Darkness

Middle of the night, the house moans from the blowing wind. The dog is settled on our oldest boys bed. No television buzzing. No music. No running and racing of three boys. Just quiet. My husband and I lay sleeping at the opposite end of the house ... but, I hear him. I always hear him when he calls my name.

"Mama! Come here!"

Somewhere in the 3:13 a.m. shadows, there's a monster. One brought to life by the imagination of a six year old boy.

"I'm here." I pull the sheets away from his head and find his round eyes, thick with dark lashes and tears.

I kiss him, reassure him. There are no monsters here. I tuck him in and leave the hallway light on for extra comfort.

4:00 a.m.

"Mama! Please!"

Again, I trip over school bags and toys ... find my way to his bed and ... again ... "It's ok, I'm here."

"Mama, stay for a while. The monsters don't come when you're here." He turns on his side and peeks at me from under the sheets.

"Why is that?" I whisper and pat his warm back.

"I think they're scared of you." He closes big brown eyes and hugs the sheet tighter around his shoulders.

I stay. Longer. I rub his back and whisper soothing words. His breathing is slow, steady. I tip toe out. Soon, it will be time for the alarm to ring ... time for work and school and ... I'm tired. Worn thin. I'll be tired at work. The dark circles under my eyes will give away my restless night.

But, I would do it again. To let him know he is loved. To make sure he feels safe.

And, I think.

Jesus comes when I call. No matter the day or time. He comes and chases away the monsters. All my worries, fears. They're afraid of Him. And, I ask Him to stay. Stay longer. He does. I know I must exhaust Him with my cries. But, He never tires of giving me peace, safety.

Ephesians 6:10-13 "Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand."

If I Could ...

If I could, I would ... I would trade places with him ... take this from him.

Being the mom of three boys means ...

Knowing a lumpy pocket on the way out the door for school means our 8 year old is packing something ... something he's not supposed to take. Usually an army guy or legos. He doesn't put it in his back pack because ... he knows I'll check there ... so, in the pocket it goes.

It means knowing my 16 year old will forget to take his dog out EVERY morning. I'll remind him and he'll say ... "wow, sorry ... guess I forgot" ... for the hundredth time.

It means knowing our third boy will have growing pains just like his older brothers. Warm showers. Hot rice packs. Motrin. He'll be fine.

But ... last week ... he wasn't fine.

Monday after school, there were odd looking red dots all over his tiny legs. He's little for his age ... the dots looked like a classmate used a red marker to create polka dots. My husband and I agreed ... most likely chiggers. He had played outside in the wet grass on Saturday morning. Just chiggers. By Tuesday night, the dots were near blisters in appearance and he was having pains in his joints. Growing pains, just growing pains. Then, there was his tummy ... sick all the time. Just a sick tummy from drainage ... he'd had a cold the week before and was still a little stuffy. Wednesday night came, that's when I started to worry ... worry that all my "mommy experience" wasn't quite good enough. We'd been out playing in the yard, a fun afternoon and evening ... then showers for the little boys. That's when I noticed it ... his left wrist was swelling and his right ankle ... swelling. The dots were now bruises and he complained of his tummy hurting. Tears. Lots of tears. After 16 years of "diagnosing" little boy fevers, aches, pains and the occasional "I'm not feelin' good enough to go to school" sickies ... I was lost. I had NO idea.

We called the ER to talk with our pediatrician. The "on call" wasn't too worried, even though I was about to fall apart. My 6 year old wouldn't walk and the pediatrician was content to have our son take Motrin and Benadryl. We did what the doctor suggested ... I trusted he knew what he was doing. We made an appointment to see him the next morning. I went to work and my husband took our son to the doctor. Two hours later ...

HSP (Henoch-Schonlein Purpura). My husband told me the doctor knew what the symptoms meant ... immediately. Inflammation of the blood vessels. This causes a rash looking appearance under the skin. The rash becomes worse ... larger rash ... sometimes breaking open. The swelling joints ... severe pain and bruising. This part is painful. The pediatrician told my husband ... our son's complaints of pain and a sick tummy were very real and the pain was VERY real. The only thing we could do was give him Motrin. The condition could last up to 6 weeks. They ran tests on his urine and blood ... precaution. To be sure his kidneys were "safe" and other concerns ... nothing. Only the rash, swelling and sick tummy.

SIX WEEKS ... six weeks ... I would have to watch our boy go through these stages (symptoms) again and again ... over and over again, for 6 weeks.

A week later, the rash is beginning to heal. His body is going through the stages. His joints aren't as swollen ... they're healing. Bruises have formed all over his joints ... large nasty, painful looking ... but, that means there is healing. The worst right now ... his tummy is very sick. He's fine during the day. But, at night ... at night he cries and curls up in my bed ... my husband and I talk him through it. We let him stay with us ... normally ... no staying in "mommy and daddy's bed". But, now ... we let him stay.

And, we would both take it from him if we could.

Last night as I tried to find a comfortable spot in my bed ... a spot at the very edge while my 6 year old tossed and turned in the middle ... I thought ... God feels that way about me.

God would take my hurt and pain ... and ... He did. He sent His Son ... to take away the ultimate pain of sin. And, somehow ... I can't explain it ... this feeling of absolute love and gratitude came over me. To know that God feels that much love for me ... to know that the love I have for my boys is huge but God's love for me ... for all of us ... it's bigger. I can't begin to imagine that kind of love because well ... I can't believe there is a love greater, deeper ... bigger than the love I have for my children. But, there is ... there is a love beyond measure.

John 3:16 "For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son,[a] that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."

Those Shoes Stink!

They're worn and dirty from the ballfield. He's tired and smelly. As I wash his shirt and pants, and send him off to the shower, I realize ... it's good to get it all out. The white pants are bright ... bright because I take the time to pre-wash and leave set with stain remover. The shirt is a bright blue with bright red letters. You wouldn't have guessed there was anything bright a few hours ago. That shirt was smeared with mud from second base. The letters were dusty from home plate. Then, I put his cleats in the closet. Right where he'll look for them when it's game time. And ... they smell. They smell of sweat and dust, grass and spilled gatorade. And, I think ... I'm glad I don't have to wear those ... those things stink. I wouldn't want to play in those shoes.

I've talked to the other "Baseball Moms" and it's always the same. Yes, my kids uniform is a mess. But, we share tips on how to get those tough stains out and ways to help with the smelly shoes.

Life is like that baseball uniform. We all have a uniform. We're given that outfit on the day of our birth and we wear it out. Especially the shoes. Our shirts get splattered with words and tears. The pants are covered with stains and worn from falling down. The shoes, they're near falling apart by the time we find a resting place. The soles give away the bases we've run ... whether by choice or force. Sometimes, they carry reminders of hurt and at other times ... a reminder of something good. At the end of the day, would anyone else want to wear our shoes? Would anyone want to walk in our shoes? Is there someone with enough love to put them on and walk around?

As brothers and sisters in Christ, we are called to bear one another's burdens, to come along side and lift up the hurting broken spirit. And, sometimes, we have to put on their shoes to do what's been asked of us. And ... all the time, that hurts. And ... all the time, we have to say yes. We can't say ... I'm done. I won't anymore.

How can I say your uniform is too messy to be worn? I wouldn't think of putting on your stinky shoes just to know where you've played and what pain the games have caused you?

I can't say no ... because God's given me a picture of my uniform. The one I have after a long day at work. When I am exhausted and disappoint myself and my family. The shirt that's covered with the splatter of mean words. The ones that fall from my own mouth. My pants that have stains from tripping up ... yet again. The shoes, the ones that smell from all the wrong bases I've taken. Yeah, my uniform is just as messy as the next player. And, I would want someone to look at my uniform and say ... yeah, I'll wear it. Regardless of where you've been or what you've done ... no matter how smelly your shoes are ... I'll walk in those, I'll play in those.

The best thing about that dirty uniform ... we can put it in the wash. We can ask God to make it bright again. That doesn't mean there aren't reminders of past games. The good games and the bad games ... we remember them. But, God ... well He uses all those games to make us better players.

Meet you on the ball diamond ... bring your messiest uniform ... it'll match mine. We can trade tips on how to get the stains out and what works best to patch the worn places.

Ephesians 4:1-6 "As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called— one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."

Running Bases

James is only eight ... far from the Big Leagues and seemingly just as far from T-Ball days. He's not the quickest player on the team. So, he has to make up for that in other areas.

Running the bases is hard to learn. Believe it or not ... there's a system to the game. A system to making each play and being where you need to be at just the right moment.

But, it's also a game of chance. At least, that's the way I see it from my seat on the bleachers. As I watch the kids bat, run to first, take second, steal third and slide into home plate ... I see it as chance. Where will the ball be hit ... how hard, how far, how high ... and, who will be waiting there to catch it, field it and through it in to the bases?

Last week, James was on 2nd base ... watching the batter on home plate. That's what the players have been taught. And, for the most part, they follow that guidance. Watch the batter, as soon as metal and ball meet ... RUN! Then, keep your eyes on the base coach. The base coach tells you where to go ... stop on the plate or round it and keep on RUNNING! James did that ... waited, ran ... and then, looked back. He looked back at second base. He was looking for safety. The ball was hit right down the middle of 2nd and 3rd base. James had to leave 2nd so the next runner could move up but he couldn't make it to 3rd ... not when the ball was right there and the baseman was waiting to tag him out. So, he looked back and turned around ... trying to find a way around the baseman holding the ball. No luck, he was out.

After the inning, James coach gave him some pointers ... reminded James of their practice and to not look back.

Don't. Look. Back.

Sometimes, I feel like James did in that moment. Stuck between bases. I want to move forward. I want to look directly into the eyes of the Base Coach and RUN ... I want to know what it feels like to slide safely into home plate ... but, something holds me back. Leaving the safety of the base I'm on, that's a little scary. I step off the base and run forward but then I start to worry. So, I look back. Instead of trusting the Base Coach, I let my doubts and fears steal bases in my heart ... in my life. I'm sure there have been times when I've missed out on blessings and maybe even some home runs ... all because of my fears.

What about you ... do you look back?

Philippians 3:14 "I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus

This post is from a very dear friend. When she shared this with me, I knew immediately that I needed to share it here on my blog.


The story I have for you is from this last weekend. I got one of those realizations that you often talk about. I was feeding my granddaughter a jar of green beans. We were not at her house so we did not have a highchair, we were just sitting on the floor where she usually does very well at being still while being fed. There was too much activity in the living room where we were sitting. Other people and a dog, especially the dog! So her attention was not focused on me (or rather the food!). She kept turning her head at the moment I was trying to put the food in her mouth and getting green beans all over her face. She was making a mess!

When I would wipe her face she would get so mad! I looked at my 9 month old granddaughter and said, “If you would quit looking away from me and pay attention, you would not be making such a mess of yourself!” no sooner than it was out of my mouth that I realized that God has told me the very same thing.

A few years ago, one of my more favorite parts of scripture is where Jesus walks on water, especially when Jesus tells Peter to come out to him. Peter is doing great until he sees the wind and the waves. He took his eyes off of Jesus and started to sink into the water. Peter cries out and “Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. ‘You of little faith" he said "Why did you doubt?"



So if keep your eyes on Jesus…you will not make a mess of yourself! Just remember if you do look away from him, cry out to him and his hand will be there to catch you…immediately!

Matthew 14:25-31 "During the fourth watch of the night Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. "It's a ghost," they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."

"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."

"Come," he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?"

The Storm

I watched from the kitchen window as a portion of my childhood split and fell.

The storm came from a seeming nowhere. It was Friday night, we had just been at the ballpark and enjoyed a game played by my eight year old son. The sky had been overcast but nothing to suggest a storm with 70 mile per hour winds was heading our way.

By the time we got into the house, sprinkles were scattering dry deck boards. Soon after, the winds came ... blowing everything out of place.

Moments later, hail made its precense known on my roof. And then ... the lightening. I'm not usually unsettled by storms. Most of them come and go leaving only a few tree branches here or there. This one ... it was different.

The massive oak tree in our front yard ... the one that shades my deck in the August heat and shelters our home from December winds ... it split in half. A mighty wind tore it apart and left a mess in my front yard. I watched it ... the wind tearing apart what I love. That tree was planted by my ancestors. It's given shade and comfort to generations of our family. Now ... now, it's not the same. This one half still standing, it doesn't look right all by itself. It's beautiful, large and healthy ... but it needs the other half to be a whole. The insurance adjustor came and left ... leaving the figures ... what is my tree worth and how much will it cost to remove ... to clean up what's left ... $150. The adjustor asked if I had any questions ... questions ... no, I'm just mad about my tree.

You can't put a price tag on shelter, shade, comfort ... history.

That's not all we lost this weekend. Saturday, a car accident took the earthly life of someone we hold very close. Theda ... a friend of our family and a portion of my childhood passed from here and into the sweet hereafter. There isn't enough space in a small blog to write all the moments she and her family touched. I knew her from church, when I was a little girl. Theda and her husband, Bob, were friends of my parents. We spent time at their home ... my sister and me ... dancing to Donnie and Marie Osmond records, sleeping on the "hide-a-bed" and eating popcorn.

Theda played piano on the day I was married. She and Bob came to my home and rocked my babies when they were newborns. Just this past February, I was ill and Theda brought supper.

And, now there is Bob. One half ... still beautiful and special but not the same. I feel as if the Dawes' were torn apart ... one fallen and the other remains. Just like Theda, Bob is a portion of my childhood. They can not be replaced. Nothing can make the empty space seem whole.

I know life is not about waiting for the storm to pass ... but, learning to dance in the rain. Over the past week, I feel like I have been waiting for a storm to pass. I can't imagine how her family is living through this storm.

I should have been dancing in the rain. Remembering all the special times shared with Bob and Theda .... their children ... all the special people from my childhood.

These are the reasons I am dancing in the rain ...

Donnie and Marie Osmond records playing while my sister and I danced on the rug in Bob and Theda's kitchen.

Slumber parties on my parents bed, watching The Wizard of Oz with Brenda and Alecia Peas.

Sunrise Easter Service at the Methodist church, all our friends watching in the dawning sunlight.

And there are so many more.

Why are you dancing in the rain?

1 King 19:11-12 "Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper."

He's Sick

I know him. I know the feel of his forehead against the back of my hand ... the temperature that says "he's fine" and then the hot to the touch that says "he's sick." Something's not right. The purple color under his brown eyes tells me ... he's tired ... exhausted.

Sunday started the same as most, me up first and ready for church ... then the boys tumbled out of bed and into nicer clothes than school days. Their hair all rumpled from late Saturday night video games ... I left it ... a little lazy myself from a later than usual bedtime. Jerry and I had gone to see "Letters to Juliet" and gotten home late. Somewhere in the midst of our Sunday morning rush, I know James mumbled his head hurt. I ignored it, thought it was just a ploy to ride along with his Daddy for work. I ushered him to church and then ... the teacher came to get me during Sunday School hour. And, I knew.

I had been wrong. It wasn't a ploy. No made up illness in an effort to get something he wanted. We drove straight home and I took his temperature ... 102. James curled up on the couch ... and ... didn't move. He stayed there all afternoon and into the evening. Each time I checked, he was worse and then there were tears.

"I hate being sick, Mommy. I hate bein' sick like this." His voice was getting scratchy.

"I know baby, but you'll feel better soon." Again ... I was wrong again.

James wasn't better soon. In fact, he's still sick today. Tuesday, the doctor said he would be fine. But, I was worried. I got up in the night to check his skin ... hot, cold or lukewarm. I stood at his doorway and listened ... was his breathing steady or labored. I checked the thermostat, made sure it wasn't too cold. Jerry and I forced liquids and stood over him to be sure he drank enough. We administered the antibiotics and waited ... waited for his strength and spirit to boost.

And, I wondered ... how much we were like Christ. He watches for the symptoms and signs that tell Him we're ill ... our spirits are falling away, drifting in exhaustion. He stays with us and waits. He administers the peace, mercy and rest we need to gain our strength.

And ... if I love my son enough to get up in the middle of night, stand exhausted at his doorway ... how much more will Christ do for me? For each of us?

Matthew 7:11 "If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!
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