November 9, 2018 · 7:19 pm

Sophie’s Story: Diagnosis Six Months In

Six months ago today Sophie was diagnosed by her school psychologist with Autism. After six months, there is still a part of my heart that breaks to write that sentence. There is still a part of my heart that denies its truth. I wonder if there will always be. I don’t know. I do know that there will for certain always be a part of my heart that rages against what’s broken in our world. Sophie is a beautiful creation of God, but she, like allllll the rest of us, is not free from the reaches of sin and brokenness. I rage against cancer. I rage against drug addiction. I rage against so many wrong things that we accept as our identities in this broken world. So maybe there will always be a part of me that rages against autism. But what I have realized over the past six months is that none of that is a reflection of my acceptance of my Sophie girl, just as she is. I used to feel guilty for being angry about her diagnosis, as if that anger was some rejection of her. But it’s not. We’re allowed to be angered by the things that are wrong in our world. Time has allowed me to see that each of my children has a “brokenness diagnosis,” though they all look different. There’s no reason to single out autism as some sort of worst case scenario in the “brokenness spectrum,” if you will.

Six months ago I sat in a meeting room at her preschool. And I listened as item after item on her screeners pointed to autism. They were like giant boulders, crushing my heart, weighing me down in utter heaviness. There’s really no other way to describe it. Such heaviness. In those first weeks of raw grief, compounded by the loss of our dear Granny, I mostly functioned in disbelief and doubt. Disbelief of the diagnosis, and doubt of the future. There have been many valleys in the last six months. Many frustrations. I’m not proud of the moments I lost sight of the big picture, of the moments I lost sight of the good, and the moments I didn’t cling tightly to the truth of God’s promises. And definitely a few moments where I completely lost my chill. But as we’ve approached this six month mark, I’ve taken the time to reflect. If you don’t reflect often, I encourage you to make it a practice in your life. Looking back for markers of God’s faithfulness in your life is a powerful faith builder.

Six months ago I had so many apprehensions about how Sophie was going to do in kindergarten. I knew that academically she was ready, but I had some wild notions about how her ADHD might interfere with her academics. (Will she ever learn to read?!?!) And I had concerns about her sensory issues, her anxiety, her muscle tone’s never-ending implications with everything from handwriting to bathroom needs. I had concerns about her transitioning to a new team of therapists and aides, to a new school with “big kids” around. Reflecting back on these last six months has served as a important reminder that God is both worthy of our trust and worthy of our praise.

While our summer just post diagnosis did indeed threaten my sanity at many moments, my time spent with other moms helped me to realize that this is a totally normal mental state for us in this stage of life with little ones. We’re all on the crazy bus together. Moms, if you’re starting to feel like you’re alone on the crazy bus, call another mom and talk for five minutes. That’s all it will take for you to know you’re not alone. Better yet, spend time with her and her kids. Then you’ll see firsthand that your kids are just a normal kind of crazy, even if they are “on the spectrum.”

And now, to the point of my update. How is kindergarten? So good. Sophie is rocking kindergarten. My Jesus took the time to put both adults and children around her who would love her and support her. As was the case in preschool, Sophie is loved by her classmates. Her teacher commented that she has an “unusually kind” group of kiddos this year. That makes me smile. I think she has an unusually kind teacher as well. She is a great match for Sophie. Sophie is very friendly with her peers and is accepted fully by them. She’s adjusted to the routines and rhythms of school. And she finally knows which days she has library, or art, or music class. While she’s had to overcome some anxieties at drop off and pick up times due to the noise and commotion, she has boldly soldiered on, even when she’s anxious. God love those noise canceling headphones!

This October I had the opportunity of leading a group of kindergartners through the Halloween party that the four kindergarten teachers had put together, which consisted of six different centers that 90 children worked their way through. I had a group of 12 kindergartners. What an experience! Some of them were your classic over-achievers, coloring all inside the lines and whatnot. And some of them were just as scattered as my sweet girl. I had to help them gather up their items, hold the discarded pieces of their costumes, and encourage them to rush to the bathroom when it looked like they might not make it on time. In sum, it was eye-opening to see the variety of stages of development that all kindergartners are in. Since there’s only one kindergartner in my house, this was a new view for me. Perspective is so helpful for the special needs mom. Yes, my kid has issues. EVERY KID HAS ISSUES. And every kid has always had issues. And WE ALL TURNED OUT FINE. It’s going to be just fine. Calm down, Mamas.

And, as for her academics, Sophie has grown in leaps and bounds. She is indeed reading! My little book worm, nerdy, book-loving heart is doing flips! I LOVE reading with my Sophie-girl. When we got our list of sight words in August, I had some questions about how that whole thing was going to go. But it has gone great. Sophie mastered her first list of sight words and earned herself an M on the report card. (Kindergartners get L for limited, P for progressing, and M for mastered to help parents see where their strengths and weaknesses are.) Her handwriting is coming along, though this is an area where she will have to continue working hard.

What am I learning as I move through these first six months? What has my reflection shown me?

Keep trusting. God has been good, and he will be good.

Be ok with today. Even as I write this and recount all her great progress is kindergarten, my mind flits to first grade. But will she be ok in first grade? Doesn’t matter. We’re not there yet. And when we get there, his grace will be enough.

Don’t be isolated. Crazy mom syndrome just gets worse when you’re alone for too long. I feel like this is true in spades for special needs moms. Us Mamas need each other. I am thankful for my mom friends. Phew. Jenny Jessie Jacqui Lindsey Chelsi Marie Lara Hil Carmen Lauren Lisa Stephanie Amanda Naomi Kristine I’m lookin at you girl. If you’re out there thinking, Man I need a mom friend, hit me up. I will be your mom friend.

I’m relieved and glad to feel like I am starting to finally regain equilibrium. Not every day is a good day, but I think every mom who has to get three little children out the door by 8:30am will tell you that not every day is a good day, autism or no autism. The truth of the matter is that Jesus is in each day, if you look. His goodness and grace are alongside even the difficult moments. But you have to look. It’s easy to see the yuck of the day. But the search for Jesus is rewarding and life-giving. It’s worth the look, even if you have to look back to find it.

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August 25, 2018 · 7:36 pm

Sophie’s Shoes

These shoes. Tiniest little white Nikes you’ve ever seen. In this picture, my youngest daughter Hannah is wearing them, standing next to big sister Sophie in her barefeet. We’ve just been traipsing around the yard. But once upon a time, they were Sophie’s shoes.

Sometimes I unpack a box full of Sophie’s things for Hannah and just savor the fond memories of Sophie’s younger days. Her cute little diapered butt crawling around in that ruffled skirt. A fancy church dress with all the frills. The t-shirt she wore in this picture or that. Other times, I pull out an item like these shoes, and I’m transported back to a very different time in my life.

Why would anyone buy lace up shoes for a baby? You might wonder. And they look to be hardly worn! Being Nikes, we all know they weren’t cheap. Was this just a first baby thing where you splurge on a super cute tiny version of something? No. These were Sophie’s therapy shoes. They had to be lacers because she had custom made braces for her ankles. Her little ankles were hyper-mobile, too flexible for her to stand up when she should have been able to. Because of her hypotonia, Sophie started physical therapy at about five months old. These tiny shoes take me right back to those home therapy visits. And boy do they make me realize exactly how far we’ve come. It’s hard to see that in the day to do. I forget the challenges that Sophie has already overcome, her grit, her determination, her pride in finally being able to do something that was difficult for her. Sometimes it’s all too easy to focus  on the every day struggles of autism. It’s much more difficult to keep in mind what an overcomer my Sophie is.

Laundry basket therapy, where Sophie first learned to pull up to her knees in her tiny red spandex hip supporters.

This week she started kindergarten. It felt a little anti-climactic to me because it’s like the fourth year I’ve taken her to her first day of school. But these tiny shoes made me realize exactly how huge this moment is for us. The fact of the matter is that any number of very serious conditions were on the table in Sophie’s first year of life, when she wore these tiny shoes. But exactly NONE of those conditions were ever found to be her diagnosis. Autism. Yes, it is still very hard. But it is so important for me to remember what it is NOT for Sophie, based on those early days of her journey.

A kind lady in my church, a follower of Sophie’s story, recently asked me, “Does it ever get easier to accept?” speaking of our autism diagnosis.

In all frankness, I told her, “No.” But today I would add to that “not yet.” Because today I have the perspective of the past.

And, not the least bit coincidentally, the same day she asked me this, my pastor taught on “Anticipating Heaven” and having a “God’s Eye View” of the troubles of this life. Yes, autism is very hard to accept, but someday, this diagnosis will be a memory, just like her physical therapy days. And someday, when all things are set right, my sweet girl will be free of this neurological disorder forever. She, like the rest of us, was created for far more than this broken world allows. We live with autism in this life, but we anticipate a life of wholeness, for all of us, in what is to come. And in this there is hope.

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June 28, 2018 · 1:06 am

A Love Song

Life has been heavy lately.

I don’t have much wisdom to share about dealing with grief and loss. It’s been two months since I lost my friend, and I still sometimes feel at a loss as to how to move forward, or to process that she’s gone. I still wonder daily, “will I always feel sad?” The answer is probably, yes, I will always feel sad when I think of the loss of my dear friend. But, as another friend reminded me, to not feel sad over such a loss would be far worse. Grief and loss are just hard. Plain and simple. The only way I know to move through seasons like this is just one step at a time, one day at a time.

My hydrangea, in honor and memory of Chris. The plant I bought her for her birthday, one week before her accident.

Aside from the season I am currently experiencing, there was one other season in my life fraught with tragedy, loss, and grief. Three of my high school students drowned while on a missions trip. I think I cried every single day for at least a month. And I know that the loss I experienced then, and what I am experiencing now, don’t hold a candle to what some have lost. The tears go on for years, decades.

Our world is broken. And it sucks. Dementia, cancer, drownings, autism, car accidents, heart attacks. They were never part of the plan. It is because I believe that they were never part of the plan that I can continue to draw breath and walk through these seasons of loss. It is because I see a loving God as the lens for my circumstances, and not my circumstances to form a broken view of God, that I can continue to trust and walk forward in faith.

During this season of grief in my life, God has spoken one word over and over to me, and I realized that the word is the same this time as it was last time. And it is this: I love you.

In the midst of long sleepless nights waiting for my friend to take her final breath, I heard it over and over and over again: “the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God. Oh, it chases me down, fights til I’m found, leaves the 99.” As I tossed and turned in the bed, it was there, in. my. face. Seven years ago, I heard it in the words of my students’ favorite song (all were singers and musicians), “Oh, how he loves us so. Oh, how he loves us. How he loves us so.” I could not get this song out of my head. The Holy Spirit was insistent and relentless in his message of love to me, both then and now.

Why in times of loss is God reminding me of his love? The only conclusion that I can draw is that, like any good father, my Heavenly Father is comforting his dear child as she cries. When my children are afraid, or sad, or hurting, I often reassure them of my love. And when they have to go through scary things like shots or doctor appointments, I tell them that it’s ok, it’s for their good, even though it hurts for a bit. It’s because they know I love them that they can trust me and walk it out. Because I know my Father loves me, I know he’s working for good and for his glory. In my loss and hurt, he just wants me to know, “I love you.”

As I processed the similarities in these two seasons of grief, I was reminded of Zephaniah 3:17 where the prophet writes, “he will rejoice over you with singing; he will quiet you with his love.” I have felt his insistent love song in these seasons of sadness. My Father is there, singing over me, quieting me with his love.

If you are grieving today, friend, I pray that you will feel his love singing over you and quieting your soul as well. I pray that you will receive his love song, and that it will carry you through your loss. I pray that his loving presence will be all around you, through the sleepless nights, through the long sad days. And I pray that you and I both can keep heaven in our view, remembering that all our losses are temporary, and one day, all will be set right.

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June 13, 2018 · 6:58 pm

Sophie’s Story: Closing the Preschool Chapter

The end of the school year always brings cause for reflection for me. This year I feel especially reflective because Sophie’s preschool chapter is coming to a close. I’m not just reflecting on this past year, but on three years in this great program.

Sophie was privileged this year to be with the same teacher whom she had her first year in preschool when she was three and still non-verbal. It is always an eye-opener for me when people who haven’t interacted with Sophie for a long time get to interact with her again. They are blown out of the water by the amount that she has changed and the progress she has made. This was especially important for me this year as we received her educational identification of autism. Mrs. Bausum has been constant in reminding me of how much Sophie has grown. And she reminds me that this is an indicator of how far she will continue to grow.

Besides being a wonderful support for me, Mrs. Bausum has been a phenomenal teacher for Sophie. She LOVES her preschoolers like her own children. She supports them and challenges them. She is endlessly patient and kind, even in the midst of meltdowns and challenging behaviors. She’s one of those teachers who you know has forever changed your lives. We are so grateful to her for all she has done for us. She also had a fabulous team who helped her and loved Sophie well: Miss Mills, Mrs. Westfall, and Miss Changet, along with occasionally Mr. Herzog. And then there’s the whole team of therapists: Mrs. Meyers, Mrs. McClain, Mrs. Hutcheson, and Mr. Dorian. These fabulous people have enriched Sophie’s life and the life of our family by extension. They are skilled and caring.

And what I love the most about all these people is that they’ve never looked at Sophie through the lens of a label. In the few short weeks that we’ve had our label, I’ve already realized the difficulty this brings. Sophie’s new team at her new elementary school sees autism on her reports and immediately expects certain things and sees her in a certain light. While the educator in me understands this to a degree, the parent in me just screams that they would look past that label and see my child. Sophie’s diagnosis was not an obvious one for anyone. No one really saw it except me. Autism can look really different in girls, especially when they are talkative like Sophie. No one on her team even considered it for her, even when I asked about it last fall, because she just doesn’t fit the typical mold. But after evaluation upon evaluation, the results are clear, and so we have the label. My prayer is that as Sophie’s new team begins to work with her, they will be able to look past the label and not just expect Sophie to be a certain way because of her label. I pray that she will receive both the support and the challenge that she needs to continue growing and achieving.

Many people have asked me what’s next for Sophie. The short answer is: KINDERGARTEN! Sophie is SO EXCITED for kindergarten. We toured her new school just before school concluded in May. She bounced around from room to room with the assistant principal and me, looking at the art room, the music room, the kindergarten rooms, the lunch room, and several therapy rooms. She was full of questions and excitement! She will be going to her home elementary school, which is just a block and a half from our home.

On the medical front, Sophie has just seen her developmental pediatrician. Given everything that the school did to evaluate her, he was comfortable offering us the medical diagnosis of Autism. He was also quick to point out that her diagnosis was not an obvious one, but that it is good she has this in place entering kindergarten, because it will open more doors for support for Sophie. It also finally gives us an answer for what has been causing every single one of the problems she’s had, from anxiety and sensory issues, to her muscle tone and speech delay.

In this moment, as I edit this text I wrote two weeks ago, I’m honestly pretty angry about life. I know in my head that I’m crazy blessed in so many ways. There are many folks out there who have it way worse. But I just need to say that I’m not happy my child is diagnosed with autism. I’m not happy that I lost a good friend and key support person in my life immediately after saying “yes” to God’s call into ministry. (If you’re not a consistent reader of the blog, my neighbor and friend passed away in April, my kids’ “granny.”) I’m pretty angry about all of that. Life since March has basically been overwhelming. And when I wrote this two weeks ago, I was in a little bit better place than I am now. So, I’m reading these last few paragraphs I wrote below and trying to take them to heart today, in the middle of the anger, the grief, the sadness. I think it’s ok to be angry that this world is broken. I think it’s ok to be mad that death happens. To rage, “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Because, in all honesty, this ISN’T the way it was supposed to be. Our world is marred with brokenness. And the pain that I’m feeling was never a part of God’s plan. But he is there in the pain. And he can handle the anger. It’s not a place to remain, but sometimes it is a season in the journey. And I know that a little rage won’t scare him off. Just like when my kids rage at me about something that’s rocked their little worlds. I can handle it. I’m big enough. But right now, I’m the kid, and my world is rocked, but I know my Father can handle it.

So… I’m coming back to where I was two weeks ago… and I’m going to try to listen to myself. I’m honestly not there today, but I’m trying to turn that arrow….

My word for the year has been “Do what’s in front of you” with the image of an arrow directing my path. So in spite of all the upheaval in my personal life, I’m trying to keep myself pointed in the right direction, and I’m going to keep doing what’s in front of me.

Life has been hard this spring, and often overwhelming. But when I feel overwhelmed by any one of many emotions in many difficult situations, I have to remind myself that I can make it through today, I can be ok with today. And that’s got to be enough. God’s grace for tomorrow will meet me in tomorrow.

“Let your eyes look straight ahead; fix your gaze directly before you. Give careful thought to the paths for your feet and be steadfast in all your ways. Do not turn to the right or to the left; keep your foot from evil.” Proverbs 4:25-27

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May 10, 2018 · 1:54 am

Sophie’s Story: Diagnosis Day

Sometimes life is full of really bad things.

Sometimes your dad spirals into dementia, your neighbor “granny” dies, and your child is diagnosed with autism, all in the span of a year, or a month.

Sometimes any grass seems greener, because you really feel you HAVE NO GRASS. Just a lot of dirty dirt.

Sometimes life is cruel.

But God.

God is always good. And he is always kind.

I refuse to allow my circumstances to become the lens through which I see my God. Instead, I will be steadfast in choosing to see my circumstances through the lens of God’s kindness. I choose to believe that he is always being kind to me, even when life looks kind of rotten.

That second sentence up there is a glimpse of my past year. In March of 2017, my dad underwent minor surgery, and the anesthesia accelerated his dementia. A year later we are just now starting to get it settled down a little bit. And in March of this year, my dear neighbor was in a car accident, which ultimately resulted in her death on April 30th. There are no words to express the depth of this loss to our family. Our Granny was one of a kind.

And then there was today. Today I heard the answer that I never wanted to hear, but always knew in my heart I would hear some day: Autism. When no one else saw it in Sophie, I did. As heartbreaking as it was to ask, I knew I had to. And over the last six weeks, her team has worked feverishly to evaluate her through many different assessments for the Autism Spectrum Disorder.

So, today I sat in a room and listened to her team recount her many difficulties and deficits. It was oppressive to hear. It was heartbreaking. And at the end of the meeting, I sat and listened to our school psychologist explain to me that Sophie does meet the criteria and definitions of Autism. After six long — but so incredibly short — years, we have our diagnosis, the diagnosis I never wanted.

I really don’t even know how to process any of this. Mostly my busy life and my busy children don’t allow me a lot of time for quiet contemplation to process. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, fixing this meal, cleaning up that mess, drying those tears. It’s what we do as moms. And somehow we’ll find our way with our Sophie girl. I will keep believing, keep trusting, keep praying, and watching for God to move in her sweet life. His favor clearly rests on her, and I firmly believe he has a good plan for her life.

As friends surrounded me with encouragement today as I shared this news, one friend’s words broke down all the resistance I have been feeling to this day. “You were made for her,” she said. “You were made for her.” Truly God knew from the beginning of time that there would be me, and that there would be Sophie, and he crafted us for each other. To me, this makes no sense right now. But I know she is right.

Today there have been lots of tears. This last month there have been lots of tears. This past year there have been lots of tears. But tears are not a place to stay. I don’t want to always see my life through my tears. Even as I observe these losses, these griefs, even in the sadness and the tears, I’m trusting that God is infinitely kind to me and to those I love.

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April 12, 2018 · 7:10 pm

Bitter Water

About a month ago I accepted a new job as the director of youth and children’s ministry at my church. I was (and am) humbled and delighted to be offered this job! I could say a lot about the process, because it could not have been more clear that this was what God had for me. But if I get off on that, it will totally hijack this other post I need to write…

My first week on the job, I contracted a wicked stomach virus that just would not leave me. So I was sick for the majority of my first week of work. The next Monday morning, I was excited to be feeling well and back at it. But when Tuesday rolled around, my world turned upside down.

My dear friend, neighbor, and my kids’ “granny” was in a bad car accident. She was taken to our major trauma hospital in the area and admitted to ICU with kidney failure, irregular heart rhythms, and numerous broken bones. Friends, in that moment when I heard that news, my world just stopped. I was overwhelmed with grief at the thought of losing this dear loved one. And, of course, after thoughts of her well-being, quickly followed thoughts of how in the world I was supposed to do my new job with Granny, my babysitter, laying in the hospital. For four long days, I did not know if she was going to live or die. Some of the worst moments of my life.

I remember waking up the morning after her accident, with everything feeling upside down, praying for her, asking God what in the world he was up to, and specifically praying, “God, I know you have something in mind here, so I need you to show me your thoughts. I know you have a thought about this, a direction that I should go. This didn’t surprise you. So reveal your thoughts to me.”

So we’ve been functioning now for two weeks without Granny. The first two weeks in six years that she hasn’t been by the watch the kids for a few hours, even if to just give mommy a much needed minute for sanity. It has been a strange two weeks. It has intensified the adjustment period for me, having added new job responsibilities, while losing a huge part of my support system. I cannot say that it has been the smoothest two weeks of my life. While I’m really enjoying the job, life has gotten crazy busy, and my children are with me 24/7. So all the mamas know what that’s like…. A special kind of blessing, honestly, it is.

And so this week I’m working away on all my Sunday school lessons, and the lesson for the junior high and high school is just the hottest mess. I use a curriculum, and I just tailor it to our needs, and usually it’s pretty spot on. But this lesson was just making me scratch my head and say “Wuuuttt?” And it was really frustrating. So I put it away and prayed for divine inspiration. And woldn’t you know, when I took it out today, that Holy Ghost just opened up my eyes.

The story we are studying is of the Israelites at Marah, where the water is bitter. In spite of all the miracles they’ve seen God do in the past few weeks of their lives, the Israelites begin to whine and complain that God isn’t providing for them. I read that, and I’m like, “Wuuuttt? Come on, guys! You just walked through the Red Sea on dry ground! I think God can help you with your water situation.” But they didn’t see it. So Moses, bless his soul, cries out to God for help. And God says, “ok, throw this tree into the water.” Say what now? How is that going to solve this problem? Good ol’ Moses doesn’t question, or if he does, he made the editorial choice to leave that part out when he wrote the book of Exodus. He just puts the tree into the water, and BOOM! sweet water!

So here’s how God hits me between the eyes with this: “What are you going to do, Catherine, when I serve up bitter water for you? Are you going to complain and gripe and be frustrated that your life is less convenient now? Or are you going to choose to obey, whatever craziness that may look like? Are you EXPECTING me to move or not?”

See, I started out pretty good right after the accident, asking God for his thoughts and all, but the living it out, that is the tough part. Even though my church family and friends have come together in amazing and beautiful ways to support my family, the fact that my friend and my babysitter is laying in the hospital with a very long long road to recovery still stinks. We miss her. Our lives are actually less without her, if you know what I mean. She added to our lives in a very sweet and unique way. This loss, however temporary, is a firsthand taste of some bitter water.

The brokenness of this world stinks. It meets us every day in the ways we sin and fall short and in the ways that others sin against us. Our friendships break down. Our families break down. Our health breaks down. And eventually, our hearts break down along with these things. Bitter water. It’s everywhere in this life. So the question is, what are we going to do with our bitter water? Are we looking for God, expecting him to move? Or are we wallowing in self-pity and frustration?

I think I’m going to look back on the faithfulness of my God and trust and remember that he has still got a plan, and he is still good. Even in the bitterness of this loss, I will look for sweetness. I will look for the miraculous. I know it’s there. I see it in the ways others are stepping up to care for us. I see it in Granny’s slow but steady healing. And I know I’ll see it in other ways as I continue to look.

 

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March 16, 2018 · 3:10 pm

Green Beans on Cake

It is 10:30 AM. Today they are giving me a run for my money. (Let’s be honest, every day they give me a run for my money.) I have already lost count of the meltdowns and timeouts we’ve had this morning. It’s a green beans on cake kind of season around here with my older two children.

Micah precociously tells Sophie, “No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

Sophie shouts, “Micah! Go AWAY!” swinging her arms (and her toys) around wildly trying to remove his presence from her space.

… And the yelling continues ….

OR

Sophie tells Micah, “You’re going to wear this shirt today.”

Micah dissolves into a puddle of angry tears on the floor because he wanted to pick his own shirt.

Can somebody please just take a chill pill? Yikes.

These are the cringe-worthy moments that my days are made of right now! They’re just kids being kids, but I happen to believe it’s my job to train them up in the way they should go, and green beans on cake is NOT the way to go…

So we use this saying on a daily basis. “Don’t put green beans on your cake.”

Here’s how it began —

One day when Micah was spouting off some kind of attitude towards me and his sister Sophie, I exclaimed, “Micah, stop that, it’s just ugly!”

He was very offended, because already at three he wants to look good. “Mom, don’t call me ugly. That’s not nice.” He was truly hurt when he thought I was calling him ugly.

So I explained, “Micah, you are not ugly at all. You are a wonderful boy with so many good qualities, but when you have this bad attitude, it looks ugly on you. It ruins the good you. It’s like putting green beans on cake!”

That really got his attention! “Green beans on cake, Mom?! That’s disgusting!”

“Yes, it is. That would be so gross! It would mess the cake all up. And that’s what your attitude does to you. God made you to be a wonderful little boy who is kind and funny and smart! But when you have this attitude, you’re putting green beans on your cake.”

Suddenly it was crystal clear to him what I was saying. He realized to some degree that his sinful choices are not a reflection of who he truly is, but they are a distortion of who God created him to be. This vivid, disgusting image helps my children understand what their sin does to their souls.

And it helps me too. Sometimes they’ll even say it to me, “Mom, that’s green beans on cake when you say that.” And sometimes they’re right. We all put green beans on our cake now and then. But now all we need to do is lovingly remind each other when we’re starting to load the cake up with beans and it helps diffuse the situation, remind us that we’re not being the best version of ourselves, the one we were created to be.

So we soldier on, through these years when the children are each other’s best friend and worst enemy from moment to moment. I know I’m going to blink and it will be in the past. I won’t mind if I forget the fighting and the meltdowns, but I hope I remember our phrase, green beans on cake, because I don’t want to lose sight of what my sin does to my soul. I want to be the best version of myself that I can possibly be on this earth.

And  I hope that my kids will remember it too as they grow, so that when they are teenagers walking through school hallways, they will be kind, they will reach out to the lonely. When they start their first job, they’ll be a light for Jesus because their lives look different. When they go out into this broken world, they’ll have something to offer, something sweet like cake, that leaves others feeling uplifted instead of grossed out.

At the center of my job as a mother is the responsibility to teach my kids to know and to be like Jesus. Many days that feels like the impossible dream. But I know it’s not. Because we have the good moments too, where we’re talking at breakfast about Easter and they’re talking about how Jesus died on the cross for them, and rose again, and is coming back to take them to heaven because they have Jesus in their hearts. Some moments it’s just pure sweet cake.

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March 14, 2018 · 5:45 pm

Two Moms Sat in a Parking Lot

Two moms sat in grocery store parking lots. A few miles separated them. But as they sat in their minivans talking on the phone, their hearts were close. These moms were having terrible mornings. One mom was awakened at 4:45 by the baby, who was grouchy all morning. Her other two kids fought like cats and dogs. She dropped an egg on the floor, her makeup in the wet sink, and a laundry basket, which took part of her thumb with it. The other mom was tired of being sassed by her pre-teen son, while being told, “I hate you,” by her little girl. She was weary of arguing, weary of disrespect. Both of these moms felt like they were sinking. Both of these moms felt powerless to change their homes. And both of these moms felt like failures, like it was somehow all their fault that their children were so screwed up.

But as these moms talked and shared their hearts with each other, they could hear the nonsense in each other’s heartbreak of “What did I do to screw this all up?” and “I feel like such a failure.” Because these moms knew that their dear sweet sister in Christ had done nothing to screw up her children, and that she was not a failure.

And as they talked, the settled on the real source of the problem: The Enemy of their souls.

He was the one messing with their families. He was the one making them blame themselves for everything. He was the one heaping guilt on their mama’s hearts. He was the one shooting fiery darts at their children. He was the one who wanted to destroy their souls and the souls of their children.

And they decided they were done.

Done listening to the lies of the enemy.

Done giving themselves too much credit, thinking that their shortcomings could literally outweigh the grace of God to sustain their children.

Done feeling powerless.

Done tolerating destruction.

Done feeling like their children were slipping through their fingers and on the highway to hell.

Done.

And they decided their best and only weapon was prayer. Their war plan and their war path was through prayer.

Every day they will pray Scripture over their children.

Every day they will pray for a wall of fire around their children and legions of angels to go with them.

Every day they will pray for Jesus to capture the hearts of their children.

Every day they will pray for wisdom.

Every day they will pray that they can be the mamas God wants them to be, even when they make mistakes.

And every day they will look for change. They will take ground with their prayers. They will take their children back from the enemy’s reaching. They will take back their homes. They will take back their marriages. They will war for the souls of those they love.

I am convinced that I am who I am because of my mama’s prayers. May it be so with my children also because of me.

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March 6, 2018 · 2:05 am

Memories of Daddy: The Sap is Running

Mornings like this take me back. There’s a light frost, and the air is chilly, but as the sun peeks out, I know it will be a warm day. As I’m getting ready for my day, brushing my teeth, combing my hair, putting on my make up, my mind is 100 miles away.

I’m in Mansfield, in a small grove of maple trees outside my best friend’s house. It’s cool in the woods, but the afternoon sun above the canopy of trees is warm. The night was chilly, the morning saw a light frost. But by afternoon we’d shed our jackets and felt the warm sun on our skin as we played outside. We’d run with the energy of the coming spring, knowing that the cold days of winter were now numbered.

After work, on these days of my memory, Daddy would come pick me up in his gray Honda hatchback. I would know our destination with one glimpse into the trunk. It would be full of industrial sized mayonnaise jars, empty, of course, awaiting sap. We’d drive the few minutes from home to that grove of trees and gather the sap. I’m sure I wasn’t as helpful as I remember, because I couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 when I remember helping Daddy with the sap. I have a 6 year old, and I know exactly how helpful she would be in this task! But I never remember Daddy getting frustrated, just a happy camaraderie as we went around to check our gray metal buckets to see how much sap we’d collected. We poured it into the mayo jars and tallied up our cache. Only a couple of gallons on a slow day. But some days the 3 gallon buckets would be full to overflowing. Days like today, where the morning was chilly, but the sun soon brought warmth. The sap would start to flow. We haven’t collected sap in well over 20 years, but this type of day never fails to take me right back to those maple trees.

I felt special when I got to collect sap with Daddy. He’s always had a way of making me feel special. I hope that I have that way about me, as I’m like him in many ways. I hope that I can live in the moment with my kids and create special memories that they will cherish on cool spring mornings. I’m sure that my daddy was stressed just like me, just like every other adult on this planet, and I’m sure at times he let that out in ways he shouldn’t have, but I rarely remember him giving in to that stress. I know he did, because he remembers (or used to) and used to talk about it, feeling like he had made mistakes. That gives me a lot of hope. Because I feel that way about myself a lot, like I’m going to mess my kids up with all my mistakes. But I don’t really remember his mistakes. I just remember collecting sap with my daddy. I remember him pouring in to me, just like that sap poured into those buckets, just like I want to pour into my own kids now.

A portion of an article published in the local newspaper about my daddy’s sapping, circa 1986. I remember that hat vividly.

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February 28, 2018 · 4:20 pm

Sophie’s Story: A Winter Hat on a Warm Spring Day

Have you ever had one of those moments where you are saying something to your child and you immediately hear the voice of God speaking it back to you? I had one of those moments this morning. We were running late getting ready for school, surprise, surprise. I hadn’t slept much the night before. The baby was cranky, being the reason that I was up, she was also sleep deprived. I was trying to do too many things in too little time. As I hurried to get ready to avoid driving Sophie to school in my bathrobe, I shouted instructions to the big kids, hoping against hope they could get themselves together better than usual when left to their own means. I asked Sophie to get her pink blanket for rest time at preschool, to get her socks on, and to get her shoes on. Three simple requests.

She came back to my room a few minutes later where I was trying to dress myself while keeping the baby out of my trashcan, and she proclaimed with glee, “Look, I got my hat!” She’s wearing her winter hat. Sockless. Shoeless. Blanketless. But she’s got her hat. And she was so happy about it. In my overwhelmed moment of frustration I told her she didn’t need a hat today because it’s 50 degrees outside. (Can I get an amen for that?!) I reminded her about her socks and shoes and blanket. But instead of getting on the ball, she came back to that hat and argued with me that she did indeed need her hat today, that she planned to wear it outside to school. I should have just dropped it. She’s six. Her logical function is, well, six. Sure, wear your hat. It’s a hat, who cares! But I was a little annoyed with her attitude to argue with me, and so I chose the wrong battle. But in that battle, what I said to her really resonated with my own journey lately.

“You have spent all this time worrying about a hat that you don’t even need when you have not even done the things I’ve asked you to do. What I’m asking you to do will prepare you for school, where you need to be today.”

That hit me between the eyes, man. I have spent so much time worrying about things I don’t even need instead of just doing what God has asked me to do. When I spoke those words, I heard “house” rather than “hat” in my head. You have spent so much time worrying about a house you don’t even need instead of doing the things I’ve asked you to do. I’m going to chew on that one today. Mine’s a house. What hat are you worrying about?

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