Two little lines

A grand adventure is about to begin.
-Winnie the Pooh

Within hours of learning I was pregnant I felt compelled to write. I decided quickly to journal. The decision to blog came more slowly. I feel like there are more than enough motherhood/pregnancy blogs already, and they all do a much better job than I could ever do. But what would it hurt to share my experiences too? It's already been proven people don't have to read what I write. So here goes...

Upfront you should know I did not want this to happen. My husband and I were scared away from having children almost eight years ago when I thought I might be pregnant and later learned that I wasn't. We never really recovered from the shock of sudden responsibility we felt as we waited for a negative pregnancy test.

Ironically, it was that experience that sealed the deal for me quitting hormonal birth control. I had health complications with the three different types I tried (migraines, moodiness, weight gain, etc), but the fear that it could potentially harm my unborn child (unwarranted or not) was enough for me to stop it for good.

Within a few months we settled on natural family planning. I read several books. I still remember reading a warning that if we weren't going to be serious about NFP, then we shouldn't claim to practice it. The author lamented that NFP had such a low success rate because so many people did it incorrectly or took chances they weren't supposed to take. Also, most NFP "failures" happen in the first year.

I took the responsibility seriously and was diligent that first year. I followed every single rule. Measured and charted every indicator every day. To be fair to NFP we have not strictly followed the rules since then. It's just that some of the fertility indicators are tedious to measure, and if you track everything month after month you begin to learn about your body. (For example, my temperature swings happen later than for most women. I stopped taking my daily temperature years ago because it just wasn't as reliable an indicator for me as other things.)

 And there have been a handful of times when I have been wrong. I thought the indicators were or were not there only to learn after it was too late that I had misread my signals. That's not what happened this time. We had very good reasons to believe my fertile window had opened AND closed. And no other indication to the contrary. Still, in the hours following the positive pregnancy test I felt like a failure. How could I have let this happen?

I have always been paranoid about a surprise pregnancy and have taken dozens of pregnancy tests over the years. It has been a common refrain for me to link some symptom or issue with possible pregnancy. This particular time it was back pain.

My mom had back pain with both her pregnancies very early. When my back began hurting, I thought I might be experiencing the same thing. I lay in bed at 3 am the day of my missed period and whispered to my husband, "I just can't stop worrying about if I'm pregnant."

Eight years is a long time to be patient. Having heard it all before he replied simply, "Amy, you're not pregnant." And he rolled over and went to sleep. I nursed some hurt feelings and planned to talk to him the next evening about being more respectful to my concerns.

The next day I took the test. For the first time in my life the first little pink line began to appear. I blinked my eyes several times. It was still there. Two lines? Two lines! TWO lines?!?!?! "Dear God, no. Please no. I'm not ready. It's not time," I prayed.

I took a picture. Both lines showed up in the picture. I held it up to the light. They were still there. My heart started beating out of my chest and my breathing sped up. My skin flushed. Was I going to faint?

I talked myself through until my heart rate and breathing slowed. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. Everything will be alright."

My next thought was having to tell people. It was close to April Fool's Day. Every previous time I thought I might be pregnant around March, I always thought an April 1st announcement would be fun. So that might work out. I began thinking of how I would tell my friends. They would probably ask me how I am feeling. I actually thought I was handling it pretty well. I mean, I hadn't cried or anything. I panicked at first, but that was just for a few seconds really. How was I feeling?

I looked at myself in the mirror and said to myself, "I'm terrified." All composure was lost as I melted into sobs. I could hear my husband in the next room in a conference call meeting. On his first day of work at his new job. I couldn't really tell him until after his work day was finished. And I didn't want him to hear me, rush out and learn about our pregnancy with me a blubbering heap.

I tried to pull myself together and took several deep breaths. How do teenagers do this? How in the world do single moms handle this? I am old and married and middle class and love kids and I feel completely unprepared and unqualified. Downright unable. (Every mom in the world gained even more respect from me that day.)

Johnie had an hour before he was finished with work. How would I tell him? I really didn't want him to learn about his first child through heaving sobs. I thought about friends who had bought onesies or dad-to-be items and given them to their husbands. I didn't really have time for that. "Oh, hey... we're pregnant" seemed lackluster. What could I do?

I settled on telling him I got him a surprise for his first day at his new job. That was about the best I could come up with. I willed myself to hold it together, but his meeting ran long. And in the minutes between when he was supposed to get off work and when he did get off work I lost it again. And pulled it together again.

He didn't act like he suspected anything when he saw my face. "So, I got you a surprise for your first day of work."

"Oh, really? You didn't have to do that. What is it?"

This is harder than I thought it would be. I swallowed and could only whisper, "I'm pregnant."

His eyes got wide. "Really?!?"

I shrugged. "That's what the test said."

A tiny smile tugged his lips upward. But only for a few seconds. Serious, he asked, "how are you feeling?"

"How are you feeling?"

We were hugging. I couldn't see his face. What is he going to say? What is he going to do? How is he going to react? What is this going to mean for us? The seconds ticked slowly by. Was he waiting on me to answer first? I wanted him to answer first.

Finally he spoke. "I'm just really worried about how you are feeling."

"I'm scared."

We began discussing how and when to tell people. My best friend had always made me one of the first people she told (after her husband) about her pregnancies. Johnie agreed we should do the same for her. So she was our first call. We tried to call my mom but she wasn't available. We called Johnie's parents and siblings and grandparents.

We would be seeing our church family the following night. We live in a very tight knit open community. We strive to share life like a real, authentic family. This was rocking my world. I couldn't see my friends and not tell them. If it was even possible, it would have felt dishonest. But the thought of Johnie announcing our pregnancy and then everyone looking at me was overwhelming. I never like a lot of eyes on me and especially in a situation like this. I told him I just couldn't handle it.

He suggested I stay home and he announce it without me. That'd be a great way to have everyone at my house -- sick with worry -- in less than ten minutes. We agreed to call the friends we would see the next evening before we were to be with them. That way things might be settled down a little before I actually had to have anyone looking at me.

That was until we talked to my mom. She was ecstatic. Beyond ecstatic. She kept thanking the Lord over and over again. And she told us this was the best moment of her life so far. My husband tried to clarify -- with both of her children also on the phone -- and she said that her own births were the most amazing moments of her life when they happened. Emphatically, this was the best yet, she said, and that it would only get better when the baby arrived.

I knew my mom would be excited. But I had no idea her reaction would be so over the top. It actually helped me feel a lot better. I mean, everyone we told had sweet reactions. But my mom's response was priceless. I was already feeling a little guilty that my initial reaction was void of happiness and Johnie's lacked much enthusiasm. At least this baby had others who responded in such pure joy.

She also had plans with close friends in the coming days and was unsure how she could not tell them. Johnie received an email that night from a dear friend and we almost had to call him and his wife to tell them the news because Johnie didn't know how he could hide such a huge life event. (That friend later said he knew by Johnie's short reply that something was up.)

So, Johnie and I decided that night that mom should be the one to make the announcement to our church family. We weren't sure how she would do it, but we did know it would be great. And almost certainly better than any way Johnie or I could manage to tell anyone in the next 24 hours.

In true mom fashion, she didn't disappoint. Neither did our friends.

Home buying redux. Or, what not to do when buying a house.

We couldn't have planned it any better.
-Mandie



For most of my marriage with Johnie I dreamed of owning a home in Kentucky. Before we even had actual plans to move I asked my grandfather to wait on carving our Wichita address into a piece of wood he saved for me from a tree we had planted together. Because I wanted my permanent address to be in my home state.

Years later, I finally know what that address is but I never could have imagined just how long and curvy the road home would be.

Even before we officially sold the home we loved in Kansas we were already looking for Kentucky houses. The first couple of years it was mostly casual internet searches and random open house viewings. We weren't even sure what city we wanted to settle in and visited houses from Frankfort to London and many places in between.

I felt burned by our real estate experience in Kansas and made a list of must-haves for the house and the process.

We began working with a (fabulous) realtor in the spring of 2013 (Jonnie Jean Young). By that time we had decided we wanted to settle in London -- someday -- close to our friends and church family. We found a house we were excited about but we were unable to swing the down payment necessary for a loan on a home that wouldn't be our primary residence for a few years.

The home search was suspended until the following winter. We had a diagnosis for my health issues and it was becoming clear to me that I couldn't keep up with my job and my personal life. We made the decision for me to stop working and, with nothing holding us to Frankfort, to move. By this time a couple of our friends were also home shopping in London. As we learned quickly, each of us had talked to our spouses about how we would love to be neighbors. So, we decided to house shop together.

We considered homes listed in the same neighborhoods. We considered house/lot options to build side-by-side. We looked at land to build a duplex. We looked at properties that included a primary residence and rental home on-site. We looked at large single family homes to remodel to fit our needs. Nothing quite worked.

With no solid prospects, Johnie and I, along with some other dear friends, secured a large rental home in London and continued the search. (In case you haven't already deduced this, Johnie and I don't do housing in the same way as most American families.)

In late July our friends called us about a house they were extremely interested in. It was in the same subdivision as several of our other friends. Actually, some of our friends had been interested in buying it several months prior before they learned it didn't qualify for financing at that time. It had been a foreclosure and by this point had been purchased by an investor.

Before: Bedroom

I had walked around the outside of this house a year or so previously. It was old and dirty and small. And kind of creepy. From what I had learned from our friends who had been interested in it before, it didn't have a lot of the things on my list. Johnie had asked me to look at it with him several times. I always said no.

But none of us were really interested in living in the house. It sat on an acre and a half of land and we were thinking we could fix it up as a rental and then build our two-family duplex at the back of the lot.

Our friends went under contract on the house in August. We began our house-building plans and my friend coaxed me through the front door by telling me it wasn't as bad inside as she had thought it would be.

By the time I actually looked at the house the outside had been cleaned up considerably from when I had just walked around the yard. And the inside had been aired out a little and some of the walls had been fixed.

Before: Dining Room

I stepped through the front door and it reminded me of our rental house in Frankfort. Which isn't a good thing. I didn't like that house. But I had to agree with my friend. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

The weeks ticked by. The end date to our lease crept closer. Home building plans got more complicated and expensive-feeling to me.

I have always wanted a master bath. I'd have one in the house we built. We would have a two-car garage. We were going to have everything on our list. And, someday, even an in-ground pool.
But, as we dreamed of all the nice things we would have in the house we were going to build, I began feeling uncomfortable with the price of those things. And I began feeling uncomfortable with my own greed and selfishness.

Before: Living Room

It sure would be a lot cheaper and less complicated just to live in the foreclosure house. We had lived in the Frankfort house for two years and this one was bigger than that -- with major remodeling potential. But still not wanting to actually live in that house, I decided not to talk about my thoughts with anyone.

The closing ended up getting delayed because of a clerical error with the deed. We were all assured that it was a matter of when -- not if -- it would be cleared up. It was right around this same time I posed the question to Johnie: "What if we just lived in the foreclosure house and didn't build?"

We talked with our friends and, later, with the investor, and a new plan was hatched. As we waited for the deed issue to be resolved, we subdivided the land into two portions. We would get the half with the house, our friends would get the other half to build. And because we wanted to move out of our rental house when our other friends would be moving out, the investor agreed to let Johnie and me determine, coordinate and oversee the work on the foreclosure house so it would be ready when we needed it.

Before: Kitchen

We thought that meant he would be paying for things and the cost would (basically) be rolled into our loan amount at closing. What it actually meant was he would let us work on and pay for renovations on the house before we closed.

So, yes, like stupid people, Johnie and I began working on a vacant foreclosed house we didn't own. By this time, I was starting to feel a little nervous. Because this was for sale by owner, we weren't using our beloved realtor. And because we were initially more interested in the land than in the house, we never had an inspection.

Before: Bathroom

We entered this work phase as we had entered the previous ones: Prayerfully. We knew we were taking a gamble and were risking any money we spent on the house, but we decided it was worth the risk. If it worked out in the end, it would be more than worth it.

We started slow with the work. That means we mostly just spent our time. We spent several days cleaning the house. And we spent a while deciding just what projects we would tackle before we moved in, paring them down considerably since the expenses were all coming out of our own pockets.

This might be a good time to mention that new plan we hatched was a verbal one. (Hence the initial misunderstanding about who would pay for what.) The actual contract wasn't revised from the original one. We were waiting for a full loan approval for Johnie and me since it had been so long since our first one when we began the process. And we needed the deed issue to be resolved.

After: Bedroom

Anything we would do to the house at this point would start costing more serious money. I wanted to paint all the rooms which would be several hundred dollars alone. I was at war with myself. If I spent the money and did the work and we didn't get the house, I would kick myself for being so stupid. But if I didn't go ahead and paint now when the house was empty and I had the time to do it, I would kick myself at closing for not doing that work when I had the chance.

I quizzed all my friends on whether or not to paint. One advised that I should sit with each decision... how would I feel about either decision years from now? And that helped me. If I didn't paint and we didn't get the house, it was inconsequential. If I didn't paint and we did get the house, I'd have a lot of added work and stress when we moved (something I try to avoid these days). If I painted and we got the house, then it would be really helpful and I could tell everyone how crazy we were to paint the house before it was even ours. And if I painted and we didn't get the house, I could tell everyone how crazy we were to paint a vacant house we didn't even own. I love a good story. And Johnie and I do crazy things like that. That's just who we are. We aren't really very normal. Decision made.

After: Dining Room

Toward the end of January, the painting was well underway. The contractor we had spoken with several weeks prior finally had time to do our projects. We scheduled to meet him at the house one Tuesday afternoon, the same day our housemates would be moving on to continue their missionary work.

Hiring the contractor meant some really serious money (or what I consider serious money). My nervousness only increased. We were going to be out of our rental house at the end of February and had a verbal agreement that we could move into the foreclosure house before closing, but still no actual revised contract.

I couldn't sleep that Monday night and spent quite a while talking with God about all my house worries. Everything felt so shaky, like it could crumble at any moment. So many times throughout the process I just wanted to throw my hands up, walk away from the foreclosure house and the dream of having friends as neighbors, contact our realtor and find a decent house like regular people. This was one of those times. I remember telling God that night, "we're going to be committed to paying this contractor tomorrow, and we don't even have a contract yet." In tears I fell asleep, resigned to continue on this unstable ground.

After: Living Room

The next morning we said an emotional goodbye to our friends, and as we were watching them pull out of the driveway Johnie's phone rang. It was our loan broker telling us all the loan and contract paperwork were ready to sign. The deed issue had been resolved a few days earlier. A couple hours before we met our contractor, we had the paper contract my heart had been hoping for.

Progress on the house went into high gear. We began going over to do projects on nights and weekends, or sometimes even while the contractor was there. One Saturday a friend came over and turned on the water for us and I held my breath and then thanked the Lord when all the pipes worked, minus a very minor, easily fixable drain leak at the bathtub.

And then, in early February, with the contractor finished and the paint almost complete, the appraiser came. Through the months of working on the house, I had fallen in love with it. It was good and solid. There were no roof leaks. The basement stayed dry. The hardwood floors were absolutely beautiful. I had the best dishwasher I've ever owned installed in the kitchen, as well as a stunning red sink with its own little story. The contractor added a gorgeous built-in to replace a non-functional window in the dining room. After all the work we did on the house, we uncovered no major issues.

After: Kitchen

I cleaned and prayed before the appraiser was set to arrive. I wanted to do everything I could to help the process. All along I had trusted the Lord that if we weren't supposed to get this house, then we would just get another one. But now I actually wanted this house.

The appraiser made me nervous. An appraiser caused a snafu when we bought our first home. We had already spent all our extra money fixing up this house, we didn't have anything to compensate for a low appraisal. By the time the appraiser arrived at the house, I was in tears from nervousness and sneaked out the back as he entered the front. Thankfully, Johnie was there and able to act like a sane person for the both of us. I told the Lord that if we weren't going to get this house, I wished He would have let us know before that day.

Before we even knew the results of the appraisal, Johnie received a job offer. It was work even more in line with what he loves than what he was already doing. And after a week of negotiations, we felt like it was doable for us. But, we learned, the new job would put us $250 above the annual income cap on the loan program we were using. If we didn't close before the job switch, we would need to switch loan programs, wait at least 30 days for a new income history and bring more money to the table.

After: Bathroom

As we were considering the job, the appraisal came in and was what we needed it to be. We still didn't have a firm closing date, but a good possibility that we could close in time for the new job not to affect things.

With fear of losing the house and fear of not being able to meet the (exciting) challenges at the new job pretty much the only things in our reasons to say no column, we decided not to let fear make our decision and Johnie accepted the new position. We continued on with our plans to move.

The rental house we were leaving was more than 3000 square feet. We needed to be out of it by February 28th, a Saturday. I had realized several weeks earlier that I could not move completely out of and then clean such a big house in one day. And we were already busy on Saturday the 21st. I'm sure my friends would have bailed me out and spent their whole Saturday getting everything wrapped up for me, but we decided to move all of our big things on Monday the 23rd. I planned to move all of our smaller things slowly, one car load at a time, the week before. It would cut down on boxes and packing and unpacking.

Except for that's the week we got the historic snowfall, followed by the historic cold.

We stayed snowed in our driveway until our landlord dug us out. And our friends got out and worked on our house for us those days. We had accumulated a list of projects that were to be fixed that week: New sink hoses to allow for running water in the kitchen, a new cord for the stove, the bathtub drain repair. We also learned in those final days before the move that what we thought was the thermostat wasn't. We didn't have one for the air conditioning. Only for the heat. (Thankfully, we didn't need it right away.) And also, the mailbox we thought was ours actually belonged to the neighbors.

48 hours before the move, the easy drain issue turned out to be way more complicated, we still needed to hook up the stove, and I couldn't even park in the driveway of that house because of all the snow. We weren't even sure if we'd be able to move into the house on Monday because of the snow. But we pressed on.

On Sunday, friends came over to clear the driveway and work on the drain.

Set to move the next morning, but still unsure how it would all unfold, I made another trip to Lowe's in tears Sunday evening. Still no working stove, still no way to take a shower.

"This is just how things like this go," my mom told me. She had agreed to stay the week with me to help me move. (Thank God she did.) "It's like when you read a book. We're at the part where everything is messed up. But in the end it all works out and everyone is happy."

"I didn't want to write a book, mom, I just wanted a story."

Thanks to several of our friends, the actual move went great. And, amazingly, the house felt like home almost instantly.

We still didn't have a working bathtub/shower, but we planned to travel back and forth from the rental house to finish packing and cleaning anyway. We would just take our showers there.
Our loan broker told us we could probably close on the house by the end of the week. And I had already started discussing our celebration -- for when we did close -- with our friends. We would all get to be at the closing table together. Us for the house, them for the land. I wanted to do remakes of all the crazy pictures from the first closing in Kansas. And then we were going to plant a tree or set a stone or start digging a footer -- something -- to signify this day. And then we were going to eat a delicious dinner together.

Throughout the week, my mom, my brother, my friends and I worked to get all the final items moved to the new house and get the old house cleaned out. Johnie was working faithfully each night after work to fix the bathtub drain. I was confident he would get it soon. My health was not doing great and I was needing to rest more than I preferred, but I was much healthier than I could have been and I had a lot of people helping. I felt hopeful.

On Thursday the bathtub drain still wasn't fixed. I was afraid I was going to have to take our friends up on their offer to shower at their house. And our broker called to tell us the final underwriter didn't approve our loan because of a fallen downspout noticed in one of the pictures. Any hopes of closing this week were dashed. If everything went smoothly with the repair and reappraisal, we could possibly expedite the closing to Monday, our broker said.

Johnie was pretty disappointed. His official two week notice went into effect on Monday. If the lending company required a third employment verification and if Human Resources disclosed his notice, we would be starting all over with a new loan program.

But Johnie fixed the downspout that afternoon, the appraiser sent in his paperwork, and we continued to work on getting settled into the new house and moved out of the old house. We had done everything we could do.

Friday morning I talked to my friend who was buying the land with us. I told her we may close on Monday, and that I was feeling okay at that moment. Some other friends had volunteered to get things wrapped up at the old house that day and Johnie had fixed the tub drain. I could take a shower at my new house! I got out of bed with a plan for the day and felt like I could actually accomplish it. My mom and I worked on some projects at the new house with plans to clean at the old house with friends after lunch.

But the broker called as we were eating lunch to tell us the paperwork had been approved and we could close that afternoon. If we (four, for the house and land) and the investor could get there. Johnie was ecstatic. I was nauseous. I had not planned to take a break from scrubbing floors to go close on a house. And the old house had to be cleaned because we were giving it back to the landlord the next day.

On top of that, neither of our friends were available at the same time.

I cried. I cried hard. So many things had not gone how I had imagined they would go with this whole process, and now my dream of a fun closing and celebration with our friends was also being shattered. I knew I was being a baby but it took me a few minutes to pull it together. The important thing was that we would all finally own this house and land we had worked and waited for.
We worked it out so we would filter in throughout the afternoon as we were available to each sign our portion of the documents.

I left the old house, not even completely sure if the investor would make it to sign his portion of the documents, and went to the new house to meet Johnie and change out of work clothes before heading to the title company.

I thought we would just sign our stuff and leave, but Johnie said he'd stay and wait for the investor to arrive. Our broker told us as soon as the investor signed, the house would definitely be ours. As we were waiting, I noticed I forgot to change my jeans and had brown stains on my knees from cleaning earlier. (Just another thing to add to the train wreck, I thought.)

The investor was late. And I was not feeling very good about what seemed like rushing through paperwork at the last minute on a Friday evening. This was a big deal for me and Johnie. I wasn't sure everyone else at the table understood just how invested we were in this house.

We tried to portray what we felt like by the time
 we made it to closing. This actually doesn't do it justice.

By the time all of the paperwork was wrapped up it was well into the evening. Though it wasn't said explicitly, we got the impression that the paperwork wouldn't actually be reviewed by the loan company until Monday morning. I left hoping we wouldn't get a bad news call the following week.

My friend met us back at our house when we finished up the closing. We hugged and cried and she saw the house -- with our stuff in it -- for the first time.

"We couldn't have planned it any better," she said. "Obviously, we didn't plan this."

What we did plan was that celebration we had wanted. And I told everyone, "legally, everything is done. But it won't be official until we celebrate."

Monday came and went with no bad news. And as the days passed, I began to finally settle into owning a home once more. I had dreamed for so many years about this, I had to keep reminding myself it was real each morning. It took us a while to switch from renting mentality (should we ask the landlord?) to owning mentality (we can do whatever we want with this wall!). But I am thankful to finally feel like I am putting down roots in a place I love surrounded by people I love.

To treat people with respect

You brought them into this world. You need to help take care of them.

-Housing agency employee

Let me tell you the full story. Settle in.

My mom was considering her housing options. We were unsure whether or not she would qualify for assistance through Section 8. We called the housing agency in the county my mom wanted to live in to ask their requirements.

It was difficult for me to communicate with the lady who answered the phone. We had a hard time understanding each other. I was looking for specific income and asset thresholds. She was more focused on defining income. At the time I made this call my mother was unemployed and I made the mistake of saying she had no income. The lady on the phone explained to me that any money or goods my mom received was considered income. She actually said, "If you buy toilet paper for her, that's income."

She also refused to believe my mom was currently living in a house without running water.

After asking repeatedly, the lady would not give me specific "income" and asset qualifications. I was frustrated. I considered calling the state housing agency to complain about the level of customer service I received. Instead, my mom and I decided to give this lady the benefit of the doubt. I had called at lunch time. She may have been having a bad day. I may not have communicated well with her.

My husband works in the IT department of the state housing agency, so I asked him for help. Within minutes one of his co-workers provided me with the information I was looking for. My mom would qualify for Section 8 assistance. The next step would be to go to the local office during the two hours each month when they allow people to sign up and put her name on the waiting list. (The wait is generally six to twelve months I was told. When your name comes up, you officially apply and then receive assistance if you qualify.)

A couple weeks later we pulled into the parking lot of the local office. It wasn't as crowded as we had anticipated. My mom confided to me on our way in, "I hope they have a private area for us to give our information. It's embarrassing to say all of that in front of other people."

A paper sign on the door told us what would be required when we stepped through. (Basically, if you can't provide this information, come back when you can... during our two hour window next month.)

Once inside, a lady standing behind a tall desk in a lobby area asked us to take a number and pointed to a room where everyone was waiting. With that one sentence I matched her voice to the lady who had answered my phone call.

We took our number and found seats in the room. People were making small talk and "the line" was moving quickly. Every few minutes a worker would emerge from the hallway and call a number. I assume those people were interviewed in offices. We weren't able to see or hear them after they walked down the hallway.

The lady in the lobby was also interviewing people. She would not come to the room, but simply called the next number from her desk in the lobby. We didn't have any problem hearing her, or the people whose applications she was taking.

I hoped we would get another worker.

People in the waiting room were mumbling about her rudeness.

I could hear her interviewing a man whose face I never saw. He worked in the automotive field, but things had been slow for the business that employed him.

"Right now we're living on $330 a month," he said.

He continued to answer the questions but there was a sense of urgency in his voice. "How long will it be?" he asked. "I really need something soon," he said. "Is there any way I can get help quicker?" And finally, "I just really need a place for my kids."

"Well, you brought them into this world. You need to help take care of them," the lady said.

I couldn't believe my ears. My mom and I looked at each other, wide-eyed. There was a visible and audible reaction around the room.

"I don't think that's her place," one said.

"This is worse than the food stamp office," another said.

I was seething. I pulled out my cell phone and began typing a text to my husband. I would find out how to report this lady. That was just inexcusable!

Before I could finish the text my mom's number was called. By the lady. I wanted to stall, but my mom was already out of her seat. She told me later she had decided immediately to be as overwhelmingly nice to this lady as she possibly could be.

The interaction went well. I felt ready to pounce on her if she said one thing out of line to my mom. She didn't.

I searched for a name tag, a badge, a business card that would identify her. I thought I remembered her name from the phone call, but I didn't feel like that was certain enough. What if two workers sounded similar? What if I remembered the name wrong?

I wondered if anything I might do could affect my mom's application. I decided that would be inappropriate and my husband could again connect me to the right people at the state level if that were to happen.

With her application complete we were ready to walk away. I felt like I needed this lady's name to report her, and I didn't know any other way to get it than to ask. So I did. And she told me.

There we stood with the desk between us. To thank her and walk away felt disingenuous. She was the person I was ultimately trying to reach. She was smiling and I was smiling. She seemed almost... open.

Before I could stop them, the words spilled out of my mouth: "I'm sure you have a tough job, but I feel like you've been really insensitive to people this morning."

She didn't seem open anymore. "How have I been insensitive?!"

I could have made a list. Truly. But I couldn't get that man out of my head, and probably if not for that one interaction I wouldn't have said or done anything. So I planned to start with him.

"The gentleman who was here earlier. You told him that he brought his kids into the world and he needed to help take care of them. That wasn't very nice and I don't feel like that is an appropriate thing for you to say."

The seconds felt like hours. What was going to happen next? Did the people in the room hear me? Did they feel empowered? Should I ask for a supervisor?

"Maybe you should take some additional sensitivity training or something."

Did I just say that out loud?

"We only have two hours to process everyone's application," she said.

That's not an excuse to be rude. Maybe you should allot more than two hours a month for this.

She had already called the next number. I wasn't sure what to say or do next, so I walked out the door.

Sitting in the car, shaking and crying the second-guessing began. Should I have stood up immediately and introduced myself to that man and addressed the misbehavior as soon as it happened? Should I have not said anything and just filed a formal report? Should I have not left until I spoke with a supervisor or saw some tangible change or result? Did I just make things worse for the people left waiting?

And the question I've been mulling for weeks: What should I do now?

I thought about filing a formal report. I thought about contacting the local newspaper and doing some investigating, possibly even undercover. I thought about going to the housing agency during their two hour window every month and interviewing people to see how the interactions made them feel. I thought about also doing that at the local food stamp office. Sounds like they may have some customer service issues there, too. Or just going and talking to the people and brainstorming ways to help them in less than six months, in more than a two hour time frame. Or offering to sit or stand with them as they answered the questions. 

I thought about surveying my friends about how to handle it. I thought about writing an open letter to social service workers, asking them to strive for kindness in their interactions with their clients.

So far, I haven't done any of those things. 

The other night a blog post popped up on my newsfeed retelling the story of a woman standing up for the mistreatment of a minority couple in front of her in the grocery checkout line. I thought back to this incident and felt like I could relate to her.

As I have reflected on that encounter that day, I have felt a range of emotions. The lady's words underscore many popular misconceptions about impoverished people and those who seek assistance from the government. There are many examples of how programs meant to help don't quite reach what they're aiming for. And the people's reactions and interactions only highlight the destructiveness it can bring. 

I'm not sure I did the right thing that day. On a scale, I don't think I landed at the bottom. But my reaction was not perfect by any means. And I don't even know what kind of impact it had. I hope the lady became more aware of how she was treating people. I hope the people in the waiting room were encouraged and reminded that even though they are asking for a hand up doesn't mean they should be talked down to. But I could have just made things worse. I may never know.

Still, I can't help but thinking that doing something is better than doing nothing. 

What if we all stood up in our little, imperfect ways? What if instead of grumbling or acting out passively or just wallowing in apathy or despair or hopelessness or powerlessness we chose to stand next to our brothers and sisters -- like we would for our brothers and sisters -- when they are so blatantly wronged? (And with the understanding that those on the other side are also our brothers and sisters.)

I think we could make a difference. 

And I think people are already making a difference by standing against injustices in their own quiet and peaceful ways. I hope that by sharing experiences like these we can spur one another on. I hope this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

Note: This post was forwarded (without my knowledge) to the state housing agency and I have been contacted personally by staff in the Frankfort and Louisville offices. While the housing agency that we had this experience at only falls under the jurisdiction of one, both have expressed deep apologies that any housing employee would act in this way. Both have extended offers to help my mom in any way possible. In short, I have been overwhelmed by the immediate and heartfelt response. And am reminded that while some government employees are not stellar, many are devoted, hardworking and often don't get the recognition or respect they deserve.

30/30 Bucket List: A week without television or internet

Life and business are about human connection. And computers are about trying to kill you in a lake. To me the choice is easy.
-Michael Scott, Dunder Mifflin Manager, The Office

Initially, I was excited about the weeklong no internet/no TV challenge. Sometimes I feel tied down by the internet and online communication. Sometimes I feel completely burnt out on television. I thought this week would be one of freedom from technology, when I could explore my inner depths and get in tune with the world around me. I intentionally planned to do this challenge in the late fall so I could spend a lot of time outside admiring the unique beauty around us this time of year.

That’s not what really happened. 

As is often the case, things kept coming up to push out my technology fast. Finally I decided if I was going to do it during peak foliage season, I would have to do it this week even though it wasn’t necessarily ideal. 

I had originally planned to start on Sunday, but pushed it out a day when I babysat some sweet nieces who are easily entertained by shows on Netflix.

I tried to get the online banking and bill pay in order so I could not log in for a week. I tried to think ahead to all the activities I might do during the week and look up the information I thought I would need. When we went to bed Sunday night I made sure to set the timer on the TV to shut off before midnight.

My normal routine involves checking my email when I first wake up. Actually on nights that I can’t sleep I use my cell phone to check the time and I also check any emails that come through.

The little icon on the lock screen of my phone told me a dozen emails had arrived in my inbox overnight. I told myself these were most likely spam or junk. It became much more difficult when emails filtered in throughout the day to a folder reserved for friends and family.

That first day the hardest thing to manage was my fear of messing up. I was so afraid I’d fall into my normal internet and TV routine and not realize it until it was too late. I was so scared that as I sat chatting with a friend that day, she turned her laptop around at one point to show me a flier on her screen. My face became so stricken she thought I had fallen suddenly ill until I told her I couldn’t look at the webpage because of my challenge. We had a good laugh.

I was surprised (though my husband was not) at how long it took me to fall asleep that first night. I use the television show Friends to fall asleep. Sometimes I can’t make it through the opening credits. Usually I don’t even finish one show. I’ve developed a full repertoire of sleep techniques so I figured they would be my fall-backs this week. But even resorting to an Advil PM one night or becoming physically exhausted after a day of rock climbing didn’t help. On average it took two to three hours to fall asleep and I usually woke up throughout the night and struggled to fall back to sleep.

By the second day I was starting to feel like the challenge was a bust. It wasn’t extremely difficult, impactful or enlightening. It just was a thing I was doing for a week. I surmised that it was possible that I just wasn’t very attached to technology. (I am notorious for keeping my cell phone on silent and ignoring or not returning phone calls.)

I had wanted to spend the week outdoors, but my health and my schedule seemed to be preventing me from much hiking or exploring. I felt like Tuesday might be my only day to go out on my own. There were several trails and areas I had hoped to visit during this week and struggled to pick just one, but decided on Natural Bridge. I felt comfortable (though this is not advisable) going there by myself. It is my favorite place on earth AND I hadn’t visited yet this year. To go a full calendar year without visiting Natural Bridge is a travesty I hope I never endure.

As a side note, I saw a lady who had taken the sky lift up being helped by two men accompanying her. She was obviously elderly and in poor physical condition. But she was walking slowly, with help, to see the bridge. Later in the hike, I stopped to take pictures for an elderly couple visiting from California who were attempting a full trail even though the lady had knee replacement surgery. Both of those women determined, despite their physical ailments, to explore this place gave me hope and encouragement for my own life. Despite being ill, you just always keep climbing.

On day three, when my phone icons told me I had more than 100 emails waiting, Johnie mentioned he could turn data completely off and remove the icons altogether. I allowed him to do this and worried I might be even more tempted to check my email not knowing anything at all about how many messages I might be receiving. Not seeing the icons actually ended up helping though, because I just kept telling myself that I probably wasn’t getting any important emails anyway.

I also had a moment of clarity that day that seemed to add some reason to the whole challenge. I don’t want to talk too much about my health. I don’t want everyone to think “Oh it’s just Amy talking about being sick again.” But my life has been changed and as I’m trying to process those changes things come up and out that I feel compelled to write about and share with others. And one thing I have been recently struggling with is embracing (or more accurately, discovering) my new identity. I am not capable of everything I used to be capable of. And I am still adjusting to that.

Part of that adjustment is learning to find my worth and value outside of what I am able to do. I have been trying to identify ways I am inappropriately measuring my worth and to seek out healthy and correct gauges. (I may blog about this in the future.)

I realized that I expect or hope for some of my value or worth to come from online messages. I have received some great emails over the years. Johnie and I fell in love with each other through emails and instant messages. I think it is a powerful and useful tool we can use for good. But when I don’t get the response I was hoping for that should have no impact on my value or my worth. Sometimes I have let that be the case. The fact that someone didn’t reply to my email must mean they don’t love me. Or worse, that there is something wrong with me that makes me unlovable or less lovable. That is not correct. Even if my inbox is empty I am still worthwhile. My value is not tied to emails. Or communication from people. Even when we don’t hear what we need to hear (in any form) that doesn’t mean we aren't worth it.

 

It wasn’t until day four that I began missing television. My brain was fried that day and television is how I zone out. I felt no outlet to shut everything (internally) off completely. I ended up finding a mindless non-internet-using game I had downloaded on my phone a long time ago and hadn’t played in over a year. It was the closest thing I could find to fill the TV void.

On day five Johnie walked in on me crying and this was the conversation:

Johnie: What’s wrong, Amy?

Me: I’m just thinking about things. (It was understood these things were unrelated to the challenge.)

Johnie: When is your challenge over?

Me: Monday. Do you think I need the internet?

Johnie: I was just asking.

I haven’t decided yet if the diversion from thoughts provided by the internet and television is a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, I feel like we can avoid and numb our thoughts to an unhealthy level, completely ignoring things that need to be dealt with. On the other hand, it takes time to work through things and sometimes we need a break. I think it is hard to find the balance of when to engage in thoughts and when to rest from them. I fear that I sometimes try to tamp them down or ignore them a little too much.

By day six I was feeling more adjusted to being offline. There were many things that popped up throughout the week – weather forecasts, recipes, things people wanted to show me online – that were unexpected moments when I would have automatically turned to the internet. I felt like I had worked through most of the surprises. And we had a day of rock climbing planned. I figured it would be an easy day for the challenge.

 

But once more I was surprised as all my friends went home that night and uploaded pictures online. Pictures everyone else could look at and talk about, but I could not see. It was tough to watch my husband look through online pictures without peaking over his shoulder. But I refrained.

The final day of the challenge involved more averting of eyes and reminders I’d see everything the following day as friends continued to share and discuss things from the day before.

I was sure that last day would be easy. But, I must admit, by this point I was done learning and growing. I’m embarrassed to say I began counting down the hours to midnight and seriously questioned ending the challenge a few hours early. (Really, what would be the difference between checking my email at 8 pm versus 8 am?)

Also, Johnie and I decided to go out for dinner and were sat in an area surrounded by televisions. Sports were on and I wasn't interested at all, but it felt like cheating. With a red face, I asked to be seated in an area without televisions and thankfully the server graciously moved us.

As I’ve reflected on some of the positive aspects of this challenge, I do feel like I may try to remain more disconnected from online media and communication. I think that instead of being always online – always connected via a smart phone with messages streaming in, I may delegate a couple times each day as online time, or I may delegate one day a week as an internet-free day.

I also feel stronger to fast from other things in my life. I have always struggled with fasting in general (and especially fasting from food), but I feel like I can look back on this time and think about how I calmly went through a week without email or television.

I was texting the friend who issued this challenge to me and I admitted to her it has taken some discipline not to check my email – that has been the hardest thing. She reminded me of a time in college when our internet went down unexpectedly and she walked into our apartment to find me hunched over my desk weeping in the middle of the night. Thinking something tragic had happened, she rushed to my side and asked. Through heaving sobs I said, “I just want to check my email.”

The fact that I can now go an entire week without email and without a meltdown shows growth, right?

A year with the lupus.

A chronic illness diagnosis is not a death sentence. It is a junction in your journey through life that takes you on a different direction than you desire or anticipated. There's no doubt that your chronic illness has wounded you. But a wounded warrior gets up, in spite of the wounds, and moves forward again, and again, and again.

-Richard Cheu, Living well with chronic illness: A practical and spiritual guide


It was one year ago when I was told I have lupus. It hasn't been the easiest. In fact, I am just starting to accept that I might actually have lupus, like lifelong lupus. Some days. Some days, I still can't help but think this is just a phase I'm going through. That I'll look back on this as those years I was really sick and we thought it was lupus. I have trouble imagining that I may feel this way for decades.

There are days when I feel so defeated. When I think my sickness stole my future. When I think of all I've given up, all that has been taken away. When I feel so crummy and don't even have anything to show for it.

But then there are days like October 4th. When I have the strength and the freedom to say yes to hiking with friends. And when those friends actually mean rock climbing when they say hiking.



See that mountain. I climbed it. Without any special equipment.

That's not as stupid as it sounds. Well, maybe it is. (But we didn't start at the bottom... If that makes it better.)

I've been on a hike coordinated by this friend before. It didn't involve clinging for my life to a rock several hundred feet above the actual ground. It's just that on this occasion I didn't figure out he expected us to scale a rockface until I was already on my way up. (Sometimes I'm slow and naive, you know.)

We stopped for lunch on the first (and easiest) ledge and my brain started putting some little details together: (1) The hike we were on was a loop. We weren't going to backtrack. (2) I saw no way off the ledge but to backtrack.

Already, I had been informed the hardest part of the hike was over. So I asked, "Jeff, you said we make a loop, so where do we go from here?"

"Up."

I looked up but didn't see the top and wasn't going to lean out to try. There were a few more ledges between the top and where I was, and each time I was told: (1) This one is the hardest in whatever way. (2) It is easier to go up than down.

We passed people along the way who had reached their own summit. And our group ended up splitting into two. Some chose the harder way back down.

I stood on the last ledge before the top and didn't know if I could make it. But I didn't know when I'd get another chance to try. Foothold, then handhold. One after the other. Inch by inch I ascended. Or more specifically, crawled. And prayed. And at one point screamed for help. (That really got a response!)

And I made it to the top and I felt so accomplished. I felt even more accomplished when I looked back later in the hike to see what I had actually climbed. I never would have believed I was capable of that. If I would have known how big that mountain was before I started, I never would have even tried.

As I told my husband on the way home that night, I have felt defeated so many times this year that victories like that become even more meaningful.

And there was so much about climbing that mountain that metaphorically mirrors my own journey with sickness. I never would have thought I could handle it. I never would have thought I could be sick and mostly joyful. Grateful. Hopeful. By the grace of God, I have.

Within hours I started feeling the effects of the day's conquest. Ibuprofen, extra herbs, a soak in epsom salts and essential oils, a heating pad and at the beginning of those three days with painfully sore muscles I could only feel angry and frustrated.

I'm too young to feel this bad.

The old Amy could have recovered from that in less than a day. Ironically, the old Amy is a few years younger than the new Amy and is in much better health. I compare myself to her sometimes.

But the old Amy lived life with more fear. The old Amy took fewer chances. I knew the old Amy pretty well and I'm putting my money (well, you know, if I was actually earning money these days) on she wouldn't have even tried.

And long before the pain eased, the anger melted.

I am weaker now. But in ways I am getting stronger.

And how many people in the world never even get the chance to try something like that for fun? And how many people couldn't even do it at all even if they did try?

I am blessed. With health and strength and much larger margins to rest than most people. (And so much more.)

A few days after the climb I was reading a list I made shortly after my diagnosis of important things I wanted to hang on to. On it: Continue to hike the mountains of my home.

And so far -- thankfully -- I still am able to do that and almost everything else on the list.

I don't know what the next years hold for me, but I am so grateful for the blessings of this one. And I know whatever I may face ahead, I will make it triumphantly (praise the Lord!) to the top in the end.

There's a peace I've come to know
though my heart and flesh may fail.
There's an anchor for my soul.
I can say, "It is well."

-Chris Tomlin, I will rise

30/30 Bucket List: Practice a Spiritual Discipline

The purpose of the Spiritual Disciplines is the total transformation of the person. They aim at replacing old destructive habits of thought with new life-giving habits. Nowhere is this purpose more clearly seen than in the Discipline of study. 
-Richard J. Foster, Celebration of Discipline

In the spirit of spiritual discipline, let me start with a confession: After getting a line-up of expensive, pampering "challenges" in my bucket at my party, I did a bit of coaching for my friends who couldn't attend. I asked them to add to my bucket, but also asked, very politely, that their challenges wouldn't cost me a lot of money or make me feel completely spoiled.

One of those friends challenged me to practice a spiritual discipline that I haven't tried much. I read that as practice a spiritual discipline I could use a lot of improvement on and felt like the field was pretty wide open (save for maybe solitude). I've tried -- and failed -- at most all the spiritual disciplines.

One of my post-job goals was to read the Bible more often, so my knee-jerk was to pick that one. I hadn't been doing so well with it. But I wondered if I might should challenge myself to a new spiritual discipline that I wasn't already actively working on.

I scanned my Celebration of Discipline book for inspiration (I have read this book several times and HIGHLY recommend it). I briefly considered submission, and even more briefly considered confession. But, in the end, I just felt like I should continue to focus on developing discipline in my reading and study and meditation of the Bible.

I have never really dug deeply, thoughtfully, consistently in the scriptures for my own edification. And for many years I have carried around shame and guilt because of it. I have made many plans. Year-long reading plans that fizzle out in a few months, or weeks. Inspired by people who read with their morning coffee, I tried to read my Bible before doing anything else. That didn't last more than a few days, and carried with it the added guilt of "not putting God first."

I have tried to read for a certain amount of time each day, and been unsuccessful. All of my attempts have failed and left me feeling embarrassed and unworthy.

And honestly, I don't even know why this has been a struggle for me. I love to read. And I love the Bible. It is well written, has an amazing plot, and is everything I find in my favorite books: True story, unpredictable twists, and good prevailing over evil even against all odds. Plus, you know, God wrote it. When I do read and study, I get a lot out of it. A lot.

So the guilt heaps on.

I had decided this time around to allow myself a little more grace. I suppose I would need to take tiny baby steps. In the beginning, I would put no constraints on my Bible time except to aim for it every day. Whether it was fifteen minutes or two hours, whether I covered one verse or one book. The goal would be to simply open the Bible and spend some time there every day. If I wanted to stop and think or pray about a scripture, I could. If I wanted to stop and study something, I could. Or if I just wanted to read and only read, I could. If I wanted to skip over something, I could. (Yeah, I cringed a little when I wrote that last line... I don't advocate intentionally ignoring sections of scripture but for the purposes of developing a habit of reading, I really needed permission not to necessarily start in Matthew or Genesis or have to trudge through Numbers just because that book was next up.)

And with those new lax guidelines, I would say my Bible time improved by about ten percent. Cue more feelings of defeat.

I'm not working. I have no kids. How can I not manage a half hour of my time reading the word of God? How pathetic am I?

So, I added: I would not beat myself up if I missed a day. I would stop focusing on what I hadn't done in days past and start focusing on what I could do with the new day I had been given.

Fast forward a bit.

I finished up a short walk on the treadmill and decided that I would read a few chapters before soaking. (I have poor muscle recovery and soaking in doctored-up water after a treadmill walk seems to help with that.)  I specifically opted not to read the Bible while soaking so I would have the freedom to take notes or look things up if I wanted to.

These details are important because I feel like I haven't been thoughtful in the past with trying to carve out Bible time. I really was trying to settle in with the scriptures at the best time in the most quality way possible.

I switched to the Bible on my Kindle and began reading in Acts. Stephen's martyrdom. I was immediately drawn in and imagining what it must have looked like to see Stephen's face glowing (maybe it wasn't, but I picture it radiantly glowing) the way the scriptures say ("like an angel's").

I couldn't help but think of the Christians who are being martyred today. How even all these centuries later, people are still dying like Stephen died. I wondered how similar some of their stories might be to Stephen's. And I felt thankful for my freedom to worship and proclaim Christ openly.

During all of this a few hunger pangs nudged me, so I decided to get a snack while I finished reading. Still engrossed in the story, I walked, kindle in hand, to the kitchen. But before I could open the refrigerator the voice started:

Can you not stay focused for fifteen minutes? What is wrong with you? You are reading a story written by God about one of the first Christian martyrs and you can't have the reverence to wait for your food. You really are pathetic.

And that's when I realized: One of the reasons I've always failed at this is the quickness with which I criticize my efforts and deem them not good enough.

Standing there in the kitchen I felt like today's reading didn't count. I had failed and would have to try again later.

Defeated again, I began to think about this more. And that's when I concluded: Even quick, distracted, inconsistent study is better than no study at all. And just because my reading now is quick and distracted and inconsistent, it doesn't mean it always will be. Even as puny as it was, it prompted me to pray for Christians being persecuted today. That shouldn't be discredited.

I don't think such negativity is a proper reflection of the way God feels and I don't think I'm alone in engaging in this kind of negative self-talk.

I had planned on blogging about this particular challenge after I had completed it in some way. But for anyone else who beats themselves up over every little shortcoming, I thought it important to go ahead and share this step in my journey. I'm making it a point to stop criticizing my efforts, and I hope you all do too.

I hope later in the year I will be able to say that I have become more practiced and disciplined in my reading and study of the Word. For now, I am just going to celebrate taking a significant step toward breaking destructive habits.