I don't know about you, but I have a tendency to put too many irons in the fire. Here's my crazy pattern:

1. Things fall through the cracks (ex. I forget to sign a permission slip for one of the kids, someone runs out of clean underwear, we have spaghetti for dinner again because I haven't been shopping in forever).
2. I've got guilt, not just for a permission slip, some underwear or dinner, but because "I'm an overall major mother failure."
3. I vow to change, so I list all my responsibilities and make yet another weekly schedule because if I just had the perfect schedule, I could do it all.
4. Upon listing my responsibilities, I realize everything requires me to give something–a withdrawal on my soul.
5. Upon tweaking my schedule, I realize I can just fit in all my responsibilities. But there's no cushion.
6. I keep to my new schedule for about 2 days, after which I'm frustrated that someone or something always needs me and there are no deposits.
7. So I decide I need a deposit, an "outlet" just for me, and I squeeze it in.
8. Of course there's no time, so I get frustrated and take out my frustration on everyone around me.
9. I react to my frustration by pouring myself into that outlet thinking it will relieve my frustration.
10. All the other things in my schedule take a hit.
11. And then something falls through the cracks…
12. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

What's the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result? Right.

I've often thought about Christ and how He frequently passed people by without helping them. And yet it was always right.

Somehow He understood what He should and shouldn't do, chose to do only the things the Father wanted Him to do and let the rest of it go. What did He think about those He left standing in line waiting for Him? How did He feel when they said, "Pshaw. I thought you were the Messiah. You're not meeting my needs."

It's not a matter of separating the good stuff from the bad stuff and only doing the good, but seeing the good stuff from the good stuff and only choosing the better.

I'm not an overall major mother failure.

And neither are you.

The post When You Have Too Many Irons in the Fire appeared first on Amy Lynn Andrews.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) I don't need to look any further than myself–not because I bubble with hilarity, but because I happen to have an extensive repertoire of embarrassing moments.

People, I am a piece of work.

My favorite (okay, maybe not the best word) embarrassing moment occurred when I was working as an administrative assistant at a very family-friendly company.

The "family-friendly" part is relevant to the story. You'll see.

I say "family-friendly" because before I got the job, I was coached extensively on this fact by the person who recruited me for the position. Basically, I was reminded over and over and OVER again that conducting myself accordingly was of utmost importance.

Updated to add in 2012: I don't know why I was so cryptic when I wrote this post originally. Disney, people. I was working for Disney at the time. Can you get more family-friendly than that? OK, back to the story…

So on the day in question, I was quite new, hoping to make a good impression and in general, trying to go above and beyond the call of duty.

I walked into the cube (a.k.a. cubical) of a Senior Sales Manager, as was typical during the course of my day. Notice I said cube, not office, as in, a very, very large, open space with dozens of employees working behind 5-foot tall partitions that do nothing to drown out sound of any kind. Also relevant to the story. You'll see.

Anyway, so I walked into his cube and noticed his suit coat tossed carelessly over a chair in the corner. Aha! I thought, an excellent opportunity to prove that I am a considerate, conscientious, can't-live-without-me, fits-right-in, professional, family-friendly administrative assistant.

So I casually pointed to the coat and said, "Mark, you need a….a…."

Now, it was at this very moment that the clarity with which I had previously assessed the situation, suddenly escaped me. I knew in my head that I wanted to offer to locate some type of hook or hanger or other handy device on which to store his coat.

But the simple sentence that was so nicely put together in my brain somehow did not roll so smoothly off my lips.

In my desperate attempt to appear calm, cool and collected even as I stuttered and sputtered, the words "hook" and "hanger" got horribly mixed up in my brain and I finally (and LOUDLY…I was nervous you know) blurted out, "Mark, YOU NEED A HOOKER!"

Shall we let that sink in?

Oh yes, yes I did.

I stood in horror, of course, realizing how positively UN-family-friendly it was that I just suggested my boss hire a prostitute. Within earshot of about 25+ of his colleagues. Many of whom knew I was a pastor's wife at the time which totally added to my testimony, don't you think?

As I begged God to add me to the ranks of Enoch and Elijah, Mark quickly responded with a casual sweep of his hand, "Oh, don't we all."

Um, well not exactly, but if I can't be instantly transported to heaven, I'll take it.

Epilogue: I'm happy to report all that was lost was my pride.

This is the part of my site called The Girl Behind the Geek, were I tell you about my real life (as opposed to Blogging with Amy where I talk about how I work as a blogger and stuff).

The post My Most Embarrassing Moment appeared first on Amy Lynn Andrews.

I promised more details regarding my prolonged blogging absence. Why I make promises like that, I’m not sure, because really, more than a year has gone by and do you know how many details are in a year? Well, there are lots of details in a year and yet here I sit staring blankly at this darn screen with nary a hint of where to begin.

So I guess I’ll get right to the point. My very worst point. Because isn’t that what you’d really like to know about anyway? I mean, when I’m reading someone’s blog, I’m generally thinking, OK, that’s nice, but what’s the bottom line here. WHAT’S THE BOTTOM LINE.

So my bottom (as in rock bottom) was the summer of 2007. It was probably the day my dad (a seasoned Marriage and Family Therapist who’s seen his share of people with issues) asked me very seriously if I was suicidal.

The question alone was enough to take my breath away, but what really frightened me was my answer.

I’ve had my share of anxiety and I’m definitely melancholy, but suicide? That was never even on my radar screen.

I’ve known people who were suicidal and you know, being on the other side of it was totally different. I figured anyone who was suicidal just wanted to die, to be gone, had no reason to live. I suppose that may be the case for some, but not for me.

Actually, I didn’t want to die. To the contrary, I wanted my children to have a mother and my husband a wife. And I wanted to be my children’s mother and my husband’s wife. I wanted to see my children grow up, to grow old with my husband, to enjoy life and to fulfill my life’s purpose.

My thoughts of suicide were not out of want to be gone, but simply out of want for relief.

It’s hard to describe, but emotionally, I felt like I was walking along the top of a sharp mountain ridge with steep cliffs on either side. I was desperately trying to keep moving forward but as time went on, I felt like I was losing control. I was terrified that something was going to push me over the edge…make me snap, cause me to have a nervous breakdown, hurt myself or my kids, I didn’t know what.

I asked myself on several occasions, Is this what it feels like to lose your mind?

The energy it took to simply put one foot in front of the other and keep going was totally exhausting. I completely lacked motivation and my daily goals were literally reduced to two things: making sure my kids had three meals a day and making sure they were safe in their beds each night. Anything on top of that, like having fun, connecting with my husband, seeing friends or going to the store, was gravy.

I realize there are a lot of people in the world dealing with far worse circumstances than I was. And I think we humans are designed to withstand periods of intense emotional stress. But for me, the thing that made my situation feel so crippling was that it seemed endless, indefinite. I saw no “light at the end of the tunnel.” I couldn’t imagine how things might change. Stuck. Everything seemed immovably stuck.

I now have a new understanding of hopelessness. And as tragic as it sounds even now, it’s the hopelessness that made death seem like a relief.

Keep in mind that the whole time this was happening, I really had no box to put it in. The symptoms of depression showed up about the same time I found out I was pregnant and I had never had depression before.

But I have had challenging first trimesters in every pregnancy so in an effort to make sense of it, I figured I was just having a particularly difficult first trimester. And even though the story sounds relatively coherent now, going through it was a different story. It was nothing but blackness.

And then there was the guilt. I cannot tell you how overwhelming the guilt was. I mean, here I was with SO MUCH compared to most. I had a great husband, 3 healthy children & one on the way, all my needs were met and more.

I’d try to will myself out of it. I just need an attitude adjustment, or I need to be grateful for what I have. So many people would love to have all this, or I’ve been pregnant 3 other times, I can handle it, or For cryin' out loud, just pull yourself together. Stop whining, or the real doozy, I’m sure God called us to this place so stick it out.

I was plagued with guilt.

And then there was the confusion about what God was doing. To me it seemed like God was showing signs that our time at our church was over. Meanwhile, my husband was sensing the exact opposite. And I’m thinking, What gives God? We both want desperately to do what You want us to do and we’re asking, so how is it that we seem to be getting totally different answers?

And then we’d get opposite messages from people around us. Some would say they thought we should leave; others said they were sure we should stay.

I was desperately confused.

I had moments of anger toward God, but mostly I felt abandoned by Him. I definitely felt abandoned. Surely He saw me in pain. Did He overlook me? This was how I felt, yet it wasn’t what I knew the Bible promised. I knew the Bible said He will never, ever forsake me…but was this an exception? Was He really a good God?

At this point, I even questioned whether or not I still believed the Bible.

In the end, I chose to believe, not because I felt it (CERTAINLY not because I felt it), but because He had proved Himself over and over again before. I had to dig deeper than I’ve ever dug before in order to hold on to the promise that He never lets go and that He IS good, even when things are so undeniably bad.

His goodness is transcendent, even if I can’t see it. So I hung on…and I made it clear to Him that I didn’t know how long I could keep holding on.

Meanwhile, my husband and I were completely missing each other in every way. We argued constantly. We were both dealing with so much stuff (me with my junk and him with the huge responsibility of leading a church that was clearly at a major crossroads). Saying we were on different pages is the understatement of the century.

But then, in the eleventh hour, over the course of 2 days, God broke through as if to say, “Enough! The confusion is over.” It was at that point Brian somehow realized how badly my soul needed help. He immediately resigned from his position…and watched his vision die right before his eyes.

I know it was enormously painful for him. As far as I’m concerned, his sacrifice on my behalf is probably the single most healing part of my recovery to date, and a real life example of Ephesians 5:25 (“Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her…”).

So, we sold our home and many of our possessions, we moved across the country to my parents’ house, Brian found a teaching job, we found a new church home that ministers to our souls, we bought a new home and we’re starting a new chapter.

I suspect we’ll be in full-time ministry again someday, but I’m grateful for this season of rest and reflection. There is a lot to process after an experience like ours and I'm sure we’ll be doing so for years.

But one thing I already know: I hit bottom…and there was my Rock.

The post My Rock Bottom appeared first on Amy Lynn Andrews.

I did not make up the concept of triple bunk beds, of course, I just stole it. But with three boys in one small room, I was having a hard time figuring out how to make everything fit. We had a twin-over-double bunk bed originally, but it wasn't workin' for us.

We love it. Here's why:

• Our two littles (ages 5 and 3) now do not have to share a double bed. They have their own space. Need I say more? For you parents, I'm sure I don't, but if you're not a parent, let's just say, they didn't coexist so well. Someone was always getting in someone else's space…and screaming SCREAMING about it.
• You'll notice the bottom bunk is right on the floor. This fact alone makes the thing worth its weight in gold. No more collections of who-knows-what getting lost under the bed or valuable items disappearing never to be seen again.
• The rungs on the end of the bed create a built-in ladder. That means one less item to take up space in the room.
• If there's ever a tornado here, I think our house will be blown away while this bunk bed will be left standing on the cement slab. It's a beast and therefore I do not have nightmares about it toppling over easily.
• While I was excited about the space-saving solution it would provide, I wasn't super excited about having to buy two twin mattresses. However, thanks to Groupon (Do you know Groupon? You should get familiar if you don't!), we got a sweet 50% off deal on mattresses. In other words, two for the price of one. Thank you Groupon. Woot!

Because we have a 9' ceiling in the boys' room, I knew we were gonna have to go up. So, I called up my dad (Mr. Turbo-Style Handy Guy) and told him I needed his expertise (Read: Can you make me something for free because I birthed 4 of your grandchildren, please?).

My original idea was for him to build a triple bunk from scratch, but he decided to just chop up the twin-over-double we had and add a third bed to it. I wish I could tell you how he did it, but alas, that gene apparently did not pass down. (And if I were a decorating blogger, I would have taken before and after shots plus about 5 in between. Maybe someday.)

So, my dad made this beast, somehow I got my husband to spend many hours outside in the backyard spray painting the thing red and all I did was come up with the idea. Hmmm…I'm not sure how I worked that out, but I'm going to try to make a habit of it.

This post is part of Get Your Craft on Tuesday at Today's Creative Blog.

Disclosure: I am compensated for sign-ups made via the referral link(s) in this post.

The post Triple Bunk Beds: Our Space-Saving Solution appeared first on Amy Lynn Andrews.

I don't know what was more disturbing, that those who should have been sitting in their seats were under them or that I could go from being totally in cahoots with God to wanting to bite someone's head off in about .037 seconds.

Rest assured, all heads remained intact (we were in church after all), lucky for them.  Had we not been in church however, I'm sure the first words out of my mouth would have been something like, "Please tell me, WHO THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA!?  Now come here and give me your heads."

And where are your parents anyway.

The post Parenting Brings the Hypocrite Out in Me appeared first on Amy Lynn Andrews.

Now, I know this is not healthy. I know this is not good. I know this is not Biblical. But hey, I have lots of issues I'm trying to sort out and people-pleasing happens to be about Issue #5923 and seeing as I'm only on Issue #297, it may take me a while to work through it.

So, yesterday. It was library day. Before we left home, I checked our library account online to see which items we needed to return. Unfortunately, I was 2 days too late. We had 56 overdue items. Yes, 56.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was the notation on my account which read, "This account is delinquent."

Delinquent. Me. Delinquent. Let me just let that soak in because, you know, I have never been delinquent on anything and now there it is, in plain writing, that yes, in fact, I. AM. DELINQUENT.

Do I need to mention that being delinquent on anything does not go well with my people-pleasing personality?

So, naturally, I do the one thing any reasonable, unhealthy, people-pleasing person would do in my situation. I panic. (And I want to throw up.)

I worry how my delinquency will affect my stellar library-borrowing status. I wonder if they'll let me in the library ever again. I immediately throw every last library book in the car and rush to the library.

I make the conscious choice to return the books via the drive-up book drop as opposed to walking into the library because I do not want to have to explain to any clerk or patron standing in, on, around or near the indoor book drop that the reason I am frantically throwing 56 books into the bin is because, well, I'm delinquent and I'm hoping no one noticed and maybe I can have a clean record once again.

Because I'm a clean record type. I am not a delinquent type.

I am dysfunctionally overjoyed that there is, in fact, a drive-up book drop because the person in charge of picking up my returned books on the other side of the drive-up book drop cannot connect my face to my gargantuan (delinquent) pile of overdue books. Yet I still purposefully pause after dropping in about 10 books so that anyone watching 56 books come through the chute thinks 56 books are actually coming from 5 different cars and not from just one car occupied by one crazed, delinquent woman.

At this point, you may be wondering why anyone would check out 56 books at a time. Well, we're homeschooling and using library books is one way we avoid paying for expensive curriculum. Although, I am fully aware that THIS MAKES NO SENSE AT ALL WHEN I NOW OWE THE LIBRARY ABOUT $269 IN FINES.

But really, I can't blame my delinquency completely on my children's homeschooling books.

Because there was one (just one) book of mine in that pile. A book I had checked out for myself, which, SO UNFORTUNATELY, I never took the time to read.

That book? Approval Addiction: Overcoming Your Need to Please Everyone.

You think I kid.

The post I Am Delinquent appeared first on Amy Lynn Andrews.