Before I forget what I realized

Children, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized
My heart

My heart

I realized a parenting truth last week.

Time has not been kind to my writing joy.

I must record this truth. I must remind myself of its clarity.

The only writing this past week has been penciled in thoughts about prayer, faith, rewriting and remembering.

Busy times, baseball season, lingering, annoying cold and cough.

So, my writing has been non-existent.

Last week, I scripted a prayer that came to me with ease.

My prayer, Lord, help me to know what to say and when to say it.

Give Heather and Austin the clarity they need and make yourself known to them daily, because I know you are there…in their hearts.

It occurred to me that being mama at this point is so much more about availability than ability.

So much more about staying back, yet being there when called upon.

More like waiting to be inquired of, being in tune with Quick to Listen, Slow to Speak way of love, of mothering.

Waiting to advise, to direct…so unmotherly.

Just to be there… waiting on sidelines, in background

And ready to answer with love.

Holding closely, loving wholeheartedly, pointing towards Jesus.

So, I must remember this parenting epiphany

I must record this knowledge to carry through the approaching moving away.

Be available as needed.

Only as needed.

They are able.

They have been trained.

Be there…love with availability, as needed, requested.

Train up a child in the way he should go…when they are old, they will not depart from it.  Proverbs 22:6

happy slumber

Children, family, Motherhood, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder
Slumbering

Slumbering

Last year this time, I headed home down ice abused streets.

Glancing towards windows as I drove.

Hoping for homes illuminated by the magic of electricity.

Ice ravaged our trees, our streets, tested our Southern spirits.

Walking into my den, I’m greeted by a den floor covered in mattresses.

Every blanket, quilt, afghan, cover or spread.

Beautifully, tidy and pretty.

My daughter has made our beds…and I am greeted with love and happy colors.

Everyone’s recalling the storm of 2014.

And I, this morning, in the quiet of early am cherishing this…

The time we slumbered together next to the fire.

When Heather made the beds.

Remembering now, my eyes moisten from the sweetness.

The happy place in the storm.

The happy slumber.

 

 

Sharing my Heart

courage, Faith, Motherhood, Trust, Vulnerability

 

Show your heart

Show your heart, crows feet, age spots and scars

Yesterday was the Monday we all love. The day off that falls after the Christmas and New Year’s days off.  It always feels to me like a gift, as if the timing of the date knows we all got spoiled rotten in the holidays, school out, time at home, cold outside, just lounging days after Christmas.

A day off from work in January is a sweet grace period before we really step up our game for the new and resolute year!

Of course, yesterday, an observance of a powerful leader who spoke of peace and rest, not strife and unrest made it even more appropriate that we “pause” in January on a day off from work.

However, at 8:30 ish, I get a text saying ” I need you.”

The nonprofit agency I oversee operates a homeless shelter for single mothers and their children. We embrace our families and facilitate lasting change for them.

Our mission. Pretty effective words, right?

Outcomes based and inputs focused…all the language of grantors, corporate or otherwise. I have a reputation of doing my absolute best to do what I say. Employees know this foundational truth about me.

And I do try.

Our approach is to help women acknowledge their role in homelessness along with the bad hand life may have dealt them. Staff ( I am blessed) who have just the right combination of empathy and structure spend at a minimum of  an hour a week, just talking about challenges, setting attainable goals.

Still, just as we all come with our scars, many of the women have deep, deep scars resulting in a closed off and protective approach.

Scars, no matter how scabbed over can be ugly.

Trauma has a way of hardening, hiding and disguising hearts. That way, they can’t be broken again.

Yesterday, I sat with a mama who had decided she was not going to talk to us anymore. She was going to bide her time and avoid a certain key staff member. Something had been said and even though the staff member apologized profusely, she was not going to budge.

Unfortunately, because Nurture Home requires meetings with staff, this refusal, going on a couple of weeks now, would not be tolerated.

I would need to tell her she and her children were being discharged.

Arriving at the shelter, tension filled and unpleasant, I first talked with the children and mama’s. All were situated in the den, braiding daughter’s hair, little girls braiding their baby dolls hair. One mama working on a job application while her son played a game. I simply said in front of the children, “I know there has been some yelling and some people have been angry…that is not good.”

I spoke, to the boys and girls, homeless and afraid, and told them that I knew they needed a calm house to live in, so I’m going to do my best for our house to stay that way.

Children who experience trauma, unrest, instability are keenly aware of the dynamics, the mood, the possible violence in their home. They are skilled at trying to determine what’s next, how to stay safe.

I know.  I was one of those children.

So, I promised them that we want them to be happy and not worry while they are living in our shelter.

The 7 yr. Old raised her hand and said,  “I have something to say, I’m happy, because I have a home. Nurture Home is my home.”

And then, she asked if I could braid her doll’s hair.

Still, the angry mama was not budging. Her heels were dug in and she refused to talk with staff. She and three children, one who sat next to me, head resting against my chest, would be leaving.

So, we gathered for our “one on one”. We talked about what the staff member had done that she would not forgive. The decision had been made, she and her children will leave at the end of week.

I told her that I didn’t want her to leave without talking things through with the staff member before leaving.

Because, I said, I know what you are doing. If you are angry and if you stay angry and leave, you don’t have to trust again.

You don’t have to take the chance of being disappointed by another person you thought cared.

And then, I did the thing that’s taboo in my work.

 Self-disclosure…”don’t let your clients see your insecurities…they’ll use it against you, you’ll lose your power.”

I disagree. If my struggle is not used for good…it’s stays just that, my struggle, my pain, my scar.

I asked her to look at me and I said. “If you leave Nurture Home because you are afraid to trust, we have failed you. I see what you’re doing. We all have ways of protecting our hearts.  My childhood taught me to stay in the background, not cause problems, never challenge anyone who mistreated me. I stayed safe that way along time”, I told her.

“That’s not safe. That’s trapped. The victory is in being vulnerable and courageous at the same time, not tolerating bad, but being open to good”.

She cried. I held her. She cried again. I told her,  ” I don’t want to discharge you.”  “I don’t want to leave.” She said through tears.

Where is it safe to share your heart?

Go there.

A Quoteworthy friend – there for them always

Children, courage, Faith, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
Timeless, little brother, big sister

Timeless, little brother, big sister

Is there a price tag on the value of seeing smiles on the faces of our children?

I can’t fathom the worth.

Nor can a very good and wise friend who loved his little boy and loves his adult son with no limits, no accounting of financial investment or sacrifice.

My friend is true and kind and quoteworthy.

His words are timely and were seen through all of sudden tear-filled eyes.

I love my children. He loves his son. No record of Debt, unconditionally, honored to give, a demonstration of love.

On a Saturday morning, I check my email and a wisdom-filled friend takes time from his Saturday to say:

“It’s not just money.  Everything you give a child unconditionally, every ounce of support, assures him or her that you love them. And when they are 32 years old, and you tell them that even though you don’t know all that is going on in their lives at that moment, 
you are there for them always……you can get a text back saying, “I knew that all along.”

Kind words from a friend are like honey. Proverbs 16:24

 

 

Adore

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, Uncategorized, wonder

IMG_20140709_080051_kindlephoto-26148347

I love pretty words.

The last time I used the word “adore” was to describe a photo of my daughter.

I cannot recall the occasion, maybe birthday.

She sat on the couch, looked over and smiled

Beauty, grace and love captured in a snap.

Her beautiful blue eyes.

Her confident, determined ease.

I refreshed my memory on the definition of “adore” and so understand the writer’s exhortation now as we are prompted

” Oh, come let us adore Him.”

Asking, the onlookers, ancient and amazed…to adore Christ the Lord!

And so, let us adore Him, let us overflow with joy, excitement and love as we humbly and blessedly imagine the beauty of the newborn king, our glorious Savior.

Five-Minute-Friday-4

Mommy not Mama

Children, family, Motherhood, rest, Teaching, Vulnerability

2014-12-03 14.17.31

Last night, my daughter was exhausted and cold.

Wrapped tightly in a quilt and settled in on the couch, she asked me to wake her before going to bed.

“Okay” I said, thinking  “It’s really late.”

She needed to finish something so it was important I wake her up, she said.

The “something” I discovered was two loads of laundry…her 4K students’ covers for nap time.

Princess covers, gingham checks, Batman, Tranformers and fluffy, daisy colors

 There had been a “bug” going around, she said.  “My babies need clean covers.”

I let her sleep while I folded.

Warm and sweet-smelling from the dryer, then with  sentimental bittersweetness, took my time stacking fleecy fabric into the container next to her door for early morning ease.

I lightly roused her from sleep. Told her, “Good night, I love you.”

Then I fell asleep, thinking “There’s no better feeling than waking a sleeping child and being met by a tender smile and wobbly legs finding their way towards bed.”

That’s Mommy, not mama.

Mommy moments like this have no expiration date or age limit…timeless love.

joy, peace, hope, love

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

20141205_210755_kindlephoto-62333873

One morning last week, I prayed before leaving the house. Not your typical “Keep us in your will and help us to be a witness” generic pill form prayer

Maybe, you know the prayer I prayed.

Imploring words, unashamed lifted up, open hands of surrender and honesty

Raw requests for the power of God to change hearts, minds, actions.

Intercessory prayer for the people I love, daughter, son, husband that their hearts begin to humble.

There has been a sense of hovering uncertainty and frustration and a whole lot of eggshell walking avoidance and unwillingness to bend in our family.

Nothing life-threatening just moody, stubborn, head strong battles over not so important things

Each of us, simultaneously on the brink of meltdowns over each one’s unique discontent

So, I prayed for them; but, lingered mostly on me.

Lord, let your love, you joy, your patience and your grace infuse my being.

Influence my words, my thoughts, my reactions.

Lord, help not pitch a fit, throw my hands up, begin a pity party or have the posture of a martyr.

Disorder is not of you, or from you Lord.

How could I not remember that this strain and stress are not what you would have for my family?

What you, Lord have for my family are Joy, Peace, Love, and Hope.

I am confident of this, for you are our Savior

Savior of my daughter, my son, my husband.

Our peace, not selfish ugliness

Our love, not angry, refusing to bend disapproval

Our joy, not disappointment

Our hope, not our “washing our hands” of a challenge or of one another

And so, last night rather than ornaments I used words to adorn our tree. Visuals of God’s reminders of the things he brings to our hearts and our homes…Joy, Peace, Love and Hope.

TMI – knowing too much

courage, Faith, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
Trusting without knowing

Trusting without knowing

I’m pretty sure I was rude twice yesterday.  A discussion was going on with a committee at a table across the room.  Someone said,  “I bet Lisa knows.”  I quickly spoke up and said, pretending to be not so serious,   “Of course, I do. People think I know everything.”  A friend’s face turned towards me as if to say,  “Got the message loud and clear, stop asking Lisa to have all the answers.”  Said friend is a board member and knows firsthand the variety of rather serious requests and issues I tackle. He’s a huge support. Still, his look said it all. I was rude.

Lately, though, there are so many things I just don’t know.  Things I thought would be clear, that are causing me to wait, requiring me to see my quite minimal role in the big picture of outcomes. The ones close to home and to heart, my children.  Things I thought would line up, using an “if this… then, this approach.”  What I’m realizing in this time of faith testing is just how little I do know…a lesson in humility and a reminder of my role in God’s plan, to trust.

I was able to answer the question. I did, in fact have the answer and since I was among friends, I hope only minimal damage was done. I apologized. The topic was suicide, all questions are hard.

After awhile, you just need a break from the hard questions. The not knowing and not being able to know is exhausting. After all, I’m not a Survivor of Suicide Loss, I just know people who are.  They are truly left not knowing, imagine their struggle, their fatigue.

I’ve met people who have told me their gut wrenching stories and so, yes, I do have insight on the subject.  That insight, those stories have taken up residence in my mind and so I notice, I contemplate, I filter circumstances and demeanor of friends and family through the chronicles of survivor’s stories. I look too closely sometimes, putting too much pressure on myself, probably those around me.

When it comes to suicide, people say things they shouldn’t.

People don’t say things they should.  

Still I know the checklist of signs, the right questions to ask are stored in my mind and far too often, I’m stuck in the quick sand of thinking, analyzing, researching.

What if this happens in my life?

What does this mood mean?  Will this disappointment lead to hopelessness? Will someone I love be so lost and alone or so in fear of what might be or what can’t be that they decide to take their life?

This is when knowledge is too much, too much knowing, not enough trusting. This is when God reminds me who He is and I am once again enveloped in the wings of His grace, His mercy, His knowledge….such knowledge is too much for me!

When I know too much, have too much expertise,  I forget who God is.  When what I understand overshadows what God already knows I’m nothing but perplexed. My knowledge is too much. It is useless and damaging, almost suffocating.  It is then I am lost and hopeless. Then, that I have positioned myself as all-knowing instead of knowing the one who knows all. It is then, I am reminded to return and rest…to be me, quiet and confident. (Isaiah 30:15)

Tomorrow, I will say a few words to welcome a group of Survivors of Suicide loss at our Out of the Darkness Walk.   I will simply remind them that I care.

Day 29: looking for good- dirt road to home

family, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
digging potatos

Digging potatoes A hundred years from now…the world will be different because of moments like these, with my children, dirt road riding, potato digging, grandma visits.

The joy of my mama’s house, my grandma’s house was in the dirt.  There was a path, a cut through to the pond that stretched right down the middle of soybeans on one side and corn on the other. When the corn grew high we couldn’t see my grandma’s house shaded by chinaberry trees. Those days, we’d run through the field, green corn stalks and silky leaves swishing against our skin.

Every year, my daddy planted potatoes and when the weather turned cool, the days shorter it was time to dig.  All our hands diggin’ them up at harvest.  I remember my daddy holding the little new potatoes, caressing them, dusting off the dirt and then rubbing them smooth before tossing each potato into the washtub.

The Fall before he died was his last harvest.  Heather and Austin sat in the dirt, laid in the dirt tumbling around while my daddy, feeble, yet determined supervised the potato digging. The cousins sitting in the field, their bottoms cushioned by the cool, damp autumn soil.

Little fingers sifting through the sand, enamored by its touch.

The cool, smooth pieces of home.

We moved away after daddy died; but, came back to grandma’s most weekends. We’d pack up and make the trip winding roads from Carolina to Georgia just to be in the country with grandma.

To run in the fields, fish off the dock, play tricks on grandma’s scavenger dog, Sunny.

Mama kept telling us the County was going to be paving the road.  She’d say,  “These people have raised enough hell, and running up and down the roads driving too fast, I guess they’ll get what they want!”   But, months and years went by and we still walked to the creek run-around and picked blackberries in the deep ditches. Heather learning to drive as we explored the hills, curves and valleys on the dirt roads of Peacock Hill.

Mama warned us one day they had paved the roads. “You’ll see next time you come”.  She tried to prepare us, describe the way the road had changed and how there were no more curves but stop signs and markers for my granddaddy’s road, “W.D. Peacock Rd.”

So. we hit the road to Georgia, to the house set back on the pond, down twisting dirt road off the highway, following the path to grandma’s .

Making our usual turn off the Highway 80, it just got quiet in the car. Time stopped, the wheels turned and the car moved, tentatively as we mourned the road.  Usually, I’d switch drivers, running around the back off the car, skipping along, passing Heather on the way to let her take my place behind the wheel or Austin sometimes would plop in my lap, steering.

But, the fascination gone now, we drove on like good, city travelers on a busy highway, my children behaving like a trip to school or the Dr. or even to church.

Resigned to accept the change, the journey had lost its joy.

Not the destination though, grandma’s house…at the end of the rutted, filled with washed out gulleys from rain, bumpy slow going path through the soybeans.

We lingered on the dirt driveway, bouncing along, falling into each other with every dip, slower, more intentional than usual.

Our brief time on the dirt road…our glorious dirt road home

Prompted earlier to think of home, to write about home, http://jenniferdukeslee.com

Day 22: looking for good – straining too hard to see

Children, courage, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Vulnerability
Finding God

Finding God

Yesterday was a long day.

Still recovering from infection

Employees out

Deadlines and difficulties

Late meeting

These were the tangible.  Things I could resolve or at least improve by doing something.

The intangibles, though we’re swirling around my thoughts all day, one interrupting the other, colliding with tangible.

The thoughts, the questions, the lingering pending situations kept coming back around all day long. Intangibles are persistent interruptions.

What will the Dr.say tomorrow?

What if my employee is lying?

Will my children’s futures hold what they’ve worked for?

Hoped for…dreamed of?

Will they be healthy and free of emotional hardship? What if Ebola…?

Why do I feel my prayers aren’t heard?

Should I really believe that God has equipped me to write…to share my story for good?

And on and on until days end, driving to the evening meeting, an obligation for image sake.

Sometimes I sing my prayers. It’s a pretty amazing thing when it happens because it’s essentially a flow of thoughts, words. Like coming up with lyrics to a song…the words just come.

Not yesterday though…I started off,  Dear Lord, I’m thankful. I am grateful and….” then, nothing.

So, desperate words, spoken softly as I drove came easy.  “Dear Lord,  I just need to hear from you, to have a glimpse of good.”

Home an hour or so later, a usually tension filled meeting adjourned quickly.  My son is happy and home. My daughter announces her school’s major accomplishment received today, exactly a year since her 1st day teaching there. My son tweets Matthew 6:34. My daughter enjoys my cooking, saying “that’s some pretty good Quiche there, Lisa.”  I go to bed without a headache for first time in days. To be sure, I was thinking of my honest request, my prayer.

This morning, my Jesus Calling devotion started with finding Joy in my presence. A few lines later,

Recall that I am present with you whether you sense my Presence or not.  Then, start talking with me about whatever is on your mind. JESUS CALLING, Enjoying Peace in His Presence

But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord.  I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me.  Micah 7:7