summers4kids

Forever Basically Hopeful

I wonder at what latitude this dread begins for others but for me at 39.627 degrees north, January begins approximately 12 weeks of clinging desperately to the hope of potential warmth in March and consists of a mental countdown and coping strategies not used at any other point in the calendar.

“It’s January 7th, so January is basically over and then comes February but that’s a short month and we get a few holidays in those months, then March comes and the light shines even brighter at the end of this cold, dark, depressing tunnel, so really if I can make it through this week everything will be fine.” And then I repeat that hopeful outlook until March comes. And sometimes that works. But sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes March is like, you thought January and February were bad…hold my beer, lady, and proceeds to swing wildly between frigid unseasonably cold days fraught with snow storms alternated between sunny warm traps of false hope that lead into rain. Then more rain. And suddenly I haven’t had a good hair day in months and I’m hanging by my fingernails to the edge of a cliff closing my eyes in defeat and waiting quietly for May.

And oh the joy of late spring and early summer. Nothing tastes sweeter – even a bad day can’t be that bad. The birds are singing, all the baby animals are adorable, and the hope that never actually died but seriously almost did a few times comes bouncing back and gives new meaning to my life as I approach the days with gladness I don’t even have to fake. Until August.

At this point the sun has been out for months; long enough for my fleshly spirit to take it for granted, and it’s hot now. My hair is sticking to my neck and my face in sweaty curls that are unbecoming at best. Ironically it is during this consistent yearly heat wave that I choose to have my summer camp – 10 days of reminding children to hydrate while we willingly hike for miles like sadists. There are times in the winter that I can re-wear an article of clothing. Doing that at this point in the year would be a crime against humanity.

Then just like in Winnie the Pooh on Christopher Robin’s first day of school, a cool wind comes and blows in some relief, reigniting my will to live and allowing me to wear my hair down once again. But only for a minute. Just like March, September and October have multiple personalities and some of them are real jerks.

Once fall settles in, which is truly my favorite season despite my name, the bittersweet love begins around Halloween, (maybe earlier depending on whether Niña or Niño is winning), as I oscillate between being in the moment and soaking up the temperate climate and dreading the impending post-Christmas reality.

Which is where I am now – in that reality, repeating old and creating new coping strategies to gaslight myself into hanging in there with a smile on my face as I write, learn to sew, go to the gym, try new recipes and love on my horse that isn’t really mine but kind of is. Oh and dress my porch goose I got for Christmas that won’t be going on the porch but sits on a table waiting for me to learn how to sew so I can make her beautiful dresses to go with her wigs. She’s truly fabulous.

Regerts

“Oops!”

“Crap, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I can’t do two things at once.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I’m too socially awkward to avoid this decision.”

Have you ever looked back and thought, “What was I thinking?” Not about major life decisions – those are regrets, and we can’t camp there; we can only learn from them and do better next time. No, I’m talking about the stuff we do that we wish we hadn’t done but didn’t have major consequences.

A regret I have is passing on the offer to be a residential assistant at WVU my sophomore year. I got in quite a lot of trouble my freshman year, but the dorm director saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself and asked me to be an RA the following year, which would have saved me thousands of dollars in student loans. This is something that had long-term consequences, and while, again, I am not camping there, for purposes of illustration, I’ll dig up those bones for a minute.

A regert I have around that same time period, on the other hand, is the time my roommate and I drove to Key West for Spring Break and I was putting sunscreen on my arms and shoulders, then used that hand to wipe sweat from my forehead. A few hours later, distinct outlines of my fingers glared on my forehead in stark contrast to the redness of the rest of my face. Embarrassing? Yea, absolutely. Life altering? Not so much.

One day when Ayden was an infant, Addison and I were hanging out playing with her sticker book. She thought it would be funny to put a sticker on my arm, so she did that a few times and then I thought it would be cute to put stickers on Ayden’s tiny face and arms and take a picture. We giggled while he sat clueless in his bouncy seat, oblivious that he was a human canvas. After I took the picture, I took off the stickers, but to my horror, they left red patches in the exact shape of the sticker in every spot I had placed them. I panicked, called the pediatrician who told me to give him a bath and wash off the glue. (I blamed Addison when I explained what happened. Dr. Damran, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for lying.) He was as good as new and I learned never to put stickers on my babies.

Fast forward a few years and I decided I was going to roller blade like I used to when I was 20. “Here’s some knee and elbow pads,” my friend suggested, but I told her I didn’t need them and away I went as Addison, Ayden and Avery watched. At first everything was fine. I was having fun. But then I got cocky – I decided to go down the road and down a small but slightly steeper-than-it-looked hill. Let’s just say I still have scars on my knees and elbows.

A few years ago while visiting my family in Florida I decided to take my sister’s bike on a ride: 19 miles with zero issues. I was about a mile from her house when I missed the turn. The path was narrow, but instead of getting off the bike and turning it around like a reasonable person, I chose to try to make the turn. The tire caught the edge of the paved pathway and I started unintentionally heading toward the metal grated culvert, so I had to bail off. My sternum landed squarely on the middle of the handle bars, my right hand got trapped between the grip and the pavement and the spikes of the pedals embedded themselves in my leg. That last mile was long. I could feel the wetness of the blood under my hand as I rode to her house, handlebars crooked and blood dripping down my leg. I can only imagine what people thought as they passed me. The flight home was miserable. I ended up going to the ER to make sure I wasn’t broken. The doctor came in and said “I’ve got good news and bad news – the good news is, nothing is broken. The bad news is, you aren’t 20 anymore.”

Amnesia is real, though, because only last year I was on a horse and he went down on his knees, throwing me over the saddle on to his neck, clinging for dear life because I wasn’t paying attention. I had a death grip while I tried to figure out what to do. All of a sudden I could feel he was about ready to make the decision for me so I bailed and landed on the frozen ground squarely on my rib cage, but because there’s something deeply wrong with me, I rode 4 hours anyway. By the time I got back I thought I was going to die. This time I was legitimately broken, and before he could say a word, I told the doctor I was well aware I wasn’t 20 anymore. That regert made its presence known for a solid 4 months.

My car is riddled with regerts. One time I got stuck in the car wash, resulting in the passenger side gouge. That one upset me so much I couldn’t even talk about it for 3 days. Then a few weeks later a deer hit my STOPPED car. Why was I stopped, you ask? I was letting her family cross in front of me but she wasn’t paying attention and crashed directly into the driver’s side passenger door. But honestly, I couldn’t even be that mad at her because let’s face it: Same, deer, same.

A more recent regert happened at 7-11 a few weeks ago when I decided to splurge and try the once-upon-a-time-viral Dubai chocolate bar. It was on the counter staring at me one morning and I thought I would indulge both my sweet tooth and curiosity. I figured it would be about five dollars, which is plenty for a candy bar, but when the cashier rang me up it was closer to $25. Instead of just putting it back like a normal person, I froze and stared at her in shock as she waited for me to pay, which I did. I mean…it was good, but not $25 good.

The point is, we are all human. Humans do dumb stuff sometimes. The goal is to keep the dumb stuff to a minimum and do our very best not to cross from regert to regret. That is easier said than done and takes intentionality on our part. We will make mistakes, but it’s what we do after that matters more than anything. For instance, always double check dimensions when ordering office supplies online. Need a 5’x8′ dry erase board, anyone?

Empowering My Alien

Would you be interested in sending me $200 so I don’t have to go to work this week? Ummm, negative. In fact, I’d ask that you refrain from all further monetary requests.

Was this from a spam email? A Nigerian prince needs me to help him to the United States? No. No indeed. This was an actual request from the alien that used to take up residence in my uterus.

Is she objectively cute? Yes. Is she charming and kind? Also yes. But is she getting my money? No. At least not that time. Approximately two days later she informed me that she needed a bed frame when they move to their new apartment. I was like, “That sounds like a you problem, sister”. But then she reminded me that in a moment of parental supportiveness I did, in fact, promise her that I would supply the bed frame. You got me there, kid.

The process of separating from grown children is especially painful some days. Contrary to (her) popular belief, I do not delight in telling her no when she asks for money to do superfluous things. It requires a level of self control NOT to indulge some of the whims. But my fully developed prefrontal cortex understands that this is the safest time in life to learn the value of a dollar, and enabling bad money management is not an act of love.

Instead she (and all her siblings) can rest in the security that I will never allow her to go without basic needs (and let’s face it, plenty of wants), that wherever my home is she is always welcome, and that I am her biggest cheerleader as she grows into the woman God created her to be. One day we will sit and laugh over coffee about how we barely made it through puberty without bloodshed and then when the check comes, I will have conveniently forgotten my wallet and the circle of life will be complete.

Vintage

Death will not come a second before or after God ordained. (But statistically it’s getting closer.) Happy 50th Birthday

Wait, 50? That’s basically dead. “Happy”birthday.
-younger me

Congratulations. You are now older than 65% of the earth’s population. Happy 50th birthday.

50? Maybe cross becoming a professional ballet dancer off the list now. Happy Birthday.

You have your whole life ahead of you. There’s just less of it left now. Happy Birthday.

Half a century has passed since you were born. Read that again and then tell me you’re not old. Happy Birthday!

This is a sampling of my inappropriate “aging” greeting card line. My sister and I have developed several less than tactful but fully hilarious greeting cards for different occasions. We have a Hospice line that’s almost definitely offensive to everyone except us, but humor is how we’ve managed to survive some pretty intense storms.

Becoming older is not a curse, as our popular culture would have us believe. But it’s also fraught with some hardly ideal reality. Fortunately I have a great hairdresser and no one will ever see that cruel twist of gray fate.

To mark the beginning of my second half-century, let’s talk about some things I will never miss about being young (specifically regarding parenting):

I will not miss diaper blowouts-especially the ones that happen in a cloth car seat.

I will not miss being sharply awakened at 2am by vomiting episodes in small children.

I will not miss the last month of pregnancy.

I will also not miss the physical pain of the first month of postpartum. (But I definitely miss the tiny warm fuzzy human that created the pain)

I will not miss the constant struggle of finding childcare so I could work and the mom guilt associated with that whole ordeal.

I will not miss my van that had no heat or air conditioning for 18 months. Oh and no working driver side window.

I will not miss financial insecurity.

These are all things that I experienced when my skin was tight, my body bounced back and my hair was naturally brown, which are all things I have mourned the loss of as time marches on. But what I’ve traded in physically I have gained in every other category, most importantly my faith. He sees what’s inside, and He has walked me through some rugged terrain only to come out on the other side with perspective and wisdom that younger me was not able to discern. I’ll take it. And I look forward to gaining more and more of the attributes of my Creator. I am protected on all sides. I’m covered in the blood of Jesus, which is worth far more than any temporary vanity of this earth. (But also, thank you for the transformative power of hairstylists.)

Amy

Grief is such a strange thing. It’s like a thief waiting to ambush at the most unusual times. I could be having the most normal day and something completely off the wall will remind me of my mom and then my heart breaks all over again. I don’t enjoy that feeling, but it does put things in perspective for me. The big picture gets blurred sometimes as I hyper focus on one area of life, then when grief slips in uninvited it somehow helps me zoom out again and reset.

Many of the things I start to allow myself to be absorbed by are so trivial. Mom used to tell us that there was never a reason to be hateful to someone. Even if…fill in the blank…it didn’t matter. I’m grateful that her voice echoed the voice of my Father. I didn’t (and still don’t) always listen, but it guided me and helped me listen way more times than if it had not spoken.

I fight within me so often I don’t have the time or desire to fight with anyone else. You have an opinion that’s different from mine? Ok. We die on hills that are meaningless and silly. There’s no place for that kind of controversy in the life of a Christian (I’m lecturing myself, mostly). I’ve contributed to the idiocy quite enough. The battle is within and it urgently needs to be won. Sometimes we are what stands between someone walking toward Christ or walking away. I hate to think of the times I was so caught up in my anger that I misrepresented His name. Is the gravity I feel in this regard related to the wickedness of this current world? Is it a product of maturity? My guess is that it’s a little of both, mixed with the relative peace of life, which is in stark contrast to the chaos that has defined much of my adulthood.

One day many years ago my sister and I were on the phone; most cell phones had minutes and it was cheaper to talk after 9pm. Our combined 7 children were very young, and we were both in places of sustained crisis but we were growing in our faith as young adults. Both of us, surrounded by believers in our communities, were adamant that our children would make better choices than we had made. As we knew better we would do better, and we promised to be continuously improving so that our children would have us as role models.

If all you knew was part of the story then it may seem we were the most ridiculous excuses for role models there ever were. Sometimes I still walk back to that place, but these days I don’t pitch my tent and stay. I simply walk there, acknowledge the mistakes and then I turn around and come back. I will get to a point where I never return but until then I stand at that spot and remember the truth; I remember that God fights my battles for me and I point to my precious children. I may be slightly biased, but I do believe I have the cream of the crop as far as children go. God doesn’t think any of the negative things I can be guilty of thinking about myself. As I have grown closer to Him, the demeaning voice gets quieter and quieter. And it all started with my first step taken in obedience by a nudging of the Holy Spirit…and my mom.

My mom was as human as any of us, but her unwavering faith, misguided as it sometimes could be, was a legacy left by my grandma, who carried it forward from her mom, and so on. It created a space in me to see the truth, and experience how mightily God works through the most heinous situations. It gave me the strength to walk with Him, to offer up my children to Him and to understand I was a steward of those young people – they belong to Him, not to me.

The hours in prayer, the tears shed, the angry outbursts, the depression, the confusion, the agony, the denial, the acceptance and the joy – none of it was wasted. He has used every single circumstance for our good. Every single one.

When I look at it my life from the perspective of my Creator, I can be nothing less than grateful. The rest of my days will continue to be spent imperfectly loving, growing, serving and learning. If even one person falls in love with Jesus through my obedience, it will have been worth everything. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Thank you for introducing me to Him. I’ll see you at Home.

Extra Credit is Absurd

The older I get, the more I realize I understand much less than I thought I did. When I was 21, I had an answer for everything, but then I lived some life and I have realized that what I “knew” were idealistic conjectures, only relevant in a utopian society, if at all. All of my solutions to problems were seen through my lens and based on my personal (very limited) life experiences. I still have my own lens and life experiences, but what has evolved over time is my ability to accept that my way is not the only way.

For example, Aubrey and I have this conversation that keeps coming up because I keep not understanding no matter how many times she explains it to me. This started about 6 years ago when she told me she had 105% in one of her classes. I told her that was the stupidest thing I have ever heard. How can you have more than 100%? She less than calmly tried to explain it to me in terms I did not hear because they were ridiculous and made no sense so I walked away. Later, perhaps months or years, it came up again and this time she explained it in terms I could better understand: she told me that 100% was the pizza and the extra credit was the pepperoni. Ok, now I kind of get it.

At no point did it really matter if I understood this concept, but for some reason it still keeps coming up and I just can’t let it go. Now she’s in college and the other day we were talking and it came up again, but more like reminiscing about all the times she tried to teach me about extra credit and I didn’t understand, so she explained it yet again, but I still don’t follow the logic – there is ALL of something and then SOME of another thing but there can’t be more than ALL of one thing. Then she blocked me. (Not really. She asked me for ice cream money after she finished telling me how much of an adult she was, but I’ll save that for another blog.) So, obviously extra credit is a real concept and my inability to understand it doesn’t affect its validity.

I realize now that wisdom has less to do with knowledge and more to do with a posture of humility when it comes to life. I will never know everything. I am not always right. There is more than one way to solve a problem. If I had told my younger self these truths, she would have at the very least rolled her eyes, but older me knows that it’s ok not to have all the answers. What truly matters is having a relationship with the One who does.

Pointing others to Christ is the main purpose of believers. I have been guilty of acting in ways unbecoming of a daughter of the King, yet He still loves me. If this is true for me, it’s true for all of us. How many chances do we get to have our slate wiped clean? As many as it takes, and all we have to know is who Christ is and believe that His death paid the price we should have paid. He meets us where we are and transforms us to His image as we go. Perfection is unattainable for all of us. Instead we walk with our Creator as He makes us more and more like Him, inviting people to Him naturally as they witness the transforming power that could only be explained by the act of selfless obedience displayed on a cross thousands of years ago.

Kintsugi

I know your heart is broken
I know you feel alone
I know the paths you’ve chosen
have led you far from home

I know you long for someone
to be forever true
I know the deepest aches you have
for I created you

And in this darkest hour
if before me you will kneel
Place all your fears upon me
In surrender you can heal

On this very morning, so crisp and bright and new
will be a true companion, made to walk with you

So bring your broken pieces, and place them in My hand
Trust me, love me, worship me
Follow my commands

And if you honor whom I’ve sent,
and if you’ll bear your soul
I’ll take your broken pieces, and I will make you whole

You always must remember, though, this life is not your own
Your purpose is to spread my love,
until I call you home

So for these next few moments, reach out and take the hand.
Hold it tight, do this right, follow my commands

Pick up the shattered pieces, of those left in your care
Create a new mosaic, and cover it in prayer

Imagine all the sorrows, the failures and the tears, as bricks in a foundation, built to last for years

And as you stand upon it, surrounded by my grace,
Know that NOTHING you’ve endured will ever go to waste

Each and every jagged fragment of the splintered lives you handed Me,
will form the firm foundation of your NEW legacy

Unending Love, Amazing Grace

There was a time in my young adult life where I had 3 car seats in the back of an old Isuzu Trooper, a gold beast which had neither air conditioning nor any creature comforts whatsoever. The children, all lined up ready to go, would eagerly await being spritzed on their tiny heads, windows rolled down as we headed to our destination and the sun blazed, kids unaffected and having a great ride. Mommy, on the other hand, cursed (or blessed, depending on the car) with curly hair, would have to bring a change of clothes because the window can’t be down when your hair is as wild as mine.

While we’re on the subject, later in my motherhood journey I drove a van, now complete with 4 children, that first lost its heat and then lost its air conditioning. For 18 months I drove that unfortunate automobile, whose other charming feature was the lack of driver’s side window function. It was fun to pull through any drive-thru and open my door, said me, never. At this point PTSD was in full effect triggered by unresolved car issues for a complicated variety of reasons. In the winter the kids wore their coats in the car and brought their favorite blankets. In the summer I packed bottled water and rolled down the passenger side window because it was the only working window.

Following those two memorable vehicles was a Subaru station wagon that was not able to idle or it would overheat. I had to turn it off at every stop light. It also didn’t have enough working seatbelts so not all of the kids could be in it (safely) at the same time. Let’s say bungee cords were used and praise God we never got pulled over. I wish I was kidding. And that’s just a random sample of the cars I’ve driven.

Paycheck to paycheck, every unplanned event unable to be reliably covered, living in scarcity for the simple reason that I was so busy surviving I wasn’t even thinking about thriving. I knew nothing about prosperity. And I’m not talking about Joel Osteen’s prosperity gospel nonsense (yea, you heard me. He’s a fraud.) I’m talking about sound financial Biblical principles that enable us to live for God in such a productive way that we no longer have to be slave to the lender, and we can save for the future while giving to those in need, a life I knew I wanted but had no idea was within my grasp.

It would take me being introduced and reintroduced to these principles over the course of many years until my brain was able to absorb the truths in a way they could be put into practice, i.e. about a year ago. Along the way God used several examples to illustrate His point in retrospect:

One evening I was walking into the home I shared with Addison, 4, Ayden 2, and Avery 1, as the wind blew furiously. I needed to buy diapers for the boys and I had a $20 bill in my pocket to do just that the next morning. I always have a plan, as anyone who knows me well will tell you. That evening after bath time and stories, I set my clothes out for the next day and remembered I had the cash for the diapers in my pocket. I reached for it to no avail. As I searched every conceivable location, I began to panic. It was nowhere. I fell asleep defeated, knowing I would have to reach out to my mom for help, which of course she would gladly do but wow, did it ever hurt my pride to have to ask. Sins #1 & #2 that have held me captive in my own stupidity for years: Planning Without Praying and Pride, and maybe they’re synonymous but regardless, there you have it. Luckily grace would find me the next day as we made our way to the car, baby Avery on my hip as I happened to look down and saw the $20 bill in the grass. It must have fallen out while I was digging in my pocket for my house keys, but by the grace of God there it remained during the craziest wind storm for me to discover it and know that despite every imperfection and flaw I was still loved. I remember crying, humbled temporarily by the overwhelming love my father had for me.

These kinds of stories permeated my early life as a parent. The God who died for the sins of all spent so much time chasing down this unbelievably stubborn sheep to prove to her how loved she was. He chased me and I ran away, he chased me and I ran away…I felt so incredibly unlovable, and I was determined to prove my worth…a pursuit as useless as the directions on a shampoo bottle. Maybe if I were a less ferocious being, calmer, not as determined, prideful and pig-headed, perhaps then He could have reached me sooner. Maybe, but that’s just not the case, and for whatever reason He chased me down until he found me in the corner of my living room, February 16, 2019, crying after a night of vomiting from sheer grief. And then in my first ever moment of actual surrender he led me to the life of safety I now live. I didn’t have to earn it or deserve it, I just had to be willing to accept it.

During this new time in my life I have learned truths I am now (finally) willing to obey and principles I wish I knew earlier but am grateful to be able to pass along to my children so that their lives are decidedly different. If I’m being honest, I don’t mind a bit if my kids experience discomfort financially or otherwise as long as it teaches them to appreciate what they have and work for what else they want, but I can’t unknow what I now know and there’s a whole new world out there that can guarantee a future free from a scarcity mentality, thriving instead of surviving, free from the constant worry…and THAT is what I want for them. That is what I will teach them and pray that they follow – not for themselves as much as to the glory of our Lord, who, in His infinite mercy, has plucked me out of self-reliant arrogance and into a wellspring of people who love me, and whom I also love. Things happen, and God knows just how to make lemonade out of lemons to HIS glory every time.

So as I look back not so fondly on parts of my past, the one constant comfort I had during those tumultuous times is my children. Every precious moment, every weird game full of arbitrary little kid rules, every snacking phase and fashion craze, every nightmare (real AND imagined), every second spent with their tiny sick bodies curled in my lap, my lips pressed against foreheads to check for fever, every sporting event, every play, every camp…every everything…it was worth every second of all the heartache endured and instead of a tragedy, it gets to be part of a glorious transformation story that will forever be part of our collective and individual legacies.

I used to spend so much time wondering why I was allowed to endure the searing pain, the lack of clarity that would have led me out so much sooner, but now I understand, why not? If this is what it takes for me to be impactful for the Kingdom then so be it. I’m here for His glory, not the other way around. What a privilege to be able to see clearly as each of my own children enter into a phase of their lives where imparting these truths can spare them from regret. That alone is worth every tear. God has given us each a story, and the main character is always God. Why? Because 100/100 times he uses our weakness for His glory, to draw other imperfect people close to Him. This world is so temporary, so let’s put our faith and trust in the one who can see us through and lead us TO our destiny. I never fully understood this until recently, but everything we do here on earth affects eternity. “And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free”- John 8:32. Indeed. Rest in that truth, my brothers and sisters. And in the meantime let’s lead others to the peace we live for, and let’s do it together. We can’t unknow the truth, so now we have to act on it. All of it.

Idiomic

I was driving home a few years ago with Aubrey and lots of other camp kids. If you know me you know I have an extraordinarily high tolerance for chaos and shenanigans. Noise doesn’t often bother me, I am not easily fazed by kids wrestling each other or throwing things or arguing, I can conduct business with a baby on my hip and a few toddlers clinched to my legs – it’s how I roll. But I heard the expression on the radio “a walk in the park” to explain something simplistic and enjoyable and I began to wonder if the people who use these idioms actually HAVE children. Let me tell you, radio commercial people, if you ever actually took a literal “walk in the park” with children, you’d know it’s no walk in the park.

Alyssa and I have met the definition of insane several times over with our sadistic, yet eternally optimistic view of such things as walks in the park.

July 2006: “It will be fun to take the kids (SEVEN children ages 6 months to 7 years) to the mall for lunch and ice cream. Ooh, maybe we can go into some stores and look for matching outfits for the babies,” said the delusional sisters.

4 hours, 2 screaming babies and 5 worn out little people later, we headed home in defeat, swearing off trips such as those for the foreseeable future. The next day we decided that perhaps the park would be a better idea. So we packed the diaper bags and the coolers full of sippy cups, bottles, clothes, wipes, snacks and hand sanitizer. We took a blanket and envisioned sitting on said blanket with the babies and watching the tiny children play happily on the playground surrounded by butterflies and birds chirping happily. What we re-learned is that sitting does not actually happen at the park. Neither does walking. Chasing, however, is definitely happening, as is first aid, 16,000 trips to the bathroom, digging mulch (if you’re lucky it’s only mulch) out of a baby’s mouth, and pushing the swing. Lots of pushing the swing happens at the park.

Ten years later I would like to say we had gotten much better – that we no longer met the DSM-5 Criteria for Delusional Disorder. I’d be lying. Hence 2015’s trip to the beach, and then the little town on the beach, and then swimming in the pool…and on and on it goes. Our vision of what any outing will be like is literally NEVER accurate, yet we continued to try to attain this utopian ideal of family time based on nothing but a fantasy.

Only 2 of the 7 children remain at home, and what we have learned the hard way is that ANY chance to have everyone in the same space is ideal family time. It’s still loud and chaotic. We still have messes to clean, meals to plan, the occasional hurt feelings to soothe and even first aid to administer sometimes. The infrequency, however, makes the time feel that much more precious.

It isn’t easy to slow down and cherish moments when children are small. The physical and logistical demands of parenting young children are overwhelming at times; it was hard for us to appreciate that it would not always be this way – until it wasn’t. First it was one last pack of diapers to buy for Ava when they came to visit, then it was the last trip to the park with all 7 because the older 5 were too cool for playgrounds. The next thing we knew we were attending the first graduation, then the second and third, and thanks to COVID not the fourth and fifth but they left the nest just the same. “Time marches on”, so many older, wiser parents would say to us. “Enjoy them while you can, because one day they’ll all be grown.”

At the time I couldn’t envision “grown” but I did think that perhaps it would be great to not have to wipe any more bottoms. I was also fond of the idea of sleeping through the night, a vague notion then. Now I look back at those times that felt (and were) so trying with not only a fondness, but also a thankfulness that I was blessed enough to experience them. It is often in hindsight that we glean the greatest appreciation.

God wastes nothing. He can use every part of our story for His glory. Walking through those times when the kids were small seemed then mostly like barreling through a blizzard searching for shelter, hoping to survive until we found it. But when the kids talk about their childhood, they describe it more like frolicking in a sunny meadow without a care in the world, and honestly from the 20,000-ft view, I don’t see as much snow as I thought there was at the time.

So that’s my nugget of well-earned wisdom: eventually they wipe their own behinds, they sleep through the night, and in our case a vast majority of the day, they will stop needing you to do everything and start wanting you to go away. I’ve said this before but you will become utilitarian at best (cue: “I need money/ride.”) But don’t be sad, because they also eventually FaceTime you when they have questions, or are excited after their first day at a new job. They will need you in a much more balanced way, and seeing them achieve their dreams will make every sacrifice, every “blizzard” worth its weight in gold.

It’s Time

Thanks to the crappy weather the plans for this evening got changed, but instead of pouting I decided to create a delicious from scratch meat-free dish. While chopping the spinach and carrots, a few pieces dropped on the floor. George and Luna got so excited until they realized what it was and then they both looked at me like I owed them money. Luna then disappeared to eat some used feminine products and as I chased the remnants down the stairs I realized two things…I should have closed the bathroom door and when given a recipe, I can create something pretty freaking amazing.

Lately I have been mildly obsessed with financial planning. For lots of years I have lived in survival mode, but for the past few years it has occurred to me that this is no longer my reality. The foundational principles of financial management have never escaped me: I know that all we have belongs to the Father and we are merely stewards, but lately I have been reintroduced into relying on God solely even when I am not financially destitute.

Once upon a time…

Let me lay the groundwork by saying we had no training in finances when I was growing up. My mom filled out my FAFSA but after that the rest was up to me. Investments? Savings? Stocks? I had NO IDEA what any of that was. One day I found myself a single mom of 2 babies with nothing but my own income to support us, which was not enough, in secular terms. We lived in the house my dad built that I was supposed to raise my family in after my parents got divorced. Every idea, every plan I had carefully crafted from childhood was just gone. I needed another place to live that I could afford. I had also been praying for a church, an experience I had not encountered since I was 9. To say I was overwhelmed would have been the understatement of the year. (Real talk: Ayden didn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time, I worked full-time and it got to the point that I no longer wanted to live. I called Brook Lane to see if they’d admit me. I was as desperate as I had ever been. Lost, alone except for my mama, and ready to give up.)

Mom, aware of my fierce determination to find a church home, told me about a church her best friend attended and suggested we go there, so we did. First Baptist Church in Martinsburg became our home for the next 13 years. Imagine entering elementary school as a 25 year old student…that’s where I was spiritually. I left off when I was 9 but God had been chasing me every day since. I thrived at that church. I was introduced to people who loved me in ways I never knew possible, I had opportunities to serve…I couldn’t get enough.

One of my church friends introduced me to a Christian radio station and on the way from work to get the kids there was a financial segment. Each day I would turn the station because who wants to listen to Christian financial advisors? Well, one day as I agonized over how I was going to find and afford a place to live the show finally broke through my stubborn ADD. The topic was tithing, of all things. I listened intently, like I never had before, and learned some biblical truths I have not always lived by but at the time changed my life.

It turns out that everything we have belongs to God and money is a tool He’s given us as He sees fit to glorify the Kingdom and spread the Gospel. Talk about countercultural! So after that show I surrendered my finances to God (which I would then take back to my detriment several times…don’t YOU make that mistake) and the first actual miracle occurred in my life.

An apartment became available that I wanted so I called the property manager and she held the apartment until the end of the week for me. I scraped and saved every penny for the deposit but the day before it was due I still needed $118. After I picked the kids up from daycare I stopped to check the mail; between all the bills and advertisements there was a handwritten envelope addressed to me with no return address. I opened it up and inside was a check for $118. I was so stunned it still gives me goosebumps. I told zero people about the issue I was facing much less the amount needed to make it happen.

But God…as I remained faithful so did He, meeting every need we had. I needed diapers….I came home from work to a pack of diapers on my porch…that’s a real example! I came home several times after praying over a need to find it met, tangibly, on my PORCH.

The point is simple…He promises to provide all we need through His glorious riches as long as we give him access. When I’m desperate it’s easy to give Him access, but when I have what I need and then some that’s the real test, isn’t it? And for most of us in the United States that’s the reality…we have more than we need but we don’t want to surrender the excess to Him.

My unsolicited financial advice to us as an uncertified-in-everything advisor, is to surrender all that we have to the One who gave it to us in the first place. God gives us the recipe, we need only follow it. I would like to take that a step further and commit my life to glorifying God with ALL my resources, not just financial. Time, talent and treasure…it’s all His anyway. Only when this surrender happens will we be able to fulfill our calling. It’s time.