We are a military family. We always have been. We always will be. No matter what happens. It is something of which we are very proud.
Keith was buried at Quantico, the Crossroads of the Marine Corps, as per his will. Each Memorial Day, you can find us there.
It is a good day for remembering.
We remember Keith: his quirky smile, his annoyed face (the "ferp" face), his infectious laugh.
We also remember bigger things: that freedom isn't free, that men and women are in harm's way even as we barbeque, that others carry burdens as big as ours.
It is a day for the waterproof mascara.
I wish you could see Quantico National Cemetery today. Four-hundred-plus next-of-kin flags grace the drives, waving proudly, bravely, majestically. It is a day of pageantry there as we listen to the Marine Corps Band, and Taps and a three-round volley play a tattoo in the hearts of all present. It is worth every tear.
As we sing God Bless America, I can really see it and know it in my heart. A little, upstart group of colonists, under-trained and under-prepared, beats the great military power of the day. It is a story with blessings of Biblical proportions.
God has blessed America.
I pray that we will always remember that and act accordingly.
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. -- Galatians 5:1
Monday, May 28, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Teetering Through Life
Sometimes I sin against my children. Big, glaring sins.
I'm not proud of it. I'm not trying to glorify it. But it happens.
And it's not because I'm a single mom. At least, not directly.
A dear friend had me over to tea this past Saturday to have the "are you taking on too much?" talk. Praise God for friends who will listen to God and call me on stuff!
I don't think I am taking on too much. But I'm teetering on the edge.
Remember those little birds of glass, complete with red hat and red liquid inside? You watch and watch the swaying and eventually that swaying turns to tipping.
And my children get caught in the fallout.
When taking on a new project, I sometimes use the justification that I have no husband to care for, so I have additional ministry time. That is a true statement.
What I sometimes fail to remember in my equation of time is that I wear both hats in my family, and when I start swaying close to the tipping point, I have no one to pass off the excess to, no one to step in and even temporarily take something off my plate. The swaying of this constant balancing act of managing my life becomes top-heavy and I tip.
My stress level manifests itself as intolerance with my children. I am mad at me, but I take it out on them.
More fallout.
And I feel broken and like a horrible mother and a horrible witness.
This happens more than I would care to admit.
When it does, it is time for a deep breath, a cup of coffee, some praise music, and lots of prayer. It is time to have a day of chucking the schedule and just enjoy being a family, watching funny movies and staying in our pajamas all day. It is time for thanking God for His grace and the fact that I have truly grace-filled children who cut me slack.
I am sure I will get to the tipping point again. Life is like that. I only pray that when I do, I will handle it with more grace myself, and not create so much fallout for my family.
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. - 1 John 1:9
I'm not proud of it. I'm not trying to glorify it. But it happens.
And it's not because I'm a single mom. At least, not directly.
A dear friend had me over to tea this past Saturday to have the "are you taking on too much?" talk. Praise God for friends who will listen to God and call me on stuff!
I don't think I am taking on too much. But I'm teetering on the edge.
Remember those little birds of glass, complete with red hat and red liquid inside? You watch and watch the swaying and eventually that swaying turns to tipping.
And my children get caught in the fallout.
When taking on a new project, I sometimes use the justification that I have no husband to care for, so I have additional ministry time. That is a true statement.
What I sometimes fail to remember in my equation of time is that I wear both hats in my family, and when I start swaying close to the tipping point, I have no one to pass off the excess to, no one to step in and even temporarily take something off my plate. The swaying of this constant balancing act of managing my life becomes top-heavy and I tip.
My stress level manifests itself as intolerance with my children. I am mad at me, but I take it out on them.
More fallout.
And I feel broken and like a horrible mother and a horrible witness.
This happens more than I would care to admit.
When it does, it is time for a deep breath, a cup of coffee, some praise music, and lots of prayer. It is time to have a day of chucking the schedule and just enjoy being a family, watching funny movies and staying in our pajamas all day. It is time for thanking God for His grace and the fact that I have truly grace-filled children who cut me slack.
I am sure I will get to the tipping point again. Life is like that. I only pray that when I do, I will handle it with more grace myself, and not create so much fallout for my family.
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. - 1 John 1:9
Friday, May 18, 2012
In Prasie of Girlfriends
You know who you are.
Or maybe you don't...
You're the one who complimented me on my children's behavior on the day I felt like a failure as a mother.
You're the one who called at dinner time nearly nightly to get the debrief of the day.
You're the one who laughed with me about men and marriage and sex on the days I wanted to cry and wallow in self-pity.
You're the one who bought the flowers Keith would have bought for our anniversary.
You're the one who thought to include us in your holiday gathering rather than let us be alone.
You're the one who called from miles away to tell me you were holding me and the Lord was holding me.
You're the one who saw to it my grass was mowed when I was overwhelmed with the kids and would have let it grow over the top of the house.
You're the one who brought over a check on Christmas Day to cover expenses you had no idea I worried about.
You're the one who watched my kids so I could have dinner with a friend without the constant clamor of "Hey, Mom, guess what..."
You're the one who cleaned my bathroom on your hands and knees just as it was beginning to resemble one in a gas station.
You're the one who prayed for me while you were getting ready for church Sunday mornings, figuring I was facing some challenges (I was).
You're the one who checked in on me while I was driving long distances, and insisted I call when I got there.
You're the one who cried with me at the cemetery on Memorial Day, and brought flowers for Keith's grave.
You're the one who took me for my first pedicure on Mother's Day and sat laughing with me.
You're the one who shared out of your bounty for the holidays to make sure I had something to open, too.
You're the one who still called me with your prayer needs, realizing that I needed to take the focus off me and do things for God.
You're the one who pulled up a tissue and sat down, chocolate in hand, to spend an hour with me.
You're the one who listened when Jesus whispered in your ear that I needed you.
And for that I thank you.
From the bottom of my heart.
Or maybe you don't...
You're the one who complimented me on my children's behavior on the day I felt like a failure as a mother.
You're the one who called at dinner time nearly nightly to get the debrief of the day.
You're the one who laughed with me about men and marriage and sex on the days I wanted to cry and wallow in self-pity.
You're the one who bought the flowers Keith would have bought for our anniversary.
You're the one who thought to include us in your holiday gathering rather than let us be alone.
You're the one who called from miles away to tell me you were holding me and the Lord was holding me.
You're the one who saw to it my grass was mowed when I was overwhelmed with the kids and would have let it grow over the top of the house.
You're the one who brought over a check on Christmas Day to cover expenses you had no idea I worried about.
You're the one who watched my kids so I could have dinner with a friend without the constant clamor of "Hey, Mom, guess what..."
You're the one who cleaned my bathroom on your hands and knees just as it was beginning to resemble one in a gas station.
You're the one who prayed for me while you were getting ready for church Sunday mornings, figuring I was facing some challenges (I was).
You're the one who checked in on me while I was driving long distances, and insisted I call when I got there.
You're the one who cried with me at the cemetery on Memorial Day, and brought flowers for Keith's grave.
You're the one who took me for my first pedicure on Mother's Day and sat laughing with me.
You're the one who shared out of your bounty for the holidays to make sure I had something to open, too.
You're the one who still called me with your prayer needs, realizing that I needed to take the focus off me and do things for God.
You're the one who pulled up a tissue and sat down, chocolate in hand, to spend an hour with me.
You're the one who listened when Jesus whispered in your ear that I needed you.
And for that I thank you.
From the bottom of my heart.
A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. - Proverbs 17:17
Monday, May 14, 2012
A Happy Mother's Day, Part II
A second lesson from the Mother's Day baskets:
I contacted the ladies to deliver the baskets. I even sent a picture of the baskets, all scattered about my living room.
The overwhelming response from the moms was, "For me? There's one for me?" They were incredulous that someone would care that much, put that much effort, into someone they do not know, and may never meet.
When they find out there is, then come the tears.
You see, as single moms, we get used to doing without. There's always another bill or another growing child who needs shoes. It often is not as much fun to buy something for yourself, so we skip it, save the money and move on.
Aren't we all like that?
We have this incredible gift in our loving Savior, and we sometimes look at it and say, "Is this for me?"
We see our unworthiness. We have gotten used to doing without. We fail to see the blessings ready to be heaped on us.
I have a secret to share.
We had a lady join the group recently, the week before the baskets came out, in fact. She needed the comfort of a basket blessing from unknown friends.
I gave her mine.
I am not saying this was easy. For this girl whose love language is gifts, it was a pinch. I had been looking forward to the surprise. I knew it was coming. But mine did not come.
But it's OK. Really OK!
I got more out of delivering the baskets, of passing on a material blessing in favor of a spiritual one, than I thought would be possible.
And God taught me a bit more in the process, refined a few more rough edges.
And that's what it's all about.
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. - 1 Peter 1:6-7
I contacted the ladies to deliver the baskets. I even sent a picture of the baskets, all scattered about my living room.
The overwhelming response from the moms was, "For me? There's one for me?" They were incredulous that someone would care that much, put that much effort, into someone they do not know, and may never meet.
When they find out there is, then come the tears.
You see, as single moms, we get used to doing without. There's always another bill or another growing child who needs shoes. It often is not as much fun to buy something for yourself, so we skip it, save the money and move on.
Aren't we all like that?
We have this incredible gift in our loving Savior, and we sometimes look at it and say, "Is this for me?"
We see our unworthiness. We have gotten used to doing without. We fail to see the blessings ready to be heaped on us.
I have a secret to share.
We had a lady join the group recently, the week before the baskets came out, in fact. She needed the comfort of a basket blessing from unknown friends.
I gave her mine.
I am not saying this was easy. For this girl whose love language is gifts, it was a pinch. I had been looking forward to the surprise. I knew it was coming. But mine did not come.
But it's OK. Really OK!
I got more out of delivering the baskets, of passing on a material blessing in favor of a spiritual one, than I thought would be possible.
And God taught me a bit more in the process, refined a few more rough edges.
And that's what it's all about.
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. - 1 Peter 1:6-7
Saturday, May 12, 2012
A Happy Mother's Day
My love language is gifts. (read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman, www.5lovelanguages.com)
That means that the holidays and I continually do this great dance to see if my needs will feel met. It's just the way it is. Not right or wrong, just reality.
When Keith was alive, we exchanged gifts at each holiday. I was usually happy to give him hints, pick it out myself, or call some house project my "gift."
But not for my birthday. Then, I needed a surprise.
Since Keith's death, God has continued to send me surprises.
Even for Mother's Day...maybe especially for Mother's Day.
We are on the eve of my fifth Mother's Day without Keith and each year God has touched the heart of someone to bless me in an amazing way.
One year, a dear friend took me for a pedicure while her hubby and my boys cleaned out and washed my car.
One year, I looked out the window to find my sweet neighbors mulching my front beds.
One year, friends came over to make breakfast at my house.
One year flowers arrived the Saturday before.
It is almost like Christmas morning when I was a kid, when I eagerly tripped down the stairs to see what Santa left me. Wise Santa, my parents told me, always knew what I needed and of my list what would be the best gift.
This year, God had a gift planned as well.
My dear, sweet friends from a local MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers, www.mops.org) group felt led to make Mother's Day baskets for our widows' group.
When they asked me months ago whether they could do this project, I was touched. When I saw baskets, I was flabbergasted.
These were not tokens. The ladies went all-out in filling the baskets until each one was a rich, loving expression, mom-to-mom, of what a struggle it is, what a joy but a pain it is to be a mom. They may not be single moms, but they got it, appreciated us.
When we picked them up, they overflowed the back of my car. I cried.
But that was the beginning of the gift to me.
I got to have the joy of delivering these precious baskets to each of the ladies, to see their faces, feel their gratitude, wipe their tears.
God in action! And, praise Him, I got to be part of it!
That means that the holidays and I continually do this great dance to see if my needs will feel met. It's just the way it is. Not right or wrong, just reality.
When Keith was alive, we exchanged gifts at each holiday. I was usually happy to give him hints, pick it out myself, or call some house project my "gift."
But not for my birthday. Then, I needed a surprise.
Since Keith's death, God has continued to send me surprises.
Even for Mother's Day...maybe especially for Mother's Day.
We are on the eve of my fifth Mother's Day without Keith and each year God has touched the heart of someone to bless me in an amazing way.
One year, a dear friend took me for a pedicure while her hubby and my boys cleaned out and washed my car.
One year, I looked out the window to find my sweet neighbors mulching my front beds.
One year, friends came over to make breakfast at my house.
One year flowers arrived the Saturday before.
It is almost like Christmas morning when I was a kid, when I eagerly tripped down the stairs to see what Santa left me. Wise Santa, my parents told me, always knew what I needed and of my list what would be the best gift.
This year, God had a gift planned as well.
My dear, sweet friends from a local MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers, www.mops.org) group felt led to make Mother's Day baskets for our widows' group.
When they asked me months ago whether they could do this project, I was touched. When I saw baskets, I was flabbergasted.
These were not tokens. The ladies went all-out in filling the baskets until each one was a rich, loving expression, mom-to-mom, of what a struggle it is, what a joy but a pain it is to be a mom. They may not be single moms, but they got it, appreciated us.
When we picked them up, they overflowed the back of my car. I cried.
But that was the beginning of the gift to me.
I got to have the joy of delivering these precious baskets to each of the ladies, to see their faces, feel their gratitude, wipe their tears.
God in action! And, praise Him, I got to be part of it!
Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. - 1 John 3:18
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Lego Land Mines
I have four sons. That means I have 4 x 1,000,000 Legos in my house.
They are everywhere. I have a real bone to pick with the Lego people who package up 5 little plastic men with some other random pieces of plastic and charge me $50 for it! In order to get the precious figures, we add another hundred Legos to the house. Over and over again. Each birthday, Christmas, and mad money day.
Don't get me wrong. There are hours of fun and creativity in those little pieces of plastic. Even the big ones still play with them, and it is often a common ground with the little ones, something they can all play where the big ones aren't too bored (unlike Candy Land).
But there is a down side to Legos. They are excruciatingly painful when you step on them.
Of course, they are all supposed to be picked up before the boys go to bed. I try to do a sweep myself as well so that when I come down for my quiet time, I don't impale myself on one. But it occasionally still happens. And boy, does it hurt!
Grief is like that.
Like the Legos on the floor of my house, I occasionally trip on my grief and have the searing pain of the loss all over again. All I can do is sit there and wrap my arms around myself for a minute until the pain passes.
I have been through many of my "firsts," I am not even talking about the firsts you know you will have--first Christmas, first birthday, first Easter, etc. There are a lot more firsts you never think of until you step on them--first time mowing the lawn, first tax season, first car repair, first trip to the ER, first call to poison control (I have made three since Keith died--yep, three).
The pesky Legos of the firsts also have another flavor, wrapped in the candy wrapper of the good things in life, the ones I really wish I could share with Keith--first baptism, first lost tooth, first words read, first vacation, first soccer goal--on and on. And there are more on the horizon--first time driving a car, first girlfriend, first graduation, first wedding, first grandchild...
You never realize how many firsts there are in life until you face them alone, trying to respond to them as two people would.
But here's the cool thing. There is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother, who is there for all my firsts, all those moments when the pain is so excruciating I think I will never walk again. Just like I comfort my little guys when they happen to step on a piece of plastic, Jesus comforts me each time I step on a first. He is there, there, there!
And He always will be. That's a promise.
He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain... - Revelation 21:4a
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
God Showed Up
This was my past Sunday morning:
5:00 a.m. - Get up for quiet time (only chance I get at it - thank you, Beth Moore, for sharing it with me!)
5:30 a.m. - Tanner wakes up (fell back asleep on the couch - thank You, Lord); I keep reading, checking emails, getting out stuff for company later in the day, doing prep work for food to be served
6:00 a.m. - Tanner starts asking for breakfast - over and over and over; I keep putting him off and continue doing reading and my own morning chores
6:30 a.m. - Make and serve breakfast; try to do a family devotion; stop and explain to kids again why you don't talk when Mom is talking or fight with your brother at the table
6:45 a.m. - Finish housecleaning for company after church (yes, we were the ones running the vacuum that early)
7:15 a.m. - Matthew asks if I can "come upstairs for a minute"; come up to find a dead hamster and a crying boy (Dang it! RIP, Sandy! No time to bury you now!); hold crying boy
7:30 a.m. - Pick out clothes for the little boys; fuss at everyone to start their morning chores; hurriedly get into the shower so we are not late for church
8:00 a.m. - Brush my teeth while opening my blinds and I see that my car door is OPEN
8:01 a.m. - Pray the car battery is not dead; send the children out to close the door
8:10 a.m. - Three children come in from shutting car door, armed with baseball bats (they were afraid someone had broken into the car and they were going to have to chase them out); they also found Tanner's bike down the street where they had left it last night (did I mention in rained overnight -- big, wake-you-up thunderstorms?)
8:15 a.m. - Take bats away from children (that was probably a given in your minds, but am including it anyway); give a lecture about stewardship and helping Mom out around the house; continue putting on makeup; fix 4 boys' hair for church (yep, even Alex needed it this week)
8:20 a.m. - Finish my own hair and makeup, fuss at everyone to pick up stuff to take to church, turn off lights, and take the dogs out
8:25 a.m. - Remind children not to talk loudly outside because not everyone gets up for church as early as we do
8:30 a.m. - Finally pull out of the driveway 15 minutes late; pray we make it on time to start our morning routine at church (I have something to stuff in the bulletin, as usual, and have to get everyone checked into their classes and be ready to greet)
Whew! I am tired again, just writing that all down.
Here is the crux of the hardest thing as a single mom: I have no one to share this with. We got to church and no one knew of the craziness we had at home before we came, the accomplishment that the car was not wet inside--and that it started, that we made it on time anyway, and that I did not really lose my temper through all this (only a bit).
No one but God.
He knew. And being the loving, gracious Father that He is, He sent a messenger to me with some strength for the day. Here is an email I got later that evening from my dear friend Shari, far away and knowing nothing of my day:
5:00 a.m. - Get up for quiet time (only chance I get at it - thank you, Beth Moore, for sharing it with me!)
5:30 a.m. - Tanner wakes up (fell back asleep on the couch - thank You, Lord); I keep reading, checking emails, getting out stuff for company later in the day, doing prep work for food to be served
6:00 a.m. - Tanner starts asking for breakfast - over and over and over; I keep putting him off and continue doing reading and my own morning chores
6:30 a.m. - Make and serve breakfast; try to do a family devotion; stop and explain to kids again why you don't talk when Mom is talking or fight with your brother at the table
6:45 a.m. - Finish housecleaning for company after church (yes, we were the ones running the vacuum that early)
7:15 a.m. - Matthew asks if I can "come upstairs for a minute"; come up to find a dead hamster and a crying boy (Dang it! RIP, Sandy! No time to bury you now!); hold crying boy
7:30 a.m. - Pick out clothes for the little boys; fuss at everyone to start their morning chores; hurriedly get into the shower so we are not late for church
8:00 a.m. - Brush my teeth while opening my blinds and I see that my car door is OPEN
8:01 a.m. - Pray the car battery is not dead; send the children out to close the door
8:10 a.m. - Three children come in from shutting car door, armed with baseball bats (they were afraid someone had broken into the car and they were going to have to chase them out); they also found Tanner's bike down the street where they had left it last night (did I mention in rained overnight -- big, wake-you-up thunderstorms?)
8:15 a.m. - Take bats away from children (that was probably a given in your minds, but am including it anyway); give a lecture about stewardship and helping Mom out around the house; continue putting on makeup; fix 4 boys' hair for church (yep, even Alex needed it this week)
8:20 a.m. - Finish my own hair and makeup, fuss at everyone to pick up stuff to take to church, turn off lights, and take the dogs out
8:25 a.m. - Remind children not to talk loudly outside because not everyone gets up for church as early as we do
8:30 a.m. - Finally pull out of the driveway 15 minutes late; pray we make it on time to start our morning routine at church (I have something to stuff in the bulletin, as usual, and have to get everyone checked into their classes and be ready to greet)
Whew! I am tired again, just writing that all down.
Here is the crux of the hardest thing as a single mom: I have no one to share this with. We got to church and no one knew of the craziness we had at home before we came, the accomplishment that the car was not wet inside--and that it started, that we made it on time anyway, and that I did not really lose my temper through all this (only a bit).
No one but God.
He knew. And being the loving, gracious Father that He is, He sent a messenger to me with some strength for the day. Here is an email I got later that evening from my dear friend Shari, far away and knowing nothing of my day:
Hi - hope the weekend went well. I just wanted to write and encourage you
.... you are doing a great job. I'm sure it must be exhausting and frustrating,
but as I was watching some single parents recently I was reminded of how you are
stepping up to the challenge and allowing God to help you, rather than just
saying - oh, it's too hard, so I will give up. Keep up the great work!!! Don't
give up - love you bunches.
Thank You, Lord!
And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus. - Philippians 4:19
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