His Story

“Tell me a story, Bobbie, please, please,” my little sister would beg, after we had been tucked into our twin beds and the lights were out. Telling stories had been my idea in the first place, but it was starting to wear thin, usually because I was too tired to think of anything very exciting and would rather have had someone tell me a story instead. A lot of times, our mom would let us listen to “Fibber McGee and Molly” or “The Great Gildersleeve” on the radio after the lights were out which gave us the captivating stories we both seemed to crave. (For those of you born after 1948, I’m sure you have no idea what I am talking about, but believe me when I tell you there is nothing like lying in the dark imagining the people in those radio plays, with the sound effects of footsteps and doors opening and closing.) Well, now that I’ve dated myself, I’ll go on with today’s story.

One of our first family stories had to do with my sister, Pam, calling me Bobbie. We really don’t know how or why she started doing that, but she did it until we were about 7 and 10. One time my grandfather bought a new plant for his yard called the Rose of Sharon. Pam ran into the house to inform everyone that Popsy had just planted the Rose of Bobbie.

Our family was big on nicknames, especially the southern branch who hailed from Tennessee. My mother’s parents were Mutts and Popsy. Her twin sister, Jane, was dubbed Nane Nane. These were all my doing as the first grandchild. But there were some doosies that came before me. When my mother and her twin were about seven, they went to the train station with their parents to welcome their aunt, Kate, arriving from Memphis. As the train pulled into the station, the parents said, “Look twinnies, here comes the choo choo. Well, you guessed it, Aunt Kate was known forever after as Choo Choo.

I could go on like this for many more pages, but the point is, every family has stories, stories that give meaning to their lives, past, present and future. These stories are passed down through generations and become traditions and part of the fabric of their family’s life. We need stories. Stories help us make sense of the world. They help us make sense of our lives. We all have our own stories, some of which we’re probably not particularly proud of, but we all sense that our life is telling a story, and we sincerely hope for a good outcome.

I remember when I was going through a particularly difficult time in my life , I would say to people, “I feel like I am living in a novel, and I can hardly wait to see how it’s going to turn out.” Have you ever lived that way? Interesting, isn’t it. And that’s the best light I can put on it

One of the things that has happened in these modern and post-modern years is that the world has lost its story. If there is no story, there is no meaning to hang your hat on. If there is no right or wrong, if everyone is allowed to have his own opinion on what is good and what is not, if everything can be figured out through our enlightened minds and managed through technology and science, then where do we find the meaning behind the universe? What is the meaning of our existence? How do we explain the devastation and degradation we see around us and the seeming futility of our efforts to make things better?

We say each man can decide what is right in his own mind, yet everyone knows what is wrong when it happens to him—when he is the injured party. So, even though we like to say it’s all relative, ultimately we do have to admit that there is a standard by which we all measure good and evil.

What would you think if I told you that God has told us a story? Of course, he used people to write it down in language so that we could understand it. What is this story? It is His story. It’s called The Bible. Now before you think, ”Oh that,” and discard this as another religious ramble, let me just tell you a little bit about this story.

First of all, it’s made up of many stories, stories about people and God’s efforts to reach out to them and love and guide them as his children. But as you can imagine, this is not easy. These pesky creatures keep insisting on doing things their own way and they get themselves into all manner of troubles. Hmmm. Sound familiar, so far?

He tries everything, first of all, he gives them a beautiful garden-like setting in which to live, and what do they do but mess it up. He gives them everything they need, and all he asks is that they not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. You see, he wanted to protect them from knowing evil, but oh no, they decide they want to know everything God knows and be “like God,” so they eat away. Right away they are sorry, but unfortunately, it’s too late. They know what they know and there’s no going back, so now they have to hide their nakedness, and guilt has entered the picture. And you can be sure, it’s not going to get any better after this.

Later, their oldest son tries to show off before God and gives a sacrifice out of pride, while the younger gives a true sacrifice of love, and so because God favors the second sacrifice over the first, the first son kills the second. Okay, so far we only have four people in all creation, two have disobeyed and are living with guilt and the third has killed the fourth. We’re not off to a good start.

The reason this story is important is that it tells us how and why bad stuff entered the world. It tells a story that gives meaning to what we see around us today. And what we see today is a world that should be perfect in every way. We can see that perfection in nature, in the workings of the cellular structure of plants and animals, in the workings of our own bodies. But it is perfection that has gone bad. Something happened. The architect created a beautiful building but it has been bombed, and now even in its damaged state, we can see the perfect beauty that was intended.

The Bible then goes on to tell many other stories, settling finally on a family descended from a man named Abraham. Many times in the Bible we see God searching the earth for a faithful, honest man, a man he can trust, a man who will trust him. He decided he had found that man in Abraham and decided to guide and direct him and, in the process, bless him and his descendants forever. This is the beginning of Judeo-Christian history.

In succeeding generations, God found other men, not perfect men, but men who remained loyal and tried to do his will. These were people he could use, and did use to make himself known to the world, because that was what he was really after—the world—all of us, Jews, Gentiles, everybody. He finally did it through the perfect man, Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Now, how was it Jesus was able to be the perfect man you might ask, well, it’s because it was God himself in disguise.

That’s the really amazing part of the story. God realized the only way he could truly reach human beings was to become one, and so he did. He allowed himself to be born as a helpless baby and to live in the world as a human being in order to talk to people on a level they could understand, about who he is and who he created them to be. This is almost an unbelievable story, but it’s the story Christians believe. They believe it because it makes sense in light of the whole story. It makes sense on every level, psychologically, spiritually, intellectually, even physically.

Now you might say, “But why did Jesus have to die? Couldn’t God have brought people into a relationship with him without that?” No, he couldn’t. If God is a just God, then there had to be some payment for the evil that had occurred. Not only that, there had to be a way to pay for the future evil that would occur. How could a pure and perfect God just say, “Well, that doesn’t matter.” It matters a lot. What if someone purposely injures you or someone you love. Do you just brush it off? There is a standard of justice in the universe that says, no that’s not right. So, basically, for justice to be served, someone had to pay. And because God knew that the only person who could pay perfectly was the perfect person, He paid the price himself.

How does this story give meaning to our lives today? First of all, it describes us and those we see around us. It tells us why we sense that the world isn’t as it should be. It also explains why we find this rebellious spirit within ourselves. We all want to be the God of our lives, and it explains why our efforts are often so futile. But it also gives us a way to get past the sin and guilt that we know we harbor—a way to start fresh every day, recognizing and confessing our failures and receiving God’s loving forgiveness because of his son who died for us.

There’s also, for those who have managed to read this far, a really terrific ending to this story. It doesn’t end. We live forever with our creator and savior in a really beautiful place, where we finally are able to become all that we were created to be and to do.

I must tell you, I really like this story. I like living in it and knowing it applies to me. If you’re interested in learning more about this story, I would highly recommend reading C.S. Lewis book, Mere Christianity. It’s a delightful read. And if you’re really serious, you might just open a Bible and start reading God’s story. It’s fascinating. You could also join a Bible Study or go to a church. They tell parts of this story every Sunday and you never know what you might learn.

Solid Ground

Have you been feeling weary today? There's a lot we carry on our shoulders . Lots of things to worry about, very little we find we can trust. Take a deep breath...in and out...and soak in the following words from scripture. Maybe you'll feel the weight lifted a bit.

Psalm 62:5-8 "My soul, wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him. He only is my rock and my salvation, My stronghold; I shall not be shaken. On God my salvation and my glory rest; The rock of my strength, my refuge is in God. Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us."

Now, I am going to share with you a favorite hymn of mine. One thing I love about hymns is their rich theology and timelessness. I can examine one song written a century or more ago and reach new depths of understanding about my God that are completely pertinent to my life today. I invite you to take another breath...in and out...and slowly read, ponder, examine, and mull over the words of this sweet song.

"My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus' name.

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand."

In these crazy, unsure times... in the midst of heartaches and confusion...if there's one thing I've learned and know for sure, it's this: Christ is the solid ground...everything the world has to offer is just sinking sand.

Rest in Him today.

What's the Deal About Prayer?

I’m convinced that most people pray. Even people who do not consider themselves religious or even believe in God, given a certain situation, 99.9% of them will call out to God, which is what we call prayer. Now why is this? I mean, if there’s no one up there, why do we do it? I think it’s because it’s built into us. We just somehow think there has got to be somebody, somewhere higher than ourselves that can help us. And it stands to reason to me, that if this instinct, that is such a basic part of our nature, exists in us, there must be a somebody, somewhere available to fill this need. We have a strong instinct to eat, and what do you know, we find food on this earth available for eating. The same with water. We have an instinct for sex and relationships, and here we are with people around us who can fill those needs.

Now, this certainly isn’t the last word on prayer, nor does it even begin to touch on the problems people have with prayer. I think there are a lot of misconceptions about prayer. Like, what about all those times God doesn’t answer your prayer? First of all, maybe he did and the answer was no. But beyond that, is the idea that somehow God is that magic genie in the sky that when you put in your request, presto, out comes what you want, just like a gum-ball machine.

As you can imagine, the Bible has a lot to say about prayer. And it does say, “Let your requests be made known to God.” But there are also a lot of other reasons for prayer. First of all, if you would like to have a relationship with someone, you have to talk to them once in awhile. As women, this shouldn’t be hard for us.

Secondly, prayer is a wonderful way to let God know what we think of him—that we honor him and lift him up. He likes that. Is that because he is prideful and egocentric? No, he likes to hear us say nice things about him, just like we do, when our children say nice things about us. Does that make us prideful and egocentric? No, it just makes us love our children more.

And thirdly, and this is the hard one, God wants us to pray, so that we can align ourselves with HIS will for us. Now, here again, we have to go back to who do you think is smarter, you or God. If you think you are smarter and know better what you want than He does, fine—go ahead and do it. Just be prepared for the worst or at the very least, less than the best. I have a friend who used to say “You don’t break God’s laws, you break yourself against them.”

In my life, I have spent years praying for something and refusing to hear God’s “No.” I thought I knew best, so I acted on my desires and not on God’s good advice. The day I finally accepted his “No,” was the day I found freedom and peace. The next most important day was the day I surrendered to his will for my life. This sounds life-changing and dramatic, and it was, but it occurred on an ordinary night, sitting up in my bed, and saying, “Okay, Lord, from now on, I want only what you want for me, show me what you have planned for the rest of my life.” One month later he began the process of giving me the desires of my heart.

Many years ago, when I was a new Christian, I heard a lady tell a story that has stuck with me ever since. Perhaps this will be meaningful to you. She and her husband had promised their two young sons that they would take them on the train to the San Diego Zoo. They lived in Orange County, and there was a train that traveled to the zoo on a regular basis. At that time, where they lived, there were long stretches of farms growing produce of various kinds.  Each day, as she drove her sons to school they would pass by the fields and off in the distance was a large packing shed near a railroad spur line, on which sat a couple of boxcars being loaded for market.

And each day, as they went by the field and saw the the shed and the boxcars, the boys would cry out, “Look, Mommy, there’s the train to San Diego!” And she would explain, “No, Honey, that’s not the train.” But everyday they would cry again and again, “Yes, Mommy, that’s the train, that’s the train we want. Please, please, let us go on that train.”

She couldn’t seem to make them understand. But one day, she and her husband loaded them into the car and took them to the Santa Ana train station, where they all got on the train that took them to San Diego.

Now if this mother had answered the prayers and pleadings of her boys the way they wanted them answered, they would have been sitting in a boxcar in the middle of a field going nowhere. But because she and her husband loved their children and understood more than they did, they knew how to truly give them the desires of their hearts.

For many years I had on my refrigerator a picture of a rainbow, drawn by my then-teen-aged daughter, and underneath it she had written this verse. It still speaks to me today:

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
Psalm 37:4

Sharon

A Few Words About Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day is coming. Is there anyone on the planet that doesn’t know that? And I’ve got to say, I’m not particularly happy about it. Now before you think I’m really strange, let me also say, I don’t think I’m alone in this. What is it about these so-called special days that makes us edgy and uncomfortable? First of all, every newspaper, magazine, store, TV commercial and any other thing that can speak, is hammering about it night and day. So, why should this make us uncomfortable? Well, here is what I’ve decided is the problem. What if that no-good, obtuse, or slightly forgetful husband or boyfriend of yours forgets to do something about it? Or maybe he doesn’t do enough? Or not what you were hoping? What do you do? Do you get mad? Do you get sad? Do you remind him ahead of time with little hints? Or just, for heavens’ sake, let it go by with nary a word? Do you do what some women have been known to do--go out and buy yourself a piece of jewelry and call it good?

This feeling also happens on all those other days that men are supposed to remember, like your birthday, your anniversary, or Mother’s Day? And what about your kids? Will they do anything? Should they? Will you care?

Actually, to tell you the truth, I think I’ve pretty much gotten over these confusing feelings and the freedom I feel is exhilarating. The latest sign that I’ve passed this milestone is that year before last, both Gary and I forgot our anniversary. Yes, we actually did! I only remembered after my good friend, Carol, called to wish me a happy anniversary, and was aghast that she’d been the one to tell me about it. Later that evening, as I was sitting at the kitchen counter watching my husband cook dinner, I relished my sneak attack.

“Gary, do you know what day today is?” The look on his face was priceless when, after a long pause, I said, “Our anniversary.”

To spare him more agony I quickly said, “Don’t worry, I forgot, too.” And we both burst out laughing.

Now lest you think we have completely lost our senses, we had been having a very busy week, and I think we were planning a trip of some kind, and it was on a Thursday night, and, well, there you have it. It just got by us. We’ve laughed about it many times since, and this year Carol called me early, just to make sure I wouldn’t forget.

But back to Valentine’s Day. The hype on this day is so bad, you almost feel like saying, “Enough already. Let’s not do anything about it and have our own special day later on.” The only problem with that is that you probably won’t have that special day later on because it will just get lost in the whole schemata of life. So what do you do?

I took a big step forward in my growth on this issue when my friend, Mary, came by my office one day after having attended a ladies Bible Study at church. Mary was a divorced mother of two, working free-lance so as to spend more time with her girls, but had dutifully followed my “helpful” suggestion and gone to this group today for the very first time.

“Well, how was the study?” I asked brightly as she walked in.

“Humph,” she said, slapping her bag on the floor and slumping into a chair. “I am so sick of hearing prayer requests from women whose biggest problem in life is their husbands forgetting their birthday or--Valentine’s Day. Like we’re supposed to pray about THAT? I would just be happy to have a guy that came home every night!”

“Hmmmmm!” Chalk up another notch on my learning curve.

Ladies, I think we need to get over ourselves. Whatever the guy is doing, odds are he’s got a lot on his mind. And Valentine’s Day is not at the top of his list. How about this? How about you plan a nice evening for him? Make him his favorite dinner, add a cute card, and if you can get the kids out of the house, light some candles and give him a really special evening. I guarantee you, he will be a happy man. And you know what, you will be happier, too. Forget about what he does or doesn’t do. You do something. Choose to be happy and you will be.

Years ago I read a book called Happiness is An Inside Job. I don’t know if it is even still in print, but its basic message was that WE are in charge of our own happiness. We can decide whether to be happy or sad, loving or mad.

My last thought on this comes from a scripture you’ve probably heard many times. It’s the love passage from I Corinthians 13, and you’ve heard it read at weddings and seen it written on cards, but there is one part of it that always strikes me right in the heart. It starts out “Love is patient, love is kind…” and goes on to say a lot of other good things about love. But then it says, “(Love) does not take into account a wrong suffered …but rejoices with the truth;”

Wow, a wrong suffered. You mean I can let him off the hook and still be okay? Yes, because I can rejoice in the truth that he loves me and is working hard for me, and that making him happy will give me more happiness than I deserve and bless me in ways I could never imagine.

So, ladies, instead of fretting our little hearts out this year, let’s have a happy Valentine’s Day by giving a big bunch of love to that love of our lives—or if there isn’t that one love right now, to all those we love in our lives. I’m betting we won’t regret it.

Hi, My name is Jennifer and I am Not a Perfect Parent

I know we all, with a sense of humility and grace, will confess to one another that we know we aren’t perfect parents. But let’s face it, we really want everyone to think we are…or at least be on the top 10 “Best Parents we Know” list. And we all have a picture of who we want our children to be as adults. I was a perfect parent until I had kids…then they ruined me. I have now been driven to this desperate plea: “Please Lord, don’t let me screw them up!”

We feel the perfect-parent-pressure every time we’re in Target and our toddler throws themselves on the floor screaming their head off because we won’t buy them a toy. We feel it when the teacher says, “Your son (immediately making it my fault) is very easily distracted in class.” She says it with her mouth, but her eyes are saying, “Are you sure your son isn’t from another planet?” My favorite was when we took our two year old daughter to the ER because we thought she might be dehydrated from vomiting all day. The place was packed, of course, and we had to wait forever. After about 3 hours, our dear sweet daughter, whose fever had come down and who had perked up by then, ran to the opposite end of the crowded waiting room, turned around and at the top of her verbal-beyond-her-years voice yelled, “I AM NOT GOING TO THE DOCTOR….EVER!!!!!” I saw all the shocked faces looking at me and tried desperately to say, “I’ve never seen that child before in my life!”

We’ve all laid awake at night reading the parenting books and studying the latest philosophy. We pray about today and look toward the teenage years with terror. We are inundated with the latest parenting “must-do”. And we wonder and doubt. I loved the one that made it critical to your child’s character and life’s outcome that you put him on a feeding schedule. I actually had a woman ask me on first glance of my long awaited miracle, “So do you have him on a schedule? Or is this a demand-feed baby?” (said with noticeable disdain) I was shocked that this was her first question and a little afraid that maybe I didn’t have the right answer. Or how about the one that says the baby should sleep in your bed with you, and won’t bond with you unless they do. What? I can barely sleep in the same bed with my husband and you want me to put a baby in there too?

It seems to me that every time I turn around there’s some critical parenting technique, philosophy, or task at which I have already failed. For example: Potty Training. I am officially a failure. I know you’re thinking that’s not possible…everyone conquers that one. But my six year old, strong-willed, fight to the death daughter is still wetting her panties regularly because she can’t be bothered to go to the bathroom. I can hear you all now thinking, somewhere in cyberspace: “Have you tried a sticker chart?” or “You should spank her!” “Why don’t you have her earn tokens every time she does it right?” “That is ridiculous and you should really…” Believe me when I say: I HAVE TRIED EVERYTHING! I am now at the point of just hoping peer pressure will do what it should and she’ll be humiliated enough to stop peeing her pants! But it sure makes me feel like I’ve reached a new level of incompetence.

Let’s face it. There are a million different parenting philosophies out there. And for every one of them, you could find really wise people who’ll argue the opposite. With every rule or philosophy comes another opportunity to fail as a parent. “Spank your kids.” “Don’t spank your kids, reason with them with love and logic.” “Learn their love language.” “Shove scripture down their throat.” “Don’t exasperate them to anger.” “Spank or don’t spank, but whatever you do…don’t immunize them!” It’s enough to drive us to drink.

The reality, I am learning, is that every child is his/her own person. They have a DNA makeup that is totally unique to them. Modern psychology has taught us that they’re handed to us at birth like little blobs of clay…ready for us to mold into who we want them to be. The church is just as bad at this as society. We’re taught that if we follow the “correct” spiritual steps, our children will grow up to be passionate about the Lord. Yet statistically, kids who are raised going to church very often walk away as adults. I think we’ve put way too much pressure on ourselves, way too much power in our own hands, and frankly, think way too highly of ourselves. Aren’t we ultra-quick to judge that poor mom in Target? I know parents who did everything “right” and their children are not exactly who they’d hoped they would be as adults. I also know parents who did a lot of things “wrong” and have adult children who have wildly surpassed all their hopes for them.

Here’s the good news…and really our only hope. Our children have a creator who has knit them together exactly the way He wanted and is weaving a tapestry of their life even while I type. He has a plan for them and is leading them on a journey of His making. He uses my successes and even my failures as a parent, but ultimately who they become is between them and their creator. I, as a mom, really have much less to do with it than I like to think. This is really good news for me, since I am hopelessly flawed.

“And He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’” 2 Corinthians 12: 9a He’s constantly wanting me to let go of the reigns and let Him to do what He does best.

Bottom line: I am called to be a faithful parent, not a perfect one. I am called to continue on the path laid before me, brushing myself off when I fall. I need to give my kids love and safety...and lots of opportunity to overcome suffering. I am compelled to teach my children about the Lord “…when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up”. Deuteronomy 6:7 . But mostly, it is utterly imperative for me to continually lay my children before the Lord and ask Him to do the job.

He reminded me of this yesterday morning in the car ride to school. My sweet and fiesty panty-wetter said sweetly, “Mama, can we hear that song again?” “Sure, baby.” She then began to sing with her breathy voice words that flooded my eyes with tears and my heart with peace:

“I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in His hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He’ll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call”

Whew! What a relief!

Welcome to This Good Day!

Is today a good day for you? It is for me. Oh, it’s not perfect. I would like it to be a little sunnier with no grey skies, maybe a touch warmer. What else—oh yeah, I wish I were a few pounds lighter. What happened to the scales this morning? They jumped up about three pounds! And two days ago I was praising myself for being down two. And then, after I was all showered and dressed, my literacy student called to say she couldn’t make it. Oh well, no problem, I just changed into my warm-ups and went for my 3-mile walk. And I had a great time talking with God.

It’s amazing how much can go on in your head while you’re walking that familiar route. First I talk to God, and then I try to be quiet and let Him talk to me (not easy), but oh, the amazing things he talks to me about. Today he was reminding me of the things he’s taught me over the years—usually the hard way, through pain and lots of it. But it’s amazing what I’ve learned—me, who thought I knew it all as a UCLA graduate. Oh boy, what a lot I had to learn.

One of the reasons for this blog is that all of us can learn from each other, and I hope to impart to whoever cares to listen, some of the things I’ve learned so that a) you won’t feel that you’re the dumbest person who ever lived and b) you’ll know that someone’s been through something before you, and that you WILL come out the other side.

Actually, this blog was my daughter, Jennifer’s idea (about a year ago—we haven’t exactly jumped into this), and we both said, we absolutely must have Tami do this with us. She’s my daughter-in-law and Jiffer’s sister-in-law, and we know she’s the best writer of the bunch. How do we know this? Well, she’s the only one of us who writes. She’s been sharing her personal missives with us and some other close friends for quite awhile now and she always brings me to tears.

So, here we are: Sharon, Jennifer, and Tami, ready to blog for whoever’s out there that might read and be lifted in some way.

But you’ve got to know up front, we three love the Lord, and will be mentioning Him from time to time. Because without Him our lives would just be worthless—honestly. I’ve got to say, the smartest thing I ever did was give Him control of my life. It’s nice to have someone more intelligent than you are in charge. Have you ever made a tree?? Well, I rest my case.
So, welcome to our blog, welcome to our lives. You will find us messy, stupid, happy, sad, frustrated and joyful. Welcome to the real world, cuz that’s where Jesus lives, right down here in the dirt with us.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
John 1:14

Because of this, we can say “this good day.”

Sharon

This Good Day

Sometimes it’s hard to say that. Some days are really hard. Some days you think you won’t make it through. How can we say “This good day” when there’s so much pain out there? When you know some mom is sitting in the hospital wondering if this will be the day her baby dies. When some wife is wondering if she’ll be able to endure her marriage one more day, or if this is the day she’ll run and never look back. Or a daughter who has lost her mom thinks if she lies in her bed to cry…she’ll never get up again. So much pain, so much bondage, so much brokenness.

Yet I know that this is a good day. How do I know that? Because I know that God is real and He is with me:

“Who is God except the Lord? Who but our God is a solid rock? God arms me with strength, and he makes my way perfect.” Psalm 18:31-32

This verse has proven true in my life more times than I can count. When I thought my parents divorce would shatter my life irreparably, God took care of it; When I thought after 4 years of infertility that I’d never be called, “Mommy”, God took care of it; In times of loss, anxiety, and confusion, He was with me. On days of gray and dreariness, He has always turned me to the sun. My God has always been with me and always taken care of it…ALWAYS.

So now I know, every day is a good day. I can look at the rain and the hardship, the sickness and the confusion, take some courage from my God and say: This good day.

Jennifer

The Mountain

I am afraid of just about everything. Some people say I am just a worrier, skittish even. But I am afraid and I like to blame it on my troubled childhood. The average day feels like a roller coaster to me…and I hate roller coasters. My stomach drops and I feel woozy and my brain rattles around from side to side. I really try to fight my fears, sometimes, actually often, I even yell at them out loud. But still, on any given day, I am very afraid and I worry. I worry about money and this ever-so-exhausting recession. I worry about my health and the health of the people I love. I worry that what I am doing isn’t enough and that I should be doing more or maybe something different. I worry about the state of the universe, the decline in America’s moral baseline, the desensitization TV and video games have brought us and the influx of the internet piping porn into our homes. I worry about crime and poverty, earthquakes and fires and floods, the general selfishness and evil of humanity and the imbalance of justice in the cosmos. And the most worrisome of all…I worry that my parenting will screw up my girls forever. Woe to the parent who doesn’t lay awake at night searching for the answers on how to raise today’s teenager with the daily, almost hourly… advances in technology. Oh, so sly is the devil these days seeping himself in through Facebook and the ever-present texting. It worries me, it all worries me.

It’s definitely gotten worse since I had my kids. When they were little, I was daily haunted by an image of them running in the street and getting hit by a car and I was completely terrified… maybe even just a wee bit paranoid… that they would be stolen. I used to say to them when we went to the park, “Now you watch out, Sweetie,” not for bullies or bumble bees, but…“because someone at this park may have come here today just to steal you!” Maybe that sounds crazy and okay, maybe it is crazy, but a mamas gotta do what a mamas gotta do and they’re still with me, so who’s to say?

But now that they are bigger, stronger and they know not to run into the street and are pretty much able to fight off any number of child abductors, I have a new fear. I am afraid that I will make them worriers. I am afraid that when they grow up they will get stuck in their fears and overwhelmed with their worry, that they won’t take chances, won’t try new things and that they will miss out on opportunities… and that they’ll miss out on a lot of fun…and then that they’ll have regrets…like I have.

So when the opportunity arose for me to take my two younger daughters skiing in the mountains just a short ways from our house, I signed us up. And for a month straight, I was woozy and my brain rattled from side to side even more than usual. What was I thinking? I wasn’t even so sure I could drive up the mountain, all those tight roads on the edge of a cliff, truckers speeding up behind me trying to run me and my children off the road. And what if the roads were icy? I’m not a very good driver in the best of circumstances, let alone winter conditions that I am not accustomed to. Even now my hands sweat just to think about it. And that doesn’t even include the actual skiing part. The last time I had gone skiing was over twenty years ago… I did love it though… the smooth ride on the glittering snow through the deep green, majestic pines, that sweet surrender to the speed carrying me down the mountain, the coolness of the air filling my chest… but my body is so much older now; I thought for sure I’d break something. And what about my girls, what if they broke something? Their arm… or goodness, what if they broke their neck? All my friends kept telling me how you have to wear helmets now, because of that actress that hit her head and died last year. This story was not helpful.

And I kept having nightmares about falling off the chairlift. Not surprising, but heights are one of my worst fears. I was also terrified we wouldn’t be warm enough. I’m a beach girl, what do I know about the snow? How could I keep my children from getting frost bite and possibly losing a finger or a toe?

But something inside me felt like I had to do it, that it was a matter of life and death and that if I didn’t try, that if I didn’t brave the mountain drive, if I didn’t risk the possible broken neck, the frostbite… that a part of me would surely die forever.

So in spite of it all, I gathered snow clothes and helpful hints from neighbors and friends. I studied the map and the road conditions and the weather forecast. I stocked the car with bottled water and non-perishable snacks, I asked people to pray for me and I took a little pill to help me sleep the night before.

I downloaded the soundtrack from Moulin Rouge to surprise Summer for our early morning drive. It’s mine and Summer’s favorite movie. It’s so fun that my girls and I share a love for cheesy musicals. And just as the sun was rising behind the mountain, we sang out, “We could be heroes, just for one day…” And we both swooned as Ewan McGregor professed his undying love to Nicole Kidman. In the backseat, Jazi rubbed sleep from her eyes and asked the timeless question, “Are we there yet?”

The roads were perfectly clear, although my sweaty hands still fiercely gripped the stirring wheel as we crawled our way up the mountain. I’m sure I used every turn-out to let the trailing cars pass, but there was simply no reason to rush me. Why does everyone have to be in such a hurry? Even if the people in those cars lived on that mountain and new those roads, it is still a dangerous drive and there is no reason not to take things just a little bit slower. I mean really.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the resort, I breathed a deep sigh. In the same moment that I reveled in my accomplishment, I worried about how I would make the drive back down.

The girls cheered, “Mama, look at all the snow! Can we get out, can we get out?” Other skiers peppered the parking lot applying sunscreen and sipping hot chocolate, with a casualness that made me think that this wasn’t their first time back on the mountain in twenty years. And so I began the cumbersome process of dressing my girls and myself for the cold day ahead. We had worn long sleeves and leggings on the drive up and brought several layers to add. We buttoned up baggy ski pants, slipped on sweaters, zipped up goose feather jackets, and using our teeth, wiggled our fingers into our gloves. As we waddled over to the ski rentals we giggled at the swishing made by our clothing as we moved. Summer said, “I feel like a big, fat snowman.”

After we were fitted for boots and skis, we headed towards the slopes. I had forgotten how awkward it is to walk in those heavy boots. Jazi kept dropping her skis and poles and I kept looking around for a man to help us carry everything. But all by ourselves, carrying all that gear and crunching through the snow, we made our way up to where the ski class was being held. The morning sun was warm on our backs, almost too warm. Lugging up the hill, I began to sweat under all those layers, which actually helped to alleviate some of my frostbite fears. Summer had rented a snowboard, which is all-the-rave with the youngsters nowadays. She spent a weekend last year on the slopes with the youth group, and with a joyful wave, she headed towards the chairlift. Jazi and I went towards a sign that read “Beginners”. A woman in a bright yellow jacket with “Ski Patrol” written on the back announced, “I am Stacy and I will be your instructor for today. The most important thing you need to know about skiing is to have fun.” She had kind eyes and spoke sweetly, like a kindergarten teacher. She tapped her forehead and went on to say, “Ninety-nine percent of skiing is in your head, now let’s put on some big smiles and get started.”

First she told us to take a deep breath and breathe in the mountain air. And when I did, my heart swelled and tears pooled in my eyes. I couldn’t believe I was there, on this snowy mountain top. Stacy then showed us how to put our skis on and how to pop them off when we fell. The warm sun had melted the top of the snow into a thin layer of ice and the skis were unstable and slippery. I felt like a newborn fawn testing out my legs for the first time. Next Stacy had us side step up a small hill. She told us to slide down a few feet and then point the tips of our skis together in the shape of a slice of pizza and come safely to a stop. It seemed simple enough. But the first man up stumbled and flailed his arms and the lady after that fell right on her butt. Jazi was up next and she looked back at me with worried eyes. I gave her a thumbs-up and said, “You got this Jaz, make a pizza and if you fall, what do you do, baby?”

“I get back up, Mama.” She said with a wide smile. Whether it was roller skates or a bicycle, I have always told my girls that when they fall, they need to get right back up. It’s a little mantra I have tried to instill in them, even though I am not so sure I have learned it yet myself.

But she didn’t fall, she glided freely a few feet, then pointed the tips of her skies in and came gently to a complete stop. “Wonderful, Jasmine!” Stacy said clapping her ski poles together. “You are a natural.” Jasmine’s sweet face beamed proudly.

“Now, you go Mama!” Okay, so I had psyched myself up for this, I was prepared. If, when…I fell, no matter how much pain I was in, I would smile…and I would get back up. I positioned myself at the top of the hill and bent my knees. Jazi grinned and gave me a thumbs-up. Pressing my poles snuggly into the snow, I wiggled a little and gave myself a hearty push and glided smoothly down the hill…and guess what…I didn’t fall either. I made myself a big slice of pizza with my skis and I too came gently to a complete stop. And again Stacy exclaimed, “Wonderful! You are a natural too, Tami!” And again she clapped her ski poles together, like a happy walrus. And inside my heart I felt warm and proud and triumphant.

Then she said, “Okay guys, I think we are ready for the chairlift!” Was she kidding? I really thought she was kidding… especially because the other two people in our class hadn’t really mastered the whole slice-of-pizza-stopping-part as well as Jazi and I had and I was pretty sure we could all use a little more practice. “Deep breath, class!” She said, “Let’s see those big smiles, now follow me…” And off she glided towards the lift.

The lift was rickety and daunting. Stacy skied smoothly up to a red line at the base of the lift and yelled back, “When the chair comes underneath you, just grab on and sit down…like this…” and with that the chair scooped her up and off she went, up…up…up and away, skis dangling in the open air beneath her.

Jazi looked up at me with very…very…big eyes.

Oh…goodness, I thought… I’m the Mama. I have to lead here, I have to be brave. What’s the worst that could happen? Well, we could die…or seriously break something…Panic quickly set in and the outside world went quiet; I could hear only two things…the squealing of the lift’s motor and my heart thumping against my chest.

“Okay Jaz, our turn…,”I managed to mumble, “let’s go, deep breath, honey…scoot forward, now watch the chair…grab on…now sit down…” And like a perfectly choreographed ballet, the seat rose gently underneath us as we sat and carried us swiftly into the air.

“Woohooo!” Jazi hollered as we began our ascent up the mountain.

“Hold on tight, Sweetie!” My neck stiffened and I clenched my teeth. I could feel sweat dripping inside my gloves as I gripped the edge of the chair. The fact that there are no seatbelts on those things is beyond baffling. I entertained the very real possibility of this whole thing ending rather badly and I prepared myself to jump if Jazi slipped. High up in the air we rose, through the tall pines, to a place that was quiet. The chair swayed gracefully in the cool morning breeze as skiers far below us swooshed through the snow.

“Oh, Mama, we’re getting pretty high now… I am kind of scared…” Jazi said with a growing tremble in her voice.

Yes, and you should be… I thought. It is really scary, one jolt forward and down we’d plunge, surely to our death…we should go back…we should get off this damn lift and stay on the ground where we belong! Had God intended us to fly, we would have wings to flap…but there are no wings here…no wings at all! What kind of mother thrusts her child steep into the air on the side of a mountain, with no safety belt, no safety measures of any kind and all for the sake of so-called…fun? Fun? This is not fun! Oh, I definitely felt my stomach drop, my head rattle and a wooziness like never before…

But the words I said were, “You’re alright Love, we’re safe and we’re almost there, just don’t look down, look up, look forward…look at the beautiful trees and the beautiful snow… the mountain that God has made! Isn’t it lovely?”

Jazi looked around for a few moments and then sighed and settled back into her seat, “Oh, yes…you’re right…it is beautiful, Mama.” Her face softened and she smiled up at me. We floated through the rest of our ride in silence, soaking in the magic of the mountain.

Stacy was waiting for us at the top of the lift. “Okay girls,” she said, “just stand up, glide over to me and make a slice of pizza and your skis will stop.”

“Oh, Mama, I don’t know if I can!” Jazi said, whimpering just a bit.

From where we sat, the exit looked really steep, somewhat treacherous even. There was a really good chance that she could slip and fall, just to be followed by me tumbling off behind her… the odds of that were pretty good. Stacy smiled over at us, our eyes met and she tapped her forehead. Ninety-nine percent of skiing is in your head…oh goodness…my fearful, worried little head…

I cleared my throat. “You got this Jaz,” I said firmly, “just remember, stand up slowly and make a big slice of pizza!” And with that, together we stood… and together we glided… and together we stopped, without even a slight stumble.

“Great job!” Stacy shouted. “Yes, you two are absolutely naturals!”

Jazi’s face burst with pride.

For a moment, I just stood there at the top of that run, breathing in…then breathing out… the crisp scent of pine filling my lungs. The snow glistened, like opalescent glitter, in the morning light. The sky was wide and open and beckoning me to be a part of this good day.

“I’m ready now, let’s go, Mama!” Jazi said and then she fearlessly headed down the mountain.

I followed close behind, and as I glided smoothly through the snow I shouted, “Wooooohooooo!” from deep down in my belly.

From above us on the lift, Summer hollered down, “Good job, Mama, good job Jaz!”

And again I cried out, “WooooHoooo… WoooHoooo!” I shook my poles high in the air, shaking my fist at fear and worry all at once. I could hardly contain myself, howling and crying out all the way down the mountainside… God’s mountainside…so full of beauty, so full of life, down I went, in complete surrender to that sweet speed beneath me. Snow sprayed high into the air as I stopped at the end of the run, where Jazi was waiting for me, her face all aglow.

“Did you see me Mama? I was going so fast and I didn’t even fall!”

“I did see you Jaz! You did great! Did you see me? I didn’t fall either!”

“I did see you, Mama and you did great too!”

I did great, and my daughters were watching. I took a chance and they saw me. The amount of pride I felt in that small moment is nearly indescribable. I’m sure from the outside, it didn’t look like much and maybe it is silly to think that such small steps are such a great victory, but for my little afraid spirit, my brain that rattles around and entertains all the potential dangers, and so often gets stuck in the “what ifs”…this was a truly important event and a great battle won. And I felt alive and awake and completely exhilarated.

On our next chairlift ride Jazi said, “Mama, remember before when we were so scared? But look at us now!” She leaned her head back on the seat and with a peaceful sigh said, “This is just such a blessing, Mama. This is even better than Disneyland.”

I am reminded of the quote about courage not being the absence of fear but rather the ability to see that something is bigger than fear and that the brave person is not one who does not feel afraid, but one who conquers that fear. I did that. I felt afraid, very afraid, of the drive, of the mountain, of the cold, of the chairlift, of possible broken bones and lost toes… but I also saw that there was something much bigger going on here, much bigger than just a simple day in the snow, something worth fighting for, fears that needed conquering… daughters that needed to see their Mama be adventurous and brave. It was a gift, an opportunity to live, an opportunity to live life to the fullest…to live the abundant life, the life Jesus talked about.

I didn’t fall even once that entire day and even though I know that not everyday will be that way, I’ll go back to that mountain. I’ll make the drive, I’ll brave the cold and the chairlift. And I’ll bring my girls and if they get scared, I’ll tell them that they are almost there…and to look up… and to look forward… to look at all the beautiful things God has made. And if, or I guess…when… I fall…I’ll get back up.

Tami