Healing

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Rod had knee surgery on Tuesday, (remember the ski trip?...yeah, torn ACL on the first day) and watching him go through the process of recovery made me realize that healing wounds (emotional or physical) become the hardest part of the journey. After three C-sections and a very painful tummy-tuck in less than a decade, I am no stranger to the agonizing, frustrating and slow process of healing. Although brutal at the time, the mind somehow forgets the pain; the body heals and scars fade. Ironically, physical pain, once gone, is easy to forget...but emotional pain somehow lingers and can, if not dealt with, grow even more caustic. Wounds of the heart penetrate deeper. Perhaps this is why God tells us to guard our hearts; He knows the consequences are costly.

Watching my husband get prepped for surgery took me back all those years ago when my own father, at age 42, was about to become the first heart transplant recipient in the state of Florida. The hospital was buzzing with excitement, fear, ambivalence (there were protesters outside chanting ignorance) and the media was alert and ready to record it all. At 16, and too immature to really understand the enormity of it all, I felt more like a spectator than a participant....like somehow, it wasn't real and I would wake up from a dream. I can only imagine how my father felt. He was only 42 and this was his only hope for survival. WOW! That age, at the time, didn't seem so young...but now, it seems devastatingly so.

Without my Jesus, I don't know how a person could get through it...and he wasn't a believer! However, the most precious moment I had with my father was right before he went into the operating room. With tears flowing down my cheeks, I took my father's hand, bent down close to his ear, and asked him to recite a prayer of salvation. Looking back, he was heavily sedated and probably had no idea what he was even saying, but for a young, scared girl, I needed to know his heart was right with the Lord. His heart. Although, most organs in the human body are necessary for our survival, none is more important than the heart. To me, it's where our soul is. I wanted this new heart to not only be vital in keeping him alive, but also receptive to the Lord. Although I'll never really know, until my death, if my father accepted Christ that day, I do affirm his heart was more tender to receiving Him after that. After all, it has taken me this long to really know Him and I have essentially believed all my life. Hard-headedness truly runs deep in our veins!

So...here's to Rod healing physically and spiritually. With God's mercy and grace, both will be mended to and in His timely will.

Where the Heart Is

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The Lord says he doesn't look at one's outward appearance, but at the heart. He isn't looking for a perfect person, but rather, what character and intentions lie beneath the facade. To me, it is so important that My God knows my heart, and He is pleased with what he sees. I want to instill this God-awareness in my children, and hopefully, raise men of integrity. As I tuck them in at night, my prayers are for them to never cause the Holy Spirit sorrow by the wrong intentions of their hearts. Then, the Lord revealed to me that my prayers are indeed being heard and answered.

The other day Alex came home and told me he got a "good citizen" sticker while in the cafeteria. Which means, if a teacher notices good deeds or random acts of kindness towards another person, she rewards the child with this sticker of praise. He went on to explain how he noticed a boy sitting by himself in the cafeteria and raised his hand to ask a teacher if he could move to sit by him. (They aren't allowed to move once they are seated. ) The teacher said to wait and if after everyone made it through the lunch line, the boy was still alone, he could move. He waited and watched; no one sat by the boy. Alex got up, packed up his lunch, moved away from his comfort-zone of friends, and sat by the lonely boy. After listening to his story, I just stared at my 8-year-old in disbelief. How could he, at such a young age, already have more character than most adults I know? I embraced him, kissed his little cheeks and stared into his hazel eyes. "You are a boy after God's heart; I have never been so proud," I said. "Most importantly, God is proud."

Realizing that God hand-picked me to be these boys' mother seems, at times, to be a daunting task. My confidence sometimes waivers...what if I'm not apt enough? After all, I'm too impatient, too self-fish, too inexperienced...but then I remember David. A lowly Shepard boy, whom God hand-picked to be the King of Israel; not because of what he was, but who he was. WOW! Thankfully, my heart knows to whom I belong...humbly, His servant. I am up to the task indeed! I am HIS.

Home On The Range

Our family just returned from a Dude Ranch vacation in Bandera, Tx. Cowboy hill country, to be more exact. There is something inside of me that longs for this way of life. I'm not sure if it's the simplicity and natural order of things that has my heart longing for the country pastures, or if it's just the Texas blood running deep through my veins, but whatever it is, I feel strangely at home on the range.

I love the politeness and strong, yet gentle, manner of the cowboy. I love the intoxicating aroma and warmth of the campfire that invites one "to take a load off and sit a spell." I love the sound of the clipity-clop of horses' hooves trotting on the trail. The amazing feeling of riding on one of God's greatest creatures and realizing the enormous strength and beauty of this animal. The sound of the mealtime bell clanging in the air, inviting all of us to partake in the necessary ritual of replenishing our hungry bellies. The home cooked goodness of comfort food that brings on the uncanny desire for a mid-afternoon nap in a swaying hammock. Awe...the joys of country living leaves me longing for all it's simple pleasures.

The boys seemed completely at home as they took to catfish fishing like they were born to fish...something we never do...and yet, it seemed as familiar as breathing; like they had done it a million times before. Yes, I could see my little cowboys being quite at home in God's country. The smoke from their cap guns penetrating the fresh air still lingers in my nose even now, as I think back on our trip. We created cherished memories to be filed away in the corners of our minds, and remembered in the stillness of our days.

Goodbye Dixie Dude Ranch, until we meet again. I will think of you fondly.

Run For My Life!

My middle son, Andrew, who is 6, is the comedian of the family. Most of the time, he's not trying to be funny, he just is...which is what we love about him. He's our social butterfly and never-meets-a-stranger kind of guy. He's a compassionate lover of all animals. He is unique...for a better lack of words.

Like most families, we want to instill a sense of responsibility, moral and ethical values and problem-solving capabilities in our children. We have this game that we sometimes play at dinner where we take turns choosing a card with a question, riddle or activity for us to do as a family. One particular evening, we chose a card that posed this ethical question: "What would you do, if while parking your vehicle in a parking garage, you accidentally hit the car next to you?" We decided Andrew would answer this question first. I could see the wheels turning in his 6-year old brain as he furrowed his brow and bit his bottom lip. Like any proud mom, I was anxiously awaiting a thoughtful and morally-sound answer. After all, we had taught him to be an upstanding guy who takes responsibility for his actions.

"I would...RUN FOR MY LIFE!" Andrew said emphatically. After Rod and I looked at each other in disbelief, we all started laughing. Quick to correct his judgment, we explained why and what the right answer was to this question. Being positive he had learned a valuable lesson and was now ready to answer this probing question, we asked: "Now, tell us again. What would you do?"

Without hesitating he said: "RUN FOR MY LIFE!"....like, duh, didn't you hear me the first time?

So, in ten years, if someone mysteriously bangs up your vehicle, please remember that we tried...and pray for us!

The Battle of the Sexes

People are such interesting creatures. As modern and sophisticated as one likes to assume they are in the 21st century, it all boils down to the vast innate differences between men and women. Although I fully embrace my female gender as miraculous, capable, intelligent and strong creatures, I am not a feminist (I wear too much makeup and fix my hair for that title). However, since I've been out of the work force for almost 9 years, and my companions consist mostly of other moms and little boys, I have witnessed a quirky disposition to my female foe.

It all began when my husband started taking guy trips several years ago with a group of friends he went to college with. (He is currently on a ski trip in Colorado with 8 other men.) The odd reaction I get when I tell my female friends where he is ranges anywhere from anger, resentment, accusatory to "how-are-you-going-to-get-even-with-him" type of attitude. The weird thing is, it has taken me about 10 years to figure this out. I want to thank Chris Rock for opening my eyes.

One night, when I couldn't sleep, I came across a late night cable comedy show by Chris Rock. Trying to put aside his vulgarity, I found myself drawn into his routine about the differences between men and women. It goes something like this (without the f-word):

Chris Rock: "Why is it, men, when your lady wants to go out with her friends, you are so happy for her? She comes home and says, 'Baby, we had the best time! We got our nails down and then went shopping and I got this adorable purse. Then we saw that new movie with Brad Pitt and we all cried...blah, blah, blah' and you are genuinely HAPPY for her! BUT if you go out with YOUR friends, don't you DARE come home and say you had a good time! NO, NO, NO! If she thinks you had ANY fun without HER, you can just kiss sex GOODBYE fellas! If she asks...LIE! Don't you EVER come home and say...'Oh, it was great! It was the best game I think I've ever been too...we had the best seats...it was the bottom of the 9th, all the bases were loaded and A-Rod hits it out of the park...'. No, fellas, you can't do that! You get up the next morning, thinking everything is cool; you ask your woman for breakfast and she says, 'Why don't you ask A-Rod to make your breakfast!' "

Now, of course, Chris Rock is a comedian and he gets paid an extremely large amount of money to make jokes...but it got me thinking...what he said was TRUE. Women DO have a problem with their man going out without them and having a good time. Even worse: a trip! I mean the NERVE! I have friends that have actually said to me, "Well, MY husband would never go on a trip without me." or "Well, when is YOUR girl trip?" or "When is he going to take YOU to the mountains?" It's actually quite comical because most of these women consider themselves to be feminists. Hmmmm...what does the word equality mean, ladies?

Here's the honest truth: I'm not the jealous type and I fully trust my husband. Plus, I'm not afraid of him having fun without me. I've gone on plenty of girl trips and girl dates without him, and you know what? He WAS happy for me. My whole hang-up all these years has been my own gender trying to make me feel like I should be angry, jealous or hurt. Mostly, I was just more concerned about being able to handle the kids on my own for 5 days, not that he might have a good time without me. So, here's to you, honey! If you are reading this, I hope you have a wonderful time! If anyone is deserving of a little fun and relaxation, it's you. HAVE FUN! And I promise, I won't make you suffer for it....I'll even make you breakfast! :)

Laying it Down and Running

My faith teaches me to lay down my burdens and cast my cares on Him. At times, this is the hardest part of the process for me. My flesh wants to hang onto those cares that weigh me down like an unhealthy love/hate relationship. It's a constant battle of the wills, and at times, it can be exhausting. Flesh and spirit battling each other for the win. However, ultimately, the war brings me closer to Him. During those times, I sing a beautiful song to myself, close my eyes, and picture myself running and running up, up, up this huge green mountain that takes me to the clouds.

"I hear the voice...the voice of the one I love
He's calling my name (Tyra)
He's saying...

Come up higher...hear the angles sing
Come up higher....my beloved
Come up higher...leave your cares behind
You'll find me to be beautiful...

I am running....running after You
You've become my soul's delight
I am running...running after You
Here with you I've found my life"

Tears fill my eyes and run down my cheeks. I am loved; I am cherished; I am His. His love is overwhelming, and even though I'm so undeserving, he takes that burden and lays it at His feet. I am free and light as a feather.

What an awesome God I serve! Run to Him and lay it down. You will find Him to be beautiful....

Say It Isn't So...

The annoying part of growing older, I am convinced, is the fact that a young person is still living inside my older body...taunting me! You see, the younger, slimmer and perkier version of myself is screaming to come out, but the older, fatter and tired version is trying to shut her up with a glass of wine, or a brownie, depending upon my mood. I've also discovered that denial has become my new best friend since all full-length mirrors are now banned from my view. If I can't see those dimpled thighs, then they don't exist; right? Shhh...

How did this happen? I woke up one morning and suddenly had to worry that my butt was getting too big! What? Huh? Who me? My sons are now jointly singing "I like big butts and I cannot lie" as they use my robust derriere as a bongo to keep the beat. I defend myself by proudly stating that in some cultures, big booties are considered beautiful. They laugh and laugh. Apparently, I'm funny. Meanwhile, hubby goes into hiding and pleads the 5th while my tormentors continue with their rendition of "Fat Bottom Girls Make the World Go Round." My alter-image 28-year old just smiles at those silly boys...what do they know? Humpft! "DON'T MAKE ME SIT ON YOU, YOU SKINNY WEAKLINGS!" she yells.

However, at the end of the day, when the house is silent and I'm left with my own torturous thoughts, I finally admit: perhaps my love affair with all things chocolate and gooey has finally come to an end. I am now a grown-up. I am officially...on a diet. But don't tell my alter-ego; she still thinks we look hot. Shhh....