weekend seats

The wet grass stuck to my boots as I trudged across the wet soccer field.  45 minutes early to the game, per the coach's instruction, I set up my red chair and took my place on the sidelines.  It was a gorgeous, autumn Saturday for soccer.   Hot pink socks, new to the team for the month of October, adorned the fast legs of #14, the boy I had come to watch.  Our preparation for the game had started  earlier in the week as we had talked about the competition.  "You're going to play great!" was the mantra that I had repeated over and over.  At home, we prayed for the game and "oiled" him  up for the game (Young Living Oils); in the car Michael played his favorite playlist, songs to inspire him.  He was ready.  I sat in my soccer spot, delighting in watching my son do what he loves.  Not only is he skilled at the technique of soccer he is also a strong team-player, an encourager, and a coach-able player.    I love the camaraderie that the collective parents share as we cheer on our boys.  Saturday soccer has become one of my favorite activities.   The game ended in a tie, both teams fighting hard. As I packed up my chair and headed back across the  field, my heart welled up with gratitude for these opportunities  that Michael has to play well, to be coached by an incredible coach, and to get to have fun with his friends.

My minivan is literally my favorite thing,  and the seat I sit in is one of my favorite seats.  Really, I view it as a place of honor that I was chosen for, a location from where I fulfill this calling on my life of motherhood.  From this special seat,  I navigate around our lovely town  carpooling numerous kiddos, getting groceries, taking friends places. etc.  Saturday, I got to take Meredith to a birthday party for one of her good friends.  My sweet girl is just the best kind of friend.  If I was 11, I would want Meredith on my team of friends.  She is loyal and kind, she looks to meet the needs of others, and she is constantly thinking about her friends.  I love listening to her process the relationships that she has.  Nearly knee deep in middle school,  she has keen observations about what her friends say, what they wear, who they are, how they feel.  She has extreme empathy and is less worried about herself fitting in and much more aware of how to help her friends fit in.  I love how much she loves her friends. God created Meredith to be a good friend, and it is a blessing to watch the joy in her spirit when she gets to be with her special friends. . 

Later on  Saturday, I drove to south Denver to watch Maddie and her band participate in a competition.  The fall sun beat down on us as we watched from the metal bleachers.  Band after band after band took the field and performed their current show.  Parents and directors wore t shirts in their school's colors, words written across chests and backs proclaiming school pride.  There was a crispness in the air as we anticipated the FRHS show.  They are the best at what they do and they have the trophies to prove it.  Hours of rehearsals paying off on this one night.  I glanced to my left during a rival school's performance and noticed that our band was coming onto the field.  Pride flooded my heart and goosebumps covered my body as I watched them line up.  I am privy to the knowledge of why they have their backs to the field - it's to keep them focused, and it does.   The pomp and circumstance surrounding their presentation thrills me as I wait for them to make their final march to the field.  I've heard the music before, yet I just can't wait for that first note from the xylophones.  Maddie starts her dance between the 40 and 50 yard line.  I see her from my stadium seat, my heart sending out prayers for strength to catch her flag every time, which she does.  Occasionally I lose sight of her as she moves about the field but throughout the performance my mama energy is focused on her.  My beautiful red head  has persevered through hours of stress and practice and has emerged as a skilled member of this excellent marching band.  My emotions are raw, and I can't hold back the tears of gratitude that flow in honor of all that Maddie has achieved.

It's now Sunday morning,  the day that we go to church.  .  "Who is coming to church this morning?" the text says.  "Everyone" I write back.  Marky has been rehearsing since 7:30, pumpkin spice latte in hand to assist with the early hour.  I arrive at church and we make eye contact across the sanctuary.   She moves towards me and I give her a hug that somehow I know that she needs.  "You're going to do great", I say.  Her shy smile and shallow breathing show me that she is nervous.  We part ways and I take my seat on the cushioned pew.  I have sat in this seat countless times.   I have worshiped in the place countless hours.  The comfort and peace that our church gives our family is a blessing.  When Marky was 8, she  told me that her 2 favorite places in  the world were Grandma's house and our church.  I feel the same way.  It's a safe place to be, a familiar place to go.  I watched Marky take her seat at the piano on stage, a piano that I have sat at many times myself.  I listened to the notes that she played, oblivious to all other sounds.  This sweet child of God, serving Him with the gifts that He has given to her.  I'm standing now, arms raised, praising my Lord who has  made Marky's life so beautiful.  In this very space, many years prior,  I begged God to help me and my girls.  I cried out to Him to take the pain and shame of divorce, and turn it into something beautiful for my daughters.  Sunday, I felt God tell me "I heard you.  Just look at her.."  God was so faithful to answer those cries for me and my girls, and on Sunday, from the fingers of my daughter, I heard Him whisper "I love you."

Many different seats this weekend to enjoy this life I've been given.  Kids to celebrate and cherish.  Evey moment giving an opportunity to say "That's my kid!  Aren't they amazing?"

Fall

I'm reading a book right now called "Rising Strong".  So far it's been a fantastic book, filled with encouragement and insight.  Of course it's good, it's by Brene Brown who tends to write as if she has just finished reading my personal journal, offering solutions to every negative or destructive thought I've had throughout the day.  A strange thing happened while I was reading the other day.  The previous night did not offer much quality sleep so I was tired and my clarity of thought was feeble as I was turning pages, but every time I read the word "fall" my tired eyes and brain changed the word to "fail".  What the what?? This book was about getting back up strong after a fall, not about failing!  As I have mulled over my crazy word exchange, I feel as if I have peeked deep into my soul at one of my biggest fears.  The fear of failing.  Interestingly enough, I don't fear falling.  I expect falling and I have a pretty good track record of dusting myself off and getting back up.  But FAILING?  Well now, thats just unacceptable.  And what's the difference?  Well, it seems like I attach failing with my intentions, and I see falling related more to something unexpected happening.  If I'm unprepared for something and I fall, I don't see that as failure, I just see it as I have to try again.  Failiure on the other hand debilitates me and does a number on my self-esteem, telling me I'm not good enough to try again.  Both have to do with worthiness.  Am I worthy enough to take another try at something whether I fall OR fail? Letting go of past failures doesn't have to be ongoing.  I CAN just. let. go.  And trust that falling and failing don't have to lead to defeat.  My Jesus will make me victorious, fighting the battles I face FOR me.  Exodus 14:14 says, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still."  Stillness in the falling and failing.  An attitude of my heart that trusts Him in every situation, knowing that whether I fall or fail or stand or succeed, He is holding me. And everything I know about who my God is will quiet my fears and steady my feet.

Safety first

She was born in the winter.  At less than six pounds she was tiny and mighty.  I marveled at her completeness,  her "person-ness".   Immediately after hearing that  she was a girl, my heart was filled with visions of dolls, and Mother/Daughter outfits, and moments spent reading "Anne of Green Gables" together.   I thought "We are going to have so much fun together."  Because this was my first mommy rodeo, I listened intently to the instructions given by nurses and doctors on how to take care of my baby girl.  Before we left the hospital,  I carefully read through every pamphlet, fearful that I would miss something important. We arrived home 4 days later, tired and emotional but so excited for our future together.

I showed up to her one-month check up, early in December, cold and flu season swirling around us.  I trekked through the slushy parking lot, car seat in hand, baby girl covered with hand-knitted blankets and a cute, cuddly outfit.  She was gaining weight slowly, but still so small.  The pediatrician told me that because of her size, age and the time of year it was, she was vulnerable.  That didn't change that she was growing, it just meant that the doctor was telling me to exercise caution with how much she was out and about, who she was around, and how many germs she was exposed to.  As this kind medical authority talked to me, first time mother, I soaked up every instruction to my very marrow.  I left the office with one item on my To-Do list... Keep Her Safe.  Other items on the list moved out of the way to create space for this, my now main priority.  Keep my sweet little baby girl safe.  She was vulnerable.  Not weak, just susceptible to unwanted things considering the season of the year that we were in.  With marching orders in hand, and narry another parent (step or otherwise) in sight, I took my baby girl home.  I remember that for close to 2 months, other than the occasional visit to the grandparents, we just stuck around the house, where it was safe.

Over the 16 years that sweet daughter and I have been a team, other folks and situations have arrived on the scene. Siblings and step-parents, teachers and boyfriends, coaches and BFFs.  Her world has expanded into dance teams and school and dual homes and youth group and all sorts of extra curricular activities.  She is amazing and capable and still growing, but still so small. Small, not in her maturity, but small in years; Her youth causing her to be vulnerable to life's harsh, unfair conditions.  She is still tiny and mighty, and her mom's to-do list hasn't changed.  4 kids and nearly 17 years later, the primary responsibility given to me during that December visit to the pediatrician has remained the same.  Protect them, keep them safe.   Motherhood has taught me that both of these things look differently at different stages of the kids' life and depending on the kid.  Crawlers need protected from stairs and electrical outlets, toddlers from streets and hot stoves.  School aged kids need protected from the bullies and teens need protected from the pressures of the world. 


If you step foot in a cell phone retailer, one of the things they will try to sell you is a case. Quite possibly they will tell you how much you need a case that is the end-all-be-all protector to your phone.  Protects it from water, spills, drops, accidents.  When you check out a library book there will be cellaphane wrapper covering the cover of the book, protecting the book from your careless actions.  Air bags surround every nook and cranny of your car, and the first instructions given when you board an airplane is how to properly stow your belongings for their safest arrrival.  Safety and protection is a big thing for all of the"big things" in life.  How much more precious are our kids then our things?  Why do we invest $$ and time protecting things that can easily be replaced and yet we minimize and ridicule the protectiveness of a mother, labeling her "over-protective", " controlling" and "out to ruin their child's life".  I understand that of course there needs to be a balance - neither all or nothing is good - but when did it become  popular and accepted to let kids raise themselves?  Hands-off parenting allows our kids to watch things and experience things that their innocent eyes and hearts aren't ready for. It hurries them along to a maturity that their vulnerable selves aren't prepared for.  "Letting go" has become so trendy, there's even a song to support this parenting philosophy.

I have always loved this story, told by the late Corrie ten Boom, holocaust survivor, imprisoned for her actions of helping hide Jews in WWII.   She writes "

“And so seated next to my father in the train compartment, I suddenly asked, "Father, what is sexsin?"
He turned to look at me, as he always did when answering a question, but to my surprise he said nothing. At last he stood up, lifted his traveling case off the floor and set it on the floor.
Will you carry it off the train, Corrie?" he said.
I stood up and tugged at it. It was crammed with the watches and spare parts he had purchased that morning.
It's too heavy," I said.
Yes," he said, "and it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load. It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you.”

― Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place  

I just love this.  Protective, wise parenting.  Knowing that when it's time, Child of mine, you will be ready.  But for now, no matter what adversity I come up against, no matter who's voice shouts accusations and untruths at me, I will protect you.  I will keep you safe.  And then... When it's time.  I promise - I will let go.  Not of you, never of you, but of my responsibility.  When you become an adult, I will be released from my job.  Until then, I will pray for your safety, I will be careful and thoughtful in  how I mother you, and I will love you and protect you no matter what.