Again the wisdom and intrigue in my grandson’s responses. It is why I thoroughly believe young children are best paired with an older person, hopefully a grand parent whenever possible and available. And their time can be best alone together for the most part, because their interactions can be so genuine and familiar to both 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 lightly “Can you hear me, or are you deaf?”

“I’m deaf” was his calm, quick response, without turning his head toward me although I had clearly, repeatedly 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 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 occupied with our own great ideas? It’s another version of the fingers in the ears, ‘lalalala, I can’t hear you’, but this seemed a bit more respectful. Neither diversions actually work, but nice try little guy.

I was reading a bit later in Jeremiah32:33 NIV: “They turned their backs to me and not their faces; though I taught them again and again, they would not listen or respond to discipline.”

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.

Once when I was making chocolate milk for my 2plus grandson and as I poured it into his cup I asked casually if I had given him too much? “Not enough much” was his fast and clear response! I thought about that so many times afterwards, when other things would happen and the response in my head was ‘too much much’ or ‘not enough much!’ How often we have too much of a good thing and wish we had stopped just a bit sooner? I love the way two year olds phrase things…it’s so honest and straightforward.

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 it. 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 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 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?

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?

Our society hasn’t a lot of ways to process the relationships that matter most in our lives, especially if they end badly. We are left to do it in private, and for many that means shoving them down deep into the crevices in our hearts, hoping that they will stay put there. Unfortunately, life continues to unfold over the years, with our children turning into adults who make their own life choices, marry and often have their own children. Much like making an angel food cake (Wow, does that date me!) often when we are folding the new ingredients into the mix, we bring up something from the bottom as we stir.

Even though we may love the ingredients that are going into the cake, the parts we have hidden in our hearts may start to surface. Typically they come as triggers, not welcome additions, and we might find ourselves wondering “where did that come from?” It may be sudden bursts of anger or tears, sometimes overwhelming even a precious family moment. I found that the birth of my first grandchild had as many tearful, unexpected feelings accompanying that first year as it did joyful ones, in part because I had never grieved the unhappy parts of her father’s first year, times that included an affair and separation/divorce from us. The new additions accompanying my grandchild were welcome feelings, but the ones they replaced were difficult to hide. I found I would wake up in tears when I stayed overnight, partly because of the love I had witnessed as they held and put that tiny baby to bed. The love, safety and nurturing of two parents that I was observing was gut wrenching, on a level that I had never allowed myself to feel when I was in the midst of it. What we had missed out on all came flooding back, partly so my tears could wash away the old sadness and loss so it could be replaced with the wonderful, solid and healthy feelings that were now available to me.

Many of the additions to my heart have had oddly similar reactions. While all of them were objectively positive, they always caused me to look back at the deep hurts that had preceded them. In many ways, the more I tried to avoid doing that, sometimes with the help of anti depressant medication, the more I only postponed the inevitable.

I often think in the old days, when people wore black arm bands for a season after losing a loved one, it made it a bit easier for them to continue to process a deep loss. It signaled to others that at least there had been a recent loss, and it surrounded them with some space, grace and kindness. Often we will now go right back to work, back to life exactly where we left off, slapping a happy face emoji on the grief or anger we can’t even feel, let alone calculate how ignoring it will affect us later in life. No one else knows unless perhaps they follow us on Facebook and we don’t make any allowance for it. We may even have a celebration of life for the lost one, even for those who took their own lives, as if we can put a nice lid on our feelings as well as those of their siblings and all those affected by their death by only remembering and celebrating the ‘good’ memories. We may bring food and sympathy to a widow, but we expect a newly divorced woman or man to quickly pick up the pieces and soldier on into a new chapter in their lives with as little negative baggage as possible. Not really possible, except where someone is very good at burying the evidence in the crevices of their hearts. But look out down the road for IED’s! Maybe we should reconsider those armbands?

I was home chicken soup-ing my hanging-on cold and I decided to check out an online will creation site. Within moments I was updating lots of information, as the last one I did included an ‘unborn child’ of ‘unknown name’ who is turning 42 next week!
I have to say, that was a time for me to thank and acknowledge God for preserving me to the age I would no longer need to figure out who would raise my sons if I was gone. Until year 18 of the youngest was all I asked for, but I have already enjoyed their college years, marriages, children, homes and successful businesses they have built, so truly above and beyond my simple early requests!!
This is one very grateful Mom/grand mom here!
Beyond that, and the naming of an executor for what remains of the small (but certainly extravagant for me) provision that my Mom left when she passed five years ago, I have gratefully continued to work part time, even to my eighties. With that and the help of a small social security check I have been able to meet all my current expenses and I am hoping I will leave, mostly untouched, what she left me to further pass on to my children and grandchildren. I am praying God uses me up and takes me home quickly, so that I do not drain what is left after my usefulness date. Perhaps it will be enough for something that catches hold of their heart but is a stretch for current family finances…..like a musical instrument or art classes or help for a deposit on a home or condo. I would like it to be a way they may always remember how much I believed in them, loved them and admired the unique gifts God has given them to use.
Other than that, all the categories listed reminded me I literally have “no earthly goods” at this point in my life. Though I have owned six or seven in my lifetime, I no longer own a home. My paid off car will take me to the end of my own driving, but will not be worth handing on. I have no jewelry, and frankly I have never been great at anything but misplacing anything of value; and by the time I might have bought some for myself, my hands were much too arthritic to want to call attention to them!
So it was quite simple to complete my will, now that the main thing that previously caused me distress…. ‘will you raise my son if I die before he is on his own, and will you let him see his brother who will be with his father and step mother? And will you love him just as he is and encourage him to grow into the man God meant him to be?’…was no longer an issue. Unfortunately I believe that most difficult question for parents, to whom will they entrust the raising of their children should they die, can be the reason most parents never make a will; often the answer will bring up family with children of their own who may be already overloaded, or childless family or friends requiring our complete trust (in God) that they will instantly become good parents, or they may even be your own aged parents who may not be physically able to in the future. You come away from the whole experience realizing, faults aside, that you are indeed the very best parent for your children, having known and loved them unconditionally since birth and that no one else can possibly replace you, so you leave the moment determined to take much better care of yourself going forward so that you last! You also realize they are your single most precious ‘belongings’ and the only true legacy you will leave, even if they are only entrusted to your care for a very brief time.

It is for many reasons a good idea to review/make a will, as it not only causes you to face where you are at present but also to recount your many extravagant blessings over a lifetime; it is truly a blessing remembering what matters most in the rest of your one precious life, committing any current requests to God with thanksgiving, for He has already shown you how faithful He has been and how very dearly He loves you.

I just finished reading Man’s Search For Meaning by a man who survived several concentration camps during the Holocaust. It is worth a reread at least every decade because it puts perspective into whatever seems to be threatening our sanity in the day to day. As I am in the end of my seventh decade on earth, I found much of his logotherapeutic approach very comforting. Especially his words about the elderly. Many of my contemporaries, even those who are in excellent mental and physical health, are feeling as though they are being put out to pasture by their children. It is more a dismissive approach to anything they might have to contribute, whether it is by word or deed.
I loved the way Victor Frankl referred to the older people in his manuscript. The youth of today who have not witnessed firsthand a war involving their country, their friends or their family members are missing the context of so many of their elderly relatives. The price that has been paid for the freedom they now enjoy to criticize everything and everyone has been hard earned and hard-won. The respect that our generation grew up with for the generations who paid that price is totally missing from the headlines and from the words and hearts of most people who convey our daily news. This wears heavily on the hearts of older people who are still trying to stay involved and relevant in their families lives, but who are constantly aware their perspective is viewed as incorrect by a much more ‘politically correct’ generation who no longer revere the history older generations actually have lived through. There is often a smug dismissal, rather than the respectful honor most of us over seventy experienced growing up, for the stories and memories of our grandparents. I am always saddened to hear from friends that they feel so invisible to their families.

Remember that charismatic church I mentioned in a recent post? Well, in the rear view mirror I can see so many reasons God had me stop there on my journey. One of them was to bring hope or to at least provide a huge ray of light to a woman he cared for dearly. She had been a member of that church for many years.
She was one of a small number of single moms who had been drawn there and while she possessed an incredible knowledge of God’s Word and a strong foundation in Christ, she was seen as a less than honorable woman based on the fact that she was a widow at a very young age and had a child out of wedlock afterward as well as two from her marriages. At least that’s the way it appeared to me as an outsider and certainly seemed interpreted that way in the very male-oriented construction of that church. The only women allowed to mentor or teach were those married to pastors or elders; well, except for two single women who happened to be very wealthy. They were held in high esteem and had preferential treatment very different than the single moms I was closer to. This was a church that had long practiced a strict tithe of 10% of one’s income. I’m sure that their wealth didn’t have anything to do with their acceptance, although some of the other moms were on government assistance.
I arrived at the church neither wealthy nor long immersed in Christian theology, however I had a strong love of the Lord and a feeling of full redemption from recently being saved that was unflappable. I was a breath of much needed wind of the spirit for my good friend of the now over forty years. We broke bread together often and our fatherless boys at least had an emotionally similar friend in the church community. There were things I loved about the music and worship, which was indeed the mainstay of this community, but as I began to read hearts I saw a lot of hurt concealed there as well. That wasn’t something I could fix, nor were the pastors interested in addressing it, but I always believed I was meant to be there for the time that I was. It was part of an incredible ‘real time’ education in my walk with Jesus and He continued to teach me as we walked the road of Christian community together. God knew learning in real time, rather than by reading, was always a better method for my retention of important things.
The reason for this post is while I left that church only a couple years after I arrived, my friend was not so fortunate; when she finally did leave a great deal of damage had been done to her spirit. As she says, she walked away from Jesus for a long while after that, although He certainly never left her. Just last week she renewed her commitment to Him and her terrible anxiety of the last decade or more has finally begun to lift from her. The prescription of anti depressants a current doctor had given her sent her into a tailspin and then to the emergency room of the nearest hospital last week. After all the tests were run, she realized that there was no physical reason for the anxiety tearing her apart. After that she recommitted her life to God through Jesus and she went home, literally and figuratively, to a new life with no more anti depressants. I spoke with her today and she sounds more like the hopeful young woman I met forty years ago than the one I have spoken to by phone in recent years. Total dependence on Him is the fastest way to rid ourselves of anxiety and also by truly trusting the outcomes of our situations to His love and care. He does not disappoint, though the way he takes us may be new or unusual, often I find they were never even on my dashboard. Looking back there is not one that I would have wanted to miss!