The Wounds of a Friend...

THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND...

It's hard

to watch someone in pain- physical or emotional.   It's hard to not to intervene or intercede when a friend's feelings are hurt and their ego is bruised.  It's harder not to unleash our wrath on the one causing the pain.

Sometimes, though, our feelings DO need to be hurt.  To open our eyes, to shock us into zooming out beyond our momentary feelings to see the whole situation, including the wreckage or consequences we don't want to see, and our binding selfish pride we don't want to acknowledge.   This doesn't happen on its own. It just doesn't.  We don't move until we are uncomfortable... And things that don't move,  are dead.

Sometimes, a life-changing cure involves painful treatment.  The problem is often just under the skin. But, if it's a heart sickness, bones must be broken to get to the heart.  Both require a wound to the skin.

We may be the patient walking around with undiagnosed heart sickness; complaining that we are tired,  sad, frustrated, restless and out of energy most of the time and without reason.

We've all also been the unwise, but well-meaning friend who sees the symptoms, sees the  glimmer of the scalpel and fearing the flesh wound, urges them to fight back or run.  We slap on a bandaid, shower them with kisses and compliments, and warn them that one holding the scalpel is a mean, selfish idiot that they'd be better off without.

From time to time,  we're given eyes to see the severity of the real problem under the skin, beyond the fragile feelings.  To avoid being responsible for a wound,  we put down the scalpel and choose to offer only the post-op suggestions, which might help their symptoms subside for a a bit, but not for long.

Sometimes,  we stumble across a scalpel we didn't use when we were supposed to, see a splinter sticking out of a friend's finger and immediately do open heart surgery.   Their heart is damaged, they have unnecessary scars, and the splinter worked itself out on its own shortly after.

It is a trepidatious calling to have eyes to see and be called to expose the ugly thing that's behind the pain. Truth is not easy to receive when it doesn't line up with our feelings about a situation..   Loving the someone enough to make the cut comes at a cost.  Sometimes, it will cost you a relationship with them and others.

I've been the cut,  the cutter, and the defender.  None of them are easy and none of them are wrong, but they are only right when ordained and timed by the Surgeon himself... the one who does the fixing and stitches the pieces back together.

After is the hard part.  There's often a long time of uncertainty after the cut is made.  And so you pray..... for their heart and yours. Trusting God to heal both.

The wounds of a friend can be trusted.  But an enemy multiplies kisses.   Proverbs 27:6

HANGRY!

It's been just 2 weeks back to my "normal routine" and I've already forgotten. 

Like a theif in the daylight, the busyness of life stole my promise right out from under me.   I look around and realize that gone is my decision to live intentionally, with my eyes open and searching for the everyday gifts, writing then down, and speaking of them- to live  a habit of grace - filled thankfulness. 
Dang.

Going back to a busy job after 2 months of healing, had me done by 3pm, but adding the daily responsibilities of wife-dom and house - running, had me crashed on the couch by 8:30 and asleep until the bell rang the next morning to do it all over again.  

In the exhaustion of the last two weeks, I've managed to fit God into a few moments,  in the car ride to work and back, in the shower,  while stirring a pot on the stove. But every moment I was multi tasking.  Not that He won't or can't make use of that time,  but it's me who finds herself easily annoyed,  discontent,  frustrated, but with no direct reason.   That's the effects of nibbling on crumbs and scraps for 2 weeks while busy doing other things.  I am HANGRY. 

I sit this morning in my favorite spot,  the front porch at 5:30 a.m. with a steamy cup of coffee, my bible, pen and paper, and I await the sunrise, and with it, a word from God.  And as is always true when I make space for Him, God shows up with a piping hot loaf of refreshment, straight out of the oven, just for me.   I just need to remind myself that that extra 30 minutes of sleep has not yet made me feel refreshed, and force myself out of bed, and onto my porch, where I'm met with the very thing that has over and over again proven to give me more energy for the day than any half hour of sleep ever has.

And the gift list once again starts flowing....

A Mountain High Enough

Embellishments...

Covered buttons, metal grommets, exposed zippers, pockets…  Inanimate industrial items of functional necessity, but since I was a little girl, I’ve been drawn to them on clothing.  I absolutely love these tiny details and most of my clothes and shoes have them to one degree or another.  My mother also loved pockets and pretty buttons on her clothes and a tissue and a hard candy could almost always be found tucked inside her pockets.  As a child, I played with the beautiful buttons in her old rusty round tin container. Even now, at almost 50 years old, when I stumble upon a dress that fits well AND has pockets, exposed zippers, or covered buttons, it feels like I’ve won the lottery.  When I’m concentrating, my fingers will instinctively find and fiddle with whatever embellishments they can find.  It has always been this way.

Today, I received a gift from my person... my wise one… my sister.  She gave me a beautiful hand-quilted lap blanket.  As I unrolled it, squares of familiar patterns began to take my breath away.  There in my hands were pieces of the favorite shirts, silly socks, and blazers worn time and again by our mother, Renee, and by her son and my nephew, Matthew. Some fabrics were faded and soft from many washings; others still bright and crisp, having been worn only on special occasions.  Each
fabric was so familiar, taken from the shirts they each wore most often, and they evoked precious memories of our short time together on this earth.

God knows the details of my heart intimately and in His love for me, He inspired the maker of my quilt to include the sections with buttons and pockets, knowing they would speak to my heart in a most personal way.   Instinctively, my fingers touched the buttons and slipped into Momma’s pockets, just as they had as a child.  The nimble fingers that had once secured those very buttons thousands of times and the hands that had tucked treasures into those pockets are the same hands that I had held for hours.  Hands that comforted me, made my meals, disciplined me and hugged me.  The hands that I watched grow and get dirty had once reached up toward the fabric with brightly colored circles that hung on a mobile above his crib.  Those hands certainly tucked movie ticket stubs into the pocket of a brown plaid cotton shirt.  These are hands that I loved with every cell in my DNA.  

Without the assistance of a human hand, embellishments are useless.  As my own fingers graze
these worn buttons and pockets, my love of embellishments is finally understood.   For it is not the button I love at all, but the need for the hand of the one that fastened it.  This patchwork of fabrics comforts my soul.  Oh, how I miss my mother and Matthew.  I would give anything to hold those hands for a little while longer.

2011 Finding Myself... Undefined.

Alas, I find myself in that foreign land that every woman knows is coming, but finds herself completely unprepared for... The undefined span of time between full-fledged motherhood and empty nester.  Where piles of laundry, toothpaste-glazed sinks, dirty dishes and wet towels hint that you have children still at home, yet you just rarely see them.  Leftovers, once a rarity, now overrun the refrigerator, because my dinner menus are built around a party of 6.  

I never thought I would have much to say, let alone blog about.   However, finding myself in this unique tick of time, in a quiet house that I  once prayed for, fear about this unfilled space of time and curiosity about myself as something other than dueling mother and career woman, begins to build.  


Since reading about a stranger seems a bit... odd, perhaps its best if I share a bit about myself.  I am a full-time lover of the Lord.  He has graciously blessed and entrusted me with a wonderful husband, after a righteous-hot-mess of a poorly-chosen first marriage.   Over the past 14 years, we have been busy blending a family of four children; two from each of our former marriages.  Although from different DNA, all 4 kids resemble one another so much that for the last 14 years, well-meaning fellow grocery shoppers frequently exclaimed "Are they quadruplets?!?!?!"    After the first 5 years of trying to answer this rhetorical question, I learned just nod and smile.  Three of our children are the same age (19) and one not far behind (17).  Three beautiful and internally lovely young ladies and one handsome and a generous, kind, faith-filled young man.  The oldest and youngest, girls, are from my first marriage; beautiful, living, breathing, walking daily reminders that God really does bring forth beauty from ashes. A set of incredibly different boy-girl twins from my husband's first marriage complete the party of 6.  I'm still amazed that God chose someone like me to love and help raise such amazing young people, but He did, and I am eternally grateful; my life would be incomplete without them.


The three oldest are either in college and doing their life-thing, still officially hanging their hat at home, but rarely seen there.  The youngest is involved in everything under the sun and is gone more than the college kids.  They are all independent now, and don't "need" much from me these days.  Gone are the hectic after work hours of school pick-ups, projects, after-school activities, and homework. Now its a pop-in here or there with a quick question, sometimes, if I'm lucky, they'll ask my advise about a decision they need to make, provided it's the "Cliff Notes" answer.   So, here I am... alone with my thoughts... a lot!   

Motherhood calls women to "put off me and put on my kids."   I found it the most rewarding, most important, and often unappreciated job ever.  But, seeing them now as young adults, making good life choices, loving God with abandon, and changing the world, I know every moment was an effort well spent! 

These days, with such a huge portion of my daily routine no longer necessary, I find myself a little bit UNDEFINED.   So here's where the blog comes in.  Self Discovery!  I used to be interesting, I think... but back then, I was also naive and often selfish.  Not that all that much has changed (except for the young part). I used to do so many interesting things that made me interesting.  I want to be interesting and intriguing again.  

So, this blog marks my journey in discovering me - this 43 year old with a lifetime ahead of her!  Let's figure this out!

A Mother's Guide to Launching from the Nest... 2012

There comes a time in every parent's life when baby bird leaves the nest.  All good humored teasing aside, this is a moment in time that strikes fear in the heart of every good mother.  Fear, trepidation, excitement, hope, and immense pride.  Because three of my four children are virtually the same age and the fourth just two years behind, I am experiencing a departure schedule that rivals L.A.X.  Having talked to plenty of parents about the process, I am attempting (with meager success) to address this stage of life with humor-laden reality.   Here's what I have learned...

FAILURE TO LAUNCH:     Some baby birds need a push. You know them.  They've outgrown the nest, which is built with a size limit intentionally.  They are cozied up on the basement couch next to the video game console. In our parental defense, we've endured 18+ years of marketing guilt about our obligation to provide a kid-friendly, comfortable, challenge-free, affirmation-only nest for our children.  Why WOULD they leave?  If we aren't careful, before we know it, we'll find ourselves preparing a carefully constructed sandwich, and carrying it down to the basement with love and resentment, and chewing it so as not to tax the digestive systems of the over-sized bird on the couch.  Things are so great, that there is little motivation to climb the stairs and peer over the edge of the nest.  If this strikes a stick in your nest, pray for the strength to ignore the desperate pleas for a sandwich delivery.  When the game is over and they climb the stairs famished, place the sandwich near the edge as bait to a window of opportunity... Closer... closer... then PUSH!!

DEFIANT LAUNCHERS: 
Unfortunately, some of us have to watch our baby birds fall out of the nest straight to the ground after months or years of battle, precariously perching themselves on the edge while defiantly dangling one foot over oblivion, a distraction tactic used during a parental stare-down.  Inevitably, the line in the nest is drawn, which almost always results in a one-footed, ill-planned launch off the edge.  They catch a little air and believe they've mastered this flying on their own thing, all the while looking like Seabiscuit in flight.  Circling vultures can spot the wobbly flying pattern of an inexperienced flyer from a mile away. From the vantage point of the carefully-constructed-for-safety nest, parents watch in horror as these premature launchers fly full speed toward the freedom of green pastures, which is just on the other side of the innocent looking window panes.   Other defiant launchers are waiting on the ground with free memberships to their flock.  You know, the flock of birds that never fly again, but hang around dumpsters day and night, feasting on scraps of trash and commending each other on their independence.  Wise Mamas hit their knees and pray, and pray, and pray for a divine bubble around the defiant one to keep predators away and offer a hedge of protection to soften the blow when bouncing off the windows.   We pray that someday, God will divinely deposit to the baby bird the reason why their parents had their GPS turned to the highest setting in the first place.

PRECISION LAUNCHERS: 
Other baby birds go about the nest, planning, orchestrating, carefully crafting their launch with NASA-like procedures. These baby birds humor their parents by asking their opinion, which will be much too "jaded" and ill-fitting for their super-sized flight plan.  There is so much planning that you have time to prepare and steel yourself.  You know it is coming, when it is coming, and that it is going to be okay... extremely expensive, but okay.  When they launch, they swoop off with a carefree laugh over the shoulder, flying to the other side of the world without hesitation.  They wonder what all the concern is about.  They too will fly into carefully chosen window panes of opportunity, only after analyzing the thickness of the glass, and accepting the challenge of opening it by the brute strength of a very hard head.  Rest assured, parents, the window pane will lose most of the time.  When this bird lands, it will be with chin up, goggles on top of its head, hands on hips one foot in front of the other, and feathers fluffed, announcing "I've Arrived!"  Pray for a helmet to protect from the thicker panes of glass, and bumpers down the lanes of life, because this bird is going to fly fast and furious to the furthest and scariest ends of the earth.

HOPEFUL LAUNCHERS: 
Some fly off optimistically trusting that all will work out "awesome."  These are the hopefuls who cautiously proceed down the tree by jump/flying from one branch to the next, steadying themselves and enjoying the view from each one, and allowing their parents the privilege of a "thumbs up" signal at each stop.   They aren't quite sure where they are going, but are convinced that wherever it is, it will be so much better than where they currently are.  They may have Googled the art of navigation, flying, and maneuvering, and although they never quite got around to taking a test flight like they planned to, when the time comes, they may have some familiarity with the process.  They will be on their way without much pomp and circumstance.  Before you know what has happened, this bird is halfway to their distant but still undecided destination.  For this bird, pray for direction, for a good flock to keep them company, and then stand back and watch where they eventually end up, which is going to be somewhere awesome.

INTENTIONAL LAUNCHERS
There is the steady baby bird who stretches their wings with intention while quietly practicing flying and making wing adjustments in the privacy of their room, taking lots of short practice trips around the tree.  They may occasionally share hopes and dreams of their future.  These  are the thoughtful launchers, who don't make rash decisions, yet whose dreams become a reality seemingly overnight.  But its only because they've been working while everyone else is sleeping.  One day, they just launch from the nest as all part of their carefully constructed flight plan, and it's GO TIME.  Their sudden (and seemingly rash) departure catches most Mama birds off guard, because before you know it, they are miles away and on schedule.   This bird will learn the realities of life the hard way, because all the planning in the world won't teach them when to take shelter from the storms, the dangers of dodging lighting bolts and falling trees and being injured by a golf-ball sized hail.  This baby bird will have to learn when to find a tree and wait out the storm, not fly through it so as not to mess up their flight plan.

My firstborn is launching far, far away next week.  She is the intentional launcher.  With only 12 days notice, all I can think about are the million things I want to teach her before she goes, things I never told her, and give her a refresher course on the things she didn't listen to when I did tell her.  I am realizing though, that she will learn these things on her own... and some the hard way, which terrifies me.  I am so proud of her resolve, her courage, and her wisdom in how she is launching.   I will pray for her to stay close to God's heart, and for friends who will keep her on course.  I am praying for an audible and visual "wing man" who will sit in the backseat and keep her safe from anyone or anything who dares to create adjustments in her flight plan that takes where she never meant to go.  I am praying that she will immediately seek shelter when she hears thunder and sees lighting, and learn wait out the storm by drawing herself near and under the protection of the Lord when the hail starts.  I am also praying for me to have grace in the departure.  To hold it together long enough to find a pillow or shower to cry quietly in, and for large bottles of Visine to hide the evidence.

The Badge of Shame...wearing it with pride!

So, here we are, finally in the year 2012, some laughing, others not at the cartoon of the Mayans running out of room on their calendar.  But then again, 2011 wasn't exactly a barrel of monkeys. With the changes that began in 2011 coming to fruition in 2012, I'm finding most everything I thought I knew about myself to be suspect.  But alas!  I think I've solved the mystery.

Something strange occurred in 2011.  I went to sleep as normal; a fairly competent, confident, and successful human being, and awoke the next morning- horrified to see that pinned to my forehead was the dreaded badge, indicating my sudden induction into the "Hall of Shame for Parental Idiot-Hood."   For those with young or no children, don't strain your eyes,  this badge is only visible only to your own children and to other members of the Hall of Shame.   Not to worry... your badge will be pointed out (lovingly, of course)  by your children.  When that occurred, I found myself realizing I owed my own mother an apology for telling her how I'd be spared the honor of induction into the Idiot Parents Hall of Shame.   Out of the kindness of her heart, Mom is averting her eyes from the badge, and at least isn't laughing in my presence. 

If all goes as expected, given the age span between my four children, it appears I will have to wear the dreaded badge of shame for at least the next several years.   For those with young teens, be on the watch.  Somewhat like hot flashes, the badge shows up when you least expect it, and like the uncontrollable red face and beads of sweat on your upper lip, your children will notice immediately.   (Which reminds me...I want the name and social security number of whoever decided that the onset of hot flashes should be generally simultaneous with induction to the Hall of Shame, because that is just cruel and unusual.)   Out of compassion, I feel it my duty to warn the others....

Once noticed by your children, the badge causes immediate physiological changes.  Its symptoms are eerily similar to a sudden lobotomy:  an onset of cluelessness, irrelevancy, social ineptness, being " stuck in your "good old days" and finally, being deemed completely unnecessary, except for menial housekeeping tasks, where the potential for error is limited. Your once eloquent words will suddenly project like the voice of the teacher on Charlie Brown cartoon..."wha, wha, wha"  causing uncontrollable eye rolling and heel spinning, followed by immediate dismissal.  Your children are likely to become invisible, their presence only made visible by empty toilet paper rolls, bathtub rings, remnant crumbs in leftover bags of chips and cookies, ignored "to do" lists, dirty dishes in the sink and finally the increase in the elevation of the pile of dirty (or perhaps clean) laundry which covers what you hope is still carpet in a room which now reflects an unoccupied shrine.  While yes, it may be spatially under your roof, I warn you... enter at your own risk.   The punishment for stepping outside of your approved area can result in the application of tactics used at Guantanamo Bay.

Lastly, Be cautious about sharing words of wisdom and advice.   When given without being asked, your useless life experience can cause uncontrolled explosions that may result in permanent disappearances.  It is best to quickly accept that you no longer know anything of value and what you do know is irrelevant and best kept to yourself.  Do not be dismayed by the profound show of respect, compassion, and thoughtfulness that is extended to everyone outside of your residence.   Be encouraged that one day, when your walk of shame is over, and you play your cards right, you too may once again experience that pleasure.  

On the bright side, take heart in the fact that you haven't lost your ability to find your rear-end with both hands.  Others who have walked through the Hall before us promise that one day, our lobotomy will one day be spontaneously reversed.  But until then, inhale, exhale and repeat, and keep smiling and waving.