A Mother's Memories

I'm turning 50 in October. (I'll pause while the clapping subsides.) My children have left my nest and gone to a far off land (Texas). For some reason, these two events have culminated in an urge to memorialize my journey of motherhood, in case I forget. Because I'm almost 50. These memories will be in random order, as the majority of my memories are these days. Because I'm almost 50.

* I remember...that I didn't want to leave the hospital after my daughter was born, because it meant I would be responsible for this very little person. Plants do not live long in my house, so I was rather skeptical about my daughter's chances. Fortunately, very small people are much hardier than plants.

* I remember...the sensation of a child kicking in my stomach, and never feeling like more of a woman, before or since.

* I remember...the smell of my baby's neck...possibly the sweetest smell on earth.

* I remember...cuddling with my son, knowing how sad I would be when the day came when he would no longer need me that way. The day came and went. I was right.

* I remember...somewhere along the way I developed my "calm voice", because it was the only voice my highly emotional and dramatic daughter would respond to. It usually worked, but not always. I would then revert to yelling, which rarely worked, but usually resulted in a moment of satisfaction at the stunned, almost frightened look on her face. A brief moment, that I cherished.

* I remember...singing both of my kids to sleep with "Puff the Magic Dragon", of which I only knew one verse, and I'm not even sure I had the words right. I sang that one verse over and over. They didn't care. Sometimes, to ease the ache, I find myself humming that familiar tune.

* I remember...my daughter's inability to go ask for more ketchup when we were at a fast food restaurant, so my son (3 years younger) did it for her. She's much braver now.

* I remember...the sound of my son's world from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep again. Never ending sounds of cars, trucks, trains and planes as he made his matchbox vehicles come to life, complete with crashing sounds (because what's the point of a car that doesn't crash?). The sounds are faint now, but still there.

* I remember...longing for a quiet house, and now hating that quiet.

* I remember...the sound of their friends...girls upstairs in my daughter's room, giggling, squealing, whispering. Boys downstairs...yelling, laughing, eating (never whispering). Me, sitting in the dining room at the computer, smiling at the sounds of life in my house.

* I remember...the knot in my stomach (that has never quite gone away) that arrived at the same time as the first driver's license.

* I remember...a cold rag always made them feel better when they were sick or hurt. They didn't know that it was all I knew to do for them.

* I remember...getting up in the middle of the night, going into their room and watching them sleep. They were teenagers. The wonder of it never left.

* I remember...the day each of them left home, waiting until they were gone to have my emotional breakdown because I needed them to leave without guilt.

* I remember...my son's sick-to-his-stomach excitement on Christmas Eve. Last year. He was 20.

* I remember...the almost overwhelming excitement of my kids' stepping into their future as adults, at the same time feeling just as overwhelmed with sadness that they were stepping out of their past, on their own, without me.

* I remember...that my kids are healthy, strong, brave, and have hearts that are running hard after God. And then I remember that He was there through it all...loving them, protecting them, and making sure they didn't go the way of so many houseplants.

There's so much more. So many moments, sounds, smells that come upon me out of nowhere. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I cry, and sometimes I tell God I'm sorry.

But mostly, I thank God that I remember. Because I'm almost 50.

Show Me...Thank You...Make Me

"Show me Your glory!". Great song, recorded by Third Day, one of my favorite worship bands. It's also a common cry in the Church. Well, maybe not all churches, but in mine, and those like mine, it is heard often. (Yes. I am one of those...charismatic to my core. We can talk about that another time.)

We didn't make up the phrase, you know. Moses did, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't one of those kind of Christians. So it's legitimate, this "show me" cry that we pray and sing with such urgency. Here is a clip of the conversation between Moses and God:

Exodus 33:18-19

"Then Moses said, "Now show me Your glory."  And the LORD said, "I will cause all My goodness to pass in front of you..."

This intrigued me. Moses asked for glory, so God showed His goodness. I don't know if "goodness" is what Moses was after, nor what His church is after when they ask to see His glory. To be honest, I have no idea what people are after when they ask for glory. It seems rude to ask, so I just smile, like I know exactly what's going on. It's how I live.

"Glory" has always been one of those abstract words for me.  I'm a visual person, so in order for me to grasp something, I generally have to know what it looks like. I suspect this is behind my inability to do math. Or comprehend directions. (don't think too long on that, just nod your head up and down like it makes all the sense in the world.)

So I studied this "Glory" word in an attempt to figure out what it looks like so that I too could cry "show me Your glory" without feeling like a complete fraud. I don't really care for praying or singing something when I really have no idea what I'm saying. I'm quirky that way...among many other ways.

What I discovered is that His glory is the display of who He is. In a nutshell, when we cry out "show us Your glory", we're saying "show us who You are!". Ok, now we're getting somewhere. I can get my head around that. So while others are shouting for glory, I'm shouting "show me You!". Not out loud mind you. "show me You" is a bit awkward when you're the only one shouting it during church, and I like to fit in at least a little.

And here is the meat of my story. I've seen His glory, many times, in many ways. His unconditional love that moved Him to die on my behalf so that I would not have to pay the ultimate price for my sin? Glory. The many choices I've made in my life that did not result in what I deserved soley because of His mercy poured out? Glory. The strength that has risen up in me to continue to trust Him in the face of impossibilities? Glory. The comfort He has wrapped around me when my heart was in amazing pain? Glory. I could go on and on. His glory has been all over my life, and in the lives of so many others that I walk beside in this life.

That was the first step in this 'revelation' of glory. From there, it became less about "show me", and more about "thank You for Your glory!" But it didn't end there. It rarely ends there. He took me another step, because afterall, that's what this journey is...one step after another.

If we are asking to see His glory, where do we want to see it? Are we waiting for it to fall down and just hover above our heads? Please tell me we want something more than that...more than some ethereal essence floating around that we can play in. (Seriously...I've heard people talk...and I just gotta wonder). Ok, I'll make it about me. I want God to be seen, by me and by those around me. I want His love seen, His mercy, His compassion, His encouragement and comfort. In me. On display. Evident to anyone watching.

So once again He has altered the cry of my heart. Now, the primary shout coming from the deep in me is "make me a display of You!". And I do shout that one out loud, and I want others to shout it out loud. Why? Because I don't want the Church to remain content to observe His glory. I want them to hunger to display His glory.

God has His work cut out, if He's going to answer this new cry of my heart. I may occassionaly display His glory, but I am a display of my own glory far more often. In bright lights and living color. But I have faith in God's ability to reshape and transform people, and in His ability and desire to answer the hungry cry of a flawed heart. He's quirky like that.

I Was Made For This

I am a follower, and always have been. I like it that way. The benefits far outweigh the risks, in my opinion. It is inevitable that something is going to go wrong at some point. When it does, who does everyone look at? The followers? Nope. The guy in front gets to raise his hand to the inevitable question, "who's in charge around here?". And the tough decisions? Not my job. I'm a follower, remember? If there's a hole to fall into, a trap to be sprung, (sprung? Is that word?) a cliff to walk off of, someone else will do it first. I happen to think it's an ingenious method for living life.

Some people are born to lead. I was born to discover ways not to lead. I've spent 50 years perfecting the art of deferring to someone else's "where do we go?...when do we go?... how do we get there?, and what's for dinner?"

As it turns out, my ability (and desperation) to follow someone literally saved my life. After years of following anything and anyone until I followed right into a mess of a life, I got an invitation to follow Jesus. I didn't say yes right away, but waited to see if there was some other way out, someone else looking for a follower...someone not quite so intimidating, someone with less rules. Desperation finally drove me to reach out and accept the invite.

Twenty-one years later, I'm still doing what I was born to do. Following...desperately following. And I feel safe. I am at peace. I know where I'm going, but I'm not in charge of getting me there. For a follower, it doesn't get any sweeter than that.