A Missed Opportunity

This morning I missed a privileged opportunity. I had the perfect time and the perfect place selected to meet the ultimate Life Coach. We were scheduled to meet on the dock of our lake, located about 1.5 miles away from our house. This spot is perfect for meditating, reading, writing, and conversing. The only sounds to be heard are the twittering of birds and the occasional splash of a fish breaking the lake's surface. A peace prevails there, especially in the early morning when the mist is rising from the water and the sun is parting the curtains of the day. A perfect venue for meeting such a phenomenal mentor.

I got up when my alarm beeped at 6:00A.M., but by the time I had stalled in the kitchen making coffee, searched for the car keys, thrown on my sweats (I mean, really, how long should that take), gathered my Bible and writing materials, and... oh, yeah... checked a couple of e-mails, it was 7:15 before I made the arrival at the dock.

I was aware that this was no ordinary Life Coach. I mean, this is the Coach of all Coaches. A I sat there for brief time of solitude and reflection, and I pondered some of the extraordinary promises that He had made to me. For example...

He promised that I would never have a need that He wouldn't supply (Phil.4:19).

He promised me success (Prov. 16:3).

He promised me peace of mind (John 14:27).

He promised I'd have joy (John 16:24).

He promised He'd protect me (Psalm 91).

He promised me strength (Psalm 18:32).

He promised the He would always be there for me (Heb.13:5).

He promised that He would always answer my calls (Jer.33:3).

He promised that I could have an audience with Him 24/7 (Heb. 4:16).

He promised that if I would draw near to Him, He would draw near to me (Jas. 4:8).

His services are free and His love is perfect.

And I missed some prime time that I could have spent with Him. In a short 45 minutes, someone appeared to measure the dock for sunscreens. Then I had to hurry home to dress for an appointment...and the day flew by. I thought about a song that was recorded by Larnelle Harris several years ago. It's called "I Miss My Time With You." The words always bring a pang of remorse when I neglect opportunities like today.

There He was just waiting
In our old familiar place
An empty spot beside Him
Where once I used to wait

To be filled with strength and wisdom
For the battle of the day
I would've passed Him by again
But I clearly heard Him say

I miss My time with you
Those moments together
I need to be with you each day
And it hurts me when you say
You're too busy, busy trying to serve Me
But how can you serve Me
When your spirit's empty
There's a longing in My heart
Wanting more than just a part of you
It's true
I miss My time with you

What will I have to offer
How can I truly care
My efforts have no meaning
When your presence isn't there
But You'll provide the power
If I take time to pray
So Ill stay right here beside You
And you'll never have to say

"I miss my time with you."

Time Alone

My husband just gave me a wonderful gift: Time alone.

I don't know if it's because I have lived with five sons and all the constant activity that accompanies a large family, or if it's that I share almost every waking minute with my precious retired husband, or if it's just my temperament type, but sometimes I think that nothing sounds as appealing as as complete solitude.

Today I heard it officially from the doctor that examined me. She said I need REST. Now granted, this was my eye doctor, a wonderful woman who happens to be a dear friend of mine, but I'll take it as an professional opinion. She examined my eyes, declared that I indeed had a form of conjunctivitis that was viral. She explained to me that this means the body has to deal with it, and if we are depleted and exhausted, the body can't fight effectively. She recommended vitamins, afternoon naps, and some good relaxing books. She said I could say that I had "doctor's orders."

So why do we need permission? Why, tonight, did I feel so relieved when my husband volunteered to take the chicken pie that I had cooked for covered dish supper to our church, and let me stay home with a glass of wine and my pajamas on?

It seems that I never have the luxury of relaxing. I can understand why this would be so when there are little children in the home with all their demands, or when a person has to meet and greet the public every day, but I, being retired, feel that I should be in better control of my schedule. Why do I always feel pushed and pressured to "do" something?

I once heard heard someone say that God never puts more on us than we can handle...but people will! I think that is so true. Not that I can compare myself to Jesus, but I relate to the verse in Mark 1:35 that says, "Very early, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, and went to a solitary place, where He prayed." That was the secret of His success: His time alone with His Father. That's when He got direction concerning who needed healing, who needed deliverance from demons, and who needed mud on his eyes. It was His time of restoration, recovery, and rejuvenation. I first came to realize this when I read a wonderful book by Nancy Leigh deMoss, entitled A Place of Quiet Rest. It is one of those book that I reach for over, and have marked so much in the first copy that I had to get a new one. I recommend it to anyone.

Today, I needed that place of quiet rest. After Hubby left, I sat at our patio table, put on some worship music via i-tunes, and let the late afternoon sounds soothe me: the bird calls as they settled down for the night, the frog chirps, and other contented evening sounds that I couldn't identify.

In the background, I realize that the Christian worship leader on the computer is singing "those that wait on the Lord will be renewed..."

And I wait.

The Bride of Christ

A few years ago I came across a wonderful story entitled "Johnny Lingo's 8-Cow Wife." (It's too long to reprint here, but it's well worth taking time to "Google" it.) Burt and I have been leading a Wednesday-night study at church on the Blood of Jesus, and we came to a lesson that presented the concept of our becoming the Bride of Christ through His shed blood. We wanted to illustrate the high value Jesus put on His Bride by showing what He was willing to pay: namely, His own life. At the same time, we wanted to demonstrate the amazing potential that He must have seen in us. The story of Johnny Lingo illustrated both points.

I lay in bed early this morning (5:00 a.m., to be exact) and contemplated the implications of the word "bride." Why are we not referred to as the "wife" of Christ? I began to think about being a perpetual bride: to have the thrill of the virginal relationship with our Love sustained forever.

I have had the pleasure of observing three beautiful young women become brides of our sons. I shared the excitement as they made selections for their new homes. I loved being a part of the planning and preparations for the big event, and discussing the wonderful discoveries that they expected to find in each other. Then came the pleasure of seeing each girl appear in her wedding gown. The beautiful aura each conveyed as she made her way toward her waiting groom was dramatic, and as always, the wedding guests anticipated that moment when the music heralded her arrival and the bride appeared.

My eyes, however, went to the groom. As the mother of sons, I rested in the joy of seeing their life circle made complete. This was the moment they had waited for. They had prepared a place to take their bride, a spot where together they would create a home. The engagement ring that she wore on her finger assured the young women that this day would come.

This morning, I am absorbing the truth that we are the Bride of Christ. We will never have to be the "Wife of Christ." Every moment of Eternity we will experience the joy and refreshment of seeing our Lover unveiled for the first time. I really can't comprehend how that will feel, and I surely can't comprehend how Jesus will feel when He sees us, the Bride for whom He was willing to pay the ultimate, "8-cow price," accepting His proposal and joining Him in the place He has prepared for us!

Goodbye, Winter; Hello, Spring!

Oh yes, I am ready for sunshine! We have had the longest winter period of rain and clouds and cold that anyone around our area can remember, so the blue sky that is appearing this morning is a welcome sight.

But that's not the only thing that makes this first day of Spring a big day at our house. It is also the opening day of (ta-da!)...Turkey season! That may not mean a thing to those of you who don't live with a household of hunters, but let me explain. That is, if I can.

The thing about hunting is not as much about killing (sorry to say the word...maybe I should use the euphemistic term "harvesting") the big bird, as it is about the camaraderie that goes with it. At our house, it's about the brother-to-brother and father-to-son experience that somehow mysteriously bonds them together in a fellowship that non-hunters like me don't have to experience.

This weekend, our two youngest sons are involved in a bachelor bash for a good friend who is getting married soon. We know how those weekends are: good friends, good food, lots of male bonding and story-swapping. The fact that they were having a good time underscores the importance of this morning, because they left the weekend party to drive home and spend last night, just so they could go turkey hunting with their dad on Opening Day.

I can think of a lot of things that I consider important on the first day that we have had weather warm enough to enjoy being outside: windows need washing, flowers need planting, grass needs cutting...on and on. But this morning, I watched our next-to-youngest son (age 32) open our bedroom door quietly, saw the hall light outline his strong adult body which was housing a little boy inside who was as eager as a kid on Christmas morning. I heard his expectation as he said, "Dad, you going to go with us?"

I felt their 74-year-old dad disengage himself from a cozy snuggle with me and get up to make preparations for the experience. In a few minutes, I felt a light in my face, heard a mumbled apology, and a teasing invitation, "Don't you want to go?" which was code for, "Don't -you-want- to- get- up- and- make- some- coffee?"

As a young bride, I might have been quilted into falling for that hint, but after 40 years of marriage, I can rest in the comfort of knowing that the guys can handle themselves. I was satisfied to let them to share their moment

I settled back in my comfortable spot, welcoming the thought of sunshine, hopefully, for at least this first day of Spring. Once again, I realize how fast the seasons of life come and go. The chores that need doing will eventually get done. The relationship that our sons and their father enjoy is the most important event happening at this moment.

Poem for Young Moms

If you’ve ever seen The King and I, you will recognize the take-off on Roger’s and Hammerstein’s song in the following poem.

Hello Young Mothers

Hello, Young mothers, wherever you are,

I hope your troubles are few.

All my good wishes are with you just now;

I’ve been a mom like you.

Be strong, young mothers, and follow your heart,

Be strong, dedicated, and true.

The task you’ve been given is worth all the pain;

I’ve been a mom like you.

I know how it feels to have kids on your heels

And fly through the day in a trance.

You run here and there, and you’re hardly aware of the

Time between soccer and dance.

So cry, young mothers, if you feel that you must,

But don’t cry that you’re not alone.

Cry for the days that will pass in a blur

When you find that your children are gone.

All of my memories are happy today,

But I’ve had those times of my own.

Be brave, young mothers, and follow your heart,

Be brave, devoted, and true.

Cling very close to your children tonight;

I’ve been a mom like you.

I know how it feels to cringe at the squeals

And to hope that your feeling don’t show,

To yearn for a date and a chance to escape

With the lover that you used to know.

Take heart, young mothers, whatever you do,

Don’t cry that you’re not alone.

All of your memories will be happy one day;

You’ll smile at the days that are gone.

It's Coming Back to Me

This weekend, Pops and I are in Atlanta babysitting for 2.5 year old Lila and 3.5 month old James.

The memories are coming back. Not the memories of trying to keep babies on schedule, praying that they will sleep at the same time after lunch; not the memories of wondering what they are into when they disappear and are quiet; not the memories of whether or not it is harmful to watch an hour or so of TV...etc. Those memories are buried somewhere in the cyberspace of childrearing. Most of those tasks were done so automatically that the recollection wasn't recorded for later re-living.

The memories that come back to me are the ones that pertain to getting away with my children's father. The anticipation that built up at the thought of escaping for a night or two of uninterrupted time with my husband are recorded in my memory bank forever. It was the thrill of leaving behind the demands of both adult and child and disappearing from the tyranny of

schedules and responsibilities. It was like tasting that forbidden fruit that is so sweet. For a little while, we could be like teenagers out of supervision of parents.

So what did we talk about for the first eight hours away? The children, of course. We would verbally unpack and examine every mental picture. After a while, we would rediscover each other, and remember why we got married in the first place.

I'm not sure if I fully appreciated the willing grandparents that we were blessed with. I think I operated under the delusion that we were doing them a favor by allowing them to participate

in their grandchildren's upbringing. What I didn't realize until now is that maybe they too enjoyed the feeling of freedom that comes with the realization that we have no one to make happy except each other. I don't know how our parents felt, because they belonged to the generation that didn't disclose such personal feelings. I just know that for me, just as I looked forward to time away with my children's father, I now look forward to getting away with their grandfather!

Ordinary Days

Today I discovered a YouTube clip that spoke to my heart. In fact, it filled my mother's heart to overflfowing. I've included the site at the bottom of this blog. Be sure to check it out! (I would put it at the end of this post, but I haven't figured out how to get it there.) There are a lot of "mechanics" to blogging that I haven't learned yet. Bear with me!

There are, however, a lot of "mechanics" when it comes to rearing boys that I HAVE learned. Such things as letting them go. We moms have to know when to hold 'em and know when to let 'em go.

I was having coffee (yes, decaf... see last week's post) with a young mother yesterday, and as she sat nursing her fourth baby boy, she asked, "When do they start pulling away?" I had to ponder this for a few minutes, because I realized that this is not a one-time thing. It's several episodes of "letting them go." She was experiencing some of the stages in her older sons.

I told her that I think the first stage is when the son is about 8. Based on my own experience, this is about the time that they discover their dad's world and began to see that they can actually be a part of it. Suddenly they want to get into their father's conversations with his friends, and they do it by interrupting with their own stories that mimic Dad's... such as wanting to tell their own hunting experience, or telling about the fish they almost caught, or maybe even trying to capture the men's attention with the same mannerisms and phrases their dad uses. It's equivalent to the little girl who wants to dress in her mommy's clothes and use her cosmetics. Sometimes the effect is rather comical in both genders, but I have seen little boys-becoming-men crushed and disappointed when they get ignored by the older males by whom they so desperately need to be accepted. At this point, a mom has to accept what she doesn't care to admit: that she really isn't the most important person in his conscious mind just now. We have to learn to take a small step aside to allow our sons their first baby step in the rite of passage into manhood.

The next big pulling away occurs when the sons enter the beginning of puberty, at age 12 or so. Prior to this time, all seems well. In my opinion, there is typically nothing sweeter than a 10-year-old boy. Then something happens. He withdraws his open adoration of his mom, and sets out to prove to the whole world that he really doesn't need a mom. At least, that's how we interpret it. It's no use fighting this stage. It too shall pass! The biggest thing a mom needs to remember is that her son desperately needs her presence... just not in public! He needs her deeds of service, not done in martyrdom, but as willing expressions of her love. He needs her presence at his game days, and his uniform clean.He needs her genuine compliments of his strong muscles and his sound mind. He needs her to read aloud to him from the Bible (even if he doesn't appear interested). What he doesn't need is her to put him on a guilt-ridden accusal of his lack of appreciation of her. He still needs her prayers at night when he is most vulnerable, and her goodnight kiss when nobody is looking.

High School graduation always involves saying good-bye to precious, unrecoverable years. The young man who leaves your house for college will be a stranger to you. Be prepared. He will continue to become more so when he comes home for visits. Bur he still needs you to show him what unconditional love is. He needs you to fix his favorite meal, welcome him at the door, and sit and tell him about the new life that you are finding for yourself. He never needs to feel that he has abandoned you by leaving.Remember that good parenting is the process of working yourself out of a job.

The biggest pulling away occurs when your son gets married. You have to prepare for this years in advance. If you've done a good job of loving your son and letting him have his wings as well as his roots, he will try to find a girl who will love you as well. Welcome her, and thank God for her.

Through all the times of letting go, remember to enjoy the "ordinary days." They will be the ones that you will recall when he leaves your nest. Never, never, never give up loving and praying for him, no matter how far away he goes. And tell him so.

I sent an email to our son who is 34 this week before he left on a ski trip with a group of friends. I had awakened with him on my mind, and I prayed for him, and I wanted him to know. I got his reply. It said, "Thanks, Mom. I always love getting encouragement from my mom."
So, Moms, listen to Katrina's reading "The Gift of an Ordinary Day" and think about the letting go that we have to do. Then go and bake your son something he loves.