*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
Well, here we are. Day 12. Can I tell you something? I have no idea how to close this deal out. When I started, I didn't really think about what it would look like to finish. (Welcome to all of my life...) I suppose in my mind I imagined twelve neat and tidy stories with the last one wrapping everything up nicely. This process, for me, has been anything but neat and tidy. I'm a big ol' giant mess currently. And finishing this series just reinforces the whole finality of the whole thing. I mean, I know I can write stories about her whenever I want. I know I can think about her and talk about her whenever I want. But passing that dreaded "year" mark did not bring the relief I was hoping for at all. It is a difficult thing knowing I will face this hole in my life for the rest of my life.
Also, I know all of these stories have painted an amazing picture of my Mom. I meant for it to be that way. Did Mom have flaws? Of course. Did we always get along in an amazing way? Of course not. I thought long and hard about writing these stories. I want to live my life and write about my life in a real way. No single person out there is looking to see more things they are not living up to. I surely hope none of these stories has made you feel that way. Mom would not approve!! At the same time, I decided if you get terminal cancer and pass away before you're sixty, then we get to talk about only the best parts of you! Sometime I hope to share all of Mom's story. It is a story full of hope and grace. Mom's life was not easy, not for even one single day. That's honest truth. But, I have never known anyone who fought harder for joy and love.
One of the reasons I was (am) so angry at her cancer is because it seemed like her life was on the up-tick for the first time in a while. It felt like a corner had been turned. That maybe her final chapter would be an easy one. Instead, her final days were lived out in one of the hardest ways possible. I'm still working on reconciling all of that in my heart. It's a dirty job.
I'm putting my hope in the fact that she is sporting one hell of a crown.
I'm all out of words. So, I leave you with a list of things that I will forever remember about Mom.
1. Bananas with milk and sugar
2. Clover flower necklaces
3. Her "neapolitan" bathrobe
4. How she was a morning person
5. The song she sang to us when it was time to go to church (which, by the way, was all the time!)
6. The one time she stopped answering to Mom and would only answer to Shelia (not her name) because she couldn't handle hearing "Mom" another single time.
7. The summer fun schedule she made out each year during summer break.
8. Her love of bread dough. Raw.
9. Her lap
10. Her love
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Eleven
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
Well, it turns out that yesterday, the day, was a non-writing day. While it was a non-writing day, it was a pro look like a slob and eat ice-cream day. So there's that. Onward and upward...
There are certain opportunities that come around in life that simply overwhelm. They overwhelm in the moment and they overwhelm in hindsight. I was afforded one of these opportunities around 11 years ago. And when I look back, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
I was working in the Children's Ministry department of my church in Knoxville. My job was in flux. (Oh wait. That would sum up my entire "career" there...) I was trying to decide what to do with the church and the church was trying to decide what to do with me. During this time I was approached by the missions pastor (at the time...a lot of flux was going around...) and he asked me how I would feel about leading a trip of Children's Ministry folks who would provide children's programming for a missionary conference in Central Europe.
Let me take a minute and back the story up. When I was in high school I was given another amazing opportunity. I joined two great friends from my church and a few other girls from across the state and traveled to Santiago, Chile to serve missionary kids at a conference. I was young and the whole experience was overwhelming and amazing all at the same time. I walked away from that trip with a huge heart for missionary kids. I had spent my life learning about missionaries. But that trip gave me eyes to see the missionaries as real people, not just names on paper. They were real families, living real lives. They missed their grandparents, they felt torn between cultures, they experienced all the same things I experienced, but with about 10 extra layers of stuff to deal with.
When I was given the chance to get to know a whole new group of them? Well, I didn't hesitate to say yes!
The first year we traveled to the conference we left on December 31, 2001. Three and a half months after 9/11. I was terrified and had worked out several scenarios of what I would do if we ended up with a terrorist on our flight. You think I'm kidding. The scary plane ride aside, the trip was one of the most rich and fulfilling experiences of my life. It was hard work and there were team "dynamics" that I was ill-equipped to deal with, yet had to deal with. But, in the middle of all that real life stuff, I met some of the most amazing kids I would ever meet. I fell head over heels in love with all those Central Europe MKs.
The following year, as I began to assemble the team, Big Dan decided to stay home. He had gone on the trip the year before and he loved it as well. But, it was his first year in law school, and missing class wasn't an option. This left a unique opening on the team. You'll never guess who wanted to go...
MOM.
Of course you guessed. Because by now you know she did not miss the opportunity for an adventure. (Well, and I guess you knew this post was going to be about her, too, huh?)
Do you see the whole picture of the opportunity I was given here? My heart just swells with gratitude when I think about it. My mom and I had the opportunity to travel together to Budapest, Hungary to minister to missionary kids. This was like the be all, end all of full circle moments.
Mom went on the trip because she loved adventure. She went on the trip because she loved missionaries and their kids. But mostly, she went on the trip because she loved me. She always loved the things that were most important to me. She wanted to see the faces of the ones I had told her all about. She wanted to see the places I saw and go the places I went. What mattered to me, mattered to her. (And I know my siblings would all say the same...)
So, off we went like Thelma and Louise on a crazy trans-atlantic adventure. I'll start by telling you that we nearly lost her in the Amsterdam airport. Like, for real. She took off like a shot (because I may have mentioned we needed to move fast), only she took off in the complete wrong direction!! It was a close call!
We roomed together, and ate together, and prayed together and cried together. If she were here right now, I'd remind her about the "cabbage hall". We had to walk in this one hallway every morning. It had a very distinct smell. I almost hurled every day. We would hold our breath and run down the hallway.
After the conference, we had time to explore Budapest. We walked arm and arm in and out of shops, trying to stay warm! AND as if all of that were not enough, we got to travel to Germany at the end of our trip. Some friends of ours (the same man who made all these trips happen for me) were on the brink of moving to Germany to be missionaries. They were trying to figure out where they would be living. We were more than happy to help them explore! :) Never mind the fact that I'm pretty sure it was a record breaking-ly COLD winter, we made the best of it and made memories as fast as we could.
When you lose someone important you think about what you might do if you had just one more day with them. If I had one more day, I would for sure want to spend it with mom and my siblings piled on a couch somewhere. But, if I had two days? We would bundle up, take off arm and arm, and see the sights.
Well, it turns out that yesterday, the day, was a non-writing day. While it was a non-writing day, it was a pro look like a slob and eat ice-cream day. So there's that. Onward and upward...
There are certain opportunities that come around in life that simply overwhelm. They overwhelm in the moment and they overwhelm in hindsight. I was afforded one of these opportunities around 11 years ago. And when I look back, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
I was working in the Children's Ministry department of my church in Knoxville. My job was in flux. (Oh wait. That would sum up my entire "career" there...) I was trying to decide what to do with the church and the church was trying to decide what to do with me. During this time I was approached by the missions pastor (at the time...a lot of flux was going around...) and he asked me how I would feel about leading a trip of Children's Ministry folks who would provide children's programming for a missionary conference in Central Europe.
Let me take a minute and back the story up. When I was in high school I was given another amazing opportunity. I joined two great friends from my church and a few other girls from across the state and traveled to Santiago, Chile to serve missionary kids at a conference. I was young and the whole experience was overwhelming and amazing all at the same time. I walked away from that trip with a huge heart for missionary kids. I had spent my life learning about missionaries. But that trip gave me eyes to see the missionaries as real people, not just names on paper. They were real families, living real lives. They missed their grandparents, they felt torn between cultures, they experienced all the same things I experienced, but with about 10 extra layers of stuff to deal with.
When I was given the chance to get to know a whole new group of them? Well, I didn't hesitate to say yes!
The first year we traveled to the conference we left on December 31, 2001. Three and a half months after 9/11. I was terrified and had worked out several scenarios of what I would do if we ended up with a terrorist on our flight. You think I'm kidding. The scary plane ride aside, the trip was one of the most rich and fulfilling experiences of my life. It was hard work and there were team "dynamics" that I was ill-equipped to deal with, yet had to deal with. But, in the middle of all that real life stuff, I met some of the most amazing kids I would ever meet. I fell head over heels in love with all those Central Europe MKs.
The following year, as I began to assemble the team, Big Dan decided to stay home. He had gone on the trip the year before and he loved it as well. But, it was his first year in law school, and missing class wasn't an option. This left a unique opening on the team. You'll never guess who wanted to go...
MOM.
Of course you guessed. Because by now you know she did not miss the opportunity for an adventure. (Well, and I guess you knew this post was going to be about her, too, huh?)
Do you see the whole picture of the opportunity I was given here? My heart just swells with gratitude when I think about it. My mom and I had the opportunity to travel together to Budapest, Hungary to minister to missionary kids. This was like the be all, end all of full circle moments.
Mom went on the trip because she loved adventure. She went on the trip because she loved missionaries and their kids. But mostly, she went on the trip because she loved me. She always loved the things that were most important to me. She wanted to see the faces of the ones I had told her all about. She wanted to see the places I saw and go the places I went. What mattered to me, mattered to her. (And I know my siblings would all say the same...)
So, off we went like Thelma and Louise on a crazy trans-atlantic adventure. I'll start by telling you that we nearly lost her in the Amsterdam airport. Like, for real. She took off like a shot (because I may have mentioned we needed to move fast), only she took off in the complete wrong direction!! It was a close call!
We roomed together, and ate together, and prayed together and cried together. If she were here right now, I'd remind her about the "cabbage hall". We had to walk in this one hallway every morning. It had a very distinct smell. I almost hurled every day. We would hold our breath and run down the hallway.
After the conference, we had time to explore Budapest. We walked arm and arm in and out of shops, trying to stay warm! AND as if all of that were not enough, we got to travel to Germany at the end of our trip. Some friends of ours (the same man who made all these trips happen for me) were on the brink of moving to Germany to be missionaries. They were trying to figure out where they would be living. We were more than happy to help them explore! :) Never mind the fact that I'm pretty sure it was a record breaking-ly COLD winter, we made the best of it and made memories as fast as we could.
When you lose someone important you think about what you might do if you had just one more day with them. If I had one more day, I would for sure want to spend it with mom and my siblings piled on a couch somewhere. But, if I had two days? We would bundle up, take off arm and arm, and see the sights.
Monday, March 11, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Ten
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
A few nights ago, I was hanging out with Drew before bed. He has been doing some work around the house to earn an allowance. That night, he was admiring one of his dollar bills (he refuses any sort of coin payment) and decided he wanted to put it under his pillow. I laughed and said, "It will be just like the tooth fairy came!" Then we discussed the reasons why he still has not lost a single tooth, and he pointed out that it might be worth investing in some fake teeth as a money making scheme. Then he looked me right in the eyes and said, "Mom, is the tooth fairy real??"
Well, shoot.
This is one of those moments that, if you're a raging, psycho parenting freak like myself, you've prepared yourself for. Most normal people probably don't plan for stuff like this, but we've established I'm far outside the "normal" box. I think you'll see from my response that I totally nailed it...
"Do you think the tooth fairy is real?"
See? Nailed it.
Guh.
I know where this is headed. This is headed for a discussion around a jolly old elf. I got kind of sad thinking we were headed there. If I'm honest, I'd tell you that I'm surprised Drew has believed in Santa this long. He's a gigantic skeptic. I was gloomy until I remembered how Mom handled it when I asked her if Santa was real.
I can't remember exactly how old I was when I asked her if Santa was real. I can remember feeling nervous to ask her, fearing somehow I was going to disappoint her. There was no real pressure to believe in Santa at my house growing up. I mean, we did, but when we asked, Mom told us the truth. But the way she did it took away the sting of the disappointment and helped me understand where the "warm" feeling came from at Christmas time.
When I asked her, she pulled me onto her lap (which does little to narrow down the time table-I sat on her lap well into my twenties!) and told me the story of St. Nicholas. You know, the real guy. I'm sure if she'd had access to Google, she would've shown me a picture. She shared with me his heart for Christ and his heart for children. Because I had watched Mom give to those in need so many times, I totally understood the story. She talked with me about why we gave and received gifts, why it was fun to have surprises, and why she let us believe in Santa. She wanted to be sure I knew she hadn't lied to me-that Santa was for fun, and she also wanted me to know that the fun wouldn't be over now that I knew the bigger story.
Christmas wasn't ruined at all for me when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Mom made Christmas magical every year, and it was even more special when I understood the heart behind it. Not to mention the fun of being in on the "secret" before any of my siblings!
So. The day of revealing is drawing nigh for me. I can't wait to tell Drew about St. Nicholas. I hope that I am able to convey the warmth and excitement about giving that Mom did. Besides, I won't mind having my own little "elf" for helping on Christmas Eve, either!
A few nights ago, I was hanging out with Drew before bed. He has been doing some work around the house to earn an allowance. That night, he was admiring one of his dollar bills (he refuses any sort of coin payment) and decided he wanted to put it under his pillow. I laughed and said, "It will be just like the tooth fairy came!" Then we discussed the reasons why he still has not lost a single tooth, and he pointed out that it might be worth investing in some fake teeth as a money making scheme. Then he looked me right in the eyes and said, "Mom, is the tooth fairy real??"
Well, shoot.
This is one of those moments that, if you're a raging, psycho parenting freak like myself, you've prepared yourself for. Most normal people probably don't plan for stuff like this, but we've established I'm far outside the "normal" box. I think you'll see from my response that I totally nailed it...
"Do you think the tooth fairy is real?"
See? Nailed it.
Guh.
I know where this is headed. This is headed for a discussion around a jolly old elf. I got kind of sad thinking we were headed there. If I'm honest, I'd tell you that I'm surprised Drew has believed in Santa this long. He's a gigantic skeptic. I was gloomy until I remembered how Mom handled it when I asked her if Santa was real.
I can't remember exactly how old I was when I asked her if Santa was real. I can remember feeling nervous to ask her, fearing somehow I was going to disappoint her. There was no real pressure to believe in Santa at my house growing up. I mean, we did, but when we asked, Mom told us the truth. But the way she did it took away the sting of the disappointment and helped me understand where the "warm" feeling came from at Christmas time.
When I asked her, she pulled me onto her lap (which does little to narrow down the time table-I sat on her lap well into my twenties!) and told me the story of St. Nicholas. You know, the real guy. I'm sure if she'd had access to Google, she would've shown me a picture. She shared with me his heart for Christ and his heart for children. Because I had watched Mom give to those in need so many times, I totally understood the story. She talked with me about why we gave and received gifts, why it was fun to have surprises, and why she let us believe in Santa. She wanted to be sure I knew she hadn't lied to me-that Santa was for fun, and she also wanted me to know that the fun wouldn't be over now that I knew the bigger story.
Christmas wasn't ruined at all for me when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Mom made Christmas magical every year, and it was even more special when I understood the heart behind it. Not to mention the fun of being in on the "secret" before any of my siblings!
So. The day of revealing is drawing nigh for me. I can't wait to tell Drew about St. Nicholas. I hope that I am able to convey the warmth and excitement about giving that Mom did. Besides, I won't mind having my own little "elf" for helping on Christmas Eve, either!
12 Days of Mom-Day Nine
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
Um, so sorry about my unannounced absence. Big Dan and I spent the weekend with some soul friends doing what the four of us do best-eating, sleeping and being hilarious. It was a beyond welcome hiatus from reality. I took my computer along, but I couldn't risk the ugly cry ruining all the laughing. So, I'll be a few days behind on these posts. It seems appropriate-running behind is the Hamilton way.
Some of you know that I work at a church. Some of you knew me when I worked at another church. Some of you have no idea that I have ever worked at a church. Now you know-I work at a church.
When I was 15 years old, I experienced what was termed "a call to ministry" in the church I grew up in. (Baptist, remember?) I think I would probably still call it that, but in case those terms are not familiar, it has meant to me, that I'm a church person. Only in the last couple of years has some of the fog cleared around this for me. I have realized how much I love, and have always loved, the local church. It's my place. Some of it is a comfort thing. I know how to navigate there. I know what's expected. I know where I fit and what I do well. I also know the things I won't be asked to do-anything music related. One summer at camp I talked my way into the worship band as the "egg shaker". I live in Nashville now. Even the "egg shakers" are professionals.
My love for the church comes straight from one place. Mom.
Mom and I have very different stories of how we came to the church. Mom was in her twenties, with me slung on her hip when she fell madly in love with Jesus. The grace she had been longing for her entire life, well, she found it. And when she did, she wanted to make sure others found it, too.
Some of my earliest memories of Mom are memories at church. I remember being 3 and 4 with her teaching my "Mission Friends" class. She was a hands on teacher-I feel like I remember making banana fritters every year as we studied a certain country. (No idea exactly where we would be studying that required making banana fritters...perhaps the curriculum was stretching it a bit!) We learned what missionaries did and we prayed for them.
Mom was also THE QUEEN of VBS. When I was very young we attended a church that was 20 or so minutes away from our home. So, everyday of VBS, Mom drove a great big blue church van and picked up as many kids as would fit on her way. Many of them were from our own neighborhood. She made crafts and signs and banners. She taught every grade and led every special area. She served cookies. She served red kool-aid. She LOVED kids.
It wasn't long before Mom was employed by a church. It was her first job after being home with us for many years. Church was place where she finally felt she belonged.
My first job after college was working at my home church. My mom was my secretary. Bahahahahaha! We laughed about it then and we laughed about it many times after that. In case you are thinking we had a traditional employer/employee relationship, you can think again.
As with any place filled with people, church was not always easy for Mom. Sometimes when life gets too real, people don't really know what to do. It's hard to know how to help people who have been hit by one of life's tidal waves, it is. But even in her hardest days, her greatest longing was to find a place again. A church where she fit and felt a part. I'm SO grateful that she did. Because in those last weeks her people-her church people-did not shy away from her suffering. They came around her and loved her in ways both tangible and intangible. And so many from her communities before were there.
I know church can be hard. I know for some of you reading this church has not offered what you were hoping for. I try to keep in mind that it's only part of God's plan for my walk with him. But, it is a part. When we bump up against others, it exposes those places in us that need examining. Maybe the point of church is not to make us feel good, but to show us the places we need to grow, and to let go.
My memories of Wednesday night supper, of hymn singing, and youth choir and VBS are all wrapped up by the memory of Mom. I'm thankful she passed along her love of the church to me. I hope I am doing the same for Drew and Emily.
Um, so sorry about my unannounced absence. Big Dan and I spent the weekend with some soul friends doing what the four of us do best-eating, sleeping and being hilarious. It was a beyond welcome hiatus from reality. I took my computer along, but I couldn't risk the ugly cry ruining all the laughing. So, I'll be a few days behind on these posts. It seems appropriate-running behind is the Hamilton way.
Some of you know that I work at a church. Some of you knew me when I worked at another church. Some of you have no idea that I have ever worked at a church. Now you know-I work at a church.
When I was 15 years old, I experienced what was termed "a call to ministry" in the church I grew up in. (Baptist, remember?) I think I would probably still call it that, but in case those terms are not familiar, it has meant to me, that I'm a church person. Only in the last couple of years has some of the fog cleared around this for me. I have realized how much I love, and have always loved, the local church. It's my place. Some of it is a comfort thing. I know how to navigate there. I know what's expected. I know where I fit and what I do well. I also know the things I won't be asked to do-anything music related. One summer at camp I talked my way into the worship band as the "egg shaker". I live in Nashville now. Even the "egg shakers" are professionals.
My love for the church comes straight from one place. Mom.
Mom and I have very different stories of how we came to the church. Mom was in her twenties, with me slung on her hip when she fell madly in love with Jesus. The grace she had been longing for her entire life, well, she found it. And when she did, she wanted to make sure others found it, too.
Some of my earliest memories of Mom are memories at church. I remember being 3 and 4 with her teaching my "Mission Friends" class. She was a hands on teacher-I feel like I remember making banana fritters every year as we studied a certain country. (No idea exactly where we would be studying that required making banana fritters...perhaps the curriculum was stretching it a bit!) We learned what missionaries did and we prayed for them.
Mom was also THE QUEEN of VBS. When I was very young we attended a church that was 20 or so minutes away from our home. So, everyday of VBS, Mom drove a great big blue church van and picked up as many kids as would fit on her way. Many of them were from our own neighborhood. She made crafts and signs and banners. She taught every grade and led every special area. She served cookies. She served red kool-aid. She LOVED kids.
It wasn't long before Mom was employed by a church. It was her first job after being home with us for many years. Church was place where she finally felt she belonged.
My first job after college was working at my home church. My mom was my secretary. Bahahahahaha! We laughed about it then and we laughed about it many times after that. In case you are thinking we had a traditional employer/employee relationship, you can think again.
As with any place filled with people, church was not always easy for Mom. Sometimes when life gets too real, people don't really know what to do. It's hard to know how to help people who have been hit by one of life's tidal waves, it is. But even in her hardest days, her greatest longing was to find a place again. A church where she fit and felt a part. I'm SO grateful that she did. Because in those last weeks her people-her church people-did not shy away from her suffering. They came around her and loved her in ways both tangible and intangible. And so many from her communities before were there.
I know church can be hard. I know for some of you reading this church has not offered what you were hoping for. I try to keep in mind that it's only part of God's plan for my walk with him. But, it is a part. When we bump up against others, it exposes those places in us that need examining. Maybe the point of church is not to make us feel good, but to show us the places we need to grow, and to let go.
My memories of Wednesday night supper, of hymn singing, and youth choir and VBS are all wrapped up by the memory of Mom. I'm thankful she passed along her love of the church to me. I hope I am doing the same for Drew and Emily.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Eight
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
I was 19 years old when I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time. I fell madly, deeply, head over heels in love with them. Truthfully, I had a big, giant crush on the entire state of Colorado.
The summer following my freshman year of college I participated in a college student discipleship program in St. Louis, MO. The program include intense small group bible study, leadership training, a job, and a ministry placement. We were busy. Also, the job was at Six Flags Mid-America. I could write around 25 posts just on that experience alone. "Gooooood morning! (afternoon, evening) welcome to THUNDER river!" Next time you are visiting a theme park, and you ride a water ride? Take an extra moment and thank the ride attendee. He or she has probably been there most of the day standing in wet shoes.
While my job was not my all time favorite, my ministry placement was definitely favorite. I worked as a jr. high ministry intern with a large church. It was this group that took me on my maiden voyage to Colorado. It was an amazing trip. And all I could think about was how in the world I was going to get back there. One morning, during a meeting for all the adults at camp, the ministry running the camp shared about a new opportunity that would be available for the following summer. "The Rock at Ute Trail Ranch". "The Rock" (most all the staff rebuffed the name and called it "Ute Trail") would be a backpacking camp catering to youth groups. Bring your whole group for a time of bonding and spiritual growth in the wilderness of Colorado. I could hardly believe my ears. I started praying right then and there that somehow I would get to work there. It would be a loooooong shot. I had only anecdotal backpacking experience (sort of like most people in college), and after all, I was on my very first trip to Colorado ever. None of it daunted me. I stalked that camp like a 7th grade ex-girlfriend. The minute applications came available, I filled mine out. And then I started waiting...
Against all odds and the better judgment of the camp leadership I was hired to be a guide at Ute Trail. Again, I could veer off here and write about 100 posts about my time there. But, I'm sure by now you're wondering what in the world this has to do with Mom.
My decision to go to a brand new camp in the middle of nowhere Colorado was met with hesitation from most people in my life. But not Mom. Here's the thing about Mom, she would take an adventure anywhere she could get it. And while I'm a more cautious version of her, deep in my bones, I love an adventure myself.
In order to get myself and all of my gear to Lake City, Colorado, it was going to cost way more than we had for me to fly. I was unsure about how any of it was going to work out. That's when Mom made "the decision". It was crazy. It was not popular. Looking back, I'd say it wasn't super fair to my siblings. Mom decided she and I would drive cross country to Colorado. She would drop me off at camp and then make the return trip on her own. Oh yes. She did.
Our trip out to Colorado ranks at the very top of the list when it comes to memories. It was a hilarious trip. We loaded Mom's car with enough stuff to last me a summer and then we threw in a case of Slim Fast shakes to drink on the way. I know that seems like it might not be true, but all of the story is exactly what happened.
Our first day we drove through Kentucky and to St. Louis. We stayed the night at Missouri Baptist College, where I lived the summer before. Mom was able to meet some of the important folks from that summer. It was amazing to have her there.
The next day we embarked on what would be the longest day of our lives. You want to know why? Because we had to drive across Kansas. I don't know if you've ever driven across Kansas. If you haven't, I warn you, never do it. You might love Kansas. And I'm sure off the beaten path there are many hidden treasures in Kansas. But along the interstate, where your drive straight for 11 million hours? Mind.numbing. We became completely delirious.
We drove, and drove, and drove. Finally, we crossed the border into Eastern Colorado, which by the way, bears a striking resemblance to Kansas. I needed those mountains to come into view. I needed to remember why I decided to do this crazy thing anyway. As we moved westward (feeling pretty much like pioneers...) the mountains appeared. We oohed and ahhed. And then we laughed hysterically, because, WE DROVE ACROSS THE COUNTRY! By this time we were starving, and then by the time we got to dinner, we were so exhausted we could barely eat.
We spent the night in Colorado Springs (with me declaring in that very 19 year old way that I would live there someday...I haven't been back since...) and the next morning we began our journey to Ute Trail. And it was quite a journey. There was almost too much awesome to take in. Beautiful scenery everywhere. As we crept higher in elevation, the roads got more narrow and windier. "What are we doing here??" we kept asking each other!
As we pulled into Ute Trail, I heard my mom draw in her breath. The place, quite frankly was a bit of a shambles. Part of our work for the summer would be repairing some of the buildings and other structures on the campus. Mom met the director and his family. She met a friend of mine from the summer before. She got to spend the night in one of the cabins with me. Gah! When I really stop to remember-what an unbelievable thing she did for me.
The next morning she was leaving early. She had a very long drive back to Tennessee, all on her own. As I walked her out of the cabin she grabbed me and started crying really big, loud sobs. So loud they echoed up and down the valley at the crack of dawn. "Shhhh!!", I kept saying. She insisted that she was not leaving me in that "God forsaken" place. She told me it wasn't too late. I could just get in the car and go right back home with her. It was tempting. I didn't want to let her go. She had been my cheerleader in this endeavor. She encouraged when no one else did. She even made me stationary so I could write my friends. (You know, in the dark ages before readily accessible email...) The one person who really believed I could do it was about to get in her car and drive away.
I needed her a whole lot that summer. She pushed me to finish what I started when I wanted to quit. She listened, tirelessly, to me download everything I was experiencing. She wrote me letters.
All of us need that one person-that person who believes in you so much it comes out of them when they're around. My summer on the heights...brought to me by Mom.
I was 19 years old when I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time. I fell madly, deeply, head over heels in love with them. Truthfully, I had a big, giant crush on the entire state of Colorado.
The summer following my freshman year of college I participated in a college student discipleship program in St. Louis, MO. The program include intense small group bible study, leadership training, a job, and a ministry placement. We were busy. Also, the job was at Six Flags Mid-America. I could write around 25 posts just on that experience alone. "Gooooood morning! (afternoon, evening) welcome to THUNDER river!" Next time you are visiting a theme park, and you ride a water ride? Take an extra moment and thank the ride attendee. He or she has probably been there most of the day standing in wet shoes.
While my job was not my all time favorite, my ministry placement was definitely favorite. I worked as a jr. high ministry intern with a large church. It was this group that took me on my maiden voyage to Colorado. It was an amazing trip. And all I could think about was how in the world I was going to get back there. One morning, during a meeting for all the adults at camp, the ministry running the camp shared about a new opportunity that would be available for the following summer. "The Rock at Ute Trail Ranch". "The Rock" (most all the staff rebuffed the name and called it "Ute Trail") would be a backpacking camp catering to youth groups. Bring your whole group for a time of bonding and spiritual growth in the wilderness of Colorado. I could hardly believe my ears. I started praying right then and there that somehow I would get to work there. It would be a loooooong shot. I had only anecdotal backpacking experience (sort of like most people in college), and after all, I was on my very first trip to Colorado ever. None of it daunted me. I stalked that camp like a 7th grade ex-girlfriend. The minute applications came available, I filled mine out. And then I started waiting...
Against all odds and the better judgment of the camp leadership I was hired to be a guide at Ute Trail. Again, I could veer off here and write about 100 posts about my time there. But, I'm sure by now you're wondering what in the world this has to do with Mom.
My decision to go to a brand new camp in the middle of nowhere Colorado was met with hesitation from most people in my life. But not Mom. Here's the thing about Mom, she would take an adventure anywhere she could get it. And while I'm a more cautious version of her, deep in my bones, I love an adventure myself.
In order to get myself and all of my gear to Lake City, Colorado, it was going to cost way more than we had for me to fly. I was unsure about how any of it was going to work out. That's when Mom made "the decision". It was crazy. It was not popular. Looking back, I'd say it wasn't super fair to my siblings. Mom decided she and I would drive cross country to Colorado. She would drop me off at camp and then make the return trip on her own. Oh yes. She did.
Our trip out to Colorado ranks at the very top of the list when it comes to memories. It was a hilarious trip. We loaded Mom's car with enough stuff to last me a summer and then we threw in a case of Slim Fast shakes to drink on the way. I know that seems like it might not be true, but all of the story is exactly what happened.
Our first day we drove through Kentucky and to St. Louis. We stayed the night at Missouri Baptist College, where I lived the summer before. Mom was able to meet some of the important folks from that summer. It was amazing to have her there.
The next day we embarked on what would be the longest day of our lives. You want to know why? Because we had to drive across Kansas. I don't know if you've ever driven across Kansas. If you haven't, I warn you, never do it. You might love Kansas. And I'm sure off the beaten path there are many hidden treasures in Kansas. But along the interstate, where your drive straight for 11 million hours? Mind.numbing. We became completely delirious.
We drove, and drove, and drove. Finally, we crossed the border into Eastern Colorado, which by the way, bears a striking resemblance to Kansas. I needed those mountains to come into view. I needed to remember why I decided to do this crazy thing anyway. As we moved westward (feeling pretty much like pioneers...) the mountains appeared. We oohed and ahhed. And then we laughed hysterically, because, WE DROVE ACROSS THE COUNTRY! By this time we were starving, and then by the time we got to dinner, we were so exhausted we could barely eat.
We spent the night in Colorado Springs (with me declaring in that very 19 year old way that I would live there someday...I haven't been back since...) and the next morning we began our journey to Ute Trail. And it was quite a journey. There was almost too much awesome to take in. Beautiful scenery everywhere. As we crept higher in elevation, the roads got more narrow and windier. "What are we doing here??" we kept asking each other!
As we pulled into Ute Trail, I heard my mom draw in her breath. The place, quite frankly was a bit of a shambles. Part of our work for the summer would be repairing some of the buildings and other structures on the campus. Mom met the director and his family. She met a friend of mine from the summer before. She got to spend the night in one of the cabins with me. Gah! When I really stop to remember-what an unbelievable thing she did for me.
The next morning she was leaving early. She had a very long drive back to Tennessee, all on her own. As I walked her out of the cabin she grabbed me and started crying really big, loud sobs. So loud they echoed up and down the valley at the crack of dawn. "Shhhh!!", I kept saying. She insisted that she was not leaving me in that "God forsaken" place. She told me it wasn't too late. I could just get in the car and go right back home with her. It was tempting. I didn't want to let her go. She had been my cheerleader in this endeavor. She encouraged when no one else did. She even made me stationary so I could write my friends. (You know, in the dark ages before readily accessible email...) The one person who really believed I could do it was about to get in her car and drive away.
I needed her a whole lot that summer. She pushed me to finish what I started when I wanted to quit. She listened, tirelessly, to me download everything I was experiencing. She wrote me letters.
All of us need that one person-that person who believes in you so much it comes out of them when they're around. My summer on the heights...brought to me by Mom.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Six
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
The year I was in second grade was the highlight of my schooling career. And that is saying something, because I've had some really amazing teachers all the way through. You know, all the way through a master's degree (have I mentioned that?? ha!) But, no teacher will ever hold a candle to my second grade teacher.
First grade had been a time of high anxiety for me. I LOVED my teacher but she was loud and bossy. She hollered at other kids a lot, one kid in particular. I kept trying to tell him if he would just follow the rules he wouldn't be in trouble all the time. I'm sure he really appreciated my seven year old advice. Going into second grade, every student had the same dread-that they would get the really mean teacher. Even as I look back, it's clear that she was the meanest teacher in the school. She looked mean, she sounded mean, and I was terrified. Mom was not a believer in meddling in school affairs. She did not request teachers and she did not make a habit of coming down to the school to confront teachers. So, it was a long summer of biting our nails.
There had been no need for us to worry. Because I ended up in 2nd grade fantasy land. When I think about being a teacher, this is the kind of teacher I want to be. I don't think this will ever happen. My teacher was beautiful, and soft spoken, and sweet and encouraging. I lean more towards loud and bossy. She was super creative-she was teaching way ahead of her time. Now, they train teachers to teach the way she did. At the time she was a complete anomaly.
I could tell a million stories about her. But this is not a post about her, now is it? This story is about the time Mom let me bring home the class pet for summer vacation. If I am remembering correctly we had more than one class pet in our second grade room. By far the most popular pet was a black and white rabbit named Oreo. It was a classroom job to help take care of him and a BIG deal when it was my turn to do the job. As summer vacation approached, my teacher let all of us know that she was looking for someone to take the rabbit home for the summer. Well, I knew right then I was the girl for the job. I went home and asked Mom, just knowing she would be so excited. It turns out she was not excited. *Cue the 8 year old dramatics* I'm pretty sure I told her there was no one nearly as responsible as me in the class. What if something happened to Oreo because you paved the way for some hooligan to take him home? Did I mention Mom had a soft heart?
A few weeks later, we had a new pet.
We kept Oreo's cage in my room. (Which? Blech!! Why did I think that was a good idea?) But, Oreo spent a lot of time out of his cage. There were three of us kids at the time ages 8, 4, and 3. I feel about fifty different kinds of sorry for that poor rabbit looking back. I'm sure he was carried by his ears, and legs and upside down. We spent a lot of time just following him around. We spent a lot of time cleaning up after him. I don't know if you're aware, but rabbits leave a little trail. We also spent a lot of time looking for him and coaxing him out of hiding places. You might also have missed that rabbits can be really fast when they feel threatened. You have to know that Mom was absolutely horrified by this whole situation. She had to have been. But I don't remember her acting that way. She was supportive and sweet. She bought the food and helped me clean out the nasty cage.
Supportive all kind of changed the day the rabbit got outside.
Probably saying "he got outside" is misleading. He was taken outside. By me. I felt he should have some time in his natural habit. You know, a suburban front yard. I thought he would enjoy hopping around in the grass and maybe nibbling on a dandelion. Only, I forgot about the part where around 6 dogs lived within sniffing distance back in the days before leash laws. The worst offender was a dang cocker spaniel who lived next door. I apologize if you are a cocker spaniel lover, because I am a cocker spaniel hater. And I especially hated this dog. He peed on my foot his first day on the block and I still haven't forgiven him. Well, the horrid cocker spaniel came tearing into the yard and picked up Oreo in his mouth and took off running. Oreo. The class pet. On loan to us from the fairy godmother of second grade teachers.
Hysterics ensued. I was screaming and crying. I can remember Mom going after that dog calling his name in her meanest voice. I can tell you she was not afraid of getting between a dog and his "kill". She was afraid to be the mom who let the class pet get eaten by a dog. She chased him down and rapped him on the nose repeatedly until he put Oreo down. I mean, really. That dog could have bitten her hand off!! She brought the bunny to me and ordered me to calm down and go inside.
It took a while for her to come to my room. I think she was probably off somewhere FREAKING OUT. When she came in she said, "When you go back to school, the rabbit goes back. I can't handle the pressure."
I thought surely by the time summer break was over, she would've softened her stance. She did not flinch. And on the first day of third grade she marched in the school building holding Oreo in his rabbit cage. She walked straight to my old second grade classroom and promptly returned the rabbit. The teacher looked at her dumbfounded. And then she said, "In all of my years of teaching, I've never had a pet returned to me after summer vacation."
Mom had a big heart. But even she had to draw the line somewhere!
The year I was in second grade was the highlight of my schooling career. And that is saying something, because I've had some really amazing teachers all the way through. You know, all the way through a master's degree (have I mentioned that?? ha!) But, no teacher will ever hold a candle to my second grade teacher.
First grade had been a time of high anxiety for me. I LOVED my teacher but she was loud and bossy. She hollered at other kids a lot, one kid in particular. I kept trying to tell him if he would just follow the rules he wouldn't be in trouble all the time. I'm sure he really appreciated my seven year old advice. Going into second grade, every student had the same dread-that they would get the really mean teacher. Even as I look back, it's clear that she was the meanest teacher in the school. She looked mean, she sounded mean, and I was terrified. Mom was not a believer in meddling in school affairs. She did not request teachers and she did not make a habit of coming down to the school to confront teachers. So, it was a long summer of biting our nails.
There had been no need for us to worry. Because I ended up in 2nd grade fantasy land. When I think about being a teacher, this is the kind of teacher I want to be. I don't think this will ever happen. My teacher was beautiful, and soft spoken, and sweet and encouraging. I lean more towards loud and bossy. She was super creative-she was teaching way ahead of her time. Now, they train teachers to teach the way she did. At the time she was a complete anomaly.
I could tell a million stories about her. But this is not a post about her, now is it? This story is about the time Mom let me bring home the class pet for summer vacation. If I am remembering correctly we had more than one class pet in our second grade room. By far the most popular pet was a black and white rabbit named Oreo. It was a classroom job to help take care of him and a BIG deal when it was my turn to do the job. As summer vacation approached, my teacher let all of us know that she was looking for someone to take the rabbit home for the summer. Well, I knew right then I was the girl for the job. I went home and asked Mom, just knowing she would be so excited. It turns out she was not excited. *Cue the 8 year old dramatics* I'm pretty sure I told her there was no one nearly as responsible as me in the class. What if something happened to Oreo because you paved the way for some hooligan to take him home? Did I mention Mom had a soft heart?
A few weeks later, we had a new pet.
We kept Oreo's cage in my room. (Which? Blech!! Why did I think that was a good idea?) But, Oreo spent a lot of time out of his cage. There were three of us kids at the time ages 8, 4, and 3. I feel about fifty different kinds of sorry for that poor rabbit looking back. I'm sure he was carried by his ears, and legs and upside down. We spent a lot of time just following him around. We spent a lot of time cleaning up after him. I don't know if you're aware, but rabbits leave a little trail. We also spent a lot of time looking for him and coaxing him out of hiding places. You might also have missed that rabbits can be really fast when they feel threatened. You have to know that Mom was absolutely horrified by this whole situation. She had to have been. But I don't remember her acting that way. She was supportive and sweet. She bought the food and helped me clean out the nasty cage.
Supportive all kind of changed the day the rabbit got outside.
Probably saying "he got outside" is misleading. He was taken outside. By me. I felt he should have some time in his natural habit. You know, a suburban front yard. I thought he would enjoy hopping around in the grass and maybe nibbling on a dandelion. Only, I forgot about the part where around 6 dogs lived within sniffing distance back in the days before leash laws. The worst offender was a dang cocker spaniel who lived next door. I apologize if you are a cocker spaniel lover, because I am a cocker spaniel hater. And I especially hated this dog. He peed on my foot his first day on the block and I still haven't forgiven him. Well, the horrid cocker spaniel came tearing into the yard and picked up Oreo in his mouth and took off running. Oreo. The class pet. On loan to us from the fairy godmother of second grade teachers.
Hysterics ensued. I was screaming and crying. I can remember Mom going after that dog calling his name in her meanest voice. I can tell you she was not afraid of getting between a dog and his "kill". She was afraid to be the mom who let the class pet get eaten by a dog. She chased him down and rapped him on the nose repeatedly until he put Oreo down. I mean, really. That dog could have bitten her hand off!! She brought the bunny to me and ordered me to calm down and go inside.
It took a while for her to come to my room. I think she was probably off somewhere FREAKING OUT. When she came in she said, "When you go back to school, the rabbit goes back. I can't handle the pressure."
I thought surely by the time summer break was over, she would've softened her stance. She did not flinch. And on the first day of third grade she marched in the school building holding Oreo in his rabbit cage. She walked straight to my old second grade classroom and promptly returned the rabbit. The teacher looked at her dumbfounded. And then she said, "In all of my years of teaching, I've never had a pet returned to me after summer vacation."
Mom had a big heart. But even she had to draw the line somewhere!
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Five
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
If you have known my family for any length of time, you know that we tend to make a ruckus in everything we do. We are not a quiet family. We are not a subtle family. And this was definitely the case when we decided to give Mom some grandchildren. She went from zero grandchildren to three grandchildren in the space of 6 months!
If you have known my family for any length of time, you know that we tend to make a ruckus in everything we do. We are not a quiet family. We are not a subtle family. And this was definitely the case when we decided to give Mom some grandchildren. She went from zero grandchildren to three grandchildren in the space of 6 months!
When it was my turn to have my first baby (I went last!) Mom was sick with a stomach virus! It just about killed her that she couldn't be there with me. We won't even discuss how I felt about it, particularly post-partum!! She had used all of her vacation days on the other sweet babies, so we decided she would come be with me after the first of the year (Drew was born in December). When Drew turned 8 weeks old, I would begin keeping my sweet niece, Lyla, three days a week. We decided Mom would come and stay that first week and help me get adjusted to my new normal.
I love a plan. I have been a planner for most of my life. My plans are all about avoiding pain, discomfort, trouble, challenge, and hardship. Guess who thinks my plans are hilarious? God. Yep, for just about as long as I've been making my plans, God has been changing them up right quick. The Lord and I have had many conversations about this, but that is a post for another day.
I had lots of plans about having a newborn. Don't get me wrong-I was not an idealist about having a baby. Quite the opposite. I'm pretty sure I got all the way to the end of the parenting section of the internet during my first trimester. I wanted to be prepared for anything. However, it turns out there were a few things I skipped over during all of my Googling. The main subject being the dread condition of silent reflux in a baby. Long time readers of my blog (all 8 of them) are more than familiar with the stomachache chronicles of my babies. Suffice it to say that when my first baby screamed his head off day and night and refused to eat, I was not prepared.
This gives you the backdrop to my mental state when Mom arrived on my doorstep at week 8 ready to help me get acclimated to caring for two babies. In my mind's eye, my hair is standing on end and my eyes are wild when she arrives. She was not stranger to that look. One of the first things she did was hug me tight and tell me everything was going to be ok. I blubbered. As I wandered around in a haze of no sleep and sweat, smelling like soy formula (also not in the plan...) she held her grandson (upright, at all times) and wondered at the miracle of it all.
She said, "I'm here to do whatever you need me to do." The one thing I had become fixated on was the putting together of my double stroller. It was the one with the frame you could put the infant car seats onto. Somehow, that stroller became the difference between life and death for me. Oh, fine. That's dramatic. But, I wanted that stroller put together, by gum, and we were just the team to do it. I can remember like it was yesterday, us sitting on the hardwood floor with those pieces spread around everywhere. It was tricky, because each infant seat is different. There were many variables. We laughed. We cried...FINE, I cried. Finally, we got it put together. It was a bright spot in a long first three months of Drew's life!
The day came when my baby girl Lyla was to come. I gave it about 15 minutes before I was ready to try out the stroller. (Can we say obsessed??) Added to the confusion of the contraption in general, was a series of straps that had to be fastened just right. You know, so you didn't lose a baby and whatnot. Can I also let you know that all of this occurred in the dead of winter?? So, the babies also had to be bundled in snowsuits. Because we were going for a walk, dang it!
Y'all. You know Mom thought I had lost my mind. But she never said so. She put on her coat and came right on along for our walk. She said encouraging things like, "Look at Drew! He's so happy outside!" This was code for "Thank THE LORD he is not crying!"
As much as I planned to know everything about being a mother, it turns out I knew zero about being a mother to Drew. Because there is only one him. For all of my planning and preparing, I wasn't prepared for how responsible I would feel. How the burden of making him ok would threaten to knock the breath right out of me. I cried big, wet crocodile tears when Mom's week was up. It was like Mary Poppins floating away with her umbrella.
I'm fairly certain I called her everyday of Drew's first year. Sometimes more than once a day. And sometimes just to say I'm sorry for putting her through what I was now going through. Over the early days of my children's lives she gave me SO many practical tips. Things I still think about weekly. And never once, not in any conversation, did she ever make me feel like I was nuts.
This alone would suffice as evidence of her massive love for me!
Monday, March 4, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Four
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
Not all of my memories of Mom are tender. And I don't mean that I'm about share some grievances. I just mean that every good memory I have does not necessarily wrap up with a nice bow of sentimentality or spirituality. Mom was not perfect, and she would be the one who would want everyone to know that. She was a firm, firm believer in grace. What follows is one of the most hilarious nights I ever spent with my mom.
When I graduated college I lived at home for a few months while I worked at my home church as the interim youth minister. I lived at home because they did not pay me enough to live anywhere else! When that job wrapped up, it was time for me to get on with my adult life. So, I got a job and I got a teeny, tiny one bedroom apartment. My best friends from college had moved away, and Big Dan was in Washington D.C., working on Capitol Hill. It was a lonely time in my life, but I was doing my best to get going. I worked on some serious fear issues living alone. I may or may not have set booby traps all over my apartment, just in case.
One night, I was sitting on the couch when my phone rang. This would be an actual land line phone. Because cell phone minutes were reserved for very special occasions. On the other end was Mom. She said, "I need you to come over right now." Oh my. I'm going to be real here for just a minute and tell you that coming from my house, it could have been anything. Literally. So, I hopped in the car and drove over. When I walked in my front door there stood Mom at the top of the steps with BLONDE hair. Like, blonde, blonde. If you never met my mother, please refer to the photo from a couple of posts ago. Her hair was brown. Dark brown. I was completely stunned. The first words she said to me were, "My hair is blonde!" Um, yeah, I noticed that. I'm a person who tries to be supportive, especially in a situation like this. "Wow! What made you decide you wanted to do this??" I told her it looked good. Did she like it? I asked. She was in a complete state of panic.
She wanted to like it, I know she did. She wanted to be brassy and hold her head high and strut around with a shock of blonde hair. But she was freaking out. I told her to give it a while, she would get used to it. "Mom, it's just SO DIFFERENT that it will take some getting used to."
I hated it. Probably a large part of that is the need kids have for their parents to be the same. All the time. I just needed my Mom to have brown hair again. But, of course, I never would've told her that. (Don't worry, the truth eventually came out!) At some point in all the talk about the hair, one of us suggested we go see a movie. You know, to get the HAIR out of our minds for a bit. When we walked to the car, Mom caught a glimpse of herself in the window. She groaned. At the theater, she caught her reflection in the window-she jumped! It kept shocking her over and over. By this time we were doubled over we were laughing so hard. My mother had self dyed her hair bright blonde.
I have no idea why, but the movie we chose to see was "The Green Mile". I don't know if you've seen this movie, but it's not one that really leaves a person with a settled feeling. When the movie was over and the lights came up, Mom looked at me and said, "This has been the weirdest day of my life. Let's go home and fix my hair." I sighed a heavy sigh of relief...on the inside of course. And we did just that.
No one who knew Mom would ever accuse her of being boring. When an idea came to her head, it was a pretty sure bet she was going to try it out. She decided definitively that day that blondes DO NOT have more fun.
Not all of my memories of Mom are tender. And I don't mean that I'm about share some grievances. I just mean that every good memory I have does not necessarily wrap up with a nice bow of sentimentality or spirituality. Mom was not perfect, and she would be the one who would want everyone to know that. She was a firm, firm believer in grace. What follows is one of the most hilarious nights I ever spent with my mom.
When I graduated college I lived at home for a few months while I worked at my home church as the interim youth minister. I lived at home because they did not pay me enough to live anywhere else! When that job wrapped up, it was time for me to get on with my adult life. So, I got a job and I got a teeny, tiny one bedroom apartment. My best friends from college had moved away, and Big Dan was in Washington D.C., working on Capitol Hill. It was a lonely time in my life, but I was doing my best to get going. I worked on some serious fear issues living alone. I may or may not have set booby traps all over my apartment, just in case.
One night, I was sitting on the couch when my phone rang. This would be an actual land line phone. Because cell phone minutes were reserved for very special occasions. On the other end was Mom. She said, "I need you to come over right now." Oh my. I'm going to be real here for just a minute and tell you that coming from my house, it could have been anything. Literally. So, I hopped in the car and drove over. When I walked in my front door there stood Mom at the top of the steps with BLONDE hair. Like, blonde, blonde. If you never met my mother, please refer to the photo from a couple of posts ago. Her hair was brown. Dark brown. I was completely stunned. The first words she said to me were, "My hair is blonde!" Um, yeah, I noticed that. I'm a person who tries to be supportive, especially in a situation like this. "Wow! What made you decide you wanted to do this??" I told her it looked good. Did she like it? I asked. She was in a complete state of panic.
She wanted to like it, I know she did. She wanted to be brassy and hold her head high and strut around with a shock of blonde hair. But she was freaking out. I told her to give it a while, she would get used to it. "Mom, it's just SO DIFFERENT that it will take some getting used to."
I hated it. Probably a large part of that is the need kids have for their parents to be the same. All the time. I just needed my Mom to have brown hair again. But, of course, I never would've told her that. (Don't worry, the truth eventually came out!) At some point in all the talk about the hair, one of us suggested we go see a movie. You know, to get the HAIR out of our minds for a bit. When we walked to the car, Mom caught a glimpse of herself in the window. She groaned. At the theater, she caught her reflection in the window-she jumped! It kept shocking her over and over. By this time we were doubled over we were laughing so hard. My mother had self dyed her hair bright blonde.
I have no idea why, but the movie we chose to see was "The Green Mile". I don't know if you've seen this movie, but it's not one that really leaves a person with a settled feeling. When the movie was over and the lights came up, Mom looked at me and said, "This has been the weirdest day of my life. Let's go home and fix my hair." I sighed a heavy sigh of relief...on the inside of course. And we did just that.
No one who knew Mom would ever accuse her of being boring. When an idea came to her head, it was a pretty sure bet she was going to try it out. She decided definitively that day that blondes DO NOT have more fun.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Three
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
I came out of the womb with my ever constant companion, fear. Well-I'm possibly exaggerating. It seems infants are blissfully unaware of exactly how fragile their lives are. So, let's just say, from my earliest, foggiest memories, fear was there with me. I don't know where or how I learned to be fearful. It really does seem it was just a part of my DNA. You know, furrowed brow and all that.
As a child, I was PAINFULLY shy. I refused to look adults in the face. I might glance at you if you were a mom. If you were a dad, I'd probably leave the room. I really did not discriminate in my shyness-long time friends, family, it didn't really matter. I can remember the feeling I would have in my stomach when I knew I was going to be seeing someone new. And, if I get super real, I still get that feeling in most social situations. Thus explaining all the awkward...
Mom walked an amazing line between understanding who I was and pushing me beyond my comfort zone. Looking back, I can't imagine how she did it. It is a line I try to walk in my parenting. For her it seemed so effortless and delicate. For me it feels bumbling and heavy.
One of my "pushing" memories of Mom involved a birthday present and a long walk. I was probably in kindergarten or first grade. One of my very best friends was a boy up the street and I had been waiting weeks for his birthday party. On the day of his party, his mother called mine letting her know that my friend had broken out in chicken pox. No party. Did I mention I wasn't exactly a flexible child? Um, and maybe a tad dramatic? I was so sad. I would wager that I made a grand and sweeping statement about the injustice of childhood diseases. What Mom did next was a stroke of parenting genius.
She handed me the present, told me to put on my jacket, and to walk the present up to my friend's house. (I would like to point out that at this particular time in my life I wore a rabbit skin coat that I truly believed was magnificent. Don't hate. You know you sported some scary stuff in the '80s your own self!) Based on the feeling that came over me, you would have believed that Mom was sending me off to walk into the mouth of a hungry lion. I was terrified. I was going to have to walk through the woods by myself? And knock on the door by myself? And probably talk to a GROWN-UP by myself?? Mom held my hand and reminded me of the very first Bible verse she ever taught me: "When I am afraid, I will trust in Thee." Psalm 56:3. (Please note we were Baptist and all of my childhood verses are etched on my heart in the good ol' King James Version) Y'all-I quoted that verse all the way through the woods, across the cul-de-sac, up the front yard and to the door. I knocked. I rang the doorbell. No one came. Some kids, at this point, would have knocked louder or pressed the doorbell multiple times in a row. Not me. I burst into tears. And ran back down the hill as fast as I could.
I did not want to admit "defeat" to Mom. So, I sat down by a large brush pile in the backyard and berated myself for being such a baby. But, of course, she was there, watching. She came out to meet me by the brush pile and asked me what happened. We talked it through and she told me I needed to try again. I was outraged. Why would she make me do this again? Meanest.mom.ever. She promised me it was important. The only way to stop being afraid was just to do the things that were scary. She also taught me a trick about listening for the doorbell once you press the button. If you hear it, you don't need to press it again. This is a trick I use to this day! She was a perfect blend of philosophical inspiration and practical advice.
I soldiered back up the hill and I delivered that gift. (Feel free to cheer...)
And the next years of my life looked very much the same. Mom could've easily taken me up the hill. She could've easily applauded me for trying and failing and taken me in for cookies and milk (Because we Hamilton girls do like to soothe a wound with some sugar!) But she didn't that day, and she didn't rescue me many, many times after that. I know it was hard for her. Mom had one of the most tender hearts on the planet. I know her well enough to know that she probably really wanted to rescue me all those times. But she knew better, and she didn't.
Of all the gifts Mom gave me, this might be the most important one. Because as time went on, and life got real, I bumped into things (fine, slammed into things) that she couldn't rescue me from. How wonderful that I already had a hunch what to do. Cling to my God, trust in Him, and just keeping trying.
In her last weeks, we would quote this verse to each other. Here we were again, face to face with fear. Something she couldn't rescue me from, and something I couldn't rescue her from. (Damn it... Sorry)
As much as I would love to protect my own children from everything horrible that happens on this Earth, because of Mom I know better. My prayer is that like her, I will arm them for battle and be brave enough to send them out to face their own fears.
"When I am afraid, I will trust in Thee." Psalm 56:3
Saturday, March 2, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day Two
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
When Drew was 10 1/2 months old, it was time for him to celebrate his very first Halloween. As you do when you only have one child, and it's their "first" anything, we made an occasion out of it. We decided we would travel to Knoxville and have Halloween with our Knoxville family. Looking back, this is hilarious. First of all, I know that neither Weston nor Drew have any memory of this whatsoever. Also, "trick or treating" is kind of a moot point when the kid can only eat a very narrow selection of food!
Anyway, when Mom found out that I was planning to dress Drew up as a puppy (his obsession at that time) she wasted no time in putting together the perfect, complimentary costume-a kitty!! So, Mom came to that Halloween party with ears and a tail and a fur collar, because she.was.awesome! (I would also like to take just a moment to point out how pleased she would be with a) her hair in this picture and b) her eyes in this picture!!)
One of the very best things about Mom was her ability to play. And I don't mean watch kids play encouragingly from the sidelines, I mean get in there and really play. She was the queen of pretend as a child and it carried right on through to being a Mom and a Grammy.
Being children of the '80s, my sisters and I went through quite a Cabbage Patch Kid phase. I was super into baby dolls of all kinds, but I had a special place in my heart for those babies that needed adopting. And I especially loved that they came with a name. (Although, sometimes? Those names? Who in the world decided they would work, right?) Anyway, our obsession with Cabbage Patch Kids led to one of the most epic, fun things Mom ever did. She threw a neighborhood birthday party for all the neighbors and their Cabbage Patch dolls. Like, a for real party with snacks and cupcakes and decorations. This party became the touchstone of all conversations of our childhood. If my mom ever had a moment of questioning her parenting, one of us would inevitably say, "Mom-you threw a Cabbage Patch birthday party!" As if to say, really nothing else matters once you've done that.
Another time she held a neighborhood Olympics for all the kids in the neighborhood. I should point out that our yard was filled with kids consistently for around 10 years. At the neighborhood Olympics she had us competing in various events and even had ribbons for us to wear when we won an event. (As a side note, I should confess that I was not a very good sport that day. I have a very vivid memory of my Mom doing her other job as a parent-reminding me to get over myself!!)
Her fun-loving spirit fully blossomed when the grandkids came on the scene. All of them loved being with her because she was FUN. Not only was she fun, but she took the time to know each one of them so well, she knew exactly how to best play with them. I was a shy, slow to warm-up child and my son is just like me. She knew that about him from the very beginning and interacted with him in a way that felt comfortable and safe to him. That's why he loved her so much.
My favorite memory of Mom with the grandkids, happened at my sister Kristin's house. Mom and the kids had been outside playing while my sisters and I were inside. I'm sure we were snacking/solving the world's problems. When we went outside, Mom came galloping by. And I do mean a full on gallop. As she passed, I laughed and said, "What are you doing?" She replied, looking over her shoulder, "I'm the pink pony!!"
Well. Obviously.
If I'm honest, I have to admit that I do not have the same fun-loving spirit my Mom had. I came out of the womb with my brow furrowed, ready to examine all manner of serious items. Sometimes I find it really hard to sit down and PLAY with my kids. I can cook up an activity or teach them some new topic, but to really be there with them, to enter in in a meaningful way is hard. What I learned from Mom is that being in it with my kids, is how I connect with them. It shows them that I get them. It shows them that what is important to them is important to me. I had the very best teacher, but I'm a really slow learner.
So, in the spirit of Mom, find a kid to pretend with. Unfurl your brow, and gallop until you gallop any more! Long live the pink pony!!
Friday, March 1, 2013
12 Days of Mom-Day One
*March 12th will mark the one year anniversary of my Mom's death. In an effort to avoid my usual "milestone approaching" behavior of hiding in bed and eating lots of carbs, I'm celebrating the 12 Days of Mom. As a part of my celebration, I will be writing one of my favorite memories about Mom here each day. These are random tidbits of all the awesome that was my Mom. I'll think you'll like reading more about her. If you're new to reading my blog, proceed with caution. You will find lots of casual writing fraught with grammatical errors. I serve as editor-in-chief around here, which would make any of my high school English teachers shudder.
A few weeks ago I was out to dinner with a bunch of my friends. I decided to order some roasted brussels sprouts. (I had NO idea there is an "s" at the end of brussel. Who knew?) Brussels sprouts seem to be sort of trendy just now and I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. People at my table were STUNNED that I had never eaten a brussels sprout. This, of course, spawned a discussion of all the foods typically considered disgusting by all major television characters of the late '70s, early '80s. A discussion of liver and onions almost always comes on the heels of a brussels sprouts discussion.
Until three weeks ago, I had never eaten a brussels sprout. And never have I even been near a plate of liver and onions. This is because my mom never made us eat anything gross. You may not believe me when I tell you that. You may think I'm looking back with rose colored glasses. But I'm totally not.
Apparently, Mom spent a lot of time post-meal at her childhood dinner table trying to choke down her meal. She was determined not to do the same thing to her own kids. Don't get me wrong-it wasn't an all out junk food free-for-all (at least as far as she knew!), but she pretty much focused in on the meals we liked and stuck with those. Over and over and over. Now that I'm a mom, I can only imagine how monotonous that must have been. Oh wait. I don't have to imagine...
My Mom made no secret of the fact that she did not enjoy cooking. I have a theory that she *might* have enjoyed it once upon a time, but it got beat out of her due to cooking 10,000 meals of spaghetti. Or shepherd's pie. Or chicken alfredo. Those were some of the definite stand-bys. In fact, just typing those words make me so nostalgic. I'm tempted to go to the kitchen and whip up all of my "Mom" meals.
She was appalled at many of the things I put in front of my kids! She openly discouraged all of her grandchildren from eating peas. She was known to whisper in their ear at the table! She seriously questioned my parenting abilities when I gave my toddlers avocado.
I don't think my Mom had any idea about "taste bud science"-about how our taste buds change many times over the years, and how, as children they are not "tuned" to enjoy certain foods. I do think she wanted dinner time to be fun...because she wanted everything to be fun. And while "I hate that yucky stuff" was an oft repeated refrain at our table, there wasn't much yucky stuff to be found. She definitely did something right. All of us, as adults, are pretty adventurous eaters. And while the brussels sprouts I had at dinner were delicious, I don't have a void in my childhood where the brussels sprouts should have been.
As silly as it sounds, my Mom made us feel loved when she fixed the things we liked to eat. Her love for us permeated everything she did. And that is not a sappy exaggeration. I'm so blessed to say that I never doubted my Mom's love for me. Not even for a second.
How could you doubt the love of a mother who kept you far away from liver and onions??
A few weeks ago I was out to dinner with a bunch of my friends. I decided to order some roasted brussels sprouts. (I had NO idea there is an "s" at the end of brussel. Who knew?) Brussels sprouts seem to be sort of trendy just now and I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. People at my table were STUNNED that I had never eaten a brussels sprout. This, of course, spawned a discussion of all the foods typically considered disgusting by all major television characters of the late '70s, early '80s. A discussion of liver and onions almost always comes on the heels of a brussels sprouts discussion.
Until three weeks ago, I had never eaten a brussels sprout. And never have I even been near a plate of liver and onions. This is because my mom never made us eat anything gross. You may not believe me when I tell you that. You may think I'm looking back with rose colored glasses. But I'm totally not.
Apparently, Mom spent a lot of time post-meal at her childhood dinner table trying to choke down her meal. She was determined not to do the same thing to her own kids. Don't get me wrong-it wasn't an all out junk food free-for-all (at least as far as she knew!), but she pretty much focused in on the meals we liked and stuck with those. Over and over and over. Now that I'm a mom, I can only imagine how monotonous that must have been. Oh wait. I don't have to imagine...
My Mom made no secret of the fact that she did not enjoy cooking. I have a theory that she *might* have enjoyed it once upon a time, but it got beat out of her due to cooking 10,000 meals of spaghetti. Or shepherd's pie. Or chicken alfredo. Those were some of the definite stand-bys. In fact, just typing those words make me so nostalgic. I'm tempted to go to the kitchen and whip up all of my "Mom" meals.
She was appalled at many of the things I put in front of my kids! She openly discouraged all of her grandchildren from eating peas. She was known to whisper in their ear at the table! She seriously questioned my parenting abilities when I gave my toddlers avocado.
I don't think my Mom had any idea about "taste bud science"-about how our taste buds change many times over the years, and how, as children they are not "tuned" to enjoy certain foods. I do think she wanted dinner time to be fun...because she wanted everything to be fun. And while "I hate that yucky stuff" was an oft repeated refrain at our table, there wasn't much yucky stuff to be found. She definitely did something right. All of us, as adults, are pretty adventurous eaters. And while the brussels sprouts I had at dinner were delicious, I don't have a void in my childhood where the brussels sprouts should have been.
As silly as it sounds, my Mom made us feel loved when she fixed the things we liked to eat. Her love for us permeated everything she did. And that is not a sappy exaggeration. I'm so blessed to say that I never doubted my Mom's love for me. Not even for a second.
How could you doubt the love of a mother who kept you far away from liver and onions??
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