Mothering Takes a Village

Other mothers!

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

                                                                                                                  1 Corinthians 13:4-8

There have been times when my children have gone to “other mothers” to get some advice, confide in, share with. This was especially true during the rocky teen years when, despite my greatest intentions and desires to love through it all, I would falter and turn a cold shoulder, spew words I regretted, allow my hurt to block my love.

During those times, my girls sometimes turned to an “other mother.” I felt awful about this…angry at myself for failing my child, and jealous of the “other mother” for being able to do what I couldn’t at that time—give compassion, offer kindness, or wisdom.

I now see these “other mothers” very differently. I see them as gifts. The old saying “hindsight is 20/20” proves to be true, once again. Those “other mothers” created a village in which my girls could be loved, nurtured, heard despite my limits. I’m thankful for those “other mothers.” I believe that they were God’s provision for some of the needs I couldn’t fill.

I too had the benefit of “other mothers.” Mom had her limitations. In fact, she was absent a lot of the time…running, running, running often, I think from her pain, during the seven years my grandmother lived with us. And Mom found it admittedly hard to express her love to us; the wreckage of a mentally ill mother whose mantra was, “When I say those terrible things, pretend I’m saying I love you.”

I now see I am the beneficiary of tremendous encouragement, inspiration, love from lots of “other mothers” too.

My Godmother was one of these “other mothers.” In 53 years, she has always remembered my birthday…and has always expressed her love for me and for the Lord generously. At 81, she just recently set up her Facebook page…this woman seizes life.

Grandma, oh yes, she was Jesus with skin on in the midst of incredibly tumultuous years, offering her faith, her unconditional love, her assurance that despite the chaos, things would be okay. Grandma taught me about hope and perspective.

There was Mrs. C who took the time to teach me how to paint landscapes. She expressed beauty through her paint and brushes…and pushed back my doubts, helping me believe even I had creative potential.

Another Mrs. C remained caring and approachable when I made some very stupid decisions. She did not withhold her love. She held me accountable and accepted and loved me anyway. She was that mom. Always there, always feeding us, always welcoming a gaggle of girls.

Mrs. R had an open door and open ear policy no matter how controversial the issue was. You could talk to her about what was really going on. She taught me to listen and consider all sides of an issue.

Mrs. T would sit me down, feed me, refresh me when I needed escape from the tension and confusion of middle school and high school. She provided a safe haven and she offered peace and calm in the midst of the storm.

Another Mrs. C would lift me up when I was down, talk me through my low self esteem, take joy in our time together, made me feel always welcome, always cherished. Through her eyes, I could see my worth, beauty, and felt loveable.

These were the moms of my younger years, from the tough years between 10 and 20. There have been more since. Lilian the personification of grace…Fern the fervent prayer warrior…Val the epitome of positivity.

I’m thankful for every deposit they put into my emotional, developmental, psychological bank account. And I am thankful that my girls too have benefited from “other mothers.”

How about you? Were there “other mothers” in your life? Maybe “other fathers” or “other parents?” Did you benefit from the investment of an older, wiser person who wasn’t your parent?  If you have the opportunity to say thanks, today might be the day!

I’m Having an Identity Crisis

“being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”                        Philippians 1:6

A couple of weeks ago, Renee Swope offered an online study of her book A Confident Heart. I was definitely feeling drawn to it. So I decided there must be something in this book for me. I’ll go ahead and sign up.

I started reading the book and following the study online. Excellent! Frankly, I was feeling I could’ve written the book myself. Not in Renee’s voice or in her engaging style, uniquely hers, but I certainly could relate. And, like Renee, I had struggled with confidence, terribly at times. I had war stories I could share.

I was reading A Confident Heart from a “Thank God that’s over” perspective. And I figured this would be a great journey of “recalling the wonders He has done.” Kind of fun, a retrospective, because God has done some healing work in me regarding confidence. I’m feeling pretty good, thank you very much.

Then whoosh…all of the sudden, my confidence seemed to disappear. I felt like a balloon with all the air sucked out, completely deflated. I wasn’t sure why.

I started having one condemning, negative thought after the next.

“What the heck am I doing? Who am I kidding? I have accomplished so little in my life…”

“Am I really a writer? How many bylines do I have?”

“Well, I’m almost at the end of the active mothering years. And in lots of ways, I’ve failed miserably.”

“Everything I’ve done in my life…Does it add up to anything? Does anything I’ve done matter at all?”

I had to think about what brought me to the brink of such self-loathing, doubt, disappointment; such a sense of worthlessness. To be so easily knocked off my pedestal of feeling pretty good, intentional, living a life of purpose, caught me by surprise.

As I thought about it, I realized two things precipitated my downward spiral, my loss of confidence.

1. I have been working on a special writing project that’s made me feel like a real writer, given me a sense of deep purpose. It’s a clear-cut assignment that has a beginning and an end, has taught me so much…and it’s been put on hold with no book to prove that the assignment ever even existed.

2. My youngest has one more year at home until she’s off to college, the next oldest is graduating from college, another has moved away from home and may be heading across the country, and my oldest has been out of the house for almost 15 years! My many years of meaningful mothering, the role I looked forward to for as long as I can remember, is drawing to a close. This is kind of unbelievable. How did this happen? Who will I be? What will I do? Can I get a do-over?

I’m wrestling with these two shifts. And I’m realizing, I have put all my confidence in the changeable and uncertain, the fleeting and flimsy. My self-worth, my confidence lies in the shaky ground of my accomplishments and how I feel about them.

God knew I’d have this little identity crisis. He nudged me to read A Confident Heart when I needed it most. To remind me “On Christ the solid Rock I stand, All other ground is sinking sand…”

What I do, even who I am can change in an instant, but Whose I am will never change. That’s the Truth I can place my confidence in.

How about you? Do you ever struggle with confidence? Where do you get your confidence from? Is it based on how you see yourself? How others see you? Do you measure your value by what you’ve accomplished?

The Journey Continues

“Before they call I will answer; while they are still speaking I will hear.”       Isaiah 65:24

The journey of self-discovery continues…Care to join me?

So the last time we talked, I had discovered that, yes, I have a little problem with being reactive. That means I’m “readily responsive to stimulus,” according to Webster.  I suppose this could sometimes be a good thing. It might be couched as enthusiasm, excitement, even passion

But I’m realizing I react in response to a perceived attack, to defend myself. When I look at it this way, the word weapon comes to mind. So am I wielding the weapon of reactivity to shield myself, fight back, and protection myself from a perceived attack?

That line of thinking makes my reactivity seem reasonable and justifiable. But in reality, I’m just blaming others and making excuses for my own bad behavior. I know I’m not going to get away with this. I know I have to take responsibility for this. I believe God is behind this exposure. He seems to be shedding His light on my darkness. And for that, I am truly grateful. Because, as I said in my last post. I don’t want to stay this way. And, as I’ve said to my husband, I know if I don’t take care of this business now, as I grow older, I sense this reactivity will get worse, more intense.

So what to do? I decided to pray and ask God about it.

“God, what is this reactivity about? What is the root?

The still small voice, “When someone disagrees with you or you feel accused or criticized, when you’re afraid, you react strongly. You feel vulnerable and so you protect yourself with a shield of reactivity.”

“But why? Why do I have such a strong reaction? Please, Lord, a little insight here.”

This is the answer I sensed. “It goes back to your very early years. You were criticized harshly. At first you responded with pain. You were hurt, saddened, even started to feel worthless. Those feelings of worthlessness grew into feeling unloved. You lived in that place for any years, but that wasn’t a strong safe place to dwell. And so you built up your defenses against feeling so small and so weak. Eventually your pain was covered with a scab of anger, which made you feel stronger. You covered up your raw painful wounds caused by accusation, condemnation, disdain.

But now it’s time to drop your weapons, you defenses. Release your pain, your weakness, your sense of worthlessness and the lie that you are not really loved.

I have come to give you life and life abundant and I love you with an everlasting love. I have healed you, go and sin no more.”

The journey continues. The first leg of this journey has been a time of naming the problem: reactivity. And discovering the answer: God in me.

The second leg has given me clarity, helped me to see the roots of my reactions, the lies that grew, the anger that covered up the shame and anger, the justification that enabled my anger.

The next leg will be a season of forging a new path…one that will require forgiveness, a mind captive to Christ, intentional action, and a whole lot of help from God who promises never to leave me or forsake me.

I’ll let you know how I do.

How about you? Do you find yourself on a journey that seems guided by God? Have you found yourself on such a journey recently? Any discoveries, revelations?

My Part Matters, Even if it’s Only 1%

“…being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”                        Philippians 1:6

Sometimes God takes us on a journey of self-discovery that we don’t even know we’ve begun until well on our way.

Recently, I had a painful run in with one of my sisters. We were having a conversation and all of the sudden she started asking me questions that put me on the defensive. The questions were on a sensitive matter, which she knew. Even though I was clearly feeling uncomfortable, interrogated, and expressing this, she continued pushing. I felt accused and bruised. And I reacted strongly. It was a scene that escalated and left me feeling angry, indignant, very self-righteous.

I shared the story with a trusted friend. She peered into my eyes, took my hand, and said, “I think God has something for you here. I would seek Him.”

“Well…okay. What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, but I just sense there’s something God wants to show you through this situation.”

I nodded, not at all convinced that there was anything I needed to do except forgive. I was definitely thinking I was right and my sister was wrong. Mostly, I shook off my friend’s comment with a hint of “Yeah, right. Whatever…”

Well maybe you’re familiar with how this kind of conversation with a friend can stick with you, especially if God is at work.

The first thing ringing in my ears were the words I’ve heard from Fern Nichols, Founder of Moms In Prayer (http://www.momsinprayer.org). I’m paraphrasing, but this is the idea, “Even if we’re convinced we are 99% right, we are still accountable for our 1%.”

I was crystal clear on my sister’s part, so I asked God, “Okay, what’s my part?”

Unfortunately, that still small voice within whispered quickly and clearly, “Your reactivity.”

Oh, well, uhhhh. I imagined the scene of the argument again. I pictured myself practically spitting out my words. What’s that scripture? “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” (Proverbs 15:1) Oh, yeah.

I was definitely not giving gentle answers. My volume was up, my neck was strained, my responses were defensive and probably offensive. Harsh. Guilty as charged. Not only that, but I knew God was not speaking about a one-time event.

So I have been thinking about this for a few weeks. And I’ve realized reactivity is one of my M.O.s, my default. In other words, it’s a pretty common response.

Sadly, I’ve heard this before. My kids have many times accused me of being emotionally reactive. They’ve even told me they will hold back information from me to avoid my reaction. And my husband? Well I think my reactivity has even intimidated him a time or two in our more than 32 years together. (Ya think?) Perhaps I have something to do with why, even when invited to share, my husband often can’t seem to find anything he thinks I could work on in our relationship.

I know I’m saying all this in a way that may seem casual and maybe even cavalier. But trust me. I know reactivity is a very bad trait. It’s an intimacy blocker. I use it to intimidate, even bully. And I feel woefully justified when I do it. Because, after all, my reactivity is a r-e-a-c-t-i-o-n. By definition, it’s a response to some treatment, stimulus, or situation. “I didn’t start it.” “I was provoked.” “I’ve been pushed into reacting.”

Excuses, excuses. I don’t want to be this way.

Can I change? Yes, I believe I can. The first step is acknowledging I’ve got a problem. The next steps? Prayer, mindfulness, reliance on God’s strength in my weakness, and a willingness to try, try, try again.

How about you? Has God convicted you lately of anything you need to work on? Is there a behavior that you’d like to change? Do you need to consider your 1%? Hey, we’re all in this together. Please share!

From Hospitality Horror to Warm Welcome

From Hospitality Horror to Warm Welcome

“Serve wholeheartedly, as if you were serving the Lord, not people…” Ephesians 6:7

When I was younger and in the midst of raising four young girls, hospitality was something that literally terrorized me.

I hate to admit this, but if you came to my door unannounced, I might not even answer.

I might hide in the basement near the piles of laundry, needing to be washed, folded, or ironed (ironing is foreign to me now!).

Or I might have answered the door, flushed with embarrassment, as I practically tripped over myself to try and gather up all the mail, toys, files, everyday mess that so shamed me.

My mind would be flooded by destructive comparisons. I didn’t have a housekeeper…I didn’t have the money to spruce up my home…She was so lucky, she had a big fancy house, babysitters, housekeepers. No wonder her house always looked so perfect. This thinking led to an attitude of ingratitude, disdain for the many blessings I had—a beautiful home, my precious family, a cherished group of friends, food to eat, heat to keep us warm. The list goes on.

I wanted so much to have a welcoming home. But for many years, fear of judgment overtook my love for my friends. I truly wish I’d known then what I know with absolute certainty now. No one who is a true friend cares about the condition of my home. No one was judging me.

I can’t be certain when exactly the transformation occurred; when I broke free of the shame that bound me. It was gradual. But today I don’t feel any of this shame. (Well…I can go there, but I recognize it and put a stop to it pretty quickly.) I’m sure it had to do with coming to know I have a Father God who loves me deeply, unconditionally, even though He knows full well every good and bad thing about me. I’ve greatly reduced my perfectionistic expectations of myself. Mothering, marriage, life…it’s all pretty messy, whether it shows or not! And I have accepted the truth that my family and friends love me, piles and all.

So, now if you come to my door, I will open it. I may start to dart around a bit, straightening magazines or quickly trying to fluff couch pillows. But I’ll catch myself. And we’ll head to my kitchen table or living room, with a simple glass of water or cup of tea and enjoy one anothers company. Because that really is the point. We were made for relationship and being hospitable has more to do with being available than being admirable!

This blog was inspired by Karen Ehman’s (www.karenehman.com) online study of her book A Life That Says Welcome. Guest blogger Joy Fourney (http://gracefullmom.com) shares her tips for Short-cut Hospitality. And the question of the day is Do you have a simple idea or decorating tip?

Actually, I do! Though I am not much of a “do-it-yourselfer,” I have plenty of lovely vases, many of them garage sale finds that seem to change my whole home when filled with a few fresh flowers. I have lots of candles and candlesticks that add an instant warm glow to my home. And I am a decent baker. So I share my love through Irish Soda bread (see recipe above!), a really simple one bowl brownie recipe from the Bakers One Bowl Brownies (bit.ly/Hw7V0u), or my famous Lemon Bars. Matter of fact, I just whipped some up this afternoon.

How about you? What’s your hospitality history? Can you open up your door easily or do you dread when the bell rings and company arrives unannounced? How do you say welcome, simply?

Grandma's Daily Bread

Grandma’s Daily Bread

I am the bread of life. The one who comes to me will never go hungry, and the one who believes in me will never be thirsty. John 6:35

While St. Patrick’s Day 2012 is behind us, the whole month of March is Irish American Heritage Month. So if you haven’t had some Irish Soda Bread yet, try Grandma Daly’s Bread. Recipe below.

I baked my bread and prepared our traditional Corned Beef feast a few days after St. Pat’s this year. And I’ve continued to think about my beloved Grandma Daly.

I was struck by what really was Grandma’s Daily Bread. She feasted on God’s Good News every day. This was in fact her daily bread, this was her sustenance. And it provided her with plenty, though she had very little.

Grandma emigrated from Ireland when she was about 20 years old. She left part of her family behind on the farm as she ventured out on a ship, likely a rough and crowded voyage, to meet other family members living in Bayonne, New Jersey and New York City. There was an Irish Wake when she left, which meant that family and friends gathered to say goodbye, to mourn the leaving of the young girl, knowing they would probably never see her again. And they didn’t, most of them, including her mother. Grandma would never step foot on the soil of the Emerald Isle again.

Grandma had a hard life. She married and was only able to have one child, my father Charlie. Oh how she loved Dad! Grandma lost her husband when Dad was only 13. Grandpa had lost his job through the devastation of the Depression and never worked again. So Grandma’s financial state forced her to sell her home and move into a couple of rooms with my father in the back of a doctor’s office. Grandma was an Irish washerwoman, scrubbing homes for the wealthy. Eventually, when Dad was grown and on his own, she became a nanny for a doctor’s family. When she could no longer perform these duties, she moved in with us for seven sacred years.

I can see her now…She would sit in the sun porch in a big buffalo plaid cushioned chair, rosaries entwined in her gnarled hands, crippled with arthritis. Her glasses were thick and didn’t improve her failing sight much. She relied on a cane to walk, disabled from a shin bone broken in two places that never healed. She was in physical pain for many years.

There she would sit, day after day, listening to Billy Graham and Norman Vincent Peale on her little AM Transistor radio. She fed on testimonies of faith and words of encouragement that streamed from that little plastic box. She meditated on God and His goodness every day of her life. She had long lists of prayer requests, which she prayed through daily. Pretty much everyone who entered my home would want a few minutes with Grandma, to share a heartfelt prayer request, knowing she would pray. It was now her life’s work.

Though she had nothing of material value, she was one of the richest, most grateful people I’ve ever known. And we, her descendents, have received the treasure she passed on, more valuable than gold. We inherited the gift of Grandma’s faith, the legacy of being thankful in all things (or at least trying to be), the belief that in prayer there is divine power, and we learned through her example that there is no greater daily bread than the Bread of Life, Jesus Christ.

Thanks Grandma. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

Grandma Daly’s Irish Soda Bread

Ingredients

4 Cups Flour ( I used 2 cups wheat and 2 cups white)

½ Cup Sugar

1 Stick Butter or Margarine

1 Tsp. Baking Powder

Raisins to your liking

Optional: 1 Tbsp. of Caraway Seeds

Mix above ingredients in one bowl.

1 Egg

1 Tsp. Baking Soda

1 1/3 Cup Buttermilk

Mix above 3 ingredients in separate bowl. Add 2 bowls of ingredients together. Knead. Place dough in a hand-shaped round in the middle of a greased cookie sheet. Bake 1 hour at 350. Serve piping hot from the oven. Butter and jam is unnecessary but delish!