Nicole K. Twedt

Being Brave When Life Is Hard

Scars

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Mid-February, 2017

I’m struggling lately over brokenness, my brokenness, and the scars of my past.  I’m wrestling with the wounds of grief, loss of many kinds, and basically I’m feeling like I’ve been kicked around, tossed aside and thrown in a ditch at the side of the road, an attempted homicide of the heart gone terribly wrong.

I don’t believe in coincidence.  I believe in God’s mighty love, quick to save at just the right moment.  Basically, at the very moment I was falling apart he gave me the charge to write.  And confirmed it in a mighty way through Courtney who didn’t have a clue what was going on, or what my struggles were.  So for the last week of writing I can honestly say that I’m no longer falling apart.  I shouldn’t be surprised.  It’s always when I begin to listen to what God is saying to my heart, that my soul quiets down and rests.   I just had to get over myself and write to get there.

Just like that, writing has lifted my overwhelmed soul and brought life to these tired bones.  Most of these blog posts will never see the light of day, and that’s okay.  I have to process all these feelings somewhere.

There’s something else.  About a year ago I started a Bible Study with a group of friends.  Due to the craziness of life, family schedules and other commitments, we never were able to get past a week or so of study.  It’s an old Beth Moore study, Beloved Disciple.

I have run from writing, but I have been running from him as well.  I felt God calling my heart back to Bible Study.  It’s strange, and funny, and so like God that in week 3, where we left off, is all about grief, how the disciples, particularly John, would have felt during the time between the capture of Jesus in the garden, his crucifixion and his appearance to Mary Magdalene and the disciples.  I didn’t see that one coming.  How perfect that a study I started a year ago, from a study that was published in 2002, is exactly what I needed today.  I marvel at his tenderness and perfect way of coming to me at just the right moment.  Hope wasn’t lost after all.  Oh, I was holding on to hope for sure, always a flicker of hope, but the flicker was loosing some of its wonder trapped under the weight of my brokenness.

Beth reminds us of the story of how Jesus came to his dear ones, the disciples, and showed them his scars.  And it hit me, I’m struggling with brokenness, with my scars.  What a comforting reminder, to know Jesus still has scars.  He conquered the grave but he was scarred nonetheless, like me.  And those precious scars remind us of his great love and resurrection power.

I feel comforted at last and so, well normal!  Grieving is a part of life, a normal part of life, even if hurts.

I read recently in a Facebook article (because I am very scientific in my research), that scar tissue is stronger than regular skin.  I don’t know if this is true.  And I’m too tired to Google it.  But I will hold to the belief that God is going to use this messy part of life for his glory.  That the gruesome details of my story will be what draws me closer to him as I write, and what keeps drawing me near so that I can cheer others as they run the into his arms.

Good News

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From February 11, 2017

I’m basically copying and pasting something I wrote as my Facebook status after Steven’s appointment.

To all of my friends familiar with Steven’s vision story: we received the best news from his pediatric optometrist yesterday.  For the next three months we only have to patch two, yes two, hours a day!  In almost eight years, minus the times we’ve had to use eye drops to blur vision or left a contact out to act like patching during infancy and toddlerhood, we have never, ever had to patch for only two hours!

You guys, this news is the best news ever!  I’m so thankful and excited and absolutely feeling every single feeling in between, and you all know I have big feelings.

Not only that, Steven’s behavior was nothing short of amazing during the exam!  He even held the door open for me several times.  He was polite and conversed well with Dr. P.  For those who know my out-of-the-box child, you know this was a day of double miracles.

The heart of this mama was dreading Steven’s appointment.  We’ve received such good news, but also much bad news during our visits with the pediatric optometrist.  I will praise God after each type of visit, but oh, what a relief!

In response to our good news, the Presbyterian girl in me can’t help thinking of the Doxology.  My voice is shot from this cold and I can’t breathe well enough to sing it, but I’ll write it here for you, after all, writing is my jam.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;

praise him, all creatures here below;

praise him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Amen.

Hygge

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Originally a MOPS Mentor Moment, January 2017

I love words.  And I have a new favorite word to share with you.  I’m going to geek out a bit and introduce you to the Oxford Dictionaries’ 2016 word of the year: Hygge.  Hygge is a Danish practice that’s all about creating a warm atmosphere and enjoying the simple things in life with your people.  Instead of fighting against the colder months of the year, Hygge embraces them.  It’s the art of getting cozy in a difficult season.

Hygge is how I view motherhood.  The days are hard but filled with moments worth embracing.  The baby might be teething and the preschooler is having an epic meltdown, but we get to hold them in our arms and comfort them.  We won’t get to do this for long.   Just ask my now 10, 8 and 5-year-old.  They don’t want me to hold them.

Hygge reminds me of the verse “…Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right and pure, and lovely, and admirable.  Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise (Philippians 4:8b).”  Paul wasn’t talking about winter or motherhood when he wrote to the Philippians, I know.  But his letter reminds me to cling to the hidden gems throughout my days and hold onto them during challenging moments.  I urge you to gather your friends, perhaps a few from MOPS, and embrace this season of life instead of fight against it.

Originally, I was going to end this little hygge/motherhood analogy with the “whatever is lovely” verse, give a few examples of how you can get cozy with your kids, and call it a day.  But I need to add something.  It’s okay not to feel the love all the time and cherish every moment of the season.   There’s nothing pretty about projectile vomit.  Potty training is messy.  Tantrums in the middle of Costco are terrible, I know, I’ve been there.  And sometimes, we need to seek professional help or find a safe person to talk to before we can truly embrace the season.  And that’s okay, too.  Because this season you are in, the season of raising little ones, it’s hard work.

You also need to know that God is there.  He is there in the Costco aisle when your kid is screaming from the cart and you want to scream along with him.  True story.  He is there in the ungodly hour of 3 a.m. when your baby has her days and nights mixed up and you haven’t slept since you can’t remember when. He’s close enough to hear a whisper.  He hears your battle cry, and the wail of your broken heart.  He sees your silent tear before it falls.  He collects it in his bottle.  That’s actually a verse.  Psalm 56:8 says, “You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.”

I love the idea of Hygge, of getting cozy and embracing the season, especially the season of motherhood.  I loved having tiny ones in our home.  But if I’m honest, I have to say I’m a little shell-shocked from it all.  My husband and I have battle wounds from raising children, mostly from strong-willed toddlers and preschoolers.  I’m giving you permission to look for the lovely in mothering but also acknowledge the ugly because life with littles is filled with tender moments but it’s also very hard.  And it’s okay to say it out loud.

Lord, help us rise to the task of doing what you called us to do.  Help each mama here take notice of the glories along the way.  Help us know we are not alone and remind us to cry out to you for help.  Restore us so we can go from here, free to love and care for the little people and the big people you’ve given us.   In Jesus’s name, Amen.