Being Known & Loved

Kenny spent his first week at sleep away camp last week.  We tackled the packing list like champs, purchasing travel-sized toiletries and gathering all manner of jackets....rain coat, sweatshirt, midweight coat.  I drew the line at his beloved puffy vest from the Gap, reasoning that it would have equal chances of getting lost and getting him made fun of!?

We timed our departure to arrive slightly before our assigned window.  The nervous energy powering the car up the mountain to the base of Long’s Peak.  We lined up in a modern day wagon train made up of enough black SUVs to be mistaken for a presidential motorcade.  The camp director greeted us personally and then directed us down the drive to be welcomed by a throng of exuberant camp works jumping and cheering like ours was the first car to arrive.  We were unloaded and guided through a series of stations all designed to be efficient, yet personal.  Every.single.person we encountered was overflowing with joy and enthusiasm.  Kenny made a worried comment, “I think this camp is too loud for me!?”  

I held back tears of joy, hopefully anticipating the magical week that lay ahead for my oldest, quiet boy.  He was cheered into the Otis cabin where we met one of his three counselors.  Alex was from Iowa, just thirty minutes from my hometown.  It felt like a little wink from God, and any inkling of anxiety over leaving my child evaporated.  

We drove home with our two younger boys, fielding questions about why they couldn’t stay at camp and making amends with arcade games and ice cream.  It was a quick week filled with summer fun and friends and a set of twins who rediscovered the enjoyment they have for one another.

Saturday morning dawned bright and early, back on the road for pickup, but this time a little more prepared to be part of the impromptu caravan of black SUVs.  There was another warm greeting at the camp entrance, a closing ceremony, video screening of the week’s activities, and a last chance shopping experience fueled by camp cookies and lemonade.  

Kenny was happy to see us, but carried a shy and glazed over expression.  I wondered if his introverted nature got the better of him, if he had merely survived his week at this “loud” camp.  

We made our way to the Otis cabin for the final item in the agenda:  Character Quality awards.  The three counselors had worked together to write about the character traits they had witnessed in each of their twelve campers.  They had a story or two to support their observations, and multiple Scriptures to encourage each boy.  One by one, the boys were called to the front.  The counselors placed hands on the boys shoulders and poured out words of encouragement to overflowing.  Each boy was unique and seen through the lens of the God who created him.  

Kenny was the twelfth boy.  He gave each counselor a bear hug as he took his turn in the spotlight.  Alex’s voice wavered as he started talking about my quiet, introverted son, the one I had worried wouldn’t fit in at camp.  He spoke of Kenny’s pure heart and loving spirit, and of his unstoppable imagination.  I couldn’t stop the flow of tears that poured down my cheeks.  Kenny had been known and loved at camp.  He had made a positive impact on his cabin, and they on him.  What more could a mama ask for?

We had an amazing fairwell as we drove off the camp grounds to high fives and cheers from the staff, but the fairytale was short-lived.  Five minutes after leaving,  Jacob informed his brother he had “accidentally” traded one of Kenny’s Beyblade toys with a friend, queuing the start of a twenty-minute, World War 3-type battle.  The truce wasn’t fully sealed until belly’s were filled and heads nodded off in long-overdue sleep.  

Dazed and confused, “Why can’t I stay at camp all summer?”

As we descended to Denver in a quiet car, my heart was too full to sleep, and my mind too busy churning everything I had witnessed that day:  the joy of reuniting with our son, the sadness of leaving a place and the people who had come to know and love him so well.  There was a sacred quality to the entire experience.  To be known and loved is what each of us yearns for.  And the earning is only fulfilled when we come face-to-face with our Creator.  

It’s no surprise that Kenny loved and thrived at Camp Timberline.  They excelled at reflecting God’s light, bringing each camper face-to-face with his Creator, allowing them to be known and loved.  Maybe I need to spend a week or two OR THE REST OF MY LIFE at camp??

We arrived home with plenty of time to for post-camp cleanup.  I sent Kenny straight to the tub for a long soak with multiple types of soap while I hesitantly unzipped the suitcase.  He had proudly informed us at pickup that he had changed his socks every day!  So it was no surprise to see 90% of the clothes untouched.    I fully expected such shenanigans of filth and didn’t let it bother me in the least.  (Am I good boy mom or what?).  And then I noticed his perfectly folded pajamas.  HE WORE THE SAME CLOTHES TO BED!?  I’ll give back the boy mom gold star, thank you very much.  And we’ll be having some serious hygiene talks before camp next year!😂

When Weariness Threatens to Overtake You

Tuesday morning started out like any other.  Packing lunches while passing out breakfast, trying to sneak in sips of coffee between reading paragraphs of Harry Potter aloud.  The morning was not without a bit of drama, the topic of that day being three boys who suddenly reviled blueberry flavored fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt.  This struck a nerve with me and I launched into a rant about not purchasing anymore yogurt until the twelve containers of blueberry were gone.  Last week they loved blueberry yogurt and this week no one will touch it!?  Eat the yogurt off the top for goodness sake--no need to stir it up!  Bolthouses are problem solvers!

I huffed and puffed them to school and moved on with my day, which included a lengthy photo book-making session for a Mother's Day gift to my Mama.  I was annoyed by the chiming of my phone indicating an incoming text message and chose to ignore it.  Mother's Day was a mere five days away--I had to stay focused on perfectly arranging pictures and pairing a clever caption with each. 

Upon clicking "submit" for the photo book, I finally got around to picking up my phone.  The text message was a notice that all district schools had be put in lockout due to an unspecified security threat.  I didn't think too much of the message, as they come far too frequently these days.  I moved on to my reward for incredible focus, some indulgent time on social media.  It didn't take long to discover the security threat referred to in the text message was, in fact, an actual school shooting at the STEM school just a few miles from our home.  My first thought was of Darin, who has made frequent trips to the school to give presentations on virtual reality.  A quick text verified that he was sitting safely in his office.

I turned on the news and tears started to fall as the terrifying scene shattered the peacefulness of my living room.  Just a few weeks before, the boys were home from school because a young woman, obsessed with school shootings and Columbine, had flown into Denver, purchased a gun, and was on the loose.  Every single school was closed in the entire metro area for fear of her finding a place to live out her sick fantasy.  How can this be happening again?   

Afternoon pick-up time rolled around.  Like any other day, I made myself a cup of tea and drove to the school.  Unlike any other day there was a thick tension among the parents waiting outside.  Would the lockout be lifted at the scheduled dismissal time?  Do the kids have any idea what is happening?  How do I broach this subject, yet again, with my boys?  I ran into a mom carrying an uncharacteristic look of strain.  She shared that her oldest son is a sophomore at the STEM school.  She was at the dentist when she heard the news and it took her close to an hour to make contact with him.  An hour filled with angst and worry until he finally answered his phone and she breathed a huge sigh of relief.  She was weary, having not yet recovered from that hour of not knowing if she would see her son again. 

Cars were abandoned in the carpool line and parents huddled under hoods and umbrellas as the temperature dropped and rain started to fall.  It seemed the weather was reflecting the cold darkness that our souls felt. 

The doors to the school were opened twenty-five minutes later than normal dismissal.  The group of parents moved as a silent mass, splitting off from the main corridor towards their child's classroom.  The scene was quiet and orderly.  The principal and vice principal propping open the main doors.  Support staff blocking every exit but the main exit. 

I made my way to second grade, and checked Jacob out.  His teacher had guarded the kids' hearts and minds as if they were her own.  She passed off the delayed release as a chance to play games and have snacks.  We picked up John next door and then made our way upstairs to claim Kenny from the 4th grade pod.  It was surreal.  No one lingered to talk.  Parents were on a mission to get their kids and get out of the school.

The questions started on the drive home.  Why did they do a red flag dismissal when there wasn't a thunderstorm?  I didn't even attempt to beat around the bush, but instead shared high level details of what had happened.  All three boys were completely calm and unflustered by the information.  They asked if the shooter was a teenager and if anyone had died.  Bags were unpacked, afternoon snacks inhaled.  I breathed a prayer of thanks that they weren't gripped by the fear and sadness that had claimed me. 

I started the day weary from complaining over yogurt and ended it weary from the brokenness of this world.  It's too much to carry all on our own.  Friends and family from across the country sent messages to make sure we were ok, pledging prayers and love.  Small bits of weariness began to lift.  I attended my Mom's In Prayer group and ten women joined voices in prayer, which in turn caused more weariness to lift.  The perfect Scripture popped up in my path, and my heart felt full and free.

"Do you not know?  Have you not heard?  The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.  He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.  Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."  Isaiah 40:28-31. 

As we celebrate Mother's Day this weekend, I'm reminded that this mothering gig is a marathon, not a sprint, and we're not running it alone.  I'm so thankful for my tribe who cheers me on through the uphill stretches.  I'm grateful for my own sense of humor that can bring laughter over an incident with blueberry yogurt.  I'm overwhelmed that the Creator of the universe sees me in my weariness and chooses to renew my strength.  So I'll serve up blueberry yogurt again tomorrow morning and send my beloved boys off to school with the confidence that the God who created the universe will give me the strength needed to face it all! 

    

Embracing the Twinkie Cake

It’s the end of April and we’re just getting around to “friend” birthday parties for the boys who turned 8 a month ago.  We had such fun celebrating over spring break that I felt confident they were satisfied and I wasn’t inflicting permanent damage by withholding a local birthday party....but then the normally quiet Kenny asked very loudly why I wasn’t planning his brothers’ parties?  

So we’re keeping it simple.  I’m practically practicing yoga I’m so relaxed about all of it (at least that’s what I tell myself every time anxiety starts to creep in).  John requested and ice cream cake.  Easy and classy enough —no problem!   Jacob asked for a pile of Twinkies with a candle on top😫. Now hold up!?  

This mama was born and raised in Iowa where baking was practically a sport.  My Mom could spot a box cake from across the room and would whisper in my ear not to eat any because it wouldn’t be good.  My first cake entry at the county fair was my Grandma Whattoff’s chocolate cake recipe, which earned me a trip to the State Fair!  And my child is asking me to cut open cellophane wrappers and arrange the factory-made mini cakes on a platter?  

So I said, “Sure—sounds like fun!”

I’ve learned a lot in this process: 

1.  Where the Twinkies are kept at the grocery store.  (Who would have thought with the bread?).

2.  Cellophane wrappers are difficult to open.   (About 15 Twinkies in I decided baking a cake from scratch would be easier).

3.  The love I have for my children seems to know no bounds. 

This last one is no joke.  I gave up my career for my children.  My body is wrecked from carrying them around both before and after birth.  And now I’m serving Twinkies at a party.  Who would have ever thought?

It’s amazing to think we have a Father in Heaven who loves us beyond what our earthly understanding of love could every comprehend.  He knows us, loves us, sent His son to be our Savior, and inspired the Bible to be our guide.  It makes my personal sacrifice of a Twinkie cake seem silly, and His sacrifice of bridging the gap between us that much more magnificent.  

So I’ll serve this chemical-laden dessert with a smile on my face knowing my son feels loved...and knowing there’s a God above who loves us all.  

“Neither height nor depth, nor anything in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  Romans 8:28

Tacos as the new fish and loaves...

As the mom of three growing boys, I spend an insane amount of time buying, washing, preparing, serving and cleaning up food.  It often seems a futile task that leaves me wondering what difference this is making in the world?  I’m not finding a cure to cancer or developing a method to deliver clean water to remote villages....here I am, chopping another onion!

Reading about the miracle of the fish and loaves in John chapter 6 has become a huge encouragement.  I think of the boy’s mother packing another lunch in a daze, with the glimmer of hope that her son will be out of the house all day, leaving her with some peace and quiet to do the breakfast dishes, grocery shop and get dinner started.  And yet God uses this Mom’s dull daily task as the starting point for a huge miracle.  The boy finds his way to a hillside where 5000 men (that number doesn’t include women and children) are gathered to hear Jesus teach. Faced with a hungry crowd and no concession stands, Jesus proceeds to pray over the boys simple lunch and direct his disciples to start passing the food.  When all is said and done, the crowd has been fed and 12 baskets of leftover food gathered.  

Maybe our time spent in the kitchen isn’t a waste after all!  Maybe it matters as much as finding a cure to cancer and sources of clean water.  

I have a friend who is walking beside one of her good friends through the unexpected loss of her husband.  It’s heartbreaking, and hard.  We were having coffee this week and she mentioned that in all the chaos she hadn’t been to the grocery store.  I got to experience the miracle of the fish and loaves with my very own refrigerator. Two chicken pot pies turned into three and the problem of her empty cupboards no longer mattered that day.  

As years pass and I add notches to my mothering belt, I’m convinced that tacos are the new fish and loaves.  I can’t even count the number of times we have been playing with friends as dinner time draws near.  We may be counseling each other through a crisis, or having too much fun to end the play and can always throw together a meal of tacos for ten! 

This most recently happened on a March day marked by a blizzard coined the “bomb cyclone”.  School was cancelled, the kids were antsy and begging to play with our good friends.  In our desperation, we dug through cupboards and refrigerators and pooled ingredients for tacos.  Our family braved the three block drive to their house and sanity was saved! These six kids have shared so many meals of tacos that we’ve started joking about serving tacos at their weddings!

So as you’re prepping food for your next meal, be encouraged that God uses food, and the people who prepare it to build relationships, provide comfort, and even work miracles!  Go ahead and mentally award yourself the Noble Prize while you peel those potatoes:-)

My Official Resignation

There’s no better way to start the week than with a Costco run (said no one—EVER!).  I strolled the aisles with a laser focus, becoming only slightly distracted by a camping chair display and a great deal on ThermoFlask water bottles.  My mood was so good that I threw caution to the wind and impulsively grabbed a box of Jimmy Dean individual breakfast quiches from a freezer end cap. Visions of boys thrilled with a new breakfast option danced through my head as I waited to check out.  

Reality hit the next morning.  Two of the three boys took one look and declared it disgusting, spewing a string of complaints that led me to do something drastic....I resigned all of my motherhood duties, effective immediately.  I calmly informed my two ungrateful offspring that they were on their own for the morning. The car would be leaving at 8:15 to take the one grateful child to school.  If they were interested in riding along, it would be up to them to be buckled in at the appointed time.  

The next hour was a quiet one.  Grateful child, sensing the gravity of the situation, murmured loving praises while exhibiting his best behavior.   The other two didn’t seem to know where to start.  It took so long to make their lunches that they weren’t able to get their other morning tasks complete.  One didn’t eat breakfast and forgot his homework.  Both forgot to pack a snack.  While they struggled to prepare for their day, I gloried in a cup of coffee and an early devotion time.

As we drove to school, I talked about how rude and ungrateful they were, and asked them to consider if they wanted their mother back after school.  Behavior and attitudes would need to reflect it, and dinner hung in the balance.  I explained that I loved them deeply, but I would not be treated in a disrespectful manner.  

They jumped out of the car and we all proceeded with the day.  I prayed that nothing would happen to any of us since we left one another on a sour note.  It hurt my heart to draw such a hard line.  My stomach rumbled with sympathy pains of hunger for my oldest, who left for school with an empty stomach.  I wanted to sneak into my middle son’s classroom and give him a big bear hug.  

The after school routine was decidedly more pleasant than before school.  The boys quietly unpacked their bags in penance, with my oldest gratefully eating the untouched breakfast that I saved for him as a snack.  It seemed the Jimmy Dean quiche wasn’t the most disgusting thing in the world!?

I debriefed one-on-one with the boys at bedtime.  Each had a different take on the morning’s episode, and a different lesson to learn.  And even I left the day with a lesson learned.  How many times have I been encountered something unexpected and responded in a knee-jerk, ungrateful manner.  I can tell you (as a type-A woman) the number is higher than I’d like to admit.  

While I felt like I rocked this week’s Costco trip, I realized that God is the ultimate Costco shopper.  He knows exactly what items should go in my cart to strengthen and sustain me.  Who am I to grumble about something He chooses for me.  Thankfully, He doesn’t resign from His role as God in the face of my ingratitude.  

Cheers to Jimmy Dean quiche and the unexpected God puts in my life. One fills my belly, the other my soul❤️.

A Not-So-Fond Farewell to January

If only I would have known....the drama that surrounded the start to our year would carry through the entire month of January!  I should have confiscated all the kids' Christmas candy and hunkered down with a series of Netflix originals.  It's been a challenging month.  The damage to our SUV caused by the December hit and run has been technically repaired, but the sensors aren't functioning properly.  I have spent a large percentage of my "free" time in a series of unsuccessful appointments with hopes of fixing the problem.  But car problems are a walk in the park compared to the call I received in mid-January.

Darin and the boys ventured to the mountains for the boys' first competitive ski event.  I stayed home to breathe and conquer my beginning-of-a-new-year to-do list.  The first twelve hours were magical, until I was in the shower and heard my phone ring.  And then ring again.  And immediately ring a third time.  I jumped out of the shower, sure that it was ski patrol calling about about one of my four boys.  Being wet from the shower and haywire nerves induced a level of shivering that made it nearly impossible to unlock my phone.  I clumsily navigated through screens to return the latest incoming call.  The man who answered the identified himself as Keystone Ski Patrol.  He was with my son, John, who had been in an accident.  "There is a lot of blood, so I'm unsure of the extent of his injuries.  I can tell you that he has lost a tooth.  Do I have your permission to take him on the sled to the medical clinic at the base?"

By this time my head was spinning as I paced the floor, every ounce of energy being used to stay calm.  "Yes!  Please take him to the clinic!"  The call ended and I dialed my husband's number with record speed, directing him to GET HIS HINNEY TO THE CLINIC!  I rushed upstairs to dress, then rushed back downstairs to.....to......to do what exactly?  My child was hurt. The adrenaline pulsing through my bloodstream made me want to jump into my car and drive in a Mario Andretti fashion to my son.  My brain was able to function just enough to identify this as a bad idea.  The likelihood of being pulled over or getting in an accident on the ninety minute drive were high, not to mention that Sunday traffic in the mountains would be a nightmare.

Would chartering a helicopter be overreacting?

Then I felt a seed of calm settle in my soul, and an urge to be still.  BE STILL?  My mind stopped spinning.  I remembered the devotion I had been writing about God reigning.  The devotion was due to be emailed out later that day.  It needed to be finished.  Only God could orchestrate this situation with an injured child and a deadline demanding me read about God reigning.  Only one question remained....was I going to just write about it?  Or was I going to live it out?

And so I planted myself in the truth of Scripture and typed what I learned.  The seed of calm grew with each verse I read until it seemed I had been completely shaded from crippling fear.  I read and typed and prayed and waited.  What felt like hours, but was actually only forty-five minutes passed.  Darin called with the official report.  John had, in fact, lost his front, permanent tooth.  But there were no other injuries.  No concussion, no cuts or bruises.  My long exhale was a praise that reached heaven as I joyfully listened to my son's voice telling me that he was ok.

John’s new nickname, “the Toothless Shredder”

The seriousness of the situation had faded by the time the crew arrived home hours later.  They had spent the drive home in deep debate over John's impending fake tooth.  He could be just like that guy from the movie "Home Alone" with the gold tooth!  But wait, gold costs a lot of money.  What about silver?  Yay!  A silver tooth would be awesome!  Or green!  John's favorite color is green!  A green tooth would be perfect.  I was privy to the end of the debate as I met them in the garage, unable to stand one more second without hugging my toothless boy.

So in addition to the series of car appointments, I've added weekly dental appointments to my calendar.  (FYI--John will not be getting a green tooth replacement!)  While my free time has been eaten up with all these appointments, the time waiting in a variety of reception chairs has provided me the opportunity to reflect on the fact that God reigns over every.single.thing in this world.

Psalm 93:1 tells us that, "The LORD reigns, He is robed in majesty; The LORD is robed with majesty and armed with strength; Indeed, the world is established, firm and secure." (The Message translation)         

The question I am left asking is this.....will I recognize His power and position?  Allowing Him to reign enables the seed of calm to grow into a sapling.  Relinquishing my perceived control to the One who really has control spurs the sapling to grow into a dense tree.  This dense tree of calm provides thick shade from the worries of life. 

Who am I kidding?  For all my planning, I am obviously not the one in control.  My recent free-time has been spent researching permanent tooth replacement options for a seven-year-old.  I think I'll let God take it from here:-)  I could use a rest in His shade.

New Year’s Adventures

New Year’s Eve always brings the buzz of excitement over a fresh start.  The celebration this year involved four families and a game night.  We rang in the new year with a balloon drop, confetti poppers, and bubbly drinks for kids and adults alike.  

The wonder of the new year was tarnished in record time with a case of New Year’s Day stomach flu.  I found myself yelling, “Go! Go! Go!” with a fervor only matched by a sergeant directing troops on D-Day.  He didn’t make it to the bathroom and I found myself covered in vomit and searching our rented condo for cleaning supplies.  Nothing dampens the holiday spirit like scrubbing old rental carpet at 1AM.  

My husband couldn’t stomach the situation and instead paced around, checking in on my cleaning progress, simultaneously putting our marriage on a perilous path.  

A day later, the whole episode started to take on an amusing quality.  We laid in bed and regaled each other with stories from the previous night.  Before the discussion took a serious turn.  New Year’s Day has a history of drama in our family.  This year was the stomach flu, but 7 years ago was a heart that stopped working.  

My husband’s heart malfunctioned electrically, thanks to the interference of inflamed tissue.  He was diagnosed with the autoimmune disease, Sarcoidosis, and our lives changed forever.  Gone was the naïveté that we were young and invincible.  Heartbeats suddenly turned precious as we breathed a prayer of thanks that God had spared my husband.  He would have more days to be a father, husband and son...engineer, skier and friend.  

New Year’s Day carries a mixed meaning for me now.  There’s still the fun and excitement of a new start, but it has also become an anniversary of what might have been and what is.  Another year of heart beats and God’s promise fulfilled, “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord.  ‘Plans to prosper and not harm you, plans for hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11)

Even when the new year gets off  to a bumpy start, I have the gifts of perspective (vomit is a sign of life and a body functioning properly); gratitude (every member of the family is present whether causing chaos, sleeping through the chaos, cleaning up the chaos, or pacing around the chaos); and acknowledgment (my planning skills pale in comparison to those Who created it all). 

Our year didn’t start out on the perfect note.  The coming days and months are sure to bring a rollercoaster of ups and downs, but my hope is firm and my confidence strong that we will have joy in the face of it all.   

P.S.  By January 3 we were as good as new and celebrating the new year with fabulous views from nearly 12,000 feet!