It was my turn to drive

I was born on my daddy's 24th birthday. Back before the days of ultrasounds & pink baby showers, before dads were allowed in the delivery rooms, I'm told he anxiously awaited my arrival with his ear to the door. When he returned to that family filled room, he didn't say a word but was smiling like the Cheshire Cat, enjoying the momentary secret about the pinkness that had just entered the world. I have from that day, and will always be, my daddy's little girl. 
For months this fall, I enjoyed an evening ride home from gma's with him & Buster the wonder dog. Following gma's journey Home, there was a large adjustment period as those rides quickly ceased. So how then would it escape me that tonight would be the beginning of another journey in which I would drive him home for the first time?
It's no secret that Gma P isn't doing well. The long term steriod use for a rare type of pneumonia has caused some neuropathy in her spinal column. Neuropathy we prayed would be alleviated by a procedure two weeks ago. But that just isn't the case. Fortifying one vertebra meant compromising those surrounding it. And here we are, two weeks later, in the same amount of pain, in a different location. An emergency MRI was ordered this afternoon.
Because of the events of the day, it would be necessary for someone to stay the night with Gma P. Momma. But that meant daddy would need a ride home. As I drove the 8 miles to her house, flashbacks of this fall filled my mind & flooded my eyes. Here we are again.
There are still many unknowns with Gma P's future but one thing we do know is that we are quickly approaching the point that she cannot live alone anymore. Moving her means moving life itself. The house she's lived in her entire adult life was lovingly & painstakingly built by Gma P, Gpa P & her dad. Each floor board & attic beam was hand chosen. This is not just a house that she's lived in but literally a home that she built.
As I drove home tonight, with daddy & Buster the wonder dog in the passenger seat of my car, I relished the time we were again having alone together. Only this time it would be different. It was his mom. They were his thoughts we processed and my fears he listened to this time.
I don't know what the future holds for us but I do know that this time it will be my daddy that needs me. I've never known that feeling before. He's always been my hero. He's always been invincible. He's always been my rock. How can I ever be his?
By doing what I've always done.
A friend of mine started my day with a text send by God himself through her. It was a picture of our lesson notes from the bible study we attend together. - "The most commonplace activities - if done for Christ through the Holy Spirit - are of eternal significance. Every thought, all your prayer, the smallest of acts, though imperfect, become as fine linen that adorns you as Christ's eternal bride."
By loving Jesus enough to sacrifice the things I want, the time I don't have, the gas to drive home so that I can do those commonplace things for Gma P & daddy means that I can be one of his rocks. Because it's in the commonplace things that eternal significance is made.

In four years time

Call me a little slow but as much as I've been looking forward to Leap Day, when Facebook popped up with memories from only four years ago I was a little confused. "You mean I've done nothing in this day in the past four years?" Of course I haven't! This "extra day" only comes around that often.
I had already determined a few weeks ago that Foster Academy would be closed for the day. Instead we would spend the day however we pleased, making memories along the way. Today was mostly spent being lazy, although we did cash in $25.60 worth of aluminum cans. Then it hit me - a time capsule! We could make a time capsule.
In four years, my two middle guys will both be seniors. In four years, my oldest will be 24 and probably out of the house. In four years, I'll only have four years left with my baby girl.
An empty paint can would do the trick. I told the kids I wanted them to all write letters to their future selves. "About what mom?" the question was asked. My reply then opened a discussion my Leap Day celebration hadn't prepared for - "How about your favorite color? Or what you're learning right now? What your favorite thing to do is? Or who you think will be president?" My youngest son's question then took me back, "Or how our hearts have been broken?"
Yes, I want them to write about that. I want them to process their heartbreak and hurt over missing their great gma. I want them to write about how anxious they are about the things that are effecting their lives. I want them to remember, in four years, the pain, the sorrow, the anxiety. I want them to remember because in four years they'll be completely different people who need to see that life isn't always what it was, nor will it always be that.
I thought back to four years ago before Gma B fell the first time or Aunt Suzie's cancer had metastasized or Gma P had pneumonia. I thought about a time before I had an adult child & was in the blows of his teenage years. A time before football or theater or ballet. I thought about a time when I thought life would always be like it was. Then I thought about today.

Dear 43 year old self,
The past few years have been very tough. And some days it seems that there's very little sun on the horizon. It's so easy to lose focus and give in to this sinking feeling that this is the way that things will always be. But if the past few years have taught me nothing else, they've taught me that life will not always be like this.
Undoubtedly right now, in 2016, we're in a season of sorrow that slowly lingers on. Soon there will be days of joy, days of smiles and laughter, days of celebration and new lives to welcome. The sorrow you felt for those long years in between were used to handcraft you into the person you are today, the one reading this letter. You've said, "I'll see you soon," to some of the most important people in your life and today that day you will see them again is one day closer.
The missed calls and texts will still sting. The birthdays will be hard and the holidays bittersweet. But before those tears filling your eyes escape and make their way to this paper, think back on God's faithfulness during that time. Think back on that peace you couldn't describe with words. Think back on those times when the darkness could be felt and remember that still small voice that shouted into it, "I AM still here. Right here with you. Focus on Me. Give me that yoke and take Mine. I'll give you rest. I'll mount you up on eagles wings so that you soar. I'll give you strength to run when you are weary. I'll carry you when you cannot walk so that you won't faint." That voice still calls to you today.
So 43 year old self, no matter what is going on in our life right now, be it good or bad, remember it won't always be like this. Those two young men set to walk across the stage in two months will still need their momma in three. That wonderful young man who would sacrifice his own happiness just to make his momma smile at 20 still loves you that much at 24, even if he doesn't say it as much anymore. That precious little Piggy is nearing the time when she'll assert her independence from you - don't take it personally. She'll be your best friend one day. That man you married loves you enough to have put up with you for 25 years. Thank him. Love him, even when he can't love himself. Stop what you're doing today & have dinner with your parents, they won't be here forever.
And thank God for those sorrowful times because they made us understand that life won't always be what it is today. Remember He has been so faithful through it all. He's been right here with us this whole time, sometimes holding our hand, sometimes carrying us but always giving us strength for what He's told us to do.

I went and got your mail today but you weren't home

Compounding life is so very different. I can remember growing up all of the Saturdays & Sundays when we would load the car up for the day & drive the 10 minutes to my grandparents' houses. It would be an all day affair. We would come home completely exhausted but thoroughly happy. Life for my own children has been very different.
This small 4 acres of land has been their home since before they were born. My gma moved into her house on the homestead 13 years ago. The younger kids have no recollection of the old 40 acre homestead that my cousins & I, like our parents & aunts & uncle before us, roamed until the car horn sounded the "It's time to go".
Compounding is different than spending all day once a week together, it is living life together. "You need toilet paper? Ok, be right there." "But I really thought I had two more eggs..." Going to get gma's mail has been a staple since her fall two years ago. Most days she'd call & ask for one of the kids then they'd slip their shoes on & head out the back gate. Momma has been getting gma's mail lately. 
Yesterday my parents finally made a break for it though. They packed up the car & drove out to meet the sun on the horizon. Momma retired eight months ago & the furthest they'd been together was the grocery store yet even that trip together had been quite rare.
I rushed through my errands yesterday morning desperately trying to return before they drove off but my phone rang just as I turned to head out of town. "We're pulling out of the driveway now," came daddy's voice over the airwaves. Sure I was disappointed but I had been the one pushing them to go. I couldn't ask them to wait now just so that I could tell them goodbye.
Our conversation wrapped up after a few more instructions from momma and my eyes filled with tears as I fumbled for the "end call" button. The realization that I was now the one responsible for life in our little compound was simply overwhelming. Never before had I been the only adult female, let alone the oldest one. I was anxious. I was scared. I was lonely and perhaps the saddest I'd been in a while. What I wouldn't have given to have just heard gma's voice, "You can do this. We've prepared you. And, pssst, you're not really alone."
The fact that my aunt lives three streets away & we had made plans with her for today helped tremendously. The reply to my SOS prayer request to my friend gave me great comfort too. Then there would be a text with an attached recording.
I was so very excited at the idea of hearing my cousin's two baby boys that I hit the play button before I could fully prepare myself. "Laura, it's Mawmaw. I just wanted to call & tell you that you're special and I love you very much."
It was the first time I had heard that voice since October 17. I hadn't mustered the courage to listen to my own voicemails yet. Although she clearly said my cousin's name, she was speaking to me too.
Momma & I have been talking lately about people that need a "phone call from God". A phone call to calm them & reassure them that He's still in control. That He loves them & sees exactly right where they are. I didn't know that I, myself, needed a phone call but apparently He did. And though I didn't hear His voice on the other end of that recording, I heard the voice of one who constantly pointed me back to Him. The most amazing woman who always told each of her children, grandchildren & great-grandchildren how special we were, how much she adored each of us & how much her love for us paled in comparison to His. That recording I didn't have time to prepare for would be the medicine my soul needed to push through this weekend.
After we got home from my aunt's today, I walked over to get momma & daddy's mail then gma's since momma wasn't home. I could hear the TV in the livingroom playing one of those sappy AMC movies we always watched together. I unlocked the door with my bundle of junk mail & let myself in. I sauntered over to the kitchen table & placed this pile next to the other ones. I bent down & took a drink straight from the kitchen faucet, like I always had, then checked on the Christmas cactus. I walked to her bedroom door & choked back tears as I peered into the emptiness.
I thought about sitting on the bed for a few minutes but my kids were at home alone. I turned & walked to the backdoor. I quietly muttered, "I went & got your mail Mawmaw. But I guess you're not home here."
As I stepped out on the back porch & turned the key, I glanced across the field to momma & daddy's back door with tears rolling down my face. Standing there, all alone, those words resonated in my soul, only from a different voice - "Tiffany, I just wanted to call you & tell you how very special are you. I love you very much. Never forget who you are. You, my precious daughter, are a child of the King. And you're never alone."

Shattered

I recognized the look on the nurse's face. "Really? Jay again? What this time?"  You should have seen her face when I told her that our emergency visit was because Jay had jumped off the bed & well, uh, there was definitely something not right with his pinky toe.
An immediate referral to the orthopedist that afternoon would reveal that my acrobatic 13yr old had not bumped his head jumping off the bed but had shattered the tiny inch long appendage that the doctors forbid me to simply tie off & let time take its course. No. The necessity of this appendage became questionable as it would require SURGERY to the tune of TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS to fix! One thing was clear - For the sake of Jay's future health, maintaining status quo wasn't an option. Something had to be done as soon as the swelling went down.

This past week I heard a new song. Ok, it's really a rewrite - Tell Your Heart To Beat Again by Danny Gokey. It's been no secret that I've had a really hard time since gma went Home. She was an integral part of the lives of her daughters, sons, grandchildren, & great grandchildren. Even though we knew her time with us was nearing an end that didn't keep our hearts from shattering the morning we all got that early morning phone call.
In the past 3 months I feel as though I've lived another lifetime, much the same as I did last fall. There have been countless times I've picked up the phone & thought, "Oh ya...." then choked back tears hoping nobody else noticed my mistake. More than once I've caught myself thinking, "I wonder if anyone told Mawmaw about this?" Early morning appointments are the hardest as I pull out of my driveway with a clear shot through the trees to her lighted back porch. She used to be up this early and now I start the day all alone.
Caregiving and grief have so radically changed who I am that like the song says, "(I'll) never get back to the (me) (I) used to be." But I'm beginning to find peace in that too. I don't know that I want to be that me that was before. I mean wouldn't that be pretending none of this happened in the first place? Would she really have meant as much to me if my heart bounced back to the way it was? Still, I struggle sometimes with the everyday things - those silly little pinky toe things that could as easily be tied off & forgotten.
This past Saturday I had the privilege of spending time with an amazing woman, who though my age had just lost her husband. The words that greeted my momma, her leader & myself were, "This feels like so much more than I can carry." The words took my breath away. She stood there, repeating again & again how worried she was for their girls & how much she wanted them to know that their daddy had loved them. But perhaps it was her parting words that struck me the deepest. "This is not a surprise to God. We may not like it, we may not understand & we are definitely surprised but God knew this was going to happen & He's going to steady me through."
I managed to hold back the tears long enough for our friend to drop us off at momma's car. Then. Then I found myself crying so hard I literally could not breathe this time. Her world, her girls' world - shattered - doesn't even begin to describe it. Yet there she stood, reassuring us that this was indeed within God's control.
Here she is at the beginning of a journey she didn't ask for, a journey where the darkness could easily consume her & the shadows will loom at every turn.
Monday I heard that song though. Monday was when I knew I had a choice to make. I could either continue to live in the grief that began my journey on October 17 or I could let the shadows fall away & step into the Light of day.
Grief has been my friend. It's been the mask I've hidden behind as the fear of moving forward with life, in my mind, meant moving on without gma. Will I forget the things I've learned? The sweet moments this fall gave? The way she smelled? The firmness of that hug that could make everything seem better? Her voice?
Those pinky toe things all seem so insignificant when compared with everything I've experienced. Everything this young mom is now facing. But it's in the pinky toe things that I feel broken. Shattered. Is that what I'm really asking? To stay shattered?

Within two weeks, I scheduled my baby boy for surgery. He'd never been put under anesthesia before and my family doesn't typically handle it well. I couldn't let my fear of what might happen leave his pinky toe broken. He's his football team's kicker, not to mention that the human body maintains best balance through the big toe & this seemingly inconsequential inch long, now shattered, toe. Surgery wasn't just AN option, it was THE only option.
The scar that he sports is a reminder of not just what he's been through, but a symbol of who he is. He's active. He's a daredevil. He's full of life & takes every moment to live it to the fullest. Years later, the bone in that toe is not only healed but twice as big and strong as the converse toe on his left foot. But in order to get there, we had to make the conscious decision to move forward, to close the door of the pre-surgery Jay & trust God to carry us through. He has his balance back again.

I have a choice to make. I can stay comfortable BFFs with grief and allow it to continue consuming me or I can take that first scary step forward & begin close the door on the rawness of the previous chapter of my life. As time goes on, I will forget some things but I will never forget the journey that got me here. And though my heart was shattered, God has already begun putting the pieces back together in a beautiful mosaic, glued together with the grout of His love, stronger than it ever was before. My balance is beginning to return & those pinky toe things don't seem so daunting anymore. I just had to tell my heart that it was ok to beat again. 

When what it wasn't outweighs what it was

This Christmas season there was a local radio station that promoted the theme - Choose Joy. I think I understand what they were attempting to say but the phrase rubbed me the wrong way.
Christmas in a season of mourning is anything but normal. In fact, every year since I've been a mom I remember this sad feeling the day after Christmas that I had missed out on something. This year, a new sentiment came on the scene though - Man, am I glad that's finally over!
In the days following Christmas I realized that I had spent the entire month of December going through the motions. Sure, my body was at each gathering. I ate the food. I watched the kids open presents. There were even times that I laughed. But that lingering feeling that something, someone, was missing never left my thoughts. Now I would be able to return to routine, not forced to slap a smile on my face & "choose joy" because that's what made everyone else comfortable. I fought back tears at every turn & even feelings of resentment, at times, because everyone else's Christmas was normal. For me, there was more of what Christmas wasn't than what Christmas was. I felt alone. I was glad to see it go.
To my surprise, the day after Christmas at mom & dad's, momma asked me, "So, did YOU feel like we were just going through the motions yesterday?" Excuse me? What did you just ask? You mean, I'm not the only one?
Gma had ALWAYS joined us at momma & daddy's Christmas. After everyone got there, someone would either jump in their car or on the 4 wheeler, if it was warm enough in deep east Texas, and escort our honorary matriarch to her place on the couch, bring her a plate or bowl of whatever we were eating then we'd watch as she opened the same gift we got her last year, satin pajamas. She'd squeeze our necks & tell us how much she loved them, then, of course, tell each of us how much she loved us. This was the Christmas gathering I had dreaded the most. There would be no ride through the woods, an empty spot in the couch and no satin PJs. I couldn't even make myself leave the dinning room table. This wasn't Christmas.
For weeks now, I've been attempting to make sense of the "meh" emotions I've felt. I've tried to make sense of "choose joy" but it's just not happening. To be quite honest, joy is something God gives freely to his people, not some magical mystical FEELING we pull out of our pocket when life SUCKS. Joy is satisfaction in understanding that DESPITE my feelings, God is in control of my life & the lives of those I love so that I don't have to be. That means that even when I don't feel happy, happy, happy there will still be joy.
But, we don't like to hurt and we don't like it when those we love hurt. So we make up little phrases that put bandaids on hearts that have been torn apart thinking we've done something good. What if - what if we were supposed to feel broken? What if it was through that pain that God would meet us in a place we've never met him before?
This truth has never been more evident than it is to me now. A friend of mine is in a season of deep mourning & loss as well. In my conversation with her, I told her that I wished I could do something to ease the pain that she felt. Her gentle reply was, "But I want to feel this now. I need to feel this right now." And she's right. We do ourselves an injustice by merely attempting to alleviate the pain when God can heal us as he walks us through every agonizing step of it.
There will be times in our lives when the way that things aren't overshadow the way that they are, the way that our hearts long for them to be. The grief doesn't diminish our joy, only the happiness we feel for right now. God is still in control even when we don't like what's going on. And he doesn't shame us for not liking it. He wants to meet us in that place too.

Oh soul are you weary & troubled, no light in the darkness you see? There's light for a look at the Savior, and life more abundant and free. Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full on his wonderful face. And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace.

I waited twenty three years

I met my sister in a hospital delivery room. Ironically, it was me in the bed, waiting to give birth.
Yep, laying in a hospital bed with one of those fashionable open to the back gowns, connected to an IV pole & a baby monitor was, in my brother's mind, the optimal time to finally let me meet this new girl he had been dating.
As weird as it was for me, my mind was a little preoccupied but that poor 17yrs old girl who walked into my room was a little more than weirded out. Perhaps it wasn't one of my brother's best choices but it has given us both a story to tell of a relationship I had waited 23yrs to begin. A relationship typified by meeting in a hospital delivery room for the first time.
Having grown up with two brothers & hanging out with predominately guys my whole life, the hole that had existed was quickly filled by this equally tomboyish, no drama or frills, female who instantly became the sister I had been waiting for.
That day, she became known as Aunt ReeRee as my children would have to call her something, right?
Fifteen years of memories swirl in my mind & bleed over into one another but as I was on my way to her house yesterday for our annual sister day, the one day a year these two non-shoppers shop for everything Christmas, the recent memories made overwhelmed me. I cried all the way to her house, a fact I'm sure she was aware of from the streaks of missing makeup when I walked through the door.
My sister loves her family so much that this fall she rearranged her entire schedule to fill in, as needed, with a grandmother who loved her & prayed for her by name, even before she knew what that name was. Sister spent every day she had off providing relief & care to someone, that by today's standards, she didn't have to, a grandmother-in-law.  She would work all day on Mondays then spend each Monday evening with gma, doing a bible study with her, trying to glean all the wisdom she could fit in before we would have to say goodbye. Really though, she was NEVER a granddaughter-in-law, but a granddaughter by all meanings of the word.
As I drove to her house yesterday, I cried because I missed gma. I cried because I wanted to pick up the phone & call her & hear her calming reassurance. Then I cried because I realized that God had given me someone who shared similar experiences this fall & whose heart was broken, just like mine. I cried because I knew as soon as I saw my sister, there would be a peace, a comfort in being with someone who understood where I was because she was there too. I cried because I knew she would talk about gma with me & we would laugh about the snarky things she would say. I cried because I know she'll do it all over again with me when the time comes.
She is my sister. And she was worth the wait.

Today I realized - I don't really like my kids

When I was a little girl, I had one real dream. There was only ever one thing I wanted to do - be a stay at home mom, just like my momma. With four children & the opportunity to homeschool, that dream has come to pass. I hear all the time - I don't know how you do it, I don't have the patience. But what those people don't know is - NEITHER DO I!
Spending all day, day in & day out, with your children causes even the smallest of things to grate on your nerves, at times, like nails on a chalkboard. Add to that a little bit of defiance & a whole lot of disobedience & you have a recipe for a complete & total meltdown.
(Now, before you get this picture of my kids that paints them as little heathens running around all the time with war paint & feathers in their caps, know that we have a very high standard. Still, as all children do, they take advantage of every opportunity they can to push the boundaries & make sure they're still in place.)
Tuesday was my meltdown. Upon arriving to biology, a 20 minute drive from home, it was discovered that, "I forgot my folder (of stuff that was due today) on my bed (AT HOME!)." Forgetfulness & distractions with this particular child are over the top right now but that's a different blog for a different day. What was I to do? Let him take 5 zeroes in a class he's already struggling in? No.
The tears began in the parking lot before the car was even in reverse. "I can't take anymore of this! I hate it. I don't like y'all very much. And I don't even want to be around you." I sobbed as I flipped on the blinker after safely depositing the bio kid.
I fumbled for the cord to connect my phone & escape in my music. My mind kept mulling over & over all of the times my children would say that they loved me then turn around & treat me like they had. I thought about the times when they would sneak YouTube videos instead of the book they were supposed to be reading or that paper they were supposed to be typing. I thought about all the undone chores I would complete & the broken toilet seat from standing on it. I thought about the piles of laundry diligently folded only to end up on their bedroom floors. I thought about arguing & fighting over who's bracelet that was, even though it came out of the dumpster at church. I thought about my newly ordered, never used, now broken Tardis coffee mug. No wonder I didn't like them.
As the tears kept falling & the music kept playing, "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" began with a soft piano playing. In a time when I didn't think I could cry any harder, my shoulders began heaving as I heard a voice begin to speak.
(Great is Thy Faithfulness, O God, my Father. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Thou changest not; Thy compassions, they fail not. As thou hast been, Thou forever will be.)
"My children do the same thing to Me. But you're really nothing like Me, ya know? You want what's best for them but when your children are disobedient & defiant, what's the first thing you want to do? Run away. You allow their behavior to dictate your own so much that right now, you're really nothing like Me. I want you to be more like Me. Let Me show you how."
And there it was. My analysis of my pity party & the truth I needed to hear all in one. As He often does, God was using my children (& their behavior) to show me what I needed to change. The truth is my current state of martyrdom is laced with impatience, mood swings, very little compassion & a lack of self discipline. As equally as my children's behavior failed to reflect God's character, so did my own.
Desperately needing a break, I spent that afternoon with momma at gma's house. I sat on the floor in front of gma's chair like I had countless times before only this time it was my momma that sat in that chair & listened to me. And cried with me. And reminded me, again, of God's faithfulness.
For my children, reflecting God's faithfulness and mercy means a zero tolerance policy & strict discipline right now. Just as God has done countless times for His own children, Jesus reminds us that He disciplines those He loves. In doing so, He saves them from themselves. Discipline is an act of mercy. So I HAVE TO step up the discipline as an act of love before they get out of hand & fall further into this trap of sneakiness, disobedience & defiance. No more yelling. No more pity parties over having to be the one to do this. No more martyrdom. This is part of my job, my dream job, even though it's the part I hate the most.
For me, God's faithfulness looked a little different than I thought it would after my revelation that morning as my 19yr old pulled me aside before he went to bed with tears in his eyes - "Mom, I heard what you said to Mawmaw today. It was hard for me to listen to you tell her that you're not like God at all. I honestly wanted to run over & shake you. I've had a lot of time the past few weeks to think about some things & one of the things I've thought about is you & dad. How I wouldn't have asked for any other parents. How if I could have picked my own, I would have picked you & dad. You are more like God than you think you are."
As it turns out, I don't like 3 of my children very much right now. And that's ok. Because of the discipline that must follow, they aren't going to like me either. But just like with the oldest, I love them always. I discipline them because I love them.
So that night, after a broken heart, not only the result of my children's actions, but also of my own, God used my oldest to remind me how great His faithfulness is because he sees me for who I long to be. And because he was once their age too.