Mom Musings – Page 7

Diamonds In The Rough

Published on August 28, 2014August 28, 2014 by Hope WebsterLeave a comment

♬”As one thing leaves to become another–
I remember when–
Oh, to be with summer again….”♬
(Summer Again—The Afters)

“How does God do that?”
I wondered at my first sighting this year of a leaf turned crimson.
Changing from green to red without paint or markers or crayons….
It’s amazing!
A sign that summer is in metamorphosis. Fall prepares to stretch out of its cocoon.
Again.

The Master Creator designed patterns. Seasons prepare the earth for what is next. And life itself is cyclical—birth to death repeated through the generations ad infinitum (so far). Even the weeks have their own designations—time for work, rest, play and worship on constant repeat. And the student measures each school year around the start and end date of summer vacation.

Up close and personal, our annual routine adds relocation between north and south to the mix. Every August marks the beginning of another year on the South side. With a dozen years of practicum under our belts, it’s still a learning curve. A transition that requires me to do more of the only thing I know to do when I don’t know what to do…..again.
Pray.

At this moment I glimpse my dad as I glance at my reflection in the mirror. I see more than his long face, sad eyes and crooked teeth, I also spot his legacy in the habits of my life. Prayer was his rhythm–mutterings to God in the wee hours of the morning on my behalf for all the years we shared on this earth. And there it is–that involuntary sigh. The mirror caught it and reveals the loss I still feel with his prayer covering absent. And today I tell myself that what I have received, can now be freely given.
And it is my time to give.

So, I beat the heat, grab dog and leash and head out the door to put feet to my prayers. I start my conversation with God about my own inner circle. This week some of those beloved people are teaching and learning in new settings, with heavy course loads, amongst health obstacles, with learning challenges and lonely.

I’m distracted walking past one family after another, congregating on street corners in my neighborhood, leaning up against STOP signs waiting for the school bus. I wonder about their stories, the hopes and fears they bring to this monumental moment of a fresh start.
It’s not just one thing they want—that their parents want for them.
We are so much more than minds soaking in data.
We are multifaceted people.
Like diamonds sparkling when we catch the light of opportunity.
A rainbow of colors bouncing off the walls.

Starting a new school year isn’t just about academics. It’s about how God will reveal more of His unique design in and through you and me and how we will shine reflecting His glory. Learning is the process of being formed, shaped and molded.

I have to remind myself of that as I start my own new homeschool year. Tell myself afresh that this is God’s calling for me for this particular year.
And embrace it.

To not grow weary at the starting block anticipating the rigors of the race because every new year is a fresh opportunity for teacher and student to taste of the Lord and see that He is good…. (Psalm 34:8)

He will not let you stumble and fall…. (Psalm 121:3)

He gently leads those who have young and carries them close to His heart…. (Isaiah 40:11)

He has plans for you, a future and a hope….(Jeremiah 29:11)

And so I retain the beauty of my northern summer and embrace the opportunities of my southern fall with this focus:
“There shall be an eternal summer in the grateful heart.”
-Celia Thaxter

And I choose to be grateful…..

Our Double Life

Published on August 14, 2014 by Hope WebsterLeave a comment

It was our grand finale—a trip to Ludington where a dozen delighted kids frolicked on the beach sculpting castles, playing cards, jumping over waves, lounging on floaties and having splashing contests while four moms in lounge chairs enjoyed easy conversation. We cooked hotdogs for dinner sitting in a circle around the campfire and finished off with s’mores before racing to the beach to watch the sunset and dune jump. The sun waved “goodbye” in a blaze of color, as if acknowledging the magnificence of friendships forged over time and shared experiences and we knew it was our turn to do the same–again. There were so many hugs—the little boys resisted. The mamas squeezed hard and long and so did Lily. Tears erupted from turbulent soul volcanoes. “Goodbyes” called from cracking voices through open windows followed by “See you in 9 months,” and “I love you guys,” called out Christine with a “Back to You” returned.

Then there was just the beach and the dunes for miles as darkness descended. Minutes passed quietly except for an occasional involuntary sob. I wondered how to band aid the gaping wound our children were bleeding tears about. What does a mama do with all these tears, especially when you know it was your choices that caused them. I did the only thing I know to do when I don’t know what else to do—pray.

“Hey guys,” I spoke compassionately. “I know we’re hurting. The tears tell us that we love large and we’re loved back– and that’s a gift. The downside of the gift is that it hurts to say goodbye.”

Sigh….. Pause……

“So, let’s take a few minutes to cry it out and then how about if we try shifting our focus away from ourselves and onto those friends we just spent a beautiful day with.” “How about if we pray for each of our friends individually? They have their own stuff to deal with too and we could talk to God about it for them.”
“OK,” Starla responded agreeably.

And over the next 25 minutes, all 16 of those dear people who hold our hearts were brought before the throne of the only One who can fix all this brokenness.

And when we said “Amen”, I suggested we play music.
Robyn chimed in, “I don’t want to hear anything sad.”
So we turned on Jason Gray singing:

…..Every step along the way,
I know You’ll never leave my side.
Whatever the season I can say,
These are the best days of my life…..

And we just kept driving away from the beach.
Just like we just kept driving away from Wheaton College on Sunday.
And just like we drove away from our cousins house yesterday.
And just like we’ll drive past the “Pure Michigan” sign on Saturday– all the way to Dallas to our other life.

The music felt like white noise in the background of my internal banter.
“How did we get here?” I asked myself. “And more importantly, how to do we get out?” I wondered….

I reflected 12 years back.

Like all sincere Christian parents we weighed our options prayerfully when we considered relocation, seeking wise council and did what seemed prudent. Nobody intentionally sets out to break their children’s hearts repeatedly. We were utterly ignorant about the long term implications of our decisions.

When we first drove away, we knew we couldn’t sever ourselves from our northern life completely in good conscience, even if we’d wanted to–which we didn’t. The Bible has something to say about respecting parents and reciprocating the care they blessed us with when their health goes South. So, we came back north to take care of family and that is what jump started our double life—school years in Texas and summers in Michigan.

To some people, it seems almost idyllic—winters where it’s warm and summers where it’s cool. While I appreciate upbeat optimism and grasp for it at times, that assessment is highly simplistic. It might be alluringly exciting for sanguines, but God didn’t wire us that way, and our double life makes us feel alive right in the pit of our stomach.

So what do we do when we can’t find a way to change the trajectory? And there’s no place to seemingly to make a U-turn….

That’s the million-dollar question we can’t seem to escape. We all ask it within our own particular messy stories….

And so we lament—groanings that only God understands.
And we try not to project ahead how many more times He might ask us to do a repeat because we don’t think we have even one more in us.
And tonight in the wee hours, the questions swirling feel a lot like jazz music that doesn’t resolve and leaves you aching with its dissonance.

But all of life is not the dead of night. I hear the girls whispering animatedly in the next room recounting to each other their sweet stories of summer–holding on to the memories in the retelling so they don’t slip like beach sand through their fingers.

Soon, they will drift off to sleep as will I.

And tomorrow, we will all wake up to God’s faithful, tender, mercies that are fresh and new for the day.
We’ll open our hand to accept His.
And trust He’ll take it just as He always has.
And we’ll turn the music up loud and on repeat as we pack up all those Rubbermaid plastic bins and sing,

…..Every step along the way,
I know You’ll never leave my side.
Whatever the season I can say,
These are the best days of my life…..

Mama’s Musing about Music, Memories and Love….

Published on May 5, 2014July 30, 2014 by Hope WebsterLeave a comment

Experts in child development claim that what we experience with our senses during our formative years, gets tucked away in the miraculously complex organ called the brain and stored even though not always readily available in our short term memory. Like a safe deposit box, your “valuable” memories are protected but not accessed until they are unlocked. Anyone who doubts this need only visit a nursing home where a patient with dementia who can’t remember what he had for lunch 10 minutes ago can hear a loud banging noise and proceed to tell you in detail about where he was when he heard the news that Pearl Harbor had been bombed in 1941.

The same thing can happen to me with music. I don’t typically think about all of those sappy, old 70’s and 80’s “love songs” and I have only recently added a select short list of the most sanitized favorites to my itunes playlist. Prior to that, my life disconnected from them for more than 25 years. But during the impressionable season of adolescence, I went to sleep each night hugging my pillow with my clock radio set to sleep mode lulling me into dreamland.

Fast forward to today. I’m 45 and shopping to replace a worn out spatula in the kitchen utilities department. I hear background tunes being piped through the store and suddenly I am 15 again. Too bad I’m not a contestant on “Name that Tune” at that very instant. I could earn a million bucks. I don’t even need to hear the words before I’m singing along in my mind the music that left indelible ink splotched in the crevices of my long term memory.

It’s like being on autopilot.

♪♬♪♬…..Lookin’ for love in all the wrong places. Lookin’ for love in too many faces. Searchin’ their eyes, lookin’ for traces of what I’m dreamin’ of…..Hopin’ to find a friend and lover. I’ll bless the day I discover another heart lookin’ for love….. (Johnny Lee, 1980)

Because of all the lies about love and distortions about relationships that I internalized from song lyrics, I became a woman on a mission resolved to be deliberate about minimizing my daughters consumption of pop culture’s erroneous messages about love and replacing it with God’s truth. For us, that resulted in limiting TV viewing and curtailing secular pop music. Call me weird–even extreme. Maybe. But all moms have convictions–things they want to be different for their children- and this was one of mine.

So, Angela donned her first choir robe at the tender age of 8, the other girls even younger. Week after week, year after year they sing the Bible’s words and theology of God’s character put to music. When they hear scripture, they begin singing it in their minds. When they read God’s story unfolding, they align it with the truths of faithfulness, love, goodness and mercy that hymns and anthems so articulately describe.

Robyn was 4 when she first wore her blue cubbies vest to Awana club. She couldn’t read but memorized a new Bible verse every week with some help from mom putting words to music. Learning verses earned patches to adorn her vest with and a ribbon when her book was completed. That was 7 years ago. Since then, she’s memorized 100’s of verses and competed with other children to see who could flawlessly speak God’s word from memory. The challenge has been thrilling and exhilarating. It’s a game when I say a reference and she quotes or sings the verse.

When my girls are 30 and 40 and maybe even 70 and 80, it will only take a few words of scripture reading, or maybe just a reference and they will be singing and speaking God’s truth accurately in their minds. Truth replacing lies. Love instead of lust. Wholeness contrasted to heartbreak.

Starla was promoted from carol choir to chapel choir today. Her robe with a cream smock is now history.

Lily just graduated from children’s choirs. Robed in crimson she sang her finale:

♪♬♪♬ Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love, where there is injury thy pardon.

Lord, where there is doubt, let there be faith. Where there’s despair, let me bring hope.

Where there is darkness, let there be light. Where there is sadness let there be joy.

O divine master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console. To be understood as to understand. To be loved as to love.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love. For it is in giving that we are born into eternal life.

Lord make me an instrument of thy peace.

So, if you’re “lookin’ for love”, look no further for a message to believe in than that. As the song ends, a life that embraces that model of love also concludes with

AMEN.

(I wrote this post 2 years ago. We celebrated the conclusion of our 12^th year in of choir today. Gratitude spilled past my tear ducts and onto my cheeks. Thank you, God, for PCPC, for our choir community, for our dearly loved director and friend, Lynda.)