Reflections after Christmas

This is the first day after Christmas family togetherness, December 30, 2014. The last family members left yesterday morning (the 29^th). We don’t have Thanksgiving Day or Christmas Day around our house. We have Thanksgiving and Christmas WEEK. Not that I’m complaining—never—but I will admit I adapt very well and very quickly to the sounds of silence. This morning I luxuriated in the opportunity to stay in bed until 9:30, and then indulged in two mega cups of coffee. Now I sit in my favorite writing chair and see the limp stockings, the unlit children’s Christmas tree, a ripped open box, and the wads of tissue paper in Christmas bags…and, as always, I wonder how I could have improved our time together.

Once again, I examine my mothering habits. Did I seem relaxed while the family was here? Did I show love impartiality to the grandchildren? Did we have enough “intentional time” when we tried to focus on the real meaning of Christmas? If habits and patterns are more “caught than taught,” did we demonstrate the ones we want to see repeated? Were the emotional needs of each family member met?

            As our family matures, it becomes more complex. At least it seems that way to me. Perhaps the presence of two still-single sons makes me much more sensitive to everyone’s emotional needs. I find it hard to give myself completely to the grandchildren because in some weird way I feel that the single boys still need the comfort and love from me until they find their life’s mate, and I can’t satisfy it the way I can for the little children. I find myself trying to figure out how to do the equivalent thing of snuggling on the couch and reading a book to sons who are adult men who, until they find wives, need the emotional closeness that a mother provides. It makes me sad to feel inadequate at being able to meet their needs.

            I finally realize why it’s sad when I began to take down the tree. It’s like another opportunity to get it right has passed and I failed. Like our big opportunity to share deep connection with one another came and we let it slip through our fingers.

            It’s times like these that remind me a mother never retires. At least I can’t. No matter how much I love my daughters-in-law and our grandchildren, I still feel like a mother hen when our boys are here. I still want to gather them under my own wings, just to make sure they’re safe and loved and happy.

In many ways, Christmas is hard to me. Hard because it’s the opportunity for everybody to feel the presence of the Divine Love that delineates the season, yet so few people are aware of it. Hard because the flurry of activity makes it go by so fast. Hard because I never feel that I’ve done enough to fill everyone’s emotional tank. I feel guilty because we have so much and we don’t share enough with those who don’t. Guilty because I never got out the cards and messages I wanted to send to the many endearing friends we’re blessed with.

As wonderful as it is, Christmas has become a time of emotional overload. So I deal with it the same way every year. I incrementally pack up and put away the evidences of Christmas season—strip the tree, store the nativity set, fold the stockings. I try not to dwell on the closing of the season. It’s hard to burn the tags that say “From So-and-so to So-and-so” because I know that by finding them again next year will bring back sweet memories…but one Christmas of memories is enough at the time.

Time for Tea

This year I hosted the inaugural Granddaughter Tea at the Strange house. I think I’ve now established a new tradition.

For the past 44 years, I’ve dealt successfully (I think) with newborn, toddler, pre-adolescent, teen, college-age, and adult males. Now five adorable new challenges are in my life— granddaughters!

To be honest, I have to admit I haven’t been comfortable with how to manage them. It’s true. Girls are different from boys!

This year, I believe I found at least one thing that works: a GRANDDAUGHTER TEA! What this means is, I get everything I see that shines, has flowers, smells good, looks pretty, and tastes sweet and let the little girls enjoy it. I polished my silver; I pulled out blue and white dessert plates and cups; I found teapots and arranged flowers in them; I used crocheted doilies under the serving dishes; I lit the candles; I played melodious CDs. I sent an E-vite to the other grandmothers and a few close friends, and we had a party!

The little girls were darlings. They sat at the dining room table like miniature princesses. Some wore the paper crowns they had decorated with fake jewels, while others sported the hats they had covered with flowers and other embellishments. Of course I had to wear one as well. They sipped hot spiced punch, ate the delicacies, including the cherry tomatoes and the cucumber slices, and sat at the dining table making polite conversation.

All together, I’d say it was a totally successful event. It’s not what I have done for the past four decades, but it’s a new chapter…and it’s wonderful.

SEVENTY THE NEW FIFTY?

I’ve waited 70 years to write this.

That’s right: today I’m officially 70 years old!

I think most of us get nostalgic on our birthday, especially when it heralds another decade. One of my classmates from high school sent out a group message a few months ago stating that this was our big year. Several responses ensued, but my favorite one said, “I didn’t know 70 would be this much fun!” That’s the attitude I like.

I might have caught this attitude from my mom and dad, but I’ve always thought young. My parents always associated with younger people. Just as they did, we have dear and treasured friends who are in our same season of life, and we love and appreciate them. But more often we keep company with younger ones. That’s partly because our contemporaries are doing the same thing. Our sons and their wives are our favorite companions, and their friends become our friends. We’re just thankful we can relate to them and vice versa.

Several years ago I came across an article on aging in a newspaper. At the time, it didn’t occur to me to document the newspaper source, but I did save the article. I remember making a mental note to myself that when I “became of age,” it summarized the attitudes I wanted to have. I’m going to share what was written in the article, the title of which is “Learned Lady Tells How to Grow Old Gracefully.” Here goes.

• When you are young, find out what qualities in old people are admired by the young. Remember them.
• Never praise the good old days. Live in the present.
• Learn early in life how to be well-balanced emotionally, how to control anger. Oldsters who aren’t upset by unpleasant events, who can deal with crisis wisely, are sought out by young people as sources of advice and strength.
• Keep alive intellectually. This means not only reading and other cultural activities but maintaining a lively interest in all things going on around you.
• Maintain strict adherence to principles of personal hygiene. Neat personal appearance and good table manners make oldsters attractive to the younger generation.
• Lay a groundwork early in life. You can’t be a pleasant old man or woman unless you cultivate these qualities long before you grow old. They don’t come naturally with age.

The last point probably encapsulates the entire message. Grumpy old people were probably grumpy young people at one time. (Wink!)

Well, this post must end at this point. I have to shop for a new outfit (not for me…for Hubby!) to wear for our dinner date tomorrow night with the family—all our sons and wives— and our two-night stay at the Intercontinental Hotel in downtown Atlanta. And I must get my nails done, right?

Altogether, it’s going to be a wonderful, precious, memorable time with my all-time faves!

So, the question still begs to be answered. Is seventy the new fifty? By the end of this year, I might be qualified to answer that!

My Life in Print

Drumroll. Hold breath. Exhale. I’ve done it. I’ve produced a book!

    After talking about it for (literally) about ten years, I became intentional and spend four and a half years going through journals and selecting excerpts that might hold a reader’s attention, adding my present-day comments, and setting about finding a way to get it in print. It was O.J.T. (on the job training) for sure!
    I learned more than I ever thought I needed to know in the process. And an expensive process it was. first the original company I signed with and paid a sizable chunk of money to folded, as in bankruptcy. Yes, that was a setback to say the least. But I didn’t give up. I prayed for renewed sense of purpose and guidance in what to do about it, and the Holy Spirit led me to reassuring scriptures such as these.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust in the lord with all your heart and lead not on your own understanding. Seek His will in all you do, and he will direct your paths.

Psalm 32:8

The Lord says: I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.

Psalm 37:7

Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for Him to act.

Now that the book is available it can be ordered from most book sellers. You can get it here, here, or here.

The Re-TIRED Mother

This is Mother’s Day, 2014.

I’m home alone for now, not one of our five sons anywhere in sight. But don’t be too quick to condemn them. They have given me the greatest gift any children could give a parent. They are living out the scripture that expresses the deepest and most gratifying need of my heart, Psalm 133:1-2:

                          How pleasant, how wonderful it is for brothers to dwell together in unity….It is like                  the dew of Mt. Hermon that falls on the mountains of Jerusalem.

In reading one of the translations of that verse, I found a commentary that says the Greek word for brothers refers to  “children of the same parents.” So although it certainly can apply to members of Christ’s church, it primarily refers to blood brothers. What a thrilling, challenging discovery that was for me. Having unity among our sons is the most comforting, fulfilling state of existence imaginable to me as a mother. It’s also the most difficult to achieve.

Over the years of childrearing, I came to realize that when I was in the midst of conflict, I shut down. Tension increases in my body, and my ability to think clearly becomes muddled. When I studied the temperament types, in material I found in the writings of Dr. Tim LaHaye and his wife Beverly, I realized part of this inability results from my phlegmatic nature. It helps to understand it, but knowing this doesn’t fix the problem. Conflict simply disarmes me. I fretted and stewed over this for a number of years, wondering how to bring it to pass in our family of six (five sons and a dad) highly competitive, opinionated, boisterous males. Conflict and disunity seemed to be the norm for every day.

As with everything else that’s good and ordained by God, I concluded that He would have to accomplish it. First, I had to make sure my unity with Him was established. I looked up “Mt. Hermon” on line and found out it is the highest point of the mountain range controlled by Israel. It is the “dew,” or the rains that fall on this mountain peak that run down and form the Jordan River, which brings refreshment to the whole area of Jerusalem. Spending time in the presence of the Lord is like experiencing the refreshing dew that falls on the mountain. God’s refreshing Spirit falls on us, and we likewise become the “river of living water” to the plains below. But if we never retreat to the mountain and spend time in His presence, we can’t bring refreshment to those below. So, as most things I want to see manifested in others, it had to begin in me.

Next, the boys had to see unity between their dad and me. I had to get rid of subtle—and sometimes not so subtle—attitudes and irritations in my own thinking toward the man God blessed me with to be the head of our family. The boys saw it in us. They’re very perceptive. When it wasn’t there, they knew it.

The climax to this process of dwelling together in unity came as a surprise to me. I saw it happen when the boys read the manuscript I’ve written about our family. I believe God showed us all at the same time that one of His purposes in our family is that we demonstrate to the world the truth that a family can maintain unity, despite differences and clashes in personalities and temperaments. Reading the manuscript for the boys was the same thing I experienced as I was writing it. A backwards journey of our lives. As we retraced some steps, and relived some experiences, we all began to see how God has been weaving a big plan for us as a family. We are compelled to respond to the bugle call to unity. Reading the manuscript awakened a sense of openness and vulnerability among the brothers that was beginning to wane. Their busy lives and entrepreneurial tendencies was driving them apart, but the Lord used this time to draw them back together.

This is the gift I’ve been receiving for the past year. As each of my men wrote his own “Curtain Call” at the end of my story, the Holy Spirit used it to remind them that we were put together in a human family by God’s design for a greater purpose. Over the past several months, I’ve seen our sons reunite in beautiful ways. They’ve been more supportive of each other’s endeavors. They’ve formed business relationships. They’ve had meaningful conversations. And, yes, they worked through conflicts with more respect for one another.

Is this a happy Mother’s Day? Absolutely. Because I’m a happy mother. I’m seeing our family respond to the call that God had for us from the beginning.

P.S. Even after sweet phone calls and loving message from them all, I found out before the day was over that I have a gift certificate waiting for me at my favorite bike shop! They’re so wonderful to me.

What Boys Do When They Grow Up

So perhaps you are wondering…what has become of your sons now that they are grown men? Let me think how to answer that. Hmmm…

When they were growing up, they were feisty, pugilistic at times, competitive, unpredictable, spontaneous, creative, and fun.

Now they are grown men and they are…feisty, less pugilistic, competitive, unpredictable, spontaneous, creative, and fun!

Today I’m going to talk about the oldest one. First, I’ll attempt to describe what he does for work. When people ask me, he told me to say he has a company that offers the ultimate supercar driving experience in a high performance vehicle on a privately owned, state-of-the-art track. This thrill-of-a-lifetime driving opportunity is available to individuals as well as for corporate events.

I think my description of his work is more realistic: he has a company that provides absurdly expensive super cars for thrill seekers to drive at terrifying speeds on a twisted road. And since Burt is the driving instructor, he gets to ride with the inexperienced drivers. Comforting thought.

Let me describe a video he has posted on his Facebook page. (Hint to mothers: unless you’re prepared to handle the disclosures you’re about to read, don’t ever stalk your child on FB!)

The video shows a young woman in the car with the driver. (He isn’t seen, but now you know who it is.) She has on a crash helmet—that fact alone should tell us something—and her head is plastered again the seat from the impact of the g-forces, her long blond hair billowing in the breeze windstorm, hands splayed dramatically across her heart. Her lines are easy to remember: “Oh my gah! Oh my gah! Oh my gah! This is awesome, this is awesome, this is awesome! OK, OK, OK, I don’t want to die! This is awesome, this is awesome, this is awesome…”  You get the picture.

I ignore the window that shows the speedometer of the vehicle my son is driving. I’m sure it’s broken, anyway. No car goes that fast. Right?

I did laugh out loud when the dialogue between them is heard over the roar of the engine and the whine of the car rounding a curve:
She: “So do you drive this car around all the time?”
Burt: “No. It’s my first time!”

Maybe his penchant for fast, high-performance cars is a backlash for our making him drive a super conservative, slow-moving, well-used black Camry when he was in high school. That’s when I learned it’s important to let our child have a little bit of input into what he drove, especially when he already had to suffer the indignity of hauling his four little brothers to school and seeing the little ones safely off to the elementary building.  I still wonder how they all fit into that car. Burt said one time that they looked like clowns at the circus when the impossible number of clowns jump out of a Volkswagen. That word picture did give me a little perspective on things.

Burt has come a long way since those days. He is a most delightful son (as they all are), and a man of character and integrity. However…there are days that I have flashbacks to his boyhood and I wonder, not how he will turn out when he grows up, but rather, will he grow up? The following video explains.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJ8JozVEhps&feature=youtube

That’s my boy.

P.S. He’s the same one I wrote about in the post below. :)

The Age for Spanking

In talking to young moms, I continuously find the question coming up concerning the age at which a child should be spanked. How young? How old?  I’ll pass along two experiences I had as a mom struggling to maintain discipline in our household of boys. This is taken directly from one of the many journals I kept as the boys were growing up.

June 23, 1983

Dear Journal,

Today I had a showdown with our 13-year-old. It must be boredom from school being out, but seems the boys have annoyed one another worse than ever! The main one is the oldest, who insists on harassing the younger brothers. Finally today I couldn’t stand it another minute. I waited until Burt Sr. came home for lunch, not because I wanted him to punish him, but I wanted our son to know his dad was backing me up, and also because I was so exasperated I thought I might hurt him! (Although I wasn’t sure I could; he’s 6’ tall and outweighs me!)

Anyway, when Burt Sr. came in, I asked him to follow me to the bedroom where I told our son to wait. I made our big boy pull down his outside pants, lean over the bed, and I spanked him as hard as I could on his bottom. It has been ten years or so since I actually used corporal punishment with him, but this time his behavior was so juvenile, it was appropriate.

The spanking our 13-year-old got worked. A few weeks later I was leaving his room and I saw a note he had posted on his message board. It said: Remember: Be nice to brothers.  (Note: it was his last spanking.)

As with everything, I learned on the first child. It’s a miracle he turned out well. It was liberating to discover I could expect obedience from even a young toddler. One day as I attempted to change one of our squirmy little boys, he repeatedly flipped over and crawled away with amazing speed. I found myself on the floor crawling after him, grabbing his foot and dragging him back, only to have the process repeated. After several attempts, I realized how ridiculous it was for me, a grownup woman, to be on my hands and knees, trying to catch a stubborn little boy. Several good pops on his bare bottom let him know he had to lie still for a diaper change.

The secret to any successful discipline is to make sure the child knows who’s in charge…and it’s not him.

My Excuses

When our boys were growing up, I frequently started my sentences with, “When the boys are grown I’ll…”

So the boys are grown. Where is all the time I thought I’d have to catch up with things? Things like organizing my clutter drawers, streamlining my closet, putting snapshots in albums (snapshots taken before digital technology), planting a flower bed, alphabetizing my spices (that was a joke), etc, etc.?

Every retired person I know says the same thing: I’m so busy!

Don’t get me wrong. I like busy. I like having something to prepare for, to buy a new outfit for! (Apparently there aren’t enough occasions to justify that one.) But sometimes I neglect the things that really make a difference. Like checking on friends, seeing how they’re doing. The comforting thing is, they are just as busy, or busier, than I am. They’re traveling, SCUBA diving, riding bicycles, designing interiors for people, taking watercolor lessons, writing in journals…and all saying they don’t have enough time.

This year, for instance, I planned to catch up at Christmas. I wanted to send a creative card, complete with adorable picture of my grandchildren (or should I say complete with pictures of my adorable grandchildren?), but things just didn’t get done. We tried. Honestly, we tried hard!

Finally, in desperation to explain, I emailed some of the people I thought about sending cards to, the ones who knew me well, and offered a picture that I thought might explain my failure. It received such positive feedback, I thought I’d share it here. I call it My Reasons for Not Sending Christmas Cards.

Here it is…

My Next Season

This past month (January, 2014) we shared a condo at Fripp Island, SC with some close friends. We didn’t stay together as couples except for one weekend, but the place was available for us to come and go. It wasn’t exactly beach weather. It was sub-freezing some of the time and the wind blew straight off the At,antic Ocean, but we had beautiful sunrises and sunsets visible through the windows, and plenty of fresh seafood available.

But we didn’t go to be beach bums. We actually went to evaluate God’s purpose for us in this season of life. On the way there, my husband finally stated (at 78 years of age) that he was retired. That’s saying a lot for a man who farmed for 50 years, started a successful manufacturing company, reared five wonderful sons, and is still full of creativity and energy. His goal now? To be as close to the Lord as he possibly can, to have a more intimate relationship with Him, and to know Him better than ever before. (Those are his words—I just asked him to articulate them.) He also says he has never felt more contented.

The contentment part is the amazing thing. We’re finding that waking up and not having to be responsible for many things, compared to the past, is a big adjustment. It’s easy to feel purposeless in this season. Our challenge is to stay challenged.

On our return home, we stopped for a meal and our server was a young man, full of confidence and enthusiasm. Burt loves engaging servers in conversation (and anyone else for that matter) and finding out where they are in relationship to the Lord. This young man had his answers ready. We praised him, and reassured him that every season of life is exciting, that we were eager to see what God has for us to do. He was amazed. He said we inspired him more than anyone he had talked to, because he saw so many people (especially older ones) who were cynical and critical.

Our goal is to keep our enthusiasm. As long as we know God has a purpose in our lives, we can. When we lose sight of the reason we’re living, I believe we start to die.

During Christmas, when all our sons were home, we had a visit from a precious woman who helped me in the house when the boys were growing up. She is such a treasure. She’s 94, as firm and trim as ever, mentally sharp as can be. The morning I called her to set up a visit, she was shampooing her carpet. The day before she had been trimming her shrubbery with a machete. I love that woman. As she was leaving our house, I said, “Emma, I want to be like you!” She answered with all the assurance anyone could give, “Why, Honey, you will.”

That’s the confession I want to hear, and the attitude I want to pass on to those coming behind me.

What is Marriage?

Yesterday the Supreme Court made a monumental ruling by striking down a portion of the DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act), which defines marriage as a union between a man and a woman. The very fact that marriage needs to be defined indicates the fact we are confused.

Seriously? We need a  law to say what marriage is?

How in the world did we get to this point?

 Maybe it’s because those of us who understand the earthly union of a man and a woman is the foreshadowing of the relationship of Jesus and the Church (referred to as His “Bride”) have failed to demonstrate the wonder of it all.

On our wedding day, I certainly didn’t understand the roles Burt and I were about to play for the watching world.We weren’t aware that we were to “role play” Jesus and His bride in order that people could see the plan of God from the beginning of creation. What a responsibility! It saddens me to think people have made this a question for debate. I wish they could see the beauty of God’s plan.

The Court’s decision has made me more determined to show anyone watching how precious and unique God’s design for marriage is. Think about it. He arranged it so that ...
(1) we’d be attractive to each other;
(2) a bond called LOVE would keep us glued together long enough to work out our differences;
(3) we’d share an intimacy with another person that excludes all other relationships;
(4) we’d go through this life with the assurance someone cares enough about us to put our wishes ahead of their own;
(5) we’d get rewarded with adorable little people God allowed us to create;
(6) we’d experience a foretaste of Heaven on this earth!

Only God could have some up with a plan so appealing and so unique...but we have to let the world know!

 Because people are confused. People are trying to define, describe, and de-mystify the phenomenon called marriage.

It’s easy to see how the Enemy of the Church ( the “Bride”) is so determined to kill and desecrate the plan. If we could actually show the world what it’s all about, and how good it’s supposed to be, then everybody would want it!

And a beautiful marriage would ultimately point to a beautiful Savior...and people would want Him!

This is why marriage is so hard. We have so much to overcome...like our human nature, for starters. That’s why we can no more have a good marriage without His help than we can get to heaven without Him.

So we don’t need to rant against those who don’t understand.

We just have to show them!

Moms’ Questionnaire

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Renaissance Men

This morning I read a description I thought was appealing: ...young men without any physical defect, handsome, showing aptitude for every kind of learning, well-informed, quick to understand, and qualified to serve in the king’s palace.

Taken out of context, it would delight any mother’s heart (and gratify her ego) to have that said about her sons. There’s only one very large caveat. The king these guys were being chosen to serve was on the wrong side! Some of you might recognize that verse as taken from the book of Daniel, and it describes the four young men, the ones we know as Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who were Jewish captives in Babylon. I didn’t know for years these names we recognize were given to them after they were deported from Israel. (Daniel’s name was also changed to Belteshazzah.) The significance of that is the attempt to strip them of any association they might have with their former identity, to recreate a complete new persona. Their Hebrew names were a reminder of who and  Whose they were.

This is where the rubber meets the road (sorry for the hackneyed expression; just couldn’t come up with anything original at the moment): this is what challenges those of us who are trying to rear children pleasing to the Lord, but living in a Babylonian culture. The indulgent, irreligious culture we are in tries continuously to suck away the values we instill in our children. The mores of our society become a strong attractant to young people, full of potential.

Here’s where we moms have to dig our heels in. First, we have to determine where our allegiance will be: with what pleases the Lord or what gets the accolades of the world. Whose nod of approval are we really seeking?

Reading the description above sounds good to me. I think it could easily describe my sons. However, the choice is before me. Am I seeking the world’s admiration at the sacrifice of the One whose approval really matters?

Sure, I want it all. I want my boys to be sought after, admired, praised. But I have to know the same traits that make them beautiful in God’s sight and reflect His nature also attract the attention from the other side. There’s only one prayer I can pray for them. It’s the description given of those seeking God’s wisdom (Proverbs 3:4), Then you will find favor with both God and people, and you will gain a good reputation, and later of Jesus Christ Himself (Luke 2:52):  He increased in wisdom, statue, and in favor with God and man.  I pray they’ll be respected, successful, even admired...but at the same time, I pray I’ll be willing to give up all those things if it means compromising their identity with Jesus Christ. That’s not easy, and God knows I need courage to not only say it, but to mean it.

Can Anyone Relate?

Some of my readers know I’ve asked moms to respond to some simple questions concerning their issues regarding parenting.

I don’t plan to publish all the responses, but I am sharing this one from a young mom because I have a feeling it typifies the feelings many mothers experience. See if you agree!

A close friend of mine who is a retired elementary teacher said the thing that surprised her was the concern young women have about being good mothers. Her own experience had been with so many mothers who didn’t seem to care. Because I personally know so many young mothers who are devoted to their families, I prefer to believe they are the majority. I pray they are!

Anyway, here is the response I received yesterday:



1. My biggest challenges:
Where do I begin?? ; )  One is my own selfishness. And lack of patience. And laziness. Sometimes I want to be able to do what I want to do when I want to do it. Sometimes I don't want to be a servant - I want to serve myself. Maybe that's taking a nap, going to bed, getting out of the house, having a minute of peace and quiet time, exercising, getting the house straight or having time to get a project done without a dozen interruptions - cleaning out a closet, prepping for homeschool,it may even be a project with the kids or misc, etc. etc. etc. Sometimes (well, most times) I  just want to be able to get something done hassle free. Maybe its even just getting the family in and out of the car. Sometimes I get a drill sergeant, ungrateful attitude because I am being Martha instead of Mary.  I get overwhelmed with all the to-do's. And not just the to-do's, but the how-to-do's. How to discipline your children biblically, how to disciple them biblically (what books to read, what methods to use, what charts and tools to buy, etc.), how to feed their bodies in a healthy way (should we eat organically or locally or paleo or for our blood type??) Some say dairy is bad, but the dr. says to give them milk. Some say too much meat is bad, but the paleo people say eat bacon.  Does it have MSG, is it processed, is it gluten free?, ETC ETC ETC.  How to stimulate their minds and exercise their brain and have them learn in the best way, how to let them be creative. Am I doing enough crafts? Are we going on enough outings? Are they having a fun and happy childhood? Am I letting them watch too much TV? The list goes on and on. 
Then, there is the whole helpmeet role. Am I giving my husband the time and attention he needs? Am I helping him as he needs to be helped? It's hard to save energy for him when I have to care for the children - and the one growing inside too.
Constantly wondering if I am measuring up... If I am being the wife and mama God wants me to be... 
Are my kids going to like me when they grow up? Will they still want to spend time with me? Am I taking them for granted now?
My Marthaness sometimes causes me to speak harshly to them and I HATE THAT. When I do that, that is when I feel like an awful mama. It is my biggest cause of guilt as a mama. Do I like to be spoken to like that? No. Do I want them to speak to others like that? No. But why can't they just do what I ask when I ask without causing me to get frustrated and harsh? Then I think, "Well, of course if I wasn't ever lazy about spanking their little hinies and I was perfectly consistent in discipline and spanking and never raised my voice, then they would obey, so really it's my fault."

2. Biggest Concerns:
This crazy, vulgar, vile, evil world and raising kids in it. Also, my shortcomings as a person, even as a Christian, and a parent and how they will affect who my children turn out to be.

Does anyone relate?

Momspeak

In response to the request for “mommy comments,” I’d like to share one with you:
My servant attitude sure has been challenged recently. Especially with the addition of another little one with so many "needs". I have even caught myself rolling my eyes when a little one dares to utter the word, "Mama". I know alot of my attitudes are from lack of sleep and the constant "neediness" of being a mom. Trying to adjust/correct my 'tude,  but also trying not to beat myself up during this season of my life. It's all a balancing act.........but that has left me wondering, does it ever balance?

 Sometimes I wonder the same thing...and I’m a grandma! Since we’re into true confessions here, I’m sharing an email I sent several months ago to the girls I’ve mentored for the past four years. It was an honest moment.


Girls: I want to clarify something I said this morning: I felt really convicted when I got home about my comment regarding not enjoying my little ones! That was so LAME! I should never have said something that diminished the awesome, amazing, marvelous blessings that God entrusted me with, both our children and our grandchildren.

I realize now that what I should have said is how much I dislike MYSELF some of the days that I am with little ones...my lack of self-control, my impatience, my ingratitude to God for precious, healthy children whose lives I have a chance to help mold. I'm so ashamed of myself. Please forgive my for being too transparent. (I prefer for you to think I'm perfect. )



Chuck Swindoll said in his book entitled Parenting, “Guilt is a by-product of mothering.” With that thought in mind, I want to share a blog that summarizes the attitude we should all adopt as mothers. Here it is:


http://www.theblazingcenter.com/2012/10/dear-moms-jesus-wants-you-to-chill-out.html

Carry on, Young Moms! You're the best!!!

Hello You Moms!

This is a good time to let you all know that I’m finally doing what I’ve talked about for at least ten years: I’m writing a book! It scares me to say that because, oddly enough, I feel like a poser, not a writer. Somehow it seems a person isn’t a writer until they have name recognition and a platform.

Here’s where you come in! This is the beginning of  exposing my desire to connect with other mothers...particularly young moms who struggle with some of the same things I did as a young mom. I've had the privilege of mentoring numerous young women over the last 10-15 years, and I find many of the same concerns common to them. Years ago I read a quote in a women’s magazine that said, “A woman can stand anything, as long as at least one person knows what she’s going through!”

I think that’s true, and I think it applies especially to parenting. The truth is, most women feel isolated  in their motherhood endeavor. Every mother I know, who wants to be the best she can, struggles with feelings of guilt and inadequacy, regardless of her child’s age.

My thinking is, if we have an on-line dialog (a blogalog?) about our concerns as mothers, it might be helpful. I chose the blog rather than another social networking system so that anyone who wishes to can remain anonymous.

So, how about it? Wanna talk about your issues, your challenges, and—although I hate to say the word—your worries?

Your thoughts?

Just so you know, the idyllic photo you see has nothing whatsoever to do with the subject of this post. I just thought you’d enjoy seeing what I'm seeing from our back patio as I’m thinking about what I want to say. I might never move from this spot!

Looking at the back yard.

Do-overs

This morning I realized that there is something comforting about returning to the Familiar. I discovered this in an unexpected place: looking for a recipe in an old cookbook that belonged to my mother. As I searched the index for a very basic recipe, I found myself re-living memories that had been forgotten, and as I did, I felt my blood pressure dropping and the feeling of slipping into a comfortable spot coming over me. I found myself attracted to the recipes which began with the words “old-fashioned,” such as “Old- fashioned Boiled Custard” and “Old-fashioned Peach Cobbler.”

It was the same feeling that came to me when I visited the house where I grew up, referred to in Southern vernacular as the “old home place.” Going inside the house provided me with a therapy that I didn’t know I needed. It was like discovering that some things were right where I’d left them. Yes, the house did look somewhat different. The old kitchen had become the new laundry room, and the long enclosed porch is the now the kitchen/keeping room, complete with modern appliances and a comfortable sitting area. (Why didn’t my parents think of that?). But the atmosphere was the same peaceful one that had always been there. Somehow knowing that some cosmetic work and a facelift had not destroyed the personality of the house, just made it more appealing, gave me a sense of comfort as I left. I smiled to myself as I drove away because I could hear my mother’s words ringing in my memory, “Hold on tight when you come down the stairs.” I remembered how I had been annoyed growing up because it made me feel like a child. Today, I could face the fact: I was a child at that time…and a very happy and secure one.

It also made me realize how deeply engrained childhood memories are. What a wonderful thing when those memories are good; what a tragedy when they are not. The young couple in the house now has a new baby girl. I pray she has the same sense of love and safety that I had. I thought about my own children, who are now grown men. I know they have good memories. I also know there are probably some bad ones that I might never hear about. Hopefully those have been resolved if necessary, and the feeling they get as they drive back to their “home place” evokes good emotions. Everybody needs to experience a place of peace and security and unconditional love.

There are a lot of things that lend themselves to “do-overs.” Houses, yes; manuscripts, yes; sometimes even faces. But childhood doesn’t allow repeats. As Thornton Wilder so eloquently demonstrated through Emily, the main character in his wonderful play, Our Town, we can’t go back. Knowing that challenged me as a mother when our sons were growing up, and maybe motivated me to make good choices at times when I was on the verge of making bad ones.

I might have some “do-overs” at times, but it won’t be my family. Thankfully I don’t feel the need.

Last Day at the Beach

Tomorrow ends our month-long escape to the beach. We haven’t actually stayed here the entire month; I have been back at home twelve of the 28 days; Burt has been back twenty! However, we both have done exactly what we wanted to do. His trips home have involved checking on things at the farm (once a farmer, always a farmer), and our trips home together centered around the grandchildren. (I’m not complaining!)

 My time here alone has helped me refresh, refocus, and recalibrate. I’m going home with a sense of new direction. I’m resolved to finish my book for our daughters-in-law, and for any other young mothers who wish to read it. I’m also going to write a book for our sons...a bit more personal to them. It’s amazing how, in reading my journals over the years, I see how much I’ve forgotten. And yet...how much I remember. I came across something I wrote several years ago when our boys were growing up, and just because I enjoyed it, I’m printing it. So here goes:

       It’s a perfect morning for sleeping. The bedroom is cool and I’ve found the warm cozy spot as I snuggle under the covers. There is just enough weight at my left side to give me something to nestle against. The smell of coffee comes wafting by me and the sound of a bird’s cheep, cheep is somewhere in the nether land of my dreams. It’s a late Fall morning…I hear the sound of a pick-up truck cranking. I stretch.
      As I force my arm over my head I realize how cold the room actually is and I gradually start to recognize that I what I don’t hear is the usual heat pump noise. I also am becoming aware that I can’t roll over because the weight pressing next to me is a very wet- diapered three-year-old who is trying to get warm. Reality overtakes me as I see that the insistent cheeping is coming from the alarm that is set for 4:45 a.m. and the one responsible for that is driving off in his truck, heading to his deer stand. Furthermore, the reason for the chill is because the heat is not working.
       I’m almost coherent as I struggle against the weight of the covers and the sleeping bundle resting against me. I brace myself for the draft of cold air that is going to hit me as I rise to slap the alarm into silence. It is at that moment that I almost stumble and fall over the two sleeping children who have managed to sneak into our bedroom sometime in the night and set up camp on the floor beside our bed. The six-year-old and the four-year-old are almost indistinguishable from the mound of stuffed animals that are piled around their heads as they slumber in contentment. 
      The rest of the morning rolls over me like a tsunami. Bowls and glasses are everywhere, a pile of hunting gear is in the corner; binoculars, flashlights, caps, and gloves are covering the kitchen counter, and to my disbelief, it is lunchtime and everybody is hungry again! Thankfully, I have done something ahead of time, and I pull out from the refrigerator the pot of chili that was made the day before. By the time this meal is finished, there is not a single clean bowl left. There are saltine cracker crumbs covering the table, but the guys don’t notice because the next order of events is to get to the dove field for a bird shoot.
      I stand at the window and watch them, dressed in camouflage from head to toe, pile in the back of their dad’s pick-up truck, laughing and joking with each other. By this time, there are a few other dads and sons who have congregated in our front yard, and they leave together. The younger boys have elected to stay at home and play, content to have the basketball goal and the yard to themselves without the interference of the older ones. I return to the kitchen to address the disaster left in the wake of their invasion. 
     With the clean-up complete, I’m finally able to collapse in front of the fire and enjoy a few moments without interruption. As I sit, I can hear the sound of happy, healthy children along with the thump of the basketball and the grinding of riding toys’ sandy tires on the concrete driveway, and the pounding of feet as children chase each other around the outside of the house. 
      I know it won’t always be like this: a blend of mud-caked boots at the front door, footballs scattered on the lawn, strewn towels left from half-washed hands, shotgun shells scattered on the floor, shotgun pellets in the carpet, sometimes runny noses and wet beds, but always spontaneous hugs and aura of contentment.
     I’ll miss this one day...

MY FAVORITE PLACE

Today finds me at my second favorite place in the world (the first being the little piece of Paradise we call home): the BEACH. For years I’ve fantasized about spending a month at the beach during the winter. This year, when I found the perfect spot with great off-season rates, my sweet husband (who literally lives to make me happy...and yes, I do know how blessed I am) agreed to come. Many times I’ve had the urge to run away, to get free from exhausting circumstances, or just the challenges of the day’s demands, but this time it was different. This time I felt the unrelenting desire to come away to be alone with the Lord. If I were not married to a godly man who understands, it never could have happened.

I’m experiencing the magnificence of God’s presence as I sit on the small balcony of our condo, covered by the most beautiful blue sky. The strong winds of the past two days are gone, leaving only an occasional laconic wave in the fans of the palm trees.

I couldn’t sleep soundly last night, so I got out of bed at 4:30a.m., put on my headset and listened to worship music. I was so blessed. I felt like the voice of the Savior was whispering in my ear. This morning, He showed me what He wanted me to see.

On the road in front of the condo is a bike path, well used by all ages. I recognize a couple of joggers from earlier in the week. The cyclists are reveling in the beautiful weather and the soft breeze. All styles of bikes go by: narrow tire touring bkes, old-style cruisers, hybrids, even 3-wheelers.

Then I saw it: a tandem bike. In front was a little girl, probably about 10 years old.Wearing a bright pink wind breaker, blond hair waving beneath the bike helmet, she pedaled confidently. Behind her rode her father. His towering body loomed over hers, their strides in perfect sync. The little girl couldn’t see her dad behind her, but he was the force propelling the bike forward. In a flash, I saw what the Spirit was showing me. I was like the child on the bike, working my legs and enjoying my ride. Jesus was the Man behind me, providing the momentum and doing the work. For several hours I’ve comtemplated that picture. Riding my bike in tandem with Jesus.

I’m at the stage of life that causes me to look at the abilities of youth I’ve taken for granted: physical capabilities, years ahead to accomplish everything desired, assurance of bring equipped to handle all challenges. Now I was beginning to wonder if those things are slipping away from my grasp. There exist in their place some pains and discomfortants, some doubts about handing new challenges in life. The tandem bike is my sermon and my promise. Regardless of the situation, Jesus is promising me He’ll be the force behind me. I won’t see Him, but when the hill before me seems too steep to climb, I’ll make it, because His power will be the reason.

Permission to Retire

This morning I’m reflecting on an event I attended last night: my 50th high school class reunion. Gathered together were 60 sixty-somethings. (Some of us tried to change “sixty” to “sexy,” but it was hard to pull it off!) Instead we repeated “you look so good!” without adding the implied “...for your age.” Truthfully, it was good to see everybody at approximately the same point in the race. We all know how old we are;why pretend? I was amused at the responsibility we assumed for granting one another permission to enjoy this stage of life. Several times I overheard, or participated in, one of these conversations: “I’m ready to do some traveling...see the world.” “Well, you should!” Or... “I’m done with travel. Seen everything I want to see. Ready to watch it on the Travel Chanel.” “I don’t blame you! Stay home and rest!” Or... “I want to do something funky with my dining room. Like make a light fixture out of old mattress springs!” “Why don’t you?” Or... “I have a house full of furniture I’ve saved for my children, and none of them want it. I’m ready to dump it all and simplify my life!” “And you should! Why hang on to things?” Or... “Where are the antique stores? I love collecting memorabilia.” “Yes, we need to cherish the familiar.” You get the idea. It’s like we need to give each other permission to do whatever our heart is telling us. At one time I felt challenged to do what others my age did: exercise, travel, paint a picture, take up ballroom dancing, garden, etc. Now it’s okay if some of those things simply aren’t “my thing.” It’s okay if I want to linger in bed on Saturday morning, even when the plants need watering and the suitcase from my last weekend trip needs unpacking. When I get up and go with my husband to clean spider webs from the dock, it’s okay to come back and sit for a bit and do nothing. When I sat to put these thoughts down on paper—that is, computer— the cat wanted to settle in my lap for a long nap. I shooed him away because he made me lazy with his warm, furry body curled into my belly and his sonorous purring lowering my blood pressure. Suddenly, I realized something. It’s easier to give someone else permission to do what they want than it is to do it to ourselves. I’ve lived sixty-something years doing what needed to be done, meeting deadlines and others’ expectations. So now, if I want to lie on the couch for a while, blaming the cat because I haven’t checked off everything on my list, so be it. And I’ll bet if I share this notion with one of my classmates at tonight’s function, somebody will give me permission!

This morning I was gazing out the window of our sunroom in a languid Saturday-morning mood when something caught my attention-- the reflection of a doe at the edge of the water at the pond. As I focused on her, a little fawn came scampering out of the woods and ran up and down the bank, cavorting around. It reminded me of a scene last night when Burt and I met our son and his family at Bass Pro. Our 3-year-old granddaughter doesn't know how to walk; she only knows how to run! (At least that's the way it appears!) I took her to use the restroom and on the way had to apologize to four people she almost collided with. She delighted in having wide aisles with shiny floors to barrel through. My grandmother instincts kicked in and I thought how dangerous it would be if she chose to run across the parking lot when we left. "What's wrong with holding my hand?" I wondered. Thankfully the parking lot wasn't an issue because her parents trained her to wait at the curb, but seeing the little deer this morning gave me a fresh picture of youth and the exuberance of being high on life! The mother deer was placidly sipping water from the pond, yet alert to any suspicious movement or sounds. Her baby reveled in the freedom to cut loose and play. Isn't that what God wants us to do? If we truly lived in Psalm 91 mentality, wouldn't we be enjoying His peace, knowing His presence and awareness of us is covering us continuously? My prayer this morning is that I learn how to embrace the Presence we have with us at all times. Thanks for being my outlet this morning. I just had to get this written and for some reason, I wanted to share it with you...whoever and wherever you are!