It was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery store, an easy grab and go. Instead, I wasted a full five minutes just standing in the meat department, pretending to peruse packages of ground beef. I must have looked like quite the comparison shopper, but anyone who ventured close would have seen that I was really blubbering like a complete fool and trying to hide my face from public view.
Two days earlier we had moved our eldest daughter into her freshman dorm at college nearly six hours away. It was difficult for all of us, but I managed the fewest amount of tears and had kept my emotions fairly well under control since returning home. That is, until I tried to buy the blasted meat.
Normally if we're grilling burgers, I like to buy the ground beef and season and form the patties myself. But this time I was in a hurry, so I thought I would just pick up a package of pre-formed patties. Big mistake. The patties came in packages of four. We are a family of four, but with one at college there are only three of us at home. And just like that, I was overcome with an avalanche of tears I had been fighting back for days. Right there in Kroger. In the meat department. With hamburger patties in my hand.
It took a few minutes for me to collect myself and make it to the front of the store, red face and all, to check out. Of course my neighbor would be there, and of course knowing we had just taken Kaelie to school very sweetly asked how we were adjusting to life as a family of three. Life really is all about timing, isn't it? More tears, and I know I mumbled something and tried to smile, then high-tailed it out of there with my four-pack of burgers before I could run into anyone else.
Another week has passed, and all in all I think we're doing pretty well. My daughter is having a great time and settling in well at school and just completed her first week of classes. It's hard to be sad when I see how excited she is to be starting this next phase of her life journey. But more importantly, I know, I KNOW, that she is going to soar.
The best reassurance about that I could have ever received came in the gift she gave me for my birthday last month. It's a canvas wall-hanging with verses from 1 Corinthians 13, known as the "love chapter" in the Bible.
The wall-hanging reads "Love is patient, Love is kind. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
It's a beautiful passage of Scripture, and I, like many others, had it read it my wedding. But here's the best part about this birthday gift. Kaelie told me she remembered it because one time a few years ago when she and her sister were fighting I made them get out their Bibles, look up and read this passage and think about how they were treating one another.
Honestly, I have no recollection of doing that. Ever. But the fact that she remembers and it obviously had an impact is all that matters. The fact that she would later give me these words on my birthday just a few weeks before leaving for college spoke volumes to me. Through this one simple gift and this lovely passage of Scripture, God reminded me that she is well-prepared. Our daughter is going out into the world wrapped in the love of her family, her church, and her God, and His love, especially, will never fail her.
To my friends who will be taking their "babies" off to college in the coming days, a word of advice. Stick to salad, it's healthier than a burger anyway. Better yet, feast on the Word of God. There's really no better comfort food!
Friday, August 16, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
I'm in Boot Camp and God is in the Bathroom
Bitter frustration. That's all I felt as I made a quick exit to the restroom to dry my tears. I had wanted so badly to see an improvement in my timed mile run, but thanks to painful shin splints I developed last week, I was just lucky to be able to finish it at all. With each step, it felt like daggers in my shins, and tears of anger and frustration blurred my eyes to the finish.
I know it sounds ridiculous that this would be something to cry over. But you have to understand that signing up for this 6-week Boot Camp Challenge was a huge leap of faith for me. I have let myself get so far out of shape that getting back into an exercise program of any sort meant swallowing a boatload of pride and fear. There is a lot of emotional junk that gets all tangled up with being overweight and out of shape. I realized, though, that if my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 16:19-20), then I have to do something about the terribly shabby living conditions I'm giving Him. So, I prayed for help with that, and it came in the form of Boot Camp!
Today was the last day of my first 6-week session and we were doing the same assessments we did on the first day.
"Why," I reasoned, "would God allow shin splints to hinder me? Didn't he understand how important these assessments were to me today? How else can I measure my progress?"
As I stood there in the rest room drying my tears and complaining to the Lord, He graciously whispered back to my spirit. "You're using human standards to measure your progress."
Who says God doesn't give immediate responses to prayer? He spoke to me in the bathroom, in direct response to my frustrated cries! I understood immediately, and it was all I needed to hear.
My loving Savior was reminding me that he blesses obedience. In getting all worked up over whether or not I was improving my time, I was allowing myself to slip back to my old ways of thinking that this exercise program was all about me. What happened to improving the living conditions for Him?
At least for today, that gentle whisper was all it took to adjust my attitude so that I could soldier on. Through the next assessments, I meditated on Philippians 4:13, "I can do all things through him who gives me strength." And guess what? I was able to do five more push-ups than I did at the beginning, and 21 additional crunches!
The other day I was allowing the shin splints to cause me to question whether I should continue with Boot Camp. But this soldier has re-upped for the next six weeks and I am sticking with it! As for the shin splints, ice, Biofreeze, ibuprofen, and shin-strengthening exercises on the stairs will hopefully bring them under control. Until then, I will run with perseverance the race marked out for me, fixing my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith. (Heb. 12:1-2)
I know it sounds ridiculous that this would be something to cry over. But you have to understand that signing up for this 6-week Boot Camp Challenge was a huge leap of faith for me. I have let myself get so far out of shape that getting back into an exercise program of any sort meant swallowing a boatload of pride and fear. There is a lot of emotional junk that gets all tangled up with being overweight and out of shape. I realized, though, that if my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 16:19-20), then I have to do something about the terribly shabby living conditions I'm giving Him. So, I prayed for help with that, and it came in the form of Boot Camp!
Today was the last day of my first 6-week session and we were doing the same assessments we did on the first day.
"Why," I reasoned, "would God allow shin splints to hinder me? Didn't he understand how important these assessments were to me today? How else can I measure my progress?"
As I stood there in the rest room drying my tears and complaining to the Lord, He graciously whispered back to my spirit. "You're using human standards to measure your progress."
Who says God doesn't give immediate responses to prayer? He spoke to me in the bathroom, in direct response to my frustrated cries! I understood immediately, and it was all I needed to hear.
My loving Savior was reminding me that he blesses obedience. In getting all worked up over whether or not I was improving my time, I was allowing myself to slip back to my old ways of thinking that this exercise program was all about me. What happened to improving the living conditions for Him?
At least for today, that gentle whisper was all it took to adjust my attitude so that I could soldier on. Through the next assessments, I meditated on Philippians 4:13, "I can do all things through him who gives me strength." And guess what? I was able to do five more push-ups than I did at the beginning, and 21 additional crunches!
The other day I was allowing the shin splints to cause me to question whether I should continue with Boot Camp. But this soldier has re-upped for the next six weeks and I am sticking with it! As for the shin splints, ice, Biofreeze, ibuprofen, and shin-strengthening exercises on the stairs will hopefully bring them under control. Until then, I will run with perseverance the race marked out for me, fixing my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith. (Heb. 12:1-2)
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Hannah's Prayer
With Thanksgiving approaching, I am feeling thankful for the gift of prayer. I thought it was worth posting this devotional I wrote 12 years ago.
The other day my husband was holding our daughter Hannah while he was visiting with his aunt and uncle. She's only two and a half, and had apparently been clamoring for her daddy's undivided attention, as children are apt to do when their parents are trying to having a conversation with anyone other than them. As he held her, something caught her attention. It was his necklace, specifically the gold cross which dangled from the chain. Gingerly, she to took in her chubby fingers and began a conversation of her own in a voice so quiet that only her daddy could hear. It went something like this:
"Dear God, Thank you for this whole day. Thank you for Daddy and Mommy and Sissy and Uncle Jeremy. In Jesus' name we pray. Aaa-men."
Did I mention that Hannah is only two and a half?
Her daddy may have been the only one standing there who heard it, but you can bet someone else did, too. There's no doubt in my mind that God was listening and he had to have been smiling!
At her very tender age, Hannah is learning to talk to God. She's talking to him on her own, without prompting, at times other than bedtime. She has even made the connection that the cross is something significant, something much more than a shiny piece of trendy jewelry.
Her innocent prayer has taught me volumes about my own faith and the legacy I leave my children. I may not always be there for them (as much as I would like to be), but God promises to be there. I believe that God has given me a responsibility to teach my children how to find him. I can't think of a better way to do that than by example...taking them to church, teaching them to pray, praying together as a family.
The Bible instructs us to pray without ceasing, and that if we present our requests to God with thanksgiving, then the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard our hearts and minds. Amid all the turmoil that life can hold, what a relief to know that when I ask, God will protect my heart and mind with a sense of peace. How wonderful to know that same peace is there for my children, too, as they learn to go to God in prayer.
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:6-7)
The other day my husband was holding our daughter Hannah while he was visiting with his aunt and uncle. She's only two and a half, and had apparently been clamoring for her daddy's undivided attention, as children are apt to do when their parents are trying to having a conversation with anyone other than them. As he held her, something caught her attention. It was his necklace, specifically the gold cross which dangled from the chain. Gingerly, she to took in her chubby fingers and began a conversation of her own in a voice so quiet that only her daddy could hear. It went something like this:
"Dear God, Thank you for this whole day. Thank you for Daddy and Mommy and Sissy and Uncle Jeremy. In Jesus' name we pray. Aaa-men."
Did I mention that Hannah is only two and a half?
Her daddy may have been the only one standing there who heard it, but you can bet someone else did, too. There's no doubt in my mind that God was listening and he had to have been smiling!
At her very tender age, Hannah is learning to talk to God. She's talking to him on her own, without prompting, at times other than bedtime. She has even made the connection that the cross is something significant, something much more than a shiny piece of trendy jewelry.
Her innocent prayer has taught me volumes about my own faith and the legacy I leave my children. I may not always be there for them (as much as I would like to be), but God promises to be there. I believe that God has given me a responsibility to teach my children how to find him. I can't think of a better way to do that than by example...taking them to church, teaching them to pray, praying together as a family.
The Bible instructs us to pray without ceasing, and that if we present our requests to God with thanksgiving, then the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard our hearts and minds. Amid all the turmoil that life can hold, what a relief to know that when I ask, God will protect my heart and mind with a sense of peace. How wonderful to know that same peace is there for my children, too, as they learn to go to God in prayer.
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:6-7)
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Tweeting, Texting, and, Oh Yeah, Talking!
Last Spring I horrified my children by joining the Twitterverse. "Mom," they complained. "Twitter is the only place left that isn't patrolled by parents!"
"Exactly," I replied. "All the more reason for me to set up an account!"
The truth is, my girls were the ones who led me to Twitter, even though that wasn't their intent. It was one night when they were all abuzz over a nasty Twitter-fight because some older girls were bullying some younger ones with ugly "sub-tweeting." For those who are still in the dark about Twitter, sub-tweeting is posting a comment directed towards a specific person or group, but without mentioning them by name so that if someone were to call you out on it, you can use the excuse "oh, that wasn't even about you!" It's basically saying what you really wish you could say to a person to tell them off, or to make them look or feel foolish, but would never have the nerve or the indecency to do in person.
So what makes it any less indecent to do in cyberspace? When did passive-aggressiveness become acceptable behavior? What is happening to open and direct communication? When I can say to someone "when you do this it makes me feel (fill in the blank: hurt, rejected, angry, etc.)," I am offering them the chance to make things right, to fix the situation and mend our relationship. I am letting them know that I regard them highly enough to even want to mend our relationship in the first place. It creates a starting point for clearing the air.
I believe it works the other way around, too. I see people who "like" and "retweet" and "favorite" comments on the various social media, but struggle with offering apologies or forgiveness in person. Just like with the ugly subtweets, cyberspace offers us the ability to hit and run. In other words, to say "I'm sorry" or "I forgive you" electronically and quickly move on to the next post, text, or tweet without really even giving it a thought. Where is the sincerity in that?
What happened to getting face to face to say those things? There is character development in looking someone in the eye and summoning the courage to say what needs to be said. And what about taking it a step further and following up with a handshake or a hug? Eye contact, voice inflection, touch. So important in conveying our sincerity and truly clearing the air and breaking through hurt and anger.
As for Twitter, I very rarely tweet anything, I follow very few people and have even fewer following me. I'm really only on it for the purpose of keeping up with my girls. Please don't be disappointed by my lack of tweets or retweets. I am really not that interesting or fabulous that you need to know my every thought or what I'm eating at every meal. But if you really have a burning desire to know those things, please call me. I'd love to chat, or go to lunch.
"Exactly," I replied. "All the more reason for me to set up an account!"
The truth is, my girls were the ones who led me to Twitter, even though that wasn't their intent. It was one night when they were all abuzz over a nasty Twitter-fight because some older girls were bullying some younger ones with ugly "sub-tweeting." For those who are still in the dark about Twitter, sub-tweeting is posting a comment directed towards a specific person or group, but without mentioning them by name so that if someone were to call you out on it, you can use the excuse "oh, that wasn't even about you!" It's basically saying what you really wish you could say to a person to tell them off, or to make them look or feel foolish, but would never have the nerve or the indecency to do in person.
So what makes it any less indecent to do in cyberspace? When did passive-aggressiveness become acceptable behavior? What is happening to open and direct communication? When I can say to someone "when you do this it makes me feel (fill in the blank: hurt, rejected, angry, etc.)," I am offering them the chance to make things right, to fix the situation and mend our relationship. I am letting them know that I regard them highly enough to even want to mend our relationship in the first place. It creates a starting point for clearing the air.
I believe it works the other way around, too. I see people who "like" and "retweet" and "favorite" comments on the various social media, but struggle with offering apologies or forgiveness in person. Just like with the ugly subtweets, cyberspace offers us the ability to hit and run. In other words, to say "I'm sorry" or "I forgive you" electronically and quickly move on to the next post, text, or tweet without really even giving it a thought. Where is the sincerity in that?
What happened to getting face to face to say those things? There is character development in looking someone in the eye and summoning the courage to say what needs to be said. And what about taking it a step further and following up with a handshake or a hug? Eye contact, voice inflection, touch. So important in conveying our sincerity and truly clearing the air and breaking through hurt and anger.
As for Twitter, I very rarely tweet anything, I follow very few people and have even fewer following me. I'm really only on it for the purpose of keeping up with my girls. Please don't be disappointed by my lack of tweets or retweets. I am really not that interesting or fabulous that you need to know my every thought or what I'm eating at every meal. But if you really have a burning desire to know those things, please call me. I'd love to chat, or go to lunch.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Staring Down Anger
Five months have passed since I got the call. "I want to make sure you're sitting down," my friend said. "I have some really bad news." What an understatement that turned out to be. Shocking, tragic, gut-wrenching news would have been a more accurate description. How else could you possibly begin to describe the suicide of a beautiful, vibrant, 17 year-old girl?
The girl she was telling me about was the daughter of a mutual friend who was my former roommate and work colleague. I hadn't seen the girl, or her mother, in a couple of years. Like so many relationships, it had become more about keeping up with each other on Facebook, family Christmas cards, and once in a blue moon phone calls. Nevertheless, they are people I care a great deal about and Jocelyn's death has shaken me deeply.
Yesterday, I spent some time perusing her Facebook wall. There have been daily postings from family members and friends telling her how much they love and miss her, how certain songs bring her to mind, and how they wish she was there to do certain things with them. My own daughter, who is the same age and just started back to school, posted how she wished Jocelyn could experience her senior year, too, and all the excitement that goes along with it.
Interestingly enough, no one seems to have expressed any anger. Yet, anger is exactly what I'm feeling at this point. I barely knew the girl, but I'm mad, even though I probably don't have any right to be. I'm mad at the people who were apparently subjecting her to cyber-bullying. I'm mad at her for what I'm betting was an impulsive decision borne from her own anger and pain. I'm mad that she didn't stop and think and pray it through. I'm mad that God didn't do something to intervene. I'm mad that her little sister doesn't have her big sister to look up to and share life with anymore. I'm mad that she didn't tell her parents about the bullying, and instead robbed them of the opportunity to watch her finish growing up, graduate, go to college, get married, be grandparents to her children. They adored her and I know they would've moved heaven and earth to help her!
There's more, but it's all wrapped up in my own junk that seems unfair to dump on her. Junk like guilt for feeling mad at a hurting, emotional, 17 year-old girl. Junk like reading her mom's blog about her own pain while I was at the beach with my family, crying my eyes out over the raw grief she was pouring out and feeling angry that she had to suffer that. Junk like the tentacles of fear that have started creeping in and tugging at my psyche when my own teenage daughters let their emotions get the best of them. "Is it just a rant? Do I need to worry? Should I check on her in her room?" Junk like the anger that has resurfaced towards my father-in-law for taking his own life 17 years ago, three months before the birth of his first grand-child, my oldest daughter. Remembering the hurt in my husband's eyes when he said "Dad's never been there for anything else in my life, I don't know why I would've thought he would be here for this," and desperately wishing I could take that pain away from him. So much junk...
I really needed to write this because writing is therapeutic for me. It's the best way I know to sort out my feelings, to name them for what they are, stare them down, and hopefully move past them. But I debated this time whether to do it in this public forum. I love this girl's family and the last thing I would ever want to do is cause them anymore pain. I pray that if my grieving friend reads this that in her own writer's heart she will understand.
I decided on the public post because I believe that sometimes we think it's wrong to feel and express anger over tragedies. Suicide, especially, leaves us all feeling awkward and helpless and unsure of how to respond or what to say. Maybe what we need is permission to acknowledge and voice those feelings, and if that's what this blog gives to someone else then I can feel good about that.
And should someone considering suicide happen to stumble across this post, know that you would be leaving a trail of pain and heartache and confusion that reaches much farther than you can even fathom. There are so many resources available...ask for help! And please, please, please remember that where there is life, there is always hope.
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
The girl she was telling me about was the daughter of a mutual friend who was my former roommate and work colleague. I hadn't seen the girl, or her mother, in a couple of years. Like so many relationships, it had become more about keeping up with each other on Facebook, family Christmas cards, and once in a blue moon phone calls. Nevertheless, they are people I care a great deal about and Jocelyn's death has shaken me deeply.
Yesterday, I spent some time perusing her Facebook wall. There have been daily postings from family members and friends telling her how much they love and miss her, how certain songs bring her to mind, and how they wish she was there to do certain things with them. My own daughter, who is the same age and just started back to school, posted how she wished Jocelyn could experience her senior year, too, and all the excitement that goes along with it.
Interestingly enough, no one seems to have expressed any anger. Yet, anger is exactly what I'm feeling at this point. I barely knew the girl, but I'm mad, even though I probably don't have any right to be. I'm mad at the people who were apparently subjecting her to cyber-bullying. I'm mad at her for what I'm betting was an impulsive decision borne from her own anger and pain. I'm mad that she didn't stop and think and pray it through. I'm mad that God didn't do something to intervene. I'm mad that her little sister doesn't have her big sister to look up to and share life with anymore. I'm mad that she didn't tell her parents about the bullying, and instead robbed them of the opportunity to watch her finish growing up, graduate, go to college, get married, be grandparents to her children. They adored her and I know they would've moved heaven and earth to help her!
There's more, but it's all wrapped up in my own junk that seems unfair to dump on her. Junk like guilt for feeling mad at a hurting, emotional, 17 year-old girl. Junk like reading her mom's blog about her own pain while I was at the beach with my family, crying my eyes out over the raw grief she was pouring out and feeling angry that she had to suffer that. Junk like the tentacles of fear that have started creeping in and tugging at my psyche when my own teenage daughters let their emotions get the best of them. "Is it just a rant? Do I need to worry? Should I check on her in her room?" Junk like the anger that has resurfaced towards my father-in-law for taking his own life 17 years ago, three months before the birth of his first grand-child, my oldest daughter. Remembering the hurt in my husband's eyes when he said "Dad's never been there for anything else in my life, I don't know why I would've thought he would be here for this," and desperately wishing I could take that pain away from him. So much junk...
I really needed to write this because writing is therapeutic for me. It's the best way I know to sort out my feelings, to name them for what they are, stare them down, and hopefully move past them. But I debated this time whether to do it in this public forum. I love this girl's family and the last thing I would ever want to do is cause them anymore pain. I pray that if my grieving friend reads this that in her own writer's heart she will understand.
I decided on the public post because I believe that sometimes we think it's wrong to feel and express anger over tragedies. Suicide, especially, leaves us all feeling awkward and helpless and unsure of how to respond or what to say. Maybe what we need is permission to acknowledge and voice those feelings, and if that's what this blog gives to someone else then I can feel good about that.
And should someone considering suicide happen to stumble across this post, know that you would be leaving a trail of pain and heartache and confusion that reaches much farther than you can even fathom. There are so many resources available...ask for help! And please, please, please remember that where there is life, there is always hope.
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Winds of Change
My heart just walked out the door. It's Kaelie's LAST first day of school, which means first day of senior year for her and first day of freshman year for Hannah. To mark the occasion, I thought I would post something that I wrote 12 years ago after Kaelie started kindergarten.
I must have spent the entire summer in a state of denial. My firstborn was about to start kindergarten and it didn't bother me in the least. My husband practically broke down in tears at every mere mention of it. "Oh, but she's so excited and so ready for it," I would say.
Then it hit me, about a week before school was to start. All the carefree time I had had with her for five years was about to end. FOREVER. That's when the guilt set in. You know the kind, typical mommy guilt that you know is silly but you just can't help feeling because after all, it's one of the requirements of motherhood. "Oh, I didn't do this with her. Oh, we didn't get to do that or go there." No matter that I had given up a successful and rewarding career and traded my designer wardrobe for spit-up-stained and sticky finger-smeared t-shirts. I was going to feel guilty about not doing enough because doggone it, I was a mother and I was entitled to all the guilt I could muster.
I got over that. It was the morning her daddy and I walked her to the bus stop in front of our house. It felt like walking a plank. Suddenly all guilt was gone and the only thing I felt was raw fear.
"What if the bus driver is a maniac? What if she gets lost? What if she drops her lunch tray or dawdles too long and doesn't get to eat? What if her TEACHER is a maniac? What if she breaks her neck on the playground? What if someone hurts her feelings and I'm not there to take the hurt away? What if, what if, what if..."
There she was, looking so small and sweet in her little blue and white checkered dress with the red appliqued apples ("because teachers like apples, Mommy"), the bow in her hair and the pink Barbie backpack.
And suddenly there IT was, that very large yellow bus looming before us. She started to charge up the steps before I could even say goodbye. She wasn't even looking back. I had to yell her name for one last kiss and "I love you." Then she was gone, and so was my life as I had known it for the last five years. I hugged two year-old Hannah a little tighter and blinked back the tears.
In the days since the fear has subsided. She comes home from school beaming with joy, and charges down the bus steps to my waiting arms as eagerly as she charged up that first morning. She's still my baby and every day I thank God for the love we share and the arms that He's given us to wrap around each other.
Through this, God has also taught me a lesson in loosening my grasp. Even though the winds have changed and for seven hours during the day she sails off in a different direction from me He is still with her, watching over her and guiding her all day long.
We're reminded of this in Hebrews 13:8. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever." What a comfort, Just as He is there for her at school all day, He's there for me and for all of us, whenever we loosen our grip on our lives and let Him be.
I must have spent the entire summer in a state of denial. My firstborn was about to start kindergarten and it didn't bother me in the least. My husband practically broke down in tears at every mere mention of it. "Oh, but she's so excited and so ready for it," I would say.
Then it hit me, about a week before school was to start. All the carefree time I had had with her for five years was about to end. FOREVER. That's when the guilt set in. You know the kind, typical mommy guilt that you know is silly but you just can't help feeling because after all, it's one of the requirements of motherhood. "Oh, I didn't do this with her. Oh, we didn't get to do that or go there." No matter that I had given up a successful and rewarding career and traded my designer wardrobe for spit-up-stained and sticky finger-smeared t-shirts. I was going to feel guilty about not doing enough because doggone it, I was a mother and I was entitled to all the guilt I could muster.
I got over that. It was the morning her daddy and I walked her to the bus stop in front of our house. It felt like walking a plank. Suddenly all guilt was gone and the only thing I felt was raw fear.
"What if the bus driver is a maniac? What if she gets lost? What if she drops her lunch tray or dawdles too long and doesn't get to eat? What if her TEACHER is a maniac? What if she breaks her neck on the playground? What if someone hurts her feelings and I'm not there to take the hurt away? What if, what if, what if..."
There she was, looking so small and sweet in her little blue and white checkered dress with the red appliqued apples ("because teachers like apples, Mommy"), the bow in her hair and the pink Barbie backpack.
And suddenly there IT was, that very large yellow bus looming before us. She started to charge up the steps before I could even say goodbye. She wasn't even looking back. I had to yell her name for one last kiss and "I love you." Then she was gone, and so was my life as I had known it for the last five years. I hugged two year-old Hannah a little tighter and blinked back the tears.
In the days since the fear has subsided. She comes home from school beaming with joy, and charges down the bus steps to my waiting arms as eagerly as she charged up that first morning. She's still my baby and every day I thank God for the love we share and the arms that He's given us to wrap around each other.
Through this, God has also taught me a lesson in loosening my grasp. Even though the winds have changed and for seven hours during the day she sails off in a different direction from me He is still with her, watching over her and guiding her all day long.
We're reminded of this in Hebrews 13:8. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever." What a comfort, Just as He is there for her at school all day, He's there for me and for all of us, whenever we loosen our grip on our lives and let Him be.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Gettin' Sappy
If anyone had told me that a trip to the Snappy Lube for an oil change would inspire a blog post, I probably would've just laughed. But that's exactly what has happened, so here goes...
Let me begin with just a bit of background. In just three more months, my Honda Oddyssey will be 10 years old. It's the longest I've ever driven one vehicle, but it's also the first I've ever purchased brand new. When my husband and I bought it the day before Thanksgiving in 2002, it was after weeks of waiting to see if the Honda dealer near us would ever get a red one. The day I saw it through the showroom window was the day we brought it home. But it didn't stay there long because three days later we strapped in our girls, then ages 4 and 7, and took off on a road trip to Disney! It was the first of many trips and adventures in that van, and I guess that's why the unexpected question from the Snappy Lube service technician sent me on a sappy trip down memory lane.
"You've kept that van in good shape. You gonna be looking to sell it anytime soon?"
"Should I be," I asked? "Well no, those Hondas will run forever if you take care of them. I just wondered since you've gotten some miles on it if you might be getting ready for something new."
"Nah, with a daughter starting college in a year I don't want a car payment," I replied. "I'll probably drive this one until it's falling apart around me!"
I paid my bill and left, and as I began to pull out of the parking lot the realization of what I had just said hit me full force. I braked and turned around to look behind me, half expecting to see two little girls coloring or playing with their Polly Pockets. I blinked at the empty seats, knowing full well that Kaelie was hundreds of miles away on a youth group mission trip and Hannah was hanging out with a friend. How has the time gone so fast?
For the rest of the drive home, I was flooded with memories of time spent in that van. Countless trips to visit grandparents at opposite ends of the state, to Georgia to visit family and friends, beaches in the Carolinas, twice to NYC and again to Disney, Thanksgiving in Pensacola, and more trips to volleyball, softball, and soccer games and tournaments than I can even begin to count.
So many good times, so many wonderful memories. As I drove I found myself smiling as I reminisced over all the travel games we played to keep young children occupied. The songs we sang and the laughter we shared. And yes, even the "don't make me pull this car over" moments! I thought about the day we got our puppy, Ginger, who turned 9 years old last spring, and the joy on the faces of those two little girls as they climbed into their seats to bring their new friend home. I pictured the van during the many times that it has been filled with kids, and laughed again at some of the funny conversations I've overheard from behind the steering wheel.
I also let my mind wander to more diffiuclt times. Heated arguments, driving to and from funerals, sitting numbly in the passenger seat as Joey drove me home from the doctor's office after learning I have MS, wondering if our lives would ever be the same. Tearfully worshiping on more than one occasion as music from my favorite contemporary Christian radio station came through the speakers to soothe my anxious soul.
As my mind continued to wander, I noticed the places on the steering wheel that my hands have worn smooth. I remembered watching Kaelie's hands nervously gripping the wheel in the same spots as she learned to drive, all the while nervously gripping the passenger door armrest myself! Now she drives her own car, and she's not in the van with me nearly as often. I've realized just how much good conversation has taken place with her there, and the need to work harder now to create those opportunities. At the same time, I'm also appreciating the one on one time with Hannah, and the conversations that we get to have. That vehicle has been the scene of a lot of good talks...and tears...and laughter.
Of late, the van has been transporting us to various college tours. In another year we'll be loading it with all of Kaelie's stuff. It will take my baby girl away to some dorm room on some campus somewhere, and it will carry the rest of us tearfully home without her. And very soon after, Hannah's hands will take their place on the smooth spots of the steering wheel, and I will once again nervously grip the passenger door armrest while teaching her to drive.
Yes, a lot of life has happened in that red 2003 Honda Oddyssey. But God willing there's oh so much more to look forward to, and I'm determined to savor every moment.
Wow. All this from an ordinary visit to the Snappy (okay, "sappy") Lube. Who knew?
Let me begin with just a bit of background. In just three more months, my Honda Oddyssey will be 10 years old. It's the longest I've ever driven one vehicle, but it's also the first I've ever purchased brand new. When my husband and I bought it the day before Thanksgiving in 2002, it was after weeks of waiting to see if the Honda dealer near us would ever get a red one. The day I saw it through the showroom window was the day we brought it home. But it didn't stay there long because three days later we strapped in our girls, then ages 4 and 7, and took off on a road trip to Disney! It was the first of many trips and adventures in that van, and I guess that's why the unexpected question from the Snappy Lube service technician sent me on a sappy trip down memory lane.
"You've kept that van in good shape. You gonna be looking to sell it anytime soon?"
"Should I be," I asked? "Well no, those Hondas will run forever if you take care of them. I just wondered since you've gotten some miles on it if you might be getting ready for something new."
"Nah, with a daughter starting college in a year I don't want a car payment," I replied. "I'll probably drive this one until it's falling apart around me!"
I paid my bill and left, and as I began to pull out of the parking lot the realization of what I had just said hit me full force. I braked and turned around to look behind me, half expecting to see two little girls coloring or playing with their Polly Pockets. I blinked at the empty seats, knowing full well that Kaelie was hundreds of miles away on a youth group mission trip and Hannah was hanging out with a friend. How has the time gone so fast?
For the rest of the drive home, I was flooded with memories of time spent in that van. Countless trips to visit grandparents at opposite ends of the state, to Georgia to visit family and friends, beaches in the Carolinas, twice to NYC and again to Disney, Thanksgiving in Pensacola, and more trips to volleyball, softball, and soccer games and tournaments than I can even begin to count.
So many good times, so many wonderful memories. As I drove I found myself smiling as I reminisced over all the travel games we played to keep young children occupied. The songs we sang and the laughter we shared. And yes, even the "don't make me pull this car over" moments! I thought about the day we got our puppy, Ginger, who turned 9 years old last spring, and the joy on the faces of those two little girls as they climbed into their seats to bring their new friend home. I pictured the van during the many times that it has been filled with kids, and laughed again at some of the funny conversations I've overheard from behind the steering wheel.
I also let my mind wander to more diffiuclt times. Heated arguments, driving to and from funerals, sitting numbly in the passenger seat as Joey drove me home from the doctor's office after learning I have MS, wondering if our lives would ever be the same. Tearfully worshiping on more than one occasion as music from my favorite contemporary Christian radio station came through the speakers to soothe my anxious soul.
As my mind continued to wander, I noticed the places on the steering wheel that my hands have worn smooth. I remembered watching Kaelie's hands nervously gripping the wheel in the same spots as she learned to drive, all the while nervously gripping the passenger door armrest myself! Now she drives her own car, and she's not in the van with me nearly as often. I've realized just how much good conversation has taken place with her there, and the need to work harder now to create those opportunities. At the same time, I'm also appreciating the one on one time with Hannah, and the conversations that we get to have. That vehicle has been the scene of a lot of good talks...and tears...and laughter.
Of late, the van has been transporting us to various college tours. In another year we'll be loading it with all of Kaelie's stuff. It will take my baby girl away to some dorm room on some campus somewhere, and it will carry the rest of us tearfully home without her. And very soon after, Hannah's hands will take their place on the smooth spots of the steering wheel, and I will once again nervously grip the passenger door armrest while teaching her to drive.
Yes, a lot of life has happened in that red 2003 Honda Oddyssey. But God willing there's oh so much more to look forward to, and I'm determined to savor every moment.
Wow. All this from an ordinary visit to the Snappy (okay, "sappy") Lube. Who knew?
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