Seeds and Flowers

Lately it seems almost everyone I’ve talked to has referenced cleaning out, decluttering, organizing, or down-sizing. I’m in the same mode. I wonder if it’s the season of the year or my season of life. In going through a closet I found a cross-stitched a sampler that said,

“All the flowers of all the tomorrows are in the seeds of today.”

I couldn’t articulate all the meaning behind the statement, but it resonated with something deep inside my spirit.

I’m thinking about the seeds that reside in me now—my lessons learned from several decades of life. The treasure of knowledge and understanding I need to pass on to the next generation. I’m also thinking of letting things go: sets of dishes, stacks of sheet music, pictures, memorabilia… stuff to pass on or give away to make room for new memories.

Recently two grandchildren were here and they enjoyed exploring the woods surrounding our house. They came back with all sorts collectibles—bottles, shed antlers,a turtle shell, interesting rocks, arrow heads, unusual pine cones. They suggested I clean out a downstairs closet and make a “museum” for the treasures the cousins find on the farm. “You know,” they said, “like a memory closet.”

Only problem was, it already is a memory closet. It’s stuffed full of memories from my own growing up days. There are things in there that belonged to my mother and grandmother. Nothing really valuable, just… memories. And what will I ever do with those things? The dishes my mother and mother-in-law used when they had company are packed in plastic tubs. I never use them; they aren’t dishwasher safe. And the boxes and boxes of sheet music my mother collected over her 60-plus years of piano teaching are too challenging for me to attempt to play, so why keep them? I must admit, however, I might have trouble throwing away the stored pictures and homemade cards, etc. that our boys made in elementary school. And the box of cheap trophies they earned back in the day before “everybody got a trophy”—I can’t let them go!

All this to say, I’m challenged right now to consider what’s important to pass off and what’s important to pass on. I feel that Pops and I are holding a huge basket of seeds that either need to be planted or thrown away.

There are the books I’ve collected over the years, good ones containing advice for living. I know these would benefit other families and they aren’t helping anyone by sitting on my bookshelf in a closet. My own book: I want to scatter the seeds of wisdom I’ve gained from experience, trial and error, and the Lord’s leading as I reared our sons.

When I see our family, I realize I’m seeing the flowers that have resulted form seeds sewn years ago. For fifty years, we’ve planted, cultivated, dug up weeds in our family garden…and we’re still working on it.

I thought about our grandchildren. What seeds do I have left to plant in them?

Three little girls are begging me to teach them to play the piano. I’m tempted to tell them no because it’s trouble. I don’t know how to convey the little I know the way my mother did to me. But then one of them said, “Lollie, I want to play the piano, but I really just enjoy being with you by myself.” So there.

The girls (especially) share my love of writing, and two have asked me to respond back in their personal journals to questions they have for me to answer. One of my precocious granddaughters said with perfect confidence that we will publish our book. She calls it Stories from Grandma’s House. Who knows…maybe we will.

As Pops and I weigh the efforts between teaching a boy to fish, a little girl to play piano or make a piecrust, read aloud to a squirmy toddler, or sacrifice a good night’s rest for a sleepover in our bedroom, I’m thinking about the seeds. We can keep all our memories and our knowledge in our basket and be comfortable and retired, or we can make the effort to spread, share, and plant the seeds we have for them to come up as flowers in future years.

A Moment of Introspection

I watched the couple as they entered the dining room; obviously senior citizens. He guided her to the buffet and showed her the stack of plates on the end. I was impressed by the awareness they seemed to have of each other. She indicated she wanted to check out the dessert choices before joining the queue and reminded him to pick up his salad plate. He ladled a serving of soup into a bowl and handed it to her. They’ve probably been married a long time.

With his hands holding plates of food, he used his body to push open the glass door leading out onto the patio. She passed through, placed her plate on the table, and came back to hold the door for him. He pulled her chair back for her and adjusted it as she sat down.

They simultaneously bowed their heads and prayed.

They seemed delighted with their young female server. She briefly lingered at their table when she brought their drinks, recognizing their need to tell her they were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. They no doubt wanted to say more, but she was understandably busy.

They chatted occasionally throughout the meal, but mostly ate in comfortable silence. She usually had to repeat her statements, leaning forward and speaking louder. Yet, she never seemed annoyed.

After dinner, neither of them seemed anxious to leave. They sat in contemplation, watching the kaleidoscope of sunset, each lost in personal thought. Then, as if on cue, they both reached across the table for the other’s hand. She tenderly stroked his gold wedding band, her chin propped in her other hand. 

I found myself wondering what they were thinking.

Had the past fifty years flown by for them?

Did they compare themselves to other couples in the same season of life?

Did they have regrets?

Were they hiding fears of the future? 

Were they wondering how many more anniversaries they would celebrate together?

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Eventually they rose to leave. I couldn’t resist letting my eyes follow them, when I suddenly realized they were coming toward me. 

And in that moment I recognized them.

He reached for the glass door, held it open for her, and we morphed into the reflection as we exited the dining room.

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Letting Go… and Moving On

In the next couple of weeks the familiar strains of Pomp and Circumstance will ignite a myriad of emotions—relief, excitement, trepidation, expectation, regret perhaps—but certainly anticipation of a new season of life, regardless of the milestone the ceremony represents.

I smile at the cuteness when a five-year-old walks down the aisle sporting a miniature cap and gown, yet emotion wells up inside me because I know this marks the beginning of a series of new beginnings for the child, and each graduation signifies another step of separation from childhood to adulthood.

…

I’m not always ready to embrace that step.

Recently, a good friend shared a photo of three moms (including myself) taken the day we moved our sons into their college apartment. We reminisced over the fun we had then, shopping dollar stores and grocery stores, setting up housekeeping for our boys.

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That day we commented how it seemed only a short time since we’d watched them playing tee ball together and now here they were at the end of their teenage. We speculated over how frequently they’d wash their sheets, where they would live after graduation, whom they might marry, how many times they’d change their declared majors. When we’d finished moving them in, we all went to the popular burger place on campus and relished double cheeseburgers, fries, and a milkshake. Then all the way home we confessed our guilt for indulging ourselves. It was such a fun day.

That was 22 years ago. These sons are now business owners and fathers. They’re experiencing the first of many graduations in their own children’s lives. Before they’re ready for it, they’ll be wondering how the years disappeared so fast.

There’s a book entitled Wild Things: the art of nurturing boys, by Stephen James and David Thomas. My only issue with the book is that I should have written it first. (That’s my way of saying how much I agree with what they wrote, based on my own experience of rearing sons.) They made one statement, however, that I have a hard time accepting. They said,

“A powerful paradox of motherhood is that if you do your job well, your son will leave you completely.”

Hmm… does he have to?

Thankfully, I have no regrets. I loved the brief period when I was the center of their lives. I loved seeing them develop physically, mentally, and spiritually. I love the men they have become. I love knowing that, although they don’t depend on me physically or emotionally, they treasure the relationship we have as we now have to “adult” together.

Parenting Adult Children

Recently I met three good friends for coffee. These are younger women I was close to for several years as they reared their children. We hadn’t been together for a good while and catching up was fun. When we used to meet regularly, we talked about our children—the challenges, the frustrations, and the uncertainties of motherhood. They looked to me, as the mother of older children, for assurance that what they felt and feared was all normal and that they’d indeed be fine. Sure enough, their children have survived early childhood, adolescence, and are now successfully launched into adulthood.

So what did the conversation revolve around at this last klatch? Our children—the challenges, the frustrations, and the uncertainties of mothering adult children. This time, however, I didn’t have all the answers. Mainly because I’ve discovered there’s a lot I don’t know about parenting adults.

Some days it seems normal and natural to give advice and state what I think is the obvious solution to a situation. Other times, I feel irrelevant and out of touch with their world. The boundaries are unclear at times. Am I supposed to be their friend… their confidant… their counselor? Or step out of their way?

After I got home from our get-together I thought more about our discussion, and I drew some conclusions. I’m sure not all mothers relate to their adult children the way I relate to mine, but the MACs (Moms of Adult Children) I know share a common desire: we want our grown-up kids to like us. We don’t want them just to tolerate us; we want to feel that we’re their friends.

Maybe this desire isn’t in the heart of all mothers. But I do believe all mothers whose children have left the family nest share certain yearnings to continue a relationship that both generations enjoy. Once again I feel like a pioneer. There’s no particular authority I’ve found who has all the answers. With our own grown-up sons I continuously look for clues to indicate what’s going on in their minds. I have flashbacks to their boyhood days and I often wonder if I missed seeing a pattern of behavior or a cry for help.

I also concluded there are some things that our adult men might not know about me. If they should ask, here’s what I’d tell them:

• If we had grown up together as teenagers, I think we would have been good friends.

• Dad and love it when you want to double date with us.

• As you become more capable, we become less necessary. That scares us.

• We love it when you introduce us to your friends.

• We try to keep in shape (as best we can) so you’ll be proud to claim us before your peers.

• We sometimes don’t know what to do to help you parent your children .

• It blesses our hearts when you call just to see how we’re doing.

• We love it when you want our opinion.

• We consider you the best friends we have.

• We try to dress in a way you’ll like. (Dad does too, although you might not believe that. HaHa)

• We appreciate it when you encourage the grandchildren to respect us.

• We wish you could have known us when we were younger.

• We fear becoming irrelevant.

Sometimes I find myself in the middle of missed communication between them and their dad. I watch him struggle with the feeling that he’s no longer needed as their hero—they now have little ones looking to them to fill the same role.

As for me, I’m no longer the most sought-after figure in their world. Most have wives now who soothe their wounded egos and make them hot tea when they’re sick. To be truthful, this is a relief. But sometimes…sometimes the little boy inside them needs attention. Sometimes they enjoy a momentary flashback to the days when their life was simple and they catch a reminder of this mom’s touch on their lives.

• Maybe it’s when I cook a certain favorite dish, just because he likes it.

• Maybe it’s a funny card or a GIF that expresses an inside joke we share.

• Maybe, especially, it’s when he’s sitting beside me and I “crawlie” on his back again.

• Maybe it’s when I remember the day he buried his special pet.

• Maybe it’s when I drop off muffins at his desk at his office.

• Maybe it’s when I read to them an episode from one of my journals.

• Maybe it’s knowing we’ll keep the grandchildren to give them and their wives the much-needed opportunity to nurture their relationship.

If it sounds like I’m floundering to write this blog post, it’s because I am. Because I’m learning how to navigate the unmarked road of parenting adult children. I’m doing the best I know how and trying to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes I think I’ve nailed it; other times, I wonder where I’ve missed the signals.

But the good news is, that’s how I parented our sons when they were little. It worked well, as best I can tell, and from what other mothers have said, they’ve benefited from my transparency. So I’m doing the same thing with adult sons. Sometimes I lead; sometimes I follow; but together, we learn the dance.

Best Christmas Pageant Ev-ah

We go to a small country church—really small. So small in fact that, when our daughter-in-law inherited the responsibility of directing the children’s Christmas pageant, we found out we were short a few children. One of the children simply said he preferred to be Captain Marvel instead of a shepherd.

So that left her with one fallback plan: call the cousins. Now, in some cases, this might be the equivalent to calling the Herdmans (as in the book by Barbara Robinson, The Worst/Best Christmas Pageant Ever). NOT, you understand, because our grandchildren actually ACT like the Herdmans in the story, but mixed together with each other, compounded with the excitement and anticipation of Christmas…well, maybe there are some similarities.

Anyway, being the devoted sister-in-law that she is, Helen and Clint drove from Macon, bringing their five children to participate in the pageant. Everything went amazingly well at the one and only rehearsal an hour before the Christmas Eve service. Even the littlest angel knew her line and said it loud and clear: “Do not be afraid!”

We had the perfect stable cow.

Everything was in order for the event.

Those little people appeared to have mastered every contingency; until the audience showed up. In the performance, just before her one line was about to be delivered, one of the angels panicked, threw her hands up in exasperation saying, “I don’t know my line!!” She was in the process of storming off the set in embarrassment and irritation with herself when Aunt Helen (a.k.a. Assistant Director) crawled on her hands and knees behind the manger and calmed her down.

From that point on, the production flowed smoothly UNTIL… the stable cow got a bit too close to the manger. The littlest shepherd, seizing his opportunity to use his shepherd’s crook for the purpose for which it was intended, deftly grabbed Benjamin the Stable Cow around the neck to save Baby Jesus from being poked in the eye.

I wish I could say I felt a warm, tender, emotion as I observed the innocence of childhood. But I can’t. I must admit I got so cracked up over the look on Charlie’s face when he discovered the perfect use for that long pole with the crook on the end of it, I thought I’d have to excuse myself! Charlie was so proud of himself.

I guess all this is to say, it was a wonderful night to remember. Familiar carols sung, the sweet chorus of children’s voices heard singing over the adults; cousins coming together to share the greatest story mankind will ever hear; a two-legged cow with a pacifier…what more can a grandmother ask for?

It was a beautiful night of a beautiful season. I wish the whole world could have been there.

Adventure in Unity

I think our family is about to embark on a new adventure. It’s not like we’ve never attempted this before and to most people looking at us, they’d probably say we’ve already arrived at this place. In fact, I might even have been a little smug, thinking we were at a point of unity that many families never attain.

But—surprise, surprise—the Holy Spirit has a way of keeping our testimony authentic. He wouldn’t allow me to ignore the evidences of disunity that showed up when we were together, such as certain body language, a sigh, a little sarcasm, sometimes outright confrontations (imagine that, with six alpha males in the same room😉). I’ve had a few flashbacks to days when the boys were all at home, working through their pecking order while listening to our admonishments to be one another’s advocates, reminding them they were best friends for life.

With this backdrop, Pops and I recently began co-hosting, with our youngest son and his wife, a group of young married couples and discussing a book entitled The Blessings of Unity. Since we were the experts on marriage (after 49 years), I expected this study to be a refresher course on principles we think we’ve mastered, and in the beginning it was. At least it was when we were discussing unity between a husband and wife.

However, when the time came to make some hard decisions regarding our property and family finances, we realized our challenge was to make unity work with opinionated adults who happened to belong to the same family.

One afternoon about two months ago we called for a family summit with our five sons. In preparation for it, I randomly pulled out a journal I had written in seven years ago and I came across these words:

March 28, 2011

“Burt and I want to make wise financial decisions that will bless our family for generations and will cause our family to be a blessing to this area as well as to any other people the Holy Spirit sends our way.”

And a month later I wrote,

“God won’t allow us to walk away from challenges to our unity.”

When I read these two journal entries I realized this is a spiritual principle God has been disciplining us in for several years. Like it or not, our family is in the situation room together. We all get out or we all get blown up.

Overall, the boys accepted this as our modus operandi going forward. We would each seek to hear what the Spirit is saying and not move forward until we all hear the same thing. The decisions regarding family business are not finalized yet, but everyone agreed on one thing:

We have to learn to operate in unity so we can prove to anyone watching that it can be done. The breaking down of family relationships and separation between parents, children, and siblings is epidemic. I don’t believe the Lord is going to let us move forward with our individual endeavors unless we as a family are unified.

We’re bound to have hurdles, but we all have a sense of holy challenge. We CAN do this thing. And as we work through some of the sticking points and overcome our temptation to give up and walk away from each other, I hope we’ll learn the lessons God wants to teach us, and I hope we’ll be able to show anyone watching that IT CAN BE DONE. Our sons even went a step further. They agreed since this is what the Lord is teaching us, it will be the thing that needs to be shared with others.

It might be the subject of my next book…

Thanksmas

I’m wondering…when did Thanksgiving and Christmas merge? I’m guilty of allowing it to happen this year too, because I wanted to listen to Christmas songs before Halloween and actually looked forward to seeing the tree decorated in our living room. (I didn’t say I looked forward to decorating it, just seeing it—lol.)

Thanksgiving went by in a blur.

There was the influx of family house guests with their accoutrements: the suitcases, the toys, the dog crates, bags of dog food, and truckload of guns, bows and arrows, boots, and camo clothes.

All part of the fun I’m accustomed to and look forward to every year.

And then something started stirring in my spirit. It began with a casual glance at a church sign announcing their upcoming cantata, “The Coming of God.” I’ve pondered that phrase. Christmas isn’t just about the miraculous birth of a supernatural baby. It’s about the Almighty God coming to this dirty, rebellious world of human beings and becoming one of us!

I didn’t want Christmas to upstage the Thanksgiving season, yet I wanted to start the preparation for the celebration of God’s coming. It’s such a huge concept. I wondered how to convey it to our Littles; in fact, I’m trying to understand it myself.

He who carved the edges of the cosmos curved Himself into a fetal ball in the dark, tethered Himself to the uterine wall of a virgin, and lets His cells divide, light splitting all white. He gave up the heavens that were not even large enough to contain Him and lets Himself be held in a hand. The mystery so large becomes a baby so small, and infinite God becomes infant.

—Ann Voskamp

What will happen this year when our family all comes together to celebrate? Will we begin to grasp the meaning of this miraculous event? Will the gathering together in November to express thanks for our innumerable blessings—a thanksmas—give way this month to the recognition of the ultimate Gift?

Can the blending of the two celebrations become a seamless transition from Thanksmas to Christgiving?