Striving For Balance

See-saw.

Teeter Totter.

Did you ever play on one as a child? They are few and far between. Of the over 600 playgrounds built in the last century in NYC, only one still has a wooden seesaw. They are so full of advantage for learning strength and coordination for children but also wrought with risk. This playground apparatus works on a simple premise; a plank of wood balanced above the ground in the center with a hinged bolt handles at either end where the unsuspecting children sit. In theory, the objective is to use the weight of the other person to push each end up and down. To have fun by gently pushing the other child into the air and easing them back down.

Theory is always only a piece of the story, though, isn't it?

One of my early memories is at about age three when I wandered into a playground teeming with children; all of them older than me. A gang of them descended on the seesaw and somehow I ended up the star of the show sitting behind the giant T shaped iron handle at one end. There were kids stacked behind me like cookies in a box and likewise a suitably “equal” number of kids on the other side. I remember feeling very unsafe as we went up and down a few times.

Much higher than the dictated height of 32 inches that guard today's seesaws. Then suddenly the seesaw lifted rapidly into the air and as the other side came down hard on the ground my chin came down harder still on the handle. Tasting blood, I began to cry. I was shuffled into my apartment building to “find your mom” by the big kids and my memory ends there with the conclusion in my tiny preschool brain that seesaws are stupid and scary.

And, that being off balance is not ok.

But then I got a little older and discovered the other game you can play on a teeter totter.

The one where you, as a Big Kid, get to stand on the center of the plank with one foot on either side of the middle anchor like an undefeated Super Hero, King of the playground, Master of the wretched teeter-totter. All the riders thereof waiting for your rule and reign over their lives. That is as long as you stay balanced. But if one of your subjects is called inside for dinner by his mom and abruptly jumps off you'd better be prepared to react lightning fast, adjust your stance and maintain status quo. Jumping off, because you've lost your balance, is not an option. Some other kid will usurp your position in a heartbeat. Must maintain control. Balance is the only way to win and stay Master Balancer of All.

Hmmm, we're not talking about playing on the playground anymore, are we?

Years ago I was enamored with the phrase, Strive for Balance. I began to see that balance in life can make the craziness make sense. I naturally tend to want order in my life but I also want things like long books, long naps, lots of sweet tea and chocolate cake. Those things are not conducive to order or balance. So I began challenging myself to seek balance. If I wanted a nap, I would have a chore that I must accomplish first. If I wanted cake, a healthy lunch must come before. If I wanted to read...

I really did feel so much better when things were more in balance in my life. When I could stay atop the plank and sway with the winds of change to achieve calm equilibrium I felt so much more at peace.

And in charge.

But, as with everything in life, I began to drift and the very act of creating peace through my balancing act began to wreck my world. I became more and more intolerant of anything that shifted my domain. I must have a perfectly clean house in order to have company over. I must have all the right answers if we are in a discussion about the news, books, bible study. I must have the perfect makeup and outfit in order to go to church, work, out to dinner, to the store, to the trashcan. The dishwasher should be loaded just so and the clothes hung this way. The pressure inside my head was terrible, so I began to let it out. I began to want to hold everyone else to my standards. My family, my friends, my children, my husband.

None of them could ever meet my expectations.

I could never meet my expectations.

I had let my desire to balance my life completely unbalance my life.

I had piled crazy expectations on myself and others until all I could do was frantically keep stepping from left to right to attempt to keep it all from falling. I could have jumped off at any time but the tiny smidgen of truth that is hidden in the peace of balance kept me struggling to keep it going. Because surely balancing my wants and needs was worth this effort.

I was striving.

For balance.

And it was not working.

It really hurts when you slam your face on a metal bar and your feet get crunched under a wooden plank. It really hurts when you realize that good intentions don't catch you when you fall. It really truly hurts when you find that God didn't intend for you to live that way at all, and that actually He was the One who pushed the crap off the seesaw and brought it all down on top of you. Because He does have perfect balance. The balance of perfect Love that won't tolerate haughty pride in my own perfection or self-loathing of my human mistakes. He has the balance of Perfect Forgiveness that forgets my nasty bitter words ever happened and also joyfully expects me to not say them again.

As I sat there on the ground looking at that darn teeter-totter of my life I remembered. There was a third game to play on the seesaw.

You could go and sit on the plank. Right in the middle. Just simply sit and sway with the weight of it as you pushed the heavy painted wooden board to your right and down. To your left and down. Alone. No weight of expectation. Just the desire to breathe in your Father God's joy of Life. Lift your feet off of the ground and feel the struggle to balance. Just sit with Him and know that He alone can balance everything. He alone can load one side down or raise the other into blue skies. He will tell you what to add or take away. He can show you how to find that peaceful middle. He can also pick you up if you lose your balance and fall.

It is doable. Living a balanced life. It doesn't require a ton of knowledge up front. A teachable heart is the gateway for everything God wants to give you. Strive to be teachable. Humility is the key in that gate. If you aren't humble your Heavenly Father has some very creative ways to give you those keys. Strive to be humble. Lastly, pure intentions will always bring blessings. He knows your heart anyway, why not try to live seeking His good above anything else? Strive for purity.

Stop beating yourself to pieces for all you could have-should have-would have -do-done-did. Start with balancing His Word over yours. Its the best way I know of to begin to Strive for Balance.

Dance. (for my girl)

She said, “You haven't written about me.”

And she's right.

Technically.

All the things I have written since I became a mother have been about her. She is my daughter. I am not the person I am without her. But technically she's right. I havent written solely about her.

So I thought about it. Why havent I written about her? My most lame excuse is because she's hasn't moved out.

Yet.

I haven't thought about life without her and consequently life with her.

My other sorry excuse is that writing has been much more difficult lately. Peri-menopause is 

No. Joke. It feels as if someone is stirring your brain.

Enough excuses.

The real truth is that I have always always felt that I could never be a mother to a daughter. I was a needy scattered daughter with a needy scattered mother. I was terrified to have a girl and I have cried many tears over the breathtakingly tender gift that is my girl, Bethany Kate. I often feel that I have let her down and failed to be what she needed me to be, a strong wise gentle woman. So when she reminded me (in her quiet questioning way) that I had not written about her, I knew it was true for all the wrong reasons.

So I began to pray and ask God what I should write.

I prayed and prayed.

Then one day this picture popped in my head.

2002. We were on her first trip to Disney World. The whole family had flown to Florida to have a Disney vacation courtesy of my in-laws who worked at WDW. This meant that sometimes we entered the park through alternate ways. This morning we were going in by way of a hotel that had beautiful topiaries out front trimmed to the shape of different characters. At age five she was actually a two year veteran of dance lessons and loved to watch the “big girls” who danced “real ballet”. So when I saw the hippo and alligator (from the movie Fantasia) on pirouette I suggested she jump up on the low wall and pose with them for a picture. I awkwardly did my ballerina imitation (”like this”). She gracefully mimicked me (10,000X better) and I snapped away.

This is the picture the Lord reminded me of.

Because of the story she recently told me.

My grown kids are now of an age where they delight in telling me the “real” story from their childhood adventures. The things that happened when I left them alone, or at a friends house, or the back story on getting away with something. (They relish my dismay and disbelief at some of these tales. And sometimes I wonder if we really were at the same place at the same time.)

Anyway, she relates the back story of this photo.

She says she had no idea what the heck I was telling her to do. She had no idea that the bushes were animals or that they were Disney characters or that they were doing ballet poses. She was completely clueless as to why I had her pirouette. But as you can see there she is. Mugging it up. All sweetly graceful and little girl charm. Even a little goofy grin in the squinty hot Florida sun.

And no clue why she was doing it.

That's my girl.

She has always - even when she didn't know why - trusted me. And she has always had a tender heart to obey what shes asked to do. I didn't make her that way. I certainly did appreciate it when she was small as it made my crazy busy mama life much easier. But that is the way she came to us.

Obedient. Compliant.

Even if she did question or rebel what she was told to do, she still did it.

She would most always (she wasn't a saint) obey.

It's a part of who she is.

Its not popular now to say a girl was obedient. That she would do without question what you asked her to do. And I know it isn't always good to be the “good” girl. But she was and God has shown me that it is a part of her, her very heart to comply, to yield to others but mostly to Him.

She was the quiet one. The baby of a family of loud, exciting, daring, gregarious brothers. There were often other loud rude boys around who ignored her or excluded her from their good times. She tried to tag along but for the most part made no waves.

She was my girl. My girly girl. So when the boys were having their rough fun we did girl stuff. We did dresses and Mary Janes. We did dance lessons and American Girl dolls. We did doll houses and Madeline books. She complied with all the girly things I wanted to do, even hair curlers and ribbons. I think sometimes it was much more fun for me than her. She always went along with what I proposed and we had fun together.

I remember one day we were at Busch Gardens theme park. She and I had gone to the ladies room. It had a full length mirror by the exit door. I stopped and checked myself and told her “A lady always checks herself before she leaves the restroom, to make sure everything about her is in place.” I twisted in front of the mirror looking at myself with her in front of me, as I stepped aside she delicately fluttered her arms over her head like a flower and twirled around glancing at her self all the way around. Like a daisy in the wind.

Obedient, with a twist.

She loved fiercely as a little girl. She may have been the quiet one but she was your loyal companion if you were her friend. It became unthinkable to have a celebration without her pals. Heather was her super hero: her alter ego and guiding light. Her fellow dog and horse worshipper and confidant. They plotted business ventures together and talked the mothers into driving them to various barns to muck stalls to save money for their own horse someday. They had a kindred spirit that is true but Bethany's willingness to follow Heather's lead was the cement that held them together.

When she did get immersed into horses it was this same urge for obeying that made her a firm horse woman. I will never forget seeing this maybe 4'10” little teenage girl grab a giant huge over 6' tall horse by the lead rope and jerk his disobedient head down and bellow in her tiny voice “Walk On!” and the behemoth trembled slightly then acquiesced to her command. He could have easily shook her off like a fly but something stony in her voice convinced him otherwise.

I loved working at the barn with my Bethy Kate; switching roles and letting her be the teacher as she patiently showed me how to muck and groom and feed the ponies she loved so. One afternoon we were cleaning the empty barn as all the horses had been turned out into the field. As we finished she realized that a big storm was coming quickly and we had several horses to bring into the barn, quickly. They were in separate fields and had to come in separately. As we rushed out and began quickly snapping lead ropes onto horses' halters the heavens opened up. How we got all the ponies into the barn without slipping in the mud or a horse running away across the pasture or one of us getting trampled to death, only God knows. But my, how we laughed and laughed when we finished, as we stood there completely dripping, drenched, wet to the skin, in that barn, surrounded by the rain beating a tattoo on the metal roof and the horses quietly munching their early dinner. I didn't take lightly God's grace or the training she had instilled in those beasts, that day.

My little girl has suffered because of her obedient heart too. She has given too much to others and they used it up and demanded more from her. She has loved and trusted deeply that others were motivated by obedience too and it has hurt. Sometimes I think she doesn't even know how unprecedented her golden faith and trustful following appear to others. They don't think its real. No one could love that sacrificially. But she does.

She does.

Now we are on the doorstep of her last goodbye. She is ready to fly. She has put her hand in the hand of the man God had planned for her. She looks into his eyes with that same quiet obedience (and the same firmness of expectation). She is trusting that the Lord has her next chapter in His hands and she will follow – with doubts to be sure- but she will follow where He leads. Because He made her that way. 

And Jesse, even if she doesn't know that the bushes are ballerinas.

If you ask her,

she will dance.

Worthy

Her aunt looked at her in exasperation and said,

“Don't you know you are worth so much more than to be treated like that? You deserve someone who loves you.”

In her brokenhearted state, the words filtered in slowly. She lifted her gaze and through the tears she replied,

“Do you really think so? Do you really think I am?”

The older woman shook her head, incredulous at such a reply.

“Yes, I do. I really do.” Her voice firm and resolute, trying desperately to convince this beautiful young woman, young mother, that she was a person of value - a life worth saving, worth treasuring and cherishing.

When I heard that story it shook me. In my cocoon of Jesus and Church and Words of Comfort I was jolted into reality by this young woman's cry for assurance. Do they really feel that way?  I assumed only a few did. I was wrong. How can a girl know her priceless worth? How can a woman be confident in herself and her place in this world? It seems overwhelming. How to begin?

Begin at the beginning.

God created.

I opened my Bible. His Word plainly says,

For You created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

Psalm 139: 13-14 NIV

As I read these verses I felt them saying to her,

He made you - sweet girl, young mama - He made you just like the precious little ones that grew under your own heart. They were made of what you thought was love between you and their dad. Just like them, God made you. They were no accident and you are no accident. No chance “hook up” made you or them. There really is no “chance”. God is the Giver of Life. People have sex all the time and do not conceive a child: every life is planned by God.

You are no mere happenstance, you were planned and wanted by your Father God.

Look at those words of His again,

You created me...I am wonderfully made...Your works are wonderful.

Wonderfully Made.

Full of wonder.

Unexplained joy.

We love wonderful. It is a word that says this thing is superior and great. But the Hebrew (the language of the Jews and the first writings of the Bible) here shines a little more light on this word, it says to be wonderful is to be set apart. I am wonderful because I am set apart, distinct from all others. God has created me for a distinct life; I am set apart for a specific plan and His plan is wonderful.

Do you see what value there is when someone is set apart? They are not interchangeable with another. If someone discards you in a relationship; a parent abandons you, or a lover dismisses you they are saying you are not special enough to be of value to them.

They are showing you that you are replaceable.

You are not unique, treasured or wanted.

The beautiful thing is that God has a Word that is more powerful than theirs. He has actions that outweigh the hurt of any human relationship. His words can heal every single rejection and pain.

If you believe Him.

God says,

You are Wonderful in My Eyes.

Set apart from all others.

Your Heavenly Father loves you in a deeply personal way because you are irreplaceable to Him. There is no one else He would rather have. No one else to be His daughter, His own. He wants no one else to live your life, to love your family, to learn and grow in your purpose.

You are worthy because you are you.

Think about that one long and hard. And let it push out the words of rejection that have labeled you for so long.

The next part says His works are wonderfully made. But the Living Bible says it a little differently:

Your workmanship is marvelous—and how well I know it.

Psalm 139:14 NLT

On further study that word conveys the meaning that you are something that was made in a way that was:

difficult to do,

extraordinary,

beyond one's own power to do.

So when the doubts about your own worth creep in and you feel as if you failed God over and over you can remember that your failings in no way cancel out His view of you as marvelous because HE makes you so.
 It is beyond your own power to be marvelous.
 It is when you rely on Him that you are something to marvel over, something extraordinary. And the cherry on top is that He calls you marvelous before you really are. He called you extraordinary when you were growing in your mother's womb. Before you could do or be anything to anyone

you

were

marvelous.

What would I say if I could to that tender girl, so vulnerable in a life where she has never rested securely in her worth? That beautiful young woman who craves love so much she's willing to lay down her own needs to gain a counterfeit love to fill her emptiness. That precious Daughter of the King who is lost in a culture that tells her the only way to be respected is to fight everyone who tries to love her purely and selflessly. She believes she is of worth only for her pretty face and her body. She is a trophy to be held overhead and put on a shelf when the next one is brought home in her place.

I would say, Daughter, there is more.

Hidden in the soft places of your heart you know this to be true: there is a Father who has stored up for you all the love you will ever need. There is nothing you need give in exchange for it, except your faith and trust in Him who made you.
And He will bind your wounds,
bring healing to your soul.

Simply surrender to the one who is the lover of your soul,
the anchor in your storm,
 the Protector of your heart.

And you will know your worth.  

Lost and Found

I am back.

Returned.

I want to whoop and sigh and dance and weep. I have been through a Valley. With a capital V. It has honestly felt like a journey of Tolkian ilk; certainly not a vacation. Not a respite but a workout of body mind and spirit.

And it has taken years.

Years of screaming in the darkness,

I. Still. Need. You. God.

Dont leave me, here. Alone

A long time ago when the heaviness was just beginning I was walking down a isolated lane. Surrounded by green trembling leaves and arched cathedral trees. When gently but sorrowfully a Voice said,

It is going to get worse before it gets better.

What?

What does that mean? I am daily seeking your Face, Lord, daily asking for intervention and your mercy. I feel the darkness coming. I need assurance and love.

I need you to Fix. This.

I cant take much more. And all you can say is buckle up, buttercup?

I was petrified.

And boy did it get worse.

The attack began on what I could see and touch. I came a hair's breadth away from loosing all my material things; house, car, income. My lifestyle of staying home, volunteering at church, homeschooling my kids, chauffeuring them around was very likely going to crumble to pieces.

I was beyond terrified and I clung to God.

No. That's a lie. I really began to walk away from Him.

Not that anyone would have been able to see it. I still was very active in church. I still prayed with my children and diligently taught them God's Word. I still worshiped and went on retreats. But in my spirit I was mad and hurt.

God did get my family out of a pickle. But it was not a long term fix. I knew that in my core; that there was a malignancy that was hiding away just under the surface. I was able to keep my house and the income did rebound. For a while I was able to stay home with my kids.

Itt slowly began to unravel again.

And my anger and bitterness prospered more than anything else.

It was righteous anger in my mind. I had been wronged and hurt by those I loved and trusted the most. I was justified in my cancerous thoughts and flailing rage.

To those who knew me then, you might be surprised. Maybe you wont be. I thought I hid it very well. I hid it from my self quite successfully. I was the victim, hurt by family friends and God. And I could easily show you with Scripture how I was right and they were wrong.

Then it all really went crazy.

This time the attack wasn't on my finances, my house, my car, my lifestyle. It was an outright personal attack against me, my husband, my children. When I say attack I don't mean like an eagle seizing a trout. I mean like a terrorist flying a plane into my soul.

Suddenly I was alone. Just me and the Lord. My husband was slipping away. My family thinning and weak. And I knew what I had to do this time. I jumped into God like a swimmer leaping from a burning boat into the ocean. I served Him with my whole heart. Bitterness was gone. Anger was gone. I abandoned everything to follow where He would lead. I wanted only God's healing, I would obey whatever He said.

Then it got better.

No. Then it got worse.

My husband was completely gone and life as I knew it was never going to be the same again.

The ocean I had plunged into had become a crashing sea of boiling waves. I was very certainly going to go down and not make it up again. My whole adult life was dedicated to being a Christian, a Wife and a Mother. And now that reality had disappeared in a vapor, my core identity was being blown to pieces. So in this tumultuous sea of turmoil I did what any child of God would do. I began to learn how to turn over on my back and float. I saw what it was like to realize how to give up the struggle. I had spent the last year repairing my heart before the Lord and I was ready to turn it all over to Him. At the absolute critical moment.

Don't be fooled. That choice to float rather than struggle was a minute by minute struggle to keep going. A whole year of repair work. A year of reconstructive surgeries. Graft after graft. Stitch after stitch.

New life began to open up. But anyone who knows anything about recovery knows every single hiccup can put you right back in the ER. My husband, in humility before the Lord, took my hand and we began to see what God had in mind all along. We tried to pick up every piece that the tornado had scattered. But you cant pick up every one and somethings just cant be glued back together. A new thing had to begin.

But I wasn't me.

I had lost myself in the chaos. I had entered this millennium as a mother of a preschooler and a two rapidly growing boys. A SAHM who was more often than not in church. I was now an empty nester who needed to find a job. I had no idea who I was. I tried to find the edge pieces. You know, the beginning pieces to the 5,000 piece puzzle. The flat edges of Truth. The Corners of God, Faith, Trust, Peace.

Just when I had begun to punch the destination in the GPS that would lead me to my new career, my mother fell ill. Just three months after my dad had died my mom went for surgery and never left the hospital.

That is a journey I am still processing a year later.

But today.

Today, I went for a long walk. I saw brilliant May skies and liquid lavender wild flowers. I wanted to speak kindly. I was excited to hear from Jesus and to follow His next adventure. I thought with schoolgirl love of my husband at work. I opened my hand and cast my grown children to God's care. I felt purposeful. And maybe even happy. Certainly peaceful and suddenly, there I was.

I was back. The vulnerable girl of 8

the gawky 18

the unteachable 25

the tender 33

the chaotic angry 48

suddenly all merged into me again.

I am back. Whole. And I'm finally able to live again.

Damascus

The sun crushes my vision. I duck my head and squint, Saul like, and grimace at the irony of my prayer, 

Speak Lord. 

My heart snatches back at the prayer. Perhaps too reckless, too bold. But as I keep moving down the city street, obediently, mechanically walking to the hospital I know I need- beyond the word itself- beyond any previous meaning of need that I have ever known- I need to hear from Him.

Inside the giant bully of a building a small frail 72 year old woman helplessly waits. Unable to speak for the trach in her neck, unable to lift depleted limbs, unable to calm a fluttering heart, at the mercy of man, medicine, and my signatures of consent- she waits.

So I need answers.

The Mind of God. All knowing- past yesterday and beyond tomorrow.

Answers to the implications of an unknown future. Answers that die in certainty and do not live in my doubts, my dreams, my daytime business. When only one name fits on the line to sign away misgivings it is a very lonely thing. Even consulting doesn't add another place for a signature on a surgical consent, blood consent, procedure consent... Life and death by my name like the Queen of Hearts.

And the weariness. I know I must exude weariness like a perfume cloud. I am so saturated with it- it must leak out of me, through my porous bones into my thinning skin. I cover it with oils that mean to revive and calm but I know; I reek of tired.

My mind snatches at words, trying to hold the clarity and purpose of

Vasopressor, Dialysis, Tube-feeds, Epinephrine, PEEPS, Atrial Fibrillation,

Med Line, Tidal Volumes, TPN, A Lines, OT, PT, Creatinine, Transfusion,

Palliative Care,

DNR.

I must know them all. And know what to say when the doctor's monologue ends with the inevitable...

“Do you have any questions?”

Questions?

My, oh, my do I have questions.

Questions that would make you back away from the sheer raw pain.

Why is first.

Why?

It is a rare complication. Why her? Why now? Why are you so kind, Doctor, and so compassionate, so smart, so able to save and heal others but not my mother?

Why.

and How.

How do we know this is what “Needs to be done” ? How can she ever get out of this hospital that has held her here these 4 months? How does she who has been silent for 17 weeks speak again? How do I see beyond this bed that has become her ship in stormy seas. How do I remember health? How do I keep on making pictures of recovery and normal everyday life to distract her vision away from the endless tubes and needles?

How.

When will hope return?

Who will she be when we reach the end. A sinner saved by grace- welcomed in peace and freedom from pain. Or will she be broken and forever walled in by machines. Life outside the window forever removed and out of reach. Alive enough to live, sick enough to die.

My feet ache from the walk, the long walk to go from me to my mother. And I selfishly gather the pain and rub my sadness into it. But larger than my inconveniences is her need.

So I walk I to the hospital,

elevator,

floor,

hallway,

and her room.

I walk into her need.

Larger than life- than my life- larger than everything
and pray God speaks.

Damascus words. Of love

and life.  

Tryst

It is light outside my closed eyes

It is light mid the midnight

She sings a siren song

louder still now against the snow

not absorbed by the flat white

but reflected

bounced

and pounced

like a self absorbed cat

heedless of my need for sleep

she calls

my sister moon

my lunar daughter

begs me awake

to admire her

lumosity

her sensuous embrace

her winter kiss

I have never in the day

loved and known such lure

as the blue sylvian

glide that draws

me in this deep night

as the curved silver

lunar girl

my sister moon

My fragile soul was born from her light

my thin heart

a paper copy

crumpled reflection

Some nights she seeks

me on my pillow

her eye cast on my dark head

her smooth hand brushes

my slumbering cheek

and curls inside my flesh

I cannot sleep

we must speak

the silence of the night

she brings me

with no fear

she shows me only now

only breathe

and my interlaced stacked up

mess of life and obligation

untwists in the shadows

of winter twigs on azure pillows of frost and ice

Untwist

Uncurl

My breath craves the

enchanted allure of wet damp air

the healing of breathing

moon drenched

midnight breaths

fill my lungs with trust

to

catch and hold aloft my dreams

You Will Always Be His Momma

• She wrote that her first born was moving out.
• Oh, how I know that excitement and heartache. I have had two leave home for college and beyond. My baby girl is testing her wings right now. I rushed off these words to my friend and thought maybe some other mommas might find encouragement in them as well.
  Dear Sweet Friend,
  You are right to not feel ready, you are never ready. Because you will always be his momma. He will always be your baby.
  But that now becomes a secret that you hide in your heart. You must remember the strength you had when you were in labor and you felt like you had given everything and it was still too hard but you did it anyway. That momma strength will see you through.
  You will remember that God loves this manchild more than you could ever ever imagine and give him to the Lord...again. The love he shows you and the communication may dwindle to a drip. He may even be a little hateful, but it is just to cut the ties he feels to you. He doesn’t know how to do it any other way.
  You will cry and cry.
  Everything will remind you of the boy years and, heaven forbid, the baby years too. But you will be strong and know this is God's plan for him and all boys who are walking into manhood.
  You will try to find a balance between being truthful in missing him and being morose and letting this rob you of your joy. And you will make that balance work because the other kids are missing him too and watching you and wondering how to live it out.
  Now you get to become his cheer leader and prayer partner.
  Always give hope, always encourage.
  Never say I wish you had talked to me first, because he needs to own and learn from his mistakes. Enjoy his independence with him, even when everything in you wants to lock him in the closet and never let him out.
  It will get better.
  Your life will change and your world  grow larger again. You will find delight in the small freedoms and new (sometimes scary) opportunities that will begin to unfold for you. You will remember the girl you were before you were mom. You will dream old dreams and live new ones that God had planned all along.
   You will make it!
  And you will do it again and again as each one makes their way out to begin their own journey. Children are like a River... they leave and leave and suddenly return like the tide, needing you like never before.
  What lies before you is such joy in having adult children.
  The joy of hearing "Mom, Ive been praying about this job and I think Ive got it!"
  And "Mom, there's this girl..."
  Then, " Mom, could you help me look at rings?"
  
  And suddenly he is looking down at you, with love and gratitude as you dance at his wedding, and you can’t help but remember holding him in your arms and swinging him to your own lullaby.
  Yes, I will pray for you. God has seen you through so much He is faithful to hold you in this too.
  He is the one who put that momma heart in you, after all.
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
• 
  
•