Healthy Crap
Dear Reader,
Have you ever felt overwhelmed with all of the things you’re supposed to be doing to stay healthy? It’s a new year and with it comes the reminder that none of us are the weight we want to be, we didn’t like ourselves in our Christmas picture, and we are sick of how we always go back on New Years resolutions by March of the same year (who am I kidding, January). We arm ourselves with a pitchfork to poke anyone who disagrees with us and declare that this year will be different!
I jumped on the healthy train a while ago, eager to learn what I should be doing to keep my family at the tipy top of their health. Like a humble student, I soaked in the knowledge and advice my friends in real life and on Facebook were so willing to bestow on me. Thus ensued the insanity.
We switched to all non-scented detergent and body products (even going as far as using Johnson’s baby shampoo) because the scented stuff was probably made with nuclear waste. We bought filtered water bottles so we could chug water at unnatural, camel-like rates. We replaced our white flours, sugars and rice with wheat flours, brown rice, organic sugar and raw honey – all with the hopes that our child would begin pooping money (we’re talking pure gold). I’ve been making our own bread, since heaven knows what preservatives are in bread at the store. I bought stuff like flax seeds, flax meal and amaranth and was sure that I could throw them in something delicious at some point to make them not delicious. I ignored my hubby’s jokes about eating like a rabbit and we started drinking green drinks made purely out of vegetables and fruit, determined to become a lean, sexy rabbit. Before meals, we swallowed a Tablespoon of raw, unfiltered apple cider vinegar, also known as liquid fire, to help with our digestion. While on this new healthy path, we all came down with the 12-day cold. So, even more determined to be healthy, we started drinking elderberry syrup morning and night. I ordered essential oils, ready to drench myself in oil. I switched to decaf coffee in the morning with just milk and honey. We both kicked our multivitamins up a notch ($18.99 a bottle are you kidding me?? but they’re gummy mmmm) and made sure to take our Vitamin D and probiotics. It’s amazing we don’t live on the toilet – everything healthy is supposed to “improve our digestion”. We’ve been drinking green tea every day – well, I have been drinking it – my husband “accidentally” knocked his over the other night. I told him God was looking out for us because I hadn’t put honey in it that time and he said, “Well then, God was looking out for me to not make me drink tea that tastes like grass without honey!” Men.
Just when I think we’ve arrived, the advice police arrives and says “nah ah,” somehow looking compassionate, concerned and all-knowing at the same time. It’s amazing how good people give good advice (out of concern for us) but it all seems to contradict with everything! None of it’s bad advice – it’s just overwhelming when you consider all we’ve already done and how we still seem to be doing everything wrong! Sometimes people don’t even have to give advice – they just have to post on Facebook all the time about how they’re doing something AMAZING that has just CHANGED THEIR LIVES and you feel like you’re somehow deficient if you don’t do it, too.
Suddenly you have friends that won’t come over unless the salads you make are organic salads. They don’t want your blueberry muffins anymore, but they’ll take that Venti latte from Starbucks, thank you so much! You read an article about how Johnsons products contain cancer-causing formaldehyde – oh my gosh, I’m killing us in the shower! You’re reminded that it’s concerning to let water sit in a bottle with a filter – because, what’s really in that filter? Don’t you know that your whole grain products are carbs and carbs make you FAT? Have you tried Plexus? You don’t do Crossfit? Zumba really doesn’t burn fat, you know. You cover your food with plastic wrap, not reusable bees wrap? Your family struggles to go on walks? Huh, that’s funny, my entire family just ran a marathon! You still drink a cup of coffee in the morning – you realize of course that coffee will dehydrate you? Dairy is so, so bad for you (milking cows were fine for our parents, but now we’d rather milk the almonds – how can this be natural?). You use wheat flour? Hmm, do you have something against almond or coconut flour (besides the fact that it costs $100 a grain)? You know, you really should try Whole Foods for all your shopping needs (if you need to go BANKRUPT). You don’t use cloth diapers – do you just not care about the earth (no, I just don’t like revisiting POOP)? Looks like the elderberry syrup you were taking to boost your baby’s immune system actually potentially depletes milk supply and will cause your baby to scream every time you offer her food – joke’s on you!!! You realize that ANY form of sugar – organic or raw honey – is still sugar, right? You make your own bread? And you’re not the size of an elephant yet? What are you using to clean your house – POISON. You really should be making your own cleaning products with the extra time you don’t have! You realize that Annie Sloan chalk paint is the best, right, and you really shouldn’t use regular paint because of the chemical smell? Actually, I don’t disagree with this one – I love Annie Sloan! Too bad it costs $30 just to look at her name on a can, though! Turns out your family members had an allergic reaction to essential oils – good luck hoping you and your horrific allergies will be exempt! You let your child play with colorful toys? You realize that wooden blocks are so much better for their imagination, right? Olive oil really isn’t as good as coconut oil – if you have to use oil at all (which, coconut oil is really a good fat, but it’s still FAT). Your meat is not organic??? Are you telling me that you would put a price on making sure your family is not pumped full of hormones ($20 a pound – sadly, someone else put the price on that)? Granted, you really shouldn’t feed your family red meats. Chicken and turkey are leaner meats and better for you. But make sure you get lots of iron – red meat is chock full of iron – and confusion! I’ve been making my family’s clothes and bath salts and recycled-pallet decorations and diaper wipes and blankets and jewelry and when I poop it is awesome!!! Who wouldn’t want to do everything I do?
Me. It has gotten to the point where I think we’re just going to eat fries and coke every night for dinner. Every. Single. Night. We’re going to skip the ketchup and just dip our fries in vegetable oil (Hey, vegetables! Good job!). We’ll throw extra organic sugar in our coke (organic – good choice!) and we’ll toast to a short, fat, happy life.
In all seriousness, I’m not giving up on my family’s health. I’ve been learning how to make yummy food that’s still good for us and I’m enjoying feeling better about the nutrition that goes into our bodies. I’m just pointing out how terrible it is to constantly try to listen to everybody that has the “answer”. You know what’s best for your family, and it’s okay if you don’t do everything the family next to you does. It’s okay if you’re a total screw up and accidentally clean with normal cleaning products or you buy store-bought bread. If you don’t want to be a screw up in that way but you’d like to screw up in other ways, like letting your kids play with colorful toys or cooking with olive oil, that’s okay, too. Our parents screwed up in the same ways, and look at us. We’re alive to talk about doing things differently. And in 20 years, our kids will do the same thing!
I say all that to say, I wrote this because I needed some encouragement today. I needed to know that in choosing to do or not do what other parents do, it doesn’t make me a total failure. There will always be someone else who does it better, more “all natural”, or “safer”. If you’re not actually feeding your family literal poison or poop, encouraging your children to play with bear cubs, or showering in boiling beezle-nut oil – great job! You did good.
You do you!
Sincerely,
A little family of three
New Parent, New Year
Dear Reader,
You know you’re new parents when you’re twenty minutes away from New Years Day and you’re considering taking a shower to bring in the new year. You also know life has changed a lot if last year you stayed up obligingly to kiss and see the fireworks and this year you’re annoyed that the baby monitor is picking up early fireworks and you wish you had fallen asleep at 9 pm. Hubby is like, “Seriously, it’s not even midnight yet. Do they have to do that now? It’s waking the baby up.” Heh. A year ago today, if someone had told me I was going to be a parent by the following New Years Eve, I would have said, “Thanks a lot.” For some reason, it was not only terrifying – it was slightly insulting if people thought we couldn’t control ourselves from getting pregnant before we were ready. Hah.
I didn’t think I was ready for it. But somehow, I’m covered in spit up, sucking out baby snot, changing incredibly awful diapers, and it really doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. It’s for a sweet little bundle who needs me – why wouldn’t it be the perfect time for this beautiful mess? It doesn’t feel like I needed to wait three more years to meet our sweet little girl. It’s also fun to have a partner in crime. There’s nothing better than knowing the baby has a terrible diaper and sweetly asking hubby if he wouldn’t mind changing her diaper real quick. Another favorite is handing her to him for a burp and she unloads on him. By now, we’ve gotten used to laughing a lot, changing a lot of clothes without batting an eye, and just realizing this is life now.
The fact is, when can you ever be ready for a baby? No one can really prepare you for that first helpless cry, that first baby breath against your cheek, that first warm touch of your baby’s fist on your chest, the first kiss on her sweet head, the first time her eyes would meet yours and she’d smile, the first time your realize she’s YOURS and you’re responsible for her, her first giggle and raspberries, the first time you packed away a size of clothes that don’t fit anymore, and the first load of laundry that is crisp and delicious with the scent of baby. No one can prepare you for all that joy. There are a lot of firsts, and after a while it becomes your every day. And before you know it, taking care of this beautiful little baby and seeing to her every need is such a joy and it’s your life now.
I’m not sure if this is how I thought life would turn out when I was younger. I always used to dream of what I wanted to be in life. I don’t think one of my dreams was wearing mom jeans, packing extra sets of clothes, and becoming an expert on homemaking. But I don’t think I ever could have understood the joy and the total worth of sacrificing my life for another until I experienced it first hand. Even if some of my other dreams come true, I’m convinced there is nothing I will ever do that is more worthwhile.
I say that to say – we never know from one year to the next what God will have in store for us. The cool thing is – He knows best what we need and His plan is perfect. Last year (literally all year) I prayed that God would teach me His perfect peace – and boy did He give me some of the most peaceful times that rose up out of great turmoil and uncertainty. This next year I’m praying for God to teach me His joy. It’s always scary asking God to teach you something, because He will! But at the end of the year I’m always thankful I asked.
Happy New Years, everyone!
Sincerely,
Andrea
When your life is a Beautiful Mess
Sometimes you look around at life and wonder how it got so messy. You can’t help but wonder how your shoes haven’t changed, but everything else has.
I’m in those shoes today. My normally clean room is covered in various items. The remnants of our carefully packed hospital bag are strewn in one corner. A diaper bag sits next to the bassinet, half packed from the first doctor’s appointment yesterday. Freshly washed clothes are no long neatly in their drawers – instead they’re stacked on top of the dresser. I paw through the stack for a shirt that fits, but doesn’t accentuate the receding baby bump. An impossible task!
My beautiful kitchen sits neglected below me. I haven’t seen it for days because it is far too painful to go down the stairs. The carefully selected hospital robe and paraphernalia are finally being used – and are already covered in milk stains. I look around in a fog from my old gray recliner. Pillows need pillow cases, diaper boxes need to be recycled, carefully assembled “during and after labor” ziplock bags need to be de-assembled, and laundry needs to be done. My legs refuse to work for long before I am flat on my back, trying to sleep off the pain, knowing I need to get up and dreading it.
But.
But immediately to my left in a blue-gray, soft bassinet is a beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed, 7 lb baby girl named Ava Rea Karyn. She has my nose, her daddy’s olive coloring and hair, her Auntie Rebekah’s rosy red lips, fat cheeks, and a petite little bum. I am so in love, so in awe, so happy for every bit of mess or discomfort. Because it means she is here with us. She almost wasn’t. Every time I pushed, her heart rate decelerated. I vaguely remember hearing the doctor call in the surgical team just in case. They told me that if I couldn’t push the baby out quickly, they would have to do an emergency c-section. After 39 hours of labor, no food and no energy, I prayed to God for help. I couldn’t feel my legs to know what I was doing, but I pushed with everything I had in me and then some. I instinctively knew time was my daughter’s life and before they told me the umbilical chord was wrapped around her tiny neck, I knew it. This was my greatest fear in pregnancy, yet God allowed it – as if to show me that even if my greatest fear came true, He was still in control. Somehow He gave me the strength to push her out in 30 minutes. I looked down and could see a blue baby. I said a phrase then that is the first words I remember hearing as a child in a car accident. “Is my baby okay?” Then I heard her cry. It was exactly the cry I pictured = the one that had woken me up in my dreams. They immediately placed her on my chest, even before the umbilical chord had been cut. she stopped crying instantly when her tiny body touched my chest. I didn’t recognize her at first. Who is this dark-haired beauty? Where is the bald, pale baby that I pictured? She had a stork mark down her nose and she stared up at me with wide blue eyes. Andrew, the biggest support through it all, couldn’t stop saying how amazing I was, what a great job I had done, how beautiful she was. I knew that none of it was because of me. I was so weak I couldn’t hold her. Another thing I had feared was bleeding out because my blood thinned terribly near the end of my pregnancy. I had lost so much blood, my blood pressure was dangerously low, and I had a hard time seeing my husband or baby through the black spots. I couldn’t lift my 7 lb baby girl and I could see the worry in Andrew’s eyes through the blur. I was vaguely aware of them sewing me up, vaguely aware of how many faces were in the room. But all I knew was God had protected us, I was holding my husband’s hand and our baby was on my chest, warmed and peaceful from my touch. I brought her color back and she brought my color back. Not long after birth she started rooting around and immediately latched on with strong, greedy gulps. I started to realize then that this was my daughter and was filled with maternal pride and love. Andrew and I both just couldn’t stop saying “I can’t believe she’s our baby.” I was so weak that I heavily relied on the nurses and Andrew for everything. Andrew changed all of Ava’s diapers – clumsily at first, followed by frustrated attempts to swaddle her. But then he got the hang of it and he was so proud of her for having 7 poopy diapers the first day. The doctor’s seemed impressed at her diaper count and Andrew beamed – “Babe, did you hear that? Our daughter is so advanced!!” ❤ ❤ ❤
I have loved seeing my husband as a father. He has been incredible to both his girls and I see in his actions how much he desperately wants to protect us. Before we headed to the hospital to be induced on Thursday, October 8, he asked me, “Is it okay if I’m scared?” He was so sincere and couldn’t stop saying “Wow” at the thought of us heading to the hospital for D-day. On October 10, 2015 at 8:17 a.m. he became a father to a beautiful little girl. And when the hospital went to discharge us on Monday, October 12, he had tears in his eyes, worried if he would be a good enough dad and husband. He was worried that he would be able to take care of us. I have fallen so much deeper in love with my husband since this last weekend. He has been so gentle and so patient with both of us. He has weathered sleepless nights with me and we have already mastered turning toward each and locking eyes with a groan when she wakes up prematurely. But even when Ava is beyond frustrating, she is so beautiful to us. She needs us. Despite the pain of breastfeeding at the beginning, I love that Ava needs me. I love being able to give to her and see her drift off to sleep with a satisfied look on her little face. I love holding her on my chest and her little legs curl up underneath her. I love her little baby sighs and tiny baby diapers and soft little hair after her first sponge bath. I love her little expressions and kissy lips she makes in her sleep. I love when she yawns, when she dreams, when she sighs. I just love her. While I was pregnant, other parents enjoyed telling us about the sleepless nights, their horrible labor stories, their lack of “adult time” post-baby, etc. But on this side of it, I think most parents would agree that who really cares about all that? When you’re holding your baby, everything else melts away. Life is a mess right now and it is beautiful that way.
Dear Anxiety – Shut up, thx!
Dear Reader,
Anxiety is kind of hilarious when you think about it. You’re on the brink of some of the most incredible moments of your life, and your mind is running with “gazelle intensity” (thanks, Dave Ramsey) toward the cesspool of “what if’s”. Think about it. It’s like you’re wearing a brown Napoleon Dynamite suit to the prom out of choice – not because someone actually made you. You’re Bugs Bunny and you have construed about 10 Elmer Fudds around every corner because you are comforted by the thought that worrying about it will prevent it from happening. But you’ve never been anxious, so you probably wouldn’t relate to the concept of googling anxiety itself at 4 a.m.
Trust me – I wouldn’t understand, either. It’s not like I’m about to give birth – something with exciting, miraculous results – but I’m focused on WHAT IF MY WATER BREAKS IN THIS NICE RESTAURANT / I GET STRANDED IN THIS FLASH FLOOD ON THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL / MY BABY IS BORN BLACK DUE TO SOME GENETIC HISTORY WE DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT AND NO ONE BELIEVES MY HUSBAND IS THE FATHER / WE FORGET HOW TO BREATHE CORRECTLY / MY NAILS DON’T LOOK CUTE DURING D-DAY / I GIVE BIRTH TO AN ACTUAL CLUCKING CHICKEN LIKE THAT ONE WEIRD DREAM I HAD. Like I said, totally hypothetical fears that I have never had. And I certainly have never feared any other obvious fears about childbirth; thank you, moms with horror stories.
Anxiety can be ridiculous and kind of funny when you think about it. But it can also become our best friend and worst enemy. It’s a constant companion, making us feel appropriately humble in the face of great success, keeping our families alive by picturing a horrific accident every time they come home late or their cell battery died, helping us avoid freak accident scenarios by reading all about them on Facebook, SHARING that mess, and picturing yourself in that situation intermittently over the next week. I don’t know why, but I think we somehow feel like anxiety will protect us from bad things.
I speak literally now. The night before my wedding, I was picturing every worst scenario just so it wouldn’t happen. I tripped about 72 times at various points in the ceremony, there were no guests – NONE – they all didn’t show up, it rained and everyone was crowded into the reception barn AND a candle caught the barn on fire so we would spend the first 7 years of our marriage paying off the wedding venue and the lawsuits, etc.But then my sister passed on some of the best advice she had gotten on her wedding day, “No one will remember what went wrong. They’ll only remember how you reacted to it.” This naturally assumed that something would go wrong – and I’m sure a lot did go wrong. But I honestly just gave it to God and then felt free to laugh when the vows were messed up (one of my favorite memories) and when the cake melted while we cut it I could have cared less – that mess was yummy! At the end of the day, we got to marry each other and none of those other things mattered.
The truth is, we all face anxiety because we have SEEN things go wrong for others. We’re always in that 2% when the doctor says – no worries, only 2% of all people will develop this. And tell me that we’re not the only couple that occasionally referenced the zombie apocalypse while house hunting: “Obviously zombies aren’t real, but if it happened, that would be a really great fence and we’d probably be more protected from the hordes being further away from the big city…. Gated community, nice. Tall enough to keep the zombies out. All the bedrooms on the second floor? Awesome. Harder for the zombies to climb up and getcha.” We’ve known individuals who have had the freak accidents, we’ve prayed friends and family through incredible, unexpected loss, and we recognize that we are not protected by some untouchable barrier because “WELL, I’M A CHRISTIAN”. So we hold close our comfort blanket of anxiety, because if we can just be alert enough to all the dangers of the world, we will be SPARED.
I’m here to tell anxiety to kindly shut up. The fact is, I know something deep down but I really hate admitting it (repeatedly, it would seem). Only God is in control. No, I don’t know His plan and I don’t have any control over whether His plan will include a freak accident that gets 10K shares on Facebook [LIKE THIS TO SAVE THE HUERTAS] and I don’t have any guarantees of tomorrow. But He has a sovereign plan – a plan to give hope and a future according to Jer. 29:11. He’s not just out there to be like, BOOM, gotcha with something you hadn’t worried about yet.
Frankly, it’s hard to let God be in control, because while I am quick to say, “God, I surrender my life to you,” I am NOT comfortable surrendering my husband or baby’s life to God. Uh, NOPE. You can touch me, but you can’t touch them! I recognize that both I and my family are not untouchable, and for that reason I wake up sometimes worrying about what God thinks I’m strong enough to handle.
It’s time for me to acknowledge anxiety as the laughable, self-generated siamese twin it has become. No, my faith does not protect me from disaster. But neither does my anxiety – the devil disguised as an angel of caution on my shoulder. Bad things WILL happen to good people. I just have to accept that. But God is not unaware or caught off guard or going to select something unbearable just to make me write a book about God’s grace being enough to carry me through. He’s more interested in seeing how much I will trust Him through hardships (even if this means praying “God, help me trust you!”) – because everyone will face hardships and it’s only how we respond that will matter and be remembered. If we face cold hard reality for a second, at some point we will all lose our parents, some day our children and their children will have all passed on, SOME day we will die. We’ll all go in varying degrees of time, methods and reasons. We just simply can’t change that. But in the meantime, God has given us the precious gift of today, the opportunity to embrace beautiful memories of the past, and an amazing hope for the future. So what if it’s raining non-stop or fall is going too quickly or our jobs are moving along too slowly or we might have to replace the A/C in the spring. This too shall pass. God will provide what we need. This life is truly temporary – we can’t keep it longer by clinging to it or worrying it will leave us.
The only thing – and most comforting, calming thing we can do – is trust in the only One that is trustworthy. Instead of being anxious, we can spend a lot of time in prayer (Phil. 4:6-7) and trust in God with our lives and hearts knowing our faith results in the promise of a home in eternity when we inevitably pass from this earth (Matthew 6:33-34). We have to trust in God for both the day-to-day storms and throughout the eerie calm, knowing His grace is stronger than our worst fears (Prov. 3:5). We can trust in God to take care of us, even it means having faith in His sovereign plan while staring down the eye of a hurricane…or the barrel of a gun in Oregon (Psalm 46:1-3). Real trust in God is not just trust when we’re all in a padded chair with a cup of coffee in church on Sunday morning. It is trust in God even WHEN, even IF, even THEN – not because he promised it wouldn’t rain on us but because He promised He would be there with us (Jer. 29:11, Matt. 11:28-30). Even Jesus faced horrors. His mother faced the loss of a child before His time. Jesus faced an unjust political scene. He endured undeserved ridicule and worked a job that was rarely appreciated or understood. He was not protected from bad things because He was a good person. And even knowing what was to come, He faced anxiety and said, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but thy will be done” (Matt. 26:39). With those words of surrender, He was able to then give the greatest gift of eternal life to any man that will accept His free gift. He was not the only One to be treated unfairly in life and be crucified, but He was the only One who was perfectly God and man and reacted to life’s hardships the way He did. His tears and fears in the garden of Gethsemane didn’t stop him from trusting in God’s sovereign plan.
It kind of blows my mind. I guess I’m trying to acknowledge that anxiety is pretty normal – we all face it! Mental health today has such a stigma attached to it that it often keeps us from talking about it. We get a little afraid and down, naturally, but anxiety or depression? No, we don’t have that! Regardless of whether we admit we have struggled with it, anxiety is not our friend, our protector, our god or our savior. It is quite simply a chance to say shut up to anxiety. What will happen will happen. No, that doesn’t mean we throw caution to the wind and rush out into flooding waters while saying, “GOD SAID HE WOULD NEVER DESTROY THIS EARTH WITH A FLOOD AGAIN, SO I’M SAFE TO DRIVE THROUGH THAT RIVER.” But it does mean that we have to embrace this moment. We should turn negative “what if’s” into thinking and praying over what is actually TRUE and what is LOVELY (Phil. 4:8). It’s time to turn fear of the past into a hope for the future. Not because we can prevent anything, but because God can carry us through everything.
Sincerely,
Andrea
Your Old Suitcase – did it take you where you thought it would?
Dear Reader,
When you’re very young, it’s not uncommon to tell yourself that you’ll never get to leave home and you’ll probably never get married – mainly because the whole idea is so unbelievable and it’s for other people. As a single, your most plaguing, involuntary concern might be whether the person you just met or might meet while wearing this new sweater will someday be the one. Every first impression counts and all your accessories help build that impression – right down to the suitcase you bought for your impending travels, believing that it’s style would adequately scream of your free spirit.
For me, mine was a bright lime green suitcase. No one was supervising me when I purchased it. I told myself that it would speak for me before I ever introduce myself on my (no doubt) exotic travels. It would say, “Hi, I’m Andi. I have short hair. I’m single and a little wild – but the totally safe/fun kind of wild. I will dress up nicely on Sunday morning but keep things sufficiently edgy. I’m going to be a journalist – likely the kind following soldiers into the heat of battle, so don’t get any ideas about marriage and children!” I can physically feel my mom rolling her eyes. That’s not word for word, but if I’m honest, that’s probably the message I pictured myself sending as I packed that bright green suitcase for college. I don’t know what that bag really said (probably – she got it on CLEARANCE), but it took me to Phoenix to learn Spanish, to Colorado to have my first crush, and back and forth to college….back and forth.
Eventually it took me to Vermont where I sat out of school to nanny my niece, and then back to Wisconsin where I became convinced for a while that I would never leave my childhood bed and would likely never find love or have children.
By the time that suitcase took me back to school, it was significantly darker – worn from my little travels. My hair was longer. I was Andrea now. Now I was switching majors – preferring corporate public relations and sleek office work to unappreciated words that are ASAP deadlines today and old news tomorrow. I felt a little bit like my suitcase looked – tired of packing up and searching for my place in life. Tired of looking like I couldn’t afford a new suitcase – because, well, I couldn’t. By the time I was packing that bag for a journalism mission trip to Antigua, I had a serious boyfriend. My bag got so battered on that journey, but my suitcase didn’t need to say anything for me anymore. I could speak for myself. Now I hoped to be a successful Public Relations Specialist in healthcare with a diverse resume of experiences. I made a Senior Capstone goal of becoming a communications manager within the next five years after graduation, and I remember smugly thinking that I would just put “five” to be conservative, even though I’d likely be there much sooner. Look out, workforce!
I packed for my honeymoon in a state of slight disbelief. Was this really me packing up, leaving everything I knew? For a fleeting moment, I thought about how embarrassing my bag was. It was so scuffed and the wear and tear had turned that lime into a puke green. I was annoyed with my teenage self – why didn’t I buy a different bag? My fiance reminded me that with a color like that, my bag would be easy to spot at the airport. Truth!
Now, I can’t help but feel a little sentimental as I look across our bedroom and see a sad old bag propped against the wall. It’s packed. Ready to go to the hospital. It holds all the essentials – who am I kidding – half of it is snacks. (Read: Snacks for Husband = ESSENTIAL.)
I keep passing that bag and only recently took a second to pause and realize what it says about me now. It says I’ve been a lot of places – most of them not very exotic. It didn’t always take me all the places I thought I would go before this day. But it says I’ve learned a lot. At this point, I don’t need a new bag since the one I have is still functioning and we’d rather save all our money for things our new family will need. My priorities have changed – boy, have they changed. I cut my hair again – it’s not short, but it’s not long. It’s just long enough to curl or put up and just short enough to be out of baby’s reach. I sit in the nursery folding tiny clothes, testing out relaxing music CD’s to take to the hospital, and trying to picture how life will change forever. Fall just woke up recently and a cool breeze floats through the windows of our first home. He’s at work, and I – the ambitious one – am content here at home. What happened to wanting to follow our troops into the heat of battle? Something changed. Try, I unexpectedly became a whale and now struggle to walk through Target (Dad, it’s okay for me to say it, but you can’t). 🙂 While I didn’t plan it this way, now I can’t wait to be a mom. It’s not that I really thought I would never have kids, but never now. I don’t know what the future holds – I still have dreams. But right now I happily put my idea of life on hold as I excitedly wait for this new dream.
Everything’s organized and labeled – from my nursery, to guest room for Grammy, to Ziploc baggies labeled “SNACKS” in my green suitcase. Soon that old bag will sit by the front door, forgotten and then ready once more. And like every other phase where it has followed me through life, I will have to let go of my idea of life’s journey and just trust God. He knows what He is doing. He can see what the next eighteen years will hold, and His plan is perfect. Unlike my choice in luggage and my dreams, He never changes. He will carry me through what I could not prepare for, and for the sake of us all, He will probably misplace my luggage at the airport someday.
Until then, that old green bag will make me frown, then smile.
Sincerely,
Andrea
Less worry, more impossibly tiny socks
Dear Baby Girl,
In my closet sits a huge stack of books. Each book tells me what to expect when you come into the world. The corners are dog eared from past owners and some pages are bent from my lame attempts to speed read through the index for the essential information. Since I found out I was expecting you, I have often diligently studied these books during the day only to wake up drenched in dread because I dreamed I was back at school and hadn’t done my homework. A small piece of preparing for a new baby feels like school where I am reading with wide eyes the possible side effects of pregnancy and then switching to another book to read about the ultimate side effect of pregnancy – a baby with a million potential side effects of her own. The exam is quickly approaching and I’m often not sure sure I’m not ready.
I think throughout life we each reach a moment where we realize that a stack of books will prepare us on how to worry but rarely on how to enjoy the simple joy and beauty of major life changes. Books on marriage told me what to expect financially, spiritually and practically, but I must have missed the chapter about the hilarity of late at night sitting down and realizing the toilet seat was left up, going to clean the bathroom sink and smh because someone’s whiskers are left behind (yet loving him for shaving!), the genuine joy of sacrificing sleep and coffee breath for each other because we love each other, the way we feel extra close at church just because, the beautiful “first” memories we share and can recall in an instant, or the secret meaning we both understand when he squeezes my hand extra tight. It’s beautiful and unwritten and committed and frustrating and hilarious. It won’t be exactly repeated by anyone else because it’s a unique ride for everyone.
I’m starting to feel that way about having a brand new baby, too. So many books tell me what to expect, how to prepare, what never to do, etc. But at some point I can prepare as best I can and then I just have to let go of the worries and drink in the excitement for the future. I will not lie – I am not consumed with everyone else’s terrifying birth stories because I am so excited to meet you. When I lie down, I can picture your little nose, little fingers, little cheeks. I spend my extra time talking to you (well, there’s your little leg! it’s okay baby, I will eat soon. It’s night time, how about we let each other sleep? You’re so cute – I already know it. Can’t wait to kiss those cheeks!) and praying for you (God, please help her to let me sleep! please let her be cute! Help her be kind to others, please keep her safe, and other deep thoughts for the future). I had to force myself to wait a few weeks before I started washing your baby clothes. I literally felt my heart rate increase when I smelled those freshly washed onesies for the first time and I could be heard squealing from the nursery at the size of your little socks. I had to share them with Andrew, who surprisingly joined in on my lung-surpressed, Yoda-like growl of “they’re so cute!!”. Point being, there is so much beauty to dwell on if you choose it.
After learning the essentials and taking a birthing/breastfeeding class, I deliberately close my ears when a mom’s eyes get wide with a mixture of pleasure and “gurrrrrrrrl” at sharing her brave and bloody survival through childbirth. I choose to ignore when people praise other people for choosing a certain birthing method because I’m not about a certain birth method – just about whatever it takes to have a safe delivery for mom and baby. I’m not into arguments about immunizations and cloth diapers – everyone will choose what is right for their baby and that is the best choice for them! My focus is on thanking God for this moment and these current little kicks, because I know I am not guaranteed tomorrow or a safe delivery or 18 years! I am thankful for this chance to fold tiny clothes, decorate a little nursery, fill up a pink baby book, organize impossibly thin baby books, and shop/plan for all things pink to be as ready as possible when she comes home.
It’s new. It’s exhausting. It’s expensive. It’s freeing. It’s wonderful. It’s something I can’t wait for and it has nothing to do with pregnancy, delivery or mommy methods. It is just all about meeting you and getting to be your mommy.
It’s also all about these socks – I am pretty sure I will keep them forever. I can’t wait to meet you.
Love forever and always,
Mommy
What makes you pause
Dear Reader,
We each have something from our childhood that causes us to instinctively pause and breathe in the moment. Some memories are triggered by a very simple thing and can paralyze us into enjoying the moment with an intensity we had forgotten from our childhood.
I’m talking about the way you can move down south and a maple tree blustering its leaves during fall can remind you of all of the old smells of northern fall and the way you jumped in the leaves as a child. I’m referring to the biscuits that melt forbidden in your mouth; they remind you of the way mom used to make them – perfectly fluffy. It’s the laughter in children’s eyes that reminds you of the extreme excitement you used to feel once for ice cream and days at the park. It’s the return to your secret hobby that you used to just do for fun as a kid, and now you’re kind of good at it.
For me, it’s the piano that sat upright, old and forgotten in my childhood living room. Mom and Dad made us play it and I said – “When am I going to use this in life?” I didn’t realize at the time that the point was not for me to become a maestra/performer extraordinaire. The point was that someday when I was 25 I would walk into the piano store just for fun. I would run my hand along the ivory keys wistfully and the store owner would greet me like he always does. “Make a decision?” he’d ask. “Nah. I think I’ll just try this one for a while.” I’d say, hoping he thinks I’m an actual customer and not someone who just comes in to troll on his pianos. I’m not actually sure if I ever will be a customer, but for now I keep my back straight and pretend I am about to dive for a wad of cash if I can just find a piano I like.
I put my fingers to the keys and they remember everything without me telling them. It reminds me of my grandma, whose mind was full of Alzheimer’s but whose hands could still beautifully arrange old hymns from the days she was a pastor’s wife. It reminds me of my mom who wrote exquisite piano songs and never wrote them down. It wasn’t their profession. But they each took their child at a young age and sat them down at a piano bench with legs dangling and kept them there until the legs grew long enough to touch the pedals. And by then, you’re playing for fun, for a release from anger as a teenager, for creativity when you’re asking yourself why you matter, for sorrow when you lose family, for a chance to annoy a sibling whose life has now changed so very much, for the aunt that comes into town and always wanted to hear you play, and for the family recitals in the living room where everyone used to gather to listen.
I forgot that even though I didn’t major in music or “choose” it for my life, it is such a very big part of my life.
Now at age 25 and expecting a baby girl, I play the piano in the piano store so I don’t forget what it’s like to be in love with the moment – to remember the moments that made us who we are today. I want my daughter to hear a piano. I run my hands across the ivory so that my heart can soar and my baby can hear what I think of her, what I want for her. I am not a great pianist. I have no desire to ever play in a concert hall. But I write music and I write words. And I love this moment because it is one that God has given. And these are my passions that somehow fly hand in hand with me through life, bringing me back to a deep thankfulness for my life and my Creator, regardless of the hardships that will face me again when I push away from the piano bench.
I hope for my readers that you have that moment – that you can still have that moment that makes you pause, breathe in all the memories, and bring those happy memories into present day.
It’s beautiful.
Sincerely,
Andrea
*I wrote this post two months ago but my computer went kaput before I could publish it. Ironically right after I wrote this post, my dear friend Amy offered to give me her family piano with a slight tremble in her voice. It had many memories for her – a family moved and grew older with these four legs. As a young girl, she could measure her height by how hard and then how easy it was to reach the keys of that piano. I set this post free today because I can’t help but be thankful every day now that I can sit and play music for my little girl. It’s so cool to think that someday she will measure her height by whether she can reach the keys of this piano and someday she will play music for me. Thank you, Amy Cothran *
No safe place – the death of a tender conscience
Dear Media,
We’re all tired of hearing about the Duggars. But we’ve all heard the wrong story. With the wide coverage and leak of Josh Duggar’s juvenile record, many who had a semi-horror/fascination of the Duggar show are left to conclude, “Well, it’s about time. One less conservative, slightly self-righteous family is on the air. I knew they couldn’t be that perfect!” Even some of us Christians have been secretly thinking, “Dang, thanks a lot Duggars. Now I have to explain at work how I’m not associated with you.” We’ve hesitated to defend them, because how do you defend that. You don’t ever defend that.
I haven’t had much of an opinion besides sadness for the family, until I watched the full Duggar interview with Megyn Kelly at this link. While many media articles will crop and then editorialize the portions of the interview that are most damning to the family, there was a theme that stuck out to me when watching the entire interview that doesn’t seem to be emphasized in media stories about the Duggars.
At the end of the interview, Megyn shares that the majority of sexual abuse is done by someone the victim knows and that the majority of young offenders are male, ages 12 to 14. She gives a number for victims to call if they have experienced molestation, drawing the right conclusion that most likely there are many more brother/sister offenders and victims like Josh and his sisters. However, at the conclusion of her interview, I was struck with a sad and terrifying reality. Because of the media attention on this case, hundreds of kids – victims and guilty parties alike – will choose to remain silent.
I think the real story here is what message is being sent to the families that seek to get their children help.
Even Jim Duggar tried to call attention to this reality near the end of the interview when he said, “This information was released illegally. I wonder why all this press is not going after the system for releasing (Josh’s) juvenile records. That is a huge story…. Hopefully justice will be served on the ones that released juvenile records to protect other juveniles from their records being released.”
Despite what the Duggar family says, a conflicting story at this link on Perez Hilton explains the loophole that allowed Josh’s records to be released quite legally. Allegedly, the report could be released because while although Josh was a juvenile when he committed the crime, the police didn’t file the report until Josh was legally an adult. Another article on CNN explained that the record was released under the Freedom of Information Act, however the article alleges that the information may have been released incorrectly by releasing specific details that further victimized the victims. Despite these reports, the parents were clearly under the impression that their son’s record was going to be protected because of his age – an impression that clearly was not a reality.
Regardless of how the information was obtained, I guarantee you that stories of familial sexual abuse like the Duggar’s are not unusual. In both Christian and non-Christian homes you have kids discovering their sexuality. The most exciting part about it is that it feels so secret. When you tell someone what has been done to you or what you have done, it literally shines a light on the situation. It quickly becomes scary and unsexy when mom and dad are involved – much less the authorities. And, of course, the whole concept of this nightmare is horrifying to any parent.
As a kid, you don’t know what you’re doing, you just know you discovered it or it was introduced to you and you either like it or are curious. This is normal. However, in Christian homes, kids are often taught that while sexual desire is normal, acting on sexual desires outside of marriage is wrong; children know to feel guilt for either wanting or doing sexual things outside of marriage. The only way to get rid of that guilt is to literally confess what you’re dealing with to someone who can help you fight with your struggles in order to completely turn away from wrongdoing, otherwise you will continue down a dangerous path and you will “harden your conscience”. So, sexual sin or not, kids are taught to confess what they have done wrong to God, to authorities and to those they hurt. While you may not be a Christian and it may seem archaic to call a wide variety of things “sin”, it is not a bad thing to teach kids to have a tender conscience.
When Josh confessed what he had done to his parents, he showed a tender conscience. This did not excuse what he did or make him exempt from consequences. He realized what he did was wrong and knew that by “shining a light on what he did,” he was opening himself up to punishment, shame and his parent’s disappointment. But he wanted to bring this shame on himself – not his entire family. The fact that he confessed what he did should be encouraged, not shamed. The fact that Josh’s parents removed him from the home and took him to the police should be praised, not punished. After the last couple weeks of media attention, I would not blame Josh if he wished he could go back and not confess – so he could spare his family this current heartache and embarrassment. What he had done was in secret; it’s possible it could still be a secret if he hadn’t sought help. The fact that he confessed it is not hypocrisy – it’s God’s mercy at work. I also wouldn’t blame his parents if they went back and wanted to “just handle it as a family” like many parents do, instead of exposing their child to the legal system. But they did the hard thing instead.
How many young boys – brothers and playmates – will see the exposure of a juvenile record (no matter when it was filed) and decide to remain silent, even though they know they did wrong? How many parents will “learn their lesson” from the Duggar story and not take their kids into law enforcement or counseling, lest they risk exposure to the media or prying individuals that could ruin their children’s future? How many victims will not share their story, out of fear that the embarrassment they already feel will be multiplied by needling, unwelcome eyes?
Josh Duggar’s juvenile record is not the frightening thing here. What is more frightening is that anyone might come away from hearing this story and decide to choose silence. Without help, the silence of both guilty party and victim will likely fester into repeated and more serious offenses, followed by a hardened conscience and potentially a life of perversion. Is there any hope for young offenders? Megyn Kelly said at the end of the segment, “Some 85 to 90 percent of (young offenders) never are arrested for sex crimes again.” The longterm study that Megyn is referencing gives great hope to young offenders and their parents – but is there just as much hope for young offenders that never seek help? I doubt it.
Tell me you can’t think of one (now horrifying) sexual thought, desire or curiosity you had as a child, and then go ahead and cast the first stone at today’s struggling children. This subject makes me nervous because I cannot claim I was never victimized as a child and I can’t claim zero curiosity of things I didn’t even understand as a child. But I’m speaking up because I think it’s important we stop fearing our own pasts and start caring about the future and safety of our kids.
By further punishing a child who spoke up with his wrong doing, we encourage the silence of today’s children. And by encouraging the silence of children, how many victims and future adult pedophiles did our media and justice system just create? Kids need to know that they have a safe place. They need to understand that there are protections for victims and juveniles that pay for their crimes. And regardless of who is right in the release of Josh Duggar’s records, kids should know that there will always be justice against those who violate the safe place and protections set up for our children.
Sincerely,
Andrea
Next Generation of Employees: Why aren’t you loyal anymore?
Dear Reader,
Loyalty. Our grandparents and even parents often worked 20+ years at one company. A pension. That watch. Life and health insurance. Stocks. Security. All reasons to stay loyal to your employer – reasons to see it through to retirement.
Today, employers are struggling to retain the next generations of employees. Forbes magazine bemoans the 70% turnover rate of Generation Y employees within the first two years of employment. And according to HR Careers, while Traditionals and Baby Boomers may have been loyal to employers, Generation Y and even Generation X have struggled to remain loyal to a particular company.
So why the lack of loyalty to our employers? Why are our employers watching us in shock as we walk away from what seems to them like a fabulous opportunity?
I can’t speak for all of Gen Y. But I can speak to personal experience and the challenges I am frequently seeing among the truly hard workers of my generation that should be sought after by employers.
We know we can’t get a good job without education. So we break our backs and banks to finish college. Mom and Dad do their best – but we graduate with thousands in student loans. Fresh out of college, we’re offered unpaid internships galore and we take them along with a job at Starbucks, because we can’t get a real job until we have experience but no one wants to give us the paid experience. We accept contract, night shifts and “substitute” positions – things our parents worry about because there’s no stability, no benefits, and no guarantees. We take on extra jobs and work grueling hours because we can’t afford to do only the job for which we got our education. Our creativity is stunted by exhaustion and stress. We get that it takes hard work and so we put the time in – we answer the calls at 10 p.m. and we take on the “extras” no one wrote into our job descriptions. In the back of our mind we think we might return to school someday to “get ahead” of those with lesser degrees. But then it’s still not enough. A family dares to happen, your experience is not sufficient for the salary you need, and your company desperately needs you but you find yourself having to look for employment elsewhere. And then you’re back at the beginning of it all. Searching – starting over.
I believe that with Generation Y there is no loyalty to employees because our loyalty is to our families and our basic needs. If our employees can’t help us care for our families, why would we stay? We have a basic and unexplainable need to pay the rent/mortgage, afford health insurance, pay off school loans, etc. When we invest time in our employers but our employers can’t pay a fair wage and provide benefits so that it is worth it for our families, we have to walk away.
I write this in the recent wake of a difficult decision my husband and I had to make. I don’t know if it was unfair or if I did it all wrong or if this is just life, but here it goes. After turning down two other job offers after obtaining (and paying off) a degree in communication, I invested two years at a particular company. I started as an unpaid intern in my field, was given a $10 an hour contract position, and then was offered an independent contract position with the same company as a “communication manager” or “lead” or “specialist” – whatever you want to call it (my title kept expanding, like my job description). I worked as many hours and late nights as they needed – you may not know me, but I really did work hard, despite incredible pressure and criticism. I wasn’t paid regularly, hours were grilling and taxes hit us hard. When I got pregnant on top of everything, I didn’t slow down – there wasn’t time. After honoring my contract term, I told me employer I would need benefits in order for me to stay with the company. For six months after I posed my personal need as an employee, I was promised a position within the company with benefits, but it never seemed to happen. Finally after one too many 12-13 hour days, stress-induced ocular migraines and stomach pain that was dangerous to the baby, and still no benefits, my husband and I decided that I should put my resignation in so I could look for another job while I was still early on in my pregnancy. Within a week of my last day, my employer managed to pull together the start of paperwork for a position with benefits. I had my last day at work with the understanding that I would return to work if I chose to accept the position with benefits once it was offered. My husband, employer and I discussed a reasonable salary so I wasn’t going into it blind. It seemed like all the hard work was finally going to pay off and I was fully ready to jump back into my position as a full-time employee!
And then I got the job offer. I still feel guilty about it – like I should have just been thankful anyone wants me while I’m pregnant. But the conditions of the job offer made my eyes blink uncontrollably. Despite working for them for almost 2 years, here were the conditions of the job offer: benefits wouldn’t kick in for three months, no maternity leave would be offered, the position would end after one year, it was salary with varied hours, and the pay… was about $1 above the minimum wage listed for the position and 50% below the amount my husband, employer and I had discussed as being “worth it” for me to stay with the company. I was in a state of shock as I tried to talk to the Human Resources rep about my experience. I speak and translate fluent Spanish. I had almost 2 years of communication experience with the company in the exact position that was being offered. I had an additional 2 years of simultaneous experience at two other healthcare organizations working with the exact software company that this position represented. I had some experience as a radio production manager, running and winning awards for Public Relations campaigns, writing video scripts and shooting film, and three years experience writing articles for various newspapers. Plus, I was good at my job (and doing other people’s jobs lol) and I was told that to replace me my company would have to hire two contractors at over $90 an hour, plus travel expenses. “Yes, ma’am,” the response came, “But I see your 2 years of experience with that software company was in a different role than the exact role you’re applying for. You don’t need Spanish for this position, although it may have been helpful with Spanish marketing materials. After calculating your Bachelor’s degree, years of communication experience and your time with this company, that totaled to $1.36 an hour above the minimum wage. As a reminder, this is a salary position, so there will of course be no overtime should you need to continue to work beyond 40 hours a week.” I was faced with a sudden, sad reality. For less stress, fewer hours, less experience and no education, I could make more money and get better benefits working at Starbucks.
I had experience – it just wasn’t the exact experience that was worth reimbursing. I still get raised eyebrows when I have to tell people that I declined that offer. I try to tell them my husband and I made that decision because it just wasn’t worth it: the stress, the danger to the health of the baby, the terrible tax hits, the irregular pay, the long, long hours. And yet I wake up with my mind racing about things I should be doing at work so that event or corporate meeting will be a success. I text a coworker, “Don’t forget to do xyz,” because I’m afraid it won’t get done without me there. I feel guilt, guilt, guilt that my coworkers are completing the project without my undying commitment. Shouldn’t I just be grateful I was offered a job? Here I am, unable to hide my obvious pregnancy now and I’m sitting in interviews. I’m told I’m a qualified candidate, just the type of person they would want to hire. But they can’t offer benefits and won’t I check back in with them after the baby is born?
I was told that my husband and I were “not smart” to turn down this offer of employment – to dare to think there was something better I can do. Why was I not loyal to the company that gave me my experience? And I can’t help but get defeated and think – maybe they were right. With a baby on the way, I don’t know what I’m worth anymore.
Despite everything, I’m not going to lie. My husband has been the best. He is so thankful to see me healthy – no more days where I come home at 9 p.m. sick with stressed stomach pain but with “still so much to do”. Now I get up with him at 4:30 a.m. and make him breakfast. I send him off with his lunch – he puts in the overtime and asks me to please rest. I spend the day trying to find ways to be useful – classes I can take, projects I can start, jobs I can apply for, and ways I can save us money. I have dinner ready for him when he gets home and he insists on hanging up the picture frames and mowing the lawn. He tells me I’m doing enough just growing a little person. It’s enough to make a girl want to cry.
As a highly driven, motivated girl who never wanted to be tied down by marriage or kids and who always found her identity in her latest project or career path, I am so lost but so….blessed. Despite the raised eyebrows and my severe criticism of myself always wishing I could do more, I’m finally at the point where I just have to ignore harsh opinions and think about what is important. What matters is that my husband is happy and my baby is kicking and we can take care of “us” – no matter what we have to do. Literally, before this I was always saying, “God, I trust you, but let me just do these 10 steps to ensure everything will be okay.” And now it just has to be, “God, I trust you. Let me know what I can do, but until then I will rest in You.”
I say all this to say…Employers, as hard as it is in this day of healthcare, you should consider offering good long-term benefits if you want loyal, long-term employees. If you have to, pay for employees to take out a private policy – my private policy is better than my husband’s and costs only $273 a month (which is better than paying $1,050 a month for me to get on my husband’s terrible work insurance). To Coworkers, I ask you to try to understand why I had to leave – I really miss so many of you. And to Readers, I don’t know if I’m the norm or the exception, but I do know that loyalty is important. I don’t know about you, but as hard as it was for me to let go of the clutches of my identity and my concept of success, I can’t help but be fiercely loyal to what is best for my growing little family.
After all, God and family are why we do what we do every day. And who knows – maybe the best is yet to come.
Sincerely,
Andrea
To the mom who can’t be with her child today
Dear Reader,
Let’s be honest with ourselves. We never truly appreciate our mothers until we get older. Even then, we can’t quite fathom how they made that paycheck stretch to feed that many mouths or how they managed to hold it together through all the vomit and tears or how they didn’t completely lose it when we left their homes to make our own. We never really wanted to hear our birth story at our birthday each year (at least not the details, but yes please talk about me and how you couldn’t wait for my glorious presence), but once we’re starting our own families, it’s like, “Wait, HOW many weeks late was I?” It means something now. Really, it means everything.
Today I remember those mothers that can’t be with their child today. This May 10 is a beautiful day for many, but for many more it is a day to remember the last flutter that was felt in the womb, the last grasp of a tiny hand, the funny things he said when he was sick and dying, the last words she said before she slammed the door and left you, the unfairness of them going before you, and mostly – the way you still love them. You should never have to bury a child – be it at age 0 or age 40. And you should never have to experience cruel and hateful words from the very child you raised in love.
To the mothers that have experienced loss, there are no words that make up for the hole you will always feel in your life. There will always be an extra place setting at the table, an extra face in the family picture, an extra number when you say how many kids you have, an extra special moment when everyone else has gone to bed and you lie awake remembering them. And that’s what you have – memories you should treasure. It’s okay to never forget and to always remember how life would have been. And it’s also good to focus on what you have been given – the blessings that surround you on this beautiful day. Yesterday can’t change and today holds so many opportunities to cherish those who still need you.
When it comes to those who have said words like “I never want to see you again” to their moms, I get that there are some mothers who genuinely give their children up to find their own food, nourishment, love and shelter – I can’t fathom the pain those children have endured or why those mothers would not take care of them. But some children genuinely were cared for and loved by their mothers, yet for different reasons the child can think of nothing good about his/her mother and wants nothing to do with them, even today.
I just want to speak up for that mom and say, although she has always let it be all about you, it is NOT all about you. As she gets older, you as the child can be her greatest support or her greatest critic. You can accuse and you can hate – but you have to consider what it means if you are wrong about how you should be treating your mom.
If you are wrong about your mother, it means that you are literally biting the hand that fed you and gave you a chance at life. It means that you are telling the woman that spent 20+ years sacrificing for you that you still want her to do more. It means that the very woman that loves you more than anyone in the world is alone today, holding herself and struggling to make it to May 11. It means that you don’t care about her silent years of sacrifice, the many monotonous days she spent mopping up your messes, or the way she prayed for you even as you spit in her face. It means she doesn’t expect a card or flowers because she doesn’t even get a thank you. It means you should expect the same fierce lack of forgiveness from your own children some day.
To that person, I just ask you to think of the fact that your mother gave you life; she still remembers holding you, beaming with pride as she introduced you to her family, changing your terrible diapers, kissing your wounds, giving you the last of her food, sacrificing the money she needed for something you wanted, forgoeing sleep to hear your late-night troubles, being on her feet ALL day working for you to have a better life, teaching you not to quit, worrying until you get home, putting in a good word for you so you can get a job, and most of all loving you to death. She may not agree with you on everything, she may not be just like you, and you may imagine her to be this monster in disguise, but she has always taken your criticism and just let it be all about you. All about how you should have been raised, all about what you should have received from her, all about how you wanted her to communicate with you or not communicate with you and all about what you deserved in your childhood.
It’s not all about you.
For those mothers that can’t be with their child today, know that God is wrapping you in love today. He comforts like no other and He will hold you through the day. He saw every way that you anticipated and cared for and loved your baby. While others moved on and have forgotten your labor of love, He never will. He will always delight in sharing a memory with you, a fond moment, an intense feeling of loss and love, or laughter that turns to tears.
You don’t have to be strong today. You just have to keep loving, keep remembering, and keep praying for a better tomorrow.
Now take some time for a bubble bath and an extra cup of coffee. Today is all about you, mom.
Letters Change Lives 