Being a Mom

Usually when you meet someone new, the first thing you ask is, "What do you do?"  I remember the days of being a stay at home mom when my answer was just that, "I am a stay at home  mom."  The responses were varied, from oh that's good, to just oh, and the person would walk away thinking I was not contributing much to society at large.
But for me, I consider being a mom the greatest challenge and the greatest joy I have ever had, and fortunately am still having. Parenting does not stop when your kids are grown  up.
A normal part of being mom is helping your child navigate difficult times.  My first teaching job was in a dinky migrant town in Arizona and I usually went home every weekend since there was nothing to do with the Gila monsters.  One weekend I was eating dinner with my mom and burst into tears.  I had no idea why, but she hit the nail on the head. "Honey, you are really lonely down there because there is no one there your age."  How did my mom know that? How could she read me so well?  It didn't change my circumstances, but knowing that someone knew and cared, helped me go back to my job.
My mom died pretty young, when Kristin was only three and I was pregnant with Corrie.  I never had the chance to ask her any questions about parenting, and if I was doing it right.  I remember one thing she always said to me: "There are no courses in parenting.  I did the best I could all these years, and I've loved you."

I love being a mom. All my girls have been a joy in so many ways, but for this moment I want to focus on Kristin. I've seen her grow over the years into the beautiful woman she is now and could not be more proud.  She is honest and open, she loves God, loves her husband, loves her son with everything in her.  She is an example to me in so many ways of learning to trust in God when you really just don't understand.  We've been through a lot in our lives, we lived in three different countries, she was at one time fluent in all three languages.  She's gone to school here, there and everywhere, she's loved one boy who then became her husband, she's journeyed through this difficult time of carrying and loving Branch with such grace and love and hope that every time I pray for her, I cry tears of joy mixed with sorrow.  She trusts that God will see her through the birth, even though she knows there will be such great grief when he's gone.
She is a great mom.  
Kristin, I love you.
Mom

Peaceful Waters

I heard from somewhere that when you grieve it comes in waves.  I think that is a very fitting analogy for grief. I have live many years in California, but I grew up in Arizona, so waves are not something I like to be in. I'm more of a swimming pool kind of girl.  The waves are a bit scary, they take you places you don't want to go, and one can come on you and be much bigger than was anticipated.

Today was one of those days when an unexpected wave of grief came.  I was listening to music on the way to work, my mind not really on anything, and I burst into tears.  Huge, sobbing tears.  I couldn't really see, so I was thankful that the car in front of me was going rather slow.  Then the tears stopped.  I found the tissues, dried my eyes and drove the rest of the way to work.  But my frame of mind was scrambled, my thinking unclear. I was touchy and easily frustrated throughout the morning, but dry eyed. I thought I was ok.

Four hours later, I took my class to our weekly chapel time.  Once again, a wave of grief washed over me.  I asked someone else to watch my class, ran to my classroom and sobbed my eyes out.  I managed to calm down after about a half hour, but all I really wanted to do was go home, get in a hot bathtub and have a cup of tea. It was hard to stay focused the rest of the day.

On the long drive home, I was listening again to some music, and a song came on about God being near.  I wondered, will You really be near as I grieve over my grandson?  I did not hear a voice answer, did not have an instant feeling of peace, but the words that came to my heart and mind were, "God will provide."  

For today, that is enough. I know the waves of grief will continue to come for months and I think again of what it says in Psalm 56:8, "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected my tears in a bottle, you have recorded each one in your book." I could not do this without God, and at the end of the day, in the midst of grief and sorrow and not understanding, I am thankful that I have a God who will hold me, hold Kristin, Glenn and Branch, and will be there to provide.

"Better Than a Hallelujah"

On Monday, I was flying back to Maryland after a weekend in San Diego.  I have never gone so far away for such a short time. 
On the flight home, I was listening to my I pod, trying to drown out the airplane noise,  and heard a song by Amy Grant called "Better Than A Hallelujah".  Here are the words to the first verse and the chorus:
           "God loves a lullaby
             In a mother's tears in the dead of night
             Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.
             God loves the drunkard's cry
             The soldier's plea not to let him die,
             Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

             We pour out our miseries
             God just hears a melody
             Beautiful, the mess we are
             The honest cries of breaking hearts
             Are better than a Hallelujah."

There are so many ways we show love to each other, to God.  Sometimes it is with a Hallelujah -think how inspiring the Hallelujah Chorus is, and sometimes it is with the honest cry of our heart, and the honest sharing of our love with others.  

My trip to San Diego was to surprise Kristin at the shower her sisters gave her.  She really wanted me to come, I told her it was too expensive. But I came, I surprised her, we cried. It was
                     Better than a Hallelujah.

There were around 50 people at the shower.  Aunts, cousins, friends from high school, friends from college, work, church.  Lives that Kristin has touched, so many who want to wrap their arms and love around Kristin and Glenn and Branch.  So many lovely people. They were
                    Better than a Hallelujah.

The day after the shower, Kristin opened her gift cards and the few gifts that came.  A sweet bear, a wood carving, a frame, generous gift cards from friends, a generous cash gift from the people I work with.  We laughed, we cried, we were touched by the thoughtfulness of so many.  It was
                    Better than a Hallelujah.

These are encouragements that will take me through the coming months.  As I got ready for work today, I starting crying.  There seemed to be no reason, but I know there is a grief inside that I just can't explain.  Last month I wrote about lessons from the trees and my love for fall when the leaves are so colorful.  The trees are almost finished with their colorful cycle. Tonight the weather is changing dramatically, the wind is blowing and almost all the leaves will be gone in the next few days.  I've been watching them change each day on my drive home.  The wonderful colors are gone, they are turning brown and falling to the ground.  I don't want to see the leaves come off the trees because that means it's time for Branch to be born, time to love him for just a minute, and time to say good bye.
I keep going forward because I have faith in someone much bigger than me.  He will give me strength to be there for my daughter, He'll be there for me.  Because He promised, because He said He would hold me, because He is the  reason I can say Hallelujah. I will close with one of my favorite verses, which has given me hope in the midst of hard things;

Habakkuk 3:18-19, "Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.  The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights."