When Baby Leaves A Frog Takes Up Residence

Right now, this very second, there is a humongous frog sitting right past my uvula, bearing down on my esophagus and making it ache. My throat is trying to swell shut. There are salty tears sitting right at the very edge of my eyelids.

Today's the day - the day our oldest child, my first baby, is moving to college.

Well, there ya' go - now the tears are flowing, my nose is dripping, I'm sniffling and quietly sobbing.

Anna's moving away to USC today; and by moving away, I mean like 20 minutes down the road. Just downtown. I'm there all the time; nonetheless, it has hit me extremely, extremely hard. All week, I've been on the verge. Didn't know exactly why. I've subonsciously done a great job pushing her move to the back of my mind, amid all the activities of our other kids having started school on Monday; but, I've had a few moments...at weird, mundane times. It's been the mundane things that have thrown me down and beat the tears out of me...

• Multiplying snacks X 5 in my head at Walmart when it hit me, I only need to buy for 4
• Unloading the dishwasher and opening the cabinet to find all her coffee cups are gone
• A stupid lost sock of hers shows up out of nowhere
• All the books she's poured through year after year, now stacked neatly back on the family bookshelves
• The blanket she uses when we watch chick flicks, folded on the rack
• Empty hangers where her clothes hung
• First day of school pics - everyone's, not just mine
• She packed away in the attic, all her trophies, ribbons and alot of childhood memorabilia
• Scanning through our homeowner's insurance, making sure her personal property in her dorm room is covered

Gah. I can't even think right now to write my feelings and capture this moment.

About this time of morning (3am), approx. 18 years ago, sitting up in our bed counting the minutes between contractions for 2 hours, with my thoughts and fears to myself while Gerald slept unaware, I never would have dreamed that the labor pains bringing our first child into this world, were not nearly as painful as the labor was going to be when letting her go.

Roots and wings. There's no good way to stretch those roots when they're ready to fly. It's hell, people; and I suspect the pain takes a long time to wane.

That's all I can do for now. All I can say. All I can type.

DON'T LOOK TOO DEEPLY INTO MY THEOLOGY

Okay, so I'm no theologian and I don't want to be, at all, ever. This list is just a few things I started typing today and the list kept growing. It's just a 'show-n-tell', not a statement of belief. In a few years (or days), I'm sure it will change/morph and it's certainly not an exhaustive list; I could have went on and on and on.

I hope someone gets something positive, encouraging from this - a good memory, an 'aha' moment, an answer maybe?  I found myself remembering and reliving 'prayer events' in my life. Isn't that strange? Reliving prayer moments? Never heard of that before I just typed it. "Memories of Prayer," hmm. Do you have one?

Please, add to this list in the comments or take from it. It's just something I feel compelled to share; opinions/thoughts that I've learned/compiled over the last, few years when my praying started in earnest, on a more adult, 'I get it now' level. It's my (very) personal take on the power of prayer - power that can hurt, and certainly power that can heal.

I started typing the list after I had an exciting, exhilerating, encouraging brush with the power of prayer today - unexpected (I love unexpected prayer moments), all the way from the other side of the world (Ghana). It was an answer to prayer, though I had not asked a question. I guess it was more of an encouragement/"you can do it to"/"I know what you need - come on, I'm God" . Yep, that's what it was. I had a prayer/thought to myself earlier this week -  "Am I fully ready for this task that lay ahead?" I then took a deep breath, put on my big girl (swim) britches after deciding that even if I didn't dive in, I was surely getting pushed. You know that scenario, right? Ha.
So, God my Father saw fit to send me a personal note of encouragement; a little note in the lunchbox if you will. And all the way from Ghana. I'm sure there's a reason for that, as well.

Don't ever doubt that God uses you in tremendous ways, within your minute, daily tasks or the big tasks of being faithful in the way He leads you.

Enjoy and please, comment, I love feedback.

*Sidenote: Not all the points I've listed are as prayer should be, just as I've seen them be.



I fully believe in:

• Prayer
• The power of prayer
• The infinite power of the power
• The power we receive from prayer
• The power we release from prayer
• The power of prayer to the nth degree
• Traditional prayer
• Non-traditional prayer
• The harmonious work of the Holy Spirit as a messenger among the Believers and the Beloved, bringing us all within a circle of God's powerful, infinite Love, that strengthens with Faith and Trust; then circles around again (sounds sort of hippy-esque, ha.)

I fully believe that:

• The One to whom we pray, possesses every bit of the power of this world and beyond
• The power of prayer is mulitiplied innumerably by the masses and synthesized by the Holy Spirit
• Mass prayer can be just as ineffectual, as effectual
• Prayer is about being fully engaged, in the moment
• Prayer is personal
• Prayer should never be a forced act, or without heart and soul
• Prayer is more than just simple
• Prayer is a simple act
• Prayer is for simple-minded people
• Prayer is for intelligensia
• Everyone prays, admit or not
• Prayer is for everyone and anyone
• Prayer is not talking to God
• Prayer is conversing with God
• Prayer is a reward itself
• Prayer brings about things never imagined
• Prayer is good
• Prayer is ugly
• Prayer hurts
• Prayer heals
• Prayer feels good, refreshes, is quite tasty
• Prayer is proud
• Prayer is humble
• Prayer is quiet
• Prayer is loud
• Prayer is between you and God
• Prayer is not best in public
• Prayer can make you sick to your stomach
• Prayer is not an activity to be judged by mere mortals
• Prayer is not an opportunity to judge someone's spirituality
• Prayer should not be a formal task
• Prayer should not be a task
• Prayer should not be irreverent
• Prayer is not always serious
• Prayer should be comfortable
• Prayer is standing with hands raised
• Prayer is standing, head bowed, hands folded
• Prayer is groveling, gritting teeth, renting clothes, on your knees, "No, I refuse."
• Prayer is soaking in tears, eyes swollen, head fallen, releasing, trusting, "Yes."
• One should always remember the One to whom they're praying
• One should always remember the One to whom they're praying loves them
• One should always remember the One to whom they're praying should be respected
• One should always remember the One to whom they're praying should be feared
• Praying comes naturally
• Praying without ceasing is not a task
• Praying without ceasing is a continual conversation
• Praying without ceasing is opportunity
• Prayer is a responsibility to others
• Praying for Sally's lost dog, Tommy's bruised toe, and Johnny's turtle is an opportunity to talk with GOD. Hello.
• Being too haughty to pray for something you deem as "below you" is digging yourself a special place...somewhere; be careful and remember, you have no power except what is given to you by Christ. So step off

PUCKER UP

I don't dream much.

On certain nights I cherish because they are both rare and wonderful, before I fall into light, unconscious sleep, I first fall into memories.

Recently, I floated into childhood. I write this now and my eyes are brim with tears at the full, rich memories - those moments lost in childhood when all was joyful contentment and the world had yet to tinge the innocence.

Pucker. Go ahead. Do it. Pucker your lips and make that dry, popping sound puckered lips create.
Sounds of my childhood. From the lips of my Grandmother. 'Grandma Granny' we call her.

Walking quietly down a dirt road in late summer, Dad picks small, burnt orange, shriveled fruit from trees here and there. Sharing ensues and as each person tastes of this fruit that is mysterious to me, I listen and learn. Some taste, groan in displeasure, spit and everyone chuckles. I want in. Granny takes a taste of her piece of the juicy fruit, smiles, and offers it to me. I bite at the fruit, and the opportunity of the knowledge eluding me. Slightly sweet fruit, and a texture in which I don't particularly take delight.

I take a turn finding the right trees, spotting the fruit, and a lesson with a warning is given...pick only the ripe fruit; pick fruit that's not ready and you're sure to have a surprise awaiting you. Pucker.

I learn the word, 'Pucker'. Granny proceeds to define the term with action, puckering and making a dry, popping noise with her nicely lipsticked mouth, tinted an understated color. Somewhere between pink and nude. Soft granny lips that had kissed away tears and said goodbye countless times. Lips that I loved. Lips of coffee, and butterscotch candies, and sweet perfume.

I start tasting the fruit to find one sour so that I can experience 'pucker'. Not long...

My lips draw in, my brain creates a new path and I'm now in that inner circle. I came, I saw, I puckered. They chuckle.

Traveling down the road. Granny, Great Granny, Grandpa, Daddy, Sister, Brother, Mom and Me.
And I'm much the wiser for it.

Why that memory, on that night, God only knows, but the warmth has stuck with me all week.

  “I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

Bringing Home Baby

I remember it like it was yesterday...bringing home our firstborn and walking through the door of our home, the place of comfort and familiarity.
But everything felt different. Everything looked different. The atmosphere was odd and the world was a foreign place. I wanted my Mommy. I needed direction, instructions, reassurance. It was a lonely island of you-and him-and her...Anna Marie.

I was a parent and nothing, ever, would be the same.

Seventeen years later, here I am once again, standing in the doorway with my firstborn, not knowing what to do or what the hell I've gotten myself into.
This time though, I'm standing on the inside of the threshold, about to watch my firstborn walk out of our life, and into her own. I need reassurance. The atmosphere is odd and everything feels different.

Senior year is about to start and I'm already drowning in my own tears, surprised by how hard it's hit me. I've started making a mental checklist, making sure we've taught her absolutely everything she needs to know to survive out there. Then I laugh at the absurdity for a split second until the worry hits that spot in my stomach again, and I'm gasping for air. Warm tears cannot be dammed behind the eyelashes. This is not like me, I think. 'What is wrong with you?!?' An imaginary wind chills any confidence I have had in my parenting skills. All seems wrong and lost on this island. This freaking mother-island.

I replay in my head a memory that pops up from way back in my sub-conscious, of the day Gerald left for college...
Gerald's Mom standing at the kitchen sink, shoulders slumped and shaking, trying to stifle the sobs and peel potatoes for dinner. I watched her from behind not knowing what to do or say (I was a slight mess myself). Now I know what she knew. I feel what she felt. I can only imagine my Mom doing the same when I left a year later.

Is this part of the curse? That the labor pains never really end? You feel a longing in your womb, your breast, your every fiber for that little bundle of warmth that scared the living crap out of you; that pulled you out of narcissism and into sacrifice; that made you realize just how short life is; that makes you brave and a complete mess at the same time; that makes you long for that child even when they're right next to you still.

In my mind's eye, I see the famous Sistine Chapel painting of Adam reaching out to touch just the tip of God's finger. I focus on the hands, everything else a blur. I'm reaching for one small touch so I can hang on one more minute. I'm rooting for myself, 'Reeeach! you can do it!' And yet, I know I cannot, because she has wings, the wings I've groomed everyday for the past seventeen years. 

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Mary, the Holy Mother. I'm sure she would scoff at that title. I have all kinds of questions for her when I get to heaven. We're gonna sit down at Starbucks Heaven and talk about our children, specifically sons. Wow, I so wish she would have written a book. She could have wowed us all with the tale of the perfect child, huh? Imagine that.

When Jesus told His parents he was leaving town - getting the heck out of Dodge - to answer His Call - hang with a bunch of traveling fisherman, do some tent revivals, heal some lepers and have some free, heavy-duty therapy sessions with prostitutes and the like - what do you think dinner was like that evening?

Parents: "Jesus, please, you've been studying in the Temple for
years; you've almost got your GED, you've got it made, kid. Why not
stay? The whole family lives here. Everybody in town knows you; you've got connections. You've been a little quirky your whole life and we've given you your space but now it's getting old. Don't be ridiculous. You're gonna be a priest."

Jesus: "But, Dad, this is my Call in life. It's my passion. It's what I
was born to do. I'm gonna change the world, give people a reason to live, a purpose."

Parents: "That's great, Jesus. It's a noble thing, really, but
you need to finish your education first; you need something to fall back
on. What if this whole passion-thing of yours doesn't work out, then
what? You need a steady job, insurance, retirement, a family."

Mary: "We just want YOU to be happy, Jesus. Find you a nice
girl, get betrothed, buy a nice camel, maybe a coat with many
colors."

Joseph: "We won't allow it. No. That's it, you're not
going. End of discussion."

Jesus: "Just try and stop me."

I don't know. Who knows how that family discussion went down. "Mary, did you know?" That's the question.

Do YOU know? Do you know your child's Call? How will the discussion go when it's your child's time to answer their Call?

For years, from about Kindergarten until Freshman year, Anna always claimed that her future was to be a missionary. I don't know where that came from but I always knew God was going to change her mind; she just didn't seem the missionary type, I thought. No, God, there's something more, isn't there?

Gerald and I never discussed with her much about her future. We never pushed her into this or that; never talked about a certain college, or college at all for that matter. Some people aren't called to college. We tried to leave the door wide open. I guess we just always had an understanding that she would know, she would figure it out, it was her life/her future to sort through. Whatever it was, He would make it known. Our job was to make sure that she new to listen and had ears open to hear the Call. We would get out of her way when she needed; help her when she asked. We put her through a Student Leadership program that would guide her and give her wisdom to make wise choices about her future. Teach her what we didn't know, and some of which she wouldn't want to hear from her parents. We offered her a big headstart and it took.

For a couple of years now, Anna has been bent on becoming a Lawyer. At first I was excited for her but lately, I haven't said much about it to encourage her, crossing my fingers she'd get her wits about her and then figure out her REAL Calling. I don't know what my hesitation was. Lawyer just didn't ring in my ear. I just knew she was going to change her mind. I had this butterfly in the pit of my stomach.

So I waited. Here we are now, Junior year, starting to get into all the college planning. Lord, what ARE you waiting for? What are you doing? Talk to her, PLEASE. She's confused.

Today, it hit me - Amy, what are YOU doing?

How many times have I sat and listened to a student tell me their heartache about having to go to the college mom and dad picked out b/c mom and dad would pay for nothing but. How may times have I heard parents talk and talk and talk, nag and nag and nag about having a "fallback", until finally the child gives up on their Passion, to do the will of their parents instead? I've watched passion-called missionaries become parent-called dentists instead; i've watched passion-called teachers become parent-called engineers instead. I've even watched a woman stubbornly allow her family's life to continue to deteriorate for the sake of financial comfort and a good reputation, by not allowing her spouse out of a career that was killing him and their marriage; instead of seeing their marriage possibly reborn within the joy, strength and confidence of a man, doing what he was created to do.

And the thing is, I always swore I'd never be that parent. Well, as it is, I can't judge, lest I be judged.

I have refused to step off the ladder so that she can climb the top on her own. It's not that I don't like the roof she's going to step out on, rather I'd like to see her take a different ladder, you know one that I have deemed, "safer," even though I myself have been injured on this ladder many times. Explanation forthcoming.

Today, I will go talk with my daughter. I've never verbally rejoiced with her, in her Calling; I've always held back, thinking it would change. I've not interested myself with the college she wants to attend because, frankly, it scares me a little that she wants to attend a college in D.C. that's not a private, Christian college. Truthfully, I guess I thought she would always want to stay in a Christian (i.e. safer) environment even though we've always reared our kids otherwise; and it's embarrassing to admit because I know better. Christian is certainly NOT a synonym for safe; it's anything but. We've purposely educated our children in a way so that they can go anywhere. They have to know what they believe, why they believe it and be strong enough to stand up for their beliefs, in all areas of life. And here I stand, purposely holding back from my daughter the joy deserved, and during what should be a celebratory event in her life, simply because I refuse to be an active participant in my own discomfort. What a hypocrite.

I don't know what I thought Anna would do in life. I know that I should have been able to see it. She's always been very stubborn and eerily but logically, persuasive. Too smart for her own good sometimes.

I know she's instinctively felt my qualms about her decision and I think our relationship has silently suffered for that. I cannot afford that right now. Only so many marbles left in that jar until she's gone.

I've never heard what my daughter has heard, directly from her God, about the Call on her life. What I have heard is my daughter, HER voice, trusting in her God. Yep, she has a voice, we reared her that way - if only we'd known =). Only she can hear what the Lord is saying to her about her life. I can only hear what the Lord is saying to me about mine - He's been fairly loud and clear this week. Sure, I can help, dole out some advice but she has the power of the decision. For the power I have, I have to trust in the Lord and trust that I have helped rear my child to hear the voice of God, loud and clear. And then I pray, constantly reciting my children's names in His ear. It's a circle that's unbroken.

So now, I must let.....go. Oh, it's so much harder than I thought it would be. This labor pain is going to last awhile, I'm afraid.