Every morning after the dog takes me for a walk and I plow my way through a workout, I drag myself up the stairs, glass of water in hand, grab my bible and journal and sit at a table on the terrace outside our bedroom. And every morning a little after 6:30 a little old man across the way comes out onto his balcony and throws bread onto the roof of the building beside his for the pigeons and sea gulls. The birds have been trained and are waiting to pounce on the bread. The poor pigeons either swoop in there first or don’t get anything because when those gulls come swarming in all bread is off limits.

Today the man only threw out one piece of bread. I could smell a fight brewing. And brew it did. The pigeons were out of the fight quicker than a feather weight cage fighter up against a heavy weight. It was brutal…wings spread everywhere, loud squawking…terrible, just terrible.

The seagulls were going at it. One had it, then another. Finally I think it’s off when “the boss” of all seagulls comes in and takes the bread. The others seem to back off. But wait…what’s this? A lone gull comes flying through the morning light, swoops majestically down and takes the bread right out the “the boss’ ” beak. He, wisely, flew away from the other birds (the pigeons have been standing around gawking at the fight waiting for the crumbs to fall. Typical) and, I imagine, ate his bread in peace. The other breads were left staring after him. Literally. “The Boss” even had his wings spread out as if to say, “Wait…wh – – wh- – what was that and where’s the…WHAT??” The just stared and stared and stared.

I realized we are a lot like those birds left gawking after the one who got away with the bread. We fight. We steal. We step on others. We are selfish. We are full of self-righteousness. We do so many things that are hurtful and mean and spiteful. We do them because we are sinners. We don’t always see it though, much like those birds didn’t see themselves as selfish stealers and hoarders of bread. However, when someone else comes along and fights us, steals from us, steps on us, doesn’t think of us, is self-righteous, hurts us, is mean to us, or behaves spitefully we see it clear as day and most of the time we point it out. We may not point it out to the person though. Nope. Instead we choose to tell others about it. We might even take a poke at them on social media.

We gawk at people who hurt us in some way. We gawk at people who make mistakes, telling ourselves and others, “I can’t believe he/she would do something like that. I would never.”

Ashamedly, this happens as often in the Church as outside it. It happens in my heart. Does it happen in yours? I am human and I fail. However, how would it change me if instead of looking at the flaws and mistakes in others I only looked at my own, asking the Holy Spirit to point them out, lead me to repentance, and allow Him to change those things in me through the process of sanctification? What if I spent more time talking with Jesus than talking about others to others? What if my relationship with God was so intimate and real that instead of pointing out others’ flaws I loved them as He does helping them to draw nearer to the One who can refine them in the refiner’s fire?

“How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take out the speck that is in your eye,’ when you yourself do not see the log that is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother’s eye.” Luke 6:42

We are dog sitting this summer for some friends. It’s been nice having a dog, especially with the knowledge that he’ll go back home in a little over a month. I guess in that way he’s like grandchildren. You get to have fun but give them back at a predetermined point in time.

Toby, the one year old golden retriever who is living with us, has supplied us with endless entertainment when he’s not sprawled out on any cool surface he can find. I can’t blame him. It’s super hot and we ain’t got no air conditioning except in the bedrooms. If I could, I’d sprawl out on the bathroom floor (it’s tile) or on the slender piece of marble by the front door as well. But that could be frowned upon.

We are accumulating many Toby stories, most of which consists of pee, poop, or as is the case a few days ago, vomit. I warn you, while I think the following story is somewhat humorous, it is also gross. It won’t hurt my feelings if you stop reading to finish your breakfast first. In fact, I recommend it. In lieu of all the more serious posts of late I thought something more lighthearted was in order.

It all began Monday. It was mid-morning and the heat was beginning to invade our house. We were all in the dining room, Paul and I discussing the days affairs and the kids sitting still trying not to sweat.
That’s when I heard it…a sound unlike any other sound…the sound of a dog vomiting. And then I saw it. I stood in disbelief and total disgust, wondering how I could get Paul to clean it up with no help from me. Then I remembered his gagging reflex to the sight and smell of vomit. No…he would not do it alone, but I didn’t want to either so I threw out a compromise.

“We’re going into this together,” I said. He agreed but then took a step around Toby and saw what I had been staring at for a good 3 minutes at this point. It wasn’t a little pile of vomit that Toby has left for us. It was ALL OF HIS BREAKFAST, EVERY LAST KIBBLE AND BIT. Paul’s face changed to reflect his grossed-outness, but he’d already agreed to help. It was a verbal pact as far as I was concerned and there was no undoing it.

Now this is where the real problem comes in…I had ZERO papertowels. Zip, nil, nada, niente, none. All we had were about eight napkins and I knew that was not going to get the entire job done. But we divided up the napkins and started at it anyway, praying that those few napkins would multiply into many like the loaves and fish Jesus prayed over on a mountain thousands of years ago. The garbage can was moved to closer proximity and the toxic clean up began. We took turns diving in, breath held, arm outstretched. As one went away gagging, the other stepped in. I’ve cleaned up a fair amount of vomit from my kids, as well as wiped up some seriously gross poop, and I held my own through all of it, but this…this about got me. I just couldn’t handle it.

The kids, being thoroughly amused at this point, decided to settle in for the show and pulled up their chairs to watch their parents gag on the smell,sight, and feel of dog vomit.

We are about 4 or 5 napkins into this cleanup at this point when Paul gets the idea to tear up an old box and use it as a rake of sorts, one part being the “rake” and the other part being the “thing the vomit is raked into”. I give him props. It worked really well. And I didn’t have to do it. Here’s the man who gags at the tiniest poop cleaning up the nastiest and smelliest vomit the world has ever seen without complaint but, yes, with much gagging. I was off in the corner waiting for him to finish and trying not to lose MY breakfast. I knew once the “raking” was done it would be my turn to go in and finish up.

And finish we did. In style I might add. I know this because our children gave us a round of applause afterwards.

That’s right…we are now expert dog vomit cleaner-uppers according to generous laughter and applause of our children.

Where has this spiral left me? That’s a great question. After as much counseling as I could cram into three months and some anti-depressants, I think I am much better. My goal when I started counseling was to feel “normal”, like myself, and I think I have gotten there. I have tools to cope with the anger and stress and sadness that I didn’t have before. I can better recognize the signs that say “BEWARE – CLIFF AHEAD BACK UP”. Because that’s what it always felt like…as if everyday I was at the edge of a cliff and I would fall off. But I was lifted up, given things to help me see the cliff ahead, and can now back up when I near the edge.

It doesn’t always happen that way though. Honestly, there are some hard days. Days when I get it completely wrong, days when I feel like crawling into a hole, days when I beat myself up for something I did or said.

But overall, things are much better and “normalcy” has ensued.

There is something that I wanted to mention that I forgot in previous posts. It concerns medication. Yes, I took a low-dose anti-depressant for a while. Maybe I should still be on it, who knows, considering I weened myself off without the permission of a licensed counselor or physician. This is not recommended, but I like to be in control of things. It’s something that is a work in progress.

I had a hard time at first taking the medicine. It seemed to me that taking the medicine meant I was weak. What it really meant was that I was so depressed I could not get out of the darkness on my own with a flashlight, Indiana Jones style torch, lantern, and flood light. The medicine helped me want to do the things I normally did but during this time just couldn’t make myself do on a good day.

I write all this because at one point in my life I judged those who took medicine for depression. I truly thought it meant they were weak and, shamefully, that I was a stronger person than they because when would I ever need to take medicine because I was sad? (Please hear the irony and sarcasm in that sentence) One thing I have learned during all of this is to not judge others concerning experiences I have never had…it’s good not to judge people in general though, isn’t it? I think that’s written somewhere….I never thought I would find myself severely depressed, but there I was depressed, on medication, and not seeing an end to it. The counseling along with the medication helped me see an end to my “crazy”.

As I wrap it up, I’d like to say thank you to Paul. He has been a rock. He has listened and done what he could to help me. I greatly appreciate his patience and love and forgiveness. Because he caught the brunt of it all.

So thanks for going down this road with me. My hope is that is was helpful, insightful, or meaningful in some way.

About a month after we left North Carolina I knew something was wrong with me. I didn’t feel “normal”. I would become really angry at nothing one minute and the next I would want to cry but I couldn’t tell you why. I felt alone when I was surrounded by people. I lost interest in things I was normally interested in…exercising, writing, reading my Bible. Then I began eating any and everything.

It wasn’t that I wanted to be angry or sad all the time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to read my Bible or exercise or eat everything in sight. I knew that exercising was a good thing. I knew that spending time with Jesus would bring me peace. And I don’t think this is something you can understand if you have not lived it but I just could.not.make.myself.do.anything. It was this crazy juxtaposition within me, knowing that I should do or not do something but not having the will to do it. I was imprisoned in my own mind and body.

I was telling a friend of mine about all this one day and she suggested that I might be depressed. I was already thinking it but when someone who has dealt with depression tells you you are depressed you take it a little more seriously. So I reached out to someone for help, and to be honest, no help came. I felt like I was drowning and had called to someone on shore for help. He went to get a life preserver to throw to me and never came back with it. And I began to sink.

But then I thought of a close friend who is a counselor in Mississippi. I reached out again and when we finally settled in Mississippi I began meeting with a colleague of his every week. It was the hardest part of my week but also the part that I looked forward to the most.

I still didn’t tell anybody what was going on though. At first I just told them I had meetings every week. But then one day my sister asked if I was ok. Here it was…the blatant question that until this point nobody I was living with had asked me. Should I lie or be honest with her? I chose to be honest. I confided in her the deep dark secret I’d been carrying….And she understood. She was compassionate. She didn’t say cliche things, only asked how she could help. What meant the most was that she recognized something was wrong and she asked me about it. She didn’t ignore signs that I wasn’t myself.

So while it was crucial to my healing that I recognized I needed help, it meant a great deal to me that someone else recognized I wasn’t my normal self and asked me about it lovingly without reproach or consternation or judgement. I implore you to ask people you love questions when you sense something is wrong. Be nosy. If they don’t want to talk about it they won’t. But maybe, just maybe, they want someone to ask.

There is an epidemic in America…well, the world really. It affects 1 in 10 Americas and only 80% of those with symptoms receive help*. An estimated 121 million people around the world are dealing with it*. It is everywhere, and odds are you know more than one person who has had it or who is going through it currently.

The numbers aren’t what gets to me though…it is the stigma that goes along with it. We don’t know our friends and family are dealing with it because we, as a society, have made it shameful to admit we have it.

Depression has become an ugly word.

We tend to look down on people who admit to us they have or are dealing with depression. Sure, we may cry with them, hold their hand, or try to understand, but at the same time we think to ourselves, “I am so glad I will never have to deal with this. I am too strong to let myself get so down about life.”

We try to be consoling and encouraging by offering advice on something we know absolutely zero about. We say things like, “Well, if God brought you to it, He’ll get you through it,” or “You just need to pick yourself up by your bootstraps,” or “I heard if you change your diet and start exercising it will help.” I can’t imagine any of our cliche advice has helped anybody…with anything.

Society has made those with depression feel as though they must keep it hidden, that they must put on a good “face”, pretending everything is a-okay. You know that moment when someone admits something kinda awkward to you and you don’t know what to say or do or how to act? We’ve made it so that admitting to depression creates that kind of moment, and heaven forbid we feel awkward for a moment in order that someone else may begin to have a safe place and not feel awkward for a lifetime.

Yes, there is a stigma that goes with depression. I know because I have contributed in my own little world to putting it there. I have said cliche things. I have been judgmental while friends confided in me.

I did all those things until my own downward spiral started….

*Statistics taken from http://www.healthline.com

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. Yet it was kind of you to share my trouble.” The Apostle Paul to the church in Philippi.

These four sentences seem to be surrounding me the last two and a half months. They are every where it seems.

Being back in Italy has been like coming home. We knew the culture from having lived in Naples so the only real shock coming back has been how many things I can find here now that five or six years ago were almost, if not completely, non-existant. We remember enough language to function and carry on conversation. We have learned our way around the city fairly well. Nothing about the actual move back, other than missing family and friends, has been difficult.

But there are other things that have made the transition to Salerno difficult. And I must admit, that I was allowing those things to bring me down. My focus shifted to my circumstances, to the temporal, to things.

I lost sight of what was most important. I cried out to God, asking Him to change my circumstances over and over, thinking that it would also change my attitude, my mental state, my emotions.

I thought that if after nine months of not having our own home we could just be settled then I would be a better mom and a better wife. That the kids would settle down. That a home would make me content.

If we could get a routine down after being so long without any kind of consistency that would make me content.

If we could all not be sick. We just haven’t been able to get any momentum because someone is always sick…for over two months. If we could all be well, at the same time, I would be content.

At some point in the last nine months, I lowered my eyes from the heavenly to the earthly. I put more emphasis on things of this earth than things of heaven.

I suffered for it. My kids suffered for it. My husband suffered for it.

When Paul speaks of being content in every situation, I think he means every situation. It’s not only about whether you have need or want in the form of money. My family has needed some consistency after almost a year of bouncing around from house to house and country to country. We all need to be well because all of the sickness is absolutely draining us. Kids need routine – all kids, not just mine – and that’s not a bad thing. What is bad is that I began to think it would bring me peace and contentment if those things happened.

Then Paul’s words began appearing and people began speaking into the situation and I realized that I had been idolizing a home, a routine, health. Those things would never bring contentedness, never make me a better mom and wife.

A home will always have things to fix or paint or redo, and I’ll always be picking up and cleaning it.

I have two little kids…somebody is probably always going to be sick. It’s life.

I can get a routine but it will change.

The only consistency in my life comes from the one person I was failing to turn to, to lean on, to rest in.

I can do all things through him because he is my source of strength, peace, and comfort. I am realizing that my attitude, mental state and emotions will not change based on my circumstances but rather on the One who can bring me through those circumstances.

He is where I find content despite transition, despite sickness, despite inconsistency.

So I choose to look up and find contentment from above.

We began praying for our home in Salerno last summer before we had even put our home in Winston-Salem on the market. In the beginning I think my prayers were very general, but as I began to dream about what I would like our new home to be I dared to ask God for specifics.

I need outdoor space to make me happy. You can check my personality test…music and the outdoors make me happy. So I began asking God for a first floor apartment with a small garden area. Somehow over the last ten years I have developed a liking for cooking. In my younger years I couldn’t cook beans out a can, but since I know fancy cooking I began asking God for a kitchen that would be big enough to work in…not excessively large, just large enough to have some counterspace and fit more than one person at a time. We also wanted a space for guests and an office. In Naples, and you know this if you ever came to visit, our guests had to sleep in the living room. Nobody ever complained, but we thought it would be nice for people to have a separate space. And Paul needed a place to work.

It was a lot. I felt greedy at times and in those times I wouldn’t pray about it. And then we had lunch with a couple and somehow the house came up in conversation. The man we were eating with looked straight at us and said that God cared and He could deliver. Right there in the middle of a fish restaurant he prayed to God about our house, with specifics.

The closer we became to our leave date, the more I began praying about the house but I added something to it. We had, at that time, not been in a home of our own for seven months. It’s longer than it might seem. Wanting to get our family settled as quickly as possibly, I asked Him to provide a home for us the first day we went looking.

The Thursday after we landed we went to look at three apartments. We walked with the real estate agent and Justin to one home that had a private entrance. We entered in to a large patio. I tried not to get my hopes up. We walked up some steps to the front door and the terrace. My heart began racing. We walked into a house that had a large kitchen space, an upstairs, balconies everywhere, and space for a office and guest space. My heart was leaping out of my chest at this point. I began praying. The rent was too much. The owner would have to come down a few hundred euro. I prayed while we walked. I prayed while we looked at another apartment. I prayed while I ate. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more. Even as I prayed I knew this was our home. This was everything we had prayed for and more.

Less than two weeks later we signed a contract on the apartment. We’ll move in May 1.

God is faithful…even in outdoor space, kitchens and guest rooms.

I thought it would be fun for you guys to hear about some of the funnier things that have happened since we arrived. Trust me when I tell you there will be many, many more. I can’t wait. (nothing like a bit of sarcasm after lunch, eh?)

1. I. DONE. DID. LEFT. MY. GLASSES. IN. ‘MERICA. I know this happened before we left, but it is still classic MacKenzie. My mother-in-law warned me that I would forget them. I brushed off the warning, but in hindsight perhaps I should have heeded it. It is nice that she knows me so well. So I guess that’s a positive to the situation. Said mother-in-law is mailing the glasses and in 6-10 days I should be seeing things in the distance clearly.

2. Even with a Pull-Up on, Lil’ Paul can have an accident…on an airplane seat. And no, I didn’t tell anyone. Makes you wonder what you are sitting on while flying, doesn’t it?

3. On our first night in Salerno, the kids learned not to walk in the grass because you might step in a little present left by a doggie. Needless to say grass is just for looks.

4. Lil’ Paul has learned the bidet is not a little sink to wash his hands or to fill up his cup.

5. Lil’ Paul and Gingernut have learned how to fold their pizza to eat it and the Italian word for Smurf is Puffo.

6. After calling the owners of the apartment we are staying in about the washing machine not working and them sending someone up to look at it, I learned to first make sure the plug is in all the way.

We are without internet, so post will be sporadic for a while. But I would like to say “thank you” for all the prayers and support and love and encouragement we have received. It is somewhat overwhelming. We miss you all but are falling into life here with some ease. We are prayerfully hoping to find a home soon and get settled.

Much love,

MacKenzie