Grief, Growing Up, and The “Stew” of Life – Looking Back at a Hard Day with Gratitude:

Ten years ago today will mark all the days that follow… but I will not know that until late in the evening. In typical fashion, I had crowded the day with worries that would soon seem small compared to the tsunami heading toward my front door. We were facing some tough decisions about a business venture gone wrong, and we had planned to have a hard conversation when Brian came home from his trip. I dreaded it. However, we never had that talk, because Brian never came home.


 I lay in bed the night of May 3, 2008, occasionally checking the clock and waiting for the familiar keys to hit the desk in the home office a floor below. Instead of the keys-on-wood sound I expected, I eventually heard the sound of the doorbell.  In the door, dear friends stood with a police officer to announce Brian’s death earlier that evening in a plane accident shortly after takeoff on his way home.


All of the concerns of a few minutes before were cleared in a wave that blew through my heart, mind and soul. Time stopped and rushed forward simultaneously, and my life began to spin like a crazy ride in a dream. I wanted out. I wanted off. I wanted to go back to before I heard the news.

I guess I began to grow up that May. I use that phrase now because someone said it to me a few months later. Something like, “I bet you have grown up a lot since it happened.” I thought that was such an odd thing at the time. Later, however, I would find truth in the notion that such tragedies are when we truly grow up. It is when we are stripped bare, that God can begin to make us into our truest self.  When all the security of the world has let us down, and we know we are completely lost, we are ready to learn and grow. "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" 2 Corinthians 2:9a. Wow.

I learned many truths through profound grief. I quickly discovered that suffering is everywhere. It is sort of like the experience of buying a car. You never notice how many Silver Honda Accords are on the road until you start to shop for one. It’s the same with a loss. Your grief makes you keenly aware of the pain of others. It is like a TV with only one channel; you can no longer look away or avoid the pain by flipping past it. In short, you are suddenly dialed in. 

I learned that no matter how independent and capable we believe we are, God created us for community. He intended us to travel this journey with others. Unlike my nature to handle my problems on my own, I knew I would not travel well through this valley unless I could lean in and accept assistance and tell others what they could do to help. It was my journey, but it was not just about me; God’s goodness was revealed through the love of his people toward our family. 

I realized that my journey was not the same as that of my daughters’. They also had a grief journey to travel. As a mom and a problem solver, it was hard to trust their paths to God. I could not carry the burden for them. But, God proved faithful in so many ways and provided just what they each needed. I had to trust Him. I am still learning this. Growing up is hard. 

I eventually found that Brian’s death was not an end; it was a beginning. God had many things left for me to love, learn, do and be. He would plan a move for us to Tennessee to be closer to old friends and family. The unimaginable would eventually lead to blessing upon blessing that I would have never dreamed or agreed to ahead of time.

I read somewhere that it is the “Stew of Life.” All of the good parts and the hard times are essential ingredients. We often want to undo the hard parts. But, I know that to change something now would change the whole recipe. And, I wouldn’t want to do that. Many of you are a part of this stew as well. We have been so blessed with amazing friends and family who stepped in to help in some way. I will be forever thankful for you!

What is left after ten years? The same that will be left for any of us I think. The lives we impacted, the way we loved our people, and the good we did or at least tried to do. Brian is remembered through the many ways he touched others with kindness, humor, and service. I occasionally hear from someone who will tell me of his impact in their lives when they were a teen or some good deed he did for them. Through the blue eyes and laughter of my girls, I see his spirit and feel his zest for life. I still hear my voice repeat funny things he used to say, and I can almost hear him laugh with me. He reminds me by his example to play-hard and love-hard and enjoy the precious time I have left.  On this May 3, I think of Brian and his memory reminds me to be grateful for today, and every day.

#justwrite #daughtersofjoy

More Than a List - More Than a Job

It was on my list. My daily to-do list. The one that tells me I have made a difference each day. I have always worked off a list either mentally or physically. I am wired that way I guess. I am a planner. A list gives me hope for the day ahead. Without a list, I sometimes lose track of myself and wonder what I accomplished that mattered.

Today’s list included audit review and follow up, postage machine install, buying an ice machine for the office kitchen, completing reports, a meeting, approving payables, and being available to notarize documents at 2:00 pm. I had worked my way to the last item by 2:00 pm and was answering an email when Alisa poked her head in and asked if I was free to do my notary thing.

I walked into the family room. There was Alisa, the caseworker, and two young women (one blonde and one brunette), a tall young man, and an adorable, bouncy, baby girl with blonde angel curls sitting in the center of the room. All attention was on this child. One woman held her tiny left hand, and the other held the right. I realized then that this was an adoptive couple and a birth mom. I rarely see this process. I sometimes see babies, sometimes parents, but rarely see the process unfold. I have never seen it at this stage before.

The room seemed filled with a mix of anticipation, joy, and a bit of anxiety. I felt a pang as I looked at the birth mom. I was filled with the thought of giving up one of my girls, and I could not imagine what she might be thinking as she sat in the room. (Adoptions are not all the same, and many are a joint venture between birth parents and adoptive families that continue beyond the paper-work in support of the child – what a remarkable thing!)  I do not know this young mom’s situation, but I know she is brave and probably a bit scared. All I know for sure is that I admired this pretty stranger who had options that may have seemed easier months ago when she chose life for this baby-girl.

Then I shifted my focus to the parents, and we walk to my office because it feels awkward to sign the adoption petition in front of the birth mom. This petition changes things. I chit-chat and congratulate the young couple. They see the pictures of my girls and ask me about them. As I comment on how fast (my) children grew up, I am thinking about the chubby legs still bouncing on the ottoman down the hall. This child will grow up too quickly for this young couple as well. That is what babies do. There will be dresses and bows, “Pat-your-Bible,” “Jesus Loves Me,” Barbies, boys, and sleepovers and one day they will wonder where all the days went. Oh, but they will get to have days- sweet, exhausting, precious days! I imagine all the memories they will make together because of the other young blonde woman sitting in the same room down the hall. The gift of all those sweet memories still to come is possible because a birth-mom is making a heartbreaking, courageous decision, and there is a caring and thoughtful advocate for both moms and the new dad, and there is AGAPE. A place to call when there is a family crisis, a child in need, or when you need help sorting through options whether it is adoption, marital problems, stress, or depression. For 51 years there is AGAPE with professionals trained to help.

I do not always get to see the work we do close up. I sign checks, meet with vendors, have planning meetings, and sometimes I forget how special this place is. AGAPE is a special place, and I work with special people. So, as I shut my computer for the day and looked back over the things I accomplished on my daily list, I said a prayer of thanks for AGAPE, a place where the to-do list represents more than just hope for the day, its signifies making a lasting difference and participating in work that matters.

#justwrite

#daughtersofjoy

#adoption

#agape

The Garbage Can.

As I backed out of my driveway this morning, I was reminded that it was Wednesday. Humpday to weary 9-to-5ers, but also garbage day for those of us on the mid-week rotation with Franklin Disposal. I put the Pilot in park. As I wheeled my big blue receptacle to its resting place, I felt a sense of peace. No big deal, I know this. However, there were many Wednesday mornings at the beginning of this 9-year journey that I felt ‘not peace.’ At times I felt sad, or angry, but not usually peace. I remember that first day in May 2008 when I rolled the garbage can back down the driveway in my fuzzy pink bathrobe. It was probably the first time I had done that in 5 years. Always in divide and conquer mode, Brian did garbage can duty. I did morning routine duty. I did hair, sock searches, and refereeing of early morning squabbles over cereal and pop-tarts. Brian did garbage duty for almost 20 years. I remember looking up and seeing my neighbor, Julie, as she watched with tears in her eyes. She also knew that Brian King did garbage duty. Brian was gone.

I was not sure I could do it, not garbage-can-duty, of course. It was everything all at once and nothing would ever be the same. The garbage can became a symbol for me over the years. 

I am not sure why, but I didn’t adjust well to the garbage-can-duty-thing. I was confused about how early the garbage guys would come, and what about holidays? Seems so simple as I type this, but I often found myself trying to race, bed-head and barefoot, to get to the street before the schedule-conscious truck passed, often leaving the can at the curb past the HOA acceptable time limit. This of course causing an appointed deputy of all things Homeowner Association-like to issue me a helpful reminder delivered by personal post. It was a struggle. However, there are many things I handled with ease, much more complicated, time-sensitive, and consequential matters that others might find overwhelming, but I never quite fused the nuances of refuse disposal into my sub-conscious. When I forgot the schedule or missed the memo concerning holiday pick-up in those early days, I can remember just being angry all over again at the thought that garbage-can-duty was supposed to be Brian’s.

In case you were beginning to worry about me, I am actually quite adept at the job of Trash Captain now. I made a deal with “The Man” when I moved to let me leave my “Big-Blue” by the house so there is no remembering to put it on the curb, only to put bags in the can. Smart! This morning, though, I was reminded of all those feelings in those early days, and I realized I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Peace.

More changes are in store and I am moving into new space again. My baby-girl is out of high school and she is not a baby. She is grown-up. She will not be living with me in just two short months, and I feel different but good. 

It is almost like reluctantly moving to a much smaller home, but then finding out that the view is more amazing.  

I am transitioning to a new place. I am going from I have to, to I get to. I no longer have to have milk in the house because I am responsible for other humans, but I get to cook dinner when everyone comes home because it brings me joy... There will be no lunches to have to pack (even though I enjoyed it) for Hatty this fall, but getting to schedule coffee or lunch with her across town when it works for both of us. She buys her own shampoo and tampons. I don’t have to check the school calendar. I don’t need to pull the parent duty.

I get to choose how I spend my free time. Weird.

 I get to check in with my older girls to see what is important and have meaningful exchanges without the need to make all the decisions for them. I am a silent investor now. I am still deeply vested, but they have their own big-blue-responsibilities and I have mine (Yay). It is the same with the garbage now. It is my big blue receptacle. Who’s else would it be? I get to roll it back to its resting place and be thankful to have a curb on which it can sit, at the corner of a yard, where the house is my own.

#justwrite

A Memory- My Mom and What I Learned from Her Tuna Salad.

Janice Shockney May 4, 1937- July 18, 2012

It is the 4th Anniversary of my Mom's first day with Jesus, and I miss her. It is not as it has been said along the way, that we don't appreciate our parents until they are gone. It is just that we can never fully know all the ways we will long for them over the years. As our life changes and we face new unknowns and challenges, we just need them. We knew we would. We just didn't know in how many ways and the ways just keep coming it, don't they? Sometimes in the silence of the uncertainty of life, I strain to recall the comfort of just hearing her voice on the phone. No one has ever been on my team, quite like my Mom, and I miss her today and wish we could talk.

I have been thinking lately about the lessons I learned from my Mom. It is hard to boil down into a list all the things your parents teach you along the way, but this memory keeps coming up lately and the lesson it taught me unaware sums up my Mother's philosophy on life: And it is simply this:

We can't control everything. Plan for Joy. Expect some problems along the way. And, most days are salvageable.

My Mother was a planner. My Mother was resilient. My Mother was fun. And, if we made plans for a fun day, somehow we were going to have a fun day. On this particular day in the Summer, I woke up with excitement because Mom had planned to take the day off for a picnic and swimming for my brother, Gary, me, and my Grandmother too. My Mom worked, and during summer break, I was home all-day-everyday just waiting on something to do. There was camp, swim lessons, VBS, and sometimes, Mom would take a day off to take us swimming. Those days were the best!

 I could hear her in the kitchen before I was fully awake. I knew she was working on the Tuna Salad sandwiches we would eat for lunch. The mixture was a bit weird, but she added enough sweet pickles that I got over the mayonnaise, and after a couple of hours in the pool, a kid would eat anything. She made a pan of brownies the night before and Kool-Aid Lemonade we would carry in a Tupperware pitcher and drink in styrofoam cups as we sat on our towels with hair dripping trails of water and happiness down our backs on a brief break in the fun of the day. I could not wait!

Mom, Dad, Gary and Me in the 70's

The anticipation would build on the long car ride from the country into Goodlettsville to Pleasant Green Swimming Pool. When we were finally winding our way through the pool's neighboring houses, I would roll down my window, because you could actually smell the chlorine several minutes before you saw the gated entrance. We would find a picnic table under a tree, and mom would stake it out with a red checked tablecloth and our Blue Coleman Cooler. Towels were piled on the bench and chairs unfolded as Gary and I would run down the grassy bank and head for the pool. My Mom would sit on the hill in the shade with a paperback novel until lunch time when we would eat the sweet tuna salad and lots of chips and brownies and Double Cola over ice. It would be great.

As we were preparing to leave our house that morning something unexpected happened. My mother was walking up and down the stairs to load up the trunk of our blue Ford Granada when she called down to Gary (our kitchen was in the basement - weird I know) to bring up the Double Colas, an 8-pack of heavy glass bottles housed in a divided, paper carton. Apparently, there had been something wet near the drinks so that when my brother picked them up the bottom released and glass hit the concrete floor of our old country kitchen. The glass flew in all directions like shrapnel and a piece lodged in Gary's calf. He hit the floor crying in pain, and chaos seemed to take over. 

My Grandma started screaming for Mom and in a few minutes, we were all in the car, heading not for the swimming pool but for the ER. I was crying for a different reason now, but not so that anyone could see.

After what seemed like hours, we left the ER with my brother's leg bandaged and under the bandage 6 stitches in exchange for the glass that the doctor removed, with instructions to keep the wound clean and dry. DRY. Great, I thought. There would be no pool. No picnic. I must have said something out loud about by brother's part in ruining the day because I remember that MaMa (pronounced "MawMaw") scolded me.

I sat quietly in the back of the car with my eyes closed, and when the car finally stopped, I realized we had indeed driven from the emergency room to the pool. Just like we planned! I was thrilled! My Grandma was flabbergasted. My Mom was matter-of-fact. It seemed to her that we planned to go the pool for a picnic and a half-day was still more fun than not going at all. She reasoned that Gary could wrap his leg in a plastic bag, sit on the side, and at least get the other one wet if he wants to. And, we all needed lunch anyway, and it was already in the car. So a picnic it was!

I remember my Grandmother retelling the tell later. "Anyone else would have canceled the swimming day if a trip to the ER became necessary," she laughed, "But not Janice, she never lets anything get in the way of what she wants to do."

I loved that about my Mom. She just made the best of things (like adding extra sweet pickles to the Tuna Salad). She readily admitted that she couldn't control a lot of what happened. She taught us to plan with joyful anticipation, to accept problems or challenges as part of the deal, and not let anything ruin the fun if it is within your power. And most of the time it is. Thanks, Mom. That advice has always served me well.

No wonder this was one of her life verses.

#pleasantgreenswimmingpool #missingmom #philippians413 #justwrite

Living in the AFTER on a Tuesday - "Through it All My Eyes are on You"

 It Is Well - Bethel Music (lyric video) - YouTube. 

This weekend my husband and I were invited to attend a marriage thing. Our lives were hectic last week and the invitation came at the last moment. We honestly didn't want to go. I mean we sorta wanted to go, but the stress of our pace has left us with little bravery. We knew we needed to, but the mountain before loomed large. His schedule, my schedule, the dogs, the teenager, other things needing us. Apathy brought on by fatigue. I think we both heard the small but growing call, "You should go." So, somehow we did.

There are lots of words I could use to relay the purpose of  the weekend all beginning with "re":

Restore
Renew
Rest
Refresh
Reconnect
Reset

All good words. All much needed. But, today I keep hearing a couple of things over and over. One was a point made during a Sunday morning devotional as a group gathered from our church to remember our savior and commune as one body.

The First point was this (in my words):

There was a difference in the apostles' boat that day on the lake before and after Jesus got there (Matthew 14 22-33). There was panic, despair, and doubt in the storm, but the moment Jesus steps in there is calm, confidence, and peace. There is always a before and after with Jesus. 

How often can others tell I live in the AFTER? My life should reflect the calm, confidence, and peace of Jesus' presence. Amen?

The Second point is this song:

It Is Well - Bethel Music (lyric video) - YouTube. This is a new take on the old hymn, and I hope you will close your eyes and just listen and rest.

The words wash over me like the "wind and waves [that] still know his name." I grew up listening to the hymn "It is Well" in my country church. As a girl, I had no idea what the words even meant.

I now know what it takes to sing those words, and it is not a fearless thing. I look up and the mountain just seems so overwhelming. Whether it is the mountain of responsibilities that don't want to move so that I can spend a weekend with my husband or a mountain that has broken my spirit as I view the devastation left in the wake of the realities of this life - there is struggle, loss, and crisis all around. And, sometimes there is just too much.

Still, Jesus climbs in my boat and invites me to trust in him. And, I don't have to know how he is going do it, but I just need to believe that he will calm the storms in my life. I just need to keep my eyes on him, through it all. "The wind and waves still know His name...[Who am I] not to believe?"

Let me live in the AFTER.

#justwrite #itiswell #throughitall #daughtersofjoy

Friday Thoughts About Good Gifts

A few weeks ago on a remarkable fall afternoon, I sat with family and friends, in folded chairs semi-circle style, as an adorable mom-to-be unwrapped a mountain of gifts. Most of them from her registry, things she had pre-selected for baby boy. She, like most jubilant first-time moms, has endured the pre-partum countdown by thinking, planning and SHOPPING for his every need. This most loved and anticipated bundle will never know cold wipes on his bottom (why didn’t I think of baby-wipe warmer?), non-organic bedding, or naked, germy shopping carts without anti-microbial, designer, protective covers. His clothes will be the cutest little-man outfits ever, and she will carry him in the most stylish slings and carriers that will multi-task in ways my babies never knew. This is a special child, and he has had been carefully planned for.

What marketers and I know about my species, the parent, is also pointed out in Mathew 7:11; we “know how to give good gifts to [our] children.” And, we delight in thinking about and planning for their future. As flawed as we are, we usually ere by loving our kids too much if anything. God can relate; His love for us is “deeper than the oceans and wider than the sea,” and He has been planning for and dreaming of our future long before our birth announcements (Psalm 139:16). 

I thought about God’s love again last week while watching a mom adoring her smiling baby. Moms (and Dads) are crazy about their children’s smile. Not long ago, I came across my third grade school photo, and I remembered how embarrassed I was that my mom had placed it in a frame on the mantel back then. My hair must have stood up in every direction! But, she would always say, “I just love that sweet smile.”  I think God looks at us and says something similar. We know we are goofy and a mess, but He claims us and adores us because we are His. 

And about those “good gifts” from God, He sent His own son, Christ, to die for a sinner like me (Romans 5:8). What a gift! Just like the baby boy above, I didn’t even understand my need, but God, my Father, did. From before the first sunset and long before my baby shower, God was thinking and planning for me, and you too.

#Goodgifts #Daughtersofjoy #justwrite #babyshower

Post MBA and Finding Rest

I have been on a two-year journey to earn my MBA degree. Every Monday night for 4.5 hours plus countless hours outside of class and many more thinking about the schoolwork I should be doing just as soon as I work a little, sleep a little, cook a little, clean a little, etc. If you have been down this non-traditional-student road you know what I mean:

• It is a crazy time.
• You are not a student. 
• You know nothing about being a student anymore. 
• You work full-time. 
• You have people who depend on your paycheck.
• And, You haven’t pulled an ‘all-nighter’ in a decade (except the time everyone got a stomach bug in tandem). Or maybe that one is just me.
• You only thought you knew tired. 

But, it is over. Complete. Finished. Accomplished. Who Hoo!

If you had asked me how I felt in the first few weeks of post-grad life, I would have said, “Out-of-whack.” I am sure that two years of anything intense leaves you with an immense sense of imbalance. At first, you can handle things pretty well, but by the last half, you have stacks of neglected chores, paperwork, and relationships, which desperately need your attention, and you feel it down-deep.

And mostly, I felt out-of-whack with God. My prayer life has been stagnant, and bible study has been a joke. Honestly, it has been dry, stale and just bad. And, I know it shows. I have felt like the grocery cart that I always get stuck with (by grocery cart I really mean "buggy" - in the south we say "buggy"). I look perfectly functional and capable and steady, but I really wish someone would pull me out of the lineup before my malfunction becomes evident to the whole store and I am an embarrassment to “buggies” everywhere.

Can you relate? Do you ever need to get your spiritual act together but it is so hard to do? Life is still coming at you fast. I mean my people needed me to get finished with class and get with the program – STAT! On top of the normal chaos, we moved the weekend of my last class and there was so much work to be done. I won't even tell you about the last 8 months in an apartment crammed full of boxes and boxes and exploding with furniture. I was exhausted. 

When I was searching for a Bible study to dig into, I ran across a study on Ruth. It was recommended to me a few months ago by a woman who didn’t even know me. It was one of those casual conversations that somehow led straight to the heart of the void of my life and I think she could see it. I felt like this was something I should pay attention to, so I bought the study guide and I stacked it with the stacks of stacks that had stacks - I know you know.

I unearthed it a few weeks ago, and I began a new journey. A journey both forward and back.

It actually felt a bit awkward getting back into regular prayer and study time. It was not as awkward as becoming a college student again, thankfully. There are no log-ins, deadlines or pressures to perform. God has been patient, and good, and he smiled when he could have yelled, and he is giving me the rest I need most. Rest from measuring up. Rest from keeping up. Rest from guilt. Rest from shame. (That was it, a break from me. Me doing but not being.) Ahh.
His word is healing and it feeds my soul and it is slowly fixing my broken, "buggy" wheels.

#War Room, #Wearealldaughters #DaughtersofJoy #Justwrite

Masterpiece

Excited friends to paint our materpiece

In October, several years ago, I went to one of those paint-it-and-take-it-home-canvas studios with some eager friends on a Saturday night. It was a new craze then, and we were excited to be together for a fun night of painting and laughs. I was not alone in my anticipation of a canvas-trophy worth displaying in my home. We had purposely chosen this night because the colors in The Red Door painting we would create would work well in all our homes.

With blank canvas as our stage, smocks donned and our chosen Starbucks drink at our side, we were ready for our night of art and friendship. Susie, the master-painter, stood at the helm ready to instruct and guide in proper brush technique and paint application. We were enthusiastic students with noble intentions..."Yes we will do exactly as you say Miss Susie because we want to paint a picture just like you."

Me and Martha Brown

When Susie told us to use the big fat brush we all picked it up and dabbed here and there. Then, we tried the smaller brush. Next, we were mixing colors and applying techniques. It was so much fun being an artist! Before long my confidence in my abilities was high and I looked over at my friend Tyra's picture and was disturbed to realize, it looked nothing like my own! My friend Lisa's picture looked nothing like my own!! I got a little stressed. Then, I got behind. Before I could catch up Susie was two steps ahead and I had no idea what to do. So I found myself looking at my friends and asking, "What did I miss?" Thankfully, they told me. But my friends were not experts like Miss Susie, they were, like me, canvas painting novices. I still felt a little stressed.

Susie kept saying, "Don't worry about what it looks like now. Just wait until we add the foliage at the end and it will all come together!" She said this a few times, so at this point I was not so sure. But she was right, it did come together at the end. I did get a picture to take home (maybe not a masterpiece), and so did everyone in the room.

It was so interesting to see the differences in the art around the room. There were no two alike. But somehow, they ALL looked like Susie's. We were all proud of each other as many compliments and smiles were exchanged between old and new friends.

Several things struck me as we ended our journey together that evening:

• We all started the evening without knowing how we would finish.
• We all realized each woman tried their best and the individual result was praise-worthy.
• We found common bond in our imperfection.

Women are so cool sometimes!

I drove home that evening with a wish for our daily journeys to resemble that evening in the painting studio. I wished that we would collectively realize none of us really know what we are doing, but we are in this together. To know we are so different because God made us this way for a reason. He knows some of us will get distracted and fall behind. This is why he gave us a friend who is working toward the same goal. A sojourner following the master painter like us, only a bit farther down the road. We can look to them for help. I just needed some helpful hints to get back on track with my masterpiece. If Tyra had said, "You need to pay attention," I might have never finished my picture. If Lisa had said, "No you are doing it all wrong," I might have gotten discouraged. We need each other, not for reprimand but for a helping hand. And at the end of the evening, my picture is not supposed to look like my friends', it need only resemble the Master's.

I prayed then and do today: "Let me lighten your load, not make it heavier. Before I do anything else worthy: bake a cake for the bake sale, drop off more donations, sign up for the next volunteer slot, let me show mercy to my sister where ever she is on her journey. Amen."

#masterpiece #wearealldaughters #weneedeachother

Indian Corn

From 2009

Some of the best times the most golden moments are the ones that happen right before "lights out" at our house. I wonder at how quickly the bedtime routines have gone from reading the well-loved and worn story books to "just thirty more minutes on the computer, please?" But for today my youngest, Hatty, still wants to share her bedtime thoughts and prayers with me...as they say "priceless".

It was one of those nights a few months ago, Spring maybe, and I was on the ladder that leads to Hatty's loft bed where she lay. Standing on the ladder I am face to face with my sweet girl as she pours her heart out in prayer to God. Oh my, I wish you could hear the things that are on her heart, I am amazed at her tender words.

But anyway, this night as she looks me over as we are so close she plays with my hair. And after "Amen." and before "I love you." she says..."Mom your hair is so beautiful! It has so many pretty colors...just like Indian Corn!" (she should be a diplomat or at least in PR) She was right my hair has many colors (dark brown, red, gray, blonde, gray)..just like 'Indian Corn'-Priceless!

#warroom #justwrite #bedtimeprayers

Fourth Grade is a Jungle!

I must get this story in print, before it gets lost in the folds of time.

This fall was such a dive into the deep end for me. I really did not know what to expect. We had the summer to just be a bit broken without alarm clocks and expectations. We had some time to begin healing. And we did. So in August I loaded lunches and loose-leaf paper into backpacks and held my breath.

One afternoon in September, we were having the usual let-me-tell-what-happened-in-my-life-after-school-girl-talk. One of the older girls was relating a boy-girl-tale heavy on the drama and light on common sense. I was giving my usual, "See, boys are such a waste of energy." speech. Then I catch the sweet face of my baby-girl all just turning 10 that month. Says I, "My Hatty is never gonna act like that, she's  never even gonna hold hands not to mention kiss a boy in Middle School!" "Right sweetie?" (I said this knowing that she did indeed have a boyfriend. Hatty is just one of the girls that the boys don't know what to do with. She's confident, cute, and loves bugs and dirt. Instead of following the path, she blazes one, so she intrigues them. Like 'moth to a flame'. It was no surprise when she announced her 'boy' earlier in the fall. That did not mean I had to encourage it. So I ignored it. I down played it. I denied it. I hoped it would be over soon.)

Hatty looks up with that "My mom is a dork." expression and confesses boldly, "Mom! Will and I hold hands ALL THE TIME." (Now, I can over-react for effect on a dime and I was having a little fun.) Says Dorky Mom, "Oh Hatty! How could you? Where do you do this holding of hands?" A little quieter she responds thinking she has been too forthcoming, "On the playground, just around our friends." "Oh Hatty, I just can't believe that you are Holding Hands With A Boy In Fourth Grade!" (I too can pull out a little drama-queen when I need to.)

Then Hatty looks at me with the most serious of faces and proclaims, "Mom! Fourth Grade is a Jungle!"

Good Stuff.

(Fall 2008)

#kidssaythedarndeststuff #4thgrade #justwrite

We Don't Always Get What We Want, and Other Vacations Thoughts

We are officially home from our week of Spring Break today, and I am thinking about our trip. This was the first big trip for us, just us girls. We did go to the beach with friends in June. We also went to D.C. with the family in November. But this was just us getting away as a family, and it was new terrain for me. On a whim, I booked a trip to Universal Studios in Orlando. We had wanted to go back since we first went in 2005. It was not as I imagined it, though. I never imagined going without Brian.

The girls were pretty excited as we headed out the door. At the airport, I instructed them to stay by the bags while I checked us in. The Delta employee gave me the first bad news of the evening. “Because of storms in the area, your flight is delayed and it might not leave at all tonight." She then suggested I might actually be better to drive to Atlanta than to wait in Birmingham. I don't know about you, but any solution that begins with a three-hour drive to Atlanta sounds a bit hasty to me. So I told her I would check in and take my chances. That's when she delivered the next round of bad news. I booked our flight online through Travelocity and there were "problems" with the reservation. These were not problems that she could solve and I had to call Travelocity Customer Service. In a nutshell, it was my mistake (Yes, It was my first rodeo flying with the kids). I booked myself and Alex a ticket, but when it came to Kristian (13) and Hatty (10) I misread the instructions. I thought I needed to book them under my name because they would not have I.D., and it clearly states that all passengers must have an ID. Just so you know-NEVER do this. There was no way to fix this problem, but it took two hours for me to understand this. I'm a bit slow. After two hours of hoping no one in the airport actually knew me (it was not my finest hour), the Delta employee found me behind a potted plant waiting on hold for my next attempt at saving the trip. She told me they figured out a way to let us on as 3 Traci Kings and 1 Alexis King. So I looked at my daughters #2 and #3 and said "if anyone asks your name is Traci. Got it?" They got it. "This is my daughter Traci and this is my other daughter Traci!" Hey, we're from Alabama, what did you really expect? That made for a good laugh for the rest of the week.

When we were finally able to board, they separated us and we all had different seats all over the plane. Hatty had these big puppy eyes that made think I would just tell the person beside her and they would have to understand and switch places with me. But in the end I told her she would be okay, and I went off to find my seat. I felt so bad for her having to sit by herself, and it had already been a long day. As I made my way to my seat, I told myself what I would do differently next time. Should have double checked the rules, stick with Southwest for customer service, etc.

Well, it’s Monday; so the trip happened. We had a great time. When the first flight landed in Atlanta over three hours late, I still didn't know if we would actually make it to Orlando. We were booked on three connecting flights hoping that we could catch one of them. As soon as we landed, I rushed up to make sure Hatty would not be looking for me (mother-hen). She was deep in conversation with her two new best friends, a couple in their 40's, she-ex marine he-marine. She beamed at me when she saw me and told me all about them. They had played Sudoku, and talked politics, and school. Hatty was sporting a bracelet given to her by the Marine made of special rope and clasped with a military button. My youngest has a way of making instant friends. It’s a gift. If we could bottle it...worth millions. As we ran to our connecting flight which had also been delayed by the weather, Hatty looks up and says "I had the best time." Then, "I'm actually glad I had to sit by myself."

We made our flight to Orlando. The trip from there was fun. As we waited for the first flight to leave Birmingham we all realized about the same time had it been on time, we would not have been on it because of the identification debacle. The delay was a blessing for us-we just didn't know that at first.

I thought about the trip today, I thought of all the fun we had "fast-passing" through the lines all the way to the front. The best was riding the front row on Dueling Dragons (Screaming the whole ride!), calling my girls "Traci-Ryan" and Traci-Ellen" all week, and Hatty reminding us - “It could be worse. We could have no arms and no legs!" more than once. But, what kept coming back to me today was how we don't always get what we want. We want everything to go smoothly. No Red lights when we're running behind. No long lines in the express lanes. No Flight Delays! No seat changes! No sickness. No disappointments. No sad goodbyes. But what happens when that is exactly what we get? - We have to take a detour. We regroup. We learn patience. We make new friends and create new memories. And...We gain perspective. And...We go on. And we find out that we can. And Hatty is right it could be worse, we could have no arms and no legs - or no Jesus.

March 2009

Gaining Fresh Perspective from a Ranting Twenty-Something

Don’t you love it when one of your offspring calls to chat about life? I know how busy they are with school and work, so when they take time to poke my picture on one of their iPhones to check in and share the activities of the day, I just get happy! On this particular day, as I rushed from work to my grayer-than-I care-to-ever-know monthly hair appointment, I see the face of my oldest cherub and although harried, it pleases me to spend a few moments while in transit to catch up with my girl. But her tone let me know quickly, like Santa’s visit in The Night Before Christmas, this call had a purpose.

My mind skipped from hassle to crisis like a stone across the lake… It’s too early in the semester to have failed a class…Is she out of cash? Did she have a wreck? Is her car broken down on the side of the road? Another ticket? How fast were you going? Wrong, wrong…none of those…whew!

“What can I help you with?” “I need to order checks!” she rants.  “Okay,” says I obviously not grasping the gravity of the situation, “Order some.” “I have been trying to for an hour and I can’t get it to work! What address did you give the bank for my account?! Whatever it is, I don’t know it because I have tried everything, and I can’t order checks without knowing my zip code!” declares my precious.

Well, this is not quite the “Hi, Mom, how are you? I am fine and I appreciate the free education,” kind of call I was expecting. I was slowly becoming aware that the purpose of the call was not for my banking expertise. None of my suggestions were welcome. “Do you need me to drive five hours from Nashville to Auburn to help you with this?” I finally offered, becoming agitated. “No thank you, I can handle it and bye,” were the final words to our friendly chat. Wow! So glad I could help! And, what did I do to deserve that? I declared to the sky as I drove on to my hair therapy.

On the way home, I thought about the call with my kid. She was my kid, for sure. She had items on her to do list and felt frustrated with the lack of progress. She should have been halfway down the list, not still stuck on top of the list. She needed to vent; I was safe. I get that. I do the same thing.

I have a mental to-do-prayer-list that I occasionally wave to my Father in frustration. “Why is this one so hard?” “Why is this one not working?” I rant to God in prayer. He smiles and says, “It’s good to hear from you. I was just thinking about you!” I let him know I have a specific purpose for our talk and I don’t have time just to chat. He listens patiently, unlike me the parent. He doesn't respond in agitation. I deserve it, but I do not make him mad. He is safe place for my ragged to-do-lists. He gets my frustration, because he knows me. I am his.

To be a Mom and to be a child. Such perspective.

What Do 6 to 8 Year Olds Know, That I Forget?

When I grow up, I want to be a kid. Somewhere between 6 and 8 will do. I could spend my weekends in a princess costume (without causing the neighbors to talk), or summers pool-side perfecting my cannonball, not to mention the joy of VBS and skipping to class holding hands with my BFF. I think the ripe old age of 6 to 8 is when a person knows all he/she needs to know to be happy and well-adjusted. In fact, it is all downhill in my opinion much later than eight. Six to eight-year-olds are so much cooler than your average adult. At 6 to 8, I had never carried a sweater around just in case it was cold in the movie; I had never looked forward to ‘soup weather’; and I could not understand why parents would sit in a chair when you could lay down on the comfy floor instead.

If I grew to only 6 to 8, I could tie my shoes, and learn to read. But, I would like to stop growing up before Santa becomes just a nice idea, or I believe someone when they tell me I can’t______ – whatever it is. Yes, I would like to stop growing up before I let others' opinions darken my soul. Wouldn’t you? Would you like to go back to the day before you starting apologizing for yourself and your lack of self at every turn? The day before you became aware of every imperfection and forgot about how awesome you were just the day before. That would be just cool beans- I think my eight-year-old self might say cool beans. I mean let me show you my new yo-yo trick or look how fast I can count backward from 100. You need someone to read out loud? I might stumble over the big words, but I’m your girl!

How many times have you put on your favorite dress, and instead of feeling pretty and smart, you thought about how you will measure up to the world that day? I have, too many times. I am also in the habit of lying. I say things like, “I don’t always look like this,” or “My house is not always this messy.” Why do I say things like that? What I should really say is, “You have caught me in my usual clothes, looking about as good as I usually do, in my house which is usually just about this messy; I always love to see you, but I would rather you told me you were coming so that I could have stressed myself for hours working on my looks and my mess to make you think I am something better than this. “

And, I often don’t feel like I am the one for the job, regardless of my ability. I can usually think of another who can do it better than me even though I would do just fine. It cheats me out of joy and cheats others out of my service, and I need to be no more the eight again.

An eight-year-old would find me silly.

I was thinking about something that happened several years ago, and it made me think of one of my girls who at the time was about 6 to 8. We were on our way home from an out-of-town-family-thing, coming home ragged and dirty and tired.  And, someone called unaware of our weary state and wondered if we could rescue a young couple who had no place to stay for the night. I immediately thought of a dozen reasons why I was not up for the challenge. The house was a wreck when we left, we had no food, I didn’t know if I had clean sheets to make up a guest bed, my mind went on…but then it stopped when my daughter, who had overheard, offered her room to the couple, her twin bed with pink polka dotted sheets and Polly Pockets on the floor, ‘They can stay in my room. ‘ I knew the Holy Spirit was calling me out at that moment, and I was ashamed. Of course, they can stay at our house for the night.  They met us at our house in their ragged car, and they were tired and dirty. I manage to say hello and show them inside without apologizing for my home or its messy appearance. I realized at that moment what I should have known without our unexpected guests; it was a perfect refuge, and it was all that was needed at that moment. And, I was completely up to the task at hand. In fact if you need to be rescued, I might not be as good as I was at 6 to 8, but I am your girl!