Glimpses ~ June 2020

The color of the flowers at my wedding were a disappointment. In that many thought the event was miraculous in itself, this seems a trivial detail. It was a lovely occasion over all. One that we determined was appropriately elaborate for two 30 year old types who might have never matched up in another lifetime. After 23 years though, when I see the color I desired for that day, I take notice. I remember how my Mom asked the florist if there was anything he could do. She's faithful that way, as Dad was too. But there was little to change the color of that flower. Although that florist tried, and when my bouquet was returned to me, unanimously everyone agreed how much better they looked, worried the bride was going to snap. 
But I didn't and we proceeded into our life together, with no idea what delights and disappointments lay ahead. 
Yesterday the perfect flower appeared at Publix. People refer to these type of sightings as 'unicorns,' as do I. I also think of them as 'glimpses' into perfection. Too many at one time and a circus will inevitably occur, tickets must be sold, lights too bright must be illuminated. But these by the wayside 'glimpses' are a gift. 
It would have been ridiculously ungracious of me years ago to have truly complained about the roses, especially in light of the effort to which everyone had gone to in order to make the day so special. I look back on how my parents graciously endured many disappointments- their own, or theirs shared- throughout their lives. If you talked to them, and still talk to Mom now, there is always, always something for which to be thankful. Glimpses, I believe, are what kept them going. Glimpses of Eden and glimpses of Heaven. 
I find myself in the in-between, maybe even the shadowlands. Sorrow will cloud our ability to see the glimpses, especially if we only feed the sorrow. Again, I think about my parents. I am thankful for their persistent effort to press forward into everyday with a renewed spirit, to try to fix the little things, while handling the bigger things in life with patience and perseverance, sorrow or celebration. 
There are so many things I cannot fix right now-- in my home, in my community, in the world. But because tragedy seems to be everywhere does not mean all that was once good - wasn't good. Because unrest seems everywhere, doesn't mean we don't still need rest. We need 'glimpses', moments where the proverbial, yes, spiritual light shines bright. And in that light we may see a 'broken reed' upon which we've been leaning too long, and see behind the bush a ram the Lord intended the entire time, the 'glimpse', the provision, the gift. 

November 2018 ~ #Project50 and Being a Boy Mom

On Monday the week of Thanksgiving, we planned to go to Six Flags theme park. Boys were encouraged to find a friend, preferably one that has a reputation of getting along with their sibling. The turn-out could not have been better. It's not an easy gig to plan. I don't pretend to be the master-mind or great-appreciator of Six Flags-that would be my husband, Festivus. But I have embraced the chaos of boys and all  most things my husband plans for us. But this was on me. Festivus was still at the UGA salt-mine, so if it was to be, it was up to me. Load 'em up, move 'em out.
While on the ride, my older 'tech enabled' son quietly announces a shooting has occurred in Chicago, at 'a hospital.' So as not to bombard him in un-cool mom fashion, I think quickly to ascertain which hospital. 'The big one,' he replies and returns inward like a preying mantis after it gobbles its food, but the reverse, to 'the source.' My first thoughts go to what at one time was a reflex response- crime-ridden Chicago, a city I will likely never visit, as I never made it to the Oprah show, nor do relatives live close by. I'll never see the 'Bean' up close. But for a time, about 25 years ago, I tuned in every week, to the 'Windy-City' like numerous other Americans. I watched faithfully, 'ER,' and became like everyone else, either a fan of George Clooney, or the actress Ms.Marguellis, known to me and my kids now as 'The Good Wife.' I watched as single people, like myself at the time, navigated the waters of internships and relationships. I cried when characters fell in love with co-workers, mothers and fathers came to live with their adult children and declined with disease. When the doors flew open with an emergency, I was peaked and waiting to know what would happen. And then I waited until the next week, all the week working with kids-in-care, going to church, and Friday-night-dinnering with friends my age and in my same situation. I had no cell phone, I barely watched the news. I had a camera and took photo film to Eckerd's for their amazing printing booth. I envied the people printing Christmas card family pictures. 
But I had George Clooney. (wink)
All those thoughts happened in about 30 seconds when I was brought back to how this newest information impacted our car ride. Snap-chats didn't stop, dirt-bike videos didn't quit, the tunes from the 'Fish' didn't cease. There was no pause.
I rode the Cyclone yesterday. The ride that replaced the old wooden roller coaster. Being afraid(horrified) of heights, this is no small thing. I have crawled and clung to the ropes of Talullah Gorge, trying to avoid permanent residency on that bridge when I underestimated the impact of the height and succumbed to child-pressure (not peer pressure) to cross. But I digress. I. Can't. Even. The speed, the turns, the drops. G's. That's all I could think. I felt like I'd been in a space ship simulation for a trip to Mars. While I had gained a little street-cred with my gang of ear-budded urban hoodlums, I felt the need to go back and retrieve my face from where it may have landed in Alabama after it flew from my body by sheer wind force. I had just enough time to gather my remaining wits and gumption before I headed to the next contraption of out-of-body experience. I recognized 'The Mind-Bender.' Yes, I could do this. It's reminiscent of 'The Beast,' my childhood-first roller-coaster. At the time, it was the highest and fastest on record and located just at my backdoor in Mason, Ohio. I had a seasons pass. Mom would drop. us. off. (who does this anymore?-- well, now I would, but only with 'the bigs' not 'the littles.') Anyway, just enough time to catch my breath, I ride, I survive, and I disembark. Remember, I am often now mistaken for my children's grandmother, gray hair and all. My present riding partners (the littles) stay seated as the park is low on revelers at this early point in the holiday season. They ask to ride again, the drivers say 'yes!' They go. I almost collapse, almost drop my phone, almost drop the drinks I'm holding. I am thinking it's time to go home.  It's time for a pause.  They go, I pause. But experience to which I've paid greater attention as of late has taught me, this day has only begun. And I'm in. All in. #project50 and all that. But without a word or conscious acknowledgement, they see me pause. (just like everything else they see me do-- or not do.) 
While I can. not. Can. Not. connect entirely with my kids, I *must* stay connected. While we are generations apart, and even more so by the lateness of our entry into parenthood, I must make the effort to tether where I can and bind where I am able our fleeting moments of connectedness. Their mental health depends upon it. I don't say that lightly. Locals know the proximity, but dear friends, I know you all have experienced loss of *that* unspoken nightmare. I believe more than ever, or at least in the history of our young country, there is a sense of being overwhelmed and over-stimulated that gravely impacts our hearts, especially the young. And while there are some, myself included for so long, say just withhold enabling the young, this is harder to do than one might think. We do not live in isolation; it's everywhere, and even the young ear-budded urban hoodlums crave companionship. One just cannot stand against a rail in broad day-light scrolling one's phone--all *alone*. Nor can one experience the heights and free-fall of  'Goliath' with out a ride from mom in the min-van. My lesson I take from this day is not that we should avoid Six Flags (although I hear a chorus of angels above my head when I consider that thought)-- it is that we should be there when they need $4 more for a healthy water, when they've made a poor choice before riding, neglecting a pause in the sugar fest. Because if they are like mine, and Pandora's Box is already open, they are going to make poor choices. I'm going with being present. I'm going with the 'strengthening the tethers' plan, with love and honesty. When the questions about a more important 'Goliath' come up, I'll be there with a proverbial sling and a (silent)song (in my heart) about 'only a little boy David.' Their lions are real. And Bathsheba is everywhere. Perhaps a pause will surface, and they'll be looking past Reddit, to me. 
God help me be ready and not posting my FB status. 

'He's Not Lazy: Empowering Your Son to Believe in Himself'

Each year our family seems to evolve in ways I never anticipated. Being a parent and a mother takes on a nuance I didn't expect. I devour audio books while scribbling notes on any loose page. Podcast networks are my new best friend. While a face to face friend is always welcome fellowship, sometimes it takes someone to cut through to the details that are wrecking your home-life.
Lazy is a 'charged' word. So you can imagine when I saw this book title across one of my most trusted Podcaster's playlist: 'He's Not Lazy: Empowering Your Son to Believe In Himself.' 
Run. Don't walk. If this made you stop and pause, and consider the son you've struggled with in any regard, grab this book. I listened on Audible, but it is available at most retailers such as Amazon.
The layers of challenges that are on our sons in todays modern world are astounding. And they just can't 'run away' the same way our grandfather's did at 14 or 15. They are stuck in a world of technology that may be important to them in one way, but it also monitors their every movement. This leaves them with little freedom to become the man they are trying to become-- on their own.
The monitoring is the challenge- the www is not helpful, so parents (this parent) again are 'schooled' in language that will communicate to our sons we believe in them, without a false approach to the over-indulged 'self-esteem' movement.
I'm going to include the link to the Podcast from 'The Art of Manliness,' which first introduced me to the book. It's a quick synopsis that left me ready for more. I haven't felt this empowered about empowering my son in a long while. I hope you will find it equally as encouraging.

Homeschooling the Dyslexic Child - For Our Family

I recently came back to blog. Our homeschooling journey has not been reflected here. It's just been too personal. Too difficult. But for those of you, like me, who venture back to old (cyber)friends, I wanted to catch you up. 
It's been a educational 'Groundhog's Day' around here. 

And that's what it feels like sometimes. 

When you really don't understand, so you throw caution to the wind. You. Just. Let. Go. 

But eventually, you find yourself really seeking relationship with your child, the way they are made- the way they see things. Adding Sally Shaywitz book, Overcoming Dyslexia & The Out of Sync Child to my reading list is a big step. It says 'it's real.' And 'it's not going anywhere.' They've been on my shelf, bedside, and book bag for years now, but saying it on the blog is full circle. 

This may not seem like a big deal to some. It has been a real challenge for us. Our household has had some real come-to-Jesus moments. The kind that the baby-books just don't go into. And the kind that The Well-Trained Mind or The Lost Tools of Learning doesn't cover. It's been more of a 'Mr. Holland's Opus' kind of a ride. Admitting and tossing what you thought was ideal to the side, and embrace the child as they are. 

When you are thinking they are hearing you.

 Other children do....?

The literal struggles over what seems mundane.

No one can accuse you of not being willing to put on the monkey suit to make things happen. 

But sometimes the results don't become clear until after the composition has gone to print.

Dreams turn into struggle, success not happening where you have prayed for it to be seen, wishing it was for your own child. And then perhaps at last, seeing that smile that makes you know, they are going in the way - they should go.- In the way they were created and designed by a benevolent, loving Creator.