Worryitus

Most parents are professional worriers. I mean if we don’t – who will? Our children race around like there is no tomorrow so somebody has to step up and worry about those crazy rascals – right? Wrong. Half of all the hospital beds in this country are filled with constant worriers. Mental stress can lead to migraine headaches, arthritis, heart trouble, cystitis, colitis, backaches, ulcers and depression. Worry robs us of the moment because we are too busy living in the past or the future.
I’ve been picking the brains of older wiser parents ever since I brought home my first new baby. I wanted to know what they knew . . . quick . . . like I preparing for war before the battle. I was always surprised by the #1 answer I received when I asked, “What do you wish you’d done differently while raising your children?”
“I would enjoy them more.”
Joy and worry are like oil and vinegar; they don’t mix well. In the past I believed parents who told me to enjoy my children had a loose screw upstairs or were simply so old they forgot the hard parts. I knew being the mom was exhausting. I certainly didn’t appreciate all those sentimental grandmas and grandpas telling me to enjoy my sleepless nights, potty training, barfing marathons, science fair projects, Cub Scout pine wood derbies, proms and driver’s license practice sessions. What I really wanted was for someone to validate how hard it is to be a mother or at least feel sorry for me and tell me I could go back to bed. I think I was also searching for some one to guarantee that all my hard work would be worth it and all my children were going to turn out all right.
Now I realize that all I’m really in control of around here is - me. Now I know for certain that I will love each of my children forever no matter how they turn out. So most of the worry and self pity is gone - leaving room for a lot more joy.
Worry is and always will be a fatal disease of the heart for it signals the end of gratitude and faith. Fear takes up so much room, that there is little space for anything else. Because I’m a grandma now, I know that the years when you have your children at home are few and precious. Before you turn around, you have to share them with a spouse, grandchildren, the in-law family and the world.
Abdicating my self-appointed role as the family worrier has set me free to enjoy my life one day at a time. I used to have preconceived ideas about how events and people were supposed to turn out. Now I just show up, smile and see what’s going to happen next. We don’t even know if we’re going to be alive tomorrow, so getting hives over anything in the future is rather pointless.
When we let go of worry we are finally able to savor the peace and joy that is ours for the taking. If we are paying attention, each day has at least one blazing moment of splendor. Like a sunset, if we don’t look west and relish the gold, the moment passes and the day is done.

On the Road to Fuddy-duddy

I got in a car accident the other day. The problem is I have often pointed out to my teenage children that I have never received a ticket or caused a car accident for fifty-four years. Now I’ve done both. When I stopped at that stop sign, looked right and left and pulled forward, I had no idea how that red car appeared out of nowhere. Like magic - poof! There it was. Crunch.
I am an insurance company’s worst nightmare. I immediately pulled my van off the road, raced to the other vehicle, made sure she was alright, hugged her told her I was sorry for ruining her car and her day.
I think I’ve officially entered my fuddy-duddy stage. I can see through my glasses pretty well straight ahead, but they don’t work so well when I look right or left. I guess what I really need is wrap around glasses so I can see on the sides of my life.
Someone once said to me, “Be nice to old fuddy-duddies on the road. You will become one of them sooner than you think.” Boy, were they right. When I looked around me at my 35th high school reunion, I wondered how all those kids got looking so old so fast. Then I realized I was one of them.
I don’t like to complain about getting older. I mean the only alternative is dying young. I’ve always been happy to tell everybody how old I am on my birthday because if I wasn’t that old, I’d be dead. I have also learned not to take life too seriously because we’ll never get out of here alive.
They say that the joy of life is the ride. What they don’t say is that while you’re on that ride you’re going to get in some accidents right after you change your insurance from comprehensive to liability because you’ve never been in an accident before and you’re tired of paying those premiums. Then . . . wham! You wreck your car, someone else’s car and your pride. There you are minding your own business and suddenly you cause an accident, get handed a FTY citation and still have to pay to get your car fixed on your own dime. Then you have to attend traffic school if you don’t want the bad driver points on your record.
Well, I refuse to be intimidated or humiliated by reality. The real miracle is that I’ve never been in an accident before when I’ve been in so many near misses – my fault and their fault. The real miracle is that no one got hurt. I think we add years to our life and life to our years when we stop a hardening of our attitudes. We don’t have to wonder, “Why me?” “Why now?” The real question is, “Why not me?” “Why not now?” Bad things happen to everybody. Some times it’s our fault and sometimes it’s the other guy’s fault. We don’t have to spend the rest of our life feeling picked on. That’s life.
After the accident, the auto body guy said it wasn’t worth the money to fix our thirteen year old van. It would cost more to fix it than the vehicle was worth. But I fixed it anyway. I don’t think you have to give up on cars or people and send them to the junk yard just because they get a little older or a little banged up. I’m just not ready to let go of my old van . . . my sense of humor . . . or my love of life.

Providing Comic Relief

I’m always trying to get my children to take me seriously, but I’m seldom successful. Take the other morning for example. I have a son who takes roughly a quarter century to get his shoes and socks on. If I don’t remind him to dress his feet long before we need to go somewhere, the whole family winds up sitting in the van breathing exhaust fumes while he slowly and painstakingly ties his shoe laces in quadruple knots. So I walked into the kitchen, placed my hands strategically on my hips attempting to look like a person with authority and said, “John, you need to hurry up and get your feet on.”
For some reason I can never get my mouth to say what my mind is thinking. It’s embarrassing. It also doesn’t help that I can’t even get my own children’s names right when I address them. I know perfectly well who I’m speaking to but my mouth never cooperates. Say, for instance, I’m standing directly in front of my daughter Ashley. As I open my mouth to address her, it goes something like this . . . “Ap, Ab, An, Am . . . . A – s – h – l – e – y.
I don’t know what my husband and I were thinking when we named all our daughters with names that start in A and all our sons with names that start with J. It makes me sound like I have a serious stuttering problem every time I attempt to address one of my own children.
I also try to get my children to be truthful, but that attempt always back-fires. Take the other day for example. A very important person I was trying to impress with my professionalism called my home and asked to speak to me while I was occupied in the bathroom. When my young son answered the phone he was suppose to say what we’d practiced together . . . “Hello may I help you?” Instead he said. “Who you are? What you want?” After the caller asked for me I heard him reply, “She can’t talk cause she’s . . .” then I heard my son tell the caller exactly what his mother was doing in the bathroom. I never had the nerve to return that phone call.
The other day I was quietly sitting in church minding my own business. The closing song had just finished and I knew it was my turn to walk to the front of the chapel and say the closing prayer. When I stood up, my young daughter had a sudden attack of attachment anxiety and grabbed my skirt trying to hold me back. This was her usual behavior so I pulled away, reassured her and started walking up the aisle.
She was persistent and called after me, “Mom, Mom, Mom!”
I ignored her as I walked up the long aisle and approached the steps to the podium hoping everyone would think it was someone else’s little girl shouting.
Then my daughter stood up on the bench, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Your skirt’s falling off Mommy! Everybody can see your underwear!”
I glanced down. Sure enough; my skirt actually was falling off. I realized I had just been exposed to the whole congregation during my long walk up the aisle. I reached down and pulled up my skirt while embarrassed church elders covered their eyes.
“Thank you honey,” I said into the microphone just before I bowed my head and said the closing prayer. “You can sit down and be quiet now.”
Maybe mothers weren’t meant to be taken seriously. Maybe we actually plan to provide comic relief for our families . . . and church congregations. Of course we never do dumb things by accident. I mean telling our children to hurry up and get their feet on, stuttering a long list of grunts before we can say our children’s names or strutting down the aisle at church in our underwear is all carefully planned . . . right? It’s all part of our clever attempt to help others feel better about their own goofiness by comparison. Right? Yeah right.

Baby Blessings

People who say they sleep like a baby usually don’t have one. Bringing home a new baby changes your life . . . forever. Newborns have a distinct way of literally waking up the entire family. God gave babies the ability to cry for a very good reason. They can’t be ignored. This new little person might be small, but they let everyone in ear shot know when they are hungry, tired, bored or in need of a diaper change. Babies demand our attention, our time and a life-time commitment.
It’s a good thing God let people start out as bundle of soft cuteness. Babies are simply irresistible. There is nothing more beautiful than a newborn just out of the bathtub with a shiny nose. On the other hand, babies need constant care day and night. Some babies are good eaters, sleepers and poopers and some aren’t. Some babies adjust easily to new people and situations and some don’t. Some babies are easy to sooth and some aren’t. Some babies have a happy pleasant disposition and some don’t.
Parents never know what flavor they have until the weeks and months of sleepless nights and busy days stack up on each other and wear you out. Then right about the time you’re ready to throw in the towel, your newborn smiles at you and you’re ready to try again for the rest of your life. You see God also gave babies soft round cheeks and charming toothless grins for a reason.
When I brought my first premature baby home, I was more than hyper-vigilant. I was afraid that if I stopped watching her, she would stop breathing and die. So I stared at her like a hawk, even peeking when I showered. After a few weeks of no sleep and constant anxiety I realized I couldn’t go on like this forever. So I got on my knees and cried. Then I asked God if He would please watch over her while I slept. I had forgotten that God was already watching over both of us.
That was my first lesson in learning the difference between what I could actually do something about and everything I was worried about. As the years went by and more and more babies came to my house, I learned other things as well. I learned that everybody has several chances to have a happy childhood and I wasn’t going to miss my second chance. I learned to laugh at myself. I learned to relax and enjoy my children. I learned to worry less about how my sons and daughters looked to others and more about how they were feeling inside. I stopped trying to control them and worked more on controlling myself. I learned to make big and little choices with my heart.
And I learned about loss. When three of my babies didn’t come home from the hospital with me, I learned to never take anything for granted, especially babies. Everything can be taken away. I also learned that days melt into weeks . . . weeks race into years . . . and children grow up.
In the end, I suppose the best thing I’m still learning is how to love. So now I’m back on my knees again asking God to watch over my grown children and grandchildren while I sleep. I have learned to leave the universe in God’s hands - not mine. That’s where it was and is all along.

A Prayer for Caleb

In my family we have a secret code to communicate our love for each other when we are out in public. We wink. When one of us is about to perform or speak, we look for a family member’s face in the crowd. Then we wink at each other. Closing one eye and winking is our secret code for saying, “I love you. You can do it. You’re wonderful.”
About three years ago, my grandson Caleb was born into our family. He must have known before birth that he would never be able to speak to us because he was born with one eyelid permanently closed. So, he is always “winking” at us, always communicating, “I love you. You can do it. You’re wonderful.”
Caleb has one eye lid permanently closed because he is missing one of his eyes . . . and he is also missing his brain. All the doctors said he would die soon after birth. They were wrong. Caleb is three years old. He is a medical miracle. The doctors say he can’t see, hear, speak, think or move. Those who know and love Caleb understand he has his own unique way of experiencing the world and communicating his love to those around him.
After Caleb was born the hospice people told us to buy a burial plot and continually warned us of his imminent death. We soon learned you can not live well in a state of fear and sadness. We decided we could spend Caleb’s entire life anxious and scared he might die at any moment, or we could celebrate each day we were blessed to have him with us. In the beginning, my daughter April celebrated Caleb’s birthday every week instead of every year with balloons and cupcakes because we simply did not know how long we would have him with us. We stopped the cupcakes after we gained ten pounds, but the celebrating goes on.
We all prayed for a miracle when we first learned about Caleb’s condition. We got one. Caleb’s birth, life and mission have had a deep and lasting impact on our lives. His spirit, eternal identity and most of all the loving, individual relationship he has with each of us is truly a miracle. Because of Caleb we know that each of us has a divine purpose and that the physical body is a sacred gift we should never take for granted. We better understand the worth of a soul and the resiliency of the human spirit.
Caleb’s five year old brother Matthew said, “Grandma. The doctors said Caleb was going to die, but he didn’t. That’s the first miracle I ever saw!”
Sometimes Caleb’s baby brother Mitchell pulls out his feeding tube while they hold hands riding together in their double stroller. Sometimes the only intervention that can get Caleb’s heart rate up is when his older brothers Josh and Matty crawl in his crib, hug him and sing, “I am a Child of God.” For the past three years, Caleb’s parents have spent 24 hour days without much sleep humbly and gratefully caring for their four sons.
If you have a moment please offer a prayer for the little boy who has never been able to utter a single word and yet has taught everyone who knows and loves him – all the secrets of a rich and meaningful life.

The Real Expert

New mothers often ask me for advice about how to nurture or raise their children because I’m the mother of ten and I’ve written lots of books full of parenting information and ideas. What I think a mother needs most is renewed confidence in her own instincts. I vividly remember trying to follow my pediatrician’s advice to keep my newborn’s feedings at three hour intervals. I was pacing the living room with a hungry baby one day trying to hold her off for another hour when I suddenly realized how ludicrous my actions were. I knew my baby was hungry and that if I fed her she’d be happy. Why was I allowing some “expert” to tell me what to do with my own child? I immediately sat down and fed my hungry baby. We both stopped crying.
I whole heartedly believe that mothers should read all the latest information they can find and be willing to listen to other’s advice. Then neatly tuck all that material in the file drawer for later reference and look into your child’s eyes. No matter how incompetent you feel as a new mother, you are the one person in the world that spends the most time with this totally unique new person – the one person who knows and loves your child best. On those hard days, if you pray and ask God to help you understand and act on your child’s most vital needs, you will be taught by the only true expert who knows and loves both you and your child.
Feelings of perpetual incompetence are part of being a mother. They start at birth with feeding and sleeping issues but soon grow into discipline and independence issues. Though the issues change, the feelings of mothering incompetence remain constant. You’re never been the mother of this child at this stage in their development before - until the day you die. The truth is, even if you don’t have all the answers and know just what to do, you have made a commitment to be there for your child and care – forever.
There will be times when your baby, toddler, teen or married child will come to your with a tummy ache, a skinned knee, friend problems or a broken heart and you will not be able to take all the pain away. So you will hug each other and cry together. In the end, knowing someone cares is what children need most.
Maybe you’ll never become a nutrition expert, understand the current discipline techniques or get over the empty-next syndrome, but you will always be vital to your child’s sense of well-being. You move from diapers to driver’s licenses to dorm rooms and back to diapers faster than you think.
While I was walking out the door after visiting my daughter who had recently given birth to her third child, she looked into my eyes and asked, “What do you do when you feel overwhelmed Mom?”
“Get on your knees and pray,” I told her. “Have a good cry. Then get up and go back to work.”

Bridal Shower Philosophers

Men and women bond differently. Males stare at the same football game on TV. Women talk. When someone in our gender decides to get married, we like to gather, gab, eat goodies and give each other presents. It’s called a bridal shower. Bridal showers don’t have anything do with bathing like my young son asked. Bridal showers are parties we women give each other to celebrate our decision to join our lives with a man. Our sister, daughter, niece, granddaughter, or friend is about to become someone’s wife and create a brand new family. So we set aside a Saturday afternoon to honor her choice and wish her well on her new journey.
Bridal showers used to bug me. I got tired of all the silly games such as contests to see who could make the most beautiful toilet paper wedding dress or pin-the-lips on the groom. I thought they seemed silly and trivial. These days I actually look forward to the bridal showers I’m invited to. These days I see the multi-generational bonding of women to honor our newest bride as an important feminine cultural rite of passage.
Every woman who attends a bridal shower is at a different place on her life’s journey. The oldest woman present is usually a widow longing for the touch of her husband’s hand. The retired woman is wondering what to do with a spouse who is suddenly under foot and home all the time. The middle-aged woman is trying to find a rare quiet evening to spend alone with her husband without the children. The newlywed has most likely faced her first reality check with her knight in shining armor. The single woman wonders if the opportunity to marry will ever come. Every age and circumstance has its own set of challenges and joys. Yet when we join together to wish our daughter, sister, niece or friend well as she begins her new journey, there is power in the room – the power of united women to bless our newest bride with tender words of advice offered with gentleness and love.
After all the games are over, refreshments served and presents opened there are usually a few quiet moments when the women in the room contemplate their own marriages, widowhood or singleness. The woman in charge often asks each guest to give the soon-to-be bride marital advice.
A hush comes over the room as each woman becomes contemplative. Then the words come - words like:
“When my husband and I ran into a rocky patch in our marriage I tried to change him. It didn’t work. I finally figured out that you can’t change anybody but yourself. I changed me. That has made all the difference.”
“I have learned that love is a choice not a feeling; you make a choice to love.”
“Love is a verb - what you do, not how you feel.”
“If you love your husband exactly as he is, then he becomes all you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Forgive.”
When the words stop and everybody goes home, there is a feeling of hopefulness that we each take away. We know we will gather again when another of our own chooses to become a bride. Even as we slowly step toward death, we know some new bride will be stepping into marriage. The circle of life will begin all over again - all because one woman and one man choose to love each other.

Pay Day

Sometimes when you’re in the middle of raising a family the continual noise, chaos, conflicting schedules and constant demands can be overwhelming. It’s easy to get discouraged. Family building is a wild ride that invites us to throw out every single ounce of pride and selfishness.
Like a roller-coaster ride, family life is full of hills and valleys. On the way up we feel like laughing and on the way down we feel like screaming. Sometimes we wake up, stare at the ceiling and wonder how we are going to get the kids to do their homework, practice the piano, clean up their bedroom, brush their teeth and be nice to each other for one more day. I mean what’s the point? We just have to turn around and do it all over again the next day. Finding a moment to relax and simply enjoy our children seems like an illusive dream.
Amidst the chronic drama of every day life most parents wish they had several body clones. Then we could be in six different places at the same time. For a typical week day schedule means that Cub Scouts, youth activity, church planning meeting, choir concert, baseball practice and a baby shower all fall on Thursday at exactly 7:00 p.m.
Real families don’t look like those fake photo shoot models in the slick magazines or play out like the contrived plots of Hollywood movies. Real families try, fail and try again. Real families give each other headaches, hassles, hugs and heart failure. Real parents find ourselves wondering if our children even learned one thing we tried to teach them over the blare of their loud music and quarreling. It’s easy to grit our teeth and wonder what we were thinking when we got ourselves into this whole mess.
Then suddenly pay day arrives and we’re ready to go back to being the mom or dad for one more day. Golden moments are God’s pay - our salary and year-end bonus all rolled into one. These moments are like sunlight dancing on water, unexpected flashes of light that make tears come to your eyes.
Moments like . . . licking vanilla ice cream with Joseph on the warm west steps . . . discovering Arianne’s secret garden hidden in the trees, feeling April’s soft infant skin on my lips while I blow bubbles on her belly . . . hearing the crack of the bat when John hit his first run . . . laughing while Jordan flipped cartwheels in the living room the night before he got married . . . rubbing warm noses and soft checks together with Alisa at bedtime . . . holding Amy in the oxygen tent at the hospital . . . listening to Ashley sing like an opera star while I’m peeling potatoes in the kitchen . . .cheering as Aubrey made her three-point shot . . . and jumping to my feet after Jacob made the winning tackle.
Much like fireworks in July – golden moments are inner explosions of joy that fill your whole body with color and brightness. Time stops just for an instant and takes your breath away.

Feeding Souls

I’ve been taking notes at funerals. This is what I’ve learned. Those who don’t really know the deceased usually get up and preach a sermon. On the other hand, when the speaker truly loves the departed their remarks generally fall into two categories. Category #1. This person fed my body. You’d be surprised how many funeral talks discuss what delicious food the deceased person prepared and served. Apparently feeding people leaves a genuinely lasting impression. Category #2. This person fed my soul. Invariably the speaker will tell the congregation a few experiences about how the deceased impacted their life.
In the past I used to believe that if people didn’t have to eat, my life would be so much better. But I’ve been reconsidering that mind set lately. I’ve decided that if we didn’t have to eat every few hours, we’d lose our reason to gather. I now believe that physical hunger is God’s secret gift to us – the daily thirst that keeps those who care about each other coming back for more.
As a newlywed, if someone had told me how much of my life would be spent shopping for food then preparing and cleaning up after meals, I wouldn’t have believed them. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. As the mother of ten children, I’ve often found myself wondering when this feeding frenzy will end. I’ve dreamed about what my life would be like when my family looked at me and saw a tired woman instead of Sunday dinner.
Mothers of newborns feel like morphed human pacifiers. Mothers of toddlers long for the day when eating a family meal won’t require rain coats and fire truck hoses for clean up. Mothers of school age children hear themselves spouting phrases like, “You don’t like that? Eat it anyway. There are children starving in China.” Mothers of teenagers watch hopelessly as their offspring inhale colossal quantities of everything edible on the premises. Mothers of married children are not surprised when their growing posterity comes home to visit - precisely at dinner hour. I’ve decided we can find frustration and resentment with all this eating business or we can unlock the secret and start having fun at our own banquet.
What if universal hunger is the biggest reason we stay connected? What if feeding those we love was not a daily drudgery but a pleasure? If we were not required to feed our newborns every few hours day and night, would we develop that tender bond that can never be broken? If we didn’t prepare a warm meal every evening for our family, would we ever get together and talk to each other? The gift of hunger actually keeps those we love coming back to be fed again and again at our table.
In my early days of mothering I used to say, “All I do all day long is feed one end of these kids and clean up other. Nothing I do really matters.” Now I deeply respect people who choose to feed people. For I understand that nourishing my family is one essential way to show my love. I’ve learned that when we serve with joyfulness, we not only give food to bodies - we also nurture spirits. Now I choose to focus more on the sustenance I have to offer than what family members decide to take away from my buffet.
Someday I hope those I have lived with and cared for will be able to say, “She fed me – both my body and my soul.”

Creating Visions

Sometimes you look back and think about the people who had the greatest impact for good in your life. When someone sees something more in you than you see in yourself, they change your future.
I took Drawing 101 at Brigham Young University back in the 1970’s from a graduate student. Though I don’t even remember his name, I will never forget his gentle mentoring. At the time I was working several jobs to put myself through college. I had space in my schedule for one elective course and signed up for an art class
After the first assignment was completed on the first day of class, I compared my work to all the other students. I quickly discovered I was enrolled in an art class where everyone else already knew how to draw very well. Go figure. I guess they were all looking for an easy A. I, on the other hand, took the class to learn how to draw.
This teacher gave us a new assignment each week to complete outside of class. I was a hungry student and often experimented with my drawing homework. I found that trying to produce something with my unskilled hands that even came close to what I saw with my eyes and felt with my heart was difficult. Yet at the same time this attempt was a gentle lesson in awareness. Drawing required singular focus, time and patience. I had to quit “thinking” about drawing and allow myself see and feel everyday objects with new detail, appreciation and wonder.
This master instructor taught me how to view the world from a different perspective. For example he would crumple up a piece of paper, set it on a table and shine a light on it. Then he would ask us to draw the shadows - not the paper. Or, he would ask class members to draw two minute flash portraits of fellow students to force us to draw out and develop abilities untapped by our usual consciousness.
These drawing exercises allowed me to view my everyday surroundings in a fresh way for I was learning to pay attention to the intricate details of form, shape, light and shadow. I carried a pad and pencil everywhere and sketched whenever I had a spare moment. I began to more fully notice and appreciate the small and large wonders all around me - like tiny blades of dew covered grass or leafless tree silhouettes backed by a flaming sunset at dusk.
At the end of the semester, each student was invited out in the hall one at a time. Then we were asked to open our portfolio and told to display our work for the teacher. I placed my pictures side by side on the floor in the long hall next to our classroom and waited. The teacher slowly walked down the hall, carefully studied each picture then turned and looked me directly in the eye.
“Janene,” he said with a broad smile, “you are the only student in my class who has earned an A.”
I was dumbfounded.
“Why?” I asked confused. “Why are you giving me an A when everybody else in this class draws so much better?”
“Because,” he answered, “you are the only true artist in this class. The other students know techniques that reproduce camera-like copies. You are the only one who had the courage to fail, the only one who took risks, the only one who did more than I asked and the only one who explored your soul. You are a fine artist. It doesn’t matter what art form you choose after you leave my class – for I know you will bring light, life and beauty to this world all your days.”
This gentle teacher saw something in me I did not see in myself. I have lived a different life because his vision of me opened up a new vision of myself.

Looking Good

Looking your best just isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. I mean if I fix my hair, put on my make-up and wear stylish clothing all the time – when people stop by to visit me on a Saturday morning before I shower, they will not even recognize me. Sometimes we women spend too much time working on our outward appearance and forget to notice our inner beauty.
I give myself one day a week when I’m simply good enough - in the raw. I don’t walk around naked, but on that day I let me - be me. I shower and brush my teeth but everything else goes ‘el natural. No make-up, no hair style, no uncomfortable clothing. I love my Good Enough Day. I look forward to my Good Enough Day. I don’t even leave the house unless it’s on fire. I try not to do anything I have to do. Instead I find activities that replenish and refresh my soul. This is my “fill the well” day. For I have learned that I can’t water a garden of souls if my own source of water is dry.
People who obsess about how they appear to others always seem stiff and fake, like they’re afraid their make-up will crack or the wind might blow their hair out of place. They hardly notice you when you speak to them because they are too busy posing. Gosh can’t we women just get over ourselves? Why is it that we are often so self-absorbed about the way we look? Why don’t we take a closer look at who we are on the inside . . . and I don’t mean our gall bladders. How about the capacity of our hearts to appreciate God’s blessings or the depths of our compassion for others?
Inside every stiff self-conscious woman is a child who begs to be set free. Remember dancing in the front yard in your new petticoat? Remember rolling in the sand and digging in the dirt without worrying about ruining your clothes? Remember how the wind used to feel in your hair before you starting worrying about whether or not your hairspray was going to hold up?
The point is – we have been given a glorious beautiful woman’s body. We can give birth to new human beings and provide their entire food supply for months. We can snuggle with our husband at night and cuddle with our children during the day. We are soft with round curves for a reason. Shouldn’t we be grateful for arms that hug, lips that kiss and tummies that are soft enough to be a pillow for someone’s head. If we have ears that can hear and legs that can move, shouldn’t we be dancing? Shouldn’t we delight in the wonder of being a woman?
Why do we mature females waste so much time complaining about our weight or our hair turning gray? It’s not shameful for our bodies to demonstrate that we enjoy eating or that we are getting older and wiser. Perhaps the real shame is our ingratitude for the unique and incredible mind and body God gave us. There are cultures in the world where it is considered beautiful to have a large heavy ring in your nose. So it’s past time to re-examine and stop accepting our culture’s narrow definition of beauty.
There is a light that comes to a woman’s countenance when she lets go of self absorption. Truly looking good - is being good and that only happens when we feel gratitude for the wonderful woman’s body, mind and soul we have been given - then choose to share our light and love with all those around us.

Keep the Melody Going

My daughter Ashley was asked to play a piano solo for the whole school in junior high. She worked hard and prepared well for her debut by memorizing a song that was both beautiful and entertaining. I was sitting in the audience that day when she walked up on stage and sat down on the bench ready to begin. Because I am her mother I noticed all the color drained from her face. She was scared but she took a deep breath and began.
She played the first section of the song remarkably well. I noticed that each time she would get to the beginning of the second part of the song, her mind would go blank. Without batting an eye she simply started over. This happened three or four times. What Ashley didn’t know was that she and I were the only ones in the whole auditorium that knew there was a second part of the song.
Ashley finally finished and walked off stage. I met her in a corner of the school hallway. She was mortified, certain she had flubbed up big time in front of all her peers.
“Ashley, it sounded wonderful,” I told her.
She didn’t believe me. She knew what the song was supposed to sound like and was certain she had failed in her performance.
During the rest of the school day Ashley was surprised when many of her peers expressed sincere admiration for her solo. They told her the song was awesome and envied her talent. Ashley finally realized that by playing the melody three or four times it sounded like she had played a complete song. She was the only one who knew how much better she wanted to perform.
Mothers are like that. We know how much we want to demonstrate our love for our children but often fall short of our own unrealistic expectations. We feel inadequate when we lose our patience, forget to pick up a child after gymnastics, neglect to sign up as room mother or have say no when asked to baby sit a grandchild. What we don’t realize is that if we keep the melody going, everything will work out. The melody is love.
It doesn’t matter if our homes look like a page right out of Better Homes and Gardens. It doesn’t matter if we’ve put on a few extra pounds. It doesn’t matter if we don’t have our children involved up to their eyeballs in every extra curricular activity. It does matter if we take the time to truly enjoy and love our children and grandchildren in the moment – for the moment passes.
I’m often asked to play the piano at church. Because I’m asked to play extemporaneously, I’ve had to develop a skill I refer to as sight-reader neglect. This means I choose which notes not to play with my left hand so I can keep the melody going with my right hand. The congregation can’t tell the difference. I have learned to accept the fact that I can’t play every note in every chord every time.
As mothers we also have to learn commitment neglect. We have to be able to say, “I choose not to wash the windows. I choose not to sign up my child for soccer.” We can’t do everything and keep everybody happy all the time. Over-committed and over-scheduled mothers don’t have enough time to take an unhurried stroll in the evenings.
Once we understand that love is the melody, we can choose our activities and commitments more wisely. God is the only one in the audience who should really matter. When we truly love ourselves and our families, God will conduct our lives, lead us to inner harmony and compose a personal masterpiece with our souls.

Learning to Fly

I received a shiny pink and white bicycle when I was eight years old. Problem was, I didn’t know how to ride and I was too scared to learn. I figured if I hid my gift in the garage, both the bike and I wouldn’t get all scratched and dented. I remember sitting on the cold cement floor, staring at my bike and wondering, “What if I wasn’t afraid?”
Then I imagined myself riding that bike around the block and up to the white church on the corner. If I was really brave I’d pedal over to the small grocery store near our home to buy some penny candy. I could almost feel the wind on my face whipping my hair back. I could almost taste that bubble gum.
Finally, I rolled that bike from the garage, steadied my feet on the pedals and took off. The handles wobbled and I forget how to make it stop. I wiped out. Before the day was over, I was covered in blood, sweat and dirt. Finally I found an inner sense of balance I didn’t know I had. I still remember the explosion of joy I felt when I finally learned to ride. I was flying.
Years later, I was shopping with my baby daughters at the mall and spied an author signing books. I loved to write. Problem was I didn’t know how to get published and I was too scared to learn. I figured if I kept my writing in the drawer, I wouldn’t get all hurt with criticism or rejection. Yet as I starred at that author from a distance I wondered, “What if I wasn’t afraid?”
Then I imagined myself sitting at a table signing books I’d written. I could almost see my first book cover. That day when I got home I shipped off a manuscript to a publisher. Eventually I collected a pile of rejection slips, but I kept writing and sending my work out. Then one day it happened. I still remember the deeply satisfying pleasure of reading my first byline on a published newspaper column, magazine article and finally a book. It was like flying into another world of possibilities.
Even more years later, I was listening to Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings. It made me weep. I longed to play the violin like that but I was fifty-two. I’d never seen any one my age take up the violin. I thought I’d missed my chance. I was scared I might be too dumb to learn. I wondered, “What if I wasn’t afraid.”
Then I imagined myself sitting in an orchestra gracefully gliding the bow across the strings. I could almost hear the music and feel my cheek resting on the polished wood. So I took lessons and joined an orchestra. At first I didn’t know how to hold the bow or position my hand on the strings. In the beginning I had to think very hard and tell my hand where to place each finger on the strings for every single note. I’ll never forget the first time I played an entire song without focusing on my finger placement. It was like flying in my soul.
Now when something seems impossible, scary or hard, I ask myself, “What if I wasn’t afraid? Then I try. I’m certainly not an Olympic speed bike racer, a famous author or an accomplished violinist but I’m gradually learning that all personal growth is mostly a matter of conquering our fears. When we let go of being scared to try, we can listen to that gentle voice who tells us who we really are and what we might do. Life is not about competing or comparing - it is about whether or not we choose to fly.

Recitals, Rescues and Rewards

I used to get so nervous for my children when they had to perform in front of others. I appeared calm on the outside and always reassured my child before a performance. Inside my heart would thump so loud I could hear the pulsating sound in my ears. I had this horrible feeling of dread that if things didn’t go well, my child’s precious self image might be shattered for life.
I don’t think or feel that way any more. I am older now and I’ve witnessed the results of both the positive and negative experiences my children have. My instincts to protect my child from anything difficult have also changed. Most of the time my children perform at about the level of their preparation. So when things don’t go so well, they learn to be better prepared the next time. Other times, they simply freeze up because they’re nervous in front of strangers. In the past I have been tempted to rush up in front of the crowd and say, “She really can do this much better at home. So please quit staring at her and stop making her nervous.”
I am not tempted to do that any more. I know that sometimes we perform well and sometimes we don’t. We learn something we need to know from both experiences. Our focus should be more on our motivations and less on outward show. I’ve also learned that how we appear to others matters less when we have the quiet confidence and peace of mind that flows from personal character.
One day I glanced out the front bedroom window, because I thought I heard someone crying. Out in the driveway I spied my young son struggling to make his two-wheeler stay upright. The bike was over-loaded with newspapers he had folded then placed into large deep canvas bags on each side of the bicycle. There must have been extra ads that day because his heavy bags were bulging even more than usual. My son was frustrated and my first impulse was to rush out and rescue him. I knew I could easily take him around on his route in the family van.
Then I was stopped by this sudden and unmistakable impression, “Jordan will need to do many hard things in his life. You need to let him practice and struggle now so he will be ready then.”
I cried - but I did not go outside and rescue my son that day. I followed the impression I’d received and stayed inside. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
Eventually Jordan wiped his eyes, steadied his bicycle, rebalanced the rolled newspapers and peddled away on his newspaper route. He did not know I was watching from the window. He did not run into the house and ask me for help. He found the determination and confidence to solve his own problem. Since that day I have seen Jordan struggle through six long years of school to become a doctor. He had to work hard. He did not quit. He had the inner confidence and determination to steady his life, rebalance his priorities when a new wife and three children entered the picture and still achieve his dream.
So now when my children are up front or frustrated with a difficult task, I do not ask God to help them perform flawlessly or to solve their problems. I do ask that my child will learn what they need to know from the experience they are about to have. For I have learned that all life events work toward our good if our motivations are pure, if we work hard, and if we trust ourselves and God.

Pets Heaven

Pets are universally hailed as a great way to teach children responsibility. After various and multiple animals have lodged at my residence, I’ve discovered that pets also teach children about courage, tenderness, commitment and death.
Whenever one of my children asks for an animal I carefully inform them that I have enough living creatures to house and feed. So if they want a pet, they have to be the one who takes care of them. I let them practice being responsible for a sibling’s pet for a few weeks to see if they are really up to the task.
Each of my eager children quickly demonstrates their budding reliability with a responsible week or two and then this incessant plea, “So can I get my own bunny today? Please. Please. Please.”
Inevitably I am forced to keep my promise and we bring home yet another bunny, flock of chickens or pigeons, cat or duck. Though my child is naive and unaware, I know what’s coming. Everything will go well for a while. This day after day responsibility of caring for a pet begins a tender kind of attachment my child has never felt before. Even after caring for their human siblings, my child knows that someone else is ultimately responsible. They know someone else does most of the work; someone else does most of the sacrificing.
When you willingly take on the total responsibility for another living being, something changes inside your soul. This swelling of heart in your own child is a gentle and moving event to witness. I find my previously frightened little girl braving a blizzard to check on her pet rabbit. I discover my ten-year-old son who has always been terrified of dogs, bravely defending his flock of chickens against huge stray mongrels. I find a mostly self-absorbed teenager tenderly stroking his pet cat. None of this courage, devotion or tenderness is required when I ask my child to pick up their room or clean up the dishes after supper. After all this personal daily effort to keep their pet alive, they learn what it means to be loyal and committed and what it feels like to love in a deep and profound way.
Then it happens . . . someone lets their dog run loose again and my child is forced to face the dark side of death. When my young son or daughter goes back to check on their furry companion they find instead an empty cage, or the remnants of their pet in feathers or left over body parts. After this tragic and horrible experience, I find myself trying to comfort an inconsolable weeping child. I always long to place their beloved companion back into their empty aching arms.
So we talk about how their pet will someday run toward them and jump into their arms in heaven. We discuss bunny cloud nine or pigeon paradise. Yet in the end, nothing can truly comfort a child who has sacrificed, cared for, played with and taken pleasure in their living companion.
So when my children plead for yet another pet, I ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?” What I’m really thinking is, “Am I sure I can go through this with my child again?” And the answer is always - yes- because there is a gift a child receives when they love and care for animals. This gift gets them ready to love and care for each other. The child, who strokes their dying bunny, will someday become the adult who knows how to commit to, sacrifice for and love their own spouse and children. For personal sacrifice, commitment and courage teach all of us to truly value those we care for and love.