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.

 

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

 

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?

God Has Not Left the Building

Recently I had a migraine. Often I have to take a pill, go to a quiet spot, and lie down before I find any relief.

I thought I’d find that relief in my bed but no sooner did I lie down that Roxy curled up at my feet. She doesn’t require much so I didn’t shoo her away. Then came Regi who wanted to watch the Olympics from his favorite spot. Next, and wouldn’t you know it, Eli decided to plop down between us. All we needed was Sophie to complete the moment, but she was dealing with a sinus infection and wouldn’t be showing up to the party.

Silence was nowhere to be found. Regi was cheering on the runners and Eli was intent on finding the best price, size and color of his latest obsession—Nike Free.

“What do you think of this color, Mom?”

“Hmmm. Nice.”

“Ohhh. How about these pink ones? They look more like your style.”

“Hmmm. Sure.”

“What size are you? 7.5? Or just a 7? They cost less here, Mom. Want to see them? Maybe I could get some too. Here Dad, what do you think? Maybe the whole family should get a pair.”

On and on and on and on. I tried to act interested when all I wanted was the headache to leave. I went downstairs without telling anyone and slipped between the heavy jersey sheets of one of Eli’s twin beds. They draped over me as I smashed his pillow over my head. All I could hear was the distant whirring of the fan. Peace.

Then Regi realized I was missing and came to find me.

“Are you okay?”

“Leave me to die in peace,” I wanted to say.

“My head is killing me.” He rubbed my temples for a few minutes, got me an ice pack, and left.

Next came Eli. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Seriously? You again?” I wanted to say.

“Yes.”

Happy that I was going to be fine, he left. Right as Sophie came into the room.

“Mom, are you okay?” she whispered.

How does a mom do to get a little peace around here?

“Headache.”

“Oh.”

She took her laptop and climbed into the other twin bed and went about conducting her business next to me, in her brother’s room, for no apparent reason (you have to have a 14 year old daughter to even understand the enormity of this). The first day of school was tomorrow and she wouldn’t be going due to her fever; yet she left the comfort of her bed to be with me. I didn’t hear a thing from her, nor could I see her; I was buried in the pillow. But I felt her. Every now and then I heard her take a breath, maybe even smile if that’s possible, but that’s it.

Soon I didn’t feel the pain as much as I felt her presence.

We sat there for about fifteen minutes without speaking. I loved that she wanted to be near me so much that I stopped focusing on my pounding headache. When she slipped out unannounced, I immediately felt a change in the room.

“Get to the point,” you say.

Very often I’m guilty of assuming that I have to ask God to show up to my circumstance, as if he’s only available on Mondays and Wednesdays to perform his wonder-working-power. You know, let everything come up roses and I’m confident in my salvation. But let the house not sell or the IRS send a large bill and I’m all like, “Oh God! Where are you?!”

Psalm 34:18 (The Message) says, “If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there; if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.”

It doesn’t say He’ll only show up as an earthquake to destroy whoever kicked you in the stomach! Nor does it say He will only show up as a hurricane force wind and topple whatever stands in the way of your miracle. It says, “You’ll find God right there,” and that means in the midst of exactly where you are.

Just like when Sophie was in the room, the presence of God is always with me—abiding so quietly that I forget (even doubt) He’s there. Trust me, I’d come close to begging if it meant He’d speak audibly every once in a while, or at least scribble something on the wall as a confirmation.

Alas, that’s just not how he works (in my life anyway).

Because lately I find that I’m most aware of His presence when I’m in the throes of my deepest pain. And the powerful and effectual presence of God that I wish would just raise a hand and stop the gale force winds? It grabs a hammer instead and helps me batten down the hatches so we can ride out the storm together.

So if your world is crumbling, don’t take it as a sign He has left the building. I promise He’s with you in the emergency room, living room, guest room, and your son’s room when you have a headache. He’s on the plane with you, in the train with you, and even in your car when it’s broken down on the side of the interstate. Sometimes it’s as a mighty presence but other times it’s as the whisper of a breath that fills the darkness reminding you of one of His greatest promises ever…

“I will never leave your or forsake you.”

It’s a Beautiful Day In the Neighborhood

When Jesus said, “Love thy neighbor,” I never thought He meant to love the person who lives right next door. So to help Him out, I defined who my “neighbor” would be: my relatives and/or the person in my adjoining cubicle that I went to lunch with every Thursday. But now I think Mr. Rogers was more in tune with Jesus than me. We all have beautiful neighbors in our neighborhood…it’s up to us to see the beauty in them.

37 Jesus said unto him, “‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.’ 38 This is the first and great commandment. 39 And the second is like unto it: ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’ 40 On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.” [I rarely quote the New King James Version but that’s how I first heard it as a child so it’s only right.]

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

Two weeks ago, I was playing fetch with Roxy. I usually chuck the ball as far as I can and she runs after it. This time she got preoccupied with what was happening three doors down so I ensued chase onto my neighbor’s driveway. The semi-stranger extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Teddy! Are you the new owner?” (We just sold our house if you didn’t know.)

What was I to say? “I’ve lived here longer than you and I’m sorry I haven’t taken the time to come over more often. I meant to bring you a new baby gift but now that your son is four, it might seem odd.” I was speechless and surprised.

As we began and ended (we stood and talked for a while) what could have been a glorious friendship, the neighbor from the other side of the street stopped his car in front of us, turned the engine off, and talked to me for well over an hour. He also lives three doors down from me and was one of the first homes on our cul-de-sac. Come to think of it, his wife brought a baby gift when Eli was born…

Again, I was speechless. Why was this man whom I’ve held a grudge against for years being so nice? You see, I think he complained to the neighborhood association when we put the trampoline in the backyard, and I think he complained when I didn’t store my garbage can properly. There are a few other things I’ve blocked out of my mind, but oh how I remember getting those notes in the mailbox. And oh how I remember the angst I felt when I’d see him walk to his mailbox wearing his hat that reminded me of Skipper on Gilligan’s Island. I will never know if he really complained, but I assume he did. Over the years I’ve even barked orders to the kids to keep the Frisbee, football, bike, chalk and dog out of his way because I assumed he didn’t like any of the above. Or us for that matter.

And at some point, I stopped loving my neighbor.

Last Sunday night he rode his lawnmower over and parked in our driveway. At first I thought he was simply happy we’re leaving, but I believed him when he said, “We’re really going to hate to see you all leave.” We may not have gotten Yard Of the Month, but we are good neighbors who have kept to ourselves while living at the end of White Court.

I wish I had gotten to know my neighbor these last ten years; I would have liked him a lot. This gruff ex-cop from Chicago spoke affectionately about his wife, even telling me about the fuss they’re in because he ran her cleaning lady off by discussing what she could do better. He told me about talking to our other neighbor who doesn’t take care of his yard, and how he offered to help him because he must be to busy to worry about weed prevention and mulch. I realized right then that he wouldn’t have called the HOA on us; if he’d had a problem, he would have told me to face to face. My neighbor wore a gold chain with St. Something-or-Other on it, talked about Jesus, cussed, cracked jokes, and reminded me again about his two granddaughters coming to visit. He even asked about our little dog (that I assumed he disliked) that always wound up in his garage when he’d get loose. I told him he passed away two years ago and he said, “Oh, I’m sorry. We love our dog, too.”

Then he brought up the time eight years ago that I needed his help with a dead battery because I had to rush my sister to the airport. He laughed and said, “That’s just what neighbors do!” I couldn’t believe he remembered so much.

On and on our conversation went. As we laughed—I’m talking oh-no-the-neighbors-are-going-to-hear-kind of laugh—I knew I missed the meaning of Matthew 22:39. I missed my opportunity to show the grace, mercy and kindness that Jesus would have shown. Like when the couple three doors down had their first baby, or when my new neighbor-friend’s father-in-law became quite ill, or by simply sharing cookies on a night when I baked too many. I had every chance to put the needs of another above my own but I chose to look the other way.

You know why this has affected me so much as we leave the neighborhood? Because I withheld the greatest message I know, about the greatest Man I know, due in part to worrying more about what to make for dinner and whether or not the piano was dusted. I mean, if I can’t obey the second commandment, how am I to make sense of the others?

We are moving today and will never see these people again. But I leave different, determined to never let my assumptions mask a beautiful neighbor again.

I offer you the same challenge I am giving myself. Find beauty right next door. Extend generosity and kindness. Smile and wave. After all, you have been given the beautiful gift of Jesus Christ and the people closest to you need to have it today.

Love thy neighbor. It can’t be any clearer than that.

 

Are You Barely Hanging On?

It’s been one of those weeks. Busy, yet quiet. Full, yet empty.

Sophie, Morgan, Eli, Hannah and I joined Regi at an engagement in Pensacola Beach over Memorial Day weekend. Friends, family and the beach: the perfect way to begin our summer. When we returned, I thought for sure some magical fairies would have packed for me. They didn’t and now my house is a wreck. Open boxes, sealed plastic containers, to-be-purged pile, and to-be-stored pile all growing by the minute. I simply want to close on Point A so that we can get to Point B. I’m done with where I’ve been, ready to move on.

Ever feel like you’re barely holding on?

My favorite day over the weekend was the one spent at Navarre Beach. The clear and shallow water (for the most part) was amazing. I knew the depth of the water by the color of the blue. Dark blue=deep. Light blue=shallow. Bluish white=sand bar. Our goal was to follow the bluish white because it would take us to places we otherwise wouldn’t go. My petite eight-year-old niece was with us and I have to admit, she has a mind of her own. I figured she knew that that to go back to shore, she had to carefully follow the sand bar after telling me she was heading back to collect seashells. She didn’t realize the current threw us a little off track while swimming and that she’d have to adjust her path in order to follow the sand bar back in.

She headed towards Regi who was near shore. He’s not a good swimmer so anything below the knee and he’s of no use if you need him to rescue you. The main difference between us is that I don’t worry very much when it comes to the water because I grew up around it. He didn’t, so I’m always telling him he worries too much. When I saw Hannah go sloshing back to shore, I didn’t think much of it. But Regi already knew what was about to happen.

And it did. Her short little legs stepped into the dark blue and she was forced to tread water without really knowing how. I was out of reach and didn’t even realize she had encountered choppy water. Regi yelled for me to notice while starting out to the deep, knowing that he’d be in trouble soon. I began swimming towards her, the adrenalin pushing each stroke. She wasn’t so far that I wouldn’t get to her in time, but you know that feeling of “What if?” Regi signaled a gentleman closer to help when he realized he couldn’t go further. Hannah did her best to swim into his waiting arms; he grabbed her and delivered her to shore. I got a strong talking to by my husband.

The situation ended without great alarm but it certainly could have gone another way.

Ever feel like you’re doing more than holding on? Like squeezing someone’s hand so tightly that you’re cutting off his (the) circulation. Like treading water in a deep ocean for longer than you’d like. Your alternative would be to give up and simply drown, but you’ve got some fighting spirit in your veins. The lifeguard is in site but he sure is taking his time. And hello?! Questioning why he is taking his sweet time doesn’t help—he knows the water is deep and you have no option but to cling to the hope that help is about to show up.

We are all faced with moves/changes in our lifetime. It’s not fun, it’s not easy, and it doesn’t happen instantaneously because a magical elf shows up and does all the work. Today I don’t have much more to tell you than this.

Hold on. Persevere. Launch out into the deep. And don’t be afraid to follow the sand bar…but don’t be surprised if you’re thrown a little off course and need some extra help reaching your destination.

The day on the beach was worth the hassle and ended with many laughs and sand in places we never intended. Trust me. It takes a lot more than a few rough seas to throw us completely off course.

Now excuse me while I get back to packing. There’s an adventure out there and I don’t want to miss it!