I Resolve...Parenting is Hard!

Parenting is hard.  Let me say it again:  PARENTING IS HARD!

I am weary today. I so long to reach a place where the incline isn't so steep, the rocks so rough, the wind so strong. I have walked this precarious precipice for days, weeks even. I long for a place of rest, a shallow refuge hollowed out in the wall of this mountain I am traversing. My body does not falter at the journey ahead as much as my mind and spirit do.

These are the times when I long for home. 
These are the times I turn on the music and sing my prayers to my wise King.
These are the times I abandon everything else and lay prostrate at His feet.
These are the times I run to Him for His touch.

Then, it is at the time that I am renewed, refreshed, reminded that He has me...always.

            ***************************************************************************


I am reading Resolution for Women, the book written as a companion to the movie Courageous. I'm devouring it, disciplining myself to consume one section at a time so as to allow the precept to take root in me. I want to grow into the woman God created me to be; I want to be worthy of the life He has blessed me with. I do not want to live my todays so desperately looking for better tomorrows that I forget to LIVE today. I want to be present in the NOW.

That being said, I am so grateful that God put the book in my life.  I needed it last night.  I need it today...to remind me that LOVE is tough but so worth it.  To remind me that THIS is the journey...difficult or not.  THIS is the place God put me on purpose...to do His good work in my household, in my workplace, in my friendships. 


(And while I am eagerly looking forward to the day that teenage angst is over and done with, I also dread that very day.)

More than "Good Enough"

     I cried through the entire movie Courageous. 

     It was a tear-jerker for sure, but my tears were pouring from a wounded heart.  I am running out of time--important time.  My son is on the brink of adulthood and my days of influence are dwindling.   My heart's desire is to be the best mother I can be.  However, my fifteen year performance has been less than stellar.  I forget to make sure my child eats something green (or quasi-healthy) everyday.  I forget to wash an important article of clothing needed NOW.  I mess up.  I give up.  I lose sight of where I am headed.  I lose my way.  I find myself measuring my worth and my performance by the world's standards, and I come up short!  Only God knows how short I come to His standards.  I want a do-over!

     So when I saw the hearts of those fathers in Courageous, I felt a quickening in my spirit.  I want to be more than a "good enough" mother.  I want to be the mother that God created me to be.  This is my journey to become that woman, that wife, that mother and nothing less.  I resolve to let God move in me to make me the person He planned all along.  I only have so long on this earth; I want to get it right. 

     After all, there are no do-overs.  There's only today.

     Father, my heart aches for the time I've wasted, the opportunities I've lost.  My child is more than half grown and I have not been the mother You've created me to be.  I cannot "do-over" the yesterdays, but I resolve to make all of my todays count.  Today I will live in the moments--ALL the moments--and I will seek to be the mother You want me to be every step of the way.  I can only do this through Your strength, Your grace, and Your mercy.  Help me to be more than "good enough".  Help me to fulfill the calling You placed upon my life.

Good, Better, Best

I've been fasting for weeks now, praying a bold prayer for salvation, restoration, freedom, and provision for someone.  As I near the end of my self-imposed fast, I long to see the fruition of my prayers.  Things have improved.  Things are good, but I long for the better.  I long to see the truth pouring from this one's life.

I know that God has not ignored my prayers and petitions.  I know that He sees the sacrifice of my fasting.  I know that He has my answer.  I just want it now.  I don't want to wait another day, another month, another year of this person's life.  I want freedom for him now!

I know God has a plan, and I know it is in the works.  I know my answer is on the way.  I do not know what causes the delay, so I wait impatiently.  And in my impatience, I so want to take control of what is not mine to control.  I take a deep breath and pray:  My ways, are not Your ways, Father.  My plan is not Your plan.  YOUR plan, O Lord, is not better; it is best.

Just help me to wait on it.

Is Anything too Hard for the Lord?

I've drawn a circle in the sand, much like Honi, the eccentric sage of first century BC Jerusalem.  In a drought-ridden land, Honi took a risk, drew a circle in the sand, and prayed to Almighty God for rain, saying he would not leave the circle (or stop praying) until God poured down liquid relief from the heavens.  In a beautiful move of God, rain quenched the thirsty land.

I, too, am thirsty.  I am thirsty for God to move in a miraculous manner; I am begging Him to move where only He can move and move like only He can move.  HE has my answer, and like Honi of old, I'm not going anywhere until this prayer is answered.

My prayer is a big one.  No one, including me, would ever have thought to pray this particular prayer.  In fact, my prayer started small:  salvation, freedom, and restoration for someone close to me.  It really isn't a small prayer, but compared to the one I am praying now, that one was tiny!  God showed me last night that I wasn't praying big enough, bold enough prayers.  He wants to do something amazing (miraculous even), but I had to step up and take a risk.

I drew a circle, placed his name in it, and claimed the victory for this new thing--salvation, yes; freedom--yes; restoration--yes.  But, now I am praying that this person will preach the Good News, and he will work with those who have addictions, showing them the way to freedom. 

I've been waiting for thirty years for the answer to my small prayer.  I have a feeling (a peaceful feeling) that the answer to my big new prayer is just around the corner.

No one else could do this.  No one else would even think to pray this prayer for this fellow.  God told me to pray boldly.  When it is accomplished, everyone will say, "This is from God!" 

Is anything too hard for the Lord?  No.  There is nothing that God can't do.  This truly will be miraculous!  And I can't wait to have a front row seat.

Thankful Thursday

I have a friend from high school who unexpectedly lost her husband just a few days before Christmas.  His funeral was to be on Friday, the eve of Christmas Eve.  On Thursday she posted, as she always does, her Thankful Thursday list.  It struck me that even in her grief, she had much that made her grateful--one key piece being the last nine-and-a-half years being married to her "love sweet love".

Today is Thursday.  It is Thankful Thursday for me too.

What are you grateful for?  Here's my list.

1.  I am grateful for Christian writers who hear the voice of God and obey Him.  I am where I am in my life's journey because of those countless writers who have poured into me with their revelations from God. 

2.  I am grateful for the promises of God!  That is a biggie!  I am holding tight to the promise that He has a plan for each of us, a plan that is beneficial to us and not harmful.  I am holding tight to this promise for loved one, that understanding would come and give birth to new life in Jesus.  Jesus isn't giving up on my loved one, and neither am I.  I pray daily.

3.  I am forever grateful that I can pray!  I am so humbled that I can pour my heart out before God on His throne, and He bends down to listen to me. 

Who am I that He is mindful of me?  I am His created, His beloved.  And for that I am grateful.

Have a blessed Thankful Thursday.

On Being Thankful

Today is not Thanksgiving.  Today is Tuesday, a regular day in November.  It happens to be two days before our national day of thanks, but honestly it could be any day in any month.  Just a plain old Tuesday.  Only it wasn't.  Today should be Thanksgiving.  Today was anything but normal.  I don't want normal anymore.

This Thursday is the day we Americans set aside as the day to nationally and officially give thanks.  Most of us celebrate with family and friends.  Usually a turkey is involved, stuffing or dressing (depending on your region of the country), sweet potatoes, and a pie or two.  We overeat, much as we do the rest of the year; this time it is on food that is relegated for our special feast.  We pause.  We say we are thankful.  We take it for granted that we have these blessings, casually asking for blessings on the food.  We say we are thankful, but it doesn't always reach our hearts. 

God has been working on me this week.  He is removing the callouses that have hardened my heart.  He is teaching me obedience (mine), faithfulness (His), and He is throwing in a large dose of mercy and grace (both for my own use and to share).  Sunday I saw a video from just after the tornado hit Birmingham.  In the midst of the relief effort there, some nameless recipient lettered a sign and posted at the edge of their yard:  "I saw God today."  The second sign simply said, "Thank you."

I've been thinking.  Saying "thank you" is easy.  Someone holds open the door for you to pass through.  Out pops "thanks".  Someone gives you a stick of gum.  Manners dictate a "thank you".  Someone helps you in the midst of a bind, you thank them generously.  Saying thank you isn't difficult.  BEING thankful is.

I've not always had a thankful heart.   I've said the words, I've had much to be thankful for, and I've acknowledged those blessings, but I've not always been thankful.  Today, I am.  Today, I am thankful for my second chance to tell an uncle that Jesus loves him and died for him.  Today, I am thankful that God sees fit to use me to share His love.  Today, I am blown-away amazed that God orchestrated my entire day just so I could tell my uncle about the amazing grace He offers--even to alcoholics, especially to alcoholics.  Today I am thankful that God saw fit to give me words of LIFE so that I could share them with one of His creation, one of His beloved.  Today, I am awed to know that as I watched my cousin care for his father, I saw God.  I will never be the same again.  And I am so thankful! 

So, today is Thanks-giving for me.  I will not wait until Thursday to stop and take stock of my blessings and understand all that I have to be thankful for.  Today, I give thanks to my God for second chances--for me, for my family, and, specifically, for my uncle.  Today, I give thanks that God loves me enough to give His one Son to save me from what I deserved--a forever in Hell.  I am thankful He loves me so much that He sent someone to tell me.  And I am blessed, so blessed, that He gives me the chance to tell someone else about Jesus!  (Now you know.  If you want to, need to hear more, let me know!  I've lots to talk about!)

Now that you know too, go tell someone else.  It will be the highlight of your day.

Happy Thanks-giving and Happy Thanks-being.  They're both good!

You Keep Me Real

I have a group of girlfriends that keep me bare-to-the-bones honest and real.  They celebrate my victories, grieve with me in my pain, and call me back to reality when I get too big for my britches.  I love that they keep me honest and real, that they love me in spite of failings, that they bolster me up when I need it, and that they love me--the real me, the one I try to hide behind a plastic mask.  They hold me accountable for being the me I was created to be. 

And it is in this truth that we all grow.

Thank you, girls.  You are beautiful.  And I love you!

Today is THE Day

Because of You I no longer wallow in sin, looking for things to make me feel alive.  Because of You and what You did, I must share Hope and Love--I must share YOU.

He has been calling you for a long time, watching you make a fool of yourself while you chased the things that would never fill you up, never satisfy you.  This time He has moved you to a place where you have to listen, where you will be still, where you will see all that He has to offer.  He has been waiting for you, watching you fill yourself with the drink that only drains you and masks your pain, all the while aching to offer you the drink of Life from a well that will never run dry. 

So many times has He moved in your life, only for you to turn from the miracle, looking to things of this earth to satisfy what only He can fill.  This time, He has drained you, completely so that you will know that what He is filling you with is LIFE!  He has drained you so that HE can fill you up with what is real, with what will last for eternity.  After today, you will not be able to say He is not real, He does not last, He does not fill, because you will know it firsthand.  YOU will be the result of His miracle.

He has waited all these years, watching you pour out your very life's purpose pursuing something to kill the pain, to hide the shame, and He has ached with your pain and your shame.  He knows how badly you hurt, how badly you've messed up, how hard you try to drown yourself in a bottle so you would never have to remember again.  He knows!  And He offers, instead, to do that in your place--to die so that this shame and pain will be gone from you so that you can live the life He planned for you. 

It is not too late now.  One day it will be.  One day soon, it will be too late.  But today, it is not too late.  Today is the day.  Say yes to the well that will never run dry.  Say yes to the One who has died to take away your pain and shame.  Say YES to LIFE!  Say YES to Him; say "Yes, I want to be Yours.  I know You did this for me, to set me free, and I want that freedom.  Yes, take my life and make what is left something for Your glory.  Yes, Jesus, be Lord in me."  Say yes!

A Gathering of Love

A bonfire, rice and peas, memories and laughter, and front yard football (for those under 40)--there was no better way to celebrate this son's fifteenth birthday than with family.

Family gathered to usher this boy-man through another rite of passage, another step closer to leaving the nest. 

I watch faces as memories unfold, childhoods from long past pulled to the forefront, revisted, remembered, relinquished.   Memories voiced bring healing to hurts and allow hearts to open.  This younger set listen, learning about their mamas'and daddy's roots, realizing now why they are the way they are.

I watch as laughter broadens faces, lights eyes, and makes new memories.  These memories belong to the young ones, making them who they will become, filling hearts and minds for those bonfires yet to come.

Four generations gather, the eldest--my parents quickly approaching seventy, the youngest--their not-quite-two-year-old great-grandson.  Love has come full circle.

Watch for God

I wanted to curl up in bed and hide beneath the covers.  I hate conflict.  I hate confrontation. 

Instead, I forced myself to rise, shower and dress, and head to work, even as the raincloud hovered darkly overhead.  My foul mood followed me into my third grade classroom.

"Please sit down and complete your morning work," I said over and over, volume rising slightly each time it was repeated.  Frustrated and just longing to be left alone, I took refuge behind my desk.  Quickly a line formed, one student after another.  Rats!  Can't they manage for a minute while I take a breather?  Not today it seems.

"Yes, Collin.  What is it?" I ask with more than a hint of impatience in my voice.

"Look, Mrs. J.  My shirt and my bracelet have to do with God!" he exclaimed, blue eyes dancing.

I look.  The bracelet stops me in the middle of my ill mood.  I take a deep breath.  Tears fill my eyes and my heart quivers with the knowledge that something holy is happening here.

"Watch for God," it proclaims.

And I look up into the blue eyes that God has put before me, and I see God smiling, reminding me that He has it all in His hands, in His control. 

I release my bad mood and grab hold of Him.  I just saw God and I want to do what He is doing.  I smile.

Battle Weary

Tonight I just want to lay down my sword

and curl up in a sheltered spot,

far away from the line of fire.

I want the quiet that comes after

battle has ended to seep through my soul

and remind me of

perfect peace.

In these wars of words, jab after jab,

wounds sliced deep, volumes rise

and listening ceases--

there are no winners.

We twist and dance around our guilt,

our culpability, looking

to lay all blame on the shoulders

of the other.

It proves fruitless, futile for each, as any

gained ground is

lost amid the  ruins of

relationship.

Lord, I am weary of the

verbal violence, the mental maneuvering,

and the spiritual sparring

that leaves me broken and spent,

And leaves my family quaking and quivering

in the aftermath.

We are worn out, used up,

our reserve troops too beleagured

to stand and fight another battle

against

one another.

We wage war against the very ones we love,

too stubborn and self-righteous

to let it go,

to let it go.

Abba, shelter me.  Hold us, Daddy.

Remind us

that You have peace planned

for us

 if

we just let it go.

Changing My Family Tree

I struggle with control.  I wrestle to release the fist wrapped around the bank account--my fist.  I am the bookkeeper, billpayer, account balancer, budget keeper for our family.  I so want to be at the place where I can release this control--not to my husband--to my Lord.  I long for the day when I will be debt-free so that I can freely give--no, pour out--from the blessings I have been given.

I am a balance keeper.  I need to know that the bills are paid, there's a reserve to tide us over, carry us through.  I juggle the books and the wants versus needs of my family, and I want to say "YES" to their requests but rarely do.   "A first run movie?  Sure!"  "Need money for the yearbook?  No problem!"  "A weekend in the mountains?  I'd love it!"  (They would really like to hear this from me.)  But, what I want more than anything is to be the kind of giver that God calls me to be--cheerful, attentive, generous.

I want to take care of the widows and the orphans, the lost and forgottens, the left behinds and the left alones; but I can't do that when I am chasing security in a savings account.  SO, I release the fears of not having, of not being like everyone else, and embrace those very differences.  I don't want to be like everyone else--in debt and stressed.  I don't want the weight of all those things pressing me down, pulling me under.  I want to be different, maybe even weird ! 

I will not be satisfied until I finally begin to live the life I was meant to have--a life abundant and free, in Jesus Christ!   I am firmly rooted in the knowledge that everything I have and "own" is not mine; it all belongs to God, and He has placed me as a steward over those things.  He is my provider and I will be wise with the resources He has given me.  My life will be different because He has set me free.  I will not be a slave to any master--especially money.  And I will pass that legacy down to my children and my children's children.  My family tree will be different, and it starts with me.

Freed

I find myself staring

at hands

that futilely grasp at the

temporal things:

pleasure, power, prestige.

All things that are ultimately worthless.

If only I could pry

the aching fingers lose

and

free my soul!

It's not mine. 

Whatever "it" is,

it is Yours, Lord.

You provide in abundance

for my needs

tho' still I

cling to the promises of this world.

My eyes search

for the gleam that

says gold and glitter

but my heart searches for Truth and depth,

for the One Who

poured

Himself, His life,

out and into me.

Enslaved to the earthly,

longing for the Holy,

living for eternity,

I long to live

as Yours.

Daddy

At almost seventy years old, he still looks like the daddy of my youth.  My heart still sees the strength in his arms as he wrestles the garden tiller, muscles bulging beneath his sun-darkened skin, even as my mind whispers, "He is older, frailer."  My heart doesn't want to hear such talk.

I look at his strong hands, the age and work-gnarled joints, the missing fingertips where a machine planed off a slice of wood and the ends of two fingers.  I see a hand always with a hammer in its grasp--building his livelihood even if not his dream, building his family.  I see those hands steadying a child's foot, removing splinters and briers, holding it firm regardless of the twisting and turnings of a small body.  I see those same strong hands in play, mercilessly tickling daughters who cry out for mercy between gasps of laughter.  Those same hands held his infant son, raising him with the roughness of his own boyhood while wishing for more from this father-son bonding than he had experienced with his own.

I hear his smoke-roughened voice telling tales of his childhood dog, Leed, stories of his brake-less bicycle and swimming in the mill pond, memories of clearing a field and planting it with a horse and plow, remembering the hard scrabble life as the second youngest of fourteen born to the hard, wiry man and his wife.  I hear the stories, not quite understanding the depth of the words, not able to read between the lines to find the then-boy in this now-man.  I hear his laugh right alongside those of his grands, boys and girls fascinated with the papa he has become.  Somehow, along the way, that generation has known this man deeper and better than the one who called him daddy.

"Don't ever laugh at anyone 'cause they are poor", he repeated over the years of my childhood, engraving on my very soul the truth of his raising.  Not a year has passed that I do not revisit those same words with the untouched, unknowing children entrusted to me for twenty-some-odd Augusts.  Each time I speak those words amid the chalk dust and math books, the tears in my voice and on my cheeks testify to the depth of my love for this man who has raised me with more than he knew at my age, for the child he was that I never knew, for the man he became in spite of the lack.

He worked, hard and long hours, tired written across his face and weighing down his shoulders when he came into the house.  Gruff commands spurred us into action, vacating the sofa or the room so he could rest, but each night, his "I love you"s and hugs and kisses were the truths we held onto. 

That will not change, though he is a changed man.  He still labors to take care of now-grown children, worrying for what they and their children may lack (which is naught), believing we are still his to provide for.  After a lifetime of living in and of the world, one heart attack and five stents opened his eyes and his heart.  One glimpse of eternity and he said yes to the One Who has held him since before time began.  

I have always believed that he could do anything--build a house, fix a car, right the world's wrongs.  The little girl-daughter saw him as her hero, proud of him in every way, worshipped him with stars in her eyes.  This woman-daughter knows more of his faults than she has ever wanted to know, loves him in spite of the failings, and yearns to know the true him, this man she is still proud to call Daddy. 

A Character like Yours

Lord,

knowing my end before I ever began,

You have molded me and made me more and more like You

with every trial and triumph,

My disappointments have made an indelible mark upon the character of who I am yet to be.

The successes have been Yours,

building in me not a self-confidence,

but a faith confidence

because each gain I made was directly from

Your Hand.

You are faithful.

And I am reminded of this each time I remember those moments--

speaking before a group of women

 for the very first time

and watching You move among them;

teaching children about

the Cross

and 

Your sacrifice

and seeing them look for You

on the other side of the chasm created by our sins;

writing down those moments when 

You have moved in

my life

to make me more like

You.

My past failures and my past successes

drove me

to You,

whether I knew it or not.

You orchestrate every moment of my life,

calling me to be

more,

pressing me on to meet

who I am destined

to be,

holding me

in spite of my wrestling,

embracing me in the same arms that stretched across the beam of the cross

for me.

Show me, Lord,

show me who I am in You.

Grow me to be the spitting image of my Father

and

CONTINUE 

...to create in me the desire to know You,

...to push me so I will be who You have created me to be,

...to teach me those things I need to know in order to have the character

of Christ,

to prepare me for my date with destiny.

Don't give up on me, my Creator.

Redeem this life, this person.

Redeem me

for Your Glory!

Really Living!

My youngest son (a fourteen-year-old almost man) and I just returned from our first summer adventure--our first-time ever kayaking.

Several months ago, I received an email offering a kayaking adventure on the Broad River for a really good price.  Plus it came with a T-shirt!   I had never been kayaking; I had tubed down the river in Helen, Georgia in water that could only be about twelve inches deep, but I had dreamed about whitewater rafting in my younger days.  I used to long for adventure, but somewhere along the way, I got too busy, too "grown-up", too OLD!  I missed that "me" and decided to do something about finding her again.  Feeling a bit plucky, I logged on to the website and purchased the certificate.

It has been tucked in my bookbag for the last two and a half months, waiting for me to find the courage to redeem it.  Friday, I remembered it and that it had an expiration date of May 31st.  It was use it or lose it.  I dug down deep inside the bag to find that single piece of paper that offered me adventure.  Holding it in my hand, I dug down deep inside of me to find the courage to actually go through with it.  I approached my son.  "Would you like to go kayaking with me this weekend?" I asked. 

He grinned his beautiful grin.  "Seriously?" he replied. 

"Seriously!"  I answered.

At 2:30 today, we put in at Broad River Outpost in Danielsville just off of Wildcat Bridge Road.  Some three hours later, we pulled our kayaks out of the water six and a half miles downstream just past the Highway 172 Bridge.  With arms as limp as wet noodles and sunburns across our noses, Sam and I grinned as we collapsed onto the seat of the bus that would take us back to the Outpost.  We had done it!  With Class II rapids, a five-foot waterfall that we could have avoided but chose not to, and a thousand boulders to snag our kayaks on (which we did), mama and son bonded on those six plus miles of the Broad River.  We talked, we laughed, we splashed, we capsized (or at least the son did) and we paddled.  It was hard.  It was tiring.  It was worth it all!  Today, we lived!

For More Than This

Waiting...knowing that You have called me to more.  I wait, O Lord, knowing that in spite of my mistakes, You still have a plan for me.  I wait for Your direction, for I do not want to miss You this time.  I am waiting.


Listening...for the slightest whisper of Your voice, Your answer, Your love.  I have heard You before, and I wait to hear Your voice so crystal clear again.  You have not forgotten me.  You are teaching me, even in Your silence, so I listen expectantly.


Watching...for the move of Your hand, calling me to move, to turn, to wait.  Your hand has held me these many years, sheltered me in these many storms, and claimed me so many eternities ago as my name was carved into Your flesh.  You have not forgotten me.  You have not cast me aside.  I am Yours.


Breathing...inhaling the perfume of Your holiness, I bask in Your Presence.  You have called me deeper, into an intimacy, a passion, that only You fulfill.  I long to breathe in this fragrance that cannot be captured, cannot be imitated, cannot be forgotten.


Knowing...that my life is not my own, that all my days are gifts from Your hands, that I still struggle with my will, my wants, and my will-nots, You love me anyway.  

You call me.  You have watched me in my struggles, in my joys.  Then, You hold out Your hand to me.  You wrap me in Your arms and pull me to Your chest, holding me, holding me.  I am home.


Father,
   I have heard Your voice, loudly, clearly.  I know You still call me, daily, to the place of Your holiness.  Sometimes, Lord, I enter in, but more often, I barely make it to the outer Temple before I give up, get distracted by the busy-ness of the day, of this life.  I long to enter into the Holy Place, to be consumed by You.   Empty me of me, and fill me with YOU.  Do not let me settle for normal.  I have been created for Glory!

"A Bad Day Fishing is Better than a Great Day at Work"

What do you do when God has you in a place you really don't like?

You've heard that there are two kinds of people:  those who see the glass as half empty and those who see it as half full--referring, of course, to pessimists and optimists.  I never really fell into just one category; I fluctuated back and forth for most of my life.  Now, I definitely see myself as....ta-da...an optimist! 

That surprises me, honestly.  I spent most of my adult years feeling like I had a black cloud hanging over my head (or at the very least, hovering nearby).  Disappointment didn't disappoint me because I expected it.  Disaster?  I knew it would show up sooner or later.  The depressing events that did occur were my lot in life to deal with.  Woe is me.  Then, somewhere along the line (in the recent past), my view changed.  There was not a single "aha" moment for me, but more of a slow progressing to the point where I am today. 

Several years ago my mother-in-law sold the mult-level house she had lived in for some thirty years and purchased a new single-level home.  The process of culling a lifetime of accumulated goods seemed overwhelming for her, added to the fact that she had to  make so many decisions and now must decorate this new home.  It seemed, to her, as if she would never get it completed.  I, on the other hand, thought that this was a wonderful!  To get rid of the clutter that had piled up and to start over in a new home seemed to be the ideal dream!   I loved hearing every detail about this process each time I visited with her.  One day, she looked at me and said, "I told my friends that I had to start looking at this like my daughter-in-law does--as a 'grand adventure'".  I was flattered, and it led me to see that I had changed over the years.

Change scared me.  The status quo was safe, and that was what I wanted.  I had had three years of stress and change that I had no sayso about:  breast cancer--TWICE, chemotheraphy--TWICE, fear of dying--TWICE, with constant financial difficulties over that time period.  BUT, somewhere in the midst of that tremendous storm, I found a hint of joy...in the experiencing, in the newness, in the outcome of the trials.  And I began to see that LIFE was meant to be lived as a grand adventure.  Bit by bit, I changed, and I am so glad I did.

Not too long ago, I went through a difficult experience; my teaching ability had been called into question.  My name and my reputation were both at stake.  I was hurt, and I was angry.  I had been blindsided with this.  I wanted to lash out and exact payment for what had been dealt me.  Then at one point later that day, I prayed, "God, I just want to do what You want me to do.  I am angry, and I am hurt, but I want to glorify You in this.  I want to do what You want me to do."  Over the course of the weekend, the fury and the pain lessened.   Days passed; I was able to talk with the person who had attacked me without besmirching my label of Christian!  Just recently (last week), the same person came to me and remarked that my attitude and my professionalism were "simply amazing".  Wounds, deep wounds, had begun to heal.

God had me where I didn't want to be, but I was where HE wanted me.  You've heard the saying, "A bad day fishing is better than a good day at work".  For me, a difficult place with Jesus is always better than an easy place without Him.

Not Enough Time

          I had always thought there would be more time, but now I look and see you heading out the door, running to meet a friend, making plans for your now life.  Your tall, lanky body blocks the sun streaming in from behind you.  I look at you, amazed that this boy-child has turned into this young man. 

          You hover over me, your shoulders broad and strong, stretching farther apart each day, each month, each year.  The top of my head easily fits beneath your chin, and I would rest there, holding you for days if given the chance, but you are busy, moving, going, fast motion, quickly growing out the door.  You are not yet gone, but I miss you.   There is still too much I want to say to you, to show you, to teach you, and the clock is tick-tick-ticking, and I cannot (would not) slow it down for there is much for you to live!

          I miss the chubby arms wrapped tightly around my neck, the scent of boy and puppy dog mixed and mingled like a fragrant perfume wafting up from your sweaty little head.  I miss the stories told about your day and your adventures.  I miss the water-splashing bath-times and your many excursions under the sea, searching for “octutuses”.  I hear your little boy voice purposefully deepening to mimic the voice of what you thought a “worker man” sounded like.  I miss the green army men strewn about the house, remnants of the weird war battles waged with your daddy. 

          And soon, I know that I will miss these days—the days of constant demands, pressing school projects, arguments and make-ups, of music and sports and the need for excitement.  I get so caught up in trying to figure out how to get you from boyhood to manhood successfully that I forget to enjoy and savor the beauty of who you are now.  Too many wasted moments.  I miss you already.

          I am proud of this man you are becoming, independent and strong, but I want to keep you that little boy whose first word was mama and who thought I hung the moon.  You loved me to the moon and back, to the moon and back, and bigger than the sky, and I liked you forever and loved you for always, and sang to you that “as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be”.  Now my baby is growing, every day, taller, stronger, and wiser. 

          Because of you, I am a mama.  I savor that word, twirling it on my tongue, holding it in my heart, loving it as it slips from your lips.  The word means abundantly more than one who gives birth.  In that same moment that I gave birth to my son, you birthed me as your mother.  And just as you have daily grown as my child, my son, so have I grown daily as your mama.  I have not always done everything right, often missing the mark by miles, but I have loved you before you breathed your first breath of air and it continues through (in spite of) our differences.  You are my son forever.  Thank you, for letting me be your mama, for letting me love you, and for you loving me.  I am so very proud you.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Music...

I love my fifth graders.  They are so full of love and compassion for each other.  When one of my students was recognized on the morning announcements as a Math Wizard, my entire class applauded when he came back to class.  They encourage and compliment their fellow classmates.  When my "only been in America for one year" English-as-a-second-language student struggled with language arts, they rallied and reminded her of how far she had come.  They fill me with such pride and joy.  I am truly blessed every single day I am with them.

Sometimes, my precious students fill me with laughter.  Today is one of thos days.  This morning, on the way to music class, I noticed that the first five students in line (all boys) were trying to walk in sync, moving their left feet forward at the same time, then their right feet.  They struggled to get in rythmn but were unable to get it right. 

With a smile on my face, I stopped the class and gave directions for walking in sync.  "When I say 'left', move your left foot forward.  That way we will all start on the same foot.  Walk in rythmn."  I turned away from the class, paused, then began repeating  in a drill sergeant voice, "Left, left, left, right, left."  I continued down the sidewalk, calling and marching, until I came to the door of the music room--a distance of about twenty-feet.  I looked behind me, expecting to see a line of fifth grade soldiers, marching in perfect order.  Instead, I saw a pile of bodies, arms and legs splayed this way and that.

I ran back.  "What happened?" I asked, pulling students from the top of the pile to reveal the face of a bewildered young boy--the one from the front of the line.   "Caleb, what happened?" I asked again.

As he struggled to stand, he said in an indignant voice, "You only said left!"  Then he and the other students proceeded to show me the impossibility of marching in step when only the left foot was moved:  a perfect split by the time the third 'left' was called.  Laughter bubbled up and threatened to burst from my lips.  Oh my, but they are literal!  I could not stop smiling.

Lord, thank You for the joy of children, for their literal-mindedness, for the sheer pleasure of laughter.  I am indeed blessed!