Tag: love

This Girl Still Needs Her Mom

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A young teacher friend, also a mom of young kiddos, mentioned asking her mom to come over and help her this evening. She’s tired and rightfully so. Having once been a mom of young kids, I can relate. Without a thought, I chimed in, “Call her! If my mom wasn’t 4 1/2 hrs away, I would have asked her to come see me yesterday.”

I always appreciated times my mom and mother-n-law helped out when our kids were young. The grandpas too, for that matter. I’m still a mom, but the kids are all grown up. I no longer need the same kind of help as when the kids were little.  But is it possible I need my mom now more than I did then?

After the brief conversation with my friend today, all I could think about was how much I miss my mom. We talk or text almost every day. I know I’ll see her over the Christmas holidays. But at this moment, today, that seems like a long way off. My brain says it’s not, but my heart doesn’t seem to follow.

A new, young country artist, Kacey Musgraves, recently caught my ear. Following are a portion of the lyrics from her song entitled Mother. This short, sweet song seems to know right where I am these days.  Take a listen.

https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/mother/1350091548?i=1350091553

I'm just sitting here
Thinking about the time that's slipping
And missing
My mother
Mother

And she's probably sitting there
Thinking about the time that's slipping
And missing
Her mother
Mother

The longer I’m a mom, the more I appreciate my mom. Lately, I find myself wishing I could spend more time with her. The 260 miles between us sometimes feels like a million. Maybe it’s because the older I get, the more I understand the brevity of time. Maybe it’s because I’m starting to realize that she understands how I feel most days…she’s been there already. Not in the exact same circumstances, perhaps, but the same stage in life.

Today I’m grateful for smartphones and texting. At least I can communicate with her daily. That will have to do for now. I look forward to a big hug from Mom (and Dad) in a few weeks. And when I actually see her in person, I’ll let her know how much I love her. She’s my mom.

And this girl still needs her mom.

More Than Just a Band Concert

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My husband and I recently attended our last winter concert as band parents. Our youngest son, a tuba player, is a senior. If not careful, my emotions can quickly take over during events like this. The powerful music, memories of concerts past and of faithfully attending family members who are no longer with us create a perfect recipe for tears.

The band program has been an integral part of our family life for many years. Great memories. So many expressions of support and encouragement. Sibling to sibling, parent to child, grandparent to grandchild-a beautiful circle of family love and support. With an added bonus of experiencing amazing music. (Not to mention the after-concert dessert. That may be the part I’ll miss the most.) 

Of course, some “mom” traditions accompany these events. Pre-concert photos, often by the Christmas tree, for starters. Due to a musical rehearsal after school, I was not home to get that picture this year. Instead, I was meeting our son for a quick dinner before the concert.

As he climbed out of his car, looking so handsome in his tuxedo, I said, “Oh no. I wish I’d thought to have Rachel take your…”. Before I could finish my sentence, he said, “It’s ok, Mom. Rachel took a picture. She knew you’d want one.” I managed not to burst into tears, so proud that my kiddos recognize the importance of these little things.


                                     Winter band concert 2018

Sitting in those performing arts center seats once again, like so many times before, I was overcome with a sense of gratitude for this experience in our kids’ lives. Involvement in these groups grounded them, gave them a place to belong, and taught them a life-long skill. Responsibility, creativity, discipline-to name a few of the strengths gained. And all of this in the setting of a public-school music program.

While listening to beautiful music, I noticed the number of students on stage. All of these individuals, capable of making a lovely sound on their own. Yet working together, their parts intertwined, created magic. And all the magic held together by an amazing teacher/director standing in front of them.

Although I know time must keep moving, and a new season is approaching, it’s difficult to imagine a school year without such events. I’m looking forward to discovering what new things we will celebrate and encourage as parents. But I will always remember our years attending concerts with joy, thankfulness, and appreciation for the power of music. Looking back with the understanding that if you look closely enough, you realize each event was much more than just a band concert.

Happy Anniversary!

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Fifty-four years
Quite a long time
To spend with someone
Morning, noon, and night

Coffee in the morning
Always a kiss goodnight
Moments in between
Praying for all to be right

An example for our family
And all others they may meet
Showing a love so strong
Though also simple & sweet

Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!
Your wedding vows held true
Richer or poorer, sickness & health
To you both-a grateful Thank You!

Lifting My Head

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“But You, O Lord, are a shield for me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.” Psalm 3:3

I have not considered this verse in a long time. Reading it in the past always reminded me of the song, “Thou, Oh Lord,” by Lisa Ireland. I’m not sure when I first heard or sang this song, but the beautiful overlapping melodic lines and powerful words are easy to recall. I can hear them in my head right now…

Take a listen. https://youtu.be/_aYRfUmGpmo

When this verse popped up on my phone today, I thought of the song for a moment, but then my thinking took a different direction. Three clear ideas came to mind-birth, sickness, and death. These notions shifted my focus to the last phrase “lifter of my head.” It’s an unusual phrase, certainly not one you hear every day.

The first thing that came to mind was a newborn baby. I pictured new parents, cradling the head of their precious little one. The baby does not yet have the strength to hold its head up. The mom and dad are the shields, protecting until the child grows stronger. I’ve experienced this feeling of responsibility with my own children as I held their tiny heads in my hands, keeping them safe.

The sweet image of newness was quickly followed by the idea of frailty and illness. Many of us have taken care of someone who is sick. Too weak to even lift their head, needing assistance to take a sip of water. If you have had the opportunity to help in this situation, you know it’s not easy. Here I’m reminded of my mom’s battle with breast cancer, and the assistance she required following surgery.

Finally, I pictured the end of life, the process of dying. A time when we are once again reminded of our weakness and frailty. If ever we need someone to lift our head, this is the time. What a comforting gesture, providing a shield against our fears. This one is the most difficult, one our family faced together as my father-n-law bravely battled cancer to the very end.

“The lifter of my head.”

In each scenario-birth, illness, death-this sweet phrase brings much comfort. Such reassurance in knowing there are people in our lives who love and support us during critical times. Even more so the knowledge there is a God who is concerned with each of these moments. And that He places people in our path to demonstrate this love.

While at my weakest, I do not have to be afraid. When I am unable to lift my head, help will come.

Stuck in the Mud

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Have you ever felt stuck?  You take a step, suddenly realizing it was the wrong step to take. I remember having that literal experience once as a kid. My cousins and I were playing kickball, a common activity when we were together. Someone kicked the ball into a ditch, and I went to get it. The minute my foot sank into the mud, I knew I was stuck.

For a brief moment, I felt a sense of panic. It seems a bit ridiculous looking back now. What could possibly have happened? Maybe I’d seen too many television portrayals of people sinking into quicksand. You know the ones. A bystander yelling at the would-be victim to be calm and still, yet panic sets in and they proceed to sink until their hand finally disappears.

All I needed to do was stand still and call for help. And of course, help came. With a group of cousins around, I certainly was not alone. One of them assisted with pulling my foot out of the mud. The only casualty that day was my tennis shoe.

Many steps taken in this life are much less literal, yet come with much more significant consequences. So what happens when a step is misguided or poorly chosen? Certain decisions in my teen and young adult years left  me feeling trapped, afraid my life was messed up permanently.  Regret and guilt crept in, causing me to feel like I was sinking further down in the mud.

Thankfully I eventually discovered ways to counter those fears. Simply choosing to be still, although difficult, was a start. If I could just wait instead of panic, maybe another bad decision would be avoided. Next, it was time to call for help. That help came in different forms. A prayer, a simple phone call to a friend or family member-often both.

“Casting the whole of your care (all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, once and for all) on Him, for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you watchfully.” I Peter 5:7

“…but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” Proverbs 18:24

A friendly listening ear often guided me toward a fresh perspective. There was not always an easy or instant answer, and that was sometimes hard to accept. Yet in spite of unavoidable consequences, with some guidance and faith, I was able to take a step in a new direction, no longer feeling stuck in the mud.

Baby Steps

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My young friend at school who has severe anxiety and spends most of his day in the special education classroom gave me a high-five today! It was super quick. Our hands only touched for a second, but I believe it is progress. He still won’t speak to me, but I sometimes get a smile. He continues to allow me to put a music stamp on his hand at the end of class as well.

I know he has rough days at school and often indicates that he’d rather be at home. Yet he seems to be smiling more this year than I remember from the previous year. Last year he wouldn’t come to art, music, or P.E., but now attends all three. Most of the time he simply observes and that is ok. He is there, taking in what’s happening around him, participating in his own way.

His teacher and paras love him so much. They refuse to give up on him, recognizing his capability for so much more. Progress is definitely being made, yet it could be easily missed if not looked for intentionally. I see this progress as he smiles and quietly teases with his teacher. It’s a beautiful thing.

That’s exactly what was happening today after school. I walked over to him and quietly asked for a high five. He smiled but hesitated. I teased a little, “Oh please. Can I have a high five?”  Then his teacher chimed in, also teasing,  “Don’t you give her a high-five. You better not give her a high-five.” We were laughing, and just as I was about to walk away, I saw his little hand move toward mine.  I told him “Thank you” and walked away…grateful.

Grateful to make another connection with this precious child.
Grateful for the connections his teachers are making.
Grateful that the power of love can be witnessed in these baby steps.

Capturing the Moment

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What happens when a special moment is captured only in our memory?  No witnesses or cameras present to record the details. Does that make it any less significant?  Social pressures to perfectly capture life events may unintentionally cause us not to be fully present in the experience, worrying more about the perception of others than our own happiness.

There is a big difference between living in the moment and living to make sure the moment is flawlessly planned and documented.  Personally, I love taking photos and reminiscing later while looking at said photos.  That is not a bad thing, but I am working to focus more on being fully present in my life circumstances. Realizing that even if I don’t get that perfect picture, the true beauty of the memory is stored in my heart forever.

My husband and I were recently discussing this notion, and he reminded me that the memory of when he proposed belongs only to us…

 

Proposal

The ring was purchased

Permission asked and given

No plan in place

Waiting for the right moment

An evening drive~no big production

Castle in the park~no cameras~no witnesses

Two people

One kneeling and asking~One crying and accepting

Ready to take the next step

A forever commitment

Twenty-five years of marriage~the memory clear and sweet

Shared only by the two

A Single Snapshot

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I continue to be amazed how one photo has the power to bring such a flood of emotions.  Just when I think my heart is ok, one picture of my sweet friend Marie-and I’m crying.  See earlier blog post:   Face to Face with Child Abuse: Personal Reflections of a Teacher

A sweet teacher friend recognized Marie in an online adoption video and shared the link.  I had to watch it, of course.  Hearing how the social worker described her-listening as Marie answered questions about her favorite things-all I could think was, “I know the answer!”  Like an impatient student raising their hand, shouting, “Pick me! Pick me! Oh, and here’s some additional info you didn’t even ask for.”

I was struck by the social workers comment, “She deserves a family.”  I completely agree.  She’s not the only one.  While looking at this link, I saw pages and pages of other children-all with a story-all without a family.  And then my questions started all over again.  How does this happen?  Why does this happen so often?  What do we do to help?

My initial reaction was to shout inside my head, “I don’t have any answers!”  But when I took a step back and calmed my emotions, the following things came into focus:

  • Amazing people who have chosen to be foster parents.
  • Others who have adopted or are considering adoption.
  • People like myself-looking for ways to be an advocate and friend.

No, these positives won’t wipe away all the heartache.  They are however, small steps in the right direction.  When a child who has been neglected, abused, and deserted is able to experience love, acceptance, and security-the healing process begins.  I continue to witness this in my sweet friend.

There is still so much to do.  I don’t want to become complacent in searching for ways to advocate for my friend.  It’s also important for me to recognize the children right in front of me everyday who are facing the same kind of sadness and heartache.  Yes, it feels like an impossible, daunting task.  Today I was reminded of my role and responsibility-and for that reminder I’m thankful.

I was also reminded of the impact this one child has had on my heart.  No amount of my tears can cover the suffering she has endured, but seeing her smile gives me hope.

“And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”  Galatians 6:9

 

List the Positives

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Yesterday I vowed to keep a list of positives throughout the day today in hopes of helping my mood and focus.  Well…I have a list.  It took me until lunch time to actually start writing anything down, but by the end of the day my list covered both sides of a post-it note.

  •  Cooler weather
  •  Students positive responses to having a choice between whiteboards and popsicle  sticks for writing or constructing their rhythmic patterns.
  •  Hearing, “I got it right!”
  •  Receiving three books from students off of my book fair list.
  •  Unplanned, improvised “singing” of one of those books.
  •  A student who has severe anxiety, always sits alone and doesn’t speak to me,  accepted a music stamp on his hand when leaving class today.

Was it a perfect day?  No-there’s no such thing.  But was it a good day?  Yes.  And even though I may not be able to use my mood as an indicator for the success of the day, I can look back on my list and be reminded of the things that were good.  Funny thing is, almost all the items are things over which I have little or no control.

So what do I have control over?  Continuing to look for the positive.  My responses to the people and situations I encounter.  Loving my family, friends, and students.

Any guesses which book I sang today?  It was super fun!

books

 

Going Home

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Growing up, giving directions to my house was always interesting.  It went something like this…”Drive past the Natural Steps sign and Moreland’s Grocery Store, go around a sharp curve, over a hill, then you’ll see a straight stretch of road.  Right at the end of the straight stretch, turn left onto Mahar Road.”  Mahar is my mom’s maiden name, hence the name of the road.

My husband likes to tell people that I grew up in a commune, but that is not the case. The quarter of a mile road,  lined with trees on both sides, dead ends into a wide-open valley.  My grandparent’s house was in the center, surrounded by several homes belonging to my aunts, uncles, and my parents.  Huge oaks, towering pines, and grassy fields provided plenty of room for kids to run and play.

That’s where I spent my childhood-riding bikes, digging in the dirt, playing kickball and basketball with my cousins.  And since my mom had six sisters and two brothers, there were always cousins around.  They say I made them listen to me practice piano and violin…well, maybe a few times.  But most of the time, we were outside.  Distinct memories include singing at the top of my lungs while riding bicycles, trying to fool my uncle with mud pies, and playing “King of the Mountain” on Grandma’s front porch.

Almost thirty-three years have passed since I lived on Mahar Road.  Even while typing I think surely that can’t be correct! Oh, but it is…despite the years gone by and having a family of my own, I still refer to this special place as home.  I’m thankful to have grown up there-carefree, no worries about safety, room to let our imaginations run wild.

Of course, things have changed since I was a child.  My grandparents are no longer living, cousins are all grown and many, just like me, have moved away.  That doesn’t matter.  Simply driving the route that leads to home causes any anxiety to melt away.  My brain slows down, my body relaxes, and while there I truly rest.  Sometimes I even feel like a kid again.

Thinking about my childhood reminds me that home is so much more than a house.  It’s the people, the places, the memories.  And sometimes…you just need to go home.