Raw, messy stuff

Nobody likes dealing with raw chicken. It’s messy, slimy, and hard to work with. Most people prefer cooked chicken, seasoned to perfection.

 The same way it goes in life. No one wants to deal with the raw and messy stuff; we prefer prepackaged order and predictability.

However, life is more of the raw stuff than the seasoned and prepared stuff. Currently, I’m going through a rough time. Some doctors call it bipolar; others say it’s postpartum depression. At the end of the day, most of them have no clue what’s wrong with me. They give their best guess, but end up calling me a complicated case, a special case, a unique case, “not my hardest patient but surely not my easiest.” Those are hard words to hear and even harder to process.

In the process, I’ve gained between 15-20 lbs. And am currently taking 6-7 different medications. this is by no means an easy or fun road.

Right now, wait is the name of the game. Two weeks, and I go for bloodwork to see that my thyroid has stabilized. Once my thyroid has stabilized, then we will focus on the pituitary gland tumor. Problem right now is that the surgery for that is only 30-40% effective, as these tumors grow back often. Other problem is that medication to shrink the tumor makes depression a whole lot worse. It’s going to take a skilled pharmacologist to figure everything out with all the medication I’m already on.

See I told you it’s 

Raw. Messy. Stuff.

And nobody likes it.

Especially not me.

Waiting on this season to end. Or should I say, waiting on my seasoning. Waiting on the day I can hear the timer on the oven going off. Knowing that my wait time is over. Chicken, it’s what’s for dinner.

Life’s Waiting Room & what to do while you’re there

Recently, I’ve been to far more doctors, counselors, etc. than I’d ever would have imagined. And what do all of them have in common? A waiting room. Some waiting room have TVs blaring, while others have soothing music daintily tiptoeing across the backdrop of silence. Some have people littered throughout due to missed appointments, late appointments, etc. Others are always empty. One has a random therapy dog that always comes out and waits for people to pet him. Almost all of them have magazines, books, puzzles, games, or something to occupy your mind while you wait. No matter what each waiting room has within it, they all have something in common. You have to wait to go there. On second thought, you go there just to wait. What you do during the wait time is determined by you, but no matter what: you wait.

I’ve been realizing this is true in life as well. It has waiting rooms. Almost everyday for the last 3+months that I’ve battled this postpartum depression, I’ve asked, pleaded, begged God to remove it. Every day that it continues on and continues to be a struggle for me, I realize something. God is telling me to wait. Every time I come up with this fact: I’m currently sitting in one of life’s waiting rooms. How long I’ll be there only God Himself knows. While it may seem like a missed appointment or a late appointment to me, I know we’re right on His schedule. What I do while I’m in the waiting room can make a big difference.

Here are some things I’ve found to make a difference for me:

1. Pray. Pray for yourself. Pray for your situation. Pray for your family. your friends. the world. Whatever God lays on your heart, pray for that.
2. Grow. Grow in some area of your life. Want to learn more about something? Read. Want to get in shape? Exercise. Research diet and meal plans. Get on Pinterest. Do something that grows and stretches you.
3.  Get a hobby. Want to pick up left-handed calligraphy or adult coloring books? Now is the time. Get a hobby,   something that you enjoy - even if it is just for this season of your life.
4. Be thankful. No matter what, be thankful. Cultivate a thankful heart by writing down blessings, small victories, etc. Make a list and then praise back to God that list. Often.

Now, I wonder, when you find yourself in the waiting room of life, what do you find yourself doing?

"That's Not My Name!"

Hey. Okay. Say, you just meet someone new. What’s the first thing you usually ask them? ….Usually, it goes something like, “Hi, I’m so-and-so. What’s your name?”

Their name. You’re usually concerned with a person’s name because it stands for the entirety of their identity. Think of famous people you know, and as soon as you think of their name, you think of something associated with them. The same thing is true for family members, close friends, co-workers, acquaintances, etc. A name holds a lot together, so you can be especially sure that I began to have difficulty when my name and identity began to get mixed up. Before I get ahead of myself, let’s start at the beginning.

Hello. For those of you that do not know me, my name is Rosemary H Hazard. But for some reason, the hospital got it all confused. To them, I was Rosemary D Hazard. Many times over, I told them, “That’s not my name!” But for some reason, the bracelets, tags, stickers, etc. all said the same old thing. “ Rosemary D Hazard”

Wait a minute. Hospital was mentioned. Ah, yes, probably too intense for a first meeting, but most of you know me, so I thought I would just step right into it. As I did, I realized that I left out some important background information that would be helpful for you all to know. Some have already been asking about it; some have just sat back and wondered. So, today, I’ll go ahead and explain it all away in the best way I know how.

It all started at the end of July, when for about a week, I would wake my husband up at all times of the night with these stories that didn’t quite add up to reality (yet I believed them to be truth at the time) and culminated in a trip to Florida to visit my family and “get away for a while.” That weekend trip quickly landed me into a psych ward for about a week (because the episodes of thoughts-not-matching-up-to-reality just kept coming). I went in with a wristband stating my wrong name “Rosemary D Hazard," and I came out on the other end with a wrong diagnoses of “bipolar.” Some doctors believed I was experiencing postpartum-related difficulties, and others simply labeled me bipolar and kept the medication train moving along. Either way, they told me the two are treated similarly and that I was being treated appropriately for the symptoms I exhibited while in the hospital. Excuse my uneducated opinion, but bipolar is not my name. Postpartum could last for quite-the-season, but it also is not my name.

All was going well with the medication I was placed on, until we started weaning me off of the medication rather quickly. While I was being weaned off, I began to experience difficulty breathing and tightness in my chest, which the doctors said was due to anxiety. Although I was having serious bouts of anxiety-related “attacks”, anxiety is not my name.

~

Around the same time, I began having bad thoughts, thoughts of harm and worse. I kept reminding myself of Philippians 4:8 and pouring podcasts and worship music through my little Apple headphones, but soon realized I needed more medical help than what I was currently getting. {In case you were wondering, ill thoughts, thoughts of harm, and suicide are also not my name.}

The end of August, I went back into the psych ward at Baptist Medical for about 4-5 days this time. They got me “stable” with more medication than I can count on my little left hand and let me go back home shortly thereafter. (Name tags still read wrong, mind you.)

Once home, I struggled with a lot of things. Like being able to multi-task or do anything at a speed which I once did it ( including speaking). I struggled mostly with being on medication and letting all these medical terms become my identity or my new norm or my new name. Truth is, all of these things have happened to me. I didn’t ask for them. I didn’t plan for them. I didn’t expect them. But now, they’re here and they’re a part of my story. Rather, God’s story that He’s writing with my life.

Just because they’re a part of my story doesn’t mean they have to be a part of my name or my identity. They’re my brokenness. My weakness. My vessel for letting God use me in huge ways, if necessary. 

I wonder, what weakness or brokenness are you carrying today that few people or no one knows about? What would happen if you shared it? Could God possibly use it to encourage others to share their stories? The Bible talks about bearing one another’s burdens. How can we not do this if our burdens are never even shared?

Just something to think about because, my friend, we all know it’s true that we have brokenness and weaknesses. The problem isn’t that they’re there. The problem comes when they’re hidden or excused away. Accept that they're there. Own that they are your weaknesses. Just do me a favor, and (no matter what your hospital bracelet says) don’t let them become your name.

Messy Homes vs. Messy Hearts

Messy Homes.
Let's get real. We all have them at some time. You know how I know this to be true? Because we live in our houses. And life, well, it gets messy from time to time.

Messy homes are far too easy to obtain. Have you ever noticed that things in your home - no matter how hard you try - tend towards disorder, disarray, and chaos rather than neatness, organization, peace, and tranquility? And all the moms of toddlers just said, "Amen." But seriously, in order to get a messy house, it's simple. Simply do nothing. Do a lot of nothing. For a relatively consistent span of time. And voila! Messy house status achieved.

The other thing about messy homes that gets me is that cleaning a non-stop endeavor. Like, seriously, Non-stop. One night (or maybe it was a weekend?), when my husband was home from work, I was busily rushing around trying to complete everything on my cleaning/chore to-do list, so I could enjoy myself with the family (knowing all things were in order, under control, and "done").... when I look over at Jeff and he's just sitting there. I'm like, "What are you doing?!" He said, "I'm resting. There's always going to be something to do." My quick-witted response was something along the lines of "yeah, but the more you sit around and wait, the more stuff just piles up and you have more work to do later." It didn't make a ton of sense, my logic. But it helped get a point across that I just couldn't rest and enjoy family time if our house wasn't in tip-top shape. (In case you're wondering, he soon got up and helped me, more out of pity that day than anything else. I must also add here that Jeff is a good man and helps me all the time around the house without even being asked. I think on that particular day he was just trying to encourage me to rest.) Something about my knack for organization and my personality that craves order (or is it a feeling of control? Eek.) just sometimes won't let me rest.

So what's this about messy hearts? What does a messy house have to do with a messy hearts? I'm glad you asked.

One day, while I was going about my day, going through my to-do list of chores-for-the-day and cleaning my house, I felt as though God was using all this to teach my little heart a huge lesson. In all reality, God doesn't care about our messy or clean-in-tip-top-shape houses, yours or mine. Sure, sure, there's a counter-argument for that statement as well as plenty of phrases I've heard all my life like, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness." Order is a Godly principle for sure, but it can also become an external god if we are not careful. In essence, what I meant to say is this: WHEN COMPARED TO THE CONDITION OF OUR HEARTS, God doesn't care about our messy or clean-in-tip-top-shape houses. He'll take notice of the matters of the heart over the looks of our houses any day. How do I know? Look up the story of Mary and Martha. Martha's doing good works, for sure; but it's Mary that has chosen the good part - the part that cannot be taken away from her. 

Specifically, as I was doing the dishes - the same, old dishes - for what felt like the 114th time that week, God spoke to my heart. I got to hand-washing a coffee mug of Jeff's and as I was scrubbing the outside of the mug, I was thinking, "What am I doing? That part doesn't even get touched." It reminded me all too much of the Pharisees in the Old Testament and the example Jesus gave them of being white-washed sepulchres. They were squeaky clean on the outside, but their insides were dead-as-a-doornail. Okay.

And that's when it hit me that messy houses can be likened to messy hearts. 

How so?

Let's start at the beginning and see, shall we?
Messy Hearts.
Let's get real. We all have them at some time. You know how I know this to be true? Because we live - truly who we are deep down inside - in our hearts. And life, well, it get messy from time to time.

Messy hearts are far too easy to obtain. Have you ever noticed that things in your heart - no matter how hard you try - tend towards disorder, disarray, and chaos rather than peace and tranquility? And all the let's-be-honest-with-ourselves-and-drop-the-facade people just said, "Amen." It's far too easy to clean up on the outside and let the inside, unseen things (in essence) rot away.

The other thing about messy hearts that gets me is that ridding ourselves of the junk in our hearts is a non-stop endeavor. Like, seriously, Non-stop. Jeff and I work on memorizing a Bible verse together every week. (Now before you're like, "Wow! Look at them." Let me tell you, we just started doing this together.) This past week, we focused on the verse Ephesians 4:29, which says, "Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear." If you'd like the challenge of a non-stop endeavor, I challenge you to memorize and live out that verse, friends.

Philippians 4:8
Whatsoever things are true and honest. Whatsoever things are just and pure. Whatsoever things are lovely. And of a good report. If there be any virtue, if there be any praise, thinks on these things. Think upon these things.

While We Wait for Hope

While We Wait for Hope

It’s been an incredibly long time since I’ve given any thought or attention to my blog and my writings, so I figured today (while we wait for Hope’s arrival onto the scene of life) was as good a day as any to pick it back up. I hope and pray my scattered words and thoughts are an encouragement for someone out there who’s taking the time to read this.

Lately, as I’ve been awaiting the arrival of my second born, I’ve been somewhat reflective and pensive. I’ve been releasing my seemingly control of events and circumstances and embracing the fact that all is spiritual, purposeful, and a part of a much bigger plan than the one I’ve got developed in my little mind. God has a reason for everything. Every moment. Every instance within those moments. And that’s a neat thing to realize, embrace, cherish, and surrender yourself to. It truly is a beautiful thing. 

Not only that, but I’ve also been thinking and reflecting on the importance of names and their meanings. 

All throughout history and in multiple cases in the Bible, parents name their children names with significant meanings. God Himself attaches importance to the meaning of names, as He changes the names of key people in the Bible as well. 

With our firstborn, Jeff and I settled upon the name Hannah Grace long before we even knew Hazard baby #1 would be a little girl. Hannah means "favor and grace." And Grace, well, that’s pretty self-explanatory. Together, the name means “favor and grace” or “a double-portion of grace.” A main reason we chose this name is the fact that we can’t escape the double-portion of grace God has showered on Jeff's and my life. Seriously, if we could just sit down with you and tell you all the different areas God has blessed our lives and our life together, it’s mind-blowing, humbling, and awe-inspiring. Another reason we chose this name was Hannah is a family name, as my Grandma Murphy’s name was Hannah. When her youngest born passed in a freak boating accident, she went nerve deaf and never recovered. God used this impairment in her life (inability to hear, drive, go places by herself, etc.) to keep her rooted at home and placed on her knees, praying for her loved ones. Every time Grandma Murphy would see us, she would say, “I’ve been praying for you!” And we knew that she truly had been and would be for time to come. Another similar reason we chose this name for our firstborn was this: if you trace the name “Hannah” back to the Bible as well, you see Hannah (Samuel’s mom) was known for her intense prayer life (and the double-portion her husband poured on her out of his love for her). So intense, in fact, that the priest at one point thought she was tipsy. I’d like to have a prayer life like that. I’d like to have a relationship with God like that. And I’d like my daughter(s) to see that and micmic it. I still have ways to go; but by God’s grace, I pray for daily, increasingly closeness with my Heavenly Father. 

With that said, it leads me to reflect upon the name we chose for our much anticipated second-born (due any day now…. well, due today actually!). When Jeff and I found out that we were having another baby and even before finding out gender, we had all sorts of trouble coming up with boy names, but seemed to settle upon the name Hope Elizabeth rather quickly. Not only that, but we kept seeing Bible verses pop up in various places in our lives with the word “hope” in them. And to add on to those facts, our church decided to add this huge HOPE sign when you walk up into the International Plaza meeting area. When Jeff and I saw it, we just laughed and confirmed that we would probably be having another little girl and naming her Hope. As time would soon tell us, another little girl was indeed on the way and in God’s masterful plan for our family. The name Hope means “an expectation,” which is fitting considering she is making us wait to meet her. (Her sister came a week early, and so high were our expectations to meet this child around Valentine’s Day.) But there’s always beauty in the wait time. If you sit long enough and look at it, there’s peace in the waiting rooms of life. The middle name we chose for our second-born is Elizabeth and perhaps this is where my real main point kicks off (if you’re still reading this far! :) ) The name Elizabeth means “my oath is God” or “my satisfaction is God.” At first, I almost inadvertently wrote “my satisfaction is FROM God,” but I caught myself because that’s completely different than “my satisfaction IS God.” All that to say, for Jeff and me and the rest of my family and friends awaiting the arrival of this precious new life, Hope Elizabeth, we can learn from her very name that while we wait in the time of expectation, our satisfaction IS God.

What does that mean for the rest of you?

Think about your life and whatever current situation has you sitting in the waiting room of life.

Is it a job interview hanging in the balance? 

Is it a phone call you’re anxiously awaiting to hear how it’ll alter the course of your life in one way or another?

Is it a new relationship forming, one currently on the rocks, one slipping by a thread, etc.? 

Is it something medical, personal, financial, emotional, etc.?

Is it something you’ve been praying for a breakthrough for what seems to be far-too-long?

Whatever it is in your life today, think on that situation for a moment.

While you wait and have an expectation for your desired result in that situation, remind yourself that no matter what the outcome in reality is (and even while you wait to find out the outcome) that God IS your oath, your promise, and your satisfaction. The truth is you may not get your outcome today. Or tomorrow. Or next week, even. Once it comes, the outcome you get may not even be the desired outcome you wanted or prayed earnestly for. And if the outcome is your end-all-be-all, you'll most definitely be disappointed. BUT, if you choose to remind yourself and dwell on the fact that God is your oath, your promise, and your satisfaction - both in the wait time and the final outcome - you'll experience exactly the purpose the situation came into your life to begin with - seeing God Himself and knowing Him in a deeper, more personal way than before that situation crossed your life's path.

That, my friends, is what waiting for little Miss Hope (“an expectation”) Elizabeth (“my oath is God” or "God is satisfaction”) Hazard has taught me. And I hope it taught and encouraged your heart a little bit as well.

And now, child, you can be born. Any. Day. Now. Preferably, today. [Notice the focus of this blog was not on patience. haha] ;)