Not MY child!!!

Today, my MOther-In-Law and I spent a fabulous day together. We didn't do anything too outrageous, unless you call going to Cracker Barrel crazy! We pretty much just spent the whole day talking and visiting afterward on her porch veranda overlooking the Smoky Mountains. While we were there we were discussing parenting philosophies and it really got me thinking about what the future might hold for us!

 What got us started on that was her very sweet offer to take The Baby for us one day a week while we tend to our own relationship or errands we need to run. I told her that I'm glad she offered but right now I can't leave him for more than a few hours because he's still nursing. I also told her that The Husband wasn't too keen on leaving him there because of their tendency to feed The Baby's 2 and 6 year old cousins Diet Coke, McDonald's, Slushies, and anything pure sugar. Considering our new trend for eating and growing organic, we might just die if he ended up demanding chicken nuggets.

 Anyhow, Momma D told me how she used to get nervous anytime her boys (my dear husband and his older brother) went somewhere with their dad, Big E. She said he used to take them to the flea market and he would get so engrossed in what he was doing, he would practically forget the boys even came with him. She said that they would take off on their own and roam the flea market, unsupervised at very young ages (perhaps around 6 and 8). She says it is a wonder nobody kidnapped them.

 I told her nobody probably kidnapped them because they were such troublemakers. She glanced at me with a quizzical look and I began telling her one of those "secrets" a husband tells his wife about from his childhood. My husband told me at anytime they went anywhere, their first priority was to go into the restroom, always unattended. They would then destroy every single thing they possibly could in there: unrolling all the toilet paper onto the floor, trying to clog the toilets, flooding the sinks, and pretty much anything else little boys could think was fun (and disrespectful) to do.

Then Momma D got this faraway upset look in her eyes. She finally realized just what it was her "angels" had been doing their whole childhood, in the restrooms. It was if I had just told her Santa Claus didn't exist. She then said,"OOOOh, I TOLD Big E to go in and check on them EVERY time we went somewhere. I would always tell him that they had been in there forever and ask him to go see what they were doing! He would always tell me if they weren't out in another minute, he would go get them. But, sure enough, they would always come back before he checked on them." she told me that she had always wondered just what it was they were doing in there that took so long. She would have blistered them if she had known.

While she was telling me this, you could see the combined look of horror and disappointment, not only with her boys but with herself. If only she would have known, she would've stopped it. And how could she have such "evil" children, as she put it! It really got me thinking about a mother's love for her children. No matter what your kids do or how they disappoint you, they will always be loved. I thought about all of the wrong things I've done, that I intentionally hid from my parents.

I was a really troubled teen and I did a lot of pretty awful stuff, some illegal, and some definitely immoral. Yet, I know, had my mom known about all of this, she would probably had the same reaction as Momma D had today: intense disappointment, some shock, but still claim her love.

That got me thinking about my Father's love for me... No, not my human father (although I'm sure he'd share a similar reaction as my mom). I'm referring to our Heavenly Father, God. If he only loved us as much as our human mother, then it is enough to love us despite our greatest sins. For even a mother of a serial killer will still claim to love her son.

 Deuteronomy 7:9 states (NIV):
Know therefore that the Lord your God is God, He is the faithful God, and keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations who love him.

 1 John 4:7-11 states:
Dear friends, let us love one another, because love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God, knows God. Whoever does not love, does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed love among us: he sent his one and only son into the world that we may live through him.

I think that this is the kind of love only a parent could give. That God loves you so much that he will overlook the ways you fail Him because of love. It is not the kind of love you can earn, for no matter how many things I hid from my parents, it wouldn't make them love me more. (which is pretty good since I wish you luck in hiding anything from God's eyes).

There is no doubt that I have that God-love for my son and also for my spouse and definitely for my parents. I overlook any of their faults because I know that, in whole, they love me despite my own faults. But, I have to admit, curiosity has me wondering what faults I will soon be looking over in my own son... What things he might do behind my back that I will love him in spite of.

In fact, when you think about it, loving your kids is a pretty good mirror to God-love. I know one thing is for certain... My kids will NOT be going to the restroom unattended anytime soon!

My REbirthday!

First, sorry I've been inactive the past week! Last Tuesday was my BIRTHDAY! Woot! So, I had a post for that day but didn't get around to posting it. I've been wanting to post this for awhile, but it is taking me some time due to the emotional nature of it. This is definitely the hardest post I've ever written, but one that I've been promising you for months.. so here goes...

 Birthdays are an amazing thing to celebrate.... I think we get a "little" spoiled here in the States, recently. In fact, the past 200 years have been considered "the years that changed the world" by some. You see, if you were born in 1809 or before, the average life expectancy was FORTY years old. Can you imagine that? It is not that a lot of people were dying off at the age of 40. It is just that due to disease and the dangers of childbirth, a LOT of children and mothers died. Also, deadly diseases that we now vaccinate against killed thousands of children annually.

 Imagine the fear in a mother's heart when she was about to give birth, knowing that there was a good chance she or her child, or both, might pass away. Imagine the fear in a parent's heart whenever a fever came to call or a strange rash. So, birthdays were definitely a big thing to be celebrated! You or your children or parents had lived another year, despite the odds!

 Now, birthdays don't seem to mean much, other than a quick look at the actual date you were born and some candles on a cake (or in my case, some rice at the Hibachi restaurant). But, for me, my birthday is so much more. You see, it is also my REbirthday...

 The year 2008 was a really tough year for my family. In the midst of a separation and pending divorce from my first husband, my parents and sister came to visit me in Knoxville to celebrate Christmas 2007. For some reason, my mom wasn't feeling well. She was having pains in the middle of her upper back and some nausea. I was concerned she needed her gallbladder taken out.

 For some reason, I decided not to go to the hospital with my mom, although that is typically something I would have done. Anyway, I got a call from my mom and dad. It was "THE CALL". The one you seriously dread. When you can hear and feel the sickness and dread from the person before they've barely said, "Hello." My dad said, "Daughter, your mom's got a tumor on her pancreas and they saw some shadows on her liver. They don't know what it is yet, but she needs immediate surgery on her gallbladder." Then, my mom was put on the phone and she was not calm. She was crying and I could hear the panic in her voice.

 I remember that hospital visit and her surgery and the visit with the surgeon as one big, messy, nauseating blur. I could barely eat after they told me it did look like cancer when they put the gallbladder stent in, but that they'd have to do a biopsy to be sure. I remember meeting with the pastoral staff and them telling me, "She's not dead yet. Don't mourn her before she is gone." I remember going to the chapel and outright SCREAMING at God for over an hour. "How could you DO THIS?! I NEED MY MOM RIGHT NOW!"

 The next two months passed by very quickly. We went with my mom to Mayo Clinic where they basically told her there is nothing we can do. Go home to die. Anyone who has heard about Pancreatic Cancer knows the death sentence that it currently is. The 5-year survival rate is 5%, and those are only when they catch it incidentally at Stage 1 or 2. My mom had stage 4.

 In April, after a couple rounds of chemo, my mom was hospitalized. She had some swelling and they were doing some tests to see what was going on. I remember having to leave the hospital to fly back to Tennessee and my mom saying, "Daughter, is it really time to go already? I feel like you just got here." If I had known what those words and tests meant, I never would have left.

 A couple days later, I got a call from my mom and dad. They said that while the preliminary testing had shown the cancer going away on her liver, it had just moved. It was now in her breast tissue and she was taking on fluid. My mom was about to have a live-saving procedure, paracentesis, to take the fluid off her chest. The last words she said on the phone were, "Daughter, just pray for me." But, I didn't know how. Instead, I prayed for me, that I would not lose my mom.

 I quickly rushed to Florida to see my mom but by the time I got to the hospital, she was mostly unconscious. It was very disturbing to see my mom dying. We helped get her ready to go home and into hospice care. The next week would be roughly the worst days I've ever had.

 That Sunday, when we got my mom home, I called out to her, "Mom, we're home now. You can just rest." I said it a couple of times but she didn't seem to notice as she was mostly unconscious. Then, one of the EMTs who helped transport her, settled her in and said, "Terri, we've brought you home now, dear." My mom opened her eyes and said, "Woohoo!" I said, "Of course she would respond to you since you're from England and have an English accent.. that is so typical." My mom was a huge Anglophile, having visited Europe many times and loved their culture. It was as if God showed me that my mom was still my mom and was still in there. She was just in transition...

 On Tuesday, my sister asked her preacher, Father Tom, to come visit the home and pray with us. We all gathered around my mom's bed and prayed. Then, Father Tom told a beautiful story of how death mimics birth. He said that when you are a baby in your mother's womb, you are warm and comfortable and although you get certain glimpses of the world beyond (your mother's voice, the outside light), you have no idea what it is like.

 Then, one day, after some pains, you are born into the outside world! When that happens, you are comforted by your family and grow up. And once you're in the outside world and have experienced all of the love and comforts of being with your family, you could never want to go back and never COULD go back to the world you knew previously.

 He said that passing away is a similar process. You occasionally have glimpses of heaven here on Earth (God's grace, beauty) but that you really can't imagine what heaven will be like. And then, one day, through maybe some pains, you are in heaven. You are filled with the love of your heavenly Father and comforted by Him and your family in heaven. And once you are there, you could never want to go back and never COULD go back into the world you knew previously. When Father Tom spoke those things with such assurance, I knew that I wanted to feel that assurance too; to know that I would go to heaven and be comforted and see my mom again. That day planted the seed for my becoming a Christian.

 The next few days drug on hopelessly. I hated the in-between part that my mom and all of us were experiencing. Her organs were shutting down, but yet, she was still living despite having had no food or water in days. After a week passed, I began to beg God to take her. I knew that it was inevitable, but yet, it seemed that it would never happen.

 Then, on Sunday morning, she opened her eyes and shed a few tears while we rushed in and held her hands and told her we loved her so much. When that happened, I just couldn't take it anymore. My sister and I ended up in a stupid fight over something entirely pointless, caused by the stress of it all.

A short time later, my dad came and knocked on the bedroom door telling me the nurse felt the time was drawing near. We all gathered around my mom's bed and placed our hands on my mom. As she took her last few breaths, we told her how much we loved her and would miss her. We held onto each other, crying desperately, knowing the end truly was near. I pushed her pain medicine button a few times just to make sure she was in no pain. I remember the tears dropping from my face onto her face as I leaned over to press the button. A short time later, my mom was gone. My best friend, my biggest supporter.

 My dad planned my mom's funeral arrangements and because my mom was cremated, we had more of a "celebration" of my mom's life. Not even thinking, my dad had planned that memorial ceremony to take place on my birthday, of all days. Even more horrific to me, at the time, was that I had planned to speak at my mom's service (along with my sister and aunt and dad) and when my turn came up, it was literally the same time I had been born, 27 years prior. Thinking about my mom passing and having her service on my birthday was very unsettling for me, of course.

 Although a lot of the memorial service was a blur, I do know that I gave my life to Christ that day. I wanted to be sure that I would see my mom again and know that I would feel not only her comfort, but my Father's comfort. It took several months, and repeated times of me asking for forgiveness of my sins at the alter (why is it so hard to believe we have been granted forgiveness?!) before I knew I was truly saved. But, that April 24th was not just my annual birthday. It was my REbirthday as well.

 I think sometimes that it is very sad that my mom had to pass away in order for me to find and know the comfort of my Jesus. But, how many million times more sad was it for God to send his son to die for all of us so that we may find comfort in salvation? Even though I miss my mom terribly and I went through a deep depression when she passed, I thank God that He changed my life through this circumstance. I thank God that I got to be born again that day in 2008. I thank God that he sent his son to pay the ultimate price for my sin, past and present. I thank God that one day I have ultimate confidence that I will see my best friend again.

 Perhaps if our life expectancy wasn't so long now (over 75) we wouldn't take God for granted. It seems the longer we've prolonged our lives, the more we forget that they will indeed end and that in that ending, there will be a judgement placed upon us. If you don't know Jesus or you don't know how to get this forgiveness, please message me. I will help you find your way.