"Hi, Mommy. I’m just relaxing."

These are the words of my 2½-year-old grandson, Soren, just a couple of days ago to his mom as he lay completely still on their living room floor. Wait a minute, you say. A 2½-year-old lying still and just relaxing?!! You’ve got to be kidding. How does that happen?

Two words: spica cast.

For those of you who, like me up until a week ago today, had never heard of a spica cast, a word of explanation. A spica cast is basically a body cast designed to immobilize the trunk and one or more legs. In Soren’s case, the cast extends from his chest to the toes of his right leg and to just above the knee of his left leg.

Why the spica cast? Because just a week ago today Soren tripped over a friend’s legs and simply fell the wrong way, probably twisting as he turned, breaking his femur, the large thigh bone so important to how our bodies work.

We had just retuned from a wonderful week’s vacation as a family (all except Lars, of course—who is in Afghanistan) on Cape Cod. Soren and his “big cousin,” 3½-year-old Bengt, had had a blast together, running all over house and yard and having a grand time. Many times I prayed for their safety as I watched those little legs run themselves crazy with fun.

And then a fluke accident in his own living room. Talk about a life-changing moment! At least life-changing for the next two months.

So now Soren—and his parents Bjorn and Abby—are adjusting to a very different August than they had planned. Instead of both being at camp this week with their Young Life kids, Bjorn is at camp and Abby is at home taking care of Soren, with the help of Abby’s wonderful mom.

What in the world do you do with an immobilized 2½ year old for two months? That was one of my first questions. Well, time will tell. It’s only been a week. But already Bjorn and Abby have learned a lot about a world they never knew.

And we all, I must say, are learning a lot from Soren. His life right now is hard—very hard. And so, as you can imagine, is his parents’. There are moments of deep sadness. Times when he wakes up, looks down at his cast, and just sobs inconsolably. Times when his response to his mom’s invitation to take him out in a special stroller to see the neighbor kids is, amidst tears: “But Mommy, I can’t play. I have a cast.”

But there are other times as well. Times like the surprising joy of his first stroller ride down his street. Times when he greets little friends with delight. Times when he can lose himself in a book or story, in the delight of the words he so loves. Even times when he can smile as he looks at Abby and says, “Hi, Mommy. I’m just relaxing.”



We’re learning a lot about the body of Christ as well. Friends near and far have surrounded this little family, helping and giving and praying and loving them through this hard time in every way imaginable.

Why am I sharing this? Well, first of all, because I want to ask you to pray for Soren and Bjorn and Abby. They will need daily strength and grace beyond anything they could have imagined a week ago. I keep thinking of the widow in the Old Testament whose jar of oil and bin of flour were replenished daily—just enough for one day at a time. And of Paul, who learned that God’s grace and strength are truly sufficient in our weakness. And of course I would ask for your prayers for complete and uncomplicated healing of that little boy’s big bone.

But I am also reminded—we all are—that Soren is facing this great obstacle temporarily, while for many parents and children the challenges they face on a daily basis are much longer-term. A time like this gets our attention. For me, it is a reminder of all of you Mom to Mom mothers out there who are facing big, ongoing special challenges with your children—some potentially life-long. I find myself praying for all of you when I pray for Bjorn and Abby and Soren.
And then, too, I find myself thinking of the times in our own lives when we struggle with feeling constricted. When we wake up to a new day realizing things haven’t changed—the “cast,” whatever it may be in our own lives, is still there. But so is our Father, our heavenly parent, who loves and cares for us all the more through these struggles. Just as Abby lies on the living room floor alongside Soren for many an hour, our Heavenly Parent is there for us in our toughest moments.

If only we could, now and then, trust Him enough to say along with Soren, “Hi God. I’m just relaxing….”

And BTW, if any of you have some great ideas of what to do with a 2½-year-old in a spica cast, we’d love to hear from you!

Overflow Options and Groundhog Day

Wow! I am humbled as I realize it’s been over a month since I last posted a blog. In the last one I wrote about overflowing emotions—the joy of a new granddaughter and the challenge of seeing our son deployed to Afghanistan.

Since then—a different kind of overflow. This one in our basement. A couple of weeks ago I awoke to six inches of water in our beautifully finished lower level! A total shock, as both Woody and I had managed to sleep blissfully through most of a terrible storm which knocked out our power and dumped five inches of rain in our area in just a couple of hours.

This is where, curiously, Ground Hog Day comes in. Remember the 1993 Bill Murray movie in which a TV meteorologist found himself living the same day over and over? Well, just a year ago in this same month we had a similar storm. We didn’t lose power that time but found our basement underwater in just a couple of hours due to what was then called a “hundred year flood.”

We’re beginning to understand that these occur pretty much annually in Wisconsin.

We thought we had fixed the problem last year, installing a super-duper double sump pump with battery back up of the best kind we could get. Not enough, apparently for this year’s “hundred year storm.” So I find myself doing all over again the same things I did last year. Once again I am talking to neighbors and researching options for truly “fixing it” this time. We thought we had done that last year before we had the entire basement put back together again, with restored baseboard and dry wall, new carpet and pad, new paint and paper throughout. That was then—June 2008. This is now—June 2009. And once again I am dealing with ServiceMaster crews and insurance agents and plumbers and electricians and dry-wallers and carpenters . . . it is, as Yogi Berra famously put it, “déjà vu all over again.”

Actually, I thought of the comparison to Groundhog Day because of an email I received from Lars in Afghanistan in which he described his current life in a tent at a blazing hot, desert-dry Marine base as feeling like Groundhog Day. He wrote about the daily challenge to “choose joy” even in the midst of his very difficult circumstances. He talked about being on a journey to discover Paul’s secret of being content. You guessed it—he’s been reading Philippians.

Hmmm. Isn’t it amazing how much we learn from our kids? Now, whenever I feel frustration overwhelming me and think I cannot talk to one more person about water or sump pumps or generators, I think of Lars. And I think of Paul, writing Philippians from a Roman prison—or at the very least under house arrest awaiting a Roman trial. I ask God to help me choose joy.
Which leads me back to the “overflow” idea. In that little letter to the Philippians, Paul wrote about “overflowing with joy.” (Philippians 1:26) Amazing! I’m reminded of another place (Romans) where Paul talks of overflow: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)

Is it possible to “overflow with hope” amidst the deserts and floods and Groundhog Days of our lives? The Apostle Paul apparently thought so. I suspect the key is in that tricky little phrase in the middle of Romans 15:13: “…as you trust in Him…”

A daily challenge. For Paul. For Lars. Even for me, in my far more mundane circumstances.

How about you?

Tongue-tied, Rejoicing, and On My Knees

I seem to have been experiencing a strange kind of writer’s block lately. It comes at an inconvenient time—when I have both wonderful news and a great big prayer request I want to share with you. But I can’t seem to get the words out of my mouth—or, more accurately, into my word processor.

I think I’m beginning to understand why. I think it’ a special kind of mama writer’s block that seems to come upon me when my heart is overflowing: overflowing with either joy or anxiety—or, in this case, a strange blend of both.

But here I am—trying anyway. First the great good news. We have a new granddaughter! Hannah Grace Anderson was born on May 16 to her delighted parents Lars and Kelly and very excited big brother Bengt. Healthy and happy at 8 lbs 5 oz and 22 inches, she is a beautiful baby. (Of course you knew I’d say that—but she is!) She was named, I believe, primarily after Hannah in the Old Testament (my soul mate, as those of you in Mom to Mom know) and the great grace of God. But she also bears the names of two great great grandmothers—Woody’s grandmother Hannah and my Nana, Grace. Oh how we rejoice over Hannah’s safe arrival!


But here’s the glitch. Hannah’s daddy, our son Lars, leaves for Afghanistan this week. A C-130 Aircraft Commander and Captain in the Marines, he is scheduled to be deployed to Afghanistan for at least five months—possibly as long as ten months. You can imagine how this fills my mama-heart. Not only for Lars—a huge prayer request which every one of you mothers understands. But also for Kelly and Bengt and Hannah. Sometimes I’m not sure whose deployment is more challenging—Lars’ in Afghanistan or Kelly’s on the homefront...

I’m reminded of something Kelly shared when we visited them in March. She related how a friend of hers, another Marine wife who had just had a baby while her husband was in Iraq, shared her “deployment verse” with her. It was Nehemiah 8:10: “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” A window into the soul of amazing young Marine wives and mothers. I encourage you to pray for all these brave military wives.

And I’m asking you on behalf of my family: Please will you pray for Lars as he goes (most likely May 28) and Kelly as she stays with Bengt and Hannah. May the joy of the Lord truly be their strength! And may this mama-heart be full of that joy even as I walk through these next months on my knees . . .

Lars ends all his emails with these verses. May they bless you as they do all of us:
May the Lord bless and protect you.
May the Lord smile upon you and be gracious to you.
May the Lord show you His favor and give you his peace.

Numbers 6:24-26

Heroic Moms: in Ireland, in Wisconsin, and in . . .

When Woody and I were in Ireland this past March, we were surprised to discover that we were there for Mother’s Day! In Ireland, Mother’s Day is March 22. Of course the whole visit felt like “Mother’s Day” for me, as I got to spend one whole week with my daughter and granddaughter. What more could a mother want?

I was particularly captivated by an article that ran in

The Irish Times

that weekend entitled “Who’d Be a Mother? The Advertising Angle.” the piece explored what advertising executives had said about how they’d advertise motherhood as a job. The consensus seemed to be that you’d need to be honest and tell the truth about what motherhood involves. One consultant recalled the ad that Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton placed in the

London Times

recruiting men to follow him to the South Pole:

“Men wanted for hazardous journey: small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in case of success.”

(It is said he received thousands of responses.)

The consultant went on to observe that motherhood is a “heroic expedition that, despite their better judgment, people embark on all the time.” Other contributors to the article, some advertising consultants, some moms, observed that, while motherhood tests your limits and requires multitasking described as “150 careers, one mammy,” it offers meaning and rewards that outweigh all the rest. Yet, as one ad writer and mom said, “Motherhood is about having to be a grown-up every day of your life.” Yikes! Every day of your life—that’s not easy!

I thought of this article a couple of weeks ago as I sat at the celebration brunch at our church’s Mom to Mom in Hartland, Wisconsin. As I listened to some of the stories shared by our moms, I thought about what a hazardous expedition motherhood is, and what heroes these moms are. And I realized anew how very very important it is for us to support and encourage each other. How thankful I am that God implanted the idea of Mom to Mom so many years ago and it continues to encourage moms in their heroic journeys.

I’ll let a few of these moms speak for themselves about what Mom to Mom has done for them (quotes are approximate, from my notes):

“It makes me feel like I’m doing something right—or at least HE is!”

“Mom to Mom makes me feel normal, despite serious psychological issues!”

“When I leave, I just feel lighter.”

”Thank you for helping us look above the fray.”

“It’s so awesome to know that you really matter cuz sometimes you just feel like you don’t!”

“My leader is so encouraging. She calls me every Monday, and though I work on Mondays, my husband waits for her call and loves talking with her.”

“It’s helped me realize that every moment counts.”

“I see Jesus in the women in my group, and that has helped draw me closer to Him.”

“It’s helped me move my faith from my head to my heart.”

“It reminds me that God is faithful even when I’m not.”

A hazardous journey. Great rewards. Mom heroes. A faithful God. Lots of encouragement needed along the way.

I’m so glad that we moms can join hands and look up and encourage each other in this heroic expedition. I’ll bet you have some hero-moms in your Mom to Mom groups. Got any stories to share? I’d love to hear them!

Waiting for Easter

Early tomorrow (Good Friday) morning we’ll be flying to Boston, then heading up to New Hampshire to spend Easter weekend with our son Bjorn and his wife Abby and their 2-year-old son Soren. I can’t wait! Whenever we’re on the way to visit any of our kids and grandkids, I feel the same way: I just can’t wait! There’s a wonderful anticipation because we know what’s coming—we always so love being with our family.

But lately I’ve been thinking about a different kind of waiting. It’s the kind of waiting Jesus’ disciples experienced between Good Friday and Resurrection morning. Those hours—days—must have felt like forever. Because remember, they didn’t know—as we do—how the story would turn out.

In Reliving the Passion (a phenomenal book which, by the way, I read every Lenten season and highly recommend), Walter Wangerin captures in a remarkable way the feelings that must have been in the hearts of those who knew and loved Jesus. He imagines Mary lingering among the tombs on Saturday, that wretched empty day when it seemed He’d left them forever:

“Stone cold. And the stone is closed. Where do I go from here? Nowhere. Back to the city. Which is a nowhere now. The Master isn’t there. The Master is not. Everywhere is nowhere. There’s nowhere to go….Because the whole world is a graveyard….Jesus! Jesus! Without you I am a nothing in a nowhere.” [Wangerin, p. 151]

Can you imagine what that must have felt like? We twenty-first century disciples have a hard time even thinking through such a scenario—one in which on Good Friday and the never-ending Saturday that followed, we don’t know that Jesus will rise from the dead—altering history, our own and the entire world’s—forever.

Because we live on the other side of Easter, where we know how it all turns out, I think we often miss out on that overwhelming sense of whooping joy Mary and the other disciples experienced that glorious Easter morning. “Whooping joy”—that’s what Wangerin calls it.

We today can’t entirely know what that kind of waiting—the long desperate hours between Good Friday and the First Easter—feels like. But we certainly experience many kinds of waiting in our lives. Much of the waiting is hard—very, very hard. We wait for illnesses to be healed. For jobs to be found. For relationships to be restored. For pain to be alleviated. For that glorious reunion one day with our loved ones who’ve gone on before us.

I recently heard a very moving testimony from a father whose beautiful daughter was tragically killed in a freak auto accident one sunny summer morning nearly two years ago. He described with great faith, authenticity, and vulnerability his tortuous journey through grieving, even as a deep Christian. How desperately he and his wife would like to see their daughter again—now. But God’s message to him? “Wait.”

I’m reminded of Wangerin’s words to Mary Magdalene:

“Grief, while you are grieving, lasts forever. But under God, forever is a day. Weeping, darling Magdalene, may last the night. But joy cometh with the sunrise—and then your mourning shall be dancing, and gladness shall be the robe around you, Wait. Wait.” [Wangerin, p. 138]

So, go ahead and prepare for Easter, my dear mom-friends. Clean the house. Hide the eggs. Prepare for Easter dinner. Above all, find some creative ways to share the Easter story with your kids. (See last year’s Easter blog for some funny interpretations my kids got of the story. How do you make the story “come alive” for the kids at your house?)

But as you do all this, may God bless your waiting. Your waiting for Easter and all the other waiting in your lives. Remember, there’s “whooping joy” to come. Happy Easter!

What Do Fishing and a Mom's Life Have in Common?

I love it when we have “guest bloggers” from time to time. This piece was written by one of our Mom to Mom Board members, Kay Benson, who also leads a wonderfully creative group of Mom to Mom women. They keep finding more ways to have fun together! We’d love to hear some comments back from any of you who might have tried something like a “Dad To Dad” night. Or, perhaps might have had some mom-fishing stories of your own—bring ‘em on!

_______________________________

At first glance it doesn’t seem like fishing and a mom’s life fit together at all, does it?

Except for perhaps the messy clean ups, and the “dressing” of both fish and kids, and the practice of waiting…waiting…waiting (for teeth to be brushed, the glass of milk to empty, for the children to finally get into bed and give up the day).

I can hear myself internally shouting, “I’ve got one!” as the last child drifts off to sleep each night.

Sunday evening, Dogwood Church Mom to Mom (near Atlanta) hosted a “Dad to Dad” and the theme was “Fishing Stories.” The guys loved the “manly” theme and we moms could relate by thinking how like fishermen (women?) we often feel.

Jesus had a lot to say about fishing as well. Many of his disciples were fishermen. He used fish analogies throughout his time on earth and liked to explain principles for living by making comparisons with the common, everyday stuff we experience in our real lives.

One of my favorite passages is when Jesus invites his disciples to a breakfast he’s prepared on the shore—a man’s fishing breakfast. The story reminds me of the many breakfasts I’ve prepared. Check it out: John 21:1-14

Kay in Atlanta

Extraordinary Work via Ordinary Lives

I’ve been with a lot of moms lately: moms in Florida (Sarasota), moms in North Carolina (my daughter-in-law Kelly and friends in New Bern), moms in Illinois (Libertyville and Wheaton—my old home town, so a special treat), and moms in Wisconsin (Lake Geneva). You know how I love this—being with moms at all ages and stages of parenting.

As I meet moms all over the country, I am always amazed. Amazed by their stories. Amazed by their courage. Amazed by their commitment to their calling—their very high calling to love their husbands and children.

In the past couple of weeks I’ve been especially impressed by the extraordinary things God does in “ordinary” lives. Despite their absolutely crucial role, the everyday lives of moms can feel so mundane. So “mind-numbingly boring,” as one Illinois mom put it. It’s a very honest, very real assessment of some of our mom-days . . . many of our mom-days, actually.

“Towel and sandal days,” I sometimes call them, borrowing (again—two blogs in a row) from Oswald Chambers. In the devotional for September 11 in My Utmost for His Highest, Chambers observes that when we work for God we do not choose the circumstances He engineers for us but rather must choose the attitude with which we serve whatever our surroundings.

And of course He points us to Jesus:

“The things Jesus did were of the most menial and commonplace order, and this is an indication that it takes all God’s power in me to do the most commonplace things in His way. Can I use a towel as He did? Towels and dishes and sandals, all the ordinary sordid things of our lives, reveal more quickly than anything what we are made of. It takes God Almighty Incarnate within me to do the meanest duty as it ought to be done.”

As I sat with a group of moms a couple of days ago during a Q and A session, I thought of these words. These moms were grappling with their mama-guilt feelings (“I feel like I just don’t play enough with my daughter”; “Daddies like to play with kids more than mommies do, don’t they, Mommy?”) as well as their frustrations (“I feel as if I never get anything done at all. My son wants to play with me non-stop all day.”) There are a lot of “towel and sandal days” in moms’ lives.


And then our conversation began to drift back to all of our own moms. Several women made an interesting observation: “You know, I don’t really remember my mom playing a lot with me. She had a lot of kids and was really busy just keeping us all safe and fed and clothed. But what I do remember is that she was always there for us. Always there when I needed her.”

That’s saying a lot, isn’t it? There’s a great deal more going on than we realize even in the most ordinary days of our lives if we choose to “use a towel as He did.” Just thought I’d remind you of that in case you may be experiencing a lot of towel and sandal days this mid-March.

Just in case . . .