Category Archives: Uncategorized

High school makes me feel stupid.  When I was in high school, I was a fairly good student.  Not valedictorian good like my husband, but I did okay.  In college, I even managed to graduate with honors.  I went on to law school and graduated.  I studied, took the bar exam, and passed.  By all accounts, I would seem like a woman with some intelligence.  That all came to a screeching halt this week as I tried to help my son with Algebra 1.  I found myself looking at a worksheet filled with strange formulas and graphs; none of which seemed familiar to me.  Fortunately, one of my daughters has the same class and teacher so I asked her for help.  She began explaining the formulas and graphs to me.  I nodded as she spoke.  And when she was done, she asked if I understood.  I had to tell her that I honestly didn’t because she was speaking some kind of foreign language and I needed her to speak English.  She smiled and kindly explained again, but slower this time.  We managed to get the homework done, but I was left feeling very inadequate!

Somewhere between passing the bar and now, I have lost, what seems to be, valuable information.  I had forgotten how to define range and domain for a graph.  I had forgotten how to write a function in the f(x) format.  I know I learned it before.  After all, I had taken Algebra.  Yes it was many, many years ago, but still, I should have remembered. Right?! 

For some reason, not remembering made me feel inadequate..less than…not up to par.  I could hear the voices in my head saying that I’ve let my intellectual side go.  That I have filled my head with useless and unnecessary stuff.  That’s when I began to think about what qualifies as valuable.  Something is valuable when it is highly important or esteemed.  Well, I can tell you that the definitions of range and domain or how to write a function have not been of high importance to me since I took Algebra.  But my kids and my husband are.  And over the years I have learned valuable things about them and myself.  I’ve learned a lot about child development. (My undergraduate degree is in child development and family studies. There’s a lot they don’t teach you!)   I’ve learned how to negotiate and compromise.  I’ve learned how to extend grace and receive it when given.  I’ve learned how to love, even when it’s hard.  I remember important events and milestones.  I remember people who have passed through our lives, helping us and loving us.  These are highly important and esteemed.

I have come to terms with the fact that there is a lot I have forgotten.  That’s what text books, the Internet, and siblings are for.  But there is so much more that I hold near to my heart and cherish.  And that’s what’s truly valuable.

My response to fear: Challenge Accepted!  Earlier this year we told our kids that we would be going to a large water park for a vacation.  There was a catch, however.  We would have to leave very early in the morning.  I’m talking leave our house by five in the morning early.  Not an easy task with five teenagers who really like to sleep!   My oldest daughter looked us in the eyes and said, ‘challenge accepted.’  Sure enough, they were up, packed, dressed, and waiting in the van by 5 a.m.  They were not about to let anything get in their way.

As a family, we have repeated this phrase many times.  Whenever an obstacle presents itself trying to hinder us from achieving a goal, someone says, ‘challenge accepted’.   It’s a great reminder to continue pushing toward the goal.  We rally together and get the job done.   So as this new year starts (yes, my years follow the school calendar) and I begin pushing forward again, I am prepared.  When fear says it can’t happen, or things will never change, or you will be disappointed, or you’re not good enough, or you can do that later, I have my answer.  Challenge Accepted!

In last weeks Parade section of the Sunday paper, a woman asked why she generally liked the live version of herself in the mirror, but didn’t always like what she saw in a photo.  The writer from Ask Marilyn told her that what is seen in the mirror is a reversed image that you are familiar with.  ‘A photo, however, shows you what others see.  When you see your face that way, it looks strange to you…’  I can relate.

After having my younger kids, I began gaining weight.  During my pregnancy, I had trouble gaining weight so I was put on a high calorie diet; 6,000 calories to be exact.  I ate all the time; especially the last few days in the hospital before the kids were born.  I would start with two breakfasts.  Yes, two.  Then it was a mid morning snack, followed by two lunches.  By mid afternoon, I was having a snack or two just in time for my two dinners to arrive.  Then about an hour before going to sleep I would have my evening snack.  I even had a snack in the middle of the night.   During that time, I grew tired of the constant eating.  The problem, however, was that the eating became a habit that I continued after the kids were born.  As a result, I gained a lot of weight.  I could see that I was getting bigger, but I had grown familiar with what I saw.  My wake up call came when I saw myself in a picture.  I stared at it for quite some time in utter disbelief.  Had I really allowed myself to get to such an unhealthy point?  Did I really look like that?  Not only had I gained extra pounds, but I had resorted to wearing my husband’s extra large shirts!  I was finally seeing what others saw; a woman who had neglected her health and had given up on trying.   That photo was my catalyst for change!  

Which makes wonder what others see as I go about living my life now.  Do they see me differently than I see myself?  When I make a sarcastic comment, do they think I’m funny or  mean?  When I offer to help, do they think I’m doing it out of love or because I want recognition or control?   When I express anger, is it proportional to the circumstances or does it seem out of balance?  When I am teaching, do they see a desire to share knowledge or someone who wants to show superiority?  Do they see a generally positive person or  one who focuses on the negative?   Getting an accurate picture is important.  There have been times when I thought I was being funny, loving, appropriately angry, or generally positive, but I wasn’t.  I was negative, angry, prideful, controlling and mean.  Fortunately, I have some friends and family (my kids in particular) who are willing to show me what I really look like.  Sometimes the picture isn’t pretty and it makes me uncomfortable, but it’s what I need.

This past week has been filled with preparations for the new school year.  My four younger children are starting high school.  They have registered, signed up for classes, and purchased shirts with the school’s name.  They even attended ‘fish camp’ for incoming freshmen.  The week left them excited and anxious.  One of my daughters commented that she was nervous about meeting new people and making new friends.  At school, she can be quiet and slow to join in with a group.  I told her that the new year was a good time for her to step out of her comfort zone.   She responded, ‘they call it a comfort zone for a reason, mom…It’s comfortable!’  We both laughed.

She and I can be very alike.  We like our comfort zone.  It’s comfortable.  But I’ve noticed that I can miss out on wonderful things when I refuse to leave it.  I can also become satisfied with okay, instead of what is better or best.  I become satisfied with what I know, instead of pushing toward something new that would be better.   So my daughter and I have agreed to help each other step out of our comfort zones.  We are going to encourage each other to be bold and courageous.  We are not going to settle for okay….we are going for the best.

How often do we try to use a band aid when something more is needed?  One evening my husband was cutting vegetables for dinner and cut his finger.  At first, he applied pressure to stop the bleeding.  It didn’t help.  So he elevated his hand and wrapped a towel tightly around his finger.  The bleeding slowed so we tried to bandage it.  But the band aid was not enough.  As soon as he moved his finger, the wound would open up and start to bleed again.  He needed more.  So off we went to the minor emergency room where he received several stitches. 

Sometimes a band aid is just not enough for the wound presented.  Yet, I think we often try to put band aids on the emotional and spiritual wounds of people around us.  I call them the ‘Jesus loves you band aids’.  They are the bible verses and Christian sayings that we tell people in order to make them feel better about difficult circumstances.  Think about it…  A man shares that his spouse has left him and he is devastated.  He is told to remember that Jesus loves him.  A couple shares that a child has died.  They are told, it’s God’s will.  A woman shares that she is overwhelmed by mothering small children.  She is told that God does not give her anymore than she can handle…  Jesus loves you band aids…  We hand them out to people hoping to cover their gaping wounds.  We do it  because we don’t know what else to do or say.  Or because that’s what’s been handed to us.   But they are not enough.  More is needed.

So what is that more?  I wish I knew.  I think it’s different for each person and set of circumstances.  I know for myself,  I just want someone to listen.  I don’t want verses or sayings.  I don’t want advice or steps to follow.  I don’t want judgement or for my circumstances to be minimized.  I want someone to tenderly listen as I share what’s on my heart.  And I want to experience love and compassion in response.   It seems easy enough.  So why do we hand out band aids instead?  Maybe because when we listen and enter into another person’s pain, it gets messy.  It’s not clear cut.  There’s no quick and easy answer.  Most of us don’t like messy.  We like clear cut.  We like quick and easy.  But I think God calls us to get messy.   He knows that band aids aren’t enough; we need more….

This week as I was waiting for my son to finish his guitar lesson, I learned the importance of listening.  A woman came into the shop, talked to the owner, and sat down next to me.  She was taking some time to ‘catch her breath and cool off’.  Summers are hot and humid here and on this particular day, it was like a steaming sauna outside.  At first, I just smiled at her, agreed that it was indeed hot outside, and went back to my kindle.  She asked if it was always this hot here.   Her question made me wonder if she was new to the area.  I know that can be difficult, so I put down my kindle.   I told her that summers are indeed hot and then asked if she had just recently moved here.  She said that she had been here almost two years.  That’s when I knew…..She didn’t really want to talk about the weather, she just needed someone to listen to her story.

I asked her questions like where was she from and what brought her here.  She spent the next fifteen minutes or so telling me about her family.   She lives in a home with her father, brother, and sister-in-law.  Her father is battling cancer and the effects of old age.  Her brother is also battling cancer and is running out of treatment options.  She told me how difficult it was to, daily, watch two people you love die from this terrible disease.  My heart broke for her.  I asked a few more questions, but mainly listened as she shared what was on her heart.  When she was done, she popped up out of her chair and said she needed to be on her way.  She turned to me and jokingly asked how much she owed me.  She said that having someone listen to her was the best therapy she had had in a long time.  We both laughed.  She thanked me for listening.  I thanked her for sharing.

After she left, I thought about the importance of listening.  Listening tells the other person that they have worth and value.  It tells them that what they think and feel and say matter.  Listening is really an act of love and a way to honor another person.  So the next time you are in a waiting room or standing in line, put down your electronic device of choice and listen….

As a family, we have gotten into the Olympics this year.  It has been fun to watch the events together.  What is even more fun is watching how we all help out the athletes from our chairs.  We move side to side, back and forth, and make funny faces as we some how send the athletes just what they need to achieve their goals.  We cheer when they win.  We sigh and tell them it’s okay when they lose.  Some of us have even shed tears with the athletes when there is great disappointment.  It can be emotionally exhausting.  And I love it! 

It comes as no surprise that along with watching the events, I love to hear the stories.  The stories of what it took to get to London.  The stories of hard work and sacrifice for the athletes and their families.  There are even commercials that speak to the dedication of the athletes.  One of them is from the athletes’ perspectives.  They say things about not ordering dessert for two years, not watching TV, or reading the book everyone is talking about.  They were too busy training.  They were focused on the goal.  They were making choices that got them to their dreams. 

It’s a good reminder.  Dreams are not realized simply by dreaming them or hoping for them.  Dreams involve action.  And often times, those actions must be repeated frequently over a long period of time.  Sometimes it seems too difficult or not worth the sacrifice.  But as I watch the faces of those athletes (and their parents), I’m convinced it is well worth the effort!

Leaving a legacy….  Most of us want to live a life of purpose and meaning.  We want to leave a meaningful legacy to the next generation.  I often think about what I want to leave to my children: a faith lived out with passion, pearls of wisdom, memories of dinners hardly eaten because we were laughing so hard, compassion, well worn bibles with lots of notes, a willingness to try new things, a sense of adventure.  It seems, at first, that in order to leave a meaningful legacy, you need a long life.  Yet, I know that’s not true.  My sister taught me about trusting God and the sactity of life…in just nine days.

In the month before my sixteenth birthday, my mom gave birth to my first sibling, my sister.  We had anticipated her arrival for months.  She was the first grandchild for my step-dad’s family and was the sibling I had been asking for for years.   When my mom went into labor, we loaded up to go to the hospital filled with joy and an eagerness to finally meet her face to face.  Soon after we arrived, I knew something was terribly wrong.  My mom had an emergency C-section and our fears were realized.  My sister had aspirated meconium and her lungs were badly damaged.  She died nine days later.  We were devastated. 

Yet, I am reminded of her life every time I think about my kids.   When we first learned I was pregnant with quadruplets, the doctors immediately (I was still on the ultrasound bed) started telling me to reduce the number of babies.  They said that I would never be able to carry all four of them and that if I didn’t reduce the number, I would lose them all.  I thought about my sister.  All the times I got to hear her heartbeat during the pregnancy.  The joy of preparing for her arrival.  The thrill of seeing her face and who she resembled.  The mixture of awe and sorrow as we held her for the first and last time.  Remembering her, I knew I could not make the decision as to which of my children would live and which would be terminated.  So my husband and I decided to trust God.  There were several times during my pregnancy and the weeks after their birth that we thought one or more of them might not make it.  Yet, I remembered how God walked with me after my sister’s death and He was with me still. 

I learned a lot in the nine days my sister was alive.   Life is precious, but not guaranteed.  God can be trusted.  He may not spare me from pain, but He is faithful to walk with me through the pain. So now as I look at my children, I see the wonderful legacy my sister left.  And it makes me smile!

I long to be known….   My husband and I began attending our ‘old’ church soon after we moved into our first house.  We worshipped there for about fifteen years.  Then we moved.  Then we moved again.  And now that we are only 90 miles away instead of states away, we enjoy attending from time to time.  It’s like going home.  This Sunday we went.  I was enjoying worship and all was going well until we went up for communion.  That’s when it happened……he said my name.  The man distributing the wine, who I have known for years, said my name.  I could barely hold it together until I got to the pew.  That’s when I began to cry.

Since moving to our current location two years ago, I have not found my place.  I have met some wonderful women who are kind and loving.  Women with whom I have done bible study and gone to lunch.  Yet, I have not met anyone that I see on a regular basis who really knows me.  Part of that is due to having a full life with teenagers.  Part of it is that I grew up as an only child (my siblings are 17 and 20 years younger than me) so I am used to doing things by myself.  Part of it is that I just don’t feel like I belong.  I still feel like an outsider so I don’t fully engage.  Maybe I do that because I know we won’t be here all that long so I don’t want to get too close.  I’m not sure.  But I do know that I long to find my place and be known.  And I haven’t yet.

So that is why I cried at church.  My old church is a place where I am known and loved.  It is where people know my story and I know theirs.  It is where we prayed together, encouraged each other, pushed each other, and did life together.  We celebrated and mourned together.  It is there that I was allowed to try new things knowing that if I failed, it would be okay.  I am known there.  My husband is known.  My children are known.  And we are loved.  I miss being known…..

This past weekend I experienced heart connections. I spoke at a woman’s retreat in Phoenix, Arizona. A retreat organized by women who had never gone to one before, but brave enough to plan one. It was wonderful! I came home with a heart full of love for a group of women who showed me how we come alive when when we connect beyond the surface. Many of these women came hungry for time with their sisters in Christ where they could laugh and share their stories. We laughed and squealed as we heard stories of adventure and joy. We also shed tears as we shared stories of loss, discouragement, and loneliness. We all walked away knowing each other more intimately than before. We made heart connections. The result of which brought about great compassion and a call to action for these women. You see, part of the retreat’s purpose was to explore the needs of the women in order to create new ministry opportunities. As the information gathering began, instead of women voicing what they wanted, they began sharing what they could offer to each other! Women heard the needs of other women through their stories and began thinking of ways to meet those needs. It was beautiful to watch. Women caring for each other; wanting to share the burdens of life. This is how it was meant to be! We are to make heart connections and care for one another. We are meant to walk this road together, loving and encouraging each other. Beautiful! I can’t wait to see what God has planned!