Too close to the fence

(Caution: graphic pictures are included in this post)

It all started two weeks ago. Our four girls were off at activities and the boys and their friends were jumping on the trampoline and playing in the grass with our dog Sadie. My friend and I were talking as we watched the kids run around in the back yard.

Sadie—as she usually does—began running along the fence line playing with the neighbor’s two German shepherds. An activity I had always encouraged in hopes to get her at least five minutes of exercise each day. She always got a rush of energy when they were running the fence with her. I have always just assumed they were her only friends—and I think she did too.

So for the millionth time—on her own side of the fence—Sadie got a jolt of energy and booked it down the fence line . . . playing their usual game. Prepared to run a race she would never win, be defeated, go back inside and fall asleep on the couch. It was the same every time . . . until that day.

Sadie was only half way down the fence line when all of the sudden she appeared to be stuck on something. At first I didn’t comprehend what was happening, but as I ran towards the commotion—of Teage’s panicked cry and dogs making noises—I could see that the two German shepherds had both stuck their noses between the slats in the fence and were clamped down with their jaws tight on our dog—their bodies still in their own yard. They began to try to pull her—in opposite directions—through the slits between the wrought iron posts.

I knew in that moment she was gone. She wasn’t making a noise—as one of the dogs was pretty much clamping down on her airway—and her eyes were rolled back in her head. But I also knew I wasn’t going to let them destroy her body—any more than it already was—in front of my babies. So I did what any mama bear would do . . . I decided to fight.

In complete shock, Teage and I began punching, kicking, yelling, and crying . . . begging these animals to set her free. To no avail Sadie was still being pulled through two separate openings—she would never fit through—by two different mouths.

I began to scream at the top of my lungs, hoping for anyone around to come and help me set her free so we could give her a proper burial. Soon, a few neighbors came running to the rescue. It took 3 adults and one ten year old punching and kicking for a few minutes to get the other dogs to let her go, and once they did . . . she took a breath.

She was still alive! Mangled, bleeding, and full of holes and shaking with fear—but alive.

The whole left side of her body was covered in blood and teeth marks—some so deep you could see her insides. Sadie got a lot of stitches that night. The doctor in the ER vet clinic said her extra fat saved her life (A lesson we might want to consider this holiday season. “I am eating for my safety!”.) Then—with the help of some miracle worker doctors—she was sent home to recover the very next morning.

For someone who has suffered with PTSD for the past six and half years, I can’t say I didn’t fall into a state of intense fear most of that night.  The “WHY US”—“why my son who already struggles with fear of the unknown” ate at me for the hours I sat waiting. I covered the gamete on victim pity parties in my mind. I quickly went through the grief cycle as I waited in a room for hours, to see if the dog—I bought for my kids as a therapy healing animal—was going to make it.  And I sobbed even harder the next morning when she came home with a heartbeat, but looked like she wished she was dead.

I cried for her pain, for the struggle—I feared—this moment of trauma was going to play in the lives of my already hurting children. I struggled with a belief racked in fear that has tried to haunt me many times before. I do not have the ability to protect them. The evidence had never felt so strong as this scene had played out in the safety of our own property . . . while I stood by.

I know now that those fears that came into my mind—as I thought I was failing yet again— . . . they aren’t true.

So two weeks later I want to share a few things I have learned from a moment of fear.

#1. We are not promised tomorrow. Literally the day before, I said—out loud and on Instagram—how grateful I am for such a perfect dog. I thought in that moment, those words left my lips, that maybe she was God’s way of blessing us for all the hell we have been through. Then—not even 24 hours later—I thought we had lost her forever. Not because of anything we did or did not do . . . but because life is full of bumps in the road and fences we must not walk too close to.

#2. There are going to be “German Shepherds” in our lives. Obviously I am not talking about the breed. There are many of these dogs that have saved lives and been life long companions for people. I am talking about traumatic moments—someone or something coming out of nowhere and tearing you down. Some—we might not ever see coming. Some are merely the voices we hear in our minds—threatening us to just give up. Some are going to be real life bad guys with guns—others might be threats to our marriages, or bullies at school. Whatever our “German Shepherds” have been or will be . . . they are unique to each of us individually. They can either cause us to give up . . . or they can give us a reason to fight—a reason to stand a little taller . . . or for me this week, stand a little more grateful.

#3. Sometimes we might not see the wolves in sheep clothing, and learn through a lot of pain that some don’t want to be the friend we hoped they were. Other times we might gain a friend in someone we thought was out to get us.

#4. Sometimes—just like Daniel in the Bible— we will be thrown into a lion’s den. Sometimes God will calm the lions, and other times He will send a miracle in a different way.  On this day in my backyard . . . I saw hundreds of them.

#5. We cannot walk too close to the fence. There are some things in this world that just make sense. We can clearly see the consequences of walking along the edge of a cliff . . . because we can easily see what can go wrong. But how many situations do we encounter each day that the outcomes are not as clear?

If there is something in your life that you keep taking a risk for—that maybe isn’t really going to be worth it in the end—take a few steps back, it just might save your life.

#6. No matter how hard we work, or how much money we spend to help someone heal—we don’t get to decide how they will receive it. We cannot force them to accept our “love” and our “knowledge” of what is best for them.

Sadie was stitched up from head to toe. She didn’t eat much for days. She hardly moved at all. But once she started healing and those stitches started itching, she decided, one day, to use her back leg to not only dig out her stitches but to reopen the biggest wound she had received from her attack. Blood everywhere again. More pain.

#7. If we want to heal, we can’t keep reopening our wounds. We have to let others do their jobs to help us. We have to let stitches heal before we try to take them out ourselves. Some things do take time. And others  . . . though in the moment seem to feel good to make it hurt again—maybe aren’t worth digging back up.

#8. Some fences are not built well enough to keep the darkness out. But some of the fences and walls—we create for ourselves—are the very things that are not letting the light in.

You guys know my story. There have been other “German Shepherds” . . . and fences that should have been avoided. So today I plead with you—those who have the ability to take a step back. Run. Find fences and company that are worth living for . . . and are not posing as a friend in a safe back yard.

Our relationships, our decisions, our integrity . . . they matter. Don’t walk too close to the fence. Decide now what side you want to be on, and don’t let anyone try to pull you through to the other side—first of all, you don’t fit. Second of all . . . the grass isn’t always greener over there.

And when those “German shepherds” come—and they will come—just don’t forget who you are. It isn’t what we go through, but what we become after the pain that makes all the difference. Yes we may carry scars, and have wounds we are tempted to open up again and again . . . but we can heal.

(Here she is snuggling me while I type)

If you feel like you have been attacked, belittled, humiliated, and the “German shepherds” around you seem to have forgotten your worth, don’t you dare give up. You aren’t broken. You have so much yet to live for. The world still needs you. And as you heal those fears of all the moments you were not shown the love you deserve . . . just remember—you are still enough . . . broken and all. 

Sometimes we trust, and get hurt any way. Doesn’t mean we didn’t do our best. Having faith in a plan, and having that plan fail us does not have to be evidence of our worthlessness, or a reason for us to loose faith in others. For every “dog” that has attacked, there is another that has brought love and companionship. For every plan that has changed and failed, there is a plan that has changed and brought so much success . . . even joy.

We have to be there for each other. God doesn’t send us one another by accident. An animal that was brought to our family to be a therapy dog . . . is now taking her turn teaching us how to be her “therapy people”.  The circle of life doesn’t always have to bring death.

Healing isn’t easy, but it is possible. So Sadie, though I know you will never read this post. Thanks for being strong—for fighting for another day. For reminding me—AGAIN—how I need to make the most of every moment and never take advantage of all I have been given. Also, thanks for showing these kids how to fight—and giving them a new hope that not every attack ends in death.

Today as you assess the fences you walk . . . just remember as wounds heal, the pain does too. If you are holding on to a pain of a wound that has long since healed physically, maybe today it is time to stop digging in a letting it hurt you emotionally or mentally. Ask for the help you need, there are people who can help you stitch it up once and for all. You will see miracles as you pray for grace.

Life is too hard to do it alone. We need each other. And we don’t just need each other’s presence . . . we need each other’s love. Perfectly imperfect love. Don’t walk too close to the fence, but don’t be afraid to make room—on your side—for the people who need you the most.

He never said it would be easy . . . just worth it.

Putting Yourself Out There

Today I got a guest post emailed to me by a super hot guy I know! I didn't even know he was working on it until it hit my inbox. 

 So from the desk of Shawn Birk . . . 

Putting Yourself Out There

We all have done it, haven’t we?  I am doing it right now, by writing this post. You see the great thing about putting yourself out there is the rawness of emotion. Its real, it’s sincere, it’s genuine, and for most, it is coming to a realization about one’s self. I am not really sure why I started to write about this, other than; it feels as if we all are hurting right now. We are hurting as a World, a Nation, as a Father, Mother, Son, Daughter, Husband or Wife. So while being vulnerable and exposed is scary, I believe it is exactly what we ALL need, and we need it right now.

I want to enlighten us with words of inspiration, with insight that is so profound it can change the way that we view ourselves, our relationships, and beliefs of our own potential. Something said that completely changes the way we live, think, and more importantly speak and feel about each other. The truth is, I got nothing!

I could go on for days upon days about what is wrong with everyone else. My wife, my boss, my parents, my children, other people’s relationships…and definitely about strangers! I could from the outside, dissect and analyze everyone else’s problems, shortcomings and failures. That’s easy! Can I do the same about myself? Not a chance. When we look inward, it’s a whole different ball game. So let’s play ball. Let’s get real.  Put yourself out there, because by doing that, by being meek and humble, the real process of change begins.

For the last year I have been an interested spectator, in what has turned out to be a very…well…let’s say unique election year. I have watched, listened and have been sickened by the tone and example that our “leaders” display.  We have witnessed constant disrespect, dishonesty, disingenuous, and disgusting rhetoric that has become somehow acceptable in our daily interactions as a Nation. Two things… one, those were lots of disses, and two, how far have we fallen as a God loving, God fearing Nation? It has affected me in ways that I really haven’t realized until now. You see the most disturbing part of watching the elections play out on the National stage has been coming to a realization that my own life has mimicked the state of our Nation.

What do I mean by that, you may ask?

In a lot of ways I am jaded; ineffective, intolerant, unwilling to compromise or change…I have for all intents and purposes become The United States of America.  It is hard to look at myself and think that I share a lot of attributes that I find so repulsive in our society currently. I don’t want to be this, I don’t want to look for the negative first, I don’t want to unleash a preemptive attack in order to protect myself. I don’t want to build a “wall” in order to keep others out of my bubble, I don’t want to live a life that only appreciates and understands those who think like me. I don’t want to be dishonest; I don’t want to destroy my relationships with others. I don’t want to be that guy, but the thought of being rejected, not understood, not loved, not appreciated and valued seems to drive a lot of these behaviors.

So what does this have to do with putting yourself out there? EVERYTHING!

For me, putting myself out there means that I acknowledge my own “stuff”. Recognizing when I hurt others by sharp words, or when my pride has hindered my ability to mend a relationship. When I place my own interests above others, or fail to compromise. The list goes on and on, but until we can humble ourselves and for one second forget the “what about me” mentality, the change will never happen. 

The amazing thing about this life and journey is we have the power to change; we can reinvent our lives and rewrite our story.  I have the ability right now to decide that I will speak a little bit kinder, that I will be more understanding, more forgiving, empathetic, more Christ like. Instead of looking for fault, I will find virtue, instead of being quick to anger; I will be quick to forgive. Instead of tearing down, I will build up, instead of being selfish; I will be selfless, because after all I am my brother’s keeper.

So today, our Nations election day is a day of renewal, a day of hope, and a day of change. When we all commit to being better than we were yesterday, treating others with respect, understanding, compassion and love, the change is inevitable.

Anything but normal

Last night I was getting frustrated with my washing machine. A few months back it started acting up and wouldn't add water into the tank. I experimented and found that if I ran it on the delicate cycle it worked just fine. Then I tried the bedding cycle—worked perfectly. So I tried, on the third load, to go back to the normal setting and run it again. Nothing. Dry as a bone. 

So for the last few months—instead of calling a repairman like a "normal" person—I have just run the machine on all the settings, except normal. Yesterday my frustrations were reignited when I forgot and tried to run the machine on the normal setting. Figuring out at the end of the cycle that the machine hadn’t even begun to do its job. The clothes had gone through the cycle, but since no water had been added to the machine they were still dry . . . and dirty.

What is normal? A destination we want to reach? What we think others are—and we should want to become? Is the ideal of “normal” something that inspires us to set goals, or just a word that makes us believe we aren’t good enough the way we are?

 Normal. It is just a setting on my washing machine, but as of right now, even on my washing machine “normal” is pretty useless.

What is normal in an individual? And in a family? I think we all have an idea of what a family should look like—an ideal setting in which we want to strive to live. As individuals we set goals to become something we are not currently living as, and hopes for what we want others to become. Only in families, when we have our heart set on “normal” we almost always fail, because the truth is: “normal” isn’t real.

NONE of us are normal. And just like my washer, no matter how many times I try to force it into that “setting”—or we try to live in the belief of becoming “normal”—or mistakenly forget that it doesn’t work for us—but accidently try to start using it again—something is going to go wrong. We stop living life as us, and begin aspiring to an unachievable goal. And we go through the motions—of the “normal” life . . . but in the end we are still just a pile of dirty clothes. Sometimes wondering if we are in the wrong place because our path doesn’t look like we thought that it should. Our families feel anything but normal and we start to wonder if our need to feel “normal” would better be achieved somewhere else.

So where do we reach that goal? Can it ever be achieved in the un“normal” settings we have all been placed in? We want to be happy, but our belief that we first have to be normal . . . is making us miserable.

Look at your family. They are everything but “normal” right? Ya. Me too. But they are right where we belong.

Every family looks different. Some have only one parent. Some have no children. Some families are two families blended together into one. Some kids have to go back and forth between two houses—other kids wished they had a house to live. Some children have a birth mom and live with parents who look nothing like them. In some households everyone looks almost exactly the same. Some couples wished they could have a baby—others don’t know what to do with the news that a baby is on the way. 

Humans. Not one of us is the same. We each have a story—a unique journey that has made us who we are. Some of us were planned—some of us were surprises. Some of us have dark skin— others have light. Some of us have brown eyes, and others got their blue eyes from a father they have never met. But not one of us is normal. And we were never supposed to be. Unique and different from one person to another—and one family to the next.

So many nights I have cried with a prayerful plea that I could just be “normal” again. Some of these moments have been a cry for the pain to be taken from me; others a hope that my past could be erased. Some days have been a wish that one of our daughters didn’t have to flip flop between two houses, and the others didn’t have to know firsthand what murder was. “Normal” began to be a destination I thought I could fight to reach—but every day I see that it is a mystical place that no one was ever supposed to be.

Satan uses it as a goal we are supposed to strive for, so we always wonder what is wrong with us. Never fully living in our own truths—always having a thought at the back of our mind that our differences keep us from that goal.

So in light of our very un“normal” blended family’s anniversary I petition that we ban the normal setting in our minds—just like my washing machine—and start seeing the good that comes from looking at our families, and ourselves, with the delicate setting as our goal.

God believes in you. He believes in families. He believes in love. He believes in making right our wrongs. He believes in us . . . as broken, blended, delicate, fractured, and imperfect as we are.

So to all my un“normal” friends. Thanks for loving the broken me, that has shared my heart with all of you. Thanks for believing in this far from “normal” blended family that I get to call mine every single day. Thanks for living your stories, as hard and emotional as they have been. For sharing your struggles and triumphs with me and helping me understand how special each journey can be.

Normal really is just a setting on a washing machine—and if you ask me it is over rated. You are delicate, and your life is beautiful. With all the bumps and bruises, and smiles in between.

Five years ago Shawn and I made the biggest decision of our lives. We became a blended family.

Has it been easy? Nope. Were we prepared for it? No. Has it been perfect? Not at all. Have there been days when one or the other of us has thought we made a mistake and wished we could just be "normal"? Absolutely.  

But I would do it all again . . .

The crazy part of life is that we never know what it has in store. We can try to map it out, and create plans but the truth is, the only thing we can plan is that our map will have some twists and turns. 

Be prepared to take some leaps. Be willing to jump. Have faith that God's plan will be greater than the one you always thought you would live. And then live it. Own it. And make the most of every moment. Like it was all on purpose. 

Happy Anniversary to the man who has stood by my side through the hardest of days—but also the sweetest of memories. I don’t know how we made it through, but I am so thankful I am here with you. There has been nothing normal about our life, but I love that we fight every day to live it.

Love you Shawn.

Post about our marriage: 
http://www.themomentswestand.com/2014/05/what-if-i-jump.html

Let me feel . . . so I can let go

First off . . . don't you love the random faces Youtube pics to set as the video picture? Yes, me too. 

Thank you for your sweet emails, those of you who have been sharing how these tools have helped strengthened your relationships these last few weeks. 

I am so grateful for modern technology that lets me record my thoughts I want to blog about on days where I have no time! Today on my grocery store outing I starting thinking about many things. A friend who's husband passed away last week and other friends struggling to find ways to help her family; some of my kids who are struggling; my own marriage that seems to have ups and downs daily. And how to apply all the truths I know to these relationships and scenerios.

And as I have been learning new skills, I am trying so hard to apply them! Like I said the other day . . . we all want to be better than we were the day before. Application comes a lot less natural than the learning of new ideas. So we need to be patient with ourselves. We won't be perfect right away. It is application and testing that will help us really gain a strong testimony of the skills we learn. The universe has defiantly been putting mine to the test and asking me to learn to be more patient and loving along the way. 

One day at a time friends. One day at a time. We are all overwhelmed, tired, worn down, and exhausted some days. Tired of doing the same patterns that get us to a place where we feel we aren't being heard or seen in the way we want to be. 

Imperfect beings striving to live perfectly in an imperfect world . . . well not today. Today we embrace our fears, or anger, and our hurt. Not to allow them to be our allies anymore hiding deep inside, trying to "protect us" from pain. But embrace them and allow them to feel so they can stop fighting and begging to have all the power. 

Kind of like a young child who acts out, because any attention is better than no attention, our emotions will continue to cry from the pit we have hid them in until we can acknowledge them in healthy ways. 

The people around us need that as well. To feel validated and seen. Acknowledging their struggle, without forcing your view on how they can fix it, can and will change your relationships. You will become a safe place for others to use as a sounding board as they fight their own battles and find answers to their problems. 

I am learning so many knew things and I enjoy sharing and learning from all of you. 

What things are you learning or trying today to make your world a better place? I would love to hear from you. Leave a comment or email me topics you want to hear about, or struggles you are overcoming with new skills! We are all in this together. We are fighting similar battles, just different wars. But we aren't alone. Thank goodness for that.