I miss old school blogging. My posts reflect that, meandering from current events to family updates to long form articles. I know, I know. . . current blog gurus say Find your audience! Write in your niche! But whatever. It’s my website.
Still, you're probably here for some mommy-encouragement or theological talk. Welcome!
My father-in-law is in hospice care at home. We know he is trusting Jesus and that his time to leave this broken world will be soon.
Needless to say, it’s been an intense week. We’ve all be at the grandparents house for parts of each day. The little kids have been playing quietly in Grandma’s room (she has the best toys!) and sometimes running around outside. It’s been good that we have all been there. But it still is a lot.
On our drive home last night, H4 let me know in no uncertain terms that she was tired of listening to Mommy’s podcasts. Frankly, so was I. I turned on the radio and started surfing through the radio stations. At the first one she said, “Stop! I love this!”
It was the classical station and the Name Day Overture by Beethoven was playing. (Not that I would have known that had not the digital radio had the title showing.)
We listened together as we drove.
“This makes me feel happy!” H4 exclaimed.
I have been writing a lot lately. I have a collection of composition books and in each one I have lists and jots of ideas and sermon notes and journals. My writing is serving a purpose for me. But I miss the thinking-out-loud of blogging and having the archives.
I’ve spent way too much time on Facebook. . . While it serves a purpose, I’m finding it to be too transitory and distracting.
So, I’m back to blogging. (Ha! Where have we heard that before?!)
In the midst of getting-ideas-out-of-my-head-and-onto-the-page, I’ve been working on a few larger projects. I’ve been exploring writing memoir to be “gifts of words and memories” for my family. I’ve been giving feedback to some friends working on books. And I’ve been working on my own book sparked by my young-adult sons about connecting with our kids through the teenage years.
But really the bulk of my writing has been for my own time to notice what God is doing around me and in me and thinking through our current transitions.
Transitions bring up a lot of external logistical juggling and internal emotional turbulence. The past year has been one long transition and this past month has put the past year to shame.
The transitions have been geographical — Nassau to Florida to DC to Florida, and now Kosovo is looming before us.
The transitions have been familial. I still think of myself as a mom of four boys. . . plus two. The youngest of the four has graduated and all of the older boys are in a good place in the decisions they’ve made for young adulthood on their own. But that means we are going overseas this time as a family unit that is brand new to me. It will just be Hubby and I and A7 and H4.
The transitions have been emotional. My father-in-law is in hospice care at home. His time on this earth is short and he will soon be with the Lord, waiting for the new heavens and new earth. This is the first time I’m walking alongside as our immediate family is witnessing death.
The transitions have been internal. I’m firmly in the middle of mid-life. No crisis. It’s time for evaluation of where I am, what the Lord has asked of me, and the direction to take going forward. Some spouses in the State Department really struggle with not having career continuity. For me, it’s always been fun — how do I get to reinvent myself at our next post? What interests can I explore? What new ways can I learn to serve?
For many years I’ve viewed my primary vocation as assisting my family through transitions. We all go through our own experiences with change, but I know that as mom and wife I can help them navigate things. This involves a lot of logistics and paperwork, tears and prayers.
On Christ the solid rock I stand. . . the transitions around me are shifting sand.
Business cards with color-coded names as luggage tags. Bonus points for laminating them.
Only took me how many moves to master this?
With four boys in tow all holding hands, I remember hurrying to the metro in Kyiv in the early 2000s.
“Oh, a Hero-Mother!” A babushka would stop me, exclaiming over them, tightening one boy’s scarf and straightening another one’s hat.
They shared with me the joy of motherhood, the blessing it truly was.
Soviet-era women commonly had multiple abortions. Post-Soviet families often only had one child, with multiple generations sharing an apartment.
The joy of motherhood was mixed with the discomfort of being the “rich American” who could afford my then-four children.
The son who first made me a mother was born nearly 23 years ago, and as I write this my three-year-old and only daughter is pretending to be “a baby who doesn’t cry.”
I’ve made so many mistakes. I haven’t cherished every moment. I’ve sinned against (and hidden from) my kids.
And I’ve loved them. Snuggled them. Read to them. Watched each of them grow into the person God has created them to be.
These six persons in my life who have made me a mother? They delight me, humble me, and bring me to my knees before God.
I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.
When I was a teen, I balked at the idea of being a “teenager.” I remember discussions that the idea of “teenager” was a social construct that ought to be rejected.
It was as if rejecting the term could also do away with the cultural associations of teens being rebellious, struggling, having a hard time in life. It was almost as if people wanted to exchange that set of cultural norms for the idea of people being able to grow from early adolescence to responsible young adulthood with no struggles.
Transitioning from childhood to adulthood, however, is generally a process — regardless of culture — and doesn’t just happen over night. I believe it does a disservice to teens and parents to not allow space for the natural challenges which may arise from the transition from child to adult.
There are very real physical changes going on — especially with hormones and in the brain. There are very real changes in societal expectations, as well. Very real changes in self-perception and self-identity. We don’t have to accept the worst stereotypes of teenagers to accept that this can be a challenging time for the teen himself, as well as his family and community.
Much of this is internal in the teen. . . Introspection is common. Who am I? What do I REALLY believe? How do I want to live my life, how should I live my life?
“Children are born persons,” as Charlotte Mason said, is true. God has created us in His image. Our children are people in themselves from the beginning — and yet there is as aspect of “becoming” that is part of life and development.
The image of a butterfly struggling to free itself from a chrysalis helps me want to be patient and understanding with my kids. It’s a true struggle, hard work, growth. .
Our nature display changes more with the seasons, now that we are in a more traditional winter/spring/summer/autumn climate.
It’s spring now. See the twig that had new buds on it, before A6 dissected them? He added a green ribbon to stand for the green we can see from our apartment window, more each day. H3 found the hawk feather when we went for a hike through our friends’ woods. The rock holds amazing fossils — my friend Sarah and I found it during a nature walk at the #AOCM2019 getaway.
I made it through winter, and the hygge and the candles helped. Spring has entered slowly and I feel at peace.
We are staying in corporate housing while Hubby is learning Albanian.
Downside? Tacky furniture and decorations, and our “stuff” is in storage.
Upside? Housekeeping comes every Friday!
I’m not crying today, as I have in years past. Is that because my compassion is waning? Perhaps it is simply that time and distance soften grief.
Those who knew Lydia describe her as a vivacious little girl with the most heart-warming smile.
Lydia was adopted from war-torn Liberia. She was one of nine children–six biological and three adopted. In so many ways, her family was lovely and loving. And yet, she died of rhabdomyolysis, in which her muscle tissues were broken down by repeated spankings from her adopted parents.
Each year I do my little part to try to remind the world of Lydia.
Each year I try to warn parents to not follow false teachings that lead to abuse.
Parents, hold your children tight. Be gentle with them. Nurture them. Be discerning.
Then some children were brought to Him so that He might lay His hands on them and pray; and the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus said, “Let the children alone, and do not hinder them from coming to Me; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19
From the TG archives:
My 6yo: Do you know God’s favorite football team? The Saints!
(He was listening to this morning’s sermon, intro to Philippians addressed to the saints if God.)
Hubby took the kids out to play in the snow — and they were out there over an hour!
No pics, but they were adorable.
Best dad ever.
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