Family

A Weary World Rejoices

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Dear Cade,

Nothing about December 2022 has felt Christmassy. Maybe it was starting the month missing you and your sister as you finished your first semesters of college. Or maybe it’s because Dad’s job currently demands more of him than any of us like to spare. And then there was my bright idea to trade in rogue pine needles and runny noses for a pre-lit plastic tree from Walmart this year. Perhaps when I’m not finding needles in the back of the suburban or stuck in the living room rug come April I’ll be thankful, but no amount of Trader Joes Cedar Balsam candles have been able to replace the ambiance of a live Christmas tree. Not to mention, twenty years worth of homemade ornaments don’t tell the same stories hanging from perfectly symmetrical plastic branches- they simply add to the Walmart flare.

This was also the first year my Christmas shopping was done almost exclusively from the couch, checking things off your three sister’s wish-lists shared on our family group texts. Lists complete with links to oversized sweatshirts I hate, the latest gadgets no one needs, and new shoes that drain the entire Christmas budget with one click. I never walked down a toy isle, moved an elf, and we didn’t even pretend to leave Santa cookies on Christmas Eve.

This year I especially appreciated your staunch refusal to make your own list, not wanting to use other people’s money to get yourself a present. And I appreciate your determination to not look at your sisters’ lists, wanting each gift you give to be your own idea. Intent even to use your own money to shop for us despite my willingness to subsidize.  

Of course, son, as much as you love your family, your favorite part of being home for the holidays is endless hours with Sully, your beautiful blue Parrotlet who’s been your constant companion and best friend since you adopted him last spring. Years of begging and months of research finally convinced us to let you get this pet bird. The bird facts you’ve accumulated are only topped by the mathematical formulas and programming algorithms constantly coursing through your brilliant mind. You told us how smart and friendly these tiny creatures were, but we never imagined the bond that could exist between a boy and his bird. Nor did I expect a bird to be so like having a toddler. He is needy, loud, and messy, but he is also delightfully affectionate, playful, and curious. As much as I enjoy Sully, the best part of having him around is how often you call or come home to check on him. I’ve been so excited about the bird monitor wrapped and waiting under the tree so next semester you’ll have constant access to him while at school. I’ve only requested when you mention coming home to see your parrot, you pronounce it in a way that sounds a bit more like parents!

The week before Christmas when our family of six was under one roof, excitement finally began to build as the boardgames came out of hiatus, no seat was left empty at the dinner table, and beds, couches, and extra mattresses were filled nightly with your sisters’ friends. Of course, Dad continued running reports at midnight and had endless work meetings, but even he finally managed to complete his Christmas shopping just before stores closed heading into Christmas Eve.

The excitement stalled however when the Grinch made an unwelcome visit that same evening to your dad’s truck, busting the window and stealing (along with other things) the beautifully wrapped package for Mom. On top of the typical holiday to-dos, we now had credit cards to cancel, windows to replace, more errands to squeeze in on Christmas Eve, and a few less gifts to unwrap Christmas morning.  

Twas the day before Christmas and we were all running around getting ready for the annual Candlelight service and Christmas Eve celebration with the cousins. You and Sully were playing video games and watching YouTube videos, gladly pausing each time Dad or I asked for help. I was in the living room wrapping the last few boxes Amazon just delivered when Dad asked you to take out the trash. A minute later I heard your panicked scream. I rushed outside and after convincing you to breath, understood you’d taken out the trash oblivious to the fact Sully was still on your shoulder. Startled by the crash of the trash landing in the bin, he flew. Dad and I sprung into action, walking the street listening intently to the chorus of bird songs filling the cold December air. You heard it first- the unmistakable squawking of an anxious desperate Sully coming from the neighbor’s backyard tree. I ran inside to the Christmas tree and unwrapped Dad’s new binoculars, immediately realizing the irony that both your parents would now be without presents to open Christmas morning. Our neighbors granted permission to enter their backyard and climb their trees in hopes of reuniting a devastated teenage boy and his terrified bird. But there was no chance anyone would be able to climb anywhere near the wispy branch 50 feet in the air where Sully was stuck paralyzed in fear. For hours we watched other birds curiously circling and pecking at his tiny body, forcing him to new heights. I’ll never forget watching Dad and your sisters climb into the car and head to the Christmas Eve service while you sat faithfully perched on the roof of our garage begging Sully to fly to you. After hours of tree climbing and bird watching, I’d no choice but to begin preparing dinner. The house was a mess, presents left half wrapped, but even you knew a Christmas Eve meal must be prepared for our soon to arrive guests. And we both knew as the sun continued its descent, you would soon be saying one last goodbye to your best friend. We left the open cage in the driveway right by the trashcans that originally startled him, hoping if forced from the tree he’d head there for safety.

I listened to you tell him you love him, and that you were sorry. I listened to his last chirps as the sun finally disappeared and he settled in for the night. I helped you off the garage and together we went inside scraped up, sun and wind burned, fingers frozen stiff, and toes frostbitten. We cried together as you went over everything you knew about the dangers the night held for Sully. The good news was it was likely too cold for all the neighborhood owls to be out hunting tonight. So even though his tiny delicate frame and bright blue feathers would make him an easy target, he might not meet any birds of prey. But the bad news was his tiny tropical Parrotlet body can only survive for short times in temperatures as low as 50°. We checked the weather acknowledging it was already 38° and soon it would hit a low of 27°. I added a blanket and his favorite treats to the cage calling out to him through the darkness, but as you had expected he was no longer responding. Being a lover of science, you never once questioned the natural course of events and saw no point in the cage or my waking up and checking in throughout the night. You explained to me several times that once the sun sets and a bird settles in to roost, he will not wake again until the sun rises. If he wakes at all.

The cousins came and went, and I was so proud of you for loving them well despite your broken heart. It was a beautiful picture of what it means when the weary rejoice! When they left, I busied myself with all the normal night before Christmas tasks, adding to the list removing a fourth of your presents under the tree because they were meant to be shared with Sully.

Just before heading to bed, I stopped by your room to remind you God tends to the birds of the air. I shared my plan to be outside by his cage when the sun came up. I told you to prepare for the worst, but hope for the best. You have never cared much for trite cliches or empty platitudes, so you told me through your tears that false hope is never helpful, and God never promised life wouldn’t hurt or that it would always make sense. You told me real hope is not the same thing as wishing for something that might possibly come true. You also told me it was pointless to hope in ever seeing Sully again, even if it was your hearts most desperate desire. And you reminded me of the statistics which promised you’d almost certainly never see Sully again. I conceded that it was wrong to put any hope in my deep desire Sully would magically show up by morning. But I also reminded you not to put your hope in statistics and the laws of nature as they too bow to the Creator.

I ignored the impossible odds that my striving would make no difference, checking the cage one last time before getting into bed. And I checked it again several times during the night wondering through tears why God was taking so long to restore all that is broken in this world and in my own heart. Wondering how to wake up Christmas morning and rejoice despite the restlessness and the weariness within and without. Wondering how to make my own soul hope beyond what this human heart desires or my limited mind knows. Restless sleep finally came until the first bird sound startled me awake just as the sun began to rise.

I threw on fuzzy socks and a snuggie a top my pajamas, raced out the back door, and then began to pace our driveway circling the bird cage. For over an hour I watched the daylight break and listened to the birds come alive one by one adding their unique music to the chorus in the sky. I occasionally added my own chirps and whistles to the mix hoping to hear Sully’s familiar chatter and chirps in response.

But alas, I said my own final goodbye to Sully, then on my way inside noticed the truck’s shattered window yet to be replaced. The eternal optimist in me thought how nice it would be if Sully found his way inside the truck during the night giving both the robbery and the escaped bird some purposeful closure and a happy ending. I even peeked inside just in case, but no such luck. I walked in the back door leaving the December chill outside, and set our annual Christmas traditions in motion. I turned on the oven and placed the same orange flavored Pillsbury cinnamon rolls your dad ate as a little boy on Christmas morning on the baking sheet. Then as the oven preheated I collected all the Christmas Eve trash, and took it out back. As I dropped it in the outside can, I suddenly heard those unmistakable squawks and squeals from our neighbor’s backyard oak, undoubtedly meant to catch my attention. I tripped as I bolted up the stairs to wake you. And then woke everyone else in the process of insisting you put on pants and shoes before leaving the house.

I chased you out the door with a coat, but by the time I got there you were already climbing onto the garage roof convinced you’d seen Sully in our own backyard. Our recent research told us birds raised in captivity often struggle to navigate the art of flying downward, so you wanted to give him a target he could possibly reach. And oh, how he tried to reach you! He flew back and forth from treetop to treetop as you called to one another. But it was obvious we needed a new plan. You are far too risk-adverse and clumsy to safely navigate the great heights of our house’s two-story hipped roof, and unfortunately your bird and your father do not get along. I am only slightly less clumsy and much less agile than you, so I didn’t initially seem like the best option. We recruited fearless Hallie to join our rescue mission, but the bird missed his target flying just over her head, landing in the pear tree across the street.

It seemed obvious I was going to have to ascend the roof myself. So as the Spaulding siblings were tweeting and whistling out in the front yard, Dad hoisted me from the patio roof up to the second story where I spent the next half hour of our Christmas morning flapping and bird calling along our highest roof ridge in my fuzzy socks, Birkenstocks, tie dye pajama pants, and a large grey hooded snuggie. I saw the Parrotlet in the pear tree and giggled as I sang about this wonderful gift given to me on this first day of Christmas! I long since stopped worrying what the neighbors think about our odd family as you walk around the cul-de-sac for hours daily thinking your brilliant thoughts out loud. I imagine whatever they thought before now has been confirmed by your rather eccentric mother’s rooftop Christmas adventure.

At the time however, all I was considering was how to get that bird home. After a few attempts to fly as other birds pecked and pushed him out of their air space, Sully managed to land on the far side of the roof where I was pacing. We inched towards each other until he finally flew to my shoulder. Dad managed to get me down slowly and calmly, but just as I was about to climb through the second story window onto Hallie’s bed, Sully flew again. There was a collective gasp from all of us, followed by a collective sigh as he quickly landed on his favorite shoulder. I moved out of the way so that my boy and his bird could climb through the window first, and our very Merry Christmas could finally begin!

Cade, you are right that it is dumb to prepare for the worst and hope for the best, because real Hope does not ever disappoint. Hope that is real is sure, steady, and certain. Wishing all suffering and sadness would stop does not make it stop any more than wishing your bird home was ever going to bring him home. Wishing in something flimsy and uncertain will always disappoint us even though some of our wishes sometimes do come true. Our own feelings, desires, and wishes are as flimsy as the tree branch that kept your bird alive, and no matter how much we want something, nothing in this world is certain or guaranteed. But this nothing also includes statistics and nature. Trusting in facts, formulas, logic, and reason to have the final say in this world will also disappoint us. Facts may be true, and feelings may be real, but neither are unchanging, sure, steady, or certain for all eternity.

You and Sully taught me a lot about hope this week. You taught me the difference between a wish and a hope. You taught me not to prepare for the worst, but rather to fight against the worst. Preparing for the worst often means that we do nothing and resign ourselves to defeat. Just like we fought and worked hard to bring Sully home even though the odds were against us, and the onlookers thought we were completely insane, so we should be constantly fighting for what is good, true, and beautiful, and we should work hard to extend justice and grace to a broken and hurting world even if victory feels impossible. And we do that because we have placed our hope in a victory that is not impossible but is absolutely certain. This Hope is the hope of Christmas and the only reason a weary world has to rejoice. Because the birth of Jesus means that the world will not be weary forever. So, we fight against the worst, rejoicing in a sure and steady Hope guaranteeing the best is yet to come. Merry Christmas Cade!

Love,

Mom

It’s Not That Deep

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Dear Hallie,

Today is Mother’s Day and just like every other second Sunday in May for the last ten years, I find myself experiencing a tidal wave of grief mingled gladness. It’s difficult to believe I’ve survived ten Mother’s Days without my mom around to share in the joys and burdens of my own motherhood journey, or without being able to thank her for the legacy of sacrifice and joy she has left for her daughters and her seven grandchildren. While my heart overflows with gratitude that I get to be the “Spaulding Mom”, it sinks with sadness that there are no grandmothers around to share in the indescribable joy that comes with watching you all grow-up.

After a lovely breakfast and worship service with all my favorite people this morning, I retreated to my butterfly garden as I often do lately when tidal waves of emotion threaten to knock me down. It was in my garden just now that your current slogan for life (the one we are all trying to eradicate from your vocabulary) kept interrupting my thoughts. Your throaty, monotone, unimpressed insistence that “it’s not that deep,” is your current way of reminding us all to lighten up a little and soak in the sunshine. Of course, we are all pretty sure you mean these words to annoy us as often as you mean to make us lighten up and laugh.

You were born an optimist, so during your fifth year of life when both your grandmother’s died, it’s not surprising you didn’t hold tightly to the painful memories of suffering and loss that surrounded both of their illnesses and deaths. When you share memories of your grandmothers, they are always full of playgrounds, presents, and dance parties. True to your nature, you held tight to the sunshine despite the years of caregiving and grief that consumed our family (especially your mom) during that season. I know it was as difficult for you as it was for the rest of us, but you rarely shed any tears. You have always had your own way of making sense of and dealing with your losses- mainly avoiding tidal waves of grief at all costs, either by distracting everyone with your antics or by spreading around your contagious sunshine. One evening not long after we’d said our final goodbyes to your grandmas, I was tucking you in for the night when your Nana came up in conversation. You looked at me with somber insistence and said, “can we please not talk about Nana anymore so you will stop crying.” Pretty sure that was just your five-year-old version of, “it’s not that deep!”

Nana died ten years ago at the end of March. Aunt Kellie and I were the only people in the world who realized ten years without her here came and went. I marked it by taking her memory with me on errands she’d have enjoyed. I walked through an antique shop and bought a necklace reminiscent of the heart one she always wore, and a small original Rudyard Kipling poetry book. She didn’t necessarily love poetry, but she did love old books still wearing their dust jackets, so she’d have approved. Next, I went to “Wild Birds Unlimited” to stock up on seed for my feeders in hopes her red cardinals might join in the chorus of bird songs soon. Lastly, I spent a bunch of money at my favorite gardening store. I love the wildflower seed mix in full bloom out back, but every year it gets trickier to know who’s a flower and who’s a weed. After four years one invasive weed officially took over my beloved butterfly garden which had previously been teeming with a beautiful assortment of pollinators and host plants. This spring I have chosen to limit the wildflower mix to a smaller confined space in the garden, and I’ve intentionally planted specific flowers in defined areas making many of the intrusive weeds easier to spot and remove.

Just now in my Mother’s Day gardening therapy session, I set to work watering, pulling weeds, and replanting my Pincushion Flower plant. The first time your words “it’s not that deep,” came to mind was while I was filling the bird bath with fresh water from the garden hose. I rolled my eyes as your annoying mantra was nothing more than a restatement of the obvious. The thirsty ground drinks in the cool water on contact so the only chance for my birds and butterflies to find a drink in this Houston heat is to keep the shallow cement bowl filled. It’s a good thing the bowl is “not that deep” or else we might be unintentionally creating space for those cursed mosquitos to breed. I detest those mosquitoes as much as I detest the invasive weeds that threaten to kill and destroy all that’s meant to blossom, live, and grow.

I considered your infamous words a second time as I began pulling the unwanted weeds out at the root, and I smiled with gratitude for weeds with roots “not that deep.” It really is easy to identify the unwelcome growth on the cultivated side of the garden where boundaries are clear, and every flower is known by name. In no time at all I found and removed any new growth that might be a threat. On the side of the garden teeming with interwoven wildflower sprouts of all sorts, it’s much harder to know who is a friend. I’ve learned to identify the Mercury weed that wreaked havoc last year, and today set to tearing any trace of it out at the root. I’m thankful the Mercury weed does not have roots that run deep, and as long as I’m diligent in tending the garden that weed will never be able to destroy this sacred space again.

Once more your insistence “it’s not that deep,” entered my conscious mind as I discovered the little Pincoushin Flower plant did not look so great. Upon closer examination it was clear the hole I’d originally dug for this plant was not nearly deep enough, and the dirt I’d packed around the top of the plant had been washed away by last week’s torrential downpour. I set to work digging a little deeper and packing the topsoil a little tighter, making sure all the exposed roots are now safe and secure underground. That poor plant was “not that deep”, but it should have been!

Please keep reminding us that we are all so prone to make too big a deal out of things in life that really are “not that deep.” Keep making us laugh, keep reminding us to be grateful, and keep spreading your sunshine everywhere you go; even as you trust the Lord to daily fill your cup to overflow with living water and satisfy your every need.

But sometimes realize there are weeds growing in and around you that are important to tend to. If you let them take root and grow out of control, they can kill that which the Lord means to blossom, flourish, and grow. A choice that seems small, insignificant, and shallow might end up destroying everything you love and have worked hard for (or at the very least landing you in another Saturday detention!)

And finally, you need to know there are some things that really are that deep. Grief, friendship, love, joy, family, faith, justice, truth, beauty. Dig deep, and then let these things take root down in your soul. Let them matter to you. Let yourself feel them. Let them blossom, grow, and flourish. Let them change you.

I realize I can be a little too sentimental sometimes, and you are not the first to try to convince me “it’s not that deep!” Your Nana would regularly tell me to “stop making a thing out of nothing,” even as she’d strive to make the hard things in life feel light and spread her optimism and sunshine around everywhere she went. If she were here today, I’d want her to know I’m learning to hold lightly the things that really are “not that deep,” but other things, (like my love and gratitude for her) run far deeper than she ever knew. I would want to tell her that her brief beautiful life did matter, and it matters still as her legacy lives on in the lives of her children and her grandchildren. Hallie Lousie, you share much more than just your name with your grandmothers. Their legacies of hard work, sacrifice, joy, and gratitude live on in you, and their connection with you really is “that deep!”

Love,

Mom

The Things that Matter Most

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Dear Cade,

You challenge me! You challenge me in ways all 16-year-old sons challenge their mothers, but it’s so much more than that! You also challenge me in the ways only an absent-minded professor challenges and confounds everyone they meet. While you miss obvious and practical realities staring you in the face, you’re more awake to the most real and deeply meaningful realities the rest of us miss. I can’t possibly recall every time you’ve said or done something that completely changes the way I think about the world and the people who inhabit it.

In elementary school you insisted I stop asking who you sat with at lunch. You said, “If I’m not sad sitting alone, why should it make you sad I’m sitting alone.” Who knew it was by choice, and not because you had no one to sit with. You enjoyed a few moments alone with your thoughts. I realized it might not be the kids who I took pity on in high school that needed sympathy. It was me I should have felt sorry for! It was all of us who cared so much about what others thought we’d choose to do something we did not prefer, simply to be accepted. What freedom to be completely comfortable with who you are and what you enjoy apart from the acceptance of another.

Then there was the middle school retreat where you had a bottle of Gatorade poured on you after falling asleep. Of course, you never said a word about it to me, and chances are you’d forgotten by the time you got home. I’m so thankful for the boys who found you a dry sleeping bag, told that kid to shove it, and then reported it to their moms so I would eventually know what happened. I’d spent many sleepless nights worrying about you being teased or bullied so this felt like my biggest fears coming to pass. It’s no secret you’ve never quite fit in with your peers and no one (especially a middle school boy) knows what to do with an absent-minded professor trapped in a child’s body. After drying my momma bear tears and calming my temper, I sat you down to talk about the “Gatorade Incident”. You assured me you were fine, even as I tried to convince you that you were not! I brought up the concern you frequently shared for one of your nerdy friends at school who was often sad after being picked on. I pointed out you have some things in common with this kid, and I asked you to consider if unbeknownst to you maybe people were picking on you too. I could not stand the thought of you being the brunt of other people’s jokes. Without batting an eye or skipping a beat, you said “sure that’s possible…but mom, does it really matter? If I am happy, if I am safe, and if I am kind, why should you care if other people’s kids are being mean.” Oh! Right! Thanks to your words of wisdom, I managed to quit caring just a little bit that day. Afterall, it was true my son was the happiest, kindest, and most eccentric young boy I’ve ever known! What’s so sad about that?

Then your first year of high school came around, and there has never been a squarer peg being forced into a round hole. Still, I was determined to guarantee you a successful future hence my incessant pleading you care something about your grades. I was trying to convince you it was imperative to set aside your insatiable desire to think, know, understand, solve, and create to make the grades that promised a successful future. Your brilliant response again left me without any chance of rebuttal. “Mom, why exactly do my grades matter? Just so I can go to a good college…so I can get a good job…so I can make a lot of money…so I can buy a lot of things? But I don’t care about things.” This is the truest thing you have ever said. You care about numbers, ideas, meaning, truth, beauty, and your family, but you absolutely do not care about things.

Of all the things I’ve learned from you, the lessons I’ve learned watching you live with and love well the sisters God has given you might be the most profound lessons you’ve taught me yet. When we found out your youngest sibling was a third sister instead of the brother you desperately longed for, you were one devastated five-year-old. Once Lacey was born however, any desire for a brother melted away. Turns out sisters eat junk food, play dragons, race matchbox cars, chase ice cream trucks, beat you in video and board games, binge watch Stranger Things and The Queen’s Gambit, and get destroyed in chess as well as any brother ever could.

None of us were surprised when your big sister opted to follow an unconventional path after high school graduation, and we were thrilled about her decision to take a gap year to see the world and serve others. In the days leading to her departure, she scheduled in final goodbyes starting with dinner with Dad on Tuesday. Since she would miss Lacey’s birthday at the end of the month, she woke her on Wednesday to a surprise birthday breakfast, and then brought lunch to Hallie at school. I know you’ll never forget the Thursday she came to meet you at Rice University where you are currently spending your own gap year doing research with the Department of Theoretical Biological Physics. I loved hearing how proud she was seeing her little brother’s office and meeting your team.

Friday came and it was my turn for lunch with the big sister, but the swirl of conflicting emotions stole both our appetites. I realized as your sister and I drove away from the house that ever since she’d gotten her driver’s license, we’d never driven around together without an agenda. It reminded me of you kids in carseats, and always needing to fill extra moments with playground stops, shopping sprees at the thrift store, or a drive threw the shaved ice shack. Before I knew it, we were in our old neighborhood, driving past the house you were born in. We stopped at the park and slid down the slide, sharing memories along the way. With shaved ices in hand, we drove home discussing how unusually different she is from each of her four siblings. You must admit it’s hard to believe the four of you have the same parents, and you all grew up in the same home. Kori Jane with her insatiable need to be around people, throw parties, make music, write, lead, and create. You and your fleeting obsessions, reclusive tendencies, and mathematical genius. Hallie with her servant heart, relentless determination, and entrepreneurial spirit, and Lacey with her persuasive wit, captivating charm, and passionate intensity. Kori Jane then said something I will never forget. She said “I think we’re all so different because you and Dad have always parented each of us so differently. You’ve given us permission to be different and encouraged our different interests, passions, and paths.”

I’d like to think parenting has something to do with the amazing people you are becoming, but she gives us far too much credit. For many years I tried to fit all my children nicely into boxes, but someone (usually you) always messed everything up. I wanted to be a soccer mom but despite my best efforts none of you were the soccer type. I wanted to be the family who spent their summers at the pool but despite innumerable lessons you never could pass the swim test, nor did you ever get comfortable with the feeling of your head submerged in water. I wanted all my kids catching the bus to our neighborhood school and bringing home honor roll certificates each semester, but after one too many parent teacher conferences and 504 meetings, we ended up with four children in four different schools. It was during that chaotic season you were obsessed with human personality, and made your sisters the objects of your research. After personality typing each of them and much careful consideration, you decided the Spaulding children would be a powerful force if they ever went into business together. You explained that Kori Jane, our dreamer, would come up with all the brilliant ideas, and you my son (our thinker) would figure out how to make the ideas work. Hallie (our doer) would see the hard work gets done, and cute, little Lacey (our charmer) would be in charge of marketing. Time will tell if there is a business venture forthcoming, but to be certain the four of you and the love and appreciation you have for one other is a force to be reckoned with.

I finally realized there’s not a box big enough or strong enough to contain the Spaulding children, and decided to give you permission to be different. I cannot possibly take credit for your unique passions, gifts, and interests, but I am thankful that Dad and I made the conscious choice to let you each pursue paths that matched your passions, gifts, and interests. Even when that path seemed too dangerous, too unconventional, too bizarre, or too narrow.

There were lots of hugs and tears the Saturday your big sister walked away from us ready to pursue a path all her own, knowing it would be many months before we were reunited. Right before she stepped past the security threshold, you chased after her sobbing and begging her to not go. I’ll never forget that tender (albeit slightly embarrassing) moment when you drew much attention to us all, or the look on your sister’s face as she took in your rare display of affection with both sorrow and joy. Once she was out of sight and we finally turned to walk away, you wrapped your arm around me and said “I am really going to miss her. She is my best friend.”

Having such an intimate view into your unlikely friendship with your sister has given me a brand new vision for what the bible means when it calls us “the family of God”. You and your sisters are about as different as people can possibly be, yet there is a closeness and unity there that no other relationship will ever be able to replace.

It is tempting to think of unity in terms of uniformity. However, I am learning it is in the full acceptance and appreciation of our diversity, and in the brotherly affection for someone so unlike yourself that true unity exists in all its fullness and beauty.

You don’t need me to remind you that in our home siblings fight! You disagree and argue, and you hurt and annoy one another. You all have such different passions, gifts, strengths, and weaknesses. Your differing values, preferences, beliefs, desires, and motivations are constantly bumping into each other and causing conflict and chaos. If given a choice way back when, you’d never have chosen the sisters over having a brother, and some days when you’re craving a quiet house or an empty bathroom you would likely choose not to have any siblings at all. Lucky for you we don’t get to choose our families! By God’s good design, it is no different in the family of God. Though we are one in Christ and though we all have the same Father, we could not be more different! Not only has our Father given us freedom to be different, but He is the one who created us uniquely and He delights in all the differences among His children. Different gifts, abilities, passions, theologies, politics, and personalities. Different races, backgrounds, strengths, languages, preferences, and nationalities. A diverse people who have been called, not to uniformity, but to unity!

Your best friend finally came home this month, a couple months earlier than you expected, and the surprise airport reunion was as much a sight to behold as that sad goodbye so many months ago. The airport tears and the hugs were a convincing picture of a beautiful love shared between the Spaulding siblings. A picture of the kind of love that I long to experience with my brothers and sisters in the family of God. A love and a unity that shows the world we have a good Father.

Thank you, son, for caring about ideas, meaning, truth, beauty, and your family more than you care about stuff! Thank you for all the ways you challenge me to care more about those things that really matter most in this life. And thank you for being such a wonderful brother to my girls.

Love,

Mom  

Grocery Stores and Dirty Floors

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Dear Kori Jane,

In the two years between Daddy and I’s wedding day and you crashing our party, I used to love going to the grocery store. Perhaps because I’d lived with my own mom right up until that very moment, so the thrill of being in charge of filling a refrigerator and pantry with whatever my heart desired (and our meager budget allowed) had not yet worn off. That and the fact that our two small but steady incomes provided enough to afford not only the basics needed for nightly dinners for two, but also a week’s supply of the Mountain Dew, Nutty Bars, and Blue Bell Vanilla Ice Cream that rounded out your Daddy’s daily calorie intake. While filling a grocery cart made this young newlywed feel accomplished and domestic, I hated coming home from the store because that pantry and refrigerator I enjoyed stocking happened to be inside our third-floor apartment. The trek up and down the stairs with as many grocery bags as I could possibly carry would always leave me covered in sweat, tears, and deep divots up and down both forearms once the dozens of plastic bags I managed to get up two flights of stairs were hastily dropped as I collapsed onto the kitchen floor. I eventually learned to only go shopping when your father was around to help unload. I also eventually learned that while he was a huge help when it came to carrying groceries up and down stairs, he was of no help whatsoever when it came to doing shopping of any kind. I am fairly certain that he deliberately brought home the wrong brand of cheese, rotten fruit, or completely forgot the most important thing from every shopping trip I ever sent him on, just so I would quit sending him. I eventually gave up dragging him along simply for his company once I realized that there is nothing pleasant about your father’s company at a grocery store. Just in case his incessant complaining about my need to walk up and down every aisle was not bothersome enough, he would be sure to add the most ridiculous items to the basket every time I turned my back, and then proceed to loudly question me about why we needed the pigs feet, adult diapers, or a Barbie doll. I spent way too much time shushing him or having to return random items to their shelves, and still we would always end up with something ridiculous hiding in the bags when we got home. Once he started cartwheeling down the aisles, tossing packages of toilet paper from the next aisle over, or hiding behind the marketing displays in his never-ending attempts to startle or embarrass me, I quit guilting him into tagging along and learned to enjoy my solitary trips to the friendly neighborhood Kroger in peace.

That is until you arrived on the scene. Thankfully by then we were no longer living in a third floor apartment as I cannot imagine having to lug your baby carrier up and down several flights of stairs every single day, but I did have to learn to lug it along on many of my grocery trips. Later when your siblings joined the party, I had to really get creative in order to keep the four of you from filling my basket with random things, cartwheeling down the aisles, or otherwise loudly proclaiming our presence. I must say that one of my most brilliant mothering tactics was the invention of the grocery store game “Compliment Collection”. The goal of course was for you children to collect as many compliments as possible from the strangers we passed, as we walked up and down each aisle. If by the end of our shopping trip we had met our goal, then each of you could choose one thing to add to the basket- usually a sugary cereal I typically avoided, the pink and white circus cookies covered in sprinkles, or one of those silly bottles of juice that had a favorite character head with a drinking spout poking out the top. The only rule was that compliments had to be about your behavior. Anything related to how adorable our family was, or the daily exclamation that your mom’s hands sure were full, did not count. You were not getting credit for being cute or for my full hands. So, when those statements were made you all began to smile widely, echoing a chorus of “thank yous”, in hopes that the stranger might add- “cute AND polite…wow!”

Not surprising Kori Jane, you were the very best at this game. Any game really. There is nothing like competition to motivate the likes of you.  Even as a toddler you seemed to always understand what it would take to be the best or win the prize in any given situation.

You inherited both your competitive spirit and your dislike of shopping from your Daddy, so it would always make me laugh to watch you lay your cheesiest smile on every stranger we passed, seeming to indicate that this shopping trip was the most fun you’d had in years. And if that didn’t work, you would spontaneously say just loud enough for them to hear, “I love you mom; do you need any help?” During this hour or so a week we would be shopping, siblings would hold hands more often and speak more kind words to one another, and I would get more “yes mams”, “you’re the bests”, and “thank yous” than in all other hours of the week combined.

Of course, these compliments were nothing more than part of a game, and they in no way reflected who we were as a family or who you were as individual people. It was fun and funny, but more than anything it kept us all (mostly me) from melting down in the middle of the store.

I remember one especially long day of errands when you were about 3 or 4 years old.  You and your two younger siblings were not likely old enough to be expert compliment collectors yet, but still I had promised you a small toy for being such a big girl and helping me juggle your little brother and baby sister as we drove and shopped all around town. Like your Daddy, you have never taken longer than necessary to get in and out of any store, and this was no exception. As soon as we arrived at the toy isle of “Big Lots” you spotted a tiny red and black toy broom just your size, and determined that was to be your prize.  I remember trying to convince you to look around a bit, but even as a toddler once your mind was made up not much was going to sway you.   

That was likely the one and only broom you have ever clutched with such joy and eager anticipation, and honestly you could probably still use a refresher on the lessons I tried to teach you that day in proper sweeping techniques.

When we finally got home, I set to work unloading the babies and all their gear from the car, while you set to work sweeping as soon as you stepped through our front door into the entryway foyer. While you tired of this game quickly leaving your broom to be tripped on by the next person to walk through the door, you eagerly retrieved it as soon as you saw me in the kitchen with our full-size broom in hand.

I was making a meager attempt at tidying up while Baby Einstein played on the TV and our gourmet dinner of frozen fish sticks, canned peas, and box macaroni and cheese sizzled and simmered. I immediately regretted not trying harder to get you to reconsider your choice of toy as you planted yourself right in the middle of the toddler crumbs and dirt that I had just swept into a nice pile. You proceeded to wave the broom to and fro in wide strokes redepositing the mess all over the kitchen. I took a deep breath and bit my tongue forcing a smile as you beamed with pride at how helpful you were. I assigned you to a different part of the kitchen, as I reswept and got as much into the dustpan as quickly as possible. It did not take long before you reinserted yourself in my space determined to help me finish the job. Hand over hand, I helped you maneuver the miniature broom in small steady strokes so that at least some of the mess did indeed land in the safety of the dustpan. Thankfully your dad arrived home right at that moment so off you darted in delightful squeals because your evening playmate had arrived. I was left alone to clean up all the mess you had missed as well as all the mess you had made in your attempts to use your new gift!

Once Daddy hugged you and threw you in the air enough times to satisfy your required daily dose of doting, you proudly dragged him by the hand into the kitchen to show off the floors that you had just swept to perfection!

I remember laughing out loud as you beamed with excitement while Daddy praised the clean beautiful kitchen floor tile! While not currently covered in loose dirt, this tile undoubtedly had not been mopped in a few weeks and was anything but clean and beautiful. But there I sat more than happy to let you take full credit for a daily chore that you had managed to complicate to the point that it took me twice as long as usual.

These are just some of the many memories that have been flooding my mind in the last several weeks leading up to your high school graduation. I have spent these weeks marveling over the passage of time still convinced that it was just yesterday that you were starting kindergarten, loosing your first tooth, collecting compliments from the side of my grocery cart and eager to help me sweep the kitchen or greet your Daddy when he got home from work. But then last week came and you actually walked across the stage at Tully Stadium in your green cap and gown, and you received your high school diploma. There I sat beaming with pride at the beautiful, strong, determined, passionate, trail blazing girl I have raised. And then it suddenly occurs to me that raising kids is a whole lot like sweeping floors. Here I stand ready to claim the work God has done in and through you over the last 18 years as my own, when in reality you are but a reflection of all the ways that God has redeemed my grand attempts at raising you right. In fact, I am certain that He is still cleaning up my parenting messes even as I stand here beaming with pride and delight watching you prepare to spread your wings and fly.

I know He does not need me, and I often leave messes behind for him to clean, but He does delight in me, and He allows me to participate with Him in loving and caring for others. What an unbelievable gift that He chose me to be your mom, and that I’ve gotten to love and care for you up close for the last 18 years.

As you head out into this great big world I’d like to impress on you just a few things that being your mom has taught me.

First, use your gifts! Use them big even if that means you might make some messes. Kori Jane, write from your soul, sing and make music, lead with conviction, serve with compassion, inspire, create, and gather. But never forget that every one of these good and perfect gifts is from above. While He does not need you, still He delights in giving you good gifts, in being near you, in using you, and even in cleaning up after you.

Secondly, people really are born that way. You helped me understand that Daddy not wanting to go grocery shopping with me was never personal- like you, he really was just born hating to shop.  And the fact that your brother has not a single competitive bone in his body was by no choice of his own. Even still he held his own in compliment collecting, not because he is in anyway naturally polite (quite the opposite actually), but because few things can motivate him like the promise of a sugary snack. Just like you never chose to be confident, aloof, and comfortable in your own skin, neither did your sister choose to be a conscientious, thoughtful, people pleaser. Be slow to take offense, assume good will, always seek to understand, and leave the judging to God.

And finally, never forget that compliment collecting is nothing more than a game. Some people are just born good at it and others have grown up schooled in all the most effective compliment collecting strategies. Still others have never been taught the rules or just never quite seem to catch on no matter how hard they try. A person’s ability to collect compliments says very little about who they really are, and much more about the way they were born and the unique opportunities, sufferings, relationships and experiences they have had in life. When scripture reminds us that “the Lord sees not as man sees: for man looks at outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart”, let us keep in mind that the outward appearance is much more than a pretty face, a skin color, a hairstyle, or the trendiness of our clothes. The outward appearance also includes all the things we do or don’t do that might increase our collection of compliments or even our collection of criticisms. The longer I am alive the more convinced I am that not only does God not judge us the way other people judge us, but He also does not judge us the way we judge ourselves. Certainly, He does not judge us by the compliments or criticisms we have collected, the gifts He has chosen to give us, or the messes we tend to always make.

By the way, I think I finally figured out what I am going to get you for a graduation gift…a roomba.

Love always,

Mom

Covid-19 Home School

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Dear Lacey,

Every August for the last 12 years in anticipation of a new school year, the same conversations fill our home, the same shopping trips are taken, and the same prayers are prayed.   Conversations that beg the questions- what if there are no friends in our classes, who will we sit with at lunch, or what if the teachers don’t like me?  Shopping trips for the latest trend in lunch boxes, school supplies and backpacks, and of course that perfect first day of school outfit.  An outfit that neither draws too much attention nor allows anyone not to notice you.  The one that suggests to the world “my children wake up like this every day” despite the hours of planning and preparation that goes into that obligatory first day of school picture for Facebook! 

And the prayers- “Lord please let Hallie find her people and let them be good people.  Let Cade’s teachers notice and understand him despite the dozens of other students in his classes that also need to be noticed and understood.  Protect Kori Jane from all the confusing and conflicting voices that she will hear again this year telling her what to love, value, and build her life upon.  And Lord, please protect little Lacey from the voices in her own head that tell her that she is not good enough.”   Lacey- I pray at the start of each year that all my children would grow stronger, shine brighter, think deeper, create more beauty, and love more fully no matter what that new school year may bring. 

With much anticipation, each August we attend Meet the Teacher, Back to School Nights and High School Orientations just before the new school year begins.   This is followed of course by the comparing of class lists and schedules with all the friends. 

This August your three siblings began seventh, ninth and eleventh grade in the usual fashion while you started your third-grade year at home with me as your teacher.  The years of struggling to fit you in the public-school box while you battled debilitating anxiety and relentless tummy troubles ended right about a year ago (halfway through your second-grade year) when we found ourselves on an unexpected home-school journey.   We made the choice to pull you from school and create an environment at home where you could learn and grow despite your struggles.  I realize now just how fortunate we were to be able to make that choice.  Fortunate that we could financially afford for me to not work in order to stay home with you, and that up until then my entire professional career had been working to help children with learning differences and disabilities and their families find success.        Unlike many families in similar situations we had both the knowledge and the resources to make a sudden change when a change needed to be made.

I am also realizing that the whole country is suddenly being thrust into homeschooling tomorrow without being given any choice.   We have suddenly all been faced with the challenge of figuring out how to create an environment at home where all of our children can learn and grow without regard to the availability of financial resources, our social circumstances or the knowledge and education we may or may not have.

So ready or not Lacey, our little Home-school of one has tripled enrollment and we are adding a middle schooler and two high schoolers to the mix beginning tomorrow!  

So while it is not August, we are none the less embarking on the first day at a new school- The COVID-19 Spaulding Home School.   I admit that I am a little worried as I keep thinking about the steep learning curve you and I endured those first few weeks and months as I tried to be the perfect home educator for you.  And a full year later, I am still learning to have grace on myself when most home school days look nothing like I had ever imagined or hoped.  Below you will find a list of ten things that I wish I knew the first time I found myself unexpectedly homeschooling you.  And now as I find myself unexpectedly homeschooling all four of my wonderful children beginning tomorrow, I give you full permission to remind me of these points in hopes that I do not have to make all of the same mistakes this time around.  May these ten realities help to manage all of our expectations, answer as many first day of school questions as possible, and remind us of all the things that matter most.

  1. You’ve already met your teacher. No need to ask if she will like you- she knows all about you and already loves you like only a mother can! Don’t bother comparing schedules or class lists with your friends; your teacher and your classmates are the same people you have already spent the last nine days in quarantine with.
  2. New Subjects to begin immediately. Any school happening at my home includes the long-lost subject of Home Economics including exploring the arts of mopping, cleaning out the refrigerator, laundry, lawn and garden care, and food preparation. There will also be a hands-on class called Communication and Conflict Resolution complete with practical tips for empathy building, non-verbal communication skills and how to assume the best of other people. Other subjects will be added as needed!
  3. No custodian or lunch lady on duty. You will eat lunch with the same people you’ve eaten dinner with most every night of your life. However, unlike dinner there is also the option for you to eat by yourself. Free breakfast and lunch are available daily however there is no printed menu- only a full refrigerator and pantry for you to explore your options. Your grade in Home Economics will in part be based on your ability to navigate mealtime on your own including clean-up.
  4. No dress codes. There is no need for first day outfits as everyone at The Covid-19 Home School already knows what you really wake up looking like. Pajamas are totally fine however you are required to continue showering even if you have nowhere to go. We will add a Self-Care class if necessary.
  5. No tardies to be given. 8:00 AM does not seem to be the hour of the day that our family is at our best, so official school days will not start until everyone’s coffee, medicine, brain waves, etc. have kicked in. This is not going to be the same for each of you as Hallie is often the first one awake, and she tends to accomplish more in the first hour of her day than she will with all the rest of the day’s hours combined. And then Kori Jane and Cade (as you know) tend to be obnoxious zombies for at least their first waking hour, and will therefore be required to spend that first hour alone. Given that the four of you are not only different ages and grades with varying strengths and weaknesses, but that you are also motivated and interested by completely different things, I am assuming that you will each benefit from different start times, schedules, amounts of social interaction, technological interface, and teacher support. We will figure it out as we go!
  6. Sick days are inevitable. For me that is- your teacher will need a sick day occasionally. She will also need a mental health day every so often. Unfortunately there are no substitutes lined up for any of that. It is also safe to assume that you and your siblings will need your fair share of mental health days as we are all processing what it means that there is a worldwide pandemic sweeping through. This means that you will likely be having even more virtual field-trips coming up to places like Arendelle or Camp Kaikawaka than we did last month. And that’s ok!
  7. Hours of operation vary. A typical homeschool day is not 7 hours long followed by several more hours of homework! In fact, all the work we do is technically homework. I have already mentioned that we will not be starting at 8:00 AM every day, but that does not mean that we will finish school any later than usual. In fact, it is likely we will have many more early dismissals than extended days as long as everyone gets their required district/school assigned work completed. I remember when we first started to home-school last year, and I tried to wake you at the same time every day. Then we’d sit down to do back to back lessons from 8:00-3:00. We were both losing our minds, and the tension between us was spiraling. I finally did some basic math to add up all the transition times, busy work, bathroom breaks and special assemblies in a typical school day. That’s when I decided that sitting with you one-on-one for an hour or two doing actual lessons and schoolwork was more than you were likely getting any given day in a typical public-school classroom. I’ve learned that there is simply no set amount of time that learning takes. Sometimes I take two weeks to cover a concept I thought would take a day, and sometimes we spend a whole day getting lost in learning about a period in History that I thought would take us a whole semester to explore. When I finally quit caring more about checking boxes than I cared about watching you grow, and started caring more about following your curiosities than following a schedule- that’s when your anxiety finally started to relent and your mind and imagination were finally unlocked.
  8. Learn to recognize the Fire Drill Alarm and follow procedures. The first time my volume begins to change you might want to look at my facial expression and body language to determine if it is just a warning or an actual fire-drill is in order. In case of a drill quickly and quietly go outside or retreat to your separate bedrooms. I will lock all doors and reopen them once my heartrate, breathing, volume, and mind return to normal.
  9. Peer tutoring is encouraged! If you need help with anything (including staying sane), please feel free to ask a sibling or even face-time a friend just as readily as you seek out help from me. In fact- maybe start with a sibling or friend as a way to help me stay sane! While the rules about no screens in bedrooms and screens turned in at night still apply, I am no longer limiting screen time as long as responsibilities are getting done. And while we are on the subject, no one is allowed to ask me about my own screen time.
  10. Pop Quizzes come in all forms. In a classroom full of students there is really only one way to show you are learning or what you already know, and that is by putting something on paper. At home there are a million ways to show what you are learning or what you already know- debates around the dinner table, conversations after readalouds, writing a song or short-story to share, playing an instrument or preforming a play you’ve created. Drawing a picture or retelling a good book. Going on a nature walk and identifying the flower or the bird you noticed. Helping cook dinner, mow the yard, or fix the car. Flying a kite, doing a puzzle, playing a board game, helping a sibling, playing pretend, or doing a craft. After-all when all is said and done the goal of education really should not be to get a good grade or raise your test scores, but rather to be able to think, to solve problems and to create. And all that with the ultimate goal of knowing our Creator and His creation more fully, while seeing ourselves and our unique purposes on this earth more clearly.
  11. Grace is the key! I know I said only ten things, but we are going to have to be flexible with each other. We are going to have to have grace- lots and lots and lots of grace. Everything keeps changing on a dime and the only thing in the world that is certain today is uncertainty. We all have more questions than answers and we all have no idea what to expect in the days, weeks or even months to come. While in isolation together for this undetermined amount of time, I’m sure there will be days when dad will be irritable, I will lose my temper, Kori will make us all feel stupid with her dirty looks, and Cade will talk too much about something that we don’t understand. Hallie will say things she does not mean and then pretend she never said them, and Lacey your anxiety will get the best of you. We must have grace on ourselves, our neighbors and friends, and especially on each other- even as we have received grace from our Creator.

And Lacey when all else fails, let us remind one another once again that I may now be your teacher for this season, but I am your mother first and forever. 

In anticipation of tomorrow, my prayers are slightly different than previous first day of school prayers- “Lord, thank you that we get to be Hallie’s people and that I get to be her teacher for this season.  Thank you that she has a teacher that loves her more than she could ever know.   I pray that she feels like her home and her family are right where she belongs even as she navigates the internal and external muddy middle school waters.     Lord, thank you that Cade can’t fall through the cracks in this home school- Let him know that he is noticed, understood, and loved, and that he has been fearfully and wonderfully created with a purpose.  Thank you that Kori Jane has a break from the onslaught of all the confusing and conflicting voices telling her what to love, value, and build her life upon.  Thank you for the gift of time you have given me to pour into her even as she is almost grown and ready to fly.   And Lord, take away Lacey’s anxiety, and use this crisis and the extended time we have together as a family to quiet the voices in her head that tell her that she is not good enough.  Let Your voice be louder, clearer, and sweeter than all the other voices around her. 

Thank you Lord for not only the privilege to pray for my children, but that for this season I can watch from up close as they grow stronger, shine brighter, think deeper, create beauty, and love more fully despite all the uncertainty and change that this year has already brought.

Love,

Mom 

Junior Year

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Dear Kori Jane,

You are 16.  A high school junior.  In fact, you have just started the second semester of your junior year.  We were warned that junior year would be brutal, and that right about now you would be ready to throw in the towel.   You are no doubt just as sleep deprived, over committed, under nourished and overwhelmed as all of your other high school junior friends.  A typical day for you begins at 6:00 AM when you rush off to Chi-Fil-A for an early morning study session before the first bell even rings.  Between classes you continue cramming for an upcoming quiz, or you are busy responding to the never ending stream of texts, emails and social media messages from family, friends and teachers alike.  During lunch you head to the school theater where you either have student directing responsibilities or you are busy rehearsing for an upcoming performance. I hope that you usually find time to swallow a few bites of the lunch I pack for you.  For years I made you pack your own lunch or you’d have to eat from the school cafeteria, but that was before the demands of high school consumed your every waking hour. Nowadays I have no concerns about you not having enough responsibilities, and instead I now worry that you have too many.  I also worry that you are not eating or sleeping enough, nor are you able to really take enough time to think about who you are or what life is all about. The least I can do is throw some food in a bag in hopes that you get enough calories to make it through another day. After school you almost always have additional school commitments- making up a test, a club meeting or most often another theatre commitment.  Once you finally get home you will only take a break from homework long enough to join your family for dinner, however the days of you leading our dinner games or our long heated dinner debates have been replaced by your desperate pleas to be excused within minutes of taking your first bite. While I’ve no doubt that you love your family dearly, you simply have little time to invest in meaningful relationships just as there is just no time for you to invest in your favorite interests and hobbies- no more craft projects for me to clean up, no jewelry making, poetry or short story writing,no reading for pleasure, no more political and ethical debates or family game nights, and no more kitchens covered in flour and eggs from Kori’s gourmet cooking and baking night after night.   And the only singing I regularly hear coming from your room is your stressed out attempts to hit the notes that might guarantee you a role in the next school musical. Afterall, everything depends on being cast and the competition is brutal. I’m not sure when high school extra curricular activities became more intense than most full time adult careers, but here we are. Sometimes I wonder if I am seeing your lifelong theatre passion dissolve into nothing more than overwhelming theatre pressure. Most of your theatre friends have been in private voice lessons, dance classes and have acting coaches on top of their daily tutoring, sessions with their college consultants, and test prep classes. I wonder how other families manage the price tags and time commitments involved, but perhaps the outside help they receive somehow lessens the stress and pressure they are under.  Being that I was a first generation college graduate that started at the local community college, I still struggle to understand everything that goes into college planning and admissions. We’ve dabbled some in SAT Prep and voice lessons for you this year, but I have yet to understand the value they have added to your already stressed out schedule.  

On a good night you will hand me your phone by 11:00, and turn out lights within the hour.  I know you hate turning in your phone each night, but I am so thankful that you are forced to disconnect- even if only for 6 or 7 hours while you attempt to get some good sleep.   Sometimes I wish someone would make me turn in my phone at the end of the day so that I too would disconnect from the onslaught of social media posts displaying your friend’s college visits or college acceptances, the school district texts and emails about the endless upcoming events and reminders, the news stories and blogs that tell me stress and busyness is the key to success, and the online shopping and brainless entertainment that allows my mind to disengage from the stress and pressure of the day. 

Of course while just laying there in your bed trying to doze off you are likely worrying about GPAs, SAT scores, what to wear to an audition or school dance, college applications, future careers and of course cast lists.    A day in the life of a high school junior in 2020 is NUTS!

I realize that I am painting a rather depressing picture of your life, when in reality you are anything but depressed.  You are truly thankful for your quirky family and your large but close knit group of friends. You recognize and regularly express gratitude for the abundant comforts and opportunities you have been given both in and out of school, and you find a deep abiding joy in your faith- even in the day to day chaos.

But today, in the midst of the chaos I noticed something (or someone rather) that woke me from this junior year trance that we are stuck in.  I saw something that took me back to memories of my own high school worries and chaos. Worries about getting a job at 16 to help my parents pay the mortgage, and worries about whether or not Dad would show up sober while often hoping he would not show up at all.  Today I was also flooded with memories of the stories my own mother told me about the worries and chaos of her high school years. Worries not about what she would eat, but rather if she would eat. Worries about whether her family would be relocating forcing her to be the new kid once again, and worries about how she could avoid any one noticing that she was wearing the same outfit for the third time that week.  Then I remembered her brutal junior year when she found herself pregnant and forced to actually throw in the towel, no matter how much she longed for a brighter future.      

Kori, this morning we slept through our alarms, or perhaps in the rush of getting to bed the alarm was never set.  Either way, we woke you up with only minutes to spare, so instead of packing your lunches I rushed around helping to get you and your brother out the door.   As you ran to the car with me chasing after with water bottles, I promised to bring you both lunches to school later in the day.  

In an attempt to supplement the fast food in your diet, I  boiled some eggs, sliced a perfectly ripe avocado and a juicy green pear, and toasted a grilled cheese.   Avocado still green and sandwich still warm, I walked into your high school expecting you to be waiting at the table just next to the front doors like you often are on the days I deliver lunch.  But it was not you sitting at that table. Instead it was a timid (dare I say petrified) looking girl sitting alone picking at her school lunch tray. Due to overcrowding in the cafeteria, students often seek refuge in other corners of the school including the front lobby.  In fact on this muggy January Houston day, the other tables and benches in the lobby were overflowing with groups of students laughing, talking and eating together. I could not help but notice her, and wonder why she was alone and what her story was. As I waited for you, I tried to catch her eyes so I could smile or even say hello but she was determined not to draw any attention in her direction.  There was something tragic about the look in her eyes as she stared at the half eaten chili dog and orange slices on her white styrofoam tray. Something about that look in her eyes caused me pain and made me wonder what her story was. Was it much like my story? Or maybe it was like my mom’s story? Was she new to the school, or had she just not found a place to belong? Would this be her only meal today?  Was she scared to go home or maybe was without a way to get home or even without a home to go to? I tend to think that she was not worried about cast lists or test scores. I wanted to ask her, to tell her that life would not always be the way it is today. I wanted to tell her that junior year will eventually end- that high school is really not the end of our story- that in fact it is barely the beginning.  

And when you had still not shown up to collect your lunch after several minutes, I decided to move a little closer to her table in hopes that our eyes just might meet.  I realized that some old lady’s attempt to cheer her up might be even more humiliating than allowing her to sit alone in silence trying to be invisible. So then I just started hoping that you might notice her when you finally showed up to gather your lunch.  I hoped you might notice her and share a smile or even a brief conversation.

But alas you rushed into the lobby, out of breath from running all the way from the theatre.  You smiled at me with your genuine grateful smile, and profusely thanked me for bringing you lunch.  You were there just long enough to inform me that you were in between practicing scenes and needed to get back to work, but not without first telling me that you loved me.  I love you too Kori- more than you will ever be able to comprehend.  

I hope someone loves that girl the way I love you.  I hope that she finds a place to belong. I hope that she will look up from her tray long enough to notice that there is more to life than whatever she is walking through right now.  This is still only the beginning of her story.

And I hope you know how much I love you.  I hope that you will forever remain thankful for the comforts and opportunities you have that are not common to all of us.  I hope that you will be the one to help others find their place of belonging. And I hope you will look up from your busyness once in a while and notice that there is so much more to life than whatever you are walking through right now.   

It is tempting to believe that life begins and ends in high school- that cast lists and score reports, college acceptances and event invitations determine not only our happiness today but our future success. Rest assured that junior year will end.  Life will not always be the way it is today. High school is not the end of your story, nor does it really determine what tomorrow holds. And as CS Lewis once said “there are far far greater things ahead than any we leave behind.” Believe that, live it and share it with the stressed, the hopeless, the hurting, the broken and the lonely all around you.    Lord knows that I am forever changed because someone looked up long enough to notice a floundering, lost high school girl, and because of that I found hope and a place to belong for all of eternity.

Love,

Mom

Teenagers!?

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Dear Lacey,

About six weeks ago you turned nine years old!  Almost double digits!  For months I had been planning to sit down on the 30th of September and write you a lovely birthday letter about how precious and unique God has made you.  I even started it at one point but never got past the second paragraph.   This should not come as a huge surprise to you since all nine years of your life you’ve gotten the leftovers and hand-me-downs, and you learned early on that it is up to you to keep up and make yourself heard!  So is the life of the baby of the family- especially an eccentric, creative, busy family such as ours.  Thankfully you have no problem keeping up or being heard.   

So here I am writing some words to you on Thanksgiving Day which also happens to be the week of your sister Hallie’s birthday- it is not at all the words I have been composing for you in my mind the last several months when lying in bed at night.  It is not the words that I have prayed for you over and over, nor is it the things I’ve treasured about you in my heart that my mind has not yet found words to express. 

Nope- sorry to have to tell you this, but it is a word about your siblings- Kori Jane age 16, Cade age 14, and Hallie who turned 13 this week!  And now that Hallie is a teenager, we are on our own kid.   There are now officially three teenagers sharing a roof with us.    That means we are surrounded!  Surrounded by a swirl of activities and events, football games, school dances, parties, friends, extra loads of laundry, theatre rehearsals, SAT prep, tutoring, and mountains of homework.  We are surrounded by competing sounds from various technological devices- tic tocks, youtube videos and Netflix shows- as well as the sounds of moods swinging, feet stomping, doors slamming and music blaring.   In many ways it is very similar to having a house full of toddlers except the smells and sounds have changed dramatically.  The music is much more tolerable for one, but the parenting hours are actually much expanded.  They do have a bedtime, but it’s more of a goal and not a rule which means that the last words I speak before I climb into my own bed are often- “go to bed.”  And the first words I speak are “get up- you are late!”  There are the sleepless nights too, however it is not due to teething, croup, a wet pullup or a monster under the bed, rather it is due to wishing you could mend a freshly broken heart, wondering if they are safe at that new friend’s house (while tracking them on their phone), knowing they will make mistakes but hoping it’s not a mistake of the lifechanging sort, and praying that they know how much you love them even though that very day you spoke a plethora of words you wish you could take back.

I know that being a kid surrounded by teenagers is not always easy although you must admit it has its perks!  Like the fact that Kori was not allowed to watch SpongeBob until she was 7 years old, but it was your favorite show at the age of 7 months!  And maybe you are exposed to more colorful language than I’d like with so many of your sibling’s friends coming and going, but how many kids get to have a bunch of teenagers dressed up like the Descendants show up to their birthday party.   So, you’ve never been to the weekly library story time (or been to a library at all for that matter) and you were not in dance, gymnastics, soccer and t-ball by the age of 3.  You have however always had someone to teach you how to do a cartwheel, read you a book, kick the soccer ball around the yard, play pretend with you, go on a bike ride or snuggle up with a movie.

One thing that has not been easy for you recently is that there are a growing number of times that you feel alone in our house which is always full of activity and people.   A growing number of times when you realize that being the baby is no longer enough to guarantee the attention and affection of your older siblings.  I distinctly remember a couple years back on your brother’s 13th birthday when you burst into tears at the realization that he was now a teenager.  One teenager was more than enough for you after watching Kori and her entire world grow and change.  Your exact words were, “he’s never going to be home anymore, and he won’t ever want to play with me.”    We tried to explain to you that your oldest sister has always been ready for the next adventure, and even as a child was always on the go.  As she was growing up and becoming more independent, being on the go meant being busy with friends and activities more often because she had more freedom to do so.  We assured you that while Cade was most certainly growing and changing, we doubted very seriously if your introverted brother would suddenly cease to be a homebody.  But still there were and are changes happening in your brother- his body is clearly changing, his voice is changing, his interests and moods are changing and there are certainly an increasing number of times that his bedroom door is closed and he is not ready and willing to drop everything to play with his sisters. 

The reality is that there are physical changes, chemical changes and emotional changes going on inside of all three of these complicated beings called teenagers that live in your house.  And believe it or not these changes are even harder on them than they are on you!     So, I have a few words to share with you sweet Lacey as our home is now being overtaken by teenagers.  Afterall, I have a feeling that we are both going to need each other to survive!

Have grace on them!  There are a ton of changes happening that we can see, hear and smell- we can easily observe them growing taller, stinkier and hairier all the time!  But these are nothing compared to the changes we can’t see.   Think about the happy caterpillar who is content to explore the safety of his little butterfly weed, happily eating aphids and leaves day after day while never once thinking about the world beyond.  That’s what its like being a kid content to explore the tiny world that has been set before you, and never bothering to question what lies beyond the safety and security of the home where you were born.  Then suddenly everything changes- the caterpillar finds itself in the most awkward and uncomfortable of circumstances- suddenly trapped in a cocoon and completely out of control, going through miraculous changes both internally and externally, having no clue what lies ahead or what they will be, and finally realizing that the world is much bigger than they had ever fathomed.  As much as you want to spend all your days on milkweed journeys with your siblings, they are no longer caterpillars.  It is not that they do not love us or the homes where they were born.  It is just that they are in that awkward and uncomfortable stage of life- a stage where they are rapidly changing, constantly feeling out of control, starting to realize how big the world is and wondering what they will be when they finally spread their wings.  True they are no longer caterpillars, but they are not quite butterfly’s yet either.  And just as we see Kori Jane fighting to emerge from her cocoon and open her beautiful wings – we see Hallie at the beginning of her transition.     I know it is hard to not take it personally when they appear to be ignoring us all locked away in their cocoons, or when they suddenly seem more interested in the world and the people beyond our cozy little milkweed plant.  It’s hard not to get angry and annoyed when they respond to us in unexpected, unusual or unkind ways.  And it’s hard not to be confused when they suddenly begin to question and contradict all the things that you continue to cling to with childlike faith.   But they will not always make you so sad, angry, annoyed and confused, and I promise you that they still need us more than they realize and love us more than they show. So have grace on them Lacey-lots and lots of grace!    

They’ll be gone before we are ready! Your nine-year-old brain can’t yet fathom how quickly years fly by.  Your nine-year-old brain is not thinking about the world outside our milkweed home, or where butterfly’s go when their wings are fully formed and strong enough to fly.   My 40 something brain is actually still struggling to fathom that in less than two years’ time the first of my babies will be taking flight.    I still remember with clarity the day each of you were born.  Kori Jane’s appearance into this world is one of only a few times I’ve seen tears in your Daddy’s eyes.  When Cade was born, I immediately fell in love with that cone-head even as Daddy whispered in my ear “you just gave birth to an alien.”   Hallie made her arrival 13 Thanksgivings ago and took us all by surprise when she came out a girl.   And Lacey, the looks on your siblings faces the first time they laid eyes on you will be forever etched in my memory.  It seems like only yesterday that you stole their hearts in a moment but in reality, that was nine years ago.  Yet in nine more years you will be the one spreading your wings and taking flight.  So let’s make the most of the years to come as together we treasure each moment- even the stinky, confusing, and frustrating ones- knowing that all of the moments are fleeting.

You’ll be a teenager before I am ready!  And as much as I’d like to believe that my sweet little Lacey Bug will never need deodorant, wear a bra, take drivers ed or the SAT, be embarrassed by her mom or roll her eyes in disgust at Daddy’s rules, the reality is that you will be one of those alien teenagers long before I am ready.   Before we know it, you will begin growing wings of your own.  You will feel awkward and out of control and you will need grace- lots and lots of grace. Ideally, we will have made most of our parenting mistakes on your siblings, but realistically we will just be too tired to reinforce all the same rules.  I just hope when that time comes that you will remember that you need me more than you know, and that I love you more than you can possibly imagine.

Don’t forget to have grace on me!  If you think that having teenage siblings is hard, just wait until you have teenage children.  You feel things you have never felt before- you hurt in ways you have never hurt and experience a deep joy you never knew possible.  Some days you want to kill them and the very next day you are begging God to keep them alive.   You helplessly watch them learn things the hard way and fight the urge to help them struggle out of the cocoon.  You find yourself saying and doing all the things you swore you’d never say or do when you became a mom.   And then you wish you could take half those things you have said or done back.  It’s hard and the very hardest part is yet to come.  So have grace on me Lacey as I watch your siblings learn to fly.  Have grace on me when they start flying away and have grace on me when I’m not quite ready to let you spread your own wings and fly away one day. 

I love you Lacey!

Mommy

The Rain

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Dear Kori Jane,

Twelve years ago almost to the day, you and I  were  heading to a little neighborhood carnival right by our home that we had passed that morning on our way to church.  It was nothing fancy, just some hand painted wooden games set out on card tables and a bounce house or two, but no party no matter how big or small has ever escaped your notice.    It was a couple of weeks before your fourth birthday and you were long overdue some fun quality time with your mom. When you noticed the gathering again on our way home, and through excited squeals begged to go play, I couldn’t say no!    After dropping your Daddy, your baby brother, and your baby sister off at home we headed back to see what exactly all those balloons, tents, and bounce houses were inviting us to. 

I circled some field a few times and ended up parking a good bit further than I wanted, but the joy and anticipation on your face as you bounced towards the crowd told me that nothing was going to ruin this day for you- certainly not a long walk to the entrance. Well almost nothing. Just as we finally crossed the threshold of the carnival (or the fair-never did find out for sure what it was) the first rain drop fell. I looked up and timidly kept walking forward, but when we reached the first booth the skies which had been completely clear just moments before opened up and a torrential down pour began. Within seconds people everywhere were running for cover. Booths, tents and bounce houses were being taken down at record speeds, and without a thought I grabbed your hand intending to start the long trek back to the car but at a much faster speed. You pulled in the opposite direction, and began to adamantly insist that we stay and play. It didn’t take me long to convince you there was no more fun happening as we were both standing in the middle of an ever-thinning crowd completely drenched to the bone- the rain had changed everything- in a moment.

When we finally got to the car, I could not tell where the raindrops ended and where your tears began.  It would not be the biggest heartbreak of your life, but I’m pretty sure it may have been the biggest thus far.  Or at least it is the first big heartbreak I remember, but that could be because I was struggling with processing a heartbreak of my own that day.  Well, as we joined the other cars in a race to get out of the crowded, wet field that had been transformed into a parking lot, your questions began.  You have always been full of questions.  Not the “but why” or the “what happened” questions but the deep, thought provoking, meaning of life kinds of questions.  There has always been a deep hunger in your soul for beauty, truth and meaning.   A passion for life like no other child I have ever known.

Through your tears you asked me “Mommy, why did God let it rain today?  Didn’t he know that we were going to have so much fun?  Didn’t He know that there was so much to do?  Why did He let it rain? Why?”

I tried to give you a little pre-school theology lesson and explain just how much God loved you, and how rain is one of the ways He shows His love and His strength.  I started to quote some bible verses about how He “provides rain for the earth” and how He is “a refuge from the wind and a shelter from the storm.”   I desperately wanted you to understand that God is good, and that He can be trusted even when the rain messes up our plans. That in fact He is the only thing this side of heaven that can be trusted.  But I quickly realized that you were still too young to understand all that quite yet.  You were not mature enough to see beyond your own little reality, and your ideas and plans for that moment were the only ideas and plans that you could fathom being good.  So I opted instead to let you ask why, while I started making promises of greater joys yet to come- other fairs and carnivals and even a world where all the princesses live that would blow those old bounce houses and wooden bean bag toss games out of the park.  And then we stopped and adopted a baby-doll who needed a new home from our favorite thrift store, followed by sharing a snow cone at the little blue snowball shack that sits in the parking lot of said thrift store.

By the time we got home you were back to your creative, passionate, playful self and ever ready to make up a game or put on a show for any willing audience.  The only hint of sadness left was the sadness you felt for the other baby dolls at Family Thrift who had not yet been adopted.  But for me, it was time for my daily visit with my sister.  Aunt Heather, diagnosed with terminal cancer eighteen months prior, had been moved to a hospice facility near our home.  Because she was so young and otherwise healthy, it took the cancer much longer to destroy her body than any of the doctors expected.  It was an impossible 18 months watching her slowly die, and the last two months were especially difficult as she desperately tried to hang on for dear life.  That day when I got to her bedside, she was in a particularly deep sleep.  When I pulled her beautiful long black hair out of her face and straightened her covers she did not even flinch.  So I sat down in the large arm chair by her bed, looked out the window and ever so quietly whispered the word “Why?” 

“Oh, God, why?”  “Don’t you know how young she is, don’t you know that there is so much fun still to be had?  Don’t you know how busy I am with three kids under the age of 4 that need me- why do I have to be here watching my sister die when she should be helping me teach them how to live?”

“Why cancer? Why suffering? Why sadness? Why death? Why?”

And even as I was still gazing out the window, asking my questions- the pelting rain started again just as suddenly as it had at the fair several hours before.    And with the rain came the reminder that He is “a refuge from the wind and a shelter from the storm.”   God is good and He can be trusted even when the rain (or the cancer) messes up our plans, and in fact He is the only thing this side of heaven that can be trusted.  And then I knew that like you, I too am not yet able to understand the whys.  I struggle to see beyond my own little reality, my ideas of what is right, and my plans for today.  I knew from my earlier conversation with you that asking why was just part of the grieving, but even in my asking and grieving the Lord too has made promises of greater joys yet to come. 

Two days after the rain ruined our plans, Aunt Heather got to see the promise of greater joy completely fulfilled as she took her last breath on this earth at the age of 31.

When I was a young child I remember thinking that real people don’t die.  People on the news or in movies sure, but not people you know in real life- and especially not people you love.   When I was in the fifth grade, my Uncle Jimmy died, and I remember that was my first funeral and the first time I felt real genuine grief.  Like the tangible grief that you carry around everywhere you go, even though no one else can see it.  By the time you were in fifth grade, you had already grieved the loss of four people that you loved.  Your Aunt Heather, a teacher at your school, and both of your grandmothers.   I do not have to tell you that you had two of the most amazing grandmothers that ever lived.  My mom was more like a second mom to you, and no doubt your favorite person on the planet.  We would laugh because most of your friends mom’s were closer to Nana’s age than mine, and often people thought she actually was your mom.  She was young, beautiful, and never ever lost her child’s heart.   Daddy’s mom was the perfect Grandma- broke all our rules and was the only other human I’ve ever known to have as much energy as you- which meant that she would get on the floor and play with you until we demanded you both go to bed.  She spoiled you rotten and loved you to pieces. 

Nana- age 53- and her four grand babies, two days before she went to Heaven.

Eventually in the midst of all the rain and storms that kept disturbing our family’s plans, you stopped asking questions and started writing journals, poems, and stories instead.  In fact, when you woke to learn the news of Nana’s death you did not ask a single question or shed a single tear.  You went to your room and you wrote a poem.  In the days and weeks that followed, I could not contain my tears and your lack of tears made me wonder if you were even sad at all- that is until I would stumble upon your writing.  I realize now that even at the age of 8, your thoughts were far too deep and your pain far too real for you to express without the help of a paper and a pen. 

Probably by Kori Jane age 8

Probably walking on water.

Probably walking through walls.

Probably laying on clouds.

Probably already bowed to Him.

Probably shaking His hands.

Definitely loving Heaven.

While I am walking on land.

While I am swimming though waters.

If you were me you’d understand- RAIN.

Not the kind of rain that falls from the sky.

It is when tears fly by.

Once again the line between the rain and your tears was blurred.  But your words even then assured me that despite your grief you were trusting in the promises of far greater joys.

There is no doubt that you understand rain.  The way it changes everything in a moment, the way it hurts and heals, the way it grows us and grieves us. How it can be both devastating and beautiful all at the same time.

You have certainly watched as it has changed me.  It’s no wonder that your tears no longer easily flow when you have grown up watching your mother’s tears flow far too easily.  In many ways you’ve had no choice but to grow up quickly. That first Christmas after both of your grandmas died, I was still trying hard to pick myself up off the floor, and figure out how to do holidays as the 32 year old matriarch of our family. But you were determined this would be the best Christmas ever starting with a spectacular lights display in our yard.  With your usual passion and flare you were tearing into the boxes that Daddy had dutifully brought down from the attic which were filled with decorations and lights.  You were handing out jobs to each of your three siblings and both of your parents, ensuring that not a single part of the yard was left bare.  As I was watching the lights go up, it became obvious to me that like usual, your big, bold, bright ideas were being executed without much planning or forethought.  That coupled with Daddy’s lack of designer instincts was stressing me out. The tree he was wrapping ran out of branches, so he decided that he would stretch the lights to a neighboring tree leaving a single strand of lights floating in mid-air between them.    I snapped and I said some unkind things to Daddy. I won’t go into details about the volume or tone of my voice- or the specific unkind words that came out of my mouth as that is not the point of this story!   The point is that you followed me to the wooden bench swing in our side yard and without speaking a word, gently sat down and placed your hand on my knee as I stared out into space allowing my tears to flow freely.   When one your siblings came to ask me a question you would answer for me as I continued to just stare off unable to find words with which to respond.  And when Daddy came over to kindly inquire as to what exactly he had done to upset me so much, you intuitively answered him by saying “Daddy, don’t you remember that Nana always hung the Christmas lights.”   After a while you drug me inside and insisted that we get busy on the Christmas Tree.   You were ten.  Wise and compassionate beyond your years-no doubt a wisdom and compassion that only can grow where there has been a lot of rain.

This month you will be sixteen and last month you went to yet another funeral.  I was so thankful to hear you mumble the question “why” when we told you that Grandpa was so near the end.  I worry sometimes that all the rain will make you angry or cold.  That you watching me through all my years of grief and tears will just be another storm for you to endure on your journey.   But when you asked why you had to loose someone else you loved- why you had to go to another funeral- why you had to be the only teenager you knew without grandparents.  I knew that all the rain had only made you stronger and more alive.  I knew that you did not really need an answer- just time and space to grieve and maybe a reminder that there are promises of greater joys yet to come. 

Thank you Kori Jane for helping me understand rain, for teaching me to dance in the rain, and helping me find the rainbows and flowers that the rain leaves behind.  Flowers which include your profound wisdom, tender compassion, intense passion and gentle strength.

I love you forever!

Mom

Charm Bracelets

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Dear Hallie,

When I was in the fourth grade, I sold enough Girl Scout cookies to win the custom-made, sterling silver, James Avery, puppy dog charm. This was back when the awards were special enough to motivate the selling of a ridiculous number of cookies. Turns out the hours of door-to-door selling followed by more hours of door-to-door deliveries were well worth it. That year my mom, your Nana, made significant sacrifices to buy me my very own James Avery charm bracelet, which as you know I still wear with pride.

When your older sister was born, Nana was given her own James Avery charm bracelet by her best friend Lonnie, which she added to upon the birth of each of her grandchildren as a way to brag about them everywhere she went.  When her first granddaughter turned six years old, Nana deemed her ready for a charm bracelet of her own, and so continues the family tradition of charm bracelets. 

You were only four years old when your nana was diagnosed with terminal cancer, so not yet old enough to have received a bracelet of your own. The ten months that followed her diagnosis remain to this day some of the most challenging of my entire life. But those days of juggling four young children amid hospital visits, chemo treatments, and watching my own mother wither and fade were eventually replaced with days, months, and years of grieving her death.

Before her final breath, your Nana found things to pass on to each of her four grandchildren.  To you she passed on the charm bracelet she wore on her own wrist.  Some of the charms were removed and given to the rest of us- each of us graciously accepted the charms eager to carry pieces of her with us everywhere we went.  But to you she left her bracelet, and on it a single letter H molded in beautiful cursive script.

H- for Hallie- a name that the both of you share. Of course, your name and your bracelet are not the only things that you got from your Nana- you also got your stubbornness, your playfulness, your strength, and your unique ability to mesmerize and delight young children.

On your sixth birthday (instead of the customary bracelet) you received your second charm. It was a little sculpture of the American Sign Language sign for “I Love You,” and it was given to you by Daddy’s mom- your Mamaw.

As you know, Mamaw was born deaf, but what you likely do not remember is that she spent every minute of the last 8 years of her life pouring herself into her grandchildren and finding ways to speak love to them without ever speaking a single word out loud. That was right up until one month after your sixth birthday when your Mamaw joined your Nana in heaven.

The next few years saw the addition of more charms. Uncle Randy (your Mamaw’s brother) supported your love of sports by adding a basketball.  Your older brother wanted you to know that you were the princess of the family, and he gifted you a castle charm. Your sister thought it should be made clear that she was the oldest among you, so she gave you a charm that declared you the middle sister.

In second grade you befriended a little boy in the medically fragile class at your school named Beau. Although Beau is nonverbal and wheelchair bound, you managed to learn his language and grow a beautiful friendship with him that continues to this day. His mother has become one of my dearest friends, and she never ceases to remind me of the forever impact you have had on her and her amazing son, simply by becoming his first and his best friend. As 5th grade ended, and you and Beau would no longer be attending the same school, his mother gifted you a charm that depicts a young boy and girl with clasped hands to be a forever reminder of your special friendship.

A couple months later, Hurricane Harvey dumped 51 inches of rain on our city.   Since you rarely took your bracelet off, you knew exactly where it had been left the night of the storm. We’d intended to make a trip to the mall that day to have your new charm soldered on, but instead found ourselves stocking up on bottled water and non-perishable food items in anticipation of the storm’s landfall.  So, after canoeing to safety the following morning, you quickly recognized that your charm bracelet was still in our car under 6 feet of water. After the floods subsided 14 days later, we sported face masks and held our breaths as we crawled around the soggy slimy suburban in search of your bracelet which was never found.

Of all the many, many material things that you lost in the flood, this one hurt you the most. It hurt me too, and when Beau’s mom heard about the bracelet, she set out to make it right. She penned a letter to Mr. Avery himself telling your story- the story that your bracelet used to tell. The story of two grandmas that you only vaguely remember, the story of your friendship with her son and the story of all that Harvey had stolen from you.  And in response to your story, Mr. Avery replaced not only your bracelet, but also every one of your lost charms. Beau’s mom decided that your bracelet needed to tell this part of your story as well, so she added a tiny canoe charm to your collection.

Last month your cousin Emilie turned six. While Nana was not here to celebrate the birth of any of Aunt Kellie’s babies, I was determined to continue the charm bracelet tradition in her memory. This is when I first noticed that you were not wearing your bracelet. Your cousin Emilie was on her way over, and I wanted to make sure she understood the significance of this right of passage so I told everyone to get their bracelets on.

Immediately I knew. I wish I could say that I responded with grace as you fell apart right in front of my eyes, but I was so upset. So as the story that you had been holding inside for more than a month came bursting forth, complete with tears and trembling, so did my own frustration. How could you lose your bracelet again? How could you not tell me? Why suffer alone bearing this burden by yourself when I may have been able to fix it had you just told me when it happened? Am I really that scary? Can I not be trusted?

Without a plan, you assured me that you were going to fix it.  Perhaps you were still determined to find it at school despite the strong evidence that it had been stolen. Or perhaps you were going to take odd jobs or sell some of your things to try to replace it yourself. More than likely you were trying to push the thought of it as far out of your mind as possible, and just hope that the problem would simply go away.

I finally calmed down, and then just assumed that you would be getting a new charm bracelet for some future birthday. We would start a new collection, which of course would never include the charms or the meaning that your other TWO bracelets held.

That was until last week when I had to stop by your school to return your brother’s laptop. Ms. Julie greeted me at the front desk with her usual enthusiasm and infectious smile.  As we were saying our last goodbyes for the summer, she asked if I needed anything else. Here is the conversation that followed:

“Oh yes, I just remembered- any chance Hallie’s bracelet turned up?”

“Oh Ms. Spaulding, I’m so glad she finally told you! She showed up in tears the day it was stolen, and we spent the rest of the afternoon and the weeks that followed playing detective together. She told me how special it was to her! She told me about her grandmas, and about the flood. I kept encouraging her to tell you it was missing, but I think she was just so certain she could fix it on her own.”

And just like that I understood. In a moment I knew exactly why you did not come to me for help!  And before I could even think about what I was saying, these words tumbled out of my mouth, and landed on the front desk lady-

“Isn’t that what I do every day!” I blurted out. “I am so determined to fix my own problems…to fix myself, that I refuse to go to the One who has all the fixes and answers I will ever need.  I hide from the One who knows me best and loves me most.”

Hallie, you hid it from me because you cannot possibly comprehend how much I love you, or how much I want to help you. You hid it from me because you overestimate your own strength, and you underestimate how much you still need your mom. You hid it from me because you want my approval, and somehow think that I could not love you despite all your imperfections. You hid it because you cannot comprehend the fact that I know you better than anyone, and yet I love you more than anyone- bracelet or no bracelet! 

Ms. Julie and I shared a moment and a tear. And then she reminded me that it happened to be the last day of James Avery’s annual “buy two charms get a bracelet free” sale.

I got into the car and drove straight home eager to replace your stolen charm bracelet with a brand spankin’ new shiny one!

I will never forget the look of confusion on your face when I told you where we were going. I will never forget your insistence that you would pay me back no matter how many times I told you that it was a gift- that you owed me nothing- that it brought me such joy to do this for you.  And I will never forget the tear in your eye when you asked me why I was doing this for you?

It’s because you are my child Hallie, and I love you.  I’ve always loved you, and nothing you do is going to make me stop loving you.  I want what is best for you, and I delight in giving you good gifts, tending to your wounds, and meeting your needs.  I want you to trust me, and next time you face something hard I want you to come to me with it.

And may the tiny sterling silver cross that we added to your newest charm bracelet last week serve as a reminder that His grace is truly free and that He can always be trusted. And I pray that you will fully understand now (as a twelve year old girl) what it took you losing two charm bracelets for me to fully understand- because we are His children, He delights in giving us good gifts, tending to our wounds, and meeting our deepest needs.

Third times a charm!

Love,

Mom

8th Grade Graduation

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Dear Cade,

This week you graduated from 8th grade. It was an emotional week for me, but not for the reasons others might expect.   

I remember being emotional when your older sister walked across the 8th grade stage to receive her “most likely to be a best-selling author who inspires the world with her words” and “student of the year” awards just two years ago. I remember holding back tears when she told me to stop taking pictures before sending her off to the 8th grade dance. Not only did she feel too old to have me hanging so close, but she looked much too old for my liking in her fancy dress and heels. I was having to accept she was much more her own person than she was my little girl any more. I remember being sad her group of friends, who seemed to her the most important people in the world, were all going to different high schools. And the mom friends I made through her middle school friendships would likely never be the same either. I soaked in every minute of that week- the medals and certificates, the final middle school beach trip, the parent planned end of year gatherings- I soaked them in and I posted all about them on social media so everyone I knew (and even those “friends” I don’t really know) could share in the joy of my amazing daughter’s 8th grade graduation.

Son, this week was emotional not because it is hard to watch you move on from 8th grade, but because it is far too easy. It’s not that you chose to skip out on the 8th Grade Dance or the final Beach Day that made this week hard- that’s not really your thing and I have no interest in making you fit a mold that you were never meant to fit. It’s not that there were no invites to end of year gatherings- I’d have been the first parent to host one if I thought that kind of thing was important to you.

I did not cry because of the multiple hours you spent creatively planning and solving your 6×6 rubik’s cube- making it spell 8GD in an attempt to get that girl to accompany you to the 8GD (8th grade dance). The skill, thoughtfulness, and creativity it took for you to pull off such a feat makes my brain smoke and my heart soar. But her less than gracious response and the rejection you felt when the taunting on social media followed are likely what started my emotions on a downward spiral.

Then came the big 8th grade graduation and awards ceremony. You are not one to set a trend like KJ, lead the way like Hallie, or steal the stage like little Lacey. In fact, unlike your three sisters you’ve little desire to be noticed or recognized- and while doing the right thing is supremely important to you, you are not especially interested in impressing anyone else. But even though I knew kids like you do not get straight a’s, perfect attendance, or Principal’s Awards, I still held out hope that your accomplishments this year would not go unnoticed. I know you are also not the most athletic, you probably will never star in the school play, nor would your quirky absent minded ways lend themselves to you being named “student of the year” or “most popular” -but I still hoped. I knew that you had not really connected with any of your peers, but still I hoped that someone would have seen the beautiful mind and kind heart hidden behind your quirky behaviors and unique interests.

But, alas, the only time your name was called was when it was your turn to walk across that stage to receive the same certificate as everyone else- acknowledging your completion of 8th grade. On that certificate was the obligatory statement that you were “most likely to be a famous mathematician.” While that sentiment was a fair assessment in my mind, I had to work even harder to hold back my tears when the first thing you did after the ceremony was share your disappointment with the idea of being thought of as a “famous mathematician.” You took note that all the other student’s obligatory “most likelys” seemed to you to be so much funnier, more personal, and more thoughtful than your own. After all, not only do you have zero interest in being famous, you also eloquently pointed out that there is no such thing as a “famous” mathematician- except of course among other mathematicians. You knew that you were the odd kid who likes math, but now you were walking away from middle school with a certificate to prove it. And while I adore that odd kid who likes math, I too wanted your peers (and their parents), who never quite understood you, to know that there is so much more to you than that.

Certainly someone in those three years took note of the immense integrity or wisdom that you possess.  Someone surely noticed the depth of your faith, the depth of your mind, or the depth of your kindness and empathy.   

As often happens to me when my emotions take over- my mind started to spin. Laying in bed that night I couldn’t help but think about the hundreds of other kids who were also forgotten that evening. Every May, all over the country, parents and kids dress up and gather to celebrate the achievements of a small number of exceptional peers. After fifteen years of working to advocate for kids who struggle in school, I was well aware that the low achieving kids did not get awards. And I was average enough in my time to know that the average kids don’t either. But I hoped that your perfect score on a PSAT at 13 or the fact that you completed two years of high school during your 8th grade year might just be exceptional enough to be “end-of year award ceremony” worthy. But turns out that what gets celebrated is not being exceptional. What gets celebrated is fitting perfectly in the school mold.

That night I thought of all the other moms who sat hopeful that someone noticed something “recognition worthy” in their kid, only to hear the same five or so names called to the stage over and over. Despite the fact that these same kids already received their due praise all school year long, simply for showing up to school each day and being who they were created to be. The rest of us are convinced we need to keep trying harder to be like those kids- you know the ones who are born good at school. Somehow someone convinced us the kids who get the medals and the trophies are more valuable than the rest. I remember being the kid at the awards ceremony desperately longing to hear my own name called, and I can attest to the fact that not being the trophy winner had no long term bearing on my success or happiness. I am certain the same will be true for you and so many of your struggling, average, and exceptional peers who also went home without an award. But it’s harder to remember that these days, because there was one huge difference when I was a kid- once Mom and I went home, we were free from the onslaught of visions of other children smiling with their awards, or their dates to 8gd, or other end of school year celebrations.

Your last day of middle school was Friday. I’d watched all week as picture after picture was posted on social media- pictures much like the ones I’d posted of your sister a couple years ago. Pretty girls in dresses and handsome boys in suits. Trophies and medals held out for all to see, and large groups of friends sharing in each other’s joys and accomplishments. Once the last day of school pool party pictures started to show up in my news feed, I felt another flash of sadness realizing that while your sisters were off celebrating the end of their school years with friends, at any moment you would be walking in the door with only your mom to greet you. So I did the only thing I could think to cheer myself up- I began to frantically look through my phone for any photos that I could post that would assure others that we were celebrating your graduation from 8th grade and proclaim to them just how proud I am of you. But nothing I could find would ever come close to capturing how proud I am of you, and nothing could show the world how grateful I am to God for fearfully and wonderfully creating you exactly as He meant you to be.

And then you walked in- BEAMING!  You greeted me with one of your full on hugs, excited to celebrate the end of 8th grade with me!  We talked and laughed, played some video games and ate some junk food.  You helped me once again to think about what is real, what is meaningful and what is eternal.

 Why should I be sad that the world is missing out on knowing you?  Should I not rather be grateful that I am one of the lucky few who gets to know you- that I am the lucky one who gets to be called your mom!  Why should I be upset that it is impossible to capture your gifts or your value in a ceremony or social media post?  Should I not rather delight in the immense depth of your brilliant mind and your kind heart.  Why should I be downhearted that you have not found a place to belong among your peers?  Should I not rather rejoice that you belong to God and that you belong in our family.  Should I not be filled with thanksgiving for the way that you help to make our home a place where anyone can belong.

It’s about time for me to stop trying to tell the world how proud I am, and just tell you instead.

And while I am at it, I better make sure your sisters know how proud I am of them.  I have a feeling I have been a little too busy editing pictures to make them look extraordinary, instead of celebrating who they have been created to be and teaching them to be content in the ordinary.

Congratulations on finishing 8th grade this year, Cade! Congratulations for being so far outside the box that there is no award or trophy that could ever adequately capture your giftedness or value.  Congratulations on being the most humble, kind and intelligent kid I know.  You will never know how much I love you, how much joy you bring me, or how much I learn from you.  I am truly grateful that I get to be your mom.

Love,

Mom