Looking Back at My Struggles

It's a gray morning here. Rain is in the forecast, and my looming migraine tells me it's on the way.

I don't know -- now that I'm almost half-way through February -- that I will ever go back and confess to you how much I did not get accomplished on my Twelve by 2012 list. I think that was the post where I saw someone write, "I am not one to not finish what I started." It has become glaringly obvious to me that I rarely finish anything that I start.

Except a Diet Coke. 

Seriously.

I get in the middle of projects and leave them half-done and guilt-ridden in the middle of my floor. I make a meal for myself and am SO! HUNGRY! that I SAY to myself that I will clean it up later and... later never comes. As you can imagine, housekeeping is not my strong suit...

However, in looking at my list, I did (somewhat) accomplish 8 of my 12. Instead of registering for a half-marathon, I am now registered for a 10K at Cowtown. I just didn't feel ready to take on that level of training -- mentally or physically.

The thing that most people commented on the most was my "Sarah is unavailable file" -- my file of what will happen when I am deceased. Yeah, that is something I have started and never finished. Don't let anything happen to me until that is finished, okay? And if it does, someone give my poor dog her meds, okay?

I still haven't done much house decorating. Meh.

So, don't you worry. I still have plenty of things to work on IN 2012!

As 2012 is chugging along, I am being made aware day by day of marriages that are struggling, people that are battling some of my same battles, and so many heartaches and heartbreaks in this world.

God is putting on my heart what a blessing my past struggles have been. Places that I have struggled and come out stronger, places that I can look back and still see the battlefield. There are times in my life that I wouldn't take a million dollars to walk back through -- but I wouldn't take a million dollars for the experience, lessons, and blessings that came from those times. From big things like unemployment and marriage struggles and parenting doubts to small things like organizational challenges (yeah, still in the middle of that) to budget struggles (okay... still there) to the diaper days (NO! Not there!)

I am sad with the people that are in the midst of those struggles, but at the same time, I hope that I can foster hope by standing on the other side of the mire and saying, "You can get through it. I promise. I know it's hard. I know you want to quit. It is so worth it. Keep trying."

It's that hope word again. Only available through Christ in me. Powerful.
"But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect," 1 Peter 3:15

And Christ in me also provides comfort:
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows." 2 Corinthians 1:3-5

Without the hope of Christ, without the comfort of Christ, my past struggles and battles would have completely overwhelmed and consumed me. But God. 

So grateful today. If you're in the midst of a struggle, may Christ in you offer you hope and comfort that another day will come, and that it's not forever. Blessings.

I've Become 'The Other Woman'

I have frequently requested a weather forecast for my church. Not for the town the church is in — for the auditorium. I have suggested a running scroll on the website: "Current temp in the auditorium is 58° and breezy. Dress accordingly." or "High of 84° in the auditorium today." I have yet to be heeded.

This day it was 58° and breezy. On Easter Sunday. The children were precious in their Easter finery and blue lips. My daughter, Ashley, and I were in "spring-ish" type clothes, but not sleeveless. When I sat down, I got quite cool quickly.

I was sitting next to my husband, Troy, while Ashley was on the other side of him. He finally put his arm around her trying to warm her up a little. I sure would have liked that warm arm around me, but I made do tucking as much of myself under the other arm at his side trying to warm up. Eventually, he leaned forward to remove his jacket. "Good plan," I thought, "Leave your arm around Ashley, and give me the jacket — or vice-versa, whatever. I'm good." Oh, no. He handed Ashley the jacket so he could have both of his arms back.

Let me be honest — I sat there shivering. And beaming. It pleased me to sit by while Troy took care of his girl the way she needs to be taken care of. I want my daughter to know her daddy is crazy about her. As she seeks out a husband, I want her to know how she should be treated, and know what it's like to be the apple of a man's eye.

Having a loving parent helps a child understand the love of God — well, as much as we can understand it on this planet. Having loving parents helped me start to get an idea about the unconditional love of God. I want Ashley to know that as crazy as we both are about her, it's just a tiny drop compared to the abundant, never-ending, perfect love of her heavenly Father.

I spend plenty of time shivering for her while watching tennis, I don't mind a little more shivering while her daddy takes care of her. It's why I picked him.

Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us (1 John 4:11-12 TNIV).

Seasons of Parenting

Originally published in Abilene Families

‘Tis the season ... for something. Always. Right now, considering you are a timely “Abilene Families” reader, it’s the season to be jolly. On demand. Because the song says so, complete with plenty of Fa’s and La’s to go with it. It’s really hard not to be jolly while singing Fa La La La La La La La, so you may as well sing along and give in.

In a few weeks, it will be the season for resolving. On demand. Because the calendar says so. Whether you want to or not, it will be time to look ahead and decide to be a better you in the upcoming year. If you are having a hard time thinking of a way that you need to improve, you obviously don’t live with a teenager.

Soon that season will evolve into another, then another, and we will be back here again next year, wondering what happened to 2010. Life is simply a rolling tide of seasons strung together by heartaches and celebrations.

As a parent, many seasons seem to flow from one to another, rarely with much fanfare.  I do remember with clarity the first time I walked into a store and didn’t immediately have to dump $40 worth of diapers into my shopping cart. I also remember first walking into a store and realizing that no one in my house fit into toddler clothes any more.

The relinquishing of the pacifier still requires time with a therapist -- for me, not the child -- and  I did take note of walking home from elementary school for the last time with my youngest last year. But many other milestones and landmarks are missed as the seasons fly by, one after another.

One of my children recently requested to be able to try an additional sport next year. Our family reserved elementary school mostly for unstructured play time for our kids, and each child played one sport. Now that we have moved to middle school it has become a time to spread wings and try different sports and find where each child’s gifts and skills lie.

I was picturing what our life would look like during the time of this dual-sport season and it wouldn’t be pretty. But I reminded myself that “it’s only for a season”. One very brief, eight weeks’ long season of quick dinners and rushed evenings. ‘Tis the season ... for hurrying through life to wait for the athletics bus.

Dorothy Evslin is quoted as saying, ““It will be gone before you know it. The fingerprints on the wall appear higher and higher. Then suddenly they disappear.”

I know that no matter the season I may be in life, it will change by the time I realize where I put my keys. There is no time to sweat the small stuff, only time to soak in the laughter and sweep the annoyances under the couch with the dog hair.

This season, whether it’s time to be jolly or time to be resolving, I will do both. I will joyfully resolve to look around through the madness. I will enjoy the season with my family, for there will never be another exactly like it. It truly is the season to be jolly -- no Fa La La’s required.

The Glamorous Life of a Work-At-Home Writer

I am in exercise clothes, with my hair in a ponytail. However, because I had Bible class at church earlier in the day, I am wearing make-up and earrings.

Child: "You're all gussied up!"

There ya have it. Wearing make-up and earrings constitutes "gussied up."

Sad? Yes.

True? Absolutely.

Marriage Monday: Ask for What You Need or Want

My background is in Education, and my degree is technically a dual major in Elementary and Special Education. A BIG deal in Special Education, specifically, but also throughout the younger grades, was for a child to ask for what s/he needs or wants.

Side note: this goes a long way in parenting, too. An 18-month old child is capable of speaking or signing "Juice, please." or "Drink, please." Which is FAR preferable to the child pointing and shrieking at the juice cup. Any child that has been taught to ask for what he or she needs or wants is much more enjoyable to be around than those that have not.

True, I get VERY lazy (and sarcastic) in my parenting and have been known to either respond to the teenage equivalent of point/ shriek (the grunt) by handing them what they want or the "We're out of milk..." with a snarky, "That's interesting. How do you plan for it to appear on the shopping list?"

Newsflash: Adults must also ask for what they need or want!

So, why am I surprised when my spouse is unable to read my mind? I have realized that after nineteen  years of marriage (next Monday! Woot!) that sometimes I STILL expect him to magically know my schedule and that I need him to pick up some slack or that I need him to do something he doesn't usually or that I need him to do 'x'.

Guess what? He doesn't know. He is an awesome man, but he still can't read my mind. And for me to become angry at him for not knowing what I need or want before I have actually verbalized it is the equivalent to him becoming angry at me for not being able to sprout wings and fly over the traffic. Which would be totally way cool, but I still can't do it.

When life gets that evil "b" word (busy) it's easy to start going our own way and make thoughts, plans and expectations on our own. When we fail to ask for what we need or want, resentment piles up as we assume our needs are being ignored altogether.

I say it often: Communication is very fragile.

Now I will say this often: Ask for what you need or want.

Me? A Complaining Teenager? Well... Yeah

Originally published at Shoestring Ministries (and when it was still very hot... :-)

“There’s nothing to eat.”

“There’s nothing to do.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“It’s too hot for that.”

As the relentless heat wave over our portion of the nation continues with no end in sight, knowing only our own family due to the recent move, and no routine for people out of school, it seems the teens have opted to make a hobby of voicing discontent.

Being in the same heat wave, with little time away from the grumpy teens I admit my tolerance for the complaining is wearing thin.


I want to lash out at complaining teenagers standing in front of a full pantry or refrigerator declaring that their is nothing to eat.

I want to pitch a tantrum to rival any two-year-old’s as they stand in front of a full closet, next to a full dresser, and on top of a pile of dirty clothes and declare that they have no clothes.

I can feel my right temple threatening to explode as they flick away twelve different forms of electronics and all of the controllers along with memberships to pools to tell me that there is nothing to do.

In the name of family peace I don’t shout, tantrum, or explode. I continue with my day. In a short time, my heart is heavy with conviction. My words to myself and in prayer sound just a little bit like a complaining teenagers.

“I wish I had that house.”

“Ugh. Can’t believe none of these clothes fit. I’ve gained so much weight.”

“Why can’t we ever make the money last through the end of the month?”

“This computer is SO slow. Wish I could get one of those new ones.”

“Wish I could afford some of that patio furniture that’s on sale now.”

I listen to my complaining words, wondering if the Lord has a headache yet from listening to me.

Really? I complain that I have consumed so much food that my ample supply of clothes no longer fit while my ample supply of money is running low.

I cringe that I dare complain about what I do and don’t have when I live in an air conditioned home with clean running water — a basic luxury that many in the world are without.

I bow my head in repentance and gratitude for all that I have. I struggle to be thankful for things I would rather not have.

My achy knees that remind me that they still work. Mostly. This relentless hot weather… thinking… thinking… I am thankful that I have access to cool air and swimming pools.

And for these teens that seem to consume all of my food while complaining that there is none? I am thankful for so many things about them, but today I am thankful for their words that remind me not to sound like a complaining teen to my Father.
*************************************************
Shoestring Ministries is the website for the "What's In It For Him?" tour and program that some of you may have heard about. (If you haven't, go check them out -- way cool!) They will have a "Me Addiction Tour" stop in Abilene next Friday night, October 29. It's at 7p.m. at ACU's Moody Coliseum, features comic Bob Smiley, praise with Phil Joel (formerly of the Newsboys) and Reg Cox will be speaking. Annnnd... it's F-R-E-E!!

What's In It For Him also is on Facebook. They're cool and hip like that...

You're Doing It Wrong

originally in Abilene Families

A figure emerges, the cheery yellow raincoat and frilly pink umbrella a startling contrast to the blinding downpour surrounding her. She steps up to the car, motioning for the driver to roll down the window. In a drippy sweet voice she exclaims, “Hi, Jack. I’m Annette. You’re doing it wrong.”

So goes my favorite line from the movie “Mr. Mom,” that showcases Michael Keaton portraying an unemployed father of three managing the household as his wife, played by Teri Garr, rejoins corporate America. As this particular scene unfolds, he is unsuccessfully trying to navigate school drop off. Hence, Annette’s chiding:

“You’re doing it wrong!”

While the tone Annette used was so kind, there was no getting around the fact that Jack was going about drop off wrong and must be corrected. Annette was simply doing her job as cross walk guard duty.

Frequently in the course of a day, those words ring in my head:

“You’re doing it wrong!”

Generally it is about parenting. Lately I have noticed that most of my “doing it wrong” seems to be about the first-born child. Since many of our mistakes as parents occur with the first-born child, I have decided we should all agree to call first-borns the beta child.

Just as computer developers will come out with a program that they want you to try so that any bugs or glitches can be discovered and call it a “beta” version, I think we should call the first-borns the beta child.

The difference is that the child isn’t full of bugs and glitches, it’s the parents.

From diapers (disposable? cloth? Genie? service?) to pacifiers to when to call the pediatrician to... well, there are a million six opportunities to second-guess yourself and realize... you’re doing it wrong.
Mistakes are going to happen. That is why the good Lord provides us with erasers and Band-Aids. I just hate for my first-born that all of my parenting mistakes seem to pile up on that child so that I can realize, “Wow. That did not turn out the way I thought it would. I will do so much better with my next kid when we get to this stage.”

Thankfully, the beta child seems to have thrived as we parents have floundered. A responsible, observant, kind-hearted, young adult, first-born is a leader in most situations. Beta child also doesn’t mind leading child 2.0 through all the minefields mom and dad seemed to find.

As first born moves into being a young adult, the weight of these decisions move ever so slightly off of my shoulders and land more onto beta child’s hard drive. As we wade into high school and help first-born navigate AP versus regular versus dual credit classes, driver education choices, extra-curricular decisions, testing decisions, post-high school decisions... we realize every decision seems to be a stack of dominos that may set off a really cool display of artistry, or may simply make a jumbled heap of dominos.

But these decisions are less mine to make than they are now beta child’s. Thankfully first-born still values my input and wants to hear what I have to say, but ultimately the decision is with the child that will live with the decision. Beta child has had to live with plenty of my mistakes and knows that mistakes are survivable, possibly even character building. Live, learn, move on.

And, never, not once, will I approach and say, “Hi, hon. It’s mom. You’re doing it wrong.”

Typical

Any morning, our house.

Riley dousing his frozen waffles in syrup.

"I'm going to drown my sorrows in syrup."

Me: "Riley, you don't have any sorrows."

Riley: "No, but I do have syrup."

Wait. Ing...

Do you know what you get when you have involved teens that are not quite old enough to drive? You get a LOT of waiting.

It seems to begin to be a major reality in middle school. I'm sure it will reach a crescendo before there is finally a driver's license, but then I will still be waiting... for my car, or for someone to come home.

Now it's waiting for athletics to get out. Or carpool to come home from athletics, or carpool to pick up to go to school, or waiting for it to be time to leave for carpool, or waiting for soccer practice to start or finish or see if it is rained out. This week I have also waited for All-City band auditions to start and then to finish, and for a game to start. At tennis matches you have to wait for a court. Lots and lots of waiting.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. One mom I consider a precious mentor told me that is when she started doing needlepoint -- so that she would feel like she had accomplished something by the time soccer/basketball/ band was finally over. It has definitely helped to have a laptop now. I can work on articles, or jot down thoughts. I may need to throw a journal in the car for times that don't require a laptop, but when my brain is full-to-overflowing, as today.

Some days it is hard to remember that this is simply a passing season of life, just like the diaper days were, just like preschool and elementary. But I shall have to do more waiting to move on to another season. May I remember, too, that this is one of my last seasons of parenting with children in my nest -- the waiting season.

Perhaps I should spend more of it in prayer.

Differences Between Moms and Dads

(originally posted 8-01-05)

No, this isn't an anatomy lesson. This really struck me a few weeks ago. On July 4th, Troy was off of work, of course, and we had a fun family day. Early in the day, before it got too miserably hot, we decided to go for a bike ride. The kids and I all have bikes, but our oldest chose not to go on the ride, so Troy used her bike and the three of us went for a ride. Keep in mind that the kids and I have ridden quite frequently together. It basically always makes me a nervous wreck. I spend most of my time coaching on bicycle safety:

"Stay in a single-file line on the right side of the road."

"Slow down at this intersection to watch for cars. They have the stop sign, but make sure they see you."

"Keep your helmet on the top part of your head."

The funny thing is that when I was riding with my husband (who refused to wear a helmet) I should have been saying the same things. I realized that while I feel it is my job to teach my children how to be safe on their bicycles, Troy believes it is his job to teach them how to do a perfect wheelie and how to go 'dirt-biking' over the mounds of dirt at a nearby construction site. In all honesty -- each of those things is important. So I'm thankful that Troy is around to teach such things (I don't think I could ever pull off a wheelie).

I thought the same thing last week on our amusement-park tour. It was my self-appointed job to make sure everyone got enough water to drink, was always with an adult, and didn't eat so much junk that they got sick (which was easy to do since after paying $9 for an icee for everyone, we were done for the day -- I'm not exaggerating a penny). Troy had to make sure that everyone rode at least one thing that was a little bit scary for them, then on Friday he made the most beloved rule of all. After we had both jumped all over youngest for burping quite audibly at the steak house the night before, Troy made a new rule after lunch on Friday: "Burping after meals consumed in an amusement park is okay." After this pronunciation, he proceeded to shake the rafters with his own eructation. The kids were thrilled.

I am so thankful to God for designing this dance we do through life of give / take, push / pull, worry / play as parents. I am so thankful for the man I married to take on his role as bicycle daredevil instructor and roller coaster evaluator.

Selective Hearing

Watching our children develop their personalities has been such a fascinating study in genetics and nature vs. nurture. Ashley, first-born, is her daddy (also first-born) in MANY ways. Riley, the "baby", is just like me (also baby) in equally many ways. But when it comes to listening to conversations around you and/or directed TO you, our house has distinct gender lines.

Ashley and I (as seems to be typical of women) have conversation radar. We can listen to several dialogs at once, all the while mentally filing away important information or calendar items. Troy and Riley? Not so much with the radar. Riley reads EVERYWHERE we go (seriously, he is major bummed if he doesn't have a book in the car for the 4 minute drive to church) so we will have many deep and wonderful conversations in the car with Riley blissfully unaware. I have learned that if I NEED him to be aware of his conversation, I must tell him to tune in, then have him repeat what I need him to know. Bless. Troy, I have come to realize, is a visual, not auditory, learner. If I will email him information, he will process it better than if I tell him. Thank you, Lord, for technology!

All was explained recently when Riley looked at me quizzically at 7:30 on a recent morning. I had clothes AND make-up on. Very rare occurrence for that time of day, indeed. "Are you subbing today?" he asked. "Yes, Riley, I told you that."

"Well, I was probably reading, wasn't I? You KNOW I don't hear you..."

"No, Riley, we actually discussed it last night at dinner."

"Oh, well, I never pay attention to that..."

Good to know.

HOWEVER -- he was tattling to Ashley about me saying a curse word. I was indignant and denied it to the death. I would NEVER say such a word. Okay, I would, but not where he could hear. He finally said, "You were talking to dad. You whispered it, but I still heard you."

So, a conversation that I have looking into his eyeballs, he ignores. A conversation whispered to another person while I am 20 feet away -- now I know the rules.

For Mother's Day

in this month's Abilene Families: (originally written May, 2006)

As a mother, you would think that I would be all about Mother’s Day – a day just for ME, a day to get, get, get, and a day when praise is lavished on all mothers. Who could ask for anything more? Truthfully, mother’s day – especially the Hallmark version of it – makes me very uncomfortable. You know which kind of image I’m talking about – a young mother, clad in a pristine white gown in an immaculate, beautifully decorated home, holding a perfectly chubby, cooing baby as they gaze into each other’s eyes. The poetry accompanying the image details the sacrifices the loving mother makes and how wonderful she is and on and on and on. I simply can’t relate: My home has never been immaculate OR decorated, I learned a long time ago not to wear white while holding a child of any age, and I regret how much time I didn’t spend gazing at my babies before they transformed into galloping toddlers, now pre-teens.

The words are what make me squirm the most. Mothers are not defined by the Hallmark moments, but by the horrible moments. Anybody loves to play with a giggling baby or rambunctious toddler, but it’s mom who cleans up when potty-training is not quite successful. It’s mom wiping heads and doing laundry and providing a clean basin when the stomach virus tears through the house at 3 a.m. It’s mom holding constant vigil at a hospital bedside or waiting room. It’s mom lifting, feeding, bathing, and caring for a handicapped child day in and day out. It’s mom wearing a trough in the carpet next to her bed as she kneels for a child who has lost their way or is fighting in harm’s way or whose heart is broken beyond repair. I don’t know of any woman who would ask to be put in any of those situations, but those are the moments that define motherhood. We don’t want praise or pretty words about things we do that we would rather not do. It’s just what we do. It’s being a mom.

While these flowery thoughts and sentiments make me somewhat uncomfortable, they can be downright painful for many people. Mothers who must wait until they get to heaven to hug their child again, mothers who selflessly blessed an adoptive family with their own baby, mothers whose only children are really nieces, nephews, and friends since life has not brought her children of her own and countless other situations can bring pain and disappointment to this day of celebration.

As you think of the women you know that you would consider “extraordinary mothers”, they are probably women making it just one day at a time in extraordinary situations. You probably don’t call to mind a mom of two healthy children with a healthy spouse still living in the home. You probably don’t think of someone like, well, me. The extraordinary mothers we know may have many children raising them all to be successful individuals, may have handicapped or chronically ill children, may have lost a child, or may go to great lengths for her children to have normalcy in the midst of difficult life circumstances. Few of these women would want the accolades or flowery words of a Hallmark commercial. They are simply putting one foot in front of the other because another being in this life depends on it. It’s just what we do. It’s being a mom.

I can’t speak for all moms, but as much as I love words, I don’t want to hear many about what kind of mom I am on Mother’s Day. For me, it simply reminds me of all the places I fall short or what a bad attitude I occasionally have while doing what I do – being a mom. Oh, sure, I won’t turn down any gifts – diamonds are my favorite, sapphire is my birthstone, and if you’re buying a ring remember that my fingers are crazy skinny – but if you need to use any words, a simple, “Thanks for what you do” will suffice, and I wouldn’t mind hearing that once a week. Not saying, “But I don’t want to” when asked to do your job would be nice, because I rarely want to cook your dinner or fold your clothes, but it’s what I do. It’s being a mom. And, most of all, just grow up to make your momma proud.

Unfortunately, in the past year, my children have been acquainted with several children who have lost a parent to death. Knowing that anything can happen, I have been reminded at those times to let my children know what I want most for them out of life. At one point we were driving and discussing a child who had lost a parent and how hard that would be. I said, “If anything ever happens to me, first I want you to know how much I love you. And all I want for you in life is to love the Lord and to marry someone who loves the Lord.”

This brought a know-it-all nod from one child who said in a satisfied tone, “I knew you were going to say that.”

Very well, then. Carry on. That’s all I need to know for a happy Mother’s Day!

Joys of Parenthood

Very sweet. Painfully true. Enjoy.

I've Become the "Other Woman"...

I have frequently requested a weather forecast for my church. Not for the town the church is in-- for the auditorium. I have suggested a running scroll on the website: "Current temp in the auditorium is 58* and breezy. Dress accordingly." or "High of 84* in the auditorium today." I have yet to be heeded.

Yesterday it was 58* and breezy. On Easter Sunday. The children were precious in their Easter finery and blue lips. Ashley and I were in spring-ish type clothes, but not sleeveless. We were quite cool. I didn't mind the cool too much while I interpreted the first part of the service, but once I sat down I got quite cool quickly.

I was sitting next to Troy, Ashley was on the other side of him. He finally put his arm around her trying to warm her up a little. I sure would have liked that warm arm around me, but I made do tucking as much of myself under the other arm at his side trying to warm up. Eventually, he leaned forward to remove his jacket.

"Good plan," I thought... "Leave your arm around Ashley, and give me the jacket -- or vice-versa, whatever. I'm good." Oh, no. He handed Ashley the jacket so he could have both of his arms back.

Let me be honest -- I sat there shivering. And beaming. It pleased me to sit by while Troy took care of his girl the way she needs to be taken care of. I want my daughter to know her daddy is crazy about her. As she seeks out a husband, I want her to know how she should be treated and know what it's like to be the apple of a man's eye.

It isn't impossible to understand the love of God -- well, as much as we can understand it on this planet -- without having a loving parent. But I do believe that me having loving parents helped me start to get an idea about the unconditional love of God -- and I want Ashley to know that as crazy as we both are about her, it's just a tiny drop compared to the abundant, never-ending, perfect love of her heavenly Father.

I spend plenty of time shivering for her while watching tennis, I don't mind a little more shivering while her daddy takes care of her. It's why I picked him.

A Slice of Humble Pie

offspring: n. small people entrusted to a person to prevent excess pride or self-assurance

I have been using this as a workout book. LOVE IT, for the record. 30 minute workouts -- cardio AND resistance. A wonderful 'mom exercise book' for busy summers when lengthy time away is a luxury.

Ashley must not be so pleased with the results. Yesterday I was finishing up the workout and she said, "How many weeks are you supposed to do this?"

"Well, it's a 10-week program, I've stopped and started, but I'm now on week 7."

Gazing at me skeptically as I crunch my late-30's body on an exercise ball she asks, "Soooooo... in 3 more weeks you're supposed to have a celebrity body?????"

So, maybe not so much.

Yesterday morning Ashley got up bright and early and traveled with the youth group to Six Flags, so only Riley and I went to the last swimming lessons. He has already expressed his great disdain for helping me put sunscreen on my back, and I have already expressed my great disdain for allowing non-family members to put sunscreen on my back. I'm bigger, so I win.

I was warning Riley on the way to swim lessons that since Ashley was gone he was going to have to help me. Involuntarily, he made a classic "BLECH" sound with a little bit of a wretching noise AND full body shudder. Laughing, I said, "Is it really THAT bad???" In disgust, he shot back, "Mom! It's old person back!" Immediately I had an image of a late-70's woman squeezing her size 18 body into a size 12 swimsuit and the overhang that would result from the back. This is how my son views me from the back.

We found some spray sunscreen and made do.

Glimpses of Grace

More, this time from my OWN department of obvious information: Parenting is hard. If you've been a parent for 30 seconds, you have that figured out! Whether a parent by birth or adoption, just getting the child into your arms is a LOT of work.

Lately I have thought about the stages of parenting. The diaper and pre-school years are boot camp. You are pushed to your physical limits of frustration and exhaustion, wondering why in the world you signed on for this gig, with giggle fits and jelly hugs to remind you. In later single-digit years, you're on a little bit of a roll. Maybe as if you have received your assignment after boot camp. You have some drills to ready you for combat, but for the most part you've got a little bit of a respite from the physical demands and mental exhaustion of boot camp. Later, I have come to realize, you get sent for combat duty.

My children are currently 10 and 12. We are on combat duty. Not combat with the children, of course (though somedays we forget who the enemy is). Combat against the lure and attraction this world offers, fighting against what "everyone" is "doing" or "thinks is cool" or "gets to see" or thinks is okay. I feel like I have come into a time of parenting when I must stay on high alert at all times, listening to each piece of conversation for teachable moments, reminding moments of Whose we are and Who we believe, as well as what's really important. Most times I feel waved away like an irritating fly, or just as understood as Charlie Brown's teacher. And I confess to a mother's constant struggle: worry. I try to pray instead of worry, but I worry a LOT about how this war will end up.

Recently, however, the Lord has allowed me tiny glimpses to be reminded that His grace extends to parenting. I have been reminded that He can take my pathetic little widow's mite of parenting skills and turn my little blessings into wholly His. And, of course, the temptation when I'm not worrying, is to tithe some of His glory and be prideful that any of this is because of things I have done. But the reality is that anything the Lord does with my children is in spite of me, not because of me. So, for now, I am ever-so-thankful for the glimpses of His grace I see in my growing children. I had to put it here to remember -- and remind me -- that this parenting business, this combat duty, doesn't rest in my hands. When I try to make it into a work of my hands, it will fail. When I place it firmly in HIS hands, He will make it (and my children) into a thing of beauty far more than I can.

If the LORD delights in a man's way, he makes his steps firm;
though he stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with his hand. Psakm 37:23,24

They're so FUNNY!

Riley has forsaken baseball this year to give soccer a try. And is LOVING it! I think he enjoys the pace of soccer over baseball, but the running hither and yon is still a bit difficult. The first game was a couple of weeks ago. The temperature was reasonably cool, but the wind was blowing, literally, about 30 mph leaving a wind chill in the lower 40's somewhere.

When we first got to the field and were waiting on the rest of his team to show up so that he could warm up, he was trying to coax Troy and me to stand a little closer together to form a sufficient wind block. In his best romantic radio-announcer voice, he said, "Come on, you two, don't you feel the love?" as he pushed us together. Troy tossed over his shoulder, "Careful, dude. That's how you came to be in the first place." Over Ashley's theatrical "Ewwwwww"s and covering her ears with her hands, Riley tossed back, in mock horror, "On a soccer field???" A little too wise for 10...

And today was THE day. The BIG day. Every student, 3rd-12th grade in Texas, has some sort of ginormous test today. It's the (cue horror music): TAKS test!!! (pronounced 'tax') Passages to read, problems to solve, bubbles to bubble. All very important stuff. Students have practiced ad nauseum. Teachers have sworn their life away (Ashley understands that if you get peanut butter on your test booklet it goes STRAIGHT to the oval office for George W. Bush to deal with!!) and parents are doing what little they can in putting the punkin's to bed on time (wonder if I should make mine take a shower now?) and feeding them some sort of glorious power breakfast. Oh, and us yahoos that teach non-TAKS grades simply do all we can to steer our babies around the moon and back before we allow them to walk within 50 feet of a door that has a 'TESTING' sign on it.

So, today I woke Riley up by sitting on the edge of his bed and whispering, "Do you know what today is?" Without opening his eyes he whispered back, "It's Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills day." Then he struggled to sit up, all the while asking, "Do they have MAKS in Mississippi? Did you have LAKS in Louisiana when you grew up? Do all of those 'W' states have WAKS?" I just shook my head repeating, "I don't know." I'm pretty sure he'll do okay -- at least on the vocabulary portion!

The coffee group is on the road again this week! If you're in the D/FW area, join us and some ladies from Alta Mesa for a rockin' good time!

At Least We're Clear...

If you have read here very long you a)are close friends or family since few people can stand the sporadic nature of my writing and b)you have realized that not much gets past Riley. He is a maze of constant questions as he doesn't let unfamiliar words or ideas just hover about him: he must get to the bottom of who, what, why, and how. He wears me out, in a fun, inquisitive kind of way.

Yesterday we were leaving for school when he said, "Mom, the light in the laundry room is broken."

"No, it's just burned out. Be sure to tell Dad."

"Why do I tell Dad?"

"Because light bulbs are his department." (Basically anything more than 6' off the floor are his department because there's the whole find the stool, possibly a screwdriver, yada, yada).

"What's your department? Everything else?"

PRE-cisely.

Further Enlightened

Another google search that has landed someone here in the past was: "it's Friday but Sunday's coming is this a true statement". I can't figure this one out. What would NOT be true about "it's Friday but Sunday's coming?" Is it a breakdown in English language perhaps? I don't get it...

Another valuable jewel that came out of the parenting class on Sunday was this quote (that they attributed to a local counselor): "All negative emotion stems from unfulfilled expectations." They used it in the light of parenting to make your expectations for your children -- especially through the tumultuous teen years -- very clear to your children. But I thought of it this afternoon -- when I almost lost complete control. I realized it was because I had expected to be home in a bubble bath at 5 p.m. today. Instead I was standing in line at Walgreen's to have them tell me that they are completely out of the medicine needed for my ailing husband, and a Walgreen's half-way to Zimbabwe could have it for me somewhere after my expected bath time.

That one is a keeper: All negative emotion stems from unfulfilled expectations. Indeed.

Intentionality

"Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands." Anne Frank

In relaying this quote to another person, I could remember that it was a well-known female, so I attributed it to Helen Keller. But it's Anne Frank. A child that didn't live to see her 16th birthday. Can you imagine a 15 year old today saying that the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands? I wish I had known Anne Frank. (I played her mother in a play -- definitely not the same).

We had a wonderful class at church yesterday -- this semester class is about building strong families, with guest speakers each week. Yesterday was about 'raising girls'. I don't know the parents, but I know two of the adult daughters -- and if I can sit at the feet of the parents that raised those two, I'm taking notes. The main thing I walked away with was (again) my favorite word: Intentionality.

They encouraged us to envision where we wanted our children to be by the time we kicked them out of the nest, and take steps to get them there. Have a plan. It seems so simple. It seems like so much of a better way to parent than waiting for a crisis and then reacting. It also sounds like work. It sounds like making parenting your job. Now there's an idea.

Too tired to say much more. The biggest problem for me is envisioning where I want my children to be. I'm not much of a visionary. I have hopes and dreams for my kids -- but specifics? That's tough for me. So that is my current prayer.