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Sharing this week on Missional Motherhood! I still hear the phrase "savor every moment" (or something similar) on a regular basis.  Sometimes I am wondering if people just mean, "enjoy the little years because the teenage years are coming and don't worry, you won't want to savor those and we won't expect you to." Or I wonder if they mean, "We don't really remember what it was like when our kids were small, but now that we see you with yours, we definitely remember it was a special time because when we compare it to the teenage years and the adult years, we think the little years were our favorite. So in hindsight, we wish we had enjoyed those years more."

So all of these things make sense to me on some level, but on another level I'm like, "But wait, every season has its foibles, quirks, and hardships and isn't contentment really what it's all about? Even if you're all done with the little years?" I found myself constantly frustrated trying to "enjoy" certain moments of these little years. Sometimes my kids were being downright sinful. I found it an odd time to tell myself to enjoy the moment. At the same time, there are other moments you enjoy so much they swallow you whole. The joy, the mirth - it's MONSTROUSLY INTENSE!!!! It's almost cruel because you know the same little people who create that moment for you are also the ones who will create the moment of UGH and AAAAHHH and I'M THE WORST MOM EVER BECAUSE I AM NOT ENJOYING THIS MOMENT AT ALL!

Anyway, I finally sorted through this topic in writing. Feel free to take a peek. The picture was taken on a Sunday morning when my kids were dressed up and cute as buttons. I whipped  out my nice camera and prepared for a perfect picture moment. It didn't work. So I gave up and then within 30 minutes or so the tide changed, and I caught an awesome picture with my iPhone. Awesome poses I mean. Too bad the iPhone is no match for a Nikon.

Here's the link!

http://missionalmotherhood.com/treasuring-time/the-moments-you-cant-savor-though-you-try/

To Memaw

Memaw and E, 2014

Dear Memaw,

When I headed to the grocery store today I thought about you. I heard my mind say, "Oh I could go see Memaw." But then reality bumped me. Anytime I'm in that area I think, "Oh, I could go see Memaw." I've spent a few years connecting those two events. . .being in that little shopping center and visiting you across the street. But today, reality jolts me again. You're not there anymore. I can't go visit you anymore.

I tend to go into that classic denial mode that people say is the first stage of grief. I tend to stay there for awhile when life's big events occur. I get momentarily shocked by reality. Then I go back to denial mode and distance myself again from reality. But last night I looked at the clock at 6:53 and I realized your absence again. I thought, "Yep the final puzzle is on. Memaw would probably be watching this." So I flipped on the TV and the kids and I watched that last puzzle. Josh was working late, but he loves that final puzzle, too. So there I sat in a strange sort of thankful state that at least Pat and Vana were still alive. Because watching Wheel of Fortune will always be nostalgic. It's just one more way my memory of you stays fresh. I found myself wishing Pat and Vana would stick around for several more years, if only for the comfort of permanence.

You were unofficially and unequivocally old for quite awhile, Memaw. I suppose once someone hits 80, it's hard to size them up as "getting old." I suppose by then, they are old. But you lived to be 96 and I can't really remember a time where you felt sorry for your old age. It was always good material for a joke though. Jill reminded us of the time when you made Mom take back those shoes she bought you. You said they were "old lady shoes" and you didn't like them. You were 90 at the time. Memaw, you already know this, but I can throw a good pity party. I even like to invite a few friends. Sometimes it seems like if people are busy pitying you, they'll let you off the hook for stuff. If they're busy feeling sorry for you, then maybe they won't be too hard on you. But I hope for your sake, I can grow older and older and less and less prone to those pity parties. I hope I can follow your example and make people laugh or tell them stories or think of ways I can help them out. I hope I can follow your example and find some joy in getting old instead of letting it take my joy away.

Memaw, I never learned how to make your biscuits. How did you get them to come out being smooth on top? Anytime I try to make them, they are kind of lumpy. I should have made sure to ask for your tips on this technique before you left this earth. I just forgot. You know I tried to see you as often as I could. I'm glad you weren't mad that "often as I could" was really not very often. It was probably at least twice month or so. But I would say to myself, "I really want to start visiting Memaw once a week." But it was hard to get the demands of life to follow those intentions. I wanted to visit you though. And not just because you were getting old and I was afraid I'd run out of time. Na. It was just because I liked talking to you. Being around you was comforting. Some people make me jumpy. But not you. You were calming presence. I'm thankful for that. You must have passed that along to Gannie because she calms me too. I guess you must have loved her with the kind of love she loves us with.  That's the kind of thing I hope my daughter will say about me one day.

It's funny how grandparents start getting older and the most frail right about the time we grandkids are in our busiest and fullest season, raising our own children. Raising your great grandchildren. In some ways we are precluded from spending the kind of time with you that would maximize the precious hours we have left with you. But we know while you were growing older and weaker, our little ones were growing faster and stronger, needing more from us than ever. They change too quickly, and new beginnings start rolling in faster than ocean waves. We know God has entrusted these little ones to us and there is only one mom for them, only one dad. So even though I didn't see you as often in my adult life as I did in my kid life, I'm sure thankful for the time we did have. I'm thankful for the KIND of time we had together in my adult life and during this busy season. I'm thankful that it was fruitful time. I'm thankful that it was enjoyable time. I'm thankful that when we did spend time together, you didn't talk about how we don't spend enough time together. And now I'm even that much more thankful for the memories of childhood. I'm also more thankful for the memories of being a girl in my early twenties who loved coming to your house.

Okay, well, I'm still a little bitter about the fact that you finally put central air in your house after Papa died. I sure did love that sound of the window units and the whir and the hum they made. I bought a box fan last year for E. I didn't want a sound machine. I wanted a box fan. I needed to hear something similar to that whir and that hum. It also reminds me of Camp Soaring Hawk, you know. Good times.

Speaking of E, I'm sure glad you got to meet him. He won't remember you and that makes me sad. But I know A and C will. Austin's the only grandchild that got to meet Papa. But I'm glad at least two of my kids will remember their Memaw. Their grief process has been interesting. They're too young to grasp the depth of all of it. This is good though and for their protection. But C had his own way of wrestling with his sadness. It was sweet, yet sad to watch. The other night, he said he imagines heaven to be a place where we are all in wheelchairs and God is on his throne. We weren't quite sure which theological principle to help him work through there. =)

Memaw, one last thing. I'm glad when I started dating Josh you passed along your approval. I'm thankful for all the prayers you prayed for us. There's nothing quite like a grandmother's prayer. There's nothing quite like acceptance from your elders either. I mean, if Dad hadn't been so accepting of Josh, I would have been sick to my stomach. Thankfully he thinks Josh hung the moon. And if you hadn't been so accepting of Josh, I would have felt that tension. So thank you for accepting him and loving him like he was your own.  I have always kind of taken that for granted. But now I feel especially thankful for that sort of thing. Husbands and wives are one. He's a part of who I am in a real and lifelong way. We're so intertwined and irrevocably so. I hope we get the 60 years of marriage that you and Papa had. I hope we get even longer. I hope we're cute enough to celebrate a 50 year anniversary at the Peabody Hotel. I hope we'll always be loving enough to be snarky with each other and devoted and affectionate at the same time.

Love you Memaw. You're probably back to being around 5 feet 6 inches tall now. No more osteoporosis in heaven. You're whole now. You're well. And that's how I'll remember you.

Lee

Love and Living On An Island

I think I'd be a better Christian if I lived on an island. You know, with only those people who bring out the best in me and only those whom I love the most and feel the most affection for. What if I lived on an island with only the safe people in my life. It would be a small community, for sure. But it would never push me into that hardest, ugliest place. You know the place I mean. The place where everything in you--your affections, your rationale, your will--all of it says, "This person is difficult. This person does not help me to be the sanctified Christian I'd like to be. In fact, I hate who I am around this person. This person pushes me up against my flesh and shows me who I am deep, deep down. This person forces me to ask myself if it is at all possible to love a neighbor as you love yourself. I simply cannot feel warm and fuzzy toward this person. I don't even sometimes know how to be in their presence. I need God to love this person through me. There is no other way to do it."

Of course I'm not saying the safe people can't sanctify us too and push us into hard place. But it's different. My own husband and kids will reveal to me my sin and my disobedient heart and my ulterior motives. Every human has the capacity to push you to the limit of your own love and get you to say, "Wow, my human love is not enough. I need Agape. I must die to myself or else question my faith altogether." But when your husband and your kids are your "safe places," the process of sanctification is very different. You can talk openly with your husband. You know he's in this for the long haul. You know what God says about marriage. Sure, you hurt each other sometimes and sometimes you get insecure or sometimes you are just plain angry. Sure you know each other's shortcomings and sins in a way no one else does or can. Sure with intimacy comes vulnerability and wow, it's scary sometimes. But you are working within the covenant. You are 100% confident that this relationship is meant to grow and meant to progress and meant to be about greater greater intimacy. I always know no matter what, I am meant to be in fellowship with my husband. In fact, I know I should be doubting my very trust in God if I'm willing to get complacent about my marriage. I know I am meant to keep communication lines open with my husband and my children, not harboring stuff, and not being content with superficiality and ignoring the weeds. I know I'm not supposed to be saying "Peace, peace" when there is no peace.

But what about other people. What about the people you aren't supposed to go deeper with. What about relationships that are meant to remain at a distance. You put your happy face on and you know in fact that to get too deep, to be too close, to say too much would in fact be unhealthy. Yet you are meant to share life together on some level. You know this. I tend to be either/or. But life is messier than that. That's why wisdom is greater than knowledge. Wisdom needs the Holy Spirit to work. It's not as simple as "Hey you aren't meant to be a close companion so I'll cut you out altogether." Wisdom is more than formulas and blanket statements. Wisdom seeks to navigate the waters with those that you are meant to share life with, but that you must set clear boundaries with. These are the people who will hurt your feelings. They will be passive aggressive with you. They will misunderstand you. They will assume. They won't consider that they may not have all the facts. They will have expectations and sometimes help you feel guilty even when there is no guilt. They will make you realize you are more capable of resentment than you thought possible. But you don't get the benefit of "working through it" or talking it out. It just doesn't work that way. Yet they are in your life for the long haul.

I've decided in the end, it is not just necessary, but good to have these kind of people in your life. These are the people that keep me from being puffed up. I don't stand a chance of considering myself naturally patient, naturally pure hearted. I've got this handful of people to keep me with my face pushed toward the ground in prayer saying, "Dear God teach me how to love. These people sometimes feel like enemies, but never in the obvious ways. Christian relationships are too sophisticated for that. Everything is under the table, indirect, not too loud or blatant. It makes it even harder. But these are the people who will keep me from assuming I have Agape. These people show me that Agape is God Himself. GOD IS LOVE. And I am too far away to know such love unless I die to myself so that He can enter into me and love through me. That's the only road that works. And it's a very good one."

So to anyone who reads this and is frustrated by someone or a few someones you know and the relationship is a tough one. It gets inside your head. You have trouble guarding your heart and taking thoughts captive. You know you are meant to share life on some level with this person. You know in real life you can't simply cut out the people who don't rub you the right way. But I've learned this if anything---these people are the opportunities we need. Without them, our souls may never get the pruning we really need. So go ahead. Set the boundaries. It's okay to remain at a healthy distance. Not everyone can be considered a close companion. But everyone CAN be loved (love is more than syrupy sweetness, sentimentality, warm feelings, or even southern hospitality and saying "bless their heart."). Yes indeed. Everyone can be loved. And it can cover a multitude of sins. My sins. Their sins. That's all I really know for sure.