to back off and they listened......I can't even use the toilet without interruption for crying out loud! But somehow, his example is supposed to apply here......so onward we push.) 

It is a funny balancing act being both a shepherd and a sheep; hoping to be found while also doing the searching.....praying for forgiveness while also doing the forgiving.....receiving grace in the midst of the dispensing.

I left the art room, silently finished the sanitizing and making of beds, gave Lily fresh clothes and covered her with a clean blanket. Then, I went back to the girls' closet, where I had angrily thrown Madeline's clean stuffed animals, and one by one I gently placed each animal back where it belonged so that they could be bearers of comfort to the one who loves them most. 

I am a sheep. YOU are a sheep. 

Let us also be good shepherds.