This is a story of a very well meaning Christian womens group that I was a part of many years ago. At the time I was myself a single mom raising two children and while the church was a big part of my life, I may have been extra sensitive in this case. You decide.

Our church group had taken on the responsibility of adopting, figuratively, a family of four who at the time lived in area where our sanctuary was located. When I joined the group they had been sponsoring this family for several years. The husband/father was in prison and we helped by remembering the children at Christmas and birthdays with cards and gifts. At other times we would regularly bring food items to our monthly meetings and someone would volunteer to drop them off and say hi to the family. While I was part of the group the family hit a snag and their rent was raised beyond their ability to cover it and they had several months to find another home. During this time, and it could also have been during a time we were on a summer break from meetings, but somehow they were unable to find a place nearby and had to move across town to a much less desirable neighborhood where working two jobs, Betty could afford the rent.

The next time we met and brought food to drop by there was a lack of enthusiasm about anyone driving to the area where they now lived. That hit me in a very visceral way, but I merely offered to drop off the food and later met Betty and her kids for an outing with my boys at the Zoo. During both those events I was able to see her new home and also spend time with her and her children. I took some pictures of them when we were at the zoo. On our way to the next monthly meeting, I stopped at Walmart and picked up the pictures from the roll of film I had dropped off earlier that week. I tucked the envelope in my purse and didn’t open it until later in the meeting. Someone brought up the idea that since the family had moved out of town, we should really break ties and find a new, closer family to support.

I had a lot to say about that. I proceeded to say that now more than ever the continuity of our care mattered to that family. She was now holding down two lousy part time jobs to make ends meet. Her kids came home to an empty house in a cramped, rundown area of town. While not necessarily unsafe, it had none of the trappings of the more expensive area from which they had moved. The schools were no longer A rated either. Those were ways in which they had majorly been affected. However when speaking to the twenty-one women gathered that day for our church ladies group, I made the point that besides those things, it never occurred to me that Jesus was concerned with zip codes, when deciding who deserved his time or care. When I was done with an admonishment that we had in no way offered to help them find a new place nearby so they could have stayed in the same schools as well as continued to enjoy the safety of the area where we lived. I thought we should reconsider ‘getting a new family’, and at that time I opened my photos from Walmart. I was going to pass them around for all to see, but I noticed instead of one of each that I had taken, there were instead 21 copies of the last one I took, one of Betty and her children leaning against their car. I have no idea why there were as many copies as there were women present, and I offered that now they could each have a picture to put on their refrigerator as they prayed about what we should do concerning this family. Needless to say, they did not vote to abandon this family, at least not while I was still a member of their group.

 Last week during lunch with a dear Christian friend of the past thirty years, as I was recounting yet another adventure from my past that she had never heard before, she remarked with a smile, ‘you tell all your stories with a sparkle in your eyes like you were on this adventure with a very present partner, as though God were your husband and always at your side’. 

My romantic nature has always found its true home in the presence of God. My ability to traverse the places I have landed, time after time, has been warmed by the company I keep and the knowledge that I am made for His purposes and those alone. And yes, I am a romantic.  I have observed in many other women over the years that the presence of an actual flesh-covered, air breathing male person is a necessity for them for even the possibility of a happy life and if they lose one, for any reason, they will very quickly acquire another to replace him. I seem made of either stronger or less lonely stuff, with perhaps higher requirements for my life companion.

Many of my memories it seems, are of times spent with someone who was sharing my delight or my anguish. I seem to have a running conversation with a partner that few notice is with me. I found this to be kind of funny at church last weekend where someone I do not know was talking to a friend of mine, and she kept sharing how one (implied older aged woman) could meet men talking about bananas at Whole Foods. While I found this somewhat entertaining, I was in no way tempted to turn in my very present, if not obvious, partner for one I might find in a search for the perfect banana. It made me smile for the rest of the day, as I had really only seen a glimpse of how that woman felt she had to find someone soon in order to feel less lonely. Increasingly as I age I am feeling the presence of a soul mate rather than their absence, which I have to admit feeling over the first half of my life. There is a contentment that has taken me a long time to recognize, and I won’t be searching for anyone else amongst the bananas.

I was on the receiving end of an angry outburst recently, realizing on some level that it didn’t have everything to do with current events, but rather was compiled of many small cuts caused by an accumulated misunderstanding of personal perspectives regarding previous events, now compounded into a huge snowball of repressed anger and pain.

I have always believed in the “put on the Armor of God” theory of protection, particularly to shield me from insults and name calling that God has not revealed as truths about myself I need to work on. However the armor always seems extremely heavy to me as I reviewed the items involved and so I am inclined to leave the house without it. There are, very fortunately for me, some rare times when anger of a close relative has exploded near me like a land mine I had unconsciously stepped on. Aware on some level that an outburst may well have less to do with me than with the current drama they are experiencing in their own life, I instinctively grab God’s ‘raincoat’ and throw it over my shoulders. Instead of the conversation becoming an unwanted playlist to be replayed ad nauseum in my head, I replace it with a much calmer visual of a bunch of words falling in puddles at my feet. When the torrent of accusations ends, I can step over them and get on with my day; perhaps returning later on in my rainboots to selectively process the damp ground to see if there are some words/thoughts I need to examine, possibly learning some valuable insight from the sudden storm. Wearing my invisible ‘raincoat’ allows me to hear without getting soaked in a negative, hurtful downpour that would contribute nothing positive to my future relationship with that person; or at least nothing I could clearly identify in the midst of the defensive tempest with which I might have responded. However, there are often nuggets of wisdom to be found in hearing, but not absorbing, another person’s pain, especially given a little time and distance afterwards. I may also find I need to ask forgiveness for some past behavior or make amends for current behavior that could be causing someone I love unintended emotional pain. God can heal those wounds once we can name them and claim them, and forgiveness can clear a slate that has been in an unknown fog for years. My experience has been this is the best way to put a valued relationship on a new and better course for the future, and my invisible raincoat has made a huge difference in my ability to process my own emotional responses.

This is my story of forgiveness when it is really, really hard. Many years ago, when our son was just one year old, I found out purely by accident that my husband, his father, was having an affair with my best friend. This was alarming news and was soon thereafter followed by our separation. Later on she also left her husband and in a year or so after that they married and I had no choice but to interact frequently, as the care of my now two year old involved every other weekend with his dad. This kind of stilted relationship continued for a couple years, until my I moved my family to upstate New York. His dad didn’t object to this as he was fighting his own inner battles with alcohol at that time. Our subsequent moves to Berlin, Germany and later to Florida also did not negatively affect the infrequent contact my son had with his father, nor did he object to them. So our contacts became less frequent as years went by.

It was only later, when he was in college, that I began to notice how deeply affected he was by the triangular relationship his parents had formed, unintentionally. My son had become very close to his stepmother, as she was often his primary caregiver on visits over holidays or summer. They had established a connection that I could not totally understand, as I was never present when he visited and he often, in later years, came and went by plane, so we never overlapped or had occasion to speak. What I realized during his college years was that way we communicated, which was usually through my ex, had been severely triangulated and misinterpreted on many occasions, as the third party interpreter in the middle, my ex, often played one side against the other without our knowledge of what had actually been said. This became confusing to all and since there was already hurt feelings and distrust involved, clarity on issues involving my son were complicated and left him the confused party in the middle of the mess.

Finally becoming aware of that pain he was silently enduring, I approached God with my dilemma. They had never apologized for the betrayals they had subjected me to, especially when their affair was secret and I was totally in the dark. That left a very deep wound in my heart, as it seemed as if I meant nothing to either of them. Yet it appeared that the only one that was really hurting besides me was my now almost adult son. Holding on to my resentment was not helping him or me. I wrestled with the idea of forgiving them, even without their request for it. That seemed just too hard, as wasn’t I the injured party? But what I saw was that my son was really the most injured party, as he loved his mom, but he also loved his dad and step mom, and was always torn when he was expected to choose a side. I decided I would make a deal with the Lord, not usually a great idea in my limited experience. I told him I wasn’t willing to outright forgive them, but I was willing to be willing to forgive them, should God change my heart. those words had hardly escaped my lips when I felt a sudden unexpected change of heart. I went to bed and woke up the next day with absolutely nothing in my heart but compassion and love for my estranged friend and ex husband. We later shared holidays and family occasions, like our son’s graduation, all together without the hidden hurt agenda I had repressed for years. Even when she later went through an agonizing, early end of life battle with cancer, we were able to fully support one another and I was able to reassure her of both my ex-husband’s and my son’s love for her in the last days of her life. She already knew she had mine.

This story is one I have referred to often in Christian circles as proof of how much God want’s us to forgive those whom we have even a very good reason to refuse. The lightning speed with which He changed my heart proved I only needed to be willing to be willing to let Him, not to actually come to that place of willingness on my own. The unexpected results were the joy of both my own and my son’s ability to enjoy the fruits of a wonderful relationship with her and make some more good memories together before we lost her. I will never regret that decision and of course only wish I could have come to that heart place sooner, for all our sakes. But better late than never is also true, and once done, it was done for good. Thanks be to God.

Again the wisdom and intrigue in my 3 yr old grandson’s responses to my queries. It is why I thoroughly believe young children are often best paired with an older person, hopefully a grandparent whenever possible if available. And their time can be best spent alone together for the most part, because their interactions can be so genuine and familiar to both of their fragile ages, when left to their natural state unobserved.

I was calling his name toward the back of his head and although he was only a few feet in front of me, he was totally engrossed with the truck he was running through a pile of dirt at that moment. I repeated his name, this time with more volume and adding somewhat softly “Can you hear me, or are you deaf?”

“I’m deaf” was his calm retort, not moving his head even an inch toward me, although I had clearly been asking for his full attention. Obviously he had heard me, though I am not sure he even knew what the word ‘deaf’ meant at that moment. He may well have been merely playing my words back to me, stalling for time. I had to laugh and almost admire his creativity in the moment. How often do we do the same thing, especially if we think God is trying to get our attention and we are otherwise happily occupied with our own great ideas? It’s another version of the fingers in the ears, ‘lalalala, I can’t hear you’ mantra, but this seemed somehow a bit more respectful. Neither diversions actually work, but nice try little guy.

When my youngest was almost four we were members of a charismatic church with a large music ministry, which met in an old barn in upstate New York. There were many things that happened in my life during that time that I may refer to later, but one thing I will always remember was my young son in the bathtub, asking me if I would baptize him right then. I asked him if he wouldn’t rather wait until the following Sunday, where he could be water baptized (properly?) in the church. I will never forget his swift and confident answer, looking me straight in the eyes. “Mom, if I get baptized at church I’d be praising to people, but if I get baptized here I’ll be praising to God!” And neither he nor I have ever felt the need to do it again any differently.

P.S. I am writing this forty years after it happened, as I had just remembered it recently. Then three days later, as I am continuing reading my bible Cover to Cover in 100 days with my church, I came upon this passage where Jesus is dealing with the unbelief of the Jews before his death: John 12:42-43 NIV

“Yet at the same time many even among the leaders believed in him. But because of the Pharisees they would not openly acknowledge their faith for fear they would be put out of the synagogue; for they loved human praise more than praise from God.”

“

Once when I was making chocolate milk for my 2.5 yr old grandson and as I poured it into his cup I asked casually if I had given him too much? “Not enough much” was his rapid response! I thought about that so many times afterwards, when other things would happen and the voice in my head was ‘too much much’ or ‘not enough much!’ How often do we have too much of a good thing and wish we had stopped just a bit sooner? I love the way two year old’s phrase things…it’s so uncomplicated.

It seems to me, as I creep toward the farther side of my brief time on earth, that most of my time with others my age is spent discussing our ‘adult children’, especially where we are trying to improve our current relationship with them. Much has been added to our prayer lists and our hearts, trying to come to grips with something I am not certain can be resolved. At what point do we realize that they are absolutely no longer children, but fully grown adults? At what specific place in our lives will they also know that we finally recognize that?

I am perhaps noticing right now, as I care for my toddler grandchild, that his parents are caught in a similar dilemma. Their cherished “baby” is now walking, having conversations with them and testing their boundaries. They flucuate between picking him up and covering him with kisses to expecting him to mind when they tell him it is time for bed. It is a fluid time for the grownups and often they are not in the exact same emotional place at the same time to define the solution clearly to him. Yet as I observe this I am also thinking of the issue of my own emotions, now seeing the child I once nurtured and held as the adult in charge of leading his own family through the many obstacles of life.

At what point did I, or have I ever actually, stopped thinking of him as my “child?” And yet I am expecting him to make confident, adult decisions every moment of his life, as he has been doing successfully for over twenty some years. When I find myself inwardly cringing a tiny bit as he calls my newly blossoming grandchild “baby”, trying to hold onto that precious part of him for just a few moments or months longer, am I not also doing the same confusing thing to my son? That push/pull of parenting, does it ever leave us? When do we truly release our hold on them? Should there be some kind of ceremony where we let go and commit to fully trusting them, if not to themselves, at least to the God we have assured them we believe in?

I do think we need to re-examine ourselves, and especially the part where we refer to them as our ‘adult children’. This branding does not let us off the hook but may in fact be keeping us and them on it, and not very comfortably so. I see us all struggling, trying to find the new relationship we are trying to achieve with these grown up people we once held and comforted. We were their source of everything in the beginning, yet had to relinquish more and more territory to others and to them as the years went by; driver’s licenses, anyone? For some parents this has looked like a complete void where their children once were; they cannot, no matter how they try, pull them back into shoes that have long been outgrown. As I look at how difficult it is to say goodbye to our “baby” in order for them to achieve the full potential on their new toddler horizons, I am struck by the incredibly difficult commitment it takes to truly let go of our “children”. I guess the real point is, what will it cost them to have us holding onto their arm as they try so hard to run ahead? Also as important, what will it cost us?

I have just spent three days in a large empty room with eleven chairs. I was holding a six week old baby girl who was still nursing. We were in a hospital waiting room, and her 38 yr old dad was in ICU. He was rushed to Emergency with severe headaches and trouble speaking and walking. The results of the MRI and CT scans showed a large brain tumor that had crossed from his left to right hemispheres in the front of his head and although it did not look malignant to the neurosurgeon, it looked inoperable because of the right side being so close to speech and motor centers.

That said, this father and his wife are steadfast Christians, homeschooling their five children, always steeping them in the love of the Lord. I saw God use believers in so many amazing ways that could only be attributed to their faith in the midst of trials. He had prepared and was preparing us all for whatever His will is to be with this special young family.

I was called for a special duty, to hold the new baby while Mom was with her husband, only returning to us every few hours to nurse, as children are not allowed in the ICU. If I say this was one of the most sacred times I have known with the Lord, it would be an understatement, as the calm and the peace in that room was palpable, in a serene and surprisingly comforting way. I never turned on the available TV, even during the fifteen hours of the first day. Being with a new baby was certainly not in my comfort zone, having only barely made it through the infancy of my own, desperately awaiting the moments when they would talk and walk, but it was absolutely my calling that morning at 2:30 when my sister texted me about my nephew. Anyone who knows me will verify I am not the woman who goo-goos other’s babies or seeks to hold them. However I try never to question God’s plan (I have found over the years that it never works out well) and I could feel Him equip me for duty with His constant presence, as faithful prayer warriors seemed to fill those empty chairs to be with me on a continuing basis over the next five days. Not in person, mind you, but definitely in the spirit. I could certainly sense them, and sometimes the baby even seemed to stare right at them, as though her newly opened eyes could recognize the angels in our midst.

I could not keep track of, nor will I remember, all the ways I saw God reveal himself during this time before the biopsy was performed to assist in detecting the source and future radiation/treatment to hopefully shrink this large tumor. There were so many more moments than I could count. I seemed to be there to offer spiritual support to the Mom during the time we spent together while she was nursing, and God kept giving me visuals and His wisdom to build her up, though I have no memory of what was said.

There is and will be more to this story, as there is to every story in Christ, because we have yet to see how all of this will be used in the lives of others. Regardless of the way it turns, it will continue to have an effect on family and friends, but also on complete strangers, even on those asked to pray who have never met this family. I have come to believe that oftentimes it is more how our circumstances are used then what they actually are, having observed the past four decades through a more spiritually adjusted lens. What changes in our own approach to both trials and just everyday life might come as a result of our sharing this journey? There are infinite possibilities in the stories to be told. The miracles might not be the obvious one we are seeking right now, but the many ways in which people change their own behaviors toward others in their own lives going forward. Might that actually be the miracle we sought?

At just shy of three years he was not actually reading, but he was learning to recognize letters and was very excited about that! Dada, he said confidently, D…A…D…A. and then we asked how do you spell Mama’s name? prompting him a bit with M…A…… Then I asked him “What is my name?”, pointing at myself, expecting him to just say “Jojo” because he would not know those letters yet, when instead he looked me squarely in the eye and said “Home”. Oh, my heart, is there anything sweeter to a grandmother’s ear than that?