I Will Enjoy Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is just a week away. On Facebook, several of my friends are posting an item a day for which they are thankful. Friends are posting about Christmas shopping. Stores are having sales on turkeys and all the fixings that go along with them. Everywhere is fun and excitement and eager anticipation.

I am not. This time of year has been difficult for me for years. Thanksgiving of the year 1998, found me feeding my 23 year old husband a small amount of turkey and the mushier side items while he reclined in our bed. He tried several times to spoon food up to his mouth but each time the utensil would fall away losing its load. I sat beside him. I took the spoon. I asked what he wanted first. He told me the name of one food. My memory refuses to allow me to recall which. I scooped it up. He said no. He wanted that one. I tried again. After three attempts to give him the item he kept requesting, I asked him to point. He had confused the names. The item he requested was on the other side of the plate. 

My prayers became simple. I only wanted God to help him through the holidays. I did not believe his grandmother could deal with his dying so close to Christmas.

Hilarious things happened during that holiday. Cooking mishaps, literal cat and mouse chases in the living room, all like any other family get together. My husband pulled his aunt and grandmother to the side and gave them very specific instructions. He wanted to get me one last present and it had to be perfect.

That year I got kid style footed pajamas. I don't know where they managed to locate the tweety bird pjs but they were exactly like the ones he and I had joked about before. I could not figure out why no one made the sleeper style footed pajamas for adults when they looked so practical. I always got annoyed at having to find my slippers or sliding around in my socks. Those were perfect.

I admit shock when I opened my present. I could not figure out how anyone would know I wanted them. That was when his aunt told me about their conversation. Our marriage had had more than it's fair share of issues. I knew this perfect present was his way of saying he was sorry and after all we'd been through that he loved me.

He died 21 days after Christmas on January 15^th 1999. He made it through the holidays with a few days to spare.

The holidays are hard for me. I have had many wonderful memories made in the 12 years since. The next Christmas I was remarried and pregnant. The next our first son watched in awe the lights and paper and fun. The next gave us a second son that cooed amongst the presents. The next another pregnancy. The next our first daughter. The next a fourth pregnancy. The next a miracle boy who had to fight to breathe his first week of life. Two Christmases after that welcomed our final child just 9 days prior. I've had more good memories than bad over the years but each season I fight tears as my memories of 1998 entered my thoughts.

Today is such a day. I am supposed to have the “day off” as my dear husband takes the kids on an adventure giving me time to enjoy a cup of coffee and paint the master bathroom. I enjoy the projects in our fixer upper house but many things need to not be assisted by smaller children. I plan those things on my day off and try to toss in a trip to the local coffee house or some reading time.

I called him to ask if I would be intruding on any special plans if I accompanied them today. I don't want to be alone. This year's holiday season comes with the knowledge that my mother has the same disease that took Andy all those years ago. While I comprehend that the situation is different because her immune system is not compromised the way his was, it has still hit me hard. She can be and will be treated and overcome it. I know this but it still doesn't stop the ache in my heart or the tears welling in my eyes. It doesn't stop the urge to curl into a ball and stay there. So I will go with my family on an adventure. I will spend time with the blessings God has given me. I will give thanks for the time I had with Andy and the life I have had.

Today, I will enjoy Thanksgiving.

Seasons

The shadow caught my eye. It was just a small shadow gracefully drifting across the green of the grass. No specific rhyme or reason. I never broke stride as I continued my walk although my imagination blazed. A bird? Drift to left. Which birds were still around? Drift right. Maybe one of the hawks has spotted something I haven't seen? I laughed when the yellow-brown glider enter the top of my view. I watched as it settled to the ground. A flash of dull color in a sea of green. Just a leaf.

A maple leaf destined to drop from it's tree home as autumn swirled around. The tree was going to sleep to await warmer weather and to survive the next season's cold. Seasons. Times of newness and excitement. Times of warmth and growth. Times of harvest and preparation. Times of loneliness and waiting.

God knows when we are entering winter. His divine imagination programed even the trees to prepare in order to thrive again. Preparation isn't always easy. Things sometimes fall away. Things sometimes sleep. Things sometimes die.

That leaf drifted down to me. Earth's time of sleep is just beginning. My winter is finally starting to come to a close. I've waited long. I've battled the loneliness of the cold months. The snow is melting. The harsh winds have stopped their howling. The hope for green and color of spring is growing, warming.

I didn't feel well prepared for such a long season. There were so many times I just knew I would crumble beneath the snow and ice. But my roots are strong, growing in good soil. Even as I pulled into myself, the nutrients I drew in were rich and plentiful.

A branch far too long and large, pulling me over, my pride fell away. Anger dying, cracking and falling piece by piece. The hurt clinging to me as dead leaves unwilling to release finally pulled away in the warmer breezes. Love warming my core. Joy stretching it's way through my branches.

The world around me slows to winter. I race toward spring.

A Mom's Body

During my twelve years of marriage I have become mom five times. Each pregnancy came with weight gain and loss. 

I've not really thought much about my body until recently. My youngest turns 3 this December. I didn't intend to start a diet but I began to lose weight anyway because we've had many changes to our lifestyle over the last while. I decided now was as good a time as any to get rid of the “baby fat”. 

I started paying attention to what I ate and started walking. A few weeks ago I hit my target clothing size. I can claim a good weight for my height. I meet all the typical healthy numbers.

Then I look in the mirror. My belly has stretch marks and has long passed the idea of taunt and flat. Evidence abounds that I chose breastfeeding over bottles for each of my babies. My legs have varicose veins in spider web patterns. My hips are curved with marks of their own. I have a mom's body.

As I was preparing to take my children to the beach, I complained that wearing a swimsuit would be better if I didn't have “mom legs”.

The next thought came with a laugh. If I didn't have mom legs I wouldn't be going to the beach.

The whole trip was planned because my youngest three want to fly kites. They had tried to do so in our backyard to no avail despite the autumn winds. What better place to fly kites than the beach?

 

Practically, every year during my childhood my family would go to Jekyll Island for several days. I remember noticing my mom did not look like the models in the swimsuit catalogs. Of course not, she was Mom. She was beautiful. She didn't have to be one of those too thin models.

I studied myself a bit more in the mirror. I have 5 beautiful children. Children who drive me and each other crazy some days. They are loud and quiet. They are polite and rude. They are boys and girls full of love and deeply loved.

I may now weigh what I did long before I had children. I may wear the same size clothes as I did when a teen. But my body is a radically different entity.

I am proud of my weight loss. I am pleased with my progress with exercise. Most of all I am overwhelmingly joyful that my body is radically different. 

 

I was told long ago I should never have a baby because I would not survive to see it born. Now my body exhibits the badges of pregnancy all over. 

 

I will don my swimsuit knowing the privilege God has granted me and take my children to the beach. God gave me a mom's body, now it's time I give my children some fun memories of a woman who doesn't look like those pencil thin models playing with them on the beach.

Just Call Me...

Twice recently I was involved in a conversation concerning Christianity.  I guess that should really happen more often if I am doing my “job” but this was more specific than the walking the walk I aspire to daily.  It was more definition style.

I have adopted a new term for myself.  Having grown up Primitive Baptist and now attending Methodist with practically all others in between, I will not use a denominational term.  I prefer the term Christian Hedonist.

John Piper wrote an entire book on this description called Desiring God some 20+ years ago.  I believe he coined the term as a way to describe Christianity that won't conform to a church's specific ideology but tries to mirror that of Jesus and the saints as related in the Bible.  He explains it so well that my attempts seem quite pathetic.  It was published around the time I decided God wouldn’t take someone as unable to carry the burden of regulations as I.  Too bad no one gave me a copy. 

When I realized Jesus died for me and I wanted to live for him, I was filled with an amazing joy.  I was loved that much?  Really?  How could that even be a little bit possible?  I was clumsy, made mistakes, in some ways even considered myself broken.  I saw him holding his arms open to me to envelop me.  He saw past my faults real and perceived, and saw me.

Then I was given the list of dos and don’ts.  A ream of obligations sat on my very young lap.  Added on top of the responsibilities I already had, the very ones I could not quite complete.  I buckled.  I couldn’t dress right let alone follow the rest!  I wanted the love and joy I’d felt not the disapproving looks I received. 

My childhood from many perspectives was quite ideal.  I honestly have no real complaints.  Good parents, involved grandparents, a small town of folks who actually looked out for one another.  Nothing in this world is perfect but it was a mostly wonderful childhood.  I was a very sensitive child.  I have always had the ability to pick up on what others were feeling sometimes before they themselves knew.  I’ve always felt my own emotions passionately.  Outwardly, no one had a clue.  I’ve always played it close to the vest.  Even people who delivered emotional sucker punches would rarely get a hint they’d hurt me.  Only my writings understood how my heart would shatter.

I could only take so much rejection, no matter how subtle, before I was forced to protect myself from the “religion” I had accepted.  God may have been the Creator but apparently he was also an absentee father.  It was more than a dozen years before I realized it was the people and their created rules of propriety that were killing my relationship with my Savior.  Jesus knew my heart.  He knew my wounds.  He only wanted to carry my burdens with me and love me and have me love Him.

I ran away.  I went from one bad choice to another.  Got myself into situations I really couldn’t escape.  In those situations, I learned that the hole in my heart would never be filled by anything on this Earth.  I could numb it.  I could forget it and myself for short periods.  I simply could not live with it.  The temporary fixes were going to end up killing me. 

Music is how I was reached.  I heard songs about relationship not regulations.  Love not lists.  The music and the words reached past the walls I had erected.  I began to read the Bible verses the songs were based upon.  Psalms is packed to explosion with calls to joy.  Joy is not accomplished by those other things.  Even when King David was at death’s door in sorrow, he wrote of the joy he had in God. 

That was it!  That was what I’d felt all that time before!  I was unable to put in to words for anyone who may have asked but I began to actively seek the things that would bring me joy.  Something I’m sure the regulations would have deemed egotistical.  Joy is not something anything on this planet can offer without Christ.  I volunteer at church, not because I am supposed to but because I enjoy it.  I give to charity because it is pleasurable. I ignore the regulations anyone tries to place on me no matter how small.  I wear jeans and t-shirts to church.  The only obligation I have is to love God with all my heart, with all my soul, and with all my strength and my neighbor as myself.  Guess what?  That makes me joyful.  I don’t feel weighed down by the command to love others.  I feel freedom and peace.  I find joy in doing what God wants me to do.  I will not allow the regulations to tie boulders to my soul to drag it away from Him.

My pastor has done a series on worship the last few weeks based on Psalm 95, rejoicing (v1-5) leading to reverence (v6-7a) resulting in response (v7b-11).  He said one of the things that seemed to keep coming to mind was that if God’s greatness is the basis of our joy then our joy is the evidence of God’s greatness.  That He is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.

I have forgiven those who wronged me although memories can still have the pain attached.  I have managed to mostly forgive myself which can be a much harder, longer process.  The regrets I’d once replayed in my mind wanting a way to change them are becoming lessons to be understood.  I seek joy in all I do because I seek God’s will.  I wish I could claim that I had it down and no longer made the same mistakes.  I still lose focus and end up depressed trying to “fix” my problems on my own.  But understanding that there is a goal and that it is attainable means that I can keep working towards it.  I repent.  I pray.  And, being human, I too often repeat. 

Jesus prayed until sweat poured like drops of blood because he understood what he was supposed to do.  It was not going to be a happy experience.  He had to focus on the joy beyond and cling to it.  The joy of reuniting creation to the Creator through his sacrifice.  Praise God he did or this would all be a moot point.  Sometimes I am not going to be happy go lucky, but that isn’t joy.  If I can retain my focus though, the joy will be there and will be fully experienced.  Jesus is my treasure.  My Savior is my joy. 

May God bless you and keep you until we meet again.

So, How Was Your Day?

So, how was your day?  Mine got a bit interesting.  My mom and aunt would say entertaining.

It started as any other.  I woke up on time.  Got in 5 laps on my walk.  Then did my usual lose-track-of-time thing putting me in a rush to get ready for my husband to pick up our 3 youngest and me.  We were heading to the university bookstore's grand opening.  Our girls want to be cheerleaders for Halloween.  What better costumes than the ones to cheer on the Wolves?

The balloon guy walked up to Princess as we walked past and offered balloons.

I quickly said, "No thank you.  I'm allergic."

He rescinded the balloons and I turned to continue walking.  Before I took two steps he handed 2 bunches of balloons to the 5 year old and the 2 year old.  The two small children that were following behind the big sister and mom.

"Oops.  Didn't realize they were with you."  And the dude vanished, almost literally, into the store.  In his defense, my look may have said murder or at least severe pain.

The two youngest don't really comprehend the allergy issue.  I found out the hard way what reaction I have to latex.  I had to wear gloves day after day and watch as my skin up to my elbows dried, cracked, swelled, and bled on top of the dreadful itching I wouldn’t scratch.  It took nearly four months to heal when I could finally stay away from the stuff. 

Dear hubby caught up and tried to coax the balloons away.  You know daddies and little girls... Gorgeous won with the agreement to release them later.  Even the Princess ended up with a bunch after all.

I spent the next hour, dodging my lovely children as we shopped for the outfits and some things for my upcoming birthday.  Then we walked back to the van where we were supposed to release the pet balloons. 

We had given the Warrior a little too long to ponder this.  "Can we tie them to the outside of the van?"

Hubby and I actually thought that might be a good idea.  The kids would tie them and they would blow away as we drove.  No problem.

We arrived at our business with the balloons still happily bouncing against the van.

We weren't there an hour when I felt a migraine starting.  I didn't have my medicine so I left to go home for it.  On my way, I realized I was clawing my arms.  Argh!  Being inside the bookstore with their balloons, then in our store with them was more than enough to set off a reaction. 

I called dear Daddy and told him I would be taking a shower before I returned and to please have the balloons gone.  He did.  My mother and aunt were laughing out loud as I told them the story.  They love my ingenious children. 

Well, that was my day.  How was yours?

Carousels

We met a homeschool playgroup at a park this week.  The park had an angular momentum carousel.   

Yea, I didn’t know what that was either.  It is like any other kid powered carousel at a park except no one has to push it around.  A child steps up, steps in, and is on his way to Dizzyville.

My husband watched as the children would jump on and one would race around it to get it started or the ones on it would use their feet to push it.  After a while they moved on to another piece of equipment and he chose to inspect it.  Then he called me over.

“This is an angular momentum carousel!” 

I stared at him wondering what the excitement was about.

“Watch.  You don’t have to push it.”

He stepped up on the side.  It remained still.  He quickly stepped into the center and it began to spin.  He stepped back out to the edge and it stopped.  The carousel wanted to spin, it just needed the weight in the center.

I tried it.  Up.  In.  Spin. 

At first I thought I had made a serious mistake.  I was instantly dizzy and soon forced to close my eyes.  As I was praying not to fall, I realized I could shift my weight slightly and affect the speed of the spin.  Leaning out affected the speed.  The chaotic zipping around was controllable.

Life is like that angular momentum carousel.  It wants to spin.  Life wants to be lived fully.  From the outside it looks so chaotic, dizzying, even scary. 

Maybe, you think, maybe standing on the edge is the better choice.

Life gets messy.  Relationships get complicated.  Loved ones leave.  Everything can just seem so hard to handle.

But you can’t stand on the edge.  There’s no movement there.  No life.  No love.  No dizzying moments that take your breath away in awe.  The butterfly soft feeling of the first time you feel an unborn child move.  The first kiss of that special someone.  The sun’s flagrant display of color as it nears the horizon.

Step in.  Your choices are your shifting weight.  Small shifts, big shifts, in between shifts all affect the spin.

Chaos will sometimes seem to overwhelm but remember you can control your choices.  Close your eyes.  Pray.  Shift your weight with deliberate, patient moves.  Look for the moments that make it all worthwhile.

Enjoy the carousel.

Regrets

Regret is a truly toxic substance.  It can rob you of more than just your time wasted in wondering what might have been.  It can rob you of your present.  Mistakes are made.  We're human.  I've looked at my life.  There are choices I've made that people would file under MISTAKE in capital letters.

The first thing that comes to mind is the fact that I eloped at age 18.  Few people would ever consider that a good choice even if the couple remained married for decades. I personally think I was foolish in running off and getting married.  It's one of those things that immature people do without pondering the consequences.  But I can't regret it.

I jumped into a second marriage six months after my first husband's death.  I'm sure there were several bets on how short the union would be.  That was 12+ years ago.  I actually had two separate men I had known for years let me know that they had intended to ask me out after giving me time to mourn.  I could regret not giving myself more time to be single and date.  I don't.  I can't.

The problem with regretting decisions is that you wish you could go back and change them.  If you change a decision, then you change not only the outcome, you change the domino effect of that choice on the things that follow.

If I hadn't married my first husband, how would I have ever located the comic book store where I met my second husband?  Andy and I found the store.  We befriended the clerk.  It was because of that friendship that several weeks after his death I went to the store.  I wanted to let the clerk know about his passing.  While there, I met the owner who I later married.

If I hadn't married my second husband when I did then our first born son would have been too late.  My grandmother, the only grandparent I had left on this earth, died when he was three months old.  Not long after his birth, we had a last family get together.  For just a moment as she held him, my grandmother realized who I was and that the child was mine.  In that sweet, short minute of respite from the theft of Alzheimer's she knew I was happy.  A memory that will forever be etched in my heart.

A time machine that could take me back allowing me to change my past would be a temptation but a waste of gears and bolts.  Even if I look at the small mistakes in my life, they still led me here.  Here is not perfect but it holds all I love.  I'm married to a good husband and father.  I am blessed with five handfuls that keep me on my toes.  There are adventures in life that I missed because of choices I made.  There are adventures I would have missed without those choices. 

The Bible says, "A man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps." Proverbs 16:9  I believe in an all powerful, all knowing, omniscient God.  God always knew what mistakes I would make.  He knew where they would take me.  God knows where I am going next.  In retrospect concerning any decision I've ever made, I can see God's hand in it all.  The most horrible mistakes I could ever imagine making at any time in life will lead to the place God wants me.  I may not want to get there the way He sends me.  I may pray for the discernment necessary to never make a misstep.  God teaches us not only in the triumphs of our lives, but in the failures.  Frankly, we tend to listen better when facing the storm.  

Do I have regrets?  No.  Not if you mean to ask if there was something in my past I would change.  I honestly think the cost would be too high.  Does that belief keep me from wondering sometimes?  No.  I do sometimes wonder off in those directions in my mind but then one of the blessings in my home dashes past or needs a mommy kiss to fix a boo-boo.  My regrets will simply stay as lessons hopefully learned.  My life will continue on and I will pray to joyfully follow the path God places in front of me.

I Remember

On Sept 10, 2001 my husband and I signed the mortage paperwork for our first home.  We were so excited we could barely sleep that night. We were just a month away from the arrival of our second son. We finally, officially had our new house.  We'd start moving in the morning.
Instead I got a phone call from my mom that next morning.  "Are you up?  Have you seen the news?"
There was no joke about still being asleep.  The tone was tense. That told me all I needed to know.  Sleep was gone for both of us as we raced to the living room.
The first tower had been hit.  We flipped to different channels, trying to see if any newscast had any information.  Then we saw the second plane.  We watched it hit the second tower.
I remember getting annoyed that reporters kept asking where the president was, where the vice president was.  I wanted to yell at the tv "We're being attacked, you morons!"  Surely I wasn't the only one who'd read enough political fiction and nonfiction to know the job of the secret service was to protect the leaders of our government.  Surely I wasn't the only one who'd read Tom Clancy and knew this was an act of war.
I remember thinking "Dear God, help those people!"
I remember being in tears.
I remember the people falling as they chose suicide over burning.
I remember rocking, cradling my stomach as my not yet born son kicked.
I remember the World Trade Center towers falling.
I remember my 19 month old waking.  Even he was somber.
I remember the Pentagon.  A direct attack on our military leaders to cripple our defense, not just an attack on a base where mostly soldiers would be injured or killed.
I remember the fear of wondering how many more planes had been compromised.  How many more targets were in danger?
I remember Flight 93. My first thought was a prayer that it was the passengers that had taken it down.  Heroes willing to die to protect others. I was afraid the air force may have had to shoot it down.  The guilt a pilot would have felt...I can't imagine.
I remember President Bush promising to find those responsible for the cowardly acts of that morning.  I had many disagreements with his policies over his 8 year tenure but that morning he was the leader America needed.
I still pray for the families that had loved ones murdered that morning.
I will never forget that morning.
I remember Sept 11th 2001.

Silver and Gold

I've been thinking about the word love a lot lately.  I happened to get a fun email about how kids defined love.  Here it is if you would like to read it.

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-old's, 'What does love mean?' The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think:
'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'  Terri - age 4
'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.'  Danny - age 7
'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss'  Emily - age 8
'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.'  Bobby - age 7
'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,'  Nikka - age 6
 'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'  Noelle - age 7
'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'  Tommy - age 6
'During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.'  Cindy - age 8
'My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.' Clare - age 6
'Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.'  Elaine-age 5
'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.'  Chris - age 7
'Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.'  Mary Ann - age 4
'I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.'  Lauren - age 4
'When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.' (what an image)  Karen - age 7
'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.'  Mark - age 6
'You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.'   Jessica - age 8
And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.  The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.  Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.
When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said,
'Nothing, I just helped him cry'

I really like the last one about the boy.  I've seen it several times over the years and each time it reminds me that sometimes love is just the quiet knowing that you are not alone.  Like the pastor said recently, some people come to God as a last resort when He should have been the first option.  God is always there.  Quietly waiting for us to remember that the loneliness we feel is false.  Patiently waiting for us to hand over our problems.  Prodding us to turn to Him in all things.  Too many times we take that love for granted.  Our triumphs somehow become all our own and we forget to praise Him.  But our sorrows bring us down and we turn back with confession on our lips. 

Laura's Story has a song called Blessings.  It's about praying for help, removal of burdens, healing. It talks about how we scream and cry if we don't get the answer we want.  The song points out that all prayers are answered to God's glory.  "A thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near."  If you are aware that the author's husband died from brain cancer, the song becomes heart rending. 

I've had those nights of praying and begging for healing.  God didn't heal Andy.  He died just shy of his 24th birthday.  As I look back, it was through his illness that he and I both turned back to God.  We went from stupid teenagers who knew everything to adults who understood that God is the beginning. end, and middle of all things.

I've prayed and begged waiting to know if my newborn son would breathe.  He survived and thrives as a hyper little 5 year old. 

God is love.  We learn love by learning about God.  It can be hard to remember that when the love of God means we lose something we want to hold on to.   I may want to sometimes forget that lesson because of the pain it can entail but it is true.

If you are a friend, know that I love you.  As the saying goes, "Make new friends but keep the old, for one is silver, the other gold."   I may not speak to you or see you for years, but I say a prayer when I think of you.  I tell God that I hope you are happy.  I pray that He comforts you in times of need.  I look forward to the day that we meet again in heaven if we never see each other on earth again.

It doesn't matter how many years pass or the pain experienced.  Love is a blessing.  One that grows the more it is given away.  To my silver and gold friends, I love you.