Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Is It Just Being a Woman, Or What?!

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Today I feel great. More than great, actually. I’ve smiled enough today that the corners of my mouth are sore, but I’m definitely not complaining. It’s nice to come out the other side of a dry spell. I guess that’s what I’ll call it. I’m talking about that barren place of your emotions where you feel empty, where you feel as if you resemble the desert floor when it hasn’t rained in a long time. Dry, open, weeping, even without tears. You’re even too empty to cry.

Last week I experienced a span of days where I awoke feeling downtrodden. In the mornings I would even awake with my heart racing, trying to remember the dreams that had kept my subconscious spinning, the ones that must have had some purpose if they left me feeling so anxious and coming apart. Through the day I would worry on simple issues, the nonexistent problems that I somehow tried to make matter more. I would imagine trouble when it shouldn’t even be a thought, and I guess what bothers me the most about that is it’s the total opposite of who God has created me to be.

One of my down days I actually sat by the pool with a book, my adoring husband beside me, and my darling children playing before me. My life was surreal, spectacular, amazing. So I couldn’t for the life of me understand why I felt so bothered. As I prayed for an answer I felt one come.

This is how I am answering your prayers.

Over the past year especially I had asked God for more of Himself. I wanted to draw closer in my walk with the Lord. I wanted to be used by Him. I wanted Him to rid me of everything that wasn’t in line with that. So it occurred to me that Him allowing me to feel the temporary, intermittent emotions of anxiety was for sure a way to increase my dependence on Him. It wasn’t that I felt He caused these feelings. No. They definitely were not of God or what He intended for my life. Instead they were the side effects of a sinful, fallen world. So while He had all authority and power to break the chains of anxiety and rid me of the spirit of depression, I also saw how allowing these things to touch me drew me into closer dependence and trust on Him. His power was indeed made perfect in my weakness.

Last week I felt like I was running on empty. I wonder sometimes if it’s just being a woman. Or maybe it’s being a working mom. But other times I realize it’s just part of the human condition. Throughout my brief episode of unhappiness I did persist in joy. Did I feel joyful?! No, not really, but under the surface of my visceral emotions flowed a steady stream of certainty. It was the joy of knowing the Lord held me, even if I couldn’t feel it. It was the river of the Holy Spirit, my faith in Him. So many times when I felt hopeless in my emotions I would simply repeat the same phrases to Jesus.

I trust you.

I love you.

Help me.

Slowly I climbed out of the pit, and I am certain the rope thrown to me was divinely woven in patient love. Though I couldn’t see the way out I never let go of that rope, and He never let go of me. I am reminded of the familiar Psalm, Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

Thank you, Lord, that my joy is here, it has never left, and it never will.

Do We Worry Too Much About Our Children?

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I sat on the edge of my chair waiting to hear the pediatrician’s response. I had almost not mentioned it at all, but worry had caused me to bring it up. Yet as I awaited his reply I felt anxiety bubbling within me. Surely everything was okay.

“I think we can just watch it for now. See how it evolves as she gets older.” He finally replied contemplatively.

The conversation of a concerned mother had occurred on my middle child’s four year well-visit, and though it had still been a problem a year later at her five year appointment, I had not brought it up again. I had spent that prior year watching my daughter with caring, guarded eyes, but I had also begun to alter my way of thinking about parenting and life in general. She was going to be fine.

Since around the age of three my second daughter had started to emerge as a very emotional creature. She cried extravagantly at her sister’s mild tauntings and became almost inconsolable when strongly corrected by me or her dad. I had thought her frequent tendency to cry at just about anything had been bad enough, but around four and a half she also started with fearfulness. In fact, she was scared of most things. We tried to say she was shy, but it went beyond that. She started exhibiting irrational fear. Fear of doors being locked and getting stuck, fear of us forgetting her at places, and many others. There were so many public meltdowns over crowds and unfamiliar faces, and I tried my very best to comfort her yet not baby her. I mean, parenting is hard. You want to console, but not enable irrational fear. So I did the best I could. Honestly I prayed for wisdom a lot.

There was also that voice in the back of my head.

Did I do something to make her this way?

Did someone else hurt her?!

Was something wrong with my kid?!!

I’ve written about it before, but the fact remains that we live in a society of diagnoses. It’s a time of abundant information. So if you have a problem you Google it. If your kid has a problem you research the heck out of it. A society that is full of judgment and perfect parenting displayed on pedestals of public forums highlights the absolute best way to raise children. So when the regular, imperfect moms and dads fall short of the instructional article steps or bright and shiny Instagram, play-by-play lifestyles then they’re left feeling as if they lack. It’s only natural to blame the behavioral problems of your child on yourself, but it’s even more so nowadays. It’s far too easy to compare yourself to others, and your child to someone else’s. And comparison always leads to worry. Is little Johnny measuring up? I’m just glad I didn’t have the added stress of a public school platform to add to my anxiety during this time.

Around the time my five year old’s anxiety really began to manifest at an all-time high we started talking about taking on a fulltime family lifestyle. My husband was working twelve hour days five days a week, and even working on his days off. And while I was present with the girls the majority of the time, we felt like they needed to see their Dad more too. We spent the next five months selling and giving away the majority of our possessions, working to sell our home, and performing other tasks to allow us to embark on a traveling lifestyle. This would let us focus more on one another and less on work and the distractions of the fast paced lifestyle that most of America lived.

Throughout the process we remained in prayer. A huge concern for me was how this traveling lifestyle might affect my fearful child! Didn’t fear require a more consistent environment? Wouldn’t a new environment without familiar faces and routine make it worse?! I didn’t think so. I just felt so certain about our decision to travel, and the more I prayed about it, laying my concerns before Jesus, the more convinced I became that this decision would be best for everyone.

For two and a half years I watched my fearful, shy, and emotional child react to situations in a way that made me worry about her. I can’t tell you how many times I prayed about it and her. In just two months time I’ve watched her transform. In the past two months since we left our comfortable, familiar surroundings I have witnessed my baby blossom. She has gone from crying five times a day to maybe once every five days. She hasn’t displayed any irrational fears, and it’s almost like her idiosyncratic fright has vanished. Miraculous, really.

So was it the change in environment? Has confronting the unknown created courage inside her? I don’t really know. Perhaps the increased time around both parents? Maybe that’s some of it. What if she simply outgrew it? That’s possible. I may never know.

What I do know is this. In the midst of de-stressing our lives I had also made a point to off-load worry. I’ve found that the saying is true. You are what you eat. Or rather you are what you think. If you feel sick you will be. If you’re certain your pain in your joints is bound to happen as you get older then you will feel the ache. If you’re more certain of that sickness than God’s healing then it will be more difficult for Him to work through your faith. It’s like there’s a pipe straight from Heaven into your spirit. He desires to pour blessing into your life, but fear and worry will block that pipe up quicker than anything. I realized I couldn’t block His flow anymore.

In a world that would tell me a laundry list of conditions my little girl might have I decided instead not to worry. I decided to trust God. Now I’m not saying not to take your child to the doctor and address concerns. I’m not saying to not seek treatment when it’s warranted. What I am saying is this. We worry too much. We have bred a society of anxiety. We don’t just say kids are kids. We don’t look at the environment and make changes. We come up with a syndrome or diagnosis. We do this because if it has a name we can fix it. Again, this isn’t to say there’s not real problems with real diagnoses and real treatment. I am sure someone will misunderstand me. Please don’t! No, this post is strictly for the worrier. It’s inside of us all. The Worrier is convinced something is or will go wrong. It breeds fear in our heart that hampers the work of the Lord in our lives and the lives of our families.

So maybe my little girl is less fearful because she confronted her fears. Maybe it’s the consistent love we poured out on her even in our frustration. Perhaps it’s the increased time with dual parenting. Or maybe she simply outgrew it. It’s probably all of the above. But I’m also certain it has a lot to do with the fact that I stopped worrying about her and instead released her to the One she belonged to all along.

Raising an Anxious Child

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We pulled up quickly and efficiently into the darkened parking lot in our cozy and warm minivan. As I put our family vehicle into park I heard a tiny voice emerge from the backseat. 

My four year old sputtered, “I don’t like it here.”

I sighed silently to myself, then spoke softly, “it’s ok. This isn’t where we’re going. We’re going over there.”

I pointed across the street to a brightly lit and inviting church. We were attending a much-anticipated social event where the girls would see their friends from the homeschool group we were involved with. At the beginning of this semester my preschooler had cried when left alone in class with new friends, but by the end she had made new pals and truly enjoyed herself. I knew this was something she wanted to do too, but still…

She asked, “Is it on the bottom floor or do we have to ride an elevator?”

“It’s on the top, but just one floor, and we’ll take the stairs,” I answered calmly. 

I wasn’t always calm. It was not only challenging to raise an anxious child, but also exasperating. I ranged from wanting to throttle her during her meltdown moments to wanting to cry right along with her for my supposed failures. After all, so many times I had wondered, what did I do that has made her this way?!!

Did I not give her enough attention when the new baby came?

Was I somehow lacking in the love she needed to make her feel secure?

Was it that time I screamed like a maniac at her?

The mommy guilt had been strong over the last couple of years as I watched her quirky, unwarranted fears come out. I couldn’t for the life of me pinpoint why my first child was so social and confident, yet the second that I had raised the same was so not. I tried not to compare, but as she developed her peculiar fears I questioned my parenting over and over. What had I done differently and why was she afraid? No abuse, neglect, or negative treatment by anyone else had occurred. 

So why did she ask me if I knew where we were everytine I took a different route to the store?

“Are we lost?”

Why was she afraid of going anywhere that the door could latch shut?

Did that one time she got accidentally locked in the bathroom upstairs really equate to crying in the dressing room at JCPenney’s because she was worried we’d get stuck there?!

“What if we can’t get out?!!”

I wasn’t sure why my child worried, but many times she reminded me of myself. She had a tendency to overreact and definitely was oversensitive in most matters. From an early age I had noticed she cried about something as simple as a shoe not going on right, but she hadn’t really outgrew it like I thought she would. I came to realize she was my special, sensitive, and sometimes anxious child that required a different kind of approach when it came to parenting. 

As we walked into the large hall at the church my seven year old ran excitedly ahead to greet her friends. My toddler tugged at my hand eager to taste the display of sweet treats, but I sensed the anxiety immediately. I turned quickly behind me where my middle daughter stood a mere two steps behind me, and immediately I caught the overwhelmed fear on her face. She was only seconds away from crying, and I scooped her up quickly into my one open arm. I carried my crew to an empty corner and started to speak to my frightened four year old. 

“Is it the crowd? Are you scared?” I asked. 

She nodded confirmation with unspilled tears in her eyes, and I immediately worked to calm her anxious heart. 

“You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here. And Jesus is always with you,” I explained. And then we prayed together. 

Within minutes she was fine, and that’s always how it was. She ran around excitedly with the other children. She laughed, she sang, she danced. She played and ate cookies. She was fear and anxiety free for the rest of the evening. I watched with pride as she smiled brilliantly, albeit shyly at the festivities. She was my beautiful, brilliant girl. Her heart was bigger than Texas, and she loved people with an enormous, unconditional love. But sometimes she was anxious. It was hard for us both. 

Long ago I realized my baby was special, more so than just the typical “my kid is awesome kinda thing.” I think God made her a particular way because He has special plans for her life. Perhaps He made her sensitive so she could better relate to the tender and hurting parts of others. Sometimes I see her thoughtfully watching people and I’m certain this is true. When the idea of this post was floating around in my head I paused mid-thought at the sound of my girl across the house. I could hear the water running in the bathroom, and I could hear her tiny, musical voice carry through the hall. She was talking to one of her toys again, I assumed, seeing she had always been an imaginative, independent player. I walked up to the bathroom and heard her speaking from inside. 

I don’t want anything for Christmas, God, but all the people to be happy. 

I love you, God, more than money or anything you can buy. 

I walked back into the living room without interrupting her little conversation, smiling as I sat down on the couch. I prayed for that child a lot, that is certainly true. Heck, a lot of the time I simply prayed for my own sanity dealing with it all. But mostly I prayed to be just the mother she needed. I figured God gave her specifically to me for a reason, and despite the challenges I certainly didn’t want to mess it up. So I frequently prayed for wisdom that God would show me exactly the best way to parent this special little star. Sometimes she freaked out big over little things, but other times she loved the little things bigger than I had ever seen. 


*While I might experience some silent judgement or even unloving advice from some for this post, I wrote it in a sharing mode with the hope that my situation might make someone else with an anxious child feel less alone. I hope that you too can see the special calling the Lord has for your child. May we all raise them to the best of our abilities, and cling to His strength for the rest. 

5 Bible Verses to Remind You That God Hasn’t Forgotten You

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Some mornings I wake up and I feel down. I feel a heavy weight upon me, and I wonder how I can feel that way. Even if there is some silly, worldly reason for my hurt feelings, shouldn’t I be able to rise above it. Shouldn’t the fact that I’m a believer in Christ afford me some sort of guarantee against bad feelings?!

Well… sorta. I opened my Bible straight away, and the first verse I saw calmed my anxious spirit. It’s like God’s word was written just for me, and I suppose in a way it was. We live in a sinful world, and because of that we are not promised that every day will be without pain and struggle. But we are promised this. God is with us. 

It’s easy when you struggle to think God has forgotten you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In times of trouble His Holy Spirit speaks best through His Word. 

1. Psalm 94:18-19

I cried out, “I am slipping!” but your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me. When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.

When we feel like we are falling there is but One that can catch us. When we are certain we are drowning, there is One who lifts us from the crashing sea. When we have lost all hope, He provides a renewal for our soul. Jesus. Precious Jesus. He is the lifter of my head.

2. Philippians 4:19

And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus.

When we have reached the end of our rope and the end of our resources, God provides. When we see no way, He makes the way. We may not always even understand His way, but as a believer you know He has your best interest as heart. He’s never late, but always on time. 

3. Romans 5:8

But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.
Sometimes we’re not where we need to be in our relationship with the Lord, and we assume that because of our mistakes and faults that He can’t work with that. We mistaken His silence for absence, when in all reality He just wants us to hear His voice more clearly. 

It’s not by works that we are saved. God doesn’t love us more for being better. He just loves us. He loves us enough to die for. Nothing can change that. 

4. Matthew 28:20

Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.
You can bet He wants us to follow after Him in obedience, but you can also be certain of this. He will be with us always. Even when we fall a step behind. When the world happens, and sin happens, and even when calamity happens, still. Still He is with us. 

5. Deuteronomy 31:6

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

It takes courage to make it through life sometimes, and more courage than we possess on our own. Thankfully we don’t have to face life by ourselves. God is with us. He will never leave us, forsake us, forget about us, or turn His back on us. We may suffer through a season where we are going through a refining fire or receiving His discipline, but He won’t abandon us. 

In the moments where you feel lost, alone, and crushed under your anxiety repeat these verses to yourself, and remember that though it may seem at the moment that He has forgotten you, the truth is that He has not. 

Why Women Let Anxiety Win

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I can’t count on my fingers and toes how many times my husband has said, “but does that really matter,” or something similar. That man is like a calm shelter in my crashing storm of anxiety, and so many times I wish I could be more like that. But the fact remains, I am not. 

My female brain is a tasking one, and when I sit still there’s often times a little voice that shouts out from the recesses of my mind, what are you doing?!

What about the laundry? Nobody will have clean underwear!

Look at that dust! No one will keep this house clean but you. 

You should spend time reading to your kindergartener. Her growing vocabulary is your responsibly, you know. 

You need to make time for a date night  with your spouse. Keeping the flame alive is your job as the wife. 

Have you texted encouraging scripture to your girlfriend today? You know she’s going through a tough time. 

You missed Bible Study last week. Don’t miss it this week. They need you there. 

And on, and on, and on. 

I imagine when my husband sits down on the couch there is only one thing on his mind. 

This feels nice, Ben. You deserve this after a long, hard week at work. 

And while I’d agree with his relaxed mindset in that he does deserve the break, I wonder why I don’t give myself the same consideration. Why do I expect more of myself than anyone else. After all, the kids don’t care about matching socks and making certain the sofa cushions aren’t askew (which is my constant, fruitless battle).

I recently commented after my husband came home, “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten the girls’ summer clothes put away yet,” as I sheepishly eyed the precarious pile in our living room chair. 

And he replied, “why are sorry? Who cares? Not me. It’s not a big deal, you know.”

I realized it wasn’t to him, and maybe even if it was important to me, did I give it excess merit because I felt I owed more to those around me? My husband didn’t mind piles of clothes marring our den, and the children probably didn’t even notice. What was it about a woman that did?!

It seems that women are doers, and we hold ourselves to a higher standard than anyone else. We want a respectable job, a clean home, well-dressed, good-mannered children, and a body that doesn’t look like we birthed babies from it. We want everything just so, with i’s dotted and t’s crossed. We like our boxes checked and our to-do’s crossed out. And when one of the above gets off kilter we get a little twitchy. I personally get a little witchy, or even another descriptive that rhymes. 

I worry about time and schedules, and getting things done. I become anxious over what is in essence not a big deal at all. It builds into frustration and typically falls into anger, which leads to regret and the awful but expected, “I’m a bad mom rap.” I fall asleep praying I can do better in the morning, not remembering the fact that I did pretty good. 

I assume I accomplish nothing when in fact I complete so much, and in my efforts to do more than is even reasonable I neglect the truth about what I achieve on a daily basis. And the only person who suffers from this is me. Cause at the end of the day the children are playing, my husband’s relaxing, and I’m still trying to tie up loose ends. 

Today as I swept toast crumbs covered in peanut butter off my kitchen table into my hand, and for a moment my mind started to see red over the mess, I was jolted quickly into a calm. Instead of the typical anxiety over if I’d have enough time to finish our homeschool lesson, pick up the babysitter for an evening away from home, and change out three children’s seasonal wardrobes, I just let it all go. I let it all go for a second as a voice inside my head whispered, you got a pretty good life you know.”

And I did. That was the thing. My life was amazing. It was abundant and full, and how I chose to decipher that fullness was completely up to me. I could consider it as stress, or I could count it all as a gift. A goodness gracious gift of an abundant life. What’s so stressful about that, really?

So I don’t weigh what I did before I had the baby.

Who cares? I have an amazing baby!

So my house is a cluttered, chaotic monster puking up doll parts and mix-matched socks.

Does it really matter? It’s busting at the seams with love!

I cannot complete a single thing. Ever!

One day I will look around my pristine, dust-free house and be totally bored. 

As a woman I can often times become anxious over things that do not matter in the grand scheme. That’s not to say men don’t become anxious also, as my husband holds his own concerns and worries running a business and providing for his family, but as constant movers and multitaskers women can become overly anxious about issues beyond our control. As sensitive, emotional creatures we can worry too much about what others think. As caretakers and nurturers we can give too much of ourselves towards people pleasing. And we are consumed by anxiety, worry, and stress. 

The only solution I have found for this is the kind of blasé faire attitude that usually annoys me about men. Just being honest. But if I can take that indifferent attitude and make it more carefree I’m getting somewhere. If I can remind myself to ask at every turn, is this really important? To ask myself honestly, is this really worth me getting upset about? I mean, my life is pretty awesome. 

Then perhaps I won’t let anxiety win. Perhaps I’ll even go sit on the couch, ignore the pile of laundry, and say, This feels nice, Brie . You deserve this after a long, hard week at work. 

Why You Need to Stop Worrying About Your Kids

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Life changed when I had children, no doubt about it. I even mentioned to my husband just yesterday that I seemed to respond to movies differently since becoming a mother. Movies with a lot of violence and killing now weren’t so much entertainment as they were anxiety-inducing. It’s like they served as a reminder of how cruel this world can be, and I wanted no part of it!

When I first became a mom I realized something right away. Babies are tiny! I was in awe staring at the small head of my newborn, and shocked by bones that seemed so small and fragile. The possibilities of injury were endless, and the chance of harm very great.

With stories falling in front of my new mom eyes about SIDS, or Amber Alerts invading my senses, it was enough to send me into a panic with my already sensitive emotional frailty due to hormonal imbalances. And even now when I hold my baby and feel the bendable rib cage in my hands I am affected. I watch her sleep, focusing in on the rise and fall of her small chest, and I pray. Oh boy do I pray. 

 There’s nothing wrong with praying for the safety and health of your children. I do it quite frequently to be perfectly honest. But there’s also the tendency as a parent to worry endlessly about your babies. And while there’s nothing wrong with prudent concern that causes one to act intelligently to prevent harm, there is such a thing as becoming a worry wart. It’s in these stress-inducing thoughts of wild worry that you get it all wrong. We all do. 

The other day as I left for work, leaving my children in the hands of someone other than myself, God reminded me of something very simple that we may all forget. The promises that occur in scripture, the ones that I draw strength from for my daily walk, those same Biblical truths apply to my children. 

His plans are to prosper my babies, not to cause them harm. (Jeremiah 29:11)

He walks beside my babies. His rod and staff comfort them. (Psalm 23:4)

He gives my babies strength. (Nehemiah 8:10)

He is a refuge and strong tower for my babies. (Psalm 61:3)

He upholds my babies with His righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)

He will not fail or forsake my babies. (Deuteronomy 31:16)

He will not allow their foot to slip. (Psalm 21:3)

He will rescue my babies from all evil. (2 Timothy 4:18)

No weapon fashioned against my babies will succeed. (Isaiah 54:17)

Surely His goodness and mercy will follow my babies all the days of their lives. (Psalm 23:6)

The fact is I can hold these promises true for my children just the same as I can for myself, and I don’t have to fret about if I can protect them from this world. Though the good Lord gives me the smarts to keep them from the hands of evil, I can rest in the fact that when I have done my best and bad things still spin out of control in this world, that my Jesus has overcome the world. 

In essence my children are not my own. They belong to God, and He has entrusted me to care for them on this earth. But my first order of business in accepting that responsibility is trusting in His hand of protection on their lives and His guidance to help me do my part in their care. 

And when I can do that, there’s really no need to worry too much about it. 

Do You Ever Stop?

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I sat patiently, yet also impatiently, if that makes sense, waiting my turn to see the doctor. I gazed down at the peaceful face of my week old baby sleeping in my lap, and I knew that she was doing well. But I wanted to hear him say it. 

Do you ever stop? Do you ever stop worrying?

My third child. She was the third time I was giving this motherhood thing another spin, yet as I sat in the pediatrician’s office for her first check-up, a part of me felt like a first-time mom. 

That part that wondered, was she growing? Did she weigh enough? I thought her skin color looked swell, but was it?!

And breastfeeding. Sigh. Breastfeeding. One part of many parts of mothering that I absolutely adore. I mean, is there anything quite as magical as nurturing your child completely from your own body? It’s one of my favorite things, yet it hasn’t gotten easier as I’ve gone along. I suppose it has in a way, but then it also hasn’t. It’s still tough. Because of the worries. The worries if I’m doing it right. 

Do you ever stop? Do you ever stop worrying?

She latched on my breast like a champ from the moment she touched my chest, but that didn’t stop me from wondering the night we first came home, “when is she gonna pee already?!”

I scoured breastfeeding websites for things I had forgotten. A veteran breastfeeder searching the Internet for advice!

What if I’m starving her? What if she’s getting dehydrated?!

Her happy disposition, skin turgor, and poopy diapers told me she was fine, yet I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t not question myself. 

Do you ever stop? Do you ever stop worrying?

Even when you know in your heart you’re doing well.

Even when your children are happy, healthy, and whole.

  
Do you ever stop worrying if you’re doing it right?

I listened raptly today as the baby doctor sang my newborn’s praises. I smiled in a relaxed manner as he spoke of growth percentiles and the weight she had gained. And as he proclaimed, “she’s doing great,” I nodded my head in agreement, and all the while my heart danced a jig. 

Do you ever stop worrying?

I suppose you do not. 

Even when your mommy heart whispers “it’s ok,” your frantic mommy brain worries on.

1 Peter 5:7

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Do you ever stop worrying?

I suppose it’s just human nature to worry a little bit. But I’m thankful I can cast my anxieties on Him when they become more than I can bear. 

Which subsequently happens to be quite often in this motherhood thing.