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.

Countdown to Passover

Yesterday was Sunday, and we were enjoying one of the few sunny days that we have seen since Christmas. When our babies left (that means our youngest son who is 30 and his wife), Burt and I headed over to our lake for a short time. Together we launched the john boat that he fishes from. I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't full of water and that the trolling motor was charged! I think Burt expected me to sit on the dock and read, but I am becoming more and more aware of the moments that I can participate in something that he really enjoys, so I go in the boat with him. I still read, but I looked up enough to cheer him on when he got a bite. I even attempted to grab a bass by the lower jaw and lift him out of the water. Ouch! He was heavier that I thought he'd be, and stronger!

I'm still enthralled with Carol Brazo's book, No Ordinary Home. I read some more about her family's celebration of Lent, and I'm feeling more discouraged about my own observance. My efforts seem so puny in comparison. I'm trying to focus on the sacrifice that Jesus made, and it's simply more than my mind can grasp.

I looked at the scenery surrounding me, and it was so peaceful, even in its winter attire. The water provided a perfect mirror image of the dock; in fact, it look like two docks stacked on top of each other. I watched a duck coming in like a kamikaze and landing on his chosen spot. I watched as the logs and stumps in the lake passed lazily beside us as our boat glided along. The late afternoon sky was beginning to gather a few rain clouds before evening, and the clouds looked like graphite smudges on a piece of gray paper. The only sounds were the zing of Burt fishing rod when a bass struck and the soft whir of the trolling motor. Somewhere behind the last of the white clouds that floated like silk scarves, there was the sound of some kind of migrating bird, probably returning home after his winter getaway, but we couldn't see them. Altogether, it was calm and serene, and we could experience the world from a distance.

My thought then turned to the Lent season. I tried to imagine what Jesus was feeling when He was on Earth, spending time with His disciples, counting the days until the Passover Celebration when His body would become the ultimate sacrifice for mankind's redeemption. I realized that I couldn't fathom it. I began to feel a touch of heaviness in my own spirit, not because I could experience some of His Passion, but because I couldn't.

All I could do was to thank God silently that Burt and I were brought together in His wonderful preordained plan, blessed beyond description with amazing sons and totally wonderful daughters-in-law. Since we have mastered the art of reading each other's thoughts, Burt said at that point, "We have an awesome family, don't we?"

As we pulled that boat back on the shore and took out the plug, Burt said, "Look at the sun." It hadn't begun to set at that time, but was giving us its last blaze of glory before its descent. I left feeling peaceful, yet wanting more. I believe it will come. There are 34 more days before Resurrection Sunday.

This year I'm attempting to do something I haven't done successfully before: I'm trying to really observe the season of Lent. I've never had this modeled for me, since my Baptist background didn't stress it the same way that some of my Catholic friends did, although I always thought that denying myself something pleasurable in order to focus on the sacrifice Jesus Christ made for me was a good thing to do.

I was so impressed with our pastor's leadership two Sundays ago when he called for a Fast to be observed by our entire church body for the season of Lent. The purpose of it is to pray and fast for the healing of a 5-year-old child in our midst who is awaiting a bone marrow transplant. The idea of a corporate Fast opened new possibilities for the Holy Spirit to operate, not only in a miracle of healing for little Creed, but in the lives of all of us involved.

The decision to be really intentional about the observance of Lent has challenged me, and apparently it has had the same effect on many others. I've had heard different ones saying what they were going to deny themselves: ice cream, breads, sodas, red meat, caffeine. Others are laying down habits that are taking time away from the Kingdom's work or from their families, such as Internet surfing, Facebook and blog reading. Personally, mine is going to have to be coffee. I do love it! I'm thinking I'll not have any caffeine, but allow occasional decaf. Is that a compromise?

I've tried fasting before, and I find myself thinking about the food that I can't eat more than focusing of the Lord. I feel so inadequate as a follower of Jesus! I have been a Christian for over 50 years; I should have mastered this habit long ago. I read books on Fasting, such as Fasting for Spiritual Breakthrough by Elmer Towns and Fasting by Jentzen Franklin. What they have to say makes so much sense spiritually, yet giving up some little pleasure of mine seems so trivial compared to what Jesus did for our redemption. That's why, this year, I want this season to be truly meaningful. When Resurrection Sunday gets here, I want to feel a celebration as never before.

Two books have given me some inspiration. One is called Celebrating the Christian Year by Martha Zimmerman, and the other is No Ordinary Home by Carol Brazo. This is the book that has been mentioned by several of the Christian bloggers that I follow, and it is certainly a gem. I paid $41.00 for a used paperback (!) because I had heard so much about it. From these resources, I am getting some inspiration for ways to keep my mind on Christ and God's Big Plan of redemption.

One idea was to have an "Easter tree" with ornaments depicting story of Jesus added each week or each day during Lent. Since I'm not as creative or as crafty as the young bloggers that I read, I decided the tree was more than I could tackle. I happened to be shopping in Hobby Lobby with a wonderful young mom who was also trying to do the same thing. We moaned over our lack of creativity when we spotted a wooden platter that we thought looked "Biblical." We decided that having it sit in the middle of the table with a symbol of some sort on it would serve the purpose. The focus of the first week of Lent is the fall of mankind, so when we found a wooden snake, we were inspired to keep going! Two hours later, we had found everything we needed to depict each lesson that reveals the sequence of events from the Creation to the Resurrection. We found a lamb to represent the sacrifice, a dove for the baptism, an alabaster jar for Jesus' anointing, a salt shaker in the shape of a light bulb for the Sermon on the Mount, miniature loaves and wine goblets, bowl and pitcher for the Last Supper, a wooden cross, and the recipe for Easter Cookies for Resurrection Morning. (If you aren't familiar with Easter Cookies, I'll include the recipe at the end of this post.)

I think I'm on my way to celebrating this season. My giving up caffeine is such a tiny, trivial thing, but I'm praying that it is only the beginning. Trying to fathom what my Savior did for me is too mind boggling, but I want to be as open as possible in order to receive what the Holy Spirit has to teach me. I walked through the breakfast room this morning and would have welcomed the familiar smell of fresh coffee. It inspired me to add to my visual.

This may seem silly, but it reminds me that anything that I enjoy more than I enjoy fellowship with my Savior needs to be cut out of my life. Just now, that's what He needs to teach me.

EASTER COOKIE RECIPE!

Making cookies with your children

to teach the true meaning of EASTER!

The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen His glory,

the glory of the One and Only, Who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

John 1:14

---

You Need

Help & permission from Parents!

1- cup whole pecans

1-teaspoon vinegar

3 egg whites

pinch of salt

1-cup sugar

zipper baggie

wooden spoon

tape

Bible

EASTER COOKIES

Preheat the oven to 300 (this is important-don't wait 'til you're half-done with the recipe)

1. Place the pecans in the baggie and let the kids beat them with the wooden spoon to break them into pieces. Explain that after Jesus was arrested, He was beaten by the Roman soldiers.

Read John 19:1-3

2. Put the vinegar into a mixing bowl. Let each child smell the vinegar. Explain that when Jesus was on the cross and He became thirsty, He was offered vinegar to drink.

Read John 19:28-30

3. Add the egg whites to the vinegar. The eggs represent life. Explain that Jesus gave His life so that we could have life.

Read John 10:10-11

4. Sprinkle a little salt into each child's hand and let them taste it. Put the rest into the bowl. Explain that this represents the salty tears shed by Jesus' followers, and the bitterness of our own sin.

Read Luke 23:27

5. So far the ingredients are not very appetizing. Add 1 cup of sugar. Explain that the sweetest part of the story is that Jesus died because He loves us. He wants us to know and belong to Him.

Read Psalm 34:8 and John 3:16

6. Beat the egg whites with a mixer on high speed for 12 to 15 minutes, until stiff peaks form. Explain that the color white represents the purity in God's eyes of those whose sins have been cleansed by Jesus.

Read Isa. 1:18 and John 3:1-3

7. Fold in the broken nuts. Drop by teaspoons onto a wax paper cookie sheet. Explain that each mound represents the rocky tomb where Jesus body was laid to rest.

Read Matt. 27:57-60

8. Put the cookie sheet in the oven, close the door and turn the oven off.

9. Give each child a piece of tape and seal the door. Explain that Jesus tomb was sealed.

Read Matt. 27:65-66

10. Go to bed. Explain that they may feel sad to leave the cookies in the oven overnight and that Jesus followers were in despair when the tomb was sealed.

Read John 16:20-22

11. On Easter morning, open the oven and give everyone a cookie. Notice the cracked surface and take a bite. the cookies are hollow! ON THE FIRST EASTER, Jesus' followers were amazed to find His tomb empty.

Read Matt. 28: 1-9

Seasons

Since our marriage became filled with boys, it seems that all my Saturdays have been associated with a Season. There was always either a sports season or a hunting season, from football to basketball to baseball to deer hunting, to turkey hunting…and so on. Once, when school was out for the summer break, I challenged the boys as to what they would do with no season to dictate their activities. One of the older ones, now a seasoned teenager, replied with gusto, “Are you kidding, Mom? This is GIRL season!” (Our boys were normal, after all.)

As the boys grew older, I welcomed the Saturdays of the hunting seasons with mixed feelings. The good feelings were associated with the fact that the boys would have something to do that they could share with their dad, and the fact that if they should die in the woods, they would die happy. The not-so-good feelings came from the tsunami of activity that overwhelmed me on these days. There would be many hungry hunters, not only my men, but numerous friends who were in and out during the day. The level of expectation associated with those days was almost palpable as the camouflaged stealth hunters headed for the woods.
After their departure, things would be quiet and I could have tranquil time to myself. Then before I was ready, the scene would change. The house, particularly the kitchen, would become a cacophony of guns clicking, cartridges clattering, boots thudding, coveralls unzipping, and jacket snaps popping. There would be scuffling and jostling and joking and bragging. This was the time of the day that they enjoyed almost as much as going out initially. Because they never waited for “real” breakfast before leaving in the morning, there was nothing they loved more than homemade blueberry pancakes when they returned. I could watch three boxes of cereal disappear before the pancakes were finished, and there was always never enough milk. They enjoyed sitting around the table and re-living the morning’s exploits for hours. If they couldn’t make them vivid enough with words, they had the video cameras to back up their stories, and they could spend the major part of the day looking and analyzing every nuance of the morning’s experience.

By the end of the day, Saturdays were a blend of mud-caked boots, footballs scattered on the lawn, strew 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. Their goal for the day was to pack in as much masculine activity as could possibly be experienced, and my goal was to record in my mind the memories.
We must have both succeeded, because as I think about our present day Saturdays, I realize that the purpose of them now is to recreate the experiences, emotions, sights and sounds of Saturdays past. What I have now is a house that is still filled with on occasions with grown men dressed in “camo” who are the same little boys in their hearts. The competition is still there. My serenity is still disturbed, only now it’s usually with apology. The blueberry pancakes are still a favorite treat, but almost every bite is taken with expressed appreciation. Instead of writing in my journal to enable me to cope with my blessings for another six days, I find myself reviewing my notes in order to remember the challenges and be able to encourage other young mothers who are coming behind my on the motherhood path.

Some days the only way I survived was to remind myself that life has its seasons. There would be a time when I could finish a telephone conversation without having to settle a dispute, and I could drink a whole cup of coffee at one sitting. Not always would one meal morph into the next before the dishes were done. One day they might even offer to help with clean-up. Somehow, in the midst of managing their college apartments, owning their own homes, and becoming responsible adult men, this season has arrived. Maybe this is MY season.

And it’s the best one of all.