It’s Time

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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

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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.

Home

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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.