I don't usually do this...

I rarely post twice in one day. Today is special. My mom would have turned 64 today. I put my heart to words for her last year and thought it fitting to re-post it this year on her birthday. I'll make sure to introduce you in Heaven.

You're going to just LOVE her.



Is there a day on your calendar that is marked by your heart? October 27th is that day for me. It is my mom's birthday. Growing up, us kids knew that this day was special for mom. Raising four children, this was the one day of the year that demanded we take our eyes off of ourselves and place them on her.

She would have turned sixty-three today.

This day used to be filled with phone calls, birthday cards, family dinners and birthday cake. For eight years now, October 27th has become painfully quiet.

In some ways, growing older I need her so much more. We used to talk every day, sometimes numerous times a day to share a story, an update about family, a laugh, or just to talk about what we had planned for the day. I miss her calls the most. I yearn for her to be on the other end of the telephone to share highlights of my children's lives.

She would have loved to see Meghan go to her first dance Saturday night. Her heart would have swelled with pride over David's graduation from junior high last year. No doubt she would have bragged to everyone about Grace's first goal in soccer this year and made numerous calls to friends after hearing that Samuel scored five goals this Saturday at his game.

To fill you in on this special photograph, it was snapped a few months before cancer took her life. I had just stopped by to visit and while sitting on the stool beside her, I tried hard to talk to her about anything but the heartache staring me straight in the face. A very mischievous thought came to mind. I leaned down for dramatic affect, whispering in her ear. “You know what mom? I just had a great idea. I think I am going to toilet paper you.” Sadly immobile, a frightened smile lit her face, as she looked up at me with a you-wouldn't-dare look in her beautiful green eyes.

My sister was my accomplice as we twirled the white toilet paper from top to bottom, creating beauty from the cold steel hospital bed. Lastly, placing a paper white bouquet in her hands. All the while laughing until our sides hurt, tears streaming down all of our faces.

Just like vanilla candles, Jean Nate, Aunt Jemimah coffee cake and Greek cookies, October 27th fills my heart with my mother. I loved her so much. I still do. So today, the day that has been forever marked by my heart, I thank God for my mom. Cancer took so much away from her, from all of us, but it never took away our joy and I am anxiously counting the days until I can laugh with her again.

Christmas can be a sad time too.

The older I get, Christmas memories can bring me to a melancholy place. A few Christmas songs even sound sad to me now. It is not a surprise that this time of year has the highest suicide rate. What a hard time for so many. For months now, we have been surrounded by Christmas.

Music, decorations, even commercials joyously show happy families decorating their tree, or gathering together at a huge meal- no one fighting, no one missing. The pain of broken relationships, the separation by miles or even death, are magnified in great proportions in December.

This week in December and the songs playing on my blog now, transport me back to eight years ago, to San Lorenzo, California. My mother was dying of cancer, only months before she passed away. She was no longer able to speak so music often played, replacing the sound of her voice and the laughter of ours, with the songs that she loved. This Christmas CD (Celine Dion) was her new favorite, and since it was her favorite, it was mine too. One of her best friends (she was blessed with many best friends) was dying too. On December 9th of that year, Ginger, who she loved, lost her fight to an unsuspected staff infection and passed away at the young age of 48. It was so hard to watch Ginger's family suffer at this time of year. Ginger had just become a grandma and had been with her husband since they were young children. Anytime of year it is difficult to lose someone you love, but at Christmas it seems that much more painful.

My sister Jennifer followed me in her own car to be there for me and mom. When I drove up to the house to share the news with my mother, her precious friend Bev (another best friend) was just leaving and knew why I had arrived, what hard task I had ahead of me. She hugged me and told me that it would be ok. (Bev passed away last year. Now her family is struggling to fill the hole left by the death of their parents. Their father died only months before Bev did.)

What a hard time that was. Thinking back on those memories makes me cry even today. What blesses my heart, what gives me comfort is knowing that this separation is temporary. One of the very reasons God sent His precious baby boy into our world was so that death would be defeated. His resurrection is evidence of that. My grateful heart is especially thankful for this most precious gift at Christmas. "So we are always confident (ALWAYS CONFIDENT!) knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord. For we walk by faith, not by sight. We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord." 2Cor.5:6-8

This Christmas I am not absent from my body, or present with the Lord...but my mom is. I can't wait until I can see her again and hug her again, and share with her all of the joys that I have experienced while we have been apart ... and maybe even tattle on a few who have hurt her little girl. Tattling is ok in Heaven right? I can't even imagine the joy we will experience, laughing again as we talk about all that has happened to both of us.

I miss her so.

Blessed...

With only fifteen minutes before she had to drive off for work, my teenage daughter wrote these words for me at the bottom of my post. I just had to share, and YES they choked me up.

Us mom's can sometimes feel overlooked, underpaid, run down and run over. I am here to encourage all of you at home with little ones, to hang in there. So many times I have failed as a mother and so many of my prayers have been, "Lord, please let them forget my mistakes."

I am here to encourage you, that no matter what, if your heart is to raise up godly children and do your best to be a godly wife and mother, your children will one day rise up and call you blessed.

That's a promise.


That happened for me today.



Some of you may remember the kitchen contest I posted about a few months ago here. They wanted an uploaded picture of your kitchen and in 500 words or less, to explain why and how a new kitchen reflects you.



Being the "Last Minute Lil" that I am, the deadline was yesterday. With only hours to spare, I submitted my entry.



Only they weren't my words I submitted, they were my daughter Meghan's.

...And now I don't really care if I win or not. In my eyes, her words crowned me winner already.



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The Reflection of Love
By Meghan

A home is a reflection, a personal snapshot of a life, a family, a person. My mother has spent a great deal of her life as a stay at home mom, giving her all for her family and spending a great deal of her life in the kitchen. She doesn’t have nice knives, or a spotless counter space. The mustard yellow walls and scattered country antiques provide sparse decoration, and numerous cooking utensils and cookbooks are hidden in little nooks and crannies. The sink is broken, the counters are cracked, and the cupboards are outdated. Yet, the woman that I call mom is ever present in the kitchen. It’s not the physical aspects that reflect my mother, it’s the very atmosphere. As a child you don’t care about stained grout or bubbled hardwood floors. You looked for the after school treats your mother made you, or followed your nose to the dinner table when she called. I remember hot cocoa on rainy days, French toast on Sundays and Christmas brunch at that country table. I remember rolling out cookie dough with drinking glasses and spilling lemon bars all over the counter, just to be comforted with a warm hug from my mom. When I think of the kitchen I grew up in, I think of my whole family, all six of us, smiling and laughing around a wonderful meal, something we so often took for granted. And my mother. Rarely ever complaining, she worked hard in that less than perfect kitchen, and created a warm, beautiful childhood, and memories that I will never take for granted. My mother’s kitchen reflects her well worn love and years of hard work. She has spent so much time serving my family and others, opening her home every holiday to friends and family. She has watched her friends receive beautifully remodeled kitchens, and never use them. Yet, she doesn’t complain. She goes home and makes another dinner, trying new recipes and changing old ones to suit her finicky husbands’ taste. My mother loves her family, and that is what makes our old kitchen wonderful in my eyes. But after so many selfless years of trudging through our less than perfect kitchen, I believe she deserves something new, something made entirely for her. I would love to see her proud to show off her kitchen, not just the delectable food she creates. She deserves a working microwave, ovens that work, a dishwasher that doesn’t leak. She has always dreamed of a little kitchen nook with a window seat where she can read, relax. My mother has given so much to me, I wish there was some way I could give back to her. Who can find anything more precious than a beautiful childhood memory? Yet my old kitchen isn’t really the keeper of my memories, my mother is.

Meghan

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Hang in there mom's, your blessings are a comin!

What's Your Grade?

Being a Christian mother with children in the public school system can be quite a challenge at times. My friend Aly got to experience this first hand last week. At church Sunday when she explained to me the situation she had gone through, I was so proud of her. But it was her response to her daughter that brought tears to my eyes. (Godly moms have that affect on me.)

Aly’s daughter Ely is in junior high and her oldest of three children. She is a beautiful little girl and quite the overachiever. Getting A’s in all her classes is quite common for Ely. When Ely shared with her mom what she was learning in one of her classes her mom made an immediate phone call to the school, followed by some very effective letters.

The curriculum in question,the study of the Muslim religion. It wasn’t just a broad overview with a few questions or a page of interactive study with some class participation. Nor was this study taught equally alongside other religions. Ely was to memorize and recite poems from the Qu’ran. This lesson also incorrectly taught the tolerance and peaceful nature of this faith.

Aly was irate, she has the life experience of growing up in Europe, and knows first hand the 'peaceful tolerance' of the Muslim faith. Her own brother is an officer serving his second tour right now in Iraq and emails her quite frequently. After her time with the teacher and principal, the teacher was responsive to the fact that in the face of tolerance of religions, the school wasn't being very tolerant with Aly's beliefs. She shared that she had been highly offended by the curriculum and made the point that the few sentences taught about Jesus and Christianity never included any prayers or the even the ten commandments. In fact those few sentences about Jesus were even incorrect.

After Aly’s phone calls and letters, and after a calm discussion in truth and love with Ely’s teacher and much prayer, her daughter is going to be doing a study on the geography of the Middle East instead.

The part of the story that touched my heart was what she had told her daughter in the beginning of all of this. Ely was aware that her mom would take her out of that class for these teachings and though she understood why, she was in tears about the possibility of failing her class and getting an 'F' for the first time. Her mother responded by saying, “Honey, if you get an ‘F’, I'll frame it. It won't stand for your ‘failure’, but for your ‘faith’.”

Chokes you up too doesn’t it?