Hardest Prayer I’ve Prayed

There are days that I ask–

Why did we allow our son to go so soon?

He can’t vote, can’t get a tattoo, can’t operate a meat slicer at a grocery store, can’t rent a car, can’t buy spray paint, can’t get a lottery ticket, can’t buy tobacco, can’t serve on a jury, book a hotel room, or get a Costco card. However, he can join the military (with parental consent) and fight for our country, maybe give his life for you and me, and for others who don’t love this country enough to deserve his sacrifice.

We could have said, “Not now. Maybe next year. Just. Not. Yet.” Yet we didn’t question or flinch, we just signed. My eyes welled up with tears on the day we gave permission to his recruiter who put papers in front of Eli and handed me the tissue box. We willingly betrothed him to his new dad, Uncle Sam, then went home, slightly considering that the inevitable wouldn’t happen any time soon. But let me say, the pride of his decision felt like fireworks going off in my stomach. I’d tell complete strangers at the grocery, “My son is shipping out next week,” and I’m certain they heard the fourth of July celebration I was having with myself.

However, the sucker punch didn’t come until a few months later when we waved good-bye at the American Airlines gate. He didn’t look back as he and a couple others sprinted towards the jet bridge. We were busy laughing with the other families about that impending buzz cut that we didn’t hear the gate agent call them to board. There were no last kisses or hugs—just the whirlwind of a few kids who looked like they were headed to the locker room after a Friday night win. 

After we left the terminal, we sat in the car unsure of what to do next. Eli was headed to boot camp, end of question: no regrets, no turning back. No telling his new uncle we’d made a mistake. Right then and there, with a knot the size of Texas in my gut, I told myself we’d done the wrong thing.

But had we? 

Part of me–oh so glad he went. He was going nowhere staying at home, messing around with the wrong kids, getting into trouble, jumping job to job. The other part? I couldn’t imagine my baby being the brunt of a drill sergeant who didn’t care what he said about this mama and other choice phrases I can’t share with my PG-rated friends.

Finally, when the three months of nervous fuzzies surrounding whether he’d survive boot camp were over, and when our son successfully earned the title of US Marine, my heart started to breath again. He did it. This was it. The crowning achievement of his entire 17 years. The only problem was I hadn’t thought of anything beyond graduation, his visit home for two weeks, hugging him tightly, and showing him off to my friends at church. 

I hadn’t thought about our next good-bye or how difficult the real letting go would be.

Fast forward to ten months on the other side and everything has changed. He talks differently, careful of what he does and doesn’t tell me. He walks into a room differently, his head held high and shoulders square, which has added a couple inches to his previously lanky stature. Yet along with his perfect posture comes the reality that it’s only a matter of time until he deploys. Even though we aren’t in a time of war, the fact that he will be half way around the world in places where the political scenery changes on a daily basis has brought me to a new understanding and appreciation. Oh yeah, I can be heard belting out Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue with Toby Keith on most days, but in the middle of the night I’m begging God to watch over my kid since I’m not close enough to personally hold on to him with my bare hands.

I’m not in control any longer (as if I ever were). I’ve had to stop talking about letting go–biting my cuticles ’til they’re raw, overthinking where he could go, and all the ifs, ands and buts. I can’t track his phone, question how late he stayed out, or argue about what he does with his money. Those days are over. With the letting go comes a relief that I can’t do anything else except pray and trust God. Almost like it’s time to find a hammock on the beach somewhere and rest in the knowledge that in good and bad, battles and calm, God has Eli square in the palm of His hand. After all, he is a good Father who knows my thoughts, and knows my son, and loves us each so very much.

And so, my simple but difficult prayer has become:

God, he’s yours. Whatever he does, wherever he goes, let it all be for Your glory. 

Amen. Amen. And Amen.

 

Caramelized Almond Biscotti

These make a cake like biscotti. You’ll see what I mean when you cut them after the first bake. This recipe makes enough for three people to finish within 24 hours…so doubling it is not a bad idea!

Ingredients:

  • 2 T. butter
  • 3 T. sugar
  • 3/4 cup almonds (I used blanched, sliced almonds)
  • Cook the butter and sugar over medium heat until the butter melts. After the butter/sugar bubbles and turns brown, add the almonds. (You want the butter mixture to turn to caramel first but don’t let it burn.) Add the almonds to the pan and coat them well. Let them cool.

Add all the following in a medium sized mixing bowl:

  • 1/2 cup butter, softened
  • 3/4 cup sugar
  • 2 eggs
  • 1/2 t. vanilla
  • 1/2 t. almond (I use almond emulsion because I like bringing out the almond flavor in this recipe. You can use 1 t. vanilla only if you’d like)
  • 2 cups flour
  • 1 t. baking powder
  • 1/4 t. baking soda
  • 1/4 t. salt

Once mixed, add in the cooled caramelized almonds. I broke the caramelized almonds up first with a heavy spoon so that they would be evenly distributed during mixing.

Form the dough into a log about 10″ long, 2-3″ wide. I use a biscotti pan which I highly recommend if you make a lot of biscotti. It keeps the biscotti compact and easier to cut.

Cook at 325 degrees for 25 minutes. Take out and let cool completely because the biscotti crumbles easily! Then slice the biscotti to the size you like. Place them back into the oven on their side for 10 minutes. Then turn them over and cook for another 10 minutes.

Enjoy dipped into a frothy cappuccino. So very good.

Not Today, Planned Parenthood

One year ago TODAY (at 9:26 am to be exact) Sophie’s dermatologist called her with the news: your pregnancy test came back positive. (I mean, isn’t that how everyone finds out?)

Every moment of the next couple weeks were difficult on many levels. We couldn’t think about anything else but what this meant for Sophie.

She’d had a trip to Nashville planned for months and was determined not cancel it. I’d say she looked forward to being away in order to clear her mind and think. She told us she would be visiting Planned Parenthood when she got there. We begged her not to—but seriously? She was a 20 year old adult and had to make the choice of bringing a child into this world on her own, no matter how much we wanted to make the decision for her.

Here’s what Planned Parenthood told her.

They laid out her choices, making sure to cover all the bases. Keep, adopt or terminate. They weren’t mean or nasty, but did their job like they do for countless others who walk through their doors.

She paid them four hundred dollars on the spot. That covered her blood test, a group consult with a nurse and the other girls in the room, an ultrasound, and a 20 minute private consult with another woman she assumed was the director of that PP.

Then, on that warm spring Wednesday morning, they told Sophie she was a good candidate for the abortion pill since she was only six or seven weeks along. Mifepristone, which along with a second pill called misoprostol, would induce a medication abortion. “It’s best to be close to home when you take it,” they said. If she went with that option, she could return in 48 hours and for another $200 get the pills in a brown paper bag and be on her way.

She asked, “I’m driving to Wyoming on the same day I’d need to come back and get the pills. Is that ok?”

They thought about it. “We wouldn’t typically advise taking them when you’re so far from home but it should be ok. Be aware that you’ll be in a lot of pain on the drive home.”

Somewhere along the way, our prayers interrupted every other plan and she called to tell us she couldn’t go through with having an abortion.

In case you’re wondering, here’s what Planned Parenthood DIDN’T tell her (and what they won’t tell you either):

He will have big blue eyes that’ll light up like saucers when he sees you walk into a room. His fluffy cheeks, like sugar spun marshmallows, will be kissed by you no less than a hundred times a day. When you hold him, you’ll find yourself completely taken by his newborn smell. There’s nothing like it! He will have a little button nose, perfectly round, that looks just like yours. There will be nights when you can’t keep your eyes open during another midnight feeding, but he will look straight at you and smile. And when he does, you’ll fall in love with that little dimple on his left cheek every-single-time. Because everything about this little guy matters—from his peach fuzz head to his ten chunky toes.

Sure he was unplanned, completely unexpected, but his life is no accident. It will hit you one day that he knows, understands in an unexplained miraculous way, what you went through, that it wasn’t an easy decision, that you had a choice. You opted for the difficult path, believed you could do what many thought you couldn’t and chose to give him life. And you’d choose him all over again.

So yes, we are celebrating because last year on this very day we thought life was over. And now we won’t stop, we literally can’t stop, talking about life.

#NotTodayPP #chooselife #chooselove #celebrate #grateful #blessed

 

For My Son

I had to do a double take to make sure it was you.

Blue eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere.
Tight smile that curves to form a half moon–
I’ve seen it since your kindergarten school picture.
Those hands—if you were covered in camouflage from head to toe, I’d pick them out of a thousand. Long spindly fingers, knuckles with scars from hitting the wall, and a few people.

It must be the uniform—
I’m not used to seeing you in anything besides sweatshirts and jeans with holes.
You are more handsome today than any Sunday you proudly wore Dad’s sports coat and shoes that were a size too big for your feet.

So I look at your picture for the hundredth time and realize everything in a single moment. You aren’t the boy who left us in July. To be honest, I’m having a difficult time admitting who you’ve become, for reasons too many to list.

I tell myself: mourn one last time for that boy. The freckled faced kid whose room was always a disaster, gobs of tennis shoes thrown into the closest, shirts half hanging out of the drawer, a miracle they made it that far. The boy who feasted on Sour Patch Kids and mashed potatoes and chicken nuggets drenched in buffalo sauce from Chick-Fil-A.

Your boyhood went by quickly and part of me wishes you could have held on a little longer, seen a few more Friday night lights, come home smelling like a campfire another time or two, mud on your boots, and your flannel smelling the woods you spent the night in. A few more times when your friends showed up unexpectedly and sat on the barstools as we laughed over chocolate chip cookies and glasses half filled with milk. You and me, watching reruns of The Office for hours, going to the movies and getting large blue icee’s and quietly pulling out candy from Walgreen’s that was stuffed in my purse.

Today I tucked that boy into bed for the final time. I must move on.

 Now.

I see you, Son, more confident that you’ve ever been. Your uniform pressed, tie perfectly straight, hair shaved to a perfect fade. Your smile says all I need. You are happy, you are strong. You are doing more than I ever dreamed for you, accomplished on your own. You doing this without me is what makes me prouder than I’ve ever been.

Now go.

The path is leading you to places I will never see or experience with my own eyes. But know this. I will be with you, my thoughts and prayers hovering over you like the weighted blanket I recently bought for you, only a pound or four heavier.

I said GO. Be the man God intended you to be. It’s your time to shine and put everything you’ve learned, even some of what we’ve taught you, into motion. It won’t be easy, because being an adult is never easy, yet every trial you face today will produce endurance for tomorrow. Stay strong.

And pray. Pray like never before when you’re in need. Because God is with you, like never before. He has all the strength you’ll ever need, so dig deep and grab hold of His strength with the fierceness of a fighter who never gives up.

I love you, Son. And I love this new man who takes what he has been called to with great seriousness, who squares his shoulders back before telling me things I don’t understand. It all makes sense now. How everything we ever went through with you built you up for such a time as this. Not all boys become the man you are. Only the bravest have what it takes.

Thank you for being one of the bravest.

Rose Latte, Love Latte

I’m on a rose kick. It started two years ago when I visited Carmel by the Sea with Sophie and we wandered into a store where I sampled the most beautiful charcoal rose lotion. I surprised even myself when I plunked down the $25 for the bottle as that was over my budget for a luxurious lotion but I had to have it. More surprisingly was the idea that I thought rose, be it hand lotion or face cream, as strictly the signature of older, more mature women. Like Grandmas?

Now that I’m older, and a Nonna, I have succumbed to a new appreciation of the woody perennial flowering plant of the genus Rosa, in the family Rosaceae. That’s straight from Google and the botanical way of describing one of this delicate and lovely scent.

Recently Regi and I went to San Clemente, CA while on a weekend to see our son. The first morning we woke up, we were on a mission for anything other than hotel coffee. A quick punch into our phone garnered quite a few five star recommendations. How we chose High Tide Coffee Co was pure luck–a great gamble that paid off.

I’ve never had a Rose Latte but I was on vacation and why not? After reading their specials for the day hand written on the white board, I asked the gentleman to describe the latte. I mean, as nice as le parfum of rose is, I’ve never had that craving other than to slather it on my skin. But as soon as the barista told me that they make their simple syrup in-house using fresh rose petals, I stopped him.

“I’ll take it.”

The end product was a tasty fragrant experience. Similar to how the smelling of a fine wine prepares your brain for what you’re about to taste, this rose scented latte did the same. A bouquet hit my nose the minute I brought the cup to my mouth. I couldn’t bring myself to sip it just yet in order to enjoy the waft a little longer. Even Regi could smell it from across the small round table we shared. His lavender honey latte wasn’t all that bad either.

The visual was amazing too. Dried rose petals floated on top of light pink froth (made possible by beet powder) and almost convinced me that it would be more beautiful than it would taste. I was wrong. The simple syrup did not overtake the rich coffee nor was it too sweet since I don’t like adding sweetener to my coffee. After the first sip, I quickly Googled whether or not rose petals were edible so that I knew whether to spit them into my napkin or gulp them down like a pro. I know, why would they serve something toxic, but to be honest, I’ve never had occasion to order a side of rose petals with my food. I had no idea they were edible.

Cheers to the best latte I’ve ever had (we went back the next three mornings as well). Maybe I’ll even try  making my own rose simple syrup soon. If I don’t succeed, I’ll guess I’ll have to head back to San Clemente because taking a trip for a good latte is just as good of excuse to get away as any for me.

“Of all the flowers, methinks a rose is best.” William Shakespeare

An Eye On Home

I was sitting on the front porch when Roxy and Sable started sniffin’ the air. Instantly the rain came at a downpour, even leaking through a few of the boards overhead. I scooped Roxy up and ran inside.

Sable looked at me with weepy baby browns. “You’re not making me go home in this are you?” 

As I curled up in my favorite chair, both dogs ran circles of delight around each other that they’d found shelter from the storm. I propped the heavy front door open but kept the storm door closed so I could enjoy any outside light that snuck in.

Sable appeared right at my feet when I went to make a cup of coffee. I practically tripped over her more than once but was giddy with excitement at having a big dog in the house (note to self: begin big-puppy shopping soon). After I made my way back to my comfy spot, the dogs were ready for a nap. Roxy relaxed in her bed and Sable plopped down in front of the storm door. Thinking she wanted back out, I opened it all the way even as the rain pounded the ground. She didn’t budge. She was content as long as she could do one thing…

Keep an eye on her home.

The front of our cabin has a perfect view of the back of Sable’s house. On the typical day she saunters up a worn pathway to the front porch after her owner leaves. She spends warm afternoons lounging beside me or underneath the shade of the cedar tree. Oh, but let her hear the crunchy-crunch-crunch of her owner’s tires along the gravel and I’m all but a memory. I can’t blame her; her heart lies with her master. He provides food, a place to rest, and keeps the local coyotes from approaching. You can be sure I tempt her with treats throughout the day, but no milk bone has ever been enough to outrank the loyalty she has for her owner.

How about you? When was the last time you thought about Home? Not your pitiful earthly dwelling made from fancy stone and expensive brick; you know the Home I am speaking of. When was the last time you felt like Sable who eagerly waits and watches everyday for when her Master will return?

I’ll be honest and say that life gets in the way. Storms come over the mountain and my problem makes me take my eyes off Home.

Or better yet, circumstances begin going my way. Things I’ve prayed for appear on my doorstep. A dream comes true. I go a week without losing it in front of the kids. The bills are paid and there is money left over. The boss gives me the employee-of-the-month award and the best raise I’ve ever had—and a beautiful haze lures my eyes away from Home.

Yes, our present circumstances must be taken care of. We can’t sit on the front porch and gaze into the clouds all day. But can we afford to get so sidetracked with the hardships or beauty of life that we avert our eyes for even a second? I think not.

I urge you today to take heart—this world is not our Home. (That should be the best news you hear all day!) What about you then? Are you expectantly waiting? Are you hopefully watching? Can you hear the pangs of this world that echo He could return for us any time?

You better believe that people are in the fight of their lives at this very second. I know some who are sitting in ICU right now believing for the healing of a child. I know a family warring against the terrible sickness of cancer taking their loved ones life. Someone is fighting for their marriage, someone is praying that grief doesn’t overtake them. And yet, someone has never been richer or more successful than they are today, and someone is fortunate enough to be living out their greatest dream. However, midst the trial, midst the full extent of the joy, I hope we all find the strength to be like Sable and…

Keep our eye on Home.

 

 

Grace… There’s an App for That

A few years ago I got one of those pink-sherbet colored phones. What a loss when I couldn’t catch her before she took a nosedive into the pool during Eli’s swimming lesson. A few months later, my replacement phone literally jumped from my back pocket and into the toilet bowl (pre-anything, I promise). Then after purchasing  a cool new iPhone, I placed it in the cup holder where a bottle of water had spilled overnight. It wasn’t until I pulled into the office and picked up my phone that I realized it was dripping…and dead.

Late Sunday we were driving home to Nashville from Georgia. Instead of putting my iPhone on my lap, I sleepily put it into a half empty cup of coffee that I insisted on drinking without a lid. My ninety-two cent cup of coffee will end up costing me dearly.

Me + All the stupid stuff I’ve done over the years = A lot of wasted money and time

I’ve locked my keys in the car while pumping gas—misplaced my keys at the mall, called a locksmith to open the car and make a new key, then found the keys under a pile of clothes in the junior department after he finished—I bounced a check or two—lost my debit card (forty times at least)—lost my check book—lost my wallet—lost my keys again—lost my phone again—lost my license—bought a greeting card business because I heard about it on WLIX—dropped my phone down the air conditioning duct—drove my husband’s car for the first time and ran into the curb at Walgreens causing a flat tire—backed into my husband’s truck—refused to read a map or ask for directions only to go three hours out of the way—purchased a dog with a credit card…

Must I prolong the agony?

My first comment to Regi on Monday was, “Just buy me a cheap flip phone with no capabilities to do anything.” Actually I deserve nothing less than a beeper at this point.

Why do we expect punishment when we mess up—because we don’t deserve any better? Because we’re so pitiful and grace applies to everyone except us? Because in everything from petty phone disasters to life altering decisions we should have used more wisdom or showed some restraint?

Maybe it’s because we have lost sight of the enormity of grace.

“But God gives us even more grace…” James 4:6 (NCV)

It doesn’t say that God gives us a measured bit of grace. Instead, James very purposefully uses the present tense of “gives” which can only mean one thing. That He will never tire of dishing out grace every time I need it. No matter how many times I ask!

“After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, the one who called you into his eternal glory in Christ Jesus, will himself restore, empower, strengthen, and establish you…” 1 Peter 5:10 (CEB)

And after I’ve gone a round or two against myself, it finally registers what Peter meant when he penned those words (and with a little help from www.Dictionary.com):

  • He establishes me: He causes me to be accepted or recognized
  • He restores me: He gives back; make return or restitution of (anything taken away or lost)
  • He empowers me: He gives power or authority to me; He authorizes, especially by official or legal means
  • He strengthens me: He makes me become stronger
I know, I know. This is a silly little story. But if it caused you to rethink the wonder of grace then I’m glad my phone died. I simply think we must grasp the truth that grace isn’t just about accepting His forgiveness, but is allowing God to do a work in us in spite of our big mess-ups.

 

“So now what,” you may ask. Well, of course I’m going to get another phone—and of course there’s the likely possibility that something will eventually happen to it. But in the purest form of grace, my husband will make a trip to the Apple store, ask what color I’d like this time, (and possibly insist on a waterproof case), then pay for it. All without saying, “This is your last chance,” or “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” or worse, “You don’t deserve this.”

And guess what? I’ll walk away from yet another fumble in life all the richer because I experienced the power of grace. Again.

How about you? Have you experienced grace lately?