Hard to Know What to Say

Large Child comes in the house and knows immediately that little siblings are in his room. Touching his stuff. He heads off with alacrity to catch them in the act.

Wait," I call. "Come back. Where are you going?"

"To get them out of my room. I hate when they're in my room and I'm not there."

"Hold on. How is that different from yesterday when I came out of my bathroom to find you sitting on my bed, with your snack on my nightstand, your computer in your lap and my remote in your hand and you said you didn't know I was there?"

"That was your room. It's a public access room."

"A public access room?"

"Yes. Every single one of us started out in that room. It was our room, too. We slept in that bed. We were fed and comforted in that room. So it's only natural that when we want to relax and eat and be comfortable, we go to your room. Because we've learned that it's ours. All of ours."

He's quick, that one.

Small Steps Together: Mother Courage

I think back to those times: a little girl undergoing one surgery after another to construct an ear that was never there; a young mother facing chemotherapy and uncertainty; a mother of many warned by doctors that she could die delivering the baby she carried. In each instance, people commended my courage. But those weren't instances of courage to me. They were just doing what had to be done.

Courage was what I'd beg of God when I just couldn't keep breathing on my own, when my breath caught and I needed God just to exhale. Courage was my prayer when I let my teenagers go out into that great big world. What I wanted was to keep them home, hold them close, protect them forever. As my big boys began to march forth into life, they walked around with pieces of my heart inside of them. Suddenly, I was vulnerable. I saw that they were going to be hurt and I was going to watch them suffer. There was no way around it. They would make mistakes and get hurt. They would learn about what's out there in a fallen world, and get hurt. They would meet many, many people and some of them would hurt them. Nothing was ever so simple as it was when they were babies in my arms. Then, I could gather them up and soothe their hurts, chase away their fears, make every little thing “all better” just by my presence.  But as they grew, I found myself praying for courage. I began to understand that, for mothers, the heroic effort is in letting them go.

It's not so much that I wanted them to be little again. To want that would have been to wish away the beautiful people they had grown to be, to wish away years of loving and living together. No, instead, I wanted to be the mother I was when they were babies. I wanted the power to gather them on my lap and soothe them as I rocked. I wanted to shelter and protect and to be their whole world. I wanted to be able to ensure that their days were happy and healthy and holy. I wanted to cradle them in the protection of my arms. I wanted to love them with all my heart. And I wanted that to be enough. Instead, I must remember that for all their lives, my calling is to have the courage to love them, knowing that they will leave, and trusting that God will care for them more tenderly than I ever could.

Mothering older children takes courage, because just as sure as the sun will rise, so will there be trouble in the lives of our children. I am left to storm heaven on their behalf and to thank the Lord for the gift they are.I shore myself up for the years of mothering that lie ahead by reminding myself of the words of Blessed Mary MacKillop: Whatever troubles may be before you, accept them bravely, remembering Whom you are trying to follow. Do not be afraid. Love one another, bear with one another, and let charity guide you all your life. God will reward you as only He can. 

~republished from Small Steps Companion Journal

Small Steps focuses on courage this month. Would you share your thoughts with us, let us find you and walk with you? I'd be so grateful and so honored to have you as a companion. Please leave a link to your blog post below and then send your readers back here to see what others have said.You're welcome to post the Small Steps Together banner button also.

Dipping and Dancing New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve is the perfect night for "family time." I really prefer that no one is out driving--much better to settle in for a long night home together.

Fondue makes a perfect New Year's Eve dinner. As Christian so aptly put it, "It takes forever to dip and cook enough to make a meal."

Three Cheese Fondue

1 cup White Wine

1 Tablespoon Butter

1 Tablespoon Unbleached Flour

7 Ounces Gruyere, grated

7 Ounces Emmenthaler, grated

7 Ounces Cheddar, grated

Bring the wine to a boil in a small saucepan and turn it off. Then, melt the butter in a different saucepan, using medium-low heat. Stir the flour into the butter until it's smooth. Stir the wine into the flour mixture, slowly, using a wire whisk. Over medium-low heat, slowly add the cheese, stirring with the whisk as you go. Before we were finished adding, we had to switch to a wooden spoon. When it's all smooth, transfer to a fondue pot and keep it melted and gooey on low.

We dipped Granny Smith apples, hearty rustic sourdough, and blanched broccoli florets. There was no three-cheese left over, but we had bread, broccoli, and apples left on New Year's day. So, I used the above recipe, substituting a cup of beer (not too dark) for the wine, and four generous cups grated cheddar for the cheese. Before adding the cheese, I sprinkled it with a healthy dose of garlic powder and cayenne.

Very yummy.

At the other end of the island, we cooked marinated cubes of London Broil in equal parts butter and olive oil. I had marinated over night in bottle Italian dressing. Simple and really addictive.

Sarah Annie was one happy dipper.

If you give a gang full and happy tummies, they might just break into wild dancing.

  

(Poor Christian is a bit concerned and maybe just a little bored.)

When they were all danced out, it was time for chocolate fondue. I melted equal parts chocolate chips and heavy cream.

We dipped pretzels, pineapple, and angel food cake.

Pound cake, pirouette cookies and marshmallows are other favorites.

When things got a little too chocolatey and sticky, a little whipped cream, straight from the can, did the trick.

A little sparkling cider before going up to bed.

Goodnight, sweet princess.

 

Happy New Year!

Remember this?

1. Snow Day Eating and Reading

2. Missing

3. Time to Build Another Trophy Shelf

4. How Do You Do What You Do?

5. Man of God

6. Seedlings

7. Velveteen Me

8. Messy Mudpie Mornings

9. At The Sea Before My World Rocks Again

10. A Childlike Faith

11. Inhale

12. Morning Walk

13. On Your Last Day of School

14. Before He Goes for Real

15. Nitty Gritty Rhythm

16. Full Heart, Open Hands

17. Balancing Academics with the Rest of Life

18. Say Yes!

Giving Voice

The most interesting thing has happened over the course of the last few weeks. Some events in my very real, up-close life have conspired to completely reverse my opinions on social networking. (You can stop laughing, Dallas.) Maybe someday, I'll tell the story on these pages. For now, though, I'm uniquely grateful for the blessings born here on this blog and in the community of blogging women. I'm seeing the genuine joy a blog can be for the first time in a long time.

This morning, my dear friend Ann gave voice to a balm for the painful wounds of saddened friendships. It was a privilege and a joy to hear her dear voice across the miles as she uttered these sweet words: 

"I promise I will never speak an unkind word to or about you. I will never be jealous of you. I will never compete with you. I will never abandon or betray you. I will love you. I will pray for you. I will do all I can to help you go far and wide in the Kingdom. 

I will accept you as you are, always. I will be loyal to you. Before our loving God of grace, you have my words and my heart in friendship for this life and forever with Him.”

A gift. An amazing gift of true charity. Do listen to her whole message.

This afternoon, I was privileged to join a another dear friend across the miles. There is no wound so painful, no hurt so raw as a mother's heart just after she sends her firstborn to college. I know. Three years ago, I was there. And on the way home, I pulled over and called Dallas. (How funny, all these things keep ending up in Dallas. Huh. I'll have to think on that one day.) Anyway, I called Dallas. And the voice on the end of the phone told me to go buy a tablecloth. I can't remember why. But I remember the tablecloth. More than that, I remember the gift of love that was her voice. She was a woman "met" in the blogosphere, reaching across the miles with genuine charity.

Today, I talked with Lisa Hendey just moments after she watched her elder son take flight, bound for Harvard, three thousand miles from home. Sweet Rachel Balducci joined us--nothing like a southern accent and a warm shoulder to ease the pain and share the burden. Looking back, I still can't believe we put these moments on record and shared them. But I think they'll bless you. I know that conversation genuinely blessed me. Please listen. 

And offer a prayer for Lisa. Because it really does hurt in a way that only God can heal.