I thought the mommy wars were over.
My neighbor told me about a recent comment that her daughter's friend had made. My neighbor's daughter, with a MA from Notre Dame and working in finance in downtown Chicago, has just had her first baby. Her dream had always been to stay home with a child, and she has now made the choice to put her career on hold and raise her son. When informed of Sara's decision, one of her working friends expressed her shock and said to her, "But Sara, you're so smart!!"
Gulp.
Again, I thought the mommy wars ended in the 1980's when women got it out of their respective systems to criticize the "other camp" of mothering choices. I thought those battles and those biases were long in the past.
Apparently not.
As women, don't we all just make the best decisions we can for our children? And if that decision for some reason is forced upon us, don't we just try to do the best we can? There are moms who choose to be home and moms who work and both absolutely love their choices. I know working mothers who would love to be stay-at-home moms but their husbands are out of work and they have to take the reins. I know stay-at-home moms who would love to be working but cannot find a job.
If women are putting their child's best interests first, then whatever choice she feels does that is the best choice, is it not?
I was passionate about staying home to be with my son. I could easily put my career on hold because I knew there were always jobs. I knew there was only one window of time for me to stay at home and guide my newborn into boyhood. I knew enough developmental psychology to know that he needed abundant amounts of security, familiarity, routine, physical touch, verbal interaction and cognitive stimulation. Dick and I felt that I could do that job better than a daycare provider could. (Add to that fact that I was so in love with this tiny person, I could hardly stand to leave him in one room and go into another for the first month :)
That was OUR choice for US. And while I remember feeling sorry for some of my working friends that they were missing out on the daily magic that I got to experience, I never disrespected the choice that they made to work. Neither did any of my working friends disrespect my choice.
I know a young new mom who wants desperately to be a stay-at-home mother, but she and her husband did what I think many are doing today. Making financial decisions based on two incomes. They bought a 2-income house and two 2-income cars. And they now have 2-income debts. And they need those 2 incomes to "make it." They are regretting living up to their means now.
When we got married, we put all of my income in savings and lived off of Dick's income and made all decisions based on one income so that I could have the choice to stay home when we had a child. By the time Sam was born, we knew we were able to meet all of our obligations because we had lived that way for years. That would be my advice to any young newly married couple. Because you really don't know how you are going to feel once that baby is in your arms. It was one of our best decisions in 30 years.
So my young friend asked me what I would do. She said, "I feel like we should sell this house and downsize to a small house with small payments that we can afford on J's income." I told her that if her heart's choice was to stay home with E, that would be a great idea. I told her I would do that in a heartbeat. I always say I would have eaten mac and cheese every night for the gift of staying home with my sweet boy.
I hate the mommy wars. It demeans those on both planes. We make choices only for ourselves, not for others. It should be no more a derisive issue between women than what type of home decor they each like.
Though Sara will never read this, I say to her and to any other stay at home mom: If anyone makes you feel that you are putting your "smarts" in a closet in order to do this job, they are ignorant. Ignore them. You will use more of your brain every day than you had thought possible.
It takes smart women to work in finance and it takes smart women to mold a young life and assume the roles of 24/7 nurse, guidance counselor, nutritionist, dancing partner, librarian and reader, playmate, chauffeur, mediator, body guard, teacher, toy repair guru, and housekeeper (and plenty more).
Hang in there, Sara. You made the choice of your heart, and are fulfilling a dream of what you want your mommyhood to be. You have my respect. Welcome to the hardest and most wondrous job on the planet!!
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
THE HARVEST
We walked into the large auditorium on campus. It was filling quickly. We found a seat and waited for the president to begin speaking to the "freshman parents." My emotions were like frayed nerves. I was trying intently to hold it all in until we said goodbye and left.
It was August 21 of 2010. I was one week out from hearing the words "stage 4 cancer." And I was dropping my only child off at college, facing an empty nest, an empty future, and death.
As the president started to say, "You will all be back in 4 years to see these young people walk across this stage...." it was almost more than I could take. I wanted to stand up and make a scene. I wanted to shout out, "NO, I WILL NOT see my son graduate. My ashes will be long spread over the earth in 4 years. STOP TELLING ME I WILL BE HERE."
Pain, the likes of which I had never endured, was seeping into every pore of my body. If you had asked me at that moment, I would have told you that this was more pain than my heart could bear. It was fathoms deep.
But there were no words to speak the unspeakable that day. They were swallowed in a fake smile and non-threatening conversation. I could not fall apart in front of my child as he is about to begin this exciting new chapter of his life.
The orientation was over, and the three of us walked to the car where we hugged and kissed one last time, the Lord gracious enough to allow only the amount of tears to flow that every other mom and dad were shedding by their respective cars that day.
We turned the car west and started home. The agony inside of me poured forth like flowing lava. I believed I had just left my son at college, never to see the young man he would become as he learned and matured and discovered and mastered and triumphed. I would miss it all. My husband would get to witness it all, and I would not. I would never see the harvest of so many seeds that were to be sown by new friends, new experiences, amazing professors, nurturing and challenging mentors.
That day, that blazing hot, humid August afternoon was a low to which I had never sunk in my life. It was a cross I believed I could never bear.
Torment was my oxygen for the next days as this reality sunk in, as more tests confirmed the unthinkable for my life. My only cogent thought: THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING.
But then.
Unknown to all but God, the cross was to be laid down. My death sentence seemed to be pardoned month after month as my "death date" came and went. Weeks became months and months became years. I still had cancer, but I was alive.
My God swathed me in resurrection grace.
I drove to that same campus in May of 2011 to bring my son home. And I took him the next August and got him the next May. And the next August. And this past August. And I hauled plastic bins up 4 flights of stairs on a 105-degree-heat-index day, with a smile on my face.
Because I am alive.
I am still alive. Me. Sinner. The most undeserving of people.
My soul cried out and God took that unbearable cross and laid it on the ground.
And in 23 days, we will drive to that campus and find seats in that same auditorium, and watch this wonderful young man walk across the stage to get his diploma. And I already know that the tears I held in 4 years ago will flow. Because this was the gift I could not imagine ever getting. It was beyond all thought at one time. And it is now a reality. I get to witness this four-year harvest.
Only because I worship and serve and love a great and gracious Savior. Giver of all gifts. Who sometimes makes a bridge for his children over oceans of pain and takes their hand as they step onto land again.
Great glory be to the One who held my pain, and then redeemed it.
It was August 21 of 2010. I was one week out from hearing the words "stage 4 cancer." And I was dropping my only child off at college, facing an empty nest, an empty future, and death.
As the president started to say, "You will all be back in 4 years to see these young people walk across this stage...." it was almost more than I could take. I wanted to stand up and make a scene. I wanted to shout out, "NO, I WILL NOT see my son graduate. My ashes will be long spread over the earth in 4 years. STOP TELLING ME I WILL BE HERE."
Pain, the likes of which I had never endured, was seeping into every pore of my body. If you had asked me at that moment, I would have told you that this was more pain than my heart could bear. It was fathoms deep.
But there were no words to speak the unspeakable that day. They were swallowed in a fake smile and non-threatening conversation. I could not fall apart in front of my child as he is about to begin this exciting new chapter of his life.
The orientation was over, and the three of us walked to the car where we hugged and kissed one last time, the Lord gracious enough to allow only the amount of tears to flow that every other mom and dad were shedding by their respective cars that day.
We turned the car west and started home. The agony inside of me poured forth like flowing lava. I believed I had just left my son at college, never to see the young man he would become as he learned and matured and discovered and mastered and triumphed. I would miss it all. My husband would get to witness it all, and I would not. I would never see the harvest of so many seeds that were to be sown by new friends, new experiences, amazing professors, nurturing and challenging mentors.
That day, that blazing hot, humid August afternoon was a low to which I had never sunk in my life. It was a cross I believed I could never bear.
Torment was my oxygen for the next days as this reality sunk in, as more tests confirmed the unthinkable for my life. My only cogent thought: THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING.
But then.
Unknown to all but God, the cross was to be laid down. My death sentence seemed to be pardoned month after month as my "death date" came and went. Weeks became months and months became years. I still had cancer, but I was alive.
My God swathed me in resurrection grace.
I drove to that same campus in May of 2011 to bring my son home. And I took him the next August and got him the next May. And the next August. And this past August. And I hauled plastic bins up 4 flights of stairs on a 105-degree-heat-index day, with a smile on my face.
Because I am alive.
I am still alive. Me. Sinner. The most undeserving of people.
My soul cried out and God took that unbearable cross and laid it on the ground.
And in 23 days, we will drive to that campus and find seats in that same auditorium, and watch this wonderful young man walk across the stage to get his diploma. And I already know that the tears I held in 4 years ago will flow. Because this was the gift I could not imagine ever getting. It was beyond all thought at one time. And it is now a reality. I get to witness this four-year harvest.
Only because I worship and serve and love a great and gracious Savior. Giver of all gifts. Who sometimes makes a bridge for his children over oceans of pain and takes their hand as they step onto land again.
Great glory be to the One who held my pain, and then redeemed it.
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Tuesday, April 8, 2014
SERIOUSLY? HE IS DONE?
There are a handful of moments in one's life when there is a poignant intersection of great pride, relief, bittersweet sadness, and great excitement. When I received this package in the mail, I held one of those moments in my hands.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
SPRING BREAK 2014, LIDO KEY
Despite coughing up blood for 2 days and coming down with a bad cold and cough just a week prior to spring break, the Lord brought me through and I was able to head to Florida with my family last week. Three of Sam's buddies from college came with us, and we had a great time. These photos are really just for my parents as nobody else is very interested in anyone else's vacation pics (it's like someone watching endless baby videos of another's baby....). So, Mom and Dad, here is a peek at our week.
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| The guys were in the pool a couple times each day. |
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| The pool was wonderfully warm all week! |
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| Sam and Brandon on the shuffleboard court |
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| Me playing shuffleboard with Lee, Sam E, Brandon and Sam V, my 4 sons for the week!! You were right, Sam! You were squinting alot!! |
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| Sam and Lee |
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| Sam and Richie playing tennis |
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| Ask me how much food 4 young men can consume in one meal! These were only the first plates. It was a smorgasboard!! |
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| Sam and me, Lido Beach |
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| Richie and me |
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| Sam V, Sam E, Lee and Brandon |
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| Lee found a hibiscus on the ground |
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| Spring break 2014 |
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| Had a great week!! |
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
A LIFE CUT SHORT
The husband of a dear friend of mine has just died. My soul is aching with hers.
It is my wont to be able to extract at least a few fitting words to say on almost any occasion, but in this, I have fallen far far short. I cannot find my voice. I search for words of some import that could stem the bleeding of her heart. There are none.
I would like to be able to say to her, "I understand how you feel, Peg."
But I do not have a clue. While she is reaching out in the night across her bed searching in her sleep for the warmth that was Dwight for 33 years, I still can talk to, love, and touch my husband.
No, I do not have a clue.
Yes, I have known grief. But I have not known hers.
I would like to be able to tell her that over time, the fog will lessen, the vice grip on her emotions will loose, and she will once again notice the stars.
But, really, how am I to know any of this is true?
And even if I did, those sentiments right now would ring as hollow as a penny dropped in an empty barrel.
I have never visited the city of widowhood.
I have read about this city. Others have told me about their moving there, and how their lives have been since the move. I have even taught "Widowhood" in my Gerontology classes for 30 years, passing onto others the lay of the land.
But it is all second hand. Academic.
I have not had to live there.
It is where my sweet friend Peg lives now.
As she gets her bearings, I feel I have little to offer her. She knows she has my love and my prayers, but I can't even hug her....she lives across the country from me.
The grand irony is that while I feel hopelessly inadequate, she really is doing all the giving. Because after one 45-minute phone call with Peg, I already am hugging my husband a little bit tighter, sitting a little closer to him on the loveseat..... achingly aware that we only have today with each other. We are not promised tomorrow.
I thank you, Peg. Your strength and courage inspire me. Your faith reinforces mine. I love you so much.
What I know for sure about you is that you will finish well the journey that you and D started together.
That, I know.
It is my wont to be able to extract at least a few fitting words to say on almost any occasion, but in this, I have fallen far far short. I cannot find my voice. I search for words of some import that could stem the bleeding of her heart. There are none.
I would like to be able to say to her, "I understand how you feel, Peg."
But I do not have a clue. While she is reaching out in the night across her bed searching in her sleep for the warmth that was Dwight for 33 years, I still can talk to, love, and touch my husband.
No, I do not have a clue.
Yes, I have known grief. But I have not known hers.
I would like to be able to tell her that over time, the fog will lessen, the vice grip on her emotions will loose, and she will once again notice the stars.
But, really, how am I to know any of this is true?
And even if I did, those sentiments right now would ring as hollow as a penny dropped in an empty barrel.
I have never visited the city of widowhood.
I have read about this city. Others have told me about their moving there, and how their lives have been since the move. I have even taught "Widowhood" in my Gerontology classes for 30 years, passing onto others the lay of the land.
But it is all second hand. Academic.
I have not had to live there.
It is where my sweet friend Peg lives now.
As she gets her bearings, I feel I have little to offer her. She knows she has my love and my prayers, but I can't even hug her....she lives across the country from me.
The grand irony is that while I feel hopelessly inadequate, she really is doing all the giving. Because after one 45-minute phone call with Peg, I already am hugging my husband a little bit tighter, sitting a little closer to him on the loveseat..... achingly aware that we only have today with each other. We are not promised tomorrow.
I thank you, Peg. Your strength and courage inspire me. Your faith reinforces mine. I love you so much.
What I know for sure about you is that you will finish well the journey that you and D started together.
That, I know.
Friday, February 28, 2014
CANCER AND ME
A friend of mine referred to me last week as a cancer survivor. She meant it in the most positive of ways, but the term niggled at me for several days.
I don't think of myself as a survivor.
I still take chemotherapy twice a day. Every day. I bear the cross of multiple side effects, one of which has changed my life quite dramatically. That doesn't feel like survivorship to me.
I think of survivors as FREE of all of that. Remission. Total healing. Done with it.
If I am not a survivor, what am I? What IS my relationship to cancer?
It is not a love relationship, a respect relationship or a casual relationship. From my psychology classes back in the day, I can tell you that cancer is not an experimental, transitional or scripted relationship in my life. I am not even sure if I can consider it a hate relationship, as I would be living in gut-roiling anxiety every hour of every day. Certainly I vigorously dislike that I am a cancer patient. But hate is a toxic emotion. I don't live like that.
I don't even think the WORD cancer is easy to define for myself. The word itself I suppose is a foe because in one sense the great enemy of this world, the devil, is the author of cancer. Jesus made it quite clear in John 10:10 that anything which kills, steals and destroys is of satan (you might have guessed by now that I never capitalize his name).
Generally, you fight a foe. But that requires daily "battle."
I am not in battle with cancer. And I can't stand the new cliche' that everyone "battles" cancer. Every obituary and newspaper story about death from cancer or having cancer has to include the line that the person BATTLED it. As if people who die from heart disease or Parkinson's or stroke have not fought their disease. It is so hopelessly overused. OK. But, as usual, I digress.
So, no, I don't define it as a foe.
The word cancer lies like a sticky odious substance on the floor of my mind. It is at once still foreign to my sensibilites and strangely familiar as if the fabric of the word drapes my very essence. On the cusp of my awareness at all times, I have a hard time forgetting I have it. I do not read anything about that word or go to any events where that word is spoken.
So in the end, I am really not sure about the relationship I have with this disease. I suppose it is an unwelcome seat-mate that has been placed beside me on the airplane of life. It shares my small space, but it makes me annoyed. It has BO and bad breath and talks way too much. I can't shut it off. I want to change seats.
I am not in battle.
I am not a survivor.
I am not a victim.
I am not a hater.
I simply walk each day with this unwelcome companion. Just like my short left leg, my myopic eyes and my bad back, it is something I am living with.
For the moment.
For as much as I can wax on about this repugnant and unwelcome fact of my life, I can say that my faith is every bit as powerful in assurance that God will redeem what satan is trying to destroy in my body. I hang on His promises for healing. I look around the plane for an empty seat that will one day be mine alone. In first class.
I don't think of myself as a survivor.
I still take chemotherapy twice a day. Every day. I bear the cross of multiple side effects, one of which has changed my life quite dramatically. That doesn't feel like survivorship to me.
I think of survivors as FREE of all of that. Remission. Total healing. Done with it.
If I am not a survivor, what am I? What IS my relationship to cancer?
It is not a love relationship, a respect relationship or a casual relationship. From my psychology classes back in the day, I can tell you that cancer is not an experimental, transitional or scripted relationship in my life. I am not even sure if I can consider it a hate relationship, as I would be living in gut-roiling anxiety every hour of every day. Certainly I vigorously dislike that I am a cancer patient. But hate is a toxic emotion. I don't live like that.
I don't even think the WORD cancer is easy to define for myself. The word itself I suppose is a foe because in one sense the great enemy of this world, the devil, is the author of cancer. Jesus made it quite clear in John 10:10 that anything which kills, steals and destroys is of satan (you might have guessed by now that I never capitalize his name).
Generally, you fight a foe. But that requires daily "battle."
I am not in battle with cancer. And I can't stand the new cliche' that everyone "battles" cancer. Every obituary and newspaper story about death from cancer or having cancer has to include the line that the person BATTLED it. As if people who die from heart disease or Parkinson's or stroke have not fought their disease. It is so hopelessly overused. OK. But, as usual, I digress.
So, no, I don't define it as a foe.
The word cancer lies like a sticky odious substance on the floor of my mind. It is at once still foreign to my sensibilites and strangely familiar as if the fabric of the word drapes my very essence. On the cusp of my awareness at all times, I have a hard time forgetting I have it. I do not read anything about that word or go to any events where that word is spoken.
So in the end, I am really not sure about the relationship I have with this disease. I suppose it is an unwelcome seat-mate that has been placed beside me on the airplane of life. It shares my small space, but it makes me annoyed. It has BO and bad breath and talks way too much. I can't shut it off. I want to change seats.
I am not in battle.
I am not a survivor.
I am not a victim.
I am not a hater.
I simply walk each day with this unwelcome companion. Just like my short left leg, my myopic eyes and my bad back, it is something I am living with.
For the moment.
For as much as I can wax on about this repugnant and unwelcome fact of my life, I can say that my faith is every bit as powerful in assurance that God will redeem what satan is trying to destroy in my body. I hang on His promises for healing. I look around the plane for an empty seat that will one day be mine alone. In first class.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
I haven't been blogging. I miss it! Lots of travel the past two weeks. A trip to northwest North Dakota to see Dick's mom and a trip to Fargo with Sam to see my parents.
I enjoyed the road trip with Sam. We talked about life and future job goals and faith and sports and everything in between. It was a treat to have 9 hours alone with him (well, not exactly that.....like every sleep-deprived college kid, he napped a little both ways!). He was also a calm driver during a ground blizzard leaving North Dakota. I really appreciated that.
I have a couple blogs rumbling in my head this week. Must get them down in print.....
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| Sam with his Nanny and Poppy Ed |
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| Eating lunch with my sister-in-law Margie and Mom and Dad |
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| Dick and his mom Mabel |
I enjoyed the road trip with Sam. We talked about life and future job goals and faith and sports and everything in between. It was a treat to have 9 hours alone with him (well, not exactly that.....like every sleep-deprived college kid, he napped a little both ways!). He was also a calm driver during a ground blizzard leaving North Dakota. I really appreciated that.
I have a couple blogs rumbling in my head this week. Must get them down in print.....
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