Mom to Mom

Thy Mercy, O God

2008-08-21T15:54:00.005-05:00

I am really excited about this next blog entry. It’s written by my daughter Erika: the selfsame daughter who’s going to have a baby in November. The Erika we had a shower for last June (See “Baby Talk” entry from May 31). And that was before we knew she and Richie are expecting a girl. Yes, Woody and I are going to have a granddaughter. We are overjoyed!

And now let me introduce Erika’s first blog entry, written from the mom-to-be point of view. And from Ireland. You may even notice a few “Irishisms” in her writing. As American as Erika is, Richie-speak” has rubbed off on her. I hope you’ll enjoy meeting Erika, and even consider writing back to her. Every mom-to-be could use a little encouragement, right? Just like every mom!

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It’s Saturday morning, 10:20 am. I am sitting in a small “breakfast room” in our kitchen (by breakfast room I mean a two-seater table at one end of our kitchen) with a lovely mug of coffee (a red mug from Crate and Barrel—one of my favorite wedding presents!). Richie, my husband, is still asleep upstairs and the only sound I hear is the humming of his alarm going off (which has gone off several times—the “snooze button” is a great invention isn’t it?).

This is the highlight of my week. I work in a school/day care centre (we say “crèche” in Ireland) and it is a non-stop, go-go-go life for me in my Montessori classroom of young 3-year-olds. I treasure my quiet Saturday morning with coffee by the computer catching up on emails, or sitting with my journal.

In just over 3 months however, this morning will look very different! You see, as I’m typing this I’m already feeling an eager young life inside me, jumping, flipping, and kicking, eager for her chance in this world—the life of a developing baby girl. A baby girl who will be my daughter!

A baby girl.

My mind is constantly trying to grasp this idea—the idea that I will be a mother, that Richie will be a father, that pretty soon Saturday mornings won’t be quiet coffee time but will be filled with attempts at breast-feeding, crying (probably crying from me and the baby), dirty nappies (diapers), and efforts to soothe and comfort a small, dependent baby.

And as I think of those things, the early days with a baby, I am thankful for two things. First, that my mother will be here to help (you are planning on staying for 6 months, right, Mom?) But mainly, I’m thankful for something that has been a recurring thought in my mind throughout my whole pregnancy so far—I’m thankful for God’s mercy for me despite my desire to control, rather than to trust.

I do pretty well at controlling my life and the situations around me. I say this a bit tongue-in-cheek, because for me, the reason I am good at controlling my life is because I find it very hard to trust God. So often it’s easier for me to control rather than to rest in the truth that God is capable of redeeming—or even using—my mistakes or “dropped balls.” And I feel that while I’m scurrying around, picking up the pieces that I or others have dropped, I hear faint whispers from God saying, “Erika, rest. I can do this.”

Most of the time, I continue on in my flurry.

Why do I continue on? Why do I insist on doing things myself when God is offering rest? Do I really believe that God will take care of these things for me? Will He get the house tidied, or make the meals, or engage in conversation with my husband after I’ve had a long day of kids needing me constantly? No, probably not. But will He maintain peace and harmony in my house even if it’s a mess? Will He provide good health for my family even if we have to order take out or have frozen pizzas tonight? Will He provide me with the strength to engage my husband and care for him even when I’m totally spent?

Yes.

Is that hard as all get out to believe at times? Yes. And my flesh cries out to do it myself: To feel the adrenaline of having things under control, to look like “super woman”—or “super mom” in your case.

But when I’m trying to be Super Woman I’m missing out on deeper things of God. I’m missing out on a moment with Him, on knowing fuller His promise of provision (a provision that goes deeper than an orderly house or homemade meal), and the meaning of the phrase, “my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” My heavenly Father is wanting to give me a kiss and I’m turning my face away from him to get back to cleaning my kitchen.

So here I am, almost 6 months pregnant, and have found myself in a position that I cannot control. The life of this little girl growing inside me is only dependent on me to a certain extent. I can eat properly, exercise wisely, avoid certain activities. But her developing body, her organs, and her health and wholeness are God’s alone to look after and provide. This has been such a lesson in trust, and such an encounter with mercy. When I worry about her, all I can do is go to the feet of my Father and pray that he will protect her. But I also pray that He will help me to trust Him. And I praise Him that He will have mercy on me when I don’t and can’t trust Him.

And He will do the same for you.

When you find yourself rushing around trying to sort out lunches, carpooling, cleaning, and family schedules, and you get wrapped up in activities, my hope is that He will remind you that HE IS ENOUGH. That though all those things are important, they are small in the grand plan He has for you and your family. And my hope for you is the same as my hope for myself: that we will take Him up on His offer to provide, that we will be able to “drop balls” trusting that He will care for the situation and that through it we will know Him more intimately.

And we can praise Him for the fact that even when we find ourselves incapable of trusting, or not wanting to trust, wanting to do it ourselves, that He will have mercy on us and will continue His provision and protection.

I want to finish this off with the lyrics to a song that has recently been an anthem for me. It’s an old hymn that has been re-done by a compilation group called “Indelible Grace” (I highly recommend any and all of their CDs! See www.igracemusic.com). —Erika

Thy Mercy My God

Thy mercy my God is the theme of my song
The joy of my heart and the boast of my tongue.
Thy free grace alone from the first to the last
Hast won my affection and bound my soul fast.

Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here
My sin would reduce me to utter despair
But through thy free goodness my spirits revive
And he that first made me still keeps me alive.

They mercy is more than a match for my heart
It’s wondrous to feel its own hardness depart
‘Tis all by thy goodness I fall to the ground
And weep to the praise of the mercy I’ve found.

Great Father of mercy, thy goodness I own
And the covenant love of thy crucified Son
All praise to the spirit whose whisper divine
Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine.

Safe Home

2008-08-10T20:28:00.002-05:00

Lars is home!!!! I am overjoyed to be able to share with you that our Marine Captain son is home from Iraq. At 2:30 pm on Friday, August 8, his C-130 landed at his base at Cherry Point. And Lars is now home with his wife Kelly and nearly-three-year-old son Bengt in New Bern, NC.
Can you imagine our joy? Our overflowing gratitude? It is, really, almost beyond words. In my head, I keep bursting forth with the Doxology.

We have not yet seen him. We all felt their little family needed some time to reconnect and adjust before any larger family celebrations; those will come Labor Day Weekend. But it is so good to talk with him and know his voice is coming from safe in the USA. And the pictures tell the story: he is back where he belongs—home with Kelly and Bengt.

In Ireland they have a custom I love. When you’re leaving a home where you’ve visited—even for a short time—they say as you leave, “Safe home, now, safe home.” Lars is “safe home.” We praise God! Thank you thank you thank you Jesus!

I also want to thank the many of you who have prayed for him and his family and for us. And I want to ask you please not to stop praying. For all the troops. For the Marines who flew into Lars’ base in Iraq to replace those who came home. And for the men and women all over the world whose families are now praying and waiting for them to come home just as we have for Lars.

Actually, our prayers go even deeper than that, don’t they? We pray for all our children—living at home or grown, single or married, military or civilian—to come “safe home.” Yes, to us and to their families. But even more, safe home to the Lord who wants to make His home in their hearts until we’re all “safe home” with Him.

It’s my prayer for you and for all your children: Safe home, now, safe home.

Doing More Than You Think

2008-08-01T18:48:00.003-05:00

Recently I made a very long journey. It was not that long in actual miles (just over 100) or in hours (2-3 each way). But it was a very long journey of the heart.

Woody and I drove down to Wheaton, Illinois, where I grew up and where both of us went to college. The reason for our trip was a sad one: a memorial service for my Aunt Ruth, my mother’s sister. But it also gave us opportunity to drive around several suburbs (Woody spent much of his early life in neighboring towns) that were the scenes of our childhood and teen-to-young-adult years.

As we drove by one place after another where I had lived (my mom was a realtor, so we lived in a number of different homes), I was swept back in time.

I could almost see the kids skating on the driveway on hot summer days at one house—and feel the sunburn I had the next day which, being a Sunday, meant I had to dress up and wear a “prickly dress.” I think it was dotted swiss material—anyone remember that?

Another home reminded me of our crazy standard poodle who actually climbed trees—at least, the tree right across the street, which had some low branches to get him started. A third house was the place we planned our wedding, and where, on the Big Day, an unplugged cord to the clock in my room almost made me late to my own wedding!

There must have been thousands of memories.

But many of them were on a deeper level. I thought constantly of my parents, both of whom now have gone on to be with the Lord. I thought of all the ups and downs that took place over the years in those homes we lived in. The good times, the hard times, the just day-to-day “normal” (whatever that is!) times which take place in all our lives.

Most of all, I thought of my parents’ faithfulness through it all: faithfulness to each other, to their children, and—above all—to God. Most of their days probably seemed pretty mundane. My dad was a hard-working college professor, interim pastor, writer, reluctant Mr. Fix-it, and even part-time farmer. (At one point, Wheaton College professors were given some land on which to plant vegetable gardens to supplement their meager salaries!) My mom was a part-time realtor who managed to “be there” for my brother and me even while juggling many roles as wife, daughter, sister, mother, and realtor.

I’m sure they had no idea how profoundly some of their “everyday” routines would impact generations to come. They had no idea that my brother and I knew that Dad was on his knees in the early-morning hours at his “prayer chair” in our little living room. Or that Mom, a bit later, read her red-lined Bible at the kitchen table. Or that the two of them knelt by their bed every night.

They surely didn’t realize, either, what an impression it made on us that Mom was always home for us after school (well, almost always—occasionally her realtor role had to take precedence, but rarely) so we could pour out all the important events of the day—or at least I could—I’m not sure my brother was quite as chatty! Or the picture my brother and I carry in our minds of Dad’s study door at the top of the stairs: it was always open. Clearly he was hoping we’d pop in and drop in one of the chairs across from his desk to share the latest in our lives.

And when they were reading us Bible stories as part of “family devotions” around the old yellow formica table in our kitchen, did it look as if we were paying any attention at all?

Lifelong imprints, these memories, that have profoundly affected not only my brother and me, but also our children—and now their children. It kind of reminds me of Psalm 78, verses 4–7, where the Psalmist instructs us to “tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, His power and the wonders He has done . . . so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children.”

I thought of this journey last week when I was singing “Jesus Loves Me” to Soren before he went to bed. I thought of the “children yet to be born” part of Psalm 78. And I thought of you.

I’ll bet most of your days seem pretty mundane. It’s mid-summer. It’s hot. It really doesn’t seem like you’re doing much at all. Certainly not accomplishing anything important.

You might be surprised. That’s why I’m writing about my journey back to my childhood. One thing I forgot to tell you: a couple of the places I lived aren’t even there any more. But the memories are. And the imprints for generations to come.

Hmm. No wonder you’re so tired at the end of a day. You’re doing a lot more than you think!

Ten Days in Toddler Land

2008-07-23T16:25:00.004-05:00

Woody and I have just returned from ten days in another world—the world of a 19-month-old. For one wonderful week we had our grandson Soren to ourselves. And for a few days on either side of that, we shared him with his parents Bjorn and Abby, before and after their one-week trip to Saranac Camp in New York with their Young Life kids.

It was a glorious week. It was an exhausting week. And it was an eye-opening week. It’s been a lo-o-ng time since we parented a toddler!

In a sense, I thought of it as a refresher course on what the lives of so many of you moms are like. Except that it was just a week. And, with both Woody and me there, we were two-on-one, while that is not the case for most of you on a 24/7 basis. It certainly was not that way for me when I was raising toddlers—Woody was hardly home full-time to help me out! And last week we had one child to care for, while many of you have more than one preschooler to keep track of.

Nevertheless, I learned (or more accurately, re-learned) a lot! A few random observations from life in toddlerland:

There’s nothing like a toddler’s smile in the morning. And when they reach out their pudgy little arms to hug you and “pat Nana,” you want to do this forever!

Every day is an adventure. You never know what exciting things you might see just outside your window (like a neighbor organizing a yard sale which fills the driveway with fascinating junk) or on a stroller ride (the world is FULL of motorcycles, fire engines, and horsies when you’re looking for them).

Eating is also an adventure. Not only because you never know where food that starts on your spoon may end up. But also because, if you’re Soren, blueberries and avocados and sweet peppers of all colors are like M&M’s—you just can’t get enough of them! (I know—hard to believe: a toddler who actually loves healthy food! What is Abby’s secret?)

Naps are a little bit of heaven—especially for moms of toddlers (and even more especially for grandparents of toddlers!) They are definitely not to be missed! Take full advantage of them.

If you’re taking care of a not-quite-20-month-old, don’t plan to do anything else in your life. This is a full-time job! Yes, they take naps (I HOPE yours do!) and go to bed early. But you also will need to take naps and go to bed early. So do not plan on writing the Great American Novel (or even a blog, or coherent emails) while they’re sleeping. You need to be sleeping, too!

A day at the beach is different when you go with a toddler. Your beach chair is actually only a place to put things on to keep them off the sand—not a place where you actually sit (although your toddler may sit in it for 3-second intervals now and then) Sand is a wonderful thing—not only for digging and dumping and making crab and turtle shapes, but also as a snack additive: everything tastes better with a little sand in it. Oh—and one other thing: a “day” at the beach is more likely to be 90 minutes than several hours—especially if you value naps (see earlier observation).

There is nothing—absolutely nothing—more fun than eating an ice cream cone. Especially on a hot day at a New Hampshire farm where they also raise goats (aka “gokes”) which you can watch while dribbling your ice cream cone down your shirt. This is living!

Correction: there is something more fun than eating an ice cream cone. It’s watching your child (or grandchild) eat one for the first time. (Although I do highly recommend eating one yourself while you watch.)

I could ramble on and on (after all, I am a grandmother talking about her grandchild). But I have to tell you that even writing this is making my severe “Soren-withdrawal” worse. So I have to move on to other things—like figuring out how I can get Woody’s job moved to New Hampshire, or North Carolina (where Bengt lives) or Ireland (where our granddaughter-to-be lives).

But I do want all of you moms out there to know that I have a renewed appreciation for what you do every day. Not just a week at a time. And not with just one kid. And not with a fellow-caregiver at your side. I always knew you were heroes. I just know better now how exhausting being a hero can be.

And, how wonderful.

The bright eyes and big smiles. The stream of new words. The songs that go through your head even when they’re sleeping (I can’t get the “Fire Truck” song out of my head!) And, oh, those hugs…

Go hug one of your kids for me, will you?

And BTW, thanks to all of you who wrote in or have prayed for our “big kid” in Iraq. I am deeply grateful. He’s due home pretty soon. Stay tuned—and keep praying, please!

The Fourth of July and a Son in Iraq

2008-07-03T15:39:00.002-05:00

This Fourth of July feels very different from any other. And it’s not just because, as Woody and I spend what looks to be a quiet (and welcomed!) weekend at home (and he’s not even on call—yea! No beeper!), we will reminisce about many past July celebrations when we hosted big family cookouts in celebration of our son Bjorn’s birthday, which happens to be July 7.
At these family celebrations, we always gave lip service, at least, to our gratitude for our freedom and our country. As we said the blessing over our barbecue, we thanked God for freedom to live our faith and celebrate with family and friends.

But this year it’s different.

It’s different because this year we have a son in Iraq. A son who joined the Marines after college and became a Marine officer and C-130 pilot because he wanted to serve and defend his country and the very freedoms we celebrate this weekend.

The price of freedom comes a lot closer to home this year. Our son—and the many thousands of other enlisted men and women serving abroad—will spend this Fourth of July away from home so that we can celebrate freely in our homes.

The price of freedom has always been high. There have always been brave and committed men and women spending holidays away from their families in defense of their country. Not to mention those whose families will never have their sons and daughters, husbands and wives, and parents, home for a holiday again this side of Heaven. For them the price of freedom is incalculable.

But whatever level you’re on, it just feels a lot closer to home for us this year when our son is so far from home.

So I’m just asking a small favor of any of you faithful blog-readers. This year as you flip those burgers on the grill or wave those flags at the parade or watch those fireworks displays, will you say a prayer for our son Lars? And for all those multitudes of men and women he represents who are celebrating this holiday far away from family and friends?

Say a prayer of gratitude, please. And a prayer for their safety and protection. And for their spirits. It gets awfully lonely in the middle of an Iraqi desert or in the wilds of Afghanistan or on a ship at sea. Or any other place which is far far away from family and friends.

Most of all, say a prayer, please, that they will feel God’s presence even in whatever desert place is their current home-away-from home. That they will know that they abide “under the shadow of the Almighty.” Nearly every day I pray Psalm 91 for Lars, a Psalm I memorized many years ago as a teen. I never could have imagined I would be praying it for a son in Iraq so many years later.

When you pray for out troops, will you please pray also for their families? I wish you could meet some of the amazingly courageous young moms I have met in recent years who are “single-momming it” while their husbands are deployed. Kelly—and Lars—represent so many, many others walking the same path.

Just before Lars left for Iraq last January, Woody gave him and Kelly each a card to carry in their wallets. The cards had a brief message from us on one side and some strong promises from scripture on the other: For Lars, Jeremiah 1:18-19 and Joshua 1:9; for Kelly, Psalm 16:8 and Philippians 4:6-7. (For more about Lars and his family, see the January 30th blog, “Deployment Day.”)

Now, some 5 months later, we continue to pray those verses for them. And as his return to his family gets closer (he hopes to be home around mid-August), I find myself praying especially that God will guard and surround and protect him in body, soul, mind, and spirit. That the Philippians 4:6-7 peace of God will “guard his heart and mind in Christ Jesus.” I pray this every day. But especially on this Independence Day.

Will you join me?

Happy Fourth of July!

Summertime, and the Living Is . . . What?!

2008-06-30T15:52:00.002-05:00

Summertime, and the living is . . . you’ve got to be kidding! Isn’t the next word supposed to be “easy”? Now where did that ever come from? Any of you finding living “easy” these days? If so, please write in and share your secret!

Today’s the last day of June. Depending on how you count it, Summer is one-third over. Maybe more—for those of you who live in the South, where schools get out earlier and start again in mid-August.

And whatever happened to the “easy” living? So far at our house, we’ve had a wonderful, terrible, and everything-in-between summer. We had a glorious week with our girls and our grandsons. Abby and Kelly gave a delightful baby shower for Erika. We had a fabulous anniversary trip to California. We savored an all-too-short visit with two dear friends who came for a weekend. A wonderful way to start our summer.

But we’ve also had a hard-drive crash which wiped out most everything and has led to ongoing computer problems. A flooded basement—not nearly as bad as some people have had it around here with flooding—but still a great big mess and months of work ahead of trying to get it put back together.

And just last week my aunt, one of my mom’s two younger sisters, died rather suddenly. It’s brought back all kinds of memories in a month heavy with memories already. June was full of tough-memory days: my mom’s birthday, my dad’s birthday, their anniversary, Father’s Day, the three-year anniversary of my dad’s death and the 6-month anniversary of Mom’s death. A month laden with memories.

So far, it’s been a full first-third-of-the-summer. There is much to rejoice in and be grateful for. Family. Friends. Forty wonderful years (and I really mean that!) of marriage. Some places of deep sadness. And lots of everyday hassles. The kind that can drive you crazy. But easy? Nope, I haven’t found “easy” yet.

Which leads me to think of you moms reading this blog. School’s out and the kids are home, so it’s a more relaxed schedule now. Maybe. Or perhaps just a different schedule! You’ll have an opportunity for some vacation time as a family. Maybe. But then again, with the price of gas, airline tickets, and everything else going up, maybe not. Whatever your summer has been so far, I’m guessing that “easy” might not be the word that comes to mind.

Whatever the season of the year, being a mom is a 24/7 job!

In the midst of all this—whether it’s kids-constantly-at-home or flooded basements or computer crashes, I’ve been thinking about how not to miss the God-moments in our summer. Maybe it’s because I’m reading a great book by Leighton Ford called The Attentive Life:Discerning God’s Presence in All Things. Maybe it’s because I just read a book (The Shack) which ends with this quote by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: “Earth’s crammed with heaven,/And every common bush afire with God,/But only He who sees takes off his shoes;/The rest sit around and pick blackberries.”

I don’t know about you. But I don’t want to miss the “bush afire with God” because I’m just busy picking blackberries—or dealing with insurance issues concerning flooded lower levels—or yelling at my computer.

So I’m wondering: How are you doing at staying alert to God-moments this summer? Sometimes they come in the smallest, most ordinary ways. For those of you with small children at home, there’s plenty of opportunity right in your own backyard. Even in my mundane struggles with household “stuff,” I’ve seen God surprise me with a phone call from just the right person when I was near despair over finding a repairman or getting an insurance quote. Or with a verse which brought powerful comfort when I was missing Mom. Or with a friend who cared enough to ask me just the right question at the right time.

What are your God sightings so far this summer?

Keep your eyes open!

Baby Talk

2008-05-31T23:06:00.002-05:00

I have a new picture on my refrigerator. It’s not—to tell the truth—the cutest or most colorful one there. But it is, in some ways, the most special—because it is our very first picture of our new grandchild-to-be!

Yes, I am going to be a Nana a third time! This is the one very important detail I left out when I was telling you in my last blog about our upcoming visit from our grandsons and their two mommies. There is also a third grandchild coming (in utero) and a third mommy—well, actually a mommy-to-be. Erika and Richie are going to have a baby in early November. How exciting is that!!!

Of course, we’ve known this for a while. But now that I have a picture of this new little one, I just can’t resist sharing the news with you. I have to admit this picture is not real detailed; it’s a very, very early unltrasound. But still, it is a miracle-in-progress. Just so amazing . . . the creation of a new little life.

What an awesome Creator-God we have!

There is something very special about having your daughter expecting a baby. Lots of you grammies out there (whatever name you may go by) know what I mean. But a baby to be born in Dublin . . . now that is an extra-special challenge. First, you all know that is just too far away from Wisconsin. But then there is the question of whether I will be able to understand this baby when he/she learns to talk. I already have enough difficulty understanding my son-in-law (sorry, Richie) even as charming as he is. But a baby speaking “Irish”? That will be an entirely new level of baby talk.

Sounds like a great adventure to me, all the way around. So, the “secret” is out! I just couldn’t wait another day to tell you. Especially since this new little life-in-process is arriving tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow! As Erika always used to say when she was counting down the days to vacation or a birthday party or Christmas, “only one more sleep!”

Which means I have to keep this short and get back to work on the homefront getting ready for tomorrow—and for a baby shower! Once Abby and Kelly get here next week, we’re giving Erika an early baby shower. It’s our only chance, trans-atlantic family that we are, to all be together (well, almost all—we’ll be powerfully missing “our men” Bjorn and Lars and Richie; Woody and Bengt and Soren will just have to uphold the male view of things).

So I’m off to the supermarket—and shower planning. I really love Baby Talk, don’t you?

Nana's House

2008-05-27T10:18:00.000-05:00

When I was a little girl, I loved to go to Nana and Grandpa’s house. I thought it was quite a magical place. A place we could make fudge and popcorn and drink Cokes (both in shorter supply at home as daily staples). A place where Nana seemed to have nothing at all to do but to talk with me.

(This always amazed me, as my mom, who was a part-time realtor and a full-time mom, seemed to have so much to do all the time, in spite of the fact that she truly prioritized spending time with me. Why was it that moms seemed so busy and nanas had so much time?)

My Nana's house was a place where there was always space—and time—for endless games of cards or Monopoly. A place where Grandpa would take me out to his garden to measure how high the corn was growing and to check on his tomato plants and green beans. Where he would fix me an early breakfast of peanut butter on toast while we waited for Nana, a later sleeper, to get up.

Yep, I loved to go to Nana’s house.

But—where do the years go?—now I’m a Nana. How I long for the situation with my grandkids that I had with my grandmother—living in the same town, just a short car-ride between houses. My grandsons live in New Hampshire and North Carolina. And, in case you haven’t looked at a map lately, both of these states are a looong way from Wisconsin. Way too long!

So . . . I don’t get to have my grandsons come to Nana’s house very often. More often it’s easier for them and their parents if we go to them instead of their coming to us. And last Christmas, when we would have all been together here, we gathered instead in Florida to say goodbye to another very wonderful “Nana” (actually named “Nini” by her adoring grandchildren).

But guess what is about to happen? Both Bengt and Soren are coming to Nana and Farfar’s house (They call Woody “Farfar” according to the Swedish name for “father’s father”) in just about one week. Their mommies, Kelly and Abby, are coming too, and also their Aunt Erika, all the way from Dublin. I’ve taken to calling it “Girls’ Camp,” though of course it involves two very special little boys and one very special big one named Farfar.

Do I need to tell you how excited Woody and I are? We just can’t wait! We are having a ball trying to transform “Woody and Linda’s house” into “Nana and Farfar’s house.” Woody and Linda’s house, so filled with books and CD’s and comfortable napping sofas, would surely be a boring place for a very active 2-and- ½ year- old and a nonstop 18-month-old.

Fortunately we have neighbors. Generous, thoughtful neighbors who have kids—quite a few kids between them. And fortunately they have kept a lot of “baby stuff” and miscellaneous toddler entertainments. So this weekend Woody and I will go on scouting trips to a couple of neighboring basements and garages. Quite magical basements and garages which apparently hold not only things like car seats and strollers and booster seats but also wagons and riding toys and—of all things—a backyard roller coaster. Should be fun-filled “one-stop-shopping,” as one neighbor describes her lower level.

Why am I telling you this? I guess I just want you to know how excited this Nana is! But I guess I also wanted to encourage any of you reading this who may be “Nana” (or Grandma or Grammy or Mimi or whatever): You can make a really big—and wonderful—difference in your grandkids’ lives. My grandparents sure did.

And, for those of you readers who are mothers of young children, please remember how very much their grandparents long to see them and spend time with them. Many of you are probably fortunate enough to have grandparents living close by. But for those of you who don’t, keep in mind that a trip to “Nana’s house” might just be worth all the effort—and I know travel with children is a massive undertaking!—not only for your sake and your kids’ sake. But also for that Nana and Farfar waiting on the other end.

Gotta go for now. Time to dig through the basement storage to find out what toys we really did save. Nana’s house must have some good stuff to play with!

Mother’s Day: A Memory Mosaic

2008-05-08T22:45:00.000-05:00

So many Mother’s Day memories . . . Some happy. Some sad. Some poignant. Some hilariously funny.

Mother’s Day evokes a host of memories, doesn’t it?

I have always loved Mother’s Day. No, that’s not true. Ever since I became a mom, I have loved Mother’s Day. Before that there were a number of years when Mother’s Day was hard for me. Very, very hard. Especially the year I had just had a miscarriage. And the years before that when I wondered if I would ever become a mom. I dreaded Mother’s Day some of those years.

I’ll bet some of you have memories of Mother’s Days like that, too. Years when you wondered if you’d ever be a mom—or had just lost a baby. Memories of days like that are part of my Mother’s Day memory mosaic—good reason to sit in church on Mother’s Day praying for women who may be sitting there desperately wishing they were mothers.

But then there came the year—the glorious year—when I became a mom. And ever since then I have loved Mother’s Day. When my kids were young, I loved the sticky cards and struggling plants and homemade gifts. I loved the early Mother’s Day morning flurry of activity in the kitchen—even though I hardly dared to think what damage might be done by three kids and a dad whose only excursion into the kitchen was Mother’s Day (Hey, it really wasn’t that hard getting egg whites or whipped cream off the kitchen ceiling—it was worth it!) I loved the procession up the stairs, when they would sing “Happy Mother’s Day to You” and carry a tray with a breakfast for me which they would enthusiastically devour themselves whenever possible. (I used to consider renting my kids out as some kind of a diet plan!) I especially loved the Mother’s Day breakfast menu cards Woody would make, complete with pictures of the kids as well as poignant or funny cards laminated on them. One of my favorite ones pictured The Three Stooges (a favorite with Lars) with flowers. I’ve kept every one of those cards!

As our kids got older, I looked forward to the hilarious cards they would pick out themselves. And the Mother’s Day brunches Woody would plan at a Boston restaurant. Now that our sons are married and have sons themselves, I love to hear about ways they honor their wives on Mother’s Day. Knowing what great mothers my two daughters-in-law are, they deserve pretty special treatment!

I’ve been a mother long enough now—nearly 32 years!—to have a host of Mother’s Day memories for my memory mosaic. And most of those memories form a pattern: a pattern of overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude for the gift of children. For the gift of my children’s spouses. For the gift of my grandsons. For the gift of my own wonderful mom.

Which brings me to a new part of my memory mosaic. Mother’s Day week for me this year has been extra-hard. I find myself missing my mom ferociously. I just so desperately want to call and talk to her. Just one more time . . . ??? Once again, sadness is a part of my Mother’s Day memories. Sadness because this year I don’t have my mom to send a card to. To pick out a gift for. To call on Sunday. I know she is so much better off than she has been any other Mother’s Day. What could be better than spending it with Jesus?!! But still, I miss her. With all the Mother’s Day ads and emails and catalogues, this feels like a long week.

Yet the mosaic still has the same theme, even with the sadness pieced in. The theme is gratitude. Not only am I thankful for my children and grandchildren, I am thankful for my mother. She was my prayer warrior. My best-friend-next-to-Woody. My most patient listener and most enthusiastic cheerleader. A mother who passed on to me a deep love for God and a deep faith. Not everyone has a mother like that—another reason to pray for other women sitting next to you in church this Sunday!
But those of us who do have a great deal to be thankful for on Mother’s Day.

So what does your Mother’s Day memory mosaic look like? For some of you reading this, it may be your first year as a mom. Some of you may have some pre-mom memories like mine. Some of you may be missing your mom as I am. And I’ll bet a lot of you have some pretty funny Mother’s Day memories to share! Please write in and tell us about them. We’d love to laugh—or even cry—along with you.

And while I’m asking for your response, may I remind you that I’m still looking for some stories of Mom To Mom end-of-year activities your groups may have done—or be doing. It’s never too late to tell us about those.

Happy Mother’s Day!

The Happy Traveler

2008-04-30T15:46:00.000-05:00

I bet I know what some of you blog readers are thinking. You’re thinking, “Oh my goodness! Linda’s momnesia is even worse than we realized—now she’s even forgotten that she’s a blogger. There have been no new entries in her blog for ages!”

You’re right. It’s been a while! But no, I haven’t forgotten about my blog. I’ve just been traveling—almost nonstop—for most of April. And I’ve been having so much fun I just couldn’t find time to write. I want to share with you some of that fun. But first I want to thank those of you who’ve written in with some of your own “momnesia” stories. I loved the backwards pants and the Barbie phone. About that almost-missed anniversary . . . though I’m not sure how funny that was. But hey, hats off to him for remembering. And I’m sure he really did understand—especially since it was an almost-miss. (smile)

And now, a few words about why my recent travel has been so much fun. Two reasons. First, I got to see both of my grandsons. And since I live in Wisconsin and they live in New Hampshire (Soren) and North Carolina (Bengt), seeing them both in one month is a really big event! And second, I’ve gotten to meet with moms all over the place—Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Wisconsin. I’ve spoken to all kinds of Mom To Mom groups—some meeting in church fellowship halls, one meeting in a smaller room in a church, and one gathered in a warm, welcoming family room in a home. Besides having a blast, I always learn a lot from times like these.

Just a few random observations from my recent travels:

“April” means different things in different parts of the country. In New Hampshire we were still battling a few snowpiles here and there. In Tennessee and North Carolina it was spring! Moms and kids there are already wearing shorts and sandals. They’re playing outside in green yards with blooming trees and plants and shrubs in them! Back home in Wisconsin today, the wind is whistling around my house, and I just returned from a bitter-cold walk in a winter jacket. Oh well—Northern girlfriends, spring will come our way soon, I’m sure. And in the meantime, I wear my sandals now and then just to pretend—and practice!
No matter what the weather, moms are hardy souls. In New Hampshire I heard a charming story of a grandma who shoveled her way (yes, shoveled!) through her backyard to have a “picnic” with two of her grandkids in a shed that sounds more like a playhouse than a storage place. (Doesn’t that sound like fun? Makes me wish to be one of her grandchildren!) In North Carolina I met brave and noble Marine wives (including—and especially—my own daughter-in-law) who courageously and creatively support their deployed husbands and single-parent their children with a quiet perseverance and grace that sometimes takes my breath away.I met adoptive moms who opened their hearts and home to special-needs kids, sometimes even after raising several biological children who are just about to make them “empty-nesters.” All kinds of moms. All kinds of kids. All in need of God’s grace and drawing on His strength day by day, hour by hour.
There are some pretty cool dads out there, too. I heard of one husband who translates the Mom To Mom lesson every week for his wife so that she can better understand the DVD in a language she is still mastering. Another father showed up at one Mom To Mom to take notes for his wife who had given birth a few hours before but didn’t want to miss the lesson that week. How cool is that?! Another dad, one of my son’s fellow-Marines, became a sort of surrogate dad for an afternoon for my grandson Bengt, jumping and rough-housing all over a backyard trampoline with him and even taking Bengt fishing!
Finally (for now), I heard a lot of neat stories of how different Mom To Mom groups are concluding their year. I got to be at one Mom To Mom that had each of the groups review a section of the year’s curriculum. They did it in such creative ways—skits, Family Feud or Deal or No Deal game shows, even a song! Some are having end-of-year brunches or Tex-Mex dinners. One group had a “Dad’s Night at Mom To Mom” last Saturday night at which Woody and I spoke. It was great seeing the husbands nodding to some of the same truths we talk about at Mom To Mom—and especially getting introduced to their wives’ friends and connecting with each other. It also gave opportunity to invite friends and neighbors and introduce them to Mom To Mom.

So here’s my question: What are some of you doing as end-of-year activities at Mom To Mom? I’d love to hear from you, whether you’re a Titus 2 leader or a member-mom. What kind of fun are you having? Please join our blog conversation and share your ideas or experiences. We’d all love to hear from you!

Momnesia, Anyone?

2008-04-04T08:52:00.001-05:00

Have you all been hearing lately, as I have, about the postpartum syndrome called “momnesia”? I’m not sure how rigorously it is supported by hard medical research. But don’t you think it’s heartening that at least some researchers are finally recognizing a reality that all of us moms have known for years? Being a mom takes a real toll on your memory (among other things)!

This could explain a lot about the daily traumas of motherhood: like walking to the kitchen, standing before a cupboard, and having no idea at all what you are supposed to be looking for. Or leaving a bag or two of groceries at the store. Or completely forgetting a pediatric appointment—or jury duty—or your telephone number. Or your husband’s name. Little things like that.

Personally, I find it comforting that there’s now a label to describe some of what we moms go through. And perhaps some explanation of the cause—hormones and all that. What I don’t find comforting is how long this condition persists. In my case, a very long time. Far beyond postpartum, post-toddlerhood, and even post-teen years.

Yet it does explain why, for example, I once arrived at a retreat I was to teach on “Biblical Self-Worth for Women” without either my makeup bag or any toiletries at all. Yep, that’s right: No blush, no lipstick—no toothbrush, even. It did, however provide me an opportunity to practice what I preach: A great personal example, as it turned out, of not relying on outward appearance for our sense of worth!

Momnesia may also help explain why I left on another weekend trip to visit one of our kids at college without packing a single piece of underwear. Or why I have been known to drive off with things like a purse or my wallet or—once—a beautifully frosted angel food cake on the roof of my car.

Still, I can’t help but be concerned—especially now that I’m a grandmother—at the persistence of this condition. And I have a feeling it could create some pangs of insecurity in some of my children over leaving the grandkids with me.

However, I want to point out that there is a positive side to momnesia. There really is. Let’s face it: there are some things about motherhood that are better forgotten. For example, I have pretty much blocked out large segments of my years of toilet training my sons (and believe me, I mean years).

It was also recently brought to my attention that I had completely forgotten (repressed, maybe?) a major event in the lives of my two younger children. It was the time a town of Lexington police officer came to our front door to ask me whether I was aware that two of my children were hanging out an upstairs window. I really, truly had no memory of this event. But my daughter insists it created major trauma in her life (fear of jail, wondering if parents were allowed to visit, etc)—despite the fact that her version does not actually involve “hanging out the window” so much as “waving at passers-by through an open window.” Not exactly a “magnificent mom” moment. Definitely better forgotten. (Come to think of it, why did my kids have to bring it up?)

So I’m curious: Any of you experiencing momnesia these days? Any good stories to share?

Or how about your personal list of things you hope you’ll forget?

Recently when I was visiting Bjorn, Abby, and Soren, we all shared one of those moments. It happened in the middle of the night. And no, it wasn’t a baby who wouldn’t stop crying. Soren, at 15 months, is actually a very good sleeper these days. It was a quacking in the night. Yes, that’s right—a quacking. We awoke around 3 a.m. to the sounds—very loud sounds—of “quack quack,” “quack quack,” “quack quack,” spaced out at regular intervals. As I lay there wondering if I was imagining things (or dreaming of a farm), Bjorn and Abby slowly groped their way into the living room where I was sleeping, saying “What is that noise? It’s driving us crazy!” It took a surprisingly long time to locate the source.

We searched the toy shelf, the book stack, the diaper bag. Bjorn was sure it was that offensive little duck in the diaper bag. But no, that duck was completely innocent. Finally we found it: a little play farm whose battery had apparently burned out or gone crazy, setting off one very persistent little duck who was quacking away. Poor thing—he spent the rest of the night out on the back porch in the cold. Ever tried to locate the battery in one of your kids’ toys in the middle of the night?

Though this is good for a laugh now, it didn’t seem all that funny at 3 a.m. Who needs a duck quacking at you when your baby is finally sleeping all through the night? Could be a moment Bjorn and Abby won’t remember long. (Do dads get some version of “momnesia” too?) But then again, maybe it’s worth remembering. If there’s anything we need to keep doing as moms, it’s to keep laughing!

Got any good stories to share?

Palm Sunday, Easter—and Beyond

2008-03-18T16:30:00.000-05:00

Yesterday (Palm Sunday), the kids in our church came marching into the worship center carrying palm branches and shouting Hosannas: “Hosanna to the Son of David!” As I watched their adorable little faces—some delighted to be in the “big church,” some looking puzzled as to why they were there, and some maybe even a little scared—I was suddenly catapulted back across the years to a long-ago Palm Sunday.

As I drove home from church with all three kids in the back seat (Woody was on call that day), I asked them what their story had been in Sunday School. The two older boys had pretty reasonable accounts of Palm Sunday. But it was Erika’s story I remember best.

“Oh, Mommy,” she exclaimed. “It was a little sad because today we had the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a horse. And the horse fell down and broke his leg, and Jesus fell off. But it was OK—‘cause He didn’t get hurt.”

Pretty creative listening, wouldn’t you say? As I gazed at those fresh faces yesterday, I wondered what stories their parents would hear on the way home from church. And I wanted to tell those parents—and you—not to give up on the stories of Jesus. Tell them in parts, a little at a time, age-appropriately. And know that they will sink in, little by little.

Another year comes to mind as I write this: a Holy Week when one afternoon four-year-old Bjorn had a preschool friend –we’ll call him “Matt”—over to play. The two boys were playing out on the porch when suddenly I heard Bjorn’s voice booming across the kitchen: “No, no, Matt, you are the angel. You say, ‘He is not here. He is risen just as He said.’”

Nothing like acting out the Easter story to keep a couple of four-year-olds busy!

The next day I got a call from Matt’s mother. “Thanks so much for having Matt over to play yesterday,” she began. Then there was a short pause, ’til she continued: “There’s just one other thing I wanted to talk with you about.” My heart skipped a beat, wondering what might come next.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, “for the wonderful way that Bjorn taught Matt about the Easter story. You know, we haven’t really known how to tell him the real story. We just stuck with the Easter bunny and eggs and candy and all that. But Bjorn did a great job telling Matt the real story, so I wanted to thank you.”

Hmmm . . . maybe even four-year-olds can spread the Good News!

This morning I read Lars’ blog about Palm Sunday in Iraq. He was happy that he had been able to worship with a handful of other Marines and soldiers and sailors and their faithful chaplain in their little trailer-chapel, cement-block barricades surrounding them for protection, their weapons at their side.

He had also been able to fly yesterday afternoon over parts of Iraq that brought the Old Testament alive for him, he said. I thought how happy it would make my Old-Testament-scholar-Dad to hear that. (Don’t you think he knows this, up in heaven?)

And I thought back to an Easter season many years ago when Lars’ account of the Easter story in Sunday School was something like: “Today we had the story about the empty tomb and how the guys in the white things told the girls, ‘Jesus isn’t here. He rosed from the dead!’”

Indeed He did!! He is risen. He is risen indeed! I wish each one of you reading this a joyous Easter celebration. And I pray that each of you will have patience—and perseverance—as you share the great news of Jesus Alive with your kids. They will understand the story in time. And they will want—I pray—to worship this Risen Lord, even if some day they’re halfway ’round the world in a dusty little trailer in a far country with a handful of fellow believers. You’ll be glad you shared The Story!

Happy Easter!

Marathons, Finish Lines, and March “Mommy Madness”

2008-03-13T23:40:00.000-05:00

We at Mom To Mom have recently crossed a Finish Line. On February 27, all the materials for the third year of Mom To Mom curriculum, Inside Out Parenting: A Mom’s Mission “went to press.” A day worth celebrating! A finish line it feels good to cross. But one that could not have been reached without teamwork on the part of a lot of people both at LifeWay and in Mom to Mom.

Actually my own personal finish line was November 16, 2007, the day we completed the last taping for Inside Out Parenting, as I recorded the 4-minute devotionals that go in the back of each Member Book. It felt like I had finished a marathon. In early November we had taped all 16 teaching sessions of IOP in five days in Wisconsin. In early October we had filmed, three very hot days in Nashville, all the Intros and Outros that go with these 16 sessions. In the months prior, I had been writing and rewriting what has become my new personal-favorite curriculum. And in the two previous years I had done Heart Talk (2005) and Growing Together (2006). Yep! Both November 16 (for me) and February 27 (for my LifeWay editor, producer, and team) felt like crossing finish lines for a marathon. Finish lines we could not have crossed without a lot of people cheering—and praying—us on.

I’ve never actually run a marathon, but my kids have. Last fall, Bjorn and Abby ran in the Marine Marathon in Washington, D.C.—and the next day Erika ran in the Dublin Marathon. All three crossed the finish line—and lived to tell about it! Unfortunately, Woody and I could not be both places, so we did not get to see Erika cross that line. But we did get to see Bjorn and Abby, and we had the fun of hanging out with Soren while his mommy and daddy ran the race.

I’ve got to tell you how amazed I was at both of them—but especially Abby, who was still a nursing mom with a baby only 10 months old. Incredible, if you ask me! And when she finished, she looked as if she could run another few miles. Bjorn, on the other hand, looked as if he might not live long. Exhausted, “spent,” a little sick, he told us he wasn’t sure if he would ever have made it if he had not had people running alongside urging him on. Not only did Abby run the whole race with him, his brother Lars, who had run the Marine Marathon the year before, came and ran the last five miles with Bjorn and Abby, just to encourage them across the finish line.

Here’s what Bjorn told us when he finally could speak: “I don’t think I would ever have finished the last 5 miles if it hadn’t been for Abby and Lars encouraging me on. They kept reminding me—when I wanted to quit—that it would soon be over and I would be so glad I hadn’t given up, that I would feel better in a short while, that I had worked too hard and trained too long to give up now.”

These last words are why I’m writing about this today. Because being a mom is definitely a marathon. Especially in March. March seems to be “Mommy Madness” Month. Nothing official. Just my observation. And my mom-memory!

I was reminded of this yesterday when a young mom in one of our local groups told me how she was barely surviving March. “It seems as if winter will never end. That it will never stop snowing. That we will never be able to get these kids outside to burn off some of this energy. That my kids will never grow up. Never be toilet trained. Never stop fighting.”

Sound familiar? Wherever you are in your mothering, I bet you can identify (even if it doesn’t snow where you live—at least not in March)! And that, my dear mom-friends, is why we need each other. We need to run alongside. We need to encourage each other to hang in there. We need to share our survival stories. A winter that really did end—finally. A baby who actually slept through a whole night. A toddler who was truly toilet trained before Kindergarten. A teenager who actually became fun to have around—at least most of the time.

I hope you do that in Mom to Mom. Or if you’re not in a Mom To Mom group, find some other moms who can run alongside you—and you with them—not only in March, but throughout the year. Better yet, start a Mom To Mom in your church or community if you don’t have one.

And BTW, I’d love to hear from some of you. I’d love to get more feedback from this blog. I know you are super-busy, being a mom. But sometime, drop me a line. Tell me a story of someone who ran alongside you. Or some therapy which you have discovered for March Mommy Madness. Or of a topic you’d like to hear about here. And meanwhile, watch for the release of Inside Out Parenting from LifeWay on May 1. You’ll already find it on the LifeWay website. I’m sooo excited about this curriculum. But more about that in a future blog. For now, hang in there, girls—March is almost over!

Mother, Daughters, Dublin—and Banoffee Pie

2008-03-07T16:06:00.000-06:00

I’ve discovered something recently: One of the best things you can do when you are desperately missing your mom is to spend time with your daughter. Not easily done for me, since my daughter, Erika, lives in Ireland. But for my birthday this year, Woody and I flew to Dublin, and I got just what I needed: time with my daughter.

We had a glorious week. The weather was amazing for February—not a drop of rain ’til the day we left, and temperatures in the 40s. A virtual heat wave, compared to this winter in Wisconsin! We did all kinds of fun things. There are a lot of new things in Erika and Richie’s lives, and we got to see some of them first-hand. We saw their cozy new apartment and the new school where Erika teaches. We visited their new church, which has a format (worship and teaching followed by a coffee break and then a Q&A time) and a pastor we love. (Great preaching does not happen only in mega-churches—which, by the way, are nonexistent in Ireland, believe me!) We got to visit Richie’s workplace and to hear lots about his current classes at the Irish Bible Institute.

We even took a road trip to Belfast in order to visit the vast world of Ikea. This is where Woody definitely earned the father-of-the-year award. Believe it or not, we spent six and a half hours in Ikea. Yes, you read that right: 6 and 1/2 hours! An astonishing feat by any standards. But absolutely incredible when you consider that this was with Erika, who does not like to shop! The same Erika who actually used to say to me when I wanted company going to the mall: “How long would we have to be there, Mom?” (Where did she get this? Definitely not from her mother!) However, she did have quite a spurt of shopping enthusiasm that day in the Belfast Ikea. It wasn’t really a matter of quantity shopping, but rather quality and caution: You see, she actually hates to spend money (even her father’s), and her choices are deliberate, but—I must say—wise. The result: we came home with some nice new touches for their apartment, and had a lot of fun doing it!

Best of all for me, though, was just simply spending time with my daughter. We had some great conversations over coffee—and a fabulous Irish dessert called banoffee pie (a heavenly concoction of bananas and toffee and chocolate—yum!). I realized that somehow I needed time with Erika more than ever in the midst of my grieving over my mom. Erika just understands in a way few other people do.

We did a lot of reminiscing. We looked at old pictures. We talked of tender memories. And we laughed a lot. One night when I was showing Erika and Richie some of the new Mom To Mom DVDs (from Inside Out Parenting: A Mom’s Mission, due to be released on May 1) she corrected a story I tell about her and my Mom in one of the sessions. It was about a time when she was a preschooler, and, upset about something “Nini” wouldn’t let her do, actually yelled “I hate you!” at her grandmother.

“Oh, Mom,” Erika said, “you were a little too kind in telling that. I actually said it three times! And I remember being horrified, ashamed, and scared to death as soon as it came out of my mouth.” Last week we had a really good laugh about it—though, believe me, it seemed no laughing matter at the time! I share this on behalf of all of you with strong-willed preschoolers. There is hope—even for your child!! I think of the wonderful relationship Erika had for so many years with her grandmother. I ponder the beautiful notes she wrote Mom in her last weeks. And I tell you: There is hope!

One of the things that helps amidst the grieving process, I’ve discovered, is to be with others who grieve with you. And I knew Erika understood that when she played for me, one day on our road trip, a few favorite Patty Griffin songs. One of them is called “Better Way To Say Goodbye.” As we listened together, tears flooded my eyes. But they were tears of healing, because all three of us in the car at the time (Erika, Woody, and me) shared them, I knew. And before we left Blackrock (the actual town south of Dublin where Erika and Richie live), Erika gave me as part of my birthday gift a Patty Griffin mix she entitled: “Music Therapy via Patty Griffin.” On the CD she had written this verse: “The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Now that I’m home (an 8-hour flight away from Erika), I play that CD a lot. Especially the song “Better Way To Say Goodbye.” Especially the lines that say “Today my heart is big and sore/Just trying to push right through my skin/Won’t see you anymore/I guess that’s finally sinking in.” And I read Erika’s note on the CD: “Mom, I hope this acts as a little balm for the days when your heart feels ‘big and sore.’ I love you—Eri.”

And as I listen, and as I re-read Erika’s words, I thank God for “music therapy.” And for mothers. For memories. For heaven. And for daughters. For direct flights between Chicago and Dublin. For low airfares in February. But especially for mothers and daughters. If you can hug your daughter—or your mother—sometime soon, do it! Hugging daughters-in-law and mothers-in-law works well, too. And if you don’t have any of these nearby, borrow one. I’ve had some pretty special “second moms” over the years. And I have a friend or two with far-away moms who consider me sort of their “Wisconsin mom.”

How blessed we are to have—and to be—mothers, and daughters.

A Cardinal Valentine

2008-02-12T15:52:00.000-06:00

I’ve always had mixed feelings about Valentine’s Day.

On the one hand, I always look forward to it. I’ve got to admit: I have a sentimental soul. I love romance. Candlelight. Flowers. I love the color red. And God knows we need red—lots of it—just about now in mid-winter. Especially those of us who live in Wisconsin, where we’re just warming up to above-zero temperatures—and it’s snowing again! In fact, I’ve always wondered if that’s why God made cardinals—because he knew that brilliant splash of red was just what we need about now.

But Valentine’s Day can also be hard, sad, or disappointing. A let-down after all that hype about buying your true love diamonds if you really love her. It can be a reminder of what’s missing. Especially if you’re a single mom. Or a “feeling single” mom. Or a mom whose husband is far away. Maybe because he’s traveling. Or deployed. Or emotionally distant.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always thought of Valentine’s Day less as a romantic-hype day and more as an opportunity to do small things for those you love to let them know how much you love them. In our home it was a family event—not a big event, just a special family dinner. I’d cook a “family favorite,” set the table with as much red as I could find, and have at each place some very small favor or gift just to say “I love you.” And we’d have a special dessert.

When I was growing up, my mom often made my favorite cut-out heart sugar cookies. Cookies she made only at Christmas or Valentine’s Day. Now I know why: those little buggers sure are hard to make! Mine always stick to the counter, the rolling pin—or the cookie sheet. I do usually try to make them at Christmas. But just ask my kids: I don’t think I usually managed them a second time in the year!

Speaking of my kids, I wanted to share with you a brief glimpse of Valentine’s Day in the Anderson family. If you’ve been reading my blog lately, you know that this will be an unusual Valentine’s Day for Lars and Kelly with so many miles—and worlds—between them. And our son Bjorn will be celebrating Valentine’s Day by (of all things!) having his wisdom teeth pulled. I guess that will give his wife Abby plenty of opportunity to show her love through ice packs, soup—and lots of TLC!

And guess what Woody and I will be doing? We’re going to Dublin to visit our daughter Erika and her husband Richie. We leave on Thursday the 14th for a week or so with them. A great way, in my opinion, to spend Valentine’s Day. Just can’t wait!!!

Before I go, I want to wish you all a Happy Valentine’s Day! (Or a belated Valentine’s Day, if you’re reading this after the fact.) Whatever day you may be reading this, I want encourage you to brighten the lives of those you love in some small way. It’s always good to start with your husband and/or kids. But you don’t have to stop there. Remember the last blog entry? Be a Barnabas—or a Jonathan—to someone in your life. Or let me put it this way—in keeping with this month and my love for splashes of red: be a mid-winter cardinal. You might even write in and share some of the ways you find to do this. Wouldn’t it be fun to splash a lot of red around this winter?

Meanwhile, see you when I get back from Dublin!

Encouragement

2008-02-11T22:36:00.000-06:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about encouragement lately.

I guess it’s because I’ve really needed it. Between grieving over Mom’s death and thinking (and praying) constantly for Lars in Iraq, I’ve needed it.

And I have been the receiver of so much encouragement. Which is why I’m writing about it today. I am amazed at all the ways people have found to encourage me and Woody during these difficult days. Cards. Calls. Emails. Blog comments. Impromptu visits and invitations to lunch or coffee. One couple even called and “invited themselves over” to watch the Superbowl with us, thinking we might be the only four Patriots fans in Milwaukee. Little did we know how much encouragement we’d need that night (a sad night for our team) . . . But the real deal was that their loving interest in a few things which had just arrived from Mom’s home and their assurance of their prayers for Lars (we got the text that he was “safely in Iraq” during the game) were just what we needed that night.

Encouragement can be a very spiritual thing. Woody is amazed almost daily at the assurance he gets from many of his patients—his cancer patients!—that they are praying for Lars. In fact, that’s the deepest encouragement of all—when folks come alongside and let you know they are praying for you.

It’s actually a very Biblical thing—encouragement. In the early church, it seems Christians were encouraging each other all over the place. In the book of Acts, encouragement (or its derivatives) is mentioned at least a dozen times. Indeed, a man named Joseph was even renamed Barnabas, which means “son of encouragement.” (Acts 4:36). It is, in fact, a command—that we encourage one another. Our Interim Pastor is currently preaching through I Thessalonians, and we are coming across the word “encourage” all the time (I Thessalonians 4:18 and 5:11 are two great examples).

My favorite Biblical example is from the Old Testament, from one little verse tucked away in I Samuel. When David is at a real low, on the run out in the wilderness trying to escape the murderous King Saul, Saul’s son Jonathan—ironically, David’s best friend—finds a way to encourage David. In I Samuel 23:16 we read: “And Saul’s son Jonathan went to David at Horesh and helped him find strength in God.” Amazing. Way before the days of cell phones, email, and text messages, Jonathan finds a way to get to David. And what does he do to encourage him? “Helps him find strength in God.”

I’ve thought a lot about Jonathan lately. Years ago my husband Woody preached (yes, he’s an oncologist; but he is also occasionally asked to preach) an entire sermon on this verse. And it’s come back to me full-force in the past week or so. What Jonathan did provides a model of sorts for us, a model I’ve seen fleshed out in my own life from numerous friends. What did he do? Three things: He found out where David was. (Jonathan had to do this physically, geographically. We may need to do it relationally—find out how our friend is feeling, what she’s struggling with.) He went to him. (Notice he didn’t wait for David to come to him or ask for help. People who most need encouragement often don’t—or can’t—ask for it.) And he helped him find strength in God.

That’s the best kind of encouragement: helping each other find strength in God. So many have done that in my life by just sharing a verse they have clung to in some hard times. The most recent example for me came in an email a long-time friend of mine wrote to Lars (and Lars forwarded to me) simply letting him know she’s praying for him and sharing a verse of Scripture with which she had encouraged me in the past. What could be more encouraging than someone who’s praying for your child—and lets him know it?! And uses Scripture to do it!

So of course you know the question I’m leading up to. It’s a question I’ve been asking myself: Who am I encouraging? For whom am I a Barnabas (let’s call it “daughter of encouragement”) or a Jonathan?

Because you see, in the midst of my needing encouragement myself, I’ve discovered something. It’s not actually a discovery. I’ve always known it. But I’ve been reminded: Lots of people need encouragement. In fact, maybe everyone you meet needs encouragement. Especially in January and February. Who was it who said “Everyone you meet is carrying a heavy load”? In fact, most often there are many folks around you carrying a heavier load than yours. Particularly if they’re moms!

So, as I thank God continually for the many people who pour encouragement into my life—and the creative ways they find to do it—I’m also asking Him to show me the people in my life who need encouragement. And to help me find ways to do for them what others have done for me. (Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?)

And may I encourage you to do that? It might be your best friend—or your next-door neighbor. Your husband and children. Or the girl with the locker next to yours in the gym where you work out. (Quick example: Recently when I ran into a local Mom To Mom Leader at my gym and I shared about Lars, I found out her husband was facing a big scary surgery in a few days—and I’ve found myself praying quite a bit recently for her husband, a man I’ve never met.)

Just be on the look-out for people you can encourage. Who knows? You may just find yourself encouraged in the process—yes, even in February.

Deployment Day

2008-01-30T08:14:00.000-06:00

Every mother is proud of her children. (OK, maybe not every moment with your two-year-old—but you know what I mean.) Yet there are times when a mama feels her heart is just going to burst.

For me, this week is one of those times.

This week—on Thursday, January 31—our son Lars leaves for deployment to Iraq as a C-130 Marine Aviator. He expects to be in Iraq through sometime in August. And he leaves behind his beautiful wife Kelly and precious two-year-old son Bengt.

Why is he doing this? The short answer is that when you are a Marine, you do what the Marines tell you to do. But there’s a longer answer. And of course only he could give you the complete answer. But let me give you a glimpse of my mom-perspective as I’ve prayerfully watched Lars make the decisions that have led to this week.

Lars has always wanted to fly. His grandfather, whom he never knew, was a pilot. Lars had heard the stories of Grandpa Anderson’s B-17 missions over Germany in WWII, and how he loved his subsequent job as a commercial airline pilot. When we went to Washington, D. C., Lars always wanted to spend his time in the Air and Space Museum. His room was tiled with posters and models of planes.

But it wasn’t until a year or so after he graduated from Wake Forest University that he began to seriously evaluate the possibility of entering the military and learning to fly. For a number of months he explored what a Christian view of war and the military looked like for him. He read books, scanned the Internet, and had family discussions about it, asking questions like “What would Jesus say a Christ-follower’s response following 9/11 should be?” He and Kelly thought long and hard and prayerfully about it all.

His enlistment in the Marines, enrolling in Officer Candidate School (OCS) and subsequent Officer Training School, followed by years of flight training, was not a step lightly taken. He became a Marine because he wanted to serve his country, learn to fly, and, above all, I believe, follow what he saw as God’s call on his life at this time. It’s been a whole lot of hard work. Nearly half of his class in OCS did not make it. And the endless hours of flight training and many separations and moves he and Kelly have experienced have not been easy. Life in the Marines is never easy. Ask the thousands of brave men and women who serve in our military—and their families!

But this week is the hardest of all.

I’m sure that, professionally, Lars feels some excitement in doing what he’s trained to do for so long. Like his grandfather before him, he loves to fly. But he is a very, very devoted husband and father. And leaving his wife and son this week will probably be the hardest thing he’s ever done. It will be equally hard for Kelly.

So I’m asking you to pray for them—all three of them: Lars, Kelly, and Bengt. They are three precious examples among thousands of sacrifices being made every day. I am well aware that they are not unique. In fact, some of you reading this may be experiencing the same thing in your families. But they are unique to me. So I’m asking if you will join me in prayer for these three so precious to me.

Am I proud of them? You bet! I’m bursting with pride—in awe, really, of the remarkable young man Lars has become. (I must admit, I struggle with the word “proud.” First, because I don’t mean the wrong kind of pride. And second, because I think we moms sometimes take way too much of the credit—and the blame!—for our kids. Lars is God’s first, mine on loan only for a time. But every one of you moms reading this knows what I mean by “proud”!)

Am I grateful for them? You betcha I am! I am grateful beyond words as I see them listening to the voice of God in their lives and doing their very best to follow it.

Do I love them? More than you could ever know—But, wait, most of you reading this are probably moms. So you can imagine how much I love them.

Notice I’m saying “them.” That’s because Lars and Kelly are an amazing team. And I feel similar pride, gratitude, and love for Kelly. In some ways, her “deployment” may almost be the harder one. So I hope you moms will pray for her especially. She is one terrific mother, as well as one magnificent wife. But being a “single parent” of a very active (though adorable, sweet, precocious—any grandmother reading this can fill in the rest!) two-year-old—all the while missing Lars like crazy—will be a big challenge. Please pray for her.

One last observation from my mama-heart. While this week is hardest of all for Lars and Kelly, it is also hard for Woody and me as Lars’ parents. I feel as if I—as a gifted worrier (more about that in future blogs)—am entering a new chapter with God. It’s a chapter entitled “Trust: Do You Really Believe You Can Trust Me with Lars As He Leaves for Iraq?”

Turning worry into prayer, and ultimately trust, will not be easy for me. I have to be honest with you. The only way I can do it is to stay on my knees. The only way I can do it is to remind myself—every day, maybe every hour—that God loves Lars even more than I do. The only way I can do it is to cling to the same verse we recently sent to Lars on a little laminated card for his wallet:

Be strong and very courageous. Do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)

“Wherever you go” includes Iraq. It also includes wherever you find yourself or your children today. But we moms need reminding, don’t we?

Will you join me on my knees?