.... a promise to pass on

 

I've been pondering some sweet words the past few days. 

Mother's Day has come again this year.  It's an honor to carry that title.  And with that comes places to celebrate and places to long for more.  We never really stop being a mother, no matter how old our children get.  We hurt when they hurt and we rejoice when they rejoice.  Their joy is our joy to share and we are sensitive to their pain, even when we can't put a band aid on their hurt or kiss away their struggles. 

With five biological children and five sweet spouses, I hold my children's joys and feel their sorrows.  When hopeful words are spoken, they are priceless to me....thus the words one of my adult children shared with me on Mother's Day 

"Mother, I was thinking in church what a difference you've made from how you were raised to how your grandchildren are raised.  You gave us a promise to pass on."

I want to hold those words, write them on my mirror and in my heart........"You gave us a promise to pass on." 

Those words are sweet, hopeful and a reminder of a gracious God who keeps His promises. 

The transitions of life through pink ballet slippers

Recently I have been watching the transition of my generations and the legacy being written,  through the movement of ballerinas in my life.

I remember a small pink leotard, some pink tights and pink ballet slippers.  They were mine and I wore them some 50+ years ago.  My memory of actual ballet classes are clouded by time.  I didn’t get to complete those classes and therefore didn’t experience the celebration of my ballet recital. 

When my daughter Jenna showed interest, we enrolled her in ballet classes.  Jenna enjoyed ballet and other dance for several years and I enjoyed the preparation, excitement and celebration of her at her dance recitals.  There were the fun costumes, the photos, the hair that had to be just so, the bouquets of flowers and of course the pink ballet slippers.

Over the past few years I have enjoyed attending the dance recitals of my granddaughters.  The cycle of life is moving toward eternity right before my eyes.  What was then is now in the next two generations beyond me.  What was begun in me and was a part of the life of my daughter continues in the lives of my granddaughters. 

 

The story of my pink ballet slippers holds places for me to remember.  What was begun in me didn’t get finished.  There is sadness in that story and yet God brought meaning to the reason for the story with a photo of a ballerina I found in my parents’ attic a few years ago.  It’s an artist’s sketch of a young girl in her ballet attire standing at the ballet bar and she is wearing her pink slippers.  The photo has a strong likeness to the little girl I was at that time.  Hanging on that photo in my office is a tiny pair of pink ballet slippers.  They are a constant reminder to me that I have a choice to tromp through life wearing muddy combat boots or I can dance through life wearing my pink ballet slippers.

My heart has danced as I’ve watched the legacy of my pink ballet slippers come to life in the dance of my granddaughters.  Today I am dancing through my life, wearing my ballet slippers.  I am remembering the hard stories of the past and allowing God to re-frame those stories with new stories of hope for my future.  And for the legacy God began in me and is growing through the lives of my granddaughters and grandsons. 

I posted this two years ago and it seems sadly appropriate again this year.  This was Normandy Beach many years ago.  There are new white crosses this year.  Not at Normandy Beach in France, but here in cemeteries across our great United States.  We are still at war.  And we will continue to be at war, whether it's war with other nations over security, war with neighbors over property issues, war with family over wounded hearts and war with evil as Satan's time gets shorter and shorter.  We are a world at war.  We have a COMMANDER IN CHIEF that knows the battles, the battle fields, and knows the date and time of the final battle.  We know the final outcome - good and God win in the end.  But for now we continue to stand as warriors against the harm being inflicted.  

As we celebrate this Memorial Day, may we honor our fallen warriors, care well for our wounded warriors and reach out to the families that are putting their lives on hold so their soldiers can fight on our behalf.  

And now the repost from two years ago.............. 

This cross stands in the American Cemetery above Normandy beach and the Omaha invasion in France. The writing on the cross doesn't carry a name or rank. It says "here lies a soldier known only to God......." I was overwhelmed to find so many just like this one - unknown - only to God. I gently rubbed my hand over each one I came to as I walked the cemetery, grateful for the sacrifice of so many on my behalf.

I wondered what determination and courage it took for these young men to travel to a world they didn't know, to fight for people they would never meet, to leave behind families who would never know their final hours, to stand so valiantly for a cause they so strongly believed in.

And because of their sacrifice and the sacrifice of many like them, I live free to choose where I worship, what I will eat and wear, when I will speak and what I choose to speak, and many more freedoms that I often take for granted.

I am grateful and moved to be more conscious of the grace I live under - that which God bestowed on me and the freedoms I enjoy - bought for me by the lives of many I will never know. It's a sobering and hopeful thought.

Will I stand and sacrifice as willingly for the causes I believe in? How about you?

Holding .............

There are lots of things on my heart and mind this early morning as sleep eludes me. My "to-do" list is long as I prepare to fly to Maranatha, Michigan tomorrow to join our team for the April 2012 "The Journey" (http://www.ohmin.org). There is time, and those things will be completed. Those are things I control, can manage, fix and complete.

There are many things my heart is holding now that I can neither fix or control. I've spent time listing those to God. He is the Master fix-it-man and knows just what needs to be fixed and exactly how to fix it. The reality is He may not repair things to match the longings of my heart. I will hold that reality and in the midst of that hold faith and truth in His plan.

The list of prayer requests is long and hard. Dear friends are struggling with difficult family issues and adult children's choices. Early death has come to the son of friends back in Illinois. Word of needed cancer surgery for our niece gives our heart a jolt.

Among my own adult children there are needs, hopes, dreams and hard things. We have trauma building with the critical injury of our daughter-in-law Buket's brother, Volga in Turkey. It appears God is taking us on a difficult journey into the unknown and dark nights of medical emergency, uncertainty of outcome and holding hope in the midst of difficult news from the doctors.

Even though I can trust God's plan in the lives of my children and their families to draw Him closer to each of them, that trust doesn't totally erase my longings of a less painful journey for them. There's a balance between trusting, handing it over to God and holding all those things in my mother's heart.

I find hope in the photo to the right. My hands are formed in prayer and compassion around the hearts of those many on my prayer list this morning. The cross in the middle of the heart created by the holding hands is where I need to be centered today.

There are many words floating in my head as I type...... hope, concern, pain, longing, trust, uncertainty, reality, heavy, hard. The one that seems to surface the loudest lately is holding. I am holding a lot, but God is holding me. Those are my hands forming a heart around others, but those are also God's Hands forming a heart around me with them His promises to me noted by the cross in the center.

A friend shared this passage with me yesterday and it is my hope as I hold on and let go and find a good balance between the two.

The passage is from Isaiah 43: 1-7. I've personalized it a bit....

Do not be afraid for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown! When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord, your God, The Holy One..., your Savior.

Others died that you may live. I traded their lives for yours because you are precious to me. You are honored and I love you. Do not be a afraid for I am with you. I will gather your children from east and west, and from north and south. I will bring my sons and daughters back from the distant corners of the earth...."

Holding hope.......

Unfortunately the top was not down.......

here's the scene....
*standing in post office parking lot
*packages tucked safely in the trunk
purse on arm
*down with the trunk lid while simultaneously my keys are falling inside
*only one set of keys
*panic
*sick feeling in stomach
*call to hubby who is miles away on a job
*desperation followed by shame and onset of poor self talk about being careless, foolish, etc.

As I stood there feeling desperate, I looked up to see a truck pulling through the mail deposit lane. I ran to catch him, but he was unaware of my presence. I grabbed my cell phone and called the number on the side of his truck just as he was pulling out of my sight. First no answer and then a "hello" and "sure, I'll turn around and be right there."

The master locksmith found me in a state of shame and verbal self-harm. He methodically retrieved my keys (not an easy process in a well-crafted Toyota with a security system on board), while affirming that this was a simple accident and happens often in his daily work. He treated me with respect and reminded me that the mistakes I make do not define who I am.

Was my accidental locking myself out of my car and the timing of his mail deposit accidental. I think not! I learned a lot yesterday both about my car and about myself and what kindness looks like in the midst of a simple accident. It's another one of those God-incidences to note in my journal.

Would I risk disappointment again?

Car shopping isn’t my favorite pastime. Fortunately, I’ve not needed to shop for a different car very often. Our last car, a trusty Honda is still going strong with 344,000 miles on it.

These past two weeks of car shopping and waiting on God have been an exercise in hope, hope dashed, trust and then loss of trust in a man’s word, anticipation and disappointment.

I’ve had a long-held dream of owning a classy sports car, a convertible to be exact. For a long time I dreamed of it being red and then as time wore on I decided that dream was not very practical. A few months ago Dane brought up the subject of my red sports car. I thought I had tucked that longing away or eradicated it totally.

An opportunity came to share our trusty car with someone else who needed it, and Dane suggested we do that and look for a different car for me, maybe that classy car I had longed for.

At first I allowed the longing to surface again, though I decided black would be a better color choice. We looked at a couple of private owner cars and were sad to see how people overrated the condition of their cars to cause us to drive lots of miles to view their car, only to learn that it was fairly trashed. After a couple of those disappointing trips I decided my longing had been foolish, I was angry at Dane for reviving it. I decided I’d settle for just an older Honda again, maybe in black with possibly a sun roof.

One of our sons asked me when I would risk going for what I wanted and enjoy living instead of living so cautious? It gave me new thoughts to add to the others already swirling in my head. We had prayed about offering the car up for sale. And we were praying daily for just that exact car God had for us. What did God really want for me for a newer car? Would I be patient and trust His choice? How long would it take?

The next morning a car appeared on the used car listing for our area that fit what we were looking for. It was black, with a black convertible top and dark grey leather interior and much more sensible than my original desire of a two-seater. It had a roomy back seat for holding all the “things” I end up transporting home as well as grandchildren and child restraint seats and it had a decent sized trunk.

Would I risk being disappointed again by daring to look into the possibility of this car? It could result in another betrayal of truth. Would I hear the words of my son and entertain living large and risking freedom from fear of what if’s?

Well……………I did risk again. And sitting in my garage is a beautiful, black convertible. It’s an older car, but lovingly cared for inside and out and the mileage is low considering it’s age. It’s a beauty!

God is a crazy man! He allowed for the fulfillment of a long-held dream of mine, to own a classy black sports car convertible. The risk feels good, crazy, wild and fun – words I’m purposing to add to my life and vocabulary much more often these days!