#nogreaterproof

Hi, my name is Erin and I have a phobia of making videos. I can be perfectly eloquent on the page or even in person, but you turn on a camera and I'm a beet-red, stuttering mess.

Therefore, when my church, NorthRock, started this whole #nogreaterproof campaign and asked us to share one minute of recorded testimony of God's work in our lives, I laughed it off. Mike got right to his. Let it be known my husband is not at all camera shy and is a fantastic speaker. I shared his video and called it good enough. Basically a "Ditto to what he said".

But Kyle Gray, a good friend and Pastor at NorthRock was relentless (for like five minutes). I told him I'd jump in the next time with a blog post and he called my bluff. So here we are. Things are about to get real, guys, so buckle up.

What has God done in my life? How has Jesus changed me? What is my life like as a believer in Christ?

This post would be easier if you wanted me to list the ways I haven't been changed, honestly. As a teen I was superficial. A perfectionist. A worrier. An obsessively FAIR person. Balance overwhelmed me. My parent's were split and I constantly felt the need to bridge the gap between them for my younger siblings' sake. In my mind, I imagine this circus seal juggling beach balls in the air for the thundering crowds— just keep them all floating and then smile wide. That was me. Over the years, my family and friends have commented how I suddenly stopped caring as much about being the smartest in school— that I suddenly quit being a brat and aged fourty years overnight. I was my grandmother's granddaughter, they said.

Except my grandmother was an alcoholic for years. I never knew that of course, but now I do.

My point is, I graduated high school a timid, depressed and dark-humored girl. I loved my family and friends desperately but there was nothing they could have done to stop my spiral. Friends, there is a point that is beyond reach for mere mortals. I burned with this kind of self hatred and fierce anger and hurt so far deep down inside underneath layers of fake smiles and baggy sweaters. Parent's worry about their children when they act out and scream for attention. I'm telling you, its much more worrisome when you have a child who hides their grief— internalizes it. I was on a road leading nowhere good, friends.

Then I met Jesus.

Fourteen years later and I'm still sorta timid on screen and that dark humor is still there, though I tend to channel it through my fictional characters. But I'm no longer depressed. I stopped trying to balance everything. I stopped taking responsibility for things outside of my control. I went to college and regained my childhood. I let Jesus be the dad I missed. I let Jesus quiet the voices in my mind that whispered I was doomed to be this way or that because of genetics or history repeating itself. I let Jesus create me anew and mold me into the young woman He knew I was capable of being. I let Jesus be my light. He pulled me out of the dark places in my mind and showed me the world He made for me. He gave me words and love and confidence and peace. So much peace.

Jesus isn't a fix all. I'm so far from perfect, you guys. Remember that post a week or so ago when I told you how I'm currently handling our family crisis with a generous helping of grace and F-bombs?

That's basically my motto for life. I suppose you could say, with Jesus, I've struck a new kind balance.

#NorthRock church is the best, guys. Seriously. I know many of you reading this live too far away to check us out, but if you happen to be in the neighborhood, NorthRock meets every Sunday at 9:30 and 11.

In the middle of the night

I woke up at one am to my little girl coughing. Weirdly, she never woke up... Not even when I gave her cough syrup and water, but anyways... I was AWAKE. Mike was blissfully asleep for the first time in weeks, so I eventually moved myself to the couch so I didn't mess him up.

I'm not usually a middle of the nighter. I fall asleep early and even more so lately. Like 8 o'clock early. Once I'm out, I'm out. Even when I wake up to distribute cough syrup or extra pillows or whatever, I fall right back asleep. Not so last night. My mind was whirring.

I thought, in my stupor, "I should write these things down. This would make for a great blog post." I mean, probably not, now that it's the light of day and I really think about it, but still.

Here they are:

I wonder if there's a home remedy for clogged ears. Alice's ear have been clogged a week, maybe? I should take her to the doc. But what would they do? Prescribe a decongestant? She's not stuffed. A little clogged, but... Totally different things. I should google this.

Peroxide in ears? Is that dangerous? I should google that too.

Not dangerous. I feel like this is something Mike could do. Ear wax squeebs me out.

Slippery underwear: not sleep friendly. Thanks for nothing Target.

Now my undies are probably on inside out. Way to get dressed in the dark, you weirdo.

Is the porch door locked? Patio? Patio or porch? Either way, did Jonah lock it earlier?

What should I make for the first small group Thursday? Energy bites? Is that too healthy?

I need to stop at trader joes for oatmeal.

School of choice for kids? Am I making too big a thing out of this? Should I keep driving them JUST so I can pick their school? Is that enabling them? I never chose my school as a kid.

Wonder is Mrs. Buckholz is still alive. Now that I think of it, it was probably Miss. Unless she got divorced! Whoa.

Probably not. Unless that was why she wore all those Medals For Heaven. Maybe she was overcome with Catholic guilt... teachers, man. They're real people too.

Anyways. You get the idea. I have to go to work now.

What keeps you awake in the middle of the night?

EP

Snapshot of Life Interrupted

So about a month ago, my mom was getting on my case about blogging again. She is like one of five loyal readers I've amassed over the last decade and misses my random posts.

"I can't, Mom, I need to focus on my novel writing. I don't have time (or the creative space) to do both. I tweet. I facebook. Read those."

Bahahaha. I know, RIGHT?!? *shakes head*

I don't have time. Oh, One-Month-Ago Erin, you're HILARIOUS.

A mere week later, maybe even less, our Hahn lives got twisted, curled, flipped-flopped, stomped on and wrung out. For those of you who don't read my fb posts or haven't picked up on my vague-tweeting: My husband, Mike, had a truly epic sledding accident on a truly steep and icy hill and dislocated both knees and tore basically every tendon imaginable in those knees. Turns out, that's a Big Deal and Very Rare. I'll skip over all the gory details because, ew, but suffice it to say, he won't be sledding, or walking or even standing on his own any time soon. And by soon, I mean at minimum two surgeries, months of rehab, a wheel chair, a walker and a commode lift-away. If you are a praying person, please pray for his spirits. He has yet to regain feeling in his feet and they say he might never recover that. It's those nerves, man. They be fickle little guys. But my handsome, extra-capable, outdoorsy husband needs to climb rocks and stand in water and operate chainsaws. He HAS to, it's what makes him glow— it's how he feels God's presence— it's where he finds his joy. (I mean, he loves us too, obviously, but he loves us even more when we're outside.)

This past weekend, we moved across town. We had planned to move anyway, just not for several months. Instead, we gave three days notice and packed up our lives to a place that has zero steps and wide doorways. I was *supposed* to enter my newest MS into a writing contest that day. It's sitting on this very laptop, basically untouched and disregarded right now. I can't sit still long enough to concentrate on my fictional characters. Those who know me, know this is probably the hardest part for me, personally. Those that don't might think I am being shallow. Artists, you know? We're super self-centered. Or rather, we're trapped in our own minds? *shrugs*

I sit at this moment in the waiting room of Mike's physical therapy. We should both be at work right now, but this is more important. Isn't that nutty? MORE IMPORTANT THAN WORK. Like, a month ago, very little was more important that our livelihoods.

Now, practically everything is.

Here's a snapshot of Current Erin: This morning I was making the kid's school lunches and breakfast. Again, we just moved, so I can't find anything in my kitchen on the first or even second try. Also, since we moved, in order to keep the kids in the same school to finish out the year, I am driving them to and from each day, so our timing is new. Once Mike is settled in his chair for the day, he's good. He's a strong and proud man with amazing faith and will. Honestly, he's incredible. He's just not able to help right now (for the record, he's always been a superb partner in parenting. Always.). So add to the kids the occasional patient request from my husband, "Can you please refill my coffee cup?" or "Can you put on my sock?"

I get distracted easily, lemme tell you.

In addition to all of that, our place isn't new. It's nice, but not new. So there are a few quirks that we need to report to maintenance. Such as the strip of laminate on the counter that catches on my sleeve every time I open the fridge and the bottom ledge to the cabinet that pulls off.

This morning, and every morning, Mike puts Jesus Music on the Pandora. We are still breathing by the ultimate, sloppy generous grace of God. There it is. Without Him, I'd be crazy. And not like fun crazy, like certifiable hot mess crazy. So I am flying back and forth between cabinets and counters and cutting boards like a lightening bug stuck in a jar and I'm signing praise music and loving on my Jesus and simultaneously dropping more f-bombs than this third grader I know named Omar (which is a LOT).

My life: Praising Jesus, depending on Jesus, leaning on Jesus and then dropping a sh*t-ton of F bombs.