From whence my help comes

In the past year I have found out that I can do things I never imagined myself doing; not just physically, but mentally and spiritually.

My sister in law asked how things were going the other day, and I told her they were good. She asked if I was still keeping Sam; my response, “everyday, all day”. She said she didn’t know how I did it, that it would wear her out and exhaust her, and when he starts crawling and walking it was going to be a real job.

Her comment made me realize what all I’ve encountered in the past year. That if I had known it was coming would have told you straight out, not only that it wouldn’t happen, but that I would have handled it completely different than I have. I realized that in the past year I’ve dealt with and done more things than I could have ever imagined myself doing and I have done them differently than I would have ever imagined. I have changed so much in the past year as to how I used to think and function to what I think and function at this moment, I can’t begin to list all the changes. Through it all there have been times of overwhelming grief, worry and exhaustion but on the flip side there has been such joy that it is unexplainable, and a sense of peace that can only come from God.
I know enough to know that none of it is over, simply because life will continue and go on, and the days aren’t written yet; except in God’s day timer, and He is the only one who sees that.

As I was relating the conversation to Audrey, I chuckled and said, “well, it will either get me in shape or kill me………either way, I win”

At that moment I thought of Caleb—yep, the one who went into the Promised Land with Joshua, the one who was there through the plaques in Egypt and the deliverance through the Red Sea, and went into the Promised Land as a spy with the others who came back and gave a bad report, sealing their own fate at never getting to enter that Promised Land again.

But Joshua the son of Nun and Caleb the son of Jephunneh remained alive, of the men who went to spy out the land

He was there and saw it all. He knew God was strong enough to bring them through the trials of Egypt, and he knew God would give them the Promised Land.

His comment, when he went to collect the land promised to him, has stuck with me.

“And now, behold, the LORD has kept me alive, as He said, these forty-five years, ever since the LORD spoke this word to Moses while Israel wandered in the wilderness; and now, here I am this day, eighty-five years old. As yet I am as strong this day as on the day that Moses sent me; just as my strength was then, so now is my strength for war, both for going out and for coming in."

In this battle that we continue to fight as we live on this earth, I think of Caleb; wholly committed to the Lord and receiving the strength to go on and forward to the Promised Land……………..Promised. God Promised………………I’m planning on going in, but first I have to fight some battles, continue in the war. I’m counting on God to give strength and longevity if that is what He has for me.

And Joshua blessed him; and he gave Hebron unto Caleb the son of Jephunneh for an inheritance…….. because he wholly followed Jehovah, the God of Israel…….And the land had rest from war.

As a friend of mine said once, “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

I’ll rest when God says it’s time.

Little helpers

Our kids have always been the kind to jump in and help.











Yep, nothin's changed :)

The smile that melts.........

I haven't seen this smile in many years. The one that melts your heart right into a puddle down to the floor.
I remember those smiles from tiny faces, and now they are back.
That smile that says, "I'm glad to see your face."
I find myself melting a lot these days.

To remember........

His body from the top of his head to the curve if his little bottom are the length of my forearm. He rests there now, so relaxed I can hear him breathing but feel no movement.

His eye lashes rest on his cheeks, and there is a little drop of droll coming from the corner of his mouth.

Skin so soft, nothing compares; to think, someday those, the softest of cheeks, will grow whiskers, the upper lip a mustache.

These are the moments that stop me in my tracks, this chance to sit here and hold this little piece of heaven.

Today as I rocked him after the bottle, with a full tummy and grinning from ear to ear I prayed for God to always let me remember these days, to always see this little face in my mind’s eye when it does have whiskers and maybe a mustache.

Oh, to remember……..

The Good Mother

One of the last conversations my Mother and I had was when she was lying on the hospital gurney after falling and breaking her leg.
She had decided to discontinue dialysis, as the logistics of continuing within the confines to the Dr’s protocol just seemed too much to bear; moving her to Wichita, being in bed all day, not to mention recovering from a surgery she might not survive, and possibly having a stroke through it. It just made it seem an unnecessary continuance of what seemed to her an already complicated existence. She was 88 years old, had been on dialysis for three and a half years, and was weary of it all. Once the decision was made, the realization that her life would end was finally the reality she had been preparing for.

As she looked at me through tear filled eyes, her comment to me was “I just want to know that I’ve been a good Mother.”

I found myself grasping for words. My mother would now begin the process of “actively dying”, as hospice puts it, what could I say that would put her mind at ease, allow her to slip peacefully and rested into the next stage of her journey?

I remember telling her some things, comforting things, all the things I thought she would want to hear. Cutting her the break that I thought she needed to hear, that we girls all knew and understood that she had done the best she knew how, that we loved her, and were proud of her, that she was and had been in her own way, with-out-a-doubt, one of the best Mom’s around. I don’t really remember too much about the conversation, I knew it was important to put her mind at ease, to comfort her, I didn’t want to screw it up. Apparently, I said and did the right stuff because she took a deep breath, hugged me, gave me a kiss, and launched into directions on what color lipstick she wanted put on her after she was gone—“not that bright red stuff!”

Her question has stayed with me though. Isn’t that the question that every mother asks herself thousands of times in her life of raising children? Even after they are grown and making families of their own, and become mothers themselves; you still ask yourself, “Have I been a good Mother?"

Over the past year, I’ve felt quite confident that I was NOT a good mother. After all don’t we gauge our success as mothers on our children’s behavior, the choices they make, and the way they “turn out”? When they make mistakes, and poor choices don’t we assume that somewhere along the line WE messed up?

Have I been a good mother?

Sure. In some ways, like my own mother, I’ve been the best I knew how. Within the confines of my knowledge and experience I was the best Mother I knew how to be. I did what I thought was the right thing to do by my children. Don’t most Mothers’?

In other ways, I’ve messed up royally. I’ve said the wrong things at the wrong times, I’ve let them down when I should have lifted them up. I’ve doubted when I should have had confidence. I was there when I shouldn’t have been, and vice-versa. In some ways, mothering is a crap shoot, there are so many variables in the mix, success or failure are never guaranteed. Even God, the first parent, has had kids that if behavior and choices reflected on the parents, let’s just say, didn’t reflect well on Him.

Let’s face it we judge by performance, our performance, our kids’ performance, and our neighbors’ performance. And like any performance, when someone does well, we cheer and hoot, and when they get up there and forget the lines, and screw up the scene, we cringe for them, and sometimes giggle and laugh, (especially when they are little), but we still judge the performance. Did they know their lines? Were they prepared?

Mothering isn’t a performance. The lines haven’t been written, and let’s face it, can you ever prepare?

I’ve thought about my Mothers statement over and over again during the last year. She would have probably cut me a huge break over the events that have taken place in my family this past year. Don’t get me wrong, she would have struggled with it, but it seems that in her last days, she was still wondering about this Mothering thing; just how to do it, trying to find the definitive answer to the “getting it right” question. Her question has given me hope, because I’m thinking that if at 88 years of age she still didn’t know if she had gotten it right, I’m pretty sure I don’t know either. I’ll let you know if I figure it out.