Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

What I Realized When My Husband Left

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We’re this very weird family that loves spending time together. Do the children ever get on my nerves? Of course! But for the most part we’re inseparable. That’s why moving into an RV wasn’t a big deal. Although we had a large house before, we spent most of our time together in one room, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to shrink our future home to the size of that prior family room. We choose to educate our children at home, to make it work somehow that daycare doesn’t come into play. We even co-sleep, and while I don’t get “perfect” sleep with them all in the bed, I can’t imagine it any other way. Late at night my husband and I will peer in awe at our sleeping children, commenting how much we wish we could freeze time.

But… don’t get the idea that my hubby and I don’t look fondly forward to the idea of being just the two of us one day. I mean, going somewhere fun without someone whining and complaining about their feet hurting or being bored? That. Sounds. Lovely. So, yes, we’re a tight knit family, but my spouse and I are an even closer couple.

Y’all, I could seriously spend 24/7 with that man. I never get tired of his presence. Even if we’re doing our own thing, separate from the other (because, come on, I can’t get into his computer games), there’s something special about being in the same room together. I’ll read my book while he fights evil pixels, and everything feels safe and in balance when we’re breathing the same space of air. It just does. I guess you could say, he’s the salsa to my taco. Or perhaps the promising rainbow after my rain. I know it sounds sappy, but I have to agree with Tom Cruise (and that’s the only time you’ll hear me say that). My husband completes me.

Well, as I stood outside last night, with one daughter curled up under each arm sobbing, it struck me. They waved goodbye, trying hard to smile as tears ran down their cheeks, and the positive aspect of my husband pulling away came into my mind. I squeezed my daughters close as they buried their wet faces in my ribs, and I realized just how blessed we were. Even as my soulmate left for the airport to take a trip without me by his side, I felt blessed.

I had someone to miss.

I don’t suppose that crosses my mind that often. I mean, I thanked God for my spouse frequently, but it was also easy to comfortably take for granted the love we shared. Marriage with him was so easy, and sadly, it wasn’t that way for everyone. I had a warrior in my corner, a man who would lay down his life to save my own. Not all damsels in distress had a knight, and even if they did, the armor wasn’t usually shining. I had someone to miss, and as my husband’s taillights dwindled, I knew our feelings would not. Each day our relationship grew, and for some friends I knew theirs had hit a roadblock. For others, perhaps a dead end. Our journey together felt like it was only beginning, and for that I could not feel sad.

Well, let me tell you. A person missing from the family bed does not make it more comfortable and spacious! I don’t know if all these years he’s been a buffer, intercepting kicks on my behalf, or what, but I do know that last night (without my husband present) was not a good night’s rest. I’m glad he’s back in two days. You see, I have someone who’s coming back.

As I held my daughters in bed last night I thought about that. Their daddy would be coming back. When I was the youngest two girls’ ages, my father left and didn’t come back. He didn’t look back. And to this day, he didn’t try and make up for lost time. Sometimes I felt easily forgettable, like a part of me was still an eight year old girl who it was so uncomplicated to give up. I wonder sometimes, thinking back on my long, laundry list of desperate love conquests, if God gave me Ben so I could feel especially loved and held dear. I think that’s probably it. He’s my gift from above to help heal the wounded edges of rejection that try to keep residence in my heart.

I have someone to miss.

I have someone who comes back after they leave.

I have someone who loves me and our children more than himself, and if I need to share him with others in his life for a day or two, I suppose I can spread the wealth. Lol.

But don’t think I’m not on countdown! Nor that I’ll get any sleep tonight.

What to Say When You See a Nurse Sitting Down

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I think part of the problem is you’re not used to seeing it. A nurse sitting down, I mean. There’s a reason I put a step counter app on my phone. It helps me feel justified when I’m scarfing down a couple of donuts at 4pm because I’m starving from a skipped lunch. Point being, the miles I walk on any given day at the patient bedside would trump just about any exercise routine I might try to begin. Between back and forth trips to a room or quick dashes to the pharmacy, I definitely burn my fair share of calories. What I don’t do a lot of, in comparison, is sit. And even if I am sitting, I’m usually charting. Yet that’s not the moment a passerby will catch me.

If you’ve been a nurse any length of time then you know that nursing has its own cruel version of Murphy’s Law. This happenstance will mean that uttering the word “quiet” makes crazy things happen, or that saying you’re all caught up will make the stool hit the fan. It’s that peculiar nuisance that makes your face itch like crazy when you’re fully donned in PPE, or your patient’s blood pressure plummet right after you lose your one working IV. You know what else it is? It’s the fact that the moment you sit down to take a break two things will happen. Either a call light will go off, or someone who isn’t working the bedside will walk by.

Ahhhh. You see the nurse, phone in hand, leg propped up. My, they almost look like they’re on vacation. I totally get it. First thoughts might be, “wow, guess nobody works here,” or perhaps “they need something to do!” It does look that way. But I wonder what might happen if we all put ourselves in the shoes of another before making snap judgments in haste?

I think you’d find out some things you might not know about your nurse. The propped leg? Maybe that’s to rest and alleviate pain in their bad knee that aches something awful after 13 hours on their feet. I find as a middle-aged woman that my body no longer agrees with how young I desire to be, but instead reacts like someone much older, especially after lifting the weight of others for three days straight.

Did you consider the phone use is a quick text home, checking on a sick child or a parent who’s fallen? It’s easy to forget in a population that spends the majority of its time caring for others, but nurses have families with needs of their own. As your nurse is giving 100% to the sick people under their care, their hearts still cry internally for whatever is going on at home. But you know what? Even if that nurse was checking their social media, it’s the first time they’ve relaxed all day, what, with keeping that post-op patient who’s been circling the drain from buying a one way ticket to heaven.

I think we forget the emotional stress and physical strain nurses go through on any given shift. It’s easy to forget the weighty stress of keeping someone alive. We miss the fact that the bedside nurse can spend hours at one person’s side, forgoing their own needs, to alleviate whatever ails the one under their care. But those are the unseen things. Those are the hidden gems a nurse performs each shift. They just see it as part of the job, and they certainly won’t brag. You’ll never know how they made that suicidal woman feel special for the first time in her life, or how they intervened for the safety of their patient, preventing what could have been a deadly event. You won’t see those secret steps a nurse makes each day, but you will see them sitting at the desk, apparently with nothing to do.

Maybe next time we see that nurse in that brief moment of respite and much needed rest we can think something like, “good for them. They need that moment of stillness to recharge for the difficulties ahead.” Because, you see, nurses are like a vessel, pouring out so much of themselves, but as everyone knows, any container eventually runs dry. So perhaps the next time you see a nurse sitting you should just know that they’re there for a refill before the next round of serving begins.

How to Receive God’s Promises in Your Battle

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I’m going to tell you a story you may or may not be familiar with, and then I’m going to tell you exactly how you can apply the lesson to your own life. This story is about a man from the Old Testament called Joshua. I’ll bet you remember him. He’s the guy who marched around the wall of Jericho seven times, shouting loudly as God caused it to fall to the ground. But that’s not the only battle he led. He actually faced many armies on his way towards the land God had promised to Israel. The Book of Joshua is full of so many gems, so I’ll simply pass along one that really stuck out to me today. It’s good news we all can use as we face our own battles in the journey to God’s promises for us.

Following Jericho, God told Joshua of the next step. He wanted him to go take the land of Ai. I love that with every command of impending war, God tells Joshua, “do not be afraid.” That’s something we all need reminded of numerous times, not just in battle, but on the daily as we face the challenges of life. So, I like how God continues to tell Joshua not to be afraid, to be courageous, as He reminds him that the Lord God is always with him, as He is with us.

Anyway, back to Ai. God starts by telling Joshua not to be afraid, and then He delivers His promise. He tells Joshua that they will win this battle, that God Himself will deliver Ai into the Israelites’ hands. Good news, right? There’s so many times I feel (hear) God’s promises to me. He tells me that He’ll provide for my family, that He will direct our paths. Sometimes His promises are just general in nature, but other times more specific. Like when He promised provision for our sabbatical back home in Mississippi. I think we all face battles on the daily, and whether by reading the Bible, praying, or talking with a Godly mentor, we receive promises from the Lord that we don’t have to fear what we’re facing, because we don’t face it alone.

It was the same for Joshua. He knew the direction God was leading him, and he knew God promised His favor in the battle. I have had instances where I’m reading The Word, and I feel a promise from the Lord delivered to my heart. I feel so good in that moment. So confident. But the next day, when I’m trying to walk out that promise, it’s a little harder. I think that’s why God commanded to Joshua what He did next.

Joshua 8:18 (NIV)

Then the LORD said to Joshua, “Hold out toward Ai the javelin that is in your hand, for into your hand I will deliver the city.” So Joshua held out toward the city the javelin that was in his hand.

God had promised the conquer of Ai, but as Joshua points his javelin towards the city, he is not only commanding his army to battle, he is also walking in faith. He is following the instruction of the Lord faithfully, and he is showing in a physical sense the inner trust his heart holds. He’s pointing in a certain direction, but he’s also making the proclamation (for all to see) that he is headed that way because God commanded it. He is not afraid, and his javelin shows it.

We move to a new city, or we take that intimidating promotion. We accept the position leadership gives us, or we agree to help out in a field we’re not fully confident in. Whether it’s coaching little league, teaching Sunday school, leading a team, or persevering through a difficult season of marriage, we walk forward in faith the things God places in our lives. We walk with confidence into the unknown because He tells us not to fear. We hold up our own javelins, even with arms trembling, and we step out, in faith. Or we should, rather.

For the sake of the lesson, let’s say we’ve all pointed our javelin with confidence (albeit shaky) towards our specific promise land. What’s next?

The battle, of course!

Y’all. Have you ever been in the middle of a battle, and it feels like a ten year war? Like, there is no end in sight. Even if you know a victory is supposed to be coming, your faith can falter when faced with continued hardship. When I read about the battle with Ai, I was convinced it lasted longer than five minutes. I mean, the strategy was really cool. They lured their enemy out to the middle of nowhere, attacked the vulnerable city in the enemy’s absence, then turned around from their fake retreat to surprise the over-confident Ai in an ambush of epic proportion. It was awesome, but I don’t think it was speedy. I’m pretty sure it took some time. I would imagine there were moments where Joshua (in his humanness) worried about his soldiers. He probably cringed as the plan played out, perhaps mental fingers covering his hesitant eyes while they prepared to take the land of their enemy.

Joshua 8:25-26 (NIV)

25 Twelve thousand men and women fell that day—all the people of Ai. 26 For Joshua did not draw back the hand that held out his javelin until he had destroyed[a] all who lived in Ai.

The battle had continued, the enemy had been mighty, the way uncertain, the victory not yet complete, but do you know what Joshua had not done, despite the odds? He had not drawn back his hand. He held the javelin, pointed in the direction of God’s promise, until the war was won.

He had walked in faith, but more importantly, he had continued to walk in faith even as the battle waged on. So many times we find ourselves in situations that seem endless, the victory too far away to see. We get discouraged, and we don’t want to keep going. Our arms get tired. Our fears crowd in. We begin our battle in confidence, but it’s easy to draw back our hand when the going gets tough. We don’t hold out until the battle is complete. We draw back, and in doing so, we miss the promise of victory that God had in mind.

If you find yourself in a tough situation today, I would encourage you to hold out your javelin in faith. Point it towards the promise of victory that God gives. Don’t pull back your hand when the battle drags on, but instead hold steady in faith until God declares it done. Don’t miss the victory He has promised in your life. Don’t draw back your hand until the end.

When I Realized I’d Never Be Enough

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I’d like to think that after forty-two years of transversing this life, I wouldn’t give a hoot what people think of me. And for the most part, I typically don’t. I mean, I’m certainly not the young, flat-chested teen I used to be, trying my best to fit in with the kids at the cool table. Heck, I’m not even the harried woman I was in my thirties who replayed every single conversation, encounter, or confrontation for at least the next 48 hours, hoping I could change my reaction. Like that old cigarette ad used to say, I’ve come a long way, baby, but this week showed me I still had a ways to go.

I wonder, will I ever be enough? For others, or even, more importantly, for myself? I’m not sure.

The past year I felt I had finally entered into a more confident season of life. I counted myself as a seasoned professional, an asset to my coworkers, a dependable part of the team. Even though it still seemed shocking to me to have so many years under my belt, I finally felt like I could walk confidently in my role as a seasoned, experienced nurse. Yet as I’ve found myself waking into new roles and responsibilities this year, I’ve felt lacking. I’ve had moments where I thought, “I must look like a total moron!” And I’ve worried more in the past few weeks about my performance in one area than I have in two years of traveling to unknown and unfamiliar hospital settings across the country.

As I saw myself moving towards the specific ministry callings God was leading me into, I realized I was being distracted by the voices. You know the ones I’m talking about. The voices that always tell you what you are not.

You don’t know enough to do this.

You aren’t equipped for this.

You don’t have the ability to carry this out like it deserves.

The voices say, “you’re not enough.”

They tell little lies. That subsequently sound like they could be true.

They think you’re an idiot for what you said.

You sound so full of yourself!

You know they’re just humoring you, right?

I even found myself questioning my relationships with family. People that I am incredibly comfortable with, I suddenly began questioning my interactions with them. I didn’t think I was a good sister, or sensitive enough to the needs of others.

He hates you, probably.

Yeah, she’s not texting back because you made her mad.

It’s the same voices that make you feel like you don’t belong, like an outcast, like relationships aren’t for you.

The only place I felt like I was achieving my goals was in my own home, and the comfort of being a good wife and mother kept me steady. Yet I was struggling in my other life roles. I felt convicted of my over-the-top concerns, and I questioned if I was putting the desire to please man above the Lord. So, I told myself, “I am good enough for God.”

But y’all, that didn’t help much with the fact that I felt lacking in areas of life that deserved more of me. Or that I felt deserved more of me. Because we are all our own worst enemy, am I right?

This morning the Lord got honest with me, and you know how we all need that hard truth hammered home sometimes!

I felt like God said, “Brie, you are not enough. You’ll never be enough.”

Gosh, He was right. As good as I tried to be, I wasn’t Mary Poppins. I’d never be practically perfect in every way. I couldn’t measure up to my own expectations or even that of the world around me, and there was something freeing about admitting that. Saying to myself, “yep, you’ll never be enough.” You see, it was a relief because of what the Lord whispered next.

He said, “but Jesus. He is enough.”

I could not measure up, but through Him I could step up. I could step into all the things God has for me. Alone, I definitely wasn’t enough to fill the shoes He had laid down, but with Him I could still walk confidently, walk forward, walk in peace.

I’d never be enough, but Jesus? Well, He had already paid more than enough for me for all eternity.

Praise Him in the Storm

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You’re not like shifting shadows.

I spoke, eyes closed, but the warm sun of Florida winter lighting up the world beyond my shielded lids.

You are so good. Always good.

I believed the words I prayed, and I found that the more I spoke them in truth, the better I felt. The still, small voice that had whispered to my heart to praise Him had been correct.

Even when the circumstances seem bad, you are good.

The peace that covered me now, as heartfelt words poured from my lips and my hands raised in worship, had not been there even minutes before. I don’t really know how I had felt. Not good. Not bad. Aloof? Surreal? I had tried to articulate my feelings to a friend, but ended up backspacing and erasing the text before I hit send. It was hard to describe. I felt disconnected from the truth that always kept me so steady.

I never doubt your goodness.

Yet I had. I mean, for a moment anyway. How else could I explain my sadness, my tears, my longing to be there. Even though I knew the very Spirit of God stood in for me.

My flesh may fail, but my heart trusts in you always.

It’s like the praise was bringing me back to the truth. The disconnect I had felt; was it my flesh trying to control an uncontrollable situation?

All your ways are good.

I had been so proud of my faith earlier in the morning. My dad had gone for a simple procedure, and upon hearing its cancellation I had praised God that it had been delayed. His reasons always had purpose. I rejoiced that the trip to the emergency room (800 miles from me) was just a precaution, the super fast heart rate a passing thing. My daddy would be fine.

I trust all your ways.

It’s like that, it seems. Carrying faith is easy when circumstances are good, but it gets heavier when they are not. When I heard words like “heart attack” and “open heart surgery” it was like an unwelcome dinner guest, one I certainly wasn’t expecting.

Help me, Lord.

I knew far too much about the subject. Having worked in surgical intensive care recovering open heart surgery patients for eight years, I knew how common this procedure was. No problem. But then I also knew the complications that could arise. Oh, dear. I had cried in the slime aisle at Walmart as my husband stroked my hair and held me tight.

Help my daddy, Jesus.

Ever since the tears had fallen and the worry had crept in, I had felt off. It reminded me a bit of how a head cold will make you feel. There, but not really present. Lights on, but only halfway home. I had texted friends, I had added him to prayer lists, and I had called my most trusted loved ones to listen. Still, I had felt afraid.

You control all things.

Every word of praise and truth I spoke brought me closer to the Father, and it also took me farther from the confusion and anxiety I had felt lost in. Like a thick fog it had covered me, but His light led me out of the darkness of the circumstances before me.

No matter what, you work all things for our good.

Even in the midst of bad news, uncertain circumstances, and concern for my dad’s health, the truth of God was unchanging, and by speaking that truth aloud in praise I had brought my worried, fretful-daughter mind into line with His mercies and goodness.

My trust is in you.

I had just needed to remind myself of that.

We Broke Up With Netflix

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It’s not you, it’s me.

Isn’t that what people say when they break up with someone. Well, I guess you could say that’s true with Netflix (among other networks) with us. It wasn’t so much specifically what Netflix was bringing to the table, but rather it became a realization of how that was affecting us. It became all about us, about what we needed in our lives at this point and time. Allow me to expound.

I can remember about 8 1/2 years ago driving down the street in my blue, smart car, my baby daughter buckled in the back, windows down, digging the sunshine, and enjoying my jams. The radio wasn’t blaring, but it was high enough to drown out the breeze blowing inside. I smiled at the beat, grinned at my gorgeous girl in the backseat, and I guess I chose that moment to tune my ears into the lyrics coming from my car speaker. My eyes grew big as the words became clear, and it wasn’t that I had pristine, virginal ears. I mean, I had served in the Navy, and cussing like a sailor is an aptly applied adage. I suppose I was simply surprised to hear such uncensored language on a public radio station. My eyes went to the rear view mirror again, and though my infant didn’t understand the sexual act the singer described in cutesy detail, I realized that one day she would. In fact, she’d know way too much if I kept the dial tuned there. And so began my change in music.

I’m not saying that I never listen to non-Christian (secular) music anymore, but if I were going by percentages, I’d say I listen to Christian music about 95% of the time. While it initially began with wanting something wholesome and uplifting in my vehicle with little ears listening, it ended up meaning more than that. I realized pretty quickly that songs about Jesus made me feel good. They affected me on the inside, changing my very mood and emotions. This was when I started to realize that what you put in was what fed you. I feed myself (even when I’m alone) with music that energizes my soul in a positive way.

Shortly thereafter I was reading a book by my favorite, horror author, and I began to feel sick as the writer described the twisted mind of a killer, one who found pleasure in causing pain. I closed that book, and I never picked up another from him. I had been reading all his books for twenty years, and I owned most of them in hardback edition. Eventually those left my home, and I also began to read books only by Christian authors. Did that mean that I thought non-Christian books were bad? Hardly. There are so many wonderful authors out there. I just found with books, much like music, that reading about Christ cultivated my relationship with Him. Again, feeding my spirit gave me such a positive outlook and demeanor.

Many years ago my husband and I stopped watching certain types of films or shows. It seemed like everything that came out that was considered scary (my former favorite genre) was about demonic possession, but it wasn’t just the subject. It was how they sensationalized it, somehow making it, I don’t know, cool? I just didn’t like how it made my spirit (insides) feel. It wasn’t good to open that door so flippantly.

Even over the past couple of years, we’d watch a show a few times, then end up cutting it off, knowing in our heart and agreeing together that it wasn’t something we needed to watch. Same thing with certain movies. We’d give them a try, make sure the children were out of earshot, and end up stopping them halfway through. It happened a lot.

Recently I was listening to a sermon at church. It wasn’t about what kind of television you should watch, but it was about making up your mind in life to do something. Sometimes we can know we need to diet or exercise more, but until we make a decision to stick to a certain regimen, we’ll likely put it off another day, never dedicating ourselves to a conviction we feel or a path we know God is leading us towards. We miss out on the life He has for us when we push to the back of our minds that small whisper that tells us what is right for us, and more importantly, what is wrong.

That Sunday my husband was home with our two sick daughters, but as I sat convicted and determined in the sanctuary, I plotted out how I would explain it to him.

Y’all, we love TV. Like, seriously love it. Yes, we spend a lot of time outdoors. We go places and we do things in our community, but when 8 o’clock hits (yes, old souls) you will find us in bed binge-watching another Netflix original. If you paid by hours watched or series completed, rather than a monthly bill, we’d be stockholders in Netflix for sure. We love TV. My husband loved TV. So, how could I explain to him that I felt like God wanted us to let that part of our life go?

It’s no secret that I express myself best through written word, so it’s no surprise that I texted him. I figured I could get my words out (without him interrupting me), and he’d have time to mull it over before I got home. I prayed before I hit send.

I typed,

I wanted to go ahead and tell you what’s on my mind right now.

He keeps in perfect peace those whose minds are stayed on Him.

Many years ago we stopped listening to secular music. We understood the effect it had on us.

I love to read. I stopped reading my fav authors like Stephen King. In fact, I only read Christian books now.

We read our Bibles every day, but we honestly spend the majority of our time watching tv.

How does it look to the girls when we constantly say “get out. You can’t watch this.” They’re watching what we watch and basing what is acceptable on that. Are we ourselves becoming desensitized to what is of God? How can we consistently feed stuff into our heads that isn’t of Him? We’ve known for a long time there’s stuff we shouldn’t watch, but I’m thinking that instead of stopping shows/movies over and over, we make a decision to only watch Christian shows/movies. I know they now have Christian tv streaming. GodTV and others.

Just my thoughts today.

His initial reply was, “I agree, but maybe we could just stop watching shows we know we shouldn’t watch. If we don’t watch secular shows, there’s nothing to watch.”

But by the time I got home he was completely in agreement. We started researching different Christian, television streaming services, and finally settled on one I was familiar with, Pureflix (no, this isn’t a sponsored post, lol). We then started a series on that service that I must honestly say is the best television series I have ever seen (Christian or secular). I think my husband has already watched the first season three times.

Since then, we have watched only Pureflix (only Christian movies or series), and it’s been awesome. They make really high quality Christian films now with big budgets and well-known actors, but more importantly we are feeding our spirits and home with positive, Christ-affirming entertainment. We can feel the difference. We’re in a better mood and overall just feel light and airy. I think we underestimate the negative influence entertainment can have on our countenance.

Bonus? We don’t have to chase the children out of the room, yelling “close your eyes” or “cover your ears.” They aren’t equating being an adult with watching “bad” TV. We’re not just instructing them to “do as I say, not as I do.” We are modeling the behavior we expect of them.

And for another thing, have you seen what’s on TV lately?! I know it’s always been pretty bad. I remember all the 80’s movies. My parents let me watch them all. Stuff that I thought was amusing twenty years ago just seems uncomfortably inappropriate now. What was once considered taboo on regular television is broadcast on “family friendly” channels now. Blatant sin is included in cartoons, and taking the Lord’s name in vain doesn’t even make people flinch anymore.

So, now do I think all secular television/movies are bad, and anyone who watches them isn’t close to God? Of course not! That shouldn’t even be a consideration, but in a world that finds offense at every single opinion, I feel it necessary to stress that. You watching You? Perfect! I actually really enjoyed that show! You keeping doing you. Me? This is where God is leading my family now. Continue your regularly scheduled program without judgment from my little corner.

And because I had this exact comment on a post before, I’ll add that no, I don’t have a religious spirit. I don’t think God expects perfection or for me to do A, B, and C to go to Heaven. Grace is my favorite subject, and salvation my best gift. I’ll take relationship (with Christ) over religion eight days a week. So, it’s not in some pharisaical spirit that I lay down laws for myself and my family to be more Christ-like. I just love Jesus. Why wouldn’t I want to watch shows made by people who love Him too, or listen to music that praises His name?

Will we always only watch Christian programming from here on out? I honestly don’t know. About eight years ago we did a 30 day challenge with our Christian music, and many, many 30 days later, we’re still 95% Christian tunes. We like it. I imagine we’ll find Christian television feeds us much the same.

So, like I mentioned in the beginning, our breakup with Netflix wasn’t about them so much as it became about us. What did we want to feed our minds? What did we want to model for our daughters? What did God put on our hearts? That’s what brought about our decision for entertainment, and that’s what guides us in all our decisions each and every day.

No, I’m Not Buying a House

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I think everyone totally understood my vagabond lifestyle when I was traveling as a nurse, but now that I have decided to stick around an area more permanently, people just assume I’ll put down roots in a traditional sense. I mean, that’s what you’re supposed to do. Especially if you’re a middle-aged mom, wife, and working professional. For those reading this who are unfamiliar with my lifestyle, my family and I travel in an RV. The craziest part? We do it by choice.

When my husband, three daughters, and I were traveling across the country while I worked at different hospitals, I suppose it just made sense that we’d move place to place in our fifth wheel. It gave our children a greater sense of stability having the same bedroom wherever we went, and we had developed a “home is where you park it” kinda motto. But ever since I announced the decision to stop travel nursing and sign on as a staff (permanent) nurse at a specific hospital, I’ve gotten the same question over and over.

So, are y’all gonna buy a house now?

My answer is always the same, and though it may shock those who inquire, when I explain my reasoning, they get behind me with it. You see, I’m not buying a house. We’re going to keep living in our RV. That’s right, five people in 500 square feet, and nope, we’re not crazy.

If I’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that much of the life we create is out of habit rather than necessity. We choose the life we do because that’s the way it’s always been, or the way it’s supposed to be. Folks get married, get pregnant, buy a house, buy a bigger car, and subsequently buy bigger debt with their bigger “more successful” life. It’s as if happiness comes on the back of mortgages and car notes, or that contentment comes only by checking a certain box on the “I’m a grownup now” worksheet. Yet when we build a bigger, better life, it usually comes with not just a larger price tag, but also a truckload of stress. So, I guess you could say, we create our lifestyle, yet we also create our stress. Or much of it, anyway.

From our personal experience, we found the bigger lifestyle (as far as square footage and belongings go) created a bigger sense of urgency. I had more dusting and laundry. My husband had more yard work and “honey do” lists. We both certainly worked more. For us, it just seemed like the lifestyle that society had always told us would make us happy only made us more rushed and busy. Traveling in an RV wasn’t just a convenience for work, but rather a decision for future happiness. And boy, did it exceed our expectations.

We found that we could live happily in 1/4 the space we had become accustomed to in our prior, traditional lifestyle (let’s call it living in a sticks and bricks). Turns out we didn’t need even half of the stuff we sold or gave away when we downsized. It’s actually not just a way to cut down on material possessions and re-evaluate what’s important in life, but it’s also a great way to payoff debt! Cause debt is crippling, am I right?! When I tell people my monthly living expenses (in a popular and large metropolitan area) are $200 a month (yep, that includes my utilities), they’re usually like, “yeah, I think I’d stay in the RV too!”

The fact is, a happy life isn’t built on two stories and a white picket fence. It’s built around the ones you love. It’s not held together by how much you have, or even how it looks to those on the outside, but rather by the ties that bind you. For us, that’s time together, less time working, and more time enjoying ourselves. It’s less time running here and there, and more time simply enjoying life. It’s less stress and more smiles.

So, while our circumstances have changed, our priorities have not. We don’t stay in the RV for necessity with traveling, but simply because it’s worked so far. Why change anything? Will we buy a house in the future? Perhaps. But it will be small. This tiny life fits us just fine, and I’ll tell you a secret. Going small has given us big happiness.

Btw, this was our Christmas card one year

I Love My Children, But…

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I love my children, but they can turn any enjoyable outing into a miserable experience.

Like, why do we take them anywhere? Any amens from the choir out there?

I sat at the table of a German restaurant trying not to speak out loud the curse words that ran through my mind. Directed at my children. Sounds terrible, right?! But as I sent secret text messages to my spouse across the table, every GIF that popped up under the search “aggravated” seemed to fit. Yet it was more than aggravation. It was beyond mere frustration. It was the pot threatening to boil over, the kind of slow roll that only your own offspring could produce. They were exasperating.

They didn’t like the menu. It didn’t have macaroni, after all. Never mind that we had only chosen the restaurant to silence their whines of, “I’m starving! Can’t we find a place to eat already?!”

Never mind that they had grumbled the whole three or four blocks to the downtown area about being tired, chilly, or having sore feet. Never mind that I had brought jackets they forgot to get out of the truck, or comfy sneakers they had refused to change into.

I loved my children soooo much, but if I’m laying it all out for you… sometimes I want to kill them. Like, shaken child syndrome, kill them.

Why must they repeat the same phrase over and over, and yet over again, until I say, “oh yeah. Really? That’s interesting.”

“Hey, Mom. Watch this!”

*child performs some very minor, dance step/jump, or something

Crickets.

“Wow. That’s awesome,” I say.

I love my children soooo much, but dang, sometimes they are total brats. I look at them whining, fighting, complaining, and I want to know who raised these wild animals!

Oh.

Yeah.

Me.

Dang.

I love my children so much. Like, more than the air I breathe. I would die for them. When they’re sick, I want to take it all on myself. When they’re sleeping, I take photo after photo. I never want to forget! Oh, who am I kidding?! I take pictures of everything. Every day is a memory in the making, and I always want it on slow-mo so I can savor each smile, each giggle, and press into the pages of my heart every adorable, hilarious thing my four year old utters. So many days I wish I could freeze time, keeping them little forever.

But then, the rest of the time I am fantasizing about when they move out. Then my husband and I can go places and enjoy ourselves without complaints. No one will ask me to carry them. No one. No one will drink all my water, or eat all my food. No one will ask me for snacks right after I sit down, interrupt me with some mundane question right when I get on an important call, or turn the backseat of my vehicle into a garbage dump within 3.5 seconds of driving off the car lot.

I know I will cry. I know I will. It will be too quiet, and I’ll be so grateful for all the pictures we took, the places we went, and the fabulous memories we created. I know this, and I repeat it to myself every time I get a little foot in my back when they’re sleeping in my bed. I know that one day that king-sized bed will feel really empty. That’s the only reason they’re still there. I know they desire to please me. That’s why it’s always “hey, mom” and “look at me.” Even when I’m looking at her do the same thing I just watched her do thirty seconds prior. I know the reasons, and yes, it makes me feel good. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t make me a little twitchy, though. Just saying.

I love my children so much, but when I’m picking up the same mess for the eight millionth time, that day, yeah, I want to do a Calgon, take me away, one way ticket to anywhere else.

I love my children so much, but sometimes I don’t like them that much. They are rude, selfish, annoying little monsters, but they’re all mine. So you can’t call them any of that. Ever.

Because they’re loud, but they’re wonderful. They’re clingy, but they’re cuddly. They’re exasperating, but so darn cute. They’re awful, but they’re perfect. And they’re raucous, yet they’re my very best thing that I’ve ever made. They make me want to pull my hair out, but then they also make me beam with pride. They make me want to squeeze them to death! And then they make me want to squeeze them tight and never let them go. They make me cry in frustration, cry over my supposed failures, and cry over the love I have for them that my heart can’t possibly contain. It’s too much.

I love my children so much, but at the end of the day, I love to love them from the other room.

I love my children so much, but parenting is hard.

I love my children so much, and each day I pray for wisdom to help raise them into the young women God has in mind.

I love my children so much, but being a parent isn’t for the faint of heart.

I love my children so much, and I guess that’s enough for today.

The Pajama Lesson

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My nine year old got a few, new pairs of pajamas for Christmas. In fact, I asked people, when they inquired of me, to get them for her as a gift. Cause every kid loves clothes, right?! But seriously, she needed them, like, really bad needed them. So, boy, was I excited to see them rolling in at gift unwrapping time. One pair was especially adorable, and when she put them on they looked so cute I made one of those “ahhhh” sounds to emphasize my approval. She was grinning, too, so I assumed her stamp was given. She ran around all night, looking adorable in her striped, raccoon-icorn pj’s, but when bedtime came and she exited from the bathroom I was not prepared for her nighttime attire. There she was, smiling ear to ear, sporting her ratty, mismatched slumber wear. Do what?!

See, that’s why we had gotten her new pajamas, and I explained as much as I tucked her in the covers.

“These pajamas are super old,” I said. “I got you new ones so you don’t have to wear the same ones every night!”

Yes, she had worn them every night for as long as I could remember. They weren’t just her favorite; they were the only pair she’d wear. If she couldn’t find them, sometimes, it was a huge deal. She would search frantically for those ratty, worn-out pajamas. She did not think she could sleep without them.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new pajamas?” I asked.

She pulled at the thin, terry cloth fabric, covered in unicorns, and she answered, “cause they’re not comfy like these.”

She went on to explain in a variation of adjectives why her old ones were so stretchy, “bendy,” and easy to fall asleep in, and at that point I realized another reason she didn’t want to let them go.

Security.

See, for whatever reason, a year ago she began to fear going to sleep. Sure, a lot of children don’t like going to sleep, but my girl’s became a huge, irrational fear. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Or she worried she wouldn’t stay asleep. It seems that at some point she woke up in the middle of the night, it was dark, and she got scared. And once the fear started, she couldn’t get past it to fall back asleep. She was immobilized from even going back to sleep, and after that she worried it would happen again. It didn’t matter that a year had gone by and she never had a problem again. She slept like a rock, but that didn’t mean as much in the face of fear.

At the beginning of her bedtime scare, we initiated a more solid routine. We did pajamas right at the time of sleep, we brushed teeth, we said our prayers, she watched a little bit of soothing, nature documentary with her dad to settle for the night. Before we realized it, this bedtime routine became a required ritual. She felt it necessary to hit each step. If I fell asleep (on my work nights) before her without praying for her, she would wake me up to pray. We explained that my prayers didn’t hold any more weight than her own, but she persisted that I had to be the one to pray with her. She spoke the same words in her prayer every night. The script, as much as the act of prayer, gave her comfort. I realized, after a year of wearing these pajamas every, single night (we laundered them regularly) she had built them into her much-needed routine. She felt like she needed those exact pajamas to sleep well.

I recognized that we all had our own pair of safety pajamas. And when I say pajamas, I don’t just mean pajamas. I mean that we all have routines, comfort zones, and certain people or things that make us feel secure. The bad part is those items in our life have no more power than some unicorn sleeping pants, but we give them a place of power when we allow them to keep us from moving forward into something better, or into the future God has for us.

How many women stay with an abusive man who has convinced her she cannot do better in life? I once spoke with a prostitute who remained under the thumb of her pimp because she felt that was the best she could do in life. She didn’t believe she deserved better.

How many men stay in a relationship where they are belittled and beat down?

How many of us stay in a job we hate? I can remember saying “better is the devil you know than the one you don’t.” I get it.

How many of us hate where we live, but are afraid to move somewhere new?

What about your career? I dreamed of being an actress on Broadway, but I let someone in my life convince me it wasn’t realistic to pursue, that I needed to go find a “real” job. So now, I just sing show-tunes to my intubated patients.

Yes, it’s good that I’m a nurse, but what I’m saying is, how often do we miss out on the best life for us and our families because we’re afraid to change pajamas? You see what I mean? Sometimes it’s easier to stay stuck in a routine we don’t really love, and that routine becomes a crutch. In fact, it becomes an albatross, or a millstone around our neck. It holds us down from enjoying the new gift we’ve been given, and we miss out on the fact that the new stuff may fit us even better than we could have ever imagined.

Well, I will report that she’s still wearing those old, ratty pj’s. The new ones are sitting in her drawer, still, but I’m hopeful that we can show her the truth. The truth is, change is scary, but it also brings blessing. Allowing fear to keep us from stepping out into the new, it only hurts us in the long run. We all could use a reminder of that. So, here’s to a new year of new things, new changes, new courage, and new confidence. I hope we all can embrace the new.

How I Fell in Love With Nursing. Again.

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First love is easy, isn’t it? With stars in your eyes and a naive nature, you swing headfirst and heart-strong into the relationship. You have dreams for the future, the butterflies for excitement to spur you forward, and even a bit of healthy hesitancy to keep you honest. But somewhere between that first date (or shift in the case of nursing) and eventual broken expectations, you end up feeling betrayed. It’s nothing like you hoped it could be. You end up disappointed, likely broken-hearted, and sadly, if your experience was especially harsh, guarded and skeptical for any silver lining that might exist up ahead. Sound familiar?

A profession you can truly love isn’t that different from a romantic relationship. It’s something that gives your life a new purpose, a reason to hope, excitement, and the ability to get better at it as you go along. It’s the chance to think of someone other than yourself, but like any relationship, the one with your career can become strained. I’ve been in the medical field for 20 years now, and I think I’ve experienced every stage of the process. I mean, if Nursing was Dante’s Inferno, I probably transversed through every circle. Y’all, I fell out of love with it, and it took purposeful determination to make my way back into my partner’s good graces. At one point, I think I hated it. Just being brutally honest here.

That first year was something, am I right? Fear, panic, but somehow an exciting adrenaline rush, a pride that I’ve discovered you can’t let slip away. I was proud to be a nurse. I was proud of my vocation, and I was proud of the hard work it took to get me there. I was proud of that R, and of that N, and for a while no one could take that from me. But then came the bad apples. Damn, if they don’t ruin the barrel.

Somewhere between holding an elderly woman’s hand and double charting for the billionth time, my heart started to harden. Do you know the difference between a good nurse and a great nurse? I was always a good nurse. I took care of my patients, and I got the job done. I was honest (for the most part), and I did no harm (that I’m aware of). I smiled at my patients’ faces, and I even meant about 80% of what I said. This will sound so harsh to the layman, but my fellow nurses will understand. It’s not easy giving all of yourself with little to nothing in return. I mean, yeah, you get the paycheck, but that even seems paltry in the face of preventing death or giving up Christmas with your family. So, it becomes a job. A thing you do, day in and day out. I can even recall telling my husband I felt stuck. Lord, help me, I did. I could think of no other “job” where I could work 24 hours, yet get paid for forty hours, while maintaining the best benefits offered in our little city.

I ask again, do you know the difference between a good nurse and a great nurse? A good nurse gets the job done, but a great nurse loves the job they get to do. I guess I had to move from one to get to the other.

All I know is, I entered the field like a young, star-crossed lover, but about a decade into it, I wanted to breakup. I had become disillusioned, and it wasn’t what I thought it could be. Maybe I entered the career thinking I could make so many differences, but I wasn’t open to what could change in me. I became a woman focused on the obstacles before me, and blinded to any blessings scattered throughout. I wasn’t heartless, mind you; I still felt contentment when a patient told me how much my care had meant to them. But those Hallmark moments couldn’t outweigh the injustices I felt. I focused on every single hardship in my field, and I took personally each offense. I allowed the Negative Nancy’s to feed the fire of bitterness inside me, and I assumed every demanding patient canceled out the kind ones. There’s certainly that need for self-care, but I think I came to a place where it was almost always about me.

“Why is this so hard,” I asked, never contemplating for very long how it must be on the other side of the bed.

“What do they expect of me,” I would question angrily, without asking myself what I might give.

I saw my field only as a difficult endeavor, and seldom as a privilege. I carried the weight of a thousand martyrs, except I had forgotten the cause for which I gave myself. I was a good nurse, who did my job, but not a great nurse who loved the opportunity to do it. And I suppose that’s many of us. It’s not that we don’t enjoy what we do; it’s just that sometimes we hate it just as much. That sounds so terrible, when I type it out like that, but if you’ve never held a position where you don’t cry while cleaning the dead body of someone you just hugged that morning, then you may not understand. If you haven’t been punched, kicked, or called the worst of all swear words by someone you’re trying to help, then you won’t get it. If you haven’t cringed over calling someone in a position above you, knowing they will scream at you merely for doing your job, then this may seem like harsh words. If you haven’t felt the anxiety of trying to do the work of two people, while not making a mistake that could cost someone else’s life and your career, then you just won’t have a clue. It’s not easy to carry the weight of so much on tired shoulders, and for many who do, they end up angry and perhaps even resentful for a profession they once loved so much.

Back to the relationship bit, it’s as if the marriage is falling apart, and you don’t want a divorce, but you can’t look at his socks balled up on the floor another day or you might snap. I guess sometimes, when you realize you don’t love them like you used to, you have to take it back to the beginning. You have to remember the first time you saw them, that first date, or first, tender kiss. The spark is still there. You just gotta know how to stoke it.

I recall sitting in a computer class taking a critical care course, and I was digging it. Us Critical Care folks, we love all that medical stuff! Sitting there, I knew I loved the knowledge. I loved the dynamics. I loved the process. I loved the people. I loved making a difference in people’s lives. I loved nursing. I did. It was time to act like it.

Back when my husband and I were just dating, I remember we had been off again, on again, at one point. I had found out some stuff, and each of us had been idiots. We loved each other, we knew that, but we were kinda just coasting along, existing as a couple. Like, maybe involved, but not committed entirely to the future of it. Well, anyway, I remember standing in the card aisle on Valentine’s and I had found the perfect, mushy card for him, when suddenly God smacked me upside the head.

It was like, God said, “Brie, if you’re going to give that to him, you need to mean it.”

And I was like, dang, you’re right. I love him. I really do. We can work through this.

And we did. Every day since our relationship got better, and even now, each day is better than the last. I guess, I had to come to a place in my nursing career that was similar. I loved it, but I had to start acting like it. I had to do more than just show up. I had to get invested. I couldn’t focus on my husband’s faults, any more than I could deny my own. And I couldn’t selfishly fixate on what nursing took out of me. I had to start giving of myself more. I had to see through clear eyes. If you focus on a stain, that’s all you see. What you should look at is the fact that the fabric is still good. It can be washed. Nursing was still good. I think my vision of it had just become tainted.

My career truly began to change when I focused on the opportunity to provide care, the privilege of meeting people at their darkest hour, and leading them back into the light. I threw off sympathy and instead embraced empathy. I put myself in my patient’s shoes. Heck, even the administrators’ shoes. I saw my occupation as the ministry it was, my chance to care for the hurting, and to help those in need. I didn’t face the relationship with what I could gain, but what I could give. I didn’t focus on what wrong was being done to me, but rather what good I could sow into it. Y’all, I fell in love all over again, and it wasn’t because the object of my affection was perfect, but because it gave me purpose, passion, and a sense of fulfillment. Was it still hard, at times? Yes! But beyond that it was good. In fact, it was great. And then I realized, I was great too.