How in the world can my baby sister be turning 32? How is that even possible?

I don’t remember Mom being pregnant with Kristin, but I do remember when Kristin was born. I wanted to name her “Tustin,” after the boy who lived across the street from my aunt. Cut me a break– I was about to turn three.

For the next three years, it was just Dad and the girls: you, me, Mom. I stole all the words and left you with “yip” and “moy” and “mickey.” We did “tricks” on the swingset and looked mighty dapper in our knickers and other matchy-matchy outfits. Kevin came along and we had to unite against violence, hiding in our closet from the assault of a small boy armed with toy weapons we most likely gave him. (What were we thinking?)

We shared a room growing up, my half of the room covered in Hanson and Beatles, your half in Hanson and Backstreet Boys. Kevin would whine if we turned our light on, so we’d sit side by side on my bed, reading by the amber light that came in through the window. (And now we both need glasses/contacts, so that worked out just great, didn’t it?)

You always have my back, and I’ve got yours. You’re a prayer warrior, crazy dedicated, a voracious reader, and my ultimate promoter. You make me happy, and you make me laugh. I adore you and am so happy that we survived a dozen years sharing a room. So many memories: “Princess Pat” and the Janet Jackson dance and “Hey!” from the Beatles. Glad we are still making memories today! I love you so, so, so, so, so much.

I hope you have an amazing 32nd birthday! Can’t wait to celebrate with you soon, Deetie!!!

I can’t get out of bed today. It’s nearly one pm, and I can’t summon much energy or hope, not after last night. I have so many things I want to say. A lot of it isn’t kind. I’m wondering if I say it at all or wait or what. 

Instead, I will speak to my people, the marginalized, the underdogs. The women, those surviving a brain disorder like OCD or otherwise, people of color, the Muslim community, the LGBTQ community:

I love you. I’m a Christ-follower, and by his example, I love. My God’s heart was and is for the people society deems “less than”; mine is too. I stand with you. I fight with you. I’m in your court, shoulder to shoulder with you. I see you. I weep with you. You are my sisters and brothers. 

Tonight I was thinking of the creative process, how when I go big picture, my brain collapses beneath the weight of writing a book. But when I take it day by day, short assignments, bird by bird, the work gets done.

It made me think of manna.

So I reread Exodus 16 in scripture, where God provides bread for the people of Israel every morning. Manna was said to be flake-like, fine as frost, like coriander seed, and tasted like wafers made with honey.

They were to gather each morning just what they needed for the day. All leftovers (except on the Sabbath) stank and had worms. The people had to learn to trust that their needs for that day would be taken care of that day . . . And the next day, there would be new bread and new mercies.

I need to remember this as I write. Today I had the creativity and courage for today. Tomorrow I will get a new batch for my next pages. Man does not live by bread alone after all.

It’s OCD Awareness Week 2016!

Check out the IOCDF page for ways to join in this week, including pre-written things to share on social media.

If you live in the Twin Cities, please join us for our OCD Mini-Conference on Monday night. Details are here. We will have local OCD experts leading sessions, plus the OCD Twin Cities staff (including yours truly) will be leading a roundtable discussion.

Every week I hear from sufferers who still don’t know there is a treatment for OCD. Every week I see the stigma of mental illness still so strong in our culture. OCD Awareness Week moves us one step closer to fixing both of those problems.

Loved this post by my friend Ashley about making time even in the busiest of schedules. I’m really excited to tackle her idea of “theme days.”

The incredible and crass Chuck Wendig talking about how a writer quiets the self-doubt.

Slept about 3.5 hours last night and woke up with my FOOT in pain. Goodness gracious, what did I do now? I’ve been the queen of biofreeze and ice for a week now. I’m stressed about work, stressed about the new software at work, stressed about writing, stressed about my overdue library book, stressed about my messy bedroom, the stack of mail I’ve been ignoring, the chair I bought that is defective, all the bills I need to pay, and the tax forms I need to fill out for Germany’s translation of Truest. 

But I made a list. I iced my foot (and wrists). I returned my library book and paid my fines. I took a nap. I paid my bills, emailed with OCD sufferers, cleaned out my inbox, started the tax form process, cleaned my living room, dealt with the mail, took out the garbage, did laundry, got quotes from cleaning services, and treated myself to ice cream. 

Tomorrow and next week, I will attack work-related issues. Tomorrow night, I will go to the MOA with my favorite nine year old and try to forget everything but making her smile.

I also read an article about depression and remembered where I was at in 2003-2008. That certainly gave me some perspective.

Life is messy and stressful and busy, too busy, but I am capable, creative, and (doing my best to be) faithful. One day–one moment–at a time.