Blessed is she…

As Mother’s Day quickly approaches I find myself with a heavy heart.

I failed again and again this week, as a mother. My daughter, who usually sleeps REALLY well, gave us a couple fairly sleepless nights. And naps, which in my mind should’ve been great because of that(I mean, makes sense, right?), were almost nonexistent. And I did not handle this lack of sleep well. I got angry. I had a couple meltdowns. I was almost physically sick from exhaustion. I didn’t meet all my deadlines. I left some people hanging. I didn’t cook great meals for my family. I punched a door frame. I neglected my work. I didn’t bathe my daughter for over a week.

Actually, I finally gave her a bath this morning. I ran out of the bathroom for literally one minute to grab something. Came back in to find that she had pooped and scooped her poop out of the tub and thrown it all on the bathroom floor. That is exactly the week I’ve been having. I almost didn’t even bother cleaning it up.

I do not deserve to be celebrated today. I love my daughter more than I ever imagined. But I don’t always love her well, or gracefully, or patiently. I mess things up all the time. I lose my temper more than I’d care to admit. When my plan for the day gets messed up. which happens often, I don’t take it in stride as much as I’d like to say I do. I’m not cool, calm, and collected. I’m frazzled, frantic, and frustrated.

And yet, there are those who would give up everything to be in my shoes. Who long to have a child to sweat, cry, and bleed over. Who would love nothing more than to have sleepless night after sleepless night if it meant having a child of their own. And my heart breaks for the pain and longing.

So, for me, Mother’s Day isn’t about how great of a mom I am. Because I’m so not a great mom. I fall exceedingly short. Mother’s Day is a day for me to be so incredibly thankful for this blessing I have and to not take it for granted.

And all of you out there who aren’t mom’s….whether it’s by choice, or circumstance, or whatever the case may be…you are still worth something. You are still making a difference in the world. God has a tremendous plan for your life, and whether it involves kids someday or not, He’s working something beautiful out for you and through you.

As for you fellow hot mess mamas… Really all I can say is, I’m with ya. Keep doing what you’re doing. It is hard, hard work. But, as they say, someone’s gotta do it! Seriously, though, you are not alone. None of us has it together or knows fully what they’re doing. And I hope you have someone you can be real with about just how hard motherhood is. And it’s ok to admit that it’s hard. I’ve never done anything this hard in my whole life! But this is the calling God has placed on my life and He alone can give me the strength I need to do it.

Whatever season of life you’re in, remember that God is faithful and will give you the strength you need to get through anything that comes your way. Some days it might seem like you barely get by(believe me, I know), but get by you will.

 

“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”  Romans 5:3-5

My daughter’s heart

chloe-and-tree

My daughter turned one on Sunday. She is incredible. She’s smart, and goofy, and adventurous. Her personality has come out so much recently. She’s curious and mischievous and always wondering what’s around the corner.

There’s been a bit of time since I wrote last. Those posts were hard to write and took a lot out of me. And in the aftermath I thought about what I could do to fight against human trafficking and sexual abuse and kidnapping and all those awful things. If I felt it’s what I was supposed to do, I’d move to the red light district in Amsterdam and knock down brothel doors and rescue the helpless girls there. I do not feel that that is what I’m meant to do, at least for now.

But I don’t want to do NOTHING. And I got frustrated because I don’t know what I CAN do.

Then I was watching my daughter explore and delight in the world around her and I thought “that’s what I can do”. What I get to do.

I can nurture this curious, naive mind and soul. I can cultivate in her a joy in the world she lives in and a heart that is full of hope and joy and beauty.

And, yes, teach her to be cautious and make sure she’s aware of the dangers in this world. I don’t want her to be oblivious to the ugliness that surrounds us but I also don’t want to lock her up in hopes of keeping her safe. That won’t do anyone any good.

Parenting a child is a big responsibility, and at times seems overwhelming. But it is also a great and exciting challenge and the best thing I’ve ever done with my life. So, right now, that is what I can do to make a difference in the world…

my hopeful heart.

 

hope

My post last night was missing something. Something crucial. And that is this:

There is hope. 

There are horrible injustices in the world everywhere we look. Human trafficking, racial inequality, torn-apart families, suicide, addiction, depression, physical and emotional abuse, bullying, starvation, car accidents, to name a few. Seeing that list, it can be so easy to feel like you’re suffocating in a world of pure evil. And while it may feel like that most days… There. Is. Hope.

What hope could there possibly be?

While I was part of a dance production that was bringing awareness to the sex slave trade, I was consistently asked one question:

How can we put a stop to it?

My answer was, and is, that we can’t. Not in this lifetime. The only way to stop it is to put an end to evil and sinful human nature. And what person, or group of people, powerful as they may be, could even begin to do that? Anyone?

Actually, yes. There is one. There is hope.

There is a man who has the power and authority to right all the wrongs of mankind. To bring hope to the hopeless. To bring justice to the wicked. To rescue the persecuted. His name is Jesus Christ and he is coming back for us, to save us and bring us home with him.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.  And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God,prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.  And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”  And he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.  The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son.  But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”    -Revelations 21:1-8

He is coming. Don’t give up hope. Someday he will bring healing, justice, peace, comfort, joy.

That is how I can face horrors like this and not have it destroy me. I have hope in something greater than myself. Hope that these atrocities will not go on forever.

Hope is a beautiful thing.

my broken heart

grief

I was at the grocery store the other day with Chloe. Going to the grocery store with a baby takes forever. Not because of the baby, but because of all the other people who want to admire said baby. It’s…err, she’s a great ice breaker but sometimes you just want to get your groceries and be done. After pausing awkwardly for the millionth person to smile and make faces at Chloe I wondered at what age does it become awkward for someone to smile and “aww” at a child.

And then I wondered when will be the first time my daughter is looked at inappropriately. My stomach twisted at the thought and I quickly shoved it away. Not something I need to worry about yet…

And then… Oh dear Lord, I can’t believe I’m about to write this next sentence.

And then I read a story about a 1 year old who had been rescued from someone who had trafficked her. A one year old. 12. Months. Old. A baby. Chloe is 9 months old…she’ll be 1 in 3 short months.

F*** no.

Babies are the purest form of human we’ve got. How can we live in a world where there is such ugliness as to take that innocent being and defile it in the gruesomest way?

My baby is soft and fragile and beautiful and adventurous and full of life and sweet, melt-your-heart smiles.

I cannot even fathom such an evil. It is not okay. It is so not okay.

The devastation that is sex trafficking has been heavy on my heart for years. I’ve spent hours reading books, doing online research, praying, bringing awareness to, and weeping for this issue. And then I kinda stopped. It was too much. I wanted to do more, I wanted to move to Amsterdam and be in the midst of it, but it wasn’t meant to be, and so since I couldn’t do more I just stopped. Then I became a wife and a mother and you know the drill.

But I’m done. Done with the stupid excuses. Especially now, because it’s personal. I want to fight for my daughter’s safety and all the other daughter’s out there. I don’t know how or what but I’ll find it. The mama bear I didn’t know was in me has been awakened and is thirsty for justice.

“we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.” -mlk jr

 

This post ends on a slightly hopeless note. Check out my my next post to hear about the hope that there is!

Quick Update

So, it’s been awhile since I’ve added anything here. Basically what happened is I got pregnant and during the first trimester I was exhausted ALL THE TIME. I didn’t know it was possible for a person to feel that tired. Because of that exhaustion I was completely unmotivated to do anything. It took  all my effort to wake up and go to work. I also felt slightly depressed. It was the end of a long, cold winter and nothing seemed to get me excited anymore. I felt like a hollowed out version of myself. I couldn’t even get very excited about the new life growing inside me because I was so exhausted.

Then one day I woke up and felt like my old self again. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the sun was shining and I was Kaitlyn again! It was a glorious day. And since then things have been much better. I’m now heading towards the end of the second trimester and am fully in the “sweet spot” of pregnancy.

Being pregnant has been a huge roller coaster for me. It’s absolutely one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. God has used it to grow, challenge, and encourage me.

I’ll get more into some specific challenges I’ve faced but for now that’s all.

It’s good to be back 🙂

Here Comes the Bride

God is love.

 1 John 4:16

Tommy and I started reading a pretty great book. You and Me Forever by Francis and Lisa Chan. At one point Francis Chan is writing and tells the reader to stop what he or she is doing and close their eyes and picture themselves before Jesus. I usually think those sort of things are silly but we did it anyways.

I almost instantly dissolved into tears. I really, truly was picturing Jesus and the look he was giving me was so full of tenderness and compassion that I just melted. It was too much. I have often been overwhelmed at the thought that the God who created heaven and earth and who caused the Red Sea to part and then sweep away an entire army is on my side, fighting for and with me. But I forget that not only does he fight with and for me but he also treasures me more than anything else.

I have experienced great love in my life. More than a lot of people. But all of that love combined would barely scratch the surface of how much love my heavenly Father has for me. If it were a sea I would be utterly swept away and submerged. If it were a snow storm I’d be trapped in my home for the rest of my life. If it were a maze I could never find the end. If it were a walk-in closet all the clothes in the world couldn’t fill it.

It is a love I can never hope to deserve yet it is mine for the taking. It is yours too, beloved, if you will but accept it. We are His bride, dressed in white, walking down the aisle towards Him and the look He gives us is one of such beautiful, powerful love. Let that love carry you through whatever you may be going through. May it free you from the worries and pain of this world and heal you of whatever hurt you may be facing.

When Appreciation and Admiration Become Lust

Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not.          -Epicurus

My husband pointed out something to me that I never realized I did. He said that when we’re out and about and there are lots of people around he’ll often catch me looking intently at other women. Checking them out, really.

Why?

Well, I’m comparing myself to them. What physical attributes of theirs are more beautiful than mine? Do they have thinner legs? Are they tall and willowy? How might they be “better” than me? Also, sometimes, what about me is prettier then them?

It’s an awful thing. Not only am I being completely dissatisfied with the way I look but I’m also diminishing that person’s individual beauty and everyone’s individualness.

It’s a beautiful thing to be able to recognize and appreciate the beautiful way another human being was created but not at the detriment of tearing yourself down. How I long to be able to embrace the way I was made.

There’s something that I was told that guys who struggle with lust try to make a habit of. It’s the “eye bounce”. The jist of it is this: When they see a beautiful woman, they’re able to bounce their eyes off her instead of linger and look her up and down in a lustful way. Now hopefully someday they’ll be able to see and acknowledge a beautiful woman in a godly fashion and not always have to be avoiding their gaze. But sometimes you have to avoid something to relearn how to approach it in a good way.

I’m going to try to adopt the eye bounce for a little while. I want to be able to see and appreciate the many types of beauty I come into contact with throughout the day. But I think first I need to do some healing and learn how to not focus on beauty, others or my own, so much.

I once wrote a sermon on self-image and being created in God’s image and learning to be proud of how we’ve been made and to feel beautiful, as God sees us. I was gently reminded by someone that it’s not all about beauty. Part of being not so aware of our physical flaws is realizing that God’s love for us is not at all dependent on the way we look.

I want to be able to worship the Creator of beauty, not beauty itself. And I believe, in doing that, I will find the freedom to walk around and acknowledge the beauty of those around me without crushing me. Because how I look doesn’t define me.

Island of misfit toys

I’m ugly and awkward and I always say the wrong things. I fly around throwing away perfectly good marriage proposals. I love our home, but I’m just so fitful and I can’t stand being here! I’m sorry, I’m sorry Marmee. There’s just something really wrong with me. I want to change, but I – I can’t. And I just know I’ll never fit in anywhere.                -Jo March

I’ve always felt a kinship with Jo March from Little Women. Many times I’ve said something very similar to the above quote. It comes in waves really, this feeling of not belonging or not fitting in.

Almost everywhere we look there’s a box to try to fit yourself into. There is much pressure to look a certain way. To be a certain type of woman. To not be a certain type of woman.

It’s exhausting, always trying to get it right.

That’s why I’m starting this blog. For all the misfits, outcasts, wanderers, seekers. For those who can’t or just chose not to fit in.

I decided on We, the Misfits for the title when I thought of the Rudolph movie and the island of misfits toys. The Charlie-in-a-box, the spotted elephant, the choo choo train with square wheels, the bird that swims instead of flying, the cowboy who rides an ostrich and the boat that can’t float. That part of the movie always makes me so sad, all these toys that are flawed and so banished to this lonely island. I always want to swoop in and rescue them and give them a loving home.

Do you know what I think? I think that’s how Jesus feels about us. He sees us being banished, most of the time banishing ourselves, to this island. Believing we don’t deserve to be loved. And he so longs to save us from that lonely island and give us a home where we can be secure in the fact that we are loved and accepted wholly as we are.

And he DOES rescue us. He’s there with a boat that has room for all of us.

Won’t you leave that island? Come away with me and never look back. Leave behind all the lies that you’re not beautiful enough, strong enough, capable enough. That you’re too thin, not thin enough, that you’re lazy, that you’re a mess-up and failure. Come with me and let my perfect love wash over and heal your wounds. Beloved, you are mine and no one has the power to say otherwise.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.                     

  John 14:1-6

Confessions of a Closet Ballerina

Most of my dance career I’ve pursued non-ballet. Jazz, modern, tap, contemporary, even a little hip hop. See I’m barely 5’3” and am curvyyyy. It’s been fine. Until recently.

I’m done pretending otherwise. The truth is:

  I love ballet.

I’ve tried hating it for so long but I just can’t anymore. I love pushing your body to it’s absolute limits, trying to do something it was really never meant to do. I love working so hard at plie’s, right out of the gate, that you’ve already sweat buckets. I love trying again and again until you nail that triple pirouette. I love pushing through when your body feels like it’s going to collapse any second. I love that my physical body becomes a beautiful, effortless work of art. Even though it’s not actually effortless and you’re potentially destroying your body to make it look that way.

If I love it so much why have I many times declared it to be my worst enemy? For one very simple reason, to protect myself. To make it easier to shrug it off when ballet teachers took one look at me and then ignored me throughout class. To be able to laugh when someone asks “Is it hard to be a dancer when you don’t have a dancer’s body?” So until recently I’ve been able to just shake off the comments, the looks, the unfairness of being ignored because of the way I’m built.

Having spent most of my life in the dance world I’ve seen many, many struggles with weight. Even outside of the dance world. There’s so much pressure to fit that mold. Really, though, it’s more than that. It’s not even about a mold, because I know people who fit that “mold” and are still dissatisfied. It’s been ingrained in us to not be satisfied with what we’re given, what we have. Whether that’s looks, family, financial circumstances, career, etc. A perfect example is me and my mom. She has the most fabulously curly hair you’ve ever seen but she’s always wanted straight, silky hair. Which I happen to have. And I’d give anything to have HER hair. It’s really so silly. Yet how many of us can fully say that not one thing comes to mind about yourself that you wish was different? Not many, I’m willing to bet. I’ve spent years of my life teaching high school girls and trying to ingrain in them that they are each a beautiful and unique creation. Often tears well up in my eyes as I plead with them to not despise their bodies and I see tears reflected in their own eyes as they acknowledge what a struggle it is.

There are two main verses I emphasis when I have these “love your body” talks.

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book was written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I would count them, the are more than the sand. I awake, and I am still with you.”

Psalm 139:13-18

I remind them that they were created with purpose and planning. They were stitched together by a loving Creator. The other verse takes a different approach.

“Woe to him who strives with him who formed him, a pot among earthen pots! Does the clay say to him who form it, ‘What are you making?’ or ‘Your work has no handles’? Woe to him who says to a father, ‘What are you begetting?’ or to a woman, ‘With what are you in labor?’”    Isaiah 45: 9-10

This verse is more of a harsh reminder. Who are we to tell the creator of the universe that he made a mistake? When I’m choreographing none of my students would dare turn around and tell me that my choreography is no good. Or if they did they’d be in trouble.

What does this have to do with my love/hate for ballet? Well, while I spent years encouraging and challenging girls to accept how they look and embrace it and love it I wasn’t really listening myself. I didn’t think  I needed to learn that because I thought I already knew it. I’ve spent my life in front of floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall mirrors and never had an issue. Or so I thought. I just never knew how deeply I had buried that insecurity.

Then simultaneously I got married and the studio I had taught at for years shut down and the company I had been dancing with moved to Connecticut two and a half hours away. Here I was with all this free time and no need to rush to find a job I didn’t love because I was no longer the sole provider. So what to do? There were(still are, really, I’m still in this place of indecision) so many possibilities. Tommy, my husband, works at a university so I could go to college for free. When I graduated high school I moved straight to Houston to pursue dance full-time, so I’ve never been to college. (I don’t know why I’m explaining all this. The only people reading this are probably my mom, sisters and husband who all know everything about me.) Do I full-time work on writing, which is something I’ve always loved but only dabbled in? Do I keep dancing?

It didn’t take me too long to realize I could never give up dancing. And not because it’s what I’ve always done and what I’m used to and comfortable with. But because it’s such a part of me, of who I was created to be. And I knew I wanted to pursue ballet more. So for Christmas I got new ballet shoes and even dug out my old pointe shoes for fun and decided to take an adult ballet class twenty minutes from my house.

Then we went to Marshall’s and I had a meltdown. It’s so silly. There were these pants I wanted to try on. So did Tommy so we went into separate dressing rooms. When I came out I basically threw the items I had at the sales associate and when Tommy asked if anything fit I didn’t look at him, just started walking and said “Let’s just leave. I want to get out of here right now.” Tears filled my eyes, threatening to overflow for all of Marshall’s to see. Tommy quickly paid for his pants and led me to the car while I struggled to keep it all together. “What happened?” He asked, oh so gently. I spoke rather angrily but only because sometimes that helps me not to cry. I told him that I had grabbed a medium size and that they didn’t fit the way these pants are supposed to fit and that even a large probably wouldn’t. If I wanted these pants to fit “correctly” I would need an extra large.

Extra large!

As I said it out loud I lost it and starting crying. You know, the ugly kind. Tears and snot mingling together. Not pretty. He wanted to know what brought this on? It couldn’t be just a pair of pants that was causing this breakdown. He was right. But I said I didn’t know the cause but as I said it I realized I did know. I also realized that it’s been building over the past few weeks. This feeling of shame at the way I’m built. This almost disgust at my womanly hips and my solidly built legs.

As I shared all this, I also knew why this was all coming up. As I thought about and dreamed about and talked about ballet, all the old dirt was coming up. The ballet classes where I’ve dissolved into tears, at the age of twenty-one, because I knew my ballet teacher wasn’t seeing how hard I was trying and even how I was improving and I was certain it was because of the way I was built. The disappointment I’ve felt when we’ve been learning a ballet piece and the joy I felt doing it and the feeling that I was doing well until I was told I’d enter later, in the last minute of the dance, with the other “modern dancers”. I laughed and pretended I was totally okay with that even though I felt crushed. And I knew I’d experience more of that as I pursued my passion for ballet.

As I poured out my heart Tommy reminded me of a young dancer I met this past summer and an emotional conversation we had with her. She told us of all the ridicule she got for wanting to dance, even from her parents. That it was a waste of time because she didn’t have a “dancer’s body”. She reminded me so much of me, a spirited, curvy young girl. There’s much temptation to want to have an “I’ll show them” attitude but that gets exhausting. I told this sweet girl, with tears streaming down my face,  that her, and her body, were capable of dancing beautifully. That no one could tell her that she couldn’t do it. That even when her own parents didn’t come to her shows that she had a heavenly Father who was watching her with so much pride and joy and tears in his eyes. That he put the passion to dance in her and no one should tell her otherwise.

Here I was needing to hear the same words. I knew the only way I could be free to dance was if I believed that truly, for myself. To not compare myself to others, to not despise certain parts of my physique. To embrace the fact that I am uniquely and wonderfully made and that while I can’t pull of a certain type of pants there are other things I can rock that others can’t. And neither body type is better. It’s beautiful the diversity that surrounds us on so many levels. It’s time we embrace it and lose our shame and be free to be what we were created to be.