Tag: family
Fighting For Hope Through Waves of Grief
Missing Robert
Grief is a tricky beast. It hides and makes you think you’ve “dealt”, you’ve “moved on”, and then it hits out of nowhere like a tsunami on a sunny day.
We don’t talk about him very much, but we miss him.
I miss the way he said “Well, hello there!” when he called around this time each year to get ideas for the kids’ Christmas presents.
Over the past 2 years, there have been plenty of What ifs, plenty of What could have been done conversations, but the bottom line is that while he didn’t he make the choice to die from his drug use, he made the decision to use drugs.
He made the decision to refuse help. “No program is going to help me,” he said, and that is when I knew he had decided to stop fighting for hope.
It was a decision that defied logic. He had been clean for years, so many years that my children only knew the fun Uncle Robert.
The Uncle Robert who helped them catch fireflies in the summer and who shot a zillion fireworks with them on New Year’s Eve.
It was a decision that led down a dark path, a path filled with cover-ups, half truths, and out right lies.
It was a decision that robbed us of our brother, friend, uncle, and son.
It was also a decision borne out of a daily battle to stay on the right path, a million unseen, un-applauded decisions made over the years of being sober. A battle he fought on his own.
He didn’t have to fight alone. We, his family, would have loved to celebrate victories with him. We would have loved to applaud his successes.
But we didn’t see the burden he carried until it was too late.
By the time we saw, his mind had already been turned upside down. By then, he had bought the lie that our words of hope and encouragement hid ulterior motives and that his drug dealer friends were the only ones who could be trusted.
Isn’t that the biggest twist of irony?
The people cooking the poison that killed him had convinced him that he was no longer alone because they had rescued him when no one else would.
The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy. That is the game plan he followed with Robert, and the story he seeks to write for all of us through all kinds of addictions. If our enemy can keep our focus on numbing the pain in our life, he keeps our focus off of living the life we were meant to live.
Life that gives hope, that looks forward to the future, that believes that change is possible.
So many of Robert’s years were marked by his struggle, but that struggle was not who he was. He was self-less to a fault, fun to be around, and he loved his kids. That’s the legacy I choose to remember.
At the same time, I can’t ignore his last months and days. They are filled with somber warning. They remind me that when I listen to the lies of the dark, when I give in to my own struggles and try to numb out, I am one decision away from stepping on the same path that stole him from us.
Reaching Out and Fighting Doubt
If God’s vision for the helpless includes you and me, where do we even begin?
Let’s start with those doubting thoughts niggling away in your mind. I know, I had them too. But God placed a child and her adoptive process right in front of me. I wanted to be involved, and God wanted me to wade through these doubts and watch Him provide.
Doubt #1: If I can’t solve the problem, why even try? I wrote about wrestling with this question in the post Stretching Out a Hand of Relief.
Doubt #2: It’s such a big problem. 153 millions orphans! What can one person do to make a difference? Not much on their own. But one person can join with others who are reaching out by:
Supporting Organizations Reaching Out To Orphans & Children in Difficult Situations
Heritage Ukraine – Odessa, Ukraine
Read more about the amazing ministry of Heritage Ukraine in the post
Heritage Ukraine: A Light in Dark Places
Hispanola Mountain Ministries – Haiti and the Dominican Republic
French Camp Academy – French Camp, MS
Sponsoring Children in Difficult Situations
Hope for the Fatherless– Ethiopia
Cross Mountain Mission Legacy Centers – Nicaragua
Providing funding for homes for orphans who are too old to live in the orphanage.
Orphan Mission Transition Homes – Ukraine
Jeremiah’s Hope – Hope Market
Considering adoption
Walking beside a family in the adoption process.
The adoption process is filled with mountains of paperwork, moments of doubt, and uncertainty that all will work out. An adoptive family needs a network of friends who will pray for them, encourage them, and help them raise the necessary finances.
This post tells the story of an adoption process our family was incredibly blessed to be a part of: FIshes, Loaves, and Cookie Dough
Broken Places
When we are sitting in the darkness with our unanswered prayers, our unfulfilled dreams, and the ache of empty places in our heart it is easy to lose hope. It is easy to believe that things will never change. It is easy to believe that God doesn’t see, doesn’t hear, and doesn’t even care.
The truth is God does see. He does hear our prayers. He does care.
He gathers our tears in His bottle (Psalm 56:8), He is for us (Psalm 56:9), and He works in the broken places to answer the deepest cries of our heart.
I’m so excited to have Becky Spies as my guest today. Becky shares how God beautifully redeemed the broken and hurting places in her life in her post That Time I Got A Letter From God.
You can connect with Becky at her blog girl, redeemed at beckypricespies.com
What Is A Hope Warrior?
My sister and I grew up watching Wonder Woman fight for justice every afternoon after school. We cheered as she deflected gunfire with her bracelets and wrapped bad guys in her Lasso of Truth. We spent many hours playing Wonder Woman, fighting against imaginary villains. We made bracelets out of duct tape and used rope for our own Lassos of Truth.
Our parents loved the Superman movies. At the end of these movies, everyone in the theater would clap and cheer when Superman saved the day.
Our family enjoys watching the old Batman television shows. My kids love it when the words “ZAP” and “POW” pop up during the fight scenes. And then there’s the way everything is labeled. The secret entrance to the bat cave, the bat-shark repellant that appeared on batman’s belt right before he battled a shark, the buttons on the bat computer.
It is inspiring when someone stands up to evil and wins, especially against unbelievable odds. We clap and cheer for our favorite super heroes, even though deep down we know victory is sure. Superman always saves the day, Wonder Woman always gets the bad guys and Batman will not rest until the villains are in Gotham jail.
In real life, however, the struggle doesn’t follow a script. We don’t figure out a solution between commercials. The warriors don’t have to change into a certain outfit to fight. And the villain doesn’t always have “bad guy” written all over him.
In real life, fighting for hope is a constant, costly battle that wears on us-mind, body and soul. A Hope Warrior is someone who engages in that battle because they do not want despair to have the last word. Hope Warriors have a quiet, fierce strength born out of a belief that circumstances do not define a situation.
Hope Warriors are as different as the battles they face, but they do have a few things in common.
Hope Warriors are real.
They don’t hide behind the word “fine”, and if you say “How are you?” they will probably answer honestly. Sometimes they even let loose on the expletives, because honestly, sometimes the thing that best describes a situation is a well-placed four letter word.
Hope Warriors Feel.
Hope Warriors aren’t the ones who hunker down and just try to make it through a situation. They feel the emotions. My friend Sara Littlejohn tells me often “Up and out, Erin. Let the emotions come up and out.” Stuffing emotions doesn’t make us strong. It makes the pressure build up until we reach our breaking point or look for ways to stay numb. And we weren’t meant to live life numb.
Hope Warriors go to counseling sessions because it will help them. They do the hard work of repair so that healing can happen. Hope Warriors step toward healthy. And they want that for those around them.
Hope Warriors reach out to help others.
As we fight for hope we recognize Hope Warriors around us and we cheer them on. We know how hard it is to keep hoping and we know that hope is worth fighting for. Hope Warriors need each other because there are days when our circumstances mock any bit of hope we feel.
Hope warriors are not people who have it all together. They are not people who give surface answers to the messiness of life. Hope warriors are people who know their own brokenness, who aren’t afraid of the brokenness they see in others. They are people who say “I’m with you. You are not alone.”
Are you wondering if you are a Hope Warrior? Take a look at your life. Has there been a time when you’ve stood before the darkness in your life and yelled (or even whispered) “You. Will. Not. Win.”
Hello there, Hope Warrior. I’m so glad you are here.
Why Fight for Hope?
I was doing just fine until I read The Healing Path by Dan B. Allender.
Wait…that’s not true. At all.
I was running from my story, really. And this book said things that made me turn around, face my story and own it. In the midst of facing my story, this quote spilled across the pages:
Hope is by far one of the most dangerous commitments we make in life.
I’d never thought of hope as being dangerous.
I’m not really a fan of danger. I can’t even stand the suspense of hide and seek.
This video describes my reaction to danger.
Not brave, not courageous, just a total flip-out. You can ask my children. They love re-enacting times when I’ve completely lost it. It’s not enough to tell the story, they want others to fully experience it. They are true Southern storytellers.
But this quote makes me rethink my aversion to danger. This quote makes me feel a bit wild and unpredictable as I push against the darkness in my life and yell (or sometimes whisper) “You will not win!”
Why is fighting for hope important? Why would anyone step willingly into danger’s path?
Because we have worth.
Right now, as I write this and as you read this, these words are true: We have worth. You have worth. I have worth.
We are more than our abilities. We are more than our struggles. Our worth does not come from our looks or financial status. Our worth is not determined by a lack of looks or financial status, either.
We have worth because we were created by God, who calls us worthy, who breathes life into every soul, who calls us beloved and precious. We are not a random bunch of cells that happened to group together and form a person. We are loved tenderly by God, who also says that we are worth fighting for.
We are worth the fight.
Because we weren’t meant to live life numb.
During difficult times, my first response is to build a cocoon around my heart to keep from feeling the hurt. We all have ways to cope with the fact that life is messy, confusing, and unpredictable. We distract ourselves in video games, TV series, and books to keep from dealing with life. We over-do good things: stay too busy, eat and drink too much, or shop too much. We even turn to harmful things like drugs, porn, gambling, cutting, or purging to keep us preoccupied and numb. The list goes on and on and the end result is the same.
We are miserable because we weren’t made to live like this.
We were made to feel. We were made to fight for things that matter. We were made to live in this broken world, to walk through the difficult times without being hardened by them. It is through the battle that we develop perseverance, courage, and compassion.
We were made for hope.
Because no one else can fight in our shoes.
We live in a broken world with hopelessness crowding in at every turn. Our news feeds are filled with tragedy and sorrow. Despair is a normal response to what is going on around us, but I believe people are looking for a different response. When others see us facing the darkness in our lives and yelling (or even whispering) “You. Will. Not. Win.” they see that despair is not the only response.
I am convinced that God places us strategically in families, in friendships, in relationships, in communities. And these spaces need Hope Warriors. I look at my own marriage and our struggles, my kids and the things they face, and I know that God has placed me right here to fight for hope. The same is true for you, my friend.
Why fight for hope? Because the last chapter has not been written. As dark as things seem, God can and will work in the situations you and I are facing right now. And when we choose to fight for hope, we are participating in the bigger story He is writing in this day and time.
Fighting for hope is dangerous. It’s also contagious. Our lives, our stories – even the chapters we don’t like – impact those around us.
And the more I fight for hope, the more I suspect that there may be a badass deep down inside of me. One that doesn’t flip out at the first sign of danger, but one who owns her story with style.
The Ever-Changing Perfect Mom Standard
I completely lost it on my kids. Last Sunday. Twenty minutes before Sunday School. Twenty minutes before I had to teach Sunday School.
I yelled. I made them cry. I stomped out of the room.
And I told myself I was a horrible mother.
Has this ever happened to you?
I’ve been running from the “Horrible Mother” status and chasing the “Perfect Wife and Mom” status for years. And I totally believe it’s unattainable, because I keep changing the standard.
In the early years of our marriage, I felt that I was a good wife if I made cornbread every night at supper. Every night. (Can you tell I’m Southern?) My mom had cornbread at every meal, and her mom always had cornbread. No one ever told me I HAD to make cornbread, but I labeled it as the perfect wife standard.
Finally, one night, Stephen looked at the skillet of cornbread and said, “You know, I don’t really like cornbread.”
Goodbye cornbread.
I’ve done the same thing as a mom. For a time I felt that if I had pitchers of sweet tea (Can’t get away from being a Southern girl!) and Kool-aid in the fridge, I was a good mama. I had to let go of that standard because we really didn’t need to be consuming that much sugar.
Last night I realized that I have another arbitrary standard of being a perfect mom.
A full towel closet. I feel that if my family has towels for their bath times, I am a good mama.
I’m sure my husband wishes I had higher standards on other things, like dusting the baseboards, keeping the dirty laundry pile below waist level, and mopping the floor more often.
Bless his heart. I let go of having a clean house as a perfect mom standard when the kids were toddlers. If it happened, great. But if I had to choose between happy kids and a clean house, the kids were going to win. Every time.
I would like my kids to always have clean school uniforms, but there are days when we pull them out of the dirty clothes hamper and rock on.
I would prefer to send them off to school with smiles on their faces, ready to face the day. But there are some mornings when tears and frustration win the battles.
I would definitely want to not lose my temper with my children, but it does happen.
I can’t let these things determine if I’m living under horrible mom judgment or in perfect mom bliss.
Sunday afternoon, hours after the blow-up and after we’d all asked forgiveness and cleared the air, my youngest brought me a book she’d written and stapled together.
In this book, she gave four reasons.
- You give me hugs when I’m upset.
- You help me when I need it. You help me with homework.
- You comfort me when I’m scared. When the tornado siren went off you comforted me.
- You spend time with us. You play games with us.
Not a single mention of cornbread or sweet tea, or clean towels, or any other arbitrary standard I might have made up over the years. My girl loves me because she knows I love her. She knows this because I give her time, comfort, help, and hugs. And that’s the way I want it.
What about you? Do you have standards in mind that give you “Horrible Mother” or “Perfect Mother” status?
In honor of Mother’s Day, I would like to suggest that we stop judging ourselves based on ever-changing criteria that doesn’t really matter. Let’s choose a standard that matters in the long run. Let’s choose a standard that will impact our kids for the rest of their lives.
I want my kids to know that I love them, and I am for them.
That’s a perfect mom standard that will last.
Celebrating Life
The 31 day writing challenge was a wonderful experience. I wrote about topics near and dear to my heart, and I met new friends from all over the world.
I must have lived in a writer’s fog for the entire month, because I emerged from the 31 day writing challenge on November 1, ready to resume “normal” life and here is what I found:
Overflowing laundry baskets, partially eaten hot pockets on paper plates scattered around the house (Did I feed my children vegetables even once in the last 31 days?), and project piles. I could tell where the 4th grader’s cereal box book report was created, where the 6th grader’s leaf collection was pieced together, and where I sat to scribble random thoughts at random times. And I’m pretty sure something waved at me from the bottom drawer of my fridge.
But all of this faded into the background when my 9 year old said, “Can we plan my birthday party now?”
Birthday parties are serious business at our house.
I LOVE birthdays. They are the only days in your life when people say “You’re alive! Let’s celebrate!”
You don’t have to do anything brilliant or creative or clever. You just have to be breathing.
Throwing a birthday party is a fun way I can tell my children ” I’m so glad you are here and I’m so glad I get to be your mommy!”
And in their world filled with expectations from school and chore lists from home, and questions like
“Are you ready yet?”
“Are you finished yet?”
“Come on, we need to go!”
They need a day to celebrate.
We’ve done princess birthdays,
pirate birthdays, and superhero birthdays. I’ve loved every one of them.
I also love my children’s birthdays because they remind me of God’s faithfulness. I spent a long time wondering if I would ever have children. Ten years, in fact, which feels like forever when you don’t know if the waiting will ever end. (Be sure to read Finding Hope in the Waiting .)
And this birthday felt important. Maybe it’s because Maggie is my middle child, the one who rarely finishes a sentence or makes a choice because she is sandwiched between two siblings who fully believe they can read her mind. Or maybe it’s because she’s at a point where she is questioning her own worth. I want to wrap her in my arms and say You are loved! You are not alone! You have purpose! I want to pour that truth into the depths of her heart.
So we celebrated Maggie’s double digit day in a big way.
When she hugged me at the end of the day and mumbled sleepily, “This was my best tenth birthday ever.” I knew we had celebrated well.
I’ve picked up all the paper plates with remnants of food (I think), and the project piles are gone. I’m still working up my courage to tackle the creature in the bottom of my refrigerator. But these things really are secondary, because 10 year old birthdays only come around once. Celebrating life is important.
I hope you find a way to make your day special, dear friend, for you, too, are worth celebrating.
You are loved. You are not alone. You have purpose.
Sometimes Church Looks Like This
Some Sundays I crave being in church, worshipping, singing, getting a glimpse of what God is doing in the world.
And on other Sundays I look at my family and can see that we are all just done. Fried. On those days, going to church feels like one more thing we are supposed to do. I know I’ll spend the sermon glaring at three very wiggly children.
I don’t want to praise God and glare at my children at the same time. And I don’t want worshipping God to be something we just check off a list, or endure because we have to.
On one of those days, Stephen and I decided to take our crew outside for some Bible time. The kids each picked out a verse they wanted to read, and we headed out into the sunshine and gentle breeze. I’m sure we looked interesting as Anderson stood up to read his verses, dressed in his ever-present ninja costume. The girls read their verses and I read one about God’s steadfast love. We talked about how much God loves us, even when we mess up, because His love for us never ends.
These verses led into a very honest conversation, because everyone in our house knows what it is to mess up, to need forgiveness, to need grace.
Sometimes worshipping in church feeds my soul, and other times, a Bible time in the sunshine with my little family is what I need. Either way, we are doing what we were made for – praising Him every day.
And sometimes the end of church might look like this.
Truth Is Not Always Beautiful
The 31 day writing challenge starts next Thursday!
During the challenge I am writing about truths that can change our lives for the better, if we choose to believe them. Truths that Make Life Beautiful.
But this week, I’ve been reminded that not truth is not always beautiful.
And I wish it wasn’t that way.
My daughter and I sat outside, enjoying the fall-ish Mississippi weather. (At 84 degrees, we just know fall has GOT to eventually make its way south) My girl leaned against me and began pouring out the events of her day. I listened as she let out the anger, hurt, and frustration from the day, hot tears streaming down her face.
And my heart hurt for her.
That day she was hit with a truth that is not beautiful at all. The truth that we live in a broken world and rub elbows with broken people all day, every day. Intentionally or unintentionally, we hurt people, and they hurt us.
I wish I could make this world unbroken for her. I wish I could cover up the ugly and show her only the wonder and beauty this life holds.
In the middle of her fourth grade hurt, I told my daughter these truths,
A. Everyone has something they don’t like about themselves.
B. Some people will make other people feel bad in an attempt to feel better about themselves.
I can’t change these truths so that my children’s lives will be easier. But I can comfort them, and point them to the One who is Truth. The One who holds their heart in His Hands. I can trust that He will use these events over time to shape them into strong, godly men and women.
I am thankful parenting has a lot of practice time built-in. The skinned knees and the spats with siblings were only the warm up. Now we are moving into real life, real hurt, and I want to give my children the tools they need to live well in this broken world.