Dream Chasers

It's been a while.
But, while my blog has been bare for the past few months, my life has overflowed. I finished writing my tenth novel--one that took every piece of my heart to write. The journey of writing that story was a healing one...which, if it is ever published, and you read it, you might understand why.

In my non-writing life, I've been the mother hen ushering kids this way and that, giving pep talks, volunteering, working, wondering, considering, and everything that goes with being a human in this day and age of social media onslaught, biased news filtering, and noisy opinion-makers crowding my ears.

But, there has been a steadiness, and I find it in these things:

My mediation on what God is up to in all of it
The dreams brewing beneath the roof of my home
The hearts needing fostering during those dream chases

And today, I am inspired to declare that because I have been a dream chaser with each and every newly written book for publication, I have suddenly discovered my dual purpose in mentoring my own son--a dream chaser like his mama.

His dream is different than mine, but his heart, his passion, his motivation is probably more than I have ever felt--and if you know me and my tendency to be overly passionate about my dreams, then you know that it's a great feat for my son to outshine my dream pursuit with his own.

When I think of dream chasing on an optimistic day, I see speed gained, the tunnel light growing like the newborn sun. But when I think of dream chasing on a pessimistic swing (these happen way more than I care to admit), I think of the leap and the face flat crash, the light is snuffed like a flame extinguished between the grubby fingers of reality.

For me, even the latter is bearable. I can swallow my disappointment and focus on the present. Push aside the dream, chasing for the very real joys and triumphs of life as a mom, a friend, a wife. Yet, when it is my own son whose dream plays hard to get, whose effort is outstanding but not enough by his own measure, I am willing to bargain with God and trade my dream-coming-true for my son's.

Perhaps this is the very crux of the gospel. Christ gave up his life so that we might live outside the darkness. And in this lenten walk of mine, I know that to be true...that a parent's journey is never triumphant if their child's left in despair.

I would give up my dream so my son could fulfill his. There really is no doubt it. And in this realization, I am grateful for my own dream chasing because while I once gave it credit as growing me and teaching me perseverance in God's calling, perhaps another more selfless purpose is to align me with my son, to give me understanding of his deep passion for something bigger than himself, and to keep me his steady encourager during those optimistic days, and his gospel whisperer during his disappointments.
For the gospel is sweet, it's true, it's the ultimate dream come true, and every dream chase can find hope in what lies ahead because of the gospel. The first dream-come-true.

Confession of A Mom of Teens

 I will forever treasure this moment. Thank God I captured it. My boys, laughing together, enjoying the time with our family, no rushing to friends or practice, just sharing the same air and scenery with the rest of us.

While I would love to say that our family life is often filled with laughter, smiles, and happy teens, I am too transparent to leave you in a sugar-coated impression of my life. In total reality, this captured moment is an exception—an exception that I will desperately grieve because it expresses the norm I had hoped for, yet only experience in tiny, fragmented doses.

This year of growing into a house half-filled with teens has been a journey of wrestling with my expectations and facing the fear of it all slipping away.

I do too much out of expectation and fear. I try too hard to be that mom who says, “I love the teenage years,” when I have never felt anything harder on my heart and my insecurity than I have felt while raising teens. I am afraid that every missed moment of joy because of a battle of wills only piles failure on me and resentment on them. I am afraid of stepping into the empty nest that looms ahead with regret and heartache.
Fear and expectation. My two constant companions.

Yet, I am ever thankful for my friends who affirm the very real hardship of parenting a teen. And I am also thankful for my friends who remind me that my teens are pretty great people. Their risks are flaunting their independence and opinions, not partaking in dangerous dares (for the most part 🤪). They don’t seek attention by reckless behavior (for the most part 🙃), but they resist any advice or opinion with an eye roll, and agitate their siblings every.single.moment. Typical? I know. But because I have grounded my stubborn self in the expectation of perfectly parenting of teens, I am constantly mortified by each failed encounter, each relational disaster with their siblings, with me.
And above all else, I am devastated that we only have a short time left for these exceptional moments that really are just an exception.

I have to choose to enjoy these “Kodak” moments (showing my age here) in the very present. I need to realize that the journey isn’t an easy stroll down a sweet winding river, but a turbulent course with precious breathers along the way. Hopefully, I will capture each and every joy that’s left. And at the end of the course, I pray all the dread of bad memories haunting the chance of keeping any good ones will fall away, forgotten and settled with some calm.

If I am truly honest, I can ay least declare I am confident in one thing that lies ahead—I know I will become the mom of some amazing young men. And hopefully, they’ll return home every once in a while to make more regular joyful moments.

Shame on Me.

Mom voices in my head at every move. I hear the constant murmur of advice laced with warning. Moms should...moms shouldn’t...shame on you, Mom. Blogs and books and self-help—newspaper articles and magazine columns and radio talk show hosts.

 Those voices were loud when my kids were babies. I trembled in my tired, baby-weighted body when I realized I did the opposite of the latest advice. I struggled against my instinct to snuggle my crying one and let them “cry it out”...that only lasted with the first...and it didn’t even last—45 mins of crying and I couldn’t handle it. I raced upstairs at 2 a.m., snatched him from the crib he had gnawed on as he screamed, and implemented midnight co-sleeping for the rest of my motherhood of babies. I can easily admit that now—but four kids later, I will also admit the sharp guilt that stabbed me at every turn away from the latest and greatest mom shoulda’s. (BTW, my kids grew up and sleep in their own beds—mamas, it doesn’t last forever).

Last night, I made a mama call. And, I wasn’t ashamed one bit....um, well... Shame does seem to lessen when you are over 40 and master selective-hearing/reading/advice-seeking. So, hubs was out of town and Mama and oldest had to divvy up driving kids everywhere. I opted to let my 2nd grader skip her activity to help us all out.

Even though I was relieved to find a solution to our crazy, I confess—some mom perfection niggled at my tired brain—Don’t let the team down! The coaches are spending their night for your kid! You need to teach responsibility and commitment! Ok, that was more than a niggle.

Moms, did the activity priority make its way to the top because of all the experts out there? What kinda guilt is piled on one parent to invest in their child at a professional level by the age 2?

 I am preaching to myself—the mom who’s kids are in a high level sport development program, the mom who sought the best dance program for her 3 year old, the mom who just makes the crazy work for the sake of her kids’ [future]. Holy moly, if only our limited view wasn’t so flawed. If only I’d look up every once in a while and realize I am not really in control of futures...I am only a mom trying to invest in her kids’ present. Jack Black is screaming in my head,”Stick it to the man!”

But really, I am going to do what I can do—I can’t let expectations or columnists or activity directors or—even more powerful—other parents—(yikes)—dictate my philosophies. Philosophies? How about survival to bring up decent humans and enjoy some of the process? A low key philosophy I am beginning to own more and more. I will do a lot for my children, I have... but I might start doing more with my hands covering my ears—and my heart focused on being...and NOT doing so much.

A Smallness

I was always told as a child, that adults are bigger, smarter. I have this glitch in my brain code telling me that I need to stomp my foot and demand my children listen to me. I need to be bigger and smarter. I am the grown up, I am the mom, I am the person God put in charge of YOU, CHILD!

I hang my head and wag it back and forth while they look at me with wide eyes, and an even wider attempt to completely ignore me.

All talk, Mama.

All puffed up chest, forceful words, arrogant example for the kids I tell not to be arrogant.

Hypocrite, maybe. Poor parenting. Terrible perspective. Defeated. Failing. Unfaithful. Unwise.

Okay, this spiral just hit the bottom and everything's flying. I am trying to grasp my hope, while camping in a parenting fail.

But, when I get here, to this familiar destruction, I am tempted to let go of hope, and fly...maybe run away to apathy or self-centeredness, or book a gazillion girls' nights and maybe a solo vacay somewhere. Honestly, I think a few of those ideas have their very important place, and I might just do at least one girls' night and vacay soon. But, for now, I try to find Truth to suck away this storm, and it's all about looking in the mirror and really seeing the problem.

It's me.

Why me? Don't you respect ME, CHILD? It's all about YOU doing good for ME!

 I've been parenting out of pride, in old patterns, without the truth that's been planted long ago.

Ugh.

All talk, Mama.

I know in my heart, I want better for my children, for me. I have bought into Christ's economy. Small is big. The least of these is the most. The gentle spirit is bold. Love over success. Why do I always need a reminder? But I do. And I sought one today.  I listened to Sharon Hodde Miller, and her words calm my storm and remind me what I want to live for:

"Humility is a smallness we freely choose. It is a glad lowering. It is possessing an identity firmly planted in Christ, which means it has nothing to prove." 

A glad lowering. Not just a lowering, but a glad one. Can I smile again? Can I let these quick blips just be blips and smile with my children again? And can I do if just because it's my God's example, and not try and prove that I am doing it, but that I am able to sit in smallness with lips firmly shut?

No talk, Mama. My kids aren't the only ones going through growing pains. Ouch. Heart growing hurts. But, I know it's worth it.

One Step up, Two Looks Back

One step up, two Looks Back. That's my mantra right now as I struggle along this climb.

You can’t really tell how steep this part of my walk is. It’s pretty deceiving on the way down. Doesn’t feel like much of a workout. Seems like a lazy stroll. It’s the way back that proves its steepness. I walk this evening with my heart in a tizzy. Cardio is certainly at work in my chest, even if I am only on the strolling part of this journey. So many beats of low melancholy, with tumultuous thrums filling the in-between. I crave the exertion of that uphill stride, only to distract from it all. To feel my muscle, hear my labored breathing would relieve my racing thoughts. 

After sixteen years of motherhood, I didn’t realize that the stroll would be somewhere in the past days of diapers and breastfeeding babes. I stood at the very top of the incline, worrying about the steep, and the tumble that could come if my sleep deprived self messed up the nap schedule, or fed solids too soon. But, it was all a pleasant stroll...an instinctual drive to meet the needs of my children. But now? Somewhere at that twelve year bend, i have been struggling with the climb. I’ve faced those baby years in pictures and nicknacks and I pass them by with a worrisome step. Are the unsavored moments taunting, “you miss us now, don’t you”?

I know there are those who scoot their children up and out with joy. But is that joy interlaced with doubt and sorrow at all? I will admit that I sweat the stuff. My brow is covered with swirling beads of warring emotions like the oily marbles I played with as a child. It’s joy, regret, sorrow, pride, and so much love I could burst. I huff and wonder if my pace will ever be steady again—when car keys are handed over, and curfews are challenged—when broad shoulders fill the door, and I wrestle with swollen pride and choking tears. 

Too much—this parenting climb. Too difficult for a mama’s heart to bear when she once took for granted the pudgy fingers and cheeky smiles. 

The curve of the crest is ahead, and I try to slow down, breathing in and out to find some calm amidst the mama-storm. I try wiping away sad to marvel at the joy. 

One step up, and two looks back. 

What I Never Thought

What I never thought about several years ago-- telling my son to "just take my car" to basketball practice when the roads are covered in snow.


What I never thought about when babies were sleeping soundly in their bassinet next to my bed-- falling into bedtimes without a goodnight, just a quick "time for bed", hollered up the stairs.

What I never thought about when I was up to my elbows in toys and clothes and packs of diapers-- packing up the last of the baby clothes for good--or at least, for a long season of growing kids up until their kids need them.

What I never thought about when I was thirty, that when I was forty, my heart would hurt at the faint memories of baby curls and squeals of glee and jibber jabber with Disney Junior playing in the background.

What I never thought about...I wish I had--because then maybe, I wouldn't have wanted it to go by so quickly.

And maybe it wouldn't have.

And maybe I'd handle all this growing up a little better.