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A Both-And Mother’s Day

I will count a few of my blessings and sing of praises and grief mingled. I will not edit right away in syntax or thought.

Today we did some normal things…Nothing extravagant for Mother’s Day. We went to church. We went to the store. We got our dog to our temporary home. I sat in church and cried because it smelled like home and the chairs were familiar and the faces know my eyes. I sat in the middle of daughters and loaner daughters and sons and loaner sons and knew we were not alone. They are doing and being Church to our weary moments.

Today I opened this from one of my students who thanked me for helping him grow. He’s helped me grow.

Today I remembered hope more than fear.

One week ago I stood with neighbors who wrapped their arms around me, kept me safe, helped save my cat’s life, brought me water, and gave me shoes. Highland family ran to me past fire trucks, brought my kids to me, took our dog to their home, texted me through the night. Britt and Holly Linder came to us not just as insurance agents but as friends and extended family and stood with us while I sobbed . Our Sarah Kay’s almost father in law drove through Memphis and stopped to pray with us and reminded us we are family and not alone with a wedding two weeks away.

This week Michelle and Anna created a picture perfect graduation party for Maggie. Ballet moms hugged and cried and gave me pictures. My Community family and Memphis homeschool families have sent cards and texts and lasagna. #teammom and Holly and Heather continue to text me through the nights after the sun goes down and the tears won’t stop.

Tonight my Sarah Kay is in the kitchen cooking for me so that I don’t have to think. She went shopping with me because I have been anxious to be near many people. Zachary and Alex Pike came home yesterday for graduation and I took notice of how they comfort and care for one another and how Alex smiles with her whole heart and loves us…really. Benjamin texted and I saw his face via FaceTime and know he loves our girl and us. Martha and Maci bought picture frames and printed pictures for hour little home away from home. DJ read cards of encouragement to me. Maggie brought me coloring crayons and a new coloring book. My Donnie has signed every paper, made every call, sat with me in front of ashes and stood with me where fire did NOT destroy me.

I’m not sure when I will have a day without the aches I can kind of touch. I don’t know when i will answer text or not lose my phone or be afraid to answer the phone unless it’s one of my kids or Donnie. I don’t know all the ways this will change me or who i am will be after this. I am not doing this with a lot of grace or pretty calm movements or keeping it together on the inside or outside most of the time, but I smiled today. I rejoiced with a friend yesterday. I stopped crying before I went to sleep last night.

We are both broken and beautiful. We are praying and fussing and laughing and crying and smiling and cussing and living and it’s ok to be just “ok”.

We are both/and and I will do the next best thing next even if I don’t want to and I will breath in new life because I choose to. We will have beauty while we sweep up ashes.

A Real Good Story

I spent 2 decades pouring over charts and planning meals and choosing curriculum and new starts and new systems and tiny budgets and to spank or not to spank and far too much fussing loudly.  I still go to church and clean the house and fuss and homeschool and organize and go to therapy.  I travel more and worry about new things.  The next big thing is no longer just around the corner, because I learned for this season that all of it mattered.  The big moments, the laundry folding plans, the dishwashing schedule, the curriculum choices, the grocery budgets, and weird meal plans all mattered.  It was no one big thing. It never has been.  It is all a real good story.  All of those moments and lists and hopes and routines are what meant survival and beating the odds and crossing finish lines to only face the next shotgun start.  I have spent the last 25 years with one shotgun start after another while eeeking over the last finish line and every line in the sand has been washed away just as I was expecting my ribbons.  The ribbon is that it is a real good story.  A story where the bigs are making it and making their way and finding love and themselves and Jesus all in their own relationship to the world.  I am in a new season of watching my own prize ceremony while they start their own races.  I see that I didn’t mess it all up.  Most of the choices were ok.  We are still a mess. We are still safe.  We have actually beat some odds while I was looking for the perfect system of beating the odds.  Most of it came in the next best thing next.  So many finish lines to go in the race. More unknowns than ever and sweating it out with less fear and more wondering and wandering because that isn’t so scary.  This season I think that teaching them it is ok not to know and we really never knew what we were going to do and it wasn’t awful is the best lesson.  It is possible to be as shattered and broken as a box of mismatched china that has been rattled through decades of racing with no direction and fear and still do the next best thing next and love well and serve strong and tuck littles in without shattering them.

Shattered isn’t contagious and it is a real good story.

More than the sun and the stars and the moon on every leg of the race……