Life is Suite

Our sweet girl received her name in honor of two things--the hometown of my husband’s much beloved Carolina Panthers (Charlotte, NC) and in a nod to one of my favorite childhood tales, “Charlotte’s Web”.  It’s a tale of bravery and courage and never giving up even when things look their bleakest.  It’s been a joy to introduce it to our children, though I confess, mostly they know the story from the movie version that Oprah Winfrey produced a few years back.  In fact, we were watching that movie in the car on the way to the ultrasound appointment that told us that our sweet Charlotte was a healthy and thriving little girl.  So, you can see why it has become ever more special to me over the years. 

Last night after we got home, Charlotte requested I turn “her movie” on while I was getting dinner ready for the rest of the family.  I’ve seen “her movie” so many times that I often don’t sit and pay much attention, but last night I found myself swept away by the story and as usual,  I shed a few tears at the loss of Charlotte the great.  My own Charlotte looked back up at me and noticing my tears, she laid her head on my chest and said, “Mama, you know this isn’t the end.”

Time stood still.

That may be the wisest thing I’ve ever heard. Yes, in that moment of sadness, the tears were flowing.  But, the wisdom of a child knew that happiness was just around the corner.  Indeed, this was not the end.   Charlotte’s babies would go on to bless the lives of all that knew them.  The animals that lived in that barn together would grow stronger in their friendship because of her life.  And perhaps the greatest miracle of all, a spring pig would go on to see the first flakes of snow in winter. 

My friends, no matter where you’re at in your walk today—this is not the end.  No matter how dark, how low, how lost you may feel—your story isn’t finished.  And you, as the writer, have the power to turn the next page.  Joy comes in the morning.  Sometimes it comes later than you would have liked, but for the most part, it always shows up. But, just as Charlotte knew in that moment, we had to get through the tears to see the happily ever after.  The heart of a “radiant” little girl knew.  In our times of greatest sadness, this is not the end. 

Forget “Some pig”, how about, “Some girl”.  

My mother died when I was seventeen years old and it rocked my world.  I am now thirty seven years old and my world is still shaking.  I walk around most days perfectly put together.  I have made great effort to make sure that (for the most part) none of my aftershocks occur in public or that none of my unfinished edges show.  But, lately I’ve been thinking.  I feel like a cake that somebody took out of the oven before it was done baking.  It looks done on the outside so you take it out and you take the time and effort to beautifully decorate it, but what no one is aware of is that underneath all of that frosting lies a shaky mess.  I am that shaky mess. 

I liken it to when my mother died life took me out of the oven.  I wasn’t quite done baking, but it didn’t matter-my time was up.  And in many ways, I’ve stayed in that state of mind for the last twenty years.  Oh sure, I’ve put myself back together, but nothing can ever replace that time in the oven that was missed.  And I’m starting to wonder, how many of the rest of us are walking around unfinished?  How many of the rest of us didn’t get enough time in the great proverbial oven?

I had a shaky day yesterday.  I feel like I’ve been having a lot of those lately.  I had to put myself out there in ways that made me feel vulnerable and insecure.  Those are two of my triggers.  But, putting yourself out there is just part of life (especially when you’re a mother, because-hello, you have to go to bat for your kids).  But, my goodness, does that make my weak spots feel even weaker.

Usually when I write I feel like I have a point to get across.  But, today I’m not sure that I do.  I think I just want to be bold.  I want to admit that I am weak.  And in doing so, maybe I can become strong.  I want to be public with my state of uncooked batter, haha.  I want people to know that if you yourself feel this same way, you’re not alone. 

And so, if you are reading this and you ever have a day where there’s just not enough frosting in the world to cover up your vulnerability, think of me-because, maybe-just maybe-if we can generate enough love, it could replace the warmth of the oven and get us a little bit closer to fine.

When Jackson was born, my grandmother said, “Well, children are the best thing that will ever happen to you, but you’ve slept your last good night.”  At that point I thought she was probably kidding (I hoped) or at least exaggerating (I prayed), but now-almost 14 years later, I can vouch for her-she was 100% correct. 

Oh sure, there’s a night here and there where I might fall asleep at a normal hour and actually wake up the next morning in the same place.  But, it’s rare.  It’s more often that I wander and bed hop.  The sounds of bad dreams, sniffles, drinks of water and covers that “need fixing” have replaced REM, and man, do I miss it. 

Last night, it was Charlotte who woke me up.  Technically, not her fault, but I awoke to the sounds of her in the midst of a terrible coughing fit.  She wasn’t crying, so I didn’t rush in to her room.  But, she could never quite settle back in.  I found myself sitting in the floor outside of her bedroom door.  She was having a terrible time off and on, but she never called for me, so I wanted to wait and see.  And as I sat there and listened to her, I felt an overwhelming closeness to God.  It was as if I could feel him nudging my heart, It’s hard to watch her struggle, isn’t it? That’s how I feel waiting for you.  

And so, as I sat there with tears running down my face at 3 o’clock in the morning, I knew that God was close to the floor.  And He was right.  If I never call out to my Father-if I never invite him in when I’m struggling, He’s just as helpless as I felt in that moment with Charlotte.  I am good at saying, Father, take this cross from me, but boy do I love to take it back.  I love to feel like I’m strong enough to manage on my own, but as usual, God knows best. 

For today, that is my prayer.  Lord, when I’m feeling weak.  When I’m struggling, help me remember to invite you in and help me remember that asking for help is what makes you strongest of all. 

But, Nana was right.  Lightning strikes of wisdom and moments with Jesus or not-I really had slept my last good night.  

When a couple joins their lives together in marriage, there are bound to be some compromises.  Who likes to sleep on what side of the bed?  Crest or Colgate?  Mayo or Miracle Whip?  And lord save you if you find yourselves on different ends of the political spectrum.  But, eventually, you find yourselves and the little nuances of personalities and quirks right themselves and it’s just a part of your every day lives. 

But, in doing so, in compromising for another person, you can lose a bit of yourself.  You can sometimes forget that there were things that you loved before you were fifty percent of a “we”.  You can forget that there were preferences and favorites that had to be pushed aside in the name of practicality.  Heck, in the name of peace.  Still, every once in a while, something will peek out at you-a reminder that you’re still in there.

I overheard a mom at the pool the other day talking about how she has to buy two jars of peanut butter-crunchy and creamy because each of her kids like a different kind. 

“Ewwww, my son piped up.  What’s crunchy peanut butter?” 

Somewhere something in me woke up. 

What do you mean, ewwww?  Have you ever even tried it?  (Knowing he hadn’t because his daddy hates it so it hadn’t been purchased in all the years of our marriage--One of those fore-mentioned compromises that you forget about until suddenly you can’t). 

Well, friends.  That day I knew.  The next time I went to the grocery store I was going to purchase two jars of peanut butter.  Because just like that other mom, if my kids liked different kinds, it would be a no-brainer.  But, somehow because it was ME that liked crunchy peanut butter, it didn’t matter.  Why do we do that to ourselves?  Am I seriously under the delusion that I’m not worth a JAR OF PEANUT BUTTER?  (Yes, I’m yelling.  It’s *that* serious, haha).

Aaaah, life.  I’ve never seen anything more capable of throwing a more perfect curve ball.  And somehow, it always feels like I’m the batter that’s up next with the bases loaded.  No pressure.  (Except lots of pressure.  Game winning pressure).  And lately I feel like I’ve been striking out pretty consistently and letting my team down.  I haven’t liked my attitude and I haven’t been terribly proud of my performance in the face of adversity. 

I’ve been discouraged and I’ve been down.  I’ve been remembering that old saying about being at the end of your rope and using it to make a noose, haha.  Not really, obviously, but when it seems like everything you touch turns to Fool’s Gold, you tend to grow a bit weary. 

I was sitting in Church on Sunday and from the time the lights went down and the worship came on, I cried.  My heart was so worn out and Church has always been the place that I come to in order to recharge.  I think there is something very beautiful about laying yourself and your burdens at the throne of the one who already knows.  I’m lucky that I have a place to feed my soul and find a moment of rest.  Everyone deserves that.

As I sat in the silence and the stillness, a thought washed over me.  It was almost as though a voice whispered into my subconscious.  It said, this is all so temporary.  Why are you worried? 

I left Church that day (after crying an embarrassing number of tears throughout the rest of the service, prompting my nervous 8 year old to inquire about my mental stability) and that has remained on my mind all week.  This is all so temporary.  Friends, in the grand scheme of things, our troubles here on Earth are just a blip on the screen of time.  It’s so easy to get caught up in the moment, caught up in the day, but trust in Him.  Trust that His plan is better and He can see the whole picture.  When you’re having the kind of day, the kind of game, if you will, where all you can see is curve balls, trust that the pitcher knows best. 

Yesterday was a day like any other.  Charlotte and I took Nana to Target to get a new cordless phone (YES, a house phone!  People still have those) and had taken a break in the Café to feed everyone some lunch.  (I had a banana because this lifestyle of a diet frowns upon personal pan pizzas.  I know-Rude).

But, anyway, Char had wandered over to Nana’s side of the table and I was showing them pictures I had taken on my phone. I got to one of some flowers that we had taken out to my mom’s grave on Mother’s Day.  I held it out to show her and Charlotte looked up at Nana and said, “That’s for my Grandma Sherry.  She died.”  My breath caught a bit.  I wasn’t sure what to say.  Nana, being ever wise and graceful, pulled her into a tighter hug and said, “I know.  She was my little girl.’ 

Somehow, in that moments, listening to my grandmother speak of her little girl while watching her hold mine, my eyes got a little glassy. 

I surely lost something amazing that December day almost 20  years ago, but as I was so beautifully reminded yesterday, I wasn’t the only one. We're fast approaching what would have been her 67th birthday and between that and Mother's Day, May can be a bitter sweet month.  But, I hope she knows that we still celebrate and honor her.  I hope she feels the love that stretched all the way from Heaven to a table in a busy Target cafe and back again.  I know we did.  

A mother, a daughter, a wife, a friend-the life of one woman, but the loss of so many. 

As a mother, particularly one of the stay at home variety, people ask me a lot what I want to do when the kids are grown.  I tend to hem and haw at this question.  Oh, sure I make a few tentative plans in my head.  I think about how I’d like to teach preschool or find a position at an elementary school that would keep me close to my kids.  I think about how I want to write.  Heck, I even try to imagine social activities that I might enjoy.  Nope, still no great ideas.  My life is so tied to theirs; it’s just next to impossible. 

Until today. 

Today, I saw something that I want more than I can express to you in words.

My friend posted a blog post about what their family had done over Easter.  It was a lovely post.  She always does such a good job of sharing the things that her sweet family does together, and this post was no different.  But, as I scrolled down, something caught my eye and took my breath. 

There she had posted a picture of her mother and father sitting down on some brick steps with all of their grandchildren surrounding them.  Her mother had her hand on her dad’s leg and they just looked so happy, so blessed-all of their grandchildren sitting at their feet-a legacy that a lifetime of love and commitment had granted them. 

That, my friends-that is what I want.  I want it so badly that I have tears in my eyes.  I want to see the happily ever after. I want to see my kids become parents. I want to know their children. I want to hold their babies and see the features that I saw in them so many years before.  I want to bandage their skinned knees and watch their school plays.  I want to give them cookies before dinner and chocolate cake after dessert.  I want to be part of their journey.  

And deep down, I know why I want it so badly.  I want it because I know it’s not promised.  I know it’s what my own mother wanted and was denied.  Life is a gift.  In fact, birthdays are a present all unto themselves.  We are not promised tomorrow.  But, when you ask me what I want, I want time.  I want age.  I want tomorrow and the next day and the next.  I want to sit on some brick stairs with my husband and see what the future has brought us.  I want more of the same, please,  More of the same.  

This week the kids have been on Spring break and I’ve literally been trying to cram as much fun and happy childhood memories into every waking moment.  Mama is tired.  But, alas we soldiered on. 

Today we were bouncing at our favorite local trampoline park.  Now, I’ve caught some flack from the youngest member of our crew for not paying to jump with everyone.  So, today, (since I needed the exercise anyway) I caved.  I thought she would be thrilled, especially since the boys each had a buddy with them.  I just knew that she and I would have a magical time filled with unicorns, rainbows and Hallmark cards.  I was pretty sure Amy Grant music would be playing on the giant stereo system. We would have a moment.  We were making memories, dang it.

Until she kicked me out.

Yep, girlfriend took a few loops around the biggest trampoline area and told me I could go have a seat.  I was a little confused.  You don’t want me to jump with you, baby?  “No, I’m fine”. 

She’s fine.

An older lady who was standing by the edge of the entrance saw this scene play out and as I was walking by, she said, “Oh, honey.  If she’s kicking you out now, at her age, she’s gonna break your heart when she’s older”.

I had some time to sit on that.  (Because duh, she didn’t need me).  And at first, I wallowed.  My baby is three.  THREE.  And she is already telling me to go kick rocks.  Is this a mere glimpse of the life we have ahead.  After all, haven’t I raised her to need me?

That’s when the record scratched.  No.  I have not raised her to need me.  I have raised her to need HERSELF; to be her own person. And if raising an independent woman who knows how to speak up for herself and be her own voice is wrong, heck, I don’t wanna be right. 

So, sister on, little sister.  I’ll be here with a juice box when you’re done.  

I did something today that I’m not proud of and I hurt a friend.  I got caught up in a moment of gossip and got caught talking about a friend behind her back.  I instantly felt like crap.  My heart was beating so fast. I felt that instant pit in your stomach when you’ve done something wrong and worse yet, you’ve been caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie jar.  I did the only thing I could think of, I started blowing up my friend’s phone until she answered.  I confessed my sins.  She hadn’t gotten word of my betrayal yet, but she will.  Perhaps there is some comfort in that it she won’t be blind sided in the moment, but it certainly doesn’t make me feel any better.  I screwed up. I hurt someone who didn’t deserve to be hurt.  And for what, a moment of girl talk-not worth it.  We live in an age of celebrated Mean Girls.  We say we don’t apologize for who we are; we are kicking butt and taking names.  Except today, I was a mean girl.  And the only thing I could do over and over was apologize. 

I didn’t like who I was in that moment.  And if I’m honest, I can’t say I’ve liked who I’ve been in the last few months.  Perhaps I’m little too quick with the joke, a little too fast on the side eye, a lifetime too fast on the judgment.  And as I sit here now, with nothing but blank paper staring back at me, all I can do is cry.  And I know there’s value in tears.  They are holy and clean.  They wash away the sins of yesterday (and maybe even today).  But, these tears aren’t only for me.   They are for the woman that I want to be; they are for the friend I hurt, they are for the God I so dearly love and serve and disappointed. 

I don’t know if my friend will forgive me.  She said that she did.  But, I can’t say I blame her if she never forgets.  Life is funny that way.  In a moment’s time, I broke a bond.  And I can’t seem-for the life of me-to figure out why?  But, my friend is an amazing woman, one I’m lucky to know and have in my life.  I hope that we’ll find ourselves back on track, but only time will tell. 

I guess what I’m saying, by putting this out there in the grand wide world of the inter webs is, people are flawed.  We are so desperately far from perfect-BUT, we can’t stop trying.  I’m going to spend a little less time trying to be like the image of the world and a little more time trying to be like the image of the Heavens.  Maybe that will mean a little less time with my phone in my hands and a lot more time with my hands folded in prayer.  Maybe it’ll mean a little less time scrolling facebook and a lot more time strolling with my children.

I didn’t like who I saw in the mirror today.  Guess who can change that?  Me.