January 2025- A lesson in hope

I was not raised in a church-going home. My attendance at my hometown Baptist church was a result of accompanying my heartbroken grandmother, who was recovering from my grandfather's infidelity and abandonment after 39 years of marriage. I rode to church with her as she cried both directions and it was there in the midst of utter brokenness that I was introduced to Jesus.

Through middle school and high school, I was surrounded by adults whose fingerprints are all over my adult life and faith. My testimony led to decades of youth ministry involvement, ultimately leading to my becoming a foster parent and advocating not only for the children in the system and those caring for them, but also for their biological parents. I am deeply moved by redemptive stories. 

In the last year, although we have backed off from consistent foster parenting due to travel, we have had one elementary-aged girl for respite care seven times as she has lived in five different foster homes. (It is easy to feel outraged when you read the headlines of her story but the details make it extremely complex.) Last week the agency called and asked if we were available for an 8th time. 

As I processed the request and wept over her story, I "just so happened" to have an appointment at work with an older pastor who recently moved to our town and wanted to start a ministry for at-risk youth. I shared about my heartbreak over this child. He stopped and prayed. When he finished, he looked me in the eyes and said, "God keeps bringing this child back because in healing her, he is healing something in you—let Him do the work."

A few days later, I found myself at a church service I had never attended with a guest pastor who had grown up in foster care. As the young man shared his story I realized I knew him--our paths had briefly crossed when his sister was in a group home where I had served 16 years ago. He had my attention as he shared from Mark 4: 32-41 when Jesus calmed the storm.

He explained this passage had been a challenge for him as he grew into adulthood as a man of faith. He wrestled with the implications-during all the abuse he endured, had Jesus been asleep on the boat, able to stop it at any time and choosing instead to nap?

It was then he realized that trusting Jesus must be about who He is, not just what He can do. The speaker used a metaphor I haven’t been able to shake since–Jesus is more of a midwife than an epidural and He calls us to do the same. The presence of a person is often more powerful than numbing the pain. We can confidently stand by someone enduring great hardship if we have the faith and hope that what it is producing is worth the suffering.

As I often do with passages that have grown familiar, I cross-referenced Eugene Peterson' Message translation and Jesus' words to the disciples on the boat in verse 40 struck me to my core: “The wind ran out of breath; the sea became smooth as glass. Jesus reprimanded the disciples: 'Why are you such cowards? Don’t you have any faith at all?'”

When life tempts us to pay more attention to the circumstances than the character of God, we must refocus on what we know to be true. My tendency is to use my life experience to predict an ending, but we serve a God Paul described in Ephesians 3:36 “able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” HOW? “By His power at work within us.”

While pondering all of this I opened Paul David Tripp's Everyday Gospel devotion for January 20 and read these words: "The Bible is essentially a grand origin-to-destiny narrative. It's God's story...one big theme holds together all the different parts of the Bible and all its different genres of literature...redemption." 

Tripp goes on to remind us that in all the stories of Scripture--and all the ones we witness and experience in our lives--God is demonstrating His power of creation in a myriad of ways. We should be paying attention because these stories aren't just for the people who experience them, they are for us. All these stories are our stories. 

And contrary to what 'common sense' would tell me, God's grace reminds me to not write an ending without considering the limitless potential of what He can do.

TWENTY

This week my trio turned 20 years old. (I can't believe this space has existed for 19 years!) It seemed appropriate that I come back and mark the moment. 

A year of college under their belts, each fittingly was in a different place for most of their day. Both Ryland & Parker are serving at residential Summer camps and had to report early for staff training. Kate is taking classes from home in pursuit of her EMT certification. This is the season of living their own adventures. 

As is often true in life, just when we think we have a grasp on a phase, we are thrust into the next. In this case, learning to grow teens I suddenly found myself in the space of parenting young adults. A whole 5 days in, I am clearly no expert, but I did have a realization/observation I wanted to capture and share today. 

From the moment a woman learns she is pregnant, protectiveness kicks in. Our instincts are to have our heads on a swivel for threats to our babies. As Mama Bears, we are constantly on guard. It seems as our children enter late adolescence/early adulthood and are no longer in our perpetual orbit, the focus shifts from external enemies to the threats lurking within. 

A parent knows the way their offspring are wired and their historical struggles. If we allow anxiety to take those weaknesses (that we ALL have) and interpret them as a new more insidious threat it can lead to lots of relational conflict. Our worries and warnings will feel a lot more personal because they ARE.

The unfortunate irony is that unless we recognize and address this tendency, WE may become the very thing we fear--harmful to our kids and a threat to our long-term relationship.

I am very new to this chapter of parenting, but I am trying to recognize and submit my fears. I am praying constantly for wisdom on when to speak and when to zip it and let the Lord lead the lessons. 

A New Normal

Last week we dropped both boys off at their new college campuses. It was a whirlwind. My husband and son Ryland left Georgia Monday evening and drove to Jackson, Mississippi for the night. The next day they completed their drive to Ft. Worth, Texas. I stayed behind to wrap up loose packing ends with Parker then flew out to join them early Wednesday morning. 

After an efficient TCU move-in day and a requisite trip to Walmart for last-minute items (mostly snacks), my husband and I spent the night in a DFW airport hotel. Thursday morning our flight departed at 7:30. Upon arrival in Atlanta we quickly gathered our bags--including one with very suspect items like zip ties, garbage bags, a mallet, and duct tape--and drove home to Rome. Two hours later we were on the road to Nashville, Tennessee with Parker. We had breakfast in Texas, lunch in Georgia, and dinner in Tennessee!

Parker's move and drop-off were upbeat and smooth. So much so, we canceled that night's hotel stay and returned home earlier than expected. 

Both schools have clearly put a lot of thought into the move-in experience and had many opportunities for the new students to meet others and get acclimated in a positive way. 

Sunday we travelled over to Birmingham to meet Kate's new roommate and her parents for the first time. It was nice to get to know each other a bit before the craziness of move-in day.

It is a quiet week as we finalize preparations for Kate's relocation this weekend--and so far it really just feels like my boys are away at new camps. I anticipate a lot more emotion when the nest is truly empty and life returns to 'normal' in a new way. 

A Fall without football games and cross-country meets is hard to imagine--but our calendars are full of weekend travel, parents' weekends, and middle-aged adventure. It still seems surreal that this chapter of our lives has ended--but I have great peace. 

One thing my husband and I continue to remind one another is that our kids have heard everything they can hear from us. That is not to say they listened or obeyed, but we have said all the things. Now time and maturity must do their work.

When they were nine months old we baptized them--publicly acknowledging our belief that they belong to the Lord and had only been entrusted to us. This is the season for putting that belief to the test. They are His. He has plans. We desire to trust, pray, encourage and counsel (when asked). We recommit them back into His Hands. A new normal indeed.   

A Different Kind of Pregnancy

Spring is always a time of remembrance for me. I start walking back through the timeline of the last 1/3 of my pregnancy. Bedrest in March, first at home, then in the hospital. The entire months of April & May were inpatient at Northside Hospital. The delivery in late May, the ICU for me for 1 week, 5 weeks of NICU...a July release.

All of this occurred 19 years ago, and yet the rhythm and timing today is strangely similar. Waiting with anticipation for college decisions here in March. Hopeful, concerned, and trying to make sense of bad news mixed with good. Instead of weekly ultrasounds on Tuesdays, we have decisions in portals on Fridays. Information that will shape and change our lives, but yet we have no real control over what is happening internally. We simply wait to be told.

We deliver in May--then into the world as infants and now as baby adults.

So here in March I start to feel the contractions. The babies are getting crowded. There is the urge to push--but questions linger about their readiness. Anxiety lurks about how radically all our lives will change.  The difference? My ability to be present and wide awake in it now. I am not ill and on the sidelines, honestly concerned I may not survive to see them grow up. Those prayers were answered. Praise the Lord, for that.

There is a perspective I lacked before. God is sovereign. He can be trusted. His Will be done. I couldn't help but think about Romans 8. I particularly love the plain-speak of the Message translation.

^19-21 Everything in creation is being more or less held back. God reins it in until both creation and all the creatures are ready and can be released at the same moment into the glorious times ahead. Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens.

^22-25 All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it’s not only around us; it’s within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We’re also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.

^26-28 Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.

^29-30 God knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him. After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun.

Three versions of delivery--2004, 2023, and God's eternal way--and in all three, my heart is very much involved. 

What Really Matters?

Like many parents before me, I have found the challenge of handing over the reins to my young adults emotionally challenging. Too much to fast, too little too late--it all depends on the child and the situation. 

Early this Fall as I started processing the ending of this chapter of parenthood and the beginning of another, I became a bit Ecclesiastical. In my exhaustion and cynicism I wondered if intentional parenting doesn't guarantee a result, what has all our investment been for? The temptation for a person who has long believed that everything matters is to swing wildly to the other side. What if nothing matters? 

I had the privilege over the last couple of weeks to read my Seniors' college admission essays. It has been a gift to read how they define themselves--especially what moments from their adolescence they determined to be transformative. Frankly, the big memories I tried to engineer aren't their watershed moments. Instead, it has been the more mundane, organic moments they cite as formative. 

So, I have arrived at this: You don't get to know in advance what matters down the road. 

Parenting, it seems, is a lot like throwing mud against the wall. Some sticks, but you can't predict what. So we sling love, hurl encouragement, and fling opportunities against the sturdy wall of our secure bond. Then, we wait to see what stays. 

Thanks to my blog hobby, I have my own version of some of my children's essay topics. Unsuprisingly, my perspective in the moment differs slightly from their recollection years later. A nod to Ecclesiastes 3: 11 "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom the work God has done from beginning to end. "

These blog posts reveal my own sanctification in the process of my children's formation. As a result, I can say with confidence that none of it is meaningless. God is always at work in the "unadorned pots of our everyday lives" (2 Corinthians 4:7)

To Him be the Glory!

Packing Their Bags

Perhaps because of the demands of my husband's career, we learned early that getting far away and off the grid was the best way to truly relax together. Travel has become a part of our family DNA.

When our children were younger, I did all the packing. As they got into upper elementary school, I would give them a fairly specific list and they would select items accordingly. In high school this evolved into me asking them what they thought they needed for the trip. I might give general reminders and feedback, but they learned to evaluate the activities, weather and length of trip to decide what they needed. Because journeys are unpredictable, there are times when we miss the mark. I am thinking of many sweatshirts, swimsuits, and shoes through the years that have been purchased at our destinations.

As I brainstormed Christmas gift list ideas last week, I thought about the bags my young adults would need. I don't yet know their destinations. Will they be mostly driving home from school or flying? Will they land in places where they might hike on weekends or settle into an urban environment? I can't predict what types of bags they will need just yet, nor do I fully understand what they will practically need to put inside them.

When we elected to give our kids a redshirt Kindergarten year, I started calling this 18-year-old Senior year our 'victory lap.' Little did I know it would actually contain its share of hard lessons that sometimes feel more like defeat. 

As I was discussing this with a friend recently she said "It's all going in their adulthood bag. These are the lessons they will carry with them. Aren't you glad they are happening when you are still close enough to really coach?"

Much like the destination, the challenges they will face in their journeys remain unknown. An encouraging older Mom friend urged me to view the lessons they are learning this year as essentials they will need in their emotional/social/spiritual bags. Especially the difficult ones. 

Another important point was made by my husband recently when I was in a tizzy about something that had barely affected one of my children. As I talked through how it triggered something from my own high school experience he wisely and lovingly reminded me, "That's your stuff. They have enough of their own. Don't ask them to carry yours too."

Sigh.

So here we are, doing the work of packing bags for adventures and destinations unknown to us, but already fully covered by the Author and Perfector of our faith.

Our Training Wheel Summer

Twelve years ago we made the decision to "redshirt" our children by having them repeat Kindergarten as they changed schools. We did this for many reasons including their prematurity, early Summer birthdays, mixed genders, small stature, and our general observation that while we knew a handful of people who wished they had given their children the gift of an extra year at home, we didn't know any who regretted doing so.

This Spring, as similarly-aged students were preparing for high school graduation, I found myself full of gratitude that we had another year. I felt strongly this Summer was going to be instrumental in giving our freshly minted 18-year-olds opportunities to experience independence, maturity, and space.  

Kate & Ryland were hired as counselors at the camps in Mentone, Alabama & Black Mountain, North Carolina where they spent their childhood Summers. Parker decided to serve on the Work Crew (doing outdoor maintenance and sound tech) at a Young Life camp in Brevard, North Carolina. By the end of July, all should return with 5-8 weeks of out-of-the-nest experience under their belts.

Meanwhile, my husband and I have been practicing a new normal herein the nest--where we eat smaller meals in a quieter house with much less frenzied schedules. We have been referring to this time as our "training wheel Summer." 

As my people start returning in the next two weeks, I want to be intentional about honoring all we have learned. I am praying about exactly what that looks like, but I am convinced the first two steps are being mindful about it and putting it down on paper. 

I have been making lists of things we need to cover when they return...from college applications to high school Summer work and haircuts and sports practices in between. I am hoping to have a couple of individual meetings with each one to debrief when they return and reinstate weekly family meetings as the Fall begins. 

But I am posting this as a pause to honor the gift of this victory lap...as the training wheels are loosened and we remain a soft place to land. I hope we can start to deliberately transition from chaperone to coach/consultant--and hope our kiddos will have grace for us as we learn to ride on two wheels too!

An Ode to Being Older

Most mornings my coffee brews while I catch up with a couple of old friends who live in other states via an app called Marco Polo. We send each other video monologues with headlines/prayer requests from our daily lives and it serves as an important touchpoint/ongoing conversation among friends of 30 years. 

When we started this practice 4-5 years ago, we frequently commented on our less-than-stellar selfie faces when we turned on the camera. As time has gone on we seem to have gotten more comfortable and most mornings my videos are filmed early, as I am brewing my coffee before makeup, hair brushing, or even a shower. 

I think this practice of sharing my heart in selfie mode has been an interesting exercise in embracing the full accurate picture of my age. For every line, spot and sag I see in my reflection I am finding peace, humility, and insight in my words (which are an overflow of my heart). The same aging process that has reduced my collagen has increased my faith. 

In my 20s and 30s I often felt as if I were playing house, only pretending to be the grown-up my responsibilities indicated I ought to be. Here in my late 40s, there is no denying it. I recently walked through a difficult season in a relationship. As it has been worked through, with mutual patience, grace, and honesty, the refrain I have had on repeat is how good it is to be an adult. Adult circumstances aren't easier, but they are more manageable. 

Adults can say what they mean and mean what they say. Adults have enough life experience to not expect perfection--and an ability to give the grace and forgiveness they desire to receive. Adults can listen and not just speak. 

As I am parenting young adults, I am reminded that one of the greatest gifts I can give is an example. So while I plan to continue with some of my youthful aesthetic regimens, I am renewing my focus on embracing the ying and the yang of aging. And today? I am feeling grateful for the gifts of being "old."

Confessions of a New Senior Mom

Watching the class ahead of us over the last month was a little overwhelming, and apparently, I am not alone. Talking to other rising Senior mamas is electric. The emotion under all our actions is palpable, even if we can't name it.

I am a planner with a real bent toward control. I can easily fall victim to the one-time-only anxiety as a Mama of multiples. This is my one shot. I have got to be on top of things.

As a personal coping mechanism, I composed a Google Doc of all the dates I am aware of for next year and a month-by-month to-do list of the actions I need to take, appointments to be made, and reservations to be secured. It was already three types pages long--in May! I felt prepared and paced until I talked to other Moms. 

Oh, what is that phrase about comparison? Such. A. Thief. The blissful peace of preparation (and maybe even the illusion of control) was ripped away and I felt behind. Egads! (Side note: I love that the official definition of Egads is expressing surprise, anger, or affirmation because I feel all those things--plus the embarrassment that I should be more mature than to feel those things!)

Thankfully, the Holy Spirit and my husband are excellent settlers of my anxieties. 

After a couple of episodes of panic, I thought about what really matters--and it is not the "perfect" X, Y or Z. It is that I provide a settled and peaceful place for my three Seniors who are about to ride the roller coaster of emotions involved in college applications, big future decisions, friendships separated by miles, living independently, etc. 

What if my desire to plan and list and do in order to 'not miss a thing' was actually the reason I missed the ordinary moments that make this phase of life so sweet? What if my panic over what's coming prevented me from enjoying what's now?

Frankly, as a planner, some degree of advance preparation is necessary on my part to feel that peace. This is the way I am wired. But I must remain on guard that this does not become a place for comparison. Everybody is managing their own stuff. And a lot of Senior mamas are dealing with their own flood of emotions in addition to those of the other hearts in their home. I want to be an encourager to the fellow Mamas I am crossing the finish line with, not a competitor. There is no prize for who does this best. 

So, I am actively working to reorient. I am praying the downtime of Summer while all my people are away on their camp employment adventures will allow me space to prepare my heart and my Spirit for what is to come for the journey. I am fighting the tide of carefully curated. I am praying for the perspective that a picture-perfect ending is not the goal.  

I know it is going to be a constant wrestling match with my anxious flesh, so I am writing this for accountability. 

And if it involves a checklist or two, so be it ;-)

The Power of...

I graduated from high school 30 years ago, a spunky teenager who frequently had more energy than sense. Although I checked the boxes of a 'good girl,' I drove like a maniac and my mouth sometimes got me in trouble. (Both things are true to a lesser degree at 47.)  

My career aspiration from the age of 12-19 was to be behind the desk on television reporting the news. I was heading to the University of Alabama as a Telecommunications and Film major having shadowed people at our local news station. My friend Jill and I were even the morning co-anchors for our school's Channel One daily announcements broadcast.

Somewhere in that experience, I got out of bounds. I have racked my brain (and even asked Jill) for the story. Neither of us can remember the specifics, but nonetheless, I abused my position in a way that landed me in the Principal's Office. And even though I don't recall the details I absolutely remember my punishment--a lengthy essay on "The Power of the Microphone."

In the last few years of social media craziness, I have reflected on the difference it might have made for everyone to be assigned that essay. But it was a powerful punishment for someone like me who loves to communicate--and was pursuing that field as a career. Even after switching gears professionally and wearing many hats since, the lesson about harnessing my tongue and the power of influence remains. 

Thirty years later, as a parent of teenagers, what I am now struck by is what happened after I was disciplined. 

At our high school graduation, our principal Dr. F bestowed his award--the "True Viking" Principal's Award. As he spoke of the recipient, my ears perked when he emphasized "the power of the microphone." I could not believe it when he called my name. I was stunned to be honored after being 'in trouble,' but Dr. F. wasn't rewarding perfection. He chose to award a young person willing to learn and grow.

I wasn't canceled for a mistake, I was disciplined. There were consequences, but all were done in an instructive and restorative way. As a result, I don't think back on that experience with shame--I don't even remember what I did! Three decades later, I see it as it was, a powerful building block for the places God was going to place me and use me in the future. 

So while many of the certificates and statues handed out annually in May are discarded or tucked away in boxes--the lesson from mine was so powerful that it has gone with me into adulthood and parenting. 

Today my physical award (a clock) sits high on a shelf in my study, but I have been thinking a lot about how to apply the principles to the way I view the inevitable stumbles of the young adults in my sphere of influence--especially as we embark on the increased freedom and responsibility 18-year-olds bear. I needed to reflect on this as I prepare for the stage to come. Grace is more powerful than shame. Instructive can be more beneficial than punitive.

And of course, I wanted to share because I believe in the power of the microphone (and grace).

Junior Spring

May 2022 || Our trio turns 18 in a few weeks and we have one year to go until graduation. 

It seems fitting that the season is Spring and I am surrounded by sunshine and pleasant days full of evidence of new life and growth. Rather than extreme sadness or anxiety, I am truly feeling the excitement of all that is to come. 

The last month has seen a flurry of college visits and each time we have walked on a campus I have enjoyed 'trying on' some version of what life might be like for my people if they attended that school. Of course I have no crystal ball, but the promise and potential of each place serves as a reminder that there are many paths they could take. I feel like a child at Christmas, waiting for the time for gifts to be unwrapped.

In the meantime, I am watching our trio each rise to the occasion in their own way. My expectations of what defines being 'ready' for launch are shifting and becoming more refined. I can also sense our young people want to listen a bit more now that the reality of living away from us becomes more clear. 

This weekend has allowed us to spend true quality time together as a family and I am really enjoying each of my people right now at this age. I don't just love them, I like them a lot. My husband said our focus for the next year should be to savor---and I am leaning into that challenge. 

I read a quote last week about how raising older teens was like starting the last chapter of a book you love--you can't wait to see how it turns out, but you aren't ready for it to be over. 

I couldn't have said it better. 

Of course you are tired. Keep going.

We are in the midst of track season with Kate. She primarily is a distance runner, but sometimes participates in the 4x800 relay.

No matter how many races I have seen, the relay gets me every time. Runners push their bodies to the limits as they carry the baton for their leg, individually contributing their best to the team score, and then the focus shifts to the runner awaiting the handoff. There is anticipation, positioning, and movement. Sometimes it appears seamless, other times awkward, as the two runners try to match their speeds for a brief moment of connection. 

It takes true technique to secure a smooth handoff and despite all the practice, there is the occasional slip or miss that produces a loud clanging, a sympathetic crowd reaction, and a shift in the anticipated outcome of the race. 

I was thinking about all of this today because I have spoken to six different parents in 24 hours who are in the thick of teen parenting. We all feel this same sense of anticipation, excitement, and exhaustion as we try to finish this portion of our race well and hand off the baton of daily responsibility for these almost-adult lives. 

What I didn't understand until I experienced this phase is that there is not a single moment of release. Instead, we are performing this hand-off over and over again as we are passing our teens the responsibility for their academics, social lives, finances, health, and all other manner of choices. Sometimes we are more in sync than others. And THIS is the part of teen parenting that is exhausting.

I heard a seasoned Mom recently say, "I am really not worried about the outcome. I truly trust God with that. I just want to know I did my part well." Isn't that the cry of a faithful heart? 

So how do we do this part well? I think the attitudes of our hearts are a huge part. Much of the rest, ironically, came from one of the many online lists I saw of proper baton handoff techniques. I couldn't help but giggle when I read these seven steps in a ten-step list.

• One carries the baton.
• Adjustments are made as they approach the handoff.
• The runners share the baton.
• Communication is vital.
• Release when the baton is firmly in the next runner's hand.
• Do not slow down until the baton is passed. 

And the last one made me laugh out loud...

• Stay in your lane.

As always, so much easier to pontificate than to practice, but I couldn't help but share this metaphor God used to speak to my heart.

My runner taught me another important lesson recently. When I asked her how she ran so many miles without pain she replied, "I don't. After 2-3 miles my body starts to hurt a little but I tell myself 'of course you hurt, you've run a long way,' and then I keep running." 

That, my friends, will preach. 

"Let us run with patience the race marked out before us." -Hebrews 12:1b

A Prayer of Release

A friend sent this to me recently and I have re-read it daily. I decided to record it here for easy access (and in case it blesses anybody else!) I tried to find a source, and it appears it was taken from a 30-year-old book called Prayer Portions by Sylvia Gunter.  What a reminder that through the decades humans have struggled with the same root desires! 

The person who texted it to me referred to it as a Declaration of Release. Even the title convicts me to loosen my grip in faith and trust. May we trust the Lord to keep that which we already committed Him at the time of their baptism/dedication! ("...I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until that day." 2 Timothy 1:12)

"Because Jesus Christ is my Lord, 

I free you from my anxiety, fears, and control.

I trust the Holy Spirit to lead you and show you the way that is right for you, the way of love, joy, peace, and all that salvation includes. 

I place you at God’s throne of grace. 

I cannot force my will on you. 

I cannot live your life for you. 

I give you to God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 

As much as I love you, God loves you more. 

Your life today is totally in His hands, and I trust Him with it. 

I release you from my expectations, I place you on open palms to the Lord. 

I give you my blessings. 

I let you go, in His love." 

It is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose. Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it to completion until the day of Christ Jesus (Phi 2:13, 1:6).

In the Tension of Intentionality

"The thing is, for parents like us who have been so intentional, we can't forget that we also have to  intentionally let go."

My friend's words stopped me in my tracks. 

This is exactly where I am. Even though I had three humans on the same day within minutes of one another, there have always been differences--physically, emotionally, socially. They are individuals. Of course, each will be on their own timeline for development! And a lesson my pride keeps having to be reminded of is that this is merely one leg of a lifetime journey. There is not a prize for speed. 

Lately, I have fallen prey to a pressured timeline. Our chosen social and academic environment compounded by my task-oriented nature has me feeling the real pressure of a ticking clock. Over and over my head and heart remind me: 14 months until graduation. 

The peace I have felt regarding God's faithfulness to complete this work and my ability to shepherd/steward/manage is crumbling under the weight of my anxiety. Like the story of the emperor's new clothes, the closer we get the more naked I feel. It is NOT a good feeling. I desire to do well, but how do you measure 'well' when you are referring to in-process human beings and your own scrambled heart?

So, my friend's words keep coming back--letting go is also an act of intentionality. It is the job.

The rate, the speed, the degree--all of these decisions (because they are individually based, NOT according to a manmade calendar) keep me humbly on my knees and/or awake at night ;-). 

This is the job: To stay in the tension, prayerfully. To be consistent, but not formulaic. Loving, listening, and learning. Letting the Lord set the pace of my letting go.

Fully themselves (and figuring it out!)

A few weeks ago one of my children made a public stand for their faith in a meaningful way. My heart leaped with the boldness they were displaying. A few parents even reached out to remark the example being set. And yet, what they did not know is that a mere week before I had to coach this same teen on their online presence and some concerns I had about the mixed message it was sending. 

As I was talking through how to hold both--the celebration of their public declaration AND the fear of their mixed signals--a youth minister friend of mine offered the greatest perspective.

"Isn't that the greatest thing about teens? Both of those things are FULLY and truly who (teen) is in this moment."

I had to laugh at the truth. 

Our teens are figuring it out. That is the job of adolescence. 

It can look messy. It can be cringe-inducing in one breath and a source of great pride in the next. 

They are doing the work. And we must trust the process!

2 AM Stuff

When you are married to a surgeon you learn how to sleep through a lot. When your spouse/sleeping partner takes call, they are paged throughout the night. Many of us learn how to sleep through not only the sound of the page but the resulting call to the hospital and detailed conversation. 

Parenthood revealed an entirely new talent--selective waking in response to kid sounds versus on-call sounds. I can be unaware of my husband conversing, dressing, and leaving in the middle of the night to handle trauma in the ER and yet hear tiny footsteps going to the bathroom or funny-sounding cough or whimper down the hall. (Ryland, by the way, has this talent in reverse. I have been astounded through the years at the kid and pet drama he sleeps through.) 

 In recent years, I have fallen victim to another sleep interruption--middle-of-the-night waking/anxious thoughts. Although it only occurs a couple of times a week, the disruption has been annoying enough to cause me to get curious about its origins. 

My evening routine is partially to blame. While warm chamomile tea is a delightful signal to my brain and body to wind down, my middle-aged bladder responds between midnight and 2AM with the need to adjust my fluid levels. Upon the return to bed, my racing, yet not-quite-coherent brain focuses on a concern that keeps me in thinking loops for an hour or more. It is maddening! 

I have tried writing, praying, breathing--none of which are reliable solutions. I finally settled on a theory that my busy-ness during the day allowed me to escape thoughts and concerns that God could only capture my attention with during the distraction-free darkness of 2AM. I tried to create more quiet space in my daily schedule--margin for daytime contemplation that might help alleviate the nighttime anxiety loops. I like this theory and the changes it has inspired, but it hasn't resolved my problem. 

Last week after a rough night of restlessness I randomly noticed a book on my shelf I had forgotten I owned. I pulled it down and immediately opened to this passage from Eugene Peterson's Message translation of Mark 7: Jesus called the crowd together again and said, “Listen now, all of you—take this to heart. It’s not what you swallow that pollutes your life; it’s what you vomit—that’s the real pollution.” 

Ryland and I had recently discussed the randomness of dreams and how they often feel like a messy collection of thoughts that never got filed away properly during the day. Dreams seem to be our brain's way of tidying up the scattered things--a junk drawer of sorts. 

I couldn't help but consider my middle-of-the-night thoughts similarly. Taking Peterson's translation into account, they feel akin to my heart's reflux. Maybe all these anxious thoughts and concerns are the issues I haven't fully surrendered. They are my heart's vomit. 

Frankly, I am unwilling to surrender my tea routine at this point--but I am recognizing the need to let go of some of the issues keeping me up at night. I am certainly not making a dent in them with sleepless nights!

Encouragement that Matters

When my trio was starting 9th grade I recognized that successful encouragement needed to be in a language teenagers not only understood but personally valued. I asked my teens to each give me three words they hope other people would one day use to describe them by the time they graduated. 

Because this is a somewhat odd question to pose to 9th graders, I framed it around all the job and college applications they would complete in the coming years. What words did they hope people used when writing a positive recommendation? Some of their responses were more thoughtful than others, but even their ability to answer the question provided insight into where they were in the process. 

I kept these words on a sticky note on the side of my refrigerator for months. I tried to tailor my praise and coaching to use their personally chosen attributes when possible.  When positively reinforcing a trait I would say with a knowing grin, "That sounds like something a _____ person would do!" Likewise, when facing a tough choice I had language they cared about to say, "what would a ____ person do?" As silly as this sounds, it was a great way to invite conversation (and reflection). It also gave me insight into what traits mattered to my children and allowed me to tap into their values.

Like many parenting tricks, this one faded away over time, but recently, I decided to revisit this conversation with a slightly different spin. Over Christmas break as we discussed the importance of this Junior Spring semester, asking them to set goals felt flat. So, instead, I acknowledged that after 17 years, they knew what their Dad and I valued, so I wanted to hear what THEY thought was important. 

Of the nine goals they mentioned, only three involved performance. I was surprised to hear words like community, family, and music. It gave me a lot to think about in terms of what we emphasize and celebrate, as well as what I have neglected to recognize as valuable to my teens.

I challenge you to ask similar questions of the kids in your life. It makes for great conversation and sets you up to listen to their hearts!

As we head towards our launch from the nest it is helpful for our kids to get accustomed to naming not just their academic or career goal, but their values. This will set them up to make much better decisions about the life they are making and the people they are becoming, not just the next accomplishment. 

Reorienting

As Instagram became a more popular app, my longer-form blogging here suddenly became micro-blogging there. This busy Mama rejoiced as Chatbooks allowed my memories to be automatically printed, bound, and shipped each time I reach 60 posts--and in the short term my 'documenting family life for posterity' box was checked. 

Now that my children are old enough to drive and handle more of their own daily responsibilities, I am catching my breath. In doing so I have started to realize the gaps of the quick 'insta' posting. Much like a person who changes their diet from fast, cheap, and easy eating to slower, heartier, more nutritious meals, I am learning to digest. 

As my focus shifts away from instantly posting a thought to the world and towards more thoughtful reflection (and because there isn't always a snazzy photo to accompany the things God is really teaching me) I am interested in wading back into these blogging waters. We shall see if it sticks!

A quick list of recent reads and listens that are most influencing my reflection right now:

1. The Wisdom Pyramid by Brett McCracken:  I started this in November and have been slowly working my way through because it demands digestion. His words are clear and wise--and countercultural. If you are sometimes an audible listening, this is one I recommend you get a hard copy to mark up. So many solid points. I cannot recommend it enough.

2. I removed the Instagram app icon from my phone. I still have the application and check it a few times a day--but I learned by doing this with Facebook and Twitter a couple of years ago how drastically it reduces your lost time to simply make yourself have to type the app name instead of a simple click. That couple of seconds it takes to type the name are often all I need to pause and ask myself if there's a better use of my time. I am not anti-social media--I just want to keep it in its proper place and I had gotten out of balance. Turns out, guardrails are my friend! The time I spend mindlessly scrolling the app have been drastically reduced.

And can I admit something? It turns out I like people in my real life much better than online images--real face-to-face conversations and phone calls make me feel far more connected and known than glimpses into curated highlights ever did. 

Also, the algorithms had gotten VERY good at spotting my taste. I am certain reducing those direct ads has saved me money! ;-)

 

3. Memorizing Romans 12. I confess I haven't worked on Scripture memory in a very long time. Slowly working through a passage one verse at a time has filled my mind with new perspective. So many phrases floating around my head, straight from Scripture that come to mind throughout my daily life. Always a good thing.

4. My small group read and discussed Jeannie Cunnion's Don't Miss Out in the Fall and plans to dive into Never Alone (also by Jeannie) next. Both of these resources have been excellent reminders that it is not up to me to control every outcome. 

I am truly learning how to reorient my achiever, checklist, efficiency mindset to be more focused on trusting the work of the Lord and joining Him where He is. I am significant, but He is sovereign. 

The tendency here at the end of the "parenting them under your roof" phase can be frenetic--like contestants on a cooking show dashing against the clock to throw on garnishes. You can only do so much to cover. I do not want that to be the focus of our last 18 months together--and for my personality type, that means constantly dying to my tendencies.

As I heard Jeannie say on the Raising Boys and Girls podcast: "Lay down what God hasn't asked you to carry so you can thrive in what He has."

So, here it is, a public proclamation that I am trying. ;-)

From a Mama in the Stands

Last night our high school’s football team won a thrilling game in the state playoffs. As I was looking through my photos this morning, this one struck me: Our kicker standing alone on the sidelines with the field goal in the background. The score was 7-6. Our team was one point behind after our son’s point-after attempt bounced off the upright.

I took this picture as my Mama heart was in the stands watching, praying, and hoping. This is so often the role of a parent of an emerging adult--the hearts we have shepherded for so many years are now increasingly out of our reach in key moments as we are relegated to the audience, crowd, sideline, or stands.

It occurred to me last night that even if I had known the perfect encouraging words to say, I had no way to get them in my son’s ear. I was watching and hoping that the voices he COULD hear--coaches, teammates, and his own inner voice would suffice. The momentary feelings were strong and real, but there was a lot of game left to play. (Isn’t that a life metaphor that will preach?)

This moment of pulling away passed quickly. He told me later he just needed time to clear his head. I watched as he “reset” and coaches and teammates wandered over with supportive handshakes. He moved back into the pack and the team pulled through with strong play by so many kids. Our fella even had two more successful scoring attempts.

Ryland has had a terrific kicking season, and yet, there have been misses. As a kicker’s parent I have been reminded that life is quite the roller coaster if we allow the transitory drama of day-to-day circumstances to become our score of life.

Next week we will play another round and I will rejoice at the opportunity my young man is having to try, fail, succeed, learn, and grow. I will continue to pray for the voices speaking into his heart--especially in the times when mine is relegated to just one more of the crowd.

Homecoming 2021

Twenty years ago this February before I had learned the concept of mindfulness, my friend Liz cornered me in my Bridal dressing room. She put an Altoid in my mouth, straightened up a few errant parts of my ensemble, and said something to the effect of "This is going to be a whirlwind. You have to intentionally take moments to just look around and take pictures with your heart. You will be glad you did."  

That advice has carried me through not only a wedding day but decades of life since then. It is a sermon I keep preaching to myself--especially as my children age and I know this chapter is coming to a close. I feel this practice is largely why I started blogging/Instagramming. 

Pause. Notice. Savor. Seal the moment. Sometimes with an actual photo, but at the very least in my heart.

This weekend was FULL of those snapshots. 

Friday night's football game felt like a scene from a movie. The weather was perfectly comfortable Fall crisp. It was our first home game in a month. Covid has relinquished its grip on our region to the point that things felt like old normal again. There were familiar faces, family, and friends that have become family. As I looked around I felt so tenderly grateful for the life God has built for us here (as transplants) and the dozens of people we have literally raised our children alongside. 

My senses were heightened to the sounds, smells, and sights. The game was action-packed and came down to the last minute. The student section was lively and involved like a professional soccer game. I knew that I would relive the night in my heart for years to come. 

Our kicker performed with poise. Our mascot was full of energy and patience for the throngs of little people following him around. Our girl was gracious and beautiful as she served on Homecoming Court.  

I was keyed up until early morning, full of the joyful emotion of being parents to Upper Classmen--and fun of these days. It was a nice change from where I sometimes get stuck in the anxiety, pressure, and ticking clock until launch.

After a few hours of sleep, Saturday was an absolute zoo! Our teens had duties at school with a 5k race, giving Alumni tours, and rehearsal for a play that opens this weekend. Meanwhile, Ryland & I were setting up to host a dinner for 17 kids with other parents and an afterparty at a separate location in addition to hair, make-up, flowers, etc for our three and their dates. In the midst of all the frenzy, as I was miles from my home rushing to pick something up, I found a cat asleep in my back seat. (He had climbed in while I was loading party supplies in my driveway!)

Despite the last-minute stress of wearing contacts, hand-tying bowties, and accidental sportcoat swaps, we all made it out the door on time. 

The kids' sweet dates were each just right--and there was no drama and lots of fun and laughter. 

Of course, the combination of milestone events and hormones led me to some deep thinking alone in my car as I buzzed around Saturday afternoon. 

What was the point of all this hoopla? Were we overdoing it? Perhaps. But these once-a-year events are important tools for teaching the finer points of social graces--formal dates, dressing up, nice dinners.  (Especially after the last 19 months of Covid!) 

After so many years of teaching them independence, it is fun to find things our teenagers could do themselves, but we choose to do for them simply because we won't be able to much longer. The preparations felt like a "get to" not a "have to." It was fun to be involved. 

I hope the home-making before the home-leaving will make the future home-comings so sweet-- returning to the place of such great memories and love.