Twists and Turns, Anyone?

Do you ever feel your life has just a few too many twists and turns in the plot?  With the devastation of SuperStorm Sandy on all our hearts and minds, I hesitate to write from the smaller stage of my life.  My prayers are continually with all those on the East Coast whose lives have been turned completely upside down.

But here on my homefront (and maybe yours?) the roller coaster of daily life is making me a little queasy.  More accurately, it’s giving me whiplash.  A house is sold—and then it’s not.  The schedule for the next few weeks looks under control—and then it’s upended by a conference cancellation, airline change fees, and unpredictable weather.   Yet another little boy in our family breaks a leg.  And unbelievably, this is Nils, the younger brother of Soren, who at almost exactly the same age broke his femur.  A long leg cast certainly does change things.  Throw in another jolt or too (try an inconclusive mammogram!)—and we’ve got ourselves a wild ride, ladies.

All of which has me living in Hebrews 12.  It’s a familiar place, this passage on a race and too much baggage and witnesses cheering us on.  Oh yes, and where we’re supposed to “fix our eyes.”    Hard to do on a roller coaster.  But all the more important, at least when the roller coaster is your life.

I’d be thinking of Hebrews 12 about now anyway.  Next weekend I’ll be speaking at the Hearts at Home conference in Rochester, Minnesota  (BTW, there’s still time to register—I hope I’ll see some of you there!)  One of my workshops, “In the Middle of the Muddle: What Matters and What Doesn’t,” focuses on Hebrews 12.  It’s a fabulous passage for moms—all that racing around.

But then there’s Hebrews 12:3, which talks about one huge benefit of fixing our eyes on Jesus:  “so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”  Now there are 10 words to live on!  Did you know the words “we do not lose heart” also appear in 2 Corinthians—twice!  (2 Corinthians 4:1 and 2 Corinthians 4:16)   I learned that just last week when our Pastor spoke on 2 Corinthians 4.

So here I am, nursing my whiplash, hanging on for the ride—and thinking of all of you moms out there.  I’ll bet I’m not the only one experiencing a few too many twists and turns.  Life often feels out of control.  Maybe most of the time.  In fact, I know hardly anyone who would say life is turning out just as they’d expected.

Maybe it’s a good reminder that we’re not in control anyway.  And better yet, a great reminder of Who is.  When we fix our eyes on Him, it doesn’t necessarily prevent all the jolts.  But it does make for a different kind of ride.  And it helps us not lose heart.  Even those of us who are half-German first-borns who are high on the Myers-Briggs “J scale” and like peace and predictability.  Just in case there are any others of you out there!

Moms, Moms Everywhere

Moms, Moms Everywhere—that’s actually the title of a LifeWay webcast in which I participated recently  (to be aired today at noon (CDT),  Tuesday, September 18 and available at Lifeway Women Live).  But it’s also how I feel this time of year.

OK, so I see moms everywhere all year round.  But recently I’ve been particularly impressed by how much we moms need each other.  As the school year opens, I always hear (and sometimes see) the excitement of moms reconnecting at their Mom to Mom groups—or starting a new one.  This coming weekend I’ll be with hundreds of moms at the wonderful .Mom conference in Birmingham (I think you can still register!)  Then next month I’ll be in Colorado with loads of moms at the Hearts at Home conference in Colorado Springs.  And then in November with many more at Hearts at Home in Rochester, Minnesota.  Moms, Moms everywhere—and I love it!

But it’s not just at big conferences or even in Mom to Mom groups.  I see moms in our neighborhood, at the supermarket, at church, at the mall—really, everywhere I go.  They are old and young, biological moms and adoptive moms and foster moms and blended-family moms, grandmoms raising grandchildren—all kinds of moms.

But there’s a common theme.  I see it in their faces and body language and I hear it in their tone of voice.  Moms need encouragement.  Lots of encouragement.   Last week I spoke at a local Mom to Mom, and a conversation with one mom captured it.  It was this woman’s first time at Mom to Mom.  At the end, she stopped and talked with me.  She wanted to thank me for “doing this.”  She told me about her own mom, her husband and family, and how she was doing as a mom.  “I think I need spiritual mothering,” she said.  She went on to tell me why.  But she ended her conversation with this:  “Thank you. This has been so helpful.  I just feel so encouraged.”

Praise God!  Just want we want to do at Mom to Mom: encourage moms.  Just what the people who plan big mom-conferences want to do: encourage moms.  And just what every one of us can look to do in our own lives: encourage moms.  Whether you’re a new mom or an experienced mom with grown kids or grandkids, whether you are part of a moms’ group or not—wherever you live, whatever you do, there are moms everywhere around you that you can encourage.  With a smile.  With  a word of affirmation.  With a helping hand at the door of Walmart or the public  library.  With a meal to a sick mom.  Or, best of all, some spiritual encouragement: let a mom know you’ll pray for her (and DO it!), invite her into your moms’ group or Bible Study, or watch her kids when they’re sick so she can go to her Bible Study or moms’ group.

A challenge:  Look around you and look for a mom you can encourage—today.  It’s much-needed.  It’s fun.  And it’s Biblical: “So encourage one another daily…”  (Hebrews 3:13)   Do it!

And if any of you have some creative suggestions for encouraging moms, or can share an experience where you were encouraged by another mom—I’d love to hear from you!   Or,  if by chance you’re going to be in Birmingham September 21-22; in Colorado Springs October 12-13; or Rochester, Minnesota, November 9-10, come see me.  We can encourage each other!

Unusual Silence

Remember the son I mentioned having sent off to Kindergarten just yesterday---and now his son is off to his first day of Kindergarten?  Well, this son, Bjorn, also has a wife, our daughter-in-law Abby.  Today she sent me a beautiful and poignant email which I asked her permission to share with you.  So here it is, a first guest post from Abby Anderson:  "Unusual Silence."

______________________________________

I'm sitting in silence right now, unusual silence. This is the time of day the house is typically quiet, but today is different. Nils, he's napping peacefully upstairs...quiet, as usual. What brings the silence today is the absense of spontaneous songs from another room, the faint sounds of The Jesus Storybook bible being read on cd, crashing Legos in a dramatic battle, our Duplo bin being rummaged through, or the occasional "Mommy, I need to go potty" or "How much time is left in my rest time?" I've been pretty good all morning--only a few tears--but this quiet is hard for me.

I know this is one of many times I will be asked to let go of my kids. And I realize this may be one of the easiest "letting go's" I walk through (Soren is 1/4 mile down the road in a safe kindergarten class he loves, not asking for the keys to the car to go pick up friends for the night or hundreds of miles away at college or boarding a plane to visit a girl he loves, etc). Still, it's a letting go.

I keep coming back to the pain in childbearing blog Bjorn sent this week. I feel like my heart is experiencing "growing pains". As the boys grow, life changes, letting go is required, and I see that I need to inhale and exhale (in order to steady my anxious heart and practice trusting Him, whose they ultimately are anyways) and then push—push through the pain that brings sweet and good growth (in me and in Soren and Nils). Soren is growing up today of many days. He ate lunch today without me and Nils next to him. I think he'll love it, but goodness, it hurts for me. Even as frustrating as a meal time can be, battling the potty talk and reminding of good manners, I'm with him. Today, I wonder...did he eat alone? did he need help with his lunch and have someone to help him? did he talk to others? what did they talk about? I've exchanged 7 days of lunch with him a week to 2. That reality alone has caused me to ask the Lord, "Are you sure you don't want me to homeschool? Today, it sounds appealing." We feel quite confident that that is not the road the Lord has us on, but man, I can see the temptation in it for me—to avoid the pain in childbearing.

In all this change, pain, inhaling and exhaling today, I know that the Lord has His hand on Soren. I know that this is a wonderful and healthy step of growing up for Soren this year and beyond. I know I will treasure this school day time with Nils for the next couple of years. I feel sure that Soren will love school and learning and his teacher. So, I'm now being stretched to remind myself that these boys are not mine to hold on to; they are the Lord's! He is with Soren every moment of his day, even if I am not. He speaks wisdom and truth into his spirit in ways that I can't and now in times when I'm not there. He is Soren's protector, comforter, and peace. I am not. This is a good reminder for me today. In the letting go, I think I will pray more! I have to. They are the LORD'S! (I'm just going to keep telling myself that for the years to come and hope it sinks in!)

I think 3pm has just taken a new level of significance in my day. Soon, we'll walk down and pick him up and hear of his day.  I can't wait . . .

I better re-do my makeup before I see his teacher.  :-)

Back to School Thoughts on Motherhood as Spiritual Formation

The other day I was talking with one of our sons about a big moment coming up in his life: sending his first son off to kindergarten.  We reminisced about his own first day of Kindergarten, a day I will never forget.  There we were, both Woody and I (he had taken time off from work to come home and see Bjorn off) standing at the bus stop in the rain, waving through our tears.  I’m not sure that Bjorn was crying.  But we both were. Fast forward 13 years.  A long drive across 7 states and over 1000 miles to take him to college.  More rain.  More tears—lots of them. Windshield wipers going the whole way—both outside and inside. And a new realization:  This motherhood thing is even harder than I’d realized. One releasing after another.  And another.  And each releasing feels somehow physical.  There’s an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach that by now, many years later, has become familiar.

So just last week this same son (the one whose first son will soon be off to Kindergarten) sent me a link to an article posted on The Gospel Coalition blog entitled, “The Truth about Pain in Childbearing” by Jen Wilkin. I really resonate with her perspective.  I’ve always believed that parenting affords a unique opportunity for spiritual formation.  And this blogger sheds a great deal of light on why and how that is.

A favorite part: “Childbearing saves me because it faithfully (albeit painfully) reminds me over and over again that I am weak.  It reminds me that I am not self-sufficient, that I do not have what it takes to protect and preserve my children, but that my heavenly father does.  It saves me from the belief that I am God.”

I hope you’ll read the whole article.

A Night To Remember

Do you ever leaf through a book and sneak a peak at the ending before you buy it?  Normally I try not to do that.  But recently I had an experience that made me wonder how our lives might be different if we could get a glimpse of the ending a little earlier on.

It’s a night I will always remember: a retirement party for my husband, Woody.  First, there was the shock that it was even happening.   We’ve been married 44 years (!) and medicine has always been a central part of our lives.  When we got married, Woody had just finished his first year of medical school.  Woody has been a physician now for 41 years, and a medical oncologist for 34 of those years. And he has loved it all. Despite long hours, weekends on call, and life with the ever-present beeper, he has loved being an oncologist.  Walking alongside cancer patients—both the living and the dying—has been not only a sacred privilege, but a calling.

So I wondered if he would ever retire.  To my astonishment, he did.  Which led to one of the most memorable nights of my life.  For the first time in our 44 years together, I was privileged to be in a room with scores of his patients.  For several hours, patients lined up to say “thank you.” They were young and old, black and white and Hispanic, some healthy at this moment and others not-so-healthy.  And they brought with them their families and friends.  There were young children and grateful parents and loving care-givers.

They all came to say “thank you.” Thank you for walking alongside me.  Thank you for caring. Thank you for giving me hope. Thank you for five more anniversaries—and that I got to see my son graduate, my daughter get married, and the birth of my grandson. There were hundreds of hugs—and plenty of tears. It was moving beyond words.

Many of them also sought me out in the crowd to say thank you.  Thank you for sharing your husband. Thank you for supporting him in those long hours he must have been away for home.  Thank you to your kids for sharing their dad. Several children of one patient even asked what they could do for our family to say thank you for saving their mom’s life.

I looked around and thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if I could have gotten a glimpse of this now and then over the years?”  In my head I always knew that it was worth it—the long hours, the weekends on call, the evenings filled with prepping charts for the next day. But how my heart burst when I saw the other side of the story. “Worth it” took on a whole new level of meaning.

Wouldn’t it be great if each of us could see the “other side” of our husband’s careers?  I know it’s more dramatic with some careers then others. When I commented to one patient that it was great that so many had come to the party, he responded: “Yeh, isn’t it great?  We’re all here—and we’re all alive!” A career in oncology is a special kind of thing.  But there are people on “the other side” of every career.  Maybe it would help to think of them more often when your husband comes home late, has to work over a weekend, or can’t be home with you every time he’d like.  Just a thought.

It was an evening I’ll never forget.  It made me want to say “thank you.”  Not only thank you to those who gave the party and the patients who came.  But thank you to Woody for the huge respect and admiration I have for him.  Somehow, by God’s grace, he has managed to be not only an extraordinary husband—my best friend, and a wonderful father—but he has also lived out his professional calling in ways that have changed lives, given hope to the hopeless, and glorified God.  I’m thankful to have been a part of it.

Most of all, thank you to God.  Thank you for calling Woody to such a high and holy profession. Thank you for giving him the strength to live out his calling so faithfully. Thank you for giving me grace, flawed as I am, to support him on the homefront.

And thank you, God, for a good ending.  As we turn the page from this chapter to the next—the one with a lot of blank pages—I’m so thankful that the same Author writes the script.  Let the adventure continue!

The Gift of Time

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about time.  For one thing, where has the summer gone?  Can it really be August? And then there’s the Olympics.  Are you as fascinated by the incredible feats of those marvelous athletes as I am?  Think of the time—hours and days, months and years—these men and women have put in prior to that one race in the pool, that one gymnastics routine.  And then it is all decided in moments—seconds, actually.  How many medals have been lost to another competitor by one hundredth of a second?

But most of all this summer I’ve been thinking of the gift of time.  Specifically, the gift of more time with two of my grandchildren than I’ve ever had before.  Erika and Richie and their 3 ½-year-old Gabriella and 11-month-old Judah lived with us for 6 ½ weeks from mid-June through July.  What a gift that was!

It gave me opportunity to enjoy everyday moments with them.   Not just family outings, carnival rides, exploratory walks, or a dip in the lake.  Not just summer fun riding horseback at the Children’s Museum, splashing in the little backyard pool, and making 4^th of July Little Cheesecakes.  But also just watching.  Watching Judah learn to crawl, build with with blocks, or play who-gets-the-spoon over breakfast.  Watching Gabriella feed her mom’s old Teddy Ruxpin, goof around over breakfast—or just wake up in the morning with all her friends.   Moments in time.  Memories made.

I savored every one of these memories.  Nanas get to do that.  There’s not so much time the first time around, when you’re raising your own little ones.  But it did make  me think of all of you.  Every one of you moms for whom summer may be flying by—or feeling like forever.  Every one of you Nanas who may be enjoying similar moments with your grandchildren.

Wherever this summer may find you—savoring or maybe just merely “surviving” (there are all these different moments in a mom’s life, aren’t there?)—I pray that you may take just a few moments to look at the faces before you.  Like Emily in the play Our Town, look at them like you really see them.   And now and then in your busy life, pause and take a snapshot—with a camera, or even with just your memory.  A moment in time.  A gift.  Thank you, God, for the gift of time.

Father’s Day: Three Little Conversations with Big Truths

From the back of our car on the way to a local fair last Sunday afternoon, out of the blue:

“Excuse me—Farfar?” [Meaning “Father’s Father” in Swedish; this is the name all our grandchildren call Woody]

“Yes, Gabriella?”

“I think you really like me!”

“Oh, you’ve got that right, Gabriella!”

As Woody turned around with a grin, her 3-year-old big smile told it all.  And she went on to say, “You do silly things with me.”

A little conversation with a big truth: Isn’t that what every little girl (and boy) is looking for?  To know that someone big in his or her life—especially a parent—really likes them?  And, likes to do fun things with them?   And when that someone is their father or grandfather . . . all the better!

With Father’s Day here, I was taken back to a second conversation in our kitchen one Saturday morning, long ago.   Bjorn’s friend, Adam, was trying to talk Bjorn into coming over to play.

“No, Adam,” Bjorn said.   My dad’s home today and I’m doing something with him."

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Adam—but whatever my dad’s doing, I’m doing!”

It was one of Woody’s weekends off, and he nearly always devoted those Saturday mornings entirely to the kids.  They always did something fun.  A trip up the coast to Gloucester to climb on the rocks, search for sea glass, and fashion imaginary villages at the water’s edge.  Or an exploratory adventure throwing pebbles in the river at the Concord Bridge.  Or simply a basement “project” turned  into a root beer party on a rainy day.   The invaluable gift of time.  And, I suspect, a good deal of modeling and Deuteronomy-6-style teaching woven into the fun.

And then there was last night, sitting out on a deck having dinner with friends:

“Gabriella, who are some of your friends back home in Ireland?  Who’s your best friend?”

After a moment or two of reflection, a big smile and then: “My dad!”

“I think you really like me!”

“Whatever my dad’s doing, I’m doing!”

“Who’s my best friend?  My dad!”

I salute the four wonderful fathers in our family: Woody, who loves our grandkids with the same enormous dad-love he has for our kids; our two sons, Bjorn and Lars (both extraordinary dads); and our son-in-law, Richie, who is his daughter’s “best friend.”

And I give thanks for the Father who loves us best, is with us always, and carries us through life—whatever our own earthly-father stories may be:

“For the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders.” (Deuteronomy 33:12)

Happy Father’s Day!

Gratitude, Grace, and Giving

I love learning from kids—and their moms.  Yesterday I heard and saw a “mom-talk” in action.  And I just can’t get the picture out of my mind.

Recently when I spoke at a local Mom to Mom group, I mentioned that we are excitedly awaiting the arrival of our daughter Erika and her family (including her husband, Richie, and their children, 3-year-old Gabriella and 9-month-old Judah).  They will soon be flying here from Dublin, Ireland, and spending over 6 weeks with us this summer.  YAY!!!   We can’t wait!!!

I also mentioned that I was looking to buy or borrow a few things for their use while they are here: things like a small bike with training wheels or a wagon or other outdoor/indoor toys.  One sweet mom came up to me afterwards and said she might have some things for us.  She followed up via email with a very generous offer.

So yesterday, Woody and I went over to her house.  There we had the privilege of meeting her three charming children: Taylor, 8;  Max, 6; and Samuel, 5 months.  We began to discuss some of the things she had put aside to offer us.  Such generosity!  She had all kind of “indoor toys” as well as a couple of small bikes to choose from, and a great wagon.   These were all available for loan, she explained, because of the age gap between her 6-year-old and her baby.

Every mom knows how hard it is for kids to part with treasured toys—often even those they’ve grown beyond.  One of the kids—naturally the in-between one who had most recently used some of these things—began to protest mildly.  Some of these things had been his favorites.   Even though he wasn’t currently using them, obviously he had good memories and wondered if they’d be returned for his brother—and be well taken care of.

Then came the moment of not only mama grace and mama-modeling, but also of mama-teaching.  Gently this mom reminded her kids of all they had and of how great it is to give and to share.  And I remembered the email she had sent me.  She had written of how God had been teaching her lessons in gratitude, and in giving, and how He had been working in her life to encourage her to be more giving and less grasping of blessings she was able to provide for her kids that many kids don’t have.

And so as I stood in her yard watching this mom teach her kids lessons of grace and gratitude, I saw her attitude become contagious.  Isn’t that how it often works?

It made my heart grateful—not only for the generous loans, but even more for the picture I saw before me: As He teaches us, the lessons overflow to our children.

Thank you, Heather—and Taylor and Max and Samuel.  And thank you, God!

What lessons is God currently teaching you that you can pass along to your kids?

Mother’s Day—and Hannah Thoughts

Mother’s Day is coming up soon.  That means I am thinking about Hannah a lot.  No, not necessarily my granddaughter Hannah (though I do think about her a lot—see last week’s post).  It’s Hannah my longtime soul mate from Scripture I’m thinking about just now.

Mother’s Day always stirs up in me a turbulent pot of emotions.  Often there are baby dedications that day.  I love baby dedications.  They always make me cry.

In fact, I cry a lot on Mother’s Day.  First, I cry for joy as I see parents bring their new little ones before the church to dedicate them to God—and to dedicate their parent hearts to raising these precious ones in Godly ways.   Whether or not our church has baby dedications, I cry for joy as I thank God for the beautiful children and grandchildren He has so graciously given us.

But I also cry on Mother’s Day for other reasons.  I cry because I remember many Mother’s Days in my past that were some of the hardest days of my life.  There were the days when I wondered if I would ever be a mother.  And the Mother’s Day after my miscarriage.  I remember these days well.  And I look around church on Mother’s Day and wonder how many women are crying inside as I did for so many years.

I also look around and think about the multiple ambivalences Mother’s Day generates in many hearts.  Those who have recently buried a mother (oh, yes — definitely another reason I cry on Mother’s Day).  Those who have difficult relationships with their mothers—or their kids.  Those who struggle with “mama guilt” about their own mothering—or the child they aborted long ago.  You can be sure there’s plenty of emotion to go around on Mother’s Day, no matter how well hidden it may be behind smiling faces.

All of this makes me think of Hannah.  She and I have been soul mates for a long time.  We have gone through many seasons together.  In my infertility, I often turned to 1 Samuel 1 and read about Hannah’s “year after year” prayers.  Then when a 14-week pregnancy terminated in a devastating miscarriage, I pondered Hannah’s plight all the more.

When Woody and I were finally blessed with children, I couldn’t get Hannah off my mind.  How, I wondered, was she able to give that precious, long-awaited child back to God? When our children were young, I wondered how Hannah was ever able to leave Samuel at the tabernacle.  OK, full disclosure:  There were days when the thought of leaving a toddler at the church to be raised by the staff sounded like a pretty great idea!  But you all know what I mean.

As our children grew older, my Hannah-question changed slightly.  Not only “How could she leave him?” but “How could she leave him there?”  At the tabernacle, which was apparently so full of corruption.  And with Eli, who had not done so well with his own two sons.

All of this drives me back to 1 Samuel 1-2, to Hannah and her story.  There’s a lifetime of learning there for me.   I challenge you to read it as we approach Mother’s Day.  Because the bottom line of it all points to the source of Hannah’s mom-power. The power to wait for a child, to train a child (Samuel in his earliest years and other siblings who came along later), to give up a child, and to impact a child to become a mighty man of God like Samuel.  That power came from God.  And from her relationship with God.  It was prayer-power.

The very intimacy she gained through her deep honesty with God in her barren times was the fuel that powered her ability to do all the rest.  In other words, Hannah knew God well enough to trust Him with what mattered most to her—her child.

It’s the question that lingers the longest for me, as a woman, as a wife, as a mom:  Do I know God well enough to trust Him—truly trust Him—with my children?  Do you?

Learning from the Little Ones

I used to say that everything I know I learned from my kids.  Now my grandkids are taking over—and teaching Nana a lot! Consider my latest life lesson, from our granddaughter Hannah.

Hannah and her family go to a church where they sing a number of hymns based on Psalms.  Recently they have been learning a song based on Psalm 22.   She knows a lot of the words.  But she knows more: how these words of God can comfort and sustain us.

Recently there was a particularly violent thunderstorm during the night in Pensacola, where she lives.  Her parents, our son Lars and his wife Kelly, awoke to great flashes of lightening and loud cracks of thunder.  They immediately listened for the kids, but hearing nothing from the children’s rooms, went back to sleep.

In the morning, Hannah, who will soon be three, told them, “I cried in my crib last night.”  Surprised, they asked, “What did you cry about?”  “The thunder was so loud outside my window.”  Lars went on to ask, “What did you do when you cried?”

Hannah’s answer: “I sang ‘Be not far off…’”  Words from the Psalm song they have been learning at church.

Wow!  I was immediately reminded how powerful it is to help our very young children “hide God’s word in their hearts” in their earliest years.  They learn so much more than we ever imagine.

But it was also a great lesson for me.  It’s exactly what I need to do when I feel afraid.  It may not be fear of thunderstorms.  It may be concerns about a medical report or procedure, an unknown or uncertain future, or a family member or friend who seems to be running in the wrong direction.

Singing the Psalms.  I remember reading somewhere a very long time ago about a conversation between Martin Luther and his friend Philipp Melanchthon at a time when Luther was undergoing deep depression.  “Come, let’s sing the Psalms.  Let’s sing the Psalms.”

Thank you, Hannah, for reminding us.  Let’s sing the Psalms!