S I X T E E N

It’s the day before Thanksgiving and I woke up at 6:30 am and was greeted hello by my big boy, the boy who had freshly turned 16 about two hours before my eyes saw the sun. We both knew where we were going. I grabbed coffee and tossed him the keys and we pulled into the DMV parking lot at approximately 7:30 am. He said, “Mom, am I doing all the talking or are you?”

I’ll probably remember that question for the rest of my life as I sat there in the waiting room while he talked to the man behind the counter. I was called back to the line for payment, signatures and a list of rules to adhere to while I  contemplated why some DMV workers were so much kinder than others. We had the kind one. 

We hopped in the car and I told him he could go anywhere he wants since it’s his birthday. We made our way to the place no mother wants to go to at 8:00 am, but agrees to because it’s a yes day after all. He orders a milkshake and we park in the parking lot while he shows me all the pictures his friends are sending him on his birthday. 

 I remember his baby cheeks and his puffy skin after he was born and take in his hollow dimples and handsome smile and I see him more clearly year after year. It was hundreds of days learning how to be a decent human. It was a thousand tiny mistakes and then one grand success. It was wonderful, then it was heartbreaking. It was the joy of the Lord, and then hiding under a rock. It was slow, then it was fast. And then there was that year that I thought we weren’t going to make it…when the lights turned out and we fumbled around in the dark bumping into rocks, tripping over demons and begging God to make it all end. And it didn’t end slowly. It dragged on and on and on. And finally we made our way back to normal, then, good, then thriving. Then…one day I blinked and I have a 16 year old wonder boy who weathered the storm, came out on the other side and is stronger and wiser because of it. 

Last week James said, “ Mom, did you know that boys need some sort of hard thing to overcome in their life so they can triumph and be better because of it….but girls need the opposite. They need a steady, wonderful home with lots of love and support.”

It made sense. I wasn’t sure if he had figured out that it was himself he was talking about.

Our baby boy turned 16 today and we can see where he is headed. The sky is blue, the roads are wide, and the sunshine is smiling on him. God is leading him forward with this invisible string and everything is falling into place, piece by piece. It has been the most patient process. James, my dear, we see that the Spirit of the Lord is upon you. 

Don’t ever stop letting your little light shine. 

May it only get brighter with time. 

Hearts

 It was an hour past bedtime and I was tired.  Another nighttime routine that would prolong into stories about stories and prayers about dogs who needed to know God's love, and then the pondering of all the mysteries of Heaven and on Earth...and I would try to stay present.  I think I did this particular night.  

Other nights I wish myself toward my room where I can stay selfishly tucked up in my novel or scroll and troll the internet for the perfect queen-sized bed frame on Marketplace or track down a vintage "Barbie minivan" on ebay, because even though it doesn't exist, my artsy daughter wants one for Christmas.  Oh, and it can't be pink.  

The 13-year old sleeps beside me conked out in her drug-induced slumber where she breathes noisily and I wonder if she knows that we love her and that she will forgive us for putting her to sleep every night like this....hoping her body will forgive us, her liver, her heart....

Tonight is the Eve of my Daddy's 72nd birthday.  And I miss him something fierce.  My Daddy has exactly 36 days to hold it together, because when the clock strikes 2023 they will go in with their catheters and balloons and magically slip a life-saving piece of hollow plastic inside his left anterior descending artery so his precious heart can go on beating for all of us who need him here on this Earth.

I'm in North Carolina and things are slow here, but my baby daughter is the slowest documented person in NC it seems, so we have to spend lots of extra time giving her extra time.  Tonight was no exception and we hurried her off to bed as she was busily ctafting at the table in her artistic fury.  We didn't even take the time to stop and see what she had made.  

But morning came and revealed a masterpiece.  

Hope. Peace. Love. Joy.  She wrote it down. She was paying attention.  It actually meant something when we lit that Advent candle at the table and then rushed through dinner. And even though she got up and left it all on the table, that night in bed she prayed with all the hope in the world for a family who is in need of deep peace from a Savior full of unconditional love during a season that gives the greatest joy.  

My broken, banged-up heart needed to hear every utterance from her honest little bleeding heart.  

It's what she does every time.  This was why she was born.  To mend and pray for our family.  

This Christmas, may your greatest gift be within the walls of your home and 

written into the deepest chambers of your beating heart.  

Goodbye House

 We've been busy packing.  Packing our boxes, our stuffies, our silverware and sanity.  It's all being loaded into this truck and will be taken off into the sunset where we will meet it on the other side and hope to mix it somehow with our dreams of the future.  

I have to admit it's been an easier process than I thought it would be.  I thought it would be the catalyst for the third world war, several fires and floods coming up from the Lafayette River.  We only had to knock down one wall, a quarter of the shed, attach two railings, paint the trim in the entie house, install a floor, spread some mulch and toss some grass seed to the birds.  I think my husband did other things that I have only heard about like rewire the house, venture off to Home Depot to buy gadgets I don't know about, and deliver strange items to the scrapyard that I've never set eyes on.  I am positive he was running on fumes and a prayer plus the remains of the Dr Pepper he drank at midnight.  

How do you say goodbye to a house that has witnessed all the first steps of your children, endless walks on Summer nights by the river with the big ball of orange setting in the pink sky again and again, season after season?

The walls have heard every utterance of all the words spoken, both loud and whispered, proud and humble, weary and worn, happy and sad. 

These wooden floors have absorbed every tiptoe and stomp, every bounce and claw, scrape and drop, push and fall, drag and spill.  

Spills of water, of milk, of sweat, of tears, of blood.  

The happy laughter, screams and cries have been held as captive secrets, stored in the attic with the other 100 year old skeletons, and locked with a key in an old worn treasure box that will never be opened again by any living soul on this Green Earth. 

And we march on toward the goal of stuffing it all in the truck and moving forward.  Because we can't look back.  The papers have been signed and the new owners are coming. The winds all have shifted farther South.  Yet we linger...for there are things that we can't let go of and they will stick with us until the very last second where we pull away and wave goodbye and only then will we shed the bittersweet tear because we have ignored it for too long.  

I prayed that God would somehow let me leave this place with the perfect dichotmy of loving to teach the hearts of little ones... but looking forward to homeschooling the littlest heart of my own, of missing my people just enough, but excited to leap into the unknown grabbing at invisible hands.  

And He has done just that.  

So...Goodbye House.  Goodbye Virginia.

I will miss your soothing waters, sandy beaches, balmy nights, and warm ways. 

But mostly...I will miss the friends you have provided for us at every stage of life, 

their outpouring of love for us, prayers for us, singing over us.  

At our very best and at our very worst.  

Together

My kids are nearly 13, 11 and 8 and quite honestly, I thought I would have it together by now. The day would tick tock by in its exact 24 hour segments and I would partake of each moment with grace, punctuality, craft and wisdom.  My morning prayer would happen at precisely 5 am and I would welcome a brisk walk at 5:30 with a September fire orange ball rising in the sky to kiss my cheeks good morning.

The morning shower would wash away any hint of dirt as I slipped into crisp, clean linen, while my kids got ready for school all on their own... evenly clad with smiles and uniforms and lunch boxes and LL Bean totes....while I turned on the engine and drove their precious souls off to school.  I would sip coffee as I did what every suburban homemaker does across America..... leaf through Martha Stewart's Living or make curtains for the living room or organize a shelf...or bake an apple pie and have it cooling after I picked them all up from school. They would squeal with delight at the smell of it.  
And etcetera.


Today I made the 13 year old come with me to Costco so he could wheel his 11-year old sister around in the wheel chair while I gathered groceries as fast as humanly possible with the 8 year old balancing on the end of the cart.  It would be a quick trip to pick up essentials. Well, as soon as we took June out of the car, I heard the first warning signal...a slight whimper that said, “I don’t want to be here. This isn’t a good idea.” I had the choice right then to just go home. Maybe I should have...but...we have to eat. And Costco is a 20 minute journey....and that’s an eternity for someone who lives in Norfolk.

So I slung her in the wheel chair and made our way into the store. It started off on the fringe...but with each aisle, the cries grew louder and louder and by the time we were near the musical snowman, my 13 year old was done glancing at me nervously and told me 

We really need to get outta here...

Something we all knew. 

Just a few more items ...we are almost half way through...

I managed.

On to the meat section and I was ignoring people parting the Red Sea for me, eyes forward, like a marching drill Sargent, goal set on the cherry tomatoes.
By the time we got to the frozen section, June was hysterical. I kept handing the 13 year old the keys to the car, and he kept tossing them back claiming that Costco was a prison and there was no way to escape without a receipt....

and I knew he was kinda right.

So we whipped through and grabbed the Cheerios and dog food, and stood in the line.  By now I visibly had old people stopping dead in their tracks and staring...just taking in the show...other people were strolling by casually...clearly checking on the disabled child on aisle 23 whose mother had lost her ever-living mind.

Somehow we rallied and slid through the line at the speed of lightning and headed to the car with all the produce balanced upon boxes balanced upon boxes. The cashier never cares about crying children. That was one plus to this mess.
Got to the car and hefted June into her seat.

And then. Like the last puzzle piece in.
She instantly stopped crying.
As I breathed a sigh of relief, and squinted my eyes at the sun, an old man hobbled toward me, a giant gold cross hanging around his neck. 

Staring at the cross, and with the kindest eyes I had ever seen, I watched him open his mouth:

“We have two grandchildren with autism. And it’s hard.”

I couldn’t believe how those words undid me. And I kind of stood there with my mouth open, pondering the gold cross, the moment, the warmth of the sun...and I could have stayed there for forever.

He could have stopped at the word hard.
And that would have been enough.
That he acknowledged hard.

But instead he asked our names and he told me he was a man of faith and was going to pray for us.

And with that he walked to his car.

And I walked to mine a little straighter, a little more together, and with a brimming cup of extra patience which somehow lasted the evening.  

Sometimes it all comes together.

...but first let's get some clothes on.

Well my last post back in March was so extremely positive, that I thought I needed to bring it around full-circle here in July and tell everyone the honest-to-goodness truth.  Things are SO COVID around here that my 11-year old swims naked in our backyard BIG-kiddie pool most of the day.  My 12-year old thinks it's completely normal to stay up til midnight watching Hogan's Heroes on a Wednesday, and my 8 year old may or may not have published her own you-tube channel in which she gives tips on how to interact with strange children or cute dogs.

If you're like me, the following things have happened:

1. Your vacation gets canceled not once, but twice.
2.  You've googled "counselor who specializes in ________ near me" at least a dozen times.
3. You have bought a giant kiddie pool with a filter for waaaaaaay too much money and you think you're a chemist because it hasn't turned green yet.
4. You visit the grocery store to browse the non-edible section and suddenly containers of all shapes and sizes interest you, along with Crayola’s new metallic markers and floating animal pool toys.
5. You have not ONCE bought lipstick.  Or mascara for that matter.  In fact, you’re positive that your lipstick company is going out of business.
6.  You have at least two bags of library books and DVD's sitting by your door gathering dust and waiting patiently.  They are not talking or bickering.  You actually kind of prefer them to your children.
7.  You have stocked up on gin.  And you are not telling how much.
8.  You have now sold most everything in your house on ebay or Poshmark.
9.  You buy 3 gallons of milk and 3 jars of peanut butter every time you go to the store.
10. Your dog now thinks he is a person. And your chickens think they are dogs.

Tonight we decided we would part-ay!  All 5 of us...And so we suited up, turned on the dub-step, and made our grand entrance into the pool.  It was super warm....I couldn't even tell when I had entered the pool to be honest.  We had so much fun that we didn't even realize our silent child had puked in the pool....or had gotten naked for that matter-which is a normal occurrence....which brings me to the biggest COVID struggle of all...

Our Bug wants to be naked at all times.
And it's hard.  It's not cute anymore. She's 11.  And going through puberty.  And she has things that shouldn't be seen by everybody, everywhere...even in our backyard by the neighbor boys and the cute couple who tolerates our shenanigans just over the fence...

The other day we were swimming at the beach and I was up on the sand chattering with some friends, and here she comes....streaking out of the water in all of her glory for all to see....Fortunately, I have a slew of friends (thank you!) who took action to help charm her back in the water, call me, and search for her bathing suit...One lucky Dad found her bathing suit underneath his toes and graciously tossed it in our direction as an offering of decency...and we were saved once again.  This is not the first or the last time this has happened.  The one pro is it sends us all to mass hysteria and giggles like we are in middle school again. 

June has also become more obsessive, and this has been harder than one would think.  She will climb out of the pool (naked) just so she can move the hose 3 inches to the right, or the toucan float upside-down, or take all the towels and throw them on the ground.  TOWELS AND BATHING SUITS MUST BE ON THE GROUND AT ALL TIMES.  I have stopped cleaning up the back porch, because she has to throw all clothes and all laundry baskets on the ground. So it might as well stay a dumping-ground until I can wash and fold it.  Every door and drawer must be shut. Every light must be turned off.  And she is obsessed with the PEANUT BUTTER.  It goes on everything and if it can't go on everything, when we are not looking, she screws off the top and dips her entire hand in there and digs out a fistful and stuffs it in her mouth like we are not feeding her.  All her toys in her room must be off the shelves and on the floor, but the tub toys must be all in the basket, and the basket must be perfectly lined up against the wall.  She can't leave the bathroom until the toilet lid is shut, the light is off, the stool is lined up perfectly,  all diapers are in the hamper (why? they go in the trash) and the bath mat is in its proper place.

The OCD or the COVID is going to kill me.  I'm just not sure which one.

And when my husband gets home at night, I want him to put the girls to bed.  Because I can't take one more single-solitary OCD action.  I learned tonight in my marriage class that I'm supposed to say "I can't".  So I'm saying it.  I can't.  But maybe it's more that I don't want to.  OCD is so boring, and being naked is sooooo over-rated.  I have to admit I just want normal. And here we are again, because normal ain't happening.  And the truth is, I smile and laugh when people talk about the diaper stage and the poopy smearing, but deep down inside, I want to blurt out all the truths under my tongue that make me a horrible person.  Really, I want to curl up into bed and read myself into my dreams and stay there all night and fast-forward to the fall because....then there will be a schedule...then someone else can deal with the mess yet I have no idea who would feel called to this job, or who would sign up for it...but she signed up!  She's here.  And I wonder when I will lose her because I lose them all eventually...because this isn't a job for the rich and famous.  It's not glorious.  It can be boring, hard and zap you of all your energy reserves to chase around an elf with antics.

 I remember the doctor said to me years ago...."They did this study where they took all the parents in a room who had children with "special needs" and asked the parents which "special need" they would rather handle in a list of "special needs".  Well my doctor said that most of the parents actually picked their child's special need because that's what was familiar and what they knew how to handle.

You know which "special need" I would have picked? I'm embarrassed to say.  Because a gift was entrusted to me, and what I do with it can be destructive or loving...but I don't always choose loving.

Sometimes I destroy.

I am thanking God today that He can refine and purify all the things destroyed in fire. In my fire.

May I love well.
Even during a pandemic.

"Remember that when you leave this Earth, you can take with you nothing that you have received-only what you have given: a full heart, enriched by honest service, love, sacrifice and courage."

-Saint Francis of Assisi

Cape Charles, July 4

Suddenly under house arrest or rest (?)

Well I'm here in my house. As you are.  As the world is.  Patiently waiting for something...or nothing...maybe a miracle...or death.  We're not really supposed to leave, but I admit I have sneaked out...to get ice cream, exercise, toilet paper, milk...and OH I got my hair done this afternoon from a man I don't know because my hairdresser's salon was shut down right before the very hour I was supposed to go.  Some of you are mad I sneaked out and I am sorry...sorry I wasn't going to let you see my gray hair this week and let you know exactly just how old I really am.  We shall save that wonderful event for month 2 of being under house arrest....when the city is completely still.

Something magical has happened at my house.  It's chaos alright...but either I've stopped caring that the house has exploded, or the oldest child is finally acting like a small adult and doing man chores like cleaning bathrooms well (enough) or doing the dishes at night without being asked.  It's kind of like I have a small servant on my hands.  And then for some reason, our family is

getting along.

I can't even believe I said it.  I mean, this morning I left the house for outdoor yoga at the neighbor's, came back in and they were lined up like soldiers on the couch staring at our virtual church on the big screen...and most of them wanted to be there...and some of them actually opened their mouth and sang songs, then suggested another awesome Bible show to watch together.

And tonight we sat down as a family and all made a lego creation each.
THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED *******NEWSFLASH*****NEVER EVER EVER EVER.

I am not exactly sure what the magic was, or what the secret potion was to our calm and creative table...maybe it was my husband insisting on using a tablecloth for something new...or maybe it was the popcorn, or the topic, which was, "make something that travels".  

Just this scenario up there would not have happened a couple years ago, mostly because one kid up there would have pulled the tablecloth off and thrown the legos across the room with obsessive velocity...and another was so depressed that he was beyond recognition, and had movements similar to a cat, and the other one would have been busy feeding her baby dolls in another room, unaware of what was even going on in the kitchen.

So after spending two solid weeks with all these little people (my kids had Spring break the week before), not having distractions of places to go or places we have to be, or people we have to see, we have changed for the better...somehow we are finding each other again, finding a small rhythm, finding some grace to give each other when things aren't exactly perfect, finding a reason to celebrate our family, when the reason used to feel forced.  

Every sunrise seems more colorful, every bird more melodic, every insect more interesting, every rain drop more refreshing, every hug more warm, every book more fascinating.

We are finding our way...with this sweet and unexpected gift of time-

Because last week I felt like I was under house arrest...and just today, for the first time in two weeks, I feel mostly, well...

rested.

Be Still

I'm always hurrying her out the door,
the littlest one. 

My heart can't even put into words how I feel about her.  She is a professional player.  She spends whole Saturdays creating paper outfits held on to fairies with scotch tape and a song, yet I shew her off to school every day with hopes that they won't squelch her little spirit. 

I've enrolled her in all these creative things: ballet, art class, creative movement, gymnastics, but every time I spy on her, my heart breaks because she's off doing her own thing, whirling around or running away, talking to herself, getting one last twirl in, and definitely not fitting into the mold.  She's the kid who doesn't get the candy kiss from the ballet teacher, or clip up on the chart to outstanding behavior.  She's the kid who you have to wake up extra early because she's incapable of getting ready quickly.  Every movement, every motion, every breath is an act of worship.

There is nothing simple about her-

Yet, she reminds me to love the most simple things. 
She leaves hand-prints of love everywhere she goes, spilling over and onto everything around her.

And I stop dead in my tracks and
remember to remember the things that really matter.
The cross.
Made by the most precious of hands.
Placed at our doorpost when I wasn't looking.

But of course, I hold her tightly in my hand.
I hold them all tightly.
I want organization and order, structure and calm. 
Everything my house is not. 
And my veins are literally pumping blood to places I thought blood could never go.
My heart is pouring grace onto situations that I used to judge so deeply, so harshly. 
I am learning to let go, to be still, to sing her to sleep when she asks....and resist the urge to run away, rush out of their rooms, run down the river and scream...
hiding with my books and my chocolates and my thoughts and my songs. 

Sometimes I watch them and I can't believe my almost-12 year old will still do things like this.

This is where I feel the closest to home. To Heaven. 
It's the no-judgment zone.  It's in the mountains. It's at the beach.  It's at the river. 
One can do no wrong here, it seems. 
I need to hang out here more, in that zone-
Being still
Watching
Listening
Seeing these little people in a softer lens
With a softer voice
A kinder heart
A gentler touch.