A GOOD, GOOD FATHER

Dad and his boys.

Today is Father’s Day. My hubby and I are out of town. He’s playing golf with our five sons as I sit alone in our hotel suite and write my reflections of the day. We’re both happy. :) 

We left home for the weekend, and I was relieved I didn’t have to be at church this morning. Why? Because the plan was to show pictures of everyone’s father on the big screen, and somehow I didn’t think I could sit through it without embarrassing tears. This is always an emotional day for me. 

Not because I didn’t have a good father. Just the opposite; I had one of the best. And I miss him. I’m now a grandmother of ten, but today…I miss my daddy. I miss his smile, his clever sayings, his calm demeanor. I wonder what he was thinking when he was my age, watching me rear our own children. Did he wonder if they’d turn out to be decent citizens? Did he question the leadership their father was giving them?

My heart breaks for the multitudes of children who have never known the love of a good father. I’m also ashamed of and amazed at my naiveté for the years I took mine for granted. As a secure, dearly loved only child, I assumed all children had the same blessing. How sadly wrong I was. I wish I could tell my dad now how special our relationship was to me and thank him for the amazing legacy he left behind. He fulfilled the example of godly ancestors described in Psalm 78:5-7 concerning telling abut God’s power and miracles.

" He commanded our ancestors to teach them to their children, so the next generation might know them—even the children not yet born—that they in turn might teach their children. So each generation can set its hope anew on God, remembering His glorious miracles, and obeying His commands.”

 Our sons have assumed the role of leadership in their homes that was modeled for them, and I’m so thankful. I see them expressing their love and appreciation to their dad and I thank God they’re doing it while he’s still here to hear it. Granted, they might express it by “spanking” him on the golf course or joking him about his bird legs or a myriad other idiosyncrasies they laugh about, but he knows … he knows.

Then and Now

When I was a young mother to five lively, competitive little boys, I thought the season would never end. The vision of them as high school students wasn’t on my radar. Nor the vision of them walking across a stage and receiving a college diploma. Certainly not the image of them standing at an altar waiting on their bride to appear. I didn’t try to see anything beyond surviving the week and getting to relax on Saturday mornings. Sweet Saturday… the only day I could linger in bed, reflecting on my week, letting the older children fend for themselves and hoping the younger ones complied.  Back then, according to my journal, their behavior and my expectations sometimes failed to coincide…

October 10, 1980

Dear Journal, 
I’m ready to scream! My peaceful morning isn’t happening. The older boys came into my bedroom to watch cartoons, sloshing milk from their overfull cereal bowls. My three-year-old piled on top of me, smelling like a toxic waste dump. The 13-month-old came in dragging his blanket. I made his bottle, a cup of coffee for myself, and lay back down when I heard wailing. An older brother just took away the blanket.

The next scene was the youngest on the kitchen table, sitting in his brother’s bowl of cereal. I cleaned up the mess, put him in the sink for a bath, turned away to answer the phone, and he dumped the contents of my purse into his bath water.

Soon it’s going to be lunchtime and I’ll still have breakfast mess. The older boys want to hunt this afternoon, so they’ll all leave with their dad, and I’ll have stacks of chili bowls and scattered cracker crumbs to deal with. 
Will this never end?

By the end of the day, Saturdays became a blend of mud-caked boots, footballs scattered on the lawn, strewn towels left from half-washed hands, shotgun shells scattered on the floor, shotgun pellets in the carpet, runny noses and wet beds, but always spontaneous hugs and aura of contentment. The only way I survived then was to remind myself that life has its seasons.  There would be a time when I could finish a telephone conversation without having to settle a dispute, and I could drink a whole cup of coffee before it got stone cold. Not always would one meal morph into the next.

Now that time is here… except when the sons come home.  Suddenly I find myself in Phase Two childrearing—one even more challenging. It involves adult sons, who hardly ever come home alone. They bring others—a girlfriend, wife, or friends. They also bring little people (grandchildren), and animals (dogs).  And they bring equipment: guns, fishing equipment, boots, cameras, Frisbees, footballs, critter boxes, toys. 

Nobody coached me about being prepared for this season of life. Now I’m not only a mother. Now I’m wife, mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, friend, babysitter, counselor, cook and hostess. I still want everything to flow smoothly, like a well-oiled machine. I want our gatherings to look like the Norman Rockwell painting where the family is seated, everybody smiling. They don’t.

I would want folks to think our grandchildren refrain from running through the house, jumping on furniture, banging the piano, and that they leave the toys neat and towels hung up.  They don’t.

Instead, our house looks like a combination hunting camp, animal shelter, and preschool. I’m challenged to try to keep everybody happy and the dogs from peeing on the planted lettuce that goes in our salads. 

There are moments when things don’t look at all as I like to imagine it. There are moments when our emotional love tanks don’t get full all the way. And moments when we all have to extend grace to one another. But altogether, it’s exactly what a family is meant to be: not perfect, but striving. Apologizing. Extending grace. Covering one another’s shortcomings.
As a young mom, I fretted over whether or not I devoted too much time to our boys. The more time I spent with them, the more I wanted to spend—and the more I enjoyed them. Now I’m experiencing the principle I observed years ago…

May 14, 1985

Dear Journal,
I realize something. Children are not a part of our lives; they
are our life. When they become adults, we are rewarded the privilege of being a part of their lives.

And it’s good.

Post Thanksgiving

Our front door

I would like for Thanksgiving at our house to look like the Norman Rockwell painting where the family is gathered around a beautifully appointed table, big golden turkey waiting to be carved, everybody smiling. It doesn’t.

Instead, it looks very much like a hunting camp. It looks a bit like an animal shelter when some of the sons bring their big dogs and our fifteen pound cat cops a serious attitude. This year the challenge was keeping the dogs from peeing on the planted lettuce that would later go in our salads.

I would also like for folks to think our grandchildren refrain from running through the house, jumping on furniture, and banging the piano. I wish! I also like to think they will leave the toys neat and towels hung up. Not so. In fact…

At the end of the day…

There were moments when Thanksgiving didn’t look at all as I like to image it. There were moments when our emotional love tanks didn’t get full all the way. And moments when we all had to extend grace to one another. 

But altogether, it was exactly what a family is meant to be: not perfect, but striving. Apologizing. Extending grace. Covering one another’s shortcomings. It was a day when we didn’t ask for God’s blessings. We could only pray for Him to enable us to begin to appreciate the overwhelming abundance He has allowed us to experience.

At the end of it all, I’m happy. We did the best we could. We’re learning what it means to live in one accord. And we made more memories. Most of them good. :)

Willing grandchildren cleaned the playroom

Sweet cousin love

Grownups’ night out!

Mom Time

Well, my big weekend is here—the event I’ve planned and prayed about for the past three months. The Mom Time Weekend, in which I’ll host 24 young mothers at our farm. The purpose is to give them an opportunity to be refreshed, recharged, and recommitted to the task of mothering their children. They also need inspiration to be the wives their husbands need in order to get their jobs done. 

I’ve never felt more totally prepared, yet so completely unprepared. Prepared in the sense that God has for the last 46 years trained, disciplined, and shaped me to become a wife to Burt Sr. and mother to our five sons. I feel confident in knowing the relationship with my husband is loving and secure, and in seeing our sons well on their way to becoming godly young men. But then…

I realize how unprepared I am to talk to these young women who are coming behind me, because I don’t know what they will walk through in the process of rearing their children. I don’t know the issues that might need “fixing” with their husbands. I don’t know the fears and frustrations that  hide in their hearts.

With these thoughts, I’m up before daybreak to pray, listen, and wait for the Holy Spirit to speak to my spirit. This isn’t some weird, out-of-body effort. It’s the simple, wonderful knowledge that Jesus Christ Himself lives inside me in the form of the Spirit, and He has all knowledge and all wisdom. All I have to do is clear my mind of clutter and distractions so I can hear His voice. The words I share must be the what the women need to hear in order to be refreshing water on the dry places of their souls.

Thankfully I’m not doing this alone! I’m blessed to have other women, some my age and some several years younger, who are helping me host this event. I’m immensely grateful for their commitment to their families and to the Lord. They are beautiful examples to the world of what success in this life looks like: their marriages are flourishing, their children are secure. These women are scattered around the state, as far as their residences. One of them I haven’t seen in ten years, two of them I knew before they became mothers, two are newer acquaintences. But I know their hearts, and I know regardless of what comes, they will be found faithful to Jesus Christ.

So this morning I wait. I wait to receive the fresh infilling of His spirit. I wait to experience the joy of His presence. I wait to be mindful of  my dependence on Him and aware of my need to let my words be His words. I wait to be reminded that my job this weekend is not to make myself look good, but to make HIM look good.

My prayer this day is that the young mothers who come will see themselves charged with the most challenging, influential job on earth—shaping the next generation. I pray they will leave on Sunday with it forever settled in their spirits that they are doing what they were created to do and that the spirit of the living God resides in them and will equip them for their task.

SUMMER SCENES

I know summer is now only a memory. This last day of October is full of promises of brilliant leaves, brisk chilly air, sparks from the fireplace drifting up the chimney…

But before I go there, I’m reviewing scenes from this last summer. It was filled with memories of cousin time…corn-on-the-cob…chocolate homemade ice cream…catching turtles…

Corn-on-the-Cobb

Mom Time Retreat

On November 6-8, 2015, I’ll host a weekend getaway for young mothers. In the beginning, this seemed like a welcome opportunity for mothers to come together for a time of relaxation, fellowship, and inspiration. I envision them connecting with the older moms who will be helping host— lovingly called the L.O.L.s (the Little Old Ladies)—and I see them bonding with other mothers who are in the same season of life. I imagine them worshipping together, sharing some laughs, and leaving refreshed. I know all this will happen, and yet I sense something more…something bigger, deeper, weightier… I realize God is changing my focus for the purpose of this weekend.

Two weekends ago, the L.O.L.s (Gaile, Becky, Lynda Lee and Joan) and I met together for an overnight at Joan’s home in Gray, GA. Our purpose was to get to know one another and to let  the Holy Spirit prepare us for the November weekend. As we shared our thoughts and perceptions, we agreed  this upcoming event will involve deeper challenges than we originally thought. Collectively, we realized we have to inspire the mothers to rear their children to be warriors for Christ. In order to do that, some attitudes must be in place first, such as…

Respect for our husbands. Understanding God’s plan for order in the home. This might be a challenge because there will be single moms here for the weekend. There will be husbands who might not be aware of their spiritual responsibility, but we’ll address those issues with the leading of the Spirit.

The absolute infallibility of the scriptures. We know some ministers and Christian leaders are re-interpreting the Word of God. We have to challenge these moms not to succumb to compromise. How do we prepare ourselves to be countercultural?

In short, what do we as older mentoring moms tell these precious young women? We pray that the girls (and all of us) will have positive, hopeful, encouraging takeaway. We want them to leave with renewed desire to fulfill the role God has for them. We want them to be joyful mothers, filled with hope for the future. But we can’t kid ourselves and disregard the trends that are taking place in our culture. 

This time of preparation to lead the young mothers is proving to be challenging to me. I’ve had to reinforce my own convictions and comfort from God’s Word. I’ve refreshed myself with the promises He has given us. In a phone conversation with our oldest son, he reminded me that when we have a spiritual principle operating in our own life, we can speak with authority that it be replicated in someone else’s life. I guess this is like knowing we’re one the right path so  we can show someone else the way. In truth, we can’t lead someone to a place we’ve never been.

So I’m praying for the Truth to be operational in my own Christian walk. I’m praying for courage, and conviction, and confidence. And I pray I can convey these attitudes to those young women who will come in November. 

The re-TIRED Mother

I was somewhat naive as a young mom. I thought if I could just get our rowdy little boys to reach adulthood I could rest from anticipating the phone call that begins, “Mom, I’ve had a little accident…” It hasn’t panned out that way. Only now the calls come from wives.

Take this past Saturday for instance. Jenny called. “Miss Careen, pray for Josh. I’m not sure what happened, but he was in the back yard and now Bill and Mark are taking him to the emergency room…” So begins another saga in my life of rearing boys who now have become grown men still doing boy stuff.

To sum up this latest episode, Josh was within three minutes of losing his life. He and two friends (all grown men) were target practicing with their bows in Josh’s backyard. While trying to dislodge an arrow hung in a fence, Josh was squatting on the ground, left foot braced for leverage, yanking on the trapped arrow when it suddenly gave way causing him to lose his balance and the notched end of the arrow ripped through Josh’s femoral artery. A series of God-ordained circumstances followed.

The two friends with him were qualified to cope with emergencies; one was the son of a retired surgeon, the other the CEO of a major hospital.

Josh was wearing a military belt which was designed to be used as a tourniquet.

Burt Sr. and I were available to drive Jenny to the hospital.

Her number One babysitter was ten minutes away and available on Saturday afternoon to come until Jenny’s parents could get their children.

Josh’s friend Mark, who carried him to the truck and into the ER in Americus, called ahead and secured a qualified vascular surgeon who met them at the hospital in Albany and was waiting when the ambulance arrived from Americus.

The Holy Spirit alerted friends from all around who knew how to pray.

These are a sampling of the combination of “coincidences” that demonstrated God’s control. But the real testifier of God’s authority was in His  Word. For several weeks, Burt Sr. had been focusing on the word “keeper,” as used in Psalm 12.

God Almighty, the keeper of Israel, who never slumbers or sleeps, “…watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade” (verse 5). And when Jesus prayed to His Father in John 17, he prayed not only for the disciples who were with Him in His time on Earth, but in verse 20 He says, “I am praying not only for these disciples but also for all who will ever believe in my because of their testimony.” We know that’s US!

Not only those marvelous written promises, but the inner witness of the Spirit God gave me when our sons were little boys. At that time, I sensed God speaking to my sprint and saying that I was to rear five godly men for Him—men who would establish five godly households that would be a testimony to Him. I’ve hung on to that assurance, even when I can imagine potential catastrophes our sons could encounter.

Satan loves to torment mothers with the “what if…” suggestions. We mothers need to know that our children are a gift from God and are placed on Earth to fulfill their destiny, and we have to hold tight to the declaration that Jesus made that the ones who are His cannot be plucked from His hand.

This entire event was sobering and scary. Our family was threatened by the enemy. He came disturbingly close: in Josh and Jenny’s back yard. Josh’s brothers were deeply affected emotionally at the realization that our lives can change forever in less than three minutes. If anything, their devotion to one another as brothers was deepened. My surrender of our sons to God’s keeping was reestablished. As a mother of adventurous males, I have nothing but God’s promises to rely on. They know survival shills, but they know the One who has the final word to say about their lives. I pray we never forget the promise of God’s keeping, but I also pray we never put ourselves away from Him in harm’s way.