Love

Living with my mom, I am discovering, requires the love Paul expounds on in his letter to the church in Corinth. You know, the famous "love is patient, love is kind" verses. The ones lots of folks think are appropriate for their wedding sermon. I thought living with my mom when I was growing up was challenging and required patience. That was easy. I am learning that showing love, true Christian, Jesus-type love, to someone who does not know really HOW to love, is a gargantuan feat.  Impossible to do without prayer, without help, without God. It also helps to have a sense of humor, and to be able to journal my experiences as I am going through them.  

Through them. That sounds nice. Because the word "through" denotes there is an end somewhere. So, here is my situational, hopefully not irreverent interpretation of those famous verses in 1 Corinthians 13...

Love is patient, But seriously, how can it take 90 minutes to buy three things at CVS?

Love is kind, What?  Look at your colostomy bag to check for leaks?  Sure!  I'd love to!

It does not envy, not even your sisters for not being in your shoes

It does not boast about how my dogs don't poop on the floor 

It is not proud and continually reminding Mom about how much I do for her

It does not dishonor others by feeling entitled to special treatment or sympathy 

It is not self seeking -- I don't really need more than four hours of sleep anyway

It is not easily angered even when she needs me just as I lower myself into that nice, hot bath

It keeps no record of wrongs because moms never do any wrong, anyway, and then she'd forget if I told her, so what's the point?

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth, but when it comes to the location of her car keys, I will lie to her face

It always protects, as in not telling her where her keys are (you are welcome, driving public)

always trusts that the nurse will show up on time

always hopes that the ostomy bag will not spring a leak at 2 am

always perseveres because repeating myself constantly is good for my communication skills

Love never fails because so many things in life DO fail, we have to have one thing that doesn't

and then there is always chocolate....

Anger begets anger

Got in a verbal fight with my mom tonight. Got so upset and so hurt that I lashed back. Angry words, angry gestures, angry actions. Not pretty. Not productive. Not helpful. Not loving. Definitely not Christian behavior. Doesn't matter what started it.  

Why do I still seek her approval and her love? Or anyone else's for that matter? The only one whose approval I should seek is that of God...and He has already redeemed me, and is still sanctifying me through the work of His Holy Spirit. As long as I am being sanctified with His grace, to do His work, I should need no others.  

There are books and programs that will try to decipher and decode the complicated mother-daughter relationship.   

There are plenty of doctors and psychologists who want to put labels on anti-social behavior.  

Pharmaceutical companies are constantly marketing the newest antidote to whatever ails our body, our psyche, our emotions, on TV, the internet, and radio. Convincing us we are in control of our bodies, our lives, and that all we need is the right pill to fix any ills.  

There is only one Book to follow.  

Only One I need to please.

And I cannot do it alone.

Twelve days of christmas

On the first day of Christmas my mother gave to me, 

A barking growling dog named Benji

.......and so on..........

On the twelfth day of Christmas my mother gave to me

Twelve manic outbursts

Eleven loads of laundry

Ten ER visits

Nine "ow"s and "shut up"s

Eight leaking stomas

Seven joints a hurtin'

Six new prescriptions

Five G I A N T burps!

Four nurses calling, 

Three hours of sleep,

two soiled sheets, 

and

A BARKING, GROWLING DOG NAMED BENJI!

Anecdotes

Just when we thought we were getting used to our new "routine" of caring for my mom, Alex's mom had a heart attack.  As she happens to be the sole caregiver for a husband with advanced Parkinson's disease, this health crisis was catastrophic.  So, Alex got on his white horse and drove to the rescue, leaving me here with Mom and the dogs.  We have spoken at least once daily over the past two and half weeks, swapping funny anecdotes to make things seem less serious than they truly are (because we have enough seriousness going on).

Alex:  I'll call you back.  Dad decided to test the generator at 9 pm and it's a cluster here

Alex:  I am making meatloaf.
Mom:  Cannot eat that!  My diabetes!
Alex:  But you are eating ice cream and a sandwich and applesauce
Mom:  It is no sugar added

Me:  Mom are you hungry?  I can make you breakfast
Mom:  No.  I will just have my coffee and a muffin
Ten minutes later:  Will you make me eggs?

Alex:  Mom, I am making peas for dinner
Mom: I'm allergic to peas. I will eat mixed veggies
Alex:  There are peas in those.
Mom:  I know.

Me:  Mom why are you stripping your bed?
Mom:  Because it is Saturday
Me:  But we just changed the sheets two days ago!
Mom:  But it is Saturday.  I always change them on Saturday.

Alex:  Dad, the nurse is coming in the mornings to get you up.  Why are you already sitting up?
Dad:  Because I want to be up when she gets here.
Alex:  You never did that for me
Dad:  I know

Mom:  Quit coming in my room unannounced!
Me:  But I have to let your dog out to go potty.
Mom:  Well of course!  Don't be ridiculous.

Alex:  Mom, I am making pancakes for breakfast
Mom:  I cannot eat gluten Alex!  I will have my rice cereal
Alex:  Why are there peanut butter crackers under the cereal in your bowl?
Mom:  That's different.

Mom:  Give me my keys.  I want to drive my car to pick up my prescription.
Me:    Okay.  Call me later if you need anything
Mom (later):  Barbie can you pick up my prescription?  I am too scared to drive

Alex:  There are three refrigerators here, and two of them are full of ice cream and frozen dinners.

One night at dinner, the salt shaker fell into Mom's potatoes.  She promptly lifted it up and licked it off.  And put it back on the table.

All in all, it is interesting. It is hard.  But if you cannot laugh at these things, you'll go crazy.

Resistance

refusal to accept something new or different, effort made to stop or to fight against someone or something; the ability to prevent something from having an effect

Yep. Those short definitions courtesy of Merriam Webster say it all. Lots of resistance going on lately. Alex's mom insisting her heart attack changes nothing, refusing to accept new ways of doing things. Refusing help with the caregiving of her Parkinson's disease afflicted husband. Fighting her son and his ideas at every turn. 
Mom not accepting her ostomy as permanent. Resisting learning how to change the device because that would mean it IS permanent. Not allowing her pills to work. Fighting me and clinging to the hope of something better.  Holding onto grudges.  
Me hanging in to grudges with my mom and family and resisting the urge to get over it already. Pouting over my self imposed circumstances.  
Resisting. Pulling away. Refusing. Blocking. Fighting. None of those are positive terms. They all involve negative energy, meaning the energy used to resist is subtractive. Draining.  
Accepting. Embracing. Holding tight. Welcoming. Positive energy inducing.  Additive.   
Letting go and letting God steer my ship.  
Without resistance. 

Another day, another leak

Today I decided to escape for a while, so after letting all the dogs out twice, I left to go volunteer at my little store downtown for a few hours, and left Mom a note to call if she needed me. She did, but not until about 3 pm--asked me if I would pick up her prescription for her. Seems she is too scared to drive after all...

Anyway, Dr. Jekyll was back today--nice as pie, acting as if nothing happened.  I should be used to this after 60 years of it, but it still takes me by surprise, this one minute mad, the next minute nonchalant--it is unnerving how there is no rhyme or reason or pattern to the mood shifts. No, more than mood shifts. It is as if one person leaves, and the other comes in her place. There is no warning, no forecast of cloudy weather...it is just BOOM! 

I think I could handle it much better if it was always one or the other. But this uncertainty, the sheer unpredictability of her moods--it is madness. Sheer madness. We went out to eat, and it was as if we were a normal mother and daughter. No talk of the blow up yesterday.

Then her ostomy started leaking on the way home. Poop everywhere. Had to call the home health agency at 9:00 at night. Walked all the dogs out a couple times. Then had to reset a circuit breaker so I could do laundry.

I think I am developing an ulcer.

Mood swings

Today was mood swing day for Mom. She is normally moody anyway, to put it mildly. Always has been. Never knew what to expect--she made Jekyll and Hyde seem like the sugar plum fairy. Enough of that though--it is in the past. But I went into this knowing that, knowing what we have to deal with, knowing she really is incapable of loving anyone, least of all me. Knowing I would be the scapegoat for any and all emotional breakdowns. I can take it...with the grace of God and the help of my friends and my hubby.  

We just recovered from a two day snit from last week..Wednesday she blew up because I moved her furniture to make it safer and easier for her to get her walker through. By Friday it was as if nothing had happened. Today, she actually got upset because her dog peed on the basement floor, walking in it through it all over the basement,  and I had to clean it up. I didn't get upset or holler. I just took the mop downstairs and said "let's work on getting this little guy housebroken." Next thing I know she is refusing to go to her doctor appointment or get her antibiotic for an infection she has...one that took her to the ER Saturday. She demanded her car keys (she has not driven since she got here over two months ago), so I gave them to her--scary to think she may try to drive around here. I also gave her the application and information for two of the low cost senior apartments in the area. 

In trying to figure out the unfathomable, I realized both blow-ups coincided with a visit from one of the home health staff, but I am not sure if it was a reaction to a loss of independence vis a vis having home health here to do hygiene and stoma care, or if she acts out for the benefit of the nurses. Or both. Either way, I cannot control it, or manage it. All I can do is ignore it, and not react to it.  

Of course she always reverts to passive aggressive communication, coming upstairs after 5 hours of pouting to tell me "sorry I misled you by letting you think this was the place for me," and says I don't care, that she has to move out. Then she ate some ice cream, and sat down in a chair to watch TV. Next the bombshell...completely expected....asking for a couple of old photo albums. Knowing full well she would use them as barbs to ask why she has never been involved in our family activities, I fell on my sword and handed her the girls' wedding scrapbooks. Yup, enjoyed them for 30 minutes, then asked the question for which there is no answer, none she will listen to or understand, that is. "Why was I never invited to these things?  I'm your mother, their grandmother, why am I always excluded?" Yeah, there are so many answers to that question...and none are good answers.  

The reality is all of that is in the past, but my mom has always lived, no thrived, in the past. She is a perpetual victim, the quintessential Eyore. We never have resolved anything, not ever...not in 60 years. And probably never will. And I knew all this coming into this situation. And yet I still willingly signed up for this.  

Maybe I AM the one who is crazy!

Stuff

We collect stuff, all of us. Clothes, shoes, tools, cooking utensils, candles, knick knacks, photos, music, cars, books, movies, paperwork, files, junk mail, vitamins. Some of us are organized with our stuff. Some of us are packrats and save everything, even old ziploc bags and microwave dinner containers from the 1980s. Some of us throw stuff out easily (many times prematurely), with an almost Spartan-like mindset (me and one of my daughters). Others are hoarders, and love being surrounded by more and more stuff.

I feel compelled to write about this because my husband and I are both dealing with different spectrums of the human being's propensity to collect stuff, for two different moms. My mom has very little stuff, but a lot of what she has really is just junk. It is truly sad to realize that her entire life, from 1927 until now, through four marriages and five children, eight grandchildren, and numerous households, fits in one bedroom and a small storage unit. Much of her "stuff" is falling apart or stained or has been repaired multiple times. Other things are irreplaceable treasures and memories--things we made as kids, old photos, her husband's flag from retirement. And her selection of items to have in her room puzzles me--her photo albums are all in storage, but she keeps a framed photo of her dog on her dresser--and that dog is actually living with her. We have offered to hang up personal items, but after nearly three months the only "personal" item on her wall is a calendar.

Then there is Alex's mom...a packrat in the true sense of the word. They are still living in the same house they bought  brand new back in 1977, and the original decor and carpet is still intact. They have amassed quite a collection of flashlights, junk jewelry, clothes, coupons, vitamins, Beall's Outlet shirts, books, and memorabilia. I still remember how shocked I was the first time I visited them back in 1990--I went into the bathroom to use it, and saw over 20 toothbrushes...in at least five different toothbrush holders on the pink formica countertop. All had been opened. There were also at least four containers of hair gel, the blue 'dippity do" from the 1960s. I am fairly sure those are still there. They have three refrigerators and one full size freezer, full of Marie Calendar meals and Klondike bars in every conceivable flavor. Then there are clothes-- despite Connie's concerted efforts to donate  a bag of clothes every week over the past 18 months, at least three of the four full length closets are packed with outfits, many of which still have price tags.  There are sticky notes, newspaper articles from every decade since the 1950s, wallet sized photos of every school picture of her sons and grandkids. Then there are the treasures...letters from Alex's grandparents, an old family Bible, letters Alex's dad wrote while serving on a remote overseas. Since his mom's heart attack nearly two weeks ago, Alex has been filling in as the primary caregiver for them both, and has been overwhelmed with the gargantuan task of clearing out the stuff. He likened it to someone dumping an entire dumpster of garbage in your backyard, and going through the entire pile to find maybe two or three small, surprise treasures out of a ton of crap. It is an understatement to say my darling husband has the patience of Job.

Stuff.  It defines our lives. Sometimes it controls our lives. But most of the time, it is just extra stuff. The most important things in our lives cannot be put in boxes or on shelves or on a CD ROM. The relationships we have with others and with our Lord are the only eternal bits of stuff.

the daily grind...

It isn't the big surprises and shock that wears me down. It is not the sudden calamities. It is the every day, mundane routine. The mind-numbing robotic movements, the ease with which I fall into a rut, a habit, doing all the little things and performing all the simple tasks that I can do without even a thought or a care, moving like an automaton through my day without even a whispered prayer for assistance to my Lord and Savior. The taking for granted-ness of relying on my own resources, my own capabilities.

Cancer, heart attacks, house fires, premature babies, car accidents--those are hard, sure, but like a huge weight falling on my chest, they take my breath away so suddenly I am forced to fall on my knees and look up, up to the hills from where my help comes from. And He is there for me, and my friends in Christ are there with me, lifting me and my needs up to the heavens in prayer and supplication.

But the day-in, day-out grind of preparing meals, making the bed, walking dogs, doing housework and laundry, taking out the trash, cheering up the convalescing, reassuring the lonely, staying connected, being thankful...it is these little boring, unexciting, daily frustrations that can suffocate me with their blandness. Like little bits of sand they get in my eyes, irritate my skin, getting on everything. I try to sweep it up, clean it up, blow it off the furniture, rinse it out of my eyes, and then I realize it is harder to get rid of thousands of grains of sand than it is to move one rock. Unless I rely on the Lord. For with one small breath, He can clear it all away, or shield me and make me stronger.

In all things I must give thanks. In all circumstances I must rely on Him, and look up to the hills. And I must glorify Him in everything I do. For that is my reason for being.

Saturday

Today was my break day...took a much needed mini-vacation this morning. Yes, it also involved taking the trash and recycling to the dump, but that is only because the dump closed early yesterday and I didn't want two bags of trash percolating in the trunk for 48 hours.  

So after walking four dogs twice, feeding them, and cleaning the kitchen, I left to go visit my darling friend and neighbor, Marianna. She made me eggs and toast, and then took me out for coffee and a muffin. And when you give a Nana a muffin, she is going to want some coffee. When you give her some coffee, she is going to want to talk. And when she talks and talks, she is going to get thirsty and want some water.  

Oops, sorry...that is another story! So, I had coffee and a muffin and a wonderful time with my darling friend. We talked about Scripture and Jesus and discernment.  She helped me regroup and refocus. After coffee, we walked across the street to our favorite little resale store, and I visited with my friend, Melissa, shedding a few tears and exchanging hugs. It was a wonderful little break, but it ended when I noticed a voicemail on my phone from Mom. Another leaky ostomy bag, she was sick, and the nurse was on the way to the house.

Break's over. Back to reality.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening doing laundry, making a bed, spot-cleaning the living room carpet, making another trip to the dump, comforting my mom, and sitting in the local ER.  

Tomorrow we are getting pedicures. God willing, that is.  

Anything has got to be better than today.  

The cost of love

Gas for five trips to and from Nashville:  $1,055

Meals for those trips:  $700

Pet sitter for trips:  $900

Moving truck (twice):  $385

Medical and accessibility items to modify house:  $2,600

Storage facility:  $500


All of the above being completely taken for granted:  Priceless

Surgery after 80

Mom has had her share of surgeries...in fact, I believe she has spent more days in the hospital, at a doctor's office, enroute to/from a doctor or hospital, or at a pharmacy than she has spent doing anything else. Seriously. Loads of back surgeries. At least three bowel surgeries.  Gall bladder removal.  Polio.  Bunion and cataract removal. Appendectomy. Hysterectomy. Labor and delivery five times. Ileostomy. Varicose vein repair. Countless ER visits for infections, falls, and car accidents. So it came as no surprise when she demanded repair of her abdominal hernia. I agree with her, though...that thing was huge! Grapefruit sized bulge of intestine coming through her abdominal wall. Painful. Causing all kinds of problems with her stoma, not the least of which was a leaking ostomy bag. So, mid November she was admitted for what is NORMALLY outpatient surgery. Wisely, her surgeon admitted her, ostensibly for "a couple of days."  "A couple of days" is medical jargon for "until we finally give up trying to make an 88 year old woman feel like a 28 year old woman."

My first inclination that something was not going to go well was when the pre-op nurse nonchalantly informed us that protocol has changed for bowel surgery. Now, instead of waiting for the bowels to wake up and give a patient solid food, hospitals now give solid food to wake up the bowels. Um, isn't that like giving a cheeseburger to a 6-month old baby? Or a steak to someone in a coma? Well, we were assured there would be no problems. Pre-op at 8 am, surgery at 0900, recovery room from 1000-noon, and by 4 pm, the nurse decided my mom was well enough for meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Never you mind that she was still loopy from general anesthesia, and her ostomy bag was empty. Yep, meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  This is how Mom ended up in the hospital for ten days instead of two. On IV fluids, IV narcotics for pain, and nothing by mouth for 7 days, unable to pee or walk. With a tube down her nose into her stomach to relieve the gas and obstruction caused by a giant lump of meatloaf. All the while the medical staff is haranguing her to walk, to move, to get up...how? She was connected to tubes in four different places!  And, remember, she is arthritic and 88 years old, and needs to use a walker on her GOOD days! 

My sister Mary Beth came to be with her the day of surgery and spent the night at the hospital two nights straight. After she went home, I was at the hospital with her more often than not, and didn't really trust the staff to know what Mom needed, so I was a vigilant patient advocate. Bribed, cajoled, and coddled her to get her to move, to smile, to get out of bed, even bringing in her little dog, Benji, to cheer her up. By the tenth day, I was ready to bust her outta there, so they discharged her. 

Now we begin the long, arduous journey towards convalescing. No more hernia, but she is now re-addicted to oxycodone. Thanks, medical community!

Prelude to Madness

Just a little background before I start posting on this blog...since I didn't think about journaling my new life until today. 

Up until 2011, my relationship with my mom was tenuous at best. She has a lot of issues--medical, emotional, social, and psychological--that make it difficult, to put it mildly, to live with her. I am not sure what is wrong with her, but in a society that wants to label every single disorder, she is antisocial, a sociopath, and has borderline personality disorder (check it out online....). To put it bluntly, she is not a nice person, at all. She is verbally abusive and always has been, She gets surgeries to garner attention, and she lives in an alternate reality. Despite all this, I have spent the majority of my life trying to gain her approval, to make her love me, to get her to be nice to me. It works for a while, but then, BAM! it is gone, and we are back to me being stupid, bossy, bratty, etc. 

She and my dad had an explosive marriage, albeit one which produced five children.  After 15 years of hell, though, they divorced (and they both still harbor ill feelings, no, hatred for each other, even after over half a century). Mom remarried three more times, divorcing the next two and then outliving the last one. While married to her last husband, I tried to be the "good daughter" and help her by having her move to an independent living facility about 10 miles from us in Florida. After two years, we were back to square one and one of my sisters decided to move Mom and her husband up to Nashville with her. Well, not with her, but in an apartment near her. 

Fast forward three years, Mom's husband died (probably got nagged to death), and with him went 80% of her income. She couldn't afford to stay where she was anymore, because her income was at the poverty level. My two sisters who lived less than 20 minutes away from her couldn't be there for her--not in the way it was needed. Mom was a medical mess, having had at least a dozen major surgeries, had limited mobility, and, to make it worse, a permanent ileostomy (part of her intestine is outside her body and she poops into a bag). All of these factors made it imperative for her to move--the three options were (1) an affordable assisted living facility with 24/7 nursing care, (2) a low-cost of living HUD subsidized apartment with home health care contracted through Medicare, and (3) living with one of her daughters. Assisted living facilities with nursing care cost at least $4500 a month more than her total monthly income. And, although we found her an affordable apartment, my sisters convinced Mom she was incapable of living on her own.  Enter option #3--and guess who was the only one willing to do that? Yep....yours truly.

So, in October 2015, after at least five separate trips to Nashville to work things out, get her stuff from storage, move it again, and then bring her things here, we drove out there one last time and moved Mom in with us. In fact, she asked to move in with us.  We set up her room, installed a stairlift and handicap railings, put our furniture in storage in another room, and rearranged our home and our lives.  As can be expected whenever an elderly parent moves in with an adult child, there have been a lot of adjustments. Food choices, bedtimes, schedules, making the house accessible for a walker, and communication. As Mom is practically deaf, that last one is challenging--we have to be facing her and practically hollering at her for her to hear us, and even then she misses probably 40% of what we tell her. Her medical issues are even more challenging, and since she scheduled her life around doctor appointments before, I made sure to set up a new primary care doctor here in Brevard, and get her authorized for home health care, at least until she could get settled into her new routine. Most importantly, we had to ensure we had someone coming in to take care of her hygiene and her ostomy care, as that was something I am not going to tackle. At least not yet.

Then there are the dogs...we have three dogs, dogs we have had since puppyhood, and they have an established pack and routine. Enter Mom with her walker and her dog--an irritating, untrained, pampered toy poodle named Benji. First order of business was to adamantly enforce the "no microwaving of wet dog food" rule...the smell is akin to a dead carcass. Once we got over that hurdle (not after some conflict and more than a little resistance on Mom's part), the next hurdle was to get all four dogs on the same feeding and bathroom schedule. There have been a few accidents, and some growling, but so far the worst part about Benji is his barking...he barks at air. But that we can handle...we just turn up the music.

So, all in all, the first month went fairly smoothly. There were some kinks, and some confrontations, but I was pleasantly surprised with how we were all adapting. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. However, medically she was having some issues with a hernia (from her ostomy surgery), and this caused a lot of pain and unpleasant leakage and ostomy accidents, so she elected to have hernia repair in mid-November. That event deserves its own post....

End of Phase I--the Move In Phase

Thanksgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Turkey with all the trimmings. Family dinners and togetherness. Football games. Shopping expeditions.  Afternoon naps.  Homemade centerpieces and decorations. Getting out the Christmas lights and decorations.  Preparing for days to cook a meal for 6 hours that is inhaled in minutes. I always loved that part. Seriously. A home filled with wonderful smells and sounds and sights. 

Except for mine. I am sad. And a bit resentful of all those Facebook posts of yummy pies and turkey and stuffing. Tired of reading recipes for sweet potato casseroles and the debate over which stuffing is better. I actually gave away our thawed Butterball turkey this morning to someone who can put it to good use.  Because I do not feel like cooking a five course meal tomorrow. None of our kids will be with us, or grandkids. No parents or siblings, not even the Kazees. Just me and Alex and the dogs, and I will be spending most of my time at Transylvania Regional Hospital. With my mom, who had surgery over a week ago. And she is still here because she isn't well enough to go home. So I sleep on the little bench in the room, and get her ice chips and help her get up and ask nurses questions and try to eat the hospital food on an extra patient tray. 

So as I sit here feeling sorry for myself and glum, and more than a little bit jealous of those big turkeys with homemade dressing and cranberries, a verse in 1 Thessalonians came to mind: "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." 

And I look at my mom in her hospital bed, with tubes just about everywhere. As she reads the paper and eats another ice chip. As the IV alarm beeps again and the nurse comes in and fixes it, and as mom puts down the paper and smiles at me. As my husband is at home taking care of all four dogs by himself. As one daughter is tucking in her three precious girls halfway around the world. As another daughter is awaiting the birth of her firstborn child. As my sister and her daughters drive to visit my dad and stepmom and brother. And another sister is welcoming her grown children at her new home in Florida. As friends call me to ask how we are doing, and send their prayers up on our behalf. And I contemplate how I am saved by grace, through no doings of my own.

And I am thankful. 

Family, the ties that bind... and gag

Yes I know. Erma Bombeck came up with that line. But there is no other way of  accurately describing how I feel. Family ties- inextricably linked by our gene pool. 

Although at times, I think I was adopted...

I grew up in a home where neither of my parents were close to their siblings or cousins, or even to each other, for that matter-- except long enough to make five children. My parents divorced after 15 years of nearly non-stop arguing, when I was 9 years old, and our house became much more peaceful then. But we still had very little contact with relatives, other than an occasional visit with my maternal grandparents in Toledo, my great aunt, Sister Mary Patricia, or a chance encounter with cousins on my dad's side while on a weekend visit with him. My dad and his only brother never really communicated, and still don't to this day; my mom seldom heard from her brothers and sister, except for the occasional Christmas card; she has one living sibling, her sister--and they do not talk to this date. So, we grew up thinking this was the norm, I guess--that family isn't meant to be close. The only loving family ties I witnessed were those between my mom and her parents, and my Uncle Rob and my Nana. 

As I grew older, I couldn't help but notice the differences between my family and family relationships in my friends' lives. They celebrated holidays together, called each other just to chat about things, got their hair done together, and actually enjoyed each other's company! We just heard bitter comments about the other parent. Visitations with aunts and uncles just stopped with the divorce.  Sadly, as I grew older my sisters and I grew farther apart from each other and from our mom...so much so that by the time I was in my twenties, none of us really knew each other at all--our communication style of choice, learned in the home by watching our role models, was passive-aggressive. My handicapped brother was too much for Mom to handle so she pushed him off onto our dad (a cause of bitterness still to this day), and of the four girls, two of us moved out of the house and in with Dad as soon as we were legally able ("grass is always greener on the other side" theory). That drove a bigger wedge between each of us and our mom, and I continued through early adulthood with a huge chip on my shoulder. Except for my brother, all the siblings felt forced to choose sides--we almost NEVER were on speaking terms with both parents simultaneously. This was our reality. Sad, but true. 

Fast forward fifty years...my mom and I have resolved our differences; in fact, she is currently living with us because, well, she is 88 and that's what families do. It is challenging and wonderful and frustrating all at the same time. But I feel fortunate to have a second chance to get to know her. But I'm not always feeling so magnanimous.  Many times I am frustrated. I am angry. I am tired of being the one who reaches out, calls, sends cards, waits for replies.  I resent selfish, self-centered behavior. I do not understand how folks I just met this year at church care more about how we are doing than my own family. I don't feel smug or holier or better for what we are doing. Just confused. I look at other folks' situations and am completely baffled, and yes, embarrassed, by the stark difference between how our family behaves and others behave. My 70+ year old neighbors are close to ALL their siblings, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and her mom, age 100, has lived with one of the daughters for over 40 years. Forty years! And they all support each other, and help out, and share the care. And I cannot help but ask, "what in hell is wrong with my family?"

I could give a thousand excuses for their behavior, and for mine in the past. I could rationalize it as being part of a "dysfunctional family." But the real answer lies in the question, "what in hell..."  Because it certainly is not "what in heaven..."  Only our Heavenly Father can touch our hearts and open our eyes to see what we should do...not just what we can do or want to do. Without Christ in our hearts, we are incapable of being anything  but selfish, self-centered humans, sinful to the core.  So despite the sorrow and sadness I feel, I rejoice that God has chosen me, has elected me, and sent His Son to save me. 

My family ties to my Heavenly Family bind and do NOT gag. He is my rock and my shield and my joy. Thank God for my ties that bind. 

A quest for more

"A Quest For More" spoke to me in so many ways, validating many internal feelings and heartfelt emotions.  But the biggest ah hah moment came during my reading of the last chapter on disappointment.  Not because as a Christian I don't have disappointments, because all of us fall short of perfection and thus we are disappointing and can be disappointed in and by others.  No, the difference is the depth and the cause of disappointments.  See I expect earthly and human disappointments.  They are a part of life.  People disappoint me because that is part and parcel of human sinfulness.  Events happen that sadden me. Friends suffer and die.  Family members are unloving and hurtful.  People I love reject Jesus.  The world is full of evil, and seems to be growing more evil.  One of my favorite scriptures is the Song of Ascents in Psalm 121:   I look to the hills.   where does my help come? It comes from the Lord".  See,  my hope is in the Lord.  I am assured of my salvation.  I know where my help and my hope and my life come from.  So any and all of life's disappointments are nothing to me because I know I will be in a mansion with my God and my savior for eternity.

I cannot live in the past. Or worry about tomorrow.  Or try to control today.  I know He is with me always and will never forsake me.  Ever.  .   

A Quest for More discussion

The discussions in "A Quest for More" on these three feelings brought me to tears and to my knees for days; the words really struck home.  I have prayed and thought about these chapters for hours, yet it is truly hard to put it all down into words.  I will try, but all of it just seems so inadequate.

Loneliness--Even before I read this, I have felt like I am lonely and homesick, yearning to be with my Jesus.  Yes, family and friends (and doctors) mistake these feelings as suicidal, especially since I also have dealt with depression for decades.  So reading this discussion on loneliness validated what I have felt for years, i.e. the longer I am on this journey with Jesus, the more I want to just go home to be with Him.  Yes, I have a great life, husband, children, grandchildren, friends....I am not complaining.  But my relationship with God while I am still on earth can be likened to eating a great meal when you have a cold and cannot taste anything, or like seeing someone you love through a window and being unable to touch them.  It is like being separated from the love of my life and not knowing when I will be with Him again.

Anger--What makes me angry?  How do I express my anger?  Is my anger justified?  Am I only angry when my "little kingdom" desires are thwarted?  Or am I maturing in my Christian walk?  Again, as I grow in Christ and in my faith, my anger, or actually the objects of my anger, become more global, broad, and seemingly unsolvable.  Yes, I still get angry at not getting my own way, or being "put out" or left out, but I realize now how foolish and selfish those things are.  What really makes me angry now are the sins of the age...abortion, murder, adultery, gossip, and most of all, the apparent widespread acceptance of man's law over God's law.  In other words, commandment breaking sins.

Hope--Yet despite my aching loneliness and heartfelt anger over the plight of this world, I remain hopeful in God's love, secure in the knowledge that His will shall triumph.  As long as I continue to place my hope in His love, His will, His Word, and His faithfulness,  the loneliness and anger are worth it all.  Hope placed in earthly things, temporal values, is false hope.  Only hope in the almighty God and creator of the universe gives my soul peace.

"My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him.  He alone is my rock and salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken"  Psalm 62: 1-2

Veggie Tales Nana

Just finished Facetiming with my daughter, Mandy, and granddaughters Lydia, Molly, and Isabella.  Lydia, 5, and Molly,3, wanted to sing a new song for me  Love it, of course.  Mandy gave me a little background, explaining how Lydia and Molly learned a new song, called Barbara Manatee.  Well, Mandy proceeded to tell the girls "you know whose name really is Barbara?  Your nana!" Without skipping a beat, Lydia starts singing, "Barbara Nanatee..."  Hilarious.   

Evidently, I am a famous Veggie Tales character.  

Miracles

I believe in miracles... not luck or happenstance, or even coincidence. But true, honest to goodness miracles. Brought about by prayers and the faith of a secret prayer warrior, perhaps even someone I have never met. In the past two months, I have personally experienced two miracles. Events with no other explanation other than God answering prayer and holding me in His loving Hands.

First, my youngest daughter, Becky, announced she is pregnant, expecting our next grandchild in February. Notwithstanding that conception is a miracle by itself....this news was even more awe-inspiring because Becky had leukemia at the age of 12--and her little body was exposed to 3 years of chemotherapy and radiation. And by all rights, her reproductive system was probably too scarred to conceive. Yet, the child God gave me, is now carrying her first child.

Then, last week I was driving to an appointment in Asheville, it was raining, I had a migraine, and traffic was horrible.  No, I was not texting, on the phone, or otherwise distracted. I changed lanes to the left, but didn't see the vehicle in my blind spot.  He swerved, but I felt the impact as our vehicles side-swiped each other...my driver's side to his passenger front door.  Shaking, I pulled into the next available parking lot, he followed, and we both got out of our cars--me apologizing and crying, and him looking frustrated and irritated, even though we were thankful we avoided oncoming traffic. We then each looked at our cars...not a single scratch.  Not even a brush, a chip, rubbed area on tires...nothing. There was no damage. We were incredulous. We both kept saying "I felt the impact." No damage, no accident, nothing. We hugged, in the rain, thanking Jesus out loud. Then we both went about our day, continuing our normal daily lives, but we were both forever changed by this brief event.

How many times do I tell someone I will keep them in my prayers, but I only give it a lukewarm effort? How often do I forget to follow through with my prayers until weeks later when I see that person again? And yes, I know God hears them regardless of how imperfect my prayers. He knows the needs, the desires, I get that. 

But, what if my one imperfect prayer could result in a miracle?

Thank you, secret prayer warriors.

Thank you God

We serve an awesome God!

At the center of it all?

Little kingdoms, big kingdoms   Is Christ at the center of all?  Why do we do the things we do?  Why do we help who we help?  Are my prayers right focused?  How can I, with my human heart and my human tendency toward sin hope to keep myself focused on Christ?  Centered on Christ?  How do I block out that human tendency, that human-ness.  My relationships are flawed.  My thinking is flawed.  My intentions are flawed.  Heck, even my prayers are flawed.  Because I am flawed.

It is so hard to stay focused, to push away the selfishness that is me.  To differentiate between what I think is living for Christ, and what is REALLY living for Christ.  I judge others, am alternately too hard or too lenient on my own behavior and intentions, and I really feel I just am not doing enough to further His kingdom and His wishes on this earth.

Prayers are needed...much.

Humbled and awed

My relationship with my mother has been rocky, with lots of ups and downs, and there have been periods of time, some of them extended, during which we barely communicated. I would bemoan to anyone listening how bad I had it, listing all my mom's faults and missteps, perceived or real, and recanting her "horrible" outbursts and bad parenting. Yet I have probably spent the majority of my adult life trying to "earn" the love and respect of my parents, especially that of my mom. I even signed on to move to another state to "help take care of her" (unasked), and proceeded to try to dictate every aspect of her life I thought needed improving.  And when I was ultimately rebuffed (less than 2 years later), I sulked and appointed myself the martyr, the misunderstood, the unappreciated selfless daughter. I prayed for a healing to our relationship, but most of all for a healing of her spirit, because of course, my intentions were blameless and pure. She wronged me after all, right?

Only within the past year have I realized, through God's grace, I needed the healing of my spirit. God answered my prayers for my mom by giving me new eyes with which to see her, a renewed love for her, and a compassion for what she is suffering now.  No, she is not perfect (as none of us are!), but she is caring, concerned, and loving--qualities I rarely before ascribed to her. I actually enjoy talking to her on the phone, and want to drive to visit her, and help her when she asks me. I see her the way God sees her...an imperfect human being, made in His image, and worthy of love. I find joy in honoring her, and find beautiful the scripture verse: "Honor thy father and mother, that thy days may be long on the land which thy Lord God giveth thee." Funny how people, elderly moms included, respond to care and attention given with RIGHT motives, and how God uses us to work miracles and answer our prayers. His own way. His own time. 

His own time. I am not going to second guess His timing by feeling guilty for not coming to this realization sooner, or by dredging up all my misbehaviors and misguided actions. I have asked forgiveness and received it. However,  I am going to prayerfully go to Him daily for the strength, wisdom, and courage to do what He would have me do for others, but especially for my mom. The woman who gave me life, and who has given me a new outlook on life.Being a daughter is such a privilege. I don't want to blow it. 

My mom is alone now, a widow, and while she has medical needs, and is nearing 90 years old, she still has most of her mental faculties and sharpness and can pretty much take care of herself.  She drives, pays her bills, buys groceries, and prepares meals. She needs to find someplace to live she can afford, and income-assisted housing for seniors is nearly nonexistent. So I am helping as much as I can, trying to allow my mom to retain her dignity and as much of her independence as she is able, researching options and talking things over with her. Respecting her wishes, and listening to her fears. Stepping in to help when asked, not pushing. Sometimes just being there, but acutely aware that one day she may need me to be there always, to take the reins. 

Then to keep me from getting too full of myself in my role as caring daughter of an elderly mom, today God sent a young lady and her grandmother into the little store where I volunteer a few hours each week. The grandmother was shopping for some second-hand furniture for her new apartment, an income assisted apartment. Her granddaughter, who looked to be maybe 19 or 20, is going to college here and was helping her grandma shop, and they were conferring with each other on every item.  "This sofa will fit, right?" and "I think that little end table is perfect" Then I overheard the grandmother ask her granddaughter, "Are you bringing your bed from home?, and it hit me. This sweet young girl was moving in with her grandma to help take care of her. I hugged her and she looked at me sheepishly, with an expression that seemed to say "doesn't everyone?" Brought tears to my eyes.  And awareness to my heart.  Thanks, Lord. 

quest for more review

Yep, still reading about the perennial struggle between our little kingdom of self and God's big (true) kingdom--what I initially thought was one chapter on the subject turned out to be three.  At first, I'm thinking "enough already, Tripp!  Quit beating a dead horse!"  But the more I read on, the more it hit home.  Sure, I'm a Christian, saved by the grace of God by Jesus' death on the cross.  Sure, I know I don't deserve it, didn't earn it, and know I cannot lose it.   But am I communicating this in my life, in my daily interactions with even my husband and my family?  Or am I caught up in self?  When I tell folks I will pray for them, or ask for their prayers, is it really for God's glory or to put the focus on me?  When I tell someone of an answered prayer, where is my focus?  And what if the answer is not one I prefer?

The FINAL QUESTION:  In my everyday life, where am I telling myself I am living for God when I am really living for myself?

Less than 48 hours ago I had a fight with my husband, and while it was not one-sided, I nursed my anger and hurt for 24 hours.  That is little kingdom living, and drives home that point...

A quest for more--A review

I received a copy of Paul David Tripp's book "A Quest for More" for Mother's Day--at first blush not exactly a Mother's Day kind of gift.  But Mandy recommended it and I decided to give it a try.  As I finish each chapter, I will attempt to answer the chapter final question honestly.  Pray for me!!

Finished chapter 1. Thought provoking question:

What is the big thing I am living for right now?

 I am not really sure.   I mean part of me says I am just living to die in God's time.  To get through each day and not be sad. To try to not be overwhelmed by every day occurrences or problems like broken refrigerators.  I'd like to help young moms or unwed pregnant girls.  To make friends in our new home town who actually want to spend time w me.  Would love to have a noble grandiose thing to live for but I just don't know how.  Mostly I just think of answering "I live for my family...because I love them with an intensity hard to describe. "

Wonder what chapter 2 has in store?

Settling for less?  Chapter 2 begins by explaining how sin causes us to look for more but settle for less, and delves into how human beings (ummm...me!) are willing to trade paradise and the transcendent glory that is God for everyday fillers.  Items like family, power, security, health, etc., all of which are important but they only offer fleeting satisfaction.   See we were created to glorify our creator.  So we are not complete unless we do just that.  Chapter 2's final question:

WHAT IS THE LESS THAT TENDS TO CAPTURE YOUR ATTENTION?

Wow...gulp.  Self pity.  My pain level.  Being right.  Getting things done.   Sometimes I am so willing to just settle for being a mediocre Christian, for not putting myself out there for others.  I sometimes minimize what I ask God to do, lower my expectations.  Not expect miracles.  So yeah, I settle for a less miraculous God.

What a perfect segue into the next chapter, which starts off asking...

Have you ever wanted to be God?

Let's start out with the final question at the end of chapter 3:

HAVE YOU TREATED THE SIZE OF GOD'S GRACE AS IF IT WERE NO BIGGER THAN THE SIZE OF YOUR PERSONAL CONCERNS?

I've touched on that already, the tendency to place limits on God's grace and greatness.  THIS goes even deeper though, and struck a small nerve.  I do tend to act as if the grace God has bestowed on me is just enough for (and specifically intended for) my little problems.  Grace to cover my sins, my weaknesses, and my trials.  Grace to bless only me and my small circle of family and friends.  In truth, God's grace is as vast as creation itself, and intended for all of Hos creation.  We did not earn it--it simply is.  And to minimize and downplay the extent of what His grace can cover cheapens God Himself and makes light of what God can do.

We all do this...when asked how we are doing we say "blessed" meaning, usually, the "good" things we have received.  I very seldom enumerate HOW I am blessed, and I never used to talk about my trials and hardships as a blessing.    When in fact everything in a Christian's life is a blessing, regardless of our perspective. When we pray we tend to ask God to be the Mr Fix-it in our screwed up lives.  To jump in and attend to our concerns.  Instead, I should be asking for guidance in my part in this huge creation, and praying for matters outside of my own personal sphere.  Sure I would love to resolve conflict in my family relationships, to have health and security, to not be depressed or sick. But I trivialize God our Creator when I treat God as my own personal magic genii or Santa Claus.

Hmmm...am I trying to build my own kingdom??? Instead of seeking for my role in God's kingdom?

I have spent three weeks contemplating the meaning of this chapter...and its overarching question--what anxiety based needs and earth based treasures shape my focus ?  What kingdom do I fight to maintain?  Self, money, relationships, pride?   The answer is not pretty nor flattering.  I worry about being right or being liked.  I spend more time promoting my views than those of God's big kingdom.  Not always, but a lot.  And it's humbling.  I have set myself up as ruler of my own kingdom instead of a servant of Jesus' eternal kingdom.

Makes me think a lot.  I must tear down my kingdom and give it all to Him.  

No place like home...

Last year Alex retired and we finally (FINALLY) moved to our beautiful home in Pisgah Forest, North Carolina. However, we were so busy with 90th birthday parties, new granddaughters being born, visiting with family, and just moving in we did not really get to enjoy it much. Then, we drove our RV to Florida in October, and lived in central Florida for the next 5 months (two adults and three dogs in 400 sq feet...yikes!), and in February we did some globetrotting--Belgium, India (of course), Crete, and Germany. When we got back to the good old USA, we left for our first cross country RV trip.

Living in an RV full time is definitely not my thing, but traveling cross country was sure fun....and we saw so much of God's beautiful creation, rekindled old friendships, recemented family ties, and had a great time. In actual numbers, here is how we spent our spring:

- Six weeks

- 6049 miles

- Fifteen states

- 135 new birds to add to my "Big Year"

- One indoor skydiving

- Two broken RV windshields

- One inoperative microwave

- Ten crockpot dinners

- Four nights of dry camping (no power, water, or sewage hookups)

- 26 friends and family members visited

- One scare with the Lexus not starting

- Countless county, state, and national parks visited

- Over 400 photos

And through it all, holding us all together in His divine providence and grace...

ONE AMAZING GOD!

Aliens in this world

We are on a trek across the US in our RV, taking our time, enjoying ourselves, and relaxing...well, I am relaxing as much as I can since I am a schedule loving, type A person.  Anyway, one of the places my husband wanted to, no, insisted on, visiting, was Roswell, New Mexico.  He wanted to "set up a lawn chair and watch the night sky" and he also wanted to see all the alien paraphernalia around the town.  Well, we spent two nights there--no UFOs, and only a few green statues in front of businesses, and some tongue in cheek slogans on store fronts.  Just a small town in the middle of nowhere.  Still fun, though.  

Then today I read the following in my verse of the day: 

 "Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which war against your soul." — 1 Peter 2:11

Aliens, strangers....that is what we are.  More to the point, that is what I am...an alien and a stranger in the world.  And Peter's warning could not be more convicting, more condemning, for today, as most days, I did succumb to sinful desires...the desire to only think of myself.  It wasn't pretty, it wasn't nice, it wasn't loving.  

Little green men in silver spaceships we are not...but we are aliens in this earthly world, and the world does wage war against my soul every day.