Winter Is Not Forever

It's a cold Thursday in February.  Winter has been forever this year.  Would you agree?  I think it feels this way because it's been wintry in my life, winds blowing through the pieces of my life and scattering all my best laid plans.

These are my best laid plans: love God, love others, and eat.

It's pretty simple really, and just like no one person can manage to follow just ten basic commandments down to the letter, I can't manage these plans.

In recent weeks my ability to cope with others was at an all time low.  Summed up in few words: if you can't get your act together, I can't help you.  I was razor thin on patience and hog fat on judgment.  I'm not proud of that.

Adding to that....  I was hiding from church. I didn't want to go.  I didn't want to visit with people. I didn't want to concentrate and sit through a service.  Summed up in few words: because I am feeling confusing feelings, I can't worship.  I'm not proud of that either.

As you most certainly must know, I am from the Midwest.  America's heartland.  Apple pie flows like honey and chicken is best served fried.  My people do food; everything comes together with, and through, food.  Eating is truly one of life's joys and I embrace that sentiment.  I am completely unmotivated to craft a meal.  Can we just eat cereal and eggs? Every day?

It's winter, and while my joy is returning, I find myself aimless.  Many uncertainties cloud the future and I am not quite sure which direction my feet will go.  I don't live in the world that is colored in gray, only in black or white does it make sense. When the path in front of me seems to diverge, I get nervous.

I'm centering.  I'm starting slow.

One foot in front of the other.

Spending time in God's word.

A favorite passage:

"And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice."

A still small voice.  Reminds me that faith gets shaken. Trials will be ever present. Friends will forsake.  My only sure foundation, the only place I can find fulfillment and certainty is in a nail pierced hand that continuously stretches toward mine. 

Oh how He loves you and me. In still, small ways.  Such as when my son made me dinner tonight.  What a treat to not have to craft a  meal after a very long day at work.  It's okay with me that it was eggs because I offered eggs for every day. 

In still, small ways I am collecting my plans, thoughts, and directions.  I am remembering that God's plans supercede my own always.  I will not be frightened because many blessings have come to me in this way. 

I am realigning and will embrace the current state of single parenthood that stretches before me.  It is not new, but an old path.  One that starts to fit like a glove. An exhausting, demanding glove.

Winter is not forever.  Summer lasts also but a season, and so it will pass from one to the next before I know it.  I will change with it and see what new horizons dawn.

The Eternal Rhyme

Tonight is about reflection.

We have to take the time necessary to process our feelings.  We women can't be rushed. Write that down.  It's important to process your emotion, how you feel about circumstances or trauma.  Until it's processed, it eats the interior of your soul and given time, can crush your spirit. 

Deal with your emotion. Always.  It is the only choice to make.  Do not put a pin in it. Do not table it indefinitely. 

My life as you may know is currently unraveling in emotion, personal distress, and physical chaos.  As of today, my body is no longer able to physically bear children.  My family was complete, in my mind, several years ago, but it does not allay the subsequent sadness that accompanies a final reality.  

Our family is a hot mess right now.  Ryan blew into town for the weekend, from Phoenix, bringing with him some type of flu bug.  I fought hard all weekend against any such disease so as not to delay my procedure for a second time. Noah succumbed.  Poor, sweet Noah who has the regular immunity of a horse, was hard hit. Man down.  He has been worrying all evening about missing a second day of school.  I understand his duress.  Ryan is going out of town in the morning, so I rallied him, as patient zero, to help me change the bedding, clean the bathroom and Lysol the teenage room.  I'm still trying not to succumb to germs on top of surgical difficulty.  I'm also attempting to keep Aaron clear of it, but he prefers to take tommorow off school thank you very much, and he has declined vitamin support. 

Today's recovery has been more difficult than I anticipated.  My doctor said: "You'll be fine with some Ibuprofen." Well. If you mean by an entire bottle of such, okay agreed. All the while, juggling laundry; flu bug detox; dishes that amount when nobody cares about life; emptying garbage and pushing fluids and pills; both for myself and others, I'm thinking that I'm due to high school orientation this week, and I will have no more babies.  My life is chaotic and precious; my girl parts have always been an issue, but God still blessed me with two amazing sons, and the ride ever draws nears an end.  It's a hot mess that I have been privileged to manage, and one that is denied to some.  My arms feel the slightest bit empty of sweet baby smiles and cuddles as my aching insides yearn for relief.

I see the night when I broke my foot as Ryan prepared to deploy with his unit for Operation Iraqi Freedom.  It was the night of Aaron's second birthday.  I have very strict rules that all kids must begin potty training by 2 - no exceptions. Broken bones and missing husbands included.  It is pure parental nonsense that one "wait until the child is ready" for toilet training.  You wait much past the beginning stages of two, my friend, and you are in for a battle of endless wills that will have you changing large sized, kucka smelling poop diapers and wishing you had the foresight to begin earlier.  Aaron gave me a run for my money. Literally.  He ran all over the house peeing, quite gleefully, while I chased him on crutches.  It was a hot mess. But in three weeks I was still the boss and his little buns were faithfully seated on the toilet. And I was still on crutches.

I see the night we brought Noah home from the hospital.  We were terrible parents. (I was.)  He never stopped crying and I was thinking we might want to send him back.  New parents are exhausted.  It takes a lot of hours, physical pain, little rest, and little sustenance to bring a baby forth.  Once that precious bundle is in your arms, it does not cease to demand.  I gave up, friends.  I'm not proud but on that night in question, I gave up.  I turned the bright light on right in Ryan's face, laid the baby on him, and I said: "Here is your son, do something with him."  And I promptly went to sleep.  

I see so many nights as I reflect and process my emotion.  One wild adventure of motherhood that had a clear beginning and now has a definitive end.  Oh, indeed my time with the title "Mother" continues, because someone will have to call a teenager off school tomorrow and do more laundry and try to make some food.  But the window has closed on the past.  The window that brings love to life and gives the night owls human company.

A beautiful season closed today.

I feel a sense of loss for what was.  How is it that far back in memory?

I feel anxiety for the limited time ahead.  Am I still a terrible parent, do they know what they need to know?

I feel intense joy for what has been mine.  "Can we do it all over again? One more of those disgusting slobber "sugar" kisses that only a mother loves?

I have a precious and chaotic life with one handsome husband who does battle for me, who stands alongside in the parental trenches, and who today called me beautiful in all my haggard post-op ugliness.  You can't put a price on that.

I have a precious and chaotic life with Noah Ryan and Aaron Michael, aged 14 and 12, respectively.  I remember much and I forget much about the days of our lives.  I do know that welcoming these two into my heart was so very easy and launching them will be the most difficult thing I will do.

"How very special are we, for just a moment to be, part of life's eternal rhyme....."

The Winds of February

February.  I welcome you.  For this January was the longest and darkest I have known in some time.

Not all seasons of this precious life are brimming with happiness, cheer and goodwill.  Not all seasons have laughter, banter, and blessing.  Some seasons require daily or hourly attention to the course in front of us.  Put your foot here.  Put your foot here.  Jesus, help me to keep doing this thing called life.  Give me strength.  Meet me here.  Jesus, I need you. This is my January season. So long it was.

What I can appreciate about these seasons of life....  What gives me hope...  The people who meet you where you are.  They bend down to your stooped level, they look in your eyes, though you are desperately trying to look elsewhere because you are ashamed, and they stay.  They agree that it's not looking so great in this place.  They  serve you when you cannot serve yourself.  They care for your heart when you have forgotten how. And unselfishly they stay.

I have had doctor appointments in the double digits for the past 8 weeks. My personal space has been violated repeatedly.  Just one blessed time I would prefer to keep my clothes on thank you very much and I would prefer not to be manhandled with instruments, hands, and knives.  I want all the people to stay three feet away from me for the next two weeks.  I understand health is important.  I understand the need to endure such times. But as I became a middle aged person all I could see was: "This is my future.  For the next years that God gives me, I'm never going to get to keep my clothes on."  Colonoscopies, mammograms, cancer screenings, blood work, stress tests, ultrasounds, physicals...   I'm currently over it and it's just going to be that way for awhile.(Thank you, Jesus, for my life, I do treasure it even though I am exhaustified.)

It's been so discouraging.  I've been really, really low, which is atypical of my nature. I have to encourage myself to get to work.  Maybe you can get a cookie..?  I have to encourage myself to get to church. Maybe you can get a coffee?

Such times come to each of us.  None of us are without trial.  I hope you have people that meet you in the Not So Great place.  I hope you have people that stay.  To be chosen during such a time speaks volumes. By their actions, someone says, "I know you cannot reciprocate but I am giving to you anyway."   It's such a powerful thing to serve the broken.  You will be immeasurably blessed to give without expectation to receive.  And, to the person who cannot give back, you will have changed the course of their day or possibly their life.

February we're glad to see you.  We're glad to know that no season is permanent this side of heaven.  We like for the good seasons to stay a long while and the low seasons to exit quickly, but there are no guarantees.  We lift our cup of tea in honor of the broken everywhere.  We lift our hearts in thanksgiving for those who choose to stay. 

Aging Up

Today I'm aging up. 

It is a particularly cold day in upstate.  Every January I question my purpose in being in this part of the country.  Why does it have to be so cold?  I never take a birthday off work.  I don't want to waste precious days so early in the year; it's just not right.  However, this year, I decided that I would take some time to invest in rest and peace. My plan did not actually come to fruition but, sometimes, a diverted path leads to blessing. Remember that, when you feel like you are not going in the direction you intend.  My life has been full as the result of many a diverted path.

My husband planned a lovely celebration for me which was a surprise and not quite such a humble gathering. Two days later I finally have the time to sort through the emotional wreckage and draw out some data.

1) I am not at all ungrateful for the love and effort on the part of so many to execute this plan.  I've been in your shoes; I know it takes work.

2) Plan to give some grace when you are throwing a surprise party.  You are placing A LOT of expectation on the receiver.  Like all your hopes, dreams, and money pinned to one outcome.  It is an overwhelming amount of pressure to receive well.  We don't all succeed in living up to the perfect reception. I've thrown many surprise gatherings, always with the intention to bless, but it never occurred to me to consider the pressure it places.  I really will be much more thoughtful about it in the future.

3) Givers generally don't receive well. We simply don't know how to do it. I am in a season of life where I only want to receive; I  am burned out in all areas of my life, yet I can't manage to rest and receive.

4) I am still extremely and almost-sick-to-my-stomach embarrassed that I could not handle the pressure. So many dear-to-me faces all staring and hopeful.  My mind couldn't comprehend what my eyes were seeing.  There is my Mom who should be in Georgia.  There is my Dad who should be in Florida. My brothers from Ohio. My Aunt and Uncle from New Jersey.   My friends who should be in Utah and Idaho.  I can't translate in such quick succession what it means that they are in a restaurant, hours after a January snow storm, two miles from my house.

If you don't yet know the answer.... 

It's love.

They have pinned all their hopes and dreams on me for love.  I am unable to sustain the weight of the money, time, and effort spent.  I don't know how to receive these gifts so generous and selfless.

I am reminded that it is a privilege to age.  Each milestone should be welcomed and I intend to live with that philosophy. But what makes it truly a privilege is the investment you make....

My husband said many wonderful things this morning while I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it and inquire on how my sanity appeared to the masses.   He said: "You deserve this and so much more. You pour your whole life into this family.   You gave a piece of yourself to every person in that room. I didn't have to try too hard to get people to come and you can see for yourself how far people were willing to go."

Gentle readers, it was a little bit like my own "George Bailey" moment. (There is no insinuation that I have saved any one's life.)

Gentle readers, know that it was difficult for me to receive well, but my heart (eyes) is overflowing. 

Gentle readers, if I can continue to push and push on this one issue....give yourself away.  Invest in other people.  Be passionate about connecting with others.  Pursue Jesus - the community you will find there lasts an eternity. 

My life is a privilege because of investment.  People have invested in me for forty years.  In turn, I learned how to output investment which generates other investors and brings us all together in one spot.

Jesus is the greatest investor.  He gave His life to save mine and calls me His own.  There is no greater security blanket from which to begin an investment company.  I encourage you to do the same.

I am grateful for every person who came to see me.  I am grateful for every person who was perhaps invited and unable to attend.  I am grateful for every person perhaps not invited because guest lists can only be so long, but who would have been willing to come.   It deeply warms my heart, it makes me lose every shred of my dignity in the corner of the restaurant, it gives me hope for every tomorrow.

I feel undeserving of such an outpouring.  Such humble thanks I give for the gift of love that cannot be demanded, bought or sold, only freely given.  May it give me renewed energy to forward the gift to others. 

For All the Marbles

Being a woman. It's unfair.

It's unfair that you live all your life in pursuit of your family.  You give up sleep, the most precious of all the things, to change poopy pants McGee. You watch infomercials and beg that bottle to empty faster.  

It's unfair that while you pursue your family, time is watching, waiting, and moving swiftly.  You catch a ride one October night and before you know it, it's March, two decades later.  You see no bottles, no toys, only a young man heading out the door.  In desperation, you say, "Wait!" but Time, that old guy, has lost his hearing.  

It's unfair that you give yourself away. Constantly. And when it's time to focus on yourself, you want only to continue to give but the moment is past. 

It's unfair that no one prepares you for the overwhelming emotional journey you must take as your nest starts to empty and your body prepares for menopause.

I never understood how painful aging would be.  I was unprepared.  I am unprepared. I am pure liquid loss.

I can feel Noah's small, chubby hand in mine. I hear him saying: "I don't want him" when Aaron finally comes home from the hospital. I see Aaron's baby chunk and his insatiable sense of style from age three onward.  (He rocked a suit jacket, sweat pants and flip flops like nobody's business.)  I hear: "Mommy, Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom" and then it slows to an almost grinding halt. When was I last needed so desperately?   I can't recall.

High school orientation is in three weeks.  High school will be over with a click of my finger.

It's so complicated - womanhood, motherhood. You have emotions, hormones, chemicals coursing through your body.  You have demands on your time, your mind, your soul.

You realize that sometimes you are permitted to wave a white flag.  You are allowed to say, "I can't."  Sometimes wounds need gauze and attention.

I tell these sweet boys, "I can't bear you growing up. Mommy is going to be so lost without you." They giggle, and they give me hugs and they say, "Oh, Mother, it's fine, you're fine, plus maybe we won't move out."   Wait. What?

It's no wonder I have lost all my marbles.

For the love. Of all the rollercoasters I am on.

And Now Abides

It's late on a Friday night. The dishwasher is running because no one likes it to run during the day.  The Christmas tree has been down for a week but there are a few straggling lights and tinsel to remind me that the holiday was recently here.  It's cold. I think I say that about every place in which I find myself.  Does heat exist anywhere?

I feel empty.  Really empty.

Sometimes it happens in this life.  Sometimes it is by choice and sometimes it just creeps in.

I recently visited my grandfather and that took a deep, deep toll on me.  When my husband picked me up at the airport at 2330 on a Monday night, I was toast.  It was the worst flight of my life because I felt very unwell, my ears would not pop and it was excruciating, and I was holding back a sea of churning emotions.  Ryan said, "I know you left a piece of your heart..." and that's all I heard.  Hugging my Grandpa in the car at the MARTA station, feeling very much like it was my very last, was wonderful and painful and quick and slow and time felt like it had stopped and started a thousand times.  I didn't say anything of value as you might expect, because. Useless.  I am absolutely useless in times like this.  You expect a grand speech from the wordsmith  and you will always get nothing. My Grandpa has been my best birthday pal, Scrabble opponent, hero of faith, Sunday dinner neighbor-to-the-right for 40 years, and I cannot find the word for "goodbye."  My grief was so deep that Monday night that I felt it would suffocate me. Grandpa, you have been witness to my whole life.  You still believe in me after all this time; that is no small thing.  I am profoundly honored to be one of the apples on your family tree.

Cue the busy, exhausting holidays. I start taking a medication that has difficult side effects, and there is no rest when you work in health care; in fact, it is worse than usual during the holidays.  I try to spread Christmas cheer by singing loud for all to hear.  Cue the grumpy people:  "Why are you singing?"  Well, Scrooge McDuck, I'm singing because you need a real attitude adjustment and "Jingle Bells" is the best cure.  This goes on for several days, with several people coughing and not covering their mouths, and snotting and snorfling, and singing until.....it's the new year and you are sick....at the hands of these grumpy non-singing cheermeisters.   Then in two short days, a dear family friend meets Jesus face-to-face; a new, chubby, sweet baby niece is welcomed; and you cannot sustain another day.

That's today, gentle readers, that's today.

I have nothing left to give.  I have given the best years of my life in just five short weeks, and now I am done.

Everything hurts (my entire left arm, my right wrist, my head, my heart, my throat, my lungs).  I am waiting for death or the ticking of the clock to tell me to get up and care a bit.

Love has weighted me down and lifted me high.  I fear that sometimes love costs too much.  It seems it would be better to be alone and then nothing would overwhelm.  No outside parties would prey on your emotions and cause you grief.

It seems right and logical.

But I would bear all the grief, a hundredfold, if it means I have paid the cost of love.  For while the price is high, the stakes are permanent. Love always leaves a mark.  Always you will be changed for the better.  Always you will know abiding joy coupled with deep grief.

"And now abides faith, hope, and love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

Emmanuel

Good morning, dear ones.

It's early on Christmas morning.  The house is quiet (and chilly!).  I'd like to make a toasty fire but it's a loud process.  I love my tree this year; some years are better than others and it's just a special kind of beautiful this time.  I'm usually the only partaker in the trimming; I guess it's not an activity for boys.  I guess this might be one reason mother's appreciate daughters - sharing the joys of holidays.  Men are not so sentimental and emotional.

I almost always struggle at Christmas.  I struggle with my idea of what it should look like versus what it does look like.  In my mind it should involve big families, tasty finger foods, funeral potatoes, cookies for days, fudge, strawberry pretzel salad, Christmas punch, maybe wassail, games for hours, hugs, gifts, and the general feeling of love and acceptance.

Christmas in my house doesn't look much like my description of perfection.  I've done a terrible job of raising my children - they aren't very interested in board games. They also don't like funeral potatoes too much.  Four people can't eat strawberry pretzel salad so I often opt out.  We don't have cookies for days, in fact, I think there might be just 13 sugar cookies left right now.  Christmas is four people, not sixteen,  we will have some gifts, and in 5 hours I'll be sitting in a movie theater watching Star Wars with 3 of my favorite people who are anxiously awaiting that unveiling. (More on what might have been a better option later.)

I have made huge strides, though, in "growing up." This entails minimizing expectation, stepping away from living in Christmas past, and embracing what is.

We often say "Christmas isn't about the gifts." But it absolutely is about the gifts.  If Christmas were not about the gifts we wouldn't be staying up until midnight on Christmas Eve wrapping and piling an explosion in our living rooms.  We wouldn't be worrying about that Prime order that didn't make it by December 25th.  We wouldn't stress over equal gifts per child divided by the cost and multiplied by the common denominator of Santa.

As devout Christians as we were, we rarely went to church on Christmas Eve when I was a child. It was all about family and fun for the Eve in my mind.  We always read the Christmas story and did Advent before opening our gifts on Christmas day, of course.  You know what I have loved since moving to NY? We always go to Christmas Eve service. I'm usually running straight from work to church and it is always worth it.  My church nails it every year.  They put so much love and effort into everything because they know how many non church attenders will attend simply because "it's the thing to do at Christmas."

Last night, for maybe the first time, I realized how precious it was to be with Jesus on Christmas Eve.  I wasn't thinking about gifts.  I wasn't thinking about the missing cookies, potatoes, and Scrabble.  I held a lighted candle in a dark church, knowing deep within my soul that Emmanuel was here.  Jesus was enjoying spending Christmas with me. The peace and joy I felt was priceless. You can't buy that, dear ones, no store carries peace.

I make Christmas so difficult.  I often focus on what is not rather than what is.  I focus on how it looks different or less or lonely-ish.

Emmanuel is here.  It doesn't matter what the celebration looks like.  It doesn't matter what explosion or non explosion in the living room looks like.  It doesn't matter that Scrabble will stay in the box.  It doesn't matter that there are no cookies.  It doesn't matter that because you live in a house full of males that you are going to see Star Wars instead of Little Women.  You can take one for the team.

Emmanuel: God with us forever.

We say "Jesus is all we need" but do we mean it?  I think we often don't mean it. We want things, perfect holidays, not to be lonely, wealth, health, and happiness. When we don't get them, we are disgruntled.  We say, "It's not about the gifts" as we continuously exemplify to our children and families by living room explosions that gifts ARE what matters.

Emmanuel.  It doesn't change.  God chose to be with us.  I'm finally starting to feel Christmas for what it is.