Stumbling Towards Perfect

I got a voicemail the other day from the hospital saying ‘since you’re the contact on record we just want you to know your Dad can get a Covid vaccine.’ I ask my Dad if he wants one and he practically jumps out of his Lay-Z-Boy. (Not an easy task.) ABSOLUTELY he wanted one! So I call the number back, have to complete a 15-minute auto-response survey pressing buttons 1 or 2 before being transferred to an actual human being who sets the appointment. They tell me the Elkhorn and Burlington hospitals are way backed up and he’ll be dead before they can fit him in ; however, there is a new site in Milwaukee at the Advocate Aurora Health Care Center in Walker’s Point like THE. NEXT. DAY! I think to myself, ' huh. Walker’s Point. An hour away – how bad can it be?' and sign him up. I announce he has to wear a t-shirt and bring his ID and face mask and that we're leaving at 8:00 am today to get his Covid vaccine. The man is absolutely giddy with excitement. Until this morning when h...

Our one constant growing up was arguments revolving around excessive alcohol consumption. My father would be the "fun guy" out with his friends after work and during the weekends, then get to that tipping point and head home to finish things off. We experienced the downside. (The part his drinking buddies weren't privy to.) He wasn't the "fun guy" for us. He was critical and angry, annoyed and distracted. He would come home to "fall asleep watching tv" (pass out). In fact, unless he was yelling, there was very little interaction. My father's choice to regularly over-consume meant poor financial decisions that affected us all. My mother had to carry the brunt of responsibility raising us children while working full time and a part time job. (She had to make up for the money being spent at the bars and liquor stores.) Any hope for a sense of self worth was distinguished through his constant criticism. No matter how well we did in any particular a...

Our society puts a lot of pressure on girls to look a certain way. Those tall boots you bought last season need to be replaced with ankle boots for this season. Your hair needs to be colored because your natural color isn’t enough. Your nails need to be done, your make up perfect, and your pictures on social media will be dissected so you need up to date home décor for the background. You need a new car and a new phone and a new purse. That’s a lot for one young person to afford. Somehow you’ve got it in your head that if you just move in with your man (or some guy you start dating), he can take care of the rest: the house, the utilities, yardwork, the groceries, etc. On top of that, he should take you out for dates regularly because you’re young and you don’t wanna be a loser sitting at home. Besides, what’s the point of getting your hair done if no one gets to see it? This is an incredibly selfish way of thinking. You have the dream of the house and car before you have the vision of ...

Job not going right? Feel unappreciated and overlooked? Spill coffee on your new cream colored tights? Hair look ridiculous? Sister mad at you? Mother-in-law hate your guts? Boyfriend forgot your birthday? Car trouble? Missed a doctor appointment? Loose filling in your tooth? Dog run away? Mortgage company misapply your payment? Speeding ticket in a known speed trap? Neighbor's garbage cans out for the third day in a row? Can't get those concert tickets last minute? The holiday "it toy" completely sold out? Coworker throw you under the bus? Client humiliated you in a very public meeting? Teacher called you in because of your kid's behavior? A simple misunderstanding morphed out of control? There's a whole culture watching you quietly: we're the Mama's who have experienced a level of rough that frightens you. We're the ones you say, "I wouldn't be able to live..." after hearing our story. We hear your complaints and read your posts and...

Eight years ago I paced alone throughout a house wondering where my daughters were. An inquisitive 3-year old boy as my shadow. I remember feeling so utterly alone.  I called their phones. I sent texts. I posted on Facebook. I called my sister. I called the police. I called my mom. I drove to the church. I called the police again. I walked in circles. I panicked. I prayed. I answered the door. And my world went dark. I broke down. I broke apart. I broke empty. I broke completely. I broke alone. Then I lifted my head and let God in. There has been countess blessings and so much incredible joy from sweet friends and absolute strangers! So much goodness! My heart swells just thinking of it all! The Avery House in Haiti. The 19 Days. The Avery Step You Take 5K. To this day I still meet people who say, "wait - are you Avery's mom?" Her story and her love for Christ has reached the hearts of people from all over. How could this be possible except for such a good, good God?  And...

I have this theory that every one of us is born with missing pieces of our soul.  Throughout our lives we pick up different pieces - experiences, relationships, careers, hobbies - in the hopes that the piece fits and we become one step closer to whole. But sometimes we pick up pieces where the shape fits but it is obvious when we look at the color and pattern that it isn't supposed to belong there. I think it's especially this way with mental illness and addiction. There are so many shapes that match but they aren't right. In fact, if you leave them in place, you'll never be able to complete your soul.  Alcohol to take the edge off. Getting drunk by 4pm on a Tuesday. Hooking up with people you don't actually care for just because you're lonely or bored or, truthfully, just desperate to fill that empty spot. Smoking marijuana, snorting cocaine, popping oxycontin, xanax, ativan. Inappropriate behavior that hurts innocent people who didn't even know you a...

The other day a package, sent to me, from me, was delivered to my home. Except I didn’t actually send myself anything. So I had no idea what it was or who would send it or why they would. Inside was an anonymous note referencing Avery and The 19 Days and I’m not including the note because the sender went through great lengths to remain anonymous and therefore I’m respecting that and no one will be able to scrutinize the handwriting. Because it isn’t really about trying to figure out who sent it. It’s about allowing yourself to just feel loved and cared for. In this case, allowing myself to just feel loved and cared for. Because the truth is, I’ve been craving that for a long time. Years and years, really. And I kind of forgot what it was like - to just receive. To just accept. To just think about how someone, somewhere, thought about me and said, “I think she’d like this.” So they took out their money and purchased something that was perfect for me when they could hav...