does anyone else feel an ounce of compassion for the driver responsible for the humboldt bus crash?

now before you get all squirrely on me, i understand that he is responsible for killing 16 and injuring 13 people, and that in itself is beyond tragic, but my heart breaks for him, too. maybe it would have been different had he had been under the influence, or looking down at his phone, or if he decided to deliberately blow through a stop sign due to poor time management. but he didn't do any of those things; he was simply inexperienced and allegedly distracted by the unsecured tarp on the back of his truck instead of noticing the (literal) warning signs. it could have happened to any one of us, and the fact that he has taken full responsibility for his actions and decided to spare the families an exhausting and painful court process because he knows how much pain he has already caused them makes me feel even more sorry for him. though i believe that consequences are necessary in this case (and in most cases), there's gotta be grace.

i would say that i am pretty good (and getting better) at extending grace to others (at least when my emotions die down), but i really suck - and i mean really suck - at extending grace to myself. i am my own worst critic, after all.

anyone with me? any one else lie in bed at night and replay things you said, but shouldn't have? things you didn't do, but should have? hurt that you caused? people you misunderstood or withheld love from due to insecurity?

real talk: i've been wrestling with feelings of shame lately and battling self- hate when it comes to who i am when i'm (mentally) sick. how i act. my resting ______ face (i work with youth; i shall not swear) and my intense emotions.

but as i sit here thinking about jaskirat singh sidhu, the truck driver responsible for that tragic accident almost a year ago, i remember that i deserve grace, too. we all do.

this is what mental illness can look like on any given day.

you're feeling great. happy even. things are going well for you and nothing can stand in your way.

but then, it does.

you start spiraling out of nowhere. sometimes there's a trigger, but sometimes there isn't. all you know is that the darkness has made its way back to you. unwanted yet unavoidable.

i know this because it just happened to me just yesterday.

i had a great weekend. i met a new friend for coffee saturday morning in my favourite city and our conversation was fun and life-giving. i crushed a few exam questions and then made my way to regent park, where i was greeted by some of my favourite people. i had great conversations, hung out with some kids, laughed a lot, and felt like i was 'doing something' meaningful. then i jumped in a friend's van to sleep on her couch.

it seemed that the minute i laid my head down, however, the thoughts started rushing in. thoughts of not belonging or being loved. thoughts that told me that i could vanish and that no one would notice. thoughts that didn't line up with the fact that i was on my friend's couch in a house where i feel the complete opposite, and always have.

eventually, i managed to fall asleep but woke up to the same thought pattern. unwarranted and untrue, sure, i recognize that, but real none-the-less. a little too real for my liking.

i was able to distract myself a bit when a friend and i walked to the store and when i found myself enveloped in a conversation with one of the ladies who comes to our bi-weekly small group, but found myself right back there once i said goodbye to my friends after lunch. like literally the second i stepped away from them i started crying, and i was too ashamed (maybe that's the wrong word?) to turn around when they asked if i wanted a ride. i put my headphones in hope to drown out my thoughts with some music, but they got darker with every step, it seemed.

"you're an inconvenience and burden to those who know you"

"no one loves you. no one wants to be around you; you could vanish and no one would even notice"

and other stuff i don't feel comfortable putting in print.

so i did all i knew how to do. i kept walking. and when that didn't work, i texted a friend, asked her to pray, found a hymn, put it on repeat in hopes to remind myself that "no amount of darkness can stop the light from coming in', and even though i didn't feel it, i couldn't stop my feeble attempt to do what i could to believe it.

i made it home around dinner time, turned my lights out and went to bed. sometimes sleep is the best remedy for an exhausting battle, and thankfully, it seemed to work for me this time.

i woke up to the sun peering through my window and an email from a friend telling me she was praying for me this morning, which turned out to be just enough to help me get out of bed and face the day. i made my way to a coffee shop (where i currently am) and managed to bring myself within two questions away from being done my exam. (i gave myself until tomorrow to finish it and i am right on par.)

that's the thing with mental illness; you never know when it'll hit and you never know when it'll go away, but as another one of my favourite melodies reminds me, when the night is holding onto me, God is holding on.

i remember how burdened i felt when my mom was going through cancer treatment. i was managing a catering company in mississauga at the the time, which meant that i was up at 5:30a.m, at work an hour later and on the GO bus just in time to make the trek to toronto to have dinner (and play crib) with my mom every night after work; a journey that didn't just cost me time, but money, $18 (+ dinner) each day, in fact.

now, i don't say that to boast or to complain - i would do it all over again in a heartbeat - but i remember thinking one day how lovely it would have been if someone a) acknowledged the burden i was carrying and/or b) put $18 in a card with a note that said something like "transit is on me today." maybe that's asking too much, i don't know. i've always struggled with expectations, but none-the-less i vowed to God that i would always do what i could to help a friend in need if they were ever faced with something similar. something more than 'liking a status' or writing 'thoughts and prayers' beneath it.

now don't get me wrong, liking a status and praying for someone is nice - in a (big) way both are letting someone know that you 'see them' - but doing something practical when you can is even better.

consider:

covering hospital parking for a loved one who's 'forced' to visit their sick wife or mom, or taking care of their caffeine for the day. (being a caregiver is exhausting.)

making a meal or two for a family who's grieving, showing up at their door with kleenex in hand or helping them with the daunting task of planning a funeral if you're good at those types of things or have ever had to plan one yourself.

sending a card in the mail or leaving their favourite snack on their desk.

alleviating some of your friend's stress by watching their kids for a few hours or offering to help pick them up after school so that they don't have to be in two places at once.

sending a quick 'thinking about you' text or telling someone what you appreciate about them next time you see them.

truth be told, the possibilities are endless! let's get creative and spread some love!

*disclaimer: i am in no ways perfect at this; i have missed many opportunities in my day and am striving to be better at this myself, but at the end of the day, even though we may not have a lot of time to spare at any given time or any extra money floating around, there's always something we can do to spread some love and lighten the burden of another.

my sister started pushing in the middle of the nurse's shift exchange.

i planned on staying as close to her head as possible, but when the nurse stepped aside to give the other nurse the lowdown, i stepped in.

1-2-3-4-5 - you're doing great - 6-7-8-9- and breathe, i said alongside her best friend, while holding one of her legs.

and again. 1-2-3-4 ...

"you're doing great!" her new nurse said. "i can see his head."

i didn't plan on looking, i really didn't. being a very visual human being, i feared that i'd get 'grossed out' and never be able to unsee what i might see, but things had changed; now that i was one of her coaches, i had to know how she was doing, what was going on and where the the baby was at exiting wise. any good coach knows what type of coaching is needed moment by moment, after all.

i'll spare you the details (you're welcome), but it was one of the most beautiful things i've ever seen; i saw my sister persevere through pain and exhaustion, my brother-in-law support her in the best way possible (one of my favourite parts was seeing them high-five each other at the end), my sister's friend hold her other leg up and celebrate each step along the way, and doctors and nurses living out their passion.

and then i saw them pull my nephew out. LIKE A LITTLE HUMAN CAME OUT OF HER WOMB. an adorable - very slimy - complete with a full head of hair little human. my nephew, jensen joseph martel, to be exact. AND IT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED.

at the risk of sounding like i'm about to blog about the birds and the bees, i still can't fathom how all of this happens. (in this case) two people loved each other, made love and bam! (although this was a five year wait kind of bam), a baby formed inside of her womb, grew fingers and toes and hair, got enough nourishment to grow bigger, moved and kicked, caused my sister a lot of heartburn and managed to cover his face every ultra sound, and worked his way out of her womb and into this world, moving us all to tears.

i saw nervousness and anticipation in their eyes when they got the call to come in for their induction, but the purest form of love once he came out. i saw deep joy in their eyes, and watched them define teamwork as they bonded with their son, changed his first diaper together, and learned how to swaddle their baby boy with a blanket.

reluctantly, i had to leave the next afternoon, but i did so feeling closer to my sister and her husband, more appreciative of life, and closer to God, the one who knit us together in our mother's wombs like my favourite psalm, psalm 139, says (i've included part of it below.)

amanda, you crushed it. you crushed the last nine months and the 30 hours you spent in the hospital before you started pushing. i am so proud of you and honoured to have been there through it all. you are a great mom and a champion.

al, watching you support my sister and acknowledge her hard work throughout the delivery was a gift to me. you are the perfect person for amanda and a great dad!

jensen joseph, i miss you already, but i know you're in good hands. xo

for you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
i praise you because i am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
i know that full well.
my frame was not hidden from you
when i was made in the secret place,
when i was woven together in the depths of the earth.
your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
how precious to me are your thoughts, God!
how vast is the sum of them!
were i to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.