Random Thoughts on Mums, Moms, and Watering our Roots

Any of you who know much about me know that I am not a gardener.

But I do love flowers—those that other people plant and tend and care for. And I love Fall. I love pumpkins and colorful gourds and brilliant mums. Especially mums.

Our local supermarket has the most gorgeous chrysanthemums displayed in huge pots just waiting to be brought home and placed in the big stone urns in the front of my house. They’re absolutely spectacular—explosions of red and gold and bronze, colors that would look fantastic in our front yard.

But here’s the hitch: They have to be watered. Even non-gardener that I am, I do realize plants have to be watered. But I was hoping maybe mums didn’t need to be watered very often. I was hoping this because I am just about to begin a stretch of intense travel during which I will be home only 3 or 4 days in the next three weeks. That would leave Woody to water the mums.

Which will not happen.

Please understand: I am not blaming him for this. I am just observing the stresses of his daily schedule and not wanting to put anything more on him. I am also being realistic about past experiences.

So that’s why I asked the girl watering the chrysanthemums outside my supermarket yesterday how often they need to be watered. I was hoping she would say, “Oh, you know it’s funny. mums just don’t seem to need much water. They almost seem to thrive on neglect. They stay brilliant and happy whether they’re cared for or not.”

But that’s not what she said. You probably guessed that, many of you being gardeners yourselves. “Oh, they need water frequently,” she said. “Probably at least every other day.”

Rats! (as Linus would say) No mums for me this year, I guess.

I walked away thinking about how much mums and relationships are alike. They both need regular tending. Husbands do. Children do. Moms do. Maybe especially moms. Which is why our goal at Mom To Mom is helping you to keep your roots watered by the refreshing streams from God’s Word that can flow into our real everyday lives through prayer.

And if your roots are watered, you’ll be much better at keeping those relational roots watered in your own home.

As I walked away from those beautiful mums yesterday, I prayed two prayers. First: “Lord, please let my words water the roots of moms through Your Word everywhere I go. With every word spoken or written. In listening as well as speaking. In word and in deed. Young moms and older moms—we all need watering!”

And there was another prayer: “Lord don’t let me forget—even in this busy upcoming time of travel—how much my own roots need constant watering through your Word and prayer. And help me keep the roots of my own relationships watered. With Woody especially, as I’ll be away a lot over the next few weeks. And with my precious kids and grandkids, even though my ‘watering’ has to be via email and phone more often than in person. I want to live—as well as teach about—a well-watered life.”

So, if you’re lucky enough to have beautiful mums gracing your yard, don’t forget to water them. But more importantly, remember that husbands and children—and you, yourself, Mom!—need watering even more often.

A well-watered mum—or mom—is so much more fun to have around the house!

Mom-questions, Imperfections, and Beautiful Music

I just finished doing two things—reading today’s entry in the classic devotional Streams in the Desert and reading a list of 27 profound questions from moms in an Atlanta-area Mom To Mom which I will be visiting later this week. They have asked me to do an informal Q&A time with them and have submitted some questions for me to think about ahead of time.

Wow, do they have good questions! They have given me plenty to think about. I certainly do not have all the answers. It’s humbling even to have them asking me these questions. Asking me—imperfect mother as I was (and am) and “bear of little brain.” (Isn’t that what Winnie the Pooh used to say? Do any of you still read Winnie the Pooh stories to your kids?)

As I was pondering these questions, a quote came to mind: I’m just “one beggar telling another beggar where to find food.” And it struck me that that’s what Mom To Mom is all about. As teachers and leaders and mentors and fellow-moms, all of us try to share as much wisdom as we can. We can share what we have learned from our mistakes as much as our small successes. But most of all we’re one mom telling another mom where to get help and find food.

Which takes me back to today’s entry in my devotional book. The story is told about the great violinist Paganini finding himself on the stage ready to begin a big performance only to discover that his invaluable master violin had been stolen and replaced with the inferior one he held in his hand. Here’s what he said to the audience: “Ladies and gentlemen, I will now demonstrate to you that the music is not in the instrument but in the soul.”

Not in the instrument, but “in the soul.”

This story penetrated my heart on two levels. First, with the reminder that mothering is really all about the soul. All of our tools and strategies and great ideas are helpful. But what matters most in a mom, what profoundly impacts our kids, is who we are at soul level.

Then, looking at this story through a slightly different lens, it struck me how God is playing the music; we are merely the instruments. And He, the Master Musician, can play beautiful music even through us, imperfect instruments that we are.

That takes some pressure off us, doesn’t it? It also underscores how important it is that we keep in tune with the Master Musician, the One who orchestrates our lives and the lives of our children. As imperfect as we are, He can make beautiful music through us. Even when we don’t have all the answers.

Dublin Delivery

No, the baby’s not here yet—Erika actually has a couple of months to go. I’m talking about a different kind of delivery: the one Woody and I made last weekend on a quick trip to Dublin. We flew there with four fully-packed suitcases and flew home with two half-empty ones. And in between, did we have fun!

We had several reasons for this trip—as if any mom and dad need a reason to visit their daughter and son-in-law! Most importantly, we wanted to see our daughter pregnant, as she really didn’t look very pregnant when she was here last June. We also wanted to help her set up a little nursery for the baby. And, we had a bunch of shower presents to deliver—from the shower I told you about last June. If any of you have mailed anything internationally recently, you will understand why we wanted to bring as much with us as we could. Of course the suitcases did have to expand even a bit more after I got back from a “pink-binge” at the mall just before leaving last week. A first granddaughter, after all…


As it turned out, we also got to help Erika and Richie move, since our trip came at just the right time when they were “moving house,” as they say in Ireland, from one apartment to another. I’m sure you’re getting the picture by now—it was a very full weekend!

We actually worked pretty hard, and enjoyed every moment of it. We were able to set up a few things for the baby: a crib (a “cot” in Ireland), a changing table, and even my Nana-obsession—a nursing rocker. (Every new mama needs a rocker.) These furniture items all came “flat-packed.” And I can tell you I am still thanking God that Woody is good at putting things together, as that’s definitely not one of the gifts God gave me.


We were able to finish cleaning out one apartment and begin some of the settling process in another. In between, we even managed to squeeze in a coffee here or there and a few dinners out. And something else I love to do: We got to worship at Erika and Richie’s church, a warm and intimate “Saturday@Five” service held in a stately old Irish Presbyterian church. I always look forward to worshiping with them.


But best of all, as you can imagine, was just seeing Erika and Richie and feeling that baby within. She’s pretty active these days. And though her wildest hours seem to be when Erika’s in bed, we were able to feel a few kicks and somersaults-in-process even in the daytime. Well worth a trip to Ireland and back!

Speaking of the trip back…it’s funny how the trip home always seems so much longer than the trip there. It is actually a bit longer on the clock (wind currents or something like that). But of course the distance is really measured in a mother’s heart.

As I said goodbye to Erika, knowing that the next time I see her she will probably be a mama (we’re still working on how to time my trip over to help her when the baby comes), I was reminded how profound Erika’s blog post was on control versus trust. Somehow it takes extra trust for this mama to entrust my “baby” to the far-away Irish healthcare system to properly deliver her baby. But no matter where she is having the baby, there will be plenty that’s out of my control. Plenty that needs to rest in the hands of God.

Being a mama is all about trust, isn’t it? Let’s keep praying for each other, girls!

Mississippi “Happy”

What a great weekend I had in Madison, Mississippi, with the Mom To Mom women at Broadmoor Baptist Church. They are one great group of women, let me tell you—and beautiful besides, as you can see from the pictures.

They welcomed me with such warm and elegant Southern hospitality that at one or two points I half expected Rhett or Scarlett to walk through the door. I loved listening to them. That beautiful soft speech makes everything somehow sound a little easier, doesn’t it? And I even learned a new word or two.

One of those words was a new definition for “happy.” One of the leaders was telling me how she liked to bring the moms in her group a “little happy” whenever she could. It sounded like a noun—a “happy.” So of course I had to ask about it. For you girls north of the Mason-Dixon line (or maybe just outside Mississippi), a “happy” is a little treat or surprise . . . some small gift that will brighten their day—or week—or month.

I was picturing M&M’s—of course!

I was actually given a “happy” by one of the groups I spoke to—a package of Mississippi Cheese Straws. And let me tell you, they make you happy!


But what made me happiest of all was to see these moms reaching out to one another with the love of Jesus. As I travel around and visit with moms, I am always struck at how similar our needs, worries, challenges, and opportunities are as moms no matter what part of the country we live in or even what age our kids are. We all need encouragement. We all need energizing. We all need help in this most challenging job of raising the next generation—and influencing generations to come! Especially, we all need prayer—and the power of God in our lives.

That’s why a rather obscure verse came to my mind this morning as I prayed for Mom To Mom groups all over the country— the group in Madison, but also and especially some “Wednesday MTM’s” in Texas and North Carolina and New Jersey and Illinois and Wisconsin. (BTW, if you want to be on my prayer list, please write in to momtomom.org and let us know where you are and when you meet!)

I thought of Psalm 68:11. In the KJV it reads: “The Lord gave the word: great was the company of people that published it.” But apparently the word for “people” here is feminine. The Holman Christian Standard Bible translates the last part of this verse: “a great company of women brought the good news.”


A great company of women brought the good news. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? Isn’t that what we’re doing through Mom To Mom? That’s why praying for Mom To Mom women all over the country makes me very, very happy!

And now I’m off to finish packing my bags for Ireland—a quick trip to help Erika get the nursery set up for that little lady due in November. A suitcase full of pink stuff . . . Talk about happy!

Reunion Thanks

Have you ever had a time when all you could say is “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus”? And you just couldn’t stop saying it?

Last weekend was like that for me. We got to see Lars again! Lars’ inlaws, Kelly’s wonderful parents Connie and Rob Lawrence, graciously hosted a wonderful mini-reunion at their lovely home in Kiawah, South Carolina. Though not all family members could be there (we sure missed Erika and Richie, but were so glad Bjorn and Abby and Soren could come), we had a fabulous time together.


We walked the beach, watched Bengt do “super-Bengts” in the pool and model his goggles, had a grand time watching cousins Bengt and Soren play together, and hung out in the kitchen or on the porch in rocking chairs and talked.


It was great to see Lars looking so good and fit and well and happy. It was wonderful to see him back with his family. It was great (well, most of the time—some of the stories were a little scary, at least for a mom) to hear Lars talk more about what everyday life for him at Al Asad in Iraq was like.

But most of all, it was just so good to be able to hug him again. He always was a good hugger. And even being a Marine hasn’t changed that.

And it was good to have a time to praise God together, read some Psalms together, and thank God for Lars’ safe return. And now that so many of you have prayed with me for Lars, please join me in my “thank you thank you thank you Jesus!” And don’t forget to keep praying for all our troops, home or deployed.

Switching subjects… Wasn’t Erika’s blog great? Far more profound than she actually knows now. That control/ trust issue is a lifelong challenge for a mom, isn’t it? Thanks to those of you who wrote comments to encourage her. I still hope you’ll write some more so she’ll be spurred on to future blogs.

And now I must run and pack my bag for Madison, Mississippi. I’m so excited because I’m going to be down there at Broadmoor Baptist this weekend with a whole bunch of moms at their Mom to Mom groups. Which reminds me . . . I’d love to come speak with your group. If you’re interested in finding out more about my speaking, check out lindaandersonministries.blogspot.com, where my publicist Candace Keck will tell you much more. She’s a really fun person and keeps the blog a fun place to visit!

Off to Mississippi—maybe I can get some pictures to share with you when I get back.

Happy weekend!

Thy Mercy, O God

I am really excited about this next blog entry. It’s written by my daughter Erika: the selfsame daughter who’s going to have a baby in November. The Erika we had a shower for last June (See “Baby Talk” entry from May 31). And that was before we knew she and Richie are expecting a girl. Yes, Woody and I are going to have a granddaughter. We are overjoyed!

And now let me introduce Erika’s first blog entry, written from the mom-to-be point of view. And from Ireland. You may even notice a few “Irishisms” in her writing. As American as Erika is, Richie-speak” has rubbed off on her. I hope you’ll enjoy meeting Erika, and even consider writing back to her. Every mom-to-be could use a little encouragement, right? Just like every mom!

————————————

It’s Saturday morning, 10:20 am. I am sitting in a small “breakfast room” in our kitchen (by breakfast room I mean a two-seater table at one end of our kitchen) with a lovely mug of coffee (a red mug from Crate and Barrel—one of my favorite wedding presents!). Richie, my husband, is still asleep upstairs and the only sound I hear is the humming of his alarm going off (which has gone off several times—the “snooze button” is a great invention isn’t it?).



This is the highlight of my week. I work in a school/day care centre (we say “crèche” in Ireland) and it is a non-stop, go-go-go life for me in my Montessori classroom of young 3-year-olds. I treasure my quiet Saturday morning with coffee by the computer catching up on emails, or sitting with my journal.

In just over 3 months however, this morning will look very different! You see, as I’m typing this I’m already feeling an eager young life inside me, jumping, flipping, and kicking, eager for her chance in this world—the life of a developing baby girl. A baby girl who will be my daughter!

A baby girl.

My mind is constantly trying to grasp this idea—the idea that I will be a mother, that Richie will be a father, that pretty soon Saturday mornings won’t be quiet coffee time but will be filled with attempts at breast-feeding, crying (probably crying from me and the baby), dirty nappies (diapers), and efforts to soothe and comfort a small, dependent baby.


And as I think of those things, the early days with a baby, I am thankful for two things. First, that my mother will be here to help (you are planning on staying for 6 months, right, Mom?) But mainly, I’m thankful for something that has been a recurring thought in my mind throughout my whole pregnancy so far—I’m thankful for God’s mercy for me despite my desire to control, rather than to trust.

I do pretty well at controlling my life and the situations around me. I say this a bit tongue-in-cheek, because for me, the reason I am good at controlling my life is because I find it very hard to trust God. So often it’s easier for me to control rather than to rest in the truth that God is capable of redeeming—or even using—my mistakes or “dropped balls.” And I feel that while I’m scurrying around, picking up the pieces that I or others have dropped, I hear faint whispers from God saying, “Erika, rest. I can do this.”

Most of the time, I continue on in my flurry.

Why do I continue on? Why do I insist on doing things myself when God is offering rest? Do I really believe that God will take care of these things for me? Will He get the house tidied, or make the meals, or engage in conversation with my husband after I’ve had a long day of kids needing me constantly? No, probably not. But will He maintain peace and harmony in my house even if it’s a mess? Will He provide good health for my family even if we have to order take out or have frozen pizzas tonight? Will He provide me with the strength to engage my husband and care for him even when I’m totally spent?

Yes.

Is that hard as all get out to believe at times? Yes. And my flesh cries out to do it myself: To feel the adrenaline of having things under control, to look like “super woman”—or “super mom” in your case.

But when I’m trying to be Super Woman I’m missing out on deeper things of God. I’m missing out on a moment with Him, on knowing fuller His promise of provision (a provision that goes deeper than an orderly house or homemade meal), and the meaning of the phrase, “my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” My heavenly Father is wanting to give me a kiss and I’m turning my face away from him to get back to cleaning my kitchen.

So here I am, almost 6 months pregnant, and have found myself in a position that I cannot control. The life of this little girl growing inside me is only dependent on me to a certain extent. I can eat properly, exercise wisely, avoid certain activities. But her developing body, her organs, and her health and wholeness are God’s alone to look after and provide. This has been such a lesson in trust, and such an encounter with mercy. When I worry about her, all I can do is go to the feet of my Father and pray that he will protect her. But I also pray that He will help me to trust Him. And I praise Him that He will have mercy on me when I don’t and can’t trust Him.

And He will do the same for you.

When you find yourself rushing around trying to sort out lunches, carpooling, cleaning, and family schedules, and you get wrapped up in activities, my hope is that He will remind you that HE IS ENOUGH. That though all those things are important, they are small in the grand plan He has for you and your family. And my hope for you is the same as my hope for myself: that we will take Him up on His offer to provide, that we will be able to “drop balls” trusting that He will care for the situation and that through it we will know Him more intimately.

And we can praise Him for the fact that even when we find ourselves incapable of trusting, or not wanting to trust, wanting to do it ourselves, that He will have mercy on us and will continue His provision and protection.

I want to finish this off with the lyrics to a song that has recently been an anthem for me. It’s an old hymn that has been re-done by a compilation group called “Indelible Grace” (I highly recommend any and all of their CDs! See www.igracemusic.com). —Erika

Thy Mercy My God

Thy mercy my God is the theme of my song
The joy of my heart and the boast of my tongue.
Thy free grace alone from the first to the last
Hast won my affection and bound my soul fast.

Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here
My sin would reduce me to utter despair
But through thy free goodness my spirits revive
And he that first made me still keeps me alive.

They mercy is more than a match for my heart
It’s wondrous to feel its own hardness depart
‘Tis all by thy goodness I fall to the ground
And weep to the praise of the mercy I’ve found.

Great Father of mercy, thy goodness I own
And the covenant love of thy crucified Son
All praise to the spirit whose whisper divine
Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine.

©2001 Same Old Dress Music (ASCAP). Words: John Stocker. Music: Sandra McCracken.

Safe Home

Lars is home!!!! I am overjoyed to be able to share with you that our Marine Captain son is home from Iraq. At 2:30 pm on Friday, August 8, his C-130 landed at his base at Cherry Point. And Lars is now home with his wife Kelly and nearly-three-year-old son Bengt in New Bern, NC.
Can you imagine our joy? Our overflowing gratitude? It is, really, almost beyond words. In my head, I keep bursting forth with the Doxology.

We have not yet seen him. We all felt their little family needed some time to reconnect and adjust before any larger family celebrations; those will come Labor Day Weekend. But it is so good to talk with him and know his voice is coming from safe in the USA. And the pictures tell the story: he is back where he belongs—home with Kelly and Bengt.

In Ireland they have a custom I love. When you’re leaving a home where you’ve visited—even for a short time—they say as you leave, “Safe home, now, safe home.” Lars is “safe home.” We praise God! Thank you thank you thank you Jesus!

I also want to thank the many of you who have prayed for him and his family and for us. And I want to ask you please not to stop praying. For all the troops. For the Marines who flew into Lars’ base in Iraq to replace those who came home. And for the men and women all over the world whose families are now praying and waiting for them to come home just as we have for Lars.


Actually, our prayers go even deeper than that, don’t they? We pray for all our children—living at home or grown, single or married, military or civilian—to come “safe home.” Yes, to us and to their families. But even more, safe home to the Lord who wants to make His home in their hearts until we’re all “safe home” with Him.

It’s my prayer for you and for all your children: Safe home, now, safe home.

Doing More Than You Think

Recently I made a very long journey. It was not that long in actual miles (just over 100) or in hours (2-3 each way). But it was a very long journey of the heart.

Woody and I drove down to Wheaton, Illinois, where I grew up and where both of us went to college. The reason for our trip was a sad one: a memorial service for my Aunt Ruth, my mother’s sister. But it also gave us opportunity to drive around several suburbs (Woody spent much of his early life in neighboring towns) that were the scenes of our childhood and teen-to-young-adult years.

As we drove by one place after another where I had lived (my mom was a realtor, so we lived in a number of different homes), I was swept back in time.

I could almost see the kids skating on the driveway on hot summer days at one house—and feel the sunburn I had the next day which, being a Sunday, meant I had to dress up and wear a “prickly dress.” I think it was dotted swiss material—anyone remember that?


Another home reminded me of our crazy standard poodle who actually climbed trees—at least, the tree right across the street, which had some low branches to get him started. A third house was the place we planned our wedding, and where, on the Big Day, an unplugged cord to the clock in my room almost made me late to my own wedding!

There must have been thousands of memories.

But many of them were on a deeper level. I thought constantly of my parents, both of whom now have gone on to be with the Lord. I thought of all the ups and downs that took place over the years in those homes we lived in. The good times, the hard times, the just day-to-day “normal” (whatever that is!) times which take place in all our lives.

Most of all, I thought of my parents’ faithfulness through it all: faithfulness to each other, to their children, and—above all—to God. Most of their days probably seemed pretty mundane. My dad was a hard-working college professor, interim pastor, writer, reluctant Mr. Fix-it, and even part-time farmer. (At one point, Wheaton College professors were given some land on which to plant vegetable gardens to supplement their meager salaries!) My mom was a part-time realtor who managed to “be there” for my brother and me even while juggling many roles as wife, daughter, sister, mother, and realtor.


I’m sure they had no idea how profoundly some of their “everyday” routines would impact generations to come. They had no idea that my brother and I knew that Dad was on his knees in the early-morning hours at his “prayer chair” in our little living room. Or that Mom, a bit later, read her red-lined Bible at the kitchen table. Or that the two of them knelt by their bed every night.

They surely didn’t realize, either, what an impression it made on us that Mom was always home for us after school (well, almost always—occasionally her realtor role had to take precedence, but rarely) so we could pour out all the important events of the day—or at least I could—I’m not sure my brother was quite as chatty! Or the picture my brother and I carry in our minds of Dad’s study door at the top of the stairs: it was always open. Clearly he was hoping we’d pop in and drop in one of the chairs across from his desk to share the latest in our lives.

And when they were reading us Bible stories as part of “family devotions” around the old yellow formica table in our kitchen, did it look as if we were paying any attention at all?

Lifelong imprints, these memories, that have profoundly affected not only my brother and me, but also our children—and now their children. It kind of reminds me of Psalm 78, verses 4–7, where the Psalmist instructs us to “tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, His power and the wonders He has done . . . so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children.”

I thought of this journey last week when I was singing “Jesus Loves Me” to Soren before he went to bed. I thought of the “children yet to be born” part of Psalm 78. And I thought of you.


I’ll bet most of your days seem pretty mundane. It’s mid-summer. It’s hot. It really doesn’t seem like you’re doing much at all. Certainly not accomplishing anything important.

You might be surprised. That’s why I’m writing about my journey back to my childhood. One thing I forgot to tell you: a couple of the places I lived aren’t even there any more. But the memories are. And the imprints for generations to come.

Hmm. No wonder you’re so tired at the end of a day. You’re doing a lot more than you think!

Ten Days in Toddler Land

Woody and I have just returned from ten days in another world—the world of a 19-month-old. For one wonderful week we had our grandson Soren to ourselves. And for a few days on either side of that, we shared him with his parents Bjorn and Abby, before and after their one-week trip to Saranac Camp in New York with their Young Life kids.

It was a glorious week. It was an exhausting week. And it was an eye-opening week. It’s been a lo-o-ng time since we parented a toddler!

In a sense, I thought of it as a refresher course on what the lives of so many of you moms are like. Except that it was just a week. And, with both Woody and me there, we were two-on-one, while that is not the case for most of you on a 24/7 basis. It certainly was not that way for me when I was raising toddlers—Woody was hardly home full-time to help me out! And last week we had one child to care for, while many of you have more than one preschooler to keep track of.

Nevertheless, I learned (or more accurately, re-learned) a lot! A few random observations from life in toddlerland:

• There’s nothing like a toddler’s smile in the morning. And when they reach out their pudgy little arms to hug you and “pat Nana,” you want to do this forever!

• Every day is an adventure. You never know what exciting things you might see just outside your window (like a neighbor organizing a yard sale which fills the driveway with fascinating junk) or on a stroller ride (the world is FULL of motorcycles, fire engines, and horsies when you’re looking for them).

• Eating is also an adventure. Not only because you never know where food that starts on your spoon may end up. But also because, if you’re Soren, blueberries and avocados and sweet peppers of all colors are like M&M’s—you just can’t get enough of them! (I know—hard to believe: a toddler who actually loves healthy food! What is Abby’s secret?)

• Naps are a little bit of heaven—especially for moms of toddlers (and even more especially for grandparents of toddlers!) They are definitely not to be missed! Take full advantage of them.
  

• If you’re taking care of a not-quite-20-month-old, don’t plan to do anything else in your life. This is a full-time job! Yes, they take naps (I HOPE yours do!) and go to bed early. But you also will need to take naps and go to bed early. So do not plan on writing the Great American Novel (or even a blog, or coherent emails) while they’re sleeping. You need to be sleeping, too!

• A day at the beach is different when you go with a toddler. Your beach chair is actually only a place to put things on to keep them off the sand—not a place where you actually sit (although your toddler may sit in it for 3-second intervals now and then) Sand is a wonderful thing—not only for digging and dumping and making crab and turtle shapes, but also as a snack additive: everything tastes better with a little sand in it. Oh—and one other thing: a “day” at the beach is more likely to be 90 minutes than several hours—especially if you value naps (see earlier observation).

• There is nothing—absolutely nothing—more fun than eating an ice cream cone. Especially on a hot day at a New Hampshire farm where they also raise goats (aka “gokes”) which you can watch while dribbling your ice cream cone down your shirt. This is living!

• Correction: there is something more fun than eating an ice cream cone. It’s watching your child (or grandchild) eat one for the first time. (Although I do highly recommend eating one yourself while you watch.)
  

I could ramble on and on (after all, I am a grandmother talking about her grandchild). But I have to tell you that even writing this is making my severe “Soren-withdrawal” worse. So I have to move on to other things—like figuring out how I can get Woody’s job moved to New Hampshire, or North Carolina (where Bengt lives) or Ireland (where our granddaughter-to-be lives).

But I do want all of you moms out there to know that I have a renewed appreciation for what you do every day. Not just a week at a time. And not with just one kid. And not with a fellow-caregiver at your side. I always knew you were heroes. I just know better now how exhausting being a hero can be.

And, how wonderful.

The bright eyes and big smiles. The stream of new words. The songs that go through your head even when they’re sleeping (I can’t get the “Fire Truck” song out of my head!) And, oh, those hugs…

Go hug one of your kids for me, will you?

And BTW, thanks to all of you who wrote in or have prayed for our “big kid” in Iraq. I am deeply grateful. He’s due home pretty soon. Stay tuned—and keep praying, please!

The Fourth of July and a Son in Iraq

This Fourth of July feels very different from any other. And it’s not just because, as Woody and I spend what looks to be a quiet (and welcomed!) weekend at home (and he’s not even on call—yea! No beeper!), we will reminisce about many past July celebrations when we hosted big family cookouts in celebration of our son Bjorn’s birthday, which happens to be July 7.
At these family celebrations, we always gave lip service, at least, to our gratitude for our freedom and our country. As we said the blessing over our barbecue, we thanked God for freedom to live our faith and celebrate with family and friends.

But this year it’s different.

It’s different because this year we have a son in Iraq. A son who joined the Marines after college and became a Marine officer and C-130 pilot because he wanted to serve and defend his country and the very freedoms we celebrate this weekend.

The price of freedom comes a lot closer to home this year. Our son—and the many thousands of other enlisted men and women serving abroad—will spend this Fourth of July away from home so that we can celebrate freely in our homes.


The price of freedom has always been high. There have always been brave and committed men and women spending holidays away from their families in defense of their country. Not to mention those whose families will never have their sons and daughters, husbands and wives, and parents, home for a holiday again this side of Heaven. For them the price of freedom is incalculable.

But whatever level you’re on, it just feels a lot closer to home for us this year when our son is so far from home.

So I’m just asking a small favor of any of you faithful blog-readers. This year as you flip those burgers on the grill or wave those flags at the parade or watch those fireworks displays, will you say a prayer for our son Lars? And for all those multitudes of men and women he represents who are celebrating this holiday far away from family and friends?

Say a prayer of gratitude, please. And a prayer for their safety and protection. And for their spirits. It gets awfully lonely in the middle of an Iraqi desert or in the wilds of Afghanistan or on a ship at sea. Or any other place which is far far away from family and friends.

Most of all, say a prayer, please, that they will feel God’s presence even in whatever desert place is their current home-away-from home. That they will know that they abide “under the shadow of the Almighty.” Nearly every day I pray Psalm 91 for Lars, a Psalm I memorized many years ago as a teen. I never could have imagined I would be praying it for a son in Iraq so many years later.

When you pray for out troops, will you please pray also for their families? I wish you could meet some of the amazingly courageous young moms I have met in recent years who are “single-momming it” while their husbands are deployed. Kelly—and Lars—represent so many, many others walking the same path.


Just before Lars left for Iraq last January, Woody gave him and Kelly each a card to carry in their wallets. The cards had a brief message from us on one side and some strong promises from scripture on the other: For Lars, Jeremiah 1:18-19 and Joshua 1:9; for Kelly, Psalm 16:8 and Philippians 4:6-7. (For more about Lars and his family, see the January 30th blog, “Deployment Day.”)

Now, some 5 months later, we continue to pray those verses for them. And as his return to his family gets closer (he hopes to be home around mid-August), I find myself praying especially that God will guard and surround and protect him in body, soul, mind, and spirit. That the Philippians 4:6-7 peace of God will “guard his heart and mind in Christ Jesus.” I pray this every day. But especially on this Independence Day.

Will you join me?

Happy Fourth of July!