The “Big 4-0″ is Closing on Me

This Thursday is not only Thanksgiving in my house, it is my birthday. Also, it is not just any birthday, it is my 40th birthday. It’s not the age that is bothering me. I have many friends who have gone ahead of me and they assure me that there is air up there. I don’t want to seem like a childish youth-seeker holding my breath as I am pushed out of the elevator doors onto the 40th floor. But I cannot ignore the emotional effects that this transition is having on me. I am also wrestling with the fact that I am not responding as a child of God, full of faith and hope. So, in an effort to sort through the clutter of my mind I will unpack some of it here.

Adding: I got married when I was 20 years old. My adult life began with a big add. I had added a husband and another family. I added my own home with the furniture that I had found and chosen. About 5 months after we were married we found out that we were adding a person to our home. Over the next 5 years we added two more people to total three boys that we were thoroughly enjoying  and doing our best to raise.

All through the last 20 years I have been adding. I have had losses. I have had some truly difficult losses that will always leave a hole in my heart.  But by and large it has been a time where each new phase approaching my life brought something that would add to my life in a beautiful way.

The fear of Subtracting: As I face my 40th birthday, I see a time of massive subtraction ahead. I have a sense that the scales are tipping. This is why I am afraid of this transition. My boys, whose company I love and cherish, are reaching the times when they will be rightly moving on and starting their periods of adding to their lives. But that will be a subtraction from mine, times three. I know that the people that are in my family are approaching their times of moving onto the BIG ADD, Heaven. But that will definitely be a deeply felt subtraction for me.

My daily life will be subtracted as I need to cook for less people and maybe even less often. Not a big loss as far as the chore of it all but rather the joy in knowing that I am making the men in my life happy. I love hearing the yummy noises of delight and hearing them say, “That was really good, Mama. Thank you for making dinner.” Such a sweetly generous reward for a menial task. I will feel this subtraction.

I know it seems a dismal view to take about an upcoming milestone. But I find that I cannot avoid it. I can repress it but ultimately to no real avail. I am feeling stung by the transition. I see a fog of undefined reality ahead of me. I can’t see what the adds will be whilst the outlines of the upcoming subtractions are all too clear. Truthfully, I am frightened. The tiny, inner me that whines at adversity and cowers at change is screaming, “But I don’t wanna!” I am trying to rationalize with her, but I fear she is deaf to reason. I am coming to my dear friends who are across the threshold for assurance and reason.  I am looking to my parents and in laws to see the joys of the next phase of add that waits; daughters in law, grandchildren and such, if God wills.

So, I will do my best answer the knock on Thursday  with a gracious and hopeful smile, welcoming the possibilities of the future. I will quiet the inner me with a soothing lullaby chorus of, “Breathe. You were never in control to begin with. God is bigger than the moments you fear. Go back to sleep until you arise again at 50.”

8 Ways to Overcome Fear and Find Courage

Reblogged from Leadership Freak:

Gutless leaders aren’t leaders. Separated from courage the other components of leadership like decision making, problem solving, and vision casting are meaningless drivel. Cowardly Leaders: Closes their ears to criticism. Attack critics. Use anger to fuel action. Make excuses. Refuse to change their minds. Change their mind too quickly. Defend poor choices. Play office politics. Pass the buck. Lie. Don’t trust others. Undermine the success of others. Talk too much so others can’t talk. …

This is excellent and I had to pass it along.

Forgiving Jacob

Genesis 32:25-26 ESV

When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”

I must admit that all of my Christian life I have judged Jacob in my heart as selfish and arrogant. That he was demanding that the emissary of God bless him before he would let go seemed unconscionable to me. I am now keenly aware that I have spent all of these years misunderstanding this story. God’s kind revelation to me is as follows.

Jacob was in a time of great uncertainty and fear. He felt that everything he held dear could be violently stripped from him within the next day’s time. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he is up all night in a wrestling match with an invincible challenger. Then in the midst of the struggle he refuse to let it be for nothing but believes that a blessing can come out of the difficulty and pain – his hip was touched & he limped as he left.

The last year of my life has been that type of emotional wrestling match for me. No matter where I turned or what I did I could not escape being in God’s grip. Nor could I force Him to change or submit. I realize now the beauty in laying hold of God in anyway at all. Also, that in the dark night of my soul, His voice is the one that called out to me that day had come. Rather than letting me languish in pain & fear alone in the night, He engaged me, changed me, made me walk differently. In all of that struggle I remember thinking that I had to hold on tight until I saw, for sure, God’s goodness toward me. I needed His blessing.

So now, dear brother Jacob, I repent for judging you. Rather I thank you for showing perseverance and desperation to lay hold of God in the truth of His nature and in that moment to receive the blessing of having seen Him. Better to limp at the hand of God than walk easily in ignorance of being in His grip.

Genesis 32:30-31 ESV

So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

The Art of Living Like a Child

When is it that we decide that needing to learn something is a sign of weakness? As a child we unabashedly ask for explanation when we don’t understand a concept or don’t know a word. Yet somewhere around age 13 we begin to feel that knowing everything is what is expected. We stop asking questions in class for fear of being mocked. We pull back on our relationships with adults so that we don’t look like goodie goodies. Therefore, forgoing anything that they could impart to or teach us. Unfortunately, it’s hard to reinstitute the previous attitude toward life. It takes a serious and concerted effort. It takes a humility and a willingness to “look stupid” among all of our peers who still seem to know everything.

However, the benefits of humbly asking for what we don’t know are so great. We are able to gain new insights, accept before unseen truth, and turn to others with an attitude of sincere help rather than arrogant condescension. Only if I see my own deficiency more clearly will I increase in patience and love for the deficiency I see in others. How could I judge and badger others if I know their plight? That is what support groups are built around. People sharing the same struggle and gaining strength from one another as they share their failings and successes in an environment of encouragement and understanding. Maybe the key to loving each other in a way that lets the world know we belong to Jesus and follow His way is the art of living like a child.

Matthew 18:2-4 ESV

And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

The Essence of the Dash

*I began this on Oct. 13th but needed some time to complete it.

Today is a year since I found out that someone I love very dearly brought a violent end to his own life. It was a life that was full of amazing and heartbreaking moments. It was a life that most of you were not privy to. So, I am taking this post to tell you about some of my favorite things about the life of Charles Madden 10/13/1963 – 10/13/2010

For as long as I can remember, I have loved Charles. He was the cousin that was always happy to see me when we visited. He always had time for me and seemed to enjoy my company even though he was 8 years my senior. He was so good looking that it almost didn’t seem real. His eyes had a playful glint in them and he easily gave into his child-like fun nature even when he was in his mid forties.

His talents were both plentiful and amusing. He could do vocal impressions that were so spot on that his facial features even began to mimic the person. My personal favorites were Robin Williams including but not limited to Mork and Hank Azaria’s character Agador from The Birdcage. These would keep me laughing no matter how many times I heard them. I enjoyed seeing my kids experience this with him for the first time when we visited him in Virginia in September of 2009. He even made a living with this ability when he worked at a restaurant called The Magic Time Machine on Beltline Rd in the Dallas area during the 1980′s.

He had a voice like an angel and even after years of heavy smoking he could melt your heart when you listened to him. It was truly a gift from God. He used this gift to make his living for a while also as a performer on a cruise ship. He showed me photos from this time period that were wonderful to see. I laughed as I listened to him recount his difficulties with the dancing numbers and his director’s frustrations at his inability to sing and dance simultaneously.

Charles could draw from a young age with such real life accuracy that it looked like a photograph. My parents still have his framed work on their walls that was done when he was a high school student. I enjoyed watching my oldest son, who is an artist, sit alongside Charles as he imparted tricks of the trade and taught technique that would benefit my son for the rest of his life. I loved seeing him pour his life into my kids.

Charles’ child like nature was fantastic. He had just enough actor in his blood to never miss a chance to show off. We pulled into Busch Gardens and he greeted the parking attendant with a flamboyant British accent which he managed to maintain despite her incredulous look and our giggles. He was always up for fun and oozed pure joy on roller coasters. He took my boys on the Griffon. This is a monster coaster with a 210 foot straight drop as it’s first hill. I did not ride this! But he told me how much he loved sharing that with them.

I think my favorite memories would have to be the following two. One, when we pulled up outside of the condo he rented for us on our visit to him in 2009 he was on the porch waiting for us. I happened to have my window down, which is very uncommon as I don’t care for wind blown hair. I heard my name, turned my head and saw him with a beaming smile as he made a beeline for our car. I had not seen him in 20 years but the exact moment that I stepped out of the car he had me wrapped up in a huge bear hug. This is the image I carry whenever I think of his heart. It was a wave of love.

The second memory is of his visit to our home Christmas of 2009. Other family had come in to see him and it was a wonderful time filled with laughter, some tears over lost years and food that was so good “it’d make ya wanna slap ya Mama” as we say in the South. On Christmas morning, my son presented Charles with our gift. It was a framed print of a drawing that my oldest son had done. We had joked on our visit to Virginia about how Charles’ friends called him “Tangent Man” because he often meandered to his point. We had made him into a super hero with a side kick (our youngest given to the same wandering) Zig Zag Boy. Tangent Man’s arch nemesis was Train of Thought who carried the diabolical Ritalin Ray. My son drew a cartoon version of all of these characters, colored them expertly and we gave it as a framed piece of art. Upon opening the gift, as Charles’ eyes poured over the drawing his eyes teared up and he exclaimed, “Oh my God! I’m a superhero!”

It’s a snapshot of a life at best and a parade of oversights at worst. I loved Charles Madden and I was so thankful to have been a part of the dash.

Remembering…

It was a busy Tuesday morning. I had just walked out of my annual physical exam back through the waiting room to head to my car. I was hearing odd snippets of conversation around me. “I think it was a bomb…or maybe a plane..”, “New York City…”. I wasn’t sure what was happening but people looked worried, grieved and tense.

I got into my mini van and dialed up my husband at work in downtown Atlanta to let him know how my physical went. His voice sounded exactly like the people in the waiting room. He asked,”Have you heard what happened?” After my response of no, he proceeded to explain the horrors that had already occurred. This was before the second plane had hit. I drove the ten minutes home and immediately turned on the television. It would stay on all day as I stared in disbelief at the collapse of my known world. I was a child of the cold war fears. We feared nukes, crazy impetuous Russians who would annihilate us for political gain, or a jumpy American who would instigate world wide mass destruction by impulsively “pushing the button”. I had never feared that I could be on a plane one morning that would become a weapon in the hands of a fanatic. I had seen hijacking footage on the news throughout my life. But they always seemed to have an agenda that required them to live through the experience. This was not that type of hijacking. This was a weaponization of a human life, of many human lives. It was beyond my ability to comprehend. Who could hate a people group enough to do such a thing? There were school children on one of those planes.

My children came home that afternoon and I had to explain it all to them. It was simple for me. I didn’t try to sugar coat it or come up with some euphemism for the horror that came to our shores. I probably should have been a little more genteel, but I was in a bit of shock and just dispensed information without much of a filter. I had heard in a couple of days they took the footage of the planes hitting the towers off of the television because it was making children think that the event was happening over and over again and not that this was the original event being shown again. Then it was said that the images were toned down to keep Americans from getting too angry. I had one question. Was there really a level of anger that was too much for what we had suffered?

Even all of these years later, I don’t think I have fully processed this event. I have been seeing all of the videos and pictures on the internet and the memorial testimonies. These have shown me that part of me will live in the shock and horror of that day forever. Other parts will build from that and become something new, but not all of who I am. I have to make peace with that. Honestly, I just want the people that hate us to move on and let us be and have our soldiers come home and we can let our enemies be and try and build our new country. I’m just done with the hovering and instability that we’ve had for the last 10 years. Enough already! But I know that it’s not possible. And that is the great damage that was done on September 11, 2001. There is so little of the real America left and our politicians of both parties seem ever so ready to sell off what is left in a quick fix approach to a profound shift in our nation. So, as I remember I mourn but I also struggle to hope because I can’t let the terrorists win. I won’t give up on America. She is worth saving!

Rain

So, the clouds moved in today and they bathed the area in a light gray. I find that I am hoping for rain to come for a few key reasons. All of which are oddly selfish.

I want it to rain so that I don’t have to stand out in the heat and bugs to water my wilting flowers. They would benefit far more from the nutrient dense rain and I would get to sit inside on my rump and watch football or just nap. See? Selfish.

Secondly, I would like it to rain so the temperatures will drop. Now for this to happen in Georgia, we would need an aggressive rain that last for quite a while. Otherwise we will just end  up with steamy streets and more humidity.

Thirdly, I would like it to rain so that the pollen that has been wreaking havoc on my sinuses will be washed away out of air and plant. Or at least toned down to a manageable level for human consumption.

These reasons are all about me and my comfort or ease. Yet, they involve an act of nature. What an odd idea of my own importance in the grand scheme of life and the planet Earth. I have given no thought to the multitudes of folks who are having cook outs today and tomorrow and how said rain in the volume I desire would adversely effect them. I just want it how I want it.

I think the most shocking thing about this voraciously selfish idea is that it came as a sort of “ah-ha” moment for me to see it for what it was. I wonder how much in my life I approach in this way. I am not really sure that I want to know. I may prefer my delusion. You all don’t mind going along with it for me do you?

Getting to know my parents

I have really enjoyed the phase I’m living with my parents as an adult. I am so blessed to be friends with both of them. We can spend an hour talking, okay my dad listens more than he gets to talk, and not run out of things to say. My mom and I sit out on her porch each morning that I am at her home for a visit and we drink coffee and chat. Our topics always vary about as widely as possible. We tend to touch on all that matters to us over the course of the morning, which sometimes leaks into afternoon. We sit in antique yellow chairs that we refinished ourselves a few years back. We made a huge mess and may have ruined my dad’s sander in the process. He never mentioned it or the haphazard approach we took to our project. But the chairs are our place. We built it and we visit as often as possible.

This last fall I was able to spend uninterrupted time with my dad. Which I really don’t ever remember having. We played great computer games, we laughed and I felt our hearts find each other in a new way. It was relaxed and easy. We spoke each other’s language. Since this time all of our conversations have been easier, lighter and deeper. I have thanked God for this more times than I can count. It’s a blessing in which I am deeply in awe.

I love my parents not just as family but as friends. But even in all of this talking I don’t really know them outside of our relationship as father/mother/daughter. The person part of them that came before me. The person part of them that exists when I’m not on their couch or in a yellow chair. That is why I am so thankful that they both started blogging this year. I have learned deep, treasured things about these people that I adore. I feel that I have found this trunk of photos and 8mm film reels that I can wander through at my leisure as many times as I wish.

I know that I will never know them as well as I hope. But as a response, I have tried to  let my kids know the woman that my friends know. The sassy, sometimes (okay… often) inappropriately humored , feisty woman that loves them more than my own life. I want them to know the flawed and broken woman that pursues God with a desperate awareness of my own failings and sin. I want them to see that I adore their father; that I love being a mama; that I can be crushed and broken apart by pain but God is faithful to heal me. I don’t want to hide them from what may be ugly because sometimes that is the bulk of who I am that day. And I would rather have them close and run the risk of being a bad example than step back and hope the facade holds. I am in awe of all of the lessons that parents teach children all along their life. I am inspired by my parents and hope that I can give gifts of a similar nature throughout the lifetime with my children.

The Phone Call

It was almost a year ago. I had been out shopping and bought some lovely new boots. I came home and began to try them on with outfits. My boys were gone to youth group and my hubby was having his dinner at a sushi restaurant while he waited on them to finish so that he could drive them home. Then…my cell phone rang.

A voice greeted me. It was a stranger that I had been communicating with for five days as I tried to track down a loved one in another state because his mother was ailing in a hospital. I assumed that this was the call that would connect us. That we would be finally over this race to talk and I could communicate this information that was vitally important.

The voice sounded strange, tight and a little tentative. Then the words came. “He’s taken his own life.” I’m sorry, what? “He’s taken his own life. The police found him this morning.” Then the world screeched to a halt. He had done what? How was I supposed to process this information? Could I just choose not to believe it? Could it just not be true? These questions rushed through my consciousness in a split second that felt like a month and then I was back in the reality of the conversation I didn’t want to be having.

This poor stranger that had to carry the weight of this phone call. He was worried about me. He asked if I was home alone. I said that I was. But I felt God so close to me, filling the room that had grown so large around me. I wasn’t really alone. The words, “I have to go” stumbled out of my mouth into the phone and I hung up. What came next is the most primal moment I have ever experienced.

A wail came from the depths of my soul and clawed its way out of my body. My heart felt like it had been crammed beyond capacity with an emotion that was continuing to grow and threatening to burst the walls that held it. I felt my hand go over my heart. It stayed there for about two hours. It was an unconscious movement. I couldn’t rationalize it, but I felt that if I moved my hand I would be crushed by the weight of it all.

I called my Joe to come home and help me. It took several tries for him to understand what I was saying. “Charles is dead. Please come home and help me.” Wait, I need to tell someone. I didn’t feel like I could tell his parents myself. I somehow didn’t feel like it was my place. So, I called my Daddy. Charles was my cousin. He had been lost to the family for 20 years. I had never stopped looking for him. God had granted me the chance to find him; on myspace of all places. We had been in frequent contact for three years. I had gone to see him and he had come to spend Christmas with my family. I loved him so much.  How was I supposed to process the information of his suicide much less pass it along?

Joe arrived home, wrapped me up in his arms and I cried with my whole body. I had been wandering around the house praying and pacing trying to breathe and now he was here holding me and I could let go.

Then came the phone calls to police detectives, funeral homes, medical examiners. I was trying to gather all of the information that I could for his parents to save them the phone calls. I knew that if I was this broken, they would be worse. After all, he was their boy. The detective that I spoke with gave me details. It was weird. I wanted them but didn’t want them at the same time. I needed to know but wanted to be protected from the knowledge.

In the moments and months that followed I have tried to process Charles’s moments that led him to the choice to commit suicide. I ache and wonder if I could have eased his pain if he had just called me. I wonder if I contributed to his decision because I was unable to talk the last time he called me. I told him I was at my friend’s house for dinner and would need to call him back. We never spoke again. I know the true facts of depression and the ultimate choice to end it all were way beyond anything I could have effected. But I spend time on the merry-go-round of what if’s more than I should.

It’s coming up on a year in early October. Emotionally I am digging my heels in trying to slow time because I dread living those dates again. I worry more about those that I love. Suddenly now I feel that they could leave me at any moment. Do they really know how much I love them? Could I say more? Do more?

It’s been a hard year, but through it all God has been so near. He has comforted me, carried me, listened to me and held me while I cried. I am so thankful for the gentle heart of Father God. He is what has sustained me through this year.

So, the phone call that changed my life lead me to God. He is there in the dark, heavy, crushing places in such a grand and infinite way that even in the inky dark He shines.

I miss Charles. I hate the last few moments of his life. God is good.

My blue-haired son

Today my oldest son dyed his hair cookie-monster blue. It actually looks really good. Sometimes I envy his innate ability to pull off the quirk factor. He’s a remarkable young man with a keen sense of self. I am deeply proud of him.

As I was pondering a post on this subject he walked across the room with the sole intent of hugging me. He then said, ” I love you. You’re a really good mama. It’s like God created you specifically for it.”

My cup runneth over and my heart is full.