Hands

What do you do when life’s been a little sideways? Sometimes I paint my nails. Because: painting, and colors, and a quiet moment to make something look finished... for a few days, anyway. 

And today I stretched the quiet moment while they dried and snapped a photo.

“Look at that perfect, frosty rose polish!” 

Then I was rocked by how old my hand looks. 

Truth is, this one, and its even more weathered twin, have done a lot, carried a lot, soothed a lot, scrubbed, and dug... a lot. They’re hands acclimated to heat. Shaped and misshapen by thousands of squeezes, pats, dings, scars, scalds, and abrasions. I don’t baby them. Forget to lotion them. And push them to the limit, even when they ache.

I’m sometimes startled when I actually see these old hands. Skin so beat up and wrinkly... and that pinky with a slight bump and bend at the knuckle.

I’d like to imagine myself physically young and untouched by life and time, even as I claim to embrace and elevate the marks of its passing. Guess I'm still worshipping youth, still holding fast to an ideal of no mars and scars... and no being dragged sideways.

I’d rather only see the pretty polish. 

But it’s not the truth. 

My hands tell the story.

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.

  

*       *       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

 

 

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?