​So Haman did as was commanded of him and led the king's horse (the one with the emblem on it's head), which was mounted by a royally robed Mordecai, throughout the city square shouting for all to hear, “This is what the king does for someone he wishes to honor!”  LOL!
 
Of all the books in the bible and of all the chapters in the bible, why is this my absolute favorite? There are three reasons:
 
1. It demonstrates that God has a sense of humor. The way that God chose to honor Mordecai for his faithfulness, by orchestrating this outlandish royal parade at Haman’s expense, is absolutely hilarious to me. Laughter is a healing balm, and I can only imagine how many onlookers had to cover their smiles with their hand as Haman led the elaborate procession, (his idea, by the way)  through the city square.
 
2. It reminds us that God will fight our battles and that God will punish our enemies.  Mordecai did not retaliate against Haman, even though he had every reason to do so. Instead, he waited for God to fight his battle for him. And God came through in a mighty way, by bringing honor and nobility to Mordecai and utter, public, humiliation to Haman. Haman’s plot to kill the Jews would later be revealed to the King. As punishment, Haman was impaled on a 75 foot metal pole that he had erected himself for Mordecai. 

3. It affirms that God is good and keeps His promises to those that love him. I’m sure that Mordecai was passed over for promotions time after time, but he continued to stand firm in his position at the gate. Never wavering. Some may even question how a God, who allowed for Esther to lose both of her parents, could possibly be good. But had that not happened, there never would have been reason for Mordecai to adopt her, and this historical occurrence would not have unfolded the way that it did. Esther, this orphan girl, brought redemption to her people in a story that still holds significance today. God is good. He keeps His promises.
 
Remember, too, that this narrative was YEARS in the making, requiring Esther, Mordecai and all of the Jews in that region to hold firm in their faith. But what about me and you?

Do you ever feel like a Mordecai?  Watching colleagues, friends and family members elevated over and over to positions and places of honor you think you deserve. Watching as people, perhaps some enemies, are recognized for their efforts, while you maintain your stead. Seemingly invisible. Still guarding the gate.
 
Remember this story.  Remember that God sees you.  His eyes can gaze beyond your current circumstances to a greater purpose that He has specifically ordained for you. He will fight your battles, and punish your enemies, and place you where he wants you as part of His great plan. Do not despair, for perhaps you are exactly where you are supposed to be, "for such a time as this."

It was eleven years ago. My husband and I were sitting in one of our pre-marital counseling sessions when we got on the topic of family traditions.  My husband grew up in a home where Santa Claus, Trick-or-Treating, and the Easter Bunny just weren’t really mentioned.  Whereas with me, the jolly guy and the bunny made an annual appearance, and in my little hometown, Trick-or-Treating on Cunningham Avenue was like shooting fish in a barrel.

I remember the therapist asking my husband, “So, do you have a spiritual conviction about these traditions?” He let out an honest, “Nope. I just think they’re stupid.” And it was settled. He reluctantly agreed to let me lie to our future kids. LOL.

So yeah, we totally do Santa at our house. Here’s why:

1. It’s fun. Plain and simple, it’s just so much fun to set out the cookies and milk, and sneak the presents, and watch their excitement and joy on Christmas morning when they awake to see that Santa has come. It is magical. I love it and will hold on to these memories for always
2. It’s short-lived. The season of Santa is precious, and innocent, and painfully short. There are very few sweet years when children take hold of the spirit and magic that is Santa Claus. And because it won’t last very long, we have chosen to celebrate this with our children for this season of life.

And while we have decided to let Santa be a part of our Christmas traditions, we have also set specific boundaries. These boundaries allow us to keep Christmas holy, while acknowledging a centuries-old tradition. Here’s how we do it:

1. We tell our children about the true reason we celebrate Christmas. Jesus is central to our traditions and we demonstrate this to our children in a variety of ways. We do this by attending worship services with them. By reading Luke 2 before opening gifts. By having a nativity on display.  While my daughters are excited that Santa is coming, they will also both tell you, without hesitation, that Christmas is all about Jesus.  
2. We wait to talk about Santa until December. While he is special to our family’s celebrations, Santa plays only a very small part. We spend every other day of the year talking about Jesus. Every. Single. Day. We do this through praying together as a family at the dinner table and before bed. By attending Bible study and worship service each week. By singing worship songs in the car. Because Jesus is so very central in every day of our lives, it’s easy to let Santa be a part of our December.
3. We keep it simple. In order to allow Santa to be a part of our Christmas morning, we keep it simple. The girls lay out cookies and sprinkle reindeer food (oatmeal) on the sidewalk. Jason and I sneak in the gifts after they've gone to bed. The next day, Santa has brought 3-4 gifts per kid and the rest is from Momma and Daddy. That’s it.

And for good measure, here are a few things that we don’t do.

1. We don’t tell our children that they have to be “good” in order to get presents. Instead, we work to teach our children that “goodness” does NOT equate to “gifts”. This makes it easier to also teach them that we could never be good enough to receive the free gift of salvation through Jesus Christ.  Instead, we let them have fun circling toys in catalogs, all while reminding them that, just like they don’t get everything they ask for any other time of year, the same applies at Christmas time.
2. We don’t tell our children that Santa is watching them. My husband and I have set high standards for behavior and an even higher expectation for obedience, humility, and kindness towards others. And those standards are no different in December than they are any other time of year.  I don’t expect my children to obey because Santa is watching them, I expect them to obey because I told them to. Because it’s God’s commandment. Because if they don’t, I will cut them. Kidding. But only a little bit.
3. We won’t continue the tradition when they ask if “Santa is real.”  When a child is beginning to speculate that the notion of Santa doesn’t line up with reality, it is time to share with them the truth. When this time comes, we will gently share with them how the tradition of Santa Claus was started and why parents today still carry on that tradition of giving. While there are many accounts and legends surrounding Saint Nicholas, most scholars agree that he was known for his wealth and for his charitable giving. He was also known for his devotion to the Christ. And thus, the Santa Claus we know today evolved directly from this historical figure. That’s the truth.

A common argument for forgoing the Santa Claus tradition is to prevent distrust between parents and children. I’ve heard people say, “If you’ll lie about Santa, how will you convince them that you are not lying about God?" The philosophy here is that my child will have a sudden and prolonged suspicion towards anything I say simply because of what I told them about Santa. Just wait til I tell them that I've also been lying about how babies are made.
 
While I recognize the validity of this stance, and completely respect families who skip Santa all together (I married into one of those families), I am hard pressed to believe that a fun tradition, with historical significance tied to a REAL person, is going to psychologically warp my kid. My choosing to cut a rug while chaperoning their middle school dance will likely do more harm, but only time will tell.
 
So Santa or no Santa, the choice is yours. Only you know what is best for your family. This is just what’s right for mine.

To my Carter Jane on your 5th birthday,
It was Wednesday, June 29th 2011, and Dr. Stitt’s team was preparing the operating room for your arrival.  Everything was perfect and within just a few minutes, Daddy was packing you out into the waiting room to show you off to all of our family and friends that had gathered there.  Sophie was the first one to see you. She was so excited to be your big sister.

That first night in the hospital was tough as you cried and cried and cried. At some point during the night Daddy looked at me and said…”This kid’s got colic.”  And you did.  For the next four months we bounced you through hour after hour of crying. Daddy and I didn’t know how to help you, and so sometimes we would cry, too. But one day, out of the blue, you just stopped. And you were happier. And life got better.

From the word “go” you have always been busy. In fact, you didn’t sleep through the night until you were 13 months old; I was convinced it was because you didn’t want to miss anything. And that’s still how you are today, never wanting to miss out on all of life's adventures.  Whether it's playing golf, learning to swim, or helping me crack eggs for a breakfast omelet, you are always ready for each new adventure no matter how big or how small it may be.

It’s not all perfect. You have an uncanny ability to break things. Your first instinct when faced with confrontation is to lie. And just last week you told Sophie you were “gonna kick her a**”. But as frustrating as those facets of you can be, they all fade into the background with every big hug that you wrap around my neck, with every offer to help around the house that you give, and with every sweet and precious “I love you” that you sing.

It has been such a joy watching you grow up into the little girl you are today. You have so many wonderful qualities, Carter Jane. You make friends easily, even with adults, and your smile and laughter is magnetic. You love to get your hands dirty and try new things, never getting discouraged if you don’t get it right the first time.  You recognize and appreciate the simple joys in life, whether it’s riding your bike in a tutu, sipping lemonade on the porch steps, or running through the sprinkler in your undies.  You find the joy and you drink it up. Your grown-up personality and quick wit are part of your charm and your blue eyes take my breath away.

Daddy and I are so proud of you and we look on with great expectation at all the great things you will accomplish. You are special, Carter Jane, and there is no one quite like you. Happy Birthday!

It was a yucky cold day, Friday, January 23, 2009. Momma stayed home from work because she was feeling very sick. You were still growing in her tummy, but weren't scheduled to arrive until February 21st. Daddy decided that since Momma wasn't feeling well, he would go to the high school basketball game that night.

"I wont' have good service in the gym, so just call Michael or Lucas if you need to get a hold of me," he told me, as he headed down to Cadiz to watch the game.

Maybe an hour went by before Momma began to REALLY feel sick.  Like sicker than sick. So, she called up your MiA and Gumps so they could take her to the emergency room. I know, crazy right? It wasn't long before she was all hooked up to the machines so that the doctors could check on you.

It took a few tries, but we finally got word to daddy to get to the hospital FAST! Daddy called your baby doctor and told him how sick Momma was feeling, and that she wasn't getting any better with all the medicine the nurses were giving her. The doctor told Daddy to hang tight and he would come see me in the morning.

The morning!!  No!  That was the day of your baby shower. You see, Momma and Daddy had your crib and car seat, but nothing else had been purchased. We didn't have clothes for you, or diapers, or bottles, or pacifiers, or socks, or bath wash. We were not ready yet!

Your baby doctor came to visit Momma and Daddy the next morning, January 24th. He told us that Momma was sick with something called HELLP syndrome. The only way for her to feel better was to get you out. Yikes! Ready or not, you were on your way!

Daddy was so excited that he called EVERYBODY!  Just before Momma went into surgery, the whole family had arrived at Jennie Stuart Medical Center to meet you. Daddy was so proud to show you off to everyone.

To keep me safe, the doctors had to take you out of my tummy while I was sleeping, so it was hours before I got to see you for the very first time. And when I did, you took my  breath away. Oh, Sophie, you were just this perfect little 5 pound 9 ounce bundle of happiness. I was so relieved that you were healthy and would be ready to come home with us from the hospital. God was in control the whole time, and He took care of us both.

Grandmother brought a load of baby shower gifts and we had a baby shower, right there in the hospital waiting room. But you were so teeny, you didn't fit into any of the clothes. Grandaddy went to Clarksville and bought you some warm preemie outfits and a new cover for your car seat that would keep you toasty in the cold January weather.

And boy was it COLD! The doctors and nurses worked extra fast to get you and Momma ready to leave the hospital. We had to get home with you quick because we were about to be hit with biggest ice storm in recent history.   And what does a girl do when she's scared about an ice storm and learning how to take care of a brand new baby? She goes straight to her Momma and Daddy's house.  And that's just what we did.

I'll tell you all about THAT adventure, on your next birthday! Happy Birthday, sweet girl! You are special beyond words, and I am thankful that God saw fit to choose me to be your Momma.

The room felt extra cold and uninviting that day.  I scanned the familiar countertops, adorned with the usual doctor’s tools and brochures.  Through three pregnancies and two births, I’d sat in this room for more appointments than I cared to count.  Most of them routine.  The measurements and scales and peeing in a cup.  Some of them happy.  The heartbeats and sonograms of little girls.  And some of them gut-wrenching.  Like the one when I was all by myself.  The one when it was supposed to be “just a routine check-up”.  The one when I found out our first baby was gone. 
 
The florescent lights illuminated the medical degrees and a plethora of Ole Miss paraphernalia that I had practically memorized.  I get it.  Hotty Toddy. But really, Ole Miss golf club head covers on the stirrups?  The paper crunched under my legs and my bare feet dangled from the exam table. I sighed a heavy sigh and swallowed.  Nope, still there.  That annoying ball of relentless tears was still there.  They had taken up residence in the back of my throat.  I pushed my feelings down again as I heard the light rap on the door. My sweet, slow-talking, Southern OB-GYN entered the room and immediately asked how I was doing.  “Fine.”  Only I wasn’t fine.  And he knew it.
 
For weeks after our youngest daughter was born, I had been struggling.  I thought it was just the “baby blues”, but four months had passed and I only felt worse.  Gah!  Stop!  Don’t cry!  Too late. I burst into a mess of blubbering sobs.  “Something’s wrong with me! I should be happy, but I’m so sad!”
 
Most men would be left fumbling, but my doctor took my outburst in stride.  He had seen this before, probably multiple times that week.  After I collected myself I rattled off my symptoms: fatigue, anxiety, no desire to leave the house, weight gain, irritability.  This is totally normal, right?  I had told myself that all of this was because I worked my full-time job before teaching a night class until 9:00.  That it was because I was sleep-deprived.  That it was because I was potty training my two-year old while bouncing my infant through her fourth hour of colic.  This is completely explainable.  This is normal.
 
But y’all it wasn’t normal.  It wasn’t normal to rather sleep than play with my daughters.  It wasn’t normal to think of any excuse to not attend a BBQ with friends. It wasn’t normal to always be hungry, yet never satisfied.  It wasn’t normal to cry daily.  To never want intimacy with my husband.  To be numb.
 
That’s how depression works.  It consumes you, stretching itself across your entire being: physical, mental, and even spiritual.  And the worst part…it’s invisible.  There’s no tell tale fever, no infection, no abnormal blood work displaying a clear diagnosis.  It’s so obvious yet so illusive.  It’s so deafeningly loud yet so eerily quiet.  It challenges you fight for your freedom from its grip, yet softly beckons you to stay still as it washes over you like a heavy blanket. 
 
In one breath you tell yourself it’s ok. You’re just tired.  Stay in bed a bit longer.  But in the next breath your insides are screaming, “SNAP OUT OF IT!”  I wanted to get better, but had convinced myself that it was simply a lack of faith that was keeping me from getting well.  I only needed to pray harder, study longer, seek the joy, dry up the tears…get over myself.  So I knew I was depressed, I just didn’t want to say it aloud.
 
My doctor agreed that I was probably suffering from some sort of mild depression and offered to write a prescription to help with the symptoms, while also suggesting I reach out for counseling if I felt I needed it.  Wait, what?  Medicine?  But, I can’t take medicine.  Not for this.
 
And that’s what I told him.  “I can’t take medicine for this.  I’m a Christian.”  I can’t recall his response, but I’m sure it was something along the lines of the Southern classic…”Do what?”
 
“I can’t take medicine for this.  If I have Jesus, that should be enough.  I can’t say that I have Jesus and be depressed at the same time.  What would that say about my faith?”
 
His response resonated with me in a way that I will never forget.  He asked me very simply,
“Lauren, what would you have me to do if you had the flu?” 
“I’d want you to give me medicine.” 
“And would taking medicine for the flu mean you had a lack of faith?”
“No. But if I had the flu, I’d actually be sick.”
“You are sick.”
 
You see, like so many others, I too had believed the lie that mental illness wasn’t REAL illness.  That it could be controlled with will power and discipline.  That all a person needed to do was get over it.  But I couldn’t get over it, and it was only getting worse.  I needed help.
 
So what is a Christian to do when he or she has been diagnosed with a mental illness? 

Get Counseling
Counseling is so very important when you are facing a mental illness.  Trained professionals are available in most communities through local hospitals, mental health clinics, YMCAs, churches and schools.  Many employers also offer an EAP (Employee Assistance Program) where employees can receive professional mental health care confidentially, and at no cost to the employee. Reach out to a trusted clinician who can properly diagnose your illness and provide the appropriate care.  Statistics show that in any given year, one in four Americans will experience some sort of mental illness.  The problem is that all too often, a person will wait months or even years from the onset of symptoms before seeking help (NAMI, 2013). 
 
Medicine Can Help
As a Christian, I fully believe that God can heal me.  But I also fully believe that God has blessed us with modern medicines that can bring healing.  There are many medications on the market that can help with the symptoms of mental illness.  And for that I am grateful.  Medication has been an effective solution for me, but it took some trial and error to find the right prescription and dosage.  Talk to your medical professional about your options.  Take your meds as prescribed.  And be completely honest about how you are responding to the medication.  
 
Find Community
I’ll never forget sitting around a dinner table with some girlfriends when somebody made a comment about their anti-anxiety medicine.  A few seconds later, another friend chimed in about her “happy pills” as well.  Wait?  They’re struggling, too?   It wasn’t long before I realized that I wasn’t alone.  And neither are you.  And sweet reader, you can’t do this alone.  Find support among family, friends, your Bible study group, or a support group in your community.  My husband couldn’t always understand my depression so I was thankful to have supportive friends who could provide a safety net of care through a listening ear, a pepperoni pizza and good wine.
 
Be Patient
Healing takes time.  Lots of time.  And for many people, myself included, depression and anxiety can be cyclical.  I may go months and months where I feel good and don’t need medication.  But then there are those seasons when the heaviness returns.  And as the feelings of self-doubt pile on I begin to wither and retreat.  My husband can usually spot the symptoms before I can.
 
Give it to God
You’ll have to ask God to take the burden every day.  Every day.  The scripture tells us that His yoke is light, and that we are to cast our burdens upon Him.  Pray.  Meditate on His word.  Go to church, even when you don’t feel like it.  Sit on the back row and let the tears fall.  His sanctuary and His people will bring healing and comfort that the medicine can’t reach. That’s a promise.
 
As I’m writing this piece, I am one week into my treatment for the anxiety and depression that has once again shown up at my door.  The symptoms started in August.  Work is hard.  Church service is hard.  Parenting is hard.  Loneliness is hard.  So I met my wise friend at Starbucks for Bible study, and she let me spill my guts.  I invited another family to our house for soup and Kentucky football.  I called my doctor, made a follow-up appointment, changed my diet, and increased my exercise.  I started taking medicine again.  And I’m spending some concentrated time at the feet of Jesus, fully expecting him to help me endure another cycle.    
 So with a little Wellbutrin and a whole lot of Jesus, I’m gonna show this depression where it can go. For I know that:
“When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all. He keeps all his bones; not one of them is broken.” Psalm 34:17-20
 
If you think you might be experiencing symptoms of a mental illness, don’t wait, and don’t suffer in silence.  Seek professional help today.