My youngest son had just been relocated to the fifth new home of his six years on earth. He adjusted very well every time, but in this one he also started school. He was quite self assured and already dressed in a style that showed his flair for being comfortable in his own clothing choices, even if he stood out from his peers. I was raised to be very conscious of both fitting in and being properly appropriate in my choices of attire. In self esteem I drew a short stick; it was extremely important to me that I not somehow hand that on to my children, even though I had no idea how to project its opposite.

I used to buzz cut my boys hair, at least until they began to notice girls around age 12. Soon after he started school, it was time for a buzz cut for my youngest. We put a kitchen stool in their bathroom and he sat down facing the big mirror. The stool put him at just the right height for me to work around his whole head and stay even. I did something different this particular time. I buzzed the right side front to back but stopped an inch onto the top. Then I did the same for the left side, stopping at the same place. I wasn’t finished but I stopped to look in the mirror at his reflection. He had one solid strip of hair up the middle, perfectly done and because it was growing out a previous buzz, all the hair was neatly the same length. I saw his eyes looked amazingly large all of a sudden, too and I asked him, “You know that mohawk you been asking me for years, do you still want one?”

Those big eyes got even larger and he said “Yes Mom!” He had no reservations, but I of course had to follow up with “What if people laugh at you?” He spun around and looked me straight in my eyes and said “Mom, if they laugh at me, that’s their problem.” I guess I didn’t hand it on after all, in spite of myself.

I remember when my youngest was about five and he suddenly became sick to his stomach. He ran to the bathroom and quickly put his head over the toilet bowl. I got a clean wash cloth and ran it under the cold water and held it against his forehead while he emptied his stomach into the bowl in fits and starts. When he was nearly finished he turned his little head toward me and said “Were you trained for this?”

I thought of all the ways a Mom, even a brand new one, all of sudden seems to acquire an entirely new skill set, somewhat resembling a grandmother/nurse. The fact that it seemed odd to my son made me think about how amazing it is. After a flash, or many flashes, of intense labor and delivery pain, a selfish teen turned irrational twenty something incredibly becomes a protective, caring parent for a small infant, without taking any courses or getting some type of license. Things that our Mom or grandmother used to do come flying out of our memories exactly the moment they are needed. Somehow the next generation manages to get enough healing solutions to their smallest problems to carry them forward into adolescence, where they can begin caring for themselves. This moment made me think how special all that generationally passed on healthcare truly is. Our glycerin on boo boos to make them stop pulsing, mud on bee stings, calamine lotion on almost everything that itches, and hydrogen peroxide on any cut that needed cleaning….. because we couldn’t google anything in those days. You had to be confident, so you were! Maybe not so bad a solution.

Several years after my divorce from the father of my son, I had a brief romantic reunion with someone I had dated prior to my marriage. He was also divorced many years by that time and we were reintroduced by mutual friends. I was busy running/owning a gift store in New Jersey and raising my five year old son as a single mom. I rarely dated, but I really loved the friends who put us back together. Neither of us were great relationship material at that time, but we did enjoy each other’s company a couple weekends when my son visited his dad and new wife, as we now lived in different states.

Anyway, the result of those brief encounters was an unexpected pregnancy that threw me into a rapid decision making process. Having already borne a child, I knew the fetal development and how quickly the baby was forming. After that, one can’t easily think its a baby when they want it and only a mass of cells when they don’t. I quickly realized, in the fifth year after Roe vs Wade became legal, that many of my friends were self-avowed feminists at that time. Assume that, as a divorced woman, most of my close friends now were single, divorced, or unhappily married. It was the way one got sorted after a divorce in those days. I didn’t have a definite position then and was willing to see the pros and cons of each side in an individual’s life: I was wary of mere head knowledge and always preferred real life experience over wishful thinking. This was no longer hypothetical for me, so given a very short timespan to decide and because I didn’t want my developing fetus to have any more body parts than it had at that moment if I was considering termination, I quickly devised a test to use when seeking advice from my very few close friends or relatives. I asked them “have you ever had an abortion, a child out of wedlock or given a child up for adoption?” as those were the three not so great options I was facing. There were also no Crisis Pregnancy Centers that I was aware of in 1977.

The result of my test was I lost one friend who had an abortion that I had actually driven her to, who refused to talk when I called her asking about her feelings afterward; she hung up on me in tears. Most others didn’t pass the test and only could offer what they thought they would do in my place. Not helpful. My doctor had told me in a check up he didn’t know how I had ever conceived my one child, as my female parts seemed upside down and sideways. This wasn’t a birth control method I should have relied on. When I was back in his office for the pregnancy test six months later he handed me the name of a doctor who would take care of my ‘problem’. I was never in his office again for care or advice. My own father wrote me I was never going to have enough time, money or love beyond what I needed to raise my one child and owed it to my son not to have another. Also that no man would ever want to take that on in a future marriage. Feeling somewhat at a loss to make the right decision, I scheduled an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. The night before I called a friend in California, someone I had dated but we were coasts away; both divorced, crazy busy and again, neither of us the most stable at that point in our lives for solid relationships. I should add that I had also driven to the other state to get input from the father of this child, who was supporting his ex and their three children already. A heavy drinker and again, not a great candidate for long term solidity, though he did think I should not terminate, yet offered little else in the way of a path forward.

My phone call to the friend in California cast the final vote. Though as a man he had not had an abortion personally, his only natural child was aborted without him even being consulted and it had made an indelible impact on him. When I told him I said I really wanted to know how I was going to feel twenty years from that moment and make my decision based on that. His wise response to was “What are you doing the next nine months you couldn’t do pregnant?” I found myself laughing and crying on my end of the phone, suddenly surrounded by light standing in my dark basement at nine pm. I had just found my true north on this matter. I cancelled my appointment the next morning and went forward with the two choices I then had left. My friend had bought me grey time in a mostly black and white scenario. I went to talk to adoption agencies and then later, about the fourth month, I decided I would not only carry but raise that unborn child. When I shared the news with my wonderful five year old he said “Oh Mom! Remember when I threw that penny in the fountain at Bloomingdales? I wished I could be a brother!” While I didn’t blame him for this odd outcome of his penny request, I did love that he said he wanted to be a brother, not just to have a brother! Although he did get that wish too, if it was one. The two of us had the relationship, guts and grace to follow through with my decision and I have never had a moment of regret.

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

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

Once when I was making chocolate milk for my 2.5 yr old grandson and as I poured it into his cup I asked if I had given him too much? “Not enough much” was his quick answer. I have thought about that many times since, when other things would happen and the voice in my head was ‘too much much’ or ‘not enough much!’ How often do we have too much of a good thing and wish we had stopped just a bit sooner? Or feel we didn’t get quite our fill of something we were trying to savor? Recently my youngest sister had so many crisis in the lives of her adult children in one week that she was doing the equivalent of getting in bed, pulling the covers over her head and saying Too Much Much, to anyone who might be listening. I tend to push for the middle ground Goldilocks answer of finding things ‘just right’ as often as possible, because the feeling of gratefulness makes everything last longer, yet strikes at the heart of both my envy or the deficiency I am tempted to embrace in any given moment. I also adore the uncomplicated way a two year old looks at their life. They haven’t had enough time here to qualify their responses.

This was quite possibly one of the biggest lessons I’ve ever learned in my life. I only learned it after years of hurting myself and my son by holding onto betrayal and believing I was somehow owed some sort of apology. I had a husband who fell in love with my best friend and neglected to deal with it until we had a son and had purchased a new home. I gave them both the benefit of the doubt, even when my own mother suspected them, continuing for some time believing they could never possibly do that to me.

I was wrong. They could and they did. When I finally found out it became a soul crushing betrayal by two people I thought cared deeply about me. It was difficult for me to recover and continue in relationship with them, yet I had to because we shared a 1 year old son when he left. She left her husband a year later and they were married for over 25 years before she died much too young of cancer. We continued with a polite but empty communication style for years, often snagging when my son spent vacation time there.

Fortunately, long before we lost her and while our son was still in college, I had an amazing conversation with God that changed everything. I was crying out to him that they were causing great emotional harm to my son and therefore to me. Everything seemed a horrible triangle, with my ex blaming me to her and her to me, for anything that had to do with the financial support of our son. It was always difficult to get to the truth of anything. In the very old days I might have trusted my friend over a cheating ex husband. But this was the friend he had cheated with. An absurd mess that I didn’t want my son in the middle of, ever. He loved all of us, and did not want to choose sides. Nor should he have to. We were supposed to be the grown ups. I cried my heart out to God and asked Him to please intercede on our behalf. What I heard back in the silence was ” are you willing to forgive them?”

Nope. That was easy. I was not willing. Yet, as I sat with the pain of my son caught in the middle, I tried to find some way around that question. I didn’t do it, why should I have to forgive them? Silence. At this point my mind started to query whether I had ever done anything for which I should ask someone’s forgiveness. Of course there was less than total clarity on that issue. In my mind, I could find at least some questionable behaviors of my own, even within my marriage. There were certainly many other relationships I had been in where I might not have behaved well, or as well as I could have, all the time. Yet I did not remember any specific apologies on my part. The thing I wrestled with most was the agony caused to my son, when he had done absolutely nothing wrong and got caught in the middle of our adult drama.

I reframed the question I felt God had asked me, rolling it around in my head. While my response didn’t change, I did realize that an act of God might be absolutely necessary for the results I had requested. I then quietly whispered to Him “I am not willing, but I am willing to be willing”. I thought that was a way of somehow distancing myself from the consequences of my reluctance to obey. Wrong. What I had forgotten was the fact that God changes hearts, and I had effectively just given Him permission to change mine.

It wasn’t a minute later that I realized I had nothing but love for my ex husband and my friend, who had now been his wife for many more years than I had been. What? Wait a minute here. What? Where did all my justified anger go? What about all the…(^$%*&($#@!) things (that I suddenly could no longer remember) that hurt me? Ironically they had been replaced with thoughts of …why shouldn’t a child enjoy the love of two moms, both his Mom and his step Mom, when that love was offered to him so genuinely? Why would any person want to come between that? And so it went from there, for at least five more years.

If there is any story I have shared more in Christian circles and prayer groups, I cannot remember it. Even when it is hardest to change our stubborn minds and hearts, I always offer this advice: Tell God you are not willing to change, but you are willing to be willing to change. He will do all the rest because all He needs is our permission and He goes right to work! I never knew what hit me, but hit me it did. And I was the one who experienced the loss of our deep friendship when she passed away so young and who understood my son’s heartbreak at losing her. It is I who have missed her bright illumination at our future family gatherings with the amazing grandchildren she never got to meet or love “to the moon and back!”. God restored a deep, respectful relationship between us that, while not exactly the same as it had been before, was magnificent, made even more precious because of the cracks that had been so delicately and purposely filled within it.

I got a sweet thank you note from one of my nieces yesterday and included in her response to my joy following the birth of her daughter was an admission similar to many others I’ve received from my nieces and nephews (and sons!) as they welcomed their first child into the world. That first week or two and often again, even much later, were moments where they became fully aware that having a child (especially on your own, lacking a supportive spouse, nearby family and financial stability), was suddenly a daunting revelation to them. Add into it being a single parent already raising an amazing five year old with a 7-day-a-week storefront to run, ten employees to schedule, supervise and pay, and you have an even better glimpse into my complicated life 43 years ago. I really don’t remember that much of it, yet moments like this when I can pause and reflect are somewhat mind boggling to me too, for sure!

How did I do it? Well, that’s I guess that’s how it became the point at which I asked God into my life, having my actual ‘come to Jesus’ moment on Dec 9th, 1983. I knew I was truly outnumbered now with two small sons under six and I was definitely going to need some help. It is definitely the anniversary I most remember and celebrate in my life, one my Mom always phoned me to mark as well. Not because it was so special on the actual date. It was a just a day that a single mom from my church had come to help clean my house, while I was home recovering after the birth of my second son. Her money was tight, but she always tithed ten percent of her time to the Lord and I was the grateful recipient of her love and service that particular day. Although I had regularly been attending our Presbyterian fellowship for the past three months, she didn’t take anything for granted so somewhere in our day she asked me if I had ever asked Jesus into my heart? I replied something along the lines of “not in so many words.” Having been raised Christian, baptized, confirmed and having always attended church, I didn’t know there was anything missing, at which point she said ‘Well, let’s make sure’, and then she gently led me, with my permission, in the sinner’s prayer. It was not an event followed by lightning bolts from the sky and yet, looking back now, it was definitely the most important moment in my life.

After that, all my decisions were no longer made alone but with the quiet guidance of the Holy Spirit, as the Lord took up residence in my heart. As with any move-in, there were things to be sorted out and cleaned up, some to throw away, some to move to a secondary position, some to add to the existing mores and celebrations that were already in place with my little family tribe. We made room for a newcomer, Jesus. And my life was never the same after that; by that I mean never as lonely, never without joy, never without provision or the hope of provision for me and my boys. Life changing.

I guess this website is the story of some of those times as my memory is jogged here and there, just a note or a quick story, to pay tribute to the all encompassing love that came to fill my heart that day, assuring me that I would never run out of that love, regardless of any other struggles and circumstances sure to come my way. Such complete fullness, impossible to describe, though I do try.

Psalm 27:5-7 NIV

Recently my grandchild was rehearsing for a part in a play and was resistant to feedback from her parents during that time. After losing star billing to someone else, there was great consternation. Her main query was “why didn’t you tell me?” implying that if they knew what she could have improved, why didn’t they share it with her before it was too late? The response of course was, “We did try, but you didn’t want to hear it.”
I often wonder right now, as I am often on the opposite side of many hot political as well as recent medical options with close family and friends, if I will one day hear similar words from someone I love.
I often check my thoughts at the beginning of any conversation, because they may well be quickly rejected out of hand with ‘that’s not happening here’, or ‘not in our community’, ‘its perfectly safe’ and ‘your news and information sources are all wrong’. Are they though? Do we truly have all the critical facts we need to make important decisions for our children, and have we always been told the whole truth? And who do we trust as our sources for truth? Will any of these family members or friends some day say that same thing to me? Or me to them? Some of us will undoubtedly be proven wrong by history, but who? And what might the cost of that omission be? The cost of saying anything right now seems terribly high in many of my closest relationships. It is a dilemma that many families are experiencing across the globe. No good or easy answer, and none without risk, I am afraid. Yet silence may have a price of its own as well I fear.

I wonder if God is often feeling the same way with us. “Why didn’t you tell me?” we plead, after taking some wrong turn in our lives. “I did, but you didn’t want to hear me.” And isn’t that the real truth?

Another year and a half gone by! Where does all the time go? A new grandson in this case. Born end of March 2023, but by last August I was caring for him three to four days a week while Mom and Dad worked. I am loving living so close by! He is the best companion and it is the most worthwhile use of my days; i realize it wont last forever so I am just enjoying every minute.
My other son had to again retrieve this lost part of my recorded thoughts and it took him quite awhile but I am so blessed that he did. I told him it wouldn’t be worth the money or the trouble he went to, but it truly was. Rarely have I captured the thoughts and notes of my life on paper so this is kind of a look into the way my mind works…scary thought in and of itself!
The older I get the more I tend to question my memories, so it is good to be able to look back a bit and note the dates I finally wrote them down. I always mean to write more, but time goes much too fast and I forget. So just begin again, as they say. I guess writing is a bit like dieting! Not much good at that either.

Four words that my son said were my most used exclamations on our five day trek across the country twelve years ago. We were in a small sedan complete with me, my then 28 yr old son and my trusty rescued dog, Gypsy. Oh, and every bit of clothing and memorabilia I could fit in the trunk along with a sewing machine, just in case I needed curtains or something to make my new home quickly homier.

It seemed that my response to anything unexpected was one or a combination of these expressions. I feel as though they accompanied a certain period of my life; one full of the unknown, of changes, both in scenery and in relationships. It was a time of experimentation with the boundaries of the self I had pretty much ignored during the raising of my two boys. There is only so much time available, and mine was already spoken for between their needs and those of making a living. This was not my retirement exactly, but as close to it as I might ever get. It meant still working, but only enough to cover my rent, as social security and Medicare had kicked in, taking with them the huge burden of so many years with no personal health care off of my shoulders. I was able to attend to the repair of my body and doing some needed maintenance that had often been postponed. I started a decades long update on my teeth, as I found my smile was my most treasured attribute and a loss I did not want to accept if there was a choice. And now there was.

I am often reminded how very fortunate I have been to navigate this life time with always enough opportunities to take care of my basic life needs, and I am ever conscious of those who do not have access to them. I am distressed by the constant promotion of dependence on government, rather than the human family and community surrounding them, to comfort and provide incentives to address those needs. God never intended an absentee and faceless, often heartless, entity to do what other humans could do so much more efficiently and kindly, with an accompanying love and appreciation for the soul, not just the body, of the individual… not just the case number.

And so I try to remember what those four words meant as I used them during that time. Perhaps I was only talking to the ‘inside’ me, the one giving herself permission to fail, to stumble, to pause or to grab on to a lifeline as needed, as her rocky life journey evolved. I rarely, if ever, use them anymore, but they were certainly wonderful handrails when I needed them.