My Mom passed away last July.  You cannot imagine this cavernous loss unless you've experienced it.  I've grieved the deaths of grandparents and in-laws; I even work in the funeral business, and yet losing my mother rocked me deeply.  I'm still learning what 'being motherless' means.  

One thing I've discovered is that there are emotional potholes in unexpected places.  A scent, a sight, a memory ~they all hold power to bring her to mind and cause tears to follow.  Milestones dates are also tricky roadblocks.  There appear to be no detours around them.  

Before my Mom's birthday this year, I'd anticipated it being a tough day for my Dad.  I'd rallied nieces and nephews to call or send a card to their Grandpa.  I was so busy feeling for Dad that I didn't prepare for her birthday to derail me.  That morning in early March, I awoke in melancholy tears that continued all day.  I keenly missed her.  

Yesterday was my first Mother's Day when I could not speak with my Mom.  In the weeks preceding the actual holiday, warnings were everywhere.  

Every commercial (darn those Hallmark moments!)  

Every schmaltzy movie.  

Every unguarded moment.  

Every peek at my calendar.  

Every approaching moment felt like a police blockade complete with lights and sirens frightening me away from May 13, 2012.  

Thankfully, though it was a tender, tearful occasion, the actual day was easier than I anticipated.  

Though the photo is overexposed with sunlight, I adore how luminescent and timeless Mom looks in it.  Taken in Southgate, MI in the early-to-mid-1960's.  

One of the things I'm learning from being motherless is just how important this position is.  Moms matter.  Whether our kids act like they need us or not.  What we do is essential.  Even when our efforts aren't noticed or appreciated.  We are needed.  Even when our kids are nearly grown.  Though our roles change, the calling is eternally paramount.  Our children ~ no matter their ages ~ need us, our acceptance, our love, our time, our encouragement, and our prayers.

So, this first Mother's Day without my Mom, I also treasured my own children in a heightened manner.  We relished time together.  Laughing.  Smiling.  Eating.  Teasing.  Oh, and did I mention soundly beating them both in Upwords?  

(For the sake of transparency, you should understand that when I say "soundly beating" I mean "barely squeaking by.")

This savoring of moments is something I try to do every day, not just on milestone celebrations.  Recent treasures that I'm cradling close:

• Making my kids erupt in laughter ON PURPOSE. (There's plenty of the other kind too.)
• My adult daughter's excited chatter through a closed bathroom door (once something that made me feel hounded when the kids were toddlers is now this rare and cherished gift.)
• Praying God's Word over my children's lives and being reminded that our Heavenly Father is faithful.
• Being invited to the county fair by my nearly grown kids and hearing one of them say to the other, "The best part about the Tilt-a-Whirl was riding it with Mom and hearing her laugh."
• Neighborhood walks with my tall, teenage boy when he shares his thoughts, his activities, and his heart with me.
• The hopeful, delighted looks on their faces as they present the cards chosen especially for me.  My tears as I open and clasp the cardstock gems to my bursting heart.
• Family dinners where the richest, most decadent and filling course is our laughter and enjoyment of one another.

Time is a rising mist.  Though moments evaporate, the memories remain.  I'd love to hear your special memories.  What are you treasuring in your heart today?

I'm a middle kid.  Go ahead.  Say it.  I know you want to.  If you're feeling shy, you could chime in with others and even say it in unison.  Ready?  1, 2, 3... "Aw.  You poor thing."  (Grin.)  Thanks!  I appreciate your sympathy, but actually, I don't mind being one.  

I have two older (they would say 'wiser') siblings and a younger (actually, he'd probably say 'wiser' too) one.  Okay, stick with me here...because this birth order business affects who I am, what I do, and what I'm about to write.

Middle kids tend to be more flexible.  We take life as it comes.  We adjust ourselves to others around us because we're used to making do.  It can be a great attribute.

But not always.  Many times we're so yielding and pliable that we accept things as they are rather than envisioning how things could be; therefore, we don't always affect changes around us.  At least that's the case with this middle kid.

Sometimes I just assume that things can't be different.  I hate to admit this, (but then again, we're among friends here), I forget to even pray about changes.  Instead, I expend energy just trying to make things work.  For example, my husband was moved to third shift for what was promised to be only six months.  Six years (and three bosses) later, the schedule and the resulting exhaustion/crankiness was getting old and hammering our family life.  My friend Aimee declared that we needed to pray asking God to change his schedule.  The thought actually surprised me (I know, I know!), and I assured her, "His bosses have refused his requests to change his shift.  We're just going to have to continue to deal with it."  Within a few months of her beginning to pray about it, guess what... Yep, his schedule changed.  All because she dared to ask the right Boss.  

Author and pastor Mark Batterson says in his book, The Circle Maker, "The greatest tragedy in life is the prayers that go unanswered because they go unasked."  (p. 17) Now, I realize that the answers won't always be yes~we're talking about Almighty God whose purposes stretch further and farther than we can imagine, and sometimes "no" is best~but He does want me to ask.  So I'm learning to do so.

This week, I began a double prayer challenge.  Tuesday, I linked hearts with other Moms to begin a twenty-one day effort to pray for our sons.  It's an effort spearheaded by The MOB Society (Mothers of Boys) called #21Days4Sons.  

As we read and respond to Brooke McGlothlin's e-book, Warrior Moms:  Praying the Word for Boys in the Areas They Need it Most, we're praying because we recognize how much we need God to intervene in our lives.  Brooke reminds us that "we serve the God who bends down to listen."  What encouragement that is!  He knows, He cares, and He understands, but He desires for us to share our hearts, our hopes, our hurts, and our requests with Him.  She cautions us to remember that this isn't a quick fix for our families or a crash course in more effective mothering.  She says, "It's not about what you can do.  It's about what God can do IN SPITE of you.  That's what prayer is." (2012 introductory video)  That is good news! 

Then yesterday, my small group from church started the book/video series,The Circle Maker.  This excellent resource underscores the importance of praying circles around the impossible things in our lives in order to give God the most glory.  Mark Batterson says, "Change the way you pray and everything changes."  He challenged us to spend the next twenty-one days praying and establishing habits of prayer.  

I am intensely lifting up my children during this period of time.  I've been graced with a daughter who is twenty-two and a son who is seventeen.  They're independent thinkers, wildly creative, deeply talented individuals.  They're among my very favorite people.  They make me laugh and they make me cry.  (Occasionally at the same time.)  Though I don't always agree with the choices they make, I love them madly.  I delight in moments spent with them.  I worry over them.  I hurt for them.  I dream with them.  I want what's best for them.  

Since they're nearly grown, it's easy to believe that their characters and habits are pretty much set.  The foundation (a mix of good and bad) that my husband and I have built is pretty well set by now, and that's that.  As I view the looming empty nest period, it's tempting to believe that my influence and role in their lives is extremely limited, if not over.  

In the past several months God has challenged and scraped away these lies.  Though my role has indeed changed, it is still vital.  My kids need me.  They need my prayers.  They need my unconditional love.  They crave my encouragement.  They sometimes even still need my guidance.  I'm learning to speak less, but pray more.  Much more.

And I'm finding that my prayers are just as much for me.  As I've prayed Deuteronomy 13:4 over them this week, "May Ali, A.J., and Estomi (our Compassion son) follow and revere the Lord their God.  May they keep His commands and obey Him, serving Him and holding fast to Him," I'm praying it increasingly over myself.  It's difficult in this fast-paced, oft-times painful life to hold fast to God.  To remember that He's always good.  That He loves me and wants what's best.  To obey His words.  You see, I need this verse (and many others) worked out in my life just as much as they do.

You may rest assured that He's working on middle kids like me!  The Bible promises that He will complete the good work that He has started...in me, in my kids, in you.  Never forget that the Master Carpenter does exquisite work.

The following poem entitled "Workbench" describes some of the processes that Jesus has used while reshaping and rejuvenating my heart. 

Genuine community is a gift to treasure.  I'm grateful for that which occurs within my family, in my weekly small group, and among my close friends~those online and those in person.  Much of my life happens within the safe embrace of these precious people.  

This soul connection provides a safe haven where we can:

• be honest and transparent about real life
• relax into our "realest" selves
• give and receive support
• grow and celebrate

It takes time, trust, and intentionality to build the relationships that frame this gift of community.  As we invest in one another's lives, the foundation of community is secured.  Sometimes as we meet heart-to-heart, full details are shared.  Other times, it's enough to know that others are hurting.  Acceptance and grace are offered in both cases.  This kind of bravery, honesty, risk, and love is excruciatingly beautiful.  

Community is more than important; it's essential. I believe in it even when it's hard.  It's especially difficult when I'm in need or at my weakest.  When I have nothing to offer in return. 

You see, I'm used to being the giver ~the listener, the comforter, the hugger, the hand-holder.  The encourager.  It's what I do.  It's who I am.  But there are days I have nothing to give.

Then it's harder to be on the receiving side.  Humbling.  And yet, learning to both give and take is part of living in community with others.  

So I try.  Even when I'm wounded.  Without strength.  Struggling to hope.  When any prayer beyond "Oh, Father!" is more than I can manage.  On a day like today...

Due a combination of things including details that belong to another, I will not fully explain; but because we value one another, let me share this...

Today I could use your prayers, your hugs (virtual and otherwise), and your reminder that everything is going to be okay.

Thank you for listening and for caring.  I feel better just having told you.

There's no excuse.  I was rude.

It wasn't the pharmacist's fault that I was running late or that I didn't have my pharmacy card.  It wasn't her fault I'd rushed around that day and failed to spend time with Jesus.

My "SpongeDeb CrankyPants" were showing.  Again.  (Sorry for burning THAT image into your brain!)  Believe me--I know it's not a pretty sight.  "Jesus-filled Deb" is FAR more gracious, patient, kind, and pleasant than "Plain ol' Deb."  

Everything about me spoke my displeasure:

• The tense look on my face
• My piercing gaze beneath my cocked eyebrow (a look I perfected in Mr. Brumback's eighth grade science class)
• My derisive tone of voice

If my Mom was here she would say, "Deb, it's not what you say that gets you into trouble; it's how you say it."  Again.  I can't count the number of times I've heard that.  Nor the number of times it was true.  Only this time, it was both.

My words--the subtle threat (okay, okay, not so subtle) to take my business elsewhere next time--were far from gracious.  My tone of voice just shoved them all the way home to rude.

My pastor often quotes his mentor, Dr. Craig Loscalzo, PhD., who says, "You never regret extending grace."

But you'll surely regret being ungracious.  At least I do.  Even after I apologized to the poor woman, I felt horrible. 

In fact, I kicked myself.  Thoroughly.  Roughly.

Berated myself.  Soundly.  Completely.

Flipped on a "Mental Demotivational Seminar" (you know--those negative self-talk tapes we so often replay in our head) and turned it up LOUDLY and pressed REPEAT for nearly an hour.

Then I got a grip.  Honestly, did the punishment fit the crime?  Really?  Were my actions wrong?  Yes, of course; but I'd already apologized and felt real remorse.  Not to make light of my act or of His sacrifice, but Someone has already paid for my crimes.  It's unnecessary to crucify myself.

Over a cup of comforting ginger-peach hot tea, I realized that this wasn't the only time this week that I've treated myself like dirt over a small offense. I'm seeing a pattern~I need to learn to love myself more.  I'm often gracious and encouraging to others--even those who are unkind to me.  Why can't I extend that same kindness to myself?  Why am I my own worst enemy?

It's time to start killing myself with kindness!  It's going to take some practice and concentrated effort.  Here are some initial intentions:

What do YOU do to show kindness and love to yourself?  Please share your ideas in the comment section.  I'd love to add more to my list.

Oh, and if you see me kicking myself unnecessarily, please stop me!  

Picture my insidious enemy.  Perhaps you even know her.  Perhaps she harasses you as well.

Her hulking shadow darkens my every move.  Her familiar presence is unwelcome, yet she persists.  Her menacing voice causes me to cower.

If I'm trying something new, she plagues me with convincing doubts.  When I've had prior success in an area, she insinuates a leak in my current abilities.  She chokes the life and vibrancy from my feeble hopes and dreams.

She lurks in the shadows watching for weak moments.  She stalks.  Bullies.  Mocks.  Taunts.  Her name is Fear.

Fear and her ravenous wolf pack of lies and well-timed remarks corner me.  Growling.  Hissing.  Snarling.  "Deb, you're common.  You're boring.  Trust me; you have NOTHING to say.  We both know it.  Don't even try."

I've believed these lies for far too long.  Fear barely has to whisper them anymore since I'm her easy target.  Her tactics are predictable and known.  Her lies feel real.  They're so familiar I often forget that they originate from my enemy.  And believing her "feels" safer than the harder, scarier acts of following my dreams:

• Choosing to hope
• Choosing to practice writing
• Choosing to risk

As much as Fear frightens me, there's odd comfort and safety in this familiar foe.  This is not good.

In the past couple of years, my longing to write has reawakened.  I've realized that if I continue to believe this enemy, then God's plan for my life will be stunted.  Fear must be confronted.  Courage is required.

I've tried chasing Fear from me.  Turned on the light.  Stamped my foot.  Hollered to scare her away.  I've shouted back, "That's not truth!"

Standing up to her has helped, but it is exhausting.  For though she retreats, she always returns.  Fear is persistent if nothing else!

In recent months, I've taken a new tack with her.  Instead of ignoring her (which obviously hasn't worked) and instead of expending enormous amounts of energy chasing her away, I have been merely making acquaintances with her.  Now, I'm not saying we're friends.  We're not, but if she's always going to dog my steps on some level, it's wise to acknowledge her presence and her strategies.

I'm learning to recognize that some (not all) of what she says may be true.  I have no guarantees that my ventures will be successful.  So I'm learning to shrug.  To take her comments in stride.  To admit the possibilities.  To sass back.  "Perhaps I won't have anything to say.  Perhaps I won't say it as well as others do.  Maybe I'll even fail.  But I have to try."