Category Archives: Family life

Untangle the web of lies – What a teenager won’t tell you

As I prepare to speak to teen girls about brutal lies and cultural myths that we get so easily caught up in, writing about some of them on this blog has really helped me organize my thoughts.  I hope it has been beneficial to your journey as well.  Revisiting memories has been understandably painful at times, but it’s also been a huge blessing to see just how far God will go to rescue someone; that everyone is valuable to Him; and sticking through the rough times reaps beautiful blessings on the other side.

Two cents.  That’s all I have in my pockets today.  I want to offer my two cents with some tips that may help smooth some rough spots with teenagers when life gets hard.  I am not a trained professional.  My opinions are based on my experience, what I’ve learned in college and as a volunteer.  What works for some may not work for others.  Always consult a qualified professional before making significant changes in a teen’s life who has suffered loss.

* When dealing with a teen who has a sick or dying parent, don’t take I’m fine as an answer.  Certainly don’t push the teen to talk, but understand that those two words have little to no value.  If you hear them, let it be a red flag that you may want to follow-up on.  Sometimes they may not be up to talking, but they can also be testing you to see if your inquiry to their well-being is genuine or if it is really just to ease your own conscious.  Don’t ask them how they are doing.  How do you think they are doing?  Instead, ask how they are holding up.

* Familiarize yourself with the 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.  Website of grief stages and their explanations.

* Understand that everyone grieves differently.  People should never compare grieving!  We are unique, as are our experiences and how we process them, and it is completely unfair to place our own expectations on someone else.  Judge not – it’s like kicking them when their down.

* Understand that the first 12 months are extremely important in grieving.  This doesn’t mean we count the months beginning in January, it means 365 days from the day the parent died.  Think about it, there are so many things that happen in a year (holidays, school events, social events, big and small moments in life that surround a particular date or memory), a full cycle needs to be lived out in order to understand life is never going to be the way it used to be.  Quirky family traditions for April Fool’s Day may change, first-day-of-school dinner may not happen, you know, family stuff – it’s all different now.  Be patient with the teen as they try to live through a year of firsts so they can begin to find a new sense of normal.  Yes, a full year.  I believe productive grieving can take place during that year, but life needs a year just to walk through each of the 365 days of being and feeling different.

* The Hospice website is an excellent resource for the whole family.  They offer priceless words of wisdom for teens, as well as a host of other resources for children, parents and caregivers.  I highly recommend this site for caregivers, family and close friends.

* Listen.  Listen.  Listen.  Don’t be so quick to offer a resolution, solution, or fix.  Just listen to them.  It’s amazing what can surface when a teen actually gets to have our undivided attention.

* For trusted friends and family – be there.  You don’t have to say anything, just offer a presence.  Teens who have suffered significant loss are waiting for everyone else to leave, too.  Find something the teen likes to do and offer your time with permission (i.e., watch sports, walk the dog, go to the movies).

* You can’t replace the loved one they’ve lost, but you can help ease the pain.  Remember back-to-school shopping I wrote about?  Perhaps offer to fill in a gap when the teen doesn’t know how to ask for help.

* Make your home a safe place.  Teens go through a lot every day – even on the best day hormones are raging and emotions can be unpredictable.  In a safe environment (not just physical, but emotionally safe meaning they feel free to be themselves without judgement) the teen can drop their guard and may just open their heart.

* Say the name of, and talk about, the parent who died.  One of the most painful aspects of grieving is that the loved one becomes invisible – as if he or she never existed.  People are either too uncomfortable or too worried they’ll upset the teen if they mention the parent, therefore nothing gets said.  For me, it was literally years before anyone ever said my mom’s name (my own family never even mentioned her).  It was an old friend of my mom’s who approached me.  She didn’t know that my mom had died.  This friend asked how she was doing.  I told her, and the friend immediately began apologizing up and down.  I interrupted her and said, Thank you.  You’re the first person to say her name to me in years.  It’s feels good to hear others remember her.  It was about 5 years after my mom died when I realized I had forgotten what her voice sounded like.  It absolutely devastated me!  I cried and cried.  Their legacy, memories and media (photos, video) are really all we have left.  Give the teen the chance to relive good memories when they’re ready.  It can be very healing.

* Offer to help.  There may be large needs you may or may not be able to help with, but I can promise you there are a myriad of small needs beloved friends and family can help meet.  If the teen is in sports, drama, music or any performance activity, offer to attend.  Empty seats are a heart-breaker.  Remember the teen’s birthday with a card or phone call.  Remember the deceased parent’s birthday with a card or phone call.  Offer to help rake the leaves in the fall, plant flowers in the spring, or go for ice cream on a Saturday afternoon.  Just being there is so helpful.  Offering a hand and sharing a smile in the everyday moments of life make the big milestones (holidays, anniversaries, birthdays, etc.) more bearable.  If everyone close to the teen each did one thing, just think about what a difference that would make to remind them they are valuable, loved, and remembered.

* Consider letting the teen make some decisions about their life when appropriate.  One of the best gifts my grandparents ever gave me was the freedom to let me choose whether or not to attend my high school graduation.  I DID NOT want to attend for various valid reasons.  They didn’t push the issue with me.  Today, I still don’t regret it.  Situations are different for everyone, but if a teen feels adamant about something that isn’t earth-shattering or life-changing, at least be patient and listen to their side. Teens in grief may appreciate feeling a little bit of control over their life in times of unrest.  My decision came almost a year after my mom’s death.  Careful consideration should be made concerning the 5 stages of grief and the teen.

* If you have pictures of the parent, scan copies and compose a small photo book for the teen.  Maybe add some short text about a funny story or memory; or what was special about the parent or how they positively impacted your life. People have different roles in each other’s lives. I can only imagine how wonderful it would be to have photos of my mom at work, out with girlfriends, etc. in roles other than as I knew her – Mom.  Online printing companies and superstores print these photo books for little cost nowadays.  It may take a few hours of your life to do this, but it will give the teen a lifelong treasure.  Wait for the appropriate time to give this gift to the teen.

* If I haven’t stressed this point enough already, make yourself available.  It may take days, weeks or months for a teen to be ready to talk, share or do stuff together, but just knowing you are willing to invest in their life can help talk a teen down from their proverbial ledge.  In the meantime, keep a watchful eye on symptoms that need to be addressed by a professional.  Offer a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, a heart to feel and hands to help, but know when to encourage the teen to seek professional help.  They are trained in the most appropriate ways to assist the teen to work through their grieving.  Our best attempt at “counseling” may prove to hurt the situation more than it would help.

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

I hope these suggestions have helped shed some light on an issue too dimly lit.  Teens are far too often swept under the rug because adults don’t give teens enough credit that they have thoughts, opinions, feelings, questions, and words that need to purged.  Most teens are profoundly affected by parent loss.  Literally, the teen’s future hangs in the balance of how healthy the grieving process has been.  Research is downright scary for teens who are unheard, ignored, and not helped through every stage of grieving.  It could be the beginning of a downward spiral, or, with proper attention and care, the teen can come through the entire experience with hope, optimism, healing and strength.

Give the teen in your life every opportunity to grieve, mourn, heal and realize their full potential.  They have the rest of their lives ahead of them.  May they experience the abundant life Jesus calls them to in John 10:10 – The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

 

Untangle the web of lies – eating, loss & labels

Hello!  Welcome back!  We are trudging through the waters of the tumultuous teen years on this blog right now.  Whew, I am reminded why adults say they’d never want to relive them again. :O  I’m ready to tackle another cultural lie.  Are you?

You are what you eat.  Isn’t that how the old saying goes?  For all intense purposes, I agree.  Yes, nutritional value plays a huge part in our well-being.  I gave up soft drinks, juice, fried foods and candy (not chocolate :)) eight years ago.  I may splurge for special occasions, but none of those are a part of my normal diet.  So then, why do I struggle with my weight?  Consistently inconsistent exercise is one element, but it’s not the main culprit.

To answer this question, perhaps the old saying should be revised…You are WHY you eat.  Bingo.  This familiar trap is as welcome as a tooth ache or flat tire.  It’s so uncomfortable because I believed that I was WHY I ate for so many years.  It’s something I still struggle with to some degree.

This is today’s lie we are exposing.  It goes back to my post about circumstances not defining us – but do we really believe it?

When my mom was nearing the end with her breast cancer battle, I had no one to help me through the emotional maze and stress of it all.  Not only was I trying to convince myself that she was going to be okay, but I also had eyes in my head that saw she was not.  No one would talk to me about the state of her health.  I warred with myself about this every minute of the day.  Add to that the pressure from school and trying to be a “normal” teenager, a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a friend (to barely a few), and a student.

I seriously think that adults cannot comprehend the stress that teens go through with a sick or dying parent.  Nothing in the teen’s entire world makes sense.  Nothing.

There were two things in my life that I felt were safe zones.  God and food.  Both were vying for all of me.  God was radically pursuing me with passionate grace, mercy and love.  Food didn’t pursue me, but it offered momentary relief from my troubles.

When my mom was still able to eat, I remember one morning before school (I straddled living in two houses at the time), I reached into the fridge to get something for breakfast.  I mistakenly took one of the only foods that my mom could tolerate.  My grandfather said to me, That’s your mother’s.  In an instant, I decided to use this moment as a cry for help.  I didn’t know how to express my need to talk about her, so I intentionally replied, Sure it is.  It all is.  It’s all about her. Wow.  That was really the wrong thing to say to a man who was nursing his dying daughter.  I know I sounded like a brat.  I meant to.  For me, what I said was my huge S.O.S. signal that I was in trouble and needed rescuing.  To him, what I said was solely ungrateful, mean-spirited and rude.  Even in that moment, I understood his reaction.  I would’ve felt the same way if roles were reversed.  I was going for shock value – and got it.  Let’s just say I never used that tactic again.  Actually, I never made another cry for help again.  I pulled away from everyone.  From then on, I internalized everything.

I now know physical bodies are not strong enough, nor have the capacity, to hold all of our emotions, feelings and thoughts.  Issues will find a way of coming out in the name of sheer self-preservation and survival.  For me, I came down with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome), but had no idea it was a real medical issue.  It was a living nightmare.  Mom had just died and I was secretly spinning out of emotional control.  IBS, at first, made me lose a ton of weight.  I was average, okay, maybe holding an extra ten pounds, but soon my clothes were literally falling off of me.  I remember seeing an old friend who hadn’t seen me since before my mom died.  As she walked toward me, her eyes grew huge and she covered her hand over her mouth as she looked me up and down.  I think people thought I simply wasn’t eating out of distress.  No.  My body was blowing up inside and I had no clue how to stop it and was far too embarrassed to tell anyone how sick I really was.

With IBS (and daily migraines!) in full swing, I remember standing in my grandparents’ kitchen one day.  I had drank a half of a glass of orange juice and set the half full cup in the sink.  Remember, my grandparents were from a different era and I truly understood that in my head, but my heart was another story.  No sooner did I set the cup down in the sink, did my grandfather come right behind me, pick up the cup and drink the leftover juice.  He looked at me and reminded me not to waste.  However, I was also living with my precious grandmother who had no idea how to help any of us 0r herself.  So she did what came natural to her.  She cooked.  She offered me food all the time, and my grandfather told me not to waste any.  Ug.  It was the perfect storm.

Then it happened.  One day, I felt a huge hole in my stomach.  I mean, literally, I felt a gaping emptiness overpower me.  Sensing this crossroads, Jesus spoke to my heart immediately and said, I am the bread of life.  Eat of me.  I paused and responded ever-so-eloquently, I have no idea what You are talking about.  Then I picked up whatever was on the counter and devoured the entire thing. Thus the food cycle began.

Food became a god to me.  It gave me something to do.  It kept me company when I was lonely.  Eating was a positive experience (though the IBS that followed wasn’t).  Eating let me put my nervous energy to use.  It was legal.

I am serious when I tell you I understand how people begin addictions to alcohol, cigarettes, sex and drugs.  I get it!   My pain was so deep, ominous, continual and merciless, if it had not been for God’s grace (by giving me a conscious the size of Texas!) I would have done ANYTHING to mask the pain.  I would have drank it, shot it, slept with it, snorted it, smoked it, anything to take the life-draining pain and stress away even for a moment.  This from a girl who had never so much as been called down by a teacher.  I was as vanilla as they came.  Not perfect (ha!!), but I had such an unhealthy fear of authority (thanks to my stepfather) that I had to be as good of a girl as possible 24/7/365 – no questions asked.  The pain was stronger than anything I’d ever felt.  It has been said that people will do anything when hungry enough, I believe the same is also true for emotional pain – no matter how out of character it would normally be.  Praise God He kept me from those illicit things, but I chose food as second best to Him.  I told God once, with food in hand, I know You are better for me.  I know I should go pray or read my Bible.  But that takes energy and effort I simply don’t have.  I want to feel better right now.  Food does that for me. I’m sorry, God.  It’s the way I feel.

God was still my heart’s desire, and I sought Him stronger than ever before, as best as I could, but I had this side-kick shadowing me.  I had a hidden idol.  Food.  I didn’t realize how out of control it had become until one afternoon I laid on my grandparents’ couch watching an old Perry Mason rerun.  I had no life whatsoever, so I logged many hours of television a day (which is why I hardly ever watch it now).  During a commercial, I reached down to grab a soda sitting on the floor.  It was empty.  I leaned over to find another one when I realized a startling fact – in two hours, I had consumed 12 cans of soft drinks!  What I know now about sugar and caffeine, I should not have a pancreas left!  I realized then I had a problem – one I didn’t know how to fix.

Food had become my feel-good friend.  It was my adrenaline outlet.  It was available.  It made me happy for a moment.  But, it was destroying my body from the inside out. Then the weight gain began.  It’s been a struggle ever since to retrain my thinking that food isn’t the answer for: good times, bad times, sad times, fun times, angry times, lonely times, celebratory times, bored times, happy times, sympathy times, and every other time.  What an uphill struggle.

This led to layers upon layers of self-hate because now I had added some extra pounds.  I felt horrible about the way I looked and the way clothes looked on me.  I compared myself with every classmate, stranger and magazine cover.  I hated that I overate.  I hated how I looked.  I hated why I ate.  I hated the IBS.  I hated that I had no control over any of it.  Exhausted, I gave up and gave in to the lure of overeating. And, I had grandparents that had no idea of my struggle and served me food and pressured me to finish the plate every time.

I had given in to every lie that was whispered in my ear.  You’re all alone now. Nobody cares.  You’re fat.  You’re ugly.  You’re pathetic!  You are powerless. You’re weak.  You’re hopeless.  There’s no future for you, so what does it matter?

Without realizing it, I had bought the lie – hook, line and sinker – that my circumstances defined me – I was WHY I ate.  It took years to unwind this thinking.  The Truth?

Yes, I was alone, but NO I didn’t have to be lonely.  The LORD is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. ~ Psalm 34:18

Yes, I had a problem with food, but NO God wasn’t going to give up on me. Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life.  He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.” ~ John 6:35 

Yes, my life seemed like a dead-end, but God is the God of new beginnings.  I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD.  ~ Psalm 40:1-3

Yes, I was miserable, but God offered a comfort deep in my spirit that not even food could satisfy.  May your unfailing love be my comfort, according to your promise to your servant. ~ Psalm 119:76

Yes, all seemed hopeless, but NO it was not.  Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. ~ Psalm 62:5

Yes, I felt like a loser, but God wasn’t finished with me yet!  …being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. ~ Philippians 1:6

Yes, I felt unequipped to fight for my life, but God fights for us!  Do not be afraid of them; the LORD your God himself will fight for you! ~ Deuteronomy 3:22

Yes, I felt like there was no future for me, but the Bible says God has a plan. ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. ~ Jeremiah 29:11

Before people judge others for how they look – their body shape or size; how they dress; or even their hygiene – it helps to look deeper than skin-deep and see if there is something going on beneath the surface.  I was called fat by guys who didn’t even know my name.  And, you know what?  I wasn’t “fat” by scale standards.  I just wasn’t model-thin.  If you are struggling with WHY you eat, I encourage you to talk with a trusted resource.  Food issues like mine (or starving, vomiting, etc.) don’t have to get the best of us.  I’m right there with you on this journey, learning more and more that our souls only find rest and peace in God – not the kitchen.  Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.  ~ Psalm 34:8

<<Check out the companion song to this post 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!>>

Untangle the web of lies – fathers & daughters

I have been given the humble privilege of speaking to high school girls about lies young women believe.  With this task, I must go to the locked parts of my heart and open the door to my past – which is complicated.  Why bother? I’m on the other side now!  I’m married with children, wounds are healed, and life has moved on.

However, there are scores of young women in the generation behind me that are sinking in quicksand of brutal lies and cultural myths.  I have been there and deeply know their pain.  So, with my proverbial flashlight, muck shoes and a rusty set of keys, I’m going to dig beneath the surface of my current life and venture to lessons learned from my past, in hopes of speaking Truth into young women’s futures.

There are numerous books and articles written by professionals on this subject.  I simply want to tell my story.  An average, American girl and the positive and negative effects social culture and family dynamics have on a girl’s self-esteem, confidence, and perceived value.  I’d like to utilize this venue to think through a few things before speaking to the girls.  There will be more than one blog as we tackle different facets of the tumultuous middle and high school years.

(Deep breath) Here we go…

My mom’s second marriage began when I was four years old.  Her first marriage ended when I was one, and my birth father gave me up for adoption.  As a result, my stepfather adopted me.  It’s strange. Even at four, I knew I was merely baggage being brought into their 7-year marriage.  I felt left out, unwanted, and more of a burden to my stepfather than anything else.  My remedy?  Fly under the radar from day one.  Be as good of a girl as I could be, and although he might never like me, at least there will be peace in the house.  I may not have known those kinds of colloquiums per say, but I certainly understood the feelings associated with them throughout my childhood.

There is a ton of research today on the effects fathers have on daughters.  About a year ago, I was driving alone in my van when I heard the radio the program “Focus on the Family.” A psychologist was talking about what happens when a daughter (or stepdaughter) doesn’t receive affirmation and validation from her father (or stepfather) in her formative years.  There I was, just driving along, minding my own business.  As I listened to the discussion, I burst into tears and nearly threw up on the steering wheel – my reaction was instantaneous and reflexive.  Wow.  I didn’t see that coming.  A flood of emotions overtook me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  Every single point the psychologist made was spot on.

A woman can hear every day from others how beautiful she is, but if she never heard it from her father – there is a chasm inside her psyche that remains void.

To this day, I have never heard from my birth father, stepfather or grandfather (all now deceased) one single word that I was pretty, much less beautiful.  If they thought it, they never said it, and I wasn’t given any reason to believe this was the case.  I cannot tell you how much damage this did to my self-confidence and feelings of worthlessness.

When I draw my last breath, I will have lived my entire life without ever having heard those words from the influential men in my life.

This sent me spiraling as an adolescent and teenager to try to convince others I was beautiful so I could hear those words from them.  I just needed to hear it from someone.  That’s my point.  If a father (or male influence) doesn’t tell the daughter in his life she is beautiful (both inside & out), she will look for that affirmation elsewhere to fill this innate need in her development.  It almost feels like a rite of passage into womanhood, and when it doesn’t happen, the girl never truly feels like she gets to grow into a woman.  Rather, she is stuck in a twilight zone of being and looking like a woman, but still seeing her reflection in the mirror as an awkward adolescent.

I remember one time in high school, my friends (a guy and a girl) and I were going out for the evening.  I rode in the passenger seat while he drove.  My other friend rode in the backseat.  When we reached our destination, I pulled the sun visor down to look at myself in the mirror.  I frantically checked everything in the minutest detail – hair, jewelry, make up, clothes, my smile – everything.  He turned to me and sarcastically said, So…are you going to date that mirror?  Ug.  His lack of tact, inferring I was staring too long at myself, was more salt rubbed in the wound of a girl who was desperate to hear that she was pretty so she didn’t need to scrutinize herself in the mirror of some guy’s car.  To hide my embarrassment, I laughed (with him, I might add) and quickly flipped up the mirror and bolted out of the car.

Fathers (or male authority figures) wield much influence over daughters.  This can be done the right way or the wrong way.  God forbid the father make fun of or be rudely critical of his daughter.  If so, he has set her up to be a candidate of marrying someone that will do the same to her, and the girl – now woman – will find it nearly impossible to realize her full sense of beauty if she’s always told she is the opposite.

Some dads may not be harmful with their words, but may be mute (as such was my case).  This defaults to the girl that she, indeed, is not beautiful.  Girls are hard enough on ourselves in the middle and high school years.  If we are not hearing the opposite of what we are already telling ourselves (I’m fat.  I’m ugly.  I’m a loser.  I’ll never measure up.), then the silence from father figures will validate these lies.

But, if a father pours words of affirmation into his daughter, she is validated from an early age.  This, in turn, boosts her self-confidence to follow her dreams, take healthy chances in life, and be beautifully independent from needing unhealthy approval. She can approach the world without having to date a mirror to feel accepted.  Yes.  A father’s influence is that powerful.

Fathers need to own their responsibility with their daughters.  They need to make time as often as possible to tell their daughter she is beautiful inside and out.  Even if things aren’t perfect between you two (life seldom is), but the relationship is open to communication, find something beautiful about your daughter and say it to her.  Preferably face-to-face, but if that’s not possible, text, email, voicemail, Facebook, IM, Skype, Oovoo, written mail, hire a plane to write it in the sky, or however it can be done – just do it.  You have the opportunity now to set her up for success for the rest of her life.  Take it.  As I have found out, life is short and you may miss your chance.

<<Check out the companion song to this blog on my Tunes page and book recommendation on my Books page!>>

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

(A note to parents: Sons need to be reared from the beginning to be kind, in word and actions, toward their mothers and sisters.  When a boy has grown up finding the good in their mom and sisters, it will be more natural for him to find it in his wife and daughters.  Start now teaching sons what true beauty is, and to not miss an opportunity to tell her so.  This is one thing I love about my boys.  They are tween and teen and tell me on a regular basis how beautiful I am.  They notice my haircuts or maybe a rare, new outfit, but more often they tell me how much they like my jokes, admire how hard I work, and that I have, according to my youngest, the “bluebirdiest singing voice.”  They are learning to dig beneath the superficial surface of physical appearance and uncover the priceless hidden treasure of inner beauty.  How do they know this?  They see their dad example it.  And, I’m quick to tell them how much it means to me.  It’s never too early or late to start.)

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.

Old House, New Heart

Ephesians 3:20-21 – Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.

What a week!  Our family has really enjoyed getting away and seeing dear family and friends.  There were many joys experienced and memories made, but one in particular stands out for me.

We had just gotten into town, and I wanted to show the kids my childhood home.  We slowly drove down the familiar street, looking at all of the houses to see which ones were original, remodeled, or torn down and replaced.  My house was at the end of the street.  I was nervous to look.  After my mom died, I had no dad to care for me, so legally I had to move out of my home because I was a minor.  From there, the house fell into disrepair by renters; then it was sold and was completely let go.  It has been years since I had seen it, but the last time I did it was downright painful to look at it.  Shudders hanging on by one nail, paint chipped off, the yard a disaster of weeds and dirt.  There was nothing at all maintained, much less nice, about my old home.  I could only imagine what the inside looked like.

My mom’s words from over two decades ago haunted me, This is the only house I will ever own.  I plan to live here until I die.  Her terminal illness cut that vision short, but I knew what she meant.  Now, her azaleas were gone; her one beloved rose bush was gone; the quaint white ranch house with black shudders was a wreck.  It would’ve broken her heart.  I thought about the “weed parties” she made us do as kids pulling up weeds for hours; roller skating on the driveway; garage sales under the carport; Sunday afternoons on the back porch reading the paper in her church dress and house slippers; first-day-of-school pictures at the back door; birthday parties; watching the royal wedding live on her 13” color television in her bedroom; my great-grandmother’s vintage furniture in our living room; Christmases; Saturday morning cartoons;  trick-or-treating; Friday night pizza; good times with friends and family – our house was truly a home.

The last time I saw it, it was in shambles.  Although it is just a structure, its poor estate gripped my heart because it was quite symbolic of my life in the aftermath of the extreme continuum of overwhelming tragedies that befell our small family.  Parked outside several years ago, I simply stared at a house that reflected so much of how I felt for years – unloved, forgotten, left behind, rejected, uncared for – a mess on the outside and vacant on the inside. Indeed, the world had moved on, but I was stuck with a heart and life in disrepair…just like my old home.

Through the years, however, God redeemed my life.  He gave me a faithful, loving husband, amazing children, and friends that are nothing short of hand-picked by Him for me.  I put in a lot of homework to grieve and move to the next season God had prepared for me.  It was hard work.  Really hard.  God put just the right people in my path to help me through a maze of mourning, and little-by-little the healing began.  Today, and for many years now, I am healed, whole and am fully embracing the abundant life Jesus spoke of in John 10:10.  I’m in a better place than I’ve ever been in my life, and I have often thought of my old home and wondered if it, too, survived.

Last week, my family warily drove toward my house.  My heart pounded and palms sweated.  Could I handle what I was about to see?  I had no idea.  We pulled up to find a delightful surprise!  It looked great!  It had a fresh coat of paint, shudders hung proudly, new roof, new fence, new driveway, and cut grass.  The old pines were gone and landscape beds were healthy and blooming.  I got out of the van to take a closer look.  My husband took my picture in the front yard.  I smiled as I told the kids about Mom’s rose bush and azaleas, where I roller skated, and named the trees in the backyard that we could see peeking over the fence (I gave our trees names when I was a child).

I took a deep breath and stared at the door.  It was the same red door with fresh, glossy paint.  I turned to my husband and said, I have to.  He knew what I was talking about because he knows me that well.  I have to knock on the door, I said.  Go for it, he encouraged.  I walked up the steps to the door.  The kids and he followed behind.  Ding dong the doorbell rang.

A young mom cracked open the door, looking wary at five strangers on her front stoop.  A young girl hid behind her leg, quizzically peeking at us.  Hi, I began with a big smile.  You don’t know me, but I used to live here. I grew up in this house, I explained.  Oh, she said, a little taken aback.  I just wanted to tell you how beautiful your house is.  The last time I saw it, it was in disrepair.  It’s so great to see it cared for and loved.  The little girl stepped forward and invited us in.  I politely pretended not to hear and just smiled.

We heard a man in the background mumble something, and the young mom surprisingly said, My husband said you all are welcome to come in.  I nearly jumped for joy!  But, I held my composure, Are you sure?  I know it’s dinnertime I said as we smelled food wafting from the open door.  Yes, we’re sure, she replied with a smile.  Thank you so much!  I said eagerly.

She opened the door and we stepped inside.  It was the first time in what felt like forever since I had walked into my home.  It was very different.  Walls were changed, an addition on the back, new kitchen, but it felt quite familiar nonetheless.  They let us walk through every room, and I was able to tell my kids which rooms were which – including my old bedroom.  Although it had changed inside my heart’s eyes saw it just the way it used to be.  This is where the Christmas tree went.  This used to be a back porch.  There was a door here.  I had so much fun reliving the memories.

I was aware of their dinner waiting on the table, so we didn’t stay long.  But, we had great conversation with the new owners about the history of the house.  I filled in historical gaps, and so did they.  Together, we painted a complete picture.

Complete.  That’s exactly the way I feel.  Not only did I get to see the outside of my house beautiful again, the inside was as well.  In fact, it looked even better than before.  The mom apologized for seeming standoffish at the door.  I reassured her that our spontaneous visit was unusual.  We made new friends that day.  Ironically, she said, It’s funny.  I never ever answer the door.  I don’t know why I did this time.  I know why.  God planned this divine appointment.

I got the closure I have looked for all these years.  The house is a home again.  A young family is filling its walls with new memories and lots of love.

A second chance.  That’s what my house got – and I did, too.  My old house was once a vibrant, fun place to be.  It suffered a huge loss and spiraled downward for many years.  Then, someone came along and decided it was worth something and should not be torn down for a bigger, newer model.  Sure enough, a young family agreed and is taking tender care of it.   That’s pretty much my story… and that someone was God.  He told me I was worth redeeming, not letting life utterly demolish me.  He gave me a second chance with a precious family of my own.

I feel like my home finally got the happily-ever-after that I was granted.

When we began our trip, we had no idea this was going to happen.  Oh, but God did.  Don’t you know He counted the minutes until our van pulled up to the front yard.  I can see it now…God shushed the angels as I approached the front door.  With His hands grasping the arms of His throne, elbows high in the air, and eyes looking downward upon the earth, He leaned forward and said under His breath,  Wait for it.  Wait for it – as the doorbell rang.  Yes?  the mom said from the beginning…God, quite pleased with Himself, sat back with His hands folded on His lap and grinned as He watched everything play out.

Had He not nudged me to ring the doorbell, I still would’ve had the blessing of seeing the exterior of my yard and home being well-cared for, but I would’ve missed the enormous blessing of being able to walk through it and seeing for myself that all has turned out beautifully.  If we take a step of faith (literally!) and ask Him for what we normally wouldn’t dare, who knows – our request may just be granted!

What big thing would you like to ask God for today?  Do you believe He is able answer it?  Are you willing to step out and ask?  God knows best, and He loves giving good gifts to His children.  Step out today and ask.  You just never know what door may open.

Chasing the acorn

My blog is all over the place!  The topics seem disjointed and unconnected.  Well that’s about right, as that is where my head is these days and is suiting for today’s entry.  Have you ever seen the short movie by Ice Age where the prehistoric squirrel incessantly chases an elusive acorn?  He tries so hard, but the acorn is just out of reach, or slips through his hands, every single time.

This is exactly how I have felt recently.  Bug-eyed, frantic, and even desperate for my acorn.   My acorns are different things on different days.  One day it is more time.  If only I had 2 more hours, I could catch up to life!  I would love to have my acorn of long Bible study times where the hours just melt away unnoticed.  It may also be sleep.  Just…sleep.  There are days when I count down the hours until my head meets the pillow once again.  Other times it is an uninterrupted conversation with my husband.  Not email, texts or voicemail; face-to-face time with my man sharing our days, hearts, ideas, and dreams.  Simply laughing together and being totally unproductive.  Ahh.   Or it may be sweet time with my children.  Not “do your homework, clean your room, take out the trash, do the dishes, pick up your shoes, don’t fight with your sibling, you’re wasting water in the shower” kind of time.  I mean tender moments cuddled on the couch asking how their day went.  Laughing over private family jokes after dinner.  Long, slow walks sharing dreams and asking the deep questions of life.  Still other times my elusive acorn is time all by myself, or a full-length conversation with a dear friend (even over coffee – bonus!).

So why aren’t I pursuing the things that are most important to me?  What are the circumstances standing in the way?

Sometimes the circumstances are out of my control.  Unexpected illness, car problems or others’ needs arise that I must handle.  But for the most part, I believe it is a flaw in how I arrange my days.  I think I figure that if I take care of the many little things, then I will have time for the big things.  However, that seldom proves to be reality, because there are truly endless little things to be done.  And, I put more on the day than it can handle.  I get so micro-managed that there is no wiggle room.  Today, for example, I was unavoidably detained trying to get somewhere, and I was running late as it was, and was delayed by something completely out of my control.  I grew more anxious with every second I waited and wound up giving myself a bad attitude and a whopping headache; and instead of attaining my acorn I wound up the one feeling like a nut!  Ha!

This leads me to brainstorm the things I can change.  I can take a few things off my list every day.  What’s left, I can organize into categories:  today, soon, whenever I can get to it.   Simply moving the proverbial peg from today to whenever I can get to it takes a whole lot of pressure off myself to perform above what the day can allow or I can handle.

I can also prioritize what is on today’s list according to my life’s priorities – God, family, everything else.  Hmm.  That would really shake things up!  I can give myself more wiggle room in the day for the unexpected things that seem to pop up at the worst possible times.

The fact is, we all get 24 hours in a day.  If we could bend time and squeeze another hour or two out of it, we’d only fill those up as well and be right back where we began – chasing the elusive acorn.

What’s your acorn today?  Maybe it’s more than one?  Are we chasing only our acorns – or someone else’s?

Everyone I talk with shares the same frustration and exhaustion.  It’s not a woe-is-me conversation, it’s a I’m gonna drop if something doesn’t give kind of conversation.  We must all look like that pathetic prehistoric squirrel – heart beating out of its chest, grabby fingers grasping for the impssible dream of catching, and enjoying, our acorns; panting, sweating, running and getting nowhere closer to our acorns.

Stop.  Sit still.  Breathe.  Breathe deeper.  Let the feeling come back to our fingers and toes.  Heart rates slow down and return to normal.  Mental fog dissipates.  We see things more clearly.  We can pray.  We can think.  We can act – not merely react to life.

The biggest proactive step I can take in organizing my day is, and it’s not a cliché, to give my day back to God.  He’s the one that gave it to me in the first place.  I can seek Him and His purposes, which are far bigger than mine.  When I’ve got my eyes on Him, He leads me down the paths He has chosen for me for these 24 hours since before time began.  Trust, relinquishing control, and faith are welcome traveling companions for the day.  When I seek His kingdom first, He provides some of the big things that are so important to both Him and me, because He has a lot more willpower to say no to the things that really don’t matter – the busy work I get bogged down in – than I ever will.

For the rest of this day, and for the days to come, I will reset my focus on Him, not on the to-do list.  God is the center of contentment – whatever the circumstances.  And smack dab in the center if His will, not mine, is where I want to be.  Try it with me!

Scriptures to think about…

Jeremiah 6:16, This is what the LORD says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, ‘We will not walk in it.’

Matthew 6:33-34,  But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.  Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Jeremiah 29:13, You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. 

Psalm 119:32, I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free.  

James 4:13-17, Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.”  Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.  Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”  As it is, you boast and brag. All such boasting is evil.  Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins. 

Paslm 37:5, Commit your way to the LORD; trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. 

Jeremiah 29:11, For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 

Mark 14:36, “Abba, Father,” (Jesus) said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”

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

Spittin’ image

It was a hot, hurried day.  I needed to get in and get out of the large store quickly in order to meet a deadline.  At long last, I found a coveted parking space.  Pulling in, I looked up and saw a man walking to his car.  I turned off my engine and stared at him.  He never saw me.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of him…he looked just like my dad.  So many different emotions stirred in my heart.  I lost my dad to cancer a couple of months ago.

I simply watched this man load his car and drive away – wide-eyed at how much they look alike both physcially and in their mannerisms.  Seeing this person put my mind back in the hosptial during the last 2 days of my dad’s life.  It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  We brought the kids, though we had many offers to let them stay back.  It was our 4th trip to see him in 3 months – shortening the window with every declining turn of his health.  We received an email from family saying, “Come now.”  We knew this was it.   On a Tuesday afternoon, I threw some clothes together, called my dear friend to take the dog, Bruce literally stood up from his desk at work and left for home.  I ran carpool from school, and in an hour we were out the door and on the highway.

All of us stood around my dad’s hospital bed and tried to think of positive things to say.  He labored with every struggling breath.  I tried to understand the medcial jargon about his condition, but much of it just rolled off.  We knew the inevitable.  I had something else I wanted to talk about with him.

My mom was only in my life for the first sixteen years before she died.  My dad – just the last eight.  It’s a God-story of redemption, forgiveness, and re-do’s.  For now, I will say we’ve had a wonderfully close relationship for these eight years, and I can’t imagine them being over so quickly.

The kids held his hands, maneuvering around the tubes and needles attached to them.  My daughter put on her granddaddy’s beloved baseball cap on her head and it made him smile.  Our first visit with him was pretty good.  He was able to speak a word or two between heavy breaths and could at least mentally track with the chatter in the room.  We stayed until 11pm and were so tired after a full day, a highway’s drive, and several hours of visiting; so we left to find a hotel for a little sleep.  Finally, we found one with availability.  We got to bed around 12:30am and were back at the hospital that morning.

We arrived to find out he had almost passed during the night.  This was a totally different person lying in the hospital bed.  He was much worse.  The kids knew, too.  They kissed him on the cheek, held his hand, and spoke softy to him.  The oygen machines rumbled loudly in the background.  Although some of us were fighting colds, the nurse said we needn’t wear the safety mask so we could spend some priceless face-to-face time with him.

What do you say to a dying man – who is your dad?  I was at a loss for words as I choked back tears.  I prayed that God would give me the right words.  After my prayer, I looked up and saw my dad’s Bible on the bed tray.  That was the answer.  I picked it up and thumbed through it to any highlighted passages he may have noted.  Indeed, we found some.  I read as many as I could find, standing over my limp, quiet dad.  God spoke to my heart to read Psalm 23.  After reading it, his wife looked at me with wet eyes and said, That is my favorite Scripture.  I didn’t know that, but God did.  He even met her need in that tender moment.  It was precious time.  God is good.

With my husband, kids and one stepsister in the room, I asked everyone if I could have a moment alone with my dad.  They were much obliged.  I sat on the edge of his bed, trying hard to not let his labored breathing get the best of me, and leaned in close to his ear so he could hear me.  This would be the last time I would get to talk with him this side of heaven, thus, I was tied up in knots and didn’t know what to say.  God spoke to my heart and encouraged me to say what I needed to.  So I did – respectfully, to a dying man.

I gently placed my hand on his arm and said, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.  I’m sorry I can’t fix this.  He raised his head, turned toward me, and looked at me with crystal clear eyes.  Though all morning he could not show a repsonse, in that moment, he was all there.  Our eyes caught, mine welling with tears.  I continued, No one knows how long they have on this earth.  But, I need to ask a favor of you.  If you get to heaven before me, will you please tell Mom that I love her?  I burst into tears (something I rarely do) and began to beg.  This is really important.  I need you to do this for me.  Will you promise?  He nodded his head yes.  Thank you, I replied with relief under my breath.  There was something else I needed to say.  I love you.  It was the first time I had ever said it eye-to-eye, with heartfelt sincerity.  He nodded again and mouthed, I love you, too, back to me. He passed away just hours later.

As I sat in my van in the large parking lot, staring at a stranger, the door to my grief began to rattle.  After my dad died, we came back for his memorial service, then it was one thing after the next including Christmas, New Year’s, my husband’s surgery, another family death, pneumonia for one of our children, our car broke down, a back injury for me, etc.  Literally, every day was a new crisis.  We are coming out of crisis mode, thankfully, but I am left with the stark realization that I haven’t even begun to morn his death.  I’m stuck in phase one of grief – shock & denial.  He was sick for a short time, and I am dazed and stunned at the fact that he’s gone.  He was just teaching our children how to give the car a tune-up under the hood a couple of months before.  He was wrestling, being silly, winning in chess, and enjoying Mexican food and hot sauce – his favorite.  Now there is a quietness that can’t be shaken.  His name is still on my emails and on my cell phone.  I can’t seem to bring myself to change them.

Eight short years.  My tears are not over the past and what was, they are over the future and what will never be in this lifetime.  Seeing that man, who could’ve been my dad’s twin, created a fault line in my heart that cannot be denied.  Yes, I will grieve.  It will take time.  A lot of time.  My family history is complicated, but God is the Master Healer and He can make sense of the things in this world that make no sense.  I may not ever understand it all, but that’s okay.  I find peace resting in God’s hands as my dad rejoices in His presence.

Scripture to ponder…

1 Corinthians 13:12, Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.  Now I know in part; then I shall know in full, even as I am fully known. 

Revelation 7:17, For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.  And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

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

Easter Ideas – part 3 of 3

A few more ideas…I’d love to hear yours, too!  Let me know what makes your family’s Easter special.

13. Corsage – This tradition began with my great-grandmother.  Every Easter (and Mother’s Day) the mothers in our family are presented with a beautiful corsage to wear for the day.  Maybe it’s an old Southern thing, I don’t know, but it is a tender way to show appreciation and respect for the matriarchs of the family.  I will never forget after the birth of our first child, I was given a corsage to wear the next Easter.  It felt almost like a rite of passage into motherhood, and every year since I wear them proudly.  Corsages are available seasonally in the floral section of the grocery store, but the florist can also make one using almost any type of flower.

14. Egg Hunt & Bunny Store – Okay, so who doesn’t love an Easter egg hunt?  From little ones who squeal in delight over finding the colorful egg hiding beneath the bushes to the teen who says, “Hey!  It’s free candy!” most kids won’t pass up the opportunity to partake in an egg hunt (provided said older kids are in the respective comfort zone of their family or friends – not at lunchtime at school!).  And for the older ones, a bonus of being a parent is to drive them crazy putting them in places so hard they almost think the free candy isn’t worth it.  Ha!

Between church and Easter dinner, there’s always this lag time when there isn’t a lot of structure.  Some people take naps, some scurry in the kitchen, and some have egg hunts.  It’s just fun.  No, there isn’t really any deep meaning to it, but it’s family quality time and that’s okay!

Here’s how we roll:

Stuff a tons of plastic eggs (that we reuse every year) with something small – like a single piece of candy.  Add to that Bunny Money.  Years ago, my sister and I came up with this idea and it stuck ever since.  We created paper Bunny Money (about the size of Monopoly money), fold it and stuff it in the eggs.

Bunny Money

What does one buy with the money? Glad you asked!  Coupons (we made simple ones on the pc like the money above).  The kids buy coupons for things like: free pass on a chore, you pick dinner, stay up late one hour, iTunes song of your choice, you pick dessert, etc.  Things that make kids smile!  They “buy” these coupons at the Bunny Store set up outside.  It may also have a couple of trinkets (typically something useful for summer like splash balls, diving sticks, etc.  When they were younger it included bubbles, sidewalk chalk, etc.).  These are items that we would probably need to restock anyway, and they see it as a gift – win win!  And, this helps reduce the amount of candy consumed.

15. Easter Garden – This is new to use this year, and we cannot wait to make it!  In fact, we’ve already gathered the elements simply from walking around the house and yard.  What a great idea!  It’s beautiful, meaningful and we will use ours as the centerpiece on the table for Easter dinner.  Thanks to everyone online for sharing this super idea!  There are several versions.  Here are some we found: Easter Garden by Ann Voskamp, Easter Garden 2, Easter Garden 3 and many more on the web or create your very own!

16. Resurrection Cookies – For those who have patiently read to the end, we have an extra sweet idea to celebrate Easter.  One of our all-time favorite Easter tradition is to bake Easter cookies (or Resurrection Cookies).  But wait…they are definitely NOT your typical cookie!  Every ingredient, every step has a special meaning and Scripture to back it.  Don’t be fooled by the ingredients.  These cookies are delicious!  We first received this recipe through our preschool.  The best I know is that the recipe was originally created by Wanda Long and appeared in Home Life magazine.  Bon a petit! Click for recipes: Resurrection Cookies and Resurrection Rolls (different version, very cool and tasty – creator, unknown).

So there is my dissertation of Easter ideas.  Hope they’ve helped get the creative juices flowing for your Easter this year.  If you try any of these, I’d love to see photos!  Also to mention, although we do most of these traditions every year, we definitely do not cram them all in a few days.  We spread them out over a couple of weeks.  Easter shouldn’t be exhausting or merely a list of to-do’s.  I encourage you to take the time to ponder Jesus’ cruxifiction and resurrection, have fun with your family, and spend time with the One who died to give you eternal life.