Ladies Around Town Are Extending Our Village

This probably seems a trite matter to consume an entire blog post, but I think it's huge. All three of my sons love to hold the door open for people when we are out in town. Especially women and even more specifically, older women.

I love it. My hearts swells just a touch, every time one of them lags behind and I look back to see why, or when one races ahead to open the door for a mom with a carrier. I've not taught them this, and neither has their father, directly, but this is how they have seen him treat me, his mom, sister, my grandmother, my mom. And perhaps equally as important, the boys have seen the positive response of the aforementioned women each time the door was held open for them.

I get the strong, independent women vibe, truly. I can handle my own, without a man doing any of the heavy lifting, but I'd be lying if I didn't also admit how much I love when a man, be it one of my sons, a stranger in town, or my husband, shows that touch of gentle class. I want to thank whom ever was responsible for passing down manners that are so sadly lost on a generation of young men and women who scoff at the notion.

For these ladies, I want to thank you, not just for your smiles as my boys hold open the door, but also that you thank them for being such gentlemen. And those of you who take it a step further by praising them to me, saying what kind, helpful boys they are, thank you. I want to instill in them that a woman is of great value. Everyone is, and kindness across the board is what we strive for, but in a society hell bent on devaluing everything, I want to raise boys to be men who will one day, Lord willing, choose the company of a woman who appreciates such a show of masculinity. It's one thing for me to tell them how nice it is, but it's a whole other to have you ladies affirm their actions by your gratitude toward them directly.

So, thank you. Today you expanded our village just a smidge, and helped reinforce those behaviors that are hard to teach but very much worth displaying.

In the Trenches

There are some pretty good writer/bloggers out there. Seriously, some of you can bring me to lip quivering tears in the drive thru line at the pharmacy with just a few words and a sweet baby squish picture! I'm impressed. I'm impressed by your wisdom, your confidence, your ability to see past trying times (or at least write about seeing past trying times) to focus on the gift of the here and now.  I love the quintessential 'pretty picture' a well written blog conveys, but I love even more, an honest blog about the tough stuff. Maybe because that's where I am right now, or maybe because that's a more common reality that most prefer to keep to themselves, but that's what I'm drawn to. That stuff, of course, isn't as easy to write, or as fun to read.

I have a wealth of fun, loving, beautifully emotional moments to write about, every. single. day, truly. Sometimes I feel like a hallmark picture with my boys running through the fields, sunshine in their hair as they chase butterflies with ducks and their little sister trying to keep up, all while mom and dad lite up the logs in the fire pit to roast mallows for s'mores. Their happy hearts laughing and beating wildly as they race back to roast theirs just right. Bedtime prayers and coffee snuggles. Boys who love to read and play baseball and make pizza. It can be overwhelming how wonderful it all is sometimes. But, then there's this...

Ernest Hemingway, "Write hard and clear about what hurts."

Enter me, today. I'm in the trenches, defined, in this case, by wikipedia as trench warfare: Trench warfare is a type of land warfare using occupied fighting lines consisting largely of trenches, in which troops (mom) are significantly protected from the enemy's small arm fire and are substantially sheltered from artillery.

Sometimes, this beautiful life gets tough. It's a battle. And it hurts. In no way am I comparing or belittling the life lived by troops who fought literally in the trenches. I mean only to say, sometimes, the life we are called to can have us feeling under attack. Like we are losing some battle we weren't really aware we were fighting.

I am in the trenches, dodging feelings of failure, sideways glances of disgust in the mirror, murmurs of bad names that pierce me from the inside out. All because I'm in a funk of feeling certain I am failing. In fact, the behaviors of my kids would mostly suggest this is true. Name calling, hitting each other, rude, disrespectful behavior to each other and to me. Some of this even over flowing to school. Yikes. That's embarrassing. Seriously. And mostly because these are some awesome kids which, when reflected on me, is great! There's really no conscious breakdown of what I'm doing right to bear such wonderful fruit. But when it goes the other way, that's also reflected on me, and for some reason, causes a tremendous breakdown of what I'm sure I'm doing wrong. What other moms must think of me. The thoughts or conversations they must have about how they would 'jerk a knot in his tail', or 'never put up with such behavior', it's unnerving, albeit potentially more perceived than real, in an already difficult situation.

Scott says this is the dramatic side of me. That I'm too strong to be such a victim in this. Maybe.

Perhaps that's true, on one hand, that I'm too strong (and too busy) to worry what anyone else may think of me, our parenting, or our children. I'm old enough and been around long enough to know not to judge a situation by what you see on the surface. That's a naive mistake. A rookie move. So that should mean I'm also old enough not to give a second thought to those who fall into that category.  Easier said then done, but I'm working on it.

Besides, no one could say anything to me, or about me, that's half as harsh as what I say to myself. Or how I second guess everything I do and say. Or what my kids behavior reflects on me.

The blog up to here was written around the end of May. I got to this point and lost my words, lost direction, lost the point of what I was saying.

At the time, things were getting worse at the school the boys were at, they were in trouble a lot and we were all feeling frustrated. But then, God's provision I suppose, things came to head at the school and we left, deciding then and there to homeschool all four.

You see, I can be a bit of an excuse maker. I want a reason why the boys are acting wild,  why Sophia occasionally cries for her entire two hour nap, or why my son hit his friend in class, or his brother bounces like Tigger, or.....

But when my kids, and my parenting, actually came into question, my initial response was to be incredibly hurt, very angry and extremely embarrassed. But then I realized something. We don't allow bad, rude, or disrespectful behavior. We correct and discipline, we teach and model, we reinforce and reward, and you know what? They are still kids. They are sinners, as we all are. And, there are four of them. But, I love who they are. Sometimes, they are a dream. They are outgoing and polite and adorable and personable. They say yes ma'am and yes sir, they hold doors open for others, they shake hands and say excuse me. Sure, I'm embarrassed when they hit, or talk back or disobey, but goodness, what an unrealistic expectation to put on us all to think that will completely stop. And who of us would ever expect that from any child, or family?

We live in a strange time where our lives are on display (by our own choice of course) and we both love, and admonish, those who share everything. From "Why do you assume people want to read about your life, your kids, your deep thoughts." to, "Oh my, I read your story, thank you for sharing." These are my own thoughts about myself and others who write, as well as words people have said to me.

And it's not just the writing, but the sharing on FB, instagram, and myriad other social sites, that cause us this grief in thinking everyone else is getting it right. People, you might be the one mom with those seriously perfect kids, but for the rest of us, life is real. It's tired kids, bad attitudes, do-overs, learning curves, embarrassing moments, tears, time-outs, potty training accidents, snotty noses.... it's not like that perfect moment captured, and shared, lasted more than the 30 seconds it took to take and post it. Most likely, if you're like me, you fussed at the kids to stop, then yelled, "Wait! Let me take a picture, then knock it off."

The truth is, for most of us, we're doing the best we can within the circumstances we call our own. If you're in a season of perfection with your kids, be thankful, be gracious, be kind, and be prepared for the day it falters. Those of us who are surviving in the trenches today will be there to encourage you, pray for you, and help you walk through the hard stuff tomorrow.

A perfect moment.

I've made my way through this battle. We are in a place of contentment, joy, and peace as we homeschool and settle in to our stride. Not perfection, by any stretch, but perfectly within God's plan for us in this season. Have faith fellow mom's, John 16:33, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." What a cool, refreshing drink to parched and broken lips.

A Life That Matters

I want my words and my life to matter.

Is that too much to ask? I want the ideas in my head to pour out of me in a way that affect those who read it. I want you to laugh along with me, or at me on occasion. I want you to shed a tear, feel my frustration, sense my anger, and share my joy. I want my words to matter.

I want this life I lead to make a difference. I want someone to be inspired, happier, better, changed... because I have lived. Because I have loved. Because I have shared.

I have been mulling these thoughts around for some time, feeling frustrated because my scope of influence is small. Because I'm actually a little scared of sharing my words and thoughts (despite the fact I write and share them publicly!). Because, do I really have anything important to say?

And then the obvious hit me. I have actual people who look to me, my love, my words, my actions to teach them, mold them, encourage them, guide them, grow them. And with that came, "Holy crap! Maybe I don't want my words to mean so much. Maybe I'm not up for the task."

Oh friend, but you are. Can you relate? The Bible tells us that life and death in is the power of the tongue (Prov 18:21). Your words have the power to grow a young boy into a confident, loving young man. Your words can shape the way he thinks of himself,  and the way he thinks of others. Your words have the power to teach him to read, to write, to love the process of learning...or to hate it. Your words can soothe when his feelings are broken, to lift when his spirit is saddened, to strengthen when he is weak.

Your words can light up the face of your little girl, or bring her to tears. You can encourage her to move mountains, or not. To blow through barriers, real or perceived, or to cower at them. To stand firm in her faith, or to doubt it. She watches your every move, and soaks in your every word.

You want your life to matter? Matter to her. Matter to the little men who look to you for love, comfort and acceptance, but also for your pride and praise as they seek to be a bit less "little" and a bit more 'man' every day.

So, I go back....It that too much to ask? Of me, absolutely. Of my Father who gave me this life, this position, this circle of influence? No way.  I see so clearly when my words bite, but even more so, how they give life. I see our day sink or soar simply by the attitude, and words, I approach it with. It's tough to show up every day, ready to 'give life' to those around you, but show up anyways. Grab an extra cup of coffee, put on your best 'mom pants', throw your hair up and show up, just as you are. Remember the power given us in Christ... He has given us everything we need to make this life count. Now go forth and matter, however big, or small, your circle is...go.

Broken Spirit vs Tree of Life

I have a sharp tongue. I've often touted, "My parents were lucky! I never did anything wrong...I just had a smart mouth."

EEEEK!

When I hear sharp, harsh, or smart words come out of my children's mouths, I cringe at how horribly similar the tone sounds to mine when I was a child, or when I respond to them in harshness, instead of loving kindness and patience.

Side note: If you know my kids and hear, or have heard, them say things like 'stupid', 'hate', or other such vile things, don't assume they've heard that from me! I'm not saying I speak in an abusive manner to my kids. What I am saying, is the words of correction I speak, are all too often spoken in a tone of frustration or anger that, if overheard, would embarrass the snot out of me, and frequently causes me to feel disappointment in my parenting.

I just read a paragraph in a book, Shepherding a Child's Heart by Tedd Tripp, that convicted me enough to get me out of the chair, leaving my iced coffee behind, to sit at the computer and type this public confessional...

"Like any area of theological truth, the key to growth is not the cognitive identification of truth. It is the understanding the pertinence of that truth in daily life. You and your children must understand the fear of the Lord in a manner that reorganizes your lives."

I love reorganizing most things, so why not this.  The reality is, I hear it when it starts, I just feel more justified then I do convicted, in the moment, to soften my tongue. However, after the fact, conviction hits pretty hard. They are such sweet, albeit occasionally disrespectful and disobedient kids (like ALL who have gone before them), and they deserve my best. Those moments are far from it. They deserve what God has called us as parents to do, which is to lovingly correct and discipline them, not scold them harshly. So, I'm bringing a piece of my broken parenting to the cross today, to lay down what I once thought was harmless, and replace it with Proverbs 15:4, A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but cutting words break the spirit.

He is My Assurance in the Mess

I recently heard someone say, "I'm not sure how you can be a Christian and have so many things go wrong for so long." These words weren't spoken to, or about me, but instantly I felt they could have been. We've had a rough year. One where we felt we were being kicked while we were down, and it hurt. Over and over again. And each blow seemed to make it tougher to smile then the last. If you'll bear with me, I'd like to share a little of the difficult, in order to share the present, and my thoughts on this question of being a Christian and having bad things happen.

I've written (could be read: yelled, cried, dwelled, hurt, held on to, talked about, written again...) about an incident with at least one of our kids that happened last April, or at least, that's when we found out about it, that rocked us to our core. It hurt, rightfully so, made us angry, rightfully so...scared us, scarred us, and to some degree, kicked off this tornadic year of bad happenings. There were wonderful things that happened also, like the adoption of our daughter, but sadly, this past year has been marked as a very difficult time, despite those bursts of joy that sporadically  pulled us from this funk.

In the weeks and months that followed the aforementioned incident, I lost weight. I couldn't eat. We didn't sleep. We fussed and fought with each other as we struggled with understanding the thing that was done, and the lack of care with which it was handled, and then dealing with the investigation that followed. It took us a couple months to finally realize we were fighting each other in our hurt, rather than coming together to help each other, and walk through this thing together.

In June, my grandmother who lives with us and with whom I (and my whole family) are extremely close, had a heart attack. She was 90 years old and a mere 66 lbs. It did not look good for her to recover from this event, but amazingly, she did. That is, until October, when again, her health looked too shaky to overcome, but again, she did.

November and December where the months we finally broke down and sought help through counseling about several things we were dealing with, one of which was difficult behaviors we had been dealing with from one of our boys. Something we had battled for so long, but either from duration, stress, or an over burdened heart, we finally received the help we needed. We caught our breath during this time and the holiday season.

In February, my grandmother got sick again...nothing to cause us to fear the worst, but enough to take the winds from the sails of an already hurt, angry, and damaged vessel. Later that month, her recovery still in progress, Scott had a cancer spot removed from his ear. Read about that day in full here if you'd like: http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2016/03/whats-your-emergency.html, but the gist is, enroute from one ER to another after bleeding for eight hours,  he shook violently, vomited and passed out, and I thought I had lost him. That's difficult to recover from. Even days and weeks later, while thankful as all get out that he was still with us, the emotions from that night would wreak havoc on my heart and mind. The next day, Gram's arm was swollen and causing her lots of pain. I ended up back in the ER with her, to rule out a clot, which we finally did the next day, but still having a swollen arm, had appointments and meds to try to find her relief.

Stress. In the midst of the trauma were our kids, still being kids. My body and mind were stressed.

Over the next month Gram continued to have pain off and on and then began to lose weight again. It was at that time, I began to notice that my fully independent Grandmother was no longer washing her dishes. Her laundry basket was overflowing to a pile of the floor, and my once critical of anyone who stayed in their jammies too long Gram, hadn't changed in five days. I called my mom and uncle with the news that things didn't look good. No matter how sick Gram had ever been, she'd never been like this. She was losing her will, her desire, and I couldn't help her. It weighed on me like a pile of bricks I was unable to move. And on top of it, I had a major surgery scheduled and coming up in a few days. My mom was already scheduled to come during that time to help with the kids, so my uncle got on a plane within days to come stay. He said he could hear in my voice that he needed to be here. I guess no matter how hard you try to hide pain, it seeps out. We needed help in more ways then we had been able to see.

At the end of March, with my uncle in town to help with Gram and the kids, I had a hysterectomy. That sucked. All of it...another night away spent in a hospital, swollen tummy, four incisions, pain meds (which I don't tolerate!), and a six week recovery in front of me. However, during this time, my Gram, the greatest comeback kid ever, started making a recovery. She showered, changed clothes, and little by little gained strength and desire. Whether it was having her son in town, or me being down and in need of TLC, or both, I have no idea. But she was nearly back to herself within two weeks and continuing to improve while my mom was in town the following week.

Week four of my six week recovery, we had three more ER trips, first with our daughter who lost consciousness after falling off our concrete stairs and hitting her head, then me with severe abdominal pain, and lastly, making it five trips in just eight weeks, my mother-in-law with chest pains and difficulty breathing. Prior to this, I think I'd only been to the ER once, maybe twice in 39 years.

In April, a year after the investigation began, we got word that the evidence needed to prosecute was not found. I spiraled into anger once again, realizing it was always just beneath the surface, as I awaited the news of an arrest under the facade of a 'process of forgiveness', that would not happen.

And this is just the highlights of the difficulties of our year. This doesn't speak anything of the girlfriends I have whose marriages are broken and under attack, or those who pray to find a love to marry, or the couples we know who are struggling with infertility, or who have lost babies, or the brother, former student, and colleague who all lost their battle to cancer, or...this list could go on and on. There are hurts daily that are difficult, at best, to bear up under.

So, back to the question of  "how can you be a Christian and have so many things go wrong?"  I'm not a theologian so I won't go into the fact that we live in a fallen world, or that things going wrong has nothing to do with whether or not one is a Christian, or about predestination vs free will, and consequences of our actions and of those around us.  Stuff just happens, all the time, to each of us. The better question is, how would you get though this mess without Jesus? Where do you find your strength or assurance? Who does your help and hope come from?

Where am I now? Recently, I heard a message that convicted me in a mighty, mighty way, about the anger I was holding on to, and my unwillingness to forgive which would allow me to move past a very hurtful situation, thus allowing me to better deal with the every day. I was drinking the poison hoping the offender would suffer. It wasn't working. So, I wrote it out. I wrote a letter that may never see its recipients. I cried, a lot, and I let it all go. My heart finally began to heal. I finally took a full, deep breath...maybe the first in a year. I'm lighter, not so heavy burdened all of the time. Gram is much improved, but she's still 91. We take every good day with her as a blessing, the gift of time.

So, what changed? Those difficult things still happened. We all, Christian or otherwise, will have to walk through these seasons of pain and struggle throughout our lives. What changed is when I realized that the Lord is enough, even when it hurts more than words can express, or our anger is big enough to scare us. He knows, He sees, and He is still in control. We don't have to be, thank goodness, but we will do well in the midst of the mess, to find peace and assurance in Him.