Mar 30, 2009 | Love
Being a parent is all about the letting go. Not a new idea. So why after nearly 21 years as a parent do I sometimes still not get it?
We had this conversation at my house yesterday afternoon:
Sara Ann: Oh, yeah, Mom, I think I forgot to tell you that I almost got killed a couple of weeks ago. I was going to Starbucks before school and it was about 5:45 a.m. and this drunk driver was swerving everywhere and he almost hit me. I got out of his way, then he drove off really fast. I had to pull over because I was freaking out. Yeah, I guess I forgot to tell you …
After my pulse returned to normal, I asked her why she hadn’t told me sooner, as she’s generally pretty open. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “You would just freak out.” Well … yeah. Truthfully, I’m usually not one to freak and my girls have never been afraid to tell me things. But I’ll admit to a fleeting thought, “Back to carpool line. I didn’t mind that so much. I can take her to school every day. Then she’ll be safe.” For just an instant I wanted to take back control, to keep her with me, or, as she put it, “Uhh, Mom, just ruin my life.”
We all know that’s not the answer — I can’t protect her from drunk drivers when she’s on the road and I can’t shield her from mean girls, stupid boys, failure, disappointment and the consequences of her own choices. The truth is, I cannot keep her safe from any and all harm. But if I do my job well, I can teach her to cope with it.
Letting go doesn’t mean you don’t care — it means you do not allow yourself to worry about things you cannot control. You take reasonable precautions. You teach, pray, counsel, advise and guide — but worry has no constructive outcome. Take back the reins at the slightest hint of discomfort and struggle and you will raise a dependent child who will rightly doubt her ability to function in the real world.
When my girls were infants, learning to walk, I didn’t let them hit their heads, but they did fall on their butts a few times. You don’t learn to ride a bike without a skinned knee or two. It’s just harder with teenagers. The older the child, the bigger the risk.
With greater risks come great rewards. Nothing satisfies me more than a wise decision one of my girls has made as I walk behind her and provide guidance and advice rather than strict control.
I hate that Sara Ann was so close to what could have been a very serious accident, but I’m glad she gained a little experience and confidence to handle danger, to make a quick decision that may have saved her life. It’s probably better that I didn’t know about the drunk driver that day — somehow it’s easier to handle two weeks later when she can shrug her shoulders about it.
And there is nothing I could have done about it anyway.
Mar 20, 2009 | Believe
I usually avoid these neighborhoods.
This day was different. My 16-year-old daughter, Sara Ann, five of her friends and I were in Atlanta for a church youth weekend. We left the church to get out into the city and learn about poverty and homelessness. Our first stop was an area near downtown Atlanta where the homeless live under the overpasses. We parked our cars on the street and scaled a steep, rocky hill under a bridge. At the top of the hill, we began to see piles of clothing, mattresses, furniture and blankets, all damp from the rain. My first impression was, ewww, trash; then I realized it is someone’s couch … bed … home.
We turned a corner and saw people who had made their home in the shelter of the concrete posts. Two guys named Bob and Willie, who work with a ministry called 7 Bridges to Recovery, showed us around and told us about their work. Willie, who only four months ago was homeless, pulled a few bags of food and some clothes out of the back of a minivan.
Bob explained that the mission of 7 Bridges is to get people off the streets and break the cycle of homelessness, alcoholism, drugs, sexual addictions, prostitution and abuse. I was surprised when he told us that few of the homeless accept their help. Perhaps they are afraid or maybe they have just come to accept their circumstances, or don’t want to leave the people they live with. As we walked and talked with them, it seemed that, much like the rest of us, some were angry, some had faith and some just seemed to feel hopelessly resigned to this life.
I don’t understand homelessness. I’ve never been without a warm bed or a good meal, never had to walk over rocks in worn-out shoes or put on a rain-soaked coat to keep warm. Our visit didn’t change any of their lives that day, but it did change me. It brought me face-to-face with the reality of a life that no one should have to live and reminded me that they are not so different from me, and most of all, that they are equal to me in God’s eyes.
‘ … For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’” He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
— Matthew 25:42-45
Jan 24, 2009 | Live
Yesterday was not my best day behind the wheel; I made two really stupid driving mistakes in the course of about an hour. I wasn’t on the phone at the time, had consumed no alcohol; these was just stupid errors, the kind we all make from time to time when our minds are elsewhere.
Both times I realized my mistake and mutely apologized — threw my hand up and mouthed I’m so sorry — to the other drivers. And both times I was met with angry expressions, waving hands — that silent shout you see through the car window.
I don’t argue for a moment my culpability in the fender benders that nearly ensued. But I’d bet that both other drivers have made their share of dumb moves behind the wheel. And, given that both incidents took place in parking lots at very low speeds, it’s highly unlikely that lives would have been at stake.
Why are we so quick to become angry with one another and so slow to forgive? Why can’t we be as patient with others as we want them to be with us? Where is mercy?
One of the incidents occurred as I was meeting some Twitter friends for dinner. As there are often new faces at these dinners, I briefly wondered how awkward it would be if the other driver happened to be at our Tweetup as well. What a terrible way to start a relationship.
These are difficult times. Everyone is worried about jobs, mortgages, kids’ college funds. Our nation is in transition — a transition that frightens some and exhilarates others. Sometimes it’s hard not to let things get to us. And I don’t mean this in an I-love-you-you-love-me Barney the Dinosaur kind of way, but … can’t we all just try to be nicer to one another?
I promise to be much more careful in parking lots, and I promise to be merciful toward you if you aren’t.
You?
Nov 28, 2008 | Live
Today is my 50th birthday. Not only do I not care who knows, I’m proud to be 50. Here are the things I’m proud of:
Two days shy of 22 years of marriage. That ain’t easy. You don’t know someone until you share a toothpaste tube, and you don’t really know them until you’ve seen for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health up close and personal.
My girls. They are 16 and 20, and beyond the maternal love for them, I admire and respect them as people. They are smart, beautiful, gifted and accomplished in their own right. Jim and I have raised them to be people of faith; they have made that faith their own and it guides their daily lives and shapes their future. Though I can’t claim credit, I hope that in some small way I’ve contributed to the young women they are today.
Wisdom. I’m much smarter at 50 than I was at 20. I wrote about wisdom a year ago.
Perspective. I love that I remember the original version of the songs my kids like today. And I get to laugh at the invariably crappy remakes. I’ve seen bell-bottoms be in style twice. And when my kids laugh at my prom pictures, I’m old enough to know that in a few short years, they will laugh at their own.
Relationships. The group of people pictured above is my daughter, Sara Ann, and her group of friends. Over the past few years, I’ve watched them grow up — through middle school, Myspace, AIM, puberty, cell phones, Facebook, drivers licenses and now college visits.
Anyone who is disenchanted with today’s teens has never met this group. Earlier this week, they threw me a surprise birthday party. They bought me a wonderful present, cooked the food, but my favorite gift is the oversize card that each one signed with a personal message. I’m going to frame it and hang it in my office.
It’s only been a few hours, but so far, 50 rocks.
Oct 31, 2008 | Love
My very first guest blogger is my 16-year-old daughter, Sara Ann. She wrote this article for her school newspaper about a cause that is very close to her heart.
The Price of Peace
“If the greatest generation sacrificed for war, what will our generation be known for if we sacrifice for peace? Peace is closer than ever, but Invisible Children’s work is far from done. This is an important time in Uganda’s history and we must be a part of its future.”
— Invisible Children
For more than a decade, Ugandan people have been relocated and forced to live in overcrowded displacement camps. This is a result of the most neglected humanitarian emergency in the world. The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Government of Uganda have been waging a war for more than 23 years, which has left an entire generation of youth that has never known peace.
It began in the 1980s when a woman named Alice Lakwena believed that the Holy Spirit spoke to her and ordered her to overthrow the Ugandan government for injustice. As she gained followers, her movement gained momentum and resentment toward the government increased. Lakwena was later exiled and a man named Joseph Kony took control and her movement became the LRA. As the LRA attacked villages, the government was forced to evict Ugandans and relocate them into displacement camps, in which they must stay, for fear of abduction by the LRA.
Surprisingly, the LRA does not care who they abduct, including small children ages 10 and younger. In fact, it is estimated that more than 90 percent of the LRA’s troops were abducted as children. Even in these displacement camps, where they were moved as a safety precaution, the children leave, walk three to four hours, and stay the night only to get up bright and early and make the walk back “home.”
One of the many informative videos tells the story of a boy named Ofonyo Innocent who was one of those children, called a night commuter. He witnessed the abductions of friends, relatives, and peers by the LRA and watched as they were forced to commit horrifying acts against their own people. What child deserves to live this way?
Invisible Children officials encourage people through their mission statement, Invisible Children is all about using who we are to meet people where they are; every individual doing what they can to make a difference.
Open your eyes, let your mind leave the comfortable city of Germantown and realize what these children must endure. Most of us never encounter the circumstances these children must tolerate on a daily basis. Do what you can, raise awareness and get involved. Let’s make these invisible children visible; not just to our school, our city, our state, or even our country. Let our whole world see the lives of the invisible.
You Can Help.
Visit Invisible Children online and explore these and other ways to get involved.
Watch the movie. Purchase the The Rough Cut on DVD and share it with your friends.
Buy a bracelet. Bracelets are made by Ugandan natives, and each is associated with an “invisible child.” When you order a bracelet, you also receive a video about this child.
Tri campaign involves a simple donation of as little as three dollars each week and sustains life-changing programs in Uganda.
Buy a t-shirt. Donate money and help spread the word with a great t-shirt.
About Sara Ann (by her mom)
The coolest thing about Sara Ann is that her faith is not about a set of rules; it’s about Jesus’ love and compassion and she puts feet to it as she strives to love and serve as He calls us to do.
Last year at a youth event she heard a presentation on Invisible Children, a nonprofit organization that serves children in war-torn Uganda. The images of the children stirred her heart and moved her to action. She established a Facebook group to promote Invisible Children at her school, and within one day there were 180 members. Membership is now 300.
Sara Ann has been on two short-term mission trips to Puerto Rico and is active in small groups and student ministries at Germantown United Methodist Church and Living Hope Church. Each month she goes downtown with her Germantown United Methodist youth group to serve breakfast to homeless persons.
She is currently a junior in high school and plans to major in journalism and move to Africa after college as a missionary and journalist.
— b
Sep 25, 2008 | Love
It’s so hard to let go. I thought I had mastered it after Elizabeth, 20, left for college, which left Sara Ann, 16, as our only child at home.
I was her primary mode of transportation and it made for some valuable one-on-one time in the car that I came to treasure. Until August 1. She got her driver’s license that day and suddenly she didn’t need my driving services anymore. Now it’s just a text message to tell me where she is and where she will go next.
That hit me hard. I thought I had two more years to finish the letting go process; it never occurred to me that it must start now.
She sets her own alarm to wake up so I really don’t have to get up in the morning. But I want to hug her, watch her leave and remind her that I love her.
She can make her own lunch, but I do that, too, because when she sits down to eat I want her to remember that someone knows just how she likes her peanut butter and jelly and whether or not she is tired of carrots and ranch dip.
And even though it’s just the three of us, we eat together around the table as much as her schedule allows, because Jim and I want her to know that even if she is our only child at home, she is still worth setting the table for.
For the next two years, I’m going to let go where I must and hold on where I can.
Jul 16, 2008 | Love
In this post I began this discussion of the hill I refuse to die on. This is the rest of the list.
- Noise Teenagers are loud. As long as they are inside my house and not disturbing my neighbors, I don’t care how loud they are — I’m just glad they are safe at my house. They can raise the roof for all I care.
- Bedtime I’m a night owl myself, so unless it’s a school night, I don’t care how late they stay up. They like to have friends over and it’s a badge of honor to stay up until sunrise. What the heck?
- Messiness Teenagers are either messy or miserable. If you invite them over, they will mess up your house. So what? The time will come when there are no teenagers around and your house will only be as messy as you are.
- Planning. They do not plan. They may say they are going to dinner at one place, change plans at the last minute and not eat dinner at all. They are spontaneous and decisions are made via text message. Go with the flow. Just make sure your teen lets you know where they are at all times. I strongly advise learning to text if you don’t already.
- Thong underwear. Ick. Yeah, I know. If she really wants a string up her butt, I’m not gonna fight it. Besides, they take up much less room in the washing machine. Just don’t pick them up by the string. I don’t have to explain that, do I?
For all of their complications and weirdness, they are some of the most enjoyable people you will ever know. They are honest, idealistic and blissfully unrealistic. If you can be patient, flexible, non-judgmental and willing to laugh at yourself, you can have a blast with them. If not … prepare to be driven out of your mind.
Jun 18, 2008 | Love
Life with teenagers requires some flexibility. No, as the parent you really don’t have to bend, but if you’re wise, you’ll figure out which things are deal breakers and which are not. Fighting with your teen over minor issues will ruin both your lives. Is that really what you want them to remember about their last few years at home? Pick your battles. Here, in no particular order, are the issues I consider minor in the grand scheme of things.
- Weight Barring a serious health issue, never mention weight, especially to a teenage girl. If they have an extra pound or two, I promise you they are more than aware of it. To point it out to them is to add insult to injury. My girls have never struggled with weight, but I did and I remember once my mother mentioned it to me. Bad idea.
- Language I never tolerate the Lord’s name taken in vain, but words like crap, sucks, piss, the occasional damn or hell do not freak me out. Even on occasion, in a time of great stress, something stronger — as long as it’s around close friends and/or family and not in public. The teenage years are arguably the most difficult of life; the pressures are greater at younger ages than ever before. If they are otherwise walking the straight and narrow, sometimes it may be wise to allow them to let off a little steam in a safe environment.
- Hair Length, color, style. My youngest daughter has twice dyed her hair: the first time it was fuschia; the second time it was a purple streak down the back. She had fun, it’s gone now. No harm, no foul.
- Piercings We’ve done more ear piercings that I can count, including cartilage and one belly button. It’s not my taste, but both my girls are clean-cut lovely young ladies; my 16-year-old just likes to pierce her ears; my 19-year-old pierced her belly button as a reward for straight As her senior year. It’s not a moral issue.
Sorry if some of these offend, but I’ve got two bright, warm, loving and morally upright kids, so it’s working for us. And if you want to be offended again, come back for Part Two later this week.
Disclaimer: This post in no way constitutes professional advice and is not endorsed by the Surgeon General, American Psychological Association or Dr. Phil. I do, however have a sister and brother-in-law who are psychiatrists and they probably agree with me on most of these points, so it’s all good.
May 13, 2008 | Love
This photo of my girls was taken in 1992.
This past Sunday, Mother’s Day, I celebrated my 20th anniversary of motherhood. It began about this time of year in 1988 — my first pregnancy. While lying on the couch one afternoon, I felt a strange fluttering in my abdomen, which I immediately recognized as life.
Some highlights of my 20 years as a mom:
- My husband talked to my stomach throughout both pregnancies. My girls knew his voice and quieted to it at birth.
- Nursing.
- The first smile, solid food, step, word, hug, kiss, I love you. The first day of school, first day of middle school, first day of high school, first love, first kiss, first heartbreak.
- The sex talk.
- Many, many meals together around our kitchen table.
- Being excited for her as she prepares for college while my heart breaks at the thought of her leaving my home.
- My youngest daughter wraps her foot around mine when we snuggle, and says, yeah girl, when I call her. She knows that she can invite her friends over first and ask later.
- My oldest daughter takes my hand during church, looks into my eyes, pulls me close to her and smiles. She sends me text messages and tells me she can’t wait to come home from college and hang out with me.
I miss the tiny shoes, huge hair bows, sticky hands, dirty faces and the innocence, but I love the conversations, lunches, shopping, text messages and the time when a daughter becomes a friend.
May 1, 2008 | Love
This photo was taken in the summer of 1994, when my girls were two and five-and-a-half. They are now 16 and 19. Time flies.
About 19 years ago I read a magazine article that talked about how we often wish our children’s lives away. I can’t wait until the first smile, can’t wait until they can sit up, crawl, walk, talk, or the biggie … use the potty. I stuck the article on my refrigerator as a reminder to savor each moment. Though I’ve long since lost the article, its truth has stayed with me through the years.
A guy I know from Twitter reminded me of that old magazine article. The other day I realized that as of this writing, I have exactly 16 more times to drive a child to school and pick her up — ever. Next year, she’ll drive herself to school and I will be through with carpool line forever.
Though there are many things about child rearing that aren’t particularly enjoyable, I’m never ready to leave them behind. Nothing particularly fun about carpool line. Sitting and waiting, then fighting traffic. Potty training wasn’t such a joy and being awakened in the middle of the night by a screaming baby certainly was no day at the beach.
Though I’m often called sappy and overly sentimental, I’m glad I’ve allowed myself to dwell in some of these moments for a bit. Yesterday it was pacifiers, strollers and carseats — today it’s boys, cars and college — and tomorrow’s empty nest will come far too quickly.
Feb 18, 2008 | Live
Last week my daughter’s varsity cheer squad competed in a national competition. They are a highly-talented and experienced group with the potential to win or at least place very high in the competition. Unfortunately, Murphy’s Law ruled and they placed a miserable 18th (out of 20 in the division). They were devastated.
Since I believe that all things really do work together for good (Romans 8:28), I’ve been thinking about what kind of good can come of this defeat. We learned:
- Our self-worth is not tied to our achievements and defeat does not take away our gifts, talents and abilities.
- Those who truly count in our lives love and accept us despite our defeat.
- Sometimes we are better for having tried that which is difficult, even if we fail.
They could have played it safe and won handily with a simple routine that didn’t stretch or push them in any way. But their coach, recognizing their talent and abilities, crafted one of the most creative — and difficult — cheer routines I have ever seen. It required amazing strength, endurance and confidence; and it pressed them to learn new things that they would otherwise never have known; they were stretched to (and perhaps beyond) their limits.
Though winning is much more fun, I’m kind of glad they shot for the moon; maybe we all need to try something that is far too difficult from time to time, instead of always going with what we know is safe.
Feb 11, 2008 | Enjoy
I overheard this conversation between the pilot and the flight attendant, after landing in Atlanta enroute to Memphis. They were standing right outside the cockpit door as passengers were leaving the plane.
Flight Attendant: Was that a good landing?
Pilot: yeah
Flight Attendant: Pretty good for Day 2.
Enough said.
