Cherishing the Chaos

For some reason, I always had this lofty idea that being a mom meant reading good quality books to your kids, tucking them in at night with heirloom quilts and admiring their cherubic faces as they slept on soft, fluffy pillows covered in happy colored pillow cases.

What I didn't know was that good quality books quickly turn into well used and over-read-dog-eared-paged stacks of paper that used to be bound in those novel things call "books."

And as for tucking the said kids at night, using heirloom quilts on beds that tend to be frequently washed, is a recipe for extinguishing all heirloom quilts from our generation. Besides, whatever type of blanket or covering you use to tuck your kids in at night with, that article of bed clothing soon takes on an heirloom look with all the washings and forts and tents and tug-a-war games that it ends up being used for.

I never realized how drab looking the brightly colored pillow cases get with many washings. Or the bloody-nose stains that are sure to happen. Or how long it takes for their faces to become cherubic looking after they finally lay their sweet heads on the fluffy pillows. I didn't realize that drinks and bathroom runs and "Mom! I'm scared" and "DAAAAAADDDDDYYYYY! There's a lion in my room" sobs that would trail out the dimly lit bedroom doors long after bedtime. Oh, and the spiders that always appear right at bedtime, right along with those lions.

But the smiles these kids greet you with just after the rising of the sun the next morning, now THAT'S what motherhood is all about. And the hugs and the snuggles. And the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" are the words that put perspective on each trying circumstance that may happen between morning and bedtime.

And someday, I just know, our bookshelves will be lined with pleasantly bound books. And brightly colored pillowcases will grace the heirloom quilted beds. And I'll go to bed at night and my house will be quiet and the chatter and cries from those toy-strewn bedrooms will be silent. No spiders or lions will plague my quiet evening. And I'll be able to relax, put my feet up and not have to endure the endless era of bedtime that used to happen every night.

Then the next morning, I will greet the day alone. Without the heralding laughter of kids and toys and noise and breakfast cereal strewn all over the dining room table.

And I'd give anything to hear the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" tokens of bliss that used to fill my days. Yes, I'd even give up my neatly kept, heirloom-quilted-bedrooms of silence for just one more disruptive and chaotic evening.

Because motherhood ends way too fast.

Finding "The Good Part" In This Pregnancy Sickness

I feel crabby today. And that's the honest truth.

This all day sickness is old. Nothing tastes good. Everything upsets my stomach. When people post statuses about food (specifically meat) on Facebook, I feel like deleting my account and joining a vegetarian message board where I can hopefully find a safe network of friends.

I hate meat. So if you write a status about meat or post a picture with meat in it. Or even THINK about meat while you're on Facebook, I can sense it. And it makes me do everything in my power to not puke.

Oh and garlic and onions too. They make me so sick.

Today I had an insatiable craving for Triscuit crackers. And my kind husband went to the store to get me some. The only thing wrong that the dear man did, was bring back Roasted Garlic Triscuit crackers instead of plain ones.

He was as shocked as I was that he made that mistake... the poor guy.

To make matters worse, I found out they were Roasted Garlic after Alex ripped the box open and then asked for help to get the bag inside open. It was at that fatal moment that I picked up a savory cracker, put it on my nauseated tongue and crunched the Garlic flavor right out of the cracker.

I no longer crave Triscuits, in case you're wondering.

My belly feels flatter lately too. I easily forget I'm actually pregnant and not suffering from an eternal case of the flu. So I need things to keep perspective. And as is my naturally productive nature (haha!) I took matters into my own hands and decided to be proactive in my attitude...

Here are some things I did today:

Today my sister had an ultrasound of her 20 week baby. And the way she described the activity and movements of her precious baby that they were able to watch on the screen, made me realize that in just 9 weeks, I'll be there too. I have a healthy, active baby bouncing inside my numb uterus, right now as we speak.

I found a website that had a detailed description of what my 11 week baby is doing. The main thing it's improving on right now is it's brain development. Specifically in the nerve cells area. It's making 250,000 new nerve cells every minute. It's no wonder I'm tired and sick and lethargic and forget my train of thought all the time. I'm being more productive in my stationary, lazy position than probably everyone on my block put together.

I watched a short video clip online of a rambunctious 11 week old baby boy. And when I realized I have one of those in me (okay, it may not be a boy... but same idea as far as age of baby, etc), I fell in love all over again with my baby.

And then last but not least, I'm reminded frequently of the mothers around me who have empty arms. Mothers who are supposed to be pregnant right now but no longer are, due to miscarriage. The women around me who want to be mothers but aren't because they can't get pregnant. And I'm sharply reminded of the fact that the precious cargo I carry, is a special blessing that not everyone is able to possess. Who cares if I feel like puking! I have a healthy baby growing bigger everyday inside my nauseated-not-poking-out-that-much-belly.

And that's really all that matters. I'm pregnant. And healthy. And if I feel like puking, well, it's for a very good reason.

Do I Really Look That Smart???

I sit down for a moment of silence to do something novel. Like blog. As I sit there trying to remember even HOW to blog or find my way through the mental process of burying myself in the thrill of a blog moment, I'm interrupted by a bombardment of questions.

Questions about life.

About stuff.

About things.

About everything.

And they're not "yes" and "no" every-day-type questions. It's questions like...

"What kind of car will I drive when I get older?"

"Did your belly just open up and I came out?"

"How old will Alex be when I'm big?"

"How old was Alex when he was born?"

"Is it Christmas 'time' or Christmas 'day'?"

"Do you know where my gun is, Mom?"

"I can't find my gun, where is it?"

"I put my gun right here; do you know where it is now?"

"Did all those people watch Mary push her baby out?" (while looking at a nativity scene and connecting the dots between Mary having a baby and our cat having kittens.)

"Is it Christmas 'day' or Christmas 'time'?"

"What will I name my baby when I have one?"

"When me and Alex and Landon grow up, what kind of car will we drive and where will it be?"

"If our house burns up, will it burn down?"

"When that building burns up, how many days will it take them to clean it up?"

"Who owns the mountains?"

"If water gets rid of fire then why doesn't fire get rid of water?"

"Can I call you Courtney when I get big?"

As I sit and try to answer these questions and other questions similar to it, I find my brain becoming exhausted by the exhilarating workout my 5 and 4-yr-old provide for me.

You'd think with all this intense exercise, I'd become sharper, not duller. Ha!

Quite the contrary. By the end of the day, I can't remember what I did that morning, what happened yesterday or if I had plans to be somewhere that night. From the moment my kids get up until they go to bed, I go through an interrogation become a living dictionary. A Thesaurus. A reference guide. And the funny thing is when they counter-question me just to make sure I have my facts straight.

Like when I put my 4 yr-old down for a quiet time at TWO o'clock and assure her she can be up by three o'clock. Instead, she insists on being up by ONE o'clock as she nestles comfortably in her cozy bed.

Or when my 5 yr-old asks what direction we're going. And I tell him north. He'll adamantly disagree and insist we're going east. I've learned never to argue with a 5 yr-old using a broken compass.

And then there's the 2-yr-old who is given the luxury of THREE books in his bed during nap time. Instead, he insists on only TWO books.

As I try to burrow into the passageways that are my kids' brains and ways of thinking, talking, questioning and comprehending, I come away more confused and befuddled than ever. Logic and reality are two things that don't seem to play in very often.

My kids are so trusting. So gullible. So innocent. Until it comes to some of their questioning. And then I wonder where the trust is...

"Mom, can you count to 'zero'?" I hear from across the room.

"ZERO!" I reply.

"NOOOO! Do it right!" the 4 yr-old instructs.

"ZERO, one, two, three...." I reply, with a little more emphasis.

First, silence. And then, "that is really HOW you count to zero?" a shocked voice speaks in an, innocent 5 yr-old way.

"Yes Landon; that is really HOW you count to zero..."

The look of satisfaction and comprehension of learning where 'zero' fits in the numerical order is written all over their faces. And it's always worth the extra brain energy it takes me to make an answer clear, no matter how pointless I may think the question is. Or how many times they may re-word their questions.

About the time I think they may even exhaust an advanced google search engine if they had the capability of typing in their questions, I'll hear a question like this...

"Will you guys still be our mom and dad when Landon and I have kids?"

Yes, we'll always be your mom and dad. And you'll always be our kids.

On Stoves, Perspectives and Kids

Today I want to focus on the "usual" and "predictable" things of mothering that we often try to overlook. We mistake them for "abnormal" and "shocking."

Take for instance when you get all the laundry done only to turn around 5 hours later to find the hamper stock full again. (You had to see that coming.)

Or you no longer finish preparing and cleaning up one meal only to turn around and make another. (Seriously, that is SO normal, why did you expect something else?)

How about when you no sooner get all the clean sheets on the bed and your entire quiver of children ends up needing clean sheets the next morning because of circumstances beyond your their control. (Just a little tip: getting all the bed's changed at once, will jinx your laundry life.)

If you think I'm complaining, you need to get your brain checked. I'm NOT complaining; I'm simply stating facts of motherhood that come and go with the changing of seasons (and seasons can be as long as 9 months to as short as 30 seconds.)

Like the day Alex swallowed 12 chewable acidophulus pills. Try googling "acidophulus overdose in child." Actually, never mind: don't waste your time because no known side effects have been documented because basically, this has NEVER happened before. (It'll make you feel like your child may have a strange and unheard of disease with no cure because no one has researched it because no one has ever over-exposed themselves to acidophulus.)

Or the day all three kids were found playing with a dead four-foot-long bull snake. While eating crackers. (Don't worry -- they all had rubber gloves on.)

Or the time I found the piano had been covered in chalk. (Yes, the piano: NOT the sidewalk.)

I love the entire world of mothering... don't get me wrong. It's just that some things in life (like blogging) tend to not only take the back burner, they often get pushed right off the stove.

Which reminds me of the day I cleaned out the fridge and set the old food on the stove (my only "counter space" next to the fridge and on that side of the kitchen, for that matter.) Lo and behold, one of the containers of old food got pushed off the stove where it popped open and spilled between the stove and fridge.

Now, this just happened to be THE day I was getting ready for THE company of the year to come and voila! I had the chance of a lifetime to scrub and clean and sterilize all the unknown and unseen space behind, between, underneath and around the stove and fridge.

It was spic and span when I was done and it inspired me to do something novel. Like make supper. After I happily pushed the stove back in place and admired the top of the fridge that was now dusted off and clean (if you clean UNDER the stove, it's only natural you'd clean the TOP of the fridge too), I turned the stove to "ON." It seemed like a logical action since I was intending on cooking supper WITH the stove.

Suddenly, I was thrust right back into the stone ages. Where electricity was unheard of. Where suppers (did they call them that?) were cooked over an open fire outside. Where people lived in caves.

The stove had NO power.

"Weird," I thought, "So much for a clean stove that works..."

I pulled the stove back out again, admired the clean and dust free floor and tenderly caressed the side of the stove that was free of grime for the first time since it was manufactured. None of that seemed to effect the amount of power that attempted to circuit it's way to the "ON" setting on my stove.

So, I wiggled the gigantic-if-you-handle-it-wrong-you-will-get-shocked-cord and checked to see if the stove turned on.

NOTHING.

I thought about unplugging the cord from the socket but considering the back of the stove was plastered with, "WARNING: DO NOT DISCONNECT UNTIL POWER SOURCE IS SHUT OFF," I assumed I probably shouldn't disconnect it. The risk was electric shock and/or death. The electric shock didn't scare me as much as the death part did but I didn't know how I could just experience the electric shock without exposing myself to possible death. "At least I'd die knowing the underneath of my stove wasn't left for someone else to clean," I thought to myself. But I pushed the stove back and wondered if it was true that my stove could only work as long as it sat on an inch-thick-carpet of dust.

When my husband came home, he pulled the stove out again. He wiggled some things. Read a few labels. Asked me to give every detail on what happened to the stove. Then he pushed it back and told me to order pizza for supper.

The next day, we observed the stove in humble silence. By supper time, it still hadn't fixed itself so I made plans to do supper on the grill. Our grill has always been a reliable cooking source. I was thankful for the grill that day.

As it neared the time for company to arrive, the prepared food waited breathlessly to experience the warm thrill of the grill. I turned the gas setting to "ON" and turned the nobs to "ON" and pushed the start button "ON."

The south burner would not ignite. (This is Nebraska: there's no left or right. Only North, South, East and West.)

I tried again. And again. I shut the gas off in an attempt to reboot the entire contraption. Nothing. I wiggled some wires. Checked the "ON" button to make sure it was adequately connected. NOTHING. I took the whole grill apart. Checked for clogged connections. Nothing started that south burner.

I called for my dear husband. He came outside and looked the situation over and then lit the burner with a match. It worked. To this day, both North and South burners on the grill still work. And you can ignite them with the "ON" button, as it's made to be done.

After supper, my husband's brother checked the stove. Being the handyman this brother is in the electric department, he immediately detected the correct diagnosis of the stove. He gave me a play by play of what had happened the day before when the stove quit working. When I had pulled the stove out to clean it, I had stretched the wire too far. It became disconnected inside the outlet. He informed me that had I pulled it a little farther, there would've been an entertaining hue of sparks. The "DANGER: ELECTRIC SHOCK OR DEATH" warnings flashed in my mind.

The guys pushed the stove back, checked the stove for power and deemed the job complete. The stove worked. The stove was clean. And even the underneath of the stove was clean.

And to this day, the stove still works.

What I'm getting at is the fact that when "normal" and "easy to handle" things happen in our day, mothers should learn to recognize those things as rare and almost unheard of. But when things break or children come running with blood dripping off their fingers or you find the entire contents of the cereal bag on the floor or you stumble upon well lotioned up kids that are supposed to be getting ready for naps, don't panic. Those "disliked" and "unnecessary" occurrences are THE normal.

Like I've said before, it's all a matter of perspective.

When Life Overtakes Blogging

I like writing. It's the untainted expression of what I think without distraction. And since this is my blog, I have no qualms about what I publish here.

At least that's how I feel.

But, so often I find the need to save lives to be of greater importance to blogging so... as you faithful readers (all three of you) know, my blog is neglected.

Then there's the times when I think about blogging but then I remember my list of stuff to do.

*Vacuum chocolate sprinkles that Two-Year-Old embedded in the carpet.

*Sweep up hot chocolate mix from the pantry floor.

*Locate missing Bosch part.

*Locate missing bread machine part.

*Peroxide up fresh stains on dining room floor (and try not to think about the dining room having carpet in the first place).

*Check clothes hamper for mold.

*Abolish the fragrant smell coming from bathroom.

*Pluck out popcorn kernels from carpet.

*Admire Observe the scene of Lego's peppering the boys room.

*Harvest worms Clean out guinea pigs' cages.

And the list goes on.

About the time I think I'm finally getting a handle on this whole "mothering" thing, I'll wind up shocking myself and saying things like...

"Stop doing that: you're putting holes in the wall."

"You should never put your hand on your plate when someone is putting food on it."

"Don't put that plate on your head: it's Fine China."

"Alex, do you want a time out?" (I'm not a 'time out' kind of mom.)

"If you don't stop crying right now, you WILL get out of the van and we WILL leave without you."

"No, Daddy does not know how to drive a train."

"Never put ink on your lips again. Especially red ink."

"Stop putting stuff in the melted candles."

"No, she is not your mother; I am your mother and she is your sister."

"Never cut your brother's hair again."

"Look at that kid! He's flinging food on the wall."

"If you guys don't stop fighting, we will not do school today."

"How did all that salt end up on the table anyway?"

And other such anomalies.

Such are the occurrences that occur with the passing of time within (and without) our four walls. I love blogging. I love documenting thoughts, happenings, life, etc. But some days, it's just not feasible. Then again, without my sometimes unpredictable and over-interesting life, I would have nothing to blog about.

It's all a matter of perspective.

Keeping Perspective on Motherhood

So much of my day, my life, my world, revolves around mundane busy-ness. Like unfinished laundry, messy house, smelly messes, naughty kids, tiredness, unfinished projects, etc.

But, when I think about the family who's blog I visited that had just lost their second child a few months ago and are now close to losing their first daughter due to pregnancy complications, I really don't have it bad. I mean, I'm living the dream that expecting mom has: to be a busy wife and happy mother of children.

I read stories about families who have genetic problems. All their future children are at a high risk of developing health problems that will likely not allow them to survive infancy. I know that mom would give anything to have toys strewn all over her house, thanks to the fact that she has a house full of healthy children. Instead, she brings flowers to a grave while I bring a hungry baby to a high chair.

What about the mom just down the street that lost her son a couple months ago to a tragic car accident? She worked hard to bring him through infancy and then childhood and he was just working on getting his driver's license. Now he's dead. She would give anything to have extra laundry, a full school schedule and the opportunity to wrap her entire existence around her boy. But, it's over because he's gone.

Does it really matter that I have a never ending pile of laundry? That my house never stays clean? That I no longer get one meal done and it's time to plan another? That I have lists of shopping to do but no way to get out of the house because of my kids? No. It doesn't matter. As long as I keep my perspective and remember that I will experience this season in my life and my children's lives for a very short time.

And then it'll be over and I'd give all the world to have them little again. To have that messy house again. To wash the dirty jeans of that kid who was told to stay out of the mud. To wash the sticky face of the girl that was told to stay out of the candy. To vacuum handfuls of cracker crumbs from the van. To comfort that wailing baby. I'll wonder how I ever lost perspective while living the life I always dreamed of living.

But, it's not over. I am living that life. And I'm going to enjoy the reality of each one of those dreams. Crumbs, mud and tears will never daunt me. They are only the dross of the gold hidden deep within each one of the children I call my own.

And those are little things compared to the reality of the dream I'm living called, motherhood. When I look back in time, I don't want to see the distractions of life; I want to see a happy child, a joyful mom and a loving home. Yet in the busy-ness of life, I never want to lose focus on the fact that we're making those memories today.

"Time doth softly sweetly glide, when there's love at home!"

Be Ye Holy

I recently came upon 1Peter 1:16... "Be ye holy as I am holy." I've read that a thousand times and quoted it in countless situations. But it took my by surprise and I began to think to myself, Wow. God is telling me to be holy just like He is. Surely if God tells me to be like Him, He knows it is possible. How awesome is that!

So, not quite understanding exactly what "be ye holy" means in the context of that verse, I look it up and finds it means "most holy thing, a saint."

Great! That is simple.

Then I put in in practical terms... how I can be holy like God. I went on and read in Vines that this holiness is not a spiritual attainment but a complete and full sanctification daily. Something that is practiced daily. It gives me the hope that no matter where I am in my "holiness" I am free because I never do have to attain. That is not for me. It is God's grace in me doing that work. I never have to be judge on my holiness. I never have to be categorized. Of course, people can if they want, and I'm sure they do, but it doesn't matter. I am not judged by their rule of holiness; I am judged by Gods.

This sainthood is not an attainment, it is a state into which God in grace calls men; yet believers are called to sanctify themselves consistently with
their calling, cleansing themselves from all defilement, forsaking sin, living a
"holy" manner of life, and experiencing fellowship with God in His holiness.

And that gives me freedom and that gives me hope.

I love having that law of liberty take it's course in my soul and spread it's joy to the far corners of my heart.

But, like a pendulum swinging on a clock back and forth, I bounce back into reality and take a narrow straw that is my belief system and fickely place the narrow opening on this Biblical concept. And then the checklist begins. And then reality hits. And while walking in faith on the stormy sea of water that is called life, I began to sink in despair when I look to a preconceived concept of holiness and take my eyes off Jesus; my true example of holiness.

I am held back by a faithless grasp on God. I cannot attain that holiness. My heart can yearn for it, my spirit can take hold of it and my mind can even grasp it. But, in practical every day life, I am influenced by an interpretation of what holiness means. The straw I am looking down fills with a check list of what "holy" like God means and looks like.

And then come the doubts. And Satan whispering in my ear how "unholy" this is. Or that is... like he can really judge holiness anyway. And I look around me to gauge what holiness should be. Just like Peter looked around while walking on the water.

Oh to stay above the stormy water! To breath the air of Life created for freedom! To live The Abundant Life that Jesus promised!

And to remember that Peter didn't start sinking until he looked at the circumstances around him. Until he remembered another law. Until he questioned Christ's direction. Until he was unlike Christ.

That was when he sank. And that's when I will too.

It's Game Day...

And I hate football. Okay, I know hate is a strong word so in other words, I detest and dislike and despise football. I mean really, what is so exciting about somebody catching or throwing a ball?

I live in “Husker” territory. For you college football fans, you know I’m not referring to somebody that works with corn but rather to the UNL football team. Today in the city of Lincoln, just a stone’s throw away from my doorstep is the game of the year being played. And what am I hoping? That “our” beloved team loses. My apologies to any Husker fans that may stumble on my blog. If you like the Huskers, you can put that on your blog. I dislike the Huskers and I’m putting that on my blog.

I found out recently from a friend that lives in Lincoln that he was really worried about the Huskers winning. Why? Vandalizing mobs break out when their team wins a victory. Weird way to celebrate, I know. It makes no sense to me either. And he lives in the heart of Lincoln. He was specifically worried about his 12 passenger van getting tipped over.

Today as I shopped and cruised around town, I was reminded again that today was Game Day by the see of red I saw everywhere. Husker Red. Everyone is wearing red; how dumb, I mused to myself.

Imagine my horror when I suddenly realized I happened to be wearing a red jacket today too. Totally Husker red. WHAT was I thinking this morning when I got dressed? You can tell I definitely didn't wake up with the game on my mind.

Imminent

imminent: adjective

ready to take place; especially :

hanging threateningly over one's head -

Describes the condition of a 36 week pregnant woman.

So many things are imminent.

A contraction is imminent. The threat of your water breaking is imminent. The onset of true labor is imminent. The arrival of your baby is imminent. And complete change to life as you know it is imminent.

Okay, so this could all happen sometime before 45 weeks are up... or 50 perhaps. But still, my baby's arrival is imminent no matter how you look at it.

Unless... has anybody ever stayed pregnant forever? That birth was always imminent, right? Whether it was 37 weeks or 50. Even 50 weeks is better than forever.

Being famous has it's pros but that's one thing I wouldn't want to be put in the Guinness Book of World Records for: Woman Who Stayed Pregnant Forever.

I like the concept of imminent so much better.

But then I realized... if only imminent guaranteed a deadline I could know about... If only imminent could be more exact... If only imminent could happen soon... If only imminent could get my baby here.

Imminent is only reactive to an event; imminent doesn't cause the event to take place.

If I stay pregnant forever, imminent does me no good. But it sure was a nice idea while it lasted.

Feelings

When you're on a trip and the miles are endless and you feel like perhaps the map is wrong and that you've indeed become trapped in a vicious circle and not getting anywhere, do you ever feel like you'll honestly never arrive at your destination?

Feeling that you'll never arrive and actually experiencing an endless road are two different things, thankfully. But, that feeling can over ride your ability to comprehend that nowhere on God's earth is there a road that has no end. Every trip has a destination.

When your computer is acting up and doing strange things in strange ways and you get really frustrated that the task you almost had completed in a certain program, had to become terminated because it committed an illegal operation, do you ever feel the sudden urge to throw your mouse into the screen?

Feeling that urge and acting on that urge are two different things. Feeling it doesn't cause the screen to crack and shatter but acting on it will. That feeling can result in a rather brash action but keeping that feeling in check, will keep your current computer problem from getting bigger. By staying calm, you can inoculate yourself to the actions of "the stupid computer" and actually impress yourself when in just 5 minutes, the whole system crashes and you remain unflustered and unfrustrated.

When your children are fussy and you've had a long day and you're tired and overwhelmed with yet another mess on the floor and suddenly, a little squabble breaks out and the littlest one gets another owie in the tussle, do you ever feel the sudden urge to open the door and start running?

Flight instinct is a very real and necessary thing for animals but for moms, it would be devastating. What could happen to your home and children in your absence? Thankfully, feeling that urge to run and acting on it are two very different things. Usually a deep breath and a whispered prayer can calm the situation enough that you quit staring longingly at the front door. At that point, you can look for the bright side (up coming nap time, hubby on his way home from work, etc.) and plunge even deeper into your home life and darling children.

When you're in childbirth and the intensity of labor has gone beyond your limit and you think in your head that this will never end, do you ever feel the sudden urge to just jump up and walk out of the room while telling the nurses and your concerned husband that you're done, this isn't working -- the baby will never come?

Most, if not all moms experience this feeling but I know of no one that successfully acted on it. Usually, that point in labor indicates to the health care providers that the end is indeed near.

There's something about our bodies and our feelings that when we tell ourselves we can take a hardship no longer, suddenly, the situation plunges even deeper and we find that what we thought was an unimaginable depth, becomes the very place where we find or experience the way out. We amaze ourselves at the hidden ability in our bodies to tolerate and endure difficulty.

No matter what road we may be on in life, this experience comes to everyone. Sometimes it's through a computer, other times its through people, and other times through physical pain. Recognizing it's challenging points, can better help us endure them long enough to realize that yes, we'll indeed survive.

Hitting rock bottom means one thing: time to jump off another cliff. But, focusing on our feelings can make us climb the rope back to the top of the problem and then we end up sitting there for unnecessary time, waiting for the situation to change. Embracing the difficulty, plunging into the the prospect of change and finding ways to overcome the problem instead of it overcoming us, are the very practices we should focus on when the feeling to run or turn around overwhelm us.

When you hit the point of no return, don't listen to your feelings; jump! And enjoy the ride down.