Looking for Grace

     I have been on a quest.  It's been quite a trip actually.  You see, I've been looking for grace.  Not some lady with a pretty name.  Not the kind of grace that allows me to be able to walk across a room without tripping over my own toes, even though that kind of grace would definitely be welcomed.  And not the prayer said before dinner.  But grace.  You know.  Just grace.
     Looking in Bible studies helped.  I even started attending a different church that was beginning a study on grace.  And, while these things helped tremendously, there was something even bigger going on than just the academics of grace.
     You see, I realized that it wasn't just grace I was trying to find.  It was WHERE I needed to find grace.
     For many years I've dealt with a real mess of a life.  It has spilled over into the lives of the people I love the most and even into the lives of people I barely know if they happen to be near me when a situation arose  causing pain.  If you've read any of my story, you know what I mean.  My family has been through a bunch of garbage that no one should have to deal with.
     But grace.  Where has grace been?  I tried to forgive and  I tried to forget, because that's what we're supposed to do, right?  But that isn't how it really works. And just where does grace come in with that forgiving and forgetting part anyway?
     Well. I think I’m finally getting to where I’ve been going. Grace doesn’t mean we allow others to misuse and abuse us. Grace doesn’t even mean we forgive and forget, although that can be a big part of it depending on the situation. What I’ve found though, is that grace can happen and I can still have boundaries.
     Now before you start getting all judgey on me here, let me explain please. You see, there is a difference in boundaries and walls. Walls let nothing in or out. Boundaries are lines set up for guidance. Guidance in what I can safely allow in my life and how far I will go in dealing with those things before I say it’s enough.
     Up until now, it has been a very clumsy balancing act. I could care or I could not care. But I couldn’t care in a way that I wouldn’t be totally involved and get demolished emotionally and practically every other way. No balance. So that’s where grace comes in. At least the grace I was looking for.
     Funny thing. This grace is something I’m learning I needed to give myself so that I could give it to others. I had to stop beating myself up about things I couldn’t control. I had to accept that, while life hasn’t turned out the way I fought so hard for it to be, I can still be who God planned for me to be all along. He hasn’t failed me. And I haven’t failed Him so badly that He ever turned His back on me. I can’t. Oh my. That was hard to write. Allowing myself the grace to say that.
     Again, before the judgments get hurled my way, I’m not saying I’m perfect. I’m just allowing myself grace. Knowing I did all I could to trust Him. That I don’t offer hate. That some days I say the wrong thing. But I’m not perfect and beating myself up for it over and over is not grace and doesn’t fix a thing. His grace within me does.
     Finding grace in my own heart and mind. For me. It allows me to pray more freely for those who have wronged me. It allows me to not hate them but to have compassion for them. To offer them grace in a way I could not before. Because I’ve accepted grace within me.  And, somehow, I feel like this is just the amazing beginning.
     
     

And the Mighty Oak Has Fallen....Seriously.....No Really. It Fell!

     Ok so I know an actual tree is not what that famous eulogy was about.  And I mean no disrespect.  But that phrase is the one that repeated in my head that day and the days to come after, well, the mighty oak in my back yard fell.
     6:04 AM on May 30th.  It woke me up.  My first thought was that there had been a crash on the interstate not far from my house.  Then I realized there was no metal sound involved.  Next my mind went to that huge tree.  Naaahhh.  Couldn't be.  Must be thunder.  But everything was silent.  I looked at my alarm clock and my power was out.  Again, must have been the tree.
     I got up, pretty sure I wasn't holding my breath but, instead, forgot how to breathe, and looked out.  There is was.  It had fallen directly away from my house.  And the roots that lifted in the air were about as tall as me.  Two electric line poles were broken and I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out how to dial 911.
     Once I did accomplish that, I called one of my in-town sons and he headed to my rescue immediately.  My neighbor across the street came over, too.  Soon the police and power company had things under control, clearing the street behind my house as well.  You see, the tree fell across the small lot behind my house and reached so far across the street behind me that only one car could pass through at a time.  It was quite a mess.
     I'm kinda thinking people didn't believe me when I told them how big this tree was.  Or that, had it fallen the other direction, I wouldn't be here today and everyone would be talking about what a wonderful person I WAS (yeah that was meant to be funny).  But it was confirmed this week that this was one very old, very huge, tree. In fact, it was at least 150 years old and the largest root ball ever extracted by the company that finally removed the remainder of it for me.
     Company after company turned me down at removing it.  People said they would do the work and not finish it or not show up at all. Agree to do it but want to charge me a ridiculous amount and admitting they didn't want the job after bragging that they took the big jobs that no one else wanted but this one was just too big.
     I was beginning to think I was going to have to decorate that root and make it a permanent fixture in my yard.  This whole time, having a gaping hole in my back yard.  No privacy and puppies who get a little too curious about what's on the other side of that broken fence.
     Anyway, that day there was no storm. I had been taking pictures of a rainbow in the early evening prior to the event. The tree was there. And just like that, it was gone.
     So, if you know me, sometimes I get upset in the beginning of a situation, but I try to learn something from whatever happens.  Something huge I've taken from this situation is how smaller trees are affected by those huge trees.  (Yes.  Speaking metaphorically.)
     You see, when the mighty oak fell, it knocked over smaller trees, causing them to die as well.  But one tree, one tree that has grown up along side the oak for many years, is still there.  I don't know that I ever noticed that tree before.  It was hidden by the oak.  It grew to fit around the oak.  It stands tall but then grew to lean over with quite a bit of tree growing almost sideways to accommodate the mighty oak.  It grew in silence, but it grew.
     I've watched that bent tree over the last month and a half since the mighty oak fell.  I've watched it through wind and storms and expected it to fall because it looked weak.  Hmmm.....  Apparently it's stronger than it appears!
     I don't know if that tree will continue to grow or if the owners of that lot will cut it down.  But it has taught me a lot, now that I know it's there.  It can stand on its own, even though it has spent its entire life being overshadowed by the mighty oak.  It is bent and even wounded.  Yet it stands strong.  I kinda hope it gets to stay.  It reminds me of somebody I know.  Somebody else who didn't get crushed under the might oak.  

"Mom"

     I think it was probably 27 years ago when I heard it.  Pretty sure it was the first time.  She was a young mother of 3 little boys and was probably stressed just a wee little bit when she said it.  But still.  It stuck with me.....all....these....years.....
    "Mom!" the little voice said.   "I think I'll change my name" she quickly stated.  Out loud even.  Being a fairly new mom myself, I just couldn't imagine thinking that, let alone saying it.  I had waited until I was getting close to 30 before I ever got to be called "Mom".  So I hoped she didn't mean it.
     Just a few short years later, she had taken her leave as 'mom'.  Today I couldn't tell you what her relationship is with those boys.  But I do know another lady came into the picture a while after her departure.  A lady who welcomed the opportunity to be their mom, along with being the mom of her own son.
     For over 20 years now, she has gladly, proudly, and sometimes heart brokenly, been mom.  While I haven't lived in their home or listened through their walls, I know it hasn't always been easy.  But she has done everything she could to fulfill the role of mom in their lives.  And now she's greatly rewarded by getting to be grandma to their kids!  The love she shows them all is admirable.  And she never gives up.
     Mom.  Going back to that phrase from 27 years ago about the mom wanting to change her name because she heard 'mom' too much.  I've thought about that so many times over the years.  And I just can't imagine even saying those words out of frustration.  The greatest gift God has ever given me, outside of salvation of course, is the gift of motherhood.
     Mom.  Momma. Mommy.  Mother.  Mums.  Hey You, even!  I love hearing from my kids.  I love when they come to me for guidance or just to talk.  FaceTime.  Text.  Tagged.  Snapchat (still trying to figure that one out). Whatever the means.  I just love connecting with them.
     There were days I never thought I would get to be a mom.  Then it happened and I didn't really know what it meant even though I loved it.  But today I'm learning.  We've been through a lot, my kids and I.  But we're getting to know each other, and ourselves, better now.
     Living life is more than caring what other people think.  It's more than judging what others do.  It's loving Jesus, and loving the people He puts in our lives.  I've learned that God didn't make me a mom to make me happy.  He made me a mom to bring Him glory.  To raise up children in the way they should go.
    Do my kids and I always agree? Oh my, no!  But they have taught me so much.  Like that not judging others part.  Like not caring what others think.  I've learned those things from them.  They make me a better person.  They help strengthen my faith (and yes due in part to lots of praying for them), and they lift me up.
     Mom.  I recently told someone that I love being their mom.  The response was "I can tell!"  I hope people always can tell.
     

Counting Socks

     Ok, so I'm not really one of those people who inventories their socks and underwear.  And I'm not talking about making sure every kid had the same number of everything.  This is about what I'm finding freedom from.

     It has been almost exactly a year since I was legally set free.  And I'm doing awfully good about 98.43% of the time.  I'm happy even!  But, just the other day, I was reminded of something I used to do almost on a regular basis.  In particular, 2 out of 3 Wednesday nights.  

    Counting socks.  Well, socks and underwear.  You see, I spent many years raising children alone except for the ever-so-often that he would show up and give us hope, just to leave again, usually with a big production that would make me look like the bad guy. 

     So why was I counting socks and underwear?  And why especially on Wednesday nights?  Because that was when I would take the kids to church.  I would count his socks and underwear in his dresser drawers just before we left.  When we got home, I would go straight for those drawers. And count again.  

     Yep.  If he wasn't on duty, there would be less socks and underwear when we got home than when we left.  No notes.  No gifts for the kids.  Nothing to indicate he had been home.  Just the absence of socks and underwear.  

     I would go about getting the kids ready for bed without them knowing their dad had snuck in while we were gone.  No need for them to know.  My heart broke for them secretly.  As secretly as it could anyway.  I'm sure they knew something was up.

     No way to reach him.  And even when he had a cell phone or pager, he only responded when he wanted to.  Then, at some point,  he would come back with his dirty laundry and the cycle would start all over again.  

      But guess what.  I don't count socks and underwear anymore!  I've recently thought about how things would have been had I ended the madness back then instead of trying to make it work.  But, you know, I'm sure I would have wondered how life would have turned out had I tried just like I actually did.

     So, no regrets.  None.  I did what I had to do.  I got accused of things I didn't do.  God knows the truth and will do what He sees fit with those who told untruths.  That's not my job.  

    The freedom I am experiencing today is almost overwhelming at times.  Realizing that I'm not bound by someone else's bad decisions anymore.  For the most part anyway.  There are still triggers and something I've gotta get taken care of.  But it's ok.  Still.  No regrets.

     No more counting socks.  Just counting blessings.  Smiling.  Happy.  And counting blessings.  

Train Up a Child

     So yesterday I was cleaning my yellow garage.  It was a mess.  Christmas decorations were all over the place.  Empty boxes.  Leaves.  Stuff for an upcoming garage sale.  Pine cones.  You get the picture.  Well, part of it anyway.  I was still in my pajamas.  There.  That about covers it.
     Anyway, as I was putting some stuff in the garbage can just outside the garage door, I noticed the dried grass was tangled next to the garage, just behind the gutter downspout.  Using the broom handle as a makeshift hoe, I dug at the brown grass.  Boy was I surprised when a Hot Wheels truck popped out!
     I picked up that little truck and inspected it.  Mattel.  1960 Chevy.  Yellow.  No wheels.  It had obviously been there for quite some time.  And it made me smile.
     Raising 4 boys, this house has seen more than a fair share of Hot Wheels.  There was actually a time I used those little cars as bribes.  Back in the day, I would have 2 kids in the church nursery and 3 with me in the church service.  Wanting them to behave, and also hoping they would learn something, I would promise those boys a Hot Wheels car of their choice if they would sit nicely and take notes during church.
     These boys were little!  I am still amazed at how well they listened and took notes.  There were times they got more out of the message than I did.  (And all my kids are much better spellers than me---they even were back then!)  I loved reading their notes and seeing how well they understood the Word. And they loved getting a new car each week.
     Lest it seem like we went on a Hot Wheels shopping spree each Sunday afternoon,  let me just add at this point that we had purchased Hot Wheels cars in bulk from a local TV auction show.  So I had a good selection already available when we got home each Sunday.  It wasn't long before the boys had a duffel bag full of them.  Pretty sure that bag is around here somewhere still.
     Back to that little yellow truck I found.  It got me to thinking.  It's been a rough couple of weeks.  I've listened to one of my sons tell of the most traumatic experience he has ever been through.  Something no one should ever have to go through.  Yet, I know God had him in the place where he was, is.  As a mom, I want to scoop him up.  Hold him.  Take away his pain.  But I have to let him stand and be a man.  I have to trust that I trained him up in the way he should go.  And just be there for him if he decides he needs me.
     This last two weeks I've seen my other kids rally around their brother.  We've been a family.  Love.  Patience.  Compassion.  It has all been real.  I can't help but know it's a glimpse of good things yet to come.  The 'and when he is old he will not depart from it' part.  It's comforting.  And sad too, because of the circumstances that brought us here.  Yet I trust Him.
     When our kids are little, we tend to love them more with rules.  We place guidelines.  We try to 'train them up in the way they should go'.  Once they are grown, it's time to love them with grace.  We may not agree with what they do.  The decisions they make or the directions they go sometimes break our hearts.  But it's time to step back.  It's no longer our jobs to set rules for them.  It's time to love them with grace.  Allow them to find their own way.  And know we've done our job.
     Train up a child.  That little yellow truck with no wheels.  Now they are all grown up.  Getting glimpses of God working in their lives is absolutely amazing.  Overwhelming at times.  And I'm so very thankful to be their momma.

You Take the Good, You Take the Bad, You Take Them Both and There You Have......

     You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have.....2018.  You thought I was going to say 'the facts of life' didn't you?  Well that works, too.  But this theme song has popped in my head every time I've thought about this last year.  So here we go.
     I know that some people say it's all in the perspective.  And I can agree with that about some things.  But I also know that there is good.  And there is bad.  What matters is what we do with both.
     Recently, I filled out a quiz.  It asked me what I wanted more than anything.  A couple of years ago, my answer would have been completely different.  I was living in horrible anguish back then.  I was lonely and confused when I shouldn't have been.  But you know that if you've read my other blogs.  And my answer to the question on that quiz?  It was that my kids would all have healthy spiritual lives.
     I used to pray specifically for what I wanted God to do in their lives.  And for them to have no suffering or pain.  Boy, was I selfish.  A mom, yes.  But that's not how it works.  And I should have known that.
    We can't 'fix' things for our kids.  Well, maybe sometimes when they were little but certainly not when they are grown. Mine are all adults and are busily teaching me new things all the time.  I can truly say I have grown tremendously this last year and I owe so much of it to my  amazing kids.
     Not all of what I've learned from my kids has been because of something good, though.  As much as I would like to make their paths easy.  As much as I would like to have had all my prayers answered just as I prayed when they were little---basically for perfect lives---that's just not reasonable.  And that's not God.
     The lessons I've learned this past year have been hard ones.  I've cried out to God in gut wrenching anguish so many times.  Taking the dogs out at night and  looking up at the moon, well some how that triggered crying out to Him with a deeply broken heart.  Then something happened.  Like in the Old Testament when a mourner takes off the sack cloth and rises out of the ashes, I'm experiencing something new.
      Peace.  Real peace like I've never experienced in my life.  Sometimes rising from the roses and hibiscuses.  Sometimes rising from the ashes.  But always rising.  I know it's God. I've tested it.  And it's real.
     I haven’t been a perfect mom. But I have to trust that I’ve done my best in teaching my kids Who their help comes from. Who their Savior is. And that He never leaves them.
     All this?  It's causing me to become the me I thought I was.  To know that we can't make life choices for others.  But we can show them love.  And when we show them love, just maybe they will see Jesus in us.  And make the right choices for themselves. Isn't that what it's truly all about?
   
   

3 Years Ago Today

     It's cold and raining today.  Not cold enough to snow.  But cold enough to make the rain feel like it's telling me that being outside is not a good idea.  It sounds pretty, though.  Comforting.  Cozy.  

     Three years ago today, at about this same time, the weather was just like this.  It was a Sunday morning and I had spent much of the day before in the same place I was going that day.  In the nursing home.  The nurses, CNAs food service workers, visiting ministers and maintenance staff.  The families of other residents.  Many of them knew me by now.   Many referred to her as my mother.  Sometimes I would correct them and tell them she was my mother-in-law.  Sometimes I didn't.  It would just create a conversation about how I was the one who was there all the time and I would end up defending him.  

     The journey that brought her and I to that day, that day three years ago today, wasn't easy by any means.  We had our differences.  Oh boy, did we ever.  But, after she became unable to work and both of us did some changing, I think we kinda needed each other.  

     Crazy thing, I never knew how it would all change me.  My youngest son recently sent me a text that included a link to a song he had just heard.  A song by a son describing how his mom became a mother to her mom.  He sent this to me during my work day, thanking me for what I had done for his grandmother and apologizing for not doing more back then (oh my! He was a kid!).  I went to the restroom and listened to the song and sobbed.  I ugly cried.  I hadn't done anything special.  I just took care of her.  But that he had seen it that way.  I am such a blessed momma.  I have amazing kids.  

     But when it was all happening, I did what I knew needed to be done.  She needed someone.  We moved her here so she would be near family.  Usually that meant me.  And that was fine.  Often, her son would not be even reachable.  Oh, there were times he would be available, when it was good for him.  I've mentioned before how he had affairs with her caregivers and, while she was still mentally alert, she knew and had to live with that.  I don't know how she did it.

     The night I was called to her assisted living apartment to pick her up and take her to the ER several years prior was when the real intense care giving began.   He was supposed to be at work.  But he wouldn't answer his phone.  I sat almost all night in the ER with her, until they decided to admit her.  Our two youngest kids had just gotten back from church camp and I hadn't even gotten to talk with them much.  And here I was, making the decisions, while he wouldn't even answer his phone and would only respond sporadically via text.

     Fast forward to three and a half years ago.  I was at work and stressed more than I had ever been in any job.  The call came in to me that June day.  She was being taken from her nursing home to the ER.  I was the only one available to meet her there and she had to have a family member.  Why was I the only one available?  He was in Mexico with one of the women he was having an affair with.  But I couldn't tell anyone.  I was protecting him.  Again.  

     When he returned, he came to the hospital.  She and I were in her hospital room by then.  A room that looked out towards the office of yet another woman he was having an affair with.  Although I didn't realize it at the time.  He visited her briefly and then left.  To go home.  Our home.  Where we were supposed to pretend like all was well.  And then he worked most of the rest of her hospital stay, only visiting her when I begged.

     I spent all of my free time that hospital stay, plus subsequent ER visits and another hospital stay, with her.  No one else could get her to eat.  He did go to another hospital out of town with her for a while.  Until she was brought home.  And then he disappeared, giving the ambulance drivers directions on what to tell me so I could take care of her and he didn't have to come home.  Again, not answering his phone or texts and not telling anyone where he was.

     I determined, after her terminal diagnosis, to make sure she got to go to church every time she could.  I fed her a meal usually at least once a day.  and I spent my weekends mostly with her.  I didn't want any regrets.  And I wanted her to know she was loved.

     We were called one morning that last week, woken up early.  The 'calling in the family' call.  He got mad.  We got up and I hurried as he took his time.  When we got there, he declared she was sleeping just fine and we didn't need to be called.  They had bothered us for nothing.  That was a Thursday morning.  I'm not sure he ever went back after that day.

     Three years ago today.  Three years ago today I walked into the nursing home, out of the rain.  The nurse on duty had been waiting for me.  My mother in law had taken a turn for the worse.   I hurried to her room.  She struggled to breathe, even with oxygen turned as high as it could safely be turned.  I tried to get him to come up there.  He was at work.  He refused.  Over and over.  He refused.  I just couldn't leave her.  

     I monitored her pulse-ox and took her temperature.  I had never seen a fever so high.  And yet it just kept going up.  The nurse left her pulse-ox thingy with me (I'm a banker, not a medical person.  All this was foreign to me in a way.  But I was doing all I could to make her comfortable and take care of her.). The minister came in and prayed.  I sang to her and talked to her about Jesus and about her family.  The ones here and the ones gone before.  

     I called him and I texted him.  He needed to come up there but he refused.  The nurses said she would be more comfortable, towards the end, without the oxygen but he ordered that she keep it on.  He refused to be present but wanted to be in charge.  

     I called her other son and daughter in law.  Preparations were made for a drive to begin immediately in order to get there before she was gone.  Then they realized there was no way.  So they called.  And they spoke to her one last time.  They told her how much they loved her and thanked her for being who she was.  She nodded.  One of the few times she responded that whole day.

     As shifts changed, work staff would come in to tell her goodbye and give her kisses.  The last group came just after 11pm.  One CNA said it wouldn't be long now.  She was right.  Just after 11:30, she opened her eyes and looked towards me.  I wasn't sure at first what she said.  Then I realized.  She told me 'bye bye'.  I kissed her on the forehead and told her I loved her.  A few minutes later, she was with Jesus.  

     She gave me a beautiful gift that day.  I don't fear death.  She let me be a part of her going Home.  Who on earth would have ever thought that, despite all the craziness and pain brought on by the choices of others, she and I would have been together for that moment.  Nobody.  But God.