Brielle: Making Space and New Stories

🌿 A triple ping sounds as I’m savoring the day’s first cup of vanilla flavored coffee and the shaded, early morning coolness of our covered patio. Just out there “being” before the heat rolls back. 

Opening the incoming text, I see a line of photos from my daughter, Jillian. Her first official mother-daughter date with her “new” two-year-old, Brielle—officially adopted just yesterday. 

🌿 As I gaze upon the two images of head-to-head silly faces and, the last one, a happy little pixie-girl… I get hit with all the feels. Leaky eyes and a pressing on my heart. 

It’s not like I haven’t received a few photos like this over the past year, but they were never labeled: mother-daughter. They’re the same kind of goofy-faced-girls selfies she used to send with her firstborn, Cadence—and knowing that first girl will soon turn fourteen brought its own wave of sentiment. And it’s all punching new love-and-wonder corners into my mama-gramma heart. 

🌿 Life is so wonder-full and fragile. That a little life can be plucked out of brokenness and planted into a path of redemption moves me to tears. Tears for what was shattered and for these sweet and silly glimpses of hope for a mended future. 

Our hearts have poured love for Brielle since our first FaceTime. And we’ve known she would likely one day be ours. But there is a reality of this grafting-in that takes time to settle, unpack… make a home. I can feel my heart opening that new space for her today. A real and forever space. A stretching that recognizes the broken-world labor pains that brought her to us, as well as the endless power of God to bring life and healing to her precious heart and soul… to her story… to all our broken stories. 

🌿 And for this little one, He has chosen to set her into our family’s story… into my story… knowing we will not be perfect, but that she can grow alongside us. We will make room for her days of joy and of struggle and show her that this is the way of life on earth. Weeds and blooms and making space for each other—together. Letting our stories breathe in the arms of the One who writes and tends and holds us close on quiet, patio mornings where new pictures ping through and new chapters begin. 

#motherdaughter #stories #newstories #adoption #fosteradopt #realLife #redeemingLife #familyLife #newLife #lifewithBrielle

Most Of All

We grandparents tend to develop a mooshy new heart chamber when it comes to our grands. Love pours in. Love pours out. In most cases, unobstructed by any primary responsibility; a mid-life gift of unconditional love. We have been blessed with six.

The three who now live in Maine, and their mama, just spent three weeks with us. Three weeks of in-the-flesh time -- real hugs, squeals, spats, pool splashing, piano banging, Play Doh pinching, puzzles, toys, bubbles, field trips, and read-all-the-books snuggles.

All this followed by the heart-trudge to the airport, the last goodbyes, and the day after of wonderful, miserable quiet. A silence ushering in tears and much reflection, not to mention eight loads of laundry. 

Do I miss those kiddos and all their crazy energy? Yes! But as I sat with my coffee and leaky eyes on that first solitary morning, I realized this: when we're apart, it's my daughter I miss most.

Truth is, I loved her first. 

We've shared twenty-seven years. That's a lot of life glue and heart stitching.

All through this visit when the kids were napping or in - and out - of bed at night, we'd slip right into our shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch thing while planning her next remodel or my first, raiding Pinterest for favorite haircuts, laughing, bantering, or getting real about life. One night, she asked if I'd play the piano "like I used to" when she was little, so we could worship a while. Two hours of singing left us spent, but refreshed; hearts aligned.

You see, my love for the littles is tightly woven into the miracle of watching my daughter become a mother and be a mother. Watching this girl of mine love, teach, train, pull her hair out, fall to her knees, find strength again, and become more beautiful and wise in the struggle. I see a little of her in each of them.

To me, she is friend, cheerleader, prayer warrior. She speaks truth and encouragement over my life and calls me out when my thoughts and actions go south and sideways.

So even as my heart weighs heavy over my wide-eyed, busy, brilliant grands, when a continent lies between us, it's my daughter I miss most of all.

The Faces of Motherhood

I stumbled upon these half-written reflections that began on Mother's Day. My life is littered with unfinished projects, so in a rare burst of determination I decided to circle back and finish this one. Some of you may find kinship here.



Sometimes the doing takes hold so hard that quiet moments drag me off to some mindless distraction. Today, the distraction dragged me back to mindfulness. Even social media can be the all things that are worked together for good. Wonder of wonders.

As I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed, I was struck by the many faces of motherhood. Women cradling newborns, tales of sleepless nights and toddler antics, bedside hospital vigils, celebrating plays and proms. So many snapshots and shared thoughts that reminded me of my journey as Mom. So many seasons - all of them simultaneously happy, hard, wondrous, tedious, heart-wrenching, mind-stretching, and somehow good for my soul by the mystery of the unseen Hand that held me.

Soon I was nudged back to real-time by tears painting picture upon picture across my older, life-worn face. Tears that longed for the simpler, exhausting days gone by. Streaks that celebrated the joys, mourned the griefs - some yet raw. Tears that declared I've not yet found a place of peace in the so-called empty nest season...

...mostly due to the unexpected season: watching our own moms, and others, age in ways that we celebrate, but also in ways that keep me up at night once again - anxious, wringing hands grasping for elusive wisdom. Who knew the same uncertainty that gripped those long ago firsts would resurface in caring for the generation who raised us?

What I once pictured as carefree, possibility-full days of walking alongside my kids and grandkids has been fraught with cares and dreams deferred. I wrestle to lay down my vision of this season. There's no grace in how it's looked - this struggle - but much grace surrounding me in it. I am trying to find stillness in this storm, to soak up mercy, comfort, wisdom, love.

Who am I in all this? What can I hope for and work toward? Questions that took flight even as our first child married have had no space or length of time to land as I've bounced from one major life event - or crisis - to another these past several years.

Who am I? How do I fit, how does the rest of life fit, in to the new normal of caregiver in perpetuity, for that is how it often feels: never-ending. In part, this is who I am, what I do well, what I'm called to in this season. But the responsibility overwhelms at times, and I am clumsily learning to navigate, delegate, and find healthy boundaries, instead of mentally curling up and giving up.

This is my face today. Acknowledging the joys and sorrows, the struggles, fears, confusion, clarity. So often trying to hide the weariness, anxiety, depression. Confessing the resentment and sad state of a malnourished soul, but lifting a chin to look up, and leaning an over-weighted shoulder into my Savior once more.

This has always been the face of motherhood for me.

The Long Mourning

It had already been an emotional morning -- revisiting another grief, decades old. But isn't that the way of grief? Sneaking into ordinary days that begin the same as every other: cooling coffee to the right, discarded cereal bowl to the left, morning paper refolded, and me scrolling for news of friends, enjoying insights, perusing photos...

My husband and I were not expecting the old loss to surface, both left wondering at a hidden significance in the timing. For as we wade through this season of midlife, taking lingering second looks at those roads less traveled, we know an increasing desire to invest in things that last. Even the prodding of an old wound can be an awakening. Such was the vein of my thoughts in the aftermath: patiently unresolved, sent up in prayer, waiting raw... a familiar place.

Now, coffee fresh, I resumed scrolling posts and pics, when I found myself stilled by a new photo...
My beautiful daughter. Tucked in close to husband and friends, her sparkling soul of a smile grabbed my heart and squeezed more tears.

Seven years since she first left home, then hometown, to the south, then southwest -- my grown up girl was on her way to yet another coast, a new home, a new adventure. This snapshot a piece of that journey. Her deeply loved family will settle far from here, once again. And even as I trust the Lord's directing her path, I felt every mile as a slow gouge across my heart... I'm so wrung out with goodbyes.

Standing in the kitchen sometime later, I felt it keenly -- life is the long mourning.

I've known it most profoundly as my children moved away. Each visit too brief. Each time to go chaffing the wound of the first goodbye. At least their childhood milestones kept them within arms reach, though they whispered a misty-eyed prelude to all that is now.

I've known it in hopes deferred. Relationships broken. Friends moved on, passed away, or caught in all manner of devastation. So much upheaval added to a lifetime of transitions. Season upon season, loss and change coming steadily, often leaving no time to process. Lives and issues demanding attention. No time to feel. Just move. Do. Now.

And always... the goodbyes.

Everyone's journey with loss etches differently, but is no less real. And I'm realizing that I often diminish my own pain, sweeping it away as pale in comparison to your pain... or their pain...
or suffering of global proportions. In doing so, my grief is shamed into some dark corner with no arms to comfort, no outlet for tears, no truth to lead it back to life and hope. The weight of it, unresolved, a silent shackle diminishing today's joy. And by deciding it does not matter, I am in effect saying
I don't matter.

This revelation brings a grief all it's own.

There is much stirring in these midlife days that I both welcome and want to run from. Healing requires revisiting storms past and a closer look at new issues swirling. All that wind... messing my hair... and messing with my emotions. I don't like either messed, but the hurts have been in disarray for a while. Hair is an easy fix. Maybe that's why I like doing hair.

I'm rambling now...

...and trying to make light of things that need light. That need honesty. That need a level of brave that has me on my tippy toes, longing for solid footing. Stretching for faith. Sorting through distractions that include voices, within and without, "Hurry up already!" Voices that throw out white-washing platitudes... "Let's just plaster you over with a few positive-thinking posters. Here's one with a Bible verse! There, now! Stand up straight so we can read your posters. We feel so much better now.
Don't you?"

We're all so uncomfortable with pain. Covering over is what we do, to ourselves and others.

Sigh...

Somewhere in this jumble of frustration and fear is a woman who longs to be set free of griefs deferred. To take hold of everything for which Christ has taken hold of her. To press on.

I know that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. He has redeemed me and calls me His own -- deeply loved, forgiven, accepted -- I do matter. And He's gently calling me to this heart-tending, lighting up dark corners, infinitely patient in my struggle. Amidst the storm, He will bring quiet, turning gusts to refreshing breezes as the Spirit bears truth and healing.

So, despite the desire to run away, I'll lean into Jesus, then lean into the wind, and keep on walking. Sometimes pressing on feels more like being pressed, but I know I'm safe, in Him, in the mess of
this long mourning.

Because of the LORD'S great love we are not consumed,

For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning;

great is Your faithfulness.

~Lamentations 3:22, 23

To everything there is a season,

A time for every purpose under heaven...

A time to weep,

And a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, 

And a time to dance. 

~Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

 For all that gives rise to mourning, I am so thankful there remains a time to laugh.

  

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How about you? Is your pain cast aside or covered over?

Are you running or leaning in?

I pray you'll let Jesus tend your heart.

His compassions never fail.  

One Mother's Day

When your daughter lives some two thousand miles away in the lovely state of Arkansas, it's quite a bonus to get to spend a holiday together. This May, I enjoyed two such special days: my birthday and today... 

Mother's Day.

Here to meet my newest grandson, goof off with the other littles, and make myself as useful to Mommy and Daddy as possible, I've enjoyed giggles, songfests, poopy diapers, sticky hands, laundry, dishes, sleep deprived nights, lots of coffee, Thai food, Chick-fil-A, my first taste of hushpuppies, several episodes of Jake and the Pirates, a few HGTV marathons, and some fun outings with my girl and the fam. 

So as I lived this Mother's Day with her and her passel o' young'uns, I found myself a bit awestruck amidst the ruckus - and sort of chuckled inside - to think that this had been my life just a couple of decades ago. And, somehow, I had survived it all (and the teen years) to become Grammadette to these three and two more in Oregon. Holy smokes! God is good. Truly. There's no way I made it through without Him. And the times I tried? Well, I won't get into that today.  

I've often thought that the greeting "Happy Mother's Day," while lovely in it's sentiment, places an onus of expectation on a random day, filled with all the ordinary things that must and will happen in the life of a mother. Motherhood is a journey, full of the happy and the hard and the calendar doesn't determine the order and duration of either. 

Today, after a fitful start and a few actual fits, the afternoon gave way to an unscripted, though much hoped for, peace-filled naptime. In simple terms: all the littles actually slept. Given this gift, I finally sat down to put some thoughts together for my daughter. 

If you are or have been the mom of little ones, this may resonate...

Dearest Jillian...Spending this Mother's Day with you in the chaos of today - when mom of two kids is still finding balance as mom of three - pokes at deeply filed memories. On this day when oldest was being ridiculously willful and disobedient, while middle boy treated your commands as white noise to his single-minded toddler pursuits, and new one fussed instead of eating then spit back half upon clean sheets and showered body...on this day I'm reminded of the stretching. Body still stretched from new birth, mind stretched toward wits end, and emotions close to snapping. Gah! ... The stretching!

It seems trite today to wish you a "happy" Mother's Day. So I honor your journey, encourage your faith, marvel at your persistence, and am warmed by your heart to love and raise your children well.

And I'm thrilled that you are now fast asleep on the sofa. A quiet victory on such a day, and a lovely way to celebrate. 

Love you so,
Mom

Heart-squeeze

Holding Ellena tightly I whispered, “If I hid you in my purse and brought you home, do you think Mommy and Daddy would notice?”

“What?” Daddy had overheard, so I confessed my scheming. As we all laughed I told them they needed to have lots more kids so if one accidentally went missing when we left for home they might not notice right away.

Sigh…I loathe goodbyes.

How do I hold my newborn grandson on the morning of our departure without a huge heart-squeeze of tears?

I’m pretty sure that tear ducts are mysteriously connected to our hearts by some unseen pathway. Biology may say otherwise, but I reside in the world of what is seen and unseen and tears are often what speak in the overflow of my heart. Wet words that cannot be spoken for sometimes words are just not deep or high or wide enough.

So I savored making Little Missy her breakfast this morning, sitting next to her with mine, and had no trouble maneuvering my spoon with one hand as precious bundle of boy lay cradled in the other arm.

No trouble but the tears.

Then, snuggled next to my daughter after watching her do the same with her dad, my heart rested next to hers in a long sigh. So many words spoken in that time of not speaking…surely the well sprang up, though we hid it just a bit longer.

I have often tried not to cry in front of my kids as we hug, pray, give thanks, and hug again in those goodbye moments. I’m not sure why. To make it easier for them…or for me? Regardless, the puddled eyes and sniffs are inevitable no matter my intentions. It’s that heart-squeeze thing, I suppose.

Today as we held one another in one last circle of prayer, I sensed the words unsaid; the pouring out of hearts that was surely heard as clearly by our heavenly Father...perhaps more clearly.  

For He was, is, and always will be. Taught this as a child, I embrace it with whole heart and mind. He knew me before I was ever formed in my mother’s womb, just as He did little Charlie. He knows all my days, including this one, and has already provided comfort for it, promising to never leave me nor forsake me. As precious as my children are to me, so much more am I to Him.

I can’t hide my heart from my Father like I sometimes hide behind words not spoken or tears held back. I’m so glad of this. For, truly, I need a safe place to rest my heart…especially today.

Thank you, Father. I feel your arms holding me…holding my heart together.

Charlie lay sleeping where I’d gently laid him just moments before. Caressing his cheek one last time, tears threatening yet again, I picked up my bags and walked out the door. Another long embrace with my daughter - “I love you” - and I crossed the street to the car. It’s a small street, but that walk from curb to curb seemed endless. As we drove off, there was Daddy, tender-eyed, holding Sweet Pea as she opened and closed her little “bye bye” hand, with Mommy standing by his side…letting the tears flow.

And, finally, so did I.


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I am reminded of a much beloved song. Truth that brings comfort and rest:

He Knows My Name
Tommy Walker

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in His hands

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I roam

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

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Here's what filled our hearts for the squeezing: Blessings From Medford and Overdue.

Overdue

Kids always keep us on our toes, don't they? Little Charlie surely decided to keep us guessing and finally made his entrance a week overdue. I'll never get over the miracle of birth, and your child's child is like a double miracle.

But a baby was not the only thing overdue here in Medford. If your grands live far from you, you'll understand.

As grandparents we've enjoyed varied monikers over the years, some given us by our sweet grands, others by circumstance. We are Gramps and Grammadette to our spunky southern princess, Cadence, and her lively brother Desmond.

And our little Sweet Pea in southern Oregon? 

Well, to Miss Ellena, who understands everything but has been slower to enunciate, we are Gah and GahGah. But since I've been here, I've made a game out of getting her to say Grammadette. 

"Ellena, say Graa-maa-DETTE!" To which she responds with her pixy grin and adorable transposition, "Daah GAH! Daah GAH!" Back and forth we volley... because it makes her giggle. 

At the end of the day, I don't care what she calls me...as long as she calls me. If I end up being Gramma GahGah or just GahGah, that'll just make me giggle. I certainly don't aspire to any kind of Gaga-like fame, though I do have my own share of ridiculous antics...

But, seriously, my one hope in her regard is a place of love and permanence in her heart. That's fame enough for me.

For all these precious long-distance kiddos, I refer to myself as Flat Screen Gramma. Macbook to Macbook is how we've bridged the miles. Skype is our friend. 

I love my grandkids to pieces, but I confess I will never entirely love being Flat Screen Gramma. Gramps and I make the most of our flat screen status playing games like peek a boo, goofing with the sock monkeys, singing songs, and pulling out our repertoire of silly sounds and faces. It's all great fun, but being here reminds me of all the long overdue hugs, kisses and heart to heart snuggle time.

In light of this, watching Gramps gain instant "favored status" with Ellena upon his arrival the other day was as good for my soul as it was his. Even as I write, she is clamoring for his lap as we all share the comfy sofa. I've been demoted to second fiddle and that's ok with me. Gramps has far fewer shares in real-time skymiles and snuggles.

Witnessing his first cuddles with newborn Charlie was a precious milestone, as well. Photo op time, for sure. And as he gazed lovingly upon his sleepy-eyed grandson, we couldn't help but comment on their matching dastardly cowlicks.

"Really?" he said.

"Totally!"

Looking down again he sighed, "Sorry, Charlie." 

It's so good to be here. Coffee outings, conversations, walks in the sun. Watching our "kids" continue to grow as parents. Giggles and snuggles, lots of singing with Sweet Pea. Memorizing little Charlie's face while willing him to memorize mine. Filling our hearts with as many cuddles as possible till it's time to go.


Time to go...

It will come all to soon. It always does.

But in the meantime, there's Ellena...leaned in, tucked under Gramps' arm watching Aristocats.

Sigh....

We're soaking up these overdue moments.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

For two more "snapshots" of this overdue visit see Blessings From Medford and Heart-squeeze.

Blessings From Medford

Some days I forget to see God's blessings. Do you? 

Blessings are always there, beckoning quietly. They live in fleeting sun breaks, in a tiny child's voice painting stories with endless imagination, and in the words, "Thank you, love." They live in bare winter trees with spring hidden deep as well as in the first golden smiles of daffodils. Even the patter of rain all day belies the grey as it harkens every shade of green to breathe again. Sometimes life brings even more obvious beauty, yet, still, I can breeze by with my lists and my one hundred clamoring thoughts.

Until today... 

Ironically, it happened as I struggled to bring mascara to lashes that would not come into focus no matter how I strained these grandmother's eyes. (Putting on makeup by memory? Another musing for another day.) As the blur brought an inward smile, I found clarity. My mind's eye gathered scattered blessings.

I’ve been hotel-ing on my daughter’s sofa here in Medford for the past week and a half waiting for baby number two to arrive. Suitcase living and being far from home and routine can bring it's own kind of blur: new surroundings, adjusting my life to theirs, late nights of conversation or board games, going with the flow, remaining, basically and happily, without a plan of my own. And as we all daily wonder if "today" will be the day, all lists are held loosely. Yet woven throughout the days of waiting, sacred moments are everywhere. 

And this morning a blessing did come very quietly... 

As I lay snoozing in tucked sheet and fleece, my dream-state sensed a small presence. Groggy and bleary, I opened my eyes to the sweetest angel face: strawberry curls, eyes, wide-set puddles of blue, sucking two fingers while the other tiny hand reached out to “boop” my nose. What a precious "good morning." 

Pulling her up with me I closed my eyes again and, reveling in my frequent Skyping Gramma dream, enjoyed her nearness, her warmth, even just the sound of her breathing.  

Once sated with snuggles and kisses, she toddled off to help Daddy prepare a pan of blueberry muffin deliciousness. With perfect view into the kitchen, I took in that precious father/daughter moment seeing much more than measuring and mixing. That was love, right there, and deep blessing being cultivated into the heart of a father and a daughter. A sacred moment. 

And then he brewed fresh coffee. 

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For more on Medford see Overdue and Heart-squeeze.

A Morning With My Wild-Haired Girl

Just out of arms reach twirls the poster child for epic morning hair. Strands of wispy, honey blond ponytail escapees frame her green tinted eyes with an explosive wad of tangles pouffed out in back like a Victorian bustle gone wrong. I haven't seen anything that teased up since the 80s!

Dancing free in crisp new diaper she chimes, "I'm naked! I'm naked!" (Well, yes, except for that cute Micky Mouse Huggie on her bum.) And so she jabbers on with intense earnestness and I have to suppress the smile and chuckle that are tickling up from my Gramma's heart as I try and listen with equal seriousness. Her mama had that same sweet, sing-songy voice as a child...

Oh the wonder of this precious girl...soft eyes, cheesy grin, and a full-on, two year old, adorable, tongue sthickin' out lithp! "Hasta la vista" tumbles out as "lot-tha pizztha!" (Which means we love to get her to say it as often as possible.) 

She bends down now to look me straight in the eyes as she touches her hand to her chest, "I go downthairs wiss Mom." Not a question, you see, but an announcement. She is two, after all. 

Basement errand complete, she's engaged in a morning dinosaur show. And as I type these last lines, she's wiggled her way onto my lap for a cuddle and another look at my owl necklace. How I love these sweet snuggles...savoring and saving them up for the months ahead. Embracing today, while she's here, even as the tears sneak up on me...

My little darlin' lives in Little Rock and my heart sometimes gets ahead of itself as another inevitable goodbye looms on the horizon. 

The Lord has been teaching me to hold all things loosely these past couple of years, stretching my long-distance Gramma heart to the breaking point, then pouring out sweet grace to ease the tautness just in time...every time. I don't love the feeling, but I adore His nearness. 

And, today, I adore her nearness too.  

Now back to my wild-haired girl. Time-tha wayth-tin'! 

A Woman-in-the-Making

She stands with cute, cropped hair, eyes sparkling, delicate ear-bangles dangling, face framed by deep magenta scarf...and while I'm shooing her out of here to run her errand, I know I'd rather just sit and stare at her...you know, like I used to when she was a little girl. 

Have you ever been mesmerized by your child's face? Those tiny features, lively eyes, precious smiles... As her features matured I thought I'd get over it, but apparently I haven't. Because, really, she's as much a miracle at 23 as she was when I first laid eyes on her. 

And here she is all grown up and poised, with just enough sophistication in her funky self to let you know she's a woman, not a girl, and just enough youthful excitement to make you wish...well, make me wish...that she didn't need to run off today.

As usual our conversation bordered on ADD...fun earrings, what the kids will need when they wake up, wide-eyed smiles and mutual gushes over colors we adore...like the deep rose-magenta of her scarf that we'd both secretly love to paint on a wall in our homes. We've always been able to skip happily through those mind mazes. Hand in hand, never lost in the transitions, and happy as clams to meander off the linear path. 

Our personalities are very similar, our struggles have been too. Last night, as had been our habit in days gone by, we talked long into the night of the deep and the difficult, of relationships, of who we were and who we are becoming. We walked the path of Jesus' hand in all of it, sharing common insights and more than a few "aha" moments.  

So as I gaze today, taking in far more than her animated words, the thought comes, "She is gorgeous...from the inside out. My daughter is beautiful!" 

She makes it halfway across the room before turning with something new to share. I chuckle, saying, "Go! You know we'll just keep talking forever." And so she finally drives off, but she's left a bit of radiance behind...and I think of her. 

I love hearing her heart, her struggles, her victories. I love sharing the ordinary and the fun things, shared passions and silliness. It is a privilege to journey as women together. 

Even when she was a girl that is how I saw her...a woman-in-the-making. Always in process. 

I never tire of watching God fashion His masterpieces.  

Women-in-the-making are beautiful.

Motherhood: A Message to My Daughters

Phone is buzzing...somewhere. Next to me? Reaching for it, half groggy, thinking, "Is she ok? Are they ok?"

As quiet voice from miles away tells of tiredness and queasy tummy, that "mom" thing kicks in. That mom muscle memory. You are suddenly awake, alert, and from someplace deep within, from Someone always there, you are calm. 

Seeking words of comfort, you speak. Wanting to know the right questions, you listen...and keep listening. And all the while you're praying. 

Two plates spinning is what you've done forever it seems. 

And then it comes to doing battle out loud...laying thousands of miles away on the same sofa that's seen many a night of prayer...for her...while she was a young girl, a pre-teen, a young woman in the making. So many battles fought on that very couch. 

Phone to ear, eyes closed, hand raised to the One who never sleeps...the words pour out, pleading strength, protection, and that all surpassing peace. Peace for bound up body...for arms, legs, tummies, peace for furrowed brow and aching head. "Jesus...please say peace be still over the waves of anxiety and yuck. Calm the storm...Send Your angels to stand guard in every room. Over the children, over my child."

And after a while (you are amazed at her perfect calmness), she calls her neighbor who comes to be hands and feet. Truly an angel, I say. And storm subsides. We say "I love yous" almost three hours from that first deep sleep phone buzz...and we hang up.

And then I weep. 

And I wonder...Does she know that this has always been the way with me? With motherhood? Each new battle with shield of faith, sword ready...knocking knees...and game face on.

Did they ever know that you were just as frightened as they were? Did they know that you held it together in the moment so that they would trust? And yes, your trust was there...There...too, but it did not mean you were not afraid or bone-weary. And always praying those thousand silent prayers as you nursed their wounds, comforted midnight fevers, sought wisdom, asked for healing. 

They need to know now. Now that they are "mom."

My daughters: You will be strong for the sake of your child...by the power of the One who gives lavishly, perfectly, lovingly. And when you are done, or even in mid-battle, you will draw away and cry...hopefully crying out to the One who is always there to hear, to catch tears, to lift your weary head and heart. You will let your weakness wash over you and be strengthened by His strength. 

Do not fear the fearing and the doubts. They come every time. But your trust in Jesus will prove itself. He will prove trustworthy. It is part of your journey, this collapsing on the sidelines when you've left it all on the field. And you will marvel that you're still alive! 

And after all is done, joy plants itself a little deeper. 

Faith stands taller. Gratitude for His presence...come what may...

will be the banner for your next battle.

This morning after my tears were spent, I opened the living Word and found life. Then I slept a little while...

Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in You.
Show me the way I should go,
for to You I lift up my soul.
~Psalm 143:8

 

 

When it is "the end of the world as we know it"

Thoughts on 12/21/12...the much hyped, supposedly Mayan-predicted end of the world. 
Know that I am a flawed, ever-seeking follower of Jesus Christ. So grateful for His grace. It was Jesus who said, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” It is on the premise and promises of faith in Him and His word that I share.


"It's not the end of the world!" 

Has anyone ever said this to you? My mom used to say it all the time, very likely in response to some outpouring of girlhood drama, real or imagined. And I'm positive that it's thoughtlessly slipped from my lips dozens of times.

It's interesting how we often minimize the feelings of others, especially our children. Granted they are prone to huge emotional swings and patience can run thin...but do you remember times or events in your life that did feel like the whole world would end for the sheer doom that was pressing on your heart or giving you that horrid endless stomach-free-fall? Panic rising or dread falling? 

For every decade of my life I remember several, and I am certain that I've lived through scores more that lay forgotten in the kicked-up-road-dust of "life moves on whether we like it or not." 

Truthfully, it was easier to move on with life when those feelings of doom, hopelessness, and pain were acknowledged instead of minimized or dismissed...by me or, most often, by those who had authority in my life. Those whose responses shaped mine and whose perspectives either clarified or muddied my emotional reactions to the roller coaster learning curve that is life on earth. 

Why are we so uncomfortable with others' pain, grief, disappointment, depression? Or is it that we're only willing to be aware enough to say, "That's horrible!" as we comfort ourselves in the thought of, "Glad that's not my problem." And just because our children's complaints, fears, and desires seem childish to us, does this give excuse for not walking them through these things and helping them make sense of the world and their own emotions? 

Has ignoring something ever made it disappear from your heart? 

Does saying or thinking "it doesn't matter" really make it not matter? Do you ever stop and look at the things you've hauled around that were long ago filed as It Doesn't Matter...No Time to Deal With This...or one of the most effective "shut 'er down and make her feel small" categories...That's Stupid...which translates to "you're stupid and how you feel about this hard thing is stupid too." 

In these times where prayer requests come unceasingly from loved ones who need healing...in mind, body and soul...in marriages and families, from those who needs jobs and material provision, from those who are grieving and broken...will we stop and listen? Will we pray?

In a time of history where we as a nation have had tragedies pounding us like unrelenting body blows, will we learn how to handle loss or grieve well? Will we learn to allow time and space and grace for others to travel their road of despair? Will we let it change us and our relationships? Slow us down and cause us to reflect on how we, as individuals, can either throw down roadblocks and snares or make smooth the path of healing with our choice of words, attitudes, actions.

A week ago today our nation, but more specifically a community and a huge ripple of real families and children, had an "end of the world" day, a day that marked an indisputable end to hopes that represented a world to those who woke to an ordinary morning of work and school and holiday preparations. A world to all whose world had known the comforting presence of these precious women and children...and a semblance of peace and safety. 

This event was horrendous in it's magnitude of loss. There is no denying or diminishing that truth. And each day in each of our worlds the cries of death, pain, sickness, divorce, betrayal, fear, sorrow, and despair reverberate just as truthfully. Some seem small and trite, others are undeniably heart-wrenching, but pain is pain. How we deal with the small muddles gives us tools for the catastrophe. How we choose to show grace to those weaker, younger...our own children?...can make a world of difference in their ability to ride out the next inevitable storm. 

For those in Newtown, Connecticut and their loved ones, today is the one week anniversary of the end of their world. For others of us, our cataclysm...our unexpected crash, or slow ebbing away, our end of the world may have been weeks ago, months ago, perhaps years ago. No matter which, the end of anything that is "life as we know it" is a time for grief, real and raw...most often followed by cold, unpredictable sneaker waves that suck our breath and threaten to drag us under. 

Most of us have heard Jesus' parable of the house built on sand. (Matthew 7:24-27) The longer I live the more I realize the truth of His word picture. This world is all shifting sand. It is a place where evil, sin, and death all have sway. My hopes, my world, cannot be sustained upon it's promises. The only way I have weathered storm after storm, and pounding after pounding is by learning to set my feet upon a Rock that is not of this world, and the rock of His word. This is my firm foundation.

Hebrews 12:3 reminds me to, "Consider [Jesus] who endured such opposition from sinful men so that you so not grow weary and lose heart." These words show me ahead of time where to redirect my gaze in the times of trouble that will come. He has been my only place of hope in those "end of the world" moments and seasons.

But the intent of my challenge to you today is to look at your own responses to those around you who are suffering. Perhaps this will mean looking deep into why you respond as you do. Do you run from pain...yours and others...and why? 

Do you diminish the expressions of pain, confusion, or fear of those in your path, including your children of any age, or can you do battle with them by listening, listening, listening...and then, after you have really listened, speaking truth that is truth, not just the knee-jerk reaction of your own hidden pain or fears? Or your need to get back to your to do list?

When we are open to being healed we have the potential to be a healing balm in the lives of others. But know that there is pain in healing, just ask the burn victim or the physical therapy patient. Why do we expect anything different of emotional and spiritual healing? Do not run from this pain, embrace it. 

Pain will mold and shape your life anyway...

but you have a choice in whether you'll end up misshapen and bitter, 

or scarred, but whole. 

I have found this healing in Jesus, in His character and in His promises. He may correct, discipline, even painfully prune, but He never diminishes or dismisses me. He is a wise and tender physician who has walked the road of pain with me...so often carrying me when my legs and my mind buckled under life's strain, when my world was ending.  

Therefore, it is His tenderness that I long to share with others who are hurting. In view of His mercy, it is His grace I long to give. His long-suffering, His ability to suffer long...to be patient...that I need in order to really stop, share their pain, and with a heart ready to listen, come alongside. Whether the grieving parent or the wounded child, the sister who sees no hope, or the teen drowning in fear or depression, I want to be willing to walk this road of pain with others.

Am I ready for "the end of the world" in someone's life? Are you? 

How will you answer your young children in the face of the little calamities sent to shape them? 

How will you walk with another's grief? 

When we shut ourselves off from others with the habit of dismissing their pain, 

we not only miss out on the potential of helping them grow and heal, 

but, far worse, we become a part of the pounding 

that maims their hearts.

My favorite of God's promises is, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Would that we lived even a pale reflection of that promise in each other's lives. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

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 receive from God. 

~2 Corinthians 1:3,4

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. 

~Psalm 147:3

Why We Battle

My sweet granddaughter. Silly, spirited, feisty...and dearly loved. Her father, an officer in the United States Air Force. But to her, he is "Daddy."

Such a precious image as we honor the sacrifice of our military, past and present, this Veteran's Day.

But this picture also reminds me that so often, for all of us, life is a battle. Battles without and battles within. Conflicts encroaching on our safety, our health, our joy, our sanity. On foreign fields and in our own homes. Some of us in uniform and some not.

Little ones like her are why we persevere...why we get up everyday, give thanks, and continue to struggle, sacrifice, and press on...no matter what. Each generation laying it's life down for the next.

We are men and women of the battle, but we need not battle alone...

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." ~Isaiah 41:10 

And a few more thoughts on this day...

I'm very conscious this Veteran's Day of the fact that as I sit in my safe, quiet living room with my husband rummaging closely by in the kitchen, many are far from their loved ones with safety being a moment by moment blessing. Many families are soldiering on without Dad, or without Mom. And so many in this country have and are giving their best...their youth, precious time with families, their health, mental wellbeing, and their very lives to engage in defending our freedoms and to come to the aid of others around the world. 

For those in the military who have and are sacrificing much of your freedoms for ours here and abroad, I say thank you. For those wives and mothers, husbands and fathers, and for all the children who by enduring separation bear a huge part in this sacrifice, I am humbled and grateful. May the Lord hold you close, be your protector and provider. And may none of us allow ourselves to be so comfortable and self-consumed as to forget those lives and freedoms laid down on our behalf. 

May we honestly consider how we might encourage and come alongside these families and veterans in our own communities, today and everyday.  

If we live shoulder to shoulder, no one battles alone.

If only...

If only I were a daily journaler I might capture thoughts before they crawled into some dusty corner of my brain. I tend toward the reflective in all things, but those reflections don't just bounce to the page on their own.

It's likely the same reason that I'm not a photo taker. I find myself busy living life - truly being caught up in the moment - and so very content to just be that I don't always record things in picture or print. I live them, feel them, think, and process. And, inevitably, I will joyfully sit with others, soak in conversation and watch children's antics...instead of snapping pictures.

I have never been and never will be "say cheese" mom or the scrapbook mom. God bless all of you who are, but I just wasn't cut from that pack of paper. 

Writing is a different type of chronicling. It's own embellishment and interpretation of a snapshot...a thought, experience, or journey. It takes uninterrupted time...which usually means begging and borrowing from what should be spent on other, often needful, endeavors. Sigh...

Thus the dream persists of a cozy attic studio where I hole up with my laptop while my delightfully good-natured live-in housekeeper wrestles everything of house and shopping and cooking into perfect order...and, most importantly, keeps the coffee hot....

(phone rings)

And now, even as I'm formulating thoughts and editing what I've written so far, I receive a phone call from my granddaughter who wants to tell me that she folded up her big rug during nap time, that daddy is flying on an airplane today, that sandwiches are yummy, and would I "please" talk to her on the computer?

(insert: happily resigned shake of the head and an inward chuckle...)

And so she appears, via Skype, snuggling with bear bear, bobbing her cute pigtails, and after a hearty, "Hiii Gramma!" tells me that mommy is making her a sandwich and that she'll be taking a nap later. When I tell her that I like her pigtails, she says, "Tan too." (thank you) And after a long sip on her water she declares, "Deeewishus!" And we talk about how her plate is green and her bib is yellow and her socks are gray...Then Mr. Crying in the Background appears, tears gone, and smiling at his sister. Despite his mom's persistence, he is definitely more interested in sucking his thumb and watching sister than eating his mushy rice cereal...

And on it goes for quite a while longer...until we finally say goodbye...because I really do need to shower now and get to my dad's to cut his hair....

Now I think I know why writing remains only a wish some days. (smile)

But, again, I am living and being. Being with my "kids" who now live many miles away. This happens a lot actually...these texts or calls, "Wanna skype?"

Do I usually stop what I'm doing to snatch a few minutes with these precious little ones, or with my daughters who still like to hang out with mom? Yes, you bet I do! Do I take those phone calls and texts from them...and from my son and his wife...and treasure the chance to share life? As often as I can!

Truth is, I'd always rather be than do
...especially when I can be with them.

And so all my thoughts today about how "life is a kaleidoscope lately...and how it's hard to focus on any one color, shape, thought, feeling...impression"...blah, blah, blah... and how "my brain feels tired"...yada, yada, yada...will wait for another day.

I never want to come to the end of my life with the people in my life as part of the "if onlys." 
And now I'm running late to get to my dad's house. Gotta go!

Life is a story too, even if it remains unwritten,

and I want to live every page. 

Giving Your Life Away

While reading Ann Voskamp's blog the other day a passage jumped out at me,    

"And I read truth at the table: “…. and whoever sows generously will also reap generously.” All I can think of is...did I break myself generously and did I sow generously and all that you have in the end is what you give away."

This hits to the core of my life's passion, bearing the seeds of a personal mission statement, if I were to ever write one. And so I reflect...

Have you ever clearly known God's call on your life?  

At age 16 I knew without a doubt that my calling was to be a wife and mother. (I wish I always heard from God that specifically, but for all the challenges that followed, I'm very glad that I had no doubt about this one.) So at sixteen, my greatest ambition was born. During my junior year of high school my best friend talked me into entering our local Jr. Miss pageant. All the other girls went up on stage introducing themselves and declaring their goals for the future: teacher, nurse, business woman, surgeon, etc. And then it was my turn. Walking up in all my teenage-longing-to-be-an-adult passion, I said simply, "Hi. I'm Bernadette Rivard and I want to be a happy wife and mother." 

I truly did...word for word. It probably sounded corny then too. Especially in that power suit era where being at home full time, "just a wife and mother," was looked on as settling, demeaning, wasting your life. "After all," many people said to me...and the world said to all of us in general, "you're smart. You can make something of yourself." And, "Half of all marriages end in divorce. Shouldn't you have a backup plan?" I am a child of divorce, so I was not naive to that reality. And, yes, I was an honor student with an aptitude for most areas of study...but it wasn't what I was called to do. I'm not against college educations or meaningful careers, though I probably have a different take on life and careers than many people. I am a life long learner...reading, studying, writing. Always a student of something. I remain just an English major wannabe and I'm totally ok with that.

I did not believe that God's call required a backup plan, nor did my sense of worth require a piece of paper declaring some achievement. Over the years my husband often encouraged going back to school if I wanted, but the Lord's direction has always been, "Press on with what I've called you to." And I learned over time that I already had the only fall back plan I needed. Jesus. My Rock. All I ever needed to do was to run to Him...learn to take a stand...right there with Him...to be still and to abide. 

Full time wife, full time mom. Was it hard? Did I ever want to quit? Did I ever shout, "I'm so done!!" Yes, yes...and of course! There was plenty of 20, 30, and 40-something angst, especially since I didn't allow the backup plan of divorce into my vocabulary. (As a kid of divorce I kind of dug in my heels on that one.) That stubbornness carried consequences of it's own, but I'd been counting on a big God, remember? He has never let me down. So marriage and motherhood it's been...for three decades. 

Has God ever shown you that there's more to the story?

Isn't there always more to the story? More than meets the eye? Silvered-lined clouds and all that? That's always what my literary mind is looking for: What's between the lines? Where's this story headed? What happens to our quirky middle-aging heroine when she's no longer a round-the-clock mom?

I like this part. 

So all of those years of pouring into the hearts of my little, and then not-so-little, ones? It gave me resilience, endurance, and taught me more than I ever taught them. And the seasons of battling against my husband, then battling for my husband, now battling together...got me on my knees and desperate for truth...life changing truth...more than anything in my life ever has. It revealed who I was, thus, who I didn't want to be anymore. And it magnified who God is, big time! God's promises became my lifelines and a faith professed became a faith hardened and made sure by the battle. I became fully persuaded that He has the power to keep His promises (Romans 4:21) by actually walking and trusting and finding out for myself that my God is truly wise, loving, and holy. He is utterly faithful; full of mercy, grace, and compassion. Grace changes everything and it changed me. 

Back to motherhood for a moment: In the purest sense my original call to be a full-time mother was not so I could nuzzle sweet babies or chase children around while living a perfect Betty Crocker...or perhaps in my case, June Cleaver...life. I do not love everything about homemaking and I still wish that I had a passion for cooking delicious food and turning trash into treasure. Raising children is no picnic either. The hours are lousy, there are no mandatory breaks, and by the time you get around to sitting down to that hot meal...well, it ain't so hot. These are not complaints, just truths, because being a full-time mom was the best job ever! 

The vision and passion God gave of motherhood was one of continually giving life by giving mine away. Spending my time sharing knowledge, laughter, creativity, a listening ear, firmness, direction, truth and correction with the little lives He blessed to my care. Pouring out. Investing. Shaping. Preparing the next generation for a life of love, integrity, faith, and servanthood. God told me that He had a purpose for my children's lives, and so I have been nurturer and nurse, teacher and taxi, disciplinarian, counselor...and desperate seeker of His wisdom for all of it. 

And in the most practical sense, this also is what it looks like to be a discipler. One who invests in the lives of others. Jesus said in Matthew 28:19 - "...go and make disciples..." It is our call as His followers.

If I had merely given birth to my children then just left them to their own devices...well, in truth they would have died. They needed food and constant care initially, then they needed to be taught how to eat for themselves...and what to eat. Many things taste good, but are not good for you. The hot stove is tempting, but it burns. Selfishness must learn to share. And with the lessons as well as the rebellions, someone needs to be there to reassure and redirect, to forgive and help restore. 

A new believer in Christ is no different. We can't just say here's Jesus. Believe in Him. Be forgiven. Now go and have a nice life. Children of God are also raised up...by those who are older in the faith. And just as raising children is time consuming and challenging, so is walking alongside a fellow believer...guiding, loving, encouraging. Being that fountain of living water that refreshes and gives life.

Giving your life away goes against common sense, but do you really want a common life? 

Jesus says in Matthew 10:39, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." I really like the New Living Translation's rendition..."If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it."

And, oh, the rewards! It's a life of listening to the Spirit as you listen to others. Asking questions, planting seeds. Trusting, not meddling. Learning when to step back, be patient, and let the Spirit work what you cannot. And through weeks, months, years...seeing growth in other's lives: baby steps, walking, running...falling, yes...but getting back up again and pressing on...vision expanded, heart enlarged, faith settling, and then watching as they become the ones coming alongside others. My heart is recharged every time I see it, and my passion grows to raise up more "kids."

This is the rest of the story. The story within the story. While following God's call to raise up my children and to work alongside my husband, He was raising me up to be more than a mom, more than a wife. That time purposed for them became my training ground. He was giving me a life and a career with eternal value. Teaching me to give myself away and in return making me a very rich woman. I've not added much to our bank account over the years, but I wouldn't trade the life I've had for a dozen 401k's. 

"All you have in the end is what you give away." In truth, I think you receive much, much more. What He's given is an abundant life...to the full and over-flowing...so that it has to be poured out. 

Do you ever feel this way? Compelled to give away what you've been given? Like you would burst if you didn't?