Kellen Graduates

 Today, we traveled to Eugene to honor and celebrate Kellen and his completion of his Bachelor of Science degree in Pastoral Leadership: Christian Counseling from New Hope Christian College. I am so proud and so amazed by this man that Kellen has become during his 4 years on this journey. I was recalling the day we dropped him off and the feelings I wrote down then...

The boy I once knew...

August 27, 2010 at 11:07pm

It felt like my last act of motherhood- making up the dorm room bed where my baby will now spend his nights.  I cried as I prayed for God to be his place of rest, his haven of peace and comfort.  “Lord, keep him safe.  Protect Kellen from the enemy’s attempts to keep him from becoming all that You created him to be.”  As I folded his duvet, “God, cover him with Your mercy, envelop Him in your love.”  And finally, the pillows, “Lord, as he lays his head down here every night, keep his dreams sweet and free from fear and despair.” 

After 20 years of pouring everything I had into this boy, I realized that this was it.  Everything will change from this moment on.  His heart will turn towards other things, other people than his home and family.  Even if he comes home for a while, it will be different.  He will just be visiting and I will treat him like a special guest.  Our relationship will change like it did when his brother and sister moved away.  My role as his mother will change.   And it will be awkward, as I attempt to figure out how to be a part of the life he so desperately wants to create independent of me. 

And now, what do I do?  What will I do without someone to mother?   After twenty-five years of focusing on my children, of pouring all my creative energies into raising them to be the unique children of God I envisioned them to be, I am being forced to move on.  Because they’ve moved out.  Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be. 

I must have done something right, though.  They are, all three of them, exceptional people, lovers of God, compassionate servants, gifted in various abilities, passionate about the life God has planned for them and seekers of truth.  Not a single one of them has ever smoked, drank, tried drugs or been careless with their purity.  I love them powerfully, and truly like the adults they’ve become.  I’m proud of the life choices they’ve made, of the friends they are loyal to and the commitments they have made to living a righteous and productive life.  They are lights in a dark world, advancing the kingdom of God to the people their lives touch.

And me…  Knowing I am not the center of their worlds anymore is a hard pill to swallow.  I liked being their mom, sharing nearly everything in their lives for so long.  It will take me a while to transition.  I don’t want to wallow or mourn during this time.  I want to rejoice for what’s next, whatever that may be.  What’s my next passion?  Who else might need my skills and attention poured into them?  I have no idea, but I have to believe it will satisfy this place in my heart that thinks it’s empty now, a mother with no one to mother.  The empty nest in my heart cannot stay empty for long. 

As Warren and I prayed for Kellen before heading home, we all cried.  Some were sad tears, but mostly, I believe there were tears of anticipation, of hope, of relief in finally seeing God take action in Kellen’s life.  Already I see something stirring deep in his heart – a man is emerging from the boy I once knew.  And I can’t wait to see the embodiment and the culmination of all that God has prepared for him.  Of all my children, there has never been such a thrill in my heart for what is to come next  in Kellen’s life.  I think it’s going to be big and amazing and more than any of us ever imagined.

So we said goodbye and drove away.  Warren and I cried off and on all the way home and talked about all the good things to come.  For Kellen, for Stephan, for the Fry family, and for us.  God continues to surprise and amaze us… and even this confused and emotional mom knows that He is faithful and good and the lover of my soul.

Wicked Winter Comes to Camas...

The past week of wicked wind has stripped my Japanese maple almost bare. I hadn't realized until now how much I've come to love it's slow transfer to deep reds and oranges as Thanksgiving approaches. It's usually the last tree to give up it's green and succumb to winter's pull, and somehow this resistance gives me the motivation I need to push through the beginning of the cold, the rain, the darkness that smacks my heart this time every year. Some love fall - I don't. And this year, my maple and I are united in the sudden, wretched yank from sweet, sunny, long days to the season of too many clothes, chronic mood lulls and holiday weariness. Spring, please come soon.

Pumpkin Patch

It's Not About the Ants

I've never been one of those squeamish girly girls.  I don't particularly LIKE spiders and snakes and mice, but I've conquered them all when the need arose in my life - from field mice to rattlesnakes to black widow spiders- all have suffered at the hands of a protective mom guarding her children from germs, pain, poison and death!  Logically, I know these are just creatures and I have the God-given right to rule and reign over their place in my life.

But lately, I have found myself profusely affected by these creatures- bugs in particular- and have decided they are representing a physical manifestation of an emotional struggle I'm battling.  Mentally, I know that those tiny ants can't hurt me.  They don't spread germs, or really even spoil food.  They don't bite or sting or stink.  And they're pretty easy to kill.

The problem is, they sneak up on you.  Last night I opened a cupboard - the peanut butter one- and saw a few ants - yuck!  When I moved the first jar (we are a multi-peanut butter type family), I saw them all - hundreds and hundreds of ants, climbing over the honey jar, covering the shelf that, admittedly, was sticky from sloppy storage of it's contents.  Large groups of these black critters clustered around choice puddles of sugar-coated goo and I just could help it - I gasp in horror and screamed for my husband!

"You are capable of handling this," was his irritated response.  He had just fallen into a deep sleep and wasn't nearly as put off by the situation as I, obviously.  He handed me the can of Raid and went back to bed.  I took a deep breath and started unpacking the cupboard into the sink, fighting the panic that kept threatening to suffocate me.

Fear is fear is fear.  Everyone can understand and appreciate some fears- like facing a lion unarmed, in the jungle or falling from a cliff.  Other fears are particular to a past situation.  For instance, for someone having been in a car accident, a certain traffic event might cause fear.  But sometimes, we can't even explain why we are afraid of something, like ants.  It seems silly even, to let myself get so worked up about them.  And so then I feel weak and ashamed and vulnerable... again.

Because it's not about the ants.  It's about this other thing...  this mental, emotional black thing called depression that keeps catching me by surprise.  It invades my life when I'm not looking.  I'll feel safe and happy and full of good feelings and then, I'll open a cupboard and find it crawling all over my life again, reminding me that I am apparently not in control of it at all.  It takes my attention, my time, my mental and even physical strength to fight it off.  And even then, when I think I've gotten a handle on it, I'm never really sure it's gone.  It's still there somewhere, creating a new colony of warriors and new plan of attack.

My fear is not the ants.  And my solution is not as easy as a can of Raid.  My fear is that I'll lose my faith in "Christ in Glenna, the hope of glory".  My real fear is the loss of the belief that there is still hope for me.

A Sucker For Love

I was betrayed today, and it hurt.  Betrayal comes in many forms, but it always strikes suddenly, rudely, and is unexpectedly painful. 

I've experienced quite a lot of betrayal throughout my life, and because of this, I've become better at just one thing - forgiveness.  I still make the mistake of trusting someone, almost anyone, with a piece of my soul.  I still pour myself into building someone up, giving them chance after chance, helping them make their own heart whole and healthy.  I still find myself blindsided emotionally, mentally and always spiritually when the betrayal hits me from behind, like a sneaker wave, forcing my feet out from under me and plunging my heart once again into the undertow of selfish deceit.  But down there, swirling around, tossing and turning with tumultuous waves of regret, I find my knees gripping the sand and hear that Voice, "Forgive!"  "Forgive?  Again?"  "Forgive and love exceedingly."  And I do.  By the grace of God alone, I do.

I went through a time where I almost decided that the price was too high, that loving someone who would very likely break my heart in a dishonorable and irreparable way wasn't worth the risk.  It was during my first year in college.  At the young age of 17, I actually had a lot of love in my life and I'd never doubted my worth to my close family and friends.  I never doubted the steady, unchanging love of my Lord either, and I am confident that this assurance is what anchored my hope in the basic goodness of humanity.  But, I had also been hurt by that same human love, and the very people I wanted to trust with my heart had been the ones to introduce me to the experience of betrayal, over and over, until I came to expect it as a part of the cycle through which a normal relationship evolved.

By the time I was graduating from high school, my parents, who had divorced when I was two years old, were still struggling to find their true love.  My dad married for the fourth time and my mom for the third time during my senior year.  Each previous marriage had come with a new parent, an attempt to build a relationship with that step parent and their extended family, and a hope of a future with these new people in my life.  Each divorce brought the death of those relationships and that hope.  When a step parent leaves, there are no visitation rights for them.  In most cases, the moment they packed their bags and left, was the last time I ever saw them... and their children, my step-siblings... and the grandparents I'd come to love.  And remember, between the two of them, my parents went through four divorces, which meant dozens and dozens of people, just gone from my life...

It was like half of my family just died, but I knew they were still alive.  And I felt betrayed.  Betrayed by the parents who'd made promises, who'd given me hope and the potential to have even more love in my life.  Betrayed by those who left and never contacted me ever again.  It would have been very easy to blame myself, to take it personally and wonder just how unlovable a person could possibly be...   As a credit to my parents, I never doubted that I was loved, but what I couldn't understand is how to let that longing for love go with each person who left.  And it hurt so badly to invest in a relationship that I didn't even choose, to receive love and acceptance in return... and then to be cut off and ignored...

So I began to question the value of those investments.  Why would I, why should I keep putting myself out there, exposing my heart to people who were just going to give me a taste of love, enough of a taste to create a longing for more... and then turn their backs on me?  In the pop book, Twilight, Edward tells Bella that she is "his own personal brand of Heroin"- super corny, I know.  But I really understand that concept because of all of the love I've known in my life.  Each person had their own way of loving me, their own brand of love that fulfilled me in a different way.  And when it was cut off, I ached for it.  And I felt betrayed by the loss of that love.  Wouldn't it be easier, and far less painful not to experience that love in the first place, I asked myself?  Then, I reasoned, at least I wouldn't know what I was missing.

So I held back from my new step parents.  I purposely kept my distance physically, which was easy because I was at college and away from home and of course, emotionally.  I guarded my heart, as they say.  I envisioned a heart clothed in armor, protected by layers of steel-plated, seamless garments.  I looked for things to separate us, offenses, idiosyncrasies, anything that would keep me from becoming attached to them.  And I hated myself.  And through much prayer and counsel and self-realization, I came to the conclusion that I'm just a sucker for love.  Plain and simple, I'm a love addict.  I can't get enough and even though I'm guaranteed to get hurt - badly- I'll spend the rest of my life going back for more...  more love and more potential betrayal.

I was betrayed today.... again.  This time it was a colleague, a person I've spent years supporting, encouraging, and building what I thought was a trusting friendship.  I've invested, I've cared, and I've loved.  I've loved, not just the person, but her potential, her passions, her pursuits.  And I've carved roads for her to help her get there.  I've gone to bat for her, defended her, counseled and consoled her, kept her secrets.  I've lost sleep over her!!  And it wasn't enough, I guess.  Because I didn't even hear about the betrayal from her, which is sort of what makes it a betrayal in the first place.  She will be gone from my life and I will miss her particular brand of friendship and love.  But I will forgive and move on, to love and be betrayed.... again.

The Daily Life and Death Choices We Make

My sister-in-law called tonight.  She found a lump in her breast and the diagnosis is
Ductal Carcinoma, which, as far as breast cancers go, has a promising recovery rate.  She will have a lumpectomy and radiation and she sounded almost peachy about the whole thing.

I know I'm being harsh and that I've had an hour to process and she has had close to two weeks since her first encounter with the idea, but she said she's "at peace" and knows that God is in control.  And I'm irritated, and frustrated, and pissed off!  At HER!  And I couldn't tell her that...  because of what I've been through, because I know people felt that way about me.  And I didn't want to hear it.

When I had my first heart attack, and then my second, which led to a single coronary bypass surgery, I didn't question anything.  I didn't ask for a second opinion, an alternative treatment option or even the credentials of the surgeon who would be calling the shots, holding my heart in his hands and piecing it back together.  I didn't question anything because I felt guilty and ashamed.  I was fat, out of shape and abusive to my body.  I deserved to die, and if not die, then at least suffer a great deal.  I had no right to question anything, and I had no one to blame but myself. I accurately presumed that everyone in my family felt irritated, frustrated and pissed off at me!  

I had been warned so many times.  Doctor after doctor after doctor begged, ordered and bribed me to lose weight, get fit, take care of myself.  But I didn't, or couldn't... not sure which it was... I didn't have the will power I guess, or the right motivation.  I didn't love myself enough, someone told me.  Another suggestion was that I didn't respect God's creation or "temple" enough- so that would be calling it a sin to be fat...  thus the guilt and shame.  It didn't seem to matter that in every other area of my life I was successful, amazing even, hard working, creative and definitely motivated.  But my weight - at almost 300 pounds- was beyond me.  People actually would tell me things like, "Just eat less and move more... it's easy".  uh hmm... sure.

I understand that being fat and having a lump in one's breast isn't necessarily a fair comparison.  But six years ago, my sister-in-law had a mammogram that looked suspicious.  She was sent for an ultrasound and it was inconclusive.  Doctors recommend a minimally invasive biopsy of the shadowy area in question.  And my sister said, "no".  Her breast, her choice.  She said at the time that her feelings were peaceful about the decision, that God would have told her if it wasn't the right one.  I respected that, but still worried.  She swore off mammograms forever, believing that they were just another way for the medical profession to make money and create fear in women.  Then, six years later she felt a lump in that same suspicious spot...

So that's where the irritation, frustration and anger comes in.  She could have done something before now.  They could have caught it immediately and taken care of it.  She chose ignorance over assurance and in essence chose death over life.  Just like with every bite of food I ate that was more than I needed or not nutritiously valuable for my body, she made a decision every day to ignore something her body needed.  I ignored my body's cry for help... and I shortened my life expectancy by many years, I believe.  Now my sister has cancer in her body that even if removed, will threaten her health for the rest of her life. 

Does God know the number of our days?  Yes, I believe He does.  Does He know the choices that we will make which affect the length of our lives?  Again, yes.  Does it even matter then, that we pay attention to how we live our lives, or is the length of our time here predestined, precluding any effort on our part to live healthier, stronger, longer or smarter?  I have to believe that a God that gives us free will would also give us the rewards of using that free will to make good choices, bettering ourselves in every area so that we can live longer, healthier, happier lives.  

However, people die of heart disease and cancer every minute of every day.  Young people die.  Good people die.  REALLY good, godly people die who definitely don't deserve it.  People who have made all the best choices for their health and who make the world a better place, who glorify God and bless everyone they encounter, just die...  And then some people who don't deserve it, live long, sickly, miserable lives.  I don't get it.  I don't expect to get it... ever.  Not everything makes sense and I can accept that there are things that I just won't understand this side of heaven.

But I won't give in to the mentality that God is so in control of me that I can't control the length of my life.  I trust Him to show me how to live each moment in ways that please Him and bless the people around me.  And I don't worry about what comes next, after this life.  I don't even think about it much.  I can't.  I'm too busy trying to love people into that "next life" to worry about how many jewels I'll have in my crown or rooms in my mansion.  

I really do want to live a long, strong, adventurous life.  And I want to live it with my sister-in-law by my side, rockin' on the porch together, praying for our children, grands and great grands, worshiping in the spirit, breathing in the goodness of God, sharing the joys and trials of life... for many, many years to come.  Oh God!  let it be years and years and years...


 

Learning to Trust... Again

May 2014

“Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him”  Job 13:15

When I first read this verse, in my early teens, my prayer was that I would learn to have that kind of trust in the Lord... Over the years, as I’ve learned to consecrate every circumstance, every trial and struggle to Him, and then watched as He took what seemed to be broken hearts and doomed futures and resurrected them into new hopes and epiphanies of whole, new dreams, it’s become easier to trust myself and my life to His will.  I know that I trust Him, that I will always trust Him, that He will never leave me or forsake me, that even though He slay me, I will trust Him…

When my older son and his wife announced their first pregnancy on their third anniversary, April 2, we were excited beyond belief!  We knew they had been trying to conceive for more than a year and this was such a miracle and a joy.  We started dreaming of baby things, of the birth around Christmas time, playing “pass the baby” at family gatherings, planning baby showers and designing nurseries.  We began envisioning our future with this new grandchild tucked under our arm, holding our hands on a walk to the park, seated around the table at holiday dinners.  Life was good and I tangibly felt God’s favor.

But then we got a text.  “I’m taking Corrie to the ER.  I think we’re losing the baby.”  Oh God!  OH GOD!  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe it!  I watched my son as he tried to comfort his wife, praying for her, then joking and trying to lighten the mood, then giving in to the reality of the pain, holding back tears, trying to breathe through the grief…  it was more than I could bear.  I left the ER sobbing after the doctor confirmed that there was no saving the 12-week fetus.

It’s been a couple of weeks and we are all still stunned and still mourning.  Sometimes I forget and see something I want to buy for the nursery.  Or I start to say something to my daughter-in-law about her ideas for names, and then I remember and feel that kick in the gut that cuts off my breath.  I want to gather my son – all 6 feet, 3 inches of him – into my arms and cradle and rock the hurt away.  I want to whisper, “the peace of Jesus” into his ear like I did when he would wake up in the night with a bad dream as a child.  My greatest aching and grieving comes from imagining his broken heart.  

So now, when my trust in God depends on how He tests and challenges my adult children, can I, WILL I trust Him to be all they need?  Though He slay my unborn grandchild, will I trust Him?  Though He break the hearts of my children, allow their dreams to be unfulfilled and their hopes to be abandoned, will I trust Him?  Will I choose, will I BE ABLE to choose not only to trust in Him, but to believe He is my trust, my truth, my worth?  Am I worthy to rest in Him?

Jeremiah 17:7  Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord and whose trust is the Lord.

Parenting just gets harder and harder. The owies get bigger and the bullies get meaner and I get further and further away from being able to kiss it all and make it better.  


December 7, 2015- Update!  We are now expecting a boy this coming March!