Provoking Parents

And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. (Ephesians 6:4)

Perhaps the most horrific form of selfishness comes in the form of selfish parents. I have seen example after example of neglect -- physical, spiritual, emotional -- on the part of parents toward their children. I have seen the devastating results of the selfishness. Parents, it's time to grow up. It's time to let go of your own perceived needs and strive for higher ground. You get angry at your children and their behavior, not even recognizing that you are the primary reason they act out. Open your eyes -- open your hearts!

And those of you that think you can live a double life, hiding the real you from your children...think again! This is perhaps even more devastating than those who openly reject and neglect their children. How does a child reconcile the father who speaks one thing with conviction and lives quite another thing, supposing that lifestyle to be hidden from the eyes of his loved ones? The only person you are deceiving is yourself. Unfortunately, you are not the only person affected by the deception.

At a time when your love for your children should provoke you to strive for godliness, your lack of godliness is causing your children to struggle with their own. Shame on you! Grow up! Humble yourself before your God and your children. You will not be sorry if you do.

The Comforters

She died last summer, severing many years
of pleasant marriage ties that held them near
to one another until death pulled her away
and left him struggling almost every day.

How could he mend the tear and close the gap
unseen by those who've never felt the tap
of life's goodbye on the window of the soul...
who've never tried to round a fraction to a whole?

His help came not from dark and distant hills,
but from the Maker of those mounds who fills
the lonesome valleys with His light and love
sent freely from His vantage point above

to bless the mourners through His Spirit and
His Word, by kindness of a loving band
of family knit to him through ties of blood
and blessed bonds of spiritual brotherhood.

He found another source of comfort in old
and sometimes faded photos, mines of gold
in sepia tones, all stashed away in books
of picture albums, boxes, and in nooks

that would surprise him as he searched to bring
the past back to the present...not to cling
to portraits of what seemed were better days,
but also to remember: nothing stays,

except the love that made them man and wife,
which saw them through and blessed their life,
then took her to a place far more sublime,
is also his until the end of time.

Written by my dad, Ken Roller, November 2008, in honor of my mom, Connie, who passed away in July. A year of firsts without the love of his life.

Happy 80th Birthday, Dad!

This one's for you, dad. We love you SO much!

Almost Empty Nest!

Well, we're not totally empty, but down to one kid for a few days. Yes, Josh is still in China (two weeks and two days more -- but who's counting), and Mikiah just left for camp until Thursday. Originally, I was going to go to camp as a counselor, but they had too many lady counselors. Now I find myself with the wonderful position of a week off work and three-and-a-half days to enjoy Fuzzy and mommy time! We have all kinds of plans for the week -- zoo, miniature golf, bowling, and Kaleidoscope. He and I will both need to stay busy or we might just go crazy from the calmness around here!

Truthfully, though I was disappointed I did not get to go to camp with Mikiah, I am really looking forward to the time with Judson. Since we homeschool, I don't get to spend much time with him by myself. He's a pretty funny little guy, too, so it should be a great week!

Another Poem in Mom's Memory

This is the poem my brother, Jim, wrote and read at mom's memorial service. As background, Jim and I were sitting with mom in her hospital room two days before she passed away. We were talking in low tones because we thought she was finally resting after being restless for a while. Mom had a saying she would use quite often when we were kids and being a bit -- well, wordy perhaps... :o) She would say, "blow it out your ditty bag". It wasn't until recently I learned that a ditty bag is a bag used by armed forces personnel to carry small items such as sewing implement. Anyway, as we were talking, mom suddenly opened her eyes and said very loudly, "Oh, blow it out your ditty bag!". We, of course, had a good laugh over this and all the memories it evoked. That incident was the inspiration for Jim's poem:

Blow It Out Your Ditty Bag
By Jim Roller

I remember you singing silly songs about
Lonely petunias in an onion patch
And a man named John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt..
Your endless repertoire I’ll never match.

I remember you calling us all home for supper.
With your patented two fingered shrill.
How you made such an incredibly loud whistle
Is one of this life’s top mysteries still.

I remember the amazing basketball cake.
Cut it straight from the middle down you said,
So I did, never expecting what happened next.
It exploded and I pert near dropped dead.

I remember you daily sending us to school
With a prayer my own boys now know by heart.
Let my words and thoughts always please God is its theme.
God’s Word to us you would always impart.

I remember so many other neat things, Mom,
Like scavenger hunts and long games of tag.
But one thing I know I’ll not easily forget;
You saying, "Blow it out your ditty bag."

In Memory

My beloved mother went to her eternal home Saturday, July 12, 2008 at 1:45 a.m. Words cannot express my gratitude to my heavenly Father for my family -- my husband, children, father, late mother, brothers, sister, brother-in-law, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews, great-nieces and great-nephews. From my parents have sprung five children with their spouses, fifteen grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. An amazing group!

The time with my father, mother, siblings and siblings-in-law was precious -- from the hospital room to the memorial service. I will at some point chronicle the different parts of the experience, but right now I want to share some things written by two of my brothers. My siblings and I were privledged to be able to share some personal memories of our mother. I shared the poem, "Last Impressions", written on this blog three or four posts ago. Three of us wrote poems, one of us an essay, and my sister spoke beautifully of my mother's ability to shepherd her flock of five. I have not yet received a copy of my brother Jim's poem, but here is John's poem and Doug's essay. I share them in honor of my mother. Because I am the youngest of five, my strongest memories of my mother were formed from the time in her life with personality changes were already taking place, likely due to the Alzheimer's disease. Though I loved her dearly already, the precious hours spent over the last week with my family have introduced me to the mother I did not know or had forgotten. This mother was not only creative and loving, but joyful and full of passion for family, life and her Lord and Savior. This is the mother now most prominent in my memory bank. Here are their writings...


White Envelopes
by John Roller
Set aside carefully in white envelopes in the drawer
Always money for God first
Followed by groceries, food, gas, clothes
Emergency funds for the worst
Looking back, I don’t know how she did it
Five of us, all needing something
Not understanding from where the money came
Just asking for what it might bring
Never a time when there wasn’t a meal
Or shoes, or packed brown lunch sack
Or the required white choir shirt
Or home room holiday party snack
Why didn’t I ever stop and hug her
Or say thank you with a kiss
Thinking white envelopes were magic
Her enveloped love I somehow missed.

MEMORIES OF MY MOTHER
by Doug Roller
The curtain began closing on my mother’s mind long before the last act of her life was over, perhaps when she was in her early forties. Whether she was already suffering from the effects of Alzheimer’s or from some unrelated problem, I cannot say. What I can say is that most people who are here today knew my mother in a different way than those who knew her during the opening acts of her life. Many of those people live—or lived—far away on the plains of south-central Kansas, where she spent her childhood, the middle child in a family of three girls, and the designated "boy" who helped her father sow, cultivate, and harvest winter wheat in the red-dirt fields of Harper County.

Many others who knew her hailed from the oil-boom town of Perryton, at the northern tip of the Texas Panhandle, where she spent most of the early years of her married life and undertook the daunting process of raising five children overdosed on energy and imagination, a condition that was exacerbated by the boredom that sometimes accompanied living in the country on long summer days. We weren’t bad kids, but when you’ve got a brand new set of bunk beds, a screwdriver, and a need to distinguish which bed belongs to whom, the unblemished woodwork practically screams for a name to be carved into it. And when you read about a winepress in a Bible story book, but you can’t find enough grapes to try it, a loaded mulberry tree actually works quite nicely. Unfortunately the Bible story book didn’t mention what happens when you walk barefoot across the living room carpet after finishing a hard day at the winery.

In our family’s case, the mulberries didn’t fall far from the tree. Both Mom and Dad had put together impressive resumes of childhood mischief, and neither had lost their zest for an adventure or the urge to be creative. I’ll never forget Mom’s creative use of language when she discovered my artwork on the bunk beds. And oratory was not her only gift. She played piano, painted, wrote poetry, and sang funny songs with names like "I’m a Lonely Little Petunia in an Onion Patch." She made the most incredible birthday cakes. And she made us laugh and sing and pray together, and occasionally she scared us to death. Every day was a new adventure.

When the curtain began to close, it happened so slowly that we can’t even say when it began. When did she put away her oil paints and brushes for the last time? When did she compose her last poem? Even before the doctor delivered the official diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease ten years ago, these passions and many of the little things that defined the mother of my childhood days had disappeared behind the curtain. My dad, who showed incredible patience and love throughout this disappearing act, wrote a poem entitled "The Thief," which says it best:

Just how and when the thief slipped in
I have no clue, nor do those sleuths
whom I've called on to help me solve
the mystery of missing links
that once held cells together in
a mind that served her well back when
she reared a striking family;
created lovely works of art
with yarn and beads and her own skill.
The thief began his devious deeds
by robbing her of knowing how
to get back to our country home
from a short drive to buy some bread.
Too soon he stole from her the place
in which for years she'd kept her "Trix"
and other breakfast cereals.
The robber slipped away with all
the means she had of cooking meals.
In broad daylight the scum would steal
her lipstick, purse, and socks and shoes.
In recent months, he hides the bath,
and sneaks off with the oddest stuff.
He'll dress her in the strangest clothes,
as if to call attention to
a woman who had never wanted
that before the thief stole in.
I think the culprit now has aides
abetting him to lame her frame,
and also tangle up her talk.
Sometimes the thief provokes a sob,
because it's hard for her to know
how precious things could vanish so!
But up to now this evil crook
has not purloined her smile, nor zest
for three or more good meals a day.
If ever I can find this thief,
I'll batter him till he returns
the loot that's left this one so stripped
of almost all that she once was.

It wasn’t until the day after Mom’s passing, as we were going through her keepsakes, that I realized just how much The Thief had stolen. Dad came across a letter—forgotten by him and unknown to the rest of us—explaining, from Mom’s point of view, an event that has become one of the stories that make up the canon of our family history: The Tearing Down of the Barn Roof. As background, it was the summer of 1964. I was ten. Kenna was nine. John was seven. Jim was a baby. Jane had not yet worked up the courage to be born into such a family as ours. We lived in a wonderful rock house a few miles west of Perryton. It had an old run-down barn behind it which served very briefly as a clubhouse for us kids—until we came home one evening covered with lice from the section that had once housed the chickens. Talk about a lousy day!

Anyway, Mom, who always had an eye for the aesthetic, didn’t like that old barn, and was constantly after Dad to tear it down. Dad, who was a busy man and perhaps slightly less focused on the aesthetic, kept telling her that he would get around to it and—knowing my mother—asked her not to take matters into her own hands. That’s where our story begins, and
I’m going to tell it to you in Mom’s own words (edited slightly):

Dear Ken,

You see, it was this way:

The children were hot and sweaty and beginning to get cross with one another, so when the suggestion was dropped that they start tearing down the south garage, who was I to shatter their world of fun, since it had to be done anyway?

So as soon as I was sure that you and Jim were out of sight, I gave into their pleas and to the plea of that faraway voice of yore that seemed to say, "Why not? More fun than trimming a hedge any ol’ day!" So I found myself shinnying up the locust tree onto the roof. You can’t imagine the feeling of exuberance it gave me, nor the pleasant memories it brought back!
I settled back and watched the children take turns pulling those stubborn nails out of the roof. Kenna pulled awhile and then came to one that wouldn’t budge. Little did we know at the time that it held the roof in place. Carefully picking her way back up to solid roof, she turned the chore over to John, who knew just where to step to get down to that nail. Struggling for several minutes, he finally asked, "Mother, why don’t you see if you can get this nail out?"

"OK," I replied. "Let me go down and get the ladder."

"No, it’s too rotten!" replied Doug, "And the roof is too weak to hold you. Let’s quit for tonight!"

"No!" I replied. "If that tin were to blow off, it could really hurt someone. We must finish the job we’ve started!" At this point everything happened so fast that all I remember was the surprised gasp from three little mouths as one end of the roof collapsed and Mother took the fancy, feet-first dive, landing in the most relaxed form of one idly passing the time of day.

Then someone shouted, "John!" And here he came zipping down to greet me, hammer clutched tightly in his hand high above his head. I shall never forget his expression, all eyes, ready to pop clean out of their sockets. How I wish you could have shared this moment of humor!

That is why I wrote this down for you. How thankful I am that Jim was not nearby and that John wasn’t hurt. Surely God’s guardian angels were working overtime. I am wondering what events to look forward to tomorrow. Let’s never cease enjoying every minute with our fun-filled kids!

My love always,


Yours Truly

What Mom doesn’t say is that she cut her ankle pretty badly when she fell. Dad got home just in time to watch her limp his direction as we ran ahead to tell him the story. In an even, measured voice that we heard so often when he was most angry, he simply told Mom that any woman who could take it upon herself to tear down a barn with three little children could undoubtedly drive herself to the doctor for stitches. Mom, in an equally measured response, proceeded to oblige him, with Kenna riding shotgun. I’m sure the letter, which was typewritten on an old Smith-Corona manual typewriter, was her strategy for charming herself back into his good graces. It obviously worked.

When I read Mom’s letter, I was overcome for the first time with the magnitude of our loss. I wept. How could The Thief have done this to us? I realized that it was not just her memory that he took, but also our memory of the person she really was. But I was also overcome with the joy of finding her again. She was not the woman in the hospital bed staring blankly at us after the tubes that supported her life were pulled, the last nails holding up her collapsing building. She was and always will be to me, the beautiful, audacious, creative mother standing on that Texas Panhandle stage with the curtain wide open, wondering what events to look forward to tomorrow.

-- Doug Roller, July 15, 2008

My Mom

My mother is in the hospital, and may very well be discharged to heaven this time. I had the most precious time holding her hand yesterday, and remembering the woman who used to sing silly songs with me when I was a child; the woman who used to cook wonderful Sunday dinners and who had that creative flair that made Holidays that much more special. My dad told me he had been trying to write a poem for the poetry group he is in, but had had a difficult time. It finally flowed from his pen in the beautiful way it it always does. I want to share that with you. If you read this, please pray for our family. We have really been without mom for some time now, but the approach of her physical departure adds a temporal finality -- if you will allow me to use the term -- that is still very difficult to bear at times...

WHEN THE FOG RISES
by William Kenneth Roller

Have you ever tried to write a poem
when the one you've loved for sixty years
cries out so often because she fears
you've disappeared inside your home?

Have you ever struggled to pen a verse
while the one you've loved for sixty years
forgets you are her husband? Through tears
you realize you're now her nurse.

Have you ever sought to make a rhyme
while the one you've loved for sixty years
can't seem to train her eyes and ears
to share some joy you find sublime?
But...
Have you ever tried to still your story
about the one you've loved for sixty years?
You know the mist that now appears
will all dissolve into grace and glory.

Last Impressions

by Jane Hulme
Her hand, though swollen,
was precious to hold.
My heart was warm,
in spite of the cold
of her room.

I searched her eyes
for just a glimmer
of things gone by,
but not a shimmer
of her past.

Across the hall
the child was pleased
declaring to all
with perfect ease
he could count!

In stark contrast
Her lips would part
She spoke at last
words would start -
then nonsense.

I know it's been
but just a few years...
it was me who then
declared in her ears
"I can count!"

I now cling tightly
to her spoken words
not taking lightly
what I just heard,
"I love you".

Her mind, cluttered,
may not have known
to whom she uttered,
but she's often shown
she loves me.

Oh, might I declare
throughout my days
and be ever aware...
my life should say
I love you!

A Reason to be Thankful

Yesterday, I had a pretty intense period of time. I took Judson and Mikiah and a friend of Mikiah's to a local swimming pool. It was nice -- not crowded at all. While we were there, my sister called to let me know my dad was taking my mom to the hospital. When I was on the phone with her, she said she needed to get off because they had a tornado warning -- mind you, she was in her car driving to the hospital! My mom has been in and out of the hospital, but it is still unsettling to see the struggles she and dad go through. Needless to say, I was also a bit concerned about my sister driving in a tornado warning. Several minutes later -- perhaps even a half hour later, I took my eyes off the pool briefly -- probably just lost in thought as I wasn't doing anything or talking to anyone. When I looked up, I noticed a little kid under the water with their hands above water, moving around. There was a girl standing right next to him, so I thought it was her brother, and they were playing. But, when I looked around, I could not find Judson. In a split second I realized that little boy was not playing, and he was my little boy under water, flailing, panicking, and in the process of drowning. I will never, ever forget that look on his face. It is one of the most horrible things I have ever seen. He looked so terrified and where had I been? I got to him immediately, and he is okay. He couldn't have been flailing for more than a few seconds, but I'm sure to him it was an eternity. Of course, all these things happening in such quick sequence really shook me up. We went home. I felt like the worst mother on all the face of the earth, was concerned about "delayed drowning" phenomenon, and was also still concerned about my mom and sister. All I could think of is how desperately I felt like I needed to see my husband and get a little comfort. Unfortunately, he had not had a good day at work and was not in much of a state of mind to do any comforting. Besides, by the time I saw him, my sister had arrived safely at the hospital, my mom had been ruled out for some of the more serious issues, and Judson was just fine. There is no way he could have understood the emotional wrangling that had gone on during the previous couple of hours. In reality, his day was probably just as "wrangling" (if not more), and I have no doubt he could have used some comforting from me as well...

Not coincidentally, I was asked to teach the story in our Tweener's class this Sunday as the regular story-teller was called in to work. The story he was planning to teach? Peter walking on the water, of course. If you've been reading my blogs, you know I have been spending a bit of time on this story lately. One of the points the other teacher wanted to bring out, was who we call on when we're in trouble. As I was preparing that story this morning, it dawned on me that rather than running to Jesus first for the comfort I needed last night, I was anticipating running to my husband. While spouses can and should offer support for one another, there are those times when our humanness gets in the way of the ideal. What a great reminder that I need to always remember to seek fulfillment of ALL my needs in Christ first. The other people God gives me in life are a bonus. Those people may normally do a lot of great things for me (ie., my husband), but they cannot be perfect any more than I can be perfect!

This morning my emotions have settled down (though admittedly I still tear up when I picture Judson's panicked face...). I am SO thankful that my Judson is okay and even wants to swim again (with a life jacket!). I am SO thankful my sister did not encounter a tornado while driving. I am SO thankful my mother is receiving the care she needs. And, I am SO thankful that God uses those brief seasons of intense "squeezing" to remind me of important truths such as total dependence on Him. I want to close with the lyrics from this song...

Call On Jesus by Nicole C. Mullen from Talk About It
I'm so very ordinary
Nothing special on my own
I have never walked on water
I have never calmed a storm
Sometimes I'm hiding away
from the madness around me
Like a child who's afraid of the dark

But when I call on Jesus
All things are possible
I can mount on wings like eagles and soar
When I call on Jesus
Mountains are gonna fall
'Cause He'll move heaven and earth to
come rescue me when I call

Weary brother
Broken daughter
Widowed, widowed lover
You're not alone
If you're tired and scared
of the madness around you
If you can't find the strength to carry on

repeat chorus

Call Him in the mornin'
In the afternoon time
Late in the evenin'
He'll be there
When your heart is broken
And you feel discouraged
You can just remember
that He said He'll be there

Father's Day

Our hard-working dad is spending some of the day doing what he deserves most -- resting! But, he did celebrate his day with us.


The creators of the "Scrabble Board Cake"























The cake in detail.





















Daddy's piece of cake. When we cut out the piece that said "great", the other words were -- well, too funny!






















The present -- also too funny! This is all he really wanted -- probably not to PC :o) ...





























The Father's Day song...

Punk's Away and My Middle Name's Pete

Josh made it safely to Beijing. It was a trip of the mixed sort, as should be expected. God was very gracious to us during the send-off process. First of all, Sunday was an extremely difficult day. Something about being at church together and knowing that is the last time for a while... One of Josh's friends at church gave him a big gift bag full of letters from friends. Each letter was dated -- one for each day he is gone. That was an incredibly meaningful gift to him (and to all of us). Monday, we had a very special time of family prayer before we left for the airport. I prayed the least -- out loud anyway-- as my tear faucet was working overtime. Putting him on that plane was definitely the most difficult thing I have ever done. It's not so comforting to know it won't be the most difficult thing I ever do... :o) God is SO good, though. He graciously allowed us to just "happen" to speak to about four different people at KCI who were Christians and showed support for what Josh was doing, including the security guard when he checked in at the gate. That guard let us know that one person is allowed to accompany a minor into the gate until they board the plane. My sweet husband insisted I be that one person, so I had a few extra, special moments before Josh took off. He called when he got to Minneapolis. That flight went well. He even sat next to a nice Christian lady on that trip. Though he didn't have time for lunch, he didn't have to rush too much to catch his next flight to Tokyo. Unfortunately, before leaving Minneapolis, their plane was grounded well over an hour, which put a serious doubt as to whether he would be able to make his connecting flight in Tokyo to Beijing. We were on the phone with the airline several times that night. At one point they told us he would miss his connecting flight and they had booked him on the same flight the next day, basically meaning he would have to spend almost 24 hours at the biggest airport in the biggest city in the world.

This is where my middle name gets changed. At this point, I am feeling very panicked. We have no way to reach Josh. We have no way of knowing if the airline will really take care of him. We feel completely helpless and he seems completely vulnerable. For a long period of time, I found myself wavering -- again. When it comes to this whole thing of trusting my kids in the care of their Heavenly Father, I really thought I had it down. I mean, I was very willing to let Josh do this thing we all agreed God was calling him to do. I have declared from the start that God will take care of him. So, I ask myself why have I hit the panic button twice in less than a week? I am like Peter. Remember how bravely Peter said he would get out of the boat, into the storm and walk to Jesus on the water. Remember how he didn't hesitate to do so? Remember how he panicked when he looked around and realized what he did and how vulnerable he was? Remember what Jesus said? "Oh ye of little faith..." Yes, this whole process has served to show me when it comes to faith, I have a lot of growing room! I very willingly jumped out of the boat, only to panic several times already... Fortunately, Peter's story does not end with him sinking for lack of faith. Though Christ pointed out Peter's issue, He did not hesitate to save Peter. If you know the rest of Peter's story, that wasn' t the only time he wavered and showed a lack of faith, either. Each time, Christ restored him and Peter grew until one day, by grace, he was able to exercise that faith consistently. Thank God for His patience, mercy and grace!

Well, as it turns out, we were watching the status of both flights -- the one Josh was on from Minneapolis to Tokyo, and the connecting flight from Tokyo to Beijing. To us it looked as though they had delayed the departure time for his connecting flight, and he just might have time to make it. His flight arrived in Tokyo, and we anxiously awaited his call -- it didn't come. We knew that meant he probably had to run from one gate to the next to catch his flight and had no time to call, but how could we know for sure. We called the airline again. They were not very willing to share the information with us, but finally did tell us that his boarding pass had been scanned for the connecting flight. We had to assume, then, that he made it okay. At that point, we went to bed and "slept" (fitfully) for four hours before getting up and waiting for that call. It came at last. Long story just slight shorter -- he has called four times from Beijing. The first two were from the airport. One when he arrived and one after he made it through customs, was with his escort and going to the car. He sounded great both of those calls, and I felt much relief. The third call, though, was from his room and I think exhaustion had set in. He didn't sound so good. The driver did not speak much English and just dropped him at his room. Think of it, basically 24 hours of travel, it's midnight, you get dropped off at a strange room, don't know what to do and can't get the electricity to work. Well, he did get a little sleep, called me again around 5:30 am their time and said he had decided to go for a little walk around campus, but the lock on his door had malfunctioned and he couldn't get back in his room! He had figured out the electricity, though. :o) Right now, he is probably eating lunch, has hopefully met the person we talked to who is supervising him, and hopefully has been able to get a few things figured out. I anxiously await another call or email or something to see how things are going. In the meantime, I am praying for grace to look more like Jesus and to experience peace that matches my stated faith!

Wavering Moments with an Unwavering God

I should have guessed that after experiencing the victory of resting in God's promises, I'd be in for a tumble. It happened. Yesterday I was a mess for the entire morning. I thought we had resolved all the issues with vaccines Josh needed for his trip. It had taken some research and talking to several different people until I finally found an "expert" to talk to about it. After going back and forth on whether he needed a couple of vaccines for where he is going in China, we were comfortable with our informed decision that he did not need those -- until Wednesday when another source said he might need them and the whole thing seemed to start over. I have to admit, I was in panic mode. After all, I certainly don't want my son to get typhoid or malaria! I suddenly forgot Who was in control of this whole deal. I have to give a BIG thank-you to my friends, Laura and GiGi. Laura always reels me in (or should I say "reals" me in?) with solid Bible truths combined perfectly with compassion -- a true Proverbs friend. Gigi is a friend from high school and college. We have over the last few years picked up our friendship via email and snail mail. She has an uncanny way of sending a card or an email perfectly timed for the day, even when she has no idea what the particular circumstances of that day may be. Yesterday, I received one of her awesome hand-made cards . As you can see, the outside has a picture of some luggage with the words "anyone who loves God travels securely". On the inside she wrote, "Don't fret...he's in good care! ..." Mind you, this arrived in the mail within an hour after I prayed for God's grace to return to my previous peaceful state of mind. Shortly after that, my sense that God was reassuring us that Josh was okay with the vaccinations was confirmed after my dear husband was finally able to reach someone from BTW who not only said our preparations were okay, but also gave a raving review of the people who will be taking care of our eldest for the next month. Well, I wavered -- big-time, but God? He NEVER wavers. Long before my faith was shaken, he had prompted Gigi to mail that card. Long before this "crisis", He had blessed me with my Proverbs friend. When Jesus said, "Take no thought...", He meant it. We can rest, truly rest in the knowledge that God is in control and has all our bases more than adequately covered. He's still the same God who kept that little toddler from pedaling into the busy street. He loves us, he really does! :o)

Little Lessons with Big Impacts

We are just days away from Josh leaving for China. Many people have asked me about being fearful for his safety. I cannot honestly say I am completely without fear, but amazingly, my fear level is pretty low. As I thought about this, I was reminded of an incident that happened when Josh was just a preschooler. We were coming out of the library with Josh on his little bike and me following close behind. We were headed down a sidewalk next to a fairly busy street. Before I realized what had happened, he had lost control, was headed off the sidewalk and directly toward the busy street, destined to land right in the path of oncoming traffic. Close as I was, I had not reacted quickly enough to stop him and watched in horror as this event was unfolding. Just before he reached the road, it was as though someone pushed his bike over, and he landed safely in the grass next to the curb. My heart was pounding, and I felt horrible that I had been unable to keep my small son from near disaster. At that moment, a small, but very distinct and memorable Voice whispered in my heart, "It is not you that keeps your son safe. It is I." This whole event was over in a matter of seconds, but the impact it left on my heart was long lasting. I will never forget it, and rest in the comfort that it IS God who keeps my children very capably, safely in His hands. I am responsible as a steward, but ultimately, He is their Protector and their Guide. I thank God for this lesson learned early in my motherhood -- and for the countless other he has taught me though these precious gifts, my children.

Letting Go

A year ago there were three specific situations in my life that were causing me a great deal of anxiety. One was a financial issue. Two involved a child, specifically Josh (AKA "Punk"). He was preparing at that time to go to China for 18 days and immediately upon his return would begin high school at Raytown High after being homeschooled since second grade. One day as I was driving by the high school, I thought about how many times I had driven that very route, and about the fact that the road has remained the same, though many other things have changed over the years. At that instant the thought occurred to me that in a year, all of the issues that were causing me to fret would be in the past. The things, however, that are most dear to me would never change. The comfort came.

It is a year later. Today as I type this, I have but one thing causing me to fret. One month from today, Josh will again be going to China, but this year he will be spending 64 days away from home. I have to admit, though I am excited for this opportunity for him, I have already shed many tears. (My tear bottle in heaven is HUGE!) My fretting is not so much worry for his safety, for long ago I realized it is not I who keeps my children safe. I am completely comfortable with the fact the God has ordained this trip as He has opened all the doors to make it happen. My fretting stems from the fact that I dearly enjoy all my children, and the thought of one of them being so far away for such a long time is, well, gut-wrenching. I fret at the anticipated sorrow. The other night, Josh was spending some snuggle time with Judson and made a comment about how he would miss Jud while he was gone. That, of course, led my mind down that path I work so hard to avoid -- the inevitable mix of joy and sorrow in motherhood. The joy is watching my children grow into what I have prayed they would over these fleeting growing-up years. The sorrow is just how quickly those years pass to this season when my fingers must be pried away one by one! Last year as some of those fingers were being forced up, I sought comfort from my sister, whose three children are grown and married. To my horror, she said that the letting go does not get easier! This year, I face the distinct possibility that after another year, my child may be a foreign exchange student in China for an entire school year. This year, I watched as the seniors were honored at our church, all the while thinking, "In three short years..." This year more than ever, I face the fact that if things continue on this seemingly God-ordained path, this child, who I dedicated to God nearly 15 years go, will be spending most of his adult life "far, far away". (Uh, God, when I prayed they would follow You passionately all their days, I really didn't anticipate that path would lead so far from home...)

As I have prayed for the grace to turn my sorrow into something more productive, to focus on the joy at the fact that my children are thus far following God with passion (and prayed for at least the grace to control my tears!), my thoughts have turned to Hannah and Samuel. This is a story that has long fascinated me. In I Samuel 1 we meet Hannah who is in great sorrow because she does not have a child, and her husband's other wife does have children. In verse 6, the Bible says that her "enemy provoked her sore to make her fret because God" had closed her womb. It's an interesting choice of word, "enemy". The Hebrew could have been translated "rival wife". This speaks to me that all my fretting comes from one source alone , the enemy Peter refers to when he says Satan is like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour. God certainly does not intend us to fret over our situations. He is, after all, fully aware and fully in control. What really amazes me about this story is that after waiting for this child for so many years, she very willingly takes Samuel to the temple after he is weaned and gives him back to God. The Bible doesn't tell us what her emotions were as she traveled with Samuel, knowing she would be leaving him "far, far away", to see him but once a year. What it does tell us is that she not only took her long-awaited son to give to God, but she also took three bullocks, an ephah of flour and a bottle of wine to sacrifice. In a situation where most of us would say this particular sacrifice was over and above our "reasonable service", she brought even more. See, she realized Samuel was not really hers to begin with. When the Bible says she lent him to the Lord as long as he would live, that word "lent" just means she was giving back to God what was God's all along. Her first response to "letting go" was to give even more than her child. Her second response, in chapter 2, was worship. She worshipped the God who gave her Samuel, even when the time came to let go of him. If you are familiar with the story, you know that Samuel became a very significant prophet in Israel. What if she had been unwilling to let him go? My children may or may not be widely known for their faith and their walk with God, but God does have a significant plan for each of their lives -- for all of our lives. (Remember Hebrews 11, the "hall of faith"? Does not the end of that chapter recognize the significance of the "hall of faithers" who were too numerous to name, but whose names God knows?)

My mind also travels to Abraham and Isaac. After waiting many, many years for the miracle of his son, Isaac, God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac in an act of worship. Abraham does not even argue or try to "reason" with God. He simply trusts and obeys. God stops Abraham just before he slays Isaac and commends him saying, "Lay not thy hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me." An amazing story!

So, I have to ask myself these questions as I embark on this letting go season of life:

1. Am I going to let my enemy cause me to fret?

2. Am I willing to give back to God what has been His all along?

3. Am I willing to give even more?

4. Am I able to worship and rejoice as I do?

5. Do I fear God enough that I will not withhold my children from Him?

This brings me back to yesterday's blog. ALL of life is by grace through faith. This letting go is beyond my natural ability. Giving even more? Beyond my natural ability. Worshipping and rejoicing as I do? Beyond my natural ability. Fearing God as I should? Beyond my natural ability. However, I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me by grace through faith. My desire for my children to have significant faith in their Creator necessarily brings me to this point of letting go -- even when it happens earlier than anticipated! The letting go begins now as I watch my eldest go far, far away for the summer. If you read this, please pray for Josh as he follows God to China. And please pray for me as I follow God to letting go -- by grace through faith.

My Parents and Alzheimer's Disease

Many days I have my parents on my mind. I love them so much, and I thank God for the precious gift of parents who love Him and who trained me up in the way I should go. I have a few "heroes" in my life. My dad is one at the top of my list. He is a man who has always demonstrated unconditional love for God, family and all people. He is a man who gives and expects nothing in return. He is a man who rarely makes a negative comment, who can find good in anything. Even as my mom has been gradually taken away from us by her progressing Alzheimer's disease, my dad has always found a way to put a positive spin on their situation. He has cared for her and has continued to show his undying love for the woman who is at present but a shell of her former self. Her former self was funny and creative, a woman who always had a special touch that made our house a home. Here is a poem my father wrote that beautifully expresses this "thief" called Alzheimer's disease, and the frustration of watching the one you love gradually being stolen away. Praise God, when we are all together in heaven one day, she -- and all of us -- will be whole, delightfully more so than we have ever known! "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable...But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ" (I Co 15:19,57)

THE THIEF

Just how and when the thief stepped in
I have no clue, nor do those sleuths
who I've called on to help me solve
the mystery of missing links
that once held cells together in
a mind that served her well back when
she reared a striking family;
created lovely works of art
with yarn and beads and her own skill.
The thief began his devious deeds
by robbing her of knowing how
to get back to our country home
from a short drive to buy some bread.
Too soon he stole from her the place
in which for years she'd kept her "Trix"
and other breakfast cereals.
The robber slipped away with all
the means she had of cooking meals.
In broad daylight the scum would steal
her lipstick, purse, and socks and shoes.
In recent months, he hides the bath,
and sneaks off with the oddest stuff.
He'll dress her in the strangest clothes,
as if to call attention to
a woman who had never wanted
that before the thief stole in.
I think the culprit now has aides
abetting him to lame her frame,
and also tangle up her talk.
Sometimes the thief provokes a sob,
because it's hard for her to know
how precious things could vanish so!
But up to now this evil crook
has not purloined her smile, nor zest
for three or more good meals a day.
If ever I can find this thief,
I'll batter him till he returns
the loot that's left this one so stripped
of almost all that she once was.