I started the Christmas season with a bang. I love this time of year, I really do. I go full-on jingle the day after Thanksgiving. Decorating, clothing, gifting, baking--you name it, I'm doing it. I get down and I get busy. I want to spread the cheer, spread the message of Jesus Christ, and spread the hope.
I love traditions--and I'll admit it, I'm a bit of a control freak, so I usually do the majority of the decorating and baking. This year, when it overwhelmed me and Noah took over--I cringed at first, but man, he really did an amazing job. I told him that was the best gift he could give me. This is what I want my kids to learn--a gift doesn't have to be wrapped up with a bow. It is such a tremendous undertaking, and he even managed to get Ezra involved and excited, which is something I've been struggling to do. Noah has stepped up as the third Elf on the Shelf, and he's stepped in so big on the days I really need an extra boost. I wish his little brothers could really see how much he loves them and wants this season to be special for them.
This year, it got to be too much. Depression settled in for some reason. I've let go of many of what I usually consider "must do's" and I'm concentrating on the "barely getting by's". When only half the tree lit up, and Ezra threw some jumbled up lights into it, I shrugged my shoulders--Eh, whatever. It's us. And, in some places, it might be called art instead of half-hearted. We'll do better next year, right?
I started to feel as if I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I'm moving through sludge.
Then I was hit with a complete--I don't know what to call it.
A friend died. A very dear friend.
The news knocked the breath from my lungs, and my body to my knees.
The pain with which I already miss her is visceral, a physical pain.
I want her back. It's not fair. It's not right.
I need to know that she made things right with God in the end. I need to know she's with her daughter and grandson. What I really need--is to be able to hug her again. I just want to hug my friend again and tell her how much I love her. To tell her I never stopped loving her. I can't function well enough to wrap presents for my kids, or even attempt to make headway through Christmas baking. I have no idea what Christmas breakfast or dinner will look like. I keep putting off my grief, but I'm not doing anything else, either. I can't laugh, I don't want to eat.
I need a break.
I need hope.
She and her husband were the ones who led me to my salvation. When I first met her, she didn't immediately invite me to her church--she invited me, a complete stranger, to her home, instead. I was so badly in need of that unconditional love and friendship, I went. Her family instantly became mine. That's how she was, she loved hard and genuinely, perhaps to a fault, and made everyone immediately family, whether you entered her home once, or three million times. It was another several weeks before she introduced me to her church. I found myself, and God there. I found friendship and family. They taught me about hope. I learned so much from them.
They helped us pray Avery into being, and passed him around so proudly when he finally arrived. They prayed hope and miracles when doctors told us there wouldn't be such things. He was our little secret at the last youth weekend retreat I attended; I wore a hoodie with a front hand pouch so I could keep my hands on Avery without anyone thinking about it. My friend's daughter would hug me from behind, tucking her hands in with mine, lacing our fingers together. We'd giggle and she'd whisper, "I love you, Baby," in my ear, as we hand-hugged Avery together.
I know, as sad as I am, the reality is, my friend did get her Christmas miracle. She is no longer in pain. Her family has seen so much shit and grief, she is finally at rest, and I hope, I pray--at peace. This is the hope I'm given in a tiny baby laying in a manger. I am promised I will see her again, and we will be reunited in eternity. I know we will dance and rejoice as she once again welcomes me into her home. But, for now--I grieve. I mourn. I'm angry. She said she was going to beat this--no little old cancer was going to get her. I'm hurting so much. I'm sad. I miss my friend. I want to shake my fist and scream.
Always putting family first--and everyone was family--I know this is not how Angie would want things. This is not how she would want me to feel, or want me to mourn. But--I. Just. Can't. Move.
Please, this season is not about rushing through the stores or putting priority shipping on that last item you just have to have for Aunt Pearl. It's not about who has the most gifts or the best-lit house, or the biggest party. If your house isn't the cleanest, Christmas is still going to be okay. If the family Christmas craft doesn't get done until after Christmas, it will still be okay. If the baking isn't pristine, the memories will still be the important thing.
This season is about family and making memories. It's about laughing and being with those you love. Take tons of pictures, and be silly. This season is about the hope, and the promises we've been given from a sweet little baby named Jesus, borne by a mother who endured more than any mother ever should. Hold on to those promises and that hope. Live by Angie's example: love deep, love hard and love genuinely. That is her legacy.
Please hug your friends. Tell your family you love them. Share a fun secret or two and giggle. Read to your kids. Check on your loved ones. Resolve anything you've left open, and call that friend you've been meaning to check in with. Please just go hug your people. Love them well.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
Monday, December 3, 2018
When I Hit My Knees, God Reminds Me....
Ironically to the tailspin this time of year typically sends my depression into, Christmas is my favorite time of the year.
I love giving gifts--year round. But at Christmas? It's pure gold. The more cheer I can spread, the better. Imagine someone throwing confetti and glitter around while dancing and prancing and flitting around like a five year old child, with a ridiculous smile on her face--that's me.
Two nights ago, I stayed up past midnight doing the near-literal impression of swiping my credit card left and right all over my laptop.
Swipety-swipe, it's Christmastime, people!!!! Let's DO this!
Man, I was having fun! I wasn't even buying gifts for my own family.
And for me, that's the really fun part--jumping in feet first for other people.
Last night was another story.
As I scrolled through Instagram, I stopped at one of the Christian pages I follow. This page supports moms in need--moms who take care of children with high needs, husbands who have had medical crises and now have medical needs, moms who have their own medical needs, and so on. There's a family with a little boy with cancer we've been praying for since August, although he was diagnosed long before that. At the beginning of November, he was rallying. He was going to make it. He was going to be okay. There were so many of us praying.
The notification on the Instagram page last night was horrible, grim news.
He didn't make it.
He died last week.
I cannot swipe my credit card and bring him back for his family.
I cannot swipe my credit card and end this family's agony.
I curled up on my couch and just cried. It was that kind of cry--even now, writing this--that kind of keening cry that only a mom can cry when a child, even when he isn't her own, even when she doesn't know him, is lost.
I went out to my front porch, where my front yard is lit up with Christmas lights like a runway, and I just cried. I just sat there, holding myself, crying, pouring out my heart for this family I've never met.
I hit my knees and I inside my head, I just screamed at God--WHY? What is the point of this?
I don't know if there is a point to it. I don't know if I care if there is a point to it--a child died.
There is no silver lining here.
Sometimes, in moments like this, when the world stops, it feels as though I can't go on. And the world does need to stop. A little boy died. A mother is mourning. I don't want to go on. What is the point? The hurt is just too much to bear. The pain is too much.
And when I think it's too much--I know I have to bear it, I have to teach my children to bear it, I have to continue on because I have my own three miracles to raise and lift up.
There is not a silver lining, but as I know, with every tragedy, when I hit my knees and cannot stand and cannot bear it, I know my God is still standing. I know He can bear it.
Just as my front yard lights up our street, I am reminded that my Abba is the One who lights up the darkness.
I don't know the 'why,' and God may not give me the answers, but I know my Abba remains sovereign, no matter how tragic the situation is.
My Abba reminds me:
Look for the helpers--Be the helper.
Look for the light--Be the light.
Look the good--Be the good.
I cannot swipe my credit card for this family, and others like them, but I will continue to hit my knees, and I can continue to remind this family they are not forgotten.
I love giving gifts--year round. But at Christmas? It's pure gold. The more cheer I can spread, the better. Imagine someone throwing confetti and glitter around while dancing and prancing and flitting around like a five year old child, with a ridiculous smile on her face--that's me.
Two nights ago, I stayed up past midnight doing the near-literal impression of swiping my credit card left and right all over my laptop.
Swipety-swipe, it's Christmastime, people!!!! Let's DO this!
Man, I was having fun! I wasn't even buying gifts for my own family.
And for me, that's the really fun part--jumping in feet first for other people.
Last night was another story.
As I scrolled through Instagram, I stopped at one of the Christian pages I follow. This page supports moms in need--moms who take care of children with high needs, husbands who have had medical crises and now have medical needs, moms who have their own medical needs, and so on. There's a family with a little boy with cancer we've been praying for since August, although he was diagnosed long before that. At the beginning of November, he was rallying. He was going to make it. He was going to be okay. There were so many of us praying.
The notification on the Instagram page last night was horrible, grim news.
He didn't make it.
He died last week.
I cannot swipe my credit card and bring him back for his family.
I cannot swipe my credit card and end this family's agony.
I curled up on my couch and just cried. It was that kind of cry--even now, writing this--that kind of keening cry that only a mom can cry when a child, even when he isn't her own, even when she doesn't know him, is lost.
I went out to my front porch, where my front yard is lit up with Christmas lights like a runway, and I just cried. I just sat there, holding myself, crying, pouring out my heart for this family I've never met.
I hit my knees and I inside my head, I just screamed at God--WHY? What is the point of this?
I don't know if there is a point to it. I don't know if I care if there is a point to it--a child died.
There is no silver lining here.
Sometimes, in moments like this, when the world stops, it feels as though I can't go on. And the world does need to stop. A little boy died. A mother is mourning. I don't want to go on. What is the point? The hurt is just too much to bear. The pain is too much.
And when I think it's too much--I know I have to bear it, I have to teach my children to bear it, I have to continue on because I have my own three miracles to raise and lift up.
There is not a silver lining, but as I know, with every tragedy, when I hit my knees and cannot stand and cannot bear it, I know my God is still standing. I know He can bear it.
Just as my front yard lights up our street, I am reminded that my Abba is the One who lights up the darkness.
I don't know the 'why,' and God may not give me the answers, but I know my Abba remains sovereign, no matter how tragic the situation is.
My Abba reminds me:
Look for the helpers--Be the helper.
Look for the light--Be the light.
Look the good--Be the good.
I cannot swipe my credit card for this family, and others like them, but I will continue to hit my knees, and I can continue to remind this family they are not forgotten.
Eternal Love
We lost a president last week.
It hit me hard, but not for the reasons I thought it would.
Yes, he was an incredible man, a wonderful human and a war hero. In my opinion, he was a good president (but please don't make this post political).
Most of all, he was an upstanding husband.
George H. W. Bush set all the precedents when it came to being a dad--not just a father, but a dad--and a husband.
He was always more than a president. First and foremost, he was a family man.
When former President Bush lost his beloved wife in April, in my saddest heart of hearts, I did not believe he would last much longer. They were the kind of couple who would not last long separated--they needed each other like water and air--like God.
I can't imagine the pain former President Bush's heart was in without his beloved.
I know his children and family are bittersweetly rejoicing as former President Bush and his wife are now reunited with each other, and also with their little girl.
As I said though, his death hit me hard.
Being apart from Shawn is not a pain I ever want to endure. I can't endure that kind of separation from him. I can't bear it.
The former president's death has had me thinking about being reunited with Grace. Meeting her for the first time, but it will also be a reunion. And Shawn--what if I'm reuniting with him? What if I have had to live without him? What if he's had to live without me? And for how long?
Sure, Shawn and I argue, fuss and fight--but God has always meant us for each other. We make up, and we're sorry. We do our best to put God first, we're stupid together and fun together--and I can't ever imagine life without him.
I don't want to ever imagine life without him.
Former President Bush and his wife, Barbara, set an incredible example to the rest of us as parents and as spouses.
I am so happy they are eternally reunited, not just with each other, but with their precious daughter. And I'm grateful for the example they set for all of us.
Most of all, I'm grateful my own eternal love. Thank you God, for providing for me.
Monday, November 26, 2018
"This is Just How it is"
Avery's been going through some stuff.
And a lot of times, he puts me through a lot of stuff.
A few weeks ago, we were having a rare moment, and we were in deep conversation. I do love these moments with my boys, and I am loving how Avery is maturing enough to have more of these moments. He's begun to come into his own in a more positive way, and I've enjoyed being a part of his personality blooming and developing.
We were talking about another specialist he would be seeing, and I asked how he's doing with all this 'autism stuff.' How is he feeling about the diagnosis, and being different, and his brain, and everything that comes with it?
"Well Mom," he began, "I've always been this way. The only thing that's different is we have a name for it now, right? And now we can start helping me better because we have the name. And I actually really kind of like being different and I actually really kind of like the way my brain works. It's pretty cool. And you know, God has a plan for me. There's a reason He made me this way. Just like you always tell Noah there's a reason He made him that way. I don't know when, or if, I'll find out God's reason, but I have to trust Him, and this is just how it is. And it's going to be okay. It won't be easy, like you tell Noah, but it will be okay in the end. And if it's not okay, it's not the end, right?"
I sat back, stunned into silence, in complete awe.
Huh.
He's been listening all along.
This is the child I struggle with so much. This is the child I struggle to get through to. This is the child who teaches me so much, and I often wonder what on earth I could possibly hope to teach him because I just cannot get through to him--we lock horns and go right to battle--often, literally. I've written here about the battles that come to blows, that have become physical, than have become painful, physically and emotionally. I never know if he's listening. If I say 2+2=4, he insists it equals 5, and will work on the equation until he can make it equal 5! It is the reason we need a co-op for homeschooling--because he often will not listen to me, but if his tutors tell him the same thing I've been telling him, it's written in stone!
And yet, here we were.
I was more than a little blown away.
My own words, repeated right back to me, straight from my boy's precious heart--not by rote, but by feeling, with emotion, with pure faith and knowledge, and complete trust in his Abba. He said it as his prayer, with utter belief and contentment for his life.
This is just how it is. And it's okay.
And a lot of times, he puts me through a lot of stuff.
A few weeks ago, we were having a rare moment, and we were in deep conversation. I do love these moments with my boys, and I am loving how Avery is maturing enough to have more of these moments. He's begun to come into his own in a more positive way, and I've enjoyed being a part of his personality blooming and developing. We were talking about another specialist he would be seeing, and I asked how he's doing with all this 'autism stuff.' How is he feeling about the diagnosis, and being different, and his brain, and everything that comes with it?
"Well Mom," he began, "I've always been this way. The only thing that's different is we have a name for it now, right? And now we can start helping me better because we have the name. And I actually really kind of like being different and I actually really kind of like the way my brain works. It's pretty cool. And you know, God has a plan for me. There's a reason He made me this way. Just like you always tell Noah there's a reason He made him that way. I don't know when, or if, I'll find out God's reason, but I have to trust Him, and this is just how it is. And it's going to be okay. It won't be easy, like you tell Noah, but it will be okay in the end. And if it's not okay, it's not the end, right?"
I sat back, stunned into silence, in complete awe.
Huh.
He's been listening all along.
This is the child I struggle with so much. This is the child I struggle to get through to. This is the child who teaches me so much, and I often wonder what on earth I could possibly hope to teach him because I just cannot get through to him--we lock horns and go right to battle--often, literally. I've written here about the battles that come to blows, that have become physical, than have become painful, physically and emotionally. I never know if he's listening. If I say 2+2=4, he insists it equals 5, and will work on the equation until he can make it equal 5! It is the reason we need a co-op for homeschooling--because he often will not listen to me, but if his tutors tell him the same thing I've been telling him, it's written in stone!
And yet, here we were.
I was more than a little blown away.
My own words, repeated right back to me, straight from my boy's precious heart--not by rote, but by feeling, with emotion, with pure faith and knowledge, and complete trust in his Abba. He said it as his prayer, with utter belief and contentment for his life.
This is just how it is. And it's okay.
Monday, November 12, 2018
You're a Unicorn, Babe
I had just finished ranting telling my husband something about supporting other moms and ending the Mommy Wars for good, and he simply smiled at me.
Then he said, "You're a unicorn, babe. I love you."
I chucked my chin at him, neighing, while giving him a querying look.
Huh, what???
He explained: "In a world of women waging war against each other, and flipping each other off, and knocking each other over to get to the finish line first, and measuring who does what more of and better--you don't care about all any of that. You care about the mom. You care about raising her up, encouraging her, being her friend, helping her out, things like that. You know how tough motherhood is, and you acknowledge it. It's not a competition for you. That's not what you care about. You care about making sure she's healthy and able to take care of her children, and taking care of herself, too. You're a unicorn. You're not the norm."
These are the things I want to do--hold your crying baby in the grocery line (or follow you through the store so you can do you shopping) so you can pay (shop) without juggling. I want to help you load your car. I will rock, walk with, hold, whatever it takes, with your baby so you can enjoy your meal in a restaurant. Here's a secret: I've already held babies on airplanes to give moms' proper breaks. I know you may not know me from Adam, but these are the things I would like to do for you. I've read about the police officer and flight attendant in other countries nursing the hungry babies when the moms didn't have formula, and I think--these women are my heroes!!! Feed the hungry! Help the moms without judgment!!! And for these of you who do know me (because it would be totally weird if I showed up on a stranger's doorstep to do these things), I will come wash your dishes with you, vacuum while you nurse or rock your baby while you shower (or manage your chaos while you shower, or cry over your teenager, whichever). Can I take you out to lunch, or just a quick coffee break, maybe get a pretty mani/pedi? Can I pay for a babysitter so you can go out alone, or grab a date night with your husband? I would love to listen to you rant, or cry, or not say anything at all--I will gladly just sit beside you so you know you are not alone in this. If you would rather I hold your screaming babywhile you rock in a corner take a drive around the block, let's do it! And if you give me your keys to your house, you just never know what will happen while you're out (it's happened, there are a few people you can ask)!!! Don't worry, your china and jewelry are safe. Your bathroom and your kitchen? Not so much.
This is my passion. It's a passion I never imagined myself having. In college, I judged parents harshly, and I was going to save children from horrible situations. Now, I realize we have to raise up strong women and moms so child never end up in horrible situations. We have to be real. We have to be transparent. We have to love without judgment.
I've had a baby who was 'difficult' and turned into an okay toddler. I will digress here and point out we were new parents, he was a new human, and none of us had a clue what we were doing, so it's not entirely on him. I've had the world's easiest baby who turned into a terror of a toddler. Then I had Ezra--and well, he's the third, so, you know (right???). I've had them all. I've been so deep in the pit of postpartum depression, I scared myself and didn't tell a soul. I know how difficult motherhood can be. It's exhausting and there are times you feel you just can't do it anymore. And you know what? It's really okay to say that out loud! And it's okay to ask for help, and it's okay to cry, and it's okay to pick yourself back up--with help, if you want--and keep going. There is no shame in the game, as these kids these days are saying. I also know how rewarding motherhood is, and how we often need just a few minutes to regroup so we can remember that. Sometimes we need a friend to remind us of that, too.
These are the things we need to be doing for each other. We need to be raising each other up, not counting points as we tear each other down. "Therefore, encourage one another, and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing." --1 Thess. 5:11
Mamas, please allow me to be your unicorn. I would love to do these things, and more, for you.
For you fellow unicorns--I freaking love you. You're amazing and incredible and great job and keep on and please don't ever stop!!!!
For those of you thinking about unicorning--take up your alicorn, mount it right on your forehead for the world to see, and join us!
Because--well, you already know--you're unicorns, babes.
Then he said, "You're a unicorn, babe. I love you."
I chucked my chin at him, neighing, while giving him a querying look.
Huh, what???
He explained: "In a world of women waging war against each other, and flipping each other off, and knocking each other over to get to the finish line first, and measuring who does what more of and better--you don't care about all any of that. You care about the mom. You care about raising her up, encouraging her, being her friend, helping her out, things like that. You know how tough motherhood is, and you acknowledge it. It's not a competition for you. That's not what you care about. You care about making sure she's healthy and able to take care of her children, and taking care of herself, too. You're a unicorn. You're not the norm."
These are the things I want to do--hold your crying baby in the grocery line (or follow you through the store so you can do you shopping) so you can pay (shop) without juggling. I want to help you load your car. I will rock, walk with, hold, whatever it takes, with your baby so you can enjoy your meal in a restaurant. Here's a secret: I've already held babies on airplanes to give moms' proper breaks. I know you may not know me from Adam, but these are the things I would like to do for you. I've read about the police officer and flight attendant in other countries nursing the hungry babies when the moms didn't have formula, and I think--these women are my heroes!!! Feed the hungry! Help the moms without judgment!!! And for these of you who do know me (because it would be totally weird if I showed up on a stranger's doorstep to do these things), I will come wash your dishes with you, vacuum while you nurse or rock your baby while you shower (or manage your chaos while you shower, or cry over your teenager, whichever). Can I take you out to lunch, or just a quick coffee break, maybe get a pretty mani/pedi? Can I pay for a babysitter so you can go out alone, or grab a date night with your husband? I would love to listen to you rant, or cry, or not say anything at all--I will gladly just sit beside you so you know you are not alone in this. If you would rather I hold your screaming baby
This is my passion. It's a passion I never imagined myself having. In college, I judged parents harshly, and I was going to save children from horrible situations. Now, I realize we have to raise up strong women and moms so child never end up in horrible situations. We have to be real. We have to be transparent. We have to love without judgment.
I've had a baby who was 'difficult' and turned into an okay toddler. I will digress here and point out we were new parents, he was a new human, and none of us had a clue what we were doing, so it's not entirely on him. I've had the world's easiest baby who turned into a terror of a toddler. Then I had Ezra--and well, he's the third, so, you know (right???). I've had them all. I've been so deep in the pit of postpartum depression, I scared myself and didn't tell a soul. I know how difficult motherhood can be. It's exhausting and there are times you feel you just can't do it anymore. And you know what? It's really okay to say that out loud! And it's okay to ask for help, and it's okay to cry, and it's okay to pick yourself back up--with help, if you want--and keep going. There is no shame in the game, as these kids these days are saying. I also know how rewarding motherhood is, and how we often need just a few minutes to regroup so we can remember that. Sometimes we need a friend to remind us of that, too.
These are the things we need to be doing for each other. We need to be raising each other up, not counting points as we tear each other down. "Therefore, encourage one another, and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing." --1 Thess. 5:11
Mamas, please allow me to be your unicorn. I would love to do these things, and more, for you.
For you fellow unicorns--I freaking love you. You're amazing and incredible and great job and keep on and please don't ever stop!!!!
For those of you thinking about unicorning--take up your alicorn, mount it right on your forehead for the world to see, and join us!
Because--well, you already know--you're unicorns, babes.
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Invasion of the House Guest
I'm a house guest this week.
Correction: I'm invading a teenager's space this week.
I'm not sure he really wanted me here, and I know I have a *ahem* bit of an overwhelming personality. It's a lot for him to handle.
Being a teenager is hard. Being a teenager with an alphabet soup associated with you is harder. Being a teenager going through everything he's dealing with? HardEST.
The thing is, I remember being in his situation as a child. And now I know what was going on in my own brain (helllllooooo... Autism, OCD, anxiety, etc...), it sort of helps me understand him better.
I was always happy to see our visitors (or be one), but I liked my stuff the way I liked my stuff. I became upset (sometimes ragingly so) when things were disorderly, loud, overwhelming, when my things were touched, when guests left their things out (right down to just leaving their shampoo and soap in my shower). I was usually displaced from my bed and/or my room--my safe place. I couldn't even seek comfort in my own bed because they'd been in it, or hide in my own room in case they needed to get to their things or they needed privacy. It was disturbing for me, to say the least, and I would be completely out of sorts for days.
My mother told me to deal with it. I was selfish. I was rude. I needed to learn to share. I was being difficult. Why couldn't I just get along? I was teased for my rigidity and inability to cope. Later in life I was 'sick' and a spoiled brat. It was downright awful for me, no matter how happy I was to see our guests (or be one). I felt completely alone and awkward and angry and misunderstood. I remember being so jealous of how well everyone else got along, and wondering what was wrong with me.
From one of the things I've learned about my children: they aren't being difficult, they are having a difficult time, I have learned that in particular about my past. I wasn't doing any of those things on purpose. I was having a genuinely hard time, and did not have the proper coping skills.
My friend's son is having a genuinely hard time. There is nothing difficult about him.
I am trying my best to take up as little space as possible. If I could be as small as an ant in order to respect this young man's needs, I would. I'm trying to remember to put my things away after I use them, and immediately clean up after myself. I'm trying to remember to respect privacy, quiet, boundaries and unspoken rules (as well as the spoken ones!). I'm trying to remember his ways of doing things may not the same of mine, and I need to do them his way. This is his home.
I know how distressing it can be to have someone invade your safe place. And I'm not here for a fun, quick visit. I'm here during one of the worst times in his life, temporarily taking over in his mom's place for a bit. I have settled in for the long haul.
Precious mamas, I'm begging you: Whether you and your family are the guests, or you have guests, if you think your child is being difficult, please take a step back. Clear your mind. Take a deep breath. Stop worrying about what your hosts or guests might think about your child, or your (lack of) parenting skills. It's time for Mama Bear Mode. You are your child's safety net. This is YOUR child (perhaps not the child you wanted, but the child you have). This is the child you have sworn to love and protect--so please, do just that. Could it be your child is having a difficult time, instead? Could it be your child is genuinely upset? Talk with your child, not at your child. Listen to your child. Find out what is going on inside his mind. Then help him work through it. Advocate for your child's needs with your hosts or guests. If you are the host or guest, and a child is having a difficult time, please have compassion, and find out how you can help. Your child is looking to you to protect him, and needs you on his side. Love your child through this, love him where he is. Please.
Correction: I'm invading a teenager's space this week.
I'm not sure he really wanted me here, and I know I have a *ahem* bit of an overwhelming personality. It's a lot for him to handle.
Being a teenager is hard. Being a teenager with an alphabet soup associated with you is harder. Being a teenager going through everything he's dealing with? HardEST.
The thing is, I remember being in his situation as a child. And now I know what was going on in my own brain (helllllooooo... Autism, OCD, anxiety, etc...), it sort of helps me understand him better.
I was always happy to see our visitors (or be one), but I liked my stuff the way I liked my stuff. I became upset (sometimes ragingly so) when things were disorderly, loud, overwhelming, when my things were touched, when guests left their things out (right down to just leaving their shampoo and soap in my shower). I was usually displaced from my bed and/or my room--my safe place. I couldn't even seek comfort in my own bed because they'd been in it, or hide in my own room in case they needed to get to their things or they needed privacy. It was disturbing for me, to say the least, and I would be completely out of sorts for days.
My mother told me to deal with it. I was selfish. I was rude. I needed to learn to share. I was being difficult. Why couldn't I just get along? I was teased for my rigidity and inability to cope. Later in life I was 'sick' and a spoiled brat. It was downright awful for me, no matter how happy I was to see our guests (or be one). I felt completely alone and awkward and angry and misunderstood. I remember being so jealous of how well everyone else got along, and wondering what was wrong with me.
From one of the things I've learned about my children: they aren't being difficult, they are having a difficult time, I have learned that in particular about my past. I wasn't doing any of those things on purpose. I was having a genuinely hard time, and did not have the proper coping skills.
My friend's son is having a genuinely hard time. There is nothing difficult about him.
I am trying my best to take up as little space as possible. If I could be as small as an ant in order to respect this young man's needs, I would. I'm trying to remember to put my things away after I use them, and immediately clean up after myself. I'm trying to remember to respect privacy, quiet, boundaries and unspoken rules (as well as the spoken ones!). I'm trying to remember his ways of doing things may not the same of mine, and I need to do them his way. This is his home.
I know how distressing it can be to have someone invade your safe place. And I'm not here for a fun, quick visit. I'm here during one of the worst times in his life, temporarily taking over in his mom's place for a bit. I have settled in for the long haul.
Precious mamas, I'm begging you: Whether you and your family are the guests, or you have guests, if you think your child is being difficult, please take a step back. Clear your mind. Take a deep breath. Stop worrying about what your hosts or guests might think about your child, or your (lack of) parenting skills. It's time for Mama Bear Mode. You are your child's safety net. This is YOUR child (perhaps not the child you wanted, but the child you have). This is the child you have sworn to love and protect--so please, do just that. Could it be your child is having a difficult time, instead? Could it be your child is genuinely upset? Talk with your child, not at your child. Listen to your child. Find out what is going on inside his mind. Then help him work through it. Advocate for your child's needs with your hosts or guests. If you are the host or guest, and a child is having a difficult time, please have compassion, and find out how you can help. Your child is looking to you to protect him, and needs you on his side. Love your child through this, love him where he is. Please.
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
9/11 and Being a Fire Mom
Seventeen years ago, our country was dealt a deathly, unfathomable blow.
Many of us are still dealing with it: Those of us who witnessed it on tv, the survivors who were there that day, the surviving first responders and volunteers, the families of the many victims. There is so much trauma from what we all saw, and what some of us had to do that horrible day, and the days and weeks, and even months, that followed. That was the stuff of our most unimaginable nightmares.
It has left some of us crippled by physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual pain, while it has also left many of us grateful for what we have, in every single day that has followed.
The anniversary always hits me with a pain I can't seem to bear. I know I'm not alone.
This year it seems to be a bit more difficult, having Noah in the fire department, knowing this is the career he has settled on. I know God has great plans for him. We've raised Noah to care for others, and I know he will be the comfort people need in their worst hours. However, this is the second most difficult thing I have had to do as his mom. I don't know that I'm prepared to wear the title of 'firefighter mom," even as it leaves me beaming with pride, even as I don the hat. Each time he leaves for a shift, I tell him, "Come back to me safely. I love you," and I pray. I pray hard. I hit my knees on his behalf on a regular basis. When he comes home, I hug him. I hug him hard, I think him for coming back to me, and I send up the biggest prayers of gratitude. As if he's come home from a war, not a 12 hour shift. I have to trust him, his chief, and the other men and women in his department. And of course, I need to trust God.
I've been emotional this past week, and just knowing what my son is getting himself into is enough to make me burst into tears. I try to not think too much about what he is, and will be, up against. This is the stuff of my worst nightmare. When I look at him, I still my little boy. I still see him playing dress-up and playing with his toy fire trucks. I can't keep him safely wrapped up in my maternal bubble wrap forever. I have cried in anguish for the mothers who lost their little boys, the ones they sent off to work that day, never to return. I have screamed at the unfairness of their losses.
My son is brave. I admire him so much, and I'm incredibly proud of him.
I pray a lot so God will make me brave for Noah, and my two littles. Goodness knows they won't have desk jobs, either. Oh, the painful irony in that sentence.
Bravery isn't always bold and daring. Sometimes bravery is timid and hesitant, doing what needs to be done even when you're scared out of your ever-loving mind.
Sunday morning, my pastor's wife prayed over me. She prayed that I will learn to remove the unnecessary things from my overloaded, heavy plate, in order to make room for the important work, the important things, the important people.
Things I need to turn over to God.
WORRY.
ANXIETY.
FEAR.
INDEPENDENCE and DISTRUST.
DEPRESSION.
ANGER and FRUSTRATION.
Worry, you are a time suck. Anxiety, you are a crippling robber. Fear, you are a liar. Independence and Distrust, you are a thief of my dependence upon Abba. Depression, you are a deep, dark pit. Anger and Frustration, you are thieves of enjoyment. They rob me of sleep, steal my enjoyment of my life, they run away with my relationship with my precious children and husband and Abba. They fill my plate to tipping, making less room for the important work He gives me.
I will put my trust concerning Noah's future in my Abba. My Abba is my refuge, my hiding place, my safe place. He is where I put my boys--His boys--where I will continue to work on emptying my plate so I can concentrate on just loving them best. In times such as these, I'm so grateful to have a loving, grace-filled, merciful Father to turn to.
Many of us are still dealing with it: Those of us who witnessed it on tv, the survivors who were there that day, the surviving first responders and volunteers, the families of the many victims. There is so much trauma from what we all saw, and what some of us had to do that horrible day, and the days and weeks, and even months, that followed. That was the stuff of our most unimaginable nightmares.
It has left some of us crippled by physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual pain, while it has also left many of us grateful for what we have, in every single day that has followed.
The anniversary always hits me with a pain I can't seem to bear. I know I'm not alone.
This year it seems to be a bit more difficult, having Noah in the fire department, knowing this is the career he has settled on. I know God has great plans for him. We've raised Noah to care for others, and I know he will be the comfort people need in their worst hours. However, this is the second most difficult thing I have had to do as his mom. I don't know that I'm prepared to wear the title of 'firefighter mom," even as it leaves me beaming with pride, even as I don the hat. Each time he leaves for a shift, I tell him, "Come back to me safely. I love you," and I pray. I pray hard. I hit my knees on his behalf on a regular basis. When he comes home, I hug him. I hug him hard, I think him for coming back to me, and I send up the biggest prayers of gratitude. As if he's come home from a war, not a 12 hour shift. I have to trust him, his chief, and the other men and women in his department. And of course, I need to trust God.
I've been emotional this past week, and just knowing what my son is getting himself into is enough to make me burst into tears. I try to not think too much about what he is, and will be, up against. This is the stuff of my worst nightmare. When I look at him, I still my little boy. I still see him playing dress-up and playing with his toy fire trucks. I can't keep him safely wrapped up in my maternal bubble wrap forever. I have cried in anguish for the mothers who lost their little boys, the ones they sent off to work that day, never to return. I have screamed at the unfairness of their losses.
My son is brave. I admire him so much, and I'm incredibly proud of him.
I pray a lot so God will make me brave for Noah, and my two littles. Goodness knows they won't have desk jobs, either. Oh, the painful irony in that sentence.
Bravery isn't always bold and daring. Sometimes bravery is timid and hesitant, doing what needs to be done even when you're scared out of your ever-loving mind.
Sunday morning, my pastor's wife prayed over me. She prayed that I will learn to remove the unnecessary things from my overloaded, heavy plate, in order to make room for the important work, the important things, the important people.
Things I need to turn over to God.
WORRY.
ANXIETY.
FEAR.
INDEPENDENCE and DISTRUST.
DEPRESSION.
ANGER and FRUSTRATION.
Worry, you are a time suck. Anxiety, you are a crippling robber. Fear, you are a liar. Independence and Distrust, you are a thief of my dependence upon Abba. Depression, you are a deep, dark pit. Anger and Frustration, you are thieves of enjoyment. They rob me of sleep, steal my enjoyment of my life, they run away with my relationship with my precious children and husband and Abba. They fill my plate to tipping, making less room for the important work He gives me.
I will put my trust concerning Noah's future in my Abba. My Abba is my refuge, my hiding place, my safe place. He is where I put my boys--His boys--where I will continue to work on emptying my plate so I can concentrate on just loving them best. In times such as these, I'm so grateful to have a loving, grace-filled, merciful Father to turn to.
"You are my refuge and my shield; I have put my hope in Your word."
Psalm 18:32
Monday, August 27, 2018
Wonder Mom Vs. Fallible Mom
One of the many thing(s) I struggle with as a mom is how much of 'me' I allow my children to see.
I want my children to know I'm fallible. I have faults, I make mistakes, there are times I need to apologize--my poor self esteem will allow this list to continue if I don't cut myself off here. How else will my children know it's okay to have faults if they don't know their mom does? How else will they learn to apologize, or recover from mistakes, if they don't see me setting the example--and most importantly, apologizing to them? How will they know it's okay to not be perfect if they don't see my own imperfections? How will they know to accept these things from others with grace and mercy if I don't accept mistakes and faults from my children with grace and mercy?
Here's the rub.
I read about these Wonder Moms who hide things from their children. Illnesses. Depression. Regular, run-of-the-mill sadness. Poverty. Their children brag on their sainthood. I'm in awe of them, but my sarcastic, cynical side also kind of rolls her eyes a bit, sorry.
"I never knew my mom suffered so much."
"I never knew we were poor."
"I never knew my father was so awful to her before and after the divorce." Okay, this one I'm going to let go. This shows amazing character.
"My mom hid her illness from us to the very end."
"My mom was so strong all of the time!" Spoiler alert: She was faking it.
"I was such a brat and my mom was such a saint!" Again, faking it.
The list goes on.
I'm curious if these kids ever feel lied to. If they feel they missed the chance to support their moms, or to learn how to support others. Are they given a false impression of people or of how the world works?
So, exactly just how much of my fallibility do I hide from my children? It's something I really wrestle with.
Along with being imperfect, my kids need to know I'm also strong and brave, right? I should be calm. They should know they can count on me for their every need, and anything else thrown in there. They should know I'm not going to fall apart every other day. They should see me handle things as a Proverbs 31 woman would. Maybe I should be more saint-like (or at least fake it). They should know their mom is MOM--fully in control at all times (or at least pretending to be).
And yet....
I'm seldom in control. I seldom feel in control. I seldom look in control. I seldom even fake being in control. I'm not a calm person. When we were poor, Noah knew it. Even now, there are many expenses we tell the boys we're holding off until payday (credit cards are for emergency purposes only, kiddos! And yes, boys, Young Living is absolutely an emergency expense, so do not second guess Mama, okay? Okay!). My kids are fully aware of my illnesses, Noah more so about the severity than his brothers, but they know there are days that Mama just can't mom. No hiding that here when Mama can't walk or her arm doesn't cooperate or when she's taking medicine every day, three and four times a day. Do we sugarcoat some things for the littles? Yes, we absolutely do. I'm also a crier. Dear Lord am I crier! Sorry folks--happy, sad, just plain emotional, worship in church, worship in the car, movies, songs, memories, whatever, those tears are coming out. Sometimes they are coming out in a torrent, sometimes just a tear or two. I've also always been open with my children about my depression and mental health issues, on an age-by-age, relevant basis. Again, Noah knows more about my history than the littles. I have regular (weekly--okay, okay--daily) breakdowns. For the record, my kids typically have daily ones. *wink* I am so far from being anywhere close to being a saint, I don't think I would even be allowed to sit in the same church as one. No Proverbs 31 pretending here!
I wish I had the answer to my above question. I'm by no means a Wonder Mom. I don't know that I want to be her. Seems like a lot of pressure. If you can't tell, I don't do well under pressure. But I still worry and wonder that I'm coming up short for my kids by not being more like her. One of the things I sort of pride myself on is being transparent, but perhaps with my children, I should be less so. My kids probably see a lot more than I should allow them to. Perhaps I should be less of who I am, at least in front of them, for them. I certainly fall more on the side of Fallible Mom. There are times I'm sort of proud of that (hey, lower standards for my kids to have to live up to, right?), and times there's a lot of guilt that comes with it (I should aspire to be more for my kids). I don't ever want my children to have the false impression they have to be perfect in this world. I want them to be true to themselves, and true to how God made them. Unless they're being jerks. Don't do that.
This is how God made me--imperfect and flawed. This is also how God made my kids.
There's only been one perfect human in this world. While I was made in our shared Father's image, I don't think being perfect like him is something I need to strive for. Being like him, following in his footsteps? Yes. But even he admits I will falter. And he accepts that with grace and mercy. Every single day.
I want my children to know I'm fallible. I have faults, I make mistakes, there are times I need to apologize
Here's the rub.
I read about these Wonder Moms who hide things from their children. Illnesses. Depression. Regular, run-of-the-mill sadness. Poverty. Their children brag on their sainthood. I'm in awe of them, but my sarcastic, cynical side also kind of rolls her eyes a bit, sorry.
"I never knew my mom suffered so much."
"I never knew we were poor."
"I never knew my father was so awful to her before and after the divorce." Okay, this one I'm going to let go. This shows amazing character.
"My mom hid her illness from us to the very end."
"My mom was so strong all of the time!" Spoiler alert: She was faking it.
"I was such a brat and my mom was such a saint!" Again, faking it.
The list goes on.
I'm curious if these kids ever feel lied to. If they feel they missed the chance to support their moms, or to learn how to support others. Are they given a false impression of people or of how the world works?
So, exactly just how much of my fallibility do I hide from my children? It's something I really wrestle with.
Along with being imperfect, my kids need to know I'm also strong and brave, right? I should be calm. They should know they can count on me for their every need, and anything else thrown in there. They should know I'm not going to fall apart every other day. They should see me handle things as a Proverbs 31 woman would. Maybe I should be more saint-like (or at least fake it). They should know their mom is MOM--fully in control at all times (or at least pretending to be).
And yet....
I'm seldom in control. I seldom feel in control. I seldom look in control. I seldom even fake being in control. I'm not a calm person. When we were poor, Noah knew it. Even now, there are many expenses we tell the boys we're holding off until payday (credit cards are for emergency purposes only, kiddos! And yes, boys, Young Living is absolutely an emergency expense, so do not second guess Mama, okay? Okay!). My kids are fully aware of my illnesses, Noah more so about the severity than his brothers, but they know there are days that Mama just can't mom. No hiding that here when Mama can't walk or her arm doesn't cooperate or when she's taking medicine every day, three and four times a day. Do we sugarcoat some things for the littles? Yes, we absolutely do. I'm also a crier. Dear Lord am I crier! Sorry folks--happy, sad, just plain emotional, worship in church, worship in the car, movies, songs, memories, whatever, those tears are coming out. Sometimes they are coming out in a torrent, sometimes just a tear or two. I've also always been open with my children about my depression and mental health issues, on an age-by-age, relevant basis. Again, Noah knows more about my history than the littles. I have regular (weekly--okay, okay--daily) breakdowns. For the record, my kids typically have daily ones. *wink* I am so far from being anywhere close to being a saint, I don't think I would even be allowed to sit in the same church as one. No Proverbs 31 pretending here!
I wish I had the answer to my above question. I'm by no means a Wonder Mom. I don't know that I want to be her. Seems like a lot of pressure. If you can't tell, I don't do well under pressure. But I still worry and wonder that I'm coming up short for my kids by not being more like her. One of the things I sort of pride myself on is being transparent, but perhaps with my children, I should be less so. My kids probably see a lot more than I should allow them to. Perhaps I should be less of who I am, at least in front of them, for them. I certainly fall more on the side of Fallible Mom. There are times I'm sort of proud of that (hey, lower standards for my kids to have to live up to, right?), and times there's a lot of guilt that comes with it (I should aspire to be more for my kids). I don't ever want my children to have the false impression they have to be perfect in this world. I want them to be true to themselves, and true to how God made them. Unless they're being jerks. Don't do that.
This is how God made me--imperfect and flawed. This is also how God made my kids.
There's only been one perfect human in this world. While I was made in our shared Father's image, I don't think being perfect like him is something I need to strive for. Being like him, following in his footsteps? Yes. But even he admits I will falter. And he accepts that with grace and mercy. Every single day.
Thursday, August 23, 2018
My Life as Translator
I saw this on an autism social media site: "The Maori word for autism is "Takiwatanga." It means "In his/her own time and space.""
It made me think of a recent incident with Ezra; we were at an event where he became sensory overloaded, and actively sought out his own time and space.
We were in a large room, and he was overwhelmed by the noise, echoes, light, the storm outside, the space inside, and anything else I wasn't able to pinpoint. He found the only place available--a closet/bin decoratively designed to hide a trash can--and hid in there. I knew immediately what was going on, but was in a race against time to translate Ezra to the others in the room.
When Ezra did explained himself, he used his words (yay!), but poorly chosen ones. We'll work on that.
I was on my to intervening, to translating my child to the rest of the world. He was not being naughty or getting into trouble by hiding. He was not playing a game. He just merely needed to be alone. He was in a self-imposed time out. The best way to handle it? To leave him be. To let him come out in his own time.
As I continue to translate my kids to the world, that's all they need: To be left as themselves; they aren't getting into trouble. They don't need your intervention. They will come out in their own time. They will find their own space. They will grow at their own pace.
And that's okay.
It made me think of a recent incident with Ezra; we were at an event where he became sensory overloaded, and actively sought out his own time and space.
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| My Sweet Little Trash Panda |
When Ezra did explained himself, he used his words (yay!), but poorly chosen ones. We'll work on that.
I was on my to intervening, to translating my child to the rest of the world. He was not being naughty or getting into trouble by hiding. He was not playing a game. He just merely needed to be alone. He was in a self-imposed time out. The best way to handle it? To leave him be. To let him come out in his own time.
As I continue to translate my kids to the world, that's all they need: To be left as themselves; they aren't getting into trouble. They don't need your intervention. They will come out in their own time. They will find their own space. They will grow at their own pace.
And that's okay.
Monday, August 13, 2018
My Kids Didn't Go Back To School Today
Our county and the next county over are going back to school this week.My kids aren't joining them.
While I haven't quite adjusted, it is a huge relief to me.
What may seem a rite of passage for many, will not be for mine this year.
We made the decision to homeschool our kids this year, including Noah's senior year (his decision), and Ezra's first preschool year.
Looking at many of the back to school postings on social media, I've felt relief whoosh through me.
Relief that my children were not joining the herds of kids on the buses, jamming the hallways, and getting lost in the crowds.
Relief that it will be me, and the other chosen parents in our co-op, nurturing my children.
Relief that it will not be my children with their multiple differences, and me, fighting my way through the administration and teachers, for the better educations they deserve.
Relief that my children won't be taught only to state tests, but are free to learn within their desires, take family field trips that will interest them and free to learn how they learn.
Relief that they will be challenged as necessary, as well as able to go at their own pace as necessary, rather than having to play catch up, or sit bored in a classroom.
Relief that God will not only be allowed into their classrooms and schoolwork, but fully integrated, rather than having the door firmly shut in His face.
Relief to not have to attend all the back to school programs, filling out all the forms for each child in triplicate, requesting the 504/IEP meetings, and so on....
My relief goes on. My shoulders aren't tense this year. I don't have the I'm feeding my children to the wolves apprehension I normally feel this time of year. The here we go again feeling.
I'm not even tense about joining a co-op, where I only know one person. Avery could not be more excited for this new adventure, and I'm praying it is at least one of the answers we've been looking for with him. The original plan last year was to send him back to public school this year, but when we received his final third grade test results, we couldn't argue: We'd finally found something that worked. This is my chance to really settle in with him and concentrate on everything he's needed the past few years in school that he hasn't been getting. We recently met for an eval with a speech pathologist, and she reinforced the homeschooling approach (I reserved the urge to leap across the table and hug her, instead bursting into tears and thanking her). She gave me so many resources to use with him, and agreed that everything I've been arguing with the schools being problems over the last 4 years, are real, genuine problems--and I now have the power to help my child! Avery will finally have the freedom to be himself, to be who he is meant to be.
Noah is attending an online private school (let's face it, he's smarter than I am), and will be using materials I supplement. After last year, when I realized during the last week of school in May I should have pulled him in December when I pulled Avery, if not sooner, this is a huge relief for all of us. Public school was slowly killing him. He begged us to bring him home, and not send him back. An incredibly smart kid, his grades reflected the depression he'd sunk into. As his mom, it killed me that I didn't see it sooner. I'm grateful to have Noah home this last year, where I can love on him, nurture him, pray on him and just be with him. It's what I've wanted and prayed for. Our relationship has gotten off track for so many reasons, and I just wanted my Noah back. This is my chance before he leaves my nest.
Ezra is excited to be going to school at all! It's something he's never experienced, but always watched his brothers go off to. He's got a new backpack and a new lunchbox, so he's all set, and that's all he cares about!
This is our year. I know it will come with its own problems and it won't be easy. But this is the course we've chosen, and we're going to make the best of it.
Thursday, August 2, 2018
Yeahhhhhh, They're Kind of Memorable Like That
We went to the mall today.
As I walked into one store pushing one hooligan in front of me, the other two dragging their feet behind me, moaning and groaning, the young store clerk cheerily greeted me.
"It's so great to see you again!"
It's a big mall. It's a huge city. It's been months since I've been there. There's no way she could possibly remember me. I'm sure she says that to all of her customers.
Later, while I shopped, she remarked that it had been a while since I had been in.
Whaaatt? She really did remember me. Oh my gosh. Well, it is quite possible her commissions from my sales have made her car payments, or perhaps a semester or two of school. Perhaps that's why it was great to see me again?
While I paid, I told her I had to really give her credit for remembering me. That is excellent customer service! I was truly impressed!
As my toddler scream-whined in his stroller, my 9 year old whined, and my teenager rolled his eyes in boredom, she commented that it was actually my kids, particularly my youngest, who really helped her remember. She said it's been fun watching him grow, and she can't believe how big he's gotten.
The sweet girl was trying to cover up her blunder, and I felt awful for her.
I laughed. I laughed hard--not at her or her blunder, but at my kids. It was all I could do. I heard the customer behind me chuckle. I caught the guy to my right try to cover up his laugh. Fortunately, we all also had the salesclerk laughing with us, realizing she had not in the least insulted me. I reassured her I understood what she meant. I knew she meant well. Because well, yeah, my kids are kind of memorable. Whether we mean to or not, we wind up making an impression pretty much every where we go. Whether that's good or bad, I haven't quite figured out yet, but yeah, we're all kinds of memorable.
As I walked into one store pushing one hooligan in front of me, the other two dragging their feet behind me, moaning and groaning, the young store clerk cheerily greeted me.
"It's so great to see you again!"
It's a big mall. It's a huge city. It's been months since I've been there. There's no way she could possibly remember me. I'm sure she says that to all of her customers.
Later, while I shopped, she remarked that it had been a while since I had been in.
Whaaatt? She really did remember me. Oh my gosh. Well, it is quite possible her commissions from my sales have made her car payments, or perhaps a semester or two of school. Perhaps that's why it was great to see me again?
While I paid, I told her I had to really give her credit for remembering me. That is excellent customer service! I was truly impressed!
As my toddler scream-whined in his stroller, my 9 year old whined, and my teenager rolled his eyes in boredom, she commented that it was actually my kids, particularly my youngest, who really helped her remember. She said it's been fun watching him grow, and she can't believe how big he's gotten.
The sweet girl was trying to cover up her blunder, and I felt awful for her.
I laughed. I laughed hard--not at her or her blunder, but at my kids. It was all I could do. I heard the customer behind me chuckle. I caught the guy to my right try to cover up his laugh. Fortunately, we all also had the salesclerk laughing with us, realizing she had not in the least insulted me. I reassured her I understood what she meant. I knew she meant well. Because well, yeah, my kids are kind of memorable. Whether we mean to or not, we wind up making an impression pretty much every where we go. Whether that's good or bad, I haven't quite figured out yet, but yeah, we're all kinds of memorable.
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
The Words I Needed to Hear
As I've written so many times before, it's my heart to support other moms. It is my heart's desire for moms to know they aren't alone in 'this.' We've got to be in this together, without judgment of each other. We must stand together, rather than ripping each other to shreds. Otherwise it just kind of falls apart and looks awful. Things get nasty, moms turn inward, help isn't sought, people get lost in the shuffle. Would you reach out in a world that has done nothing but shame you?
I've been subjected to my fair share of "mommy shaming" recently and I'll tell you--it cuts deep. It haunts me. I hear those words in my sleep, I see the finger wagging in my face when I zone off while watching tv, I feel the shame crawling on my skin when I wash in the shower. Even as I have lectured myself about it being their problem, their own hurts and hang-ups that caused them to react to me this way, and so on, I'm the one with the broken heart.
Short of her committing criminal acts against her child, I would never do this to another mom.
Yesterday we were in a store when a preschooler had a temper tantrum from hell--she wanted something, and Mom said no. Avery started to stare; I kicked his foot and whispered, "That's been us more than once. Don't stare and make it worse for them," then I steered my littles to the other side of the section of the store we were all in. That mom was a ROCK. STAR. She had the preschooler, a toddler in a stroller, and a newborn strapped to her chest. She was amazing, just flat out incredible. When it was finally all said and done, as they walked past me (y'all, she even had her preschooler cheerily putting back the items that started the tantrum--I nearly signed up for mom lessons!), I tapped her shoulder and whispered, "You are a phenomenal mom. You handled that so very well." She laughed nervously and whispered back that she's just trying to figure it all out. I reassured her that indeed, we all are. Reminder to self: Reorder "Mother Like No One is Judging" pins. I didn't have one for her!
Then it was my 'turn' yesterday evening.
We had a long day yesterday, and it was showing. Our last stop was the grocery store for prescriptions and a few things. One of my children was amped. up. beyond. belief. While we were in the self check-out, I had to handle a discipline issue (well, I had been handling it throughout the store...). A few moments later, there was a tap on my shoulder. You have to know I am automatically in defense mode now, prepared for someone and anyone and everyone to attack me and my children. That said, my first exhausted thought as I turned around was to snap, "WHAT" at the person. Relief flooded through me when I saw it was the cashier on self-checkout duty, and she was hiding stickers in her hand and smiling (she's one of the cashiers I love there--she always has special stickers at her station for the kids, and conversation for everyone). She whispered, "You handled that really well, I just want you to know that. And I agree with you needing to handle it, but can he still have a sticker, though?" I said yes, and she handed stickers to my littles.
Those words--they were a balm to my hurting, tender soul. As we finished up, I thanked her again. When we reached the doors, I handed everything to Noah, telling him I would catch up. I ran back to the cashier and gave her a huge hug, holding in tears. I tried to explain why, and explain my heart for other moms, and blubbered through my idiotic self. She just smiled, hugging me back and telling me I did everything right (and "shame on those people!").
I'm so grateful for people like her. There have been a few angels in our lives lately (look for upcoming blogs!), just people God has placed here and there to make up for the jerks who show up uninvited.
Dear readers--I'm begging you, please encourage each other. This is so very important. Please be that person who makes up for the uninvited jerks. Encourage that complete stranger, and your closest friend. Be the friend you need, and the parent you needed. Say the words you need to hear, and perform the acts of love you need. Be that fierce hug, and be prepared to give that hug. Listen without speaking. Throw out a random compliment next time you hold the door open for someone, leave a kind note on someone's windshield, or pay for the person behind you in line. Make a meal for that mom down the street, or leave a love basket at her door. Send flowers to your best friend at her office, or a police department or fire department who just had a tough call (they really like food deliveries, too).
Be the person you need.
Be the balm for someone's hurting, tender soul.
I've been subjected to my fair share of "mommy shaming" recently and I'll tell you--it cuts deep. It haunts me. I hear those words in my sleep, I see the finger wagging in my face when I zone off while watching tv, I feel the shame crawling on my skin when I wash in the shower. Even as I have lectured myself about it being their problem, their own hurts and hang-ups that caused them to react to me this way, and so on, I'm the one with the broken heart.
Short of her committing criminal acts against her child, I would never do this to another mom.
Yesterday we were in a store when a preschooler had a temper tantrum from hell--she wanted something, and Mom said no. Avery started to stare; I kicked his foot and whispered, "That's been us more than once. Don't stare and make it worse for them," then I steered my littles to the other side of the section of the store we were all in. That mom was a ROCK. STAR. She had the preschooler, a toddler in a stroller, and a newborn strapped to her chest. She was amazing, just flat out incredible. When it was finally all said and done, as they walked past me (y'all, she even had her preschooler cheerily putting back the items that started the tantrum--I nearly signed up for mom lessons!), I tapped her shoulder and whispered, "You are a phenomenal mom. You handled that so very well." She laughed nervously and whispered back that she's just trying to figure it all out. I reassured her that indeed, we all are. Reminder to self: Reorder "Mother Like No One is Judging" pins. I didn't have one for her!
Then it was my 'turn' yesterday evening.
We had a long day yesterday, and it was showing. Our last stop was the grocery store for prescriptions and a few things. One of my children was amped. up. beyond. belief. While we were in the self check-out, I had to handle a discipline issue (well, I had been handling it throughout the store...). A few moments later, there was a tap on my shoulder. You have to know I am automatically in defense mode now, prepared for someone and anyone and everyone to attack me and my children. That said, my first exhausted thought as I turned around was to snap, "WHAT" at the person. Relief flooded through me when I saw it was the cashier on self-checkout duty, and she was hiding stickers in her hand and smiling (she's one of the cashiers I love there--she always has special stickers at her station for the kids, and conversation for everyone). She whispered, "You handled that really well, I just want you to know that. And I agree with you needing to handle it, but can he still have a sticker, though?" I said yes, and she handed stickers to my littles.
Those words--they were a balm to my hurting, tender soul. As we finished up, I thanked her again. When we reached the doors, I handed everything to Noah, telling him I would catch up. I ran back to the cashier and gave her a huge hug, holding in tears. I tried to explain why, and explain my heart for other moms, and blubbered through my idiotic self. She just smiled, hugging me back and telling me I did everything right (and "shame on those people!").
I'm so grateful for people like her. There have been a few angels in our lives lately (look for upcoming blogs!), just people God has placed here and there to make up for the jerks who show up uninvited.
Dear readers--I'm begging you, please encourage each other. This is so very important. Please be that person who makes up for the uninvited jerks. Encourage that complete stranger, and your closest friend. Be the friend you need, and the parent you needed. Say the words you need to hear, and perform the acts of love you need. Be that fierce hug, and be prepared to give that hug. Listen without speaking. Throw out a random compliment next time you hold the door open for someone, leave a kind note on someone's windshield, or pay for the person behind you in line. Make a meal for that mom down the street, or leave a love basket at her door. Send flowers to your best friend at her office, or a police department or fire department who just had a tough call (they really like food deliveries, too).
Be the person you need.
Be the balm for someone's hurting, tender soul.
Monday, July 16, 2018
World's Okayest Mom (and I'm Okay With It)
I've been wrestling with something that happened to us on Friday, and it hit me: I was mom-shamed. More pointedly, my toddler was child-shamed. The woman who intruded in our lives had no other purpose than to shame Ezra for her perception of his behavior, and her perception of my inaction about it. She had no other purpose than to want to make me carry her own personal baggage.
And you know what?
I've been toting that heavy suitcase of hers for her ever since.
I let her get away with exactly what she wanted, and I bet she didn't even give us a second thought after leaving the store. I have cried, sobbed, apologized to my children, lost sleep, screamed, shaken my fist at the unfairness of it, and written a novel's worth of unpublished blogs about it.
ME! The mother who stands up for other moms! The mom who would've commandeered the store's microphone to tell her exactly what she could do with her shaming if I caught her doing that to another mom instead of me! More importantly, I would have helped that other mother protect her child. "Hey, whoa, you can't just do that! What in the world do you think you're doing, crazy lady?"
I know much of it comes from guilt in the way I handled it: She accosted my child, while he sat in the cart right there next to me, instead of me. I have a lot of guilt for not protecting my child, for not protecting the next child she will presumably approach because she got away with it this time, and not protecting the children she claimed to have experience working with. A person who is so bold as to approach a three year old in this manner should not be working with children. I was so stunned by her behavior that I didn't react the way I wanted to in hindsight.
I've written, re-written, and re-re-written my blog post since Friday night. Much of it was just me needing to work through what happened. I've talked with friends, cried with Shawn, listened to an amazing, heartfelt message from our pastor's wife, who also also happens to be our church's connections group pastor, on why being part of church family is so important (hey, that's a plug for my mom's group, if you're not paying attention!), and I heard an excerpt from Truth Bomb Mom on dealing with haters: Just don't do it.
So yeah, I'm only an okay mom. My kids are only okay kids. And you know what? I'm okay with that. We aren't everyone's cup of tea. We don't have to be. And I'm okay with that, too.
And you know what else? That hater can take her baggage and pack off to Timbuktu.
And you know what?
I've been toting that heavy suitcase of hers for her ever since.
I let her get away with exactly what she wanted, and I bet she didn't even give us a second thought after leaving the store. I have cried, sobbed, apologized to my children, lost sleep, screamed, shaken my fist at the unfairness of it, and written a novel's worth of unpublished blogs about it.
ME! The mother who stands up for other moms! The mom who would've commandeered the store's microphone to tell her exactly what she could do with her shaming if I caught her doing that to another mom instead of me! More importantly, I would have helped that other mother protect her child. "Hey, whoa, you can't just do that! What in the world do you think you're doing, crazy lady?"
I know much of it comes from guilt in the way I handled it: She accosted my child, while he sat in the cart right there next to me, instead of me. I have a lot of guilt for not protecting my child, for not protecting the next child she will presumably approach because she got away with it this time, and not protecting the children she claimed to have experience working with. A person who is so bold as to approach a three year old in this manner should not be working with children. I was so stunned by her behavior that I didn't react the way I wanted to in hindsight.
I've written, re-written, and re-re-written my blog post since Friday night. Much of it was just me needing to work through what happened. I've talked with friends, cried with Shawn, listened to an amazing, heartfelt message from our pastor's wife, who also also happens to be our church's connections group pastor, on why being part of church family is so important (hey, that's a plug for my mom's group, if you're not paying attention!), and I heard an excerpt from Truth Bomb Mom on dealing with haters: Just don't do it.
So yeah, I'm only an okay mom. My kids are only okay kids. And you know what? I'm okay with that. We aren't everyone's cup of tea. We don't have to be. And I'm okay with that, too.
And you know what else? That hater can take her baggage and pack off to Timbuktu.
Wednesday, July 11, 2018
Navigating My Way Through Teen Dating
The teenager in our house began dating a little while back, and it's been an, um, experience for me to figure out just where I fit in (right between them, right?), exactly, in all of this.
Some might say I don't figure into any of this at all. It's his life, let him live it.
Sometimes it's hard for me to let the apron strings loosen, especially with my firstborn (okay, with all of my borns). There is so much between us, I know letting go is going to be so damn hard. It is so damn hard to let go already. It's not about another woman taking my place, it's about making sure he takes proper care of her when she does. I want to make sure he's getting who he deserves, but I also want to make sure she's getting who she deserves, you know? I want to make sure my son's girlfriend(s), and my future daughter in law are treated with the respect, love and everything else they deserve. I also want the same for my son. Okay, yes, I've been known to crash a FaceTime or two ("Hi! HI! HI! I'm Noah's MOM!"), or send Ezra in.... But, I want to meet these girls! I want to know their intentions, I want to know about their home lives, their hopes for their futures, what makes them laugh, what do they like to learn--they are dating my son, these things are important to me (seriously, do people just not ask questions about each other anymore???)! And I want to have conversations with him about them!
Okay, and let's be honest, I'm always going to be that mom who goes flying out the door, shouting and laughing my greeting, grabbing everyone up in huge hugs, welcoming them home like prodigal children--so really, I'm just weeding out the girls who can't handle me, right!?!?!
He's brought home several girls. One openly declared I was overbearing, over-involved and controlling. Wellll, I've got news honey, he's still a minor, so we're sort of a package deal. Anyway. When he broke up with another girl, I asked if I had to break up with her too. I really like her. She got our odd family humor and fit in well. When we broke out our weird, she broke hers out too. I'm glad we're still friends on social media and we occasionally still talk. Ezra is still dating Noah's first girlfriend. She promised me she'll wait until he turns 18. Shhhh. Now there's a new girl, one we haven't met yet. They talk a lot, they've been on a date. We know nearly nothing about her.
Dating is a lot different than it used to be. I think it's a little scarier than it used to be too, and not just for us parents. Now there's FaceTime, all kinds of chats and other ways to meet. Shawn and I dated in the Stone Age, so we saw each other at school, went for dates on Friday nights when we could borrow the family dinosaur, and we talked with conch shell phones when we weren't spending time with each other. We didn't have the internet until college (dial up!), and it certainly wasn't Facebook or anything like that (email and AOL messaging!). Now, our son can date a girl from another high school in a different county, and they're still just as close as if they're in the same school. And FaceTime--hello. The house rule is no girls in the bedroom or behind closed doors. Welllll, thanks to FaceTime, isn't that pretty much having a girl in your bedroom/behind closed doors? Yeah, thanks for that parenting battle, Apple. There are so many apps and ways to hide things from parents if your child doesn't want you seeing them.
There are other things that make dating different, too. Sexuality and gender are certainly more different than they were 25 years ago when I was my son's age. Sex-ed is taught differently in public schools: Less education, more indoctrination. I feel as though some parents are more lenient now, too. There are plenty of other differences, but naturally, I'm drawing a complete blank. See the paragraph below!
There are also more dangers now. Sexting, social media, revenge texting, stalking, catfishing, and so on, make dating a scary thing to do. Once what you've sent is out of your hands, you've lost control and ownership of it. Nothing is private once it gets out on the internet. If the wrong things get out, there will be severe, lifelong consequences. And until you meet a person face to face, you never really know exactly who you are talking with on the internet. Teaching teenagers they are not invincible is near impossible.
We do our best. We talk with him about equally yoked, and God's plans--those plans don't involve us saving anyone, or rescuing anyone or changing anyone. That's up to Him. God doesn't want us unequally paired in life, especially in the beginning of marriage, when we need each other perhaps the most. I want Noah to be happy, to be with someone who is going to challenge him throughout life, help him continue to grow, make him laugh--be a true soulmate. I always want the same for my daughter in law! I try to talk to him about the things I observe about these girls--just things I see from my perspective, from my experience. Shawn tries to talk to him about things from the man's perspective. Our son cannot be objective, and while many would consider it to be difficult for us to be so, considering our son is involved, part of our job is to be objective in helping him. This time in his life is for having fun, not for looking for a soulmate. Shawn and I are an anomaly. Not everyone marries their high school sweetheart.
I pray daily for my daughters in law. I love them already, and I look forward to having amazing relationships with them. There are so many pressures, so many different things that I don't necessarily understand, so I also pray for understanding, as well as wisdom and discernment for all of us. I pray for caution, that it will be heeded at the proper times and moments--and not just for myself, but for my sons and their wives.
My place may not necessarily be right between Noah and his girlfriend, no matter how badly how I want to be there laying down the rules, but it is God's place.
This mama's prayer is they will let Him in.
Some might say I don't figure into any of this at all. It's his life, let him live it.
Sometimes it's hard for me to let the apron strings loosen, especially with my firstborn (okay, with all of my borns). There is so much between us, I know letting go is going to be so damn hard. It is so damn hard to let go already. It's not about another woman taking my place, it's about making sure he takes proper care of her when she does. I want to make sure he's getting who he deserves, but I also want to make sure she's getting who she deserves, you know? I want to make sure my son's girlfriend(s), and my future daughter in law are treated with the respect, love and everything else they deserve. I also want the same for my son. Okay, yes, I've been known to crash a FaceTime or two ("Hi! HI! HI! I'm Noah's MOM!"), or send Ezra in.... But, I want to meet these girls! I want to know their intentions, I want to know about their home lives, their hopes for their futures, what makes them laugh, what do they like to learn--they are dating my son, these things are important to me (seriously, do people just not ask questions about each other anymore???)! And I want to have conversations with him about them!
Okay, and let's be honest, I'm always going to be that mom who goes flying out the door, shouting and laughing my greeting, grabbing everyone up in huge hugs, welcoming them home like prodigal children--so really, I'm just weeding out the girls who can't handle me, right!?!?!
He's brought home several girls. One openly declared I was overbearing, over-involved and controlling. Wellll, I've got news honey, he's still a minor, so we're sort of a package deal. Anyway. When he broke up with another girl, I asked if I had to break up with her too. I really like her. She got our odd family humor and fit in well. When we broke out our weird, she broke hers out too. I'm glad we're still friends on social media and we occasionally still talk. Ezra is still dating Noah's first girlfriend. She promised me she'll wait until he turns 18. Shhhh. Now there's a new girl, one we haven't met yet. They talk a lot, they've been on a date. We know nearly nothing about her.
Dating is a lot different than it used to be. I think it's a little scarier than it used to be too, and not just for us parents. Now there's FaceTime, all kinds of chats and other ways to meet. Shawn and I dated in the Stone Age, so we saw each other at school, went for dates on Friday nights when we could borrow the family dinosaur, and we talked with conch shell phones when we weren't spending time with each other. We didn't have the internet until college (dial up!), and it certainly wasn't Facebook or anything like that (email and AOL messaging!). Now, our son can date a girl from another high school in a different county, and they're still just as close as if they're in the same school. And FaceTime--hello. The house rule is no girls in the bedroom or behind closed doors. Welllll, thanks to FaceTime, isn't that pretty much having a girl in your bedroom/behind closed doors? Yeah, thanks for that parenting battle, Apple. There are so many apps and ways to hide things from parents if your child doesn't want you seeing them.
There are other things that make dating different, too. Sexuality and gender are certainly more different than they were 25 years ago when I was my son's age. Sex-ed is taught differently in public schools: Less education, more indoctrination. I feel as though some parents are more lenient now, too. There are plenty of other differences, but naturally, I'm drawing a complete blank. See the paragraph below!
There are also more dangers now. Sexting, social media, revenge texting, stalking, catfishing, and so on, make dating a scary thing to do. Once what you've sent is out of your hands, you've lost control and ownership of it. Nothing is private once it gets out on the internet. If the wrong things get out, there will be severe, lifelong consequences. And until you meet a person face to face, you never really know exactly who you are talking with on the internet. Teaching teenagers they are not invincible is near impossible.
We do our best. We talk with him about equally yoked, and God's plans--those plans don't involve us saving anyone, or rescuing anyone or changing anyone. That's up to Him. God doesn't want us unequally paired in life, especially in the beginning of marriage, when we need each other perhaps the most. I want Noah to be happy, to be with someone who is going to challenge him throughout life, help him continue to grow, make him laugh--be a true soulmate. I always want the same for my daughter in law! I try to talk to him about the things I observe about these girls--just things I see from my perspective, from my experience. Shawn tries to talk to him about things from the man's perspective. Our son cannot be objective, and while many would consider it to be difficult for us to be so, considering our son is involved, part of our job is to be objective in helping him. This time in his life is for having fun, not for looking for a soulmate. Shawn and I are an anomaly. Not everyone marries their high school sweetheart.
I pray daily for my daughters in law. I love them already, and I look forward to having amazing relationships with them. There are so many pressures, so many different things that I don't necessarily understand, so I also pray for understanding, as well as wisdom and discernment for all of us. I pray for caution, that it will be heeded at the proper times and moments--and not just for myself, but for my sons and their wives.
My place may not necessarily be right between Noah and his girlfriend, no matter how badly how I want to be there laying down the rules, but it is God's place.
This mama's prayer is they will let Him in.
Tuesday, June 19, 2018
A Funny Little Story: Full Circle
We sincerely love Elijah. Not a day goes by he does not endear himself to us, as well as to those on social media. He's the sweetest duck, the funniest duck, and the best all around duck. We might be just a bit smitten. Well, except maybe the cats or Lilly when he chases their tails. Or Noah, but he's a teenager, so it takes a lot to impress him...
Elijah has also proven he is most definitely a spoiled house duck--certainly not created for outdoor living! I'm not kidding. Avery usually has to snuggle him up in a blanket or a towel, fresh from the dryer, in order to dry him off faster, and warm him up faster. Again, I'm not kidding. When the boys return to the house to dry off after water play, and he's left outdoors alone to dry off, we frequently hear, "dink dink dink" on the glass door, and there's Elijah, tapping on the door with his beak to be let it. We open the door, and His Majesty walks right in the house. He loves his belly rubs, and he receives more foot rubs than I do, too.
Elijah also knows his way around the kitchen, and knows who is the easiest to sucker into the best treats (Hi, Mom! Although, Dad is also pretty fun with food!). I have heard Shawn mutter on occasion, "You know, when most people say they have spoiled duck in their kitchen, THIS IS NOT what they mean!" Have I mentioned what a saint my husband is?
This duck also rides around in style in his own stroller, now (Shawn wishes I were kidding....). Both Elijah and Avery enjoy the freedom of being able to leave the yard together, and Avery is hoping to test the stroller and a few store rules.
A few weeks ago, I was reminded of being around Avery's age and desperately trying to convince my parents to let me have a duck. I'd actually forgotten about it. I told Avery about it, but not what I know now as an adult about the psychology behind it.
I had it all planned out in my head, and if I remember correctly, I even drew it out on paper. We had a rather large yard, but also a rather maniacal dog, so my plans included a fenced in area for my duck (a mallard!), and a kiddy pool for him. My mother's answer was an unequivocal, "NO." But, I was determined. I was no doubt honing the skills I use on Shawn now (haha), so I'm certain I did not give up (I was also a bit of an obsessive child)! I could take care of this duck (never mind Virginia winters, or that he would need a companion, or anything that I know now--I was a very naive child), I wanted this duck. I have no idea how long I hounded my parents. I'm sure to them it was forever!! In the end, the answer was still--NO.
It's so funny to me how it's come full circle, and I now have a mallard duck--living in my home, a full fledged family member! God answers prayers.... It might take 32 years, but He answers them!
Knowing what I do now as an adult, I know I was searching for a way to try to connect with my father, who collected wood carvings of ducks, and I thought--as a child--liked ducks. If I had a live one, I could actually connect with an emotionally absent father, right? He would love me, and pay attention to me, right?
Avery loved that story, and will frequently tell me he's sharing Elijah with me, because, "Mom, you didn't get to have a duck when you were a kid."
Now, this sweet little duck is a way for me to connect with my son.
He's not just a duck.
Elijah is therapy. He is couples therapy. He is individual therapy. He is family therapy.
Elijah is love.
Elijah is all of that and more.
Elijah has also proven he is most definitely a spoiled house duck--certainly not created for outdoor living! I'm not kidding. Avery usually has to snuggle him up in a blanket or a towel, fresh from the dryer, in order to dry him off faster, and warm him up faster. Again, I'm not kidding. When the boys return to the house to dry off after water play, and he's left outdoors alone to dry off, we frequently hear, "dink dink dink" on the glass door, and there's Elijah, tapping on the door with his beak to be let it. We open the door, and His Majesty walks right in the house. He loves his belly rubs, and he receives more foot rubs than I do, too.Elijah also knows his way around the kitchen, and knows who is the easiest to sucker into the best treats (Hi, Mom! Although, Dad is also pretty fun with food!). I have heard Shawn mutter on occasion, "You know, when most people say they have spoiled duck in their kitchen, THIS IS NOT what they mean!" Have I mentioned what a saint my husband is?
This duck also rides around in style in his own stroller, now (Shawn wishes I were kidding....). Both Elijah and Avery enjoy the freedom of being able to leave the yard together, and Avery is hoping to test the stroller and a few store rules. A few weeks ago, I was reminded of being around Avery's age and desperately trying to convince my parents to let me have a duck. I'd actually forgotten about it. I told Avery about it, but not what I know now as an adult about the psychology behind it.
I had it all planned out in my head, and if I remember correctly, I even drew it out on paper. We had a rather large yard, but also a rather maniacal dog, so my plans included a fenced in area for my duck (a mallard!), and a kiddy pool for him. My mother's answer was an unequivocal, "NO." But, I was determined. I was no doubt honing the skills I use on Shawn now (haha), so I'm certain I did not give up (I was also a bit of an obsessive child)! I could take care of this duck (never mind Virginia winters, or that he would need a companion, or anything that I know now--I was a very naive child), I wanted this duck. I have no idea how long I hounded my parents. I'm sure to them it was forever!! In the end, the answer was still--NO.
It's so funny to me how it's come full circle, and I now have a mallard duck--living in my home, a full fledged family member! God answers prayers.... It might take 32 years, but He answers them!
Knowing what I do now as an adult, I know I was searching for a way to try to connect with my father, who collected wood carvings of ducks, and I thought--as a child--liked ducks. If I had a live one, I could actually connect with an emotionally absent father, right? He would love me, and pay attention to me, right?
Avery loved that story, and will frequently tell me he's sharing Elijah with me, because, "Mom, you didn't get to have a duck when you were a kid."
Now, this sweet little duck is a way for me to connect with my son.
He's not just a duck.
Elijah is therapy. He is couples therapy. He is individual therapy. He is family therapy.
Elijah is love.
Elijah is all of that and more.
Tuesday, June 12, 2018
Check on Each Other
National Suicide Prevention Hotline:
1-800-273-TALK [8255]
Chester Bennington, Kate Spade, Anthony Bourdain, Robin Williams and so many others had it all: Fame, fortune, family, money, accolades and awards. They were loved by millions. Adored by fans. Their movies, music, products, and shows were bought, watched, listened to and worn. These people were envied.
You know what they also had? Something they shared with me. Something they shared with tens of millions of us. Something far beyond their control. Something kids and adults in the every day world don't receive the kind attention these celebrities achieved for their suicides.
They had addictions. They had depression. They had anxiety. They had demons. Perhaps they were bullied. They had mental illness. They felt alone in crowded rooms, but played everyone's best friend. Their neurotransmitters and neurons were misfiring just like mine do. Perhaps like yours do, or your loved one's do. Our minds are clouded, decision making is poor.
We do not think well of others, not even our dearest family and friends.
We decide they would be better off without us.
Their family members go through hell. They're left with questions, not answers.
And there are millions out there, just like them, watching the news, watching social media, watching all of this play out, suffering even worse. There are are millions who are wincing in pain in silence. Inside, they are crying out in pain, waiting for someone to notice them, waiting for help, not knowing how to ask, dying inside. They see the attention suicide receives....
Loves, please listen to me. Check on your friends. Check on your children. Check on yourself. Don't go it alone. Don't allow your friends to go it alone.
I know the lies the enemy tells you. I know deep the pit is, and how it pulls you down. I know how anxiety frays your nerves, so you jump at every little sound. I know the only thing you want to do is sleep. I know how it can freeze you in place. I know the temptation of suicide. I know the release that drugs and alcohol give. I know the quiet and relief that cutting and burning bring. It's like a sigh from deep inside of you that just releases everything you're holding in. It tells you everything is going to be okay.
Loves, I want to also tell you--there is a sweeter, permanent release Jesus brings. I want to tell you, but I do not want to preach at you, so I will leave it at that.
I will never stop shouting your worth. I will never stop shouting the good that you are, and the good that you deserve. I will never stop shouting that it is okay to take care of yourself. I will never stop shouting that you are enough. I will never stop shouting that the earth needs you, and there is a place for you here.
Please, don't give up. Find a reason to cling to. Live minute by minute. Don't even take it day by day. Just minute by minute. Find a reason. Find that person who recognizes your struggle. Hold on. Please. You are needed.
And for those of you who have already survived, and know it's a day to day process, please live out your testimony for those who need to hear it. There are others who need to hear it's going to be okay.
We need to end suicide.
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Seven Years
I can't believe it's been seven years.
It was a day that rocked our little town to its core.
I will never forget those primal screams of maternal grief.
"My" girl wasn't the only one who died, but her death, and her brother's injuries, were just--yeah, that. I loved her as my own. And every time I see him, I greet him as my own prodigal son. He will always be one of my 'extra' sons. Hers was a loss that was a punch right to my gut. It took the breath right out of me, and it felt like months before my lungs could fill back up. She was like a daughter to me. I had a fondness for her that transcended mere friendship between her mom and myself.
That night when we got home from the hospital, I crawled into bed with Noah, just needing to be close to my own child. I could not be close enough to my own children.
The events that followed in those next few days were so incongruous.
Death overshadowing life overshadowing death.
I rocked my not-quite-a-baby, but not-yet-a-toddler, just shy of his second birthday, holding that still new life close, as we buried three kids and brought two badly injured kids home. As we sent three kids home to Jesus, Noah gave his heart and his life to him, and was baptized.
So many of us barely kept it together in the subsequent weeks and months.
She was one of the few who knew the secret who was Avery before anyone else--her mom was one of my best friends, and my friend found herself giggling, unable to keep the secret from her daughter. We had a youth retreat the weekend I found out I was finally pregnant, and I was just so afraid of losing him. I wore a hoodie with a front pocket so I could keep my hands protectively on him without anyone thinking anything of it. She would come up, wrap her arms around me, and tuck her hands in the pocket with mine, resting her chin on my shoulder. When no one was looking, she would bend down close to my belly and whisper, "I love you." She paraded him around, so proud, when he was born.
We were so afraid of losing him, and we lost her.
I often wonder what she would've been today. Her brother is one of the reasons I fight so hard for Avery. He fell through so many cracks. I see many similarities between them.
Some anniversaries come and we celebrate them. Others come and we think, "Has it really been that long? It doesn't seem possible the earth has been missing her for (seven) years." Not a day goes by you don't miss that person with every fiber of your being, then you realize the anniversary is upon you.
Sometimes I'm still so angry over the circumstances, but I realize anger does no good.
Instead, I just hold my own kids a little harder. I celebrate them a little louder.
I tell myself it's what she would have wanted.
It was a day that rocked our little town to its core.
I will never forget those primal screams of maternal grief.
"My" girl wasn't the only one who died, but her death, and her brother's injuries, were just--yeah, that. I loved her as my own. And every time I see him, I greet him as my own prodigal son. He will always be one of my 'extra' sons. Hers was a loss that was a punch right to my gut. It took the breath right out of me, and it felt like months before my lungs could fill back up. She was like a daughter to me. I had a fondness for her that transcended mere friendship between her mom and myself.
That night when we got home from the hospital, I crawled into bed with Noah, just needing to be close to my own child. I could not be close enough to my own children.
The events that followed in those next few days were so incongruous.
Death overshadowing life overshadowing death.
I rocked my not-quite-a-baby, but not-yet-a-toddler, just shy of his second birthday, holding that still new life close, as we buried three kids and brought two badly injured kids home. As we sent three kids home to Jesus, Noah gave his heart and his life to him, and was baptized.
So many of us barely kept it together in the subsequent weeks and months.
She was one of the few who knew the secret who was Avery before anyone else--her mom was one of my best friends, and my friend found herself giggling, unable to keep the secret from her daughter. We had a youth retreat the weekend I found out I was finally pregnant, and I was just so afraid of losing him. I wore a hoodie with a front pocket so I could keep my hands protectively on him without anyone thinking anything of it. She would come up, wrap her arms around me, and tuck her hands in the pocket with mine, resting her chin on my shoulder. When no one was looking, she would bend down close to my belly and whisper, "I love you." She paraded him around, so proud, when he was born.
We were so afraid of losing him, and we lost her.
I often wonder what she would've been today. Her brother is one of the reasons I fight so hard for Avery. He fell through so many cracks. I see many similarities between them.
Some anniversaries come and we celebrate them. Others come and we think, "Has it really been that long? It doesn't seem possible the earth has been missing her for (seven) years." Not a day goes by you don't miss that person with every fiber of your being, then you realize the anniversary is upon you.
Sometimes I'm still so angry over the circumstances, but I realize anger does no good.
Instead, I just hold my own kids a little harder. I celebrate them a little louder.
I tell myself it's what she would have wanted.
Friday, May 18, 2018
A Place Called Home
For many, home is a place with floors, four walls, windows and a door. It is merely a place to live.
For some, home is nothing more than that.
Perhaps home has people in it, and/or pets. Maybe fake house plates were chosen instead.
Home might be a place, but it can also be a person, or a feeling, a thing, a memory, a smell, or anything else or anyone else that (who) makes them feel connected, safe and loved.
They may not see home every day, but when they do, they know--they are HOME.
All too many in our broken world long for home. Sadly, they do not have that connection and love which makes a home.
My own home is Shawn and our boys. As much as we love our 4 walls, all they provide and everything inside, as long as my family and our pets are safe, I know we would be okay. It wouldn't easy, but we would be okay.
However, as I discovered the very moment my feet hit the earth when I disembarked the airplane last summer, home for me is also Jamaica. I knew the second we landed, I belonged there. I had heard it said before, missionaries tend to know their 'home turf'--where their heart belongs--straight away. I didn't really believe it until I experienced it firsthand, even before meeting our children at the orphanage. The missionary in question may work in other places due to the need, God's call, or personal desire, but there is always that one place which calls them back. It occupies serious headspace, and even more heartspace, the missionary thinks about it daily, prays constantly, and is always looking for ways to go back.
That said, I have been eager to explore other countries and other mission fields, so when a trip to Peru for February 2019 opened up, I was all in. I've seen pictures, I've heard testimonies and stories--let's do this!!! I started my vaccination process, had everything on track--and completely missed the application deadline.
Okay, so Peru wasn’t God’s plan for me. I was a bit bummed, but I’ve learned there is always my plan vs God’s plan when it comes to missions work and disaster relief/response (ever since I was trying to get pregnant with Ezra 6 years ago, and God kept slamming the door in my face each time a missions trip opened up in our church, and I knew I could not be newly pregnant during such a trip), and I’ve really been praying (asking, pounding God’s door, being a brat…)—what’s going on here? Because I have to know, I always need the reason, there must be a reason and I. HAVE. TO. KNOW. What’s Your plan? Am I just supposed to stay here right now because of everything going on with Avery? Concentrate my efforts on my family? Is there something else? Is God worried—knowledgable—I wouldn’t be able to concentrate my efforts on preparing for this trip properly because of Avery? Then a friend of ours from church told Shawn how disappointed he was he wouldn’t get to work with me in Peru because he’d been looking forward to it. That felt like such a pat on my head! Working with him in WVA, I adore him and the other contractors, how they work so patiently with those of us less (not) skilled, how they work with and around my kids, and for him to heap that praise on me—WOW. It was then I did allow myself to be more than a little bummed about not being able to go to Peru. And really—with everything going on with Avery, this mama needs a break. If I'm going to be honesty, I was a little sad to be missing out, but for many of the wrong reasons. I need a break, I need something to look forward to. I just really, REALLY need a mission trip, disaster trip, SOMETHING (oh hey, hurricane season is coming up....). Selfishly, these are the trips that recharge me.
Then our church made an announcement for an upcoming trip to Jamaica.
I'm sorry, what???
Oh my gosh—I had tears! My home! I’m going back to Jamaica!! Shawn turned to me and whispered “You’re going. I’ll put in for vacation on Monday so I can stay home with the kids.” God said the same thing. He told me this was His plan all along! I would love to explore other countries, but I BELONG in Jamaica. I can’t even type that without crying!
LET'S GET THIS PLANE OFF THE GROUND!!!!
The trip isn't to see my babies, sadly, and yes, I'm more than a little heartbroken over it. I promised them I will be back, and I plan to make good on that promise, no matter how many mountains I have to move. In the meantime, I’m laughing at God’s insane humor; we will be facilitating women's conferences, and going into homes to privately pray with women. If you know me, you know I hate women’s conferences about as much as I hate moms groups (go ahead and laugh, those of you who have been in my moms group!)!!! I'm also incredibly shy and self-conscious about praying with/over others, but looking back, I can see how God has been preparing me for this moment. God really sat me up straight and spoke to me about this, though—if we are to prevent these young girls from becoming orphans, and prevent these young women and moms from turning their children into orphans, we have to start by building these women up, and teaching them their worth. We must give them the building blocks for their own lives, so they can, in turn, give them to their own children.
Beyond all of that, the most important thing is what I will be bringing home. The many things these women will teach me.
Oh my gosh, shivers and tears!!! Praise God!!! I’m going home. I'm going home. I'M GOING HOME!!! I have faith I will see my precious babies another time. Perhaps God will even surprise me and I might have a chance to see my babies this trip. Until then, as Noah said, I'm off to “make” new babies!
Thank you Jesus, for this incredible opportunity. I promise you I will not waste it.
For some, home is nothing more than that.
Perhaps home has people in it, and/or pets. Maybe fake house plates were chosen instead.
Home might be a place, but it can also be a person, or a feeling, a thing, a memory, a smell, or anything else or anyone else that (who) makes them feel connected, safe and loved.
They may not see home every day, but when they do, they know--they are HOME.
 |
| Home |
My own home is Shawn and our boys. As much as we love our 4 walls, all they provide and everything inside, as long as my family and our pets are safe, I know we would be okay. It wouldn't easy, but we would be okay.
 |
| I'll be honest: Goodbyes were the hardest part |
That said, I have been eager to explore other countries and other mission fields, so when a trip to Peru for February 2019 opened up, I was all in. I've seen pictures, I've heard testimonies and stories--let's do this!!! I started my vaccination process, had everything on track--and completely missed the application deadline.
Okay, so Peru wasn’t God’s plan for me. I was a bit bummed, but I’ve learned there is always my plan vs God’s plan when it comes to missions work and disaster relief/response (ever since I was trying to get pregnant with Ezra 6 years ago, and God kept slamming the door in my face each time a missions trip opened up in our church, and I knew I could not be newly pregnant during such a trip), and I’ve really been praying (asking, pounding God’s door, being a brat…)—what’s going on here? Because I have to know, I always need the reason, there must be a reason and I. HAVE. TO. KNOW. What’s Your plan? Am I just supposed to stay here right now because of everything going on with Avery? Concentrate my efforts on my family? Is there something else? Is God worried—knowledgable—I wouldn’t be able to concentrate my efforts on preparing for this trip properly because of Avery? Then a friend of ours from church told Shawn how disappointed he was he wouldn’t get to work with me in Peru because he’d been looking forward to it. That felt like such a pat on my head! Working with him in WVA, I adore him and the other contractors, how they work so patiently with those of us less (not) skilled, how they work with and around my kids, and for him to heap that praise on me—WOW. It was then I did allow myself to be more than a little bummed about not being able to go to Peru. And really—with everything going on with Avery, this mama needs a break. If I'm going to be honesty, I was a little sad to be missing out, but for many of the wrong reasons. I need a break, I need something to look forward to. I just really, REALLY need a mission trip, disaster trip, SOMETHING (oh hey, hurricane season is coming up....). Selfishly, these are the trips that recharge me.
Then our church made an announcement for an upcoming trip to Jamaica.
I'm sorry, what???
Oh my gosh—I had tears! My home! I’m going back to Jamaica!! Shawn turned to me and whispered “You’re going. I’ll put in for vacation on Monday so I can stay home with the kids.” God said the same thing. He told me this was His plan all along! I would love to explore other countries, but I BELONG in Jamaica. I can’t even type that without crying!
LET'S GET THIS PLANE OFF THE GROUND!!!!
The trip isn't to see my babies, sadly, and yes, I'm more than a little heartbroken over it. I promised them I will be back, and I plan to make good on that promise, no matter how many mountains I have to move. In the meantime, I’m laughing at God’s insane humor; we will be facilitating women's conferences, and going into homes to privately pray with women. If you know me, you know I hate women’s conferences about as much as I hate moms groups (go ahead and laugh, those of you who have been in my moms group!)!!! I'm also incredibly shy and self-conscious about praying with/over others, but looking back, I can see how God has been preparing me for this moment. God really sat me up straight and spoke to me about this, though—if we are to prevent these young girls from becoming orphans, and prevent these young women and moms from turning their children into orphans, we have to start by building these women up, and teaching them their worth. We must give them the building blocks for their own lives, so they can, in turn, give them to their own children.
Beyond all of that, the most important thing is what I will be bringing home. The many things these women will teach me.
Oh my gosh, shivers and tears!!! Praise God!!! I’m going home. I'm going home. I'M GOING HOME!!! I have faith I will see my precious babies another time. Perhaps God will even surprise me and I might have a chance to see my babies this trip. Until then, as Noah said, I'm off to “make” new babies!
Thank you Jesus, for this incredible opportunity. I promise you I will not waste it.
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
"Even Miracle Babies Can Be Jerks"
When I saw that post on social media the other day, I sat there shocked. A little dumbfounded. I stared at the words for a few moments.
Then I burst into tears.
What I felt was relief.
As I read through the post and the comments, the weight of the guilt for taking my miracle boys for granted still felt like concrete on my shoulders, but I also felt--relief.
There are other moms like me.
There are other kids like him.
I prayed so hard for my boys. I wanted them so much. And now I have them.
What I also have is a sh**ton of guilt for the way I feel sometimes when I really don't like one of them for the way he behaves.
I did not pray for this. I did not want this. But now I have this.
There is no way to absolve myself of this guilt because what I have, other women and grieving mothers with empty arms still pray for.
They would do anything for one day with my problems.
And yet, I dare to complain about the gifts I've been given.
This mom of her own miracle baby jerk was doing her best to absolve the rest of us of our guilt. Her insightfulness saved that day for me. I've been thinking about that post ever since, reminding myself it's okay to let go of the guilt.
My son is not perfect, and neither am I. Neither of us ever will be.
Praise God for other moms who are inside our own heads, speaking wisdom and loving truth.
Then I burst into tears.
What I felt was relief.
As I read through the post and the comments, the weight of the guilt for taking my miracle boys for granted still felt like concrete on my shoulders, but I also felt--relief.
There are other moms like me.
There are other kids like him.
I prayed so hard for my boys. I wanted them so much. And now I have them.
What I also have is a sh**ton of guilt for the way I feel sometimes when I really don't like one of them for the way he behaves.
I did not pray for this. I did not want this. But now I have this.
There is no way to absolve myself of this guilt because what I have, other women and grieving mothers with empty arms still pray for.
They would do anything for one day with my problems.
And yet, I dare to complain about the gifts I've been given.
This mom of her own miracle baby jerk was doing her best to absolve the rest of us of our guilt. Her insightfulness saved that day for me. I've been thinking about that post ever since, reminding myself it's okay to let go of the guilt.
My son is not perfect, and neither am I. Neither of us ever will be.
Praise God for other moms who are inside our own heads, speaking wisdom and loving truth.
Monday, May 14, 2018
Parking Lot Justice
To the 'Concerned Customer' at Lowes:
Hey you--yeah, YOU. I heard the way you berated the cashier to your young adult son.
"She didn't even look me in the eye. Did you see that? I shoulda told her my eyes are up HERE."
Hearing this come out of your disgusting, angry, gruff mouth as we loaded our kids and items into our car, my husband knew exactly what was about to happen as I started to follow you.... Hey Bud, wanna see where MY eyes are???? Grabbing my hand and pulling me back to our car, Shawn shook his head at me. Not in front of the kids.
Thinking as my boys' mother first, I wondered if this cashier could have autism, or another developmental disorder that prevents, and/or hinders eye contact.
Next, thinking as the wife of a man who lost his mom to domestic violence, and a friend to several women who have been victims of domestic violence, I wondered if this cashier was so intimidated by your behavior, she was rendered incapable of looking you in the eye.
Along similar lines, I wondered if she was too shy or too introverted to be able to meet your eyes.
I returned to thinking as a mother. This cashier could possibly have had a sick child at home who left her tired and worried, a newborn, bills to pay and not enough money to pay them, or any number of other stressors.
And finally, maybe she was just sick of dealing with customers who dole out your kind of crap. She's been abused so much in her line of work that it's just not worth giving you the time of day anymore. But, she has bills that need paying, so she clocks in every day, looking forward to that one customer who stops to pay her some respect.
That could've been you that day, but instead, you thought the world should revolve around you.
Pay close attention, because this is also what you are teaching your son--granted, what you've most likely already taught him, and how you've raised him. I daresay you might've even raised him abusively, and allowed him to see you treat his mother that way.
Yes, I'm making some assumptions about you. It's not very nice of me to do that. I'll be honest, I didn't feel like a very nice person towards you. I think I still don't. Part of me wants to understand you, and part of me hopes you haven't always been like that, that you didn't raise your son this way, and treat your wife this way. But what changed that makes it okay to treat a fellow human being this way now?
I hope you will think about other people, and consider their feelings and emotions. Consider wishing someone a great day, and asking her how her day is going. Those two points of conversation change a lot for a person. I hope at some point you are able to see the error of your ways, and correct them. It may not be short little me angrily stomping after you with my husband stopping me, next time.
You cannot just abuse people like that.
Sincerely,
A Fellow Concerned Lowes Customer
Hey you--yeah, YOU. I heard the way you berated the cashier to your young adult son.
"She didn't even look me in the eye. Did you see that? I shoulda told her my eyes are up HERE."
Hearing this come out of your disgusting, angry, gruff mouth as we loaded our kids and items into our car, my husband knew exactly what was about to happen as I started to follow you.... Hey Bud, wanna see where MY eyes are???? Grabbing my hand and pulling me back to our car, Shawn shook his head at me. Not in front of the kids.
Thinking as my boys' mother first, I wondered if this cashier could have autism, or another developmental disorder that prevents, and/or hinders eye contact.
Next, thinking as the wife of a man who lost his mom to domestic violence, and a friend to several women who have been victims of domestic violence, I wondered if this cashier was so intimidated by your behavior, she was rendered incapable of looking you in the eye.
Along similar lines, I wondered if she was too shy or too introverted to be able to meet your eyes.
I returned to thinking as a mother. This cashier could possibly have had a sick child at home who left her tired and worried, a newborn, bills to pay and not enough money to pay them, or any number of other stressors.
And finally, maybe she was just sick of dealing with customers who dole out your kind of crap. She's been abused so much in her line of work that it's just not worth giving you the time of day anymore. But, she has bills that need paying, so she clocks in every day, looking forward to that one customer who stops to pay her some respect.
That could've been you that day, but instead, you thought the world should revolve around you.
Pay close attention, because this is also what you are teaching your son--granted, what you've most likely already taught him, and how you've raised him. I daresay you might've even raised him abusively, and allowed him to see you treat his mother that way.
Yes, I'm making some assumptions about you. It's not very nice of me to do that. I'll be honest, I didn't feel like a very nice person towards you. I think I still don't. Part of me wants to understand you, and part of me hopes you haven't always been like that, that you didn't raise your son this way, and treat your wife this way. But what changed that makes it okay to treat a fellow human being this way now?
I hope you will think about other people, and consider their feelings and emotions. Consider wishing someone a great day, and asking her how her day is going. Those two points of conversation change a lot for a person. I hope at some point you are able to see the error of your ways, and correct them. It may not be short little me angrily stomping after you with my husband stopping me, next time.
You cannot just abuse people like that.
Sincerely,
A Fellow Concerned Lowes Customer
Saturday, May 12, 2018
Be Kind As Mother's Day Approaches
I've made it no secret that I don't particularly care for Mother's Day. I have so many reasons, many of which I've written about in years past.
I also have so many reasons to like it and want to celebrate, but yet, here I am. And if we're going to get real up in here, mothers should be celebrated and appreciated every day, but that's another blog for another time.
Me, the woman who rolls her eyes so hard I give myself migraines, when everyone seems to scream "INCLUSIVITY FOR ALL" as I mutter, "Get over it and grow up," cannot stand this one holiday because it is so very un-inclusive for the ones who matter.
This is a really difficult week for a lot of women. The reasons are infinite.
As so many are celebrating, there are still many women who are cringing, hiding and wanting to be left alone. This weekend, they will avoid church. They will avoid family get-togethers. They will avoid going to the store, turning on the tv, opening up emails and social media. They will avoid life. Their precious hearts are in so much pain.
I have, in fact, counseled some of these woman to do just that--avoid life in situations such as these. Do whatever they need to do in order to protect their hearts. They are allowed to not be okay. They are grieving losses much of the world cannot comprehend. Sometimes, they are grieving losses the world does not even consider to be losses.
Have you ever felt the loss of something missing from your life, only to be told you couldn't possibly be grieving it because you never had it in the first place? Imagine that for just a moment. Knowing you are meant to be a mom, only to have someone tell you that you couldn't be missing a child because you never had one in the first place.
Our church celebrates every single woman on Mother's Day, and it's something that thoroughly endears my church leadership to me. I don't know if we would have stayed, even with everything else we love about our church, if not for this.
As we sit in church, walk through the grocery store, even as we sit around the family dinner table, we do not know each other's stories. We do not know about birth moms and private adoptions, we do not know about abortions and miscarriages, we do not know about the longing in a young woman's heart as she and her husband sit together, praying, night after night, for that room down the hall to be filled with newborn crying and laughter. For that matter--we also do not know about the woman who does not wish to become a mother, and is just quite plain sick and tired of answering the questions of the nosy people who want to know why. We do not know about post-partum depression and difficulties and maternal guilt and resentment. We do not know about mothers lost, and mothers estranged.
There are things we just don't talk about in polite conversation.
"Could you please pass the pepper? I didn't get pregnant again this month."
"I don't want to be a mom and everyone thinks it's their business."
"I had an abortion my sophomore year of college. Pass the salad."
"Oh, I didn't get a fork. Yeah, my girlfriend put our child up for adoption and I don't know where he or she is now."
"Guess what everyone? I'm pregnant after only a day of trying!"
"No one wants to hear about your ovaries Karen--oh hey, pass those eggs!"
See what I mean? Awwwwkwarrrrdddd.
So please, be kind.
Do not automatically wish a woman Happy Mother's Day just because she is a woman.
Do celebrate the woman in her. Celebrate the many ways she touches the lives of those around her. Do hug her--HARD (or do not hug her--ask permission first). Thank her for being part of your life. Tell her how much she means to you and those around her. Pray with her, and pray over her--often. Most importantly, respect her. In all ways, respect her.
I also have so many reasons to like it and want to celebrate, but yet, here I am. And if we're going to get real up in here, mothers should be celebrated and appreciated every day, but that's another blog for another time.
Me, the woman who rolls her eyes so hard I give myself migraines, when everyone seems to scream "INCLUSIVITY FOR ALL" as I mutter, "Get over it and grow up," cannot stand this one holiday because it is so very un-inclusive for the ones who matter.
This is a really difficult week for a lot of women. The reasons are infinite.
As so many are celebrating, there are still many women who are cringing, hiding and wanting to be left alone. This weekend, they will avoid church. They will avoid family get-togethers. They will avoid going to the store, turning on the tv, opening up emails and social media. They will avoid life. Their precious hearts are in so much pain.
I have, in fact, counseled some of these woman to do just that--avoid life in situations such as these. Do whatever they need to do in order to protect their hearts. They are allowed to not be okay. They are grieving losses much of the world cannot comprehend. Sometimes, they are grieving losses the world does not even consider to be losses.
Have you ever felt the loss of something missing from your life, only to be told you couldn't possibly be grieving it because you never had it in the first place? Imagine that for just a moment. Knowing you are meant to be a mom, only to have someone tell you that you couldn't be missing a child because you never had one in the first place.
Our church celebrates every single woman on Mother's Day, and it's something that thoroughly endears my church leadership to me. I don't know if we would have stayed, even with everything else we love about our church, if not for this.
As we sit in church, walk through the grocery store, even as we sit around the family dinner table, we do not know each other's stories. We do not know about birth moms and private adoptions, we do not know about abortions and miscarriages, we do not know about the longing in a young woman's heart as she and her husband sit together, praying, night after night, for that room down the hall to be filled with newborn crying and laughter. For that matter--we also do not know about the woman who does not wish to become a mother, and is just quite plain sick and tired of answering the questions of the nosy people who want to know why. We do not know about post-partum depression and difficulties and maternal guilt and resentment. We do not know about mothers lost, and mothers estranged.
There are things we just don't talk about in polite conversation.
"Could you please pass the pepper? I didn't get pregnant again this month."
"I don't want to be a mom and everyone thinks it's their business."
"I had an abortion my sophomore year of college. Pass the salad."
"Oh, I didn't get a fork. Yeah, my girlfriend put our child up for adoption and I don't know where he or she is now."
"Guess what everyone? I'm pregnant after only a day of trying!"
"No one wants to hear about your ovaries Karen--oh hey, pass those eggs!"
See what I mean? Awwwwkwarrrrdddd.
So please, be kind.
Do not automatically wish a woman Happy Mother's Day just because she is a woman.
Do celebrate the woman in her. Celebrate the many ways she touches the lives of those around her. Do hug her--HARD (or do not hug her--ask permission first). Thank her for being part of your life. Tell her how much she means to you and those around her. Pray with her, and pray over her--often. Most importantly, respect her. In all ways, respect her.
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Sometimes Motherhood Just Kicks You in the Bum
I will admit it. I wallowed more than a bit the past week and a half. I really had a tough time getting my head around The Event in our home. It's something that is difficult to spring back from. I needed some time to recover. I was overwhelmed and stressed out and and and and..... Yeah.
I yelled, "I'm DONE," at the heavens, throwing in my maternal towel.
God calmly threw my towel back to me, telling me I most certainly was not, and could not be done.
I wanted to ignore Him.
He calmly waited on me.
I stomped my feet, mumbling, "Fine, but I'm not happy about it."
When I rejoined the land of the living, it was a dear friend who reminded me the best possible way of being done is surrendering my control of the situation to God, by telling me of her own done-ness.
It was a child who died because his country decided his fate was not up to his parents, but up to them. When his parents and another country were willing to jump through hoops for him, his own country decided he was not 'viable,' deciding his life was not important enough. They made decisions they had no business making for his parents. It's other countries declaring awful deaths on innocent women and children with chemical warfare. It these reminders of how hard I prayed for my children, and the miracles they are.
It was a blog post by a writer I enjoy, reminding me that it's okay to be a mess as a mother. She reminded me in this season as a mother, I don't have to be perfect--BUT, this IS my ministry. When I feel the winds of necessary change hitting my home, they need to begin with me. Motherhood is not the romantic version I dreamed of as a child. It is hard, tough, sacrificial work. And in all of it, God is doing work that matters. He is doing work in my child(ren), and He is doing work in my messiness. When He throws that dirty, smelly dog-haired maternal towel back to me, He's telling me my work is not finished yet. He's telling me His work is not finished yet.
It was God's grace.
It was a reminder.
Of where I belong. Of extending grace to my child(ren). Of messiness and kicks and in the bum. Of ministry and hard, important work.
Mamas, it's okay to take time to recover when motherhood kicks you in the bum. It's okay to want to throw your towel in. But remember, you are not alone, and you are loved. You are so very dear, and so is your child. In this season of messiness and hard work, grab onto someone's hand, and hold tight. Grab on to a reason, a reminder. You're not in this alone.
You are never in this alone.
I yelled, "I'm DONE," at the heavens, throwing in my maternal towel.
God calmly threw my towel back to me, telling me I most certainly was not, and could not be done.
I wanted to ignore Him.
He calmly waited on me.
I stomped my feet, mumbling, "Fine, but I'm not happy about it."
When I rejoined the land of the living, it was a dear friend who reminded me the best possible way of being done is surrendering my control of the situation to God, by telling me of her own done-ness.
It was a child who died because his country decided his fate was not up to his parents, but up to them. When his parents and another country were willing to jump through hoops for him, his own country decided he was not 'viable,' deciding his life was not important enough. They made decisions they had no business making for his parents. It's other countries declaring awful deaths on innocent women and children with chemical warfare. It these reminders of how hard I prayed for my children, and the miracles they are.
It was a blog post by a writer I enjoy, reminding me that it's okay to be a mess as a mother. She reminded me in this season as a mother, I don't have to be perfect--BUT, this IS my ministry. When I feel the winds of necessary change hitting my home, they need to begin with me. Motherhood is not the romantic version I dreamed of as a child. It is hard, tough, sacrificial work. And in all of it, God is doing work that matters. He is doing work in my child(ren), and He is doing work in my messiness. When He throws that dirty, smelly dog-haired maternal towel back to me, He's telling me my work is not finished yet. He's telling me His work is not finished yet.
It was God's grace.
It was a reminder.
Of where I belong. Of extending grace to my child(ren). Of messiness and kicks and in the bum. Of ministry and hard, important work.
Mamas, it's okay to take time to recover when motherhood kicks you in the bum. It's okay to want to throw your towel in. But remember, you are not alone, and you are loved. You are so very dear, and so is your child. In this season of messiness and hard work, grab onto someone's hand, and hold tight. Grab on to a reason, a reminder. You're not in this alone.
You are never in this alone.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Sometimes the Lesson You're Learning isn't for You
As humans we tend to be quite 'me first.' It does not help how me-centered our society has quickly become. Let's admit it--I'll go first--even as parents. Yes. Go ahead. Say it out loud, all together now!
So when a lesson comes along, naturally, we stop, drop to our knees, tilt our heads skyward, and cry out, "What am I supposed to be learning from this, God? Didn't I learn this last week? Aren't I already applying this to my life? ARE. YOU. EVEN. KIDDING. ME. RIGHT. NOW????"
Me first. Me centered.
Then it clicks. The light bulb turns on. Ohhhh. "I see what You're doing here, God!" You exchange a knowing look with the Great Father Above, click your heels, smile to yourself, and keep going on your way, tucking that little lesson away for future use.
Now you know. You understand.
Because you're going to use that lesson--oh yes, you're going to use it, alright. *wink wink, nod, nod*
Sometimes, that lesson you're in the midst of learning isn't necessarily about you. It is there for you to place in your 'go bag.' It may not be something you need your eyes opened wide to in your own life, but it will be something you might need to apply in love to someone else's life, or help that person learn and apply to her own. A mom will need to hear she is not alone in her struggle. Perhaps she needs to give the opinions of others the big old "Screw you!" She is doing the best she can. An uncaring or ignorant person will need his/her heart opened to non-judgment of the next struggling person, and instead, maybe offer an encouraging word, or better yet, offer help. It could be that friend who needs the courage to finally see the doctor, or someone who just needs a really good laugh.
Please understand I'm not talking about always getting in someone's face, but leading by example, with love. By writing like I do, by being that gentle hand on a shoulder, by being that caring face or word, by grabbing the groceries and saying, "How about if I carry these for you, or I can hold them here at the curb while you load your child and you can pull your car around?" By asking what you can do to help--by just being Jesus' hands and feet. By just showing another person that someone does care in this lonely world.
Very many times over the past 17 years, other moms have come alongside me as mentors and dear friends, teaching and helping me with lessons they've learned on my account. Did they know they were learning them for me at the time? Most likely not. It's typically a hindsight thing. I will be honest, even as I share this wisdom with others, I'm still in the position of needing to have it shared with me, and learning. And I'm ever so grateful. You know who you are!
As things have evolved and I've grown in motherhood, I've noticed a progression in recent years. It's become my turn to pay it forward. It's a joy of mine. It's a blessing. When it happens, and that hindsight kicks in, I exchange that knowing look with God and say, "Oh! You almost had me there! Nooowwww I get it!!"
Please don't give up on that lesson. There is someone who needs it, and there is someone who needs your love with it. Please be that Someone for someone.
So when a lesson comes along, naturally, we stop, drop to our knees, tilt our heads skyward, and cry out, "What am I supposed to be learning from this, God? Didn't I learn this last week? Aren't I already applying this to my life? ARE. YOU. EVEN. KIDDING. ME. RIGHT. NOW????"
Me first. Me centered.
Then it clicks. The light bulb turns on. Ohhhh. "I see what You're doing here, God!" You exchange a knowing look with the Great Father Above, click your heels, smile to yourself, and keep going on your way, tucking that little lesson away for future use.
Now you know. You understand.
Because you're going to use that lesson--oh yes, you're going to use it, alright. *wink wink, nod, nod*
Sometimes, that lesson you're in the midst of learning isn't necessarily about you. It is there for you to place in your 'go bag.' It may not be something you need your eyes opened wide to in your own life, but it will be something you might need to apply in love to someone else's life, or help that person learn and apply to her own. A mom will need to hear she is not alone in her struggle. Perhaps she needs to give the opinions of others the big old "Screw you!" She is doing the best she can. An uncaring or ignorant person will need his/her heart opened to non-judgment of the next struggling person, and instead, maybe offer an encouraging word, or better yet, offer help. It could be that friend who needs the courage to finally see the doctor, or someone who just needs a really good laugh.
Please understand I'm not talking about always getting in someone's face, but leading by example, with love. By writing like I do, by being that gentle hand on a shoulder, by being that caring face or word, by grabbing the groceries and saying, "How about if I carry these for you, or I can hold them here at the curb while you load your child and you can pull your car around?" By asking what you can do to help--by just being Jesus' hands and feet. By just showing another person that someone does care in this lonely world.
Very many times over the past 17 years, other moms have come alongside me as mentors and dear friends, teaching and helping me with lessons they've learned on my account. Did they know they were learning them for me at the time? Most likely not. It's typically a hindsight thing. I will be honest, even as I share this wisdom with others, I'm still in the position of needing to have it shared with me, and learning. And I'm ever so grateful. You know who you are!
As things have evolved and I've grown in motherhood, I've noticed a progression in recent years. It's become my turn to pay it forward. It's a joy of mine. It's a blessing. When it happens, and that hindsight kicks in, I exchange that knowing look with God and say, "Oh! You almost had me there! Nooowwww I get it!!"
Please don't give up on that lesson. There is someone who needs it, and there is someone who needs your love with it. Please be that Someone for someone.
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