Two Report Cards

According to my children, lots of parents pay their children if they get good grades and I am missing the good parent boat. I’ve never been a subscriber to that philosophy. When you pay a child for something that is outside their control, you set them up for a lifetime of misery. Getting good grades, making the team, being picked for the solo, winning the election and all the other anxiety that comes with growing up is stressful and competitive. I like to reward my children for the courage to try and the determination to work hard, not an outcome that is determined by some one else. An arbitrary test grader, peer voting choices or a teacher’s grading process shouldn’t determine our inner sense of achievement.
This is what I tell my children when it comes to school grades, “I want you to work hard and do your best with the gifts, resources and time God gave you. The grade you receive from the teacher is interesting but it shouldn’t matter most. The grade you give yourself matters infinitely more.” We all know we’ve received an A for sub par effort and a lesser grade when we worked very hard and gave it our best. That’s why I tell my children they should rely more on what they think about their effort. Too often we teach our children to look outside themselves for validation.
Too many of us think we are motivating our children when we are really teaching them that we should be rewarded for every good thing we do. If you get an A I’ll pay you fifty dollars. If you clean your room I’ll give you a trip to the candy store. If you get into the right college or choose a career where you can make lots of money, then I’ll be happy and you’ll be happy. So you end up with children of intellectually gifted parents stressing about every test and grade - children of athletically gifted parents scared to death they won’t make the team - children of stylish parents worried about their clothing labels. The reward we ultimately receive for good deeds and personal effort should be intrinsic or a good feeling about our usefulness to others.
My adult daughter called the other day. She was going to be graduating with her Ph. D in anthropology that week and we were making final travel plans.
“You know Mom you always told me I could do anything I wanted if I worked hard and didn’t give up. Yet it wasn’t what you said but what you did that influenced me most. I watched you work hard and achieve your dreams. I told myself, if she can - then I can. You didn’t pick my dream for me; you just showed me how to have a dream and then go for it.”
We are all one-of-a-kind human beings with unique gifts. Each of us has our own way to shine. It’s not our job as parents to pick out what our child will be good at – but to expose them to various opportunities then support them when they choose what to do and who to be. And we have to keep becoming and doing ourselves to show them how. There will always be two report cards – the one the world gives us and the one we give ourselves. The one we give ourselves always matters more.

Can I Hold You?

The other day my little girl reached up to me with her soft gentle arms and asked, “Can I hold you Mommy?”
She did not ask, “Can you hold me?” She asked, “Can I hold you?”
As I picked her up and snuggled her close, I knew she was asking the one question that will always bring us peace and joy.
My husband is also a wise soul. Whenever we go on a family hike and he notices the youngest child looks tired he says, “You know I’m getting so tired. Think you could hold me for a while?”
Then he picks up the exhausted child and carries them until they’re rested. They never figure out that Daddy is really holding them. They believe they are helping their father by holding him. That is the essence of real love.
Too often we waste too much time waiting for the other person to appreciate us, notice us or honor us. We forget that someone has to do the appreciating, noticing and honoring first or we’ll all be waiting forever and gravely disappointed. We can’t force others to love us. We can only choose to love them. When we feel lonely, we need to go out there and help someone else feel less lonely. When we feel unappreciated, we need to go out there and help someone else feel appreciated. When no one honors us for our hard work, we need to go out there and honor someone else for their hard work.
My tiny daughter was wise beyond her years when she asked to hold me. For while she was holding me I was holding her and it didn’t matter any more who started the whole thing. That’s what happens when we want to do the kind, thoughtful or loving action first. We ultimately receive what we give.
The other day I heard two of my young children arguing.
One child said, “I’m me and you’re you.”
To which the other child replied, “No! I’m me and you’re you.”
They kept up this argument for a long time. This is the universal battle that never ends between individuals or nations. We are so sure that we’re right and the other guy is wrong that we forget to see that we’re both right and we’re both wrong.
We all see the world less the way it is and more the way we are. We have tunnel vision and forget nobody will be important to each other until someone sees the world through the other person’s eyes.
Money might make the world go round, but holding and hugging, caring and compassion is what makes us want to stay on for the whole ride.
Now when my husband and children come home at the end of the day, I try to remember my young daughter’s wise question and ask, “Can I hold you?”
Then when skin touches skin you can’t remember who started this moment of joy because you are both being hugged. You’re just mighty sure you don’t want to be the one who ends it . . . and all is right with the world.

It Matters

While resting in a hospital bed after giving birth to my tenth child, I answered a phone call from my oldest daughter.
“Mom,” April gulped, “my back hurts and I can’t walk.”
“Some people feel labor pains that way, “I answered. “Better get over here and get checked.”
“But what if it isn’t labor after all?” my daughter answered. “I don’t want to go to the hospital and have those guys send me home.”
Now I know most mothers and daughters don’t go into labor that close together but that is exactly what happened to April and me. A few minutes and pain pills later, I was in the labor room again, only this time coaching instead of pushing.
I became a new mother for the last time and a new grandmother for the first time so close together it left me panting. My husband and I used to watch our young children growing up and sentimentally lament, “Boy I hope it won’t be too long between the time we have our last child and when our first grandchild is born.” Little did we know.
Experiencing pregnancy, childbirth and new motherhood along with my daughter felt like a mystical linking of generations one moment and a medical experiment gone mad the next. My daughter and I raced each other for the bathroom, craved the same frozen yogurt and kept each other company in the waiting room at the obstetrician’s office. Everybody we met asked us if we’d seen the movie “Father of the Bride Part Two.” Talk about a crazy way to bond.
Yet the moment I saw my grandson enter the word, I was awe struck and euphoric. It was like singing, dancing and flying without leaving the ground. The circle of life, love and family didn’t end! My baby was having her baby.
There in that labor room as I stroked my daughter’s moist forehead, I realized in the most tender sort of way that everything I’d done as her mother for the past twenty-four years was worth it . . . absolutely everything. Every single moment I’d chosen to spend caring for my child was far more important than anything else I’d determined to do with my life. As I watched my first grandchild enter this world, I knew my part in the creation and development of his mother was my life’s most important work. I understood the whole purpose of this life was bringing down children from God and helping them find their way back to Him.
Before that moment, I simply could not begin to comprehend the importance of loving someone. It occurred to me that a thousand years from now, my babies would still be rocking their babies and the miracle of life of love and love would go on forever. I also understood that taking part in the creation and development of another human being was the greatest way to give birth to my own best life. I’d never even imagined I could feel so much joy.
Now when I see an exhausted and discouraged mother, I pat them on the back and whisper, “It matters. Everything you are doing for your family matters – so much more than you know.”

The True Meaning of Success

I was driving home the other day when a billboard caught my eye. It was a large picture of an older woman with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She had a broad smile on her face. The caption read, “Put poor kids though college . . . pass it on.”
Hey, I’m doing that too, I remember thinking.
Only the poor kids are all mine. Ross and I have always lived on a modest single salary. People told us you can’t raise a big family without two incomes these days. You can – if you want to bad enough. We had a dream when we married. We wanted to raise a large family and make investments in our children. So we made plans and went to work so we could offer all our ten children a university scholarship when they graduated from high school. We knew investing in human beings brings meaningful dividends.
As the years went by we both had opportunities come to us that would have required we limit our family size or the amount of time we had to spend with our children. We passed. We had a vision. We knew what felt right for us, a personal formula for success that felt good to us in our own soul.
We all need a vision – an inner flight plan that takes us where we want to land. If our vision only includes acquiring more material possessions and not blessing the lives of others . . . that is what we will end up with in the end. Through the years we have observed people with stuff visions. When they achieved the big house, new car or notoriety they sought, it did not make them happy. Lives spent on self and acquiring more possessions never satisfies. The thrill of ownership fades as quickly as the red paint on a new sports car.
I starting writing newspaper columns so I could afford to give all my children piano lessons. Writing about being a mom was something I could do at home. One thing led to another and pretty soon the columns became books.
One Saturday morning I was signing books at Barns and Noble when someone walked up and said, “Wow, you’re an author. That’s so glamorous. I’ll bet you lead a pretty exciting life.”
I chuckled as I recalled the morning’s events before I got to the store. I’d snuggled with my husband and a half dozen kids in bed, done three loads of laundry, cleaned up after soggy waffles then nursed and changed the baby. Before I hopped in the van to drive to the bookstore I spied a pile of do–do on our driveway covered with flies. I noticed my toddler near the mess minus his pants and underwear.
“Do you know anything about this?” I asked
“Sorry Mom,” my little boy answered. “I had to go real bad and I couldn’t wait.”
So I quickly dragged out the garden hose and ran some bath water. We splashed until my little boy laughed so loud it made my heart sing. I was late for the book signing, but I really didn’t care. All the people I cared most about weren’t at the store.
“Actually,” I said turning to the stranger talking to me at the author signing table, “writing is pretty boring compared to being a mom. Now that’s exciting.”
When it looks good to the world but doesn’t feel good in our soul, it isn’t success.

The Ultimate Career

When I was in college contemplating marriage and motherhood, I was told over and over again from numerous sources not to waste my life on a husband and children. I was told that if I really wanted to make a difference in the world I should seek success in a professional career. I was told I would be fulfilled only if I “found” myself and made a great deal of money. I was told it didn’t matter who raised babies, any competent adult would do. What I was told and what I felt was true was very different. Now, many decades later, I’m so grateful I listened to my heart.
The decision I made to marry and have my first child was a choice made with faith-filled naiveté, hope and youth. Twenty-four years later, the decision I made to have my last child was made with faith-filled reality, wisdom and age. I certainly knew about all the work, risks and problems involved with my choice, but I also possessed a deeper awareness and understanding of the potential joys and rewards. Even then, all those considerations dimmed in the new light that this decision was not just about me any more. My inner spotlight was now focused outside myself. Interestingly, I discovered that my life had become more important as my own needs became less important.
Life eventually teaches us what is most meaningful and what is most meaningful is the love of family. That’s it. A career is a means to sustain life, but it isn’t a meaningful life. The love and service we offer our spouse and child is the most important work we will ever do and the best way to find our self by losing our self. We might get detracted and focus on commitments that matter less along the way, but ultimately life will teach all of us that our greatest joys and sorrows, regrets and rewards will always come from home.
This doesn’t mean family life is easy. On the contrary - real families are full of victories and failures, triumphs and tragedies. Spouses who are loved and adored sometimes return that devotion and sometimes they don’t. Children who are nurtured and protected sometimes grow up to be strong, well-adjusted adults and sometimes they don’t. There is not always a direct correlation between the quality of our love and the outcome of our marriage or parenting. There is a direct correlation between the quality of our love and the individual growth of the man or woman who does that loving.
So for all you working hard at the sacred craft of soul care - don’t give up. There is no clear easy path through the overwhelming and conflicting commitments we have to our spouse, children, friends, church and community. Yet, we must never forget that our heart-felt acts of service and small daily efforts do matter. The eyes of God see everything.
There is nothing more important to do with our lives than offer something beautiful to our spouse or child . . . whether it is a back yard rope swing, forgiveness, a finger paint masterpiece hung on the refrigerator door or most important . . . our unconditional love.

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.