I thought about doing a 10 of Marci too, but I think I'll sort of sprinkle them in. If I tossed them at you all at once they might make your head hurt! You would probably just think I was a bit loony, or you'd simply be bored by my ramblings. So tonight, I bring you the first of My own 10 things you missed...
Sunday, April 20th I was blog hopping. Shocked, aren't you? Up in the corner of a random blog I noticed this link to a writing contest at an online Christian Magazine. I was oddly drawn to it. I clicked, I couldn't help myself. When I reached their sight I read the rules of the contest called "Her Life Reflected". The editor was looking for essays of 1000 words or less telling how your mother or a mother you know reflected Christ's love in their lives. The deadline for this contest was midnight Monday April 21st. The winner would be posted at the magazine on Mother's Day and would receive and small prize package. I thought, hmm, I have a mom I could write about, but there is no way I could do it that fast. It sat with me, in a strange, unsettling way.
The next morning was my mom's first day back to work. She was really on my mind as I was in the shower getting ready for an early appointment that day. I prayed and then somehow I just couldn't seem to stop the flood of words that were running down as fast as the water from the shower head. I finished showering, dried off and grabbed my journal. The sun was bright, Dax was playing happily in the back and Finn was still sleeping. I laid down on my bed, put the pen to the paper and the words just flowed. I knew mom would be about ready to start her school day and I think these words at my fingertips were, in a way, a prayer for her.
When Mike came home from work, I handed him the typed version of my essay and asked him to proof it. He was a bit surprised. You see, once upon a time I fancied myself a writer. I even thought that one day I would be known for the children's books I penned. Or maybe I would finally stop worrying about my mom reading me write about grown up topics and write those novels that had been swimming in my head for years. I have characters in my head. They used to run so rampant that I thought they'd just jump out one day. My Dad used to give me all kinds of grief about the paper I was wasting writing down all those names. I didn't know how to tell him that those names were of the characters that were roaming in my imagination. Maybe better I didn't, because I'm sure he might have thought I'd lost it, which may be what you're thinking right now! Ok, moving on! So, even though you probably can't tell by the amazing linguistic prose of my blogging, the point of this paragraph is that I once thought writing might be my life's passion. Mike was impressed I was actually going to submit something. He actually said he was proud of me. I was taken back by the fact that he felt that way.
At 11:00 pm I submitted my essay. But, it somehow managed to get held up in Outlook jail. I realized this a week ago after waiting patiently for my confirmation letter. In the end because Outlook sent it two weeks late I wrote an explanation letter to the girls at the magazine and let them know I by no means expected it to be considered for the contest. It was a computer glitch that kept it from getting in, but in all honesty I don't think the contest was my reason for writing. I think God was awakening something deep inside of me. He gave me the words to remind me how it felt to put that pen to the paper, maybe to help me release some of my thoughts and grief as well.
Tonight over at Christian Women Online the winner was announced and you may have guessed, it was not me. I am not even slightly upset about this. I read the winner's story, you can too http://www.christianwomenonline.net/HerLifeReflected.html. The story was nice, but the woman the story was about is the real story. After reading the winning essay I linked to her blog http://audreycaroline.blogspot.com/. What an amazing story, what beautiful faith. Take your tissues, you'll need them! It was a blessing to find her blog.
As for my essay, I thought it was fitting that I share it with you on Mother's Day. So, good or bad it seems it would be a shame if no one ever laid eyes on it.
Mom, I'm sorry if it's hard to read, know I love you and am so grateful for all you are.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
With Simple Grace
Three weeks and two days ago my father died. He was all of 61 years old. He was a man of laughter, music, and impatience. My father had no greater love in this world than my mother. She awoke from the cot beside his hospital bed in the room that once upon a time, before this cancer had claimed it, had been theirs. The hospice nurse at her feet softly whispered to her that the end was close; he was only moments from his last breath. Moments she used to tell her husband she loved him and that God loved him. She kissed him one last time and then, just as she had promised, she held his hand and walked him to the gates of Heaven. She knew she couldn’t go any further, but many who loved him would be waiting to take his hand. .
This could be a story of any loving wife and her ill husband in their last earthly moments, but to understand, you must go back and then you must go forward. You must know that the 37 years my parents were married were not all easy ones. My father was not a Christian. He did not take hold of Jesus until those final weeks, after the Cancer took most of his ability to communicate clearly. My mom had been a faithful and devoted servant of Jesus all her life. There were times these differences caused their outlooks on life to be so far apart. Yet even in the hardest times, she stood beside him, loved him, prayed that God would hold him, and that Dad would know His love.
Three weeks and three days ago, I turned 34 years old. For 34 years my mom has been the hands & feet of Jesus in my world. She has stood beside me with quiet strength through skinned knees, broken hearts, the births of all three of my children, the death of her mother, and of my father. In each of these moments, with simple grace, she prayed. Each week she made the Sunday journey to church with my brothers and me in tow. We were encouraged to be active in youth group, always challenged to ask questions, think for ourselves, seek God, question God, and love God. Religion was never forced; faith was always a piece of our lives. She always walked the walk. I have never questioned who my mother is or where her beliefs lie. They are obvious, out there for the world to see, never pushed on anyone or spoken with a judgmental air. Because of the example she set, her children have been blessed with a heart that seeks, loves, and knows Him. We take her into the world with us everyday. Even from hundreds of miles away she is still showing us how to be the body of Christ. Each day she inspires us to make a joyful noise, to dance, to sing, and to laugh. At the end of each day, praise, pray, and simply be still and know that He is God.
She carried these lessons beyond just her children, beyond just our home. She was not a meeting go’er, she was not a committee member, and she was not a social activist, at least not on a large scale. She was and is a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend, and a teacher. Each day she carries her faith, her joy, and her passion into a kindergarten classroom in a public school. And there, once again she is the face of Jesus, his hands, touching little hearts with His love. She does this not by lecturing or by teaching things not approved by the public schools, but by loving, by encouraging, by praying for each of those children, by praying not only for them, but for their homes and their families. She knows each of these children is a gift from God, entrusted to her care.
Since my father’s death my mom has laughed, my Dad would be proud of her for that. She has yelled at God to bring him back to her. She has wept and let God hold her against his chest. She has continued, without words, to teach us that life goes on. Through the sadness, there is laughter. Through grey skies, sunlight shines. Through the snow, spring returns and flowers bloom.
Today, somewhere many, many miles away from here, a gentle, graceful woman of God returns to a bright, vital kindergarten classroom for the first time since walking her husband and friend to the gates. She is a little nervous, a bit hesitant, and slightly overwhelmed, but her spirit is calm, she knows God is holding her. Grasping on to this knowledge, allowing herself to feel His arms surrounding her, she steps in and smiles, knowing somewhere deep within her, that this is the day the Lord has made.
This could be a story of any loving wife and her ill husband in their last earthly moments, but to understand, you must go back and then you must go forward. You must know that the 37 years my parents were married were not all easy ones. My father was not a Christian. He did not take hold of Jesus until those final weeks, after the Cancer took most of his ability to communicate clearly. My mom had been a faithful and devoted servant of Jesus all her life. There were times these differences caused their outlooks on life to be so far apart. Yet even in the hardest times, she stood beside him, loved him, prayed that God would hold him, and that Dad would know His love.
Three weeks and three days ago, I turned 34 years old. For 34 years my mom has been the hands & feet of Jesus in my world. She has stood beside me with quiet strength through skinned knees, broken hearts, the births of all three of my children, the death of her mother, and of my father. In each of these moments, with simple grace, she prayed. Each week she made the Sunday journey to church with my brothers and me in tow. We were encouraged to be active in youth group, always challenged to ask questions, think for ourselves, seek God, question God, and love God. Religion was never forced; faith was always a piece of our lives. She always walked the walk. I have never questioned who my mother is or where her beliefs lie. They are obvious, out there for the world to see, never pushed on anyone or spoken with a judgmental air. Because of the example she set, her children have been blessed with a heart that seeks, loves, and knows Him. We take her into the world with us everyday. Even from hundreds of miles away she is still showing us how to be the body of Christ. Each day she inspires us to make a joyful noise, to dance, to sing, and to laugh. At the end of each day, praise, pray, and simply be still and know that He is God.
She carried these lessons beyond just her children, beyond just our home. She was not a meeting go’er, she was not a committee member, and she was not a social activist, at least not on a large scale. She was and is a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend, and a teacher. Each day she carries her faith, her joy, and her passion into a kindergarten classroom in a public school. And there, once again she is the face of Jesus, his hands, touching little hearts with His love. She does this not by lecturing or by teaching things not approved by the public schools, but by loving, by encouraging, by praying for each of those children, by praying not only for them, but for their homes and their families. She knows each of these children is a gift from God, entrusted to her care.
Since my father’s death my mom has laughed, my Dad would be proud of her for that. She has yelled at God to bring him back to her. She has wept and let God hold her against his chest. She has continued, without words, to teach us that life goes on. Through the sadness, there is laughter. Through grey skies, sunlight shines. Through the snow, spring returns and flowers bloom.
Today, somewhere many, many miles away from here, a gentle, graceful woman of God returns to a bright, vital kindergarten classroom for the first time since walking her husband and friend to the gates. She is a little nervous, a bit hesitant, and slightly overwhelmed, but her spirit is calm, she knows God is holding her. Grasping on to this knowledge, allowing herself to feel His arms surrounding her, she steps in and smiles, knowing somewhere deep within her, that this is the day the Lord has made.
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