It is a tradition not to be broken....
Even if there is no one here to read it today.
Every year for each of the three boys' birthdays, I write a letter to them on this blog. When they were too little to read them themselves, I would read it to them. Then they became old enough to read it on their own. Today there is nobody here to read the birthday letter.
Today my oldest turns 17, but today he is at camp.
This is the first birthday I have ever spent without him. It feels strange. I sympathize with military moms today since this is what it must feel like to spend your child's birthday without them... Without even the ability to call them! I'm sure that he's having a great birthday today, but I sure am missing him on this day.
Dearest son,
Today you are seventeen years old. This is the last year that you can call yourself a kid. Next year, I will be the mother of an adult child. Ugh... I always ask myself this question when birthdays come around, so I will ask again... "Why does time march on so quickly?"
I feel like this year was a year of many milestones for you. Usually I recall the highlights of your year within these birthday letters. My fingers type quickly all the many ways in which you have shown growth in different areas of your life. As I look back on previous letters, I read about how you have grown academically, physically, in your sports abilities, and in your character. This year hasn't been much different... And yet it has.
This year you have shown me (and SO many others) what you are truly capable of from the inside out. As you have experienced a rather large hurdle thrown in front of you, you haven't given up. You haven't spent a single moment feeling sorry for yourself. I remember the day when we sat in the car in that parking lot... When I told you what the Dr. had told me. I choked tears down. It was MY lip that quivered, not yours. You sat there still. You sat there, bit your lip hard and let me know that YOU WOULD GET THROUGH THIS. Your attitude has been healthy and strong ever since, even when I could not hide the fact that my own attitude about all of this was not.
I am more convinced than ever that seeing your strength through all of this has been the gift of it all. As your parents, we have always been pretty good about sharing that life is sometimes hard. Sometimes you get dealt a bad hand. Sometimes things just don't work out the way we planned them to. Seeing how you have handled exactly the kind of thing we have told you about all of these years is something that not every parent gets to see while their child is still at home. A lot of times, parents don't experience their child's painful life situations until that child is grown and out of the house. I am not saying that I am happy for your pain, but what I am saying is that seeing you cope with it has shown your father and I what a strong man of God you really are! This has been a gift... YOU are such a gift!
Lucas, I know that there is great reward in this for you. No matter what happens next, God IS using you, and He is going to continue using YOU and this story. I am SURE of this! I feel confident that this set back will not define you. Instead, YOU will define IT.
I could not be more proud of you than I am on this day... This sixteenth day of June, 2014.
I love you more than all the stars in the sky...
Monday, June 16, 2014
Monday, June 2, 2014
The Fall
When they are little, they fall a lot. When the fall happens, there is either silence for a moment before the wailing begins, or there is immediate wailing. Either way, there is no mistaking the emotions spilling from their little beings.
As their mothers, we tend to them. We scoop them up, kiss their scrapes, bumps or whatever might be causing the hurt, and we love them like there is no tomorrow! Soon after the fall and the "mommy love session" life returns to normal and everything is right again.
This is the cycle.
The cycle changes, but the cycle does not stop.
Mine are older now, and their "boo boos" are no longer the type that disappear after a sweet little kiss. No matter how much I try to fix the things that hurt and torment my three boys at times, I cannot kiss and love them away. Their hurt and torment becomes MY hurt and torment, and there is no end. Usually, the "falls" just continue happening... One on top of the next one. It sometimes feels like we might ALL just break.
I read something in my devotional yesterday that I am trying to really meditate on during this season. This is what it said:
"When you turn from your problems to My Presence, your load is immediately lighter. Circumstances may not have changed, but we carry your burdens together. Your compulsion to "fix" everything gives way to deep, satisfying connection with Me. Together we can handle whatever this day brings." ~ Jesus Calling (Sarah Young)
No, I cannot fix their burdens. I usually cannot even fix my own. Am I obsessing over what I cannot do, or am I turning away from these burdens and instead looking into the face of His Presence? Am I teaching my young men how to attempt to fix everything, or how to let themselves fall into that deep satisfying connection with the One who knows (and loves) them best?
It doesn't look the same anymore either. When they fall, there is usually just silence... No wailing involved anymore. Sometimes that's what hurts a mother's heart the most. The silence can be deafening. It is still too. They no longer come running for comfort. Often, distance is what heals their hearts faster than my getting involved. I know it's all natural, but even though that knowledge is in me, it is still as uncomfortable to me as the fall itself.
I knew this season would come, but it came earlier than what I had anticipated. I am finding that I am not handling it with the grace that I thought I would. I find myself fighting tears in the middle of the day as I think about the struggles and hurt that my boy is feeling (and sometimes make that plural, boys). Instead of easing into the struggle I have caught myself fighting against it... Trying to figure out how to fix things for the ones I love.
After receiving the reminder in this devotional, I have realized that I CAN fix things. The ONLY way I can fix things is by finding and modeling my own connection with Jesus. If I model connection and a sense of leaning on Him for my children, then that's what they will learn to do too. If I place myself in His presence, then my children will find themselves there also. It doesn't get any more "fixed" than that!
In His presence there is perfect peace.
As their mothers, we tend to them. We scoop them up, kiss their scrapes, bumps or whatever might be causing the hurt, and we love them like there is no tomorrow! Soon after the fall and the "mommy love session" life returns to normal and everything is right again.
This is the cycle.
The cycle changes, but the cycle does not stop.
Mine are older now, and their "boo boos" are no longer the type that disappear after a sweet little kiss. No matter how much I try to fix the things that hurt and torment my three boys at times, I cannot kiss and love them away. Their hurt and torment becomes MY hurt and torment, and there is no end. Usually, the "falls" just continue happening... One on top of the next one. It sometimes feels like we might ALL just break.
I read something in my devotional yesterday that I am trying to really meditate on during this season. This is what it said:
"When you turn from your problems to My Presence, your load is immediately lighter. Circumstances may not have changed, but we carry your burdens together. Your compulsion to "fix" everything gives way to deep, satisfying connection with Me. Together we can handle whatever this day brings." ~ Jesus Calling (Sarah Young)
No, I cannot fix their burdens. I usually cannot even fix my own. Am I obsessing over what I cannot do, or am I turning away from these burdens and instead looking into the face of His Presence? Am I teaching my young men how to attempt to fix everything, or how to let themselves fall into that deep satisfying connection with the One who knows (and loves) them best?
It doesn't look the same anymore either. When they fall, there is usually just silence... No wailing involved anymore. Sometimes that's what hurts a mother's heart the most. The silence can be deafening. It is still too. They no longer come running for comfort. Often, distance is what heals their hearts faster than my getting involved. I know it's all natural, but even though that knowledge is in me, it is still as uncomfortable to me as the fall itself.
I knew this season would come, but it came earlier than what I had anticipated. I am finding that I am not handling it with the grace that I thought I would. I find myself fighting tears in the middle of the day as I think about the struggles and hurt that my boy is feeling (and sometimes make that plural, boys). Instead of easing into the struggle I have caught myself fighting against it... Trying to figure out how to fix things for the ones I love.
After receiving the reminder in this devotional, I have realized that I CAN fix things. The ONLY way I can fix things is by finding and modeling my own connection with Jesus. If I model connection and a sense of leaning on Him for my children, then that's what they will learn to do too. If I place myself in His presence, then my children will find themselves there also. It doesn't get any more "fixed" than that!
In His presence there is perfect peace.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
April 30, 2014
The smell here is familiar, yet distant. Sterile, of course being the one word I find most useful to describe the height of all of my senses.
The men and women in blue-green scrubs rushing from hallway to hallway remind me of the day that Luke entered our lives. That day was almost seventeen years ago. Today, of course is a much different day. Today I am separated from my son by many doors and many hallways. There are highly trained doctors and nurses by his side, but I sit here in a waiting room.
It was a surreal moment before they took him. I sat by his bedside and took his very clammy, shaky hand in mine. This boy that has become a man became a boy again before my eyes. I even saw his lip quiver a couple of times, this sixteen year old fighting back his true emotions. He didn't cry, but I know on the inside, there were big crocodile tears flooding him. I held that hand tight and assured him that you're never too old to need your mom. Even I, at the age of 42 came out of my own surgery not that long ago asking for my mom. A smile spread across his face.
My prayers for my son today are mighty ones. God knows the desires of our hearts. He knows what the outcome of this surgery will be already. My patience is being tested to a new level today as I wait in this big sterile room for my patient. My heart is at peace though. I love this boy more than words can say, but my Jesus loves and cherishes him even more.
The men and women in blue-green scrubs rushing from hallway to hallway remind me of the day that Luke entered our lives. That day was almost seventeen years ago. Today, of course is a much different day. Today I am separated from my son by many doors and many hallways. There are highly trained doctors and nurses by his side, but I sit here in a waiting room.
It was a surreal moment before they took him. I sat by his bedside and took his very clammy, shaky hand in mine. This boy that has become a man became a boy again before my eyes. I even saw his lip quiver a couple of times, this sixteen year old fighting back his true emotions. He didn't cry, but I know on the inside, there were big crocodile tears flooding him. I held that hand tight and assured him that you're never too old to need your mom. Even I, at the age of 42 came out of my own surgery not that long ago asking for my mom. A smile spread across his face.
My prayers for my son today are mighty ones. God knows the desires of our hearts. He knows what the outcome of this surgery will be already. My patience is being tested to a new level today as I wait in this big sterile room for my patient. My heart is at peace though. I love this boy more than words can say, but my Jesus loves and cherishes him even more.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Transition
The rain falls heavy outside of the classroom today. As it pounds away, my thoughts lead me to a different pounding.
The pounding of my heart.
My Mama heart is pounding loud these days. It sometimes feels as though it will burst right through the wall of my chest. Being a Mother has always been my heart's strongest desire, and yet my heart feels that this very desire is shredding it into a million pieces at times.
Years ago I moaned and groaned my way through child birth. The pain was horrific, yet at the same time, the best kind of pain imaginable! The early stages of labor bring you to a new kind of excitement. The anticipated moment is finally here, and life sweeps you away in those moments of knowing that everything familiar is about to become unfamiliar. This little person that is half your heart and half of the heart of your love is about to steal all of you. It's kind of a strange thing that the thought of that doesn't seem scary, but invigorating.
And then... transition hits.
It is like a whole ton of stones has come down upon you, bearing down with all of it's weight and heaviness. During these moments it is hard to catch your breath. Everything seems to be moving at a much more rapid pace. Those moments seem to spin out of control! The room suddenly looks different. What was a few minutes ago a beautiful process, explosively becomes an ugly process. Bringing this new life into the world has become an impossible feat.... That seems to have no end.
But it does.
The baby arrives and the room becomes beautiful again. The ugliness disappears as quickly as it came.
During these days of raising boys in their teens, I feel that I have hit that place of transition once again. The days that preceded were exciting and invigorating. They were full of pain, but nothing that really took my breath away. These days are sometimes explosive, sometimes feeling as though they are rather ugly. Mornings fall into night fall with such speed and disregard of my emotions telling them to halt. Guiding these young men through this life that is so different and much harder than it ever was for me seems impossible.
But I've been here before...
There is an end to this. There will be a day when the ugliness will disappear as quickly as it came to be. This period of transition is just that. It is a necessary place to be to take us to the next place.
I know that the next moment that comes will bring with it it's own unfamiliarity. It too will be a stranger, just as every other moment has been.
It is all part of the birthing process. This process is thought to be only a short while, but I'm discovering that this process lasts for a lifetime.
I became a mother 17 years ago and I have gone from the early stages to a period of transition. Now I sit in acceptance that this is what the rest of my life as a mother will look like.... Many more years of early stages to transition.
Back and forth with a rhythm that never fails.
But just as a young mother learns more about her body and her capabilities with each subsequent birth, I will learn how to ride these rhythmic waves as each new one comes my way.
Because I love these boys... These men. They are part of me, I am part of them.
Like it's always said... "The pain is ALWAYS worth it!"
The pounding of my heart.
My Mama heart is pounding loud these days. It sometimes feels as though it will burst right through the wall of my chest. Being a Mother has always been my heart's strongest desire, and yet my heart feels that this very desire is shredding it into a million pieces at times.
Years ago I moaned and groaned my way through child birth. The pain was horrific, yet at the same time, the best kind of pain imaginable! The early stages of labor bring you to a new kind of excitement. The anticipated moment is finally here, and life sweeps you away in those moments of knowing that everything familiar is about to become unfamiliar. This little person that is half your heart and half of the heart of your love is about to steal all of you. It's kind of a strange thing that the thought of that doesn't seem scary, but invigorating.
And then... transition hits.
It is like a whole ton of stones has come down upon you, bearing down with all of it's weight and heaviness. During these moments it is hard to catch your breath. Everything seems to be moving at a much more rapid pace. Those moments seem to spin out of control! The room suddenly looks different. What was a few minutes ago a beautiful process, explosively becomes an ugly process. Bringing this new life into the world has become an impossible feat.... That seems to have no end.
But it does.
The baby arrives and the room becomes beautiful again. The ugliness disappears as quickly as it came.
During these days of raising boys in their teens, I feel that I have hit that place of transition once again. The days that preceded were exciting and invigorating. They were full of pain, but nothing that really took my breath away. These days are sometimes explosive, sometimes feeling as though they are rather ugly. Mornings fall into night fall with such speed and disregard of my emotions telling them to halt. Guiding these young men through this life that is so different and much harder than it ever was for me seems impossible.
But I've been here before...
There is an end to this. There will be a day when the ugliness will disappear as quickly as it came to be. This period of transition is just that. It is a necessary place to be to take us to the next place.
I know that the next moment that comes will bring with it it's own unfamiliarity. It too will be a stranger, just as every other moment has been.
It is all part of the birthing process. This process is thought to be only a short while, but I'm discovering that this process lasts for a lifetime.
I became a mother 17 years ago and I have gone from the early stages to a period of transition. Now I sit in acceptance that this is what the rest of my life as a mother will look like.... Many more years of early stages to transition.
Back and forth with a rhythm that never fails.
But just as a young mother learns more about her body and her capabilities with each subsequent birth, I will learn how to ride these rhythmic waves as each new one comes my way.
Because I love these boys... These men. They are part of me, I am part of them.
Like it's always said... "The pain is ALWAYS worth it!"
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Medicine
Grace is weightless.
Grace carries us home and grace covers it all and grace cures this whole bloodied, battered mess and His grace takes all the weight.
Grace is weightless. And the moment you bind up a wound with forgiving grace, you get to fly free. ~ Ann Voskamp
Friends, these words came to me today with perfect timing. This woman knows exactly how to put my soul to words so much of the time. I am entirely grateful for her gift that she shares so freely.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
My Boys
They are growing at rapid paces. They are becoming men before my eyes. Part of me is sad, part of me is excited. All of me is relishing every moment of every day.
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