Category Archives: parenting

coming home to daddy’s arms…

My dad is the funniest man I know. Not the stand-up comedic kind of funny, but the everyday conversation kind of funny. As the man walketh, so does his humor. Those of you who know him well, know this to be true. Those of you who know me well, know this also to be true of me. I know this shocks some of you. I’ve even heard it from some of you upon meeting me for the first time.

Elaine, I thought you’d be this serious, contemplative type of person who sits around all day thinking profound thoughts about God. Instead, you’re funny.

I’ve never been offended by the conclusion. After all, I write about some fairly heavy stuff here at “peace for the journey.” But I like knowing that I can be both—contemplative and humorous. I have my father to thank for this genetic DNA. My daddy makes me think and makes me laugh, sometimes within the span of a few minutes. He’s the most generous man I know, giving the best of himself away to all who cross his path. He’s not impressed with things, more importantly, not impressed with himself. He is, however, impressed by the story. Your story; my story; God’s story.

My daddy sees God everywhere, because my daddy is connected to life. To joys and pains equally. To highs and lows. Griefs and graces. Sorrows and celebrations. Regardless of the occasion, my dad has discovered how to live with a balanced perspective. My father lives contentedly and always tempers the tough times with large doses of humor.

I’m so glad I still have him around. He was the first man to ever hold me, to ever love me. The first man to wipe my tears, to tell me bedtime stories, to pray the prayers that all good parents should be praying with their children. He was the only man who loved me when others would not … could not. And his were the arms that stretched wide-open for me and welcomed me home after a long season of loveless wandering in the wilderness. In doing so, my daddy told me the story of Jesus all over again. That one moment in my personal history did more to script the eternal witness of God into my life than any other.

And so, today, I tell you again this story I’ve told you before via this video that I posted on my one-year blogging anniversary, nearly three years ago. It’s a bit painful for me to watch it, considering the many miles that have been walked in the time since first posting it. But one thing, one thread remains the same to this day.

My daddy is still stretching his arms wide-open to welcome me home. He’s still making me laugh, still telling me stories. Still connected to the world, and still making sure that I know the way back to Jesus. Today, I honor my father by sharing this witness again. He’d want you to know that, even if you’ve never had an earthly daddy to love you, you have a heavenly Father who loves you perfectly and whose arms are stretched wide on your behalf.

I love you, daddy, for so many reasons, but none more so than for telling me … showing me God. You tell him well!

~Lansey 

I love you this big…

I love you this big…

“Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate.” (Psalm 137:3-5)

I jokingly commented to my neighbor last evening…

“Of all the women least likely cut out for motherhood and children, somehow I wound up with a quiver full of them.”

I’ve been a mom for at least half of my life—twenty-two years of rearing and raising a brood under my roof. Sometimes getting it right. A lot of time failing miserably at the task of loving, but at all times with the understanding that mothering is a privilege … a sacred trust not to be taken lightly.

With parenting comes pain. Unavoidable pain—good and bad. Good pain issuing forth because of the natural flow of give-and-take while growing a child into an adult. Bad pain because sometimes that growth is accompanied by the willful, stubborn choices of both the parent and the child.

Today there’s some good pain in my heart. An ache not unfamiliar to me as a mother of four beautiful children. Today, my eldest son moves to Charlotte where he will be attending graduate school in the fall. A van load and car load just pulled out a few minutes ago, and my obligatory wave at the end of the drive-way was met with a few tears and the all-too-familiar, wrenching kick to the mothering gut.

I first felt it four years ago when we left the parking lot of Nick’s college campus. Sobbed most of the way home and then sobbed some more when I opened the back door and found a bouquet of flowers waiting for me on the counter. I still have the card on my nightstand.

“I love you so much! Thanks for an incredible 18 years. I am so grateful to have you as a mother and you have my love and respect. Reliant K writes: ‘If home is where the heart is, then my home is where you are.’ Your Son, Nick XOXO” (August 18, 2007)

Today there are no flowers to greet my pain. Instead, I take one from my quiver and give it back to the world. Today I release my “twenty-two-year-old, so-much-like-his-mother” son to his life as an adult. Today I trust and believe in those two plus decades’ worth of heart investments that we’ve made together knowing that they have been enough to grow a boy into a man. A man of honor, respect, depth, and godly intention.

I will “not be put to shame when my enemies come and contend with me at the gate.” My son’s got my back. Nicholas, he whose name means “victory of the people” is strong and courageous and will be a leader in this world. A name well-suited for this man who has overcome many obstacles in his short tenure upon this earth and who has always done so in the light and shadow of the cross.

It’s time for you to run,my boy. Time for you to live your life as a man. This mother will miss you; but even more so, this mother is ready to release you to the world.

Live it like you mean it, Nicholas, and always, always, always, take good care of your heart. I love you this big.

Mom

relying on a miracle… {growing a boy into a man}

relying on a miracle… {growing a boy into a man}

“One must not only believe in miracles, one must rely on them.”

So says Dr. Barbara Walker, commencement speaker at my eldest son’s college graduation this past Saturday.

It was a beautiful day; one of the best days of my life. Over the past twenty-two years, I’ve often wondered if we’d make it here—to this one moment in time where ABC’s, 1-2-3’s, and 16 years plus of learning would culminate into rhythmic chorus to “sing” to me this mothering refrain that I shall never forget. The depth and witness of this memory has seared into my soul and birthed in me a fresh perspective about my remaining days, mothering days and otherwise.

One must not only believe in miracles, one must rely on them.


Where would we be without the daily, miraculous intervention of our God? Miracles come to us, most days without our ever acknowledging their worthiness. Certainly the big ones get the press—miracles of physical healing, relationships restored, prodigals returning home, financial blessing prayerfully sought after and received. But is that it? Are miracles limited to sacred flashes of light and bold strokes of God’s heavenly paintbrush? Can miracles birth outside the limelight of the spectacular and yet still hold the potent witness of the Divine?

Yes, I think that it is in these lesser staged moments when our reliance upon miracles bares its witness most profoundly. Our everyday living serves as the backdrop for some of the most weighty miracles ever given to us as God’s children. We may not recognize them as miraculous when then arrive on the scenes of our lives, but they are holy relevant and deserve a moment of prayerful, thankful, and humble recognition of the One from whom all miracles initiate. Accordingly, I take a few moments today to give praise for the miracle I witnessed over the weekend.

 

Some of you might not think that a child graduating from college is any kind of a miracle. I might agree with you if I wasn’t the parent who had lived out these last twenty-two years with my boy. But what would you say about this?

What about a child graduating from college whose parents are both cancer survivors? A boy whose father’s initial prognosis nine years ago didn’t grant him much hope beyond two years? A boy whose mother heard the devastating news that both of her breasts would be removed because cancer had taken up residency within her body? A boy who, at age five, navigated the critical, stinging pain of his parent’s divorce and who has, in recent days, navigated the pain of their life-threatening illnesses? A boy who’s changed addresses nine times in twenty-two years and who changed schools eight times before graduating from high school? A boy whose anger at an early age had his mother wondering if he’d ever cycle around to kindness? A boy whose strong willfulness would have James Dobson writing a second book on the matter? A boy who had to adjust to a step-dad… to live by his rules and to learn by his love? A boy whose bent toward perfection might have crippled his growth? A boy whose introversion might have kept him behind closed doors?

What would you say about him, especially if you knew him now?

No longer a boy, but a man named Nick. A man who, now, has cycled around to immense kindness. A man whose anger has turned into humility. A man whose will is tempered by his Father’s. A man who moves outside his introversion to skillfully function in an extroverted world. A man who is willing to live with one “B” on his transcript despite the “A’s” that surround it. A man who lives, loves, and laughs with all of his parents—biological and step. A man who honors his father and mother, his grandparents, and who actively invests his energies into the shaping of his younger brother and sister. A man who loves the Lord, serves the Lord, and wants nothing more than to be a man after God’s own heart.

Would you call that a miracle? Would you say that, despite all odds, his daily reliance upon God has given him a miracle? That his mother’s daily reliance has given her one as well?

I would say so. I do say so. I’ve relied upon the miraculous, keeping, daily grace of God over these past twenty-two years, and my heart tells me that I’ve just witnessed one of the greatest miracles I will ever know as a human being—

the miracle of growing a boy into a man.

There were days and seasons when I didn’t fully believe it would happen; but always did I rely on the greater heart and hands of God to get us here.

One must not only believe in miracles, one must rely on them.

How is your reliance in miracles living this day? I pray that the witness and abiding treasure of my recent miracle will be more than enough to buoy you along in your belief. Rely on God with your everyday understanding and trust him for the outcome.

This one really blew me away!

Congratulations, son. I love you.

As always…

Peace for the journey,
Mom, aka ~elaine

from trash to treasure

from trash to treasure

I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Tears were forming in hers. We’d just settled into our evening watch of American Idol when I noticed her sadness. The “boys” present in the room shrugged it off as insignificant. Boys are like that sometimes, not seeing past the tears to the deeper issue at work. But this momma… the girl in me… recognized her tears. I cried some similar ones in my younger years. Tears that now, in hindsight, seem frivolous and unwarranted, yet tears at the time of their initial release important in keeping with the moment.
A letting go kind of moment.
Let me explain.
My eight-year-old daughter is attached to her stuff. Whether it be her well-worn blanket (a.k.a. burp cloth from her infant days), her stuffed animals (enough to allow her only an eighth of an inch of her mattress for sleeping purposes), her hidden stash of Kit-Kats from Halloween, or her Sponge Bob Crocs from two years ago, my Amelia isn’t keen on letting go of her belongings. She’s a keeper of things, believing in their significance even if they’ve outlived their practical usefulness. She’ll fight hard for their survival, and last night would prove the same.
Occasionally, my daughter drinks from a sippy cup; she wouldn’t do so in mixed company, but in the safety of home, she prefers the cups from her toddler days. Over the years we’ve thrown several out, but two remain… until last evening. Alas, one of the screw-on tops to the cups did a dance with the dishwasher and came out mangled. My husband made the tragic mistake of announcing its demise and, subsequently, threw it in the trash can. My daughter was stunned by the revelation but kept her emotions in check. For a few minutes. Until the familiar intro to Idol began. And that is when I noticed her tears.
Amelia, what’s wrong?
Silence. More tears. (*Note to self… asking the question usually opens the floodgates to further tears.)
Amelia, are you upset about something?
Silence. Tears now freely flowing down her cheeks; body beginning to shake.
Amelia, are you crying about your cup?
Hesitantly she spoke, carefully camouflaging her angst so as not to attract the attention of the boys in the room…
Mommy, I need that lid.
I thought that might be the case, daughter. Would you like to keep it in your room?
Yes.
Then go get it.
Tears stopped, eyes were wiped, and a bee-line was made to the trash can and then to her room. Moments later, she settled herself back onto the couch and all was well with her heart. And I got to thinking.
About attachments. About the heart of a child that is willing to hold onto “things”… needs to hold onto things even though others deem them unnecessary, unimportant, limited in their usefulness. About what makes a “thing” more than a “thing.” About when a “thing” becomes something valuable and about why, as adults, we sometimes think it necessary to make that something lesser in its status.
As adults, we’re well-informed and well-trained with our “letting gos.” We don’t get too far into our maturing without experiencing a few painful ones. The capacity to “let go” and do so with some measure of grace is often the mark of maturity. We preach it, teach it, write about it, and live it. My life history is replete with such benchmark moments. I hope they’ve aided in my maturation at every level, but just last night I started thinking about it all. Wondering if maybe it’s OK to keep some attachments to certain things. To store them away and keep them hidden because they became a something to me in a previous season.
That maybe, sometimes we rush the “letting go.” That we are quick to throw away the “things” that have become something to us just because they’ve gotten a bit mangled and torn by the daily wear and tear of our handling therein. That, perhaps, by keeping a few of them, we’ll have a better chance of remembrance in years to come when recall becomes paramount to our moving forward.
Indeed, we need to “get on with the gettin’” on as it pertains to our growing up on the inside, but what if our growing up is, at least in part, related to our holding onto a few things? What well-worn things have we prematurely let go of in favor of shiny, new ones just for the sake of usefulness? I have no illusions that the lid to my daughter’s sippy cup will ever serve as a functioning lid again. But to her it is useful, at least for a little while longer. Why?
Because it’s part of her history.
She and that lid have some longevity. They’ve shared some years together, been as close to one another as a temporal thing can get to an eternal beating soul. When she was a toddler, she carried it with her everywhere she went. At eight, she limits her carrying to times of thirst. And I imagine in another year or so, she’ll outgrow her need for its companionship. But for now, it’s still something to her. And I find that beautiful and poignant and a message of grace meant for my own soul this day.
She needs her lid, and I need a childlike heart that is willing fight hard for a few things worth preserving. Things that are worth holding onto because they’re part of my history. Things that are meant for the treasure box and not the trash can. Things that are more valuable because of their wear and tear over the years and because of my handling therein. Things that, in the eyes of others may not seem like much, but things that are precious to me because they have “touched” my lips and made their way into my heart as a forever keeping.
I’m not into hoarding or collecting stuff for collection’s sake. And if you’re a regular reader of my words then you know I’m all about the “letting go” process. But I will tell you this… I’m a proponent of holding onto a few things that have become somethings to us. If we don’t have a few somethings, then our lives run the risk of floating aimlessly through our earthly tenures.
We all need an anchor in this season. A tried and true, reliable “holding onto” that will see us through to tomorrow. I don’t know what yours is—the one thing that you are willing to dig out of the trashcan and hide away as a treasure in the deep recesses of your heart—but I do know what mine is. And in many ways, it resembles a well-worn, well-chewed upon, overly used, and mangled sippy-cup lid.
A holding faith.
And I will fight to the death for that one, friends. Cry some tears over it and make sure that everyone in the room, including the boys, understand the fact that my faith isn’t made for the trashcan. That instead, I’ll store it away where my daughter has chosen to store her lid.
 
In my treasure chest… my heart (I had to search hard to find it in her room this morning). There’s a history we share, my faith and me, that’s worth holding onto. May it be the same for each one of us. Let us not be quick to discard an old faith as unnecessary, unreliable, limited in its usefulness. Let us, instead, be quick to hide it as newly discovered wealth to serve as a continual anchor in the seasons to come. May your faith be your something… the one thing… you’re willing to fight for today.
Keep to it, my good companions on the journey. Keep to the road of faith. As always…
Peace for the journey,

PS: I’ll be MIA most of next week as I’m scheduled for surgery on Monday at 8:00 AM. I would appreciate your continuing prayers. Shalom.

on chasing fires…

“‘You know the way to the place where I am going.’ Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?’ Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” {John 14:4-6}
 
 

Before Christmas, we received a note from Jadon’s teacher regarding his “lack of focus” in the classroom. The teacher is well-informed regarding Jadon’s ADHD diagnosis (attention-deficit-hyperactivity-disorder) and his trend toward straying thoughts, but she felt that, perhaps, something extra was being added to the mix of his confusion.

Accordingly, she pulled Jadon aside and inquired of him as to the reason behind his straying during her lecture time. He assured her that nothing was wrong… that he simply had lost focus. Not quite satisfied with his answer, she wrote me a kind note, letting me know of the situation, and asking me if their might be something further “going on at home” that might be contributing to my son’s distraction.

Immediately my thoughts turned toward my cancer, quickly followed by thoughts of the upcoming Christmas celebration. Rather than linger in my suspicions, I talked with Jadon regarding his straying in the classroom. In serious tone and with little hesitation came his reply:

“Mom, it’s like this. When I’m listening to the teacher at school, it’s like I’m on my horse, traveling on a path through the woods when all of the sudden I see a fire off in the distance. I turn my horse in that direction, and I begin to chase after that fire. Before long, I don’t see the teacher anymore. Only the fire in front of me.”

My concerns abated, I smiled. I looked at my son and simply said:

“Tomorrow, son, no chasing fires. Stay on the path with your teacher, and all will be well. If a fire happens while on the path, you’ll just have to step around it, hop over it, or walk right through it. But son, stay on the path with your teacher.”

He chuckled; we hugged, and he left the house for the great outdoors… I suppose for an afternoon filled with chasing fires of all manners. And I couldn’t help but wonder about Jadon’s diagnosis and if ever there has ever been a more apt description for the problem of ADHD, the problem of straying thoughts. I bet the experts would like to get a hold of this one, maybe even use it as a way of describing to the world what it is like to live inside the skin of a person who struggles with this label. A person who is easily distracted and would rather chase fires through the tangled forest than to stay on the path already blazed within.

Chasing fires. When was the last time you stepped off the marked path with the Teacher in order to entertain the flames of a fire not meant for your daily deliberations? I imagine we all could recall occasions when we’ve been guilty of foraging for foreign flames rather than sticking to the sacred steps already blazed on our behalf. Times when the warmth and burnt orange of a distant flickering rerouted our thoughts and redirected our horses into dangerous territory—territory meant only for distraction and destruction, not for personal discovery.

Like my son, I’ve chased a few foreign fires over the course of my earthly tenure. It’s not served me very well. I’ve got a few burn scars to prove it. Even when the path before me has been an obvious leading from the Teacher, there have been those “out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye” occasions when the flames of another fire have captured my attention, and my learning disability kicks in. It’s called temptation. And whenever temptation is entertained, a straying is soon to follow. And whenever straying in the woods is chosen over staying on the path, the chasm between the two becomes a cluttered gap of trees and brambles and miscellaneous steps not easily retraced once the fire has diminished and lost its heat.

Fires like that… ones that burn to ashes… are never intended for our good. Instead, they temporarily flame for our distraction. For our straying. For our missing out on some steps with the Teacher—steps that can never be replaced, but steps that will have to be retraced in order for learning to occur. That being said, not all fire chasing is bad. Some fires are meant for our approach, our attention, and our purification. But those fires aren’t usually found off the beaten path. Instead, they usually present themselves along the way and as we go… in plain view and requiring our stepping around them, hopping over them, or walking right through them. On those occasions, we clearly see the Teacher through the flames, knowing that his holy veil has passed through them first, allowing us safe passage as well.

Oh for feet that are firmly entrenched upon the soil of our up head rather than our side to side. For eyes to clearly see the path, for wisdom to choose the path, and for a heart full of courage to stay on the path with the Teacher despite the fires burning all around us. It’s not easy to continue on course, friends. Not easy to stay fixed on our learning when multiple distractions line our daily lives with their interrupting flames. But stay we must if we want to pass the test and travel forward to the next assignment that our Teacher has for us—a task that will further our maturity and move us past our infancy.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to waste time in the woods with fires that are going to stunt my growth. Instead, I want to keep in step with my Teacher, believing that where he’s headed is where I need to be. He’s leading me on an odyssey of faith that will eventually land me safely home; I’d rather get there with fewer burns because of fewer fieldtrips to the forest. Thus, I say to myself this day the words I now speak to my son each morning before he leaves for school…

“Child, no chasing fires today. Stay on the path with your teacher, and all will be well. If a fire happens while on the path, you’ll just have to step around it, hop over it, or walk right through it. But child, stay on the path with your teacher.”

Perhaps, my friends, you need the reminder as well. Keep to the path of our Jesus; he is the Way, the Truth, and the Life… the only fire worthy of our chase this day. Keep your eyes fixed forward. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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