On Stepping Back

“The Pilot’s transmission is out, it’s going to cost $5k to repair it.  The Accord is leaking radiator fluid, mechanic says all the hoses need replacing, it’s going to cost $400.  The kids are totally without transportation, but Pastor Ron sent out an email asking for help…”  I announced to my husband Jim after talking to my daughter.    I knew what I was going to do about it; now to just get him buy into what I wanted to do about it.

“What are we going to do about it?”

“We wait,”  he says. 

So, while HE waits, I pray.  I tell God, “Lord, we have four vehicles in our driveway, and two and a half drivers.  It’s really a no-brainer, but he needs to hear it from you.”

The next day, I asked him to call our daughter Jennifer, knowing that when he hears her voice, God will use it to whisper to him, “Let them use the silver car.”

“What’s new?”  I ask.

“Pilot’s getting towed back to their house, Accord is at the mechanics but will be back at their house shortly.  Email’s been sent out asking for help.”

By this time, my patience was starting to run out.  Why should the pastor have to send out email asking people to loan a car to perfect strangers (O.K., so church members aren’t exactly perfect strangers, but they may as well be, compared to immediate family) when we have a perfectly working car sitting unused in the garage? 

So, as gently as I could, I ask, “Why should Ron have to solicit help from church members when we have a perfectly working car sitting unused in the garage?”  He just looks at me, and then wordlessly gets out of the car to get some milk, while I wait in the car stewing.

While I stew, I talk to God.  Conversation goes like this:

Lord, You’re going to have to talk some sense into him.

Try again.

Lord, he’s not listening to you.

Not even close.

What... I’m [emphasis on I’m] not listening to You?

Now, you’re talkin’.

So you’re saying I’m the one with the problem of not listening to You? I’m the one who’s been praying and talking to you from the start?

That’s the problem.  YOU’ve been doing all the talking.

Then it hit me.  I’d been doing all the talking, telling God what to do, what to say, when to say it.  I wanted US – Jim and me – to be the heroes, to be the good guys, the ones to save the day for our kids.  That was our job – or so, I thought, until God gently reminded me that is HIS job. 

Good thing He knows me and knows that eventually, I’d come around, sometimes quick enough to where no one has to get hurt.  So my prayer changed.  I thanked Him for keeping my mouth closed, for keeping me from doing what I wanted to do.  I thanked Him for keeping Jim from doing what Jim wanted to do.  Then I asked Him to help me trust Him – to trust that He is doing something bigger than providing the kids with a means to get around town.

This morning we received word that a couple from the church answered the help call.  They had just bought a brand new car, and had a much older one just sitting in their garage.  They decided to drive the older car and loan the new one to the kids.

The loaned car is a 2012 Ford Focus.

Learn to Let Go

Mood:  Meloncholy
Music:  "Learn to Let Go" by Mark Schultz

I'm holding this picture
You drew when you were four
It was one we proudly hung 
On our refrigerator door 
I found it in the attic 
In your old dresser drawer 
By a pillow that we made you 
And a blanket that you had 
When we learned to chase the monsters 
From underneath your bed 
And I remember
How I learned how to hold you when you cried 
I learned how to let you be strong 
Learned how to calm you in the dark 
Learned how to listen with my heart 
I learned how to watch you grow 
But how will I learn to let go
And when I walk in your bedroom 
The memories that I keep 
Are bedtime stories 
And rocking you to sleep 
And as I held you 
You'd drift off to dream 
And I know it might sound crazy 
Now that you are grown 
But yesterday still feels 
Like the day we brought you home 
And I remember

June 24, 2006

     Last night,  at 7 PM we took my 19-year-old daughter to LAX to catch the 11:20 flight to Brisbane, where she will take another flight to Townsville.  She flew alone.  Why would seemingly reasonable parents send their daughter ALONE to the other side of the world for an entire year?
     This morning we left the house at 3 to get my 16-year-old son to the airport to catch the 7:10 flight to Miami, then to Jamaica. When he got to the airport,  he started helping out his group by checking in cases of Bibles.  He and another took a cartload of cases to be screened, and they were supposed to come back with the group, but the guards wouldn't let them and had them go on up to the gates.  My husband and I never got to hug him goodbye and pray with him.  We didn't even get to wave goodbye.
     Both Jax and Jimmy are on mission trips -- Jax to serve on staff for a year with YWAM and Jimmy to share the love of Jesus to the people of Jamaica through drama, drums, and personal testimony.  They are doing what we have raised them to do -- to be obedient and do whatever God asks them to do.  So why does it feel like I have a hole in my heart?
     Why does it feel like I just got kicked in the stomach whenever I pass by their empty rooms?  Why do I cry when I hear "How Great Is Our God" or anything by Joy Williams?  Then Mark Schultz's "Learn to Let Go" gets played on the radio and now I am just a blubbering idiot.
     I don't have to learn to let go -- I already know how to do that.  The problem is I DON'T WANT TO! But I know that's what I have to do -- to let go and allow God to work in their lives and in mine as we rely on Him for comfort and for peace. 
     I think of how the Father must have felt on the very first Christmas Eve, the last day Jesus was in Heaven before He left for His mission trip, one that would lead Him to His crucifixion.  The Father knew it, and He still let Him go. So I will do the same. 
     
UPDATE 2012:  
     Jax ended up serving in Australia for 5+ years.  She also ended up married to an Aussie (a drummer!), whom she met at Discipleship Training School back in 2005.  We LOVE him and his family!  She lives in Australia now.  
     Jimmy went on to serve on the worship team and student ministries at Whittier Area Community Church, where he met Jennifer, whom he married in 2009.  Jimmy is in the Air Force, and is stationed here in Alaska.  Jennifer safely delivered my grandson two weeks ago.  That's why I'm here.  I will once again have to let go on September 3.  It will be difficult, but it will be worth it.

From Jhen: On Just a Little Taste

Just A Little Taste

The following Sunday after Jhen, my five-year-old little lady was baptized, she taught me another big lesson.  It happened at my parent’s church, where the Lord’s Supper was being served, and she would be allowed to partake for the first time.  She had seen the covered table and knew what was about to take place.  She sat beside her little sister on the pew in front of me and was quite subdued and well-behaved throughout the message.

When the time came for the bread to be served, she sat up tall, and I remembered my first Lord’s Supper.  I had picked out the piece of cracker I could find in the two seconds the plate was in front of me, then passed the plate on, over my younger sister who looked longingly at the plate, wanting to but knowing she couldn’t take a piece.  I remembered squaring my shoulders in a self-important way, but I kept my head bowed because that’s what the grown-ups were doing.

When my younger daughter, her face full of disappointment, scooted as close to her sister as she could, I was sure the older one was doing the same thing I did many years before, because that’s just the way little kids are.  When they began to whisper to each other, I tapped them both on the shoulders and shook my head disapprovingly, and they sat still.

When the instruction came to “Take, eat,” I watched as my first-born put the wafer in her mouth, and then handed a tiny crumb to her little sister, who then proceeded to chew like everyone else, her eyes filled with gratitude to her sister.

“Oh, no,” I groaned inwardly -- people had seen the whole thing!  Hadn’t I explained many times before that not everyone that’s there got to share  in the Lord’s Supper, and hadn’t I explained why?  Didn’t they know the rules?  It was bad enough that some people hadn’t approved of Jhen’s “early” baptism, and this just seemed to prove their point.  Embarrassed, I leaned forward to reprimand my daughters but something held my words back. 

Then I heard my little lady gently and lovingly explain to her little sister – not in a self-righteous or superior way, as I would have done at her age, but as tenderly as she could, “Jax, (a nickname reserved only for when they are best buddies) that was just a little taste.  You can’t have the whole thing until you ask Jesus into your heart and let people know it.”

“Yes, Jhenny,” Jax nodded softly.

I sat back and thought about what had just transpired.  Sometimes people are like Jax, and get a little taste of what Jesus has to offer, knowing they can never have the “whole thing” until they make a commitment .  Even life here on earth is but “a little taste”  and we can’t have “the whole thing” – Eternal Life – without Jesus.

But more than that, my little lady taught me that sometimes we are so caught up in rules and regulations that we lose sight of our purpose.  Yes, my little ladies broke a rule, but they taught me a great lesson in doing so.  The Lord’s Supper represents what Jesus did for us, and the bread and wine are the symbol of Jesus Christ.  So, when Jhen broke the rules and shared her wafer, she symbolically shared Jesus with her sister in the most innocent, unselfish way.  Jax didn’t take the wafer from the plate, she got a taste of it when her sister shared it with her.  Jhen willingly offered part of her most prized possession at that moment – her first Lord’s Supper wafer – to her sister.

When the time came to serve the cup, the usher paused before offering the tray to my little lady, and looked at me inquiringly.  I nodded slightly, giving my approval.  Jhen took her cup, held it with her head bowed, and drank it when everyone else did, but she left a tiny drop for her little sister, who put the cup to her lips to get a little taste.

I am forever thankful that God allowed my little ladies to teach me a lesson, and in doing so I was able to witness the first time my little lady shared Jesus, and it was  with her little sister.

From Jhen: On Getting Baptized

(From Lessons I Learned From My Kids When I Was Supposed to Be Teaching Them)

On Getting Baptized

When she was five years old, Jhen relentlessly asked us if she could be baptized.  My husband, Jim, and I were hesitant – neither of us were keen on infant baptism, and we  weren’t sure Jhen knew exactly what it meant to be baptized.  She had prayed at the dinner table to receive Jesus into her heart many weeks previously, but baptism?  Such a big step for a  such a little lady!

One day, after worship service, our little lady ran off, and we were quite upset:  it was against our rules to run off away from our line of sight.  We eventually found her talking to our Pastor, and the scolding I was about to give her never happened as I watched her skip happily toward us, her face beaming.

“I told Pastor I want to be baptized,” she announced breathlessly.  “I told him I already asked Jesus into my heart a long time ago.”

A few nights later, Pastor came over to counsel her.  He talked to her about salvation, being born again, growing spiritually, et cetera, and he did his best to use words a five-year-old could understand.  I sat in another room and asked the Lord to lead and guide Pastor and us as we “witness” to our little girl.  We didn’t want to be hindrance to her spiritual growth, but baptism?  Such a big step for a such a little lady!

After Pastor left, I tried to talk to her and ask her about her decision, and all she did was complain about the fun she was missing outside as her sister and friends played.  Oh, well, I thought to myself, so much for that.  Baptism?    Too big a step for such a little lady.  

Later that evening, I was eventually able to coax her with a fudgesicle to join me in the back patio to have our discussion.  I asked her if she knew what sin was.  She said sin was doing something that makes God sad.  I asked her if she ever sinned, and she said yes, and that made her a sinner.  I asked her what sin does.  She said it keeps people from being with God.  I asked her if she knew what Jesus did for her sin.  She told me Jesus’ blood washed away her sins when He died on the cross;  she went on to say that she asked Jesus to forgive her for all the times she made Him sad.  Such a big thought for a such little lady!

Then I began talking to her about being born again, and spiritual growth, and all that good stuff.  I noticed that her eyes began to wander, and I knew I had lost her.  When I came to the part about the Bible being our spiritual food, I finally regained her attention.  Her eyes lit up as she her words came out.

“Momma, ‘member when Jimmy was just born, you had to feed him ALL THE TIME?  That’s like when you and daddy and Pastor Mark and Miss Janet tell me stories from the Bible or you ‘splain to me what the verses mean --  that’s like you’re all feeding me spiritual food, huh?”

She continued, my little lady, to “’splain” to me that as a baby  gets older, Mama has to be careful not to give food that’s too hot – Baby would get burned; too hard or too big – Baby would choke; or too spicy – Baby would get an upset tummy.

As she went on, my prepared speech on conviction, commitment, and competence went out the window.  Sure, she was still a little girl, and if she accepted Jesus as her Savior, it didn’t make a difference whether she were baptized next week or next year.  Baptism was not required for salvation, but it was the first step of obedience.  Who was I to stand in her way?

First things first, Mom, hold off on the meat.  Give her the infant formula that she can easily digest, and we’ll go from there. 

Such a BIG lesson from such a little lady.  She was baptized the following Sunday.

From Jimmy: On Giving Versus Getting Rid Of

(From Lessons I Learned from My Kids When I Was Supposed to Be Teaching Them)

On Giving Versus Getting Rid Of

            When Jimmy was about 8 years old, he collected  trading cards, mostly basketball cards.  There was always something about the way his eyes would light up when presented with a fresh, unopened pack of trading cards.  He would carefully PEEL the packet open, and then slowly fan the cards to see if he got a “good” one.   He would set aside the cards he deemed were “worth SO much” (mostly Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant ones) and then discard the rest of the pack into his “give to Momma’s class” stack.  He was meticulously careful about not folding corners, leaving smudge marks, and keeping his valuable cards in mint condition so as not to lose their value.

            One day, some friends we hadn’t seen in a long time came over for a visit.  Jimmy wanted so much to give something to these friends, so he asked his dad and me if we would care if he gave a gift to his friends.  We told him, no, we didn’t mind, and that he was being very thoughtful and generous.  While the grown-ups visited, the young ‘uns traded cards, and we heard squeals of delight, and Jim and I shared a secret smile, knowing Jimmy had just bestowed his gift upon his friends.

            Later, after they had left, we asked Jimmy how his gift-giving went.  He said his friends LOVED his Kobe Bryant mint condition rookie card.  HIS KOBE BRYANT MINT CONDITION ROOKIE CARD!  His dad and I saw red when we heard.  “Son, you had all these other Kobe Bryant and Michael Jordan mint condition cards – triples of them!  Why didn’t you just give away the ones you had a lot of?  That was your one and only rookie card!  That was worth a lot!” I cried.

            He looked at us, puzzled.  “I know that, Mom.  That’s why I gave it,  because it was worth a lot.  If I gave them one of the other ones I had extras of, I wouldn’t have been giving a gift, I would have just been getting rid of a card.”

            Then he went back to rearranging his trading cards.

How often do we deceive ourselves into thinking we are giving to God and His cause, when all we’re really doing is getting rid of our extras?

           

The Beauty of Grace

     One day, Jhen got grounded for not doing her chores, so she was confined to her room for the remainder of the day. It happened to be a particularly beautiful day, so Jacky and Jimmy went outside to play in our big backyard.

     While Jacky and Jimmy frolicked in the immaculately kept grass, Jhen was in her room with her face pressed against the window, watching her sister and brother as they enjoyed the freedom of the outdoors.

     “Daddy, can Jhenny come out to play?” asked Jacky.

     “She’s grounded,” replied Jim, “so she has to stay in her room.”

     “But she’s looks so sad and lonely,” observed Jacky. “Can’t you please let her out early?”

     “She didn’t do as she was asked, and she was warned. If you don’t want her to be lonely, you could always go inside and keep her company,” suggested Jim.

     “But it’s such a pretty day, Daddy. It’s a day made for playing outside! What can I do to convince you to let her come out and play?” Jacky ventured.

     “What do you suggest?” countered Jim.

     “Well, if you let her play with us today, I’ll take her place tomorrow,” Jacky offered hopefully.

     “You’re willing to be grounded tomorrow just so Jhen can play today?” asked Jim with surprise.

     “Yes, Daddy. Please, let her come out to play?” insisted Jax.

     “But Jacky, you’re supposed to go to Disneyland tomorrow with the Buskirks!” reminded Jim.

     Jacky looked back at the window where her sister was longingly watching Jimmy, and a momentary shadow crossed her face as she thought about what her dad had just said. Then, with tears in her eyes as she thought of the sacrifice she was about to make, she said, “I know, Daddy. But it’s today that I want Jhenny to come and play. So if you let her come out and play now, I’ll be grounded for her tomorrow. I won’t go to Disneyland with Heather. I’ll call her, she’ll understand.”

    

     Jhen got to go outside to play in the sunshine with her brother and sister, and Jacky still got to go to Disneyland with Heather and the Buskirks.

     Such is the beauty of grace.

MomSense Monday: From Jhen, Spell-A-Thons and Silver Dollars

Spell-A-Thons and Silver Dollars

When Jhen was in kindergarten, one of the PTA fundraisers was a Spell-a-thon. All the kindergartners in her school were given a list of 50 words. They had two weeks to learn the words, and gather monetary pledges for each word spelled correctly. Students who spelled all the words correctly – a hundred percent – would also get a shiny, fresh-from-the-mint silver dollar. 

Jhen came home with her list, excited. Her goal was to get all the spelling words right for one reason only: she wanted that silver dollar. She vowed to do whatever it takes to learn all the words.

“What would you do with that silver dollar?” I asked.

“It’s a surprise!” she whispered with an air of mystery.

She studied her words diligently, and nagged us to quiz her several times a day. At school and at home, she would write her words in order, again and again, going through several pencils and pads of paper. Before her prayers each night at bedtime, we would give her a “practice test”. I would correct her test, put a giant 100 % on top of it, and she would smile her secret smile as she got one night closer to her silver dollar. While I asked friends and neighbors for pledges, she asked God to help her “get a hundred”.

On the night before The Big Spelling Test, as I was getting paper and pencil ready for her final practice test, Jhen stopped me. “I’m not practicing tonight, Mom,” she informed me. “Tonight I’m just gonna relax because I already know I’m gonna get that silver dollar.” So she said her prayers, ending it with “and thank You for the silver dollar.”

As expected, she came home the next day with the shiny silver dollar, still in a sealed cellophane bag. “Now will you tell me what you’re going to do with the silver dollar?” I begged as I hugged her.

She flashed a giant grin as she whispered in my ear, “I’m gonna give it to Jesus!”

“Jesus will love it! Dad and I and Jesus are SO proud of you – you worked so hard!” I pulled out a dollar bill, and told her she could give the dollar bill to Jesus, and we could put the silver dollar in her scrap book. She refused. I offered her a five dollar bill. Still she refused. Finally, I told her I’d give her a twenty-dollar bill to give to Jesus if she’d give me the silver dollar to put in her scrap book. Adamantly she shook her head.

“Mom, I didn’t work hard for the $20 bill. I worked hard for the silver dollar, and that’s what I wanted to give Jesus!”

That Sunday morning, Jhen reverently placed her shiny silver dollar, cellophane and all, in the offering plate. And somewhere in one of the dusty boxes in the garage, is an old silver dollar taped to a $20 bill taped to a yellowed page in her kindergarten scrapbook.

Jesus doesn’t look at the face value of a gift, He places value on the heart of the giver. 

Jhen in her Valentine Tea Party Garb in Kindergarten

MomSense Monday: On Heat and Shadows

Lessons I Learned from My Kids (When I Was Supposed To Be Teaching Them)
     He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. Psalm 91:1
On Heat and Shadows
     One particularly hot Sunday morning, when Jimmy was around 4 years old, I was detained on the way to signing Jimmy in to his Sunday School class. While I chatted with a friend, I watched Jimmy in front of me, looking like he was dancing his own version of the “Hokey Pokey” in the middle of the church courtyard. He lifted his right arm over his head, then straight out to his side. Then he stuck his right foot in front of him, then out to his right. He did the same thing with his left foot.
     When I was done with my conversation, I began to walk toward the Children’s Building, and Jimmy was intently watching the ground as he maintained an even distance ahead of me. Thinking to outwit him, I began to slowly walk in a zigzag path, and sure enough, he maintained the distance between us, but I remained behind him.
     When I stopped, he stopped. When I zigged left, he zigged left. When I zagged right, he zagged right. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me. “Jimmy, what are you doing?” I asked.
     “I figured something out,” he replied, without turning to face me. “Look at your shadow, Mommy,” he instructed. “Can you see my shadow?” he inquired.
     “Nope,” I replied, “I don’t.”
     “Now watch,” he commanded as he raised his hand over his head. “Now, do you see my shadow?” he questioned.
     “Well, I see the shadow of your hand,” I answered.
     “Well,” he continued matter-of-factly, “every time I can see any part of my shadow, I can feel the hot on that part of my body that’s not in your shadow. So, I’m staying in your shadow so I don’t feel the hot!”
     Then he “followed” in front of me to his Sunday School class, making sure he was protected from “the hot” by staying in my shadow.

Any part of ourselves that is not in the shadow of the Almighty will definitely “feel the hot”.

Momsense Monday: On Knowing His Voice: Learning from Sheep and Soccer

Lessons I Learned from My Kids (When I Was Supposed to Be Teaching Them)

On Knowing His Voice

I am the Good Shepherd.  I know my sheep and my sheep know me. . . my sheep listen to my voice;  I know them and they follow me.   John 10:14, 27

            Right before a soccer game one Saturday morning, Jacky anxiously came up to me with a look of panic in her face.  She had known that her coach would be out of town that day, but somehow she had hoped he would be there anyway. 

            "Mom!" she wailed, "Coach Dan isn't going to be here today!  Coach Bob is taking his place!"

            "So what's the problem!" I asked.

            "I won't know what to do.  I'm used to looking for him in the sidelines and hearing his voice to tell me what to do.  Now I'm afraid.  Pray with me, Mom, please?"

            So the two of us walked off, and prayed that God would keep Coach Dan safe, that Coach Bob would be able to coach the team wisely, that Jacky would remember all that Coach Dan had taught her, and that there would be no injuries.  We also asked for victory, but Jacky added that if the other team needed the victory more, that would be OK, too.

            The first half of the game was exciting, but our team was behind by two goals.  The girls seemed tired and discouraged, and seemed to have given up.  At half-time, Jacky came over to me very frustrated. 

            "They're giving up, Mom.  Some of them aren't even listening to Coach Bob, they're just giving up." She looked up at me with fierce determination in her face.  "Well I’m not giving up.  I want Coach Dan to be proud of me, and I'm gonna play like he's here!" 

            And so with that resolve, she rejoined her team.

            In the second half, true to her word, Jacky played her heart out,  and Jacky scored two goals to tie the game.  Her spirit of determination caught on, and the team scored another goal to win the game.

            Afterwards  I asked Jacky what made the difference in the second half,  since Coach Dan still wasn't present.  "Easy," she replied, "I tried to remember everything Coach taught me, and even though it was Coach Bob saying it, it was Coach Dan's voice I heard in my head.  I could hear him say, "Go wide, Jacky, go wide!" or "Not down the middle, Babe!" and "SHOT, JACKY, SHOT!"  I didn't listen to all the yelling from the side, I just concentrated on hearing Coach Dan."  Then happily she skipped off to join her teammates.

           

            "My sheep hear my voice," said the Good Shepherd, "and they follow me."   Jesus isn't with us in body right now, but we know He'll be back, we just don't know when.  Until then, though, we all have decisions we have to make, paths we have to follow, and risks we have to take.  The Good Shepherd may not be physically in sight for us to obey, but we can listen for and hear His voice and follow it.  We know what He expects from us, and so we do it.

           

"SHOT, JACKY, SHOT!"  Take a risk, my child, take the shot.  Remember everything I've taught you, and then do it!

~ o ~

            Coach Dan and his team took the League Division championship, and  went on to take his team to the Commissioner's Cup finals, with a season record of 12-1-1.  His All-Star team went undefeated to first place, but that is another lesson on another day.

Held

Lessons I Learned from My Kids (When I Was Supposed to Be Teaching Them)

On the First Day of School
           September 1991 -- The first day of school for Jenny, my little lady, was a very traumatic time.  There were hugs, kisses, and tears – lots and lots of tears (and not a drop was shed by Jenny!).  Jhen had two church friends in her kindergarten class, so she was really excited.  I think leaving her in the church nursery and later on in her own Sunday School classes at church prepared her for the first day of school, but nothing prepared us, her parents, for the heart-wrenching reality of the significance of that day.
            For the first time in her life, I would not be in control of her surroundings.  When she was born, I decided to quit the work force to be at home with my baby, and I have been for the last 5 ½ years.  From the time she was born, I was in control of her environment.  I volunteered to chair the Preschool Department so that I could have an active role in what went on.
            I carefully screened TV shows, books, and music that came into our home, and rejected those I deemed inappropriate.  Even her young friends who came over to play were “under my control” – they knew immediately the kinds of language and behavior that were acceptable.  No matter what the rules were at their home, kids who came over to “Miss JoAnn’s” had to go by MY stringent rules.
            Wherever she went, whatever she did, Jenny was always under a watchful eye -- either mine or someone else’s who had met my approval.
            When she walked into that fenced playground that first day of kindergarten, her face flushed with excitement, I felt the lump in my throat turn into a cannonball that dropped in the pit of my stomach and then explode into painful fragments in my chest.  Tears began to gather, but I would not let  them fall lest my little lady see my fears and feel them herself.
            With a pasted smile and my head held high, I went up to where the rest of the anxious parents were.  I watched as Jenny proudly entered her classroom, dropped off her backpack, and happily skipped to her friends.  For fifteen minutes, we watched, waited, and took pictures as our little lady went her merry way.  Occasionally, she would glance our way and wave the family “I love you” signal.    In my mind I kept saying “It’s not too late, I can still opt to homeschool!”
            When the bell rang for the children to line up, Jhen was second in line and never once looked scared or unsure, as some other children did.  As she went through the classroom door, the reality of that moment opened the floodgate of tears.  On this day, she left the safety of her home to begin a journey through life, equipped only with the tools she’d gathered during her first five and a half years of life.  With that dismal thought,  we headed home.
            With my thoughts and emotions in turmoil, I sat down with my morning cup of coffee to regroup and plan my day.  Jacky, my other little lady, came up to me with a worried look on her face.
            “Mama,” she frowned, “who’s taking care of Jhen and making sure she’s OK while she’s in school?”
            “Her teacher,” I replied a little sadly.  She thought for a moment, and then a smile that lit her face replaced her frown.
            “Then I won’t worry about it, Mama,” she explained matter-of-factly, “God’s the boss over her teacher, so He’ll make sure she takes care of Jenny right.”  And then she ran off to play.
            I thought about what this little lady had just said, and then a peace came over me.  I still had a few fears, but what parent didn’t?  I only knew that her life was no longer in my hands.  I surrendered and placed all in God’s hands.  Her life, her friends, her teachers – from that day on, I yielded control to a Greater, Mightier Power.  This was a day to “let go and let God.”  She was in God’s hands, and oh, what gentle, loving, and capable hands they are.


Fast forward, August 2004 --  I can’t believe it’s been thirteen  years since I first walked Jhen into the kindergarten playground.  Once again,  the lump in my throat has become the cannonball that dropped into the pit of my stomach and exploded into painful fragments in my chest.    Once again, I have to let go and let God.
     I am so proud of my little lady who has withstood disappointments in her life with her head held high and her eyes fixed on Jesus.  From the unrequited loves of junior high to lies against her character; from sitting the bench on the basketball team to being overlooked for the Allstar Team,  this little lady never once gave up on herself.  She knew her worth was not based on what people thought of her or how much she accomplished; her worth came from knowing that God loves her so much He sent His Son to die in her place.
            Along with her trials were triumphs – her quizzing out AWANA,  her toothpick bridge in 6th grade,  her mission trips to Macau and Jamaica, and Jon – all of which she faced with the confidence in knowing that God continues to be in control.  With a fierce passion, she “championed the underdogs”,  with grace she loved those who  hurt her;  with tenacity she defended  those who loved her.
            I will miss my little lady who does me the favor of letting me massage her; who makes my physical maladies larger than life, who sings unashamedly whatever song she pleases whenever she pleases, who comes up with verses in Ezekiel to remind me the God is God, and He will have the last Word. And as much as she has blessed my life, I know she will bless the lives of those around her.  She continues to be in God’s hands, and oh, what gentle, loving, capable hands they are!

September 2010 -- my little lady now has a little lady of her own, with a blog of her own (THIS little lady's thoughts).  And she continues to be in God's hands, and oh, what gentle, loving, capable hands they are.

What's a Mom to Do?

     It's eight in the morning, the hubby has just left for work, the kiddies are still asleep, and nature calls.  You answer the call, and when you're done, you walk into the kitchen, and you see your 15-month-old trying to get to the cookie jar by opening the drawers and climbing up the counter.  What do you do?

     It's ten o'clock at night;  your husband has finally come out of his study after hours of doing his engineering homework.  The two of you make the rounds to check on the kiddies, and one of them is not in her bed.  You check your bedroom, the bathrooms, the kitchen, the playroom, even the garage.  No luck.  Then you open the door of the study and there she is, sitting on Daddy's drafting table, the chair tipped over, and she has a red marker writing all over Daddy's homework.  What do you do?

     Three in the afternoon.  You offered to help your husband with his homework by transferring his hand-written BASIC program which he converted to make the commands look like FORTRAN language, so you spend a couple of hours on the word-processor.  You leave the room for a few minutes to check on the young 'uns.  You change the baby's diaper, and as you are doing so, you hear beeps coming from the study.  You run over there, and you find your older baby on the computer.  She looks up at you and says, "Daddy hammeck.  Daddy hammeck."  Your screen is blank.  What do you do?

     You put your newborn down for a nap, and you hear a blood-curdling scream coming from the family room.  You run out there and you see your two-year-old stuck in her baby-doll stroller, which had collapsed from her weight.  What do you do?

     You're fixing dinner, and you realize that for the last few minutes, your two-year-old hasn't been underfoot wanting something from you.  You see his two sisters playing quietly in the family room, and you KNOW he isn't taking a nap.  You start to panic as you search first his room, then his sisters' rooms, then the bathroom...you check the doors and you see that they are still locked, so you KNOW he's in the house somewhere.  You run to your bedroom and into the master bathroom...and there he is.  Hanging over the counter.  "SKUCK.  I SKUCK", he is murmuring to himself.  What do you do?
 

    Why, get the camera, of course! 

 
My camera saved my sanity.