J.R., who recently turned 7, had an “it’s-tough-being-a-kid” day the other day. It began well as we decided to go fishing on a nearby State-owned lake. I had bought new rods-and-reels for his sister and him, in an attempt to reduce the chances of tangling. (I am convinced the toddler poles they have had for years were designed with quality to last for 4 days, and they had long since expired.) He was so excited! As soon as we pushed off from the dock, his line was in the water, trailing behind the boat.

When we were almost across the lake, J.R. excitedly announced, “Mom! I let out all the line of my whole reel!”

“J.R.!!” His brother scolded, in the way that only a big brother could. “If you catch a fish now, you won’t be able to bring it in!”

J.R. quickly tried to bring in the line, only to find that the new reel wasn’t reeling.

By now, we were being blown toward the opposite shoreline, so I told him I would help as soon as I got the boat to a safe place. Unbeknownst to me, he was worried he was going to catch a fish, so had begun pulling the line in by hand. While I diverted the boat from submerged objects, and fought the wind’s desire for me to hit land, an hour’s worth of work collected behind me: J.R. pulled the entire 150 feet into the boat. As if descending on its prey, the fishing line tangled the boat along with Christine’s line while gathering as a rat’s nest on the boat’s floor.

“Oh good, Mom, I got all the way to my lure!” he naively informed me.

As I turned to him, I couldn’t believe my eyes. In the first ten minutes of the trip, he had managed to take three of us out of fishing ability.

Ugh!

I fought my urge to yell, “What were you thinking?!” as I let the boat bang up against a branch, which I knew would hold us in one place while I battled the tangle. I knew if I showed my frustration, he would melt down. He wasn’t trying to be a problem.

This was just one of those “kid” moments. You know the kind? He was only being a kid. His inept ability to maneuver a line or assess the situation was affecting us all. It wasn’t his disobedience, a foul heart or purposeful mischief. I had seen it before: once, he left the water running and overflowed the sink to the basement. Another time, he had tried to clean up his own mess and only made it messier. Times like these are when we moms have a lot of power: We can yell and scream due to our selfish frustration, teaching any child within ear-shot that anger should be used when things don’t go OUR way, or we can save our anger for something more important –something which is eternal. I tried to work on the solution in silence, to keep the moment teachable.

“Sorry, Mom.” He assured me while I pulled line apart, one inch at a time. I would love to have just cut it loose, but it was the entire spool of line, so he wouldn’t have been able to fish. I worked some more and managed to get it free from the boat and from Christine’s line. I gave J.R. my pole so he could at least fish, while I stayed focused on the ball of twined line in the bottom of the boat.

Just as I got the tangled mass to a point where I could cut it and still have enough with which to fish, I realized we needed to depart our fishing spot and head to the dock, in case the wind slowed our crossing of the lake. I didn’t want to be late for picking up my eldest, Casey.

We were back at the dock without delay, so we had 10 minutes to spare.

“Can we PLEASE fish from shore for a few minutes?” Nate asked.

“Sure, “ I said. We loaded the gear into the truck, and drove toward the park exit. There was a sandy shoreline, which we had wanted to try, next to the exiting driveway.

When I came to the alluring fishing spot, there was one fisherman already there, enjoying the serenity of the natural surroundings of ducks and geese with ducklings and goslings. This fifty yards of beach was decked out with park benches. A canopy of trees provided shade as well as homes for the squirrels that raced in every direction.

The man sat there in silence. His shirtless body was decorated with tattoos, covered slightly by the long hair flowing from his hat. In his fifties with deeply tanned skin, he looked like this was not his first day at the pond.

“You can fish anywhere, kids, but please stay far from that man. Let him have his peace.” I said as I handed each a pole and glanced at the clock to mentally note the 10 minutes I would get to read while they fished before we needed to go pick up their brother.

BEFORE I EVEN OPENED MY BOOK, I looked up to see poor J.R., now with his line ACROSS the man’s line. I couldn’t believe it! I had only given one direction: “Stay away from that guy. Give him space. You can go anywhere except where his line is.” It sounded like a scene from Peter Rabbit, and J.R. was going to miss out on blackberries and milk for dinner!

This could get ugly. I feared, glancing at the guy as he stood to assess the situation.

I quickly descended the hill to the water’s edge, and began pleading forgiveness for my son’s error.

“I am sorry. I think his cast went in a different direction than he intended.” I said.

“Well it’s ok. I was his age once,” the stranger replied. “How’s he going to learn if he doesn’t try?”

Tears welled in my heart as I appreciated this stranger’s grace. The man’s kind answer to my son affected me all day. When a driver cut me off, a friend forgot a promised delivery, or a waitress messed up my order, I thought, “Hey, I was ‘young’ once too.”

Grace.

Pass it on.

It is amazing the distance of the ripples in the water where it falls.

May God bless your day as you bless others with grace,

Terri Brady

Ephesians 1:7 For by the blood of Christ we are set free, that is, our sins are forgiven. How great is the grace of God,

Matthew 6:14-15 If you forgive others the wrongs they have done to you, your Father in heaven will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive the wrongs you have done.

Patrick Lencioni, in his book, Five Laws of Decline, defines one of the reasons for being miserable on a job as having “immeasurable goals.”

I guess Lencioni’s definition of “job misery” may explain why there are days of even motherhood that are, well, miserable. A mother’s goals can be so immeasurable. If my child gets all A’s, then am I a good mom? Then what if my straight-A student becomes a father out of wedlock? Does that make me a bad mom? What if I had done nothing different between the two incidents? My results are immeasurable.

In a previous letter, I told how one of my children apologized to me for staying up until 10:08pm the night before, when I had only told him he could read in bed until 10. Good mom? This week, one of my children got caught cheating; then lied, denied and blamed with an unrepentant heart and left me crying, “God, I feel like I am losing.” Miserable mom.

I like the way Rick Warren, author of Purpose Driven Life described life when his wife was battling breast cancer. He said that life isn’t necessarily a series of peaks and valleys as he had once thought, but more like a railroad track. One rail is negative and the other rail is positive, and our train keeps moving down the track at full speed.

In my last letter, I wrote a “Shout-Out to Moms” and comments were made regarding approximately 50 moms. I studied the comments. What makes a good mom? What can I learn from these women that will help my children the most? How can I apply it to my own motherhood?

In the shout-outs to moms, nobody said that a mom was a great mom because, “She had the laundry done every week!” or  ”She looked like a model from the Victoria’s Secret catalog!” or “She kept high-fructose corn syrup out of the house!” (Seriously, have I stressed about these things?!) However, the common thread was there – and would truly apply to success in any job. The majority of them shouted:

Thing 1: “She loved God.” And

Thing 2: “She loved me.”

I suppose any job is not as immeasurable as it seems. Did I love God today? Did I love people today? Imagine what the Lord could do with that!

May God bless your profession as you live it for Him,

Terri Brady

Matthew 22:34-40 ³⁴ Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. ³⁵ One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: ³⁶ “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” ³⁷ Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ ³⁸ This is the first and greatest commandment. ³⁹ And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ⁴⁰ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

After my nephew’s recent baseball tournament win (Go Armour! of Parker, CO), I saw some teamwork exercises that made it obvious they were not just winning baseball, (nationally ranked 3^rd!) but raising winners who understand teams. Among other exercises, they had a “shout-out!” time where they sat in front of the coach, and each boy enthusiastically raised his hand for the pure enjoyment of telling what he noticed one of his teammates doing right.

“Lance pitched great.”

“Geno had a great play at second.”

“Jo Jo kept a good attitude even when the ump made a bad call.”

What a great idea! That coach is teaching a life-skill I wish I had known at that age! It is called edification. “Therefore encourage one another and edify one another, just as in fact you are doing.” (1Thes 5:11) Giving credit where credit is due is a trait often forgotten in this dog-eat-dog world. As a child, and unfortunately into adulthood, I remember feeling that if I lifted someone else, it made them think that I was less in comparison. But edifying others is quite the opposite: the more we lift, the more we are lifted!

I love audience participation, so in this week of Mothers’ Day, I would love to SHOUT-OUT to some moms and ask you to do the same! It doesn’t have to be your own mom; it can be any mom in whom you see something to admire. Specific stories that illustrate why someone is great always inspire others and help us remember how to apply it!

Before shouting-out praise for moms, I really want to lift up prayers: Mothers’ Day can be a time of sadness for so many – those who wish to be mothers and are not, and those who miss their mothers dearly. Please take a moment and send prayers their way–every day this week! Our prayers are with you, girlfriends! Please feel free to participate in our shout-out and I hope it helps uplift your day.

A few rules for shouting-out about a mom:

1. No jealousy allowed. If you see someone singing the praise of someone you know, quietly tell God thank you for those two women lifting each other, and get your mind off yourself! God knows .
2. Comments on this blog stay with this letter and increase page ranking (Comments count like votes for online searches on the topic.)– which is nice for future onlookers, so they can see some positive things you say about a mom. Comments about this blog put onto Facebook, Twitter, etc disappear within days and are not connected here for others to read. (I learned this when I did the letter on Family Traditions; all of the comments on FB were fantastic, but were gone into the depths of archives before Christmas.)
3. No negative. This is a general rule for shout-outs. You can’t start with “She drives me crazy, but…” No buts about it, shout-outs are positive! Write the negative in sand, and write the positive in stone – on a comment. You may have nothing positive to say about a mom except, “She didn’t abort me,” and that is a perfectly acceptable, wonderful shout-out!! Life is a gift, and God gave it to you through her.
4. I don’t mind long shout-outs, so say it like you mean it!! You can copy this link and send it to the mom on Mothers’ Day as a special blessing.

Here goes! I am writing about a different mom each night this week, hence the different color fonts.

I want to SHOUT-OUT about Kerri Bosma of Michigan. This mom took the letter, “Sunrise, Sunset, Fishing for Memories” to heart and then sent a photo of her son, Kayson, whom she took “early morning fishing.” What a catch of a mom! Maybe I should have mentioned that I meant fishing in Florida winter or Michigan summer, but not necessarily early morning Michigan winter!! Two thumbs up for that mom!!

Attach a comment of your own shout-out to a mom and check back tomorrow to see my next mom shout-out.

I want to SHOUT-OUT about this “unknown” mom I saw on a street in Colorado last week. Of course, to her, it may have been a “normal” morning exercise routine, but to me it was worthy of SHOUTING because I think she was seeking excellence in family, fitness and faith (LOL) all at the same time. Not only is she pulling her own weight, but the weight of Superman (complete with cape) and his sibling (or two!- I can’t see inside the trailer). Go, Mom, Go!!

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This shout-out goes to the special moms of children with special needs. Although I do not know her personally, according to the comment below from 5/9/12, Michele Lewis’s sister, Kim, is a foster mom who chooses specifically those children with special needs. What a special lady! I want to shout-out to moms who may never hear their child say, “Mom,” but God knows her name. These moms may have more doctors’ appointments than playdates, and have embarrassing moments in public, with intensely tearful moments in private. These moms may wish others would stop complaining about “Italy” when they are trying to stay focused on “looking for tulips in Holland.” These moms may have their brains stretched further than they thought they could go, and their hearts stretched to equal capacity, as they celebrate the simple things that moms who don’t have a special needs child would never know. Shout out to you, Mom! Your child is blessed that God gave him/her to you!

It makes me want to SHOUT when I think of my late grandmother, Annie Pearl (Polly) Hodge. Born in 1896, she was a widow before I was born. (Joseph C. Hodge 1884-1967) Although I never saw her as a wife, she planted seeds in me that she never could have known would take root. She lived in Talladega, Alabama, while I grew up in Pennsylvania. At the age of 9, I had a week with her, when my parents let me go by myself to “take care of her” since she was elderly. It was a treat for me to cook meals, because “playing house” was finally feeling like the real thing! I cooked oatmeal for breakfast (despite the fact that I didn’t eat it -it was just fun to use a hot stove), and to this day I make chicken and dumplings, because that is what she taught me that week. We played

Grandma Hodge 50th Wedding Anniversary

dominoes for hours on end- even up to her dying days in her upper nineties in a nursing home. I can almost hear the sound of her voice when I sip her favorite drink, Dr. Pepper, because the taste brings a flood of memories. Her greatest influence on me by far was a devotional book she had. Each morning of that 7 day trip, she would have me read the book aloud to her (because “her eyes were bad”) and it was probably the most Bible I had read outside of a Sunday. I admired that and wanted to do it for myself. God used my grandmother’s 7 days with me to influence me for a lifetime. 7 days!

As I grew, I remember thinking, “If Grandma needed me to read that book to her, how does she read it when I am not there?” and then I would dismiss the thought – because God planted seeds during that time that are still growing today. I love you and miss you, Grandma! and look forward to the day when we shall meet again.

I would love to shout-out about my 95-year-old grandmother who lives on a farm in Kansas, still mows 4 acres of her own grass and grows an annual garden, canning at harvest. She makes her own peanut butter, lye soap, and crafts things from what-would-

be nothing. (She made sewing cards for my daughter last year by drilling holes in the shape of animals out of empty Clorox bottles that she had cut into 4-inch square “cards”. I kind of wish I could have seen the 94-yr-old woman with the drill!) For her 90^th birthday, someone gave her a new gun, because she shoots rattlesnakes, and for years, it has been with a crooked-barrel shotgun! She has written poetry that somehow mixes tears with the warm fuzzies of home. She quilts-by-hand at 20 stitches per inch, makes homemade cards for every birthday and has given a full-size quilt to every grandchild and great-grandchild. She has been a hero of mine for most of my life. My earliest memory of admiration was wanting to be “a farmer’s wife when I grow up,” according to my 3rd grade paper. This shout-out goes to Grandma Fern Estes of Kanorado, KS!

My mother-in-law, Gayle Brady, deserves a shout-out…or many! A breast cancer survivor, she leads her life with the love-of-Christ. I never have to wonder if she is “in my court” or not; she would be there for me in a heartbeat. She raised the most wonderful man (or two –I’m sure her other daughter-in-law would say) in the world, and her influence in him shines. She taught me to cross-stitch shortly after marriage, because she could never sit still and “only” watch a movie. She has a rule, “Don’t set it down, unless you are setting it in its final place,” which has tremendously helped my house stay clean, because my husband still lives it and says it to me-lol! I thought she had the most amazing memory, until I visited her house and found post-it notes on the cupboards. I realized that maybe those gifts we admire in others on not all “natural,” but they are traits of someone who is humble enough to identify where help is needed and then use the help! She is so proud of her son (as am I!), yet gives God the glory: “I don’t know where you came from, but I know God did it!” she tells Chris. Her reaching out to me has been a secret to the closeness of our relationship, and truly an example I want to follow with my future daughters-in-law. But wouldn’t it be better to hear the words straight from the one who calls her, “Mom?”

Here is what Chris has to say:

“I would like to leave a shout out to my mom! She has to go down in history as one of the

Jim and Gayle Brady

most flexible, positive, encouraging souls to ever dare to raise two rascally boys. I have many happy memories of her selflessness and service to us, such as a full Sunday dinner arranged and served on the back of a dusty motorcycle trailer at the racetrack, red paint overspray on every surface of our home (it somehow got in from the garage where we were painting my Camaro) for which she didn’t even get angry, chore lists left on our countertop to prevent summer laziness, spectating at all of our sports and musical events (many boring hours, no doubt!), authoring many inside jokes and family giggles, and faithfully demonstrating how marriage is supposed to work through all seasons and situations. Thank you, Mom! I hope I am living my life worthy of how you raised me!”

Lastly, and of course most importantly to me, I would love to shout about my own mom, Sue Estes. An amazing cook, she defined volunteer work by cooking for 80 children every Wednesday night at the church where I grew up in Carlisle, PA. She knows food is a love language, and she is fluent in it! Famous for her pies, she would make an entire pie for every person who attended our Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.

Hospitality was her natural gift. I don’t mean the pinky-in-the-air matching place-settings, (which she had!) but I mean the door was open to whoever walked in, and they would feel welcome to live there, anytime. Her freezer and cupboard were full “just in case” someone stopped in “unexpectedly.” She expected it.

Mom and Me

Jesus said, “What you have done for the least of these, my brethren, you have done for me.” My mother served “Jesus” on more than one occasion. Once there was a bad car accident on the highway near our neighborhood. We children heard the collision and ran to the fence to see. My mother followed through with more than rubber-necking. I don’t know if she jumped the fence, or jumped in the car and followed the ambulance, but I do know that the family that was far from home on vacation was hospitalized and released at different times from each other. My mother offered our home to the father and children while they waited for the other children and mother to be released from the hospital. In my memory it was months, but knowing how children’s brains work, I guess it was probably a week that this family “moved in” with us, with bandaged wounds showing, as they awaited the mother’s medical clearance.

Mom had a dream to be a nurse, but when she was a teen, she came upon a bad car accident and fainted. Because of the experience, she “chickened out” from nursing school. The dream never faded, even after her courage had. Years later, when my oldest brother graduated from high school (and her youngest of four was in 4^th grade), my mom tenaciously picked herself up by the bootstraps and went to college, 45 minutes from home, full time. She graduated from college as an R.N. the same week as her oldest child.

I don’t know if it is possible to identify, much less quantify someone’s greatest trait, but Mom surpasses the world’s standards when it comes to being flexible and conforming to circumstances that change. She has been babysitting for me and ended up voluntarily taking on other people’s kids when their sitter didn’t show up. Once on family vacation, when our car ran off the road on the way back from a remote fishing lake in Canada, embedding in sand and needing a tow truck, she immediately got all of the fish out and started lining them up on the ground to make a photo shoot out of the time we had to kill. What would have been a stressful, bad memory turned into fun. (Although, we did laugh AT her sometimes, I think she knew deep down we enjoyed it.)

In 2008, when I had to make the call to let my parents know I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, I really think Mom was in the car before I hung up – ready to make the 1600miles drive to be by my side…for a doctor’s appointment. Wild horses had to hold her back until a few weeks after surgery, when I really needed someone flexible enough to let me try some steps back into life, but take over when I got exhausted.

“Shouting out!” about her kids has never been held back by my mom. She would tell a complete stranger in Walmart or Wendys (the two places I specifically remember witnessing!) all about her children and grandchildren’s accomplishments. She is president of 4 adult-children’s and 12 grandchildren’s fan clubs! I love you, Mom!

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Thank you so much to all who are shouting-out in the comment section below. Amazing stories about amazing moms! I have so much to learn!

J.R. (at 3-yrs-old) summed it up best when he asked, “Who is God’s mommy?” When I told him God did not have a mommy, he replied, exasperated, “Oh, He must be so sad!” God truly blessed us when He gave us moms to admire.

As mothers advance in age, I see a pattern of ailments that seem inevitable in my own future: Knees grind; a heart needs monitoring; hips that used to shimmy shimmy coco-bop, get stuck on the bop; skin gets speckled and thin enough to tear at a mere thought; bellies malfunction; brains fade; voices get hoarse, and sleep is hard to come by (at night anyway).

It is as though a mother’s body is just …well-used.

If my hips need replacing, may it be because they were first displaced by children.

If my knees get sore, may it be from bending in prayer.

If my belly is torn up, may it be because I took gut-wrenching pain away from my kids.

If my voice gets hoarse, may it be because it was overused encouraging.

If I can’t ever remember what I am going to say, may it be because my memory is full of the gifts of motherhood.

If my skin gets speckled and soft, may it represent my buffalo skin fading away to allow true love to show.

If my heart needs monitoring, may it be found exploding with gratitude.

In love and thankfulness,

Terri Brady

I recently was asked to be the accountability partner for some ladies who are taking the Mental Fitness Challenge. This 90-day personal challenge is designed to improve the fitness – of the mind.

I am especially impressed with someone who will step out of the line of “existence” and move into the field of “excellence” in any field.

It is far too easy to become a woman who lives to “exist”.  We go through the day, allowing the car of life to be driven by the status quo. Succumbing to peer pressure well beyond high school, we can feel awkward if we don’t fit in with the other women. We change our appearance based on the “average” and get to where it almost feels good to just “exist.”  We carry excuses along like, “I don’t need to be a better wife until he’s a better husband.” Or “Other people try too hard; school days are for the kids.”

Life is like a down escalator. If we are not running up, we are riding down. In other words, if we are not doing the work to excel, we end at the bottom. Excel-lent women seem to be heading toward extinction in this crazy world. But girlfriend, you and I can stop Excellent Women from becoming an endangered species!

“Excelling” in any area takes work. Changing results in life starts with changing thinking, and believe me, thinking is the hardest work there is.  Just ask my 11-year-old. I guess that’s what makes me so proud of women who challenge themselves to excel.

Fitness is the easiest category in which these truths show. If I am “excelling,” I have a different outcome than if I am merely “existing,” where my flab and I are sure to end at the bottom of the escalator. When I gained weight last spring, I didn’t feel like I had overeaten, or even stopped exercising, I had just stopped excelling. I “existed” on the treadmill in the morning at 4.0 mph.  I had stopped counting food, and went with a relaxed “what feels right” attitude. And the pounds were found at the bottom of the escalator. I found an accountability partner, and she immediately adjusted my thinking: “Which burns more gas,” she asked, “a car that drives at 55 mph for 30 minutes or a car that goes 100mph, for a while, then 30mph for a while?” My 4mph treadmill was just a 55mph car. If I wanted to burn more, I needed to adjust and excel.

In finances, “existing” is doing what everyone else does. Buying due to the elation of the purchase, spending money on hair, makeup, or even phones all because “it’s normal” is merely existing. After all, have you heard of anyone these days who only has one car or one cell phone, or whose parents don’t pay for the teenager’s first everything?  I had an eye opening on my lack of excelling in this area the first time our business made good money. I had been “the good wife,” buying used clothes for the kids, cooking instead of eating out and delaying gratification for long enough that when we hit a new level of income, I knew it was my time to let it loose!   Always “budgeting” because I believe that is responsible to God who blessed me with the money, I had mentally decided I could afford 3 Starbucks $5-drinks a week. Starbucks was literally on the end of my street, and the caramel macchiato was the perfect afternoon treat (maybe not in the fitness category – LOL!).  Then I did the math. $780. That would be $780 that I planned to give to Starbucks per year. No offense to Starbucks:  but for me, to spend “excel-lently” would not include $780 toward drinks for my splurges.  (Girlfriend, I am NOT condemning anyone who chooses it that way – please read on!) To “excel” in finances, my financial spending had to agree with my priorities in life. I had so many dollars in my pocket, and I wanted those dollars to be spent to agree with my heart. THINKING leads to EXCELLING in finances.

Twitter has made the word, “followers,” a common term. We who “tweet” type online, and our “followers” will see it on their screen when they log on to Twitter. Whether on Twitter or not, every person on earth has “followers”: people who see, hear, or are touched by their influence. Whether good or bad, our influence reaches others. The woman who had a fit on the plane because she was in the middle seat, influenced me to realize she thought I deserved the lesser seat. (I immediately offered to switch – which she declined- unwilling to take help offered by me, a mere peasant. Lol!) The woman who, despite embarrassment, patiently helped her screaming 2-yr-old work out his disappointment that the security employee broke his toy train, reminded me that the child would remember her patient love long after he plays with trains. My friend, Eve, who came at the drop of a hat to help me move my parents’ things before the charity closed, bringing her four kids in tow influenced 1. Me: I was so  incredibly blessed by her willing heart. 2. Her children: They watched their mom go beyond her current circumstances to help someone else. 3.  The people who received the goods for the charity (and their children who also participated) 4. My parents who were so impressed that such people exist even today.  Of course, I know Eve isn’t just existing; she is excelling, and influencing her followers to do the same.

Girlfriend, I love how my husband declared war on the status quo long ago. It has made such a difference in our family. By examining and excelling, we surpass existing, bringing women of excellence as examples out of extinction and into exceptional living. Exactly!

Thanks for being my extraordinary reading friend who is more “extra” than “ordinary”!

God bless,

Terri

There have been so many times when I have felt like I was not thriving but barely surviving motherhood. By far, one of the most challenging was when my youngest was crying all the time, as you probably recall from my previous letter.  Funny, but as is often the case with 20-20 hindsight, I can see a tremendous blessing that came from that desperate time: something that came to be called, “early morning fishing.”

Although the crying baby took so much attention, his sister, only 19-months his senior, was not exactly changing her own diapers either. I can remember her recognizing the opportunity for mischief when I was nursing the baby. She would wait until I was occupied with him, and then run get the wipes and pull them out one-by-one, putting them on her head, or wiping my mirrors, or something just out of reach, but not dangerous enough for me to stop what I was doing. Just more mess. The days would go by, and I would feel as though my punch-in clock had actually reversed. There was more on my “to do” list and nothing crossed off.  All I did was clean up messes that weren’t even there when the day had begun. No progress.  Had I even seen “the boys” that day?

For the 5 years before boy #3 arrived, we had referred to our first two children as “the boys” and then we had the baby girl. “You bring ‘the boys’ and I will bring the baby,” was how we spoke. Now that there was another boy, it seemed odd if not impossible to break our habit, so we continued referring to the older ones as “the boys” and the next two as “the little ones,” which were the exact terms my had parents used for my brothers and me, coincidentally.

I was convinced that in and among the crying baby and needy toddler, “the boys” were being neglected. In two years, their world had been turned upside down with lack of Mommy time, not to mention that we were building a new home simultaneously.

My solution: Take them “early morning fishing.”

I am sure that to many, this seems like a perfect job for Dad, but my husband prefers sleeping at sunrise (since he reads late into the night), and is not much for fishing any time of day, so it was the perfect opportunity for me to educate the boys, and spend quality time away from crying babies.

Since we could not trust getting a cell phone signal, I would take one walkie talkie and leave the other one with Chris, next to the bed, so he could get in touch with me when the cryer awoke. The boys and I would head to the lake in the backyard, using a Polaris Ranger to navigate the hill. My goal was to get there, get the canoe out of the barn, trolling motor attached and be afloat before the sky was lit. This gave us about one hour, +/-.  Even during the school year, we could be out on the lake and back by 7:45am, ready to attack the day. The boys had to be able to tie their own line and take a fish off the hook in order to participate in the privilege of early morning fishing.  It was never hard to wake them when fish were waiting.

What memories we have! From my walking on water when I realized there was a snake in the boat with us, to feeding the nest of spiders to the fish, to singing “Great is Thy Faithfulness” as the sun crested the trees, to the treble-hook in my cheek from my son’s casting error, to the 39inch pike, the big ones that got away, and the kids that didn’t; God blessed us with some wonderful mornings.

When in Florida on vacation last week, I was thrilled to accept my now 14-yr-old’s invitation to go early morning fishing. “Thank you for teaching us to tie lines and take fish off when we were little,” my 11-yr-old told me. “It’s so easy now.” The one who was the “crying baby” is 6, and the tears are forgotten, as he too has earned his spot in the boat. (Of course, we needed the bigger boat.)

I took photos last week and paused to take in the moment. That tall, handsome, drawn-out body of my teenager’s silhouette in the gorgeous dawning light made my heart flash-back to the little boy who started the tradition, with the big orange life jacket hindering his every move.

As the song says, “Sunrise, sunset. Swiftly fly the years.” I guess I can really thank God for my crying baby, because in my desperation, it led to a blessing of memories and traditions that outlasted the tears.

Thanks be to Him,

Terri

I was just reminded of a funny motherhood moment I HAD to share!  The Atlantis Resort in the Bahamas is as amazing as everyone had told us it would be. The check-in experience in a lobby with a 7,000 gallon fish tank (bearing sting rays, sharks and eels among the hundreds of sea creatures) told us that this was out of the league of “usual” 5-star resorts. All in all, over 200 million gallons of water are used for the watersides, pools and unending sea-life homes. This resort attempts fun for all ages by also offering dancing, bars and even a casino on site.  Being frugal, despite being at a 5-star resort (and being able to deduct taxes, since business meetings were held there), we scoped out the cheapest way to feed our children, then ages 6, 3, and 4-months.  The restaurant that fit the needs for our kids- who never seemed to finish a plate of food-  was just on the other side of the casino. We instructed our babysitter to take the children there for dinner, while we got ready to go to our meeting.

As Chris and I walked to the convention room, we took the short-cut through the casino. We were surprised to see our children and sitter there, coming back from dinner already.  The babysitter explained that dinner had been cut short due to an accident that the 3-year-old had in his pants…#2.

Yuk.

Being a mom, I decided I needed to assess the damage in case there were any special instructions for the babysitter – like, “You can throw away the pants.”

To my surprise, when I looked into his shorts, nothing was there! I looked down the line of carpet, slot machines ringing on both sides, and realized that somewhere along the path from the restaurant, the dirty deed had rolled out of the shorts and onto the floor.  I was horrified! We continued our walk, scouring the floor to see if we could find the mess to clean up. I couldn’t help but notice 4-inch Stiletto heels on a woman, and was thankful they had not speared our “treasure.”

Atlantis, Nassau, Bahamas

The evidence was never found…by us anyway.

Have a laugh  today!

Terri

Emily Perl Kingsley wrote an essay in 1987 called, “Welcome to Holland.”  In the writing, she analogizes what it is like to have a special needs child. She describes it as if you are planning a trip to Italy.  While you are anxiously awaiting the cuisine, the Tuscan views, and the beautiful art, you save money, prepare the bags and buy the plane tickets. However, after the plane lands, a flight attendant makes an announcement, “Welcome to Holland.” Your dreams are at first shattered – and some permanently changed, as you realize your dream of Italy is far away, because now you are “stuck” in Holland.  At first, maybe you can’t breathe at the news, but as time passes, you soon recognize there is a lot to be thankful for in Holland – like tulips and windmills and even some art.

I have nothing against Holland; I have been there briefly and it was beautiful. However, I thought the author did a phenomenal job describing what it is like when our lives take a turn out of our control.

I keep a prayer journal, and each morning I try to grab some quiet time with my journal, Bible and coffee .  I write down things for which I am praying, sometimes Bible verses, or processed thoughts – to keep Satan from hijacking them again.  Since I am at the end of another journal, I was reviewing the pages this week to praise God for answered prayers, and pray for strength to praise Him for the “unanswered” ones too. (Although, I truly believe all prayers are answered – the answer may just be “no” or “not now” or “I have something else in mind.” (Isaiah 55:8))

As I look over my prayer journal, I see so many “trips to Holland” in and among the prayer requests:

-       A friend’s son is marrying a young lady who is just wrong for him.  Family occasions have become awkward silence.

-       An adult sibling of a friend is secretly robbing the elderly father, leading to legal battles within the family.

-       A lost job forces a family to leave their roots and go thousands of miles from relatives to get to a new income.

-       A young woman who gave birth to her first child discovered the special needs determined on the ultrasound were even more special once the baby was born. A lifetime battle is ahead.

-       A well-known pastor’s daughter is pregnant out of wedlock. The boy decided if she wouldn’t abort, she wasn’t worth keeping, despite their engagement.  She is now a single mom with a broken heart…in Holland.

-       A friend is divorced after 20 years of marriage, leaving her alone, and her teenage children running to get away, confused why the authority figures in their life couldn’t make it work.

-        Addictions have sent the addicts and their families to financial and relationship train wrecks.

-       Bankruptcy. Foreclosure. It is estimated this affects 30-50% of the homes for sale in Michigan where we lived until 2010. Often onlookers believe it is only caused by bad spending choices, not realizing that it sometimes begins with job loss, serious illness or changes-of-the-deal that are out of the owner’s hands. Holland.

-       Cancer. This dragon rears its ugly head many times in my prayer journal. The listed victims in my journal are from babies to age 93, some on multiple trips where they never thought they would go.

-       A friend, living my parallel life of home school and soccer, became a widow at age 43, left to raise three young children without a dad.  The “normal” life was instantly gone.

-       Macular degeneration claimed another victim: a 20-year-old turned in his driver’s license as the permanent blindness took his eyesight.

-       Migraines run the life of a young mom. A life that used to be filled with fun days at the park is now left in blinding pain, hoping “someday” arrives when there is healing, before her children are grown without knowing the real her.

-       Someone who is used to helping people confined to wheelchairs found out the doctors predict he will be in a wheelchair for life.

-       A friend’s mom took her own life instead of asking forgiveness, selfishly (though unconsciously) leaving those behind in Holland.

-       A young man, (age 14) on one of my son’s teams is in the hospital now, awaiting healing but with a big chance of amputation of a leg from an injury and subsequent surgeries a few weeks ago.

-       A married couple with five children now has four, since one child lost her life due to an accident involving the hand of the 3-yr-old sibling.  The parents are being charged with negligence, despite being within 6 feet of the accident. Holland.

-       A young man is being charged with a heinous crime. Although his innocence may be proven, the communities of church, school and public have read the newspapers, and even an acquittal won’t take away the court of public opinion. They have lost surrounding support when they need it the most.

Struggles are like cockroaches – for every one we see in the open, there are hundreds more hiding in the walls. The above list is surely minimal compared to the private struggles people face daily.

I suppose I don’t know many children who dream of having their lives diverted from their dreams. We often plan, save, pack bags and board the plane…but…

We forget who the Pilot is.

The things I know of Holland are:

1. God is in Holland. As cliché as it sounds, I know He is there, despite how far away we may feel. (Psalm 139:7-12)
2. God planned the trip to Holland; He is the only Pilot. There is a purpose for every day of the life He gave, even the hardest ones, to make us who we are meant to be.  (Romans 5:3-5) We can’t always see His reasons now…or even any time on this earth, but I know they are there. We may even thank Him for the struggles one day.
3. It is okay to mourn when you land in Holland.  (Blessed are those that mourn. Matthew 5:4)  Even Christ mourned in “Holland”. I recall when I was diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2008, after a year of blinding migraines, and other health problems which made motherhood of my kids (11, 8, 4 and 3 at the time) difficult, to say the least. Chris and I were in the middle of huge lawsuits, and he was gone a lot and feeling the fire-breathing dragons on all sides. Surgery for removal of the tumor was scheduled, and I called a Christian friend, Tracey.  Through tears I told her how I wanted to give God glory through that struggle, but I felt sinful by how deeply I dreaded the surgery, the likely paralysis, the hair shaving, and the long recovery –assuming there was recovery. I had an incredible dread, which seemed sinful compared to trusting God for His plan for my life. With strength, she said, “Terri, even Christ had Gethsemane.” I knew immediately to what she was referring: Jesus Christ, in His last days, knowing He would be severely beaten and mocked, nails driven through His hands for public humiliation of crucifixion, not to mention judicial separating from God the father: He went into the Garden of Gethsemane and prayed to God, “Please, if possible, don’t make me go through this.” (Matt 26:39) God had a plan – even for His own son in “Holland.”  Had Christ not gone through Gethsemane, and the dread, I think I would have a difficult time believing He was truly human. “Holland” made Him human.  It’s okay to be downright sad when life takes a turn you didn’t want.
4. There are people right next to you in life that are in Holland whether you know it or not. “Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.”- T.H.Thompson.  When my 28-yr-old friend Diana Hummell was in the middle of her battle with liver cancer, not a soul could tell from the outside. She was as beautiful as ever. She told a story of being in the grocery store, picking up some items for the family, moving slowly after one of the surgeries. Some people in the store were so annoyed – that this woman taking so long to choose milk, or pay at the checkout was delaying their busy lives.  I wept at the thought of the number of times I too had been annoyed by a slow driver or checkout attendant, not realizing their Holland status.
5. God has not given you anything you can’t handle. (Phil 4:13) What if we all wrote down our problems on little pieces of paper and put them in a basket and passed the basket around to millions of people. BUT the catch is that every piece of paper you put into the basket, you have to remove one of the other pieces of paper with someone else’s problems on it? You would want your own problem back. Why? Because God has plans for YOU. (Jeremiah 29:11). No one could love your child through this issue the way you can. God has given you the strength to surrender to His plan above the addiction you can beat. Your testimony will be a strength onto which others can hold.
6. There are other passengers on your plane in Holland who will be blessed to know you. C.S. Lewis said that a friendship is born the minute someone says, “What? You too! I had no idea anyone else went through this!” There are people on the plane whom you never would have met unless you were there, and there is a reason you have coincided.
7. There are tulips in Holland. “I can’t see tulips!!” a friend of mine cried in anger after her husband’s infidelity became public knowledge, opening wounds that had taken years to close in their private past.  To everything there is a season (Ecclesiastes 3:1-4), and there is a time to mourn – and there is no slated amount of time for that. During mourning, the tulips don’t always show or grow.  But we are called to look for tulips eventually. Gene Edwards, in his book, Exquisite Agony (Crucified by Christians), says that even Christ hesitated in accepting the plan, by asking for the removal of the cup (Matt 26:39), but the important part is that He peacefully accepted, “Thy will be done,” after the brief hesitation. “In everything give thanks,” (1Thessalonians 5:18) Paul says. That doesn’t mean we give thanks for the cancer, or thanks for the sin; but in my opinion, it means we seek the tulips for which we can give thanks. When the heat of the dragons’ breath is felt on all sides, open up a journal and write down three things for which to be thankful…a sunrise, a happy memory, a God who has a plan for your eternity. The tulips are there, and some would never have been seen had we not had to dig so deeply to find them. Sometimes the tulips are disguised as miscarriages and slow toddlers, but their beauty can be found when we dig deeply…or wait. A thankfulness journal is sure to brighten any day as it helps refocus on sunshine.
8. This too shall pass. (Revelation 21:4)The sun rises after the darkest part of the night. It is often times like these that force our surrender to God’s flight plan. I have heard it said that most believers go through a very dark hour or more – questioning God himself, before they truly surrender and enjoy the peace that truly surrendering provides.  I drove 163 miles out of my way during one such dark time. God’s plan is bigger than yesterday, today, or this year. That plan is eternal, and eternity is a lot longer than our time on earth.

In my husband’s words, “This probably won’t be the last of your suffering, but your suffering won’t last.”

Whether we are in Holland or in Italy, the truth is: we are just passing through.

Love you and praying for you,

Terri

Whether motivated to get me to stop whining or just being thoughtful, my loving husband suggested I get a massage. The thought of an hour of supine silence sounded too good to be true.

It was. My massage therapist must have had too much coffee, or just a genuine interest in me, because she was far from silent. “When are you due?” “Is it twins or triplets?”

That question usually began for me shortly after the 2^nd stripe showed on the pregnancy test – when people couldn’t believe my large size for just one baby. I felt like someone had changed my name to “Dang, girl!” because that was clearly how everyone greeted me. “Dang, girl! I thought you weren’t due for months!” “Dang, girl! What are you eating?” “Dang, girl! How many are in there?! Are you sure they didn’t make a mistake?”

A flight attendant once stopped me from getting onto a plane when I was barely halfway through my pregnancy. She was obviously nervous by my size, as if I were about to give birth. She asked, “Can you fly?”

Insulted, and without slowing my walk into the jet-way, I replied, “in a plane!”

“Wow, you look pregnant from behind now,” a male co-worker shared.

“The only thing she’s splitting these days is her pants!” someone humorously (yes, I thought it funny! – better to laugh than cry) answered a waitress when she asked if I would be splitting my fajitas for dinner.

My kneecaps had disappeared in a pudge of fluid, not to appear again until after birth. When I bent to tie my shoe, I would think, “What else can I do while I’m down here?”

My massage therapist continued the questions, and my dream of a silent hour vanished.

“Are you having twins?” (no. And yes I AM SURE.)

“When are you due?” (4 weeks)

“Are you nervous about labor?”

This was really a trick question, because I was nervous about one part of labor. See, you might remember that I had no labor with my 2^nd boy. He arrived after 4 contractions, before the ambulance arrived, actually before I had even gone down to the first floor of our house. My mother and Chris delivered Nate, although I like to say he delivered himself (9.5 lbs!) and they caught him.

Earlier during this pregnancy, my doctor had asked a similar question, “Are you nervous about delivering at home again?”

I said, “No.  I’m nervous about delivering in the grocery store!”

But, in a continuous attempt to get this massage all the way to silence, I answered shortly, “No, I’m not nervous. I am actually excited to find out if it is a boy or a girl.”

“You don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl?! Are you kidding?! Aren’t you going to find out?!”

“Well I hope so; I’ll have to dress it,” my normal comeback to that normal question.

This caused controversy for the rest of the hour, as she questioned why I didn’t find out and how I could possibly wait, knowing I already had two boys – wasn’t I dying to know if it was a girl?

The hour was over; my dream of silent relaxation was crushed. I got off of the massage table, putting pressure back onto my leg joint, and my leg was still disconnected.  After I paid the receptionist, my therapist popped her head into the lobby for a final goodbye. As I limped away, she yelled from behind: “Good luck with that sex!”

Though the tough girl in me “doesn’t care what people think,” I quickly felt the need to interpret the statement for every stranger now watching me hobble unevenly in the waiting room, “She means gender! Gender…of the baby!  I am having ONE baby in FOUR WEEKS and I don’t know the GENDER, so she is telling me ‘good luck with that GENDER!’”

My daughter was born one week later…in the hospital.

Once, while at lunch with my two-year old, the “morning” sickness hit immediately after I had eaten lunch. I quickly headed for the bathroom, throwing my purse and 2-year-old on the floor, urgently as I grabbed the receptacle. When I was done, I turned to my 2-year-old, to apologize.

He looked up at me and said, “Mom, is that baby in your belly still making you sick?”

“Yes…, I guess it is…” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow.

“Well, then why did you swallow it?!”

Smiles,

Terri

The kids were rewarded for delivering drugs! That’s all I remember from my college spring break trip to Washington D.C. We handed out food in a soup kitchen, took children from the inner city to an outer park to show them what green grass looked like (called the “Fresh Air Program”) and visited a “safe house” in the middle of a block; this particular block of tall apartment buildings was where children were taught to deliver the illegal drugs, to keep their parents out of jail.

The baby never left the papoose on the Navajo Indian reservation where I stayed one summer. Children were everywhere, but they all lived with their parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents in a two-room house with a hole in the roof (used as a chimney). The accommodations seemed impossible; I actually wished they would all go inside for a minute so I could see how they fit. While a team of us were replacing their roofs in 110 degree weather, the entire family of 16 stood around outside and marveled. Women and children came and went with buckets of water, carrying them from a nearby well. There was no running water or electricity, and barely a roof. This seemed like a third-world within our own US boundaries: outside of Newcomb, NM.

Last year, I had the opportunity to go to Brazil to visit the MORE Project. The charity has a center in the heart of the Brazilian favelas. As we walked through the “town”, only in daylight for safety, gang members seemed to be watching on every corner. We walked on slatted boards, under which the sewage ran and the smell wafted upward. We came to a home where several of the “More Project kids” lived. A 15-yr-old was in charge, holding the baby in her arms as the multiple others sat still to stare at us strangers. Later, we determined the baby belonged to the 15-yr-old.  On the next block, two 13-yr-old girls approached, dressed as if they were 20.  We were told the sad story of their choice to leave the MORE Project and go into prostitution for $1 a night. “They know no different,” Sergio said. “It is what is done here, until someone steps in and teaches otherwise.”

As I returned from each of the above trips, it was so hard to acclimate (even though they were less than one week each!). How do I spend $75 to put gas into my sport utility when there is such need? How do I take a hot shower every day and think, “There is no food in this house,” with a full pantry. Did I really think “I have nothing to wear” to that wedding? Ugh. Perspective. I wish I would never lose it.

As we remember the Holy Week this week – the anniversary marking the last days of Jesus’s life on earth, I am thankfully given perspective. As He was beaten, mocked, and deserted, Jesus didn’t retaliate, nor even speak in defense, but played the part that God had designed. He “drank the cup” and died the death, so that I may live eternally. As we remember Him, may we keep the eternal perspective that He intended. He cares about the children in DC, the Navajo Indians, the Brazilian favelas, and even me.  We are blessed indeed. Life: May we keep it in perspective.

Love ya,

Terri

John 17:23 “ I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them as You have loved Me.”