Mother of the Year

So, I have a confession. I thought this post was for you. I knew God laid it on my heart and I bathed it in prayer. Yet, it did not flow eloquently or effortlessly. I struggled with it. It consumed me. I wrote and I revised and I wrote and I revised. My heart had so much to say, but my fingers could not articulate the thoughts. So I continued to ponder this message and pray to God for its content. That is when He revealed the problem. I had not yet grasped the lesson that I was trying to convey, therefore, how could I be the messenger? It was going to take more than writing it out; it was going to take living it out. So, like Jacob, I have been wrestling with my failures and weaknesses. And similarly, like Jacob, I may forever walk with a limp, but I will overcome. (Genesis 32:22-32) Thankfully, I may not be where I want to be, but I am no longer where I was!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I received a text from a friend of mine the other day. She had been under a lot of stress in her roles as nurse, mom, wife, and student. On this particular day after having cleaned, studied, volunteered in the classroom, played with her kids, and prepared meals, she found herself losing her temper with her son.  He had taken the laundry baskets full of freshly folded clothes and dumped them on her living room floor. She found him swimming, dancing and jumping through them. On a different day she may have corrected him with kindness, but on this particular day she scolded him in anger. After sending him to his room, she sat on her couch and cried. In her text to me later that evening she referred to herself as “mother of the year”, but instead of wearing that title as a badge of honor upon her chest, she wore it as a pendant of shame around her neck. I have heard countless women brand themselves in this manner and truthfully I have sarcastically seared myself with the same scorching iron, but for some reason, it touched a nerve with me this time. I thought about that text for days, pondering its meaning and my own unsettled reaction. What I realized is that, regardless of the playful tone, this comment was another attempt to belittle our worth and undermine our efforts. No matter how much we accomplish, no matter how many things we get right, we allow our failures, missteps and oversights to completely supersede our successes. And to persecute ourselves further, we compare ourselves to others in ways we could never match. With the live feed of everyone’s achievements pouring in from places such as Facebook and Twitter, we are receiving regular reminders of our deficiencies. As children we felt the sting of other people’s pebbles, but as adults we seem to prefer to inflict our own scars. The truth is, we weigh ourselves with inaccurate measures and we allow these results to influence our view of who we are.  In a world that esteems individuality, we still contend for sameness. But we are not the same; we are fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:14) In the original Hebrew text, the word 'wonderfully' means: unique, set apart, uniquely marvelous. We should appreciate our differences and acknowledge our individuality.

Therefore, it is time to permit our triumphs to determine our value and allow each other’s accomplishments to motivate us. We are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. (Hebrews 12:1)  I know because I have been personally blessed by these amazing mothers in my life. Their examples have influenced me, inspired me and bettered me. 

So, this is to them and this is to you (and apparently this is to me), The Mothers of the Year:

I do not admire you because you are perfect. I admire you because in your imperfection, you have stayed, you have strived, you have persevered, and you have grown. 

You have lain on the floor of your son’s bedroom slaying dragons and diverting boogeymen into the wee hours of the night. You have held back your daughter’s hair and cleaned buckets. You have overcome frigid temperatures to make snow forts and sledding ramps. You have worked two jobs when you ached to be home and you have given up your own dreams of success for a full-time position as a domestic engineer. You have prepared hundreds of cookies for fundraisers and school parties. You have fulfilled birthday fantasies equipped solely with icing and fondant. You have raced from soccer games to dance rehearsals to play practices in order to foster your child’s gifts and interests. You have fought for your child’s label, but have not allowed that label to become their identity or to determine their capacity.  You have spent days in doctor’s offices and hospital rooms. You have read the same books over and over again until their covers tore and their lyrics looped continuously through your mind. You have homeschooled and seen the light ignite from within their eyes. You have cancelled dinners and rejected invitations in favor of bedtime routines and bible stories. You have been an audience of one to each evening’s flute performance and violin demonstration. You have exhibited patience when you were drowning in demands and distributed grace when you were disappointed. You discussed strategies on Minecraft and overcame King Koopa in Super Mario Land. You bandaged external wounds and embraced internal ones. You performed French manicures, paraffin pedicures and intricate updos in preparation for school dances and recitals. You hosted sleepovers that were absent of sleep and still greeted your guests with chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. You praised your child’s accomplishments and encouraged your child in the midst of failures. You allowed your kid to frolic in mud puddles and splash in the rain, focusing on the laughter and not the disarray. You documented their lives with videos and scrapbooks in your efforts to freeze time. You held your child when they would not let you go, and let them go in faith when they would no longer hold on. You coached softball and mighty mites with little experience and after working full days. You have struggled with a diagnosis but not once allowed your child to recognize your pain. You built Lego models, Lincoln log houses, Geo-Trax communities, and Hot Wheel roadways, and then played within these imaginary worlds until the next adventure beckoned. You have gone from hero to villain in the eyes of your child, and remained unwavering in your affection and persistent in your availability. You have rented prom attire, toured colleges, and shopped for bridal gowns while recalling the precious face of your newborn and inhaling their sweet scent. You have labored, adopted, fostered and mentored, and come to understand the unconditional bond of motherhood. 

You are patient. You are kind. You are honoring. You are selfless. You are forgiving.  
You protect. You trust. You hope. You persevere. You never fail.

You are a mom. You are LOVE! (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

 

February 15, 2014

Why, O LORD, do you stand far away?  Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?" Ps 10:1

Some days it seems as though sorrow is a permanent fixture. It welcomes you as you rise, hangs on your walls, and follows you through your day. Sometimes this sadness is my own, my uncle’s passing, my grandmother fading, my children hurting. Other times your heart aches for those around you as grief engulfs their lives. In those moments we question God, His goodness, His existence, His love. How can there be a God when the world is contaminated with evil and pain? Where is God when I am hurting and broken and lost? I know I am not the first to ponder these questions or even to put my thoughts to paper. In the passage above even King David, whose intimacy with God far surpasses my own, sometimes questioned God’s presence in his life. There have been many blogs, books and conferences investigating this topic and the questions go as far back as the beginning of time. In the time of Genesis, Job protested:

² “Even today my complaint is bitter;
    his hand is heavy in spite of groaning.
³ If only I knew where to find him;
    if only I could go to his dwelling!
⁸ “But if I go to the east, he is not there;
    if I go to the west, I do not find him.
⁹ When he is at work in the north, I do not see him;
    when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him.
Job 23:2-3, 8-9

I was pondering these questions the other day as my girlfriend shared the loss of her aunt. Pain veiled her face and the recent grief of my uncle rose up inside me. Where is God, I wondered.  At that moment I heard Him gently revealing to me, “Your eyes are focused on the wrong place.” And as the words pierced through the pain, I realized that all the while I was pondering His existence and presence, I was rubbing the beautiful, pregnant belly of my friend. Suddenly my focus changed and I felt like my eyes were opened.  In that moment, God graciously flashed moments of my greatest pain before my eyes, but in these glimpses He revealed to me His consistent presence and His unfailing love.  My best friend arriving at my grandfather’s funeral just as I felt I could no longer breathe, my first daughter being born on the year anniversary of Jon’s cousins death establishing beauty from ashes, my girlfriend’s invitation to new life when I was ready to end my own, my son’s kisses on my tear-streaked face and my husband’s embrace at the end of a day whose weight had seemed unbearable. 

It is true, in this life there will be pain; death, divorce, conflict, suicide and loss. In these moments, it is inevitable to wonder if there is a purpose to this life that is littered with pain.  One girlfriend recently commented, “We are made to suffer.”  In her anguish, I am certain it feels this way, and I know I have allowed pain’s snare to lead me to similar conclusions. Yes,we will suffer, but we will also rejoice.  And in our suffering, we will also experience life. 

The most horrific day for me was when my cousin died in March of 2005.  He was only 16.  He died in a car accident not far from where I live now.  I revisit his death regularly.  The injustice and senselessness have caused me to question God’s character and has the ability to incapacitate me. At the time I felt so unbelievably guilty as I carried my unborn child within me to the funeral while my aunt and uncle buried their own. I felt raw sitting in the pew.  Moments such as these reveal your vulnerability and defenselessness.  The pastor lovingly shared how the Virgin Mary lost her own child tragically and therefore heaven could relate. In those moments I felt Katherine Rose flutter within me for the first time. I was not sure at first, but then the sensation came again.  The despair did not lessen with her movement, but it helped to realign my focus.  We are not made to suffer, but there will be suffering. 

“Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 NLT

It would be so easy to allow the world’s troubles to engulf us as we question the purpose of our existence and the futility of our efforts, but rest assured, He has promised beauty from our ashes…

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,
² to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
³   and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.
Isaiah 61:1-3

I cannot understand the purpose in the loss of a child or in a number of other sorrows.  I cannot imagine trying to look beyond the grief that consumes you, but what I can assure you is that there will be a day when your eyes will see God’s goodness, in the smile of a friend, in the majesty of nature, in the joy of laughter.  Then your eyes will begin to refocus and as you look back you will see, that even in your grief, God was there holding your hand, or bringing you a meal, or sitting next to you in silence, or like me fluttering from within. This is His promise, “And remember, I am with you each and every day until the end of the age.” Matthew 28:20 ISV

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good-bye Zio

February 13, 2014

My very first post -this is very intimidating. There is an expectation of greatness which I am sure is completely self-imposed. In the past, this thought has hindered me from getting started, but not today.  There will probably not be greatness today, but there will be a beginning and I can only grow from there.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My uncle died last week. Although he has battled Parkinson’s for some years now, the call surprised me.  I could hear in my mother’s voice that the world had just experienced true loss. I was waiting to hear that my grandmother had passed. It is a call I am semi-consciously waiting for almost every day, especially since my grandfather passed a year and a half ago. Nonna has Alzheimer’s but perhaps a better description would be that Alzheimer’s has her. This disease has taken her and imprisoned her in a cell that while familiar is completely impenetrable. She is there but inaccessible. Alzheimer’s has changed my life and I am sure it’s infiltration will provide plenty of reflections, but those are for another day. Today, it was my uncle. He had died in his sleep. 

My heart was heavy and my words were few. Immediately my heart longed to be with my cousins who lost their father and their hero, their children who would never really know their “Nonno”, and his wife who lost her best friend. In the days after people would try to offer words of encouragement and I too tried to do the same.  However, the truth is, the world lost someone extraordinarily special and no words could compensate for that. 

The funeral came and I was thankful to be there with my mom and my sister. As soon as we walked up the steps of St. Peter’s church memories of childhood flooded over me. This place reminded me of him.  I could almost hear the walls whisper his name. We entered the doors and were greeted with an Italian rendition of Hallelujah.  The melody hung in the air and as words clung to my soul. We sat in the pew behind childhood friends and waited in expectation as the family said their final good-byes in a funeral home not far away. Brief, hushed conversations interjected the uncomfortable silences that filled the sanctuary. The family arrived later than expected and left me wondering how hard it must be to say a final good-bye and to close a coffin. Perhaps we think we can put off the inevitable? 

They walked in, huddled together, tear-streaked and grief-stricken. The service was filled with scripture, music and stories. The priest shared a personal and moving eulogy which was further evidence of my uncle’s gracious character.  Tears glistened in the eyes of each person present. Once the priest finished speaking, my three cousins proceeded arm-in-arm to the front of the sanctuary. Together they shared their sadness and their loss, but also their beautiful memories and the legacy their father had left behind. 

The tears that had been rolling down my cheeks were now like rushing waters and suddenly I could hear a groaning begin to internalize. I tried to control the sounds from surfacing, but it did not take me long to realize I was powerless.  The heaviness engulfed me with moans and groans that were not my own. They came from a depth deep inside and made me aware that I was not alone in my sadness.  Romans 8:26 came to mind,

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

While knowing what he was about to do, Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus overcome with sorrow for his friends.  Similarly, the Holy Spirit was interceding for me and shared in my grief.  For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weakness. (Hebrew 4:15)

What a beautiful assurance to know we are not alone, Jesus Christ has sent us the Counselor to be with us, plead for us and comfort us.  I no longer tried to resist the sounds, but allowed them to engulf me, knowing my grief was heard, and seen and shared.    

The mass ended and we left in silence, but I am so thankful that the day did not end there. We all went to my uncle’s favorite restaurant. The place was filled with memories and laughter, family and friends. We spent hours sharing stories and celebrating his life. Our mourning turned to gladness as we remembered a life well-lived.

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 (NIV)

¹³ Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. ¹⁴ For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. ¹⁵ According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. ¹⁶ For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. ¹⁷ After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. ¹⁸ Therefore encourage one another with these words.