Category Archives: Lord

I fed 11 teenage boys and lived to tell the tale!

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I hope you have all recovered from my love letter to beets. Something just came over me and all I can say is that I am feeling a mushy letter for lettuce coming up in the future, just warning you. The lettuce at the farmer’s market been absolutely delicious but I’ll wait for another time to lavish its praises. However, lettuce was in some small measure, one of the reasons I offered to make dinner for a group of teenage boys last night.


For the past several months, my middle OS Aaron has been involved in an accountability group of about a dozen young men. They are Christian guys who pray for each other, talk about struggles and encourage each other. Where was a group like this for me back in the day??? I could have used a female version of this!

They call themselves BOB which stands for Band of Brothers. Isn’t that cool? Dutifully Aaron goes to BOB meetings once a week at a nearby place and the guys just talk about Scripture, share and hang out.

When I have asked Aaron what they talk about, he holds their conversations so sacred, he refuses to tell me. I respect that and see that they are forming a trusting bond, something so many teenagers (and adults) need. I admire his sincere desire to live as Scripture says, “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

This week they were figuring out BOBish plans. My middle OS asked if he could go out to dinner with the guys and that’s when we suggested hosting a gathering at our house. I looked forward to it all week long because, well, I love to entertain. In my “formative” years, I tried to quell my domesticity but now I’ve got to say, it’s on. I’m full tilt and up in the housewifey hizzy, apron and all.

And it is a joy to have company, especially to have a house full of boys feasting on my food. One day I will have to share my kitchen with their girlfriends, then wives and then hopefully grand-daughters so I savor each moment now as if it were a juicy red, locally grown, in-season beet (sorry, I had to do it.)

For the meal, I made marinated pork tenderloin, brown rice, baked beans, fresh green salad with my own dressing, grilled white corn still in the husk and watermelon. I determined to feed these boys a healthy meal. No hydrogenated potato chips or CheezBalls would enter their lips on my premises, no sirree! We even had homemade soda = fruit juice and Club Soda. My OS love it and it’s better than all that other icky stuff.

One by one they arrived until 11 boys ranging in age from 13-18 circled around our kitchen island, held hands and prayed before digging in to dinner. One of the sweetest sights of the evening was when a BOB who’s actually named Scott arrived at my front door with his Bible. You gotta love it! My husband, Isaac and I ate indoors while the BOBs enjoyed fellowship outside.


In general, I find guys easy to please, at least in the food department. They gobbled up every bit of the food and even said “please,” “thank you,” and “this is awesome!” several times. I was blessed to have served them and was so proud of my youngest OS, Ike who willingly assisted me.

And then afterward, they stayed outside. It’s blazing hot these days and the BOBs were welcome inside but they crowded around the deck instead. I have no idea what they discussed except to say that when Aaron walked in for a moment and I inquired oh so innocently, “Hey, Aar, are you guys talking about spiritual stuff?” My son said yes but that was the extent of the conversation. I sat in the kitchen by my faithful friend, my sewing machine, and secretly wished I was a fly or a mosquito buzzing about, able to listen. Not to be nosey but just to hear the sweet sound of young men earnestly seeking things of God.

As the night drew to a close, the Scripture found in 3 John 1:4 came wafting into my heart, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.”

O Happy Day!

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Today is a glorious day, a fantabulous day. A day when the sun is shining brighter, the birds are chirping louder, even the dark lines around my eyes seem to be fading away without the use of my trusty Bobbi Brown concealer. Why you ask am I such a cheerful soul? I’m glad you asked…


MY OS IS HOME AND NEARLY DONE WITH HIS PLEBE YEAR!!! 

O HAPPY DAY! 

This afternoon when the younger OS got home, we fluttered around the house.  I wanted everything spic and span, no excuses. It was as if the King of England (is there a King of England??) or of some other foreign country was coming to visit. It struck me as funny because it’s not like Nathan has never seen our house messy before. I mean, the guy was an active contributor to the clutter in our home for 19 years but I wanted him to walk in and think that things looked nice, not as if he was a guest but just a treasured member of our family. He’s the kind of guy who notices that sort of thing.  I knew it would bless him. 


My oldest OS is home until Sunday and is just days away from becoming a yuk (second year student). A year ago, on this day, I was clutching Kleenex and struggling to breathe out of my mouth because the tears were overwhelming and pretty much non-stop. Our oldest OS was graduating on this day last year and I was wrought with emotion. Sadness, joy, pride, fear, love, excitement…I remember one night my mother visiting and all my feelings bubbling to the surface. I confessed to her, “Mom, I’m not sure I can do this” and I utterly broke down. My precious mom pushed aside her own feelings regarding her first grandchild finishing a chapter of his life and starting a bold new journey and she simply ministered to me and my aching mama’s heart. 

Somehow by the grace of God and I say that with all seriousness, I got through the graduation ceremony. And somehow by the grace of God, our family survived R-Day six weeks later including the long 10 hour ride back to our house without our cherished son.

And here I sit in my tidy house and tonight feels peaceful. Like that feeling you get when there’s a bad thunderstorm outside and all your babies are safe and at home. Or like when you wake up on Christmas morning and there’s presents to open and your kids are all getting along (at least until all the gifts are open). Everything is in its place, all is right with the world. 


I vividly recall those moments when Nate was a baby and I longed for the days when he would be grown and I’d finally have some peace and quiet. When he was on a crying jag or going full throttle on a temper tantrum, I wished he would just hurry up and get older. It annoyed me when older folks would chide me about how fast time passes. Inwardly I rolled my eyes at their comments. And now look at me! Those days are here and I find myself happy and sad. My DH calls me a “complex organism” when I get in one of these moods. Do I smack him or just humbly agree?

Nate’s friends will be over at the house soon and the sounds of young men will fill my house. I will live in this moment and find the tranquil beauty of it all. O happy day!

Floods

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Like all good daughters, I have subscribed a number of MY personal issues onto my mother. Because of my mom, I (fill in the blank)______________. Many of you probably can relate and would admit that the mother/daughter relationship thing can be hard and complicated. Maybe that’s why the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, choose to bless me with three sons! To demonstrate, here is but a small list of the things I have blamed my mother for in the past:


I lack athletic prowess because my mom didn’t stress the value of sports.
I don’t know how to swim because my mom never took me for swimming lessons as a small child.
I am bad with money because my mom didn’t teach me the value of a dollar.

And the list goes on and on…I will stop there as to not further embarrass myself. 

But yesterday, I found myself humbled and blessed. Something that has long been on my “list” needs to be removed.

For decades now I have told people that there are not a lot of photos of me when I was a child. If you and I were in a random conversation and you happened to mention something about pictures of yourself as a kid, I would probably have sighed heavily and told you of my picture woes. (Strum sappy violin music). When I was a girl growing up in Wheaton, Illinois, we had a flood in our basement and it destroyed, among other things, boxes and boxes of pictures. I recall the soggy, blobby paper mess and the dismay I felt in my young girl’s heart as I saw my memories destroyed. Who was to blame for the flood? Well, it honestly didn’t matter, I knew the culprit. I suspect you can guess my prime suspect. Yes, it was my mom. 

This week, following a meeting with my favorite organization consultant, I began the necessary and tedious task of de-cluttering my home. In various closets, possibly in every room there is a box or basket full of pictures. This week I have begun to weed through them, tossing out the bad photos, hanging on to the good ones. Geralin has a theory about pictures which I now claim as my own. She says, “if I don’t look good in the picture, then it goes.” Geralin’s my girl, one of my fab five, as my youngest OS would jest.

I am amazed at the scads of pictures we have EVERYWHERE! The stockpiles of pictures blurred my head as I tossed one photo after another into the trash. It has been freeing to re-claim lost closet space and re-discover sweet pictures of days gone by.

And last night, I believe the Lord healed a part of me because in the frenzied mass of photos, I am finding a lot of pictures of myself. There are many of me as a little girl on random Picture Days, a couple of me walking up the sidewalk for my first day of kindergarten, a few particularly unflattering pics of me blowing out candles on a birthday cake as a pimply teen, you get the idea. 

Oh, dear friends, I have found me. 


My past was not completely destroyed in that basement. There were salvages of my life still preserved, in greater proportion than I ever realized.

And so in the tv room, after everyone was in bed, I held picture after picture of myself in my hands and drifted back to those moments. They are not gone. They are preserved both in these pictures but also within me. Sorting through all the clutter and getting rid of the unnecessary, buried among it all, was Cindy. She hadn’t dissolved away into nothingness. As I make room in my home, I am finding new places in my spirit as well.

I’m learning that I can no longer blame my mom for a lot of things I have done in the past. Honestly, I have been aware of that for about 12 years now since asking Jesus into my heart and looking squarely at my own contrition and culpability. But how immature I have been to blame an act of God like a flood on my poor mother. I mean really. For goodness sake, she had no control over it no matter how much power I think a mama can wield. 

I hesitate for a moment and wonder to myself. Actually, a jab of anxiety wafts over me…what will my OS blame me for? What will be something that they say I should have done differently? Will we just laugh about it or will I carry around grief and guilt. Ew. What salvages of their own shortcomings will they try and attribute to me, their mom who, like my own, is trying the very best she can to make a sweet and wonderful life for them?


That is not something that I can answer. Today I’d rather focus on what I can claim victory over. I found me. I, or rather, remnants of me, weren’t swept away in an unpredictable flood.  And if all the pictures were gone, I now admit it wouldn’t have been my mom’s fault in the first place. 

When we went out for a late-night run to the grocery store to buy dish washing detergent, (doesn’t that sound like a fun outing!?), I decided to release this guilt from her once and for all. She has been staying at my house recovering from surgery on her wrist and a bout of pneumonia. The healing process has been painful and discouraging but last night, I believe both of us got healed in a way we weren’t expecting. We got in the car and I couldn’t wait to tell her my revelation. It wasn’t a gushy moment but I felt a weight off my heart and I noticed she had a look of contentment on her face and it wasn’t because we were going to buy dish washing detergent at 10pm! 
 

Guilt and blame, in all of its forms, are as destructive as a flood. Forgiveness and grace, on the other hand, fellow imperfect mamas of the world, well that can wash over a multitude of sins. 

Hallelujah, grace like rain, washing down on me…


Hmmm…

Angels Unaware

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p1040172When my OS began his exploration into attending West Point, so did I.

We were about to embark on an exciting journey and I had no clue what he was getting himself and the entire family into!

I was so clueless about West Point, the United States Military Academy, I had to google search west+point.

Where is West Point anyway?

That’s when I found it is far away. Far away as in New York. Far away as in a 10 hour drive, but about 15 hour of driving time if I’m in the car accounting for potty breaks and not including an overnight stay at a nice hotel. Yes, I am ever so slightly high maintenance.

It just so happened the Lord had placed in our lives a great couple, Gigi and Eric. Eric is a professor at West Point and we met here when he was in our state completing his doctorate degree and attending our church and Sunday School class. When the family left for a two year class assignment to Korea, we thought we would never see them ever again, this side of heaven.

But that was not the Lord’s will and soon, they will return to West Point. We will re-connect with them! When our son was accepted at West Point, Eric called us all the way from Korea and lovingly, honestly explained what R-Day was going to be like for us as parents.

In a word – HARD!

After speaking with him on the phone, I literally collapsed on my carpet, unsure of how I was going to handle parting with my treasured boy. And not only saying goodbye but doing it in under two minutes.

99068-photo250Enjoy this picture I took thanks to my Mac Photo Booth aptly conveying my sentiments last year.Very attractive, huh?

Since then we have pressed on. And we have been blessed. We have met amazing people who have extended themselves in ways I never expected. I see how the Lord’s hand has linked us up with caring families who have been there for us and our OS.

For example, Peggie, a West Point mom whom I never met when I called her because we have a mutual acquaintance. Peggie allowed me to cry on her proverbial shoulder. I barely got one sentence out of my mouth, before the Lacrimal Glands got activated. She was such an encouragement and she listened like a mama who’s been there, done that. And she still spoke in full sentences which gave me hope that I could actually live through this experience with some semblance of sanity.

aa0c5-p1070259Then there have been the Hoffman’s who take Nate out regularly when they visit their plebe at West Point. Patti gives our OS an obligatory hug from me and has loved my boy as if he were her own. This family knows no bounds of kindness. Such a beautiful lady who even did an eyebrow trim for my husband when we were all together at Plebe Parent Weekend! I love these people! How many of your girlfriends can you ask to trim your husband’s eyebrows??? Those friends are few and far between!

p1070333Merrily is a gem too. Although recently faced with the loss of her husband, she is a resilient mama of a very fine plebe. That lady is someone that from the minute she called me on the phone one day after communicating via her husband’s blog, I felt an instant connection to and we ended our first conversation saying, “I love you” and meaning it. 

 

And then there’s Kim. Kim works at West Point and she’s a grad. Very huah but in no way obnoxious. Kim understands what it’s like to be a cadet and she’s a mother which is a perfect combination. 

When Nate’s birthday rolled around on April 12th, Kim dropped off in our son’s room, a bouquet of balloons, a big birthday card and an ice cream party certificate. She has offered to take my OS out for pizza, invited him to an Easter dinner, truly extended herself in ways I could have never imagined. And we have only met once when she recognized me at A-Day. I had a broken foot and a scooter, so I was an easy target and she has been reading my blog for a while. I felt so fancy when she came up and introduced herself! Since then, we have kept in touch and when I have offered to reimburse Kim for her generosity, she quickly rebuffs my offer, saying she does these things gladly and free of charge. Oh, how I am blessed!

 
I am reminded of the Scripture found in Hebrews 13:2 “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.” 
 
I reflect on this journey thus far and sometimes can’t believe how fast my son’s plebe year has passed! I praise the Lord because we have survived, occasionally even thrived. We have all learned things about ourselves, our strength, the importance of faith and prayer and developing an extended sense of family. 

 
Y’all, I am meeting angels. Not the fluttering kind with halos and wings but still divine messengers of God who have lighted this path with compassion. I hope you have been meeting some along your way as well, wherever it may be…

April 12th

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Nineteen years ago today, I became a mom. At 6:17pm after an expedient but immensely painful four hour labor, without the epidural I begged for, I held a precious cone-headed boy in my arms. My baby. Who cared if he had a cone-head, he was stunningly perfect. And he was mine to love forever. 


Nineteen years later, the head is back to its normal shape and size but he will always be my baby. You know what is even better? He still lets me call him Baby. He even responds to it. My baby who is now a young man. Strong, handsome, honorable, intelligent, funny, the adjectives pour out of me, I am crying as I write this.

My son, aptly named Nathaniel, means Gift of God. And like all good mommies, I have loved this child from the moment I heard I was pregnant and shake my head in wonder how someone like ME and my DH were bestowed with such a blessing.

Today is Nathan’s birthday and it is Easter and he is not here and that kind of stinks for two reasons.

1. I am used to having my son home for his birthday. 
2. I am used to having my son home for Easter. 

As I was decorating my dining room table, tears welled in my eyes realizing there is one less plate around the table. My baby is where he belongs. He is at West Point. 


I don’t want to sound maudlin, although I do really like that word. I also don’t want to look ahead either because I know once my OS has graduated from USMA, he will be serving our country elsewhere. And it’s the “elsewhere” part that can really get my Lacrimal Glands going, if you know what I mean. I don’t need to borrow trouble. 

Like most WP moms/dads/families who celebrate Easter, my cadet is there and I am here. We have to get used to this, buckle up our boot straps, put our big girl panties on, blah, blah, blah, but y’all, I’m still sad and wistful. Thinking back to all the April 12ths where I woke up and hugged my boy tightly as he rolled out of bed, where did that time go? Or the April 12ths when I scooped him up out of his crib wondering if I would ever get a good night’s sleep.  Poof, they are now history.

And as is our family custom, in all the subsequent April 12ths, Nate would have finely festooned presents awaiting him at the kitchen table. One year a Barney, another year a dollhouse (it’s a LONG story and for the record, HE didn’t want the dollhouse), a bike but this year, I sent his presents away. My kitchen table has the Sunday paper and is decorated with crumbs and cereal bowls. Sigh. Poo. 
My friend Beth Anne gave me a present last year as we were preparing for Nathan’s departure to West Point. I have such kind and loving friends, I actually got presents at Nate’s farewell party! But my friend Beth Anne gave me something that will sit atop the dining room table this Easter dinner. I placed it there last night and of course, the Lacrimal Glands activated. They are in full activation mode as I write this, folks. 


To me this little figurine describes how I feel. I hold my Soldier close to my heart wherever he is. Now it’s West Point, one day it will be “elsewhere.” I hold all my OS intimately in my heart and praise the Lord, the other two are still home to annoy/love/pester/snuggle/amuse me.

Today I celebrate two things which have changed my life.  Nearly 2000 years ago, Jesus, the perfect, matchless Son of God rose from the dead to give me and the entire world, eternal life and victory over sin. I asked Him into my heart 12 years ago and have never been the same. 

And the other blessed event happened a fleeting 19 years ago when that same Jesus allowed me to become a mother to my Gift of God. Happy birthday Baby!

My Own Good Friday

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When I was in middle school, back then called junior high, I had a fleeting moment of courage, when I stood up for someone and risked it all. Her name was Carol Plalonski (I have slightly changed her name but it sounded pretty similar) and Carol was the “new girl.”


Not the prettiest girl, Carol was tall, rather clumsy and plain. As I recall, she had a slight curve to her back and her shoulders slouched forward and well, Carol didn’t seem to worry herself about the really important things in life like boys, flavored lip gloss, blue eye shadow and mascara. 

Almost from the moment Carol walked into Jefferson Junior High, she became the target for all pre-pubescent angst and torment. Kids would tape words on her back and she would just lump down the hall while everyone pointed and laughed. Oh, how I hated seeing her with the words “DOG” and “WOOF” affixed to her. I seethed with anger and felt entirely helpless but what could I do? I had my own problems! (See self-explanatory photo)

It was scary because if I did something then everybody might turn on ME and then I would be the source of scorn. But one day, I mustered up the courage and said “enough is enough” and as Carol walked down the hall with one of those words on her back, in a moment of brazen anger, I ripped that nasty message of her back. Whenever I think of myself as being a wimp, I summon up that memory of taking a stand, fighting for the honor of another person and taking a risk.

My middle OS has been doing something similar and today I was deeply blessed to receive a message from a dear mother who wanted to let me know that my son was a fine young man of God. She sent this to me on facebook so now I shall forever use that message as the reason I need to check my facebook 800 times a day, but I digress. 

In typical, yet disappointing 9th grade fashion, some of the guys in my OS’s class are pretty rough on the girls. Countless times my son has come home and told me about the insulting comments his peers say to the ladies in class. One time, a guy ticked Aaron off so badly, Aaron smacked his binder into the guy’s nuts which I believe must have made quite a statement. 


Recently, another freshman girl, Lauren (not her real name) stood up in class and articulated her concern about all the high school drama and tension. She announced that something had to change. Then Aaron, with the teacher’s permission, stood up and addressed his classmates. He challenged the guys in the class to “step it up” and start acting like “real men.” I only learned about this after the fact when Aaron came home and said he had a cool story to tell. He hadn’t planned on doing that but I guess he had his own “Carol Planonski” moment.

Now he and his friend Zack have begun a freshman Bible Study on Wednesdays. Boys that previously sat outside the classroom and chided the kids, actually attended this week. Aaron’s charisma and transparency with his own struggles are making a difference. This week when a classmate began teasing one of the girls about her really curly hair, Aaron turned around to the kid, looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Andrew, shut up!” Normally I do not condone those words but I believe, in this instance, they qualify as “words aptly spoken.” (Proverbs 25:11)

This mom wrote me to say that her daughter is amazed how the Lord is leading through Aaron and Zack. Her daughter can’t wait for the Wednesday Bible Study and it is showing her that God can use just one person to “change the tide.”

As our family prepares for Easter Sunday, I can truly say that it is a Good Friday. To God be all the glory and honor and praise. 

True Confessions – I am not a perfect mom, I don’t have a perfect family

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It might sound like I’m patting myself on the back or something but I’m not. It’s just that this weekend, my DH and I had an epiphany. We re-learned some ancient truths I must seek to remember all the time and I want to share them with you. It’s good to feel like I’m in the TMZ (Total Mama Zone). Click here to read about another time I felt like I was in the TMZ. 

Our family has been very fussy lately and that’s putting it politely. It’s almost Easter but it seems like we have been walking around on eggshells for a while. Every single one of us seems poised for a battle. Not constantly but consistently, I have been discouraged about the tension and intensity displayed in my family, maybe with the exception of our oldest OS and his only excuse would be that he’s at West Point dealing with his own issues! Just being real here. 

Saturday night we had a family meeting. We gathered around the dinner table and aired our grievances. I thought I was the only with the legitimate issues but it became apparent that Aaron and Ike had been itching for a chance to get a few things off their adolescent chests too. I don’t mean to say they were rude, it’s just that they needed to voice some concerns they, too were having with the way our household was being run.

Truly the Lord blessed the time. There was no anger, no bitterness. We engaged in healthy, respectful conversation. Dare I say, I think we even negotiated a little. And here are some of the things that I realized.


Children like boundaries. Duh. I see kids all the time that have no supervision. Our guys are well-monitored but they still needed more boundaries in some areas of life. 


Children like bedtimes. Even at age 14 and 12. When things are loosey–goosey around here, we fall apart. Isaac even commented, “I want a bedtime!” No eruptions or hissy-fits, things became instantly calmer which shocked and blessed me.  These bedtimes are not rigid so there is some flexibility but in our family, frankly, we all need bedtimes, including the Hubs and me.  

Children like knowing what’s expected of them. I will soon blog about two “seminars” I have conducted with my OS which were met with some level of joy. Not oozing, over the top joy but it was surprisingly fun!


Children like security. They like it when Mom and Dad get along and seem to be able to work things out. Mom and Dad get along when Mom thinks the kitchen is clean and things are running efficiently. Dad likes it when there’s no yelling. Both attainable goals that give our home a sense of normalcy, even though we pride ourselves on being a little weird.

After the meeting, the DH announced that any good meeting has food. While the boys cleaned the kitchen, he ran out and got our favorite ice cream. Our meeting was a success! 

I leave you today with a verse of Scrip- ture which as usual, has relevance in our daily lives…”Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.” Ephesians 6:4

Raising a strong family isn’t the easiest thing but I’m glad we are putting in the time to try, with God’s help, to do it the best way we can.

Going to church on a sad day isn’t really easy but…

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So yesterday I went to church. I would have preferred to be holed up in my house having a nice, little feel sorry for me time but I thought that would just be self-serving and non-productive. I also thought it would be a bad example for my children, one of whom was feeling as miserable as I was. 

Dark sunglasses hid my tear-stained eyes as we made our way into the church. With a wad of Kleenex in one hand, I tried to creep in quietly because I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Honestly I don’t like banal small talk to begin with as I dislike superficial conversation and yesterday was certainly not a day for idle chit-chat. 

We currently attend a small, start-up church so it’s not like we walk into a sanctuary or a fancy building. Our church is actually an elementary school. There is no organ music or choir, our chairs are not pews but just folding chairs. It’s fairly modest and it’s hard to “disappear” into the crowd.  
But I safely made it into the gymnasium which is where the service is held without really saying anything. Whew! My emotions were very raw and close to the surface and it was all I could do to not bawl my eyes out. Maybe some people thought I was a rock star or something because I kept the sunglasses on as I waited for church to begin. Wait a sec, is that Hannah Montana? No, it’s just Cindy the crying West Point mama! HA!


I certainly wasn’t giving off an aura of “hey, somebody talk to me.” I have always been the kind of person that for some reason doesn’t get accosted by the people at the perfume counter. Even though I am rather petite, I guess I give off the impression that I shouldn’t be squirted with the latest fragrance. I don’t usually have to worry about people approaching me in an unnecessary manner.
But here I was, hurting, crying, sunglasses on, my treasured parka covering my aching mama’s soul and suddenly I got blessed.

Someone hugged me.


She took a risk and hugged me. Her tender words reached into my sad heart and made it feel a little better. It surprised me, quite honestly because it was a beautiful single woman. We don’t really talk too much although she is a very nice person. Heather didn’t know why I was crying, why I was so sad but she took a second and reached out. And I noticed that I hurt a little less.

Then to my horror, the pastor asks everyone to stand and greet each other. “Puh-lease! Today is NOT the day! Can’t you see I’m falling apart!,” I thought to myself.  I reluctantly stood up because it would have been looked more awkward to remain sitting on my gray, plastic folding chair. I felt sorry for the new guy who shook my hand because he had no idea how to respond to a crying lady in sunglasses but heck, at least he tried.

And then it happened again. 


I got another hug. This time from Jessie, beautiful single woman behind me. In a broken voice, I told her why I was so sad and although she has never had a child, I felt like she sincerely cared. And I noticed that again, I hurt a little less.

Church was over. My sunglasses had come off during the sermon and I was gaining composure but I felt the tears surfacing again as we were leaving the gym. All I wanted to do was bolt for the exit but before I that happened, another woman came up to me.

This time it was Tricia, a mama and she asked if she could give me a hug. I gladly accepted and dutifully deposited some tears on her nice, clean shirt. Yes, I was still sad but something had changed.

So why am I writing this post? Because I want to encourage you, I want to challenge myself, to reach out. I wasn’t putting out the welcome sign for any of these women but the love of Christ gave them the unction to see past my exterior. Despite the sunglasses and the withdrawn attitude, these ladies reached out. They weren’t full of nice-ities and platitudes, they didn’t pat me on my little head and say everything was going to be all right. They didn’t placate me and give me some worn-out clique. In fact, they didn’t even say they understood what I was feeling but those few seconds it took for them to be nice to me, I’m telling you, it ministered to me in ways they cannot understand.

In my work, I purpose myself to reach out to hurting teenagers. They are everywhere. In every classroom, auditorium where I speak, I can spot them so easily. Their personas can be hard and intimidating. Some have a seemingly inpenetrable attitude and I admit, I can be afraid to extend myself but I try to move beyond my insecurities and touch their heart. Sometimes with a motherly pat on the shoulder, other times with a listening ear. I have been blown off and it hurts but I still must do it. Interestingly, Sunday, I was on the receiving end and three people extended a hand of kindness my way. 

Check out this Scripture found in Matthew 25. Jesus says, “For I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you clothed me. I was in prison and you came to me.” Then he says to his disciples, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it for me.”

The physical hugs from these women lasted a short time but the impact of what they did is still with me. For that, I give great thanks. Go do it, dear friends. 

PS. Shout out to my sister Lorri for letting me use her pics! 

Spring Break Ends

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It’s hard to say whether I would be this sad if my son were at a different school. He had the opportunity to go to a distinguished university about 45 minutes away. I assume I would have cried when we dropped him off at his dorm and I would have cried when he wasn’t home on the weekends.

(the picture is my very poor attempt to artistically depict my state of sadness. I am in the tv room but have superimposed a rollercoaster thus showing you that I am having a rollercoaster of emotions. It is very profound.)

But I think I cry more than I would have and today is devoted, in part, to crying. I am sad. My husband just dropped our son off at the airport and I sit here typing away, with tears in my eyes. I’m on my way to church but I would feel awkward appearing so vulnerable. Not caring if anyone reads this or comments, just using this computer as an outlet for my sadness. 

I know I am not alone. There are West Point mamas all over the country preparing their hearts for the farewell. There are other brothers (and sisters) who are wiping away tears and there are dads who are trying to put on a strong front but inside they are weeping. And then there are families who might be sad because their son or daughter didn’t come home for Spring Break and wish they had a week’s worth of time with their Soldier. Anyway I look at it, it’s emotional. 

I was surprised at the bevy of tears I have shed this time. Memories of last year flooded inside me as I think I alone could have solved our state’s drought with the amount of uncontrolled crying jags I incurred. 

It’s just that I love this kid. I mean really love this kid. I mean, his name means Gift of God, for goodness sake! I don’t even understand how a wretch like me ended up with three amazing sons and I am stupefied how someone like me ended up becoming the proud mama of a Soldier and a West Point cadet. So there we were all sitting around the dinner table last night and the water works started. We made our usual gross jokes about things most courteous people never discuss during mealtime but then it hit me. And I felt the tears stream down my face. Nate remarked, “this is the saddest dinner I’ve ever had!” What he didn’t know is that I was actually staving back the ache in my heart. I could have really let loose!

My precious middle OS, Aaron held my hand as my husband prayed before we ate. He looked at me tenderly and squeezed my hand extra tight. Then he put his arms around me and reassured me, “It’s gonna be ok, Mama,” he smiled and seemed to understand. 


I’m on my way to church and I’ll be bringing Kleenex and I’ll be better. Thanks for listening. 

I love a parade!

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It has been a long-standing joke in my house that one day before I die, I want a parade for my birthday. So far it hasn’t happened and considering my birthday is in January and I don’t live in Hawaii, the chances are slim to none that this will ever happen. 

But since becoming a mama of a Soldier, specifically the mother of a son at the United States Military Academy, I have seen more parades than I ever imagined. And I like it. I like it a lot. (said again in my best Jim Carey from Dumb and Dumber voice.) Yes, this is the second time I’ve recently used this quote in a post. 


So if I can’t have a parade on my birthday, I’ll settle for the next best thing…seeing my son in a parade. That is cool. Really, really cool. 

During Plebe Parent Weekend (PPW), our OS was in a parade which featured only plebes. You would have never known that these were the same young men and women who arrived at R-Day with that deer in the headlights look, trying to maintain composure as they were whisked away to places and experiences unknown and nearly unbearable. For most plebes, including our OS, these young men and women were relatively new to the parade thing prior to R-Day. But they now appear to be seasoned parade professionals. According to my OS, much to his dismay, they have devoted countless hours spent marching and executing each aspect of the parade. I know everyone in the filled to capacity crowd appreciated their hard work for it made for a very impressive spectacle.

First there was the drill team. My mouth gaped open as I wat- ched the trenchant skill of these young men. I was held in thrall as they effortlessly tossed the rifles back and forth to each other. I was dumbfounded as they performed an entire routine, not forgetting a thing, flipping the rifles in mid-air, grabbing them at varied places on the rifle and without missing a beat. Just when I thought their program was done and I was getting ready to erupt in applause, they’d press on and do another five 

minutes. I can only imagine the hours they poured into this flawless execution. 

Once they finished, I began to watch for my own VIP. My son was a Platoon Leader for his company and Nate was excited because he had a saber for the parade. I peered through the crowd and was surprised to see that indeed our OS marched with a very manly saber by his side but other stuff as well. 

Nate strode out into the field with his company also wearing a very large hat with really big feathers and he was wearing a red sash. If you are not a West Point person, you might be thinking big whoop, a red sash. You might even conjure up thoughts of RuPaul, but friends, shame on you! You would be totally wrong. It’s not that kind of sash, y’all! 

Here he was during PPW, out on The Plain, and Nate was wearing the same red sash which previously evoked terror and misery to the new cadets trying to complete Beast in the summer.

The dreaded red sash was an emblem of dread and intimidation until I saw it draped around MY boy’s uniform. From afar, the red sash and I had a healing, bonding moment, I guess you could say.

I felt pride and love overwhelm me and I know I was not alone. It was palpable as each person in the crowd peered to see their beloved child. It didn’t matter if your kid was right up front easy to spot or somewhere hidden in the middle, seeing 1000 Soldiers march in unison, it felt like we had collectively birthed each one of them.  A universal feeling of delight and appreciation warmed the cool morning air. So although my dreams of having a birthday parade are far-fetched, I have no right to complain on that day when I meet Jesus face to face. He has given me, as usual something above and beyond my wildest dreams. 

I LOVE A PARADE!