Wednesday, July 1, 2015

What Can I Say?

Let me start out by saying- I don't really feel like blogging much lately. I feel more vulnerable these days. I don't want to come across like I'm pretending to be an expert on anything, because I'm not. I do the best I can.

But at the same time, I have blogs that I follow and some of them have dropped out. I hate that!!! I mean, what the heck? You get me all sucked into your life and then you quit? That's just wrong. So... here I am.

I hope that soon I will be able to write about the stages of grief, being married for 21 years, the new era of Christianity, what I've discovered in therapy, my weekend in Colorado with strangers-turned-friends, and having and adult child. Those are the topics I dwell on.

For now I leave you with this. Enjoy.

Friday, June 5, 2015

Hey Harrison


Sorry I didn't stand up to say something about you at Senior Honor Night at church.  I really wanted to, but you know me- I don't prepare in advance, and I'm terrible at winging it (when it comes to public speaking).

Also, what I wanted to say is so complicated. And long.

I decided to write you instead. Here it goes. 

Your high school years have been a nut job. A few months before your Freshman year we entered into the world of crazy.  It wasn't on purpose; we were terribly naive. 

At the time, I expected so much from you. I pretty much said, "This is your school work, do it. All by yourself. No, I can't guide you anymore. Buck up." I underestimated the amount of stress our new life caused you.  I thought you were old enough, mature enough, and able to handle it.  Even though you were not old enough and mature enough, by the grace of God you did (handle it).  While, yes, you struggled with managing your school work, you completely delivered in patience, and NEVER complaining.  You rolled with it.

Sophomore year we sent you to school.  You'd never been to school before- this was never part of the plan.  You were a bit reluctant, but in my mind I thought, "You need to get out of here. You should have space, and teachers who can teach you, and friends to goof off with." Really- it was my way of letting you escape. I'd always been a part of everything you did and suddenly I was practically out of your life. But, by the grace of God, you rocked it. You never complained and in fact you flourished.

During your Junior and Senior years at home the turmoil carried on. Our family was learning what it means to love unconditionally.  We discovered that early childhood trauma is a real thing that can't be fixed with hugs and kisses. Its effects will be a part of us forever. Dad and I could never seem to find the time and energy to connect with your youth leaders, teachers, and friends.  I wanted so much to be involved. Despite our absentee parenting, at school and church you let people in on the funny, smart, intelligent person that we have always known you to be.  You somehow managed to be a slacker who succeeds. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree...

You were in plays, went to camps, served in Mexico- three times, volunteered at day camp, worked with Pop, helped out around the house, babysat your siblings, built a beautiful fence :), helped start a bowling team, made great friends, became an admired oldest brother, got good grades....Mostly on your own. Good Job!

When you were little, my dream was to be the mom who was exuberant about Jesus. I wanted to teach you to love and serve God, to start every day in the word, and to be a passionate follower of Jesus.  I hoped that my example would lead you to know without a doubt that Jesus is our Lord and Savior. 

Instead we brought trauma into our home during your most formative years.  We learned that we don't know much about much and we are not as equipped as we formerly thought. You've watched me go from wanting to die for Jesus, to me just wanting to die (not literally. You know what I mean).  My faith has been tested, I've doubted, I've crumbled, I've cried, I've sworn.  Dad and I have fought more in four years than the fourteen years before all put together. You've seen the ugly, ugly parts that I'd never want anyone to see. 

Your quiet demeanor and your steadfastness has been a great comfort to me. I've loved watching you grow into who you are today, (I cannot wait to know you more are as you grow).  I love just being around you. You don't go along with the crowd just because. You seem to know what you like and you stick with it. You are a rock. You are unruffled. You are deep water.

I hope you know, without a shadow of a doubt that I (and I think I can vouch for that rest of the clan) completely adore you. You are joy. My heart bursts for you.  

My prayer is that Jesus is bigger than my/our failures and that I/we have not planted seeds of doubt in you. It is often pain that brings us to deeper understanding; this seems unjust, but it's true. I hope He pulls you in to Him and you follow and you grow wise beyond your years. No matter where life takes you, I hope you know what it is to love God deeply, to hear His audible voice, and to experience his love and grace.

Love you my sweet, Mom

PS- It truly does take a village to raise a child.  I'm so thankful for grandparents, Aunties, cousins, friends, youth group leaders, and teachers, for filling in the holes that we parents are incapable of filling.  Thank you all for praying and helping our family in practical ways. For that, I am truly thankful.