Death to Life

In November of 2017 depression sidelined me swiftly and unexpectedly. I had just finished running my first half marathon when I felt the darkness creeping in, only a few days after completing the race. I had trained well, met all my personal goals, and bounced back, physically, but emotionally all I felt was sadness. I've experienced seasons of depression before, but this was the first time I couldn't put my finger on precisely why I was feeling so down: there was no break-up to blame it on, no death, or loss in my life. By all accounts my life was beautiful, but in the weeks after the race my mind and my heart progressively grew darker.

My only goal during this time was to keep "showing up" whenever I could. It was mostly in small ways that felt huge: getting out of bed in the morning, making a lunch for Hudson (who was still home with me at just three years old), taking a shower, running or working out, reading a bedtime story to the kids, and repeatedly praying desperate prayers for deliverance - doing all the things I knew to keep myself from spiraling further into the pit.

I can remember a particularly desperate night, a couple months in, where I felt absolutely gripped by one thought, "This is never going to end and you are always going to feel this way...to BE this way." The lie had taken root: depression fundamentally defined me. Tim held me and spoke truth into my heart - "this is not who you are, it won't always be this way, you're going to be alright..."
All these things were true, it just took a while to let the truth wash over the lies that played on repeat in my mind. All. Day. Long.

Tim was amazing. He shouldered so much of the burden and supported me endlessly and patiently during this time. He helped me find a counselor and he alerted my closest friends. He took care of the kids and juggled two jobs. He cared for me so well.

Since that time I've recognized that depression and anxiety have been a part of my life, both manifesting themselves in various forms, since I was a child. I've dealt with it all before and even since then, but I think my life was finally settled enough for it to pop up without a particular "cause" to which I could attribute my feelings. I found it much harder to accept the depression when it could not be clearly connected to an event or situation; for me, this felt more like something was inherently wrong with me when I couldn't blame it on circumstance.

It would take a whole blog to write all the things that contributed to my restoration. Verse after verse in Scripture came to my attention in new ways during this time. I grew closer to God than ever before. The verses that spoke the loudest inspired my tattoo, which I got the following spring. Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels - a plentiful harvest of new lives. Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity. Anyone who wants to be my disciple must follow me, because my servants must be where I am. And the Father will honor anyone who serves me." John 12:24-26

The picture of life out of death is one I've lived, and I've found that life comes most plentifully from the dying; this is true of my depression. Life feels fullest after the darkness and God, in His strange economy, continues to use the ugliest things in life to make beauty for myself, for others, and for His glory. And what better to memorialize this lesson than the ultimate example of life coming out of death - the words of Jesus predicting his own death on the cross. I continue to see a personal harvest come from my depression and anxiety. The lessons I learn from these painful seasons are imprinted on my heart and my mind, like my tattoo, and like the example of my Savior.

A Time For Everything

I find it oddly comforting that Scripture says everything has happened before and everything will happen again. One of my dearest friends is struggling through a season of health challenges right now and I was meditating on Ecclesiastes 3:1-15 this evening as I prayed for her (it's the passage made familiar to most of us by The Byrd's song, "Turn! Turn! Turn!"). Having struggled with my own seasons of deep depression and anxiety, I am comforted by the fact when I experience these things I'm far from alone - I know many people have journeyed through similar seasons in life. It's easy for me to see these things when I'm writing from a good emotional place, it's harder to have perspective in the darkness.

As I write this, the COVID19 global pandemic is taking some lives and changing all our lives. It feels apocalyptic, foreign, new. But the truth is, it's not. Yes, there are few living people who remember the Spanish Flu of 1918, the last pandemic of comparison to what we are currently experiencing; however, this is not the first, nor will it likely be the last time our world sees something of this measure. There is comfort in knowing that everything has happened before and everything will happen again.

As I pray for relief for my friend, I am grateful this is all unsurprising to an unchanging God. I am thankful for how He is and how He will use this all for the good of those who believe Him and are called according to His purposes. I believe this no matter the outcome. It is easy for me to trust this truth because I have lived this truth. I have seen God bring beauty from ashes out of the darkest and ugliest things in my own life, time and time again. My marriage, my family, my salvation are all testimonies to this.

Saying "no" to say "yes"

I'm learning a lesson and it's been a hard one.  I'm learning what it means to say "no" to some very good things in order to say "yes" to the very best things in my life.

 

Recently, Tim and I have been in conversation about our family's priorities.  Over the past year especially I have felt stretched thin - like I'm not giving my best to the people and things that matter most to me, namely to my children and to life here at home.  In light of this we made the decision for me to leave my pursuit of group fitness instruction behind in order to focus on what I believe is God's highest calling in my life: being a wife and a mom.  I've struggled with disappointing others, starting something and not finishing it, and placing the value due on the exclusive role of being a mom.  But when we made the decision together I felt great peace because I know this is the first step to something I've wanted very badly for some time.

 

I've had this question posted above my kitchen sink for two years, but I think I only really saw it for the first time today:  Based on your behavior where is your treasure? 
"Where your treasure is there your heart will be also...No one can serve two masters."  Matthew 6

 

I've been serving two (or three or four...) masters for some time.  It's time to say "no" to some very good things to say "yes" to God's best in my life.

Tornado

Today God spoke through my three year old.

Stella came into my bedroom carrying a picture she had constructed.  I asked her if it was for Hudson, because lately she has been creating lots of art for her brother.  She smiled at me, shook her head, and pointed with one little finger in my direction.  Then, she uttered these profoundly prophetic words, "It's for you; it's a tornado; it's exactly what you wanted." 

My child had unknowingly created a visual picture of my internal life using a blue glue stick and scraps of paper:  a tornado.

I have really struggled the past few weeks as I've made the transition from a mother of one child to a mother of two children.  I've lost control of the life I once had.  It often seems I can please no one - let alone myself.  I can barely get out the door, time is simultaneously crawling and flying by me, the house is a mess, sleep is a hot commodity, and the list goes on.  As a sad attempt to regain some of my lost control I have resorted to my usual behavior when things feel crazy: I have spent an inordinate amount of time cleaning...cleaning to the point of obsession.  The absolutely maddening thing is now, unlike before, the cleaning NEVER ends!  As soon as I get one room perfect, another requires my attention, and by the time I get the next room done the first is a mess again; so, I start cleaning over, and over, and over again, all day long.  I have desperately tried to distract Stella and Hudson while running around the house picking up everything in sight - and frankly, I'm more of a mess inside my head than anywhere else. 

In the midst of this craziness I realize I have been living a lie for many years.  The main reason it has taken me so long to realize my own self-inflicted captivity is now the control has finally been stripped from my hands.  In the past, I have had enough time and energy to nurture the lie.  The lie is I am in complete control of my life.  When we just had Stella it was easier to keep things the way I wanted.  I felt freedom in my identity as a mom and a wife, but now I am realizing this feeling of freedom was based, at least in large part, on the fact life looked the way I wanted it to look on the outside. 

The sad truth is I've wasted so much time.

Today I surrendered the fight, because I simply can't do this anymore.  I don't want my children to grow up remembering me spending my time obsessing over things which do not matter, especially things which do not matter in comparison to how much my children, MY CHILDREN, matter to me.  I want to be present for them in a new way and I want them to know what true freedom in Christ looks like - not fabricated freedom that comes from me controlling every aspect of life.

So, I am clinging to the promises of God as he helps me fight against my habits in order to achieve true peace in Him.

“Forget the former things;

    do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

    and streams in the wasteland.

Isaiah 43: 18-19

Today, we stayed in our pajamas until early afternoon, the mess grew around us as we spent time together, I took the time to make Stella really laugh.  I allowed her to take pictures of all three of us on my phone - before I had showered and before the house was clean.  I posted a few of the photos on Facebook. Small steps for some but a victory in my life.  I asked God to help me in this fight today and I pray it was the first day of God doing a new thing in me and my family.

 


 

The Gift of Life: Hudson Taylor Carpenter's Birth Story

Just moments after Hudson was born - 5:11am on 1.4.14

We made it to the hospital with not much time to spare!  I'm incredibly thankful, in retrospect, Tim and I decided to go when we did.  This birth experience was so very different than our last, I was unprepared for how relaxed and beautiful the laboring was at home.  I look back on Stella's birth with incredible memories; however, it was MUCH longer and more challenging than Hudson's...and, it's only natural I would expect things to be at least somewhat similar, feeling-wise, to last time.  Afterall, how could two labors be so entirely different from one another?

Around 6:30pm on 1/3/14, we were at home and the contractions started.  They were mild, manageable, and I was able to talk, eat, and walk through all of them without any issue.  One thing which was familiar about my contractions was how irregular they were - with both my children's births I had none of the standard "when your contractions are five minutes apart you will know to go to the hospital."  Mine followed no particular rhyme or reason: five, seven, ten, four, fifteen, nine, five...hmmm...so, how am I supposed to know when it's time? 

Stella was in bed for all of this, but even if she had been awake I am certain she would not have known anything was even happening.  It all felt so, well, normal.  Around 11pm Tim and I headed upstairs to go to sleep; he fell into a deep sleep almost instantly, something which makes me laugh every time because, since we married, the man has complained about having difficulty sleeping and yet he is almost always the first to start snoozing.  I lay awake for about an hour and a half, thinking, praying, contracting, and continuing to feel like this couldn't really be labor; I felt so peaceful.  Around 12:30am (now 1/4/14), I woke Tim up to say things were continuing and I wanted him to be with me during the experience, just in case it started to progress to real labor.  We held hands, talked, and laughed together - I would breathe through my contractions and then we'd continue whatever conversation we were having before the wave came upon me.

I recall feeling somewhat silly when I called my midwife at 2:30am, after having hours of these milder contractions.  What would I say was my reason for calling when I wasn't even sure if this was the real deal?  What could she say to me to help me make a decision?  Two things happened during that phone call:  I had my first contraction that took my breath away - I wasn't able to speak through it.  The second marker, which I shared with my midwife, was how at my routine, weekly, prenatal appointment earlier that day I was already three centimeters dilated and 50% effaced.  While Elizabeth, my midwife, had previously told me in our conversation I could either continue to labor at home or come into the hospital, when I shared this information with her and had my first powerful contraction she suggested we make our way in to the hospital in Dover.  [What is fortuitous is the fact I even got checked at my appointment earlier that day at all.  My prenatal practice, Dover Women's Health, is wonderful - I would call them patient led.  They offered a check but don't force it on women who are not overdue.  I decided to get checked because I had been having a few days of periodic, mild contractions since Christmas Eve, but I also knew to hold whatever information I received lightly because a woman can be 3cm dilated for several weeks without any true labor occurring.  That's why I love my practice, they empower you by offering you the information you need to make your own decisions regarding your birth experience.]

We waited for our dearest Grammy Suze, who came so quickly in the middle of the earliest morning hours, to be the one to greet our precious daughter when Stella awoke and we were at the hospital.  Susan had been sleeping with her phone at her bedside table for several WEEKS before Hudson's birth.  One time, Susan forgot her phone while out to lunch with her daughter, Katie, and I received a text from Katie which said something like, "My mom is FREAKING out bc she forgot her phone at home - so, if 'anything happens' please text me."  I will always remember Susan for her devotion to our family, and, thank God she arrived when she did because we started our journey to the hospital just in time on snow covered roads in the middle of the artic blast which had settled on New Hampshire earlier that day.  It was 3am.  The blizzard had stopped in the early afternoon of 1/3/14; and, while the roads were plowed, they couldn't salt or treat them because the temperatures dropped so rapidly it wouldn't have made any difference.  It was bitterly cold outside.

As we drove to Wentworth Douglass Hospital from Newmarket I continually coached Tim on his driving (guess even labor won't change this, honey...); urging him to drive slowly, lest we get in an accident and have to deliver our baby on the side of the road.  As we approached the light by the Burger King in Dover I felt something change.  I recall saying aloud to Tim, "He's moving into position...please keep driving slowly."  I could literally feel things progressing and I knew it was not going to be another long-labor as with Stella.

We arrived at the hospital at 3:45am and walked to Labor and Delivery.  I had FOUR contractions on the brief walk from the Emergency Room to L&D, so the nurses were prepped upon my arrival - things were really progressing.  Even at this point, though, I was able to have a lovely conversation with the Emergency Room Employee who walked with us from the ED to L&D; his name was Marcus, and he had two kids of his own.  As we got settled into the labor room we met our nurse, Alehson - a true angel and fellow Christian, who prayed us through the entire experience.  Alehson filled the tub, listened to my desires for our birth (we didn't even have time to get out the birth plan), and executed everything with grace and love. 

It was the fastest hour and a half of my entire life.  I remember feeling like the water in the birthing tub was incredibly hot because my body was working so hard.  Tim and Alehson kept a bucket of ice water and facecloths at hand to continually soak and place on my back and my face.  Both of them were wonderful, supportive, and calming.  Toward the very last minutes of my labor, nature kicked in and I stopped being able to control anything that was happening.  I just went primal - and my body truly did all the work of bringing our son into this world while I cried out for relief.

Hudson Taylor Carpenter arrived at 5:11am.  Elizabeth said something like, "Jenny, reach down and pick up your baby."  Our son sort of floated into my arms and I scooped him into the air, above the water.  So small, so sweet.  I clearly recall a disconnect between what had just happened and the fact this was my SON.  My child!  How could this be?  We barely had what I would consider a labor experience!?  How could this child be my own?

One and a half weeks later we are all wholeheartedly in love.  Our lives have shifted to become a family of four.  Stella is the most gentle and loving big sister I could possibly imagine.  Hudson is like his labor: peaceful.  The high of a natural childbirth is unparalleled.  I am just trying to soak in every moment of this precious time in my life because I know how quickly it all goes.

Tippity, Tap, Tip, TAP SHOES!

Today was a big day in the life of Stella Grace Carpenter.  She got a haircut for school this week, her first pair of tap shoes, and a Boston Creme Donut...pretty much the best day ever.

Her face when she first saw her tap shoes...priceless.

Couldn't get a picture bc she was enthusiastically shaking the box.

Celebrating with a donut.

I am predicting the new sound of my life will be Stella's tap shoes on our floors...forevermore.

Pounding heart.

Tim, Stella, and I had a wonderful day together; we traveled down to IKEA to purchase some items for The Barn (a converted barn on our church campus where Tim's youth group meets each week).  We enjoyed the day together as a family and had lots of funny and memorable moments...including this word-for-word interchange Tim and I had outside a Dunkin' Donuts this afternoon (we were sarcastically joking with each other...keep that in mind as you read):

Tim: "They don't have any more pumpkin muffins...do you want me to get you something else?"

Me: "Uggghhh...no...just get Stella a donut."

Tim: "Are you sure you don't want anything else?  A pumpkin donut, pumpkin coffee...?"

Me (in a frustrated tone): "No, just get her a donut."

Tim (sarcastically): "Do you want me to jump on the hood of the car?"

Me (smirking/chuckling): "Just get her a friggin' donut."

Tim walks inside the DD's and I hear a little voice from the backseat:

Stella: "Mom, dad said he was going to jump on your hood."

Me: "Yes, Stella, that wasn't very nice...he should apologize for that when he comes out."

Stella: "Mom, that wasn't very nice to say 'Get me a friggin' donut.'"

Me: "You're right, Stella, I should apologize for that, too."

Cue apology between Tim/me when he came out.  Hopefully our modeling of an apology overshadowed our previous conversation...

Even with the wonderful memories, our night ended on a slightly different note when we made one final stop to fill up our gas tank this evening.  Stella was, thankfully, asleep in her carseat.  Tim came out from paying inside and told me to get my phone to call the police because there was a dad with two very young daughters inside and the dad was clearly intoxicated.  Thank the LORD, a police cruiser had just pulled around the back of the store so I flagged him down just as the man was walking out of the store, carrying a 40oz can of beer in his hand, with his two daughters in tow - both girls were younger than Stella's age and they had little bags of potato chips in their little hands at 8pm.  I don't know what would have happened if that man had gotten behind the wheel of his car tonight and driven away, especially in the state Tim described.  I'm sad for the little girls who likely saw their daddy get arrested tonight, but I'm thankful for the timing of the police officer being in the parking lot just as this man was about to drive off drunk with his precious daughters. 

I'm so thankful for a husband I trust implicitly.  I have full confidence in his parenting ability and I know he makes wise decisions, especially when it comes to the safety and well-being of his family.  I hope tonight was a huge wake up call for that other dad.  Life should be so much kinder for the sake of those sweet girls...if only they knew what it's like to have a dad like Tim, who would never purposely put them in harm's way.