Category Archives: Community

Untangle the web of lies – guys & labels

We continue with the discussion of teen labels today.  Many teenagers see themselves this way – Tell me who I am.   Internally, teens are growing and changing physically, mentally, and emotionally at warp speed.  Externally, there are parental, school, social and community standards who all say, Follow me.  I know best.  Oftentimes, however, those voices contradict one another.  Their rules are different, they argue opposing expectations, and no one will back down from their position of being right.  Who in the world do teens listen to?  To confuse matters more, some of the “should-be” positive voices that impress their standard on teens are actually harmful (i.e., abusive homes, dangerous friends or fallen mentors) and it convolutes teens’ thinking even more.  It’s no wonder why being a teenager can be so frustrating!

So it’s no surprise when, taking all of the above into consideration, at the end of the day the teen relinquishes his or her own identity in defeat and says, Just tell me who you want me to be.

One of the stickiest labels attached to teens is how the opposite gender sees them.  I can’t think of many other factors that affect a teen more.  For teenagers reading this blog, yes, how we present ourselves to the world, and our desire to be accepted by it, is important.  It’s how civilization continues.  But, that’s when the labels are positive.  What happens when the labels hurt?

When I was in 9th grade, before the reality show “The Bachelor” ever aired, I found myself in the middle of my very own rose ceremony.  Forget the fancy dresses, mansions, and Barbies falling all over their Ken.  My rose ceremony happened on a baseball field on a Friday night.  A large group of guys and girls hung around after the game.  In that group was a guy that I had a huge crush on – for years.  And, he knew it (ug).  I thought he was the hottest guy ever, and oh how his dimples just made me melt.  He lived down the street from me, and I found every reason to pass by his house just to catch a glimpse of him and perhaps, maybe, get a Hi from him.  I walked the dog, rode my bike, ran for exercise, anything that kept me moving past because I never would have dared to actually stop at his house.  I was smitten.

After the baseball game, rumor had it he was going to choose between another girl (I didn’t know her) and me.  Oh the thought!  I was going to finally find out where I stood with him and if the strong feelings I had for him were mutual.  The group formed a circle, and the three of us were in the middle of it.  When I look back on this moment, I can totally feel the awkwardness of it all over again and cringe in discomfort at the whole affair.

He looked at both of us with those dimples.  Without a word, he walked over to the other girl, took her hand, and they walked out of the circle together and disappeared into the night.

I was…crushed, humiliated, devastated, mortified, angry, hurt, shocked and embarrassed.  I felt ugly, hideous, worthless, rejected, stupid, and a host of other feelings.  I compared myself to nothing more than the mound of red baseball dirt beneath my feet.

Have you ever said something out loud that you meant to only think in your head?  Yikes, I have.  This was one of those times.  I (accidentally) said under my breath, trying to hold my composure together, Why not me?  What’s wrong with me?  I never expected a response.  A girl standing next to me looked at me as if I really was as stupid as I felt and replied matter-of-factly, Because he knows you won’t sleep with him and turned and walked away.

Whoa.  Okay, let me just die and then ask you to repeat that to make sure I heard you right, I thought with my jaw agape.

The roseless ceremony was over, and the group of amused teens dispersed.  I was left standing completely alone, in the dark, behind the dugout, stunned and speechless.

I had just found out, very publicly I might add, that my label as a virgin was not a good thing.  I found out that it made me lose the guy I really liked and that none of my peers supported me.  As I walked away alone, I tried to figure out how he knew.  I am a Christian, but the topic of virginity never came up to me by him or anyone.  At fourteen, I didn’t understand the powerful impact that personal convictions can have on others – when not one word about it had been spoken.

My knee-jerk reaction, of course, was to move, change schools, change my name, dye my hair, and never ever mention this moment again.  But, something surprising happened instead.  God showed up – in the dark on the baseball field on a Friday night.  How do I know He did?  Because He gave me eyes to see a perspective I was completely unable to see on my own.

All of a sudden, my heart saw that the guy that made me weak in the knees had shown his true colors.  He wasn’t looking for someone to have a meaningful relationship with, to care about, have fun with and get to know better.  He was looking for sex.  And with that, he was looking at me as someone who potentially could give that to him.  He didn’t care about who I was, my thoughts and opinions, or what makes me laugh or cry – I was seen as a tool for his selfishness.  Oh, that changed everything.  This great-looking guy suddenly didn’t look so good to me.  In that moment, I realized my firm position in that I was not going to ever allow myself to be seen as a tool.  He had separated body from mind and spirit when choosing a girlfriend, and now I wanted no part of it.

God reminded me that I am all three (mind, spirit, and body), as much as anyone else.  I am valuable.  Priceless.  Important.  Significant.  I am worth the wait.

I saw that the amount of value I had put on this guy was not returned, but God loved me before I ever called Him my God.  God, indeed, is the polar opposite – loving me unconditionally, not for what I can do, but for who I am to Him.  His child.  His daughter.  Princess in His royal line.  Forgiven.  Beautiful.  The passion of His heart.  I saw the experience with this guy for the shallow, superficial event that it was, and I chose to walk in the Truth that I am worth dying for.  So are you.

All labels have a cause and effect.  I can’t think of one label that is 100% risk-free.  Teens who choose to be abstinent walk a difficult (but not impossible!) road.  However, it’s a sacred road that spares them from unnecessary physical, mental and emotional drama that is tied to promiscuity.

Do I regret that night?  Nope.  The Teen Creed offers an excellent piece of advice, Stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.  I had fallen for a guy for sure, but after his quick exit from my life, it was God who was there to pick me up, brush off my knees and put my dignity back together like Humpty Dumpty.

I wasn’t ashamed of the label that was pinned on me that night instead of a rose.  Actually, I was secretly glad that not only did this guy know where I stood in my convictions, but others did as well – without me ever having said it.  This experience spurred in me a stubbornness to be resolute in my convictions until my wedding day.  I was never going to set myself up to feel like a faceless, nameless tool again. And, perhaps it helped encourage other girls standing around that they too could make the precious choice of abstinence and save themselves the grief.

Regardless of your yesterday, you have the freedom to choose your actions today.  Although this guy never gave me another chance (nor did I want one), God is the God of second, tenth, and a thousand chances.  More than giving me a rose, God gave His Son for me – and for you.  Now that is true love.

<<Check out the companion song to this blog on my Tunes page!>>

Untangle the web of lies – loss & labels (re-posted from April 14, 2012)

Per request, this blog entry is being re-posted.

May God use it for his glory. ~ Kristi

**********************************************

Labels.  We all wear them.  Some labels make us feel like we’re on top of the world.  Others plunge us into an endless abyss.  Teens are among the hardest hit by labels.  In middle school, (what I affectionately call The Cannibalism Years) guys and girls spend their energy jockeying for a position of acceptance at least and popular at best.  In high school, labels are still clearly present, but for those who have survived the “lord of the flies” experience of middle school, teens emerge with a little more knowledge of who they are and what they want. Scars may be internal, external, or both, but I wildly applaud those who graduate middle school and are still standing when the first day of high school hits – as long as they haven’t left a trail of casualties leading to their success.

Labels during these years change like the wind.  Popular, freak, cute, funny, smart, nerd, jock, quiet, dweeb, stupid, pretty, weird, shy, daring, promiscuous (the nicer word), and  invisible – are a few off the top of my head. Depending on the day’s events, some of those labels are encouraging and uplifting.  Others push teens to the brink of wanting to end their life.  Oh the power peers have over each other.  (sigh)

Other labels aren’t so easily gained or lost.  Some are branded onto teens without their consent or permission.  Divorce, poor, orphan, and victim are a few.  I remember a teen in my high school that looked as though every day was his last. He was always dirty, his clothes were way too small, greasy hair, and he wore shoes that barely held together.  I cannot remember his name.  He was invisible.  He was poor.  He was never given a chance.  I often wonder what became of him.  I wanted to say something to him like, hello, but never found the courage because I didn’t know what to say after hello.  He wore his label on the outside. Everyone knew it and ostracized him for it.

My labels were internal, but just as isolating.  I was a product of two divorces, sub-par family finances, and a mom who was dying.  What do teens say to that?  You’re a train wreck and we don’t know what to do with you, was one encounter I vividly remember.  I went to a large public high school filled with people who had more money than we did.  It wasn’t just that we were a single family trying to survive on a secretary’s salary, it was that my mom spent my entire junior year in and out of the hospital with cancer. Unable to work during portions of the year, I really have no idea how our bills were paid – my grandparents helped, I assume, and debt accumulated.

While many classmates had predictable schedules, homes, extra-curricular activities and parents to buy them poster board needed for a project or sign a permission slip or drive them around to friends’ homes and parties, my day went something like this: Sleep at my grandparents’ house, get up, go back to my house, shower, get dressed, go to school, leave school and go straight to the hospital to be with my mom.  There, I made great friends with the stiff, cold vinyl chair in her room in which I did my homework and watched tv while she slept.  One night, with books opened on my chest as I was slumped back in the chair, the nurse came in, tapped me on the shoulder and woke me up.  She said in a soft voice, Honey, go home.  Get some rest.  She doesn’t even know you are here. Although I appreciated her kindness, her words pierced my soul.  All of this is for nothing? I asked myself.  I gathered my books and drove back to my grandparent’s house in a sleepy daze just to start it all over again the next day.

Nobody knew this because nobody asked.  All I looked like was a disheveled mess.  There wasn’t a parent to tell me, You need a hair cut, or Your shoes need replacing, or You don’t look so good, do you feel okay?  My mom was simply trying to stay alive.  She told me once after a hard chemo treatment, The only reason I am alive is for you girls.  You are my reason for living.  

At a time when I didn’t know if she was going to live, and if not, what would happen to me, I was still straddling a world of teenageness where I needed to absorb academic material for tests, not be tardy for school, and keep from falling asleep in class.  I got so angry at other classmates when I overheard their whining about boys, cars, parties, and the latest gossip.  I thought, You don’t have a clue what life is about.  Your stupid little problems are NOTHING on the scale of life.  Get over yourself.  I kept those thoughts to myself so I wasn’t run out of town – or at least out of school.  I was completely unable to identify with anyone at my school – but desperately, secretly wanted to.  If others were having similar life-threatening problems at home, they didn’t share them.  None of us did.  Why?  Because who wants to be around high-maintenance teens?  No one.  In this age of life, teens are incredibly self-absorbed.  It’s normal in their development.  But “freaks” (as I saw myself) like me had a daily inner struggle with wanting to be a typical teenager, but at the same time being forced to be an adult – handling grown-up problems on my own with no dad and a dying mom. (breathe)

I remember at the end of my junior year, everyone was talking about prom.  Oh good grief, I thought.  Can this issue just please go away?  Is there any other high school event that singles out social groups, money and popularity more than prom?  My first limo ride (and only limo ride to date) was to my mom’s funeral barely after my junior year ended.  In the limo I thought, While everyone is taking their first limo ride to prom, I’m taking mine to my mom’s funeral.  

Since we’re being honest about feelings, which is what this blog is about, I’ll mention another extremely painful memory that may surprise some who haven’t walked this road.  The end of summer before my senior year.  Why?  That’s when moms (or dads) take their girls shopping for school clothes.  I can still smell the stale mall air as if it were yesterday, and I remember watching the girls that went to my school walk the mall with their moms and their shopping bags while I sat numb on a bench sipping a Sprite.  As a girl, this hurt almost as much as not having been validated by the male influences in my life in yesterday’s blog.  It seems like such a superficial thing, but digging deeper, to me it was more about not being able to spend time with my mom, ask her opinion on what looked good on my insecure body, and such a time would be a sort of send-off to my senior year that would have been affirmed by my mom.  This one step would have felt like a natural progression toward the beginnings of her letting me go.  Instead, she was ripped from my life by a horrific disease, and I had to let her go.

My mom had died just 2 months before, and I was now living with my grandparents to avoid foster care.  They loved me.  I loved them.  But, it was their daughter who they just buried.  We were all broken and didn’t know how to fix each other, so we just went to our own corners and licked our wounds.  They were from the Depression Era.  They were frugal and financially wise.  A senior in high school is not.  Whether it be they had no concept of buying school clothes because they A: were too deep in their grief; B: too frugal to see the physical need; C: too out of touch to see the social need; or D: a combination of these – the bottom line was I began my senior year in my older sister’s hand-me-downs.  Yes, I am thankful I had clothes to wear at all, but these were nothing to brag about.  They were old and tired.  I didn’t have the nerve to ask my grandparents for new ones, so I wore them without a word.

In high school, when you don’t look the part, you don’t get the part.  It’s really hard to be accepted into social groups where you stick out like a sore thumb.  I didn’t dress right; I didn’t have the right car (I drove my grandmother’s 1972 Cadillac which was defaulted to me from my mom when she died); I didn’t have a home to invite people over to, and I didn’t have parents to take my friends and me to fun places like to the beach or a music concert like others had.

Did I feel sorry for myself?  No.  I couldn’t go there.  If I had stopped for one second to think about the enormity of what was happening to my life, it would have swallowed me whole.  My life felt more like a Jason Bourne movie, where one thing happens after the next and you can’t blink or even go to the bathroom because if you turn away for a second, there is something around the corner that’s going to get you.  In many ways, I felt like it already had.

Today’s blog is dedicated to all of the BRAVE young men and women who are fighting for their lives, or a loved one’s life, today.  I want you to hear the Truth – circumstances do NOT define you.  Don’t believe the thoughts or people that tell you they do.  You are not a label.  You are a person – loved by God.  

By God’s grace, you CAN get through this.  People asked me, When are you going to get over your mother’s death and move on?  I was so offended!  If you love someone, you don’t “get over” their loss, but you can get through it.  It’s too much to handle alone.  Seek trusted help to confide in.

There is more to say on how to deal with teen labels of loss and trauma, and on this blog we’re not afraid to talk about it, ask tough questions, or simply admit I don’t know.  This issue is real for a lot of teens, and every single one of you count.  You are important.  You are loved.  Your feelings are valid, and you need to know you are not alone.

<<Check out the companion song to this blog on my Tunes page!>>

Untangle the web of lies – loss & labels

Labels.  We all wear them.  Some labels make us feel like we’re on top of the world.  Others plunge us into an endless abyss.  Teens are among the hardest hit by labels.  In middle school, (what I affectionately call The Cannibalism Years) guys and girls spend their energy jockeying for a position of acceptance at least and popular at best.  In high school, labels are still clearly present, but for those who have survived the “lord of the flies” experience of middle school, teens emerge with a little more knowledge of who they are and what they want. Scars may be internal, external, or both, but I wildly applaud those who graduate middle school and are still standing when the first day of high school hits – as long as they haven’t left a trail of casualties leading to their success.

Labels during these years change like the wind.  Popular, freak, cute, funny, smart, nerd, jock, quiet, dweeb, stupid, pretty, weird, shy, daring, promiscuous (the nicer word), and  invisible – are a few off the top of my head. Depending on the day’s events, some of those labels are encouraging and uplifting.  Others push teens to the brink of wanting to end their life.  Oh the power peers have over each other.  (sigh)

Other labels aren’t so easily gained or lost.  Some are branded onto teens without their consent or permission.  Divorce, poor, orphan, and victim are a few.  I remember a teen in my high school that looked as though every day was his last. He was always dirty, his clothes were way too small, greasy hair, and he wore shoes that barely held together.  I cannot remember his name.  He was invisible.  He was poor.  He was never given a chance.  I often wonder what became of him.  I wanted to say something to him like, hello, but never found the courage because I didn’t know what to say after hello.  He wore his label on the outside. Everyone knew it and ostracized him for it.

My labels were internal, but just as isolating.  I was a product of two divorces, sub-par family finances, and a mom who was dying.  What do teens say to that?  You’re a train wreck and we don’t know what to do with you, was one encounter I vividly remember.  I went to a large public high school filled with people who had more money than we did.  It wasn’t just that we were a single family trying to survive on a secretary’s salary, it was that my mom spent my entire junior year in and out of the hospital with cancer. Unable to work during portions of the year, I really have no idea how our bills were paid – my grandparents helped, I assume, and debt accumulated.

While many classmates had predictable schedules, homes, extra-curricular activities and parents to buy them poster board needed for a project or sign a permission slip or drive them around to friends’ homes and parties, my day went something like this: Sleep at my grandparents’ house, get up, go back to my house, shower, get dressed, go to school, leave school and go straight to the hospital to be with my mom.  There, I made great friends with the stiff, cold vinyl chair in her room in which I did my homework and watched tv while she slept.  One night, with books opened on my chest as I was slumped back in the chair, the nurse came in, tapped me on the shoulder and woke me up.  She said in a soft voice, Honey, go home.  Get some rest.  She doesn’t even know you are here. Although I appreciated her kindness, her words pierced my soul.  All of this is for nothing? I asked myself.  I gathered my books and drove back to my grandparent’s house in a sleepy daze just to start it all over again the next day.

Nobody knew this because nobody asked.  All I looked like was a disheveled mess.  There wasn’t a parent to tell me, You need a hair cut, or Your shoes need replacing, or You don’t look so good, do you feel okay?  My mom was simply trying to stay alive.  She told me once after a hard chemo treatment, The only reason I am alive is for you girls.  You are my reason for living.  

At a time when I didn’t know if she was going to live, and if not, what would happen to me, I was still straddling a world of teenageness where I needed to absorb academic material for tests, not be tardy for school, and keep from falling asleep in class.  I got so angry at other classmates when I overheard their whining about boys, cars, parties, and the latest gossip.  I thought, You don’t have a clue what life is about.  Your stupid little problems are NOTHING on the scale of life.  Get over yourself.  I kept those thoughts to myself so I wasn’t run out of town – or at least out of school.  I was completely unable to identify with anyone at my school – but desperately, secretly wanted to.  If others were having similar life-threatening problems at home, they didn’t share them.  None of us did.  Why?  Because who wants to be around high-maintenance teens?  No one.  In this age of life, teens are incredibly self-absorbed.  It’s normal in their development.  But “freaks” (as I saw myself) like me had a daily inner struggle with wanting to be a typical teenager, but at the same time being forced to be an adult – handling grown-up problems on my own with no dad and a dying mom. (breathe)

I remember at the end of my junior year, everyone was talking about prom.  Oh good grief, I thought.  Can this issue just please go away?  Is there any other high school event that singles out social groups, money and popularity more than prom?  My first limo ride (and only limo ride to date) was to my mom’s funeral barely after my junior year ended.  In the limo I thought, While everyone is taking their first limo ride to prom, I’m taking mine to my mom’s funeral.  

Since we’re being honest about feelings, which is what this blog is about, I’ll mention another extremely painful memory that may surprise some who haven’t walked this road.  The end of summer before my senior year.  Why?  That’s when moms (or dads) take their girls shopping for school clothes.  I can still smell the stale mall air as if it were yesterday, and I remember watching the girls that went to my school walk the mall with their moms and their shopping bags while I sat numb on a bench sipping a Sprite.  As a girl, this hurt almost as much as not having been validated by the male influences in my life in yesterday’s blog.  It seems like such a superficial thing, but digging deeper, to me it was more about not being able to spend time with my mom, ask her opinion on what looked good on my insecure body, and such a time would be a sort of send-off to my senior year that would have been affirmed by my mom.  This one step would have felt like a natural progression toward the beginnings of her letting me go.  Instead, she was ripped from my life by a horrific disease, and I had to let her go.

My mom had died just 2 months before, and I was now living with my grandparents to avoid foster care.  They loved me.  I loved them.  But, it was their daughter who they just buried.  We were all broken and didn’t know how to fix each other, so we just went to our own corners and licked our wounds.  They were from the Depression Era.  They were frugal and financially wise.  A senior in high school is not.  Whether it be they had no concept of buying school clothes because they A: were too deep in their grief; B: too frugal to see the physical need; C: too out of touch to see the social need; or D: a combination of these – the bottom line was I began my senior year in my older sister’s hand-me-downs.  Yes, I am thankful I had clothes to wear at all, but these were nothing to brag about.  They were old and tired.  I didn’t have the nerve to ask my grandparents for new ones, so I wore them without a word.

In high school, when you don’t look the part, you don’t get the part.  It’s really hard to be accepted into social groups where you stick out like a sore thumb.  I didn’t dress right; I didn’t have the right car (I drove my grandmother’s 1972 Cadillac which was defaulted to me from my mom when she died); I didn’t have a home to invite people over to, and I didn’t have parents to take my friends and me to fun places like to the beach or a music concert like others had.

Did I feel sorry for myself?  No.  I couldn’t go there.  If I had stopped for one second to think about the enormity of what was happening to my life, it would have swallowed me whole.  My life felt more like a Jason Bourne movie, where one thing happens after the next and you can’t blink or even go to the bathroom because if you turn away for a second, there is something around the corner that’s going to get you.  In many ways, I felt like it already had.

Today’s blog is dedicated to all of the BRAVE young men and women who are fighting for their lives, or a loved one’s life, today.  I want you to hear the Truth – circumstances do NOT define you.  Don’t believe the thoughts or people that tell you they do.  You are not a label.  You are a person – loved by God.  

By God’s grace, you CAN get through this.  People asked me, When are you going to get over your mother’s death and move on?  I was so offended!  If you love someone, you don’t “get over” their loss, but you can get through it.  It’s too much to handle alone.  Seek trusted help to confide in.

There is more to say on how to deal with teen labels of loss and trauma, and on this blog we’re not afraid to talk about it, ask tough questions, or simply admit I don’t know.  This issue is real for a lot of teens, and every single one of you count.  You are important.  You are loved.  Your feelings are valid, and you need to know you are not alone.

<<Check out the companion song to this blog on my Tunes page!>>

Count your blessings

I took a chance yesterday and posted the funk I’ve been in lately.  For the rest of the day, an old truth mulled around in my mind.  When we’re down about something, the way to dig ourselves out of the pit is to help someone else and/or count our blessings.

While looking for an opportunity to help someone, the neatest surprise came my way.  I was in a store visiting a friend who worked there.  I had my kids and dog with me, when the door chimed that a new customer had entered.  I turned to see a young mom, her mom, and her special needs son in a stroller.  My dog caught his eye.

I saw him reaching out for her, so I knelt down beside the stroller, with his mom smiling and looking on, and held my dog near him so they could meet.  She was pleased to make his acquaintance (she’s so good with kids!), and it made him happy to pet her.  A simple pleasure – it totally brightened my day! 🙂

A while later, noticing a napkin lying on my car seat, I fetched a pen from the bottom of my purse, and began writing down the blessings I have received in the last 24 hours.  At red lights, in check out lines, waiting to pick up the kids, I wrote everything that came to mind and heart throughout the day.  In doing so, the heavy load I am carrying seemed a lot lighter.  Even dare I say, doable!

Between the precious friend my dog and I met and my blessings list, my perspective on the day did a 180.  You know, God could’ve been the parent we children want to avoid by lecturing me for how good my life is, how easy I have it, or how thankful I should be.  That approach seems to quickly be tuned out by kids of all ages.  Instead, He gently, tenderly reminded me of all the ways He is working in my life, for my good, while I run my race, by bringing the blessings of the day to the forefront of my attention.

24 hours of blessings:

* I was involved in a near miss between two vehicles – if one had hit the other, the large SUV would’ve slammed right into me.  Thankfully, no harm no foul (other than a near panic attack for me as I was driving our car that is on its last leg and this would’ve done it in!).

* After a trip to the pediatrician yesterday, my daughter, in fact, does NOT have a burst ear drum from screaming too loud on a roller coaster on our trip!

* As of 1:30am this morning, our taxes are done!!

* I have a husband willing to stay up, after a long workday, to do our taxes – yeah!!  Thank you!

* Received news that our beloved, extended family’s flight landed safe & sound.

* A hearty laugh with an old friend.

* When getting the van inspected yesterday, we were surprised that they also washed and detailed it – inside and out – for no extra charge.  Nice!

* Enjoyed a beautiful family walk under sunny, blue skies and a brisk breeze.

* I have the health to take a walk.

* The kindness of two strangers who stopped traffic to let me pull into the school parking lot this morning at the last minute so my son wouldn’t be late.

* Heard my teenage daughter’s favorite worship song on the radio, “How He loves me” by David Crowder Band and thought about how this song sings of God’s loves for us – and that my baby girl knows, believes, and accepts His radical love for her.  Oh, how that warms my heart.

* My youngest son surprised me with a rare, guilty pleasure – strawberry milk.  And, he served it in my favorite blue glass…with a smile…just because he wanted to.

* How glad my dog is to see me after our trip.  She is my shadow and literally smiles at me when I walk into the room.

* My oldest teenage son still comes to me for hugs every day. 🙂

* A good night’s sleep!!

* Read a new letter from our Compassion daughter in Asia and heard how well she is doing.  I love the picture she drew of her family!

* The joy of watching my daughter and our dog play hide-and-seek.  Yes, my daughter really taught her how to play this game and they love it.  Too cute!

* Took a moment to enjoy watching the first chipmunk of the season scurry off with a nut.  Aww.

* Had the privilege to attend mid-week church services without the threat of political or religious persecution or harassment.

* Thanking God for those in the military who, past and present, have given their time, energy and lives for our religious freedom.

* Met with an AMAZING group of women last night.  I am inspired and encouraged by their stories, their hearts, and the beauty of God in them.

* All chicks are back in my nest.

Blessed indeed.  It’s good to stop and give God due recognition for the blessings He gives us every day.  Like my mom always said, If you have the choice to laugh or cry…laugh.  Mom, you were right.

Who needs grace?

Spring has sprung and sports have begun!  Fields don this year’s shade of green, uniforms are fresh and clean, and we load up the back of our van with chairs and blankets and get ready for another season to cheer on our kids.  Before we get too far into the season, however, I am reminded of a conversation I had several years ago with a fellow team mom that changed my life.  Her words come back to me often, not just in the sports arena, but in many areas of life.

Our sons were on a young flag football team together – we didn’t know each other.  During the first practice or two of a new season, it is easy to see how the team will play out.  The more experienced players rise to the top; hardly ever missing a ball, running the fastest, etc.  Everyone else seems to fall into place under them.  This mom’s son was trying so hard, but he was a bit uncoordinated and slow.  The team picked up on his sports weakness.  No one said anything, but the apprehension of his contribution to the team could be felt among the coaches, players and parents.

After practice one day, I was gathering my things when this young boy’s mom said something to me, not directed at me, rather just speaking her thoughts out loud.  She said, “I know my son isn’t a very good football player.”  Her long pause caught my attention.  She continued, “His little sister has leukemia, and she isn’t doing very well.  Our time is spent helping her, but because of football, for one hour a week, life gets to be about him.”

My eyes caught hers, and I told her I was very sorry about her daughter.  It’s all I could say.  Honestly, I was completely unprepared for her words and began to cry as I walked back to my van.  I felt a sting in my mom’s heart for this mom.  A heaviness filled my soul for her ill daughter.  Compassion overwhelmed me for their son, the football player.  To think these children, young children, had to deal with this was simply too hard to wrap my head around.

I applaud these parents who, even though they must have been extremely tired and torn between two childhoods, made their son, and his needs, a priority amidst their suffering.  I’m not a huge sports fan, and really don’t care who wins as long as everyone has tried their best, but after learning about this little guy – he won my heart.

Her words taught me a huge life lesson.  That is, we really don’t know what’s going on in somone’s life at the moment, and grace should be our first response.

Just the other day, while driving through a parking lot, I waited as a very elderly woman ever-so-slowly backed out of her parking space.  Her creeping car blocked the oncoming lane.  The driver in that lane grew so impatient she laid on her horn – loud and long.  I was embarrassed for the older woman who moved as fast as she was able.  A few more seconds and she was on her way, but now she had to deal with being startled (we all were!), and knew someone was frustrated with her.  Was waiting a few more seconds really worth the impulsive horn?

I vividly remember being in the store once and standing in the self-checkout lane.  The other self-checkout lanes were 15 items or less, but not this one.  There was no sign whatsoever.  I had a huge cart full of items we had needed for a while.  Everything from toilet paper to paper towels, soap, cleaning agents, you name it, it was in there.  I stood, zombie-like, waiting my turn.  While waiting, the lady next to me in her self-checkout lane kept eyeing me.  I knew what she was doing.  She was heaping judgement after judgement upon me for being in this lane and not in a full-service lane.  I ignored her.  However, enough time passed waiting that she just couldn’t resist.  She couldn’t hold back rebuking me.  She began, “You know, these lanes are really for people who have only a few items.”  I looked at her and mustered up a half-smile.  Oh, no sir, she wasn’t finished, “It’s just that, um, I see so much in your cart!  People usually don’t use these lanes for that much stuff,” she smugly remarked, peering into my cart. I took a deep breath, turned to her with fire in my mouth and a thousand words locked and loaded, but chose to look away.

I knew that if I had opened my mouth, what would’ve come out would’ve gone something like this, “Ma’am.  I understand you don’t think I should be in this lane.  You think I’m over quota and am wasting everyone else’s time by cheating the system.  Look!  There is no sign telling me there is a limit to items I can have in this lane.  If you must know, the reason I am in this lane is because I have had so many horrible things happen to me lately that I am on the verge of tears.  If a clerk so much as said hello, or asked how I was, I knew I would break down right here in the middle of Wal-Mart and would absolutley NOT be able to pull myself together again.  You are probably wondering what kinds of “horrible things,” so you can measure them against your life and deem if, in fact, they justify me standing in this lane.  Well, since this episode will, at the least, be a critical topic of conversation between you and whomever you choose to tell, and at most cause you to lose precious sleep, me standing in this lane with a cart full of things, I will tell you…just so you can be at rest – if indeed you agree life has been very difficult for me and thus justify me standing in this lane.  I just found out that I have mono.  No clue how I got it, but it’s reeked havoc on my life as a wife and mother.  I can’t even fix dinner.  Do you see the items in my cart?  We have none of these at home because this is my first trip out to get them.  Also, my grandmother died a few days ago – 2 miles up the road.  The woman who was a second mother to me; who gave her own life up to take care of my great-grandmother’s Alzheimer’s illness for 10 years until she died; who took care of my mother – her daughter – and her cancer until she died; who took care of my grandfather – her husband of 50+ years – and his cancer until he died; and who took me in at 16 and gave me a home instead of foster care for three years…yes, this amazing woman just died.  I was also in a car accident that totaled my van.  The hood of my van is currently lying in a ditch some 40 yards from the accident.  I was thrown against the window of my door, and after the dust from the air bag settled I, thankfully, still knew who I was.  This van was paid for, and now we have to spend who knows how much to replace it.  And we can’t replace it because it was older, but in great condition.  Now we will have a car payment which will come from who knows where.  And, I just had to put my cat to sleep.  She was 21 years old, and I’d had her since I was a teenager.  In fact, ma’am, she was my mother’s cat that I inherited when she died.  This cat has been with me through everything, and because of an irreparable health issue, she starved herself to the point of death.  With my small children screaming at me about what a mean mom I am for “killing the cat,” because they don’t understand, I had to drive my beloved cat to the vet, by myself, in the rain, and humanely end her suffering life – or what was left of it.  I could go on.  But, I won’t.  Why?  Because I am too tired, too sad, too sick, and too frustrated with you for making me talk!  I didn’t want to, couldn’t bring myself to, speak to anyone in public, which is why I am in the self-checkout, so I can check myself out!  Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to buy my toilet paper now and go home.”

That’s why I just looked away, biting my tongue and clenching my jaw.  This lady’s chastisement in front of many people left me humiliated.  What was her point?  She just couldn’t give me any grace that day.

Grace.  We all need to receive it and freely give it away.  We have no earthly idea what is happening in someone’s life, and the repercussions  from it may very well appear frustrating to others at times.  Whether on the sports field, on the road, in the store, or wherever, we need to remember to give each other the benefit of the doubt that not everyone has set out to purposefully ruin someone else’s day.  Most times people are simply trying their best to make it through another day.  The world would be an easier place to live in if we continue to remind ourselves that all of us are trying – fly or fail – and a little grace goes a long way.

<<Check out the companion song to this blog on my Tunes page!>>