Kids Today

Okay, it’s official, I’m an old person! Even when I don’t say it out loud, and I try not to very often, I am often shaking my head and wondering about what’s going on with “kids today.” And I don’t just mean kids, because, let’s face it, when you are middle aged plus, your perspective on who’s a kid becomes a bit skewed.

There are just so many things that I don’t understand. I can see, from this vantage point in life, how they are simply setting themselves up for disappointment. Comparing themselves to and trying to keep pace with the picture perfect lives presented on social media, they are bound to be sad. Wanting the things the Kardashians (for example) have, while barely having two nickels to rub together (clearly metaphorically, because they sure as heck don’t carry change!). But they’ll put themselves in debt to get it.

What they don’t yet understand is, it’s NOT REAL!! Most of what they see is run through filters, with lights and corrections and teams of people making it look like that and with a budget that far exceeds what most of us will ever know. Even the most basic influencer on Instagram is rarely showing their authentic selves- one shot, no filter, just as they are.

But they run the race. They jump right on that wheel of comparison and go and go until they fall out with exhaustion or self loathing or despair. We used to have to keep up with The Joneses, the wealthy family on our street. Though the show might not still be on, these kids are still “keeping up with the Kardashians.” Keeping up with the Joneses suddenly looks like a piece of cake (albeit a boutique cake with fresh flowers and jewels). The pressure has to be intense.

In this age where everything has to be documented to count, their lives have become sadly staged. With that staging, we’re all expected to play our part. Weddings where guests are invited and asked to wear a specific color? Is it not enough that I’m buying you a present, likely traveling to a fancy venue far from home, but now you expect me to purchase a new outfit because I don’t happen to have Petal Pink in my closet? “Oh, and the wedding shower also has a theme, so bring me a gift and wear Cornflower Blue that day, because your favorite red shirt and black pants will throw off the aesthetic of my pictures.” I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it all.

You want me to be a guest, but only if I can play my part in your staged production. I understand that, in general, people have more disposable income than they did when I was growing up. I also understand that there are some inexpensive sources for clothes these days, but the expectation that someone has the extra income (or the desire) to buy new clothes to come and witness your special day seems over the top.

And it’s not just weddings. Baby showers, gender reveals, birthday parties- it’s everything! Bachelorette parties where bridesmaids are expected to pay to spend the weekend at some swanky AirB&B AND have a specific outfit for each of the nights they’re there? Often times these young people are just getting started and don’t have the resources to look like they stepped out of a magazine. But they love their friend, and they don’t want to say no, so they pull out the credit card and buy the Barbie themed outfit, the new dress that represents the right Taylor era, and a bougie brunch outfit. She’ll be making the minimum payment on that weekend getaway for months, but hey, she looked great in your photos!

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe these kids can afford all that they have in their photos. Lashes, nails, hair, perfect outfit, balloon arch, the whole shebang. But at their age I was still eating Mac and Cheese with tuna, paying back my student loans, and occasionally treating myself to a gas station cappuccino.

I know times change. And, often, wonderful things come out of those changes. More people are being represented in main stream culture. Subjects like mental health and sexual abuse, things that were once taboo, are being spoken about. Strides are being made for equality, and inequality is being called out.

But some of these things… I just can’t wrap my old brain around. In a society where our kids are encouraged to show only the perfect, 27th take captured photo with the filter during golden hour, their lives are going to be so hard. So much harder than they need to be. The pictures might turn out perfectly, but the memory is likely to feel manufactured. And, sadly, I might not even be there to see it because my outfit wasn’t the right color. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Kids today.

To My Children- On the Cusp of Adulthood

I have a thousand things to tell you. Hundreds of apologies to make, so many admissions, declarations and blessings to declare over your lives. So much to say.

Let me start here: I know that I have loved you imperfectly. I have tried hard but often failed. With all of my broken human might, I have loved you, and I know that it has still been so far from perfect. And for that I apologize. I hope you will forgive me. It’s also because of my imperfect love that I tried so hard to make sure you know Jesus. I want you to know perfect love, and He’s the only one that can offer it. In all the ways I have gotten it wrong, He will not. He can do what I cannot; in His hands you will find perfect love and perfect peace. Stay close to Him!

I know that I have left marks on you that I never intended- some for the better and, sadly, some for worse. I hope that you will collect those good things and hold them like treasures to your heart. For the others, I ask that you forgive me and offer me some grace. Please remember that you came with no instructions and there is no course to study to master this parenting thing. Some day, if you choose, perhaps you’ll know what I mean.

I know that I have said and done things that have hurt you. Some of these things have happened already, and, unfortunately, some are yet to come. My request would be that when it comes time for you to deal with them, to heal from them, that you would invite me in and allow me to participate in that and have the opportunity to do my part and ask for forgiveness. I don’t want you to carry these burdens that I created all on your own.

Please know that as often as I could, when I felt it was safe to do so, I said YES. I have always been for you! Telling you no was typically done because I felt I needed to protect you from something- sometimes that something was you! But saying no was often more painful for me than you realized. It wasn’t arbitrary and was not used to fulfill some parental power trip. I’ve always preferred saying yes.

I know my flaws are many, and as you grow into adults and have choice about how you spend your time, I so greatly appreciate the time you choose to spend with me. As you gain experience in the world, I know you’ll have more to compare your life, and your parents, to. I want you to know that I am well aware that I won’t stack up to some. Your childhood won’t always stack up to others. But, this mom and your childhood are yours, and the only ones you’ll get, so hopefully that will matter in the end.

As much as I wish it weren’t so, and as much as I might try to put plans in place to make it better, you will likely find me difficult as I age. Some of it will be because the world moves quickly, and I will likely get left behind. Even if I stay somewhat relevant, things will seem foreign and probably sometimes scary to me. I won’t understand or be able to keep up. I apologize in advance, and I ask you to recognize that it will someday, though it seems so far from now, be you as well. Please be patient and remember that I’m doing the best I can.

There are some genetic and familial things that I have and that I have passed to you. I don’t love all of them, and I know you won’t either. The best we can do is recognize them, say thank you for the good ones and work to pass them on. For the bad ones, we do our best to minimize and eliminate the negative impact they have on our lives and the lives of others. We don’t get to choose our history.

I want you to be better than me. If it seems that I’ve asked things of you that I haven’t been able to pull off myself, please know that it hasn’t been intended to be hypocritical. It’s simply because I want you to be better. You are still at the beginning, and you have great capacity to get it right. I believe in you.

You have been two of my greatest teachers. You have taught me lessons that I could NEVER have learned on my own, and I am grateful. I recognize that I haven’t always been a good or gracious student. I hope you’ll forgive that too.

I love you tremendously, and I am super proud of the humans you are. I look forward to seeing what the future holds for each of you. And I’m ever so grateful the Lord saw fit to let me be part of the foundation, as uneven as it may be.

I’m here to cheer for you, to encourage you, to catch you when you fall and to help you get back up again. As your worlds expand, I know you will have plenty of others to lean on, but remember, you are a part of me, and I will always be home.

Thanks for being mine!

That Is Okay

I am strong and capable and determined. But I’m not those things today, and that is okay. Today I need cared for. I need someone to handle me gently, to gather me up and stand watch over me. I need someone to bring heat to the hole that remains were loss has been. I need someone to fill the gap, not permanently, but temporarily, while the bitter chill of your absence blows in. I need covered in a blanket of warmth and love.

Today I am fragile and vulnerable. I am feeling a bit like a chick fresh from her shell, still sticky and damp. Uncertain about what comes next, not yet ready. I have life, and it is good, but I feel a new uncertainty I’m not yet familiar with and definitely not comfortable with.

I need to cry, and yet I hesitate. Afraid that it might take over the next hour, or the whole day, or maybe a year. Like a dam that has held water back, if it opens, I worry that the people I love and want to serve might drown in my lake, in my ocean of tears.

Or, perhaps it’s the very thing required. Empty myself of the tears inside long enough to create a body of water. A body that might allow us float on a raft to a beautiful location we might not find otherwise? A place of healing where our scars guide us like a map or are like ancient hieroglyphics telling powerful stories of redemption and community and survival. Stories of where others come in to fill gaps with heat and comfort and care?

And this new place, this place we discover, this place that we wouldn’t even know existed if not for tears, it’s here where I learn how to care for the vulnerable and fragile, to stand watch over the newborn chick. This is the place where I convalesce and also where I get trained. Because someday, I will be strong again. I will be shored up and ready to take my turn. But that is not today. And that’s okay.

Moms Aren’t Forever

I know that some things should just be obvious. Without requiring thought, we should just understand certain things to be true. You have to breathe to live, bodies require sleep, rain makes the grass grow, no one lives forever, etc. Knowing those things and realizing them and experiencing them aren’t necessarily the same.

From the time I was born, my Mom was with me. She is truly the only one that has been my entire life. From before I was born, she knew me. I’ve never known a reality in which she didn’t exist. And yet, here I am. Suddenly, the one who has always been, is no more.

In my head, I knew there would come a time when she wasn’t here anymore- no one lives forever. But I didn’t realize it. I didn’t know what it would feel like deep in my bones. The constant, the one that has always just been, like gravity, is no more. How, then, am I to stay tethered to this life? It’s disorienting.

Like a compass that can’t find the magnetic pull, I feel myself spin. I somehow keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep taking baby steps into my new reality, but the weight of it sometimes stops me in my tracks.

“My mommy is dead,” I find myself saying it out loud from time to time, trying to process it. Maybe reminding myself that it is true. Trying out the words to see if hearing them spoken could make me better comprehend this horrible thing. Or perhaps I’m putting them out there so they can fall like an anchor, grounding me in my new reality.

Over and over again I say it, trying to convince myself it’s true, all the while having witnessed it. My eyes saw, but my mind cannot comprehend. My heart isn’t even sure how to register that kind of loss.

How does a person mark it? “This is the place in time when my world changed. This is the moment when what I knew would someday come to be and what truly is have collided.” A crater left in its wake.

No more will I touch the soft skin of her hand or face. This side of Heaven, I won’t laugh with her or share a word puzzle. She won’t give me that wide smile. We won’t sit and watch birds in her beloved backyard paradise. Never again will she call me Skunk in the exasperated tone only a mother can have.

Moms aren’t forever. Magical, mythical, strong, superheroes that they are, they still can’t escape death. I guess I somehow thought mine might somehow be exempt. Sadly, she was not.

A Gift

I know it’s an odd thing, and to some it probably seems bordering on disturbed, but I’ve decided that sharing someone’s last days on earth are a gift. The thought of walking someone home, sitting at their bedside and talking to them and praying over them and loving them well until their last breath, I love it.

Some of the most precious, most beautiful moments of my life have been spent in hospital and hospice rooms. Combing my Granny’s hair as I sang hymns of praise, crawling in mom’s hospital bed and letting her rest her frail body against my chest, reading scripture to my mother-in-law as she lie in a critical care unit- these are some of the greatest treasures of my life. When others feel uncomfortable and need to look away, I’ve been called to lean in.

The last ten days of my mom’s life, I wanted desperately to be at her bedside. With her unable to speak, paralyzed on the right side, even then, I felt the preciousness of the moments I was being offered. I didn’t know if it would be months or days, but I knew those shared breaths between us, they would write a story on my heart.

As others felt an anxiousness and discomfort in seeing Mommy that way, I could see the beauty in it. Her physical condition wasn’t good, but the condition of our hearts was lovely. I can’t quite explain it, the peace of sharing those moments.

People often say that God will equip the called. I’m beginning to think that He is calling me to end of life care- a place where hugs are needed, prayers are said and peace in facing the next steps make the journey of those going, and those left behind, seem a little easier.

For now, I’ll wait, cherishing the recent memories of my time with Mom. And maybe the Lord will decide that this gift He’s given, it’s only a gift to be used with those I know and love. Whatever it turns out to be, I am grateful for the moments I’ve been able to use it and the way it feels like a blessing to me.

Boss Me Around

I look at all these young adults in my life, chomping at the bit to be grown. They all are anxiously awaiting the day they will have full autonomy over their lives with no one telling them what to do or when to be where. They can’t wait to be the boss.

I remember. I remember what it was like to feel so powerless in your own life, with the whole world waiting before you. Knowing what you wanted and having obstacles (namely your youth and stupid adults) stand in the way. It was a hard place to be. The limitless potential and seemingly so many things between it and you.

And yet, here is what they don’t know. They don’t know that once you’re an adult, there will be days when you crave the simplicity of having someone wiser and more experienced telling you what to do. They don’t know that having “all the power” that they think awaits them often means still being powerless to do the things that need done. Watching children or friends drive head on into disaster, recognizing it, but not being able to do anything to divert their path; dealing with aging parents that won’t be moved from their stubborn position and take steps to help themselves or plan hard things; witnessing your body fail you in ways you can’t wrap your mind around because, aren’t you still as young as your mind feels?- these are the things that aren’t on the radar of those young people. These are the things which, even when they have gained all the power of adulthood, they don’t know how small they’ll feel in the presence of.

They cry out for independence, craving control. The grown, the middle-aged, we cry out for help, wanting someone to take over and “handle it.” With so many forks in the road, it’s easy to find yourself spinning in circles. And with so many places you’re needed to be, you find yourself fractured, not feeling like you are able to be wholly where you should/want/need.

Neither place is easy. Being human, in a broken world with our broken selves, it’s hard. But today, from where I’m standing, more than halfway through this life, I sure wish someone older and wiser would come along and boss me around!

Prepare For Flight

I had heard that as your children get ready to fly the nest, some unrest can be felt in your house. It’s as if God is preparing everyone so that the change isn’t quite as difficult.

I can see it happening in my home. The closer it gets to graduation time, the more I can see our son pulling away, disinterested in being with his family. His restlessness and discontentment are beginning to be palpable. He is growing anxious to claim his independence. His interests lie out there in the world beyond. He’s pretty sure he’s ready to be an adult. He wants to move on.

And, for me, I can feel myself growing frustrated and exasperated by him. His once soft edges are growing sharp, and I feel myself bumping into them more frequently. Unpleasant encounters as we cross paths. My opinion, once valuable and important, is quickly dismissed. My ideas and suggestions handled a bit like an irritating bug buzzing his head, batted away. I am suddenly taking up too much space in his world.

People keep asking if I’m sad, dreading his leaving, feeling empty. And maybe when the day comes, I will be. But today, it feels like it’s the natural “next thing.” As a stay at home mom, I’ve worked for more than 18 years to get him ready for this step. My husband has successfully closed dozens of projects at work during the time it’s taken me to get this far with my firstborn. So, in many ways, it’s hard to be sad. It’s the culmination of many long days, short nights and every bit of effort I could muster for 18+ years. Sure, his leaving is going to leave a mark, but this milestone for my son is also proof of some of my greatest work. Before I get sad, that’s something that I want to CELEBRATE!

I’m not wishing him away, but I can feel the time coming. It’s as if his spirit, ego, sense of adventure, and need to move forward have grown too big for our home. Our world, this safe world of his family and home, are suddenly feeling too small. Like a plant whose roots have outgrown its pot, it’s time to move into something bigger. And I didn’t foster and nurture this being for all this time to mourn the very thing I’ve been teaching him about, preparing him for, and praying over him to do. It’s the great next thing.

So with a lump in my throat, probably with tears in my eyes, a heart bursting with pride and joy, when the time comes I’ll watch him leave. I’ll cheer him as he goes and watch in anticipation as he spreads his wings. In the meantime, I’ll be here in these last few months bumping into him as we all prepare for flight.

The Elephant in the Room

Let’s just get it out there. There is a HUGE elephant in the room. I know you see it too. And, if I had to guess, it makes you super uncomfortable as well. I know it’d be easier to look away, and I know talking about it isn’t popular, but someone out there (other than just me) needs for it to be called out. So, here I go!

For many of us, our kids are getting older and soon our houses will be filled with JUST US, and (here comes the elephant) it’s super scary!! For most of us it has been many years since it was just the two of us. We’ve spent the last 18 plus years wrangling, cajoling, changing, disciplining, begging, modeling, breaking and putting back together our offspring. We’ve been focused on this common goal-raising responsible, good humans.

But what happens when that raising is done, and we’re back to the original two? We are no longer the young versions of ourselves. Our bodies have lost their shine. The once taut skin now sags. There are lines where we didn’t know lines could be. Bones crack and bodies make sounds we didn’t know were possible. The vessels we live in are no longer young and spry.

We are no longer at the beginning of our journey, when our young minds imagined all the possibilities and had all the dreams. We now live within different parameters, some of which we would never have chosen. We’ve been bound by obstacles and had to reroute to places we never expected to go.

There are words between us that have been said and have left marks. Words that we looked beyond because we had the work of parenting to do. But what happens once there’s no one left in the room but the two of us and all of our baggage; all of our broken promises, unfulfilled dreams, and unkind words? What happens then?

Will we be able to recreate ourselves as a couple? Can we forgive one another for the way we’ve let each other down? Can we take our shared history, our battered love, our joint victories and failures and redefine ourselves as a new version- a 2.0?

Can we take the pieces of this life we’ve made together and restructure them in a way that allows us to have a place we can live out our third and fourth quarters? Can we find a way to not just grow old beside one another, but grow better together?

I sure hope so! Because while all these years have brought us things that neither of us expected, wanted or could even imagine, it’s also brought laughter and joy and wonder. It has stretched me and humbled me and taught me what sacrificial love looks like. It has taught me what perseverance really is. It has shown me what hard work looks like and how it can pay off.

My great hope is that we can climb on this giant elephant that’s in the room and ride it into a new adventure, one that we both can enjoy. Because, hopefully what they say is true, and the best is yet to come!

Not Either Or

I think we’ve been lied to. I think somewhere along the way we let someone convince us that we humans are only capable of one thing or another. That we can only find one thing important or worthy at a time. That we are somehow single dimensional, only able to value one thing. That we can only support either … or…

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I am here to say that I CAN care about more than one thing at a time! The lies that you might have heard, they don’t apply to me.

See, I do think black lives matter. I think that there are men and women that are systemically targeted because of their skin color. I think it often happens without people even realizing they have a bias. I think it’s real. I think it’s horrific and frightening and outrageous. And I want to stand with and for my black and brown brothers and sisters.

Some would lead us to believe that if I believe that, then I can’t also believe that the lives of law enforcement and police officers matter. But they do. I think that the lives of the men and women that put themselves at risk, often asked to fill gaps in a failing mental health system that shouldn’t even have to be part of their responsibility, matter. They are important and valuable and worthy of protecting. I want to see them have the resources they need to do their job. I can support them without pulling my support from people of color.

I can believe that the color of my skin affords me privileges that others may never know. And I can also believe that not every police officer that shares the color of my skin targets people that don’t look like us. I am fully capable of believing both. It doesn’t have to be either or.

Somewhere along the way we were led to believe that I can’t love Jesus and also love people that are gay. As if there is something that limits me from being able to do both. Again, I’m here to say that what we’ve heard isn’t true of me.

I am a huge fan of Jesus! I want to be more and more like him. He loved and served others well, and in the end, I hope that is something that others will say about me.

Jesus didn’t turn his back on those that weren’t living as he wanted; he reached out to them. He broke bread with them. Whoever made us think that I couldn’t love Jesus and invite a homosexual to my table and into my life was sadly mistaken.

We’ve been led to believe that if I support a candidate in a party different from yours, then I can’t also love my country. That I’m either a patriot or a traitor. We’ve been told that I’m either a liberal or a racist, because it’s got to be one or the other.

Can you look at me and see that I am a woman, a wife, a mother, a friend, a sister, a daughter, an aunt, a consumer, a philanthropist, a sinner, a saint, a writer, a reader, a speaker, a listener, etc.? If I can be all of those things at the same time, why would we possibly believe the lie that I have to be either or? And why would I believe such nonsense about you?

Again, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I want you to know that I am more than one thing. I am not the one-sided creature you might have been led to believe.

If you’ll get close enough, maybe you can find out for yourself that I’m more than just either or.

You’re Not Welcome Here

Oh, it’s you. It’s been awhile since you’ve poked your head around here. I can’t say that I’ve missed you. Actually, I greatly appreciate the time you spend away. It hasn’t quite been long enough.

I don’t love the way you make me feel ashamed of who I am, the way you remind me of every single flaw. I don’t like it when you pick the areas you know are most tender, and you push your finger there, like testing the soreness of a bruise. You know just where to touch to get the most response.

I know your voice, but it isn’t a welcome one. It doesn’t bring me pleasure. It’s a droning, grating sound that I can hear from anywhere in the house, anywhere in the world- like it follows me around from place to place. “You aren’t enough. You are terrible at this. You aren’t any good at that.” Poke after poke, you find every tender vulnerable spot, and you touch each one. Clearly enjoying the writhing that you cause.

But you don’t get to stay. Your voice isn’t the loudest; your words aren’t even entirely true. I’m not good at everything, but I am good. And the areas that trip me up, I don’t have to let them define me. And I surely don’t have to let YOU define me.

So I cry for a bit over the unkind things you say. I even believe them for awhile. But then I am reminded that I am so much more than how you see me. I am brave and strong and very loving. I am the daughter of a king; I am chosen and I am loved. The things you pick on me about are temporal; they might matter for awhile, but in the end, they don’t amount to much. But that’s what you want. You want to divert my attention from the eternal, from the meaningful and the powerful. I’ll admit, you had me for a bit. Held tight in your grasp, you sneaky devil.

But your time here is up. You’ll need to be moving on. I’ve got things to do and people to love and a Lord to serve. So, and I do mean to be rude as to not give you the impression you should return quickly, I just want to say, your time is up and you are not welcome here!!