You. ARE. S-E-E-N.

"Doesn't he see everything I do and every step I take?" Job 31:4, NLT

I am beginning to truly understand the truth that we all have an innate, deep-seated need to be SEEN. God makes it clear throughout His Word that HE sees us--each and every single one of us. He says that He has counted the very hairs on my head, even! 
Matthew 10:29-31, NLT: "29 What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. 30 And the very hairs on your head are all numbered.31 So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows."

God SEES me in such a way that He even catches my tears and keeps them in a bottle: Psalm 56:8, NLT, "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book."

My God loves me so much that he has counted the very hairs on my head and He keeps track of all my sorrows, collecting my very tears in His bottle. And just in case we still wonder whether or not God SEES and loves us, He also sings over us with JOY: Zephaniah 3:17New Living Translation (NLT),

17 "For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.[a]
    He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

Wow. Knowing how much God loves and SEES me is truly powerful. A game-changer. Comforting.

But. . . .

I still want to know that the people I am in contact with on a daily basis SEE me. Lord, please forgive me, but in spite of the fact that I KNOW YOU SEE me, I still need to know that others SEE me, too. I want to be noticed. I want to be affirmed. I want those around me to LOOK at ME--to SEE and KNOW the real ME. While I am truly scared for it to happen, I would love it if just one person would SEE my mask and know it for what it is. I need for someone--an earthly being--to stand with me and SEE me for who I really am--with and without the mask I wear, pretending to be someone I'm not, pretending to be "Peachie" when I'm not. . .Pretending.

If just one person would slow down long enough to LOOK at me, he/she would SEE the pain and sorrow that I struggle with on a daily, hour-by-hour basis. If just one person would slow down long enough to LOOK at me, he/she would SEE that I am silently screaming for attention, to be noticed. 

One of my favorite tv shows is the original CSI [Las Vegas]. Early in the show's career, they did an episode where a guy is killed on an airplane which means that someone on the plane killed him. They discovered that several of the passengers had beaten up on the guy because he had gone crazy and was trying to open the door while in mid-flight. What they discovered, though, was that the reason the guy had gone so wacko was because he was sick. He was suffering. But no one noticed that he was sick. Not one person noticed that he was sweating bullets in spite of the air blowing right on him. No one noticed that he was shaky and incoherent--without having had anything alcoholic to drink. The CSI team deduced that if just ONE PERSON had LOOKED at this guy, really and truly LOOKED at him and had SEEN him, his life could have been saved.

I think of that episode a lot. It comes to my mind more often than I can even explain. If just ONE person had SEEN....

There is a poem by Stevie Smith called "Not Waving but Drowning." The poem is about a guy who has died because when everyone thought he was waving, he was, in truth, drowning, so no one helped him. Everyone is too far out or just not paying enough attention to notice that he was in trouble. If just ONE person had noticed, had looked, had SEEN....

When I see someone acting out--making a scene, my heart breaks because that person simply wants to be SEEN.

Remember when we were kids--or if you have kids, do you remember them....shouting, "Mom! Look! Look, Mom! Watch me! Mom! Look at me! Watch what I can do!" And there was nothing for it but to watch. To look. To SEE. 

As we grow older and enter school, we are SEEN less and less. Our teachers have a classroom full of students--typically no fewer than 20 in any given classroom. When I was growing up, I remember there being no fewer than 30 in some of my classes. In college, the number was multiplied by at least 3 in many of my classes--especially my freshman classes. As students, we get lost in the sea of other students--all of us wanting to be SEEN.

As a teacher myself--I have been for just under 20 years, I can tell you that it is more than a challenge to ensure that each student is truly SEEN. No matter how hard I try, some students demand to be SEEN so much so that, in spite of my best efforts, the others are not. I want it to be different. I want each and every single student who sits in my class to be SEEN and to feel SEEN by me. 

I have such a desperate need to be SEEN. I know I cannot be--that I am not--the only one who feels this way. I would like to throw out the crazy idea that even the shyest among us just want to be SEEN. The shy might not want to be pointed out, spoken to, or made to speak in class, but they do still want to be SEEN--and to be allowed to be SHY without being made to feel as if they are doing something wrong or that there is something wrong with them because they are shy.

When I am honest with myself, I have to admit that sometimes I do certain things just because I am so very desperate to be SEEN. I know that it is impossible to give equal attention to all. That is a simple, but difficult, truth of the reality of life. It is the way it is. But even knowing that truth, it still hurts when others within my sphere get more attention, are SEEN, more than I am. When our boss acknowledges his/her good work on a project...when the higher ups give kudos to the guy down the hall because he gave a presentation at a conference...when students in my class tell me how much they love another professor....when....and the list goes on and on.

In my deepest place of knowing, I realize that I am not "overlooked"--at least, not on purpose. Sometimes it is perception rather than truth that I am overlooked. I may have received accolades the week before and now it's someone else's turn. Or maybe the other person is given kudos because it is the first time that he/she has ever done anything above and beyond the norm. When I take a step back and look at the big picture, I can acknowledge that no one person is being shown favoritism. It is just my perception because in that moment, I am not being SEEN.

Most of us have heard or even quoted the saying that we should be kind to all because we never know what the other person is going through. Almost every single person I have ever met in my 46 years is dealing with some issue that is making life difficult. If you have been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I have experienced child loss 3 separate times and that I have dealt with severe health issues for many years. Not to mention the lack of self-esteem, the depression, anxiety, marriage problems, and just plain wondering if life was even worth living. I have my good days. I have my bad days. And on my good days, they can become bad days in the blink of an eye when I am not SEEN--when someone says or does something insensitive. My heart can break and I can go from "Peachie" to "Help me, Lord! I'm slipping!" (Psalm 94:18, NLT) in 0.0 seconds flat.

There are two lessons that we can learn here:

1. truly SEE the people around you--LOOK at them--PAY ATTENTION to your loved ones and SEE beyond the masks, SEE beyond the pretence that all is just "fine";

and

2. accept that those around you are not perfect and that they are NOT your enemy--you are NOT being ignored or forgotten--others are so busy trying to be SEEN that they are not aware of the fact that you want to be SEEN, too. So give others the benefit of the doubt and treat them the way you want to be treated: 

SEE them.

Fears after Child Loss

From the moment of hearing that our precious James Isaac no longer had a heartbeat, I have had two fears: 

1. that he would be forgotten
2. that he would be remembered

Let me explain the second fear first since I'm sure that seems strange to you. After the loss of a loved one, especially a child, hearing the loved one's name brings a feeling that is super difficult to explain. Those who have experienced it will know what I'm talking about. It's kind of like having butterflies in your stomach when you're nervous before a test or recital or the like, but yet it's MORE. 

My heart flutters, my stomach drops down into my toes, the butterflies fly en masse, my heart stops beating, my face goes red, my face blanches, I feel faint, I feel like running [away]. The feeling is even worse when someone I don't know or who never knew my James Isaac (or Panya Ruth or Anna Rose) says his name (or their names). Or when someone I'm not too terribly fond of says his (their) name.

It is difficult to hear the name of my beloved son and those of his sisters spoken out loud. In my grieving, I have found it super difficult to say their names myself. I went a long time not even being able to write their names. I still hesitate and have to remind myself to breathe when I say their names. 

Why? You may ask and it is a valid question--especially if you haven't experienced such loss. Because their names bring the memories to the forefront--again--flooding back to the surface like a tsunami, ready to drown me in sorrow once again. The pain of my losses is ALWAYS just below the surface as it is; it's always ready to explode at the slightest provocation, especially when someone speaks their name. Most of the time, I can smile and laugh and LIVE and function in as normal a manner as possible--living in the full JOY of the Lord. But it only takes one tiny thing, saying his name, to open the floodgates.

But I NEED to hear his name--their names. I NEED to know that they are remembered. I mean, come on. I carried James Isaac to term. I was at 38 weeks when we discovered his heart was no longer beating. And while Panya Ruth and Anna Rose were both gone by my 11th week, my heart had already fallen in love with them the same way it had for the one I carried full term. My babies LIVED. Just because the state of North Carolina never gave me a birth certificate doesn't mean that they didn't live. My heart, my body, and my very soul know that each one was just as alive and whole as the one son I have here with me, Samuel. (Samuel is my rainbow baby just recently turned 16!)

So when I received the following note just a few weeks ago, the emotions that ran through me are next to impossible to describe:

My heart.

Ben's mom, Leslie, and I worked together at the same school and we were both pregnant at the same time. I was about two months further along than she was, but we were close enough that we developed a quick, easy, and strong relationship in our shared joy of pregnancy. We are close in age and have many similar interests and personality traits. It was a JOY to be pregnant together. (This picture is of us at Miami Beach when we took our Seniors on their Senior trip. That's Ben in her very pregnant belly.)

We often talked about the play dates our boys would have and how they would grow up together as the closest of friends, just like their moms. It is a treasured time in my life.

But then James Isaac was stillborn, born still, born silent.

Leslie was there to hold my hand, to comfort, to pray with me, and to just BE with me. She was a true FRIEND in my hour of need and I will NEVER forget that she felt as if she had lost her child, too. It meant so much to me that she loved my Precious so very much. I was able to visit and hold and love on Ben soon after he was born and Leslie came to see us two years later when my Samuel was born.

But over the years, we both moved on to other jobs and we simply have not been able to hang out and do things together. We have managed to stay connected via Facebook, which has been wonderful!! We haven't actually seen each other in 16 years.

And then Ben's note arrived in the mail. 

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Watson,

            For as far back as I can remember, my Mom has told me about the sweet teacher friend she had when she worked at TCCS. I grew up hearing about how you and she were carrying babies at the same time and that your boy and I were supposed to be playmates and close friends. Every time something big or realy [sic] special happened in my life, my Mom and I would take a little time to remember him and your family.

A few weeks before his 18^th birthday you wrote a blog about all the things you and he wouldn’t be doing. My Mom read that blog to me, and I knew right away something I wanted to do. I want you to know that you are special to me even though we don’t realy [sic] know each other. And even though James Isaac and I didn’t get to physically grow up together I still knew him. I have carried him with me my whole life.

And if it would be okay with you, I would like to write his name inside my Mortar Board along with my name so that we can across that stage together on June 9^th. I would love to see you there if that wouldn’t be too difficult. If you can’t I will understand. I just want you to know that he’s always been with me.

Love,

Benjamin Heath Benson”

Distance doesn't matter in the slightest when a friend is real and true. Time doesn't matter in the slightest when a friend is real and true. Leslie is both. And to learn that she remembered my James Isaac to such a degree that she told her son Ben all about him and about our dreams for our boys made my heart do all kinds of crazy wonderful things. My heart was truly full to bursting. I messaged Leslie and told her that I would be at Ben's graduation--as would my husband James and my Samuel.

There are no words for the JOYFUL SORROW I have experienced over the past several weeks and especially as we watched Ben cross the stage last night at his high school graduation. All I can do is tell my precious friend, Leslie, and her wonderful son, Ben--THANK YOU. Thank you. Thank you.

I love you dearly and I always will.

 

And I can't help including a picture of Leslie and me with our students at their Senior Formal.

When the Music Begins

"Why are you so eager to die?"--writing prompt (following is what came from this prompt)**Revised**

When the Music Begins

        Frustrated, she screamed and swiped the papers, pens, pencils, knick-knacks, snacks, and drinks off the top of the piano. She repeatedly banged her head on the piano top, screaming incoherently through each pounding. The tears flowed freely. She was powerless to stop her temper tantrum, as she called it; others might have called it an anxiety attack or something more meaningful. She hated herself for her lack of control and inability to change anything, for her weakness.

        As if from out of a tunnel, soft moans of “Mom,” “Mo-o-om,” called her back to consciousness. Taking a quick moment to straighten her clothes and then rushing into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face, she plastered on her biggest mommy-is-just-fine smile and went in to her son’s room. She fought the catch in her spirit as she looked once again on his too-tiny-for-his-age body. Choking back the sobs, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her Precious into her arms.

        He sighed contentedly as he relaxed into her, his head on her breast, feeling the solid beating of her heart telling him that it beat for him. “Mom?” he coughed.

        She couldn’t stop the tears, but she could control her voice, “Yes, Sugar-Bear?” She ran her fingers through his hair, snuggling him closer and murmuring soft words of comfort.

        “Why were you screaming?”

        “What?” she was horrified that he had heard her. She had been so wrapped up in her own emotions, she had forgotten how thin the walls were.

        “You have to finish it, Mom,” he croaked.

        “No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. . . .”

She wondered “Why are you so eager to die?”

She knew, deep in her very soul, that finishing the song meant his death. There was something un-namable, something un-identifiable about the connection between her writing this song and her son’s life.

        As long as she didn’t finish the song. . . she refused to finish the thought as she rocked her baby back and forth and her arms, still repeating, “No. No. No. No. No. . . .”

        He hugged her back, whispering, “It’s ok, Mom. It’s ok. Yes. It’s ok. It’s ok.”

         She soon felt his little body go slack in her arms. As she tucked him back in for the night, her tears continued flowing steadily. She leaned over to kiss his adorable, somehow-still-plump cheek and noticed a piece of paper clutched in his hand. She gently unfurled his fingers and smoothed out the wrinkles the best she could.

        Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cries even as her mind registered the words written in her son’s baby scribble, “Lord, please tell Mommy that You’ve got this. Jesus, please hold Mommy tight in Your arms as You are already holding me. Tell her it’s ok, Jesus. It’s ok. . . .”

        She crumpled to the floor, grabbed the extra blanket on the bottom of her son’s bed, stifling her sobs. She rocked back and forth, staring at the words on the paper until she could no longer see through her tears.

        After a long time, she gently sat on the edge of the bed and took his slight hand in hers. She kissed each miniscule finger and then held his hand against her cheek as she memorized every inch of her pint-sized Precious.

        Resolved, she quietly stole out of the room and went straight to her piano. She didn’t bother with all the paper and pens. Her heart knew the notes.

        As the angelic music filled the tiny apartment, he smiled in his sleep and dreamed of arms opening wide to welcome him home. . . .

It's All About the Joy, No Sorrow

I don't know where this came from, but the other day, I just blurted out, "It's all about that joy, no sorrow." I know that Meghan Trainor's song has been over-done in recent months and that a lot of people are sick and tired of it. I still like it; it simply has a cute, catchy beat and I can't help but enjoy the song itself. The rhythm just works with so many different thoughts and ideas as the vast number of parodies on youtube show us.

But it's the words that matter more than anything. God is working in my heart through my study on JOY and I simply want to follow what He is doing in me. I still lose my temper. I am still prone to depression. I still have days when I am so sad, I simply don't want to get off my couch. I still wonder how I am going to make it through just one more day.

The miracle, though, is that those days are fewer and farther between my joy-filled days. I LIKE the joy-filled days. I like myself when I am full of joy. I do NOT like myself when I am struggling. I can't imagine that those around like me very much on those days, either.

I had thought that maybe God was going to give me a new focus for 2015, but I it looks like I am simply going to continue focusing on Joy for at least one more year, if not longer. I am very okay with that.

All about that Joy

by Polly Anna Watson,

based on Meghan Trainor’s –

“All About That Bass”

Because you know

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY

Yeah, it's pretty clear, I can jump for JOY

So I can make it, make it

Like I'm supposed to do

Cause I got that bounce bounce that shows all my God’s Grace

And all the right smiles on all the right faces

I got the oil o’ JOY, workin' that happiness

I know that God chose me

C'mon now, make a try

If you got legs and feet, just raise 'em up

Cause every part of you is ready

For all o’ God’s joy and happiness

Yeah, my Bible, it tells me God wants me to be full o’ joy

It says God likes a little more Hallelujahs from you

You know I won't be no bump on a log fixture ‘gainst the wall

So if that's what you're into then go ahead and move along

Because you know I'm

All about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY

Hey!

I'm bringing Happy back

Go ahead and tell them gloomy Guses that

God has poured out His oil o’ on me more than that

But I'm here to tell ya

Every part of you is ready for God’s oil o’ Joy, don’t ya know

Yeah, my Bible it tells me God wants me to be full o’ joy

It says God likes a little more Hallelujahs from you

You know I won't be no bump on a log fixture ‘gainst the wall

So if that's what you're into then go ahead and move along

Because you know I'm

All about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY

Because you know I'm

All about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY

Because you know I'm

All about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY, no sorrow

I'm all about that JOY

'Bout that JOY

'Bout that JOY, 'bout that JOY

Hey, hey, ooh

You know you like this JOY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PCkvCPvDXk