in her shoes

 

Her hair was still damp from the shower she rushed through earlier in the day. I caught the faint scent of shampoo as I hugged her tight. The nutrition staff brings a tray in because she's a breastfeeding mama. She gives the tray a once over and decides she's just not that hungry. No surprise. Most mamas aren't very hungry when they wear her shoes. 

Today is a Tuesday. Oh, these precious Tuesdays. Her baby is exactly two weeks younger than Luke; she was also born on a Tuesday. 

The ride there had been a long one, longer for her than for me; I know because I'd been in her shoes not too very long ago. The heavy shoes of a mama desperately wanting answers and traveling to the one place we were told we may get them.

I took her a basket of things four days into their stay. The day after her baby's brain surgery. None of the stuff really mattered, but that's what southern women do, isn't it? We give folks stuff. Food, mostly. There's a purpose for the stuff though, it gives us a reason to make ourselves present. I always felt better when people showed up and even better than that when they brought Jesus. 

We couldn't take the basket to the baby's room because you can't take food into the PICU. There are some strict rules to follow back there. I left it in the waiting room with my moral support and braved the same hallway I traveled the night I walked to the room where nurses worked desperately to save the little life of My Sweet Luke.

My shoes were impossibly heavy that night. 

She's wearing the heavy shoes now. 

This isn't easy for me by any stretch of the word. But the Holy Spirit nudged me on, reminding me that what she's going through at this moment is much, much more difficult. 

The real point of my visit was to hug her and to remind her that others have worn the shoes she's been wearing. Others are wearing them right now; just take a quick little walk down the hallway to see. The basket of stuff I bring is just stuff; the Love, the Hope is the real purpose.

I couldn't bear to let her walk this path under her own strength. I had to let her know that others have taken those impossible steps. And, above all, that the only way this mama gets through it is with Jesus. I know she knows, but the presence of others helped me. So I go to help her. 

When I saw her eyes and heard her voice, I knew immediately that she isn't carrying it alone. She's got the strength of God in her, just like her beautiful baby girl. And a husband beside her who, I could tell immediately, has enough love for his two ladies to send them to the moon and back. If only a daddy's love could shrink a brain tumor...

What a beautiful family...

Then I start talking. I feel like I need to say something but oftentimes words are useless,  so I call on the only words that actually brought real comfort when my deepest pain was new. 

First I tell her what one of my role models in high school said on Facebook when I wrote about Luke's last day, "God handpicks the people who will make the biggest impact on His Kingdom." 

God, I hope that's true. I meant to think that, but it comes out of my mouth before I can catch it. 

Her eyes tear up, and I hope it's not more heartbreak. That's the opposite of my goal here. 

Then I tell her what Luke 2:19 and and 2:51 say about Mary's heart. "She treasured up all these things..." I tell her the same thing a wonderful woman that used to teach with me wrote in a letter about those verses. Mary was a real woman, a real mother, and God did not take that lightly. He let those verses into His Word twice to let us know that He cares deeply for a Mother's Heart. He has a higher purpose for all of this, and He would never let any of this heartache touch a mother's heart unless it was for His higher purpose. He allows it. And when he allows this type of heartache, you have a choice. He's either good or He's not. You trust Him or you don't. 

I can already see what her choice is. 

This mama is strong. Those heavy shoes are no match for her God; you can tell by looking at her that Jesus is carrying her.

And that sweet baby? She looks just like her mama. 

I'll bet she's just as strong, too. 

The Blank Basket: It'll Still Hold Eggs

I had a familiar feeling come over me yesterday while driving to my sister's house. As I crossed the 'four-lane' (as we southerners like to call it), I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to get J's Easter basket monogrammed like I had totally planned to for weeks. I even bought his basket in February so that I could take it to my monogrammer in plenty of time for Easter. In the middle of my pity party for myself and my forgetful brain, I had another startling realization -- I forgot to get Jasper an Easter outfit, too! I had even had whole conversations with coworkers and friends about Easter outfits for our children. After this realization, I had an avalanche of unchecked To-Do's flooding my brain, and I got very overwhelmed with life.

When I finally got to my sister's house, she mentioned that she'd be going shopping later that day and asked if I needed anything. I asked her to pretty please pick up something for J to wear to church, and we began a conversation about all of the stuff that I forgot to take care of for Easter. I told her in my best whiny, poor me voice that (gasp!) I forgot to get Jasper's basket monogrammed. In a way that only she can do, she looked at me with what I can only describe as "loving disgust" and told me in no uncertain terms that I was being ridiculous. She said, "But guess what?! It'll still hold eggs."

I laughed in response and went on my way, but her comment started me thinking. Okay, so yes, between raising a little boy, building a house, nurturing a marriage, rocking my full-time career as well as my new part-time job, and trying my best to walk with the Lord every day, I guess that I forgot to do and buy all of the 'stuff' that I've been brainwashed to think I need to have for Easter. But does any of it matter? Yes, those adorable knee socks and a darling little heirloom Easter basket would make for some precious pictures, but does it really matter? No.

Do you know what does matter? The fact that I asked my two-year-old if he knew why we were going to church this morning, and he responded, "Jesus!" No, he doesn't yet understand that Jesus died for our sins; he doesn't yet understand that he died and on the third day arose from the dead; and he doesn't yet understand that Jesus' resurrection is the cornerstone of Christianity...but he will. And that's what really matters. 

So, yeah, I'm the mama who picked her child's Easter basket goodies at the very last minute. I'm the mama who, because of a very busy schedule and slightly poor planning, had to stay up late to get Easter goodies ready. We're the family walking in to church ten minutes late because we had to turn around twice for forgotten things. We're the family surreptitiously pulling tags off of new clothes in the middle of a sermon because we didn't buy said clothes until the last minute and are always so rushed on Sunday mornings that we forgot to pull the tags off. I'm the mama who is just as likely to forgot the basket at home and force her son to hunt eggs with a grocery bag. 

But we're also a family that is overwhelmingly thankful that God hold us to a standard of Grace. And we will do our best to make sure that our son understands that Easter is less about your Sunday best and hunting eggs and more about a celebration of God's Unending Love and Amazing Grace.

By the way, we did hunt eggs using that blank Easter basket, and my sister was right...it did still hold eggs! 

Finding Peace in my Not So Quiet Time

I have struggled for as long as I can remember to find the time to read my Bible and really be still and listen to God. I'd try different times in the day, but, in the words of my uncle, God's cow always dies. The hour Id try to set aside before I went to bed would be stolen by time with my hubs, time to clean, or time to rock my sweet baby one more time. After years of trying to find a place and time to spend time with Him, I finally decided that I was just going to have to make time. Carve it out of my busy schedule and make it a priority.

Each morning, my alarm clock goes off about thirty minutes before I actually have to wake up, and I drag myself out of bed to sit in my oversized arm chair with my Bible and a cup of coffee so I can listen to what God wants me to hear. I make it a priority and I prepare for it. I know myself and I know that I will not wake up on the first alarm, so I set a second alarm in the kitchen. (Yes, it really is that hard to wake me up.) I'm not all about mornings unless I have a cup of coffee in my hand, so I make sure to set my coffee pot every night before I go to bed. The blessings that I receive from my mornings spent with God are so rewarding that I am happy to sacrifice the half an hour of sleep to do it. 

For the past week, my quiet time has been interrupted and sometimes abruptly halted by a certain little cutie pie. He has been going through a sleep regression (or maybe it's the time change), and he wakes up with the chickens every morning. Sometimes he wakes up before my alarm clock even goes off. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of my bible study. Either way, he's been a hindrance to my ability to be still and meditate on God's word. I'd be lying if I said that this hasn't bothered me. My unfinished business plagues me all day when I have these adorable little interruptions. 

After praying over my new dilemma for a few days, I thought maybe God is trying to teach me something here. 

At first I thought He was definitely trying to teach me patience. I prayed for patience when J was about three months old after I'd had some struggles at work while I was also trying to get a handle on juggling a new school year with an infant. It was only afterwards that I truly understood that God doesn't just give you anything. You have to earn it, and boy did I ever earn patience! So in the first couple of days after I started having a little partner during my Bible study, I just thought He was continuing my lesson in patience. Until, that is, I saw my sweet baby bring his Bible story book to me to look at in my lap while I was reading my Bible. He watched me intently and if I picked up a highlighter to mark a verse, he needed one for his book. If I reached for a pen to annotate, he'd immediately need to jot down a 'note' in the margins of his little book. It was like God was telling me, "He learns by watching, mama, and you are setting a great example."

I broke down in tears. Not from pride, but from shame. I was so ashamed of myself for thinking of his presence in my quiet time as a nuisance when it was actually the most positive influence that I could ever really have on my child. Don't get me wrong, teaching him to survive in his earthly home is pretty important, but teaching him how to have a relationship with his Heavenly Father is the most important

I spent years craving a real relationship with Jesus Christ, never really knowing how to achieve one. Just going through the motions hoping for a miracle. But, I have the opportunity to let my child learn how to have a meaningful relationship with Him by being a good example of how to make God a priority not an afterthought. 

Maybe he will always know what to do.

Maybe he won't ever have to know what it feels like to miss God.

Maybe he won't ever have to wonder what a blessing it is to feel God speak to you. 

And maybe that's all because mama showed him what it meant to put God first. 

Proverbs 22:6

Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.

Holding on Loosely

The sun had just risen on a beautiful south Alabama October day. (This means that it was sunny and 85 for all of you who aren't privy to the average temperatures of our odd climate.) I was getting J up and dressed for his first trip to the zoo and pumping him up with tidbits of information on all he'd see. The lions, the tigers, the bears! Oh my! On the drive, J entertained us all with impersonations of dogs and bears and, everyone's favorite, the monkeys. 

As J and his Pa explored the South American bird exhibit, I caught myself trying not to grab him away for fear that he might touch something germ infested. When the birds got old and our group began moving towards bigger and more carnivorous creatures, I felt that ever present urge to pick J up. To protect him, as if I could do anything more than the twelve foot tall wall could. My daddy, who was very good at fostering independence in his children, could sense it. He was constantly telling me, "Just follow him and see where he goes." As I'm standing ankle deep in playground mulch and wrestling a tantruming toddler who has absolutely no intentions of swinging in the baby swing, my daddy gently reminds me to 'let him go.'

Let him go. 

Isn't that the hardest thing a mother can do? When they learn to walk, we hold their little hands as long as they'll allow. When they start practicing their independence and walking by themselves, we use our own bodies as human forcefields to protect them from bumps and scrapes. We don't want to let them go. We know what's going to happen. They are going to fall. They are going to fail.

As a teacher, I wish more mothers would allow their children to learn to fail, but as a mother, I know it's very hard to chose to let your child make their own mistakes. Lessons learned 'the hard way' are oftentimes the lessons that leave the most lasting impression, but it's a difficult thing to watch your child make mistakes that you know are going to hurt them. We are hardwired to push our children towards success. Failure isn't something that we want to see our children encounter, but we're lying to ourselves if we believe that they will never have to feel what it's like to not be good enough. It will be beneficial to our children if we make it a point to let them learn what it feels like to fail and how to handle the emotions that inevitably follow.

As Christians, we have a responsibility to allow our children to experience failure and teach them to turn to Jesus when what they bring to the table just isn't enough. Children need to know that what they are will never be enough without The One who makes them whole, and isn't that our one most important role as their parent? As my new bible study leader said, "We continually struggle with letting them go, but they're not even really ours to begin with." Our most important responsibility as a parent is to raise our children up in a way that is glorifying to God. Teaching your children to fall at His feet when it seems like their world is falling apart is a great place to start. 

If I'm telling myself the truth, I have had an internal struggle between holding on and letting go for as long as I've been a mother. I am always debating whether I should hold his hand and protect him or let him go and let him explore. In the short time that I've been a parent, I've come to realize that parenthood is about continually letting go and the emotions that come along with it. Each milestone has been a celebration but it's also been marked with tears. From the big milestones like first steps and first haircuts down to the small things like changes in diaper size, a mother's world is a hodgepodge of bittersweet moments. And I'm constantly reminded that these little milestones are going to gradually be replaced with much bigger, and harder to handle, life events like driving, college, and marriage. These moments are like water slipping through cupped hands...you can try to hold on, but eventually your hands will be empty.

We are in a constant state of holding on loosely and always letting go, but we will never have to worry about what happens when we 'Let Go' as long as we teach them to 'Let God.'

James 1:2-4

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.