Author Archives: Southern Fried Encouragement

Choose Life

04 Friday Dec 2015

Posted by in Strength for the Journey

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Several years ago, I heard a woman tell her story about checking her son into rehab for alcohol and drug addiction. She spoke of his downward spiral, of the destruction and carnage left in its wake, of lost jobs, flunking out of school, sleepless nights, anxious days, and spending every waking hour wondering what in the world would happen next. She was bewildered. How had this demon of addiction invaded her family?

Finally he had agreed to go to treatment. Being a supportive mother, she went with him. Truth be told, not just for support, but also to ensure he would actually go through with it.

As they sat at the intake desk to fill out paperwork and answer questions, the counselor looked at her son and said, “Thank you for bringing your mom in. We’ll take her from here.”

Wait . . . what?

By all appearances, SHE was the one tore slap up and all to pieces. She had bags under her eyes, wild and unkempt hair, no makeup from crying, shaking hands, and wrinkled clothes hanging on her haggard frame. She wasn’t just riding the roller coaster with him. She was in the front seat.

I don’t know what happened to them. I don’t know whether he utilized the amazing tools given to him at the treatment center and stayed in recovery. I don’t know whether she got it together and made a manageable life for herself, regardless of her circumstances. I hope she went home, took a shower and SLEPT, knowing that at least for this one night, her son was safe.

What good would it do to keep pacing the floor, wringing her hands, fearing the worst, losing her mind and throwing away peace and serenity? None at all.

When my life was most unmanageable because of fear and worry, a dear friend said to me, “When the plane is going down, they tell you to put on YOUR oxygen mask before you can help others put on theirs.”

When you’ve done all you can do, when you just can’t fix it or make it any better, (and many times, when you’re just making it worse anyway!!!), it’s not selfish to take care of yourself. No sense in continuing to  “waller” in misery, as we say in the South. It doesn’t mean you don’t care about your loved one — it means it won’t help for you to die too.

King David found himself in a similar situation. His newborn son was gravely ill, and it wasn’t looking good. The child been born in less than ideal circumstances. Although God described David as “a man after His own heart”, David had some serious character flaws. The baby was the product of an affair with Bathsheba, a married woman. David actually had her husband murdered, then married her himself.

Sort of makes your family seem a little less dysfunctional, doesn’t it? I love that the Bible has stories about real people with real problems. They’re just like the rest of us, only sometimes worse!

2 Samuel 12 records the story:

16 David pleaded with God for the child. He fasted and spent the nights lying in sackcloth on the ground. 17 The elders of his household stood beside him to get him up from the ground, but he refused,and he would not eat any food with them.

18 On the seventh day the child died. David’s attendants were afraid to tell him that the child was dead, for they thought, “While the child was still living, he wouldn’t listen to us when we spoke to him. How can we now tell him the child is dead? He may do something desperate.”

19 David noticed that his attendants were whispering among themselves, and he realized the child was dead. “Is the child dead?” he asked.

“Yes,” they replied, “he is dead.”

What David feared most had happened. His son was gone. What to do now? Should he blame God for not answering his prayer? Should he blame himself for being unable to control himself with Bathsheba? Should he blame Bathsheba for tempting him? Could he turn the clock back, do the right thing, and stop this train wreck from happening? No, he couldn’t change the past. What was done was done. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. The child was dead.

20 Then David got up from the ground. After he had washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went to his own house, and at his request they served him food, and he ate.

21 His attendants asked him, “Why are you acting this way? While the child was alive, you fasted and wept, but now that the child is dead, you get up and eat!”

22 He answered, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ 23 But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”

David could have chosen to let this unspeakable tragedy destroy the rest of his life. Choosing to live didn’t mean he didn’t care about his son. He went to Bathsheba and comforted her, and he comforted himself with the assurance that he would see his child again. He did the next right thing — a very simple task of bathing and nourishing his body.

The Bible records that David felt deep conviction for the things he’d done wrong. He sought and accepted forgiveness, grace and mercy. I believe he wisely realized that beating himself up over it wouldn’t help. He accepted what he couldn’t change, and he set his mind to do the best he could with what he had left.

Friends, if you’re like the distraught mother or King David, and you can’t fix or heal some person or circumstance, can’t change the past or what you’ve done wrong, please don’t let yourself go. It won’t help. Care for that wayward or sick loved one the best you can. Pray for healing. Take time to grieve the loss of hopes and dreams, or even of the loss of life.

It’s time to get up out of your sackcloth and ashes. Take a long bath, put on some lotion, grab a bite to eat. Wipe your eyes, take a deep breath, and choose life. It’s the only one you’ve got.

She Didn’t Have to Be

20 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by in A Mama's Heart

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My daddy and I went to live with my Grandpa and Grandma Bunton, and my aunt Bet, when my parents split up. While Daddy was working as a telephone man at Southern Bell, I stayed home with Grandpa and Grandma, fussing when Grandpa’s electric razor made the Old Rebel and Captain Kangaroo fuzzy on the old black and white TV.

Daddy met a beautiful telephone operator at a union meeting named Martha and fell in love with her. Before long, so did I. She had green eyes and long, dark hair with big curls — and three school -aged children — and I adored her. On a blustery, cloudy day in November 1969, they went to the Justice of the Peace in Greensboro (since no preacher would marry them because they had both been divorced), and she took on a new husband and his four year old daughter.

I was sitting in the floor playing with my Lite Brite when they walked in at Grandpa and Grandma’s. I jumped in her arms and said, “Can I call you Mama now?” For reasons that were outside my control, my parents were divorced, and I knew in my heart that God had given her to us. Daddy and I both needed her — badly.

We moved into her house and blended our families. Mama quit her job and stayed home to raise me. She watched the Old Rebel and Captain Kangaroo with me, only she didn’t run an electric razor and make the TV fuzzy.

I couldn’t wait for my new brothers and sister to come in from school every day. Mama had supper on the table when Daddy got home from work, and she would let me help her cook and clean. It was a happy time.

It wasn’t until I started school that I realized I was different. None of the other kids had two moms. Their siblings had the same last names as they did. They weren’t going out of town to visit their non-custodial parent like I was. In the early ’70’s, blended families were the exception.

Before long, I began to feel the sting at church. Some parents didn’t want their child at my house to play because my parents were divorced. I guess they feared we were a bad influence, or maybe their child would catch divorce cooties. I never understood it.

Mama was undeterred. Even though no preacher would marry her and Daddy, and some other moms shunned me, she held her head high and kept taking me to church. Again I’m forced to say, the world has never hurt me — but people who name the Name of Jesus have caused me great pain.

Jesus was different like me. He also had a stepparent, and the religious community shunned them as well. His mother, Mary carried the son of another Man — the offspring of the Holy Spirit Himself. Joseph was skeptical of taking on a child that wasn’t his, but Matthew 1:20-21 tells us,

 . . . an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.”

Although Jesus didn’t belong to Joseph, he made the conscious CHOICE to love and raise Him as his son. He didn’t have to. He could have put Mary away and decided to find a wife with less baggage.

No angel spoke to Mama, and I surely wasn’t conceived by the Holy Spirit! But she took Daddy and his baggage anyway. I got the same love, and the same discipline, as her biological children. Because of her, I can cook, clean, sew, do any craft I set my mind to — she’s the reason I am the wife and mother I am today. I had the best example I could ever have hoped for.

She could have been just my stepmother. I’ve never called her that because of all the Cinderella/wicked stepmother images that come to mind! Instead, she chose to be my Mama. Every time I hear Brad Paisley’s, “He Didn’t Have to Be,” I still get a catch in my throat.

It could have gone a different way. She didn’t have to quit her job to stay home and raise me. I was mouthy and sassy and loud. I cried when she made me wear anything lacy. I didn’t like sleeping alone. I refused to stop sucking my thumb no matter what she did — to the tune of a lot of expensive orthodontic work. I put the dog in my bed when she left my room every night even though she didn’t want him on the furniture. I’m sure I was quite the bratty little sister to Ricky, Jo Anne and Dean as well.

Even with all of that, she loved me and treated me just like she treated her other children. She always made us a cake on our birthday’s.

mama and me

So when I grew up, I set my mind to do all the things she taught me to do. I made her one when it was her birthday.

mama cake
They were married 36 1/2 years before we lost Daddy. She lovingly cared for him until his last breath, and he died laying right next to her. Thank you for loving him, and for loving me, Mama. We never would have made it without you.

mama and daddy

Who would have thought that God was using her not only to prepare me to be a wife and mother, but also how to blend a family with love one day? Now I’m in Mama’s shoes. I married a man who already had two children. Because of her example, I’m dedicated to loving Joseph and Kelly as the two new blessings I’ve been given, treating them the same as I treat my biological children. Through blurred vision with grateful tears, I thank God my husband loves my children that way as well. We got them a lot later than Mama got me, but I pray they will always be thankful they were given not just a stepparent, but a second Mama and Pops.

Sadly, divorced families are no longer the exception. There are untold numbers of children living in homes without both biological parents. If you find yourself with children who don’t share your DNA, please, please, please look into that face that doesn’t look like yours, and love that precious child. Treat them like they were birthed to you, loving them unconditionally . . . like next generation depends on it — because it does.

The Art of Being Yourself

10 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by in Strength for the Journey

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My Daddy’s family had some very musically talented folks. So many either sang or played an instrument. Daddy tried to teach me to play the guitar, but he always said I quit when I couldn’t play the “Spanish Fandango” after the first lesson. How I wish I’d stuck with it.

I couldn’t play the guitar, and I could barely read piano music, but I LOVED to sing and dance. I’d spend every penny of my allowance on 45’s, playing them over and over, learning every word, and singing in my hairbrush as my microphone.

We went to a little country church with my Grandma Bunton and my Aunt Bet. They loved the Lord, and they kept the rules. I remember a lot of hell-fire and damnation preaching, but I also remember my sweet Grandma singing the old hymns she loved so dearly. She had the most beautiful alto voice, bringing the special music nearly every week.

They used to ask me to sing at church, too, and since I wanted to be just like Grandma, and I didn’t have a shy bone in my body, I was happy to oblige. I would dutifully sing the old stand-by’s like Jesus Loves Me and Jesus Loves the Little Children. But those were getting old . . . .

I was only four years old, but I can remember it so clearly. I had on a new pair of white Go-Go boots (the height of fashion in 1969!), and it seemed like a good time to shake it up a bit and sing my favorite song: Harper Valley PTA!

For those of you young’un’s who’ve never heard of that song, it’s about a single mother raising her daughter, and the local PTA thinks she wears her mini skirts too short, so she calls out all their hypocritical behavior. I encourage you to check out Jeannie C. Riley rocking her own white Go-Go boots and enjoy a real classic by clicking this link for your viewing pleasure:

Jeannie C. Riley’s Harper Valley PTA

I had my hand on my hip, shakin’ my stuff, belting out as loudly as I could, I WANNA TELL YOU ALL A STORY ‘BOUT A HARPER VALLEY WIDOWED WIFE . . . 

I can still see my Mama’s shocked face, my sister holding her hand over her mouth, trying hard not to laugh out loud, and Mrs. Rayle on the front row, hurrying to shut down my Go-Go dancing performance. I never got past the first verse . . .

That may have been the end of my singing career at Plainview Baptist Church.

Sometime along in my mid teens, however, I started to think my personality wasn’t optimal. I believed the lie that I was too outgoing, that there was something wrong with being an extrovert. I spent the next 25 years asking God to change me, help me be someone else. I tried really hard, and almost always failed, to be the quiet type.

Every time I was with people and the real me would inevitably come out, I would feel guilty later. Time after time, I would resolve myself to try harder not to draw any attention to myself. But inside, I was still that little girl, holding her hairbrush, singing and dancing in her room. When no one was looking and I was home alone, I could be me.

I got my love of music from my Daddy’s side, but I got my MOUTH from my mother’s side. When the Edwards family gets together, it can be chaotic, it’s always loud, and to me, always fun. They fussed and argued, but they loved each other, and I loved them dearly.

In 2005, my Grandpa Edwards died of a stroke. I sat there in the funeral home, trying to be quiet, trying to not talk to too many people — I’d gotten into the habit of constantly reminding myself of how I was supposed to act: be quiet, don’t talk too much, just sit there, no one really cares what you have to say, begging God to help me not to be me. It was an impossible task.

I watched my uncles, aunts and cousins talk to one another, and laugh and cut up. You see, my Grandpa Edwards loved the Lord, and although we were going to miss him terribly, we all knew he had been ready to go for years, and we would see him again. He was always the life of the party, and he would have wanted us to celebrate his life.

As I observed everyone else cutting up, very clearly, the still, small voice of the Spirit said to me, “Look at them. They’re fearfully and wonderfully made, just like you are. Don’t be ashamed of how I made you. I didn’t make a mistake. There’s nothing wrong with them, and there’s nothing wrong with you either.”

I felt a burden I’d been carrying for 25 years lift off my shoulders. I had been given this personality just the same as I’d been born a girl with brown eyes and blonde hair. Girls are not less than boys, brown eyes are not less than green or blue, and blonde isn’t less than brown, black or red; so being an extrovert wasn’t less than being an introvert. I wasn’t sinless, but I was okay. Just like I was.

That does NOT mean I don’t have to bring my personality under submission! I shouldn’t be talking when I’m supposed to be listening, and acting silly when I’m supposed to be serious. But it DOES mean I don’t have to be ashamed of how God made me, and neither do you!! Zephaniah 3:17 says,

The Lord your God is with you,
    the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
    in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
    but will rejoice over you with singing.

He loves to sing and rejoice over us, as He delights in His creation!

These days, I sing and dance to my heart’s content! My children love music as well, and they will grab a hairbrush and sing along with their Mama at the drop of a hat. I’m the first one on the dance floor at weddings and the last one to leave.

If you pull up beside me at an intersection, you’re likely to see me having my own little concert. If my husband is driving, you might even see me hanging out the sunroof, singing at the top of my lungs. He doesn’t mind. Just like Jesus, he loves me just like I am.

If you’ve felt there’s something wrong with your personality, that you’re less than others, if someone has told you you’re not good enough, don’t believe the lie. Hold your head high, straighten your back and stand tall. The Creator of the Universe takes great delight in you — this is your awakening.

 

Let it go!

05 Thursday Nov 2015

Posted by in Strength for the Journey

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Letting go is easier said than done for me. I’ve had to let go of a lot of things I was grasping too tightly, and every time, it has been a struggle. Most times, I feel like God has had to pry my fingers off of a situation that I couldn’t stop worrying about, thinking about, obsessing over, and trying to fix.

— I had to let go of my children as they grew up and needed, wanted, and deserved their independence.

— I had to let go of my Daddy when he was dying. If love could have healed him, he would never have died.

— I had to let go of a marriage I couldn’t save. Try as I did, I couldn’t salvage it.

— I had to let go of fixing (also known as CONTROLLING) other people’s lives. This one nearly killed me — it just can’t be done.

There is also another kind of letting go — letting go of people who want to walk away from you.

Sometimes you are the letting go-ER and sometimes you’re the letting go-EE.

There are people who are no longer an integral and active part of my life anymore — either because they made a concerted effort to leave, or because life simply took us in different directions, or because other things in their lives became more important and I was no longer on their list of priorities. Whether it was intentional or not, their absence left a hole, and I had no choice but to let them walk away.

Letting go doesn’t mean I no longer care.

It means I’m accepting what I can’t change.

Looking back, I can see how most everything I let go of brought peace in the end. I see now that God was trying to separate me from impossible situations where things weren’t going to get better — even with the death of my Daddy. It’s when I accepted what I couldn’t change that I found healing.

Dear friends suggested I memorize the long form of the Serenity Prayer, and in the darkest times of my life when I hurt so badly I couldn’t think of what to pray, I would say this prayer and it brought me great comfort —  and it still does. Most of us have heard the first verse, but the rest of it is every bit as powerful.

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
As it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
If I surrender to His Will;
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life
And supremely happy with Him
Forever and ever in the next.
Amen

Relationships and friendships end for a reason, even if we can’t see why at the time. It takes a tremendous amount of faith to trust that God will make ALL things right if I surrender to HIS will — not mine, and to accept this sometimes painful world as it is, not how I would make it if I had ANY control over it.

When someone leaves your life, it helps to trust what 1 John 2:19 says,

They went out from us, but they did not really belong to us. For if they had belonged to us, they would have remained with us; but their going showed that none of them belonged to us.

It’s okay, even healthy, for people to go their separate ways! Of the people who have walked away from me, even though it hurt and I needed time to grieve the loss, I can now look back and see why it happened. Either the relationship was unhealthy and full of chaos and needed to go away, or things had changed so much that we no longer had anything in common anyway. Sometimes we just need to trust that things happen for the best!

If you’re struggling with letting go of some person, place or thing that is leaving you hurting you and causing you to lose peace, contentment and serenity in your life, I’ll leave you with a few lines from my favorite TD Jakes quote. I couldn’t say it better than this!

There are people who can walk away from you.
And hear me when I tell you this! When people can walk
Away from you: let them walk.
I don’t want you to try to talk another person into staying with you,
Loving you, calling you, caring about you, coming to see you,
Staying attached to you.
I mean hang up the phone.
When people can walk away from you let them walk.
Your destiny is never tied to anybody that left.

People leave you because they are not joined to you.
And if they are not joined to you, you can’t make them stay.
Let them go.
And it doesn’t mean that they are a bad person it just means
That their part in the story is over. And you’ve got
To know when people’s part in your story is over so that you
Don’t keep trying to raise the dead.
You’ve got to know when it’s dead.
You’ve got to know when it’s over. Let me tell you something.
I’ve got the gift of good-bye. It’s the tenth spiritual gift,
I believe in good-bye. It’s not that I’m hateful,
it’s that I’m faithful, and I know whatever God
Means for me to have He’ll give it to me.
And if it takes too much sweat I don’t need it.
Stop begging people to stay.

If you care to watch him preach this on YouTube — and it’s a good one! — Click here:

TD Jakes LET THEM GO

There is FREEDOM in letting go of what we can’t change! Acceptance is the answer to all our problems today!

God’s Tattoo

29 Thursday Oct 2015

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One of the main reasons I started writing this blog is to bring encouragement to those dealing with the same things I’ve experienced. My life has been far from perfect, and my hope is that people struggling with hardship will be glad to know they’re not alone. And more importantly, there is a God who loves them and would never leave them, no matter what they’ve done or what they’ve been through.

So in the spirit of making sure everyone knows for SURE I’m not perfect, let me share my all time worst “Mom Fail” moment with you.

In late spring of 1993, we were living in the little military/farming community of Goldsboro, North Carolina, and we were leading the college ministry at our church. Richard, Jay, William and Robbie — affectionately known as “The Fellas,” were in our class, and they were my 2 year old and 4 year old little girls’ best friends. They couldn’t wait to see The Fellas at church each week, or to have them over at our house.

We’d gotten into a routine after Wednesday night Bible study. The Fellas would go pick up Lindsey and Kaitlyn from their Mission Friends class and meet us in the parking lot. It was the highlight of the girls’ week! They would jump in the Fellas’ arms and squeal all the way outside, and then they’d run and play with them while we stood by our cars and chatted with everyone else.

This particular Wednesday night was like all the other Wednesday nights in the past couple of years. Except for one small thing — my newborn son, Daniel was now part of our family, and it was his first week in the nursery.

I was so used to the routine after class, that I walked right outside to visit with friends and waited for the girls to finish playing with the Fella’s. I was standing there just a flappin’ my gums when I saw the nursery worker coming out of the building carrying precious cargo — my baby. My heart hit the pavement.

Did you forget something, Dee?

Why yes. Yes I did.

I could make a lot of excuses — it wasn’t part of my normal routine! I must have had postpartum fuzzy brain! The Fella’s should have gotten him too when they got the girls! I mean, they were right there on the same hall!

The bottom line is, it wasn’t anyone else’s responsibility. It was mine. My baby should have been my first thought, but instead I was doing what I was always doing on Wednesday night. I didn’t change my normal schedule to add picking up my son.

Who could forget this precious little feller?! (Of course it’s out of focus — before digital cameras, filters and iPhones hit the scene, we didn’t know what pictures would look like until we got them developed!)

daniel

I’m sure I would have realized I was missing a child as soon as we started to get in the car. He wasn’t left in the nursery for more than 15 minutes past normal pick up time, and he was never alone. He had no clue anything was amiss! But the fact remains:

I forgot my son in the nursery.

I can hear the scratching noise of people marking my name off the nomination page for “Mother of the Year” right now. I don’t think I have ever been more embarrassed of my parenting skills!

What could I have done differently? I really couldn’t prepare for it in advance because I never DREAMED I would do such a thing! I was BORN responsible! If I’d thought I could’ve been that forgetful, I would have written a note on my hand:

Don’t forget to pick up Daniel in the nursery, Doofus!

If you’ve been reading my posts, you know I spent some dark times thinking God had forgotten about me as well. I must have thought God was the same kind of parent I am, at least for a little while. I have to constantly remind myself that He is a MUCH better parent than me!

Comfort can always be found in God’s Word. We find that the Israelites struggled with the same fear I have had when we read Isaiah 49:

14 But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me,
    the Lord has forgotten me.”

The Lord sought to relieve those fears, and it should ease ours, too:

15 “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
    and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
    I will not forget you!

It’s VERY hard for a woman to forget her child (unless you’re me!), but even if she does, God never will. He will never forget us, never forsake us, never fail us.

Read on and you’ll find out God has a tattoo — more or less. I may or may not be taking some liberties with semantics, but you get the picture. Check out the next verse.

16 See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;

Why did God do this? Is He in danger of forgetting us, like I forgot my baby? Did He need to make Himself a permanent reminder not to forget His children? Of course not. The first word of that verse shows us why He engraved us on His palm. He said, “See?” It’s not to remind HIMSELF. It’s a visual aid for US. It’s to show us proof that He hasn’t forgotten us.

In that same way, Jesus used physical evidence on His palms to prove His resurrection to Doubting Thomas in John 20:27,

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.

God’s engraving of us on His palm, and Jesus’ nail scarred hands are there as proof of the Father’s love in tangible evidence to us — for our benefit, to help us to believe and not to doubt. Only love could make them put permanent reminders, “tattoos” if you will — of us, because of us, and for us, on their palms. Proof of a perfect love that never fails, never forgets.

Sister ballerinas

23 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by in A Mama's Heart

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Our first Halloween in Alaska was 1993. Here are my sweet girls in their ballerina outfits, ages 3 and 5. They sure did love each other!

girls halloween 2

The next Halloween, Kaitlyn insisted on being ballerinas again because she wanted to wear Lindsey’s tutu from her ballet recital. It was either a hunter in camo or the Tasmanian Devil for 18 month old Daniel. He wouldn’t have needed the costume for the second idea . . . the boy kept me on my toes.

I was in the kitchen — I don’t recall if I was cooking or cleaning. Daniel was taking a nap. The girls were playing in the living room, not 10 yards from me. I heard a thud and I went running in to see what happened.

I didn’t find out until later that the girls were trying to jump from the couch, over the coffee table, and on to the carpet in front of the fireplace. And by “later”, I mean THIS PAST TUESDAY. Oh the things your kids tell you (that you may not want to know!) when they’re grown up!!

Quite a big aspiration for 4 year old and 6 year old little girls, wouldn’t you say? Did they think they could fly? Apparently Kaitlyn went first and quickly discovered she could NOT.

Her face looked like Charles Manson had paid us a visit. Blood was everywhere. All over the floor, the coffee table, the couch. I could see her skull, and blood was shooting out of her forehead, right between her eyes, in spurts with every beat of her heart. I’ve said many times, and I will say many more I’m sure — parenting ain’t for the faint of heart.

She wasn’t crying, and she never did shed a tear. She just looked at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes and blinked in the pouring blood.

I picked her up and rushed to the kitchen. Speaking soothing words to her, I held her head over the sink and tried to close the wound and slow the bleeding. I assured her she was going to be okay. She watched her blood pour in a steady stream for a few seconds until she calmly and quietly asked,

Mama, am I going to die now? Is that ALL my blood?

My heart clenched as tightly as if someone had punched me in the chest.

No, sweetheart. You aren’t going to die. That’s not NEARLY all your blood. You have a LOT more! You have so much you don’t even need this blood! As soon as I get the bleeding slowed, we’re going to get you some stitches and you’ll be just fine.

It wasn’t until then that I realized what Lindsey was doing. She was on her knees on the kitchen floor, crying out to Jesus for the life of her little sister. She had never seen that much blood either, and she too thought Kaitlyn was dying. She prayed as hard as she could, eyes closed, hands clenched under her chin,

Lord Jesus, PLEASE don’t let my sister die! Please don’t let all her blood come out! Please take ME instead of her. Let ME die!

Again, my heart felt like it would break! I simultaneously squeezed Kaitlyn’s cut closed and turned to Lindsey to calm her fears, trying to assure her Kaitlyn was going to be okay. But she wouldn’t stop praying. She wailed,

Jesus, I don’t know if my sister knows You! She’s so little! I know that I know You and I’ll go to Heaven to be with You, so take me instead! TAKE ME!!!!

The faith of a child. And the love of a sister. It was the first time I realized my children had inherited my bent to love so deeply it hurt.

After a trip to the ER, Kaitlyn was good to go to the Fall Festival with a band-aid covering her 7 stitches. My little trooper!

girls halloween

I remember when my friends Ricky and Susan Marshall’s daughter Allie was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at age 10. Ricky asked the doctor if he could take out whatever works in his body and put it in Allie’s. He would rather carry that illness than watch his little girl carry it. Maybe that’s why we lost him to a heart attack so young. His heart couldn’t contain that kind of love this side of Heaven.

The Apostle Paul loved that deeply as well. In Romans 9, he said,

2 I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. 3 For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my people

Paul loved his people so much that he would trade his life, even his salvation, for them to be free.

However, it doesn’t work that way, does it? Lindsey couldn’t exchange her life for Kaitlyn’s, Ricky couldn’t take Allie’s dysfunctional pancreas, and Paul couldn’t give his countrymen his salvation. As badly as it hurts to watch people go through hard times, we can’t go through it for them. We all have to walk our own paths.

As always, I write to preach to myself. My heart is heavy, and I wish I could carry the burden of people I love. But like my sweet Lindsey, my dear friend Ricky who is with the Lord, and the Apostle Paul, I carry deep anguish in my heart — pain that I can’t fix.

Thankfully, I know the One who can. This is the prayer on my heart today. Maybe you’re burdened for someone you love as well. If so, you can pray this with me.

Lord Jesus, we hurt when we watch others hurt. You know how that feels. You bore our pain and sin on Calvary. It’s too much for us to bear at times, so we give it to You. We claim Your Word in Isaiah 41:13,

For I am the Lord your God
    who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
    I will help you.

We lay our loved ones at Your feet for You are our Healer, Our Comforter, our Helper. Thank You for reaching down to lift us up. Please do for them what only You can do. Heal their broken hearts, draw them closer to You, make them stronger and healthier. Not for us, but for Your glory and in Your Name, amen and amen.

Baby Dolls and Barbie’s

16 Friday Oct 2015

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My favorite things to play with were baby dolls and Barbie’s. In my baby doll and Barbie’s world, the family was always happy and healthy, the Mama cooked delicious meals that were ready when the Daddy came home, the house was spotless, and the children were sweet and respectful. Mama was the one who held it all together and everyone thought she was wonderful! I was born to be June Cleaver! I’m not sure what went wrong . . . . .

barbies

My people-pleasing ways started early. As long as I can remember, I wanted to make everyone happy, and if I couldn’t, I was devastated.

The worst punishment that could have been given to me actually wasn’t having the phone taken away (although that was horrible). The worst thing was to disappoint my Daddy. It literally felt like my heart would break in two. The last thing in the world I wanted was to let my parents down. I wanted to make them proud. Shoot, I wanted to make EVERYONE proud. I even hate to disappoint complete strangers!

It’s a well known psychological fact that what you think about your earthly father is transferred over to what you think about your Heavenly Father. So naturally, I’ve also always been afraid of disappointing God the same way I’ve been afraid of disappointing Daddy.

When my life completely fell apart and I questioned the goodness of God, I also struggled with the fear that I had disappointed God so deeply that He left me alone in the mess I had made of my life. I had desperately tried to BE good and DO good, but I couldn’t make my life, and all the people in it, work like baby dolls and Barbie’s.

Was God sitting up in Heaven saying,

“I really wanted to fix things for Dee. She’s tried hard, but bless her heart, she’s failed. Too bad for her and her family. I wish I could help her, but I expected more out of her, so I just can’t do it now”?

Had I let God down so completely that I had tied His hands from reaching down to me?

Let’s look at another colossal disappointment in Scripture and see how God handled him.

In John 13, Jesus is about to be killed, and He knows it. It’s the night before His crucifixion, and He is having dinner with His disciples — including His betrayer, Judas. We don’t have to speculate if Jesus knew Judas was going to sell Him out to His enemies. John records that He was well aware in verse 21:

Jesus was troubled in spirit and testified, “Very truly I tell you, one of you is going to betray me.”

Do you think Jesus was disappointed in Judas?

To answer that question, we need to think about the definition of disappointment. Webster’s defines it as:

“unhappiness from the failure of something hoped for or expected to happen, someone or something that fails to satisfy hopes or expectations.”

In other words, we’re unhappy when we THOUGHT something would happen that we wanted to, or we thought something WOULDN’T happen that we DIDN’T want to.

We’re disappointed when it didn’t work out the way we thought it would.

In light of that definition, I submit to you that although Jesus didn’t approve of Judas turning His back on Him, and He was hurt and troubled in His spirit, He wasn’t disappointed. He couldn’t be, because that would imply that Jesus didn’t know what was going to happen.

Read the beginning of John 13 and you’ll see that Jesus showed His disciples, including Judas, the full measure of His love by getting down on His knees and washing their feet. Although He knew what was in Judas’s heart, He loved him and served him anyway.

I don’t think God was saying,

“Wow. I can’t believe what Judas did. I never dreamed he’d stoop so low! I’m utterly speechless! Now I’m going to have to re-think how to save my children! He’s messed up my plan!”

God knows just how low humanity can stoop. Every last one of us. He isn’t shocked when we sin — even the most grievous sin recorded in history — the betrayal of the Son of God by one of His own.

I believe God was grieved in His spirit when Judas betrayed His Son. I don’t believe He wanted Judas to commit suicide, and I believe He would have forgiven Judas if He’d repented — just like He forgave Peter for denying Him three times on that same fateful night.

I believe He’s grieved in His spirit when I sin as well. I think His heart hurts when mine hurts. I don’t think He wanted my children to be from a broken home. But I don’t think He was disappointed — He knew it was going to happen, even if He didn’t want us to make the choices we did. He wasn’t surprised. And He still had Plan B when I messed up Plan A.

Yes, there is disappointment as part of our relationships with God. But the disappointment is on OUR END. We become disappointed when God doesn’t do what we want, what we expect, what we hope He’ll do.

How jacked up is that? He isn’t disappointed in us mere mortals, yet we are disappointed in the Creator of the Universe? Doesn’t seem right, does it?

We can’t use this as excuses to sin and hurt God just because He’s not shocked at our behavior. He has expectations of us, and they’re found in Micah 6:8

And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
    and to walk humbly with your God.

It’s a high calling, but we have a High Priest to help us.

Even today, I find myself wanting the baby dolls and Barbie’s life, and I still can’t make it happen. When I mess things up, He may not be disappointed because He knows me. However, He DOES expect me to get up tomorrow morning and try again.

Treating the Symptoms

10 Saturday Oct 2015

Posted by in A Mama's Heart

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My parents split up when I was a baby. When I was four, my Daddy remarried, and I found myself blessed with two mothers. One I call Mom and one I call Mama. For simplicity’s sake, I’ll my call the mother who birthed me, Mom Jenny and the mother who raised me as her own, Mama Martha. I’ll write about her one day, but for today, I have a story to tell about Mom Jenny.

My Mom Jenny lived in Miami as I was growing up, and I visited her several times a year until she eventually moved back to North Carolina in the early 1990’s.

She was always a beautiful woman. Not without her problems (she and I could write a book on that one!), but she always kept her looks. This is her after she moved to Durham. Stunning, isn’t she?

Mom Healthy

A few short years later, her health began to fail. She started gaining weight. Her thick, beautiful hair was suddenly sparse. Her face was round and her eyes bulged. She became diabetic, had high blood pressure and sleep apnea.

I kept asking her what her doctor was doing about her health problems. He increased her sleeping pills and bipolar medicine, and started her on blood pressure pills and treatment for diabetes. It seemed to me there was pill after pill being prescribed for condition after condition, but if she was okay with his prognosis, what business was it of mine? Was it my place to do something? Shouldn’t I just trust the medical professionals like she did?

She kept getting worse. Her skin was like paper. A dog jumped in her lap and just his paw on her arm tore such a deep gash that blood shot in the air. When she hit 180 pounds (she’d never been over 100 pounds her whole life), it was time to intervene. Who could look at her and not see something was wrong? Something more than eating too much? Can you believe the difference in her appearance?

Mom Cushings

I insisted on going with her to her next appointment with her primary care physician. I expressed my deep concerns about her declining health.

“Something has caused her to be diabetic. Her weight, her hair, her skin. Something is bad wrong.” 

He said, “Or maybe she’s just fat.”

What?!!? I don’t expect doctors to know everything. I have a lot of grace for them actually. They’re human beings — they’re not God. But I knew something was wrong with her! I actually felt she was dying. If he wasn’t going to help me, I was dang sure going to find someone who would!

I went with her to her next appointment with her psychiatrist. I didn’t know who else to ask. I pleaded,

“This is my mother,” and I handed him a picture of her when she wasn’t sick. “See how she’s supposed to look? She’s inside of that failing body over there somewhere,” and I pointed to her sitting in a chair. “Please help me find her.” 

When I got home that evening, her psychiatrist called me.

“I would never in a million years have believed that was the same person when you showed me that picture. I’ve been on the computer researching her symptoms all evening. I believe your mother has Cushing’s Disease.”

He told her to go back to her primary care doctor and tell him she needs surgery. Immediately, they confirmed his diagnosis. She had a tumor on her adrenal gland, and if it hadn’t been discovered, she would have died — sooner than later. In a flash, she was hospitalized at Duke University Hospital and had her adrenal gland, along with the tumor, removed.

What almost killed her had lurked beneath the surface for several years. If she had known it was there, she could have treated it before it took her health, her appearance and nearly her life.

She continues to have a myriad of health problems stemming from Cushing’s. Sadly, she was too sick to put up a fight back then. She was just treating the symptoms, and never finding the root of what was wrong.

Jesus addressed this issue several times in the New Testament. His words on the subject have caused much dispute over the years. He said in Mark 9:43,

If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off.

He also said if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out! What in the world does that mean?!? Is He advocating maiming yourself? Should we REALLY cut off limbs and remove senses?!

Don’t be silly. Of course He doesn’t mean that. What He’s saying is quite simple:

Don’t treat the symptoms. Take care of the PROBLEM. 

It makes a lot of sense to me. Treating the symptoms instead of removing what was wrong that nearly cost my mother her life. She looks and feels better than she did before her diagnosis, but the earlier she found out, the better off she would have been. The longer it went on, the more her health was permanently affected. What was hurting her HAD to come out for her to live.

Isn’t that what we all do? It’s really the human condition. Not just physically, but spiritually, psychologically and emotionally. We think we can take care of the symptoms instead of the problem and we’ll be just fine.

Your teenager is driving you nuts — that’s normal. But what if something else is wrong and is causing the acting out? Isn’t it better to find out the problem and take care of it instead of just hoping it will get better?

How many marriages could be saved if instead of ignoring the problems and pretending like nothing is wrong until it’s too late?

How many people are self medicating their miserable lives with drugs, alcohol and prescriptions from their doctors, when what they really need to do is find out what is wrong with their lives and FIXING IT?

Yesterday we found ourselves back at Duke Hospital. Here my Mom Jenny in recovery from an endoscopy. She’s been having a lot of nausea — to the point that I’ve had to take her to the emergency room a couple of times.

Mom recovery

Don’t worry, Mom. We don’t know what’s wrong yet, but we’ll find out. You’ve got a bunch of good doctors and a daughter who isn’t into treating the symptoms without fixing the problem.

Not a Sparrow Falls

02 Friday Oct 2015

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When Kaitlyn was about 18 months, I couldn’t find the remote. Other missing items had ended up being located in the toilet, but not this time. I asked her several times where it was, and she held her hands up in the air and say, “I not know, Mama.” Lord help me, but that young’un was sweet. She made you want to pick her up and cuddle her every time you looked at her.

After hours of looking, I finally sat down in exasperation and said,

“Lord, You and You alone know where that remote is. Your Word says a sparrow doesn’t fall that You don’t know it. You know how many hairs are on our heads! You said to ask and we will receive. Well, I’m asking! Please tell me where that remote is! I’m just going to sit here and be quiet and wait for you to tell me.”

After a couple of minutes, I got up from the chair, I walked straight to the love seat, I reached my hand directly behind the cushion, down into the depths of the couch, and I touched that remote. What a boost to my faith!

From that day on, if I couldn’t find something, I’d pray “The Prayer for That Which is Lost” until I found it. Lindsey lost her ring. I lost my purse. Cash. Keys. Homework. You name it, if we couldn’t find it, we prayed. I’m a little obsessive about lost things, so between looking hard and the power of prayer, there haven’t been many things I haven’t been able to find.

Switching gears (I’ll tie it all back together, I promise):

In 1996, we were given a kitten, a beautiful blue eyed boy, white with orange on his face and chest. The kids wanted to name him Jonah. Lindsey was 7, Kaitlyn was 5, and Daniel had just turned 3. He has few memories of life before Jonah.

Since then, I’ve lived in 10 different houses, and Jonah has stayed right with me. That’s remarkable since he was always an outside cat. When I’d bring him in when it was very cold, he wasn’t happy. He’d pace back and forth in front of the door wanting out. Oh the gifts he brought us! Field mice galore! Bunnies (which I found personally upsetting), squirrels, moles, voles, and surely other rodents I’ve blocked from my memory.

When he stopped hunting a couple of years ago, stopped doing anything except sleeping, I brought him in for good. He wasn’t sick, he was just old. Although he was deaf, he could see fine, and he still purred when we held him. Here he is in Kaitlyn’s arms. He was 19, she was 24.

jonah

A few weeks ago, he started meowing. A LOT. And pacing back and forth. He’d stop meowing if I held him, so I did. For two days, he meowed and he paced. We had to run some errands, and when we got home, he was nowhere to be found. We searched in every nook and cranny. I called him just in case he could hear me. No sign of him anywhere in the house.

The only thing we can figure is he located the doggie door, made his escape and jumped the fence. We live in the woods on the family farm, so we combed several acres of fields and woods. Every day. Even at night with a flashlight.

I plastered his picture all over social media. Called the animal shelter. Nothing. No real trace of him except the bit of white fur Todd saw towards the pond.

As I walked, I prayed — the “Prayer for That Which is Lost” I started praying when Kaitlyn was a toddler.

“Lord, You know where Jonah is. Not a sparrow falls outside your care. Please let me find him, even if he’s gone on to “kitty heaven”. I want to bury him here on the farm, Lord. I don’t want to keep worrying, keep looking, keep wondering where he is. I need closure.”

This time, no answer has come to my “Prayer for That Which is Lost.” I understand cats like to go off on their own when they know their time is coming. It’s entirely possible that Jonah loved being outside so much that he just didn’t want to die inside. I do wish I could’ve buried him by the pond next to our other cat, Maggie that we lost this year as well. But 19 years is a very long time to keep a kitty, so I’m thankful for what time we had.

(Before anyone gets any bright ideas about giving us a kitten, please don’t! We loved Maggie and Jonah, but my husband is very allergic to cats, and we have two dogs to love on!)

What’s the difference in finding the remote and finding my 19 year old cat? Why would God show me the remote, yet not let me bury my Jonah? I’m SO comfortable with saying, “I just don’t know.”

God isn’t a vending machine. We can’t put our money in and get the same thing every time. Maybe finding Jonah would have hurt me worse. Maybe God was protecting me. Or maybe I didn’t look hard enough. Maybe I just don’t need to know WHY.

I still trust Matthew 10,

29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.

I hope that my sweet Jonah laid down under a tree, next to an old log in the woods, snuggled into the leaves and fell asleep where he loved it most. It gives me great comfort to know wherever he fell, he wasn’t outside my Father’s care.

Wherever you are, my sweet Jonah, thank you for not running away when Daniel was 3 and used to pick you up by your head. You were so loyal, following us to house after house. Thank you for all the presents you brought us — dead rodents to us, treasures to you. If there are kitties in heaven, we hope you’re running through fields and chasing mice. We will never forget you and will always love you. You were a good boy.

Not my circus, not my monkeys

24 Thursday Sep 2015

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I loved it when the teacher asked me to take names when she left the room. (Do they even do that anymore!?!) I wanted everyone to be doing what they’re supposed to be, even when the teacher wasn’t watching.

Lest you think I was the tattle-tail of Mrs. Temple’s first grade class at Rena Bulluck Elementary School in rural Pleasant Garden, NC, I didn’t WANT to tell the teacher if anyone was unruly. I would instead “encourage” them to behave in her absence.

Although I’ve prided myself in never getting a spanking in school — and if I HAD gotten one, I’d’ve gotten another one when I got home — I DID get my hand paddled with a ruler, I spent quite a bit of time in the corner, and I was forever writing sentences. I still remember what I had to write: I must learn to listen. There were two reasons I had to stand in the corner, got my hand paddled, or had to write sentences:

  1. I was talking to my friends when I was supposed to be quiet.
  2. I’d go around and “help” all the other kids with their work when I finished mine, even though I’d been told to stay in my seat.

Fast forward from the first grade to high school, circa 1981.

Same “helper”. Defined: enabler. It’s been said that “helping” is the sunny side of “control”. I’ve actually been known to write term papers for people — don’t tell Mrs. Loggins! Why couldn’t I look around and say, “Not my circus, not my monkeys?” I carried problems that weren’t mine to bear even as a teenager.

Same friends. Here are five of us in the 10th grade. There are more girls, but sadly I don’t have a picture of all of us!

5cis

Same mouth. I wasn’t in the National Honor Society. Oh I had the grades. But back in the day you also had to have good conduct grades. I wasn’t rude or disrespectful to my teachers. I didn’t cheat on tests.  Although I usually had all A’s, it was glaringly apparent which classes I had with my friends, especially Misty or Tammie, who were quite the talkers as well. It didn’t matter when the teacher moved us to opposite sides of the room, we would just pass notes and use hand signals.

A typical conversation every time I brought a new report card home:

Daddy:  Well I can see you have a few classes with Misty or Tammie. Any IDIOT can sit there and SHUT UP.

Me: But Daddy! If I can talk the entire time the teacher is talking and STILL make an A, doesn’t that mean I’m super smart!?!

He never bought it. He would waltz right in my room, unplug my rotary phone, and slam it down beside his recliner — where it would stay until I brought up my conduct grade. Then I had to use the phone in the kitchen, trying to stretch the cord as far down the hall as I could. It was a fate worse than death.

Now I’m all grown up (more or less). Those three things haven’t changed since the first grade.

The mouth: Still gets me in trouble from time to time, but honestly, I’m a lot better than I used to be. My daddy and my teachers tried their best, but only God could work that miracle!

The friends: My school friends are still my best friends. As adults, we still laugh too hard and talk too loud (again, mostly me, Tammie and Misty!). These girls have walked me through every mountaintop and valley of my life.

ci2

The “helper”: This one caused me to hit rock bottom. I was barely alive from trying to keep all the plates spinning. I found out the hard way that sometimes, actually MOST times, what other people are doing isn’t my business, even when it seems it is my circus and those are my monkeys!

In the last recorded conversation Jesus had with Peter in John 21, Jesus is trying to tell him something very important. It’s Peter’s life mission, laid out by the Savior Himself. Jesus told Peter: “Care for My sheep” (that’s us!). When you REALLY need your kids to do something, you don’t trust telling them once. Sometimes you tell them twice, or even three times. This wasn’t just important for Peter to do, it was vital. So Jesus told him three times.

At this point, one might think Peter would say, “Can you give me a four point sermon on how to do that? What exactly do you mean when you say, ‘feed Your lambs’ and ‘take care of Your sheep‘? I want to make sure I’m doing it right!”

Nope, not Peter. This is the same dude who impetuously jumped out of the boat and walked on water until he took his eyes off Jesus. Same guy who denied Jesus with a curse the night of His crucifixion. I bet he was as shocked as everyone else to hear what came out of his mouth sometimes. (I can relate!)

Instead of continuing the discussion about the directive to care for the sheep, Peter incredulously asks in verse 21,

Lord, what about him?

Oh I can see this scene now. He gives a quick nod towards John. Let’s move on past what You want ME to do, Lord, and talk about what You want HIM to do. What’s the deal with John? 

Jesus’ response:

What is that to you? You must follow me.

I think Jesus was saying (if Jesus had spoken Southernese), “You ain’t John. You’re Peter. What happens to him ain’t your beeswax. Forget about what I want John to do and worry about what I want YOU to do.”

Those are words for us “fixers” to live by. I’m not the Holy Spirit. I need to keep my focus on MY mission, not anyone else’s. I can’t fix people. I tried, and I crashed and burned in epic form. Not that I don’t help people when they ask. I probably do too much for my children even now, but I’m a work in progress. My life has much less chaos when I clean up my side of the street and leave everyone else to clean up theirs.

Of all the things I’ve had since I was six, I think I’ll keep my BFF’s, watch my mouth, and leave fixing people to God. After all, this is HIS circus, and WE ALL are His monkeys. He can handle the spinning plates better than I ever could.