2010 Christmas Meditation #1

For years I thought that Christmas was about the perfect family holiday, full of traditions, and food made only once a year, and the perfect gifts, and everyone you love around you all happy and enjoying one another. After I was married and had a home of my own, I worked tirelessly (OK, I actually was VERY tired) to create the perfect holiday traditions for my family, incorporating some of my own childhood traditions with my husband's, and some of our own ideas as well. When the kids came along, I renewed my efforts to weave together the real meaning of Christmas with our own special ways of celebrating it and enjoying one another. Of course, every year, I got to Christmas day with those few things still unfinished, with a couple presents forgotten--it wasn't perfect, but it came close.  Or did it? Our first Christmas with our first baby was also the first Christmas after my mom went home to be with the Lord. One Christmas my husband completely missed Christmas day because he had food poisoning. Many Christmas celebrations found my husband out working his beat as a sheriff's deputy, or us rushing from one family member's house to another's, ending the day exhausted.

For years I thought I knew what God wanted me to have in the way of a "perfect" family. Oh, not perfect in the sense of sinless, but living our lives together biblically and growing in our love and service of Jesus and one another.  I worked very hard to be what I thought was the "perfect" wife and mother. I tried to encourage my husband to be the best he could be and I also tried to show grace and forgiveness when he wasn't (because I knew full well I wasn't!) I read books to become a better mother, a better housekeeper, a better Christian.  I made lists and tackled goals.  Life was moving along beautifully, or so I thought. Then one tragedy hit after another--the losses of my parents, and my marriage, debilitating health issues, the slow dwindling of my financial security until I was living on manna from heaven--life became very hard, and I felt all the time like I was barely keeping things together. I watched as my family moved from what I thought was "perfect" to what seemed to be barely functional. This was not what I had grown up expecting! This was not what I wanted, or what I thought God had planned for me.

I was reflecting on the beginning of the Christmas story today.

Oh what a precious promise,
Oh what a gift of love;
Joseph makes his choice to do
What few men would have done:
To take Mary as his bride,
When she's already carrying a child
That isn't his own.
Oh what a precious promise;
Mary and the child will have a home.

     (Precious Promise, by Steven Curtis Chapman)

Mary was a simple Jewish girl. She had lived a "perfect" life--simple and reverent, awaiting the day she would marry and have a perfectly simple home and family. God's plan for her was anything but simple.

Joseph was an earthy carpenter. He had lived an industrious life, perfectly suited to a man of the working class.  It had come time for him to marry, and he had chosen well--a simple girl, from a simple family, but perfect for him. Life was moving along beautifully, of so he thought. God's plan was anything but simple, anything but expected . . . but it was perfect.

God's plan for Mary and Joseph wasn't the common, expected plan for a young, simple Jewish couple--work, family, life, faith.  It turned their lives upside down. It brought challenges into their lives from every front. Their friends and family thought they were scandalously sinful and probably even crazy.  They ran from government oppression for which their baby was the cause.  They had to leave everyone they loved at a time when those dear people would suffer extreme loss and grief.  They had to leave a home, and an established occupation, and travel long distances with a young baby. They had to try to parent every other kid they had in the shadow of a perfect one, and they had to deal with their own sinful parenting in contrast to a sinless child (Ugh! The thought of that makes me glad I was the one chosen!) Eventually they would have to watch as their son was rejected, persecuted, gossiped about, and Mary would even have to watch her completely innocent son put to death on a cross. They had to wrestle with all of the worst of humanity in glaring contrast to the perfection of heaven, and up close they had to watch as humanity rejected what they knew was holy. Life did not seem perfect after they became the parents of the baby Jesus. It was hard and painful.

Once again today, I was reminded that the Christmas story was not about a lovely little tradition tied up in a pretty bow. The gorgeous nativity scenes we set out in our homes were not what the presence of littered hay, and animals, some dirty travel gear, and the remnants of childbirth would have looked like. The scent of cinnamon and spice candles does not accurately represent the stench of a lowly Galilean stable where a baby had just been delivered.  The aftermath of the birth of this holy king did not glow even as the shepherds knelt and the star shown down.  The long years after the baby arrived  most certainly did not seem to unfold perfectly as anyone else would have planned. But then, perfection couldn't look like anyone would have expected it to, because this world was far from perfect.  The world was corrupt, sinful, painful, and awful as the glory, beauty, and perfection of heaven was poured into it.

What was perfect was the baby held in the new parents' arms. What was perfect was the plan no one expected--a plan written by a perfect God from before time began. What would be perfect was what God brought out of the imperfect world after Jesus came. My life . . . your life . . . on their own--they aren't perfect. But with Jesus they are exactly what God planned for them to be, and that makes it perfect. Christmas isn't about a perfect tradition, it's about a messy one. When I don't get my decorations up "on time," when I struggle to smile because I miss family members and traditions that only I remember, when I can't buy presents for my own kids . . . it's exactly the kind of life that Jesus came to be a part of--a messy, troubled, painful, imperfect one.  A perfect God came into a very imperfect world, and I am a part of the miracle that He is still working today revealed in that one event 2000 years ago. That is a reason to celebrate. That is Christmas.

A Special Twelve Years!

My dearest Stephen,

Have you noticed that lots of great things come in 12's? Eggs come by the dozen. Twelve inches makes a whole foot! There were twelve tribes in Israel, and twelve disciples, so the number twelve was important to God too! This year marked a dozen years I've had with you. Wow! As always, money was tight this time of year--it always is with the end of the school year and beginning to prepare for the next year. Of course, a major difference this year was that we didn't go to the homeschool conference on Memorial Day weekend, so we were home to celebrate your birthday. Only . . . I didn't have any money. It was hard to watch you so excited, when I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything until the day OF your birthday. I couldn't prepare ahead . . . no presents, no cake, no decorations. Even the planning lacked a little as I have struggled to get through the end of the school year, complicated even more by all the events in your brother's year at the Academy. So there I sat on Friday morning after dropping your brother at school. I was trying to figure out how to redeem the day and make you feel as celebrated as my heart feels when I think of how much I love being your mom and having you as my son.

Then it came to me! The idea I proposed to you was quickly negotiated and embraced, and you told me all day long how much you loved it! We went on a shopping spree. I could laugh when I even call it that, since you wanted so little. The first thing we got was a big gift bag to fill up, only there were so few things you wanted, we could have done with a much smaller bag. First we hit Starbuck's and the grocery store to get coffee and donuts, then we went to several stores to find the things you wanted. We headed home for a little while for lunch and so AJ could have his tutoring done. Then we picked Josh up from school and wisked away to watch "Night at the Museum 2." Afterward we went to Cici's for pizza, then home to enjoy playing with your new games and shows. It was a simple day, but you genuinely loved it, which says volumes about who you are. You love simplicity . . . love being home and with family or alone.

The day after your birthday I took you out just the two of us, to a movie ("Wolverine") and to dinner. The day after that we celebrated with a big family party with us and the Borkos, just lots of noise and activity and fun! Matthias spent the night, and then you were completely satisfied with your special day(s). It is easy to see in this what I have long known about you--you are content to have a few very close relationships, and don't really need many of them. You like the "social scene" and have enjoyed the activity and excitement of being with the youth at church, but your preference is to just enjoy the people you love being around.

You've grown so much this year, in size (you now top the scale at over a hundred pounds!) and in skills. Your art work has come such a long way, and you love to spend hours drawing cartoons. You love all things boy! You giggle at explosions (go figure!), and love action movies more than anything. But you are quite the ham, and LOVE LOVE comedy of all sorts--from sitcoms to Garfield cartoons to blonde jokes. You are always cracking me up with some hilarious observation and comment, or with a new cartoon that reflects your ability to get inside the heads of those who draw your favorite comics.

Stephen, I love being your mom so much. You are so full of surprises. You are sensitive, and when I get down, you look for some way to help or encourage, even if it's just in holding my hand. In spite of your insistence, I dread the day that some cute girl takes away my snuggle bug, and I love all the affection you give me still. But I also love the ways you are changing--new conversations we get to have, new kinds of movies we can watch, and lots of new humor.

Happy birthday my dear boy! You are a delight and a joy!

Fun Fall Stuff

Ahh . . . fall in Florida! This year we are getting exactly what I love: cool weather! So here is our fall celebration so far:

Although we don't celebrate Halloween, we do love to cut up a pun'kin.
Even Josh wanted to do it this year, which was kind of funny-
watching him carve a pumpkin without ever putting his hands into it!

The gooey-er, grosser, or more disgusting, the more Stephen likes it.
He actually tasted the raw pumpkin this year!

Yes, lookout, folks! AJ got to carve his own pumpkin face this year.
And we all know what that means . . . . he's loose with a knife!!!
He sure was proud of his creation though!

Our actually "Halloween Eve" was spent at a great celebration at our church
(the Reformation is very important to us!).

Josh was in a skit.

Stephen and AJ spent the evening pal'ing around with their friends!

To My Precious Blonde Boy

Stephen,

I continue to feel badly that your birthday gets lost in the end-of-year shuffle every year. I'm thankful that we homeschool since having all three of you in school with activities and such would really make it hard to celebrate. I certainly have enough reasons to rejoice over the day you were born! You are such a delight to me. I love talking to you and seeing the energy and excitement on your face when you tell me something. I can hardly resist your creativity and your imagination. I hope that the way I celebrate having you every day helps make up a little for the way I tend to lose track of your special day each year. At least this year you didn't have to wait until December to have your birthday!



Ah, Stephen! Looking at old pictures of you brings back so many memories. You were such a fun baby and little boy! We never knew what new thing you would become, you dressed up so much. You were always surprising us with your mood too, and even now you can go from storm clouds to sunshine or the other way in a flash.

I feel sorry sometimes that you have inheirited some of my worst traits, but on the other hand, they come with so many wonderful strengths. You are a loyal friend, and it astounds me how long you and Matthias have been best buds. You are very sensitive to the feelings other people have, and you try to comfort them. You are always creating, lost in your own imaginary world.


One thing that amazes me is how you have changed. You used to be so bothered by little things--the texture of foods, sand on your feet, being hungry or tired. Now you tend to roll with the flow more. Of course, when you become emotional, it is hard to get you to calm down and think it through, but fortunately you can also be gracious and forgiving, and you like to be at peace with those around you.





You are still such a tough guy. You have always been the stereotypical boy--loving cars, balls, and "manly" things. You still love to be flying down the street on your bike or skateboard, and you are pretty daring. I think you have enough scars now that your modeling career is pretty much trashed, but you told me today (when you cut your head) that you'd rather have scars than stitches.




It's kind of funny watching you begin to grow into your own person. Lately you have developed a love for camera work, especially video and animation. You are quite a good artist, and you love to draw. You have decided you want to grow your hair out, which I have agreed to let you do.
You can't stand being cooped up all day inside, and you need to move frequently.


Stephen I love you so much. I'm so grateful that God chose to make me your mom. You might be the middle child, but your value and worth are certainly not less because of that. Please know that I love you and that I am eagerly awaiting to see how God continues to mold and shape you.

Happy birthday, kiddo.

Love, Mom

I Still Miss You, Mom.

I was so young when I lost my mother, just 27. It seems so long ago now. I don't grieve the way many people do--don't visit cemeteries much, don't linger over old photos (kind of weird for a photographer, I know), and for a story-teller, I don't even tell my stories much. I guess my grieving is done deep inside me over a very long period of time. Maybe that's why I stay such a mess . . . why it is taking me so long to heal from all the disappointments and losses in my life.

I miss my mom. I wish she was here to talk to about all the hard stuff. She was always there to listen. Sometimes I think I'm making a mess of my life (Yes, Eva, I know. There's no plan B.), but one thing I love about what she taught me: how to put relationships first. She was so great at that. Sure, she probably drove some of her friends nuts with her type A intense personality, but I remember how much she invested of herself in those around her. Even her perfectionism was aimed at making others comfortable (although raking the shag carpet never did much for me).

I miss hearing my mom read to me. She read to my sister and I long after we could read to ourselves--The Chronicles of Narnia, A Bear Called Paddington, Pippi Longstocking. I tell people now that when I look back, I realize that I was government-schooled AND I was homeschooled. My mom just couldn't stop being a teacher, or a learner, just because we weren't in a classroom.

Mom died just as I became a new mom. I am confident God knew what He was doing, but it has never made much sense to me. Just when I needed someone to tell me how to be a mom, she was gone. Even though I don't think about it much, I still feel like I need her today. I wonder if she would have been proud of what I've done, trying to stay home with my boys like she did with us, trying to take responsibility for raising them and teaching them and loving them. God has faithfully provided me lots of other "moms," some very wonderful and close, but just as one of them told me none have taken her place.

I know that heaven should comfort me, but right now, while I'm here and she's there and I can't see heaven's beauty or know the depth of connection and belonging there, I don't feel enough comfort. I realized that there she won't be my mom, though I think that perhaps that I will feel equally connected to everyone. Am I confusing you? Good, because I don't understand it. Suffice it to say, right now knowing that I will see her again doesn't completely comfort me. I just want my mom here and now, and I'll never have that again.

Ugghhh. I sound like I'm drowning in sadness, but actually I'm grateful. I loved my mom, and I know she loved me. She was my dearest and best friend. So much of what I beleive and love has been impacted by her that I miss not being able to share it with her. At the same time, as I write I realize how much grief I still have over her absence in my life.

I miss you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

Eight Years Ago . . . .

Eight years ago today, I was about to head for the hospital. Andrew was a couple weeks early, but my water broke anyway. Even though there was no labor, the OB nurse wanted me to get checked out at the hospital. So we went. I was miserable all night. AJ hadn't even dropped all the way, so they wouldn't let me out of bed to prevent the cord from prolapsing. The fetal heart monitor would move every time I did, and a nurse would come in a harrass me to find the heartbeat again. Finally, very early in the morning, the doctor approved me getting up and walking. I hadn't been back in bed an hour when the nurse came in again to harrass me, only this time she couldn't find AJ's heartbeat. Quick decisions were made, and I ended up in the OR; AJ was delivered by emergency C-section. I don't even remember much from that day--except being very irratated that I couldn't see my baby all day (they had trouble getting his temperature up, and I was chained to the stupid bed). I joke that AJ almost killed me (I was bleeding internally and he wasn't getting enough blood).

A friend and I were just musing that our kids have all come into the world in ways consistent with their personalities. Josh was slow and late and took his time, but was very little trouble. Stephen was in a hurry, but came like clockwork. AJ came dangerously and caused a lot more trouble than the others. He has been very worth all the trouble he caused then, and all he's called since then. He brings so much adventure and fun into our lives.

Tomorrow he will be eight. What happened to my baby? Where did he go?

Such Tender Memories . . .

OK, book number two read. AJ and I read How Fletcher Was Hatched together today. It's just a simple, old-fashioned story about a dog who feels neglected by his mistress. His friends, an otter and a beaver decide to help him compete with the cute little chicks stealing his attention by building an egg around him. It's nothing flashy, no aspirations of political correctness, just a sweet kids story that I must have read a million times when I was a kid. (Every illustration was etched on my memory as if I had read the book yesterday--it was fun walking through familiar territory!)

So we read the book . . . and I said with a sigh, "I loved this book when I was a kid!"

AJ responded: "Sure mom. Whatever. I'll be outside."

Ah, what treasured memories. (Can you feel the cynicism?) At least I can count another book on my 888 List.

Seven Years Ago Today . . .

. . . my life was about to change. Again.

It was about 11pm and I was almost nine months pregnant--three weeks shy of my due date. Then just before I went to bed, I began to suspect my water was leaking. I called the on-call nurse and begged to be allowed to stay home until morning, but was told I needed to go to the hospital to be checked. Once at the hospital, sure enough, my water had broken so I had to stay.

It was a fitfull night with little sleep . . . the monitor constantly moving and a nurse coming in to adjust it. They wouldn't let me get up and walk because the baby was still too high up. Finally very early in the morning the doctor came in and examined me and gave me permission to walk for an hour at a time. So I walked and got back into bed. That's when it all started.

Darned monitor slipped again. The nurse came in and tried to adjust it . . . but this time, something different. The nurse called for the doctor, then explained to me that she couldn't find the baby's heartbeat. The doctor came in and examined me and explained that they would have to do a C-section. Everything was happening so fast, but all I really remember is being wheeled down the hall and begging God to save my baby boy's life. I remember the O.R. and vaguely being put to sleep, then waking up to see Jerry and one of our Assistant pastors.

The rest of the story came later. The placenta broke away (called placenta abruptio, for you childbirth experts). I was bleeding. The baby was getting no oxygen. It was Providence that we were at the hospital instead of home. Providence that the nurse was really paying attention. Providence that Andrew and I are alive today.

That day was a very long day, as I waited all day for my baby, unable to get up and go to the nursery to see him.

He's bigger now, seven years later. But oh! In some ways he hasn't changed much at all. He's still in a hurry to do everything in ways nobody ever expects (and sometimes that we don't want to do them!). He still risks his life to do what everybody else does safely. He still provides us with some very exciting stories, and some very interesting adventures. And when you make it through all the hard stuff, he's still very much worth the adventure (or worry, or scare, or whatever!).

So while he's off right now with his grandparents camping, I'm thinking about how much I love that little boy, even though he costs me a lot, and has nearly cost me so much more. He sure is worth it! Happy Birthday sweet Andrew!

A Five Year Anniversary

Five years ago, this day started just like any other. I got the boys up, fed them, and we did school or went to co-op since it was a Friday. We had lunch, took naps, played and watched TV. I fixed dinner, gave them baths, then put them to bed. One thing that was a little different, was that I helped Josh pack to go on a Scout camping trip with Gaga, and they left that afternoon. Other than that, it seemed a normal day. I had no idea of the arrow that was about to shatter my life.

My husband didn’t come home that night. It wasn’t unusual for him to be out late, because as a deputy sheriff he often worked overtime, but it was unusual for him to not come home at all. I vaguely remember waking very early in the morning and realizing he wasn’t home. I probably tried to page him and call his cell. I don’t even remember now if I actually talked to him, or worried about his safety the rest of the early morning. He finally came home the next day, and after loving on our two littlest boys, he told me he needed to talk to me.

Strange the things you remember about tragedy. I remember him commenting on the holes in my socks, and telling me I really needed to get some new ones. Then he told me he was moving out. Leaving. He was confused, he said; didn’t know what he wanted; didn’t know if he wanted to be married any longer. His “confusion” went on for a couple of weeks, as I sat confused about where he was during that time, and about what had gone wrong. He had been very distant for about six months, but nothing that indicated a real problem. I had asked him repeatedly if there was anything wrong, but he had said it was just problems at work, and I had no reason to suspect anything else.

The truth was, he had gotten involved with someone else and was moving in with her. No one—his friends, his co-workers, his family—believed it initially when I told them. He “was not the kind of guy who did that.” I remember from that February 16th, and from the weeks after, the tight knot in my stomach that kept me from eating for three solid months (an effective diet, but not one I recommend!). I remember night after night fighting off images of him and her together and crying until I had no more tears to cry. I remember having to keep music running all through the night so I could sleep at all, and then waking up from fitful sleep to cry some more and to fall on the floor and pray. I remember wallowing in the Psalms, crying through them and praying them to God. Life was a fog—I went from one thing to another without any real awareness of what was going on.

I also remember God’s faithfulness. He put so many people in my life—women who called me, listened to me, cried with me. He put very wise pastors in my life to direct my decisions, but who also listened to me and evaluated my choices not based on their own opinions as fathers and husbands and men, but on God’s Word. They gave me the blessing to do some very risky things as I prayed and hoped God would turn my wayward husband around. He gave me a Christian lawyer who helped me understand all the options, and tried to help me protect myself, and preserve my marriage at the same time. I remember nights when God did nothing but whisper to me in the sad darkness, and move in close enough that I could almost feel Him there. I’ve not felt Him like that since. I remember how God helped my father to care for the boys, and how He enabled us to get our school done in spite of my distracted and distraught condition.

I have been through many sad and difficult things. I’ve nearly lost my life and a baby in childbirth. My mother and father both died at different times unexpectedly at home. But the worst thing I have been through was being abandoned . . . cast away . . . by my dear husband. It happened five years ago tomorrow, but the pain and scars are still there today. They are not as visible as they were initially, or in past years, but they still hurt and make life hard. I’m not sure I will ever recover from them, but I’m not sure I want to either.

Going through my separation and divorce changed my life forever. I will never be the same. At times, I am aware that I am searching—that I am on a quest to find that one thing that can relieve the pain and remove the scars. I have never found it, nor will I. But then I have moments of clarity, and I can almost glimpse how God might use this, and I even experience a touch of excitement to see how He will redeem my tears. One of the things I have prayed is that God would never let me forget that experience. As confusing and disappointing and painful as that experience was, I have discovered since then how much more pain and suffering exists in the world than I ever realized. Oh, I knew there were bad things out there, but they always happened to someone else. Little did I know they were happening all around me, to people just like me. I want to be used to relieve a little of the suffering of others. I want God to always keep me aware of the suffering of others, and I always want to have the inconvenience of being called upon to seek ways to help those experiencing it.

Five years ago my life changed forever. And God used it to change me and make me fit for His service.