View

When I used to dream of my dream house there was always a window over the sink looking out into the backyard. I imagined myself standing at the sink washing dishes, watching the children play or my husband grill. I could see the lush grass and the blooming flowers and trees dancing in the wind as the children laughed and ran. And I'd sigh dreamily while I washed away the remains of a dinner shared at a table after prayers and during meaningful conversations.

Then the daydreaming stops and my view of the present is my husband at his laptop answering emails or perusing Facebook or completing an assignment for another class. He only looks up when he is asked a question or someone changes the channel, immersed in his cyber solace. I can see my 10 year old daughter on her iPod texting her best friend or downloading her new favorite song. She is still a little girl although her body defies that, her thoughts and world are still full of innocence and wonder. I can see my 8 year old son drawing a picture of his newest anime character while watching the newest Air-Bender episode. He dreams of creating things no one else ever has, living in a world of a bit of reality and fantasy, always asking questions and searching for answers. I can not see my 18 year old son because he is upstairs brooding in his room because he was stood up by his friend yet again. He emerges for food and showering and complaining and will be graduating in 9 days, leaving for boot camp in 15. I can not see my 22 year old daughter because I do not know where she is or what she is doing. She has alienated herself from our family with her choices, her actions and her words. With all the hurt and the distance, I still miss her. I can not see my 22 year old son because his visiting hours were yesterday and I can not bring myself to take his calls, let alone visit him while he is incarcerated. He is waiting for an open bed in a rehab facility, counting down the days until his release so he can see his 3 year old son and meet his one year old daughter. I pray for redemption for him and his young family.

Sometimes I long for the view from my dream home, where there does not seem to be any heartache or questioning, where there is only dinner to be washed away, not tears or uncertainty. And then I realize that those I can see right now and right here before me, my husband and my 10 year old and 8 year old.....they are my dream and my reality. God has given me more than my daydreaming ever could.

I just need to embrace it and enjoy the view.    

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America's Favorite Game

Noah decided he wanted to wanted to play baseball this year. So, I signed him up online and Rick took him to tryouts and Meet the Coach. Come to find out he already knew his coach...Rick got roped into ended up coaching his team after the original coach opted out for the season.

During practice, Noah started to get the hang of the basics and started hitting the leather off the ball. But, during game time he is satisfied with getting a base hit once in a while and playing the outfield. He doesn't even mind sitting on the bench once in a while.

What he likes most about baseball, though, is spending time with Rick. He enjoys winning and can't wait to get the coveted game ball, but what he loves the most is being with his coach.

That must be why it's known as America's favorite game.

Song

Years ago, it wouldn't matter where I was, in the car, the house, on the treadmill, there would have been music to accompany whatever I was doing. Singing in the shower was not abnormal for me. If I couldn't sing, then I would hum. I always felt like there was a song in my heart and I wanted, needed to share it.

Then something happened or maybe it was a lot of somethings, but the song started to get quieter and quieter until one day I noticed that it had stopped. I tried to sing, but nothing sounded right. Even humming was just a busy sound in my ears. No longer did songs or singing soothe and heal me, but they were hurtful reminders of years past, dreams lost and expectations unmet.

I want to get the music back, but I am at a loss as to how to do it. My daughter was just accepted into a performing arts school for vocals. She sings from the time she wakes up until she goes to bed, music playing as she sleeps. My son also sings, even making up songs that only make sense to him and the song in his heart. My husband is a weekend DJ, pumping songs into venues to help ends meet, but also because it is in his veins. He is the current reigning champion for 80's music trivia and breaks out into song during our daily lives so much it sometimes feels like we live in a musical. He would love for me to allow him to softly play music at night as we drift off to sleep.  

But, I can't find my song. Most of it sounds like jumbled noise to me or a reminder of the painful past or some recent shortcoming.

I long for a song, but I just can't hear it.

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Brave

I sure didn't feel brave. It just felt like what I was suppose to do, what I was created to do. I had made choices to bring me to this place and all I could do was lean in and hold on to the Lord.

Every decision has a consequence and mine had made me a single mother at 17.  I tried to embrace it with grace and dignity, but found myself many times lonely and discouraged, disappointed in the path I had chosen.    

Every day I was scared to death. I'd go to school at an unfamiliar campus in an unfamiliar town. I went to work afraid of messing up for an overbearing boss. I would come home and be afraid that I would not be able to raise this child on my own, not have enough money, patience or faith.   I tried to be brave, but I felt anything but.

The day I finally went into labor, I felt ready because I was 10 days overdue, not because the nursery was set up or the car seat was installed. I was still scared and anxious, but knew there was no alternative. Ready or not, it was time.

I opted for a natural birth. With the help of my sister and friend, I was able to begin to push without any medicinal assistance. I was feeling a bit empowered, but was tired and feeling so many emotions. But, not one bit brave.

After two unsuccessful hours of pushing, I was given an epidural and prepped for a c-section. My mother begged the doctor to try forceps or something to help the baby out naturally as she knew I had wanted to avoid surgery if I could. The doctor, a Christian, agreed to it as long as my mother asked the family and church to pray. He told he would try for 10 minutes, until 7:40 PM.

My son came into this world at 7:39 PM. Not a minute too late, not a minute too soon.  

It wasn't until I held him for the first time that I felt brave. Brave enough to choose life, brave enough to raise this man-child by myself, brave enough to go to college and pursue a degree in education.

And on each birthday, when he would blow out his candles and make a wish, I felt brave. Brave enough to keep going, to be his Momma, to open my heart to love and be loved again. Brave enough to do it again. Twice.

Motherhood made me brave and continues to spur me on to choose to be brave every day.

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For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. 2 Timothy  1:17 (NIV)