Getting punched, physically or figuratively

There's nothing like getting punched in the stomach.

It literally takes your breath away, and for a split second your brain shuts down.  All thoughts cease while the pain registers in your mind.  Your body instinctively goes into a fetal position in an effort to protect itself from further assault.

Being figuratively punched by someone's actions or words is not much different.  Your emotions take a similar position.  Your body becomes motionless, and you may even have that deer-in-the-headlights look in your eyes.  Not sure how to react, you close up, shut down.

Finally your brain begins to function and the upper-most thought to enter your mind is - Escape.

I was figuratively punched in the stomach early one morning.  While working at the computer, my son came from his bedroom crying his little eyes out.  He'd just awoke from a long and, what I thought, restful sleep.  I Immediately stopped what I was doing and went to him.  After fifteen minutes of inconsolable crying I tried to find out what was wrong.  This only produced a pained look on his face and more tears.

What could cause my son so much distress?

Many hugs and tissues later he was able to form a few words.  Through the tears he mumbled that his heart hurt.  He shared about being lonely and scared, and that he missed his "fun" mommy.  He didn't want me to work so hard.  He knew I'd been going through something, and I was angry and upset.  He didn't want me to be that mommy anymore.

Punch!  Punch!  Punch!

I didn't know what to say, so I escaped by avoiding an answer.  Without words I carried my son back to bed.  I kissed and hugged my hurting child, tucked him in, and rubbed his back.  I tried to sooth both of our hurting hearts by humming him back to sleep.

Afterward, I jumped in the shower, and instead of falling to the floor in pure and utter defeat like I wanted to, I silently cried and prayed.  I asked the Lord to forgive me for failing as a mother.  I gave my Father God my son's pain, and my own.  Then I asked for His help.

A few years before this I tried to fix my shattered life with glue and tape, thinking I had the power to restore it to some semblance of it's former condition.  What happened instead was a week spent in the hospital, away from my son, and a total collapse of my ability to function.  I cried for days until there were no tears left to cry.

The deepest depression I had ever experienced set in.  I was also diagnosed with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) brought on by my failed relationship with my son's violent father.  What I thought would be the happiest days of my life with a man who supposedly loved me turned out to be a living nightmare.

I ran for my life, and my son's, only to endure years of harassment and fear.  Most days I'm able to cope through working extra hard, or by "faking it until I make it".

Now every year or so my son's father receives a little too much pressure from the government for not paying his child support, and in turn he starts threatening me.  This is happening right now and I try so hard to keep it from my son, but he knows something is not right.  The letters started arriving, emails are flooding my inbox, and a court order will show up any day now.  To say my nerves are on edge is putting it mildly.

As a single parent I've done, and am doing, the best I can.  My son knows my love for him is limitless and completely unconditional.  There are times when life is just not fair though, and there are circumstances beyond his understanding that I have to deal with.

But some of the pain he is experiencing is just the normal process of growing up.

My son is also unhappy because the older he gets the more expectations are placed on him for increased responsibility.  He understands discipline will be administered if there is a failure on his part to follow through on those expectations.  He has chores and school, and during stressful times I am hyper-sensitive to chaos, clutter, and misbehavior.  When my son tells me I'm not fun anymore, I will admit it's probably true.  But I need him to do his chores and get his school work done.

He is too young to understand I'm barely keeping my head above water with finances.  My brain is functioning at an insane pace, and all the thoughts and contacts I need to remember is only possible if my environment isn't full of chaos.

I don't want to have to think too hard about what to cook, clean, or attend to otherwise nothing will get done. 

On top of all that, I'm in constant pain.  I have a herniated disc in my neck, tendonitis in my left arm, and osteoarthritis throughout my body.  I've also had excruciating pain in my left shoulder for two months, and I have no idea what is wrong.  Do I have time to take care of it, NO.

We're both unhappy living in California.  I've already made the decision that we must move.  But, and it's a biggy, I don't feel comfortable leaving my mother.  I am here to help with her health care and financial decisions, I'm available at a moments notice if she needs me, and my phone number is the only one she remembers.  She needs me, and I want to be here for her.

So, even though some aspects of our life aren't normal, both of us need to be mindful of what is normal. 

"It's awesome to realize today was in God's mind and plan long before this earth was created.  He knew you would be where you are at this very moment, living in your present circumstances, facing the kind of pressures you're enduring... and experiencing this moment of quiet reflection.  Bow and thank Him.  Turn over the controls of your life to Him.  Admit your weakness, your hypocrisy, your tendency to worry, your deep need of His presence and counsel in your life.  Take a few minutes right now to become completely preoccupied with Him... who has lovingly brought you to your knees.  Read Psalm 23."  Excerpt from The Quest for Character

My life is only beautiful from a distance.

Now that I've gotten real, whined, complained, and shared thoughts with you that I won't share with my son, I want to thank you.  And you can see my life is only beautiful from a distance, I hope you will allow me to encourage you.

I've been surfing the internet, reading post after post, and story after story from a lot of you who don't know why you blog, why you keep struggling, why you don't just throw in the proverbial towel.  I want you to realize that it's because there are people like me who may not visit daily or make it over to read every one of your posts, but we need you.  You make the world seem smaller, more friendly, and you bring the blessed joy of fellowship we need.  You offer hope, you're something to hang on to, and you're beautiful from a distance.

Let God guide you and what you write, and use your blogs to bless others!  You are a blessing to me.

photo credit: w4nd3rl0st (InspiredinDesMoines)

Devotion

When I was young, while visiting a neighborhood park with my family, I noticed runners moving around the length of the park.  There was still a chill in the late morning air, but some of the runners were dressed in shorts and tank tops.  They wore the big, bold numbers pinned to their tops signifying them as entrants to a race.

While I watched, I noticed their easy, fluid strides.  They made it look so simple, placing one foot in front of the other, as if to a rhythm only they could hear.  I wanted to join them, but I knew I wasn't prepared to go the distance.

It's the beginning of a new year, time for resolutions.

Resolutions are all about you.  What you want to do differently, what you want to change about yourself or your life.  Do you want to lose weight, quit some addiction, or just be a better you?

Accomplishing any resolution takes effort and a bit of suffering.  But if it was really all about you don't you think success would be easier?

Every year it's the same, you start with good intentions but somewhere along the way you struggle.  Then a couple of months into the new year another resolution goes unfulfilled.  Is it because you don't have the self-discipline or desire to complete the task?

Here's a question:  How is your devotion to God?

"We are instructed to turn from Godless living and sinful pleasures. We should live in this evil world with wisdom, righteousness, and devotion to God, while we look forward with hope to that wonderful day when the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, will be revealed.  He gave His life to free us from every kind of sin, to cleanse us, and to make us His very own people, totally committed to doing good deeds."  Titus 2:12-14 (emphasis added)

In order to go the distance you need to be prepared.  So how do you prepare?  Devotion!  Spend time in God's Word, pray ceaselessly, get to know Jesus like you have never known Him before.  Condition your heart and mind before trying to run that mile.  When you are truly ready to run your body will fall in line. 

You can't do it on your own.

So why not start with spending time with God.  He makes the impossible possible.  Jesus will carry you when you can't take another step.  When the words won't come or you don't know what to do the Holy Spirit will guide you.  God is your Father and He only wants what is best for you.

Devotion, how's that for a resolution?  Have you made any resolutions for the new year?

Photo credit: The Q

Missing mom and dad this Christmas

Dad loved music, and mom loved baking! Those are the memories I hold onto this Christmas.

Early in my childhood there was love in our household. There was laughter and sharing. There was music and Christmas movies. The excitement of presents under the tree and waking to smells of a turkey roasting in the oven.

It didn't last long. My parents did the best they could. They were two individuals from two very different backgrounds. They had very different dreams and ideas of what they wanted from life. Somewhere along the way it stopped being about family and became a struggle for their individual desires.

One thing my parents did have in common was a love for God.  This video is in memory of my dad who loved instrumentals, and for my mom who I've shared many tears and smiles over the years while listening to this song.   

Merry Christmas to those who struggle to find the joy of the season.  To those who's memories have faded because of bitterness and anger.  He is great and He sent His son for you!  May you find the joy in Him.

My birthday wish

Thank you to my friends and family who sent me happy birthday wishes.  I am so blessed.  Of course my cake would have many more candles than the one in the photo, but birthdays are not so much about the years as the lessons we've learned along the way and the people who have touched our lives.

When I was pondering what to write today it occurred to me how different I am from who I was last year, the year before that, and the years before that.  There was a time when the shy, introverted me would have become nauseous just thinking about blogging.

I am humbled by those who are more creative, more patient and understanding, and those who take a stand and are not wavered.  I'm in awe of those who attack a project with single-minded gusto; failure is not an option.  They open themselves up to be judged and critiqued without a deprecating thought.

For the past year and a half I've come out of my shell to share with you from my heart, but I've still held back.  It's funny how looking back over the years I realize how much fear I've been living with.  Fear of ruffling feathers...  fear of taking a stand...  fear of failing at something I really love to do.

2011 was my year to "reclaim" my life.  Caring for my mother was draining me.  Don't get me wrong I love my mom, and I would do it all over again, but my son needs me more than my mom does.

It also became clear to me I've been fearful of sharing my years of dealing with depression, PTSD, and the abuse I survived.  Domestic Violence has always been something I feel does not get the attention it should.

There is so much misunderstanding about domestic violence that victims become stereotyped.  Because of this victims endure more pain and separation from the very people who can make a difference in their lives, help them find the strength within themselves to become survivors rather than victims.

If I'm rambling I apologize, but it is my birthday so I can get away with it this time, right. ;)  Anyway, I wanted to share one last story with you.

When I was 12 or 13 years old I was walking through a corn field.  It was Fall and almost harvest time.  The corn was the kind specifically grown for feed.  It was all dried out and withered.  I tried to imagine the cattle that would be eating the grain, and then in turn the beef that would be on someone's table.  (As you can see I'm not a vegetarian, and I'm very thankful to God for providing us with such a wonderful delicacy.)  But I digress...

Walking through that field with poems and stories running through my young mind, I never dreamed I'd one day have so many experiences to write about.  At the time I barely had enough confidence to share my writing with my teachers.  Now I pray everyday to share those experiences, those stories, to touch just one heart.

That is my birthday wish.  To share, to touch someone's heart.

Although my words will wither and fade like the grass and flowers, and none of us can go back to a different time to dream of a different ending to our life, we can hold on to hope that what we do will bring glory to God.

What is Christmas really about?

Jo Princess-Warrior is on a little blogging break, but she re-posted an article she wrote last December that I couldn't agree with more.

I remember an argument I had with my father about this very subject.  I was eighteen years old, and he was insistent that my children would be taught his beliefs about Santa.  I thought he was being quite presumptuous about what my children would and/or would not be taught.

He was angry with me, and I was upset with him.  I could not make him understand it would be my decision not to lie to my children about Santa.  I wanted them to focus on the reason for the season and not the hyped up commercialization.  The hurt feelings and separation this created in our relationship wasn't worth it.

For God is not a God of disorder but of peace—as in all the congregations of the Lord’s people.  1 Corinthians 14:33

The real reason for the disagreement was my contempt for this man, my father, who walked out on us some years before.  He returned that year for reasons of his own, but I could not forgive him.  This disagreement opened the door for my self-righteous judgment of him.  I showed disrespect and animosity because of my pain.  I wanted to put him in his place, and put to rest any idea he may have had that he gave up his right to guide and direct me.  I was not willing to submit to my earthly father.

“Honor your father and mother”—which is the first commandment with a promise— “so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth."  Ephesians 6:2-3

Now the world would say I had every reason to not honor my father, but a follower of Christ knows better.  In that moment, that precious squandered moment, I had an opportunity to love like Christ.  To be an example of His grace.  Instead I hurt my father, and deeply

I never had the chance to apologize and ask forgiveness of my father.  I still believe in my convictions, Christmas is not about Santa, the tree, the true date of Christ's birth, or any other controversial issue some would like to make of it.  But Jesus is our Prince of Peace, and He came so we could have peace.

The holiday is about the ultimate gift given to mankind.  Jesus was the gift, and He came to us with a message.  It doesn't need to be crammed down anyone's throat, or argued about until feelings are irrevocably damaged.  Jesus is a gift to be accepted with free will.  As Christians we give glory to God by sharing His message in a peaceful, patient, kind, gentle, and most of all loving way.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  Isaiah 9:6

That is the what Christmas is all about.

photo credit: Alesa Dam

Is an absent father better than a sporadic father?

I used to worry, ok I still worry, how my son is being affected by the lack of his father's presence.  He's not in the picture, has never been a part of my son's life, and insists on having no physical contact with him.  He was abusive to me in the past, and I've had a fear if he ever did have contact with my son there would be more abuse.  For now this is not an immediate concern, but there is the possibility of it coming up.

What I'm more concerned about now is the mental and emotional harm my son may be experiencing from the sporadic correspondence by mail from his father.  Almost none of it is in regard to my son, and I have made every effort to keep the issues between his father and I to myself.  It is impossible to keep everything from him thought, they know when something's not right.  Children's instincts are so strong, and they are so protective.

I was reminded of this from a post at My Adventures in Mommyland.

I've had almost ten years of worry and fear about the issues of how my son's father, his absence, and my attitude about him have affected my son.  I left a comment about how we cannot control or protect our children from every hurt, and again I'm reminded that worrying about will not help either.

All we can do for our children is pray and make sure to always let them know we are here for them.

Sometimes being a single parent really stinks, but I'm so thankful God has a plan.  He knows and cares about our every situation.  Just as He has always taken care of me, He will be there for my son.

That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you (and your children) far more valuable to Him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?

Matthew 6:24-34 emphasis added

photo credit: Elvert Barnes

Restoration

The telephone rings.  I rush to answer it.  The voice on the line I recognize is from the nursing home.  It tells me my mother is going to the hospital, I need to head over there right away.

I rush through preparations before running out the door.  At the hospital I grumble under my breath because there aren't any parking spaces near the entrance.  The anxiety and fear are mounting.  Finally I locate an open space, I park and rush to the front door.

At the desk I'm told to wait.  The despair increases.  After some time, and a lot of pacing, a nurse comes to show me the way.  In the room more waiting for the doctor to come.  Tests are run, vitals are assessed, then decisions are made.  My mother will be admitted, but she is coherent.  We wait some more for a room to be prepared.  Wait, wait, and more waiting.

Did you know Jesus never rushed?

The next day, I'm at home.  The phone rings at six am.  A nurse informs me my mother has been put in restraints.  She is combative; hitting, kicking, and spitting at the nurses.  They didn't want to call me sooner, they felt I needed to rest.   They can't get her to calm down and I need me to come as soon as possible.  I rush to the hospital.

Walking in the room I'm shocked by the attitude of my once joyful mother.  She is not herself, and the words coming from her mouth make me take a step back.  The nurses are very capable and gentle, but she is not herself.

Trying to get her mind off the discomfort the nurse starts a conversation with my mother.  "We need you to relax and rest.  Can you do that for us?" she asks.

My mother responds with some angst, "Don't you understand I have three jobs and four daughters to care for.  I don't have time to relax."

As tears come to my eyes and pain sears my heart, she sees me and venomously says, "I don't know you, go away!  You're not my daughter.  My daughter would never let this happen."

I leave the room and wait for the doctor.  Discussing the situation we discover she has not had any pain medication for days.  My mother is experiencing withdrawal.  That combined with the high potassium levels and an infection are causing her unusual behavior.  After orders are made, drugs are administered.

Finally my mother is resting.  The restraints are removed and the rush is over.  I'm able to stroke her cheek, her hair.  I whisper, "It's time for sleep.  You don't have to work now.  I'm taking care of you."

Restoration of health and heart begin!

I don't believe in coincidence, and God always amazes me with His timing.  This week in our Quest for Character we're studying Restoration.

Going through the struggles this week with my mother and her health I realize her life is a lesson to me.  She rushed through life believing the more she did the better off we all would be.  She didn't take time to rest and restore in God when she could.  Now, it is being forced upon her, and she doesn't know how to rest.

Take a moment every day to restore yourself and your life in Christ.  Read and study Psalm 23.

photo credit: bradleygee

It's a simple practiced act...

I reach into the box for the expected bill or advertisement, but there's another envelope that grabs my attention.  It's business sized, addressed in pencil.  Handwriting unmistakable, the name in the upper left-hand corner confirms the undeniable.

Time stands still...  beating heart races...  hands shake... breathing becomes labored.  Overwhelming fear takes hold...

But, wait!

Closing now moist eyes, I take a deep calming breath.

It's a simple practiced act.

“...the righteous will live by faith.”  Galatians 3:11

In the safety of home, opening the envelope slowly with monumental effort.  Words are slowly and methodically read.  The fear and discomfort try to make their way to a heart once broken and torn.

Prayer slips from lips gone dry from anxiety and pain.

It's a simple practiced act.

 "...let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings."  Hebrews 10:22

Fear sneaks in to pierce unsuspectingly, sometimes it emerges full force.  But, it's a simple practiced act of faith that will overcome it's deadly intent.

"For we live by faith, not by sight."  2 Corinthians 5:7

Putting trauma from the past away is as simple as placing it in the Father's hands.  Gaining strength to say no more to domestic violence takes faith.

Faith, it's a simple practiced act!

Photo credit

I choose forgiveness

Talking with my sister reveals a mother I didn't know.  A mother who was always there, available to care for skinned knees and able to create a home.

I only know an angry, bitter mother.  A mother who held tight to possessions because people had always failed her.

I only hear from my mother how my grandparents, aunt, uncle, and father abandoned and/or mistreated her.  Everything was their fault.  Her decision to take no responsibility for her life and actions has given me an understanding of how unforgiveness can hurt someone.

"And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.”  Mark 11:25-26

I make the choice to forgive the teachings of bad habits from my mother.  I choose not to be bitter about having a mother who wasn't there to care and cook for me...  to be the mother I needed...  for holding "things" tighter than she did me.  

Did she know her habits would become my own?  Will I hold on to the anger, resentment, and possessions passing down to my son the lessons I was taught?

Just as I choose to rid my home of more clutter today, I choose to forgive as I have been forgiven.  I choose to teach my son the lesson of forgiveness.

I'm linking up today:

Peace, be still... a new song

I didn't know what to do at first,  everything was so different.

The house was quiet.  I was getting regular sleep, meal planning for only two, focusing on my son's needs, taking care of my own needs...

How is it possible life could have so many changes all at once?

Feelings and emotions come like waves... Guilt, happiness, panic, freedom, sorrow, gratefulness...  Do I laugh or cry...  scream and rail?

My mind takes over.  The storm of emotions are pushed away.  After all I'm an adult, and I cannot afford to loose it now.  I must put things right.

I must move on.  There is a job to find.  School should be planned for and started soon.

My mother still needs me to keep it together.  There is no passing the baton for her welfare.  Daily calls and weekly visits are required and expected.  Scheduling for everything will have to be done.

Papers need to be organized... stuff needs to be gone through...  room needs to be made for our new life.

Responsibility!!!

Though the load is no longer fully on my shoulders there is a demand to take control.  Feelings of spiraling down and getting lost in the muck are strong.

Wave upon wave of emotions and thoughts swirl around.  They seem to cause destruction and turmoil, but instead there is a washing away of the old.

New, shiny, clean surfaces appear...  the old stagnant, rotting has been whisked away.  My heart is renewed...  my mind is spinning with opportunity...  my soul is whispering a new song...

Adjustment, a little easier for some than others

Do you think the seed of this palm tree knew what adjustments it would need to make to survive?

Did I have any idea how I would have to adjust to caring for my mother 24/7 as she slowly lost her health, her sight, and her mind.  I can honestly answer no, no one has any idea what could be ahead for them much less adjust to the difficulties life can sometimes bring.

On Monday morning, May 30, around 3:30 am I was awakened by the sound of my mother's walker hitting the door frame.  This happens quite often due to her blindness, and the fact my bedroom doorway is just inches from hers makes it almost impossible for her to move around the house without me knowing.  I'm always trying to stay aware of her movements anyway.  She has fallen before and although it would be best she call me from her room to help her, she is very independent.

I'd only gotten about an hour and half of sleep, so I was a little slow in moving to get up.  By the time I came around she was in my doorway telling me she had phoned a friend to discuss her pain.  (I've had several conversations informing her that her friend does not appreciate these middle of the night phone calls, and they just could not happen anymore.)  

We make our way into the dining room still discussing what she had done when there is a knock on the front door.  Upon opening it, I find two police officers standing there looking at me.  They ask about my mother and I turn to look at her. (This also has not been the first time she has dialed 911 while I slept.)  The bewildered look on my face went unnoticed by all as the officers enter our home to check my mom.

Minutes later there were paramedics in our living room, and they were looking her over as I tried to become wallpaper.  Soon they were asking if she wanted to be transported to the hospital.  I stood there dumbfounded and looked questioningly at her.  The last time this had occurred I told her she would not be coming home she would have to be moved into a nursing home.  Please understand that I felt her choice to take these drastic steps constituted her agreement that I was unable to see to her care and she needed more than I could give her.

I reminded her of our understanding, but still she nodded to the paramedics choosing to go to the hospital.

She was there for a few hours and they wanted to release her.  The doctors could find nothing out of the ordinary to her already deteriorated condition.  The only thing they could do was give her some morphine for the pain.  I advised the hospital staff that she had nowhere to go, and asked if they could help me get her into a nursing home.

They argued with me saying there was nothing they could do.  I had already learned my mother's rights and knew they could not release an ambulatory elderly person to the streets.  She was no longer in my custody, and I was crying out for their help.
 
Now before you consider me a cold-hearted person you have to understand a few things about my mother.  She has always been a stubborn, hard-headed individual, and she was slowly getting worse because of the dementia.  There had already been incidents where she had endangered herself, my son, and myself.  My mother wouldn't listen to her doctors, myself, or anyone.  I saw no other way to handle the situation.  My sisters had even tried to get me to move her to a nursing home earlier, but I knew she wouldn't go unless forced to.

The hospital staff finally understood, and did everything they could to help.  Two hours later they found a place to take her.  It was only temporary, but at least she would have the proper care she needed.

The next day I was able to take her to a permanent place, and after a complete examination other medical issues came to light that made this decision a little easier for me to accept.  In some ways the previous months of battle in my mind and heart over putting my mom in a nursing home were preparation for the peace I could now have.  God had worked everything out, and His plans are so much better than our own.

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings.

And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen." 1 Peter 5:6-11

So, now the adjustments of life continue.  The next few weeks I'll spend packing, moving, and seeing to the needs of my son and I.  Unfortunately, school will be put on hold until we get settled.  And I know my mother is in very capable hands.  I'll visit often to make sure she knows I'm still here for her, and I truly love her.

She has begged to come home, even promised to be better, but it is my prayer she will soon learn to enjoy her new beautiful surroundings and take advantage of the additional help she is getting.

I would like to thank all those who have been so kind and supportive over the past few years, reading your comments has made a very difficult situation more bearable.  Your words have given me strength and helped me keep my eyes where they need to be focused.  So many times I've wanted to give in to the exhaustion, to give up sooner on my mother for the freedom I now have. Your understanding has lessened the guilt I try so hard to fight.

I cannot thank my sisters enough.  I tried and worked hard to keep our mom out of a nursing home, but in the end it was you who made me see God wanted me to let go.  Thank you for letting me know I did not give up on her, I did enough.  And just so you know it was God, not me, that got me through the last five years.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails."  1 Corinthians 13:4-7

One Chicken, more than one meal

Everyone has heard about taking a whole chicken, and stretching it for more than one meal, so this is not new.  But, it is new to my weekly to-do list.  Why?

The biggest obstacle with my mom's health has been her weight.  It's been the main contributor for most of the complications from her diabetes that she is now living with.  And since I am her caregiver, it has become my main objective to help her with this issue.

A tip I picked up from an article from  EverydayHealth.com  for diabetics was to start every meal with a cup of soup.  My mom is not a huge fan of soup, so she was not very excited about this.  She prefers to eat salads.  Now you would think that a salad is a healthy choice, but my mom eats salads with all the "fixings" and then some. (I can't even imagine the calories she's been consuming with some of those salads.)  Even when I made smaller portions it left her hungry again within an hour or so of each meal.  So, how could  a cup of soup before each meal help my mom?

The article states: "A broth-type soup does help cut down on the amount of calories you will eat."  Just as drinking water gives you a "full feeling", the soup will have somewhat the same effect. 

I tried some store bought broths, but our budget and my mom's blood pressure went out of control, even with the lower sodium products.  I was back at square one.  That's when I remembered the homemade chicken stocks my mom made when I was a girl.  OK, so I thought turn about is fair play right.  If I had to eat my mom's concoctions when I was a girl why couldn't my mom eat mine now?  I think a lot of us are missing out because we have chosen convenience over healthier.

So the journey of roasting a whole chicken weekly and making it last for more than one meal has lovingly become part of my life.

Here's the breakdown:

Meal #1:  Roast a whole chicken.  My mom and son love the white meat, so I split one chicken breast between the two of them.  I'll eat the drumsticks, which are my favorite, and serve with baked or mashed potatoes topped with a tablespoon of cottage cheese.  Steamed vegetables round out this meal.

Meal #2:  The other chicken breast will be saved for sandwiches or a chef salad topping for lunch the next day.

Meal #3:  The thighs will be put in a freezer bag and saved for another recipe to be posted later.  Stay tuned.

Meal #4-6:  The bones and the skin go back in the stock pot with 6-8 cups of water with celery, onion, and seasoning to make a delicious broth.  I simmer this for 3-4 hours.  {Note:  I don't worry about cleaning the bones for every morsel of meat, but you want to get as much off as you can. Waste not, want not, or so my mother tells me.}  After draining and then discarding the bones, I let the broth cool down.  Then I cover it and place in the refrigerator overnight.

Next day after skimming off the fat, I'll measure out a cup at a time to put in freezer bags.  I pop them in the freezer flat and then before each meal just pull one out, heat it up in the microwave, and serve it in a cup.

My mother has seen a significant weight loss, blood pressure and diabetes numbers go way down, and she has less water retention.  She was also recently diagnosed with congestive heart failure, so being able to keep the sodium and water decreased is a major concern.  

I'd love to know if you have any favorite recipes for chicken leftovers. 

A Rose for Mom

My mother loves roses.  It doesn't matter how they come ~ on a card, in a picture, in the garden, in a flower pot, dried in a bowl, or in a bouquet.  Is it the soft, silky petals, or the wonderful smell of a rose?  I don't know why she love roses so much, and it doesn't matter.  So I wanted to give her a rose today.  This is for you, mom.  I hope I've made them large enough for you to see. {She is legally blind..}

A flower without color is just another flower

One of the faces of love is a willingness to be involved in another person's pain.  And you might as well know right away that this will mean you are going to suffer too.  Loving is not easy and not free of hurt.

We are constructed in a very complex way.  It's our natural tendency to avoid pain.  We don't like to feel uncomfortable.  We are masters at building protective devices in our lives.  When we are rejected by another person, we almost unconsciously figure out how we can avoid that kind of hurt again.

When someone screams at us or spits out some spiteful comment, our natural reaction is to protect our own self-image by defending ourselves from hurt, pain, and discomfort.  It's only as we keep pouring the love of God into the big, demanding hole of self that we become conquerors.   Are we prepared to take on the pain?

"While Jesus lived on earth, he prayed to God and asked God for help.  He prayed with loud cries and tears to the One who could save him from death, and his prayer was heard because he trusted God.  Even though Jesus was the Son of God, he learned obedience by what he suffered.  And because his obedience was perfect, he was able to give eternal salvation to all who obey him."  Hebrews 5:7-9

Loving someone enough to share their pain, isn't that what Christ did for us?

A noble woman seeks knowledge, but if knowledge were the key to unlock the door in solving all human suffering, our problems would be over.  Mankind today possesses more knowledge than ever before.  The unfortunate truth is that our great strides in knowledge and in understanding the mysteries of the universe have done very little to solve man's problems.

The past six years I have made it a priority to research and study all of the health issues my mother is facing.  I understand the complexities of diabetes probably better than most diabetics.  The correlation between medication, nutrition, and exercise is so second nature to me that I tend to forget I am not a diabetic.

This knowledge has been an aid in easy communication with my mother's doctors and nurses, and it has possibly kept her with us a while longer.  But knowledge alone can become a burden when there is not enough love...

"Knowledge puffs you up with pride, but love builds up." 
1 Corinthians 8:1

With all the information I've gained I forgot the heart.  Being a type A personality I tend to focus on the task and forget the human emotion needed to care for someone in need.

My mother is a human being suffering from unimaginable pain and humiliating degeneration.  Her body and spirit are giving in the the disease.  As much as I want to fight, she is overcome with defeat.  She needs me to fight the disease, but in the process I need to lift her up with a gentle, loving attitude.

Where there is pride there is no love.  It seems the lessons never stop, and I'm not done learning yet...

Praising God in the Storm

My son asked me to stay for awhile after I tucked him in bed.  I hesitated for a moment as the picture of dirty dishes filling my sink came to mind.  It wasn't a hard decision to slide in next to him and spend some quality time with him.

We cuddled, talked, laughed, prayed, and listened to the radio as he slowly drifted to sleep.  Every night he chooses either a tape of classical music or his favorite Christian radio station.  I am so blessed by his love for music. 

Music has always been a part of my life.  Both of my parents instilled in me a love for music.  The emotions and feelings that are stirred by beautiful lyrics or by an instrumental piece make me feel closer to God.  I've always been able to slip the cares and worries off my shoulders while listening to music and experience His loving grace.  It's also easier to count my blessings when the everyday problems are lifted away.

My sister returned to her home in Oklahoma over a week ago.  I miss her comforting presence.  For five years I have felt alone and completely responsible for the care of my mother.  While she was here we shared the burden.  As I remember what my son said after the third day of her visit, I'm filled with joy.

"Auntie is a miracle, isn't she mom?"

It was more of a rhetorical question.  She's my oldest sister, and I've always looked to her for wise council and strength.  She's not perfect, but her patience, love, humility, and wisdom always fill me with comfort and wonder.  Her ability to be calm in a storm amazes me.

Halfway through the second day of her visit she admitted to being overwhelmed by our circumstances.  The fatigue and exhaustion was clearly etched on my face.  The mother she once knew is gone, replaced by a bitter, angry, defeated woman.  I know it broke her heart, and the concern for my health and happiness was in the forefront of all our conversations.

What do children of an aging parent do when faced with this situation?  Would my mother be better off in a nursing home?  Would she get the care and attention she needed, or would she get worse?  Is the daily stress and tension on me worth it?  I've worked so hard at helping my mother, it doesn't seem the right time to give up yet.  Is it "giving up" to say enough is enough?

We discussed options and possible issues.  We looked at a nursing home and debated the pros and cons.  We prayed, and in the end decided to let go and let God.  My sister can't force me to make a decision, but she will assist me any way she can.  At least now she has a better picture of what our life is like, I have the support I desperately need, and together we can do what's best for our mother.

I fell asleep while cuddling with my son.  It took an elbow to my brow to remind me of the chores waiting for me.  As I was gently extracting myself from the comfort of my son's warmth I listened to this song on the radio.  A smile slowly made its way across my face, and the tears ran down my cheeks.

When the song was over I stayed for one more minute, counting my blessings and praising God in the storm.

Gaining character through diversity

My parents were married 50 years ago yesterday.  April fools day?  Yes, and I have considered the parallel between the meaning of the day and my parents rocky marriage, which finally led to divorce.  But, they did not believe in luck, good or bad, nor did they believe their marriage would have been any different had they picked another date.

They were married in The Little Brown Church in the Vale in Nashua Iowa.  My father in his best suit and my mother in a light blue two piece dress and hat, very Jackie Kennedy style.  They were both happy, and ready to start their new life together.

Over the years my father had issues with employment.  He didn't have much confidence in himself which meant his dream of becoming a radio DJ never materialized.  Basically, he gave up.  Finally he settled on a truck driving career which created more tension on my parents' already fragile relationship.

Their financial situation fluctuated with the amount of time my father would stay at one job or another.  They also moved a lot with 4 daughters in tow.  It wasn't until I was 10-11 years old when my mother dug in her heels and said we weren't moving anymore.

With every move my sisters and I were pulled out of one school and placed in another.  You can imagine as a child this was difficult on so many levels.  One positive in all this was we always stayed in the same 2 school districts.  I started grade 1, 3, and 5 in a school in one town, then we'd move mid-year to finish and finally stayed in the other town.

When I was very little I had pale blond hair, I made friends easily, and was in the "popular" group for a while.  Then about 5th grade I became more introverted, and I experienced a growth spurt.  My arms and legs started growing faster than the rest of me.  I became a lanky, tall, giraffe of a girl with dishwater colored hair.

On the other hand, my sisters seemed to have all the personality.  My oldest sister was the athlete, my next older sister was the artist, and my younger sister was always the center of attention.  We were different in every sense of the word, but I loved my sisters all the more for those differences.

I was in 7th grade when my father finally left us for good and filed for divorce.  He had always been away as a truck driver, so it wasn't his leaving that affected me.  It was during that year of adjusting to not having my father around at all that I realized something about cultural diversity and my ability to adjust well with others.

We all know about school clicks.  As adults we still tend to separate ourselves from others in clicks.  Whether because of specific interests, financial standing, religion, etc. there always seem to be something, even subconsciously, that makes us separate ourselves into clicks.

Well 7th grade opened a door of opportunity for me to be a member of the "popular" group.  Maybe it was because my older sister was making headlines (literally) in sports, or maybe it was because of my magnetic personality.  Anyway, for a while I followed the rules and fit in, but it wasn't long until I made friends outside the group with some of the "misfits".  You can imagine the ostracism I received for befriending these outsiders.  I didn't care though, and felt it wasn't necessary to "fit in" to some kind of mold the popular crowd wanted to put me in.

I also enjoyed the mix of ethnic diversity in our school.  There was a group of Hispanic girls I rode the bus with.  We talked often, laughed, and got along quite well.  Most of their last names were Chacon, or they were related to the Chacons.  There were quite a few of them in town.  They had their own click, and not many Caucasians were allowed in the group.  They were fun and interesting girls, and I enjoyed spending time getting to know them.

Some of the "misfits" didn't like that I was spending time with the Chacons.  I was kicked out of the misfits group and really became an independent or freelance individual.  By the end of the year I had officially been part of each social group/click in the school.

At yearbook signing I was thrilled to have every girl from my school sign my book.  It didn't matter which click they were from they made their way over to me and asked to sign it.  One of my Hispanic friends gave me the distinction of "Chicano of the Year."  The most amazing part, as each group was mixing with other groups around me they started asking each other to sign yearbooks.  In a small way I had opened a door that united all the girls in my school.

This was a valuable lesson and occasionally as an adult I have failed to remember what I learned from that year.  But then there are moments, like throughout the blogosphere or homeschooling community, the lesson is brought back to me.

We all have so much to share, and we can all learn from each other.  What a great adventure this life is.

Character is simply habit long enough continued. – Plutarch

Her children arise and call her blessed

The words "I love you" are often spoken to me by my son.  At first it was endearing to hear it so often, then it became habitual.  I wasn't sure he truly understood what he was saying...  But, he gets it!

He offers hugs with no prompting, and rubs my back for reasons of his own.  My son smiles that smile only for me.  How blessed to have such a love from my little boy.

There is trust and joy in that love.  He looks to me for so much, but gives more than he receives.  I have wondered often if my shelter and protection is enough.  Then I remember I am not alone in providing for my son.  Our Father God is the beginning and end of all.

When my son says, "We haven't read the Bible yet today."  I am blessed?  When he willingly walks next to his grandma, helps her pick up a dropped item, or gently tends to her in a way beyond someone his age should, I am blessed.

He is my little helper.  He is my sentimental, loving, little man who cries for the underdog.  He is the strong boy willing to stand up to anyone on my behalf.  I am blessed!

It's the little things everyday that catch me unaware.  They make me stop and remember how blessed I am to have such a gift from God.

Like moments of complete frustration at the clothes in the middle of the floor, the half done school work he is ignoring to draw yet another picture.  Later those pictures he will proudly show me after I have lost my temper, and reprimanded him too strongly for not completing his work.

He shakes it off, and loves me anyway.  I am blessed!

There are so many ways they "arise and call us blessed."  Do we recognize them, or are we too hard on our family and ourselves to count them.  They don't have to shout it from the rooftops, or pay a high price.  We just need to open our eyes and ears to receive it.

"Her children arise and call her blessed;  her husband also, and he praises her:  'Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.'"  Proverbs 31:28-29

He Carries Me!

The rain is falling... or is it my tears? 

 

It's so hard to keep it together.  I have people waiting, but I just can't everything done.  There are dishes to wash, meals to make, pills to distribute, appointments to make and keep.

 

School is waiting.  Why is it so hard to get him motivated?  He has it all set out ready to go.  I focus on him, but he wants to play, draw, sleep.  There is work to be done first.

 

There is a pile here, a pile there.  The trash needs to be taken out, the mail brought in.  Clothes to be folded and put away.

 

The toilet backed up again, and the maintenance man can't get in for another two days.

 

The hours slip into weeks.  The weeks slip into months.  It has been five years, and it feels like I haven't made headway with anything.  I look back and wonder, "Was I really living or just coping?"

Sometimes coping is enough.

A friend is upset because I haven't been in contact.  A neighbor comments that I don't stop to talk anymore.  The church family are murmuring because we've missed so many Sundays.

I worry about what people think.  Why?  They're not walking in my shoes.  They don't know what it's like, waking up to a cranky, unhealthy, unhappy, miserable person everyday.  Loving her through the pain and misery, caring for her when I really want to run and hide.

Taking care of the monotonous chores that seem to never end.

The hardest part are the questions.  How's your mom doing?  Why is your mom taking so many pills?  Why don't you make your mom get out more?  Why isn't your mom losing weight?  What are you feeding her?  What about your son?  Doesn't he deserve more?  Why did you take him out of public school?  Wouldn't he be better off in public school?  What about you?  Are you taking care of yourself?  Have you lost weight?  Why are you doing this to yourself?

It shouldn't matter what others think or say, but for some reason it has captured me.  It won't let go.  Maybe I'm holding on too tight?  Letting go is hard.

I pray for answers.  All I hear is, "bloom where you're planted."  I'm trying to bloom.  Am I blooming, or just shriveling with time?  Is the fight worth it?

I know He carries me!

I will celebrate in the opportunity to give, care, and love. 

Yes, the fight is worth it.

There are blessings in just going through the motions

As I go through the motions of cleaning the breakfast dishes I notice my mother is slumped in her chair.  She did not sleep well last night, so I ask her to go lay down.  A few moments later I hear the sound of pooling liquid.  Mother fell asleep in her tea cup!

Going through the motions of cleaning up the spilled tea, I'm thankful it had cooled enough so it did not burn her.

I ask my son for help with folding towels.  He grumbles, but soon appears.  I go through the motions of folding, listening to my son tell me stories about the drawings he has been working on.  The piles are haphazard, but the towels are ready to be put away.  While distributing the clean laundry to their proper places I am thankful to witness his growth, maturity, and imagination.

I'm constantly moving.  Going through the motions of making this, cleaning that, putting something back in order.  My family is oblivious to the demands on my time and energy.  I protect them from the daily problems and issues, they are my concerns.

My son looks in on his grandma.  Is she awake to play?  There is a bond between them.  Somehow they know when the other needs a word of encouragement, or just time to sit in each others presence.

They are outside walking now.  I listen to their banter.  The laughter is musical.  Mother stops to rest.  In the grass my son notices a dandelion, he picks it and tenderly puts it behind her ear.  He sees another one and rushes inside to present it to me.

I go through the motions of meeting their needs.  When they are content I try to rest.  Rest my mind, body, and spirit, thinking back to moments in the sun.  Their laughter.  It is water to quench the fire of worry.  Love is the most wonderful blessing.

Throughout the day I ask mother to put her feet up.  I go through the motions of walking with her at 2 or 4 am, but in the middle of the day she should keep them up.  The edema keeps her awake, so I am awake.  I pray for the weight and water to melt away letting her body heal.  I am thankful for the precious time I am able to spend with my mother.

The next day I ask my son to take a break from drawing to complete his school work.  When this is done I go through the motions of planning for the next day while he heads over to his friends to play.  He will be excited to start a new book tomorrow.  He likes the stories about the explorers we have been reading.  Then I remember how he shared the stories with grandma at lunch.  It a blessing he is able to share these moments with her.

Every week I go through the motion of filling mother's pill case, and making sure the right ones are taken throughout the day.  When the mail comes with all the assorted bills and medical information, updates in plans, changes in coverage, and new treatments available.  I am thankful to be here to take care of these things for my mother.

Providing for my son and mother is just another day of going through the motions.  They are oblivious to the workings of the machine, and only know when it is not functioning as it should. Some days they ask about it, but they take no ownership.  Going by faith that everything will be alright in the end.

I am grateful, giving thanks to God for the blessings of being able to go through the motions.

She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple. Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land. She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes. Proverbs 31:22-24

Words Matter

Words come slowly.  It's been difficult, day after day trying to form words to lift my spirits.  The constant interruptions are dragging me away from a desperately needed escape into words.

Since December there have been two women who have been in my heart and on my mind.  Many times during the day and night thoughts of them enter unexpectedly.  I stop and pray.

I search for their words on the internet.  Is there healing and strength in their words?  Some days there are, but others it is heartache beyond measure.

In my quiet time with the Lord my prayers are lifted up for so many on a list that keeps growing.  People suffering, hurting, just trying to make it one day at a time.  Then there are my own sins, forgetting to be thankful for His many blessings, guarding my words and actions, and on... and on... 

I had not realized how it was affecting me until my mother mentioned a difference in my attitude.  My temper has a shorter fuse, and I have shown very little sympathy towards her.  I love my mother, but it is getting harder every day to listen to complaints from a woman who has brought much of her pain on herself.

You see, I feel the pain of two "strangers" who are putting their lives back together after tragedy, and also hear constant grumbling from a woman who has lost faith in God.  My mother no longer seeks Him for healing, restoration, and strength.  The pills and doctors are her savior.  I am her savior.  She longs for us to give her what we cannot.  Instead of taking the common sense actions to rehabilitation she is relying on others to make her well.  Is my empathy misplaced?

The flesh dies a slow, bitter, bloody death ~ kicking and struggling all the way down.

This is how it has been for quite some time, listening to my mother moan and groan.  Her bitter, stubborn, spoiled personality is only intensified by her pain.  I know it is not kind to say, but I have to be honest.  She has been told for years it is her choices that will change her circumstances, but she stubbornly continues on the path to destruction.  At times there is the unwelcome thought that a care facility with people who are not so emotionally swayed by her outbursts would be better for her... for me... for my son.

So, the question is ~ DO WORDS MATTER?

I search through the posts of so many wonderful men and women bloggers who have been blessing me for months.  I search through the Bible for answers to questions I'm not sure how to ask.

• I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:13)


• "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may dwell in me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)


• For this reason, I bow my knees before the Father...that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His spirit in the inner man. (Ephesians 3:14,16)


• He has granted to us His precious and magnificent promises, in order that by them you might become partakers of the divine nature... (2 Peter 1:4)


• No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, that you may be able to endure it. (1 Corinthians 10:13)

YES, words matter!  His words matter!  Your comments matter!  Your posts matter!  This post matters!

photo credit: Jim Blob Blann