Tag: army

Trying to Let Go Gracefully

The end of this week my almost eighteen year old is heading off for a ten day mission trip overseas. It will involve canoes and rivers and remote areas. I can’t say that I feel warm and fuzzy about it. 

Years ago when this child was an infant I was at church and during the worship service God gave me a vision. I saw a world globe that was dark and my viewpoint was from Tennessee and I was watching bright shiny stars shoot out from Tennessee and go all over the world. And I knew those stars were my children. And it was a vision I needed at that time. 

My husband and I are both second generation missionary kids and when we got married we felt that call for a decision on us. Are we going to follow in our parents’ and grandparents’ footsteps and find our way to the mission field too? We explored the idea but neither of us felt called. We loved other cultures and travel and living in new exciting places, but did not feel a burden to become ministers of any type. So, when I had a vision of my children going out into the world it felt like confirmation. WE are not going to go out, but we’ll prepare our children and they will go out. 

We have often talked about adventures and travel and missions with our kids. Think outside the box. Do daring things. My oldest moved to Maine: Good for you, be near relatives, pursue your dreams! The next child joined the military: God protect my son in Jesus’ name. The next child moved out and has been feeling her way around a career and talks of being a foster mom when she is older: I’m so proud of you! And then this child comes along. I’m off to serve in the inner city for the next two summers. Ok, be safe. I’m going to Columbia. Ok, your dad will go with you. I’m off to Honduras. Um. Ok, now hold on a minute. Is this safe? How am I going to communicate with you? Can’t you wait till you’re eighteen? And I feel myself balking. I know this is what my daughter has dreamed of, and the trip is as safe as any trip can be. And she’s walking in God’s calling on her life. But this is getting hard. Letting go of my kids so they can go off and live their own lives, going out into the world to be a light wherever they are. This is not easy. 

Having multiple little ones at home for so long, I have often comforted myself…One day they will be eighteen and head out into the world and I will no longer be in charge. There is an end in sight. Yeah. I was really wrong about that. Sure, I no longer cook their meals, do their laundry, drive them places etc, but the amount of stress and worry I have to battle as I watch them from a distance as they strike out on their own, it feels equal to having a bunch of little ones running around the house. Maybe heavier.  

Lord, protect my children, draw them close to you. Let their lives bring glory to you. 

And help me to let go gracefully, and trust that you’ve got them. 

And let them know that I am so proud of them. 

Rest is Hard

I am discovering that I am not good at resting. Resting feels like a guilty pleasure. Sinful. Lazy. Slothful. Not industrious. Not pulling your own weight. Slacking off. 

I’m in a weird in-between place right now. Our foster daughter went home after three years with us. I am finding that all the insanity of the last three years has not been processed and it is suddenly jumping up and down in my head. And I’m not just talking about fostering (which I’m going to say is the hardest thing I have ever done). How about a pandemic, family members being sick, big streak of violence in our neighborhood that turned my kids high school into a war zone, craziness in my little kids’ schools, someone close to me dealing with severe depression, discovering that one of my kids has some neurological differences, one of my kids growing up and leaving home, another one joining the army. And then quite a few other things that I’m not going to write about.

The past three years have been about surviving each blow and then running on to the next catastrophe. This is not to say I’ve been walking around in a horrible state of mind for three years. God is gracious and I have felt his love and peace with me throughout everything. But at some point in time you have to stop moving for a minute and just acknowledge that these things happened, allow yourself some time to work through the emotions, and then be able to lay it down and move forward. 

I feel like that is the place that God has put me in right now. And I don’t like it. It feels wrong. I’m not doing anything extra. Yeah, I’m taking care of my family, but nothing else. 

That “something else” is a tricky thing. We are saved by grace, not by works. But it’s really easy to fall into that “Grace Plus” mentality. I think I’ve written about this before. Probably because it’s one of the easiest traps for me to fall into. I’m saved by Grace PLUS I do this other ministry. I’m saved by Grace PLUS I’m a really moral, self-disciplined person. I’m saved by Grace PLUS I make no mistakes. I’m saved by Grace PLUS…you get the idea. 

When I reach these places where my ministry is over, some kind of transition has happened, I’m no longer doing all the things, I feel panicky. I can’t be pleasing to God when I’m just sitting here. God only likes me if I’m working. God only likes me if I’m producing. God only likes me if I’m doing all the extra stuff. 

I was in a church service several weeks ago and the minister said something about service to God and I cried out to God in my mind, Lord, what do you want me to do?? And he answered me. I’ll let you know when you need to know. Right now, just rest.

So, here I am trying to rest. And I’m not very good at it. I know that I am on empty right now. I really don’t have anything to give anyone at the moment. I’m trying to slowly rebuild habits of taking care of my body and mind and soul. Habits I used to have but which got thrown overboard when the storms of life got too crazy. 

And the hardest part is looking up at heaven and saying, Are you ok with this? I’m not doing anything. Are you sure this is ok? 

So, I grow in faith again.  Saved by grace. Not by works. It’s ok to rest. 

The Road to Peace and Calm

My oldest son enlisted in the army. He leaves tomorrow for basic training. Someone asked me how I felt about that. Proud. Hopeful. Scared. Worried. My list of WHAT IFS are pretty long. In the end, I have to believe that God has his hand on my son. Every once in a while though, I forget. Have a little freak out. Then take a deep breath and believe again. 

I had a birthday this week and I’ve been trying to do a little looking back at the last year. A little looking forward. Reflecting. I’m middish forties now. You know, I really had this belief that as you hit your middle years things would kind of calm down. Not pregnant and changing diapers. Not in the buying-a-home stage any more. My husband’s work and career are stable. I’m fully immersed in raising my children. We’ve been at the same church for years and years and love it. Life should be pretty smooth by now, right? 

Instead I am finding that the role of spectator to my adult children’s lives is a lot more tumultuous than I was anticipating. My husband has learned to ask me, “Do you want me to fix this or just listen?” And I find myself now, as a mom, no longer in the fix-it role for my adult kids, and just in the listen and support role. And so I stand on the sidelines and cheer and pray and try really hard not to worry. (Let me add that they are great kids, making good choices, it’s just really easy to worry.)

I will also add that taking on the role of foster mom has done nothing to make our lives peaceful. Probably the hardest part is, again, the fact that as a foster mom you don’t have a lot of control over the situation. Your job is to love and care for the child, but the child’s future is in the hands of lawyers and judges and bio-families. And you really want to fix-it: I’m going to decide what’s best and that is what we will do. But instead you are only called to support from the sidelines while others make the big decisions. 

Maybe the word I’m looking for here is Control. I think maybe I had this perception that as I got older I would have a lot more control over things. Control means no nasty surprises. It means things go the way you planned.  Calm. Smooth. 

Of course, probably not a lot of personal growth when you control everything. Looking back this past year, I can see a lot of pain. But I also see a lot of change and healing. Growth. I was put in a lot of places I didn’t want to be. As a result, I learned a lot more about forgiveness. Patience. Kindness. Grace. Self Control.

So here I am, middish forties. My son is going off to be a soldier. I have no control over this situation at all. But I’m going to learn a lot more about faith and prayer. Fostering. I can’t control the outcome, but I’m learning a lot more about how to love hurt people. Raising children. You want everything to work out perfectly for them, and it doesn’t. But you learn to trust that God loves them even more than you do and he has a plan. 

I want control because that seems like the path to peace and calm. But really, the path to peace and calm is faith in Jesus. My middle years are full of craziness, but I can also testify that my inner life is a lot more peaceful than when I was in my twenties. My faith is stronger. And I guess that’s the kind of peace and calm that I need.