Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

No One Understands What Nurses are Going Through

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“God’s got this.”

“He holds you in the palm of His hand.”

“None of this is a surprise to God.”

“Heaven, help us.”

These are the sentiments spoken in response to what critical care nurses like myself are seeing, and while these comments are absolutely true in my book, they don’t quite give me the reassurance I’m hoping for. It’s not that the thoughts and prayers aren’t appreciated; because, they are! My spirit thrives on them, and His strength makes all things possible. But after hearing the well-meant words of others, especially after a brutal day, it occurred to me what the human side of me really wants.

I want people to understand.

I can’t really blame them, though. Other than my spouse, I’m usually pretty nondescript when it comes to my day. When asked how it’s going during a pandemic, we’ll use bland words like “hard” or “bad.” Perhaps even “exhausting.” Yet those simple syllables say little to what’s really going on. I’m not sure if it’s too painful to rehash or just easier to say less. I think, for many nurses, after having close acquaintances, or even family members, act over the past year and a half like Covid is not a big deal, it makes you place a wall around yourself. To see folks neglect simple things like masks, or to chastise vaccines and science, it makes you crawl inside a hole. Then, later, when you need someone to understand how you’re feeling, they don’t.

They don’t understand.

Other than my spouse, and a few family and friends I’m comfortable enough to share the intimate aspects of my day, no one understands the pain of what I see. Deep down, I don’t want them to. I don’t want that for anyone. But sometimes, I just wish I could open a curtain into my ICU for the world to see. I think we wouldn’t have another record-breaking surge going on if I could. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like crying, like I did yesterday, all alone in my angst. Even when the tears don’t come, because I’m too afraid to let them loose, worried that I won’t be able to rein them back in.

As it stands, in lieu of a magic window, you’re left with the fact that no one understands, unless they’ve been behind the curtain with you.

Words like “hard“ don’t accurately depict what it’s like to watch people slowly die of a virus that takes away their ability to breathe. “Bad” isn’t adequate to describe the fear in their eyes of dying with a feeling of cruel suffocation.

When you hear the “numbers are going up,” you don’t see the numbers I see going down. The oxygen saturation numbers that keep alarming too low to oxygenate the blood and sustain life. They don’t tell you on the news (no matter the network) what it feels like to watch a person turn gray, and blue, and purple. They don’t describe the feeling of your hands when ribs crack beneath them during CPR, no more than they tell about the hopeless feeling in your heart when a family member asks you over the phone if the patient is getting better.

I’ve never fought such a losing battle, and it’s hard to put that into words. When you’re in the business of healing, Critical Care Covid doesn’t play by the rules, and it just ends up feeling like a bad luck streak that won’t break. Does anyone understand how hard that is on us?!

I can’t speak for everyone, but I know that personally my heart is broken. It’s excruciating watching people suffer. It’s beyond demoralizing when the majority don’t get better. I’m angry at people who ignore the suffering of others. I’m pissed that this is still happening! I’m frustrated at staffing problems, and I totally understand why nurses are fleeing the bedside in droves.

The thing is, I can write out all of the above, and most people still won’t understand. Not totally. Until you live it, until you can’t unsee the things you wish you had not seen, and until you spend your off days in a depressed daze, despite your best efforts, you’ll never understand. For your sake, I’m glad you don’t.

The Day I Got Flipped Off

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I’m not one to run to social media or pen an angry blog post every time someone looks at me sideways, but the thing is, I’ve seen so much of this lately, that I thought it was worth mentioning. I’ll bet as you read my words you’ll probably be able to relate, and I reckon the biggest question you will need to ask yourself is, which car are you driving?

Last week I was sitting at a red light. As the light turned green I placed my foot on the accelerator and moved forward. Obvious, right? I’m not trying to give driving lessons, but rather explaining in detail my actions. When the light turned green, I went. I didn’t delay. I wasn’t distracted or on my phone. I went forward. The problem for the driver behind me was I obviously didn’t move forward fast enough.

I’ll add another observation at this point. I recall as I moved forward the van next to me also moved forward. At the same rate of speed. Like, neck and neck. I mention this so you’ll understand that I accelerated forward at an average, anticipated speed. I wasn’t going overly slow or even “driving like a granny.” Yet, he honked.

Ahhh, the ever-present horn. Do you know how often people honk their horns in Florida? Like, it’s ridiculous. We’re in the land of sunshine. The place where everyone else comes to vacation. People leave their hectic, fast-paced lives to come to the beach and relax. Yet here we are. Driving 120mph down the interstate, blaring our horn when someone goes under 80, and flipping them off if they don’t gun-it at the red light.

That’s right. The guy flipped me off. After honking at me, for going on green, he passes me and pulls up alongside me to cuss me out through his open window. You know, in case I thought the loud, horn blare was an accident. Then he extended his middle finger my way with an angry glare, before speeding ahead in a dust cloud of angst.

Wanna hear the absolute best part? In approximately half a mile he turns right into a neighborhood. Yep, you heard it right, folks. All that rage, all that effort to show me he was pissed off, and all that frantic hurrying to turn into a neighborhood just ahead. Look, I’ll give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was going home to a sick kid. Perhaps he was having a really bad day. Perhaps.

The problem is, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been cussed out before. I’ve been flipped off, thrown a hateful stare. I wish I had a dollar for every horn that’s been honked my way. But I really, really don’t think I’m an overly cautious, extremely slow driver. I’ll tell you a secret… I even go over the speed limit. Quite frequently. All that to say, my receiving of road rage has less to do with my driving behavior than it does with human behavior. We currently live in a country with their hand on the horn, at the ready, to blare angrily at anyone in their path. This doesn’t just apply to driving.

Let’s admit a few things about our society. One, people are in a hurry. All the time, and way too much. They’re rushed, harried, and typically hurried over-proportionally to the need. Gonna be late for work? Try leaving earlier. Since when did we value clocking in on time over being a decent human being?

Secondly, people are angry, man. They are stressed out and short-fused. And nine times out of ten, we’re mad about stuff that doesn’t even matter! Like, what makes a person so angry that someone is not driving fast enough that they feel it necessary to curse and throw demeaning gestures? Why?

What about this? We’re selfish. Seriously, we are. Something happens in our brains lately that says, “my time is more important. This inconveniences me. I need to be first.”

Someone pulls out in front of you. Oops. It was a mistake. But rage overtakes you. “How dare you slow me down! This is so much of a bump in my very important day that I’m going to show you my anger and let you know what a moron I think you are!”

Grace? Never heard of it.

Patience? What’s that?

Kindness? Is that a new, loaded-tea flavor?!

No, sir. We won’t count to ten, much less three. We will lash out, burn with rage, and speed ahead to life’s next red light. All in the name of gaining five seconds in this race of existence. We’ll step on anyone who dares to get in our way, and you better like it!

My seventy-one year old aunt lives here too, and I’ve noticed she goes to her favorite, familiar stores and restaurants, but that’s it. She doesn’t venture out to areas she doesn’t know. Why? She doesn’t feel like getting honked at and cussed out for slowly down to find her turn. Heck, I got honked at one day in a busy section of downtown for slowing down to turn right in a pothole-laden parking lot. I drive a low-riding sedan and didn’t want to harm my vehicle. Yet that didn’t occur to the angry driver behind me. Their concern wasn’t another person’s vehicle; their concern was their time. Even as they got stopped at probably a dozen red lights before reaching their destination.

After my encounter with the man in the pickup last week who flipped me off, I told my husband, “that guy is gonna have a heart attack!”

His face was red, he was so angry, and for what? In this life we stress out over so many things that don’t matter, and we neglect so many things that do. We get mad at a delayed schedule, but we ignore someone in need. We get red, hot raging over our food taking too long at the drive-thru, but we forget to show kindness to the girl at the window who has done nothing wrong. We fret over our own personal inconvenience, and we neglect the act of love. Sure, we love our kids and maybe even our spouse, but what about the stranger who might just need it the most? I know it sounds like sugary sentiment, but it’s true. The very person you’re honking at could be one step away from giving up on life, and your kindness and grace may be the thing that tips them back in the right direction.

Earlier I mentioned my road-rage scenario might sound familiar to you, the reader, and I encouraged you to ask yourself a question. So, which car are you in? Are you the one throwing rage instead of patience? Or will you be the person on this road of life who shows some love and kindness instead? Maybe it’s not to late to change our course.

I Will Never Forget the Trauma of COVID-19

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Numbers have been declining, face mask mandates rescinded, and I try to be hopeful. I haven’t taken care of a COVID positive patient in two weeks! I want this to end more than you know. I want life to return to normal. I want my outgoing husband to go back to ministering to strangers in love, and I desire for my daughters to play with other children without concern or worry. It’s not fear, you see, that drives me, but rather things I saw and cannot forget.

A few months ago I received my first dose of the COVID vaccine. I felt hopeful. In all honesty, I cried happy tears. I wanted an end to this pandemic more than anyone could ever imagine. I posted a picture to Instagram of me smiling with my vaccination card. A stranger commented about my lack of faith, and my obvious succumbing to fear. That broke my heart.

This morning my husband and I talked about it on the front porch. Before children wake, with coffee in hand, we’re allowed these private conversations. I mentioned how I wanted to see him engage with neighbors more readily, like he used to do. You see, the past year has not just impacted me. It had also scarred my best friend, my spouse who heard my pain after a long day at the ICU bedside. He knew the truth of it.

As we spoke of hope, of how things seemed to be getting better, I was taken back to this past summer. June and July of 2020. I had been working in a major, metropolitan area of Central Florida, and we had been hit brutally by the pandemic.

I said to my husband, “I remember reaching that breaking point where I knew we couldn’t take much more. There were more patients than we could handle. Every shift another person died. A woman my age with young children like us died. Then that man with daughters the same age as ours. Followed by the death of a coworker’s spouse. I took care of him. I helped her put on the PPE right before he died. I remember thinking that could be me, losing you.”

He listened in that understanding way of his. Then I added, “I think a part of my depression at the worst of it had a lot to do with public perception. I would try to escape to social media to take my mind off what I was seeing at work, but I was met with people who made light of the very thing that was breaking me.”

I had to take a big step away from the world during all of this. I didn’t fear a virus, but I did fear the way my heart was feeling towards others who could not fathom what I was going through. Here I was crying into the phone with family who couldn’t hold their dying loved one, and the rest of the country was complaining about not having prom or how uncomfortable a thin piece of paper felt on their face for 20 minutes a day. I rubbed ointment of the reddened bridge of my nose, scarred by a respirator I wore for 13 hours a day, and I rubbed my bruised ego even harder.

It took months, and I mean months, for me to let go of the hurt and offense I felt at others negating my pain. I had to lay it all down and be grateful that they didn’t have to know the things I knew, see the things I had seen, or remember the trauma that could still pop up unexpected as I sat on my porch drinking coffee.

I have forgiven the offense, but I cannot forget the trauma I experienced. I know I’m not alone in this. I think of the wonderful, brave men and women, doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, and other healthcare workers who served alongside me during the worst of it. We all had that hollow-eyed look, at the time, and I think even now are like a feral cat hesitantly approaching a bowl of food left in the garage. We want the good news. We want the numbers to go down, and a return to normalcy. Yet we can’t forget. The death, the hopelessness. We were supposed to save lives, yet there was a time where nothing we did worked. If you entered the COVID ICU, your chances of leaving it alive were slim to none. It’s not supposed to work like that.

I’m back on social media, and it’s about the same. It hasn’t changed, but I have. I realize I cannot change anyone’s mind. I cannot be a voice of reason or experience to anyone who doesn’t want to hear me. I let it go, as my daughter’s favorite princess would say. Opinions are still strong, and people like to voice them. People have their opinions on masks and vaccinations, and I won’t try to change that.

I would only say this. Don’t belittle what someone else decides to do, or God-forbid, question their belief system or faith. In 2020 there was this saying, “we’re all in this together.” While I could appreciate the sentiment, it just wasn’t true. We all experienced the COVID-19 pandemic, but exactly how it impacted us was very different. We were not together in the differing traumas we experienced. I didn’t suffer through financial hardship. I kept my job the entire time. Those who didn’t have money to pay their bills experienced a trauma I cannot relate to, but it’s also a reciprocal relationship. I saw things at the critical care bedside that the average person cannot fathom. That is why I try now to not be offended anymore. Others cannot understand my trauma, and I cannot understand theirs. I didn’t have family die. I suffered depression and anxiety, but not as much as I’m sure others did. I try to remind myself of that.

If someone continues to wear a mask when the mandate has been lifted, that’s their prerogative. If someone wants to wear their mask outdoors or in their car, with no other people in sight, that is their decision. You cannot know what they personally experienced the past year. Keep that in mind. If you’re totally against the COVID vaccine, I respect your personal decision, but I would encourage you to do the same. Every ICU nurse I worked with got the vaccination. Our work didn’t force us to do this. The trauma we experienced did. So, if I could offer any friendly advice as mandates and restrictions ease, it would be this. Don’t lessen someone else’s trauma simply because you didn’t experience it in the same way. Instead be grateful that you can have the perspective you do. Some of us, like myself, wish we could forget.

2020 Tried to Crush the Spirit of Nursing

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“He what?!” I replied in shock.

“He died last night,” my nightshift coworker answered.

I didn’t tell him goodbye.

I didn’t say that last part out loud. I simply thought it to myself. I guess I couldn’t speak it out loud. It was as if I feared giving my feelings a verbal voice would cause the cool, professional demeanor we all strived to maintain to instead crumble in grief. I suppose that part is wrong, though. We didn’t strive to be aloof; we just had to remain disconnected in a sense to keep doing the job. Especially this year.

If any year could go down in history for trying to crush the spirit of nursing, it would be 2020, the year of COVID-19. As a critical care nurse I have watched too many people die this year. I mean, outcomes are often poor in the ICU, but this novel virus has taken things to a whole new level. There was a period of time this year where I watched at least one patient die per my shift, and many times more. One patient doesn’t seem like a lot, until you add them together, day after day, month after month, shuffling in for another crazy shift, praying that a success story would emerge.

A story. You see, it wasn’t just a room number or patient vacating a bed. It was a story, a beautiful life story, a real person, with family, friends, and a purpose in this world. As a bedside nurse you learned these people’s stories. You spoke to crying wives on the phone, you watched hysterical daughters try not to fall apart as they waved through the glass window to their mom who didn’t know they were there.

You said things like, “he seemed like he was doing better yesterday…”

Or you lamented, “I feel so bad for her three, young children at home.”

Sometimes we shared the stories. They were just too heartbreaking to keep inside. We didn’t mention things like names, but rather the way the father of four had made us appreciate life. I had told my husband about this most recent life story.

“Can you imagine,” I asked my husband, “being stuck in a glass box for over three weeks, not seeing your family, just strangers in masks who come in every once and a while? Can you imagine not being able to breathe good enough to even take a bite of food? I feel so bad for him!”

I had not taken care of him the day/night he died. They had given me another assignment. All day I had considered going into his room to say hello. I kept meaning to go in and try and brighten his day, but the hours had passed without me doing it. Whether it was the busyness of my own assignment, or the fact of all the personal protective equipment I had to put on to enter his room, I had missed the opportunity to say hello, or even goodbye. I knew he was doing bad, but I was hopeful he’d make it. I was always hopeful.

“I wish I could hug your neck.”

That’s what he had said, in between labored breaths and the roar of the sealed mask pushing air into his stubborn lungs. I had sang to him. He frigging loved it. He said I made his day. I had come in frequently, even though the gowning up was a chore, and we weren’t supposed to overly expose ourselves. Lord, I had even gotten down in his face, through his sputtering coughing, trying to hear what he spoke in his weak, short of breath conversations. I remember simply praying for God to keep the seal of my own mask tight. That man needed someone to know they cared, to give him a quick sip of water before he frantically asked to put the oxygen mask back on. And it made me feel good when I scratched his back and he said, “you’re the best!”

That’s what I thought of when I found out he didn’t win his battle with COVID-19. His story. And his personal story stacked on top of all the other stories from this year. The woman my age, who also had three daughters. Or the guy who couldn’t speak English and looked scared to death as we tried to explain emergent intubation without an interpreter present. I thought of all the weeping families, and I also thought of the gratitude they had bestowed our way even in the midst of their own grief.

I think about those sad stories, too many lost for a single year, and I try not to think about the coming months, the tragedy they could bring. I cling to things like memories of where I helped ease pain, prayed with a spouse over the phone, or the hope that this virus is getting weaker. I think of Queen Esther in the Old Testament, and how her uncle surmised amidst danger and possible death, “perhaps you were made for such a time as this.”

Maybe that is why we do what we do. Perhaps we were made for such a time as this. I’m pretty tired of unprecedented happenings this year, but I would encourage all my nursing peers with this thought. If not us, then who? Who would care for the hurting and dying? Who would scratch backs, offer a cool drink, or sing a joyful song in the middle of a trying situation?

2020 has tried to crush the spirit of nursing, but we’re pretty good at fighting back. Just know, I grieve with you. I recall life stories cut short with you. I link gloved hands, across the world, and I lift you all up in my prayers. We will beat this.

Check On Your Nurse Friends. We Are Not Ok.

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I took a survey from my employer today, and as I went through the questions I was surprised by how easily I could answer one way or another. It was a survey for how the pandemic, COVID-19 was affecting us, and as I clicked each bubble I understood even more just how much things had changed. One question that stood out to me asked if I thought about work more when at home. The fact was I had always been proud of my ability to leave work at work. I am an extremely compassionate person, but after twenty years in healthcare I had learned that to keep my sanity intact, patient care needed to stay at the bedside. It would be there waiting when I returned. But today, as I pondered the question on the survey, I realized that had changed. Everything had changed.

It had really started to hit me, the weight of it all, a few nights ago. I sat in bed the night before work and I prayed. I felt so down, and the fact was I had for weeks. There was nothing wrong going on in my life. I wasn’t financially stressed. My marriage was amazing, my children healthy and adorable. I had absolutely nothing to be upset about, yet I was. The only out of place factor I could pinpoint? COVID-19.

Years ago I had come to a place in my nursing career where I absolutely loved my job. I considered patient care to be a privilege, and even on tough days I considered it a wonderful vocation. It was a calling, and I carried the task with a smile. This past week I noticed an unwelcome feeling coming over me. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in many years. It was dread. I was dreading the return to the critical care bedside. How could I dread something I loved so much? I cried out to God to bring back my joy for the field.

When I sat in bed praying to feel better I realized that all this was hitting me harder than I thought. I realized that even though I thought I was doing ok, I really wasn’t. Even though I thought I could handle stress well, I don’t guess I had ever experienced stress like this.

Typically, nursing is about healing. A patient comes in sick, and we make them better. That’s not COVID-19.

And yes, I had experienced lots of death and dying. It was part of the job. So it wasn’t the people dying that got me. It was the fact that most of them seemed to be dying. The ones that were in Critical Care, anyway. The prognosis of these people was horrible, and when you have to break that to a daughter who can’t talk to her mom, or even see her, it’s depressing.

I was used to elderly and debilitated patients dying, but this was different. I was seeing people my age, younger, or just a few years older, and they were not doing well at all.

Nursing had always been a career where I had to be careful with infectious disease. I frequently encountered illnesses I could pick up and take home if I didn’t use proper protection or hygiene, but this was different. It was so new, and I watched the information available change day by day. One minute it’s airborne, the next droplet. One day the CDC says one thing, the next day, something else. The suggested PPE (personal protective equipment) changed faster than I could keep up, and it became this constantly evolving situation. I sadly knew that each time I came to work things would be different than when I left.

Do I need to shower and change clothes at work? Is it in my hair? The questions I had to ask myself. Is a Level 1 mask good enough, or is a Level 3 safer? Wait, now you’re saying it’s aerosolized and I should definitely wear googles? Why didn’t anyone tell me that yesterday?

Am I bringing bad stuff home to my children? They’re so little still. The fact that our government and healthcare system was treating the response to this unlike anything I had ever encountered only added to my thoughts. I mean, your president says everyone needs to stay home. Except you. You need to run into it head on! Unless your patient’s heart stops. Then, don’t run; put on your PPE first. It was going against everything we had ever done as lifesavers!

Everyone was watching us. People whose sole job was to make sure we were protecting ourselves properly. And while I appreciated the effort, it also made you feel pretty odd. I mean, what kind of crazy crap makes hoards of upper management and administration watch your every move? What exactly were we dealing with? The answer to that seemed to change every day!

I never felt so helpless. Everything we tried seemed to be in vain. They typically weren’t getting better. One week this was the go-to drug of choice, the next week something else, and the next week the surprising news that none of it would improve outcomes. In fact, it might make it worse.

It didn’t matter that the mask or respirator hurt my face, left bruises and sores, or that it left me feeling drowsy and cloudy headed after so many hours on straight. It didn’t change the fact that I was paranoid about the seal, worried that the tiny virus could somehow get through.

The stress made me become the type of person I didn’t want to be, short tempered and easily frustrated. The high acuity of the severely critical patients forced me to become the kind of nurse I didn’t want to be, hurried, harried, just struggling to keep them alive, keep my head above the water. My shift would end and I’d be sure I had missed something, which drove me crazy, but at least they had lived through my shift. They would likely die after I left. The prognosis was always poor.

Seeing the fear in their eyes, or hearing the words, “am I going to die,” remembering those words after they were gone. Holding their hand, offering comforting, muffled words, but knowing you were no adequate substitute for their loved ones.

Speaking of loved ones. We had those too, and just this week my nine year old said sadly, “Mom, I don’t want you to go to work. I’m worried you’ll get sick.”

But then I also had loved ones who had no idea. As I was leaving work today it occurred to me that not many of my family members had called to check on me. It wasn’t their fault; they didn’t know. I had not told them the toll this pandemic was having on me, and that’s when I knew I needed to. I see Facebook posts of people who don’t even think the pandemic is real, or that it’s like the flu. They have the privilege of not knowing how hard this is hitting me and my coworkers. I don’t normally try to play a pity party or seek attention, but I realized that a lot of people just didn’t know. They didn’t know that we’re not ok.

I have spoken with my coworkers and peers, and all the ones I have questioned are feeling the same pressing weight as me. They’re tired, worn thin, worried, beyond the typical stress of saving lives on a daily basis. It’s beyond skipping lunch and bathroom breaks to keep someone from dying. That’s just a regular Thursday. This, this is different. This is harder.

I don’t know the answers, and I don’t know if things will ever be the same. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to make it better for your nursing friends. You can pray. You can send us a message, drop off some toilet paper, or even just a long-distance hug. We need so many hugs right now, and social distancing is messing that all up. The typical outlets aren’t available to decompress, or the ways we deal with stress are not allowed. Nurses have the added weight of homeschooling, when that’s not something they are used to, or a spouse out of work. We’re dealing with all the same stress and aggravation as the rest of the population, but also the additional stress of facing this monster up close and personal.

We can’t pretend it’s not happening or busy ourselves with conspiracy theories. We’re too preoccupied with telling ourselves, “it’s not your fault. You did everything you could do.”

This is all I can write right now. There’s more, so much more, but I am exhausted after a day of the above. I need to lay down so I can wake up and do it again. See, that’s the great thing about nurses. We are not ok, but you’ll still find us when you need us. We’ll be in the clinics, ER’s, and units ready to do all we can do for those who need us. We’ll worry about us later.

When the Lord Sends You Locusts

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I stood in the shower this morning, the welcoming spray of steamy water beating the sleep from my body. I was trying to pray, and honestly, I just felt like crying. The lump in my throat grew, with a heat behind it, like a torrent of tears lay on the other side just waiting to pour out. Mixed with my erupting emotion was a strange sense of gratitude, resting below the surface, as it always did, that morsel of truth that kept my compass pointing north.

I was not alone.

My mind pondered the scripture I had read just before bed, the one I had prayed for as a sought guidance before drifting off to sleep. Like life, the verse had held a two-part truth, one certainly easier to swallow than the other, but I also knew they often worked together. It was easy to forget that.

Thank you for the reminder.

I remembered something I had said to my husband last week. Awash with melancholy that day, again I had sought the wisdom of the Lord, and faithfully He had whispered His truth. I had repeated it to my husband.

“You know,” I had said, “we couldn’t be where we are today if all of this had not happened.”

He agreed. Being back in our hometown had stirred bad memories. Walking the empty halls of our old house had brought a wide range of feelings; happiness, yes, but also a sadness to let go. You walk tall with a big smile, and it’s not necessarily just innocent optimism. I think there’s some pride in there too. No one wants to talk about the battles they lose, or the time they had to wave their white flag of surrender, but there it is, underneath it all, trying to keep you down in the trenches.

It had begun the downward, financial spiral almost two years ago, I realized. We started off by selling our big ticket items that we could get along without. We didn’t have a yacht or sports cars, but we lived life comfortably. So when my husband’s business began to go under, we made it work. Ahh, the plans of mankind and whatnot. We sold the children’s outdoor jungle gym, the second shed, a freezer we could do without. Then we sold collectibles, jewelry. We had our first big yard sale. We made ends meet in hard times. That’s what you do, right?

You persevere, you look on the bright side, you trust in the Lord. It still hurts, but you do it. You try, at least. Things got better. They did. Good thing, too, since we didn’t have any assets left to sell. It wasn’t as hard as those first six months, but it wasn’t easy either. The thing about problems is they tend to follow you no matter how far away you go. The Walmart card to buy groceries, the Discover to purchase gas. Those pesky bills you rack up in the midst of making ends meet, they confront you, again and again. We had lost the store, been forced to find new income, gotten rid of everything, and taken off to keep from going completely under. The only reason we never lost heart was because we knew Jesus was there. He was leading us, walking with us, and surrounding us with His peace. Had things not fallen apart like they did, we wouldn’t be in the beautiful ashes now, picking up the pieces and building something new and wonderful.

If it hadn’t fallen apart, we wouldn’t be where we are now.

Maybe fear would have kept us from moving towards God’s plan for our lives. Our complacency, comfort, pride, and a million other things. We always had prayed that He would lead us to the ministry calling He had given us a vision of over twenty years ago. Be prepared when you pray for something, to get the answer, but oh, how His ways are always best.

Last night, as I struggled for which direction to take for our future, I read a scripture from the Book of Joel. I had heard it before, the first part anyway, but it was the second part that grabbed me.

Joel 2:25 read, “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten.”

Oh, how wonderful! Restoration!

Yet it also read, “my great army that I sent among you.”

Almost as an afterthought, ownership is taken of the locusts that brought ruin. In that moment of scripture I realized that sometimes the Lord brings you locusts. We know that God is for us, and that His plans are to bring us hope and a future. But maybe sometimes we miss the meaning behind the locusts that come our way. We only see ruin, and we lose sight of the new harvest that is coming. Just like how an unkept fire can ravage a forest, a life not led totally for the Lord can be broken. Yet after the fire ends, the soil flourishes. New grass blooms, fresh trees spring up, and a lush landscape takes over the once barren waste. The grass is greener, the trees stronger, the foliage thicker. The fire consumes, but it leaves behind a new earth ready to produce even more than before.

So, if you find yourself in a season of locusts, don’t lose heart. Even as you are holding to faith that the Lord will work it out, remember that He also has a plan of restoration. I don’t believe the folks who say our Heavenly Father is hands off, uncaring of the paths we take here on earth! I believe life is more than chance. I believe God has a specific purpose for each of our lives, and sadly, we don’t always follow His plan. We’re too distracted by the world. So sometimes He has to send locusts to ruin your crop so He can grow something new. Especially if you’re praying for Him to reveal His will for your life!

If you find yourself in a season of hardship, don’t be discouraged. It could just be something you’re going through so the Lord can take you to something better. Your hard path may just be your path to true freedom and peace. Through the past two years, as I’ve walked my own (uncertain path), I have found new ground, fertile soil, where fear and anxiety can no longer grow! I had to walk through ruin to reach freedom. The Lord had to send me locusts before He could send me restoration. For both, I am grateful.

I’m Not Living My Best Life Over Here

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Things have been a little trying over here lately. I hate to use the word stressful because I promised myself I had let my ole worrywart persona go, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than mildly concerned for a second. Initially came the feeling of anxiety, quickly followed by the voice of reason.

“Haha. No need to get upset,” it sang. “You know God’s got this!”

Of course, He does, I’d chuckle to myself, and then I’d do my right best to walk forward in that belief. Well, if you know anything about life you know that believing something, telling yourself the truth, and abiding in that afterwards is the true test. So, even as my heart was proclaiming that God was in control, I still found myself feeling bummed. You know how you’ll have that underlying feeling of melancholy? Or perhaps it’s better described as a trigger-finger feeling. It’s like you’re on the edge, on pins and needles, like you’re expecting the worse to happen, and you’re readying yourself to jump into action. I guess that’s how I found myself feeling. It’s like I was sitting on the end of the bed waiting for a knock at the door, wringing my mental fingers, despite the fact that my Father told me I had plenty of time to get ready before company came.

After a year of renting our home the time had come for our renters to move on. The thought of losing them saddened me. It meant I had to face the anxiety of paying a large mortgage in a vacant home. It meant the decision of whether to rent again or sell. It meant the hassle of going back on the market, the frustration of paying for electric I wasn’t there to use, or yard maintenance I couldn’t even enjoy. It meant things like unexpected repair costs and trying to reconfigure our budget, for only God knew how long, and of course, the anxiety that is waiting. Waiting for someone else to fall in love with our home like we had once done. The spirit of truth told me it was taken care of, but the fleshy thorn of worry made me feel on edge regardless.

Today we walked back to our enormous truck. It was a huge, black dually (six tires total) 4×4, complete with an engine that could haul 21,000 pounds! Good thing, too, since it’s what we used to pull our traveling home. There’s one thing about moving your house from here to there. You need dependable tires. It’s not just vehicle damage you worry a blowout could bring, but the possible damage it could have on the fifth wheel you’re pulling behind you. We had just left an auto shop, and the gorgeous, deep tread, front wheels gleamed like the best sought treasure. Wow, they were really good looking. Seeing them made me realize how much we had needed ones that weren’t slick like a seal.

“It was a bit more than I thought it would be,” my husband commented, head down, trying to hide his frustration.

“How much more?” I asked.

“The quote I told you wasn’t labor or mounting and balancing included like I thought,” he answered.

I tried to push down the knot of concern in my throat as we drove back towards home on our brand new, pricey tires. I did mental math in silence.

That’s all the overtime I pulled.

We still need to pay to have the yard work done and floors cleaned.

Mortgage is due next paycheck.

Then the truck payment.

We’ll need to get gas…

I tabulated debits versus credits in my head, cursing the stale housing market of a small southern town.

“Can we go eat,” my eldest asked in a whine. “I’m hungry!”

“No,” my husband and I chimed in unison.

We drove in silence, my brain having a mental pep talk with my nerves.

It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok.

“They’re really good tires,” my husband finally said. “We got the best, safest tires, with a great tread rating.”

“Yes, we did,” I answered, taking his hand and looking softly at his strong profile beside me.

Yes, we did.

There were so many things going so right. We had found someone to do some cleaning inside and out for our sticks and bricks home, and at a price well below all the quotes we had received. We hadn’t looked for this particular answer, but it had come. We had found a way to rent an RV spot for the summer for only $160 a month. That’s nothing. We had spent over a grand at places in the past. I knew we couldn’t afford that kind of high rent and a big mortgage at once, and just like that a solution had come before we even knew a problem was behind it. We may not have tons of cash to give away, but we certainly had what we needed. Just like how God provided just enough manna each day for the Israelites, so too did we always have just enough. If some kind of trouble came up, the solution always popped up too. He was so faithful to us.

I reminded myself that when a strong gale blew on tumultuous seas that my trust wasn’t in the boat that held me, but rather in my Savior, the creator of the ocean, that carried me.

I realized I was the happiest I had ever been, and despite any concern or anxiety I had to push away about finances or selling our house, I realized that I felt better than ever before. There was hardship, and there was sickness. Unexpected bills came, or my old knees ached. I worked long hours, and we needed to replace the slide-out seals on our RV before they started to leak. I had no idea where those funds would come from, but I knew that for now it wasn’t leaking. Despite it all a river of peace ran through me, below me, above me, like never before.

I’ve found that you go through different seasons in life, some more difficult than others, but if you can find joy in the season you’re in, no matter how hard you have to look, it’s a blessed season.

I’ve found that storms will come and problems will rear their ugly head. That. Is. Life. There isn’t a life without trouble on this planet. If you breathe air, then you will experience some sort of turmoil in life. That’s just the reality of it. You have to understand and accept that, but then still make the decision to keep going forward. It’s not the storms that define us, but how we walk through them. I’ve discovered I like holding the hand of Jesus as I walk. Then I forget it’s raining.

I’ve found that it’s easy to look at the things that make us unhappy, the mess that makes life so far from perfect. But it’s also easy to see the joy. You can find it if you look. Somehow that makes the journey more enjoyable, the season more fulfilling, and the everyday more appealing. It makes the worrisome, bothersome buggery seem less. It makes the sunshine seem more… I don’t know, sunshiny. You cannot find a perfect life, but you can see it perfectly clear as the blessed life God gives.

I’m not living my best life over here.

My life is full of uncertainty. But it is also full of a certain God. He is ever present, and He has good things for me, even if I can’t see how He’ll get me there.

As we drove down the road, my mood becoming more positive as I reminded myself of God’s goodness to us, my husband spoke about the armor of God.

“Have you noticed,” he asked, “that the shield of faith is something you must pick up?”

He went on to describe that the helmet of salvation we always wore, the same with the belt of truth, or how we shod our feet in peace. But when the fiery arrows of the enemy came, we had to take up our shield. We had to raise up the sword of the spirit to battle. In other words, we always had our armor on, but when adversity came you had to be intentional in your defense.

I wasn’t living my best life over here. And that was ok.

Real life was too uncertain and chocked with difficulty to be practically perfect.

I wasn’t living my best life over here, but I was over here living life the best way I could.

When trouble came knocking, because it would (that was life), I took up my armor again. Seasons change, adversity comes, but my God is constant. And He is constantly looking out for me. My flesh tells me to fret, but my spirit tells me to be still. It shows me His kindness, His past provision, His future promises.

I am the happiest I have ever been not because I’m living a perfect, dream life. I’m not living my best life. I’m just enjoying life as it comes the best I know how. And somehow, gosh, that makes it seem like the best.

How Being a Busy Mom Almost Killed Me

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Let’s just be honest. Women are amazing! We’re pros of problem solving, masters of multitasking, and heroes of all the hats. Women can work out of the home while simultaneously holding down the home front. We cook nutritious meals, run a taxi service for our children, craft like crazy, make our spouses feel special, teach life lessons on the daily, and look amazing doing it. Well, mostly anyway. We strive to do all the things, all the time, and very well. In years past I have applauded myself on my ability to multitask. Homeschooling, homemaking, mothering, working businesses inside the home and out. I was proud of myself and all I could accomplish, but I was also tired. I was frustrated, flustered, and many days ended with me in regret for how I had handled the challenges of the day. I mean, I was getting all the things done, but was that necessarily a good thing?

I can’t tell you how many times I would lose my temper with my young children, raise my voice, maybe throw my own temper tantrum (just being honest), and then feel like total crap afterwards.

“Why, God?!” I would pray. “Why can’t I keep it together?!”

Years went by. Years, y’all. Years where I prayed to not be short-tempered or frustrated. I would make the conscious decision to take my daughters places, to get them involved in activities, but then I’d be in a bad mood getting us out the door. I was typically fine once we got there, but as the relief washed over me while I watched my children I wondered why I couldn’t feel that contentment all the time.

Some mornings I would wake up feeling anxious or depressed. All the planning made no difference in the difficulty. And I got to where I desperately craved the days where we had absolutely nothing planned. They were a much needed respite that went by too fast. I kept hearing that childhood went by far too quickly, and I also knew this to be true. But let’s be straightforward here. Many days I wanted to put on fast-forward to get them over with so I could finally relax. Does that sound awful?

At some point I came to a place where I realized I wasn’t enjoying my motherhood as much as I should. Why did it have to be so hard, so exasperating? Was that just par for the course? Or was it perhaps partially my doing? I had always taken pride in being busy. I think that’s a woman thing. I equated being busy with being productive, and it’s like the more things I could accomplish the more accomplished I was as a mother. But if I was angry and frustrated internally most of the time then what was the point? It was a motive check.

I had always thought that more was better. The more I provided for my kids the better. More toys, more clothes, more opportunities. More activities, more social gatherings, more going places. We may have been going, but I was drowning. I realized one day I felt like I had been treading water for a solid two years, and I also understood that I couldn’t keep it up. I was barely surviving, and my kids weren’t any better for it. There were the things that I thought mattered. And then there were the things that really did. My kids didn’t need more of the things. They needed more of me. They needed a happy mom, both parents working less, and healthy, calm relationships with us. What good was busy if it really didn’t amount to anything of eternal value?

I realized I had to let go of a lot of things. I had to let go of stuff, drop the extra activities I thought made me a better, cooler mom, and understand I wasn’t really on anyone’s timeline but my own. A lot of the chaos and stress in our lives we create, and the real question is why. Why do we create busy lives and equate that with happy, productive, successful lives? And whose standard is it anyway?

Mentally and emotionally, I was slowly killing myself. I loved my children, and I loved doing things for them, but what they really needed was a mom who wasn’t stressed out most of the time. They needed the relaxed, fun-loving mom I knew I could be. I was just distracted from being her by all the tiny, unimportant things that wrongly filled our house, schedule, and priority list.

Each day I’m learning to let go of preconceived notions of how a social media society or misaligned world says I should parent. I’m laying down unrealistic expectations for myself that my children don’t even consider important. No one knows what you can let go of, but you, but I’m discovering it’s always more than we think. To stop, take inventory of what matters, and drop the rest, that’s freedom. I’m learning to smile more, hurry less, and laugh a lot. I’m remembering to not sweat the small stuff, but instead enjoy the small things in life. I’m focusing on family, love, and wherever that takes us.

What God Would Say to the Overwhelmed Woman

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I walked hurriedly into work, my short legs moving as quickly as my little feet would allow. My arms overflowed with bags of different sorts, things I absolutely needed, from nursing supplies (the kind to take care of my patients) to nursing supplies (the kind needed to collect milk for my baby). Heavy bags slid off my shoulders, and without a free hand to hike them back up they simply dug down heavily at my elbows. As I entered my workplace a few steps behind another rushing employee the heavy door closed in their wake slamming against my frantic frame, and I realized it was a perfect representation of my life lately. 

Harried, hurried, and weighted down. Struggling, striving, yet slammed flat anyway. Carrying far more than I was able, and feeling like I was a failing step behind. Always. 

But I knew one thing to be true. That feeling wasn’t what God had for me. In fact, in my frustration He would whisper gently to my soul, wiping away my worries with His truth, setting my compass North with His direction of peace. 


This is what He would say. 

I knew you in your Mother’s womb, I knitted you together with great precision and care. As I formed each finger and tiny toe I not only did so with abundant love, but with tremendous purpose. And as I breathed my life into your lungs I smiled fondly and proudly for the future that was before you. 

I made you for such a time as this. 

Your first smiles, your joyful laughter, even your misgivings. I placed them within you, I developed them inside you, and I cultivated each and every circumstance to bring you where you are at this very moment. 

I made you for such a time as this. 

Every misstep, every mistake, every wrongdoing, whether done by you or done to you, I foresaw. I knew the challenges you would face, the wrong decisions you would make. I knew the tears of regret you would cry, and I knew the years you would waste chasing things other than my face. I knew, and I have used them. 

I made you for such a time as this. 

When you thought you couldn’t, or even when you wouldn’t, I was there. I was there in every haggard breath, in every racing thought, even in the irrational fear. My voice called out in clarity and truth, and at those times when you couldn’t hear me, I was there. Waiting. Waiting for you to acknowledge me. 

I made you for such a time as this. 

Before you were born I knew you, while you struggled to find out who you are, and even as you struggle still. I. Am. 

I am with you. I made you for such a time as this. 

When you feel overwhelmed I am in the midst of struggle. When you chase for the finish line I am in the moment of triumph. Even when you fall flat, I am there in the trenches. All you have to do is see me. 

You were made for such a time as this. 

For even when you fail, I can use it. And even when you fall short, I can pick up the slack. Each moment, each challenge, every triumph, every failure. These are simply moments for me to make myself more known by you. 

You were made for such a time as this. 

You are never alone. You are not forsaken. I have been with you from conception, and will be with you throughout eternity. So when you feel overwhelmed just know that I am there and together we can. 

Because I made you for such a time as this. 

For Women: How to Live Out Psalm 23

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I found myself sitting on the couch this evening trying to relax. Other than a simple supper I had planned, and of course my continuous chore of taking care of children, there wasn’t much left for me to do. Laundry was completed, even folded and put away. The kitchen was clean, and the rest of it could wait. With the reality of a free Friday night ahead I should have felt relief. But I didn’t. I felt burdened. 

I sat in this unwelcome spirit of worry and began to pray. Why? Why do I feel this way?

I opened my Bible and felt drawn to Psalm 23. It was a psalm I was familiar with, after all I prayed a portion from it many a work morning when I stood in the hot shower spray. 

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. (Verse 4)

This verse had always served me well, reminding me that fear wasn’t necessary when I trusted in my shepherd. 

But I read on. I started at the beginning, and I saw this. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. (Verses 1-3)

The beginning of Psalm 23 hit me like a lightning bolt, jolting me aware. You see, the past week or two had found me in a flurry of activity. My mind had been submerged in the conundrum that is selling a home. In the midst of packing, preparing for a move, and all the logistics that entails, I had also started a new semester of homeschooling for my daughter. In between filling out contracts and real estate paperwork I had found myself thinking and praying hard for a sick loved one. And all this while I was 6 months pregnant. 

To get to this point today of sitting motionless on the couch I knew had not come easy. I had been less than thrilled during our homeschool lesson. I had been short with my children, and I’m pretty sure I had not been the friend and support system to my extended family that they deserved me to be. I had been an unpleasant person, stressed and uncomfortable. 

And as I sat silently reading God’s word the verses above jumped out at me. He wanted me to lie down in green pastures. He desired to lead me beside quiet waters. He loved to refresh my soul. I felt like I had all these things I needed to do, but in reality I lacked nothing. 

So often as women we have not just a full plate, but an overflowing plate! If we’re still we’re almost uncomfortable. If we’re not stressed out we feel like we haven’t accomplished anything, and I don’t know about you, but I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to that. I’m the first to say, “I haven’t done a thing today,” when in reality I have accomplished much. 

But God would say, “you have done enough. You are enough.”

As women we often base our worth on how many tasks we can check off the list, and we feel good when we do a lot. But there’s more to life than staying busy and getting it all done. Sometimes the most important things in life are completed by not moving, but instead by being completely still. 

We accomplish the most for our souls when we take a rest in His presence, sit at His feet, and allow Jesus to renew our spirit. When we let Him lead us to still waters and refresh our soul. 

And the good news continues as we read the remainder of Psalm 23. 

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. (Verse 5)

Despite all the things that can and will go wrong in my day, or the people who try to come against me, the fact remains that He protects me and mine. Heck, He feeds me right in front of them. And He even feeds me to the point of abundant fullness. Now that’s a full plate I can handle!

Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord  forever. (Verse 6)

Many times when you busy yourself with the everyday tasks of life you forget that you’re not alone. You feel stressed as if you carry this weight on your own narrow shoulders. I know I do. And that’s why it’s important to stop. Stop and listen to God’s truth. 

His truth says we are never alone. It whispers, “my love follows you everywhere, in every trial and situation.” It cements the fact that we dwell with Jesus forever. 

As I sat still on my couch I finally allowed the rest of myself to be still also. I quieted my worries, and I released my pent-up anxieties and stress to The Shepherd. And I allowed Him to comfort me just as He had intended all along.