Faith vs. Hope

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Ahh… the dreaded fluffy dandelion that dots our yard every year. I can mow (which is great therapy for me) and within an hour they appear. Resiliency at its finest, right? I cannot even begin to count the number of these fuzzy delights I have been handed by a bright-eyed child and asked to make a wish and blow! I have never, ever been capable of blowing all of the fuzzy bits off in one breath. Seriously. But even as a kid myself, I tried and I wished, as I did every single birthday, I kept the wishes to myself, because if you tell — well, then it won’t come true. Right?

As I have meandered the path of loving addicts, raising grands, and building a relationship with a child who has been incarcerated for almost a decade, I have found that I am becoming tired. I can put on a good face. I can heartily face the challenges as they arise (and boy do they arise). I can live with the oft-sought peace that passes understanding that is an art that I have had to hone … but I have hit a wall, I’m afraid.

Here is my dilemma … I am faced with a circumstance involving my two children who have struggled with addictions and incarceration. For anyone who has read my posts before, you know that I can say with not an ounce of self-pity, that it has been a decade since I have been able to physically touch these two adult children of mine, nor have I celebrated any holiday or birthday with the two of them together in that time. Yet, I have learned how to live my life. I have found joy in all kinds of things … I have learned how to trust God and the fact that He loves my children even more than I do. I have learned to practice what my Granny used to preach, “You are only responsible for yourself.” Years ago I stopped making excuses for decisions that were made that were not mine. They are not my responsibility. I have worked extraordinarily hard (most of the time) to uplift these two when I have been able. I have supported them emotionally, even when my insides screamed. I (and our CEO) have taken in and loved and raised the two oldest grands while assisting them albeit delicately in rebuilding a relationship with their mother. I move forward constantly. Every moment of every day, lest I sit down and thoughts crowd in.

Now, however, there is a sliver of light. A small sliver, but one present nonetheless. The tunnel which has seemed so long and dark for so long is now gathering a bit of light, much like the sky begins to lighten ever so slightly as the sun prepares its entrance. You know that moment when you are up early and you look outside and suddenly realize the shadows have lightened, and you can see the beginning of the new day. I love that time of day. I see that sliver of light, that ever-lightning of the sky around me, and yet, yet, I am scared to death.

Maybe someone who has not lived so long and loved so fiercely the addict, or inmate, or wayward child would not understand. Maybe there are way too many of us out there who know exactly how I feel. I so desperately want to be hopeful. I want to grab onto hope and cling to it, all the while floating on my “faith” life raft. Taking those surveys regarding the talents and/or gifts that God bestowed on us … I score the highest in faith. Hmm. Okay, I get that. If not for my faith I would not be able to draw a breath. That is not hyperbole. That is a fact. I do not believe in coincidences. I believe in God’s providence. I believe in Jeremiah 29:11 which tells us God has a plan for us – each and every one of us.

But then hope comes along and it gets muddy. I want to hope. I want to hope that my daughter is released from prison within the next few months. I want to hope that my son will remain in the intensive drug court program he was miraculously granted … I want to hope in tangible things and I know that’s not what I am supposed to do. Am I simply practicing wishful thinking? I told my “oldest” (our joke) friend a few months ago how I was feeling; knowing that each of these miracles was within our grasp and yet I was not able to be excited. I couldn’t look forward to plans or bear to have thoughts of what it would be like if they were both home. She summed it up beautifully when I told her I was afraid to hope … she informed me that hope is an elusive ****. Yeah, I won’t type it, but you get it. And she hit the nail on the head for me. I am sorry if those reading this are disappointed in me, or think I’m small in stature when it comes to my Christian faith but I am human.

I know that I am not supposed to hope for tangible things. I understand that for Biblical purposes, hope is an expectation with certainty that God will do what he has said. Hope “sets the goal for your faith.” But how, as humans, do we not hope for the tangible? How, as a mom, do I not look at the situations both of my children are in and NOT hope that: she is released and acclimates to society and her family; and, he continues with and successfully completes drug court. They both deserve a happy, healthy life. Their children deserve them to have a healthy, happy life. God planned for them to have a healthy, happy life.

But I cannot hope for those things. I just can’t. I am afraid it will hurt too much. I find it very difficult to allow myself to envision my children being close to me and each sober. My heart, at this late stage of the “game”, is really heavy. I don’t dwell and dawdle, and only the few who know me well understand my silent battle, but it’s harder for me now than it was except for the very beginning of my daughter’s incarceration in the federal system. Crazy, right?

I ride the roller-coaster sometimes that they buy the tickets for and I am suddenly weary of that. I want normalcy, whatever that is. For almost a decade, this has been my norm … I am ready for a change. I want God to continue moving in mighty ways. I want to stop pining for “my wishes” and to focus on what my hope should be set on … God’s promises. For a hope and a future. To grow and prosper us. To have known us before He knit us in our mother’s wombs. To have prepared a place for us to dwell for eternity … in Heaven … where all of our scars, both seen and unseen, will cease to exist.

I am learning how to use a new Bible app on my phone. I find that God is working on me. He wants me to understand the relationship between faith and hope. I’m not sure I am prepared for the lessons and will say that thus far – as my cynical nature would say – things have not surprised me. That slow crawl to the apex of the roller coaster leads to that swift downward rush and I have experienced those in the past 6 weeks concerning both of my children and my desires for their future. To get a phone call that says – again – he’s in custody, et he seemed different. He seemed remorseful this time. He seems humble – means God is working, means my child is still alive, means my child has another chance to live out the story God has written. To know that a need for contraband cost another child weeks, hopefully not months, before her release is a hard pill to swallow, especially when looking into the eyes of her children and her grandparents. These are things I tuck away. These are moments I can’t just scream aloud, in concert with the screaming on my insides. These are moments that I pray and I have faith God is working His plan and I hope … I just am not always sure what I am hoping for. But I’m learning … and maybe what I am learning can help someone, much like me, who is just trying to make it through the jungle we got dropped into with armor that can protect us from the minefield we are trudging through.

Ephesians 6:10-18

¹⁰ Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. ¹¹ Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. ¹² For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. ¹³ Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. ¹⁴ Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, ¹⁵ and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. ¹⁶ In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. ¹⁷ Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

¹⁸ And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.

And hope, right? Always hope, because it NEVER fails. Maybe wishful thinking will evolve into hope.

It’s Time

Photo by Fernando Makoto on Pexels.com

I woke up especially early this morning. I’m not sure why. I am typically an early riser, which means I try my hardest to be an early bed-timer as well. With two kiddos here, one pre-teen and the other full-blown teen, that’s not always easy for me to accomplish.

I do enjoy the very early morning though before anyone else stirs. Sadly, I don’t do the things I “should” but I have my coffee and morning rituals in silence. This morning, however, I awoke an hour early and knew I would not go back to sleep. Possibly, maybe, it’s because of all of the things that are swirling like the tornado in the Wizard of Oz in our world these days. The most significant thing this week is the loss of my mother-in-law. The past few months have been, well, a lot. Anyone who has tended to a parent through their final decline knows, there is a lot of stress involved. There are emotions that spike out of nowhere sometimes and there is simply exhaustion, both physically and emotionally. My husband’s family is rather small. He has only one living sibling, therefore, I have been striving to take care of all of the business things that one must as we prepare to lay her to rest, while also simply being there for everyone. That is a complicated endeavor, however, because my husband’s family is an hour away from us, north, in another state. I have (we) spent countless hours it seems on the interstate and small 2-lane highways through Southern Illinois since January especially and I love road trips.

There is not much that a sunny day, rolled-down window, and 70s rock (especially Southern Rock) won’t help. I’ve said before, that I can’t cry when I’m dancing … but I have learned that I can cry as I’m singing. Here’s what I’ve discovered as I have been processing my grief for my mother-in-law, as well as helping my husband, stepdaughter, and brother-in-law process theirs … I MISS MY CHILDREN. I do. I said it out loud for the first time yesterday and I thought my heart would fall out of my chest. I didn’t mean to confess it. I really didn’t. The past two days as I’ve made my morning road trip after getting the grands off to school – I’ve listened to music loud and I have cried. The depth of my grief for the simple missing of my two incarcerated children has tried to overwhelm me. Maybe I should let it for a moment. Maybe that’s why I have chosen music that reminds me of them … or reminds me of their childhood … or just reminds me … I have apparently spent the past 10 years solid living with the loss of my children locked down so tightly that it’s like an old Jack-in-the-Box toy. The loss of my family member has suddenly sprung that old wind-up toy and it just leaves me simply hurting. I know that my way of suppressing and moving forward and refusing to sit and “feel” things, when instead I must push forward at all times is not necessarily healthy. My deepest thoughts and feelings are save for only the ones I think can handle the thought that maybe “she’s not okay”. There are two humans on this planet that can handle that about me and how deep the pain cuts right now … their shoulders are wide enough to hold that information and their love for me and trust in God’s provision for me enables me to remember that.

Yet … what a word that is, right? Yet … until and including this … there is a light at the end of our tunnel that I can see, as can my children, just as you notice when dawn is beginning to break in the Eastern sky. Right? You see a small sliver of sky and realize that dawn is coming. A new day is on hand. His mercies are great each day and Joy comes in the morning. Those are two promises from God that I will confidently cling to. There is now a chance – a real, bonafide chance that I may actually have the ability to touch both of my children this year – if God’s willing – maybe even by the end of summer. Imagine that. I almost refuse to allow myself to.

You see, after 8 long years in the federal prison system, my daughter is due for release within months. It has been a very long time. Her children have grown from 1 year, 2 years, and 5 years to now 10 years, 11 years, and almost 14 years old. There will be many changes and adjustments in the coming year, but it is time. My son was sentenced to over 2 years in prison during this decline with my mother-in-law and the death of another dear family member. I sat and watched him in shackles and handcuffs as his sentence was handed down. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen this episode, but it still remains a painful event for a parent to witness. As bad as my pain was, I needed him to see my face and know he was loved. I could simply get up and walk out of the building afterward with his face in my heart, but he had to be escorted, imprisoned, back to his cell. The next day a miracle occurred in our life. My son has been granted the chance for felony drug court. A lengthy, intense, involved program that will give him the ability to live and learn how to do so sober. Our felony drug court never ever accepts participants with violent histories. My son’s historical convictions are a plethora of violent offenses – domestic – while under the influence. SOMEHOW … GOD … convicted this team of people to take a chance on my son. The day I confirmed the information I cried for several hours. From joy. For the fact that reality set in and caused me to realize that after years and years of not having my children close enough for me to touch, I may actually have them both in my life this year! From the flat-out full-on miracle I was witnessing God perform. When my son questioned me about my thoughts … I simply told him God is writing the next chapter of your redemption story … suit up and get ready … it will be a glorious, yet bumpy ride.

As I’ve experienced this deep grief and missing of my kids this week, I reached out to tell them both how bad I was missing them. Maybe they need to hear those things from me. Maybe it’s what makes them realize how important they are to me and to our family. I needed them to know how painful things are sometimes and how much I simply miss them. The minute I sent those messages … my children responded. God is good that way. My son called and let me cry and told me he loved me and is working to come home. My daughter called and cried with me. She promises she is working to come home as well. I know they both are. I will anticipate them but likely try not to get too excited until it’s real, for real LOL.

I know I’ve rambled. I apologize for that. My main thoughts are … this grief has opened wounds I wasn’t aware I had bandaged. It’s caused me to maybe finally “lean in” to how desperately I have missed my kids as a part of my day-to-day life for more than a decade now. It’s time. I told them that yesterday. I’m done being tough and strong and not showing my hurt … not to bring them down but so they know … their mom needs them. My sweet, sweet middle child, my stepdaughter has been a saving grace without knowing it for me for all of these years. God placed her with me years ago because he knew I would need her.

He is a God of provision – a God of perfect timing – a good, good God regardless of our personal tornadoes. Thank you God for simply sustaining us.

Baggage

Photo by veerasak Piyawatanakul on Pexels.com

The word baggage was flung at me a few weeks ago by my daughter. I have not been able to flick that word off. I don’t know about you, but where we live there are these prehistoric-looking tiny creatures that are affectionately (not) called stink bugs. You don’t wanna kill them … hence you will experience the sole reason they are called stink bugs – so you flick ’em. The word “baggage” has adhered and I haven’t been able to flick it off.

So… the Lord is causing me to examine something, I suppose.

The definitions of baggage: 

1. personal belongings packed in suitcases for traveling; luggage:
2. past experiences or long-held ideas regarded as burdens and impediments:

Yeah, okay, so that makes sense to me. We all know those definitions, right? Most of us have likely packed a bag for a trip or an overnight stay and have brought our “baggage”, our things with us for said trip.

And, yes, we all have dealt with our own “personal” baggage. Those things that we pack tightly in our souls as we journey through our lives. We know people who have so much “baggage” that they struggle to maneuver through life. Maybe it’s fear of setting the baggage down, maybe it’s fear of opening the proverbial baggage, maybe it’s the fact that the baggage they carry is almost a comfort.

But when the word was thrown at me recently, it was used in reference to our Bear. It was not her mom stating that she thought her daughter had baggage, but someone had said it out loud to her – as an attempt to clarify their position on an event that had transpired – as an attempt to cause her mother to understand that people may view our Bear differently because she has “baggage” that they may not want in their lives. Hmm. Hmm.

So, I know that I am a faith-filled, hope-full wife, mother, and grandmother – along with all those other familial titles one can carry – and I cling to Christ who alone allows me to function. But … I was pissed. I still want to stomp this person. Sorry about the language but it was true. Sometimes things get said to us that immediately pierce the heart. Oh man, it was like an arrow straight to the bullseye target. Someone who should absolutely KNOW better because they witnessed things had the gall – the audacity – the flat-out nerve to say she has baggage.

As they say on news channels all too often – and ironically it fits in this situation – let us unpack this statement. Our Bear is a teen. By the time she was 5 years old, she had been found in a court of law to have been neglected twice. Twice. Absorb that for a moment. For anyone familiar with early childhood development and brain function and growth, those first 5 years are nothing short of miraculous, and in those years, in my mind’s eye, the brain is malleable – kinda like the Play-Doh the Nugget and I have been using a little. As it’s forming, when neglect is present it does significant harm. But I have learned over time and through education and my circle of sisters, that the brain can be healed. We have worked on those things for years now. Years. But here is what I want to absolutely shout and rave from the rooftops: THIS CHILD DID NOT PACK HER OWN BAGGAGE! She had adults around her whom she trusted, and adults around her who were strangers who literally stuffed her luggage so tight they had to use bungee cords to strap them closed. And then someone dares to mention it like it is only this child’s onus to bear.

When the children that we are tending to and raising and helping and cheering for go through the trauma and chaos that leads them to us, they are not fully whole. Right? The world has left them broken and bruised, whether physically or emotionally. They have to learn to navigate a world with the preconceived notions that are ingrained in them because they have to survive. They view everything through a survival lens. Our girl is the one you want in a crisis because her first and foremost thought is: what do we need to survive? It’s what she did for her younger brother in those first few years. She can gather essentials in the blink of an eye if she feels a crisis or departure is imminent. I was told once by a therapist in our girl’s very early years, that most children do not think that way. She was amazed at the tenacity and the thoughtfulness she put into being prepared to flee or hide instantly. She didn’t learn that playing childhood games with her little brother. She learned that because of the circumstances, the trusted people in her life led her to. She knows immediately when to trust her gut instinct about people. She can size them up in an instant, and without knowing why, know she needs to be away from them. She is wise in ways no teenager should be, yet she is having to learn how to relate to teen peers who have not experienced life as she has. I cannot even imagine that. 

As she has grown and matured, I have seen her make great strides in her interpersonal relationships. It’s a slow process, but she’s doing it. She’s growing. She’s carving out a life and a tribe for herself and not a bit of it has been easy for her. But guess what – she’s unpacking that overloaded baggage that got packed for her – one article at a time. She is learning to remove those things she has no use for anymore. She is tossing things into a corner with each day, each week, each month, and each year that her brain heals and her heart heals. She is gaining a protective voice for herself as she removes each article from that overstuffed bag. Granted, she’s just beginning teenage life and we are having to help her grow and learn to live in this world as a strong, young woman. I have to accomplish this and not revert to the baggage I still have stowed in the closet that I packed while surviving her mom’s teenage years. She is her own self. We have to approach life differently. My daughter has taught me that – the simple statement to me: She’s not me, Mom, please remember that. And I do have to remind myself of that. 

But in all of this – all of the angst and laughter and anxiety that is part of raising any teen, I have a desperate need for those responsible for packing her baggage, to take ownership and acknowledge their role. I know my daughter has. When she eventually reads this blog I hope she knows that I do realize she has owned her role and she has fought for our Bear. But I still wonder if any of them, her parents in particular, will ever truly understand the depths of the emotional pain and the sweeping effects on HER life that their actions or inactions had. It’s immense. We have walked it with her every single day. No one else has. No one else sees the effects as we do. And honestly, there’s a little part of me that would like that one person to feel the pain she’s felt … but I don’t know that he’s capable of absorbing. And that’s not for me to determine, right?

I guess one of the main things I want to convey is that as I am beginning to face being the “parent” of a teen in this day and age is that I was not expecting to fight this battle. Naive, I suppose. I know kids can be mean. I am learning that adults can be too, those who “love” our children, and ones who do not truly even know our children, only their circumstances. Their words are painful. They can “make fun” or degrade a kid without having any knowledge as to why they don’t live with their parents – what happened – and have if nothing else, empathy to realize that if it’s not a “nuclear” family situation, then something is askew and maybe a little extra compassion and understanding should be put forth. I will have to learn how to face these moments with her as they each occur … without reverting to my old criminal justice, jailhouse working, mindset … cause honestly, the nickname I earned in that system was earned LOL and I was effective … but probably should not be proud of it. 

I want her to grow, prosper, love, laugh, and be happy. I want her to be particular about her own personal baggage. I want others who see some kid not living in a “normal” home situation to take pause … ponder … maybe gently ask … and show grace, cause I bet you have big old skeletons in your closet too. Am I right?

Our worth and our place on this Earth is only determined by our God. Our girl has a mighty story that she will tell one day and in doing so, she will help others heal or navigate a life that has been less that gentle. Our God set her in this time and place – much as he did Esther. Our God alone can work on hearts that are blind to their roles in her challenges. Our God alone … and you know what, I have run out of words. So maybe it’s simply … Our God Alone.

Acts 17:26 says:  From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands.

Esther 4:14 says: For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

She was born in the perfect time, the perfect place for God. That is the only thing that matters. I hope one day she understands how remarkable she is.

Time to Celebrate

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

It’s a birthday in our world today. Our Dozer turned 11 years old today. My, oh my, that does not seem possible at all. When he came to live with us he was only 2 years old. He didn’t really talk. He didn’t have to – big sister did plenty of talking for him. I can remember like yesterday the mornings after we would drop his sister off at school and I would drive him to daycare so that I could go to my job. He would silently cry the entire trip. The entire dad-gummed trip. He never really threw a fit or screamed, just cried.

Thankfully, it only took a short while and a super-sweet, first-time bestie to save us! The trips to daycare began to be looked forward to, and our boy-child was then able to have his Papaw all to himself in the evenings, as he would go and pick him up for me.

I know that often when I post blogs they may feel heavy. My life is not always heavy. Today, in honor of our Dozer and his unique spirit – I thought I’d celebrate him.

To begin with – this young man is gonna be vertically challenged. He’s not as tall as his peers, but his personality is huge! He is a loyalist. He has made a group of friends over his years in elementary school that are solid. They love to hang out together – they are the ultimate country boys – and they will rule the world one day LOL. I have told him before that the theme for them is Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys Are Back in Town”. You know that song … he knows it verbatim as well 🙂

He loves old rock ‘n roll. Of course, old to him is what myself and his Papaw always listened to LOL. He especially is a fan of southern rock and ’60s and ’70s rock. His all-time favorite song is by Buffalo Springfield – go figure.

He finds the most joy in being outside, with a project. He loves to hunt and to fish. He has entirely too many knives (I mean, seriously, how many can you use at once) and has more than enough other weapons. He is extremely respectful with these deadly instruments, but it’s enough to give one pause LOL.

It is not uncommon for me to look out our back window and see him traipsing across the backyard with an axe, a hatchet, a machete, a BB gun, a something … because there’s a job to complete, there’s an adventure to be had. He is the one person who you want in your corner because he’s always prepared. He informed me last year that the reason he will NOT wear shorts in the summer is because … there’s gonna be an invasion. You CANNOT be prepared for war, for living off the land, or any of that with shorts on … come on MaMaw! And when he delivered that information, he looked at me like I’d been raised in a barn.

He came home from school not long ago so excited he was about to jump out of his skin. He came barrelling in, unzipped his backpack, and got out his lunch box (which is usually my job) to show me what he brought me for supper! Uh? It’s a Friday afternoon … you brought supper home? Well, yep, he did … a ribeye steak – premium kinda – uh, dude … where’d you get the steak? Well, he traded a buddy for it at lunch! He gave the friend 3 Cheetos and a Debbie Cake and Dozer came home with supper! Who does that?

I went to his school for the Halloween Party this year. In my advanced years – this is my last kid in elementary school and it’s the last grade of elementary school and I’m the elected room mother. Seriously? Seriously. I walked in the school and was met by the principal and vice principal who spent time laughing at my dilemma, then informed me they weren’t sure they could let him go. He’s too loved. They adore him and can’t imagine the school without his shining light.

His teacher had dressed up like him for Halloween. You see – his self-chosen uniform is camo … jeans … boots/tennis shoes but ALWAYS camo. He might throw on his leather jacket … but he’s a simple man.

He’s funny. He’s considerate. He causes me to laugh out loud and he never, ever knows what to expect out of me.

He’s also brave, smart, and the oldest soul I’ve ever met in a small person. He is the bomb-diggity … and I thank God every single, solitary day that we get to walk beside him. Happy Birthday, Dozer! You are adored!

Home

Photo by Milada Vigerova on Pexels.com

What is home? If you look at the dictionary you find what is expected … the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household. Right? That’s what one thinks of normally when the word home is used. I do find it curious, however, that when you look a bit closer at the dictionary for the word “home” you see that when used as a verb, this is the definition… return by instinct to its territory after leaving it.

I find that statement a bit more curious. One definition that I normally do not think of when I hear the word home. Relating to an animal … they return BY INSTINCT to its territory after leaving it. This is exactly what’s been circling in my mind lately but I have been unable to put it into words. Now I can. That kind of seems more of a home where the heart resides more than the body to me.

As anyone who has read my posts knows, my husband and I are raising our two oldest grands. We have five grands in total … four of whom we have rich, full, frustrating, amazing relationships with and one that I think of every single solitary day and know that God will open the doors to allow him to be a part of our family so that we can all know one another.

We have very different relationships with each of these kiddos and as they grow (as of now they are 13 – 3) we can see their distinct personalities develop and we have the privilege to be able to play a role in their lives as they grow and develop. Of course, with the oldest two, we are the ones playing the biggest role in their growth and development. It is a situation that was thrust upon us, that we took on, and that more than 8 years later, we are still journeying through while learning all kinds of neat things (not!). LOL. Right? Right.

While raising our grands, we are also navigating our parents and medical issues that arise as they age. It is a disconcerting time, to say the least, and those who are part of the “sandwich” generation know of what I speak. In one moment, you are being mom/grandma to teens/preteens in your home and the next you are trying to get your parent to allow you a more substantial role in helping with anything from medical appointments to cleaning the house. I have found in trying to navigate this shift in balance with our parents, there is a change in the dynamic of the relationship we have. It’s not that we take over and “baby” or “coddle” or “parent” our parents (at least that is not my case) but we are delicately asking them to allow us as their children to begin assuming some caretaking roles. It changes things. It can strengthen relationships between parents and their adult children, while it can certainly cause fragile relationships to further weaken.

In some of the moments that my hubby and I have talked about details related to our parents and their health challenges, we have had to sort through some unresolved feelings that stem from long-term relationships within families. There have been several conversations related to family and what that truly means, especially regarding loyalty, trust, and love. I have come to realize over my many years on this planet that I originate from a rare family. I’m not only speaking of the nuclear family in the same home I resided in, but I am referring to my extended family. I was blessed to grow up knowing all four of my grandparents and grew up with a slew of cousins who were as thick as thieves. Family loyalty was a mantra that was instilled in us from birth. We had acres upon acres of land to roam as a tribe and I do know what it is to have said tribe when trouble arises.

Thinking about families and the experiences we each have with our God-chosen families, made me ponder the word home. In one of our discussions, one of the things I told Joseph was that I have realized that we have four grandchildren who know our home to be HOME. That is a profound thought for me actually and I am not sure why. 

Here’s what I have come to realize lately about each of our grands:

Our oldest is a raging teenager. Yay us, right? This time around I can step back a little and weigh things before I react. I am determined not to make the same mistakes I did before. She detests the air I breathe most days … truthfully, that’s how it’s experienced daily with her but you know what I’ve come to understand? This is her home. We are her home. This is the place she longs to be when she’s had too much. This is her refuge. I’ve witnessed it several times over the past 6 months. I’ve learned just to hug her in those moments she’s panicked or seeking refuge from too much in the outside world. She’s learning what type of relationship she can have with her father … her mom’s possibly being released soon … she’s a teenager for heaven’s sake … and this is her home.

Our Dozer … what a little man. He knows no other life but the one he has carved out for himself with us. We have always been and will always be his home. He craves his buddies … he craves his outdoor adventures … he’s the one you want in trenches beside you when the world implodes because he’s gonna get you through it. He is our protector, our hunter, our ever-vigilant warrior and we are where he seeks peace. He knows – no matter where he is or who he is hanging out with when it’s time … he needs to be home. In his space. To breathe.

Our Zebra … our miracle. He’s a mighty fighter. He has overcome more than anyone but he and the Almighty will ever truly know. I admire his strength and resiliency and his humor. He is already to my shoulders! He is growing like a weed. He is trying to heal and grow and put the pieces of his earliest years together. Yet he yearns to be here. He wonders why he cannot. He doesn’t understand the difference and that tears at my heart. One day I’ll account for that with him. I hope he understands. I try to see him every Wednesday. I do not see him near as often as I should just because of life. But when he is here, he is home. He longs to be here. He sinks in. He craves the time with us and the craziness that we have on full display. He adores having his brother and sister close by and handy, even if they aren’t always friendly LOL. He never wants to leave.

And the youngest … that most delicious little nugget. We have him two days a week and each time he walks in he sighs and says how good it is to be home. He never wants to leave either LOL. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that all things here are focused on him when he’s present. But he gets right in the thick of things with his cousins and you can see the swagger in his walk and his shoulders when he walks in our front door. He questions nothing about his belonging to us. We are home.

I told Joseph that. I reminded him that no matter what life has thrown at us, we have somehow managed to create a place where four of the most delightful, funny, intelligent, maddening, beautiful creatures God ever made want to be when it comes to their core. We have created their home. Their hearts long to be here. What a legacy, right? No matter that I can be so frustrated I think my head will explode because raising a teen is teaching me too much about our society, or having extra kids in a small home is too much sometimes, but while I’m not looking, we are creating a legacy of home for our grandchildren. That is immeasurable. Those are memories.

God gifted us this and I pray that I, myself, never forget to see those beautiful trees dancing in the middle of the dense forest. Home truly is where the heart is.

Hebrews 3:4: For every house is built by someone, but God is the builder of everything.

It Looked Different

Photo by Ivan Bertolazzi on Pexels.com

The older I get, the more I realize that the happenstances of life take no notice of the events that we schedule. Our lives, at least to me it seems, perfects the old adage that “life happens while you’re busy making plans” or some such, right?

Thanksgiving has just passed. Today is the day for shopping, eating leftovers, and maybe sports… I don’t know … I wasn’t raised in a sports family. This morning, I woke up early which is not unusual, but it was particularly early today. I do, however, love it when I am awake and it isn’t quite light yet and I have my coffee and my routine all to myself. There is no rush to get anyone out of bed, and no school today, so no hurries which are extremely rare in our home as our CEO works as a nurse, the kiddos have school, I work part-time at home and we keep our Nugget a few days a week. Mornings like this are precious but they also allow thoughts to sneak in and assessments to be made.

Without giving too many personal details that are not mine to give, since November 2 of this year, my family’s life has experienced some upheaval. Our stalwart patriarch has been feeling his age of late and not a single solitary one of us has truly been prepared. As we age, we become more aware of our time on this planet and how precious each moment is but let’s also be real and say again – life sneaks up, right? You are caught up in the minutiae of the day. Some days are survival, especially if you are like us and raising grands, or other children, due to circumstances beyond our control. People who smile at me a bit condescendingly when I tell them I am retired have absolutely no idea how busy my days are. Therefore, when an unexpected situation occurs, like someone’s health suddenly seeming to be compromised, you can be caught a bit off-guard. Maybe I’m only speaking for myself, but I was.

Changes had been nipping at the heels of our family for some months but it seemed that suddenly that little snowball we had seen rolling toward us from the top of that hill was gaining speed, diameter, and traction. Every single one of us in the orbit has had to re-evaluate. As a part of what is called a “sandwich generation”, we suddenly became the filling inside a big ole sandwich and I am truly not a sandwich kinda girl, you know? Our tribe is mighty with mighty personalities in it, and we are a united front in those moments but readjusting has been a challenge.

Thanksgiving didn’t take a raincheck this year. Weird thing about holidays, right? Ours was not celebrated with the tribe this year. We respectfully albeit sadly, were glad to step back in an effort to aid our parents. Don’t get me wrong, I saw their faces; kissed their faces; got to squeeze one sister; and, got to talk at length to the other two siblings. But we are entering a phase that is murky and scary and a bit frustrating to boot, so we were all just kinda hanging on to each other and encouraging our parents.

We are all ever aware of the fragility of life. We can no longer go about our days in a frenzy because, well, there’s a more detailed focus to our thoughts and it is all about the comfort of our parents during this leg of their journey, as well as our collective faith in God and his provision. Conversations have already begun about Christmas and that celebration and how to shift things so that it will be easier – there are many, many of us in the extended family and it’s a true chaotic circus on a normal day! Christmas is a hum-dinger, you know? It’s a lot for any person, let alone someone not feeling great. And in these conversations, we have to continually assure our mother it’s okay. It just looks different. It is okay for our traditions to adjust. It is okay to not do all the THINGS that get done. It is not what is important. It’s not. What will be important is that all of her children, at some point, come together in her home to laugh and eat and talk, just us … what mom doesn’t love that?

Maybe it helps me because it was in 2013 that the last truly good holiday season was spent with both my oldest and youngest. She was around in 2014 but so was the demon she married, so that doesn’t count. I have learned over these past 10 years how to thicken my skin, breathe deeply, and move through these holidays. I do believe that hope, prayer, and the faith that God said he hears my prayers and will one day restore my children are what enabled me to learn how to work through holidays and special events. Our lives change in ways we never expect, or in ways we anticipated but not really, and we have to learn to stop and assess what is truly important. It’s not the number of people gathered around our table or the number of gifts wrapped under our tree, but it’s the depth of the love and commitment that we have to those people who truly matter to us. It’s the willingness to make sacrifices and changes for the betterment of those we love the most. For me, I’ve had to learn to be at peace with the circumstances that I cannot change. I’ve had to try new methods or new traditions with our grands so that they get to experience each holiday with the enthusiasm every kid deserves, and they lately have rattled off the “traditions” that they are so looking forward to that I didn’t think a thing about in the moment. But see – it’s a big moment to them – and if I slow down, I see it as well.

Realizing time is limited in a very real way with my parents is too big for me to put into words at this exact moment. I find myself sitting and just staring into space with not one single thought in my head. I find myself staying as busy as humanly possible and constantly striving to not stop, for if I stop then I think. Don’t necessarily want to do that right now, you know?

I feel like I have meandered from one point to another in this post and I am not sure why. Yesterday was a day that was weird. The only way I can describe it. But, it was a good day. We are learning, with our grands, the meaning of “my people” on days like yesterday, and as grandparents raising these two outrageously fantastic, ornery, stubborn, funny, maddening kids – we are beginning to see evidence from them that we are their home. No matter how difficult the days ahead may be for any reason in our world, we are noticing our two grands grow, mature, and find more peace in just being “home” with us. I mean, God is pretty cool because as I feel that some pieces in my world are slipping away, I see that some are possibly strengthening, and what a blessing that can be.

Nehemiah 6:3: … I am doing a great work and cannot come down …

Regardless of whether it’s assisting my parents, raising our grands, or encouraging my siblings and children, I KNOW that God has me doing a great work … I’m gonna keep at it. It’s a heckuva wall I’m on right now and God is my only safety net. I know it’s not just me feeling all the feels and pulled in all the directions – so stay on that wall and keep working!

Seasons

Photo by Irina Iriser on Pexels.com

Seasons change, it is inevitable. I realize that I am a walking contradiction. I am not a cold/cool weather kinda person. In no way do I like temps to go below mid-60’s if at all possible, and I do not mind the heat. As I age, I find the sun and warmth soothe my very bones. However, I love the fact that I live in an area in which God mightly puts on a display with every change of seasons. I love the colors of fall and I can still normally wear short-sleeves and maybe mow the yard one more time LOL. Also, weird as I am, comfort myself with the knowledge that winter solstice is on its way, and then the days will lengthen!

Lately, I have ruminated on the fact that our lives have seasons that invariably change, as well. One of the things that I am learning these days is how to raise a teenage girl in this day and age. These grands are prone to teach me in ways that none of us anticipated, whether good or bad. I have been studying again so that I can raise our grands differently than we raised our kids. I am hoping the old adage that with age comes wisdom also applies to hard-heads like myself. I have recognized that often when I am confronting a behavior of hers, my reactions are not necessarily in response to her behavior but are instead a gut, knee-jerk reaction based on prior experience with her mom and/or her uncle. How unfair is that? I mean seriously. Once that epiphany enlightened me, I admitted the same to her. I was honest. Maybe too honest but I want her to know that I am recognizing when I screw up and trying extremely hard not to continue doing so. I apologized to her for reacting to her based on my relationship and past with other people. It helped me to see things in a different manner. It does not mean that I have miraculously stopped thinking those scenarios (past actions of her mom and uncle) are, in fact, being repeated … but I have learned to stop those intrusive thoughts when they begin and remind myself, that this is the Bear … not P or A. It also removed the burden from her shoulders, although she never knew she carried that load.

I have also learned as we begin these teenage travails that open communication with each kiddo, and having each of them learn how to speak to what their needs are, and voice how best we, as their support, can help them. We had three situations occur in about a 2-week period of time with our Bear. She stated out loud she felt triggered, she recognized triggers, she stood up and declared something that caused her to be uncomfortable, and we were able to help her remedy the situation(s) so that she could manage and feel safe. Maybe the way in which she speaks up for herself in what she truly needs is in need of some refinement, but hey, we are all a work in progress, right?

Open communication I have learned also means having conversations with each of them (although separately) that they are each “wired” differently. Their brains do not process the world the same, therefore, ways in which they are “treated” may seem different and not fair. I have spent time talking with each of them about the experiences they had and do/do not have a memory of. I think it is especially important for our Dozer to understand that sister isn’t “getting away” with certain things – but there are reasons, some things are not addressed or hammered on, so to speak. And likewise, for her to understand that brother does get in trouble and is held to the same standard … it all looks different because they are different. We are all learning to focus on this approach. I’ll be honest and say that we old-school, old-timers, grandparents can have a stubborn streak and resist the old, kick their a** … you know?! So, conversations have to be had.

I am learning to watch for those small changes in our teen. There are moments when I can see her settling a bit and there have been a few moments in which I have seen pure joy blossom on her face – although, she had no idea I could see her LOL. But we are still having some of the same issues, although issues that are likely not much different than any other parent motivating a teen. She’s growing and I do not mean physically … I see her blossoming and becoming strong, and I choose to focus on that. I know her weaknesses and where she still needs to grow and strength. Trauma lesions tend to leave lasting scars. I just continue to pray God helps her heal. We’ve had a few breakthroughs. We are beginning to have some honest conversations about her past. She still KNOWS deep in her marrow that we are home as much as she “hates” it, and I’m thankful she has that place to retreat.

I kid you not when I say each day has the potential to contain a surprise or a kink in the plan that I never saw coming. It has become a given for me lately. Through our current season, I am watching loved ones whose health is not great. I am coming to fully appreciate what it means to have an aging/ill parent. I am learning to stop and appreciate each tiny moment or conversation, for God is reminding my soul lately of how precious our time together is on this planet. I have experienced some truly precious moments in the past week with individuals whom I adore and who may or may not know how much they touch my life. I walked away from each of these whispers of time with a full heart knowing that God’s blessings in my life are abundant.

I think that just as God delicately changes nature through each of the seasons in ways that are both observed by the naked eye and ways that cannot be observed by the naked eye, He is changing us through the seasons we walk through in life. I find myself becoming more aware of the idea of these seasons and what we should cling to and learn through each one. Some seasons are especially difficult and scary, yet there is peace among the chaos when trust is in the Almighty God. His hand creates each season of life and as with the view of nature that we see through our window, what can appear dead and brittle is simply strengthening inside to shine again.

I am so thankful for my seasons. I am thankful God is prompting me to stop and re-focus on our grands as they grow through their teen years. It’s a challenge – no doubt about it – but there are rare glimpses of such beauty in these kiddos sometimes it makes my heart stop. I am thankful that I have a strong family that will bind closely together as we travel through our next season together.

Each day we are gifted in this moment, even on days it doesn’t seem like a gift. God is good. God is good all of the time. God is good at being God. Thank you, God.

Mom, I tried

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com

Those were the words I received via a text message yesterday morning from my 29-year-old son. Words that he sent me at the exact moment that I read the details of his latest incarceration. An incarceration that occurred only 3 weeks after his latest release back into society. Words that haunt me. Probably words that haunt him as well.

When we love someone who is in active addiction we are as helpless as newborns and infants who have zero control over their lives. We have zero control over the choices our loved ones make. We have zero ability to cause them to want a different life. However, we, the ones who love these lost souls deeply have to constantly navigate the valleys into which we are escorted.

When my son was released from jail this time there were a few of us who attempted to counsel him as to his future. Let’s face it, having spent the majority of his life in some type of regimented environment (i.e., treatment facilities as a juvenile, group homes, residential treatment, jail) there was not one of us who thought he could walk out of jail – stay sober – gain employment – learn how to be an adult with no transition. He has never been able to thus far. He had options. With cold-stone, wide open eyes he made his choice. He asked us to respect it. He asked us to trust him. Yeah, okay. I learned many, many years ago that I cannot win a debate or a conversation with an addict who has their mind made up. He wanted a life of his own, one with things he earned that couldn’t be taken away, yet he didn’t want to change one single circumstance that led him to jail. He did not change his proverbial people, places, or things. And we all know the saying about insanity … you repeat the same behaviors expecting a different result.

He was made promises by the legal system as to his future should he come back for the same type of offenses. He spoke to me of those promises made. They seemed to impact him in that moment. But then he’s on the street – same ole, same ole – no new skills besides switching to whiskey instead of synthetic weed and harder drugs. Was not a recipe for success. People got hurt. He is incarcerated. And his first message to me was …. MOM I TRIED.

I really wanted to rage back and ask did he really? Did he try?

When he asks me what is wrong with him can he handle the response I am ready to fire back? He has stayed so intoxicated from mind-numbing substances that he hasn’t been sober enough since he was 15 years old to address mental health. He doesn’t want to hear that until he’s in a crisis like today and he’s all about getting healthy and going to treatment. Sorry if my cynicism is leaking through today … but having spent my entire adult career in the bowels of the jails and CRJ system in my state, I’ve heard this same crying jag from inmates to their respective parents before.

I do, however, seem to have more peace when he is incarcerated because I know where he is. I know that for the most part, he’s sober. I know although it’s not preferable, he’s fed three times a day. I know although it’s not comfortable, there’s a roof over his head. I know, as he does at this point, he is back where he is most comfortable and that is tragic in itself. It makes me want to go throw up. But again – I must remind myself I DID NOT DO THIS. I DID NOT MAKE THESE CHOICES.

But even in reminding myself of this, when these moments occur it immediately pauses my breath. I found myself yesterday feeling grief again. I never want to associate my pain with someone who may have lost a loved one to death, but it is still grief. Grief for the dreams you had for your child. Grief for their future. Being a veteran of the CRJ business in this state, if the officials hold true to the promises they made my son, he’ll be gone for a very long time. But maybe that means not only will he live, but it may save someone else’s life because his trajectory was only going to end in destruction.

I have to take a moment to process these feelings of grief. I cried on and off all day yesterday. Those waves that we have all experienced in seasons of loss. I told Joseph that I’ll be better tomorrow – and I am – but I am learning that it’s okay not to be okay for a moment. If I refuse to acknowledge the pain I feel due to my child’s decisions then it’s just going to fester in me. My family doesn’t deserve me to be walking around with raw, festering grief that makes me like the dark side of an emery board … scratchy and raw. I have to learn to accept these depths in the valley to which I am sometimes plunged by someone else’s life choices.

Ironically, the preacher where I have been attending church is doing a series on Psalm 23. My plan to get up and get us all to church was derailed when I found our grandson in his room looking as if a massacre had occurred because of a raging, lengthy nosebleed. So, I made the best of it after the crime scene LOL was cleaned up and watched the service and today it was about the valleys we walk through. Oh boy. Yep – I seem to be standing at the bottom of one with a wall of granite around me. I’ve seemingly been picked up and plucked down unceremoniously in the middle of a dad-gummed valley. Thanks, son.

There were some really good points that the preacher said that spoke to me and I feel as if someone, somewhere may need to hear them:

1. Life presents us with challenges that are like glass walls. We don’t see them but run right into them and then we find ourselves in a valley.

2. You cannot always stay in the green pastures and get to where God wants you to be.

3. To get through the valley we have to walk through it one step at a time.

4. We should find courage and comfort in God’s presence with us in the valley – He is the shepherd that has us there and we should HANG on to God and let go of the outcomes.

5. We should never, ever lose sight of the hope and joy that await us on the other side of the valley.

These are things I am going to have to dwell on. I honestly, wrongly I am realizing, have prided myself somewhat on not staying in the drudgery, the valley but keeping on … and that’s pride in my own ability, right? As I said in the beginning, it’s a matter of no control. If I cede control over my child’s decisions and hang on to the Shepherd who is directing me and leading me through the valley, then I can shore up my strength and resolve while always keeping my eyes on the joy and hope as I navigate through.

It’s not easy. Addiction, alcoholism, mental health disease – not one single thing is easy in this regard. No one comes out unscathed but we can come out stronger, more assured in our place in God’s plan, and confident that our Shepherd never tires of us or our needs for comfort and direction from Him.

I will continue as always praying for my child. I will stay busy and continue to live my life the best I can as I raise grands whose mom is still paying her penalty for her choices.

Read Psalm 23. Substitute your loved ones’ name in each verse. It’s not an easy life but it can still be a sweet, good life. He promises us that. I will see the fruition someday of my prayers for my beloved children. I realize I may not live to see those answered prayers but I KNOW that they will be answered.

For anyone in the valley with me today, seek the Shepherd and that peace that passes understanding even in the deepest of valleys. Joy still comes in the morning.

BEING SEEN

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

It’s that time of year again for us. The school year has begun! Happy dances have ensued. A normal routine is being re-established and I am always ready for that. Don’t get me wrong, I adore summer. It is hands-down my favorite season of the year. I enjoy walking outside in the early morning in shorts, a tank, and no shoes to water the flowers or check the garden. I enjoy the ability to go and do things on a whim with the kids, and this year … gasp, gulp (for me) I let them stay up as late as they wanted and sleep as late as they needed. That never ever happened for me as a kid, my parents believed in a firm, non-negotiable 9:00 p.m. or earlier bedtime; and, my kids had bedtimes and TVs off as well. Oh well, the older I get, the more I want to go to bed early and I don’t need to be alert for them. I did, however, wake up many mornings this summer wondering if a frat party had occurred in our home. Not with just the two grands, but my better half LOL. Food eaten, packages left out, blankets piled, and sometimes bodies on the couch or chair asleep with their mouths hanging agape. On those mornings, I simply fixed my cup of coffee and went outside to soak up the morning sun and the warmth. I can always straighten things up later … and it gave me more than one heart-warming moment. These are things our grands will remember: late-night summer parties with Papaw while Mamaw’s passed out! And then it is suddenly the first week of August and time to set the alarms.

For someone who is raising children other than theirs for whatever reason, but especially for reasons that involve significant trauma, I have come to realize that I need them to be seen by their teachers. Actually, this need of mine often is directed more towards our girl being seen because although she appears to be, and is in so many ways, a normal teenage girl … she also is not. She has adult-sized memories that left indelible marks that she is still learning to heal from, and as importantly, to work through. Coping mechanisms, peer relationships, and handling of normal anxiety or stress are all skills that every person has to hone, yet when you are a teenager in the throes of all of that loveliness (insert sarcasm) and trying to overcome past trauma and learn how to relate to others in a healthy manner, it is a delicate line.

I have learned that at the beginning of each school year, I need to introduce myself to the teachers. That’s just my momma’s heart. In the emails with our girl, however, I also provide them a bit of background information. I strive to not include information that is her story to share with others, but I do want them to understand that she will not always react or act like a typical teen. Her responses to anxiety and stress are likely much different. I know it. Joseph knows it. They don’t know it.

I believe that if we do not provide some of the information to their teachers then we are doing each of them a disservice. I need her to be seen. I want them to understand somewhat the journey she has been on (without details), the amazing individual she is, but the challenges they may incur. I want them to understand that we need a tribe. We need people to help surround our grands and ourselves as we continue this journey. Communication is greatly needed with the teachers and I want them to be confident at the beginning that I am available, we are shoring her up, and I am praying for all of them.

Another thing I have done this year which is entirely out of my comfort zone is that I have moved churches. Well, not officially, but … Yes, I’m one of those who have a church they grew up in, still call home and feel guilty about not attending. COVID did a number on our attending church which lingered long after COVID restrictions were lifted. God weighed on me continuously, yet quietly, that I needed to attend a church with an active youth group. Again, our grands need a TRIBE. They need a solid, trustworthy, positive set of people surrounding them at all times. Don’t all kids need that really? We began visiting a new church in February of this year. We were all nervous. It took us several weeks of only attending sermons before we each branched into our respective classes. I have met people that are going to be a part of our tribe. I had no idea they existed. Isn’t that funny? The one church in our community I used to say I would NEVER attend because it’s “too big” and a “corporation” I have, dare I say, fallen in love with. I have encountered women in my SS class that are from every walk of life but have traveled paths similar to mine. Women who are faith and prayer warriors. God orchestrated that for me.

Better yet, I have met leaders in the youth/children’s departments that are rock stars in their faith. Our Dozer was able to attend a few camps and is building relationships through church and with the leaders. Our girl, however, stays reserved. Therefore, again, I need her to be seen. I had a meeting with the youth minister recently to introduce myself (part of a tribe), and to speak to him about our girl. Again, no dark details but the basics and my direction from God to their church, and my need for her to be known and not fall through any cracks. I cried when I left that meeting. I called one of my sisters and she cried with me. Tears of joy. Knowledge and real representation that God’s hand is moving in our family as we expand our tribe. Going to a new church is intimidating. Meeting new people in that environment for me is intimidating, yet I couldn’t shake God’s whispers and I am so thankful I heeded them.

I feel positive about this school year beginning. I know that many challenges will lie ahead. I know that God is building our tribe that our grands need to maneuver this world and for that, I have never had enough words of gratitude. Maybe you don’t think advising your kiddo’s past to their teachers and caregivers is a great idea. Maybe you think it’ll focus negatively on them or on you but … maybe, just maybe each of our kids (especially these unique ones we are entrusted with due to no fault of their own) needs to be seen by all the adults and caregivers we leave them with. They cannot always speak for themselves. They cannot express their feelings because they don’t understand them. But if the teachers or the caregivers have that bit of information to help them show empathy and grace to them in their times of need, then set the other things aside.

Now … my kiddos have a day off (the first day was yesterday) … and we’re taking an impromptu trip to a zoo. Because – why not?! I have a need today to just have fun with them because at 10 & 13 these moments are about gone. Happy dance ensued!!!

Proverbs 19:20-21: Listen to advice and accept instruction, that you may gain wisdom in the future. Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.

Jeremiah 29:11: For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Thank you God for having plans for a future and hope for our grands. Thank you, God for sending me to those you chose to give me wise counsel and a larger tribe.

Wisdom

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

The definition of WISDOM is: the ability or trait of thinking and acting using knowledge, experience, understanding, common sense, and insight; and Wisdom is also the knowledge that is gained by having many experiences in life or by enlightenment. That’s easy enough to understand, right? I especially love the common sense aspect of that because often in the heat of the moment or in times of crisis, common sense is what leaves me first. But it is also the knowledge gained from life. Simple as that I sometimes think – life is that great teacher that causes lessons that we hopefully will take note of for future reference.

At this moment of time in my life’s journey, the grands that we are raising are now 10 and 13. With that comes a new world for us. I have, unwillingly, learned new math principles – or rather, relearned ancient, crusted principles I learned in middle school. I did so in order to help our Bear as she struggles greatly with math and this year it is rearing its ugly head. I have also learned what it is like to have a teenager complete a research project in this day and age. Back when I was in school, we had the library. Pretty simple, uh? Rows of card catalogs … bibliographies … hoping you could find the magazine or book you need … lots and lots of note cards. Oh Susie … those were the days, weren’t they? It’s not so simple anymore, or at least I do not think so.

Another thing that I have ventured into recently is learning a new skill. I didn’t seem to have enough responsibilities – so why not? Let’s do it. My BFF … the one who shares my knowledge of the dead bodies’ locations over the past 40 years … and I decided to jump off into a venture and spread our wings. In doing this venture, I learned a new skill – or again, honed one I learned in high school. Sewing. What a treat … I’m old, right?! But to take the raw product and create something gives me immense satisfaction. Much like I feel when we harvest our garden and I can produce canned jars for our family. It is a sense of accomplishment for me and it caused me to reflect on the days of my childhood growing up in a home where our mom sewed all of our clothes. I can see the inside of our back porch full of patterns and cloth our mom used, as well as I can remember vividly the days we had to stand still while she tailored them to us … I cannot even begin to tell you how many times we got poked with a pin or … found one sewn into the hem of our clothes later and had to get it out!

But in the reflecting I have done lately, I have truly thought about lessons I have learned from my mom and my grandmothers and what lessons I have honestly learned in my life that I can use with our grands. My grandmothers were two distinctly different women. My maternal grandmother was light and smiles and laughter and warm hugs and always, always, food. She taught me how to love gardening, producing for your family, loyalty, and acceptance. As she got older, the woman who never spoke unkindly to anyone in public (I’m sure her sisters heard plenty) began to speak her mind more openly. On more than one occasion Granny would come out with a response to something or an observation that caused me to stand with my mouth hanging open, often laughing out loud. She became unafraid to speak what she thought. My paternal grandmother was fiercely independent and outspoken. She adored our grandpa and her three boys and would fight a saber-toothed tiger if she thought it was going to bring harm. She, however, kept each of those three boys in line the whole time she dwelled on this earth and they never did anything but have deep respect and love for her. Now, on the flip side, she could spar with the best of them and go toe to toe with anyone – male or female – and she did it with vim and vigor and she was hysterical! She taught me loyalty and strength and to stand up for what you know is right. My mother … oh that one … as our youngest sister would say, she is the Oak. She is a small ball of fire that is creative, funny, loyal, and loud. Her greatest fear is dissension in her family. Her greatest joy is when we are all around her. She feels everything we do to a greater degree I believe and although she is a master at avoidance and denial, when push comes to shove – she’s our greatest champion.

All of these women showed me faith in God, loyalty, love, truth, the importance of family, the importance of humor, and the importance of forgiveness. As a mom, I often wonder what my children and/or grandchildren will say about the legacy I leave behind. On Mother’s Day that truly strikes my heart.

As I sit back on this Mother’s Day, I can’t help but ponder the journey since 2008 that I have been on with my children and I think of the gravity and significance of each decision I made. I made so many bad ones. I used so many knee-jerk reactions instead of trying to hear what was being screamed at me, whether verbally or implied. I have several regrets and wish I could have done a few things differently but each decision I made I thought was for the best. I spent too many years feeling like a complete failure when really I wasn’t. Live was lived in response to choices that were made. Hindsight often allows us more clarity. Hindsight and that proverbial living of life can allow us to gain wisdom.

I hope to use the hindsight I have gained, wrapped in the wisdom and traits I saw exemplified in my grandmothers and still see in my mom, and hope that if (or when) I hit obstacles and crises with our grands, I can stop and take a minute. Stop and ponder what has happened, not just react like I did when I was raising my kids. If I do not grow and learn as a mother (or grandmother raising grands) then I run a true, real risk of making all of those same mistakes again. I could not bear that I do not believe. I want to be the person my adult children and my grandkids know can learn and change. If I expect them to live differently, shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I change my mindset? Change the way I view our relationship? Change the way I quantify success for my kids or grandkids? I was told not long ago that I need to change how I think about something – I need to make the measuring stick something entirely different. It’s not about the end result, it’s about the progress. And that’s it often, isn’t it? It’s not the end result necessarily but the progress we made, albeit tiny. For me, at this stage, the progress I make is whether I’ve learned from the mistakes I made in the past. Whether I can learn to stop. Be cautious. Be deliberate. Learn. Accept. Forgive. Listen. For me that’s a huge one – I know I have to learn to listen. It’s a difficult thing to put into practice, but I am truly working on that as our teen grand tells me that I speak before I completely listen.

In trying to view our situation differently, and in trying to let go of some control to allow our grands a larger tribe in life, I’ve tried a few new things. At least new for us. Our grands’ father has been more active in their world over the past several months. He has pursued them. He has actually stepped up to the plate and it took 7 years before I was ready to even entertain that idea. But it has been good for the kids. It has not been without controversy. I’ve heard everyone’s opinions … ’cause we all have those, right? But I am learning … to stop … slow down … listen to what is being said or not said … these kids needed their father in their life as a positive person. The bigger the tribe, the better, right? I am learning to trust him a little … it is a true work in progress … but again I am trying to grow. To not worry about control. To allow help. To allow the kids to pursue their relationships for their lives. The kids and their father have been overjoyed. It’s like they were each given an enormous gift and it humbles me that I had the ability to lighten this for them.

We also started attending a new church. I know without a shadow of a doubt if I do not provide Christ to my grands, no one else will. It is my most solemn duty. I have allowed it to waver since COVID. But it’s scary entering a new church without a “buddy”. We have visited for months just for the service, and today we bit the bullet, we were all brave, and we all went to our separate classes! And guess what? God was completely in charge … although Satan had a field day in the early morning trying to get to church – God showed up and made us feel perfectly at home. Our girl loved it! She’s ready for church camp! That’s a beginning. Because again – I am trying to use wisdom – I watched these three women who raised me in their individual faith walks with God. I know my mom’s devotion to her faith and to raising her 4 kids in that faith … I need my grands to have some of that wisdom imparted to them through our faith and Christ. Because after all, through Him all things can be accomplished. (That’s my mantra LOL).

Our journey is not simple. I have come to learn that there are so many others just like us wading through the muck at times in order to survive these days or raise little ones that were not in your dream future. If you are, I would ask that you step back, pause occasionally – reflect on the blessings – reflect on those that have mentored you or taught you – those who have passed on their traditions and their heritage to you, especially through Christ and His love for us. We have to pass this on to the next generation. I want my grandmother’s to see that I have learned … that in my mid-to-late 50s, I have actually earned some wisdom and am striving to use it. I want the Lord to tell me it was well done as a good and faithful servant. Growing up isn’t easy. Learning wisdom and applying it isn’t always the natural bent … but like any skill, it’s got to be practiced mindfully. I want to be able to do that for my children and grandchildren. I want them to say I exhibited love, faithfulness, loyalty, humor, strength, and perseverance. These are a few of the things those three women showed me. Love you Granny, Mama Nene, and Mama. Happy Mother’s Day!