Updated on April 17, 2017
Good Grief, Charlie Brown.
Boy, Lucy was not kidding.
Grief is the weirdest most constricting feeling I have ever experienced. I already had no idea what the future held for me, and once grief entered the picture, everything suddenly became a Russian roulette. A game of chance with my emotions makes me nervous at best. Grief is one sneaky character.
Let me digress and say, I am normally a crier. God gave me tears a few years ago, and they have been an adjustment. They are a beautiful gift for me, personal and perfect in every way. But having tears as a gift, and bursting into tears because of grief? Two entirely different things.
My poor husband. He is such a champ, fighting through grief himself. We hold one another up well, during this time of loss and sorrow. But sometimes we are tooling along, and out of nowhere, the tears start falling, anxiety raises and I feel a sense of panic overcome me.
Usually, I see something I want to share with my mom and dad. Except, it’s only mom now, here with us. Dad moved on to a much better situation a few weeks ago. I can’t be angry about that- he is with Jesus now. Who doesn’t want that? Isn’t it the goal?
But the turmoil and rollercoaster of emotions makes me want to punch someone. It catches me off guard every time. I sometimes forget he isn’t here. I sometimes think I will call and tell him something funny or weird I saw. Then I remember. So the grief takes hold and laughs at me, while I sob and the wave of emotion overtakes me like the ocean during a storm. My heart pounds in my chest and everything just hurts.
The truth about grief is simply this- it’s dirt we can’t shake off, no matter how we try. We can only go to Jesus and pray for relief. Sometimes we just have to collapse on the kitchen floor and cry it all out. Sometimes we need to run, work in the yard or take a long drive. In the end, we must remember our faith carries us through, with mercy following close behind. Our hearts are broken, but not shattered. This grief is temporary because one day we too will follow my dad’s footsteps and move on to the promises laid out for us long ago.
On March first, my grief became a reality, but it didn’t become a way of life. For those of us struggling through, remember Jesus is coming for you too one day. On that day, all despair, grief, loneliness and heartache will be washed away. There won’t be anything left to do except laugh, love, and worship.
Posted on April 16, 2017
These hands. The pair of them has held up my own when I was too weak to do it myself. They have worked until calloused, bruised and raw. They have pushed pencils, cars, and life. These hands have been gentle to my newborn children and solid to their teenage behinds. They have been Papaw. They have been through the best life has given us and the worst when death has cheated us.
These hands. They represent all that is good in the world of being a man, a father, a husband and a friend. They have taken in my husband as one of their own. These hands have respected him as he has navigated being married to me, fathering our children and now moving toward empty nesting. They have also loved my sister in law through moments when she needed a father because she already lost her own.
These hands. They have taught countless hours from a chalkboard to a whiteboard then a smart board. Influencing the lives of an unknown number of students and peers.Listening, teaching, mentoring, loving and standing up for what was right in the classroom when few wanted to lead.
These hands. They have held my mother for 44 years in marriage. They have removed mice and birds. They have shoveled snow and mulch, planted flowers and grown tomatoes. They have held her through sickness, loss, and pain. These hands have been a partner to her hands for my entire life.
These hands. This pair has clapped in applause and approval. They have shaken hands with others in deals, condolences, and celebrations. They have paid tribute to fallen men and women and sacrificed for a time as a veteran. These hands have always loved being a patriot and always respected our flag.
These hands have turned pages of books and magazines, and have loaded bait and bullets. They have been cut, scraped and smashed. These hands have spent their entire life strong and brave, holding up family and friends, mentoring peers, loving strangers and being an example.
These hands belong to my daddy. They are the most beautiful pair of hands I have ever held. They have been a gift to many, a force to behold. I miss them fiercely today, as every day. I am sure they are perfect now, but it doesn’t make me miss them any less. If these hands could tell their story, what a tale it would be.
Posted on February 19, 2017
We find as we get older it is as hard as when we were in high school. Women are judgmental creatures, and we don’t do a lot of changing for one another. When we need something, it can sometimes come at a cost for those who care for us. This is not an intentional price to charge for friendship, but sometimes a necessary one to pay. Read More
The Real Dirt
The truth is I feel like a failure most days as a parent.
Now, before you go saying a bunch of positive things you don’t mean, let me explain.
Information has been kept from me. Vital information I could have used on a daily basis as a mom. I was green you guys. GREEN as a blade of grass, a dollar bill or the Grinch. I mean, I had no clue. The best part? I was really good at faking it. I mean, I could successfully breastfeed and eat spaghetti at the same time. I could talk on a corded phoned (do I need to insert a picture of that?) while I changed a poopy diaper. I could fold laundry and rock a cradle. I could fix dinner while rocking a cranky baby to sleep.
And I was frustrated the entire time. For a long time I didn’t enjoy being a young momma. I was so overwhelmed. I cried a lot. And those babies- they just kept coming. We had 4 kids by the time we were married for 8 years. Please, let me do the math for you.
1993, baby boy #1.
1995, baby girl #1
1997 baby boy #2
1999 baby by #3
This equals 4 kids in 7 years. FOUR of them. I was always outnumbered. Even with an amazing, hardworking husband, I was completely out of my league with this entire stay at home mom gig. Sometimes I don’t know how we survived it. I may still need some therapy.
I may still need some therapy.
Survival of the fittest is my joke when I talk about having four kids, but the truth is, it’s no joke. This is the dirt of my younger days that on occasion haunts me still. This is the stuff that life is made of. It’s where my kids learned to be loyal to one another. It is also where they learned expletives and how to shove everything under their bed in less than five minutes because company was coming over in ten, and I needed the rest of the house picked up. These “formative years” we read books, learned to write our names and played in the dirt.
There it is again.
We all start out so innocent, yet we always return somehow to the dirt we came from. For kids that age, it was in the playing, the falling down and the getting back up. The way they learned what “no” meant, and how they learned about hurt feelings in the backyard. They also figured out when you call nine-one-one, a nice officer comes to the door, and she isn’t happy when she finds out the call was because the goldfish crackers were spilled everywhere and someone was in big trouble. (all while mommy was in the shower for three minutes) Incidentally, that was the longest shower I took for several years.
The dirt showed my children how to get messy, then find redemption in the water hose, washing all the mess away and down the street. It showed them how the blades of freshly cut grass could cover their feet one minute, and be traveling down a small river to the street the next, picking up more grass and leaves and debris in their path. Washed in the water, cleansed by the hose.
Just like Jesus does to my soul every time I think I am a failure as a parent. There is so much more to this part of my dirty story- this is just the beginning. We still need to talk about all those things I could have been warned about, yet- silence.
The dirt taught me to grow things, like our children, into adults who can be independent. It started out with dirty shoelaces and all that tying practice. It ended up with me being a Mimi to some precious babies, that belong to my babies. Three with us and one already waiting for us on streets of gold, no doubt holding onto Jesus smiling at our dirt being washed away every time we come before him. The dirt has become a sweet perfume as I grow into motherhood, after almost 24 years of practice.
Intentionally setting ourselves apart is generally no picnic.
In Cindy Bultema’s book, Live Full, Walk Free, we find the direction applicable to our lives today in 1 Corinthians. Covering the letters to Corinth written by Paul, this study guides you through the perils and warnings of living a sin filled life. It also points you in the direction of where God wants you to be, specifically in your personal life.
More than a book to read, I enjoyed very much having a study intertwined in the reading. It was nice having one copy to work from, and the pages are meant to be written on. This book also has some extras like a 1 Corinthians reading plan, A-Z scripture cards and scripture memorization.
For more information or to purchase Live Full, Walk Free, visit Cindy Bultema at her web page.
In scripture, Jesus made sure to take a time-out. He intentionally pulled away from his followers to pray and eat. He spent this time preparing for what would come next. Jesus set the example for re-booting ourselves in a simple manner. Therefore, the February calm is important.
Matthew 14:22-23 (NIV)
“Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd. After he dismissed them, he went up to the mountainside himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone.”
Read more at The Glorious Table
Posted on February 5, 2017
In this weird place I have been thrown in my life, the dirt is coarse and harshly abrasive. My emotions continually get the best of me. Things I have no control over seem to pile up. I cannot see straight some days. I feel as if there is no escape.
I made promises to myself several years ago and I have broken every one of them. I had many weak moments, many opportunities to stand tall, and I was depending on my bible to rescue me. Finally, I determined through experience and study that I preferred coffee to people and I slowly made that happen.
I mean- I really made that happen.
No more bible study or small group. No more coffee dates. No more late night calls to friends. No more celebrations. No more dinners, sporting events, concerts or functions. I pared back my social media time and limited my interaction with people in general. Unless I am at work or married to you, I am simply not interested. I need a re-set.
I fell out of love with people. We are mean and dirty and imperfect, and I am tired. I don’t want to be involved in conversations which turn to gossip. I don’t want to take sides anymore, for any reason. I want to be able to help solve problems, not just listen to complaints. I don’t like secrets when they could hurt someone. I cannot handle seeing marriages crumble. I want simple. I want Christ based relationships with no ugly hurt. I want my Christian friends to be… Christ-like, so I can be free to be the same. I want my life to be a reflection of Jesus, not the people in my social circle.
I don’t want to talk to anyone outside my very small circle which includes my very patient husband and immediate family. I force myself to say nice, polite things to the check-out clerk at the grocery store, the guy at the gas station and the greeter at the office in my school. Eye contact is hard, and church is the hardest place to go. Almost too hard.
This new commitment is super scary. People want me to do things I simply have no interest in doing. They want to talk to me, like about real life things. They want me to go to fun paint classes and serve on the hospitality team and bring the grandbabies to Sunday School. These people are quite lovely, and I just want to hide from them. Somewhere inside my core, I hear myself screaming “run away”. Yet, they still check on me when I am absent. ( I am so appreciative, just quiet)
I don’t feel very loveable right now, being so overwhelmed. I come to him with a full plate. I know Jesus is standing here, holding my hand and heart. I know the answer is him. I know all these crazy earthly things will melt upon his return. I know his promises are true. But this dirt in my life hurts today. It hurts right now. It feels like it will never wash off. It is incapacitating, and he knows.
Do you go through the motions each day? Do you read scripture like you are dying of thirst for its power and knowledge? Isn’t that what we are supposed to be doing in our seasons of filth and unrest? Is knowledge really power, and can we find our way back to using our power for good?
I want to use my power for good, my words for encouragement and my life for Christ. In all the crunch and chaos of things around me, I stand alone on the promise of Jesus. I choose to stand alone and be quiet, even for these few moments (which in the grand scheme of things adds up to nothing). I choose to take a step back and reset my priorities and focus.
I choose to be still.
Updated on January 5, 2017
Chip and Joanna Gaines (with Mark Dagostino) share their story of how it all began, and it is inspiring. From marriage to having children and multiple businesses, the couple has a unique story to tell. This was a great way to gain insight to one of America’s sweetheart couples. Their show Fixer Upper is a hit among many age groups. This book is an easy, readable conversation about their lives between Chip and Joanna. It was very enjoyable.
You can read more about them here.
Updated on December 28, 2016
The Real Dirt.
I am so tired.
I have a glass of iced tea right here, and I am ready to tell the truth.
Sometimes, Our lives are so well polished, we don’t even have a current profile picture on our social media pages. I know I don’t. My current picture is one of my husband and I, and there are about forty like them, all with flaws. I couldn’t post them. They aren’t what people want to see, our flaws.
Our dirt, owned by us, created by our indiscretions. Dirt turned into mud by our tears and tracked around, leaving footprints on white carpet like sin on our souls. Just like people don’t want to see we have struggles, they don’t want to acknowledge our humanity and all the dirt.
We walk past one another, quickening the pace. We let the words fly out of our mouths like they are honey, but they drip fast and land hard like vinegar. “How are you?” we say, as our feet speed up and before we know it we haven’t even waited for an answer. We don’t want to know how you are. We can’t handle the truth, the sorrow, the dirt. We can’t handle our own mess, so we aren’t willing to take on yours. We can’t handle even the words, let alone all the things that come after them.
All. The. Things.
Now this is something I have been seeing written in many contexts. Here, however, I truly mean All The Things. All of them. The messy parenting, the failed marriages and the alcohol hidden in the laundry room. The affair after hours, the pornography on the computer, the money embezzled from the fundraiser and the gambling addiction. What about the lies at work, the gossip we spread in the name of worry, and the manipulations to make us look better?
How about we share the insecurities in our marriage, the abortion no one knows about and the pain killers stolen from a grand parents’ cabinet? Why shouldn’t we share our pain, grief, and suffering through illness or shame? When are we going to talk about all of the elephants in all of the rooms?
When do we come to terms with the humanity gifted upon us, that sometimes feels more like a curse than a blessing?
Why must we continue waiting for someone to die before we know they are sick?
How are we supposed to hold one another up reaching for Jesus the whole time while lying to ourselves and everyone else about who we are and what we have become?
How about I go first? Let’s begin with my personal war on words because I just can’t stop cussing, and my frustration with relationships because I would gladly trade people for plants any day of the week. I mean that last part. I would (and have) trade relationships with people for the plants in my garden. I can even justify it, because I have had a lot of practice.
When a plant dies, you throw it in a compost pile and forget it. If I want new plants, I break off a piece of one and grow another. When I see some new variety I can order it on line, and when I don’t want something anymore, I give it away. Plants don’t share my secrets. They don’t lie to me, they don’t get emotional and they don’t require me to be sane. I can be a major jerk and it is ok with my pothos. My hydrangea does not care if I am madder than a wet hen. Plants also keep me grounded, and remind me who I belong to. And they do a much better job than people do.
The truth is this. Jesus spent much time in a garden praying. That is where I connect with him most, even though I know deep inside my heart I do not deserve him. Not one ounce. Yet, here he is, dirt under his fingernails, ready to dig deep with me whenever I need him to. He is always willing. He spent his time with the broken, lost and lonely. I am all those things and more.
Together I hope we can discover a way to connect with one another by connecting to Jesus and all the truths he lived in the dirt.
He was before us and is forever for us.
**this series dedicated to a certain young woman who is so very tired of all the dirt**