Category: Plum

stories of life with a our beautiful grandson

Happy Birthday Plum

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Mom, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

We were asked in our final small group meeting to answer the big question, “Why are you a Christian?”  As someone whose life is littered with messes and filled with hurts, my answer was that I just couldn’t live without my faith. My belief in God, in His redemption, in His grace, that gets me out of bed when I want to wallow, when I want to give in and give up. I keep seeking joy, finding my blessings in the midst of the pain because they are there, sometimes as difficult to spot as Waldo but my job is to keep hunting them out among the distractions. I am a Christian because my life would have absolutely no meaning, I would have no hope without the promises of God.

As I pondered my role as a believer, I began to see the similarities to my role as grandma. Without my sweet joy bringer, my Plum, I would linger on the couch, no need to make dinner or cookies or find the vinegar and baking soda for another experiment. My Plum carries the weight of my hope, I carry his as well. We delight in each other much as God must delight in His children. My whole body gains energy when I know it is time for Plum to be here, like I am coming our of hibernation. After too much “me” time ruminating on hurts, I rush to the bus stop to find purpose. He brings a flurry of his own activity and energy, rapid changes with each visit. Reading and math are becoming so easy, still we sneak in our pretend games when no one is around. I plan for Lego play, he has a handful of Pokemon cards we have to discuss. Next time I plan for Pokemon and he has his eye on the Play-doh, something he hasn’t touched in years. I can no longer anticipate where he will take us. I just follow and sneak in a kiss when I can.  I accept my role as snack provider, back up voice to characters he doesn’t want to be, and listener.

Six years ago today Mama’s water broke right upstairs from where I write these words. Stella was here, she was meant to be the birth coach. Chef ran around for garbage bags to put on the car seats, he needed a task. I drove Mama and Stella to the hospital, Chef took another car to go pick up Arrow.  We converged on the hospital, all ready to meet the one, the child who would unite this family, bind us all together. Mama had an unexpected C-section, nothing went quite as we planned, that is certainly the case since. Arrow and Stella have scattered, Mama struggled for a while to find her way, leaving the parenting of this babe to Chef and I for extended periods. We have stepped in and back so many times,  a real life hokey-pokey fraught with pain and distrust, wrong moves. We also keep asking for a fresh start, offering one. We are big on fresh starts. I think Jesus calls that forgiveness.

Loving my Plum has taken all of me, the nights we had to retrain him to sleep, the horrible times we have had to send him back when he was begging to stay. Many days  I don’t want to play mud, I don’t want to clean up the house again from another experiment. Then I flash to his delight and the mess making commences.  More recently his fascination with battling games where I am always assigned the bad guy and I always lose, even as I restructure the game to include my more peaceful philosophy, I am challenged to find that sweet baby that I held and sang to, rocked and looked at, always just looking at him. I still just watch him, he is so very expressive, I wait for his gaze to land on me, one of his knowing smiles to seek me out. I feel like God smiles at me in those moments, my soul rejoices. I hear the Hallelujah chorus, I know these moments are the point of it all, the reminder that grace and hope are sitting right here at my table. I keep learning that loving people, real people, is hard. It takes everything I have most days to be as forgiving as God wants me to be, to be as selfless as He asks. Plum reminds me it is worth the effort, the pay out is that singing chorus, the joyful soul when God says He is pleased with me.

Plum’s eyes shine when he smiles, those blue eyes that were my mother’s, his father’s, mine and now his. I looked into those eyes when they were my moms, seeking love and approval. I was disappointed. She looked back with her own brokenness, unable to give what I needed. I looked into those eyes of my son, his brokenness matching my own, we are connected so deeply that all efforts of his to reject it fail. I have looked into those eyes in the mirror, often seeing shame back. God has given me another chance to see us all through those same eyes, to see us as a long line of people who have hurt each other but loved still. People who can never be perfect but can show the love of God to each other with fresh starts and willingness to play even when we want to stay on the couch. This is our chance to see God’s redemption through those blue eyes. I accept.

Today is my Plum’s 6th birthday. He will have a party, get gifts, blow out candles.  One day he may realize he has always been the greatest gift to me. I am blessed to be his Gran. Thank God we still get to snuggle for book time at the end of the evening, that he still climbs on my lap occasionally. I crave those times when he surrenders into my embrace, when he allows me to just feel the warmth of him, smell his little boy scent as we ease into the night. Those are the times I remember the babe I gently put in the crib and then stared at, unable to look away from the miracle before me. I celebrate my joy bringer today and pray he never stops asking me to play even when I have to be the bad guy.  He knows my imperfections and loves me still, reminds me to surrender into the arms of my God who delights in my smile and watches with me adoration even when I have made a mess of the day.  He offers me a fresh start. He brought this child into my life, a joy bringer, my Plum, the greatest gift I have ever received, a child of grace. Happy birthday Plum. You are my favorite. I love you so very very much.

Loving Who God Brings

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

I found this post I wrote 6 years ago about loving and leaving, filled with worry but also trust in God that the future would work itself out.  Looking back on those years, I see how we struggled in mighty ways, how we relied on our faith and the prayers of our community relentlessly. The following is that story, from November 9, 2010.

 

Several years ago, Chef and I went to visit a home that advertised a Border Collie mix in the paper.  We already had one who was hyper and we thought, wrongly, that getting another would give her someone to play with and burn some energy.  As we circled the area downtown, I became skeptical, it was getting rougher by the block.  What were we getting into?  When we found the house and approached the door, we were startled to see a mangy, dirty mutt tied up out front, eating rocks and barking frantically.  We tried to talk to the owner but she had no care or concern about the dog, couldn’t tell us much beyond the fact it was 10 months old and had been in 5 homes already.  This woman never got off of her phone.  Her small, dirty-faced, raggedy-clothed children wandered aimlessly through the duplex, unattended.  It wasn’t the dog we wanted but we knew we couldn’t leave it there either.  Without even a second glance from the owner, we untied her and put her in our car.  She shivered and shook, looked at us with distrustful eyes the entire ride home.  Chef dropped us off and went to work, probably feeling a bit relieved to have an escape from what was clearly a mess.  I just kept looking at this dog and at our other, oh so beautiful full-blooded one and thought, “Well, I can give you a home I guess but I just don’t really love you…I don’t even like you.  Your coat is ugly, it is so dirty and you are smelly.”

I set to work.  I bathed her and fed her and let her sleep.  We let her create a safe place just for her so the other dog didn’t bother her.  She began to fill out and we discovered that her hair shone, really sparkled.  I have never seen that on a real animal but it does.  She flourished in this safe place, knowing her food was steady, her bed was secure. She clung to me, followed me everywhere, I was proud to show her off.  One day we realized we loved her as much as the other dog, that all the nurturing back to health was falling in love time.   

Our story with Mama is much the same.  It just isn’t over yet.  We took her in for a night and she stayed for 10 months. She came with a just backpack, as she left it took 2 trucks and 2 cars to remove all of her belongings.  She came to us emaciated, broken down, scared and depressed.  We love her and when you love your children, you have to say no as often or more than you ever get to say yes.  I look forward to the day of saying yes, you can come back, we love you.

I have been blessed to love many pets but there will never be another like that one we rescued. I miss her still, my shadow, my sweet snuggler. I have two new beasts that I adore but my heart still belongs to that girl who needed so much nurturing to come into who she was and then gave back all that she had. Our friends and family have watched me invest the same amount of nurturing into Mama. They question the wisdom of getting involved again, many times I do as well. There are days when I am sure that I hate this child, I am so full of resentment, anger, frustration that I pray to never have to see her again. God ignores those prayers. He brought her into my life as surely as he brought my favorite pet. People aren’t so easily convinced that we have their best interests in mind, people don’t trust just because you give food and shelter. People just aren’t always lovable. I know this because I am so often not. Yet despite any efforts to protect my heart, I love this girl. The nurturing time long ago was falling in love time.

This young woman needs a mother, I long for my daughter. Neither of us are the one we would choose. We are each who God has provided. This week I am helping her plan a quick courthouse wedding, I am making food for the after party. Twenty excited phone calls a day asking about details, several lamenting the lack of interest from her mother, I can’t help but be reminded of Stella’s wedding that I was not included in. I am careful to ensure Mama’s mom has her rightful place, mine is very much behind the scenes. I know the hurt that comes from snap decisions about forever memories. Still, God just keeps throwing this young woman and me together, the seeds were planted almost 7 years ago. I look at how she has grown into a woman who truly sacrifices for her child, who tries so very hard to be the best mom. I see her doing it, all the hard stuff, telling him no as much or more than she tells my Plum yes. I see that she is maintaining her own home, feeding her child, attending parent-teacher conferences and acting as a real advocate for her son.

I don’t mean to compare Mama to a canine in any pejorative sense. I love dogs. And damnit, I love her. I let my actions tell her, I keep showing up with food and support, giving her a safe place for her emotions. I am trusting that God only asks that I love who He brings, He will handle the transformation into something beautiful. After all, I know He is still working on me. I am forever grateful for those who set aside frustration and anger and let me come back, time and again, as I grow into my own beautiful coat, shining with the love of Christ.

Dirty Word

On By LisaIn Faith, Plum, The Chef2 Comments

I’ve been hearing a dirty word a great deal lately, in our church, even in the worship service.  A word that makes many of us so uncomfortable we look down, away, maybe chuckle nervously, seek out our coffee, something to do with our hands. We don’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. I attend a wonderful Methodist church in a university town, the members are skewed towards the highly educated and self-aware. We have been looking at our personal gifts, what we have been given by God to share with the world to build His Kingdom and bring glory to His name. But this word is cropping up and we don’t really like it. We can give money, make food for potlucks, teach Sunday school, but seriously, please don’t ask a bunch of introverts to become EVANGELISTS.  Yikes.  Might as well be cussing.

The concept of evangelism has been taken over in my mind to include the pushy judgey Christians who leave a card telling how to find salvation instead of a tip for the waitress who brought them their Sunday lunch and 20 sweet tea refills. It conjures up the image of the men on street corners telling passersby they are going to hell if they don’t repent. It makes me think of the elders who interviewed a young couple to see if they were worthy of attending that church, elders who said no and left these two young people so hurt they didn’t attend church for many many years. Evangelism feels like hurting others. I would rather cook for the potluck.

What I am learning is that the word has been coopted by a movement, twisted, distorted, surely the devil’s hand is in this. What greater delight could Satan have than to take the very tool to bring believers to God and make it so ugly and distasteful that God’s people recoil?  If I really dig into what it means to become an evangelist, I know that I am already fulfilling that role, I can’t escape it. My very life and actions are either bringing people to or away from God, my words can heal or do damage. This is not a choice, rather the very essence of every child of Christ. The fact that some push others away just makes my job more critical. I won’t be picking up any bullhorns, I am not printing up cards for restaurant distribution. I am becoming more aware of opportunities to invite others to meet my friends who worship with me, great people who are sinners and accept that there is room in the church for those who are struggling and seeking answers. We have space in my row for others who mess up every day and just keep trying.

While I have been inspired by the stories of John Wesley and the true evangelical nature of his faith, it is really a witness much closer to home that has convinced me to act. This week my Plum chose not to attend Sunday school, feeling shy again. He took up his place in the front row with me instead of working at the art table in the back. He declined my offer of one of the wonderful bags assembled for children full of coloring pages, books and crayons. He just wanted to fiddle with his Play-doh and hang out with gran. Pastor Joseph’s sermon on reaching out to our friends, inviting them to our church, didn’t fall on deaf ears.

A special event was held Sunday evening, Holy Halloween in which kids trick-or-treat to biblical characters. My plum had been returned to mama, we met up at church for the dinner before the fun stuff began. Once we began the tour of the rooms, mama pointed out a little girl from their apartment complex.  I was surprised to see her there, they do not attend our church.  When I asked how they knew of the event, she said Plum invited her.  I leaned down and whispered in Plum’s ear that I was proud of him, it was so nice of him to invite his friend. He looked at me a bit oddly and replied, “Pastor Joseph said to do that.” It was just that simple.

Maybe I have too many years of negative connotations with this one word, maybe I can’t overcome the anxiety that builds as I imagine some door-to-door preaching. What I do know is I can follow the example of an almost 6 year old and simply INVITE. I don’t have to make it harder than it is. Listen to the Pastor, do it. So, umm, err, hey, what are you doing next Sunday? I have room in my row. Come as you are, I’ll meet you there, as will the love of Jesus.

Practice, I need practice. Like anything, the more I invest in this the better I will get at it. Hope to see you Sunday, any Sunday. Also, Jesus and little kids rock. Just ask my Plum.

Choosing When to Battle

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

Insects and spiders are trying to take over my home. I don’t kill, instead I practice a catch and release strategy so it is possible the same damn spider is sneaking back in.  I am considering grabbing one of Plum’s Sharpies to start tagging my catch before placing it back out in the wild. Everyone else in the family shrieks when they see these huge spiders skittering across the floor, I get it, if it were a mouse I would be up on a chair myself. But spiders build intricate webs that I truly find breathtaking, OUTSIDE.  Thus, catch and release.

Earlier in the summer I moaned about the number of flies in our home caused by beasts who open the front door and stand in the space peering out, unable to commit. The flies also were welcomed in by a certain boy who raced out the back door towards the trampoline, a boy who could not be slowed by such a mundane tasks closing the door behind him to ensure our home not become the set for Amittyville Horror. Still, most of the flies are gone or at least slow enough even I can get them. The buzzing sound makes me insane when I am finally laying down to sleep. Okay, I do kill flies.

Unfortunately we have been invaded by a new insect, the stink bug. I wish it were a joke, a pun about Plum after he eats cheese or the beasts when they find feces from another species left in the yard and delight in rolling in it, covering their coat in this fresh new scent. Alas these bugs are real. Their primary defense is to emit a wicked awful smell if they are disturbed. Unlike a sneaky spider, these things fly in like a B-52 bomber, so loud, announcing they are ready to battle. They have confidence, they know they stink. I kill these too. I am not afraid to get a bit smelly to rid my home of fighter pilots who hide among the curtains and wait for me to turn out all the lights except the one by my bed. They rush in, a full squadron, land about my pillow and declare dominance. That may work in other settings but I protect my pillow. Catch and release, right into the toilet, a watery end to a worthy opponent.

Okay, I do kill. But not much. I really am non-violent but I am okay with confronting evil and protecting my family, my home. An inability to manage conflict doesn’t end the conflict. Avoiding problems doesn’t make them disappear any more than letting those bugs hang out in my home. They tell their friends they have a safe place, more come in.  They interrupt my sleep, torment my beasts, nibble on my clothes. Some disagreements must be faced in order to move forward.

The Old Testament is replete with battle stories. God led His people in righteous war, many other fights were not in His name. The challenge for me is to remember to ask God first, before I pick up any weapons.  Paul spoke beautifully about confronting evil, the true weapons I would need. He didn’t list guns or baseball bats, frying pans or even a flyswatter.

A Fight to the Finish

10-12 And that about wraps it up. God is strong, and he wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.

13-18 Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life. God’s Word is an indispensable weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other’s spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out    Ephesians 6:10-18The Message (MSG)

Facing the disruptions in our life with these weapons, we recognize we don’t have to go for the kill. Accepting that it is critical that we confront the wrongs and seek resolution, we must first put on God’s armor. It does get heavy though, we are blessed to have many who hold us up. Some battles are as swift as catching the spider, some last many months, years. Much of life happens in the waiting, joy can be missed if we are only focused on the war at hand. Unable to read before I fall asleep, waiting for the next stink bug to attack, adrenaline interferes with my ability to calm and relax. Once the threat is removed though, I have to choose not to ruminate on the damn bugs who pestered me in the first place. I have to choose peace.  Actively lowering my blood pressure after washing my hands, ridding my body of the stench, it is up to me to let it go, at least for another night.

This season of stink bugs will end. Confronting evil is a constant, warring with insects may well be my preparation. An influx of mice hoping for warmth may well be around the corner. God help us. I will need more than armor for that.

 

Surrender

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, PlumLeave a comment

I stumbled upon something I had written 5 years ago yesterday which stopped me in  my tracks. Reliving the moment was delightful but realizing I was still struggling with some of the same concerns was quite unsettling.

I got my first hug from Plum two days ago.  I had forgotten really what that feels like, what it means.  A show of affection from a toddler is the purest form of love that I have ever experienced.  I wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t asking for it and it just happened, caught me off guard.  He has been kissing a bit but I was the last to get one of those.  They are coming more freely and spontaneously and are often accompanied by tidbits of whatever he is eating.  I don’t even mind the transference of cherrios to my mouth or the smear of yogurt to my cheeks, I just love that he loves.  

As I relive this hug, the feel of his tiny head resting willingly on my shoulder, his whole body giving in to the moment, I understand what it means to surrender.  Anything I had left, I have given up.  I love this child with everything in me and now he has completely taken my heart.  I keep trying to reserve some, because I know there is so much hurt in the future for us, but there is no point holding out.  We just have to surrender and let go.

I have been struggling with the Let Go and Let God plan for years.  I let go, take back in repeated fashion or allow Him to have certain parts of my life while I manage (poorly) others.  Right now my heart is aching over the trouble my son has gotten into, the huge legal mess he has created and the fear that this still won’t stop his drug use.  My heart is breaking over mama who just wants someone to love her and chases the wrong ones, hoping someone will fill that void.  Watching these two young parents try to grow up and into the roles of adults is horrible reality tv that I can’t turn off.  They have minimal ability to guide this young mind into the world and yet here is he.  When will he become their everything?

So as my heart is breaking every minute of everyday, worrying about these two and what will become of them, for the baby’s sake at the very least… I got a hug:  a pure fleeting reminder to surrender.  A reminder to just give in to God’s love and let Him hold me and love me.  His faithfulness is not elusive like a toddler’s kiss.  I don’t have to earn it or seek it.  It is just there for me.  So my plan is to just keep loving this baby and delighting in his everything, relishing his love and laughter.  He knows that I am his safe place, I am his grandma.  The rest is just too big for us to fix, we are leaving it to God.  We have Cherrios to eat. 

We made it through the legal mess to the other side, mama is involved with a young man who truly cares about Plum, there is a new baby on the way. These young people have grown up, grown into better versions of themselves. Yet, still I worry, get caught up in the day to day struggles of surrendering my life to God. Reviewing how far they have come and seeing I have maybe not grown so much is illuminating, convicting. Plum’s hugs and kisses come freely unless it is time to board the bus at which point being cool is more important. His eyes implore me to understand. I do. I know his love is forever, just as my God loves me always. I patiently wait for the next show of affection, treat it as the treasure it is. How much more is my Father waiting for my surrender, my complete relinquishing of my worries and fears?  How much more does He treasure my affection?

The God who brought us through 5 years worth of minutes, seconds, of fear, worry about the future is waiting for me. The better version of me that just lets go. Today I am filled with the desire to hug God, to be held and glory in His faithful pursuit of me, the child sometimes too cool to publicly acknowledge HIm.

 

 

Bringing Back our Colors

On By LisaIn Faith, PlumLeave a comment

Plum and I struggled to add color to our weekend, he was in black and white mode. If he didn’t color his apple homework pages immediately (bedtime on Friday evening) he would never remember to do it. If I didn’t let him play this game, I was never going to let him. I always tell him no about downloading more apps. If we made a list about games he wanted, I would lose the list. My bright sweet grandson was taken over by the all or nothing monster, it wasn’t pretty.  On one reprieve from the war, with a moment to reflect, I was able to determine that we were both fighting his anxiety. While this knowledge set off alarms I at least had a new strategy. I would not feed the anxiety monster. We would get back our colors.

This precious child has some very complicated genes. Addiction and mental illness could be lurking behind the blue eyes, height and crooked smile. Those ugly traits don’t need to be nurtured, rather I must give him the skills every day to confront them and let his intelligence and sweet soul overcome them. This is not to say that should depression and anxiety win out some where down the road that he has failed, that we have failed, but creating habits now of life choices of finding hope and seeing color surely will help. Please God let it help. A friend of mine posted an article about 4 traits that put kids at risk for addiction. I devour reads like this like my evening cookies. I want to know what I am up against and use every minute with him to overcome those damn genes. This article listed specifically anxiety sensitively.  This weekend we worked on that devil.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, cookies, water bottle and a blanket filled our bag as we walked down the gravel road, along the woods. We immersed ourselves in nature, got away from screens and dishes and homework. He loosened up, I waited for my opening. Finally as we sat on the blanket, our picnic down to crumbs, I asked him if he knew the difference between a rocking chair and a bicycle. We explored the benefits of each, one great for resting the other for racing ahead. Paraphrasing Erma Bombeck, I explained worry to this child. “Worry is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.”  This was an image he could grab onto, this child who likes speed. He decided he wants to be a bike, go somewhere. We looked at the battles we had been having in the light of the rocking chair/bike choice, he was able to spot how he had been worrying and going nowhere.

We continued to use this language for the rest of the weekend, our battles diminished. Sunday morning brought a small squeamish, I asked if he was being a bike or a rocking chair. He paused and winked at  me. He labeled his anxiety quickly and chose to stop worrying. It won’t always be this easy, I am confident we will need to revisit this issue again and again. This weekend though we found the leaves were turning, we discovered caterpillars, we ate lunch under the autumn sun. Colors reemerged into the black and white.

 

I am a Psalm

On By LisaIn Faith, PlumLeave a comment

I want to be like Paul, preaching with conviction, able to sacrifice everything because I know, just know the truth. I want to be able to put aside my needs, let go of my own concerns and worries, trust all of those to God, get on with the work of His kingdom. Wanting is not enough. Rather, I am more of a psalms woman, one day lamenting, the next shouting out my joy for all the world. I am a psalm, when I grow up I want to be a gospel. I worry that I am running out of time, that I am stuck in my ways, that I am never going to get there. I can’t even seem to move to the wisdom of proverbs.

I have heard that those who convert to anything are more passionate than those who were raised in that particular thing. Making the conscious choice seems to be the key. Paul had a run in with Jesus that he couldn’t deny, he chose not to anyway. He decided to change his entire life, what an embarrassing about face that must have been, if he had cared. I justify my “Un-Paulness” by imaging that God infused a bit of Himself that day, giving an otherworldly power to Paul. Something I lack, if only I had that extra spark, had been hit by the zap of God to cure my blindness. Alas, having grown up in the faith, I have always been able to see.

The truth that God only took away what was blocking Saul from seeing, allowed him to truly SEE is some honesty I try to avoid. I wear my blinders and go about my days, lamenting, yearning, crying out to my Lord. I lift up my joys, give credit to God, I know His hand is at work. Stuck in the raging emotions of the psalms, I forget that I can uncover my eyes at any time. I can choose to be all in, I can make the leap like Paul. Instead I stumble, bump into the obstacles in my life, fall down and scrape my knees. My arms stay straight in front of me, reaching to find walls, stability, looking for something to hold on to. This blindness doesn’t allow my arms to ever open wide to the side, a posture of trust and welcoming, a stance of complete submission.

Plum and I often wrap a bandana around one of us, the other leads through the room. We follow the other’s voice, try to avoid stubbed toes, cracked heads as we wander about. He thinks it is funny to trick me, his commands often a bit slow as I head for disaster. I pretend horror, anger as I bonk into tables. I shout gladness when I reach the promised land of a safe chair. I am forced to peek a bit to ensure lamps stay upright. I lead him to the couch and soft areas, then of course cover him in pillows. I think he peeks as well. Being in the dark and trusting an ornery guide is certainly not safe. We each trust ourselves more. He thinks we are playing a game, I know we are simulating my life.

I cry out that I cannot see, I bemoan that I am lost, I ask for answers. I am stuck in the Psalms, raging emotions ruling my soul. I don’t know if I will ever stop bumping into my life, if I will ever really turn it all over to God. Jesus still walks with me, listens to my own psalms, holds my hand up the stairs. Maybe one day I will be more of a gospel girl. Today I am still crying out under my blinders. After all, Paul was called to travel and preach but not to parent. He never was called to be a mom. The only way I can survive that calling is to keep the bandana on, feel my way, peek out when I am unsure. I listen for God’s voice to lead me, avoiding the sharp edges, as I head for the promised land.

 

Photo credit to Pastor Pat Sleeth, who has done his share of bonking into things but figured out how to find the Light.

 

Financial Advice from Plum

On By LisaIn Faith, Plum, The ChefLeave a comment

Plum wanted to download a new game on my iPad, I said no. He said please, I said no. I  explained that he already has many games to play, they cost money which is in short supply right now, I saw no reason to add one. His pleas continued as he touted the supreme advantages of this one, the ultimate game. He offered to delete other ones. Finally I told him that if he wanted to spend his money on it that would be fine. I was not spending any more of mine on games. That usually settles the discussion. He never wants to spend his money, his piggy bank only accepts deposits. In fact a spare coin laying around the house doesn’t lay neglected long if Plum is here. Birthday money goes in, chore money, all pushed through the little slot.

I have used a fining system to curb some behavior, charging a nickel for each time he hollered, “FINE” at me. I don’t enjoy being yelled at, espousing the philosophy that the only time you should holler in your home is if there is a fire.  Once I added a financial value to his sassy mouth, it ended.  I value respect, he values his nickels. The little business man in him decided to charge me for inappropriate behavior, 3 nickels since I am an adult and should know better. I have to be careful what I teach this child. Fortunately I have only had to pay up once.

I thought asking him to dig into his riches would be enough to stop the conversation, instead he asked me to look to see how much the game costs. $4.99, a fortune for a child who doesn’t want to give up $.05. Aha, I won, I reveled in my wisdom, my amazing handling of this situation. Those rare moments of getting it right with a child, the orchestra strikes up, standing on the stage of the 1,000 seat theater, all the lights trained on me as I accept the award for Outstanding Parent. Oh it felt great. The sound of little feet  racing up the stairs broke through my dreaming. He was already gone and back, waving a fiver at me, before I could catch my breath. Nothing left to do but download the game as the band slunk away, the lights snapped off, the award ripped from my grasp.

Later during bath time, some of our best chatting time, I asked if he thought the game was a good investment. He stood by his purchase. He said he saves his money for things he really wants, not all the things that tug at his brain.  He ignores those. He is a wise child. I could hear the band playing, this boy gets the award for financial responsibility at almost 6, one he could teach many adults. The game is a battling one, it insults my peace seeking soul. As he regaled me in tales of all his exploits, I inquired whether he wouldn’t be more successful if he just made friends with all the villagers, the creatures? Shaking his head, with the voice of an old soul, he chuckled and replied “Oh gran, why do you have such a sweet heart?”

We learn from each other, this child and I. The lessons I think I am teaching bear fruit later, rarely in the moment. I am smart enough to grab the nuggets of his knowledge as they appear. He is the ultimate award, his sweet voice the only music I ever need. He brings light, he brings joy, he sneaks coins. This round goes to Plum, thank goodness we don’t keep score. As a grandma I have to restrain myself from sneaking the fiver back into his bank. As his most trusted adult, I know I can’t. Anyway, his birthday is just around the corner. Grandmas always give birthday cards containing a five dollar bill, right?

Waiting on the Leaves

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, The ChefLeave a comment

All of our leaves are still green, I am searching for color. The flowers around the yard are mostly gone, lone sunflower stalks self planted as the seeds slide from bird feeders are our only reminders of summer. Yet fall hasn’t actually arrived with glory either. I look for those reds, bright oranges and yellows. I crave the smell of bonfires and the sound of crunchy leaves under foot. Crisp apples, warm cider in mugs, orange pumpkins on the porch, a new season. We are in the in-between, the waiting. Transition time is rarely beautiful, rarely easy on the eyes.

Mama is carrying a new baby, due in just over 3 months. She calls me several times daily, I make the 5 minute trek to her apartment at least 3 times a week. She asks for help setting up the nursery, organizing clothes. We already set up her kitchen when she first moved in to this new apartment, one much closer to our home. We already set up Plum’s room, organized Lego totes and attached Minecraft posters to the wall. We set up the pantry and the built shelves. Trip after trip taking benches, chairs, metal racks, end tables, from our home to hers, transitioning her and Plum into a home not just an apartment. Long chats throughout our tasking, mama talks and asks and owns her past mistakes. Two years ago I would never have imagined helping her again like this, somehow I knew we always would. It was an ugly transition time. We are on the other side, bright colors of forgiveness and maturity, of grace and love, yes, love. In spite of myself I love this woman-child.

A year ago we picked up our Arrow from prison, full of hope for a fresh start. We brought him home, fed him, clothed him, gave him a job. We gave him access to a car. We didn’t give him adulthood. He had to leave to find that. He is coming back into our lives on his own terms, on our terms too, but as a man, not just as our child. He calls, always some excuse because still he cannot just say he wants to talk to his mom. He visits his son, a lifeline for Arrow. I don’t know his day to day, where he lives, who his friends are. This is good. Arrow and I can get too close, then we get unhealthy. I worry, try to save him, forget he has to save himself. Our horrible transition several months ago was heartbreaking, now he is transitioning back in a way that doesn’t hurt any of us. I am beginning to find patches of light with my Arrow, when he shows me what he works on, when he eats lunch at my table, takes home plastic bowls of left-overs. He is grateful again. I feel touches of pride. Slowly we are making our way back, allowing hurt from the past to fade as the colors of now take over.

I wish I knew what this waiting time means for Chef and I. Dragging on, fear and anger begin to rise again. The mortgage lender doesn’t want to hear that we are trusting in God’s timing. We celebrated having so much time together, now we get on each other’s nerves. Colors are fading, the leaves aren’t turning yet. This transition doesn’t feel like movement, it feels like stuck. Remembering past waiting times reminds me that something incredibly better was coming, something I couldn’t foresee. I just have to keep doing the thing in front of me, the next thing that is right and good. The fog will lift, brilliant colors will explode before my eyes. I will tell a story of waiting and the joy that came after.

Today I see green leaves and long for red and yellow. I long for apple cider and security and bills caught up. I long for brilliant yellow and health insurance. Today I am waiting, tomorrow the leaves may begin to turn.

Sunflower Legacy

On By LisaIn Faith, Plum, The ChefLeave a comment

My Chef set up a pizza bar for dinner, little bowls with choices of bright red and green peppers, basil from the kitchen garden, onions both purple and white, bright romas and earthy mushrooms. Containers of seasonings, a bag of shredded mozzarella, personal pizza crusts, a tiny bit of olive oil, a pastry brush. Chef was ready for dinner and pizza class. He and Plum got to work. A most patient teacher, Chef picked up bowl after bowl and presented them to Plum. Chef asked  him to smell the contents, identify each item. Mama and I were captivated. I would have just told him, rushed through the process. Chef fully involved Plum in such a way that he would then remember as he began to create. Together they spread oil on the bottom of the crust, flipped it over and then slathered sauce. Plum chose his toppings, created his meal. Our new pizza master then made pizzas for mama and me. We all gathered around this child as he prepared gifts for us, gifts laid out by Chef, staying within his glow, hanging on each piece of joy he shared. Glances at mama’s face to see her eyes smiling, Chef’s face devoid of worry in this moment, I knew we all were feeling the warmth of his spirit.

After dinner we skipped the dishes and escaped to the play set. Time is precious now with my Plum. He abandoned me for formal education, no longer my daily playmate and joy bringer. I have to make do with dinners midweek and every other week end. He is tired, learning to read and follow rules that can’t be pushed with a sweet smile at grandma wears him out. I push him on the swing and delight as his smelly little boy feet come near, catching the scent of this babe I once rocked. He wants to go higher, higher, he doesn’t realize he is going farther away as well. I could stay there all night, pushing and waiting, listening to giggles. His day catches up, though, bedtime is nearing.

No longer full of energy to run, he listlessly pulled petals from the stray sunflowers around  the porch. Fascinated by flowers, he has done this since he could crawl. I haven’t taught him to leave them alone. I have taught him to explore, to feel them, I plant extras around the yard knowing little hands will find delight in their discovery. This night he wondered about the seeds. We moved to the huge sunflower in the front, the lone stalk that survived the squirrels and the dogs. Rocking together on my old porch swing, side by side we harvested. Peeling away layers of outer leaves, scrubbing away the inner covering, we found the seeds hidden. Hundreds of seeds, amazingly arranged each in a safe pocket, one flower able to feed and bring new life long after it is gone. Sunflower legacy. My sweet Plum carefully arranged seeds atop his boulder on the edge of the yard, away from dogs, for the birds to reach. He found other seeds and picked flowers for the bees. He asked for a piece of bread, tore it into small bits, arranged it on his new nature center. Not caring about the big picture of other feeders full of seeds, plenty of flowers for the bees, he created his own gathering place. He asks me to watch over his offerings of grace when it is time for him to leave.

This child is the stray sunflower, not intentionally planted but part of God’s plan to feed us all. He shines more brightly for the unexpectedness of all that is him, his face raised to the Son amidst all the battles for his very survival. A heart so pure, so freely giving of grace, his soul nourishes us all as we gather around him. He shows us God. I realize while I am pushing that swing, I am stable, solid, steady. I am watching My plum to be sure he is still holding tightly, still firmly in the seat, I watch for weariness, I help him go higher, ready to catch him. Does my God do any less? Plum reminds me that as I swing away from God, He still delights in me, waits for my return, eagerly accepting me in my filth, shame, in my exhaustion. My Father is pushing me, up and away, into the world to do His work. He listens for my giggles. God sends me out again, again, higher, farther, hoping I will find His flowers and spread some seeds, I will make His pizzas and feed His family. God wants me to see all He has hidden inside of me, safely in little pockets, waiting for me to expose them to the sun. Seeds ignored grow moldy, no good to anyone. God plants flowers in unexpected places, waiting for me to discover them with joy. I am a flower also, discovering me.

This child is no longer my little playmate, he may always be my teacher. Maybe I show the Face of God to him, He surely is His face for me. May I always be open to learning and feasting at his table, may I always remember to plant extra flowers. When he no longer needs me to push him, I will still listen for his giggles, still gather close to catch the scent of this babe who came to bring me grace.