Praise in the Storm

Suffering happens.  We can try to pray it away, keep it at bay, or do everything we can to protect ourselves from it, but suffering happens....to everyone.  And, frankly, the seasons of suffering that God brings are a good thing. As much of a paradox as it seems, we're called to praise Him in the midst of suffering. 

Even in knowing these truths, as a parent my instinct is to do whatever I can to protect my kids from suffering.  And what a natural instinct it is!  Just the other day, my son asked a couple of kids who were playing outside if he could join them in their game.  He hadn't done this before and confided in me that although he really wanted to meet them,  he was a little nervous.

I told him he had nothing to lose. And come on.  He's my kid - the greatest kid ever! Who would reject him?  Definitely went too far with that boost of confidence.

I watched the whole thing go down:  "I'm Jrod.  I think you guys would really like me, so can I play with you?" 

They laughed....at him.  And then they all went inside.  And that's just about the time when my momma bear alter ego kicked in (this ones hard to control - you know what I'm talking about, moms).  My heart controlled my whole body and I went running toward the house.

Thankfully rationality kicked in and I considered what in the world I was going to do once I got there.  Kick down the door?  I imagined it, don't get me wrong, but really.  So, I stopped running as my son walked toward me, head down.

"They don't want to play with me mom; they went inside."

I immediately told him that this happens to everyone.  It happened to me in sixth grade. Whether the poor kid wanted to hear the story or not, and he really didn't, I traveled back to sixth grade recess:

 I was chosen last....last!....for a kickball game.  And even then, the punky little captain (my memory; probably a really sweet kid), said only begrudgingly that she'd take me.

As I was reminiscing with my boy, something profound occurred to me:  I remember that scenario like it was yesterday.  I remember very clearly being hurt.  In my little sixth grade way, I suffered.

There was nothing specific that I remember learning at the time through that experience, but I remember it and I remember it was tough.

 And yet, I'm past it.  I can smile about it....minus the punk kid....I was torn up for days over that dumb situation, but I needed it.  Maybe it was humility God was teaching me. God, who had my path already totally planned out, included suffering for my good.  And so I praise him for it and for the many other times that I have suffered and felt the pains of this life.

None-the-less, when my son spotted another couple of boys a few days later, my response to his inquiry about seeking out their friendship was quite different.

I have to admit.  I kind of discouraged it.  Because everything in me wanted to protect him from another rejection.  I told him his sisters were just as fun as those boys.

Was that really the best I could come up with?  I was watching my girls in the kitchen painting their nails.

So, I took my statement back and simply warned him that the boys may not be totally nice to him, but to go for it.  When he left, in his second attempt to avoid nail polish and Barbie princess pop star for the morning, I realized how quickly I tried to keep him from potential pain.  And why?  Because I didn't want him to feel it.  And why?  Because it hurts me to see.  And yet, God's Word talks about suffering from beginning to end.  We won't avoid the storms, and neither will our children.

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance...

My son experienced in a small way the difficulty that life can bring, and he will continue to do so time and time again.  I can't stop it, and I can't avoid it for his sake.

But as I've reflected in the last couple of days, I know that the difficulties and trials that he faces will make him into the man who God wants him to be.  And beyond this amazing truth, they will prepare him for what he may face in the future.  They will allow him to empathize, sympathize, befriend, and trust.

One of the most beautiful things I've experienced is listening to the testimony of a believer who has suffered greatly and can express the clarity of God's hand all along the way.  This is our reality as believers through suffering - that we can experience God's grace and mercy in the midst of suffering, which allows us to know, with all our heart, that we are not in control, but confirms that God truly is. 

I remember about two months before my dad passed away, I found my husband in the basement working on his computer.  When I inquired about his work, he reluctantly told me that my dad had asked him to begin working on his funeral service.

To say I went a bit crazy would be an understatement.  I wasn't ready to face that reality and trying to imagine his life being over was too much, too unbearable, and created such anxiety in me that I began fearing what the last days might look like.

In my inability to trust and not control, I created unnecessary anxiety for several months.  It's the anticipation of the unknown that causes us to doubt, fear, and lose trust in the one who created us.

In the moments that my dad took his last breath, God was there.  He was ever present and perfectly in control.  My family could sense it in a powerful way.  And there is no doubt that in the moments after he went home, God bottled up my dad's tears and welcomed him into paradise.

Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? ...

Not long ago, my mom was diagnosed with a degenerative disease.  The ugliness of the disease makes me long for heaven.  And I know my mom does too. And when she can't speak anymore, I know the Lord will still hear her praises.  And one day her savior will bottle up her tears as well as He welcomes her into his glorious kingdom. 
   
But here's what's even more amazing:  We're promised not only that God will carry us through our suffering, whether it's a young child's rejection or a grown ups tears over pain and illness, but we're also promised eternal rest one day. We have the promise of a new heaven and new earth with no suffering and no tears; it will be perfection.

And as amazing and blessed as this life can be, without the suffering, we often forget from whose hand we take the lead and fail to remember where it is that we're ultimately headed.  

The link below is to a song that I recently listened to.  It had an impact on me as did the words of John Piper's godly instruction in the middle.  
 

Though you slay me
Yet I will praise you
Though you take from me
I will bless your name
Though you ruin me
Still I will worship
Sing a song to the one who’s all I need

He's all we need, He's all we need.  No matter what we face, He's all we need.  And so in the midst of suffering - no matter how great or small - I will praise Him. 

http://www.desiringgod.org/blog/posts/a-song-for-the-suffering-with-john-piper

Reflections on Regret: Another Chapter in Motherhood

It's tough being a mom.  

It's been said time and time again.  And I don't disagree with the statement.  

At times, motherhood has made me tired.  Not like the, I didn't get a good night sleep, tired; more like the, I'm going to be sick to my stomach if a see a perky person today because coffee doesn't even work, kind of tired.

Motherhood has made me worrisome.  Just a few days ago, Lily was riding her bike at the park.  She wanted so badly to ride down a very steep hill.  We told her she could, but the entire way down I imagined the fall, the scrape, the screaming, and the scoffing from her older brother.

But we let her.  And so onward she went.  But instead of the fall, the scrape, the scream, and the scoff, Lily lost control of her bike and rode straight into a pond at the bottom of the hill.

Fortunately (at least for us), there was a couple getting their engagement pictures by the pond.  As they watched the five year old scream past them and land in the water, the man reacted and pulled her out.  Moss and all.

Poor guy with the wet pants.  And while we had a hard time gaining control of our laughter once we realized she was OK, don't think for a second I don't worry every time she says she wants to ride her bike. 

At times motherhood has made me strangely self aware.  Every once-in-a-while I look in the mirror and think to myself:   I can't believe I'm a mom (at least I say it to the mirror and not to my children).  And then there are times when I can't believe how easily I can become introspective and ignore all else going on around me, including the repetitive: Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom!  Can I have milk, can I have milk, can I have milk!  I need help, I need help, I need help!  stop kicking me, stop kicking me, stop kicking me!!  I'd like to think this kind of introspection is a sort of gift.

But when the strange introspection wears off, the job of motherhood can (and has) made me incredibly impatient.  

We had company the other night.  It was an adult dinner, but I figured I could multitask and play mom and host.  I could play SuperMom! for a few hours.

Lily was in the shower - I ran up the stairs to check on the kid and back down to cut the pie.  Back up the stairs to tell her to wash her hair and back down to make sure everyone had napkins and forks.  Once dessert was served, it was time to scoop up the kid, put her in bed, and fly back down to clear the plates.

Supermom's don't exist, just so you know.  No matter how awesome our cape, we're human.  And human's fail.    

When she got out of the shower, the first thing I noticed was how slimy she was and how slimy her six barbies were.  It didn't take long to figure out what she washed herself with when I saw the empty bottle of conditioner.

"Mom, I decided to use the 'air condition' on myself since it makes my hair so smooth." 

There was no time to remedy the situation, so I pulled PJ's on my slimy (still wet) and "air conditioned" five year old, sung a fast forwarded "Jesus Loves Me," and turned out the lights.

She started bawling:   

"My barbies can't go to bed naked!"  

"Yes they can.  They're barbies."

"But they'll be so cold."  

"They don't have feelings."

"How can you say that, mom!"

I picked up the slimy dolls and began the process of clothing the barbies.  For those who have experienced this sort of things before, it's no surprise that by barbie number 2 (of six) my frustration level was at it's max.  I began mumbling to myself giving commentary on the ridiculousness of dumb barbie clothes while sitting in lily's dark room.  While company was down stairs. 

I finally threw the doll and shut the door.  I heard Lily yelling: 

"That's only two of them!  The rest will be so cold!  And you said dumb!"  

I left her in her room crying.  And went down stairs to entertain.

I felt awful.  Not for the barbies, just to clarify.   

Oh Motherhood.  

Recently, I came across an article entitled, Why I regret being a Stay at Home Mom.  The title intrigued me, and to be honest, I expected there to be some twist.  Surely she wouldn't feel so raw in her decision to stay at home with her children?

But she was.  And, frankly, the sadness I felt after reading this article had nothing to do with her choice of working.  I have many dear friends who work hard at their jobs and come home to continue the hard work as moms.  I also have dear friends who stay at home working hard all day with their kids.

What made me sad in reading this article is her regret.  She said it more than once.

Sadness exudes as she expresses how she wished she led a different life, clearly reflecting on her own desires and wants rather than the difference she made in the lives of those around her during her years at home.

But isn't this easy to do?  To buy into "The grass is always greener" syndrome?  The kind of syndrome that leaves me wishing I was the mom who has a full time nanny while nearing the reality of actually strangling a barbie doll.

And yet, there is no doubt that this kind of attitude leads to regret and disappointment.  The article proved that.

What's the remedy?  How can we live in the business and the mundane, the tough and the joyful days of motherhood and still find contentment where we are? 

It's all in our perspective. 

An Eternal perspective.  This is anyone's greatest source of encouragement - including a mothers.

For every bit of work that is done to provide income, for every diaper that is changed, for every ongoing conversation that is had at bedtime when we're longing for down- time, for every load of laundry that is done (when four more sit in their baskets), none of it is without purpose.  These are the things to which we've been called and it's a high calling, no matter how mundane or overwhelming the task may seem.

It's an Eternal perspective that reminds us that our ultimate job is to point our kids to Christ.

Dueteronomy 6:7 says, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise."

And the joy that comes from parents who have the opportunity to watch their kids grow into their own personal love for God and His Word must be overflowing.

Regret becomes of little significance when we see eternal value. 

There's no doubt that the job will continue to be difficult.  And there's no doubt that there will be temptation along the way to wish for a different life - a different plot.  And there's no doubt that I'll continue to need the date nights and the occasional glass of wine at the end of a long day, but there's no doubt that each day's work, no matter what was involved, is significant and meaningful.  Each day has eternal value. 

I left our company again the night they were over and slipped back into lily's room. Putting the half naked barbies aside, I tucked her in.  It didn't take long, it just took a little patience.  She put her arms around my neck and whispered, "It's Ok if you don't care about my barbies, mom.  I still love you."  

I love you too.  Lily.

Simple Truths

Yesterday I taught our women's Bible study.  The study consists of a group of ladies whom I have grown to love and respect as fellow believers and sisters in Christ.  They graciously listen to my "Aha!" moments that jump out to me in a passage, even though many of them have known Jesus much longer than I have. 

I had one of those "Aha!"  moments this past week when studying First Samuel.

In the passage we were studying (and really all throughout the Scriptures) the importance of remembering is made very clear -looking back on what God has done and reflecting on his goodness in the past.  

With the tenth anniversary of my dad's death coming up this weekend, I couldn't help but reflect on the ten years that have come and gone since he went to be with Jesus.  There's so much that has changed since he's been gone, and I often wonder what Dad would have thought about all that has changed in the last ten years:

Ipad's, for example.  Who would have thought ten years ago we'd have such a thing?  I bet my dad would have loved them; not so much for the practical uses but for the games.  He loved his games, and to have them at the swipe of a finger!  Who would have thought.  Ahh....I bet he would have played Words with Friends with me and would have been pretty fired up when I won (I am a Words with Friends force to be reckoned with; yes, I'm admitting this).

There's been incredible developments, but there's been a lot of change on the home front too.  The only grandchild my dad met was Ella, and I will never forget a special moment he had with his grand-daughter in the ICU. I remember Dad telling me how much fun we were going to have with Ella in the upcoming spring. She was ten months old at the time and was busily trying to crawl all over his hospital bed.  He wondered  if she would be a busy toddler.

Oh my word.  At the time we were all ridiculously naive in thinking Ella was busy.  Ella, who would sit in her stroller hour after hour while I sat with dad in the hospital, was an angel baby.  God knew what we needed at the time.  It wasn't until two little angel-devil's entered the world (Polski children two and three) that we understood God's graciousness in having Ella be our first born.

I think my Dad would have laughed at Jrod through the years.   We had a cop visit the house a few days ago.  Apparently someone called 911 after hearing a little girl scream at the top of her lungs (a neighbor thought she might be being abducted).  No, this what not the case.  It was Lily and Jrod in the back yard.  The tornado siren went off for the monthly test, and Jrod took advantage of the situation:  "Lily, it's aliens coming to get us!  You must put your head down!  If you look up they'll suck us up!"  Thus the screaming.  Thus the confusion about child abduction.  Thus the cops.

I honestly think my dad would have laughed.  But he also would have been so proud of his grand-kids (all nine of them now!)  I will never forget this beautiful picture during a worship service just a few short weeks ago:  Jrod was singing his heart out during worship - not caring who heard him or who was around - the boy sings with all of his might to Jesus.  And there, looking up to him, was his little cousin, in awe. And not because of a particularly good voice, but because of how boldly Jrod sang.  Beautiful.  And Dad would have loved it.

So much change in the last several years:  Change in jobs, illness in our family, children brought into the world, churches planted and grown....Reflection on the past is good; I can't look back on what God has brought us through and NOT remember his faithfulness to us.  God is our help in ages past, and He's our hope for years to come.  His faithfulness remained then and it will continue for us in the future. 

But that was not my "Aha!" moment.  That moment came for me when I read and reflected on 1 Samuel 12:24: "Only fear the Lord and serve him faithfully with all your heart.  For consider what great things he has done for you."  

Only (only!) fear the Lord and serve him with all of your heart.  It's the simplicity of this verse that makes me sit here with tears in my eyes.  This life is full;  it's full of the good and it's full of the really, really tough.

As I reflect back, I have experienced both in profound ways.   And as I look forward, I can (and should) expect both.  But my calling through this life is not to solve all difficulties, control my surroundings, or fight what I think isn't good for me.  My calling is to trust Jesus and to serve him with ALL of my heart. 

Before all else, Jesus.

I miss my dad, but I know that he wouldn't leave the presence of God to come back and check out all the change - not for anything.  In the end, it is Jesus.  And so, before all else, Jesus.

We sing a song in church from time to time called "All I Have."  Each time we sing it, I find myself filled with deep emotion, and as I listened to the words again this morning, it occurred to me what is so profound about this song:  it's incredibly simple truth: 

All I have
All I have
All I have is yours.

My kids?  Their yours.  My time?  It's yours.  My abilities?  They're yours to do with what you please.  My responsibility?  To serve the Lord with all my heart.

Thanks, dad, for being an example of these simple truths.  I look forward to seeing you again someday.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JDrUtzpAyM
(you can hear "All I have" by Sojourn)

mini-me

There were many times before having children when my mom would assure me that someday I'd have a child that was just like me.  She was sure of it; and it was always said with a bit of a smirk.  And I would smile back and assure her that I would be able to handle a mini-me.

Yes, I had heard the stories.  I recall very little, but I had heard the stories throughout the years - running away when I was three, cutting my sisters hair (entirely) off, being called a juvenile delinquent as a toddler, and, unfortunately, the list of stories go on.

When Ella was born, I prepared myself from day one.  I knew there was a chance she would be the one.  The payback....the mini-me.

My husband assured me over and over again that I was wrong.  She, he was convinced, was a mini-him.  And he was right.  Ella was calm, introverted, quiet, and helpful.  She was not my mini-me; and I was grateful.

And so when Jrod came along, I was sure he would be it - my wild child, my payback for giving my mother gray hair at a young age.

For four years, I staked my claim.  I told my mother:  "See!  I can most certainly handle a mini-me!"  I got through poop smeared walls, powder bottles dumped, and dirt galore.  I had succeeded!  I had done it!  I had survived another me.

I was wrong.

Lily was born in 2008.  I didn't prepare myself, due to the fact that I thought I already had a mini-me.  I was geared up for an easy number three.  A number three that you hardly knew was there.  A number three that was everything that I wasn't.

Lily has always been....different....from the other two. More dramatic (telling me that she has never in her entire life had a more difficult mom), more mature at a young age (explaining to her brother and sister that she's never getting married because she'll never, ever kiss people on the lips for long times), and has been a deeper thinker (asking us if she can live with her favorite Dentist when we die).  

So, in the last couple weeks, I have slowly come to a difficult realization, and several events have led up to this enlightenment: 

Recently, I was playing piano during a worship service, leading the congregation in singing.  With no warning, Lily ran up on stage during the middle of a song:  "Mom!  Mom!  I need a mint really bad!"

Seriously?

After telling her firmly to go back down, I thought I had gotten through to her.

I was wrong.  She ran up a second time - this time crying:  "I don't want to sit in my chair anymore!"

We finished the song acapella.   

And I began to wonder.....could she be my mini-me?  Nah.

And then a few days later, I ran into Lily's teacher.  Lily, she explained, asks for food often, and while they usually ignore her frequent requests, her teacher told her the other day that she'd get lunch when she got home from school. 

"But that won't happen," Lily explained, "my mom never, ever feeds me lunch."

I laughed.  And then...just to be safe....assured the teacher that I feed my child.

But it was Sunday when this particular realization became clearer than ever before.  On Sunday, I noticed lily holding herself all morning -as if she needed desperately to use the bathroom.  I finally took her into the corner at church and inquired:

"Lily, do you have to use the bathroom?"

"No."

"Is something uncomfortable?"

"No."

I went with my motherly instinct and looked under her dress.  My child had hidden graham crackers and other goodies in her underpants.

I didn't even know what to ask.  What would I ask?  Why are there sweets in your underwear?  Should that have immediately come to mind?  I just looked at her.  And she answered:

"I just was making treats appear.  I can do magic, mom."

That was it.  I knew right there and then.  She is my mini-me - and before long, my brown hair will begin to gray.

Standing in the corner with my daughter, I started laughing uncontrollably.  And I have a feeling that won't be the last time I laugh.  There may be many tears along the way (I deserve that), but there will also be many, many laughs.

I love you, Wilbur.  My little mini-me.

Memories

 We've been going to the same place for vacation each summer for about 25 years.  It's a beautiful beach spot filled with many, many memories. 

Twelve years ago, Chris and I took a picture on a particular couch at this vacation spot.  We've taken the same shot every year since. 

The above picture was taken twelve years ago - on the night of our engagement.  He thought I was surprised (and I didn't let on for about five years that I knew what was coming), but it didn't matter; that night was one of the happiest of my life. 

I will never forget getting up from dinner and while my whole family was headed out to play the card game Skip Bo, Chris asked if I wanted to go for a walk. 

"No." 

I wanted to play Skip-Bo (one of my favorites), and (I will never forget) there was key lime pie involved.  There was no way I was taking a walk on the beach. 

My dad whipped out the video camera and put it in my face: 

"You really should go for a walk, honey, it's a beautiful night.  Just go ahead." 

And then I knew.  Dad, good ol' dad, giving away the entire thing.  My entire family stared at me.  Did they seriously think I wasn't picking up on anything? 

I then agreed to the walk with the promise that they'd save some key lime pie.  My sisters just giggled. 

My family cannot keep a secret. 

As we were walking toward the beach, my dad video taping the entire thing, I heard my little sister whisper: 

"Do you know what is about to happen?!?" 

And then it was confirmed.

But I kept my cool, even though I was excited myself about what was about to happen. 

It was dark when we began walking - very dark.  In fact, there were no lights anywhere near our part of the beach.  I didn't know it at the time, but Chris was trying to find light. So, he was incredibly distracted as we walked.  Regardless, I tried to make conversation. 

"Don't you think it would be awesome to be a lifeguard at a place like this?  I mean, what a job." 

"Uh-huh.  Awesome."  He was looking all around, and I had no idea for what - fireworks, a plane, a person.  I decided to not try and guess but to keep talking: 

"That's got to be a job that has very little stress.  Don't you think?" 

"Uh-huh.  You should move to Florida." 

For real?  Then we got into an argument over whether or not he wanted to move to Florida. 

We quickly ended up right back at the place where we started. 

I didn't need fireworks, planes, people; I didn't even need light.  All I needed were the words that Chris said to me in the next five minutes. 

It was one of the most memorable nights of my life.  And I even got my key lime pie.  It was March, 2000. 

The 2001 picture is missing, but the next ten years are accounted for and are pictured below. 

I share these with hesitation since Chris and I have gone through many different.....awkward.....phases when it comes to fashion and hair, but they're worth every single memory.  Each year is filled with so many, but here are just a few little snippets:

 2002. Sweet little Ella. Easiest baby ever.  It's a good thing she was the first; if Jrod or Lily had come along as number one, there would have been no number two.  

2003. First year without my dad on vacation, but a sweet time with the family.  Life was still easy as can be with only one.  

2004.  Jrod.  Jrod.   And we moved to St. Simons.  I also remember telling Chris I would never teach again. 

2005.  I went back to teaching. 

2006.   I quit teaching.  

 2007.  We moved back to St. Louis.  And, we decided to try for a third child with the expectation that after Jrod, surely we'd have a calm, laid-back child. 

2008.  The year I gave birth to the least calm, laid-back child I had known thus far.   

2009.  The year we both gave up hair - I chopped mine, and he shaved his.  

2010.  

2011.   All three kids in school and mom went back to working part-time, but not as a teacher. 

2012.  And here we are.  

God is good.  

All the time. 

Past, Present, and Future

Our family spent some time up on Lookout Mountain in Georgia on our way to Florida this past week.  Chris and I both graduated from Covenant College, so we were eager to show the kids around; maybe share with them a little bit of our past.

We had a captive audience, and my husband was the first to take advantage.  He brought everyone up to the second floor of the infamous Carter Hall ready to show the kids his first dorm room.  

He opened the door and declared the room like a new father declares the name of a new child.  I could see the memories flooding back, and admittedly, it was hilarious.  

The kids were unimpressed by the 10 by 12 foot room with just enough space for the necessities.  And so we moved on.  

Chris spent most of his time at Covenant on the “Ghetto,” the hall where many of the soccer players grouped.  Our entrance into the Ghetto was one of the doors opening to glory, but still, the kids were unimpressed.   “And this is the room we would gather in, and this is where I slept, and this is……”  He was reliving glory days.  

“So, like in college do you have to go to school all day?”  This is the kind of important information Jrod wanted to be clear about.  

Chris explained that you go to class, but then you’d have time in between to sleep, or play sports, or eat….

…..or study; my boring contribution.  

We ventured up to my old hall.  I walked down the hall unassumingly, sure that I wouldn’t fall into the same time warp where my poor husband found himself.  

But then there it was:  my old dorm room.  I lapsed worse than my husband, explaining who lived in each room and how I had my room arranged.  The kids stuck with me until I pointed out which sink I used.  The eye rolling began except for little Lily who told me how cool my sink was.  

Thanks, Lily.  

At this point, my kids were still trying to grasp the whole concept of college, but I didn’t leave much room for questions – I was on a roll pointing out the dining room, the mail room, the Resident Director’s apartment, and the laundry room.  

   

“You mean you have to clean your own clothes?”  

I was immediately grateful for the ten years that Jrod has left at home. 

 

My kiddos followed me out of my dorm like little tourists.  And so on we went.  

I pointed out my favorite class - Shakespeare at 7:45 in the morning, explaining that I would have gone to that class at 7:00 A.M, it was that good.  

“But who would wake you up?”  

Again, we’ll need all ten years with Jrod.  

Of course, then, I couldn’t just show them where my favorite class was held, we had to walk over to the class I used to dread.  

And I thought Chris’s doors into “Ghetto glory” were a little much. 

I didn’t care.  I took them into the dreaded math classroom.  It was in this class that I decided I was going to major in something with the most amount of reading and writing and the least amount of equations and problems.  

Both Ella and Jrod acquired my math skills, or lack there of, so both empathized with their mom in this department.  I thought it was funny that they actually felt bad for me; forget what mom does all day for us on top of otherwise full days, but a math class…..poor mom. 

   

Chris and I took them to the chapel.  I began playing the piano up on the stage, recalling the first time I played up there as a short lived music major.  

I was asked to accompany the student body in singing the school’s hymn.  Nerves rose up in me like I had never experienced before, and I plowed through that hymn so fast that it was literally un-singable.  So, the lecturer stopped me and the rest of the student body and asked me to play it at a more reasonable tempo.  

I switched my major to English, promising myself I would never accompany anyone again. 

The irony is that I lead worship on the piano each and every Sunday, and I absolutely love it.

 

Next, I took the kids to the building where I had an in depth conversation regarding my Senior Integration Paper with two of my favorite professors.  I pointed out the exact room where this meeting took place. 

I distinctly remember one professor praising the subject matter and the detailed research that was done.  My writing teacher, the other professor present, discouraged the actual writing of the paper, explaining to me that even after five drafts, it was simply “a mess.”  

I had the option of writing another draft, correcting the enormous amount of grammatical mistakes, and receiving an A.  But, I was a senior, and all that was standing between me and graduation, plus my impending marriage to my best friend, was that paper.  So, I settled (with no qualms) for a C. 

Again, the irony is that almost exactly one year later I was hired to teach high school grammar and writing.   My first year students, quite unfortunately but rather obviously, learned very little as I spent most the year trying to understand it all myself.  

Embarrassingly, a student would at times correct my pronunciation of a particular vocabulary word.  Instead of admitting my blaring error, I would suggest that perhaps there were other ways to pronounce such common words.  

I mean really. 

After that first year, the light went on.  I suddenly became a grammar fanatic (please don’t hold this blog to that fact); I began seeing grammar errors everywhere and writing became to me, for the first time, a new part of life.  I enjoyed it so much that I spent the next several years trying to spark the interest in as many students as possible. 

Several years after I had left the school, I received a letter from one of my former students who had taken the time to explain to me how thankful she was for my class.  In particular, she mentioned how grateful she was for all the grammatical markings on her papers.  It helped her later in her schooling to really “get it.”  Oh, the irony.  

Before we could conclude the tour, Chris and I knew couldn’t leave without the kids seeing the gym.  Athletics were a big part of our lives in college, and the kids couldn’t wait to see it.  They were particularly enthralled with the fact that there was still P.E. available in college.  

“P.E. and lunch are my favorite subjects!”  

That’s my boy.  Even as an eight year old, it’s only taken him a few months to get through five books of Harry Potter, and yet he is adamant that his gifts are in the area of lunch time.  

Chris pointed out each and every trophy that he and his soccer team received during his four years at Covenant.  The kids were super impressed, to say the least.  

“Mom, where’s your trophy?”  

“Well, Jrod, mom didn’t get trophies, but I can totally show you where I tore up my knee during a basketball game.” 

They were totally un-impressed, to say the least, and had no interest in my play by play commentary of this particular moment in my life.  

I was almost back to our present reality until one other place caught my eye.  I walked over to a large tree outside of one of the buildings.  The kids were ahead of us, so I just shared the memory with my husband, the only victim left on my prolonged journey into the past.  

I explained that this was the tree that I knelt under pleading with God not to take my dad’s life since only moments before he had called with the news that they found a rare kind of cancer in his liver.   I stayed there weeping bitterly for a long time.  It was one of the times in my life that I remember undeniably feeling the comforting presence of God.   

In the midst of twists and turns, laughable irony, and deep personal struggles and sorrow, God’s Grace in my life and His sovereignty over it is remarkable to me, and sometimes that reality strikes me deeply.  Our short journey into the past was one of those times.   

As we were leaving the campus, we told the kids we would take them down the mountain to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner– one that I frequented during college.  

And then it was Ella’s turn to ask a question:  “You mean, you’re allowed to leave campus when you’re in college?”  

I’m glad that we have several years of parenting before a college future; my need to be in the present is a grateful necessity.  And yet today, I am truly thankful for my past.   

A Time to Laugh

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven….a time to weep and a time to laugh.

Ecc. 3:4

It's good to laugh. Great even.  It's been said many times, "Laughter is good for the soul."

I wonder sometimes if God laughs.   The Bible is certainly not without frequent use of irony, whimsy, word-play and puns.

When my mother talks about my childhood and the terror that I was for my parents, wandering away from home a number of times and causing my mother panic attacks, I consider my youngest, Lily, who has herself wondered away twice in her four short years of life, and then I think, yes.  Yes, indeed.  God most surely does have a great sense of humor.   

In the last week week of school, my eight year old son was involved in a poetry reading.  Thirty friends and family were all packed into a classroom to hear their budding readers and actors share what they'd been learning. 

After each student recited a poem, they surprised their teary-eyed, prouder-than-ever mom with a poem that was written specifically for them:  "mother:  kind, loving, beautiful, good cook, a great mom. My mother."

This was very typical of the poems that were read to the adoring mothers. 

When it was jrods turn, cameras were out, and he was ready.  To be honest, I started welling up with pride.  What amazing lyrics had he come up with to declare to this room full of mothers just how awesome of a mom he thinks I am?  I couldn't wait. 

"Mother," he began.

"Black hair.  Lots of white teeth.  Very sweaty.  My mother."

Yep.  That's my boy.

And I'm his sweaty mom.  What else can a mother do but laugh. And laugh I did.  Along with all the other kind, loving, beautiful, good cooking, (non -sweating), mothers in the room.

These are times when laughter comes more easily.  But what about when trials which come knocking at the door?  Is it appropriate to laugh in their face?

I remember my dad coming home from work one day while he was in the midst of treatment for liver cancer.  I was home from college and was sitting at the kitchen table working on a paper when he came in elated. 

I asked him what he was so happy about.  He told me his story. 

He had been pulled over by a cop for speeding.  My dad racked his brain for every excuse he could think of to get out of it, and then, as the cop approached the car, it came to him:

"I pulled the cancer card!  It was brilliant!  Just told the cop that I had 'chemo brain' and he let me go without another word."

I sat there in the kitchen laughing with my dad.  I laughed hard.  Especially at the absurdity of my pastor- dad who was so proud of himself for getting out of a ticket due to "chemo brain." I mean seriously. 

And yet, for just a few minutes, we had a moment of pure joy between the two of us in the midst of the drag days that were common as he fought this disease. 

A couple of weeks ago, I met a couple at work who had this same view on life.

A beautiful woman was strolled back in a wheel chair, pushed by her husband.  He laughed as he worked hard to get her up and onto the dental chair, which was clearly not easy for either of them.  And she laughed at the fact that her legs were unable to help him at all. 

Once he got his wife into the chair, he warned me to not tilt the chair the wrong way once he left the room.  "Then she'd be your problem to get back up!"  They both laughed.  They were light hearted and open about her condition. 

Before he walked out, he looked at her and said, "I love you."  And there was absolutely no doubt about that. 

After twenty plus years of dealing with MS, and slowly experiencing the deterioration of her body, she said to me, "You have to laugh at this crazy disease."  She and her husband laugh together in the face of this tragedy.  They laugh at the absurdity of facing challenges as a couple, as a mother, as a human being that so many others are free from.

She didn't choose to tell me about all the difficulties, which were clearly plentiful.  She instead told me that in the last four years as the disease began to affect her legs, she has been so thankful for her husband and her son.  "Most men would leave a person like me." Sadly, she is probably right. 

Several minutes later, I watched her husband help her back into her chair.  "Well, come on! Jump in." They both laughed.

And I laughed with them, even through blurry eyes.  I was so touched by his love for her.

And I was moved by their ability to laugh.