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

what crowd are you running with?

She lapped me twice yesterday. Twice. She an avid marathon runner. Me an avid “hope I get through this jaunt without tripping on a rock” walker. My lap around the neighborhood is about a mile in lengt

h. Her lap a bit further than mine. We made our cursory nods at one another the first time she passed me. She’s not much of a talker. Running is serious business for this gal. But when I heard her steps encroaching upon my territory the second go around, I decided to break our customary silence.

“I’m going to ‘facebook’ that you lapped me twice today! I used to run, but I can’t anymore. I’ve been through cancer, and it’s slow

 

ed my pace. You’re my inspiration!”

It was then that she did something I’ve never seen her do before. She stopped running (she was now several paces ahead of me), turned around and said…

“No, you’re my inspiration. Look at you. You’re jogging slowly. Someday we’ll run together.”

I nodded my thanks, and we departed company. It’s highly unlikely that I will ever be able to keep pace with her stride, but I liked her idea—this “running together.” It started me thinking about the men and women with whom I currently keep pace. Those who are stepping the path of cancer and who are moving forward with their healing. There are many of us. Too many to name in one post. Another 1.5 million will be added to the roll call this year alone.

And while I may not be able to run with the marathon momma in our neighborhood, I’ve been privileged to run with many valiant cancer-warriors in the course of my last year. Some of them I was able to meet face-to-face this weekend.

All of us cancer survivors. Three of us breast cancer survivors. One a momma-survivor—her precious son, Andrew, marking the path home to heaven increasing our hopeful expectation for what awaits us all at the end of the road. I am honored to call these women friends; they have stood with me, prayed for me, touched me with their love—all from a distance, and just this past weekend, in the flesh. As I recently wrote in my book proposal…

“Suffering need, needs a suffering friend. Not just any friend, but a friend who has walked a similar road.”

Certainly, we need a variety of friendships. But there is something uniquely special about having a “come-alongside” friend who grasps the fullness of our pain, whether that pain issues forth from cancer or from some other type of “disease” that is eating away at our flesh. We need those who will keep pace with our stride, not move ahead of us or lag behind but who willingly enter into our struggles because their stories mirror ours. Out of the comfort we have known we must, in turn, offer comforting comfort to others (see 2 Cor. 1:3-5).

I don’t know what that will look like for you in the days to come, but I imagine there will surface a person in the next week who will need the benefit of your comfort. Perhaps a “suffering need” with which you are well familiar. Promises regarding a “future run together” fall flat to a heart that is suffering. What proffers hope is an offer of willing participation, a decision to stop running ahead and to start keeping pace with personal pain. A slowing down so that the hurting heart might catch up, look up, live up in the midst of trial.

God needs you to minister his comfort to his children. You cannot be all things to all people, but you can be a friend to one. Would you be willing to pay attention to the lives that cross your path today? There is someone who needs the tenderness and kindness of heaven. God has entrusted you with the privilege of this glorious dispensation. Suffering need, needs a suffering friend. Out of the comfort you have known, minister comfort. As always…

Peace for the journey,
~elaine
PS: According to random.org, the winner of Glynnis Whitwer’s I Used to Be So Organized is Kathy S. And because my friend, Cindy, is the queen of organization and simplicity, I’m sending her a copy as well. Leave a comment today to be entered into a give-away for Michael O’Brien’s CD Be Still My Soul.

Legacy (a reflection from "She Speaks")

 She nestled in next door to me, to my left and within an elbow’s reach of bumping into mine. Around the table set for eight, we began our dissection of rolls, salad, and sweet tea. Her choosing a seat next to mine put a smile across my heart. She’s a good fit with my favorite people group, and as things go with my favorite people group—those exceeding me in wisdom and age by at least twenty years—I heartily welcomed her as part of my evening digestion.

Some meals feed the stomach; other meals feed the soul. This meal would provide nourishment on both counts. Thus, the “feeding began” with a few words of initial impartation from my heart to hers.

“Tell me a little about yourself. Where did you come from, and why are you here?”

“I’m from Arizona, although it’s not really my point of origin, and I’m here with my daughter this weekend. I’ve never been to She Speaks before, but I wanted to come and see what the buzz is all about. Mostly I came to support her. Can I show you something?”

(Honestly, she could have shown me a pair of nail clippers at that point; she “had me” at her words about “point of origin.”) Instead of nail clippers, she pulled out a copy of the newly released book by Glynnis Whitwer, I Used to Be So Organized: Help for Reclaiming Order and Peace.

“My daughter wrote this book, and she dedicated it to me; I didn’t even know it until today.”

She opened the book to the dedication page, and we read the words together. Her name was written there—in print and on display as a lasting memorial to the parenting investment … the loving deposits, she’s made into the life of her daughter over the years. Glynnis obviously “had her mother” with these initial words of personal dedication. It was a Kodak moment, at least of the heart kind—one that I mentally snapped and reflected upon throughout the remainder of the evening.

I watched them as they broke bread with one another and wondered about how many tables they’ve shared over the years. The evening was filled with little moments of mother-daughter give-and-take. Caring for one another in simple ways. Passing the salt. Passing softly spoken messages. Passing the tissue box. Passing touches. Passing love.

At one point in the evening, my new friend gently placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. It remained there throughout the serenade beautifully voiced through Michael O’Brien. I could barely contain my tears while witnessing this love pass from a mother to her daughter. A stretch of grace from a mother’s womb to the fruit of that womb.

A grace-filled tribute to legacy.

The keynote speaker for the evening spoke of legacy. Ann Voskamp challenged us in regards to those “book/movie trailers” we’re creating for the next generation. What seeds are we planting? What trails are we blazing? What steps are we marking? What stones are we gathering? What remembrances are we collecting? What will be the lasting memorial of our earthly tenures?

As the evening drew to a close, I thought about the “book trailer” that I had just watched unfold before me at the table. Not the one on the stage screen, but on the screen closer at hand—the 3D, in the flesh trailer that rubbed elbows with me throughout dinner. Clip after clip of loving legacy between a mother and her daughter. I’m not sure anyone else noticed it, but I was privileged to sit ringside to its witness. As I prepared to leave our time of fellowship, I looked at my new friend and said…

“This is the book trailer; the way you love your daughter and the way that she obviously loves you in return … this is the trailer that matters. Keep to it … keep to your loving.”

Weary and worn from a day’s worth of peddling my words to publishers, I threw a few more out there; not on behalf of myself, but rather to validate and commemorate a precious love between a parent and a child.

Legacy–a trailer we leave for the next generation.

  • Traveling with the ones we love.
  • Talking about the ones we love.
  • Touching the shoulders of the ones we love.

Not a bad formula for making a life-trailer. Traveling. Talking. Touching. What better words of final benediction could be spoken over our lives? I want them to be spoken of me one day.

She traveled with us. She talked about us. She touched us with her love.

This is the book trailer, friends. The one that matters. Keep to it … keep to your traveling, your talking, and your touching this week. And thank you, new friend, for being willing to rub elbows with me. You had me at your “point of origin.” As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine
PS: Leave a comment to be entered into a give-away for Glynnis Whitwer’s new book, I Used to Be So Organized. There will be another give-away with my next post for one of Michael O’Brien’s CD’s. Shalom.

Tuesday Take-Away {Genesis 3:8-9}

Three years ago, I traveled to “She Speaks” with a completed manuscript in hand. And while all of my publisher meetings exceeded my expectations (a.k.a. they enthusiastically took my proposal), weeks later my mailbox was filled with their (what I assume to be) customary rejections. The manuscript I pitched back then is still sitting on my shelf, collecting dust alongside a few other books I’ve written. Today, I reach back in time to re-consider the pulse behind this particular manuscript–a collection of thirty, devotional reflections all centering on the questions of God in Scripture. Questions spoken through his prophets, his Son, and his own voice. Questions given to us as an invitation to join with him in sacred conversation.

I firmly believe that as God presents his questions in Scripture, he means for them to jump off the page to become a question that engages our hearts. So, for today’s Tuesday Take-Away I’d like for you to consider the very first, recorded question from God to his children as found in Genesis 3:8-9:

“Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the LORD God among the trees of the garden. But the LORD God called to the man, ‘Where are you?'”
Where are you today? I’ll tell you where I am. Knee-deep in the midst of words, rambling thoughts, and wrestlings with my faith. I’m also knee-deep in the midst of God’s faithfulness. He is doing a work in me that I never expected; maybe thought about on occasion but never imagined that we would arrive at the point of putting our hands to the plow and some elbow grease to the deeper heart-work that is in front of me. As I reflect on this first question of God to his children in light of where I am this day, I keep these thoughts in mind:
  • God can always be found walking in his garden.
  • We have the privilege of joining him in his walk.
  • We’re always within earshot of his voice.
  • God is always willing to find us, even when we are content to stay hidden.
  • God intends for us to reveal our hiddenness, to name our “spot”, and to stand before him just as we are. Sinners in need of a garden-walking, question-asking, seeking Savior who knows our names and who isn’t content to leave us as we are.
Where are you today, my pilgrim friends? Wherever you are, I pray the sound of his footsteps ringing in your ears and the call of your name lingering on his lips. You are God’s child; he knows you, and he knows how very much you need him. Keep walking toward Eden. It’s closer now than it has ever been. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine
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