A Mom's Wish

I’m not sure how many years she has been teaching high school education classes to aspiring future teachers, but I am thankful to have met her at open house at the beginning of this school year where her first words to me were “You must be Bull’s mom.”  I smiled, replied “Yes”, told her how much my Hannah loves her as a teacher, and proceeded to sit down at the small roundtable with the other parents as she shared what the coming school year would hold for her intern students.

Every new year brings new teachers and new experiences – at school and at church.  When the new school year starts, we also have what is called “Promotion Sunday” at church where all the students move up to their new grade level class in Sunday School.  Without fail, each year I say the same words to Hannah - “It doesn’t matter which teacher you have this year.  My only wish as your mother is that they share God’s love with you, but more importantly, that they show you that same love AND that they love you genuinely.”  As parents, the teenage world is often complex and perplexing to us.  I’m all in favor of the old adage: It takes a village to raise a child.

While I hope and expect each year for such relationships at church and am thankful for the sweet ladies who love Hannah and are leaving an imprint on her heart, I was pleasantly surprised to find it in an unexpected place - at school in the form of Ms. Rolanda Wilkins.

Ms. Wilkins is a confidant for students whenever needed.  She has endearing nick names for them – all of which fit them to a “T”.  She has been asked by students if she has any biological children of her own and her response is, “You are all my children.”  In turn, they refer to her as Mama Wilkins. She texts them on their birthday - and sometimes, even has special celebrations for them.  She commutes from Houston every day to teach and love her students at Kingwood Park High School. 

Hannah knew of Ms. Wilkins' love of lavender, so she bought her a lavender scented candle for Christmas.  Last night I was putting some clothes away in Hannah’s room while she was at work. As I looked down, I saw the candle sitting on the floor wrapped in cellophane tied with a pretty ribbon.  I turned the gift name tag around and it read “To: Mom, From: Bull.”  As my heart was wrenched with emotional pain, I sat down on her bed and felt the tears welling up.  The word Mom on the name tag made my heart ache and I wondered how she could call someone else Mom.  After all, I am the one who gave birth to her and genetically it would be impossible that this woman of a different race could be my blonde hair, blue-eyed child’s mother.

But that’s the beauty of love, isn’t it?

Where there is a heart full of love, there isn’t an ounce of room to worry about race, genetics, physical or emotional descriptions.  They mean nothing. 

Mama Wilkins, or Mom for short, I’m thankful you have fulfilled my wish and I know the love you give, even if only during the high school years, will last a lifetime.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of our village.

With Love,

Bull’s Other Mom

 

 

 

You Don't Have to See Beauty to Feel It

I was sitting under the hair dryer reading a magazine at the hair salon when I looked up and saw her.  A young girl, whose mom escorted her to the stylist’s chair in front of me.  While she sat down, her mom folded the girl’s walking stick and sat it in the chair beside her so that it was close enough to touch her leg.  

Over the noise of the dryer, I could hear her mom providing a description of a dress saying, “well, it’s a really pretty chevron print, sleeveless, and short - not a long gown.”  The young girl replied, “yes, very short sleeves.”  The stylist then asked the young girl how she would like her hair styled.  “Well, I’d like it curled and up somehow, but I’m not sure of the exact style.”  

I could feel a lump in my throat as I watched her transform from this small framed high school girl with straight, long mousy brown hair to a pretty princess with a half up, half down hairstyle which featured a shimmery hair pin and long beautiful curls.  

It was the night of her high school homecoming dance and she had come to get dolled up for the occasion.  When the stylist had finished her hair, she could not ask her the obvious question, “How does it look?”  Instead, she asked her “How does it feel?”  In silence, the young girl nodded her head with a “yes” type movement and off she went.

My heart ached because her blindness prevented her from being able to see the dress she would be wearing that evening, to fully describe it to someone, and to pick out an exact hairstyle for the event.  But most of all - - she could not see how beautiful she would be at her homecoming dance.

I went home in tears, shared the story with my husband and even caused him a few tears.  Later that day, a friend brought me to the realization that this sweet girl didn’t need to see beauty.  She could feel and sense it. If God formed her very being and she is beautiful in His eyes, why should I be discouraged in any way that He made her life to be just a little different than mine?  

I praise you Lord because your word says I am fearfully and wonderfully made and so is the sweet high school freshman girl who attended her first high school homecoming dance.  I hope she felt as beautiful on the inside as what was ever so present on the outside.

Psalm 139:14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. NIV

 

Peace in the Valley

It was found the day she left this earth for Heaven.  In the calm after our tragic storm, there it was sitting beside her Bible on an end table next to her recliner.  Three pages of notebook paper filled with her wonderful all too familiar handwriting.  Her heartfelt words spilled out onto paper.  It was her last writing as she went from this life to Heaven.  It is a great reminder of her love and of the love Jesus has for us.

 

In the Valley He Restoreth My Soul 

 

I’ve been on top of the mountain, though not often, and I’ve been in the valley – and the valley has been my way of life for a lot of my life.  But don’t go getting down now, for the valley isn’t all bad.  In the valley He leads me beside still waters and from my trials there’s victory in Thee.  For it’s in the valley He restoreth my soul.  For if you do not face the truth, there is no grace to keep you where you want to be.  There’s stuff in us that keeps us from being what God would have our lives to be.  Thank God he loves us unconditionally and He’s not through working on me yet.  We learn how to look like we’re performing perfectly but deep down inside we’re struggling with trial after trial.  Uncertainty, fear of change, hostility because we don’t confront the problem at hand.  And with the warfare inside tearing us apart we seem to somehow forget that we’re a King’s Kid.  Oh how much He loves you and me.  In the valley it gets dark and cold and lonely and at times you even begin to wonder “Where are you God?”  Being in the valley is like the three days of Christ’s crucifiction.  Death, burial and resurrection.  So after the shock of your tragedy - comes the depression, but get ready for God is going to resurrect you (if we keep the faith) and say “Here I am God.”  No, there’s not always a rainbow or a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  The gift is the lamb who was slaughtered for our transgressions.  The gift of love and peace in the midst of the storm.

 

I’m finding out there are seasons to our life.  It’s up to us to understand when one season is over…it’s probably because God is getting our attention to tell us it’s time to step to a higher plane if we say “Here I am God.”  For if God be for us, who can prevail against us?

 

So it’s in the valley He restoreth my soul.  God has a plan for my life and for your life.  In order for us to fulfil his plans, we can’t just read a book or listen to a preacher.  It took Moses 40 years of stumbling around the mountain until he learned God’s ways.  For His ways are not our ways.  His thoughts are not our thoughts.  It is all in His time.  I’ve learned that you don’t get too comfortable in one situation because that’s about the time that you hit a bump in the road of life.

 

So I guess what I’m trying to say through all of this is:  choose to have a merry heart for happiness is a choice even in the midst of the storms.  Maybe it has taken me this long of stumbling around the mountain to understand that God really does love ME.  And if He loves me, He loves my children and grandchildren and there is nothing in life that we can’t face together.

 

Today with God’s love and forgiveness, I will choose to be happy and have a merry heart no matter what valley God has for me next.

 

January 10, 2000

Carolyn Elizabeth Lee

 

Jesus called her home on April 27, 2007.  These words about living in the valley were written seven years prior.   She might have needed them as encouragement at the time of her writing, but the truth is, we can all use them as we go through our next valley in life.

 

For her, living in the valley with heart disease for many years, the valley of a massive heart attack literally turned into a mountain top in an instant.  The instant she saw Jesus.

 

What a treasure my mother was here on earth and what a gift these three sheets of notebook paper are that she left behind for us.

There is peace in the valley for you and for me.




 

Be Someone

They were painted in September of 2012.  Two hopeful pieces of graffiti street art in Houston.  From I-10 East, if you look to the far left at the I-45 South exit to Galveston, you'll see one of them.  It was in my view on my ride home from the office yesterday and I snapped a photo of it.  There is no doubt that it tugs at the hearts of those who pass by it on a daily basis as well as others who are seeing it for the very first time.  Two words painted on the railroad tracks in two different shades of blue. "Be Someone."

 

Be someone.  What does that mean?  After all, we are all somebody, right?  I recently had a conversation and interaction with a person who has struggled with peace and contentment most of their life. It has been evident to me for as long as I can remember since the time I was introduced to them when they were 12 years of age.

 

It is truly as if this person wears an invisible backpack - not on their back, but turned around backwards so that it lays on their chest.  It's packed so full that it will barely close shut.  It's contents include pent up anger, bad memories, life choices, addictions, and worst of all - controlling demons.  In any conversation, the first words or encounter that happen to touch any of those contents of baggage (whether unintentional or intentional) cause the zipper of the backpack to open at lightening speed so the contents are spilled out and unleashed.  Unleashed in the form of absolute uncontrollable rage. 

 

We've talked about our lives and what it means to follow Jesus.  Neither time did the conversations go well and on that particular visit, on that particular evening, I personally did not want to engage in a conversation.  In fact, I argued with God about it.  I simply did not want to do it. But, I did.  And it didn't go well.  As I look back on it now, I think it was good for both of us because it gave reason for me to get a spiritual check up, but it also allowed me to share my longing for them to stop dipping their toes in the water and instead become fully immersed and soaking wet in the waterfall of God's love.  That can only be done by completely surrendering ourselves and all the contents in the backpack to Him.

 

Unfortunately, one day later, that rage was unleashed on someone who was not expecting it and without a doubt did not deserve it. I am thankful that I was not a witness to it but I have seen the after affects which have caused physical and emotional wreckage that will take many years in which to recover and to overcome.  It absolutely breaks my heart and I pray for redemption - redemption before there is another victim to the rage.

 

Hope. It's all we have.  Whether on a piece of graffiti street art or more importantly, hope in God's promises.  He is the only one that can change a heart and empty a backpack of all that is unnecessary.  He is all we need - He is the way, the truth and the life.

 

And He is our Redeemer.  He is in the redemptive story writing business and it is my prayer that this is the beginning of a redemption story. 

   

 



 

Be Someone

 

Be someone who listens, and you will be heard.

Be someone who cares, and you will be loved.

Be someone who gives, and you will be blessed.

Be someone who comforts, and you will know peace.

 

Be someone who genuinely seeks to understand, and you will be wise.

Be someone kind, someone considerate, and you will be admired.

Be someone who values truth, and you will be respected.

Be someone who takes action, and you will move life forward.

 

Be someone who lifts others higher, and your life will be rich.

Be someone filled with gratitude, and there will be no end to the things for which you’ll be thankful.

Be someone who lives with joy, with purpose, as your own light brightly shines.

Be, in every moment, the special someone you are truly meant to be.
 

— Ralph Marston

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under the Cover

It was one of many sweet gifts from my brother’s wife, Lisa, at my baby shower.  In all honesty, she had compiled so many gifts in anticipation of our new baby girl that I wasn’t sure who was more excited – her or me!  As I look back at this now, I can’t help but smile.

 

I was not an avid shopper and had not frequented the cute children’s store Gymboree, but soon learned that they sell all sorts of children’s apparel including the most adorable soft blankets with reversible prints and coordinating trim.

 

This special gift was a Gymboree blanket which is pink with a floral print on one side and golden yellow with a floral print on the other.  Since the day we brought her home from the hospital, this blanket, which became known as Blankie, has been by Hannah’s side for over 16 years.

 

There was an almost instant attachment – so much so that as I look back through her photo albums, there just aren’t many pictures of Hannah as a small child without it.  One of the cutest memories I have is when she was about two years old at an Easter egg hunt.  She’s got her Easter basket in one hand and Blankie being dragged along the ground with the other hand.  She was participating BUT not without Blankie.

 

You see, Blankie never got too far away from her.  In fact, if we had gone somewhere and forgotten Blankie, it did not matter the miles we would have to travel to recover it because there would be no nap time and no bed time for Hannah or any of us without Blankie (well, and her thumb).  This lasted throughout preschool, kindergarten and several of her elementary school years.  Just to launder it, I literally had to sneak it away from her in the middle of the night and then place it back before morning.

 

Blankie has traveled many miles, been dragged all over the place (as evidenced by its holes, rips and discoloration), has covered a sweet newborn baby, a toddler, a preschooler, and an elementary school girl while she slept.  It has been held by a middle school girl and a high school girl at times when she was happy and at times through tears when she felt life’s hurts.  



While this small gift has been so precious to Hannah all these years, it has covered God’s most precious gift to me - the little girl under the cover. 

 

 

 

 

Easter  - Before the Easter Egg Hunt

 

 

Straight to the Heart

I so wish we had taken pictures of the front and back yard of our current home when we purchased it because the yard was certainly not one of its selling points.  In fact, if we had been looking for complete curb appeal, this house would have never even made it on the short list of those to be considered. 

Shortly after moving in, we had the front yard landscaped with new sod and two rock bordered flower beds.  However, we decided to tackle the back yard on our own.  It was bare and covered with a thick layer of pine straw, which had fallen from the surrounding pine trees and had been there for years.   

On her first visit, my mother-in-law graciously took charge and shared with us that removing the pine straw and scraping and roughing up the dirt with hard rake prongs would allow the sun to reach the ground and promote the grass to grow.  We owe her a world of thanks for that advice AND for her labor because after several days of raking, the grass did start to grow! And what is absolutely amazing is that it has grown and is gorgeous without having much other tending or care at all now some seven years later. 

It was obvious by the condition in which the previous owners left the yard that they did not enjoy yard work.  BUT - we saw beyond the yard.  We were able to see our future home straight from the heart.  We saw the house for what it was, the floor plan, the neighborhood, the quiet street and the cul-de-sac.  It was a complete package minus the yard.   

I often think about my life and how jam packed busy it is most of the time.  And I think about my own personal insecurities and struggles – my Type A personality with OCD tendencies which drive my family insane, my complete inability to read a map which my husband simply will never understand, my weight struggle, my never ending unhappiness with my hair, and so many other things.  But I’m thankful that God sees beyond my “yard” and He looks straight into my heart and sees me as a complete package no matter what I think I’m lacking. 

The patio in our back yard is now my favorite place to sit and enjoy all the green.  It was and still is a true labor of love adding plants here and there.  The rake prongs surely did their job scratching the surface to promote the grass to grow.  Kind of like scars on your heart that hurt but then heal - they always make you better than you were before.

1-2-3 Like a Bird I Sing

Music was something that filled her heart with motivation and inspiration.  While she loved music from all genres, she grew up in the 50's and 60's and along with bouffant hairdos, she especially enjoyed the music and dance moves of that period in time.  All through our childhood and even up into our adulthood, she would often lovingly grab our hands to hold them as she began to dance and show us how to jitterbug and do the mashed potato which were popular dances of that era.  It was evident by her sense of free movement and pure joy that it took her back in time to younger years when life was filled with less responsibility and reminding of sweet memories she shared dancing with her younger brother, Ron, in the living room on Saturday nights. 

In addition to dancing, she loved to sing.  Although she did not think much of her singing ability while belting out some heart felt lyrics, I truly enjoyed seeing her sweet smile when she would sing along to her favorites. 

On her first and last visit to see us in early April 2007 after we moved to Texas, she shared with us that her two favorite songs at that time were "Last Dollar (Fly Away)" by Tim McGraw and "In the Arms of An Angel" by Sarah McLachlan.  And in a rather casual conversation, she commented that she had recently dreamt about playing with the cutest blonde haired boy, but had no clue who he might be and that God had shown her that she would leave this world at a time when she was home alone.  I found this conversation to be quite odd and unsettling.  I did not want to talk about her leaving me....EVER!  Little did I know that two weeks later, all of this would make sense.

She did leave this world while at home alone.  Alone without family, yes, but not alone.  In the midst of and following her heart attack, I have no doubt the angel band was there to carry her to her eternal home to meet our glorious Lord.  Both of her favorite songs were played at her funeral and how fitting they were as she had just recently been able to fly away in the arms of an angel.  Oh, and that blonde haired little boy - he must have been Uncle Ron.  I know they have enjoyed dancing in their living room in the sky on the streets of gold together.

In quiet moments I can still feel her hands in mine when we were dancing.  And I can close my eyes and see her face when she sang - sometimes smiling, other times with a serious expression, eyes closed and singing the words as if she was the songwriter and it was her story.

Today, seven years ago, mama, as you ascended upward like a spiral flying butterfly, the words to one of your favorite songs were being carried out  - and it was your story.

1-2-3 like a bird I sing cause you've given me the most beautiful set of wings.

 Mom, Uncle Ron and Uncle Carlton 

Mom, Dad and me

Mom and me summer of 1989

A Game of Love

It all started during our senior year of high school at the pencil sharpener in Ms. Jones’ 1^st period accounting class.  I would sharpen my pencil and he would smile at me and say something funny to make me laugh.  This went on for several weeks until I arrived to class one morning and found him sitting in the vacant desk to the right of me asking, “Did you do your accounting homework?”

For the rest of the school year, that was his seat - the one next to me.  We did our accounting homework together, studied together and it became a competition to see who could achieve the better grade.  I’m not ashamed to admit that he won and the truth is – it was more than a competition for grades.  It was a competition for love.

We were members of FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America) and it came time to vote for officers.  As class clown, you can imagine the reaction from our classmates when he not only ran for the position but won!  I was the shy serious wallflower and along with winning votes, he won my heart.

We were married three years later.  It didn’t take long during our first year of marriage to realize that things such as not squeezing the toothpaste just right, loading the dishwasher properly, or putting the toilet paper on the roll correctly became BIG things instead of being little things. In all honesty, it was a tough year getting through those idiosyncrasies and I tell everyone the first year of marriage is certainly the most difficult.  At least it was for us. 

Since that time, we have celebrated moving on from our Taco Bell meals on a string tight budget that first year of marriage, graduating from college and the birth of our daughter.  We have watched each other grow on a spiritual, personal, and professional level.  We have had our fair share of heartbreaks and losses and we have seen areas in each other where we know God is still working. 

23 years ago today, I married my high school sweetheart, Barry Bullard.  He is the man who won my heart and has loved me unconditionally all these years, even when I didn’t deserve it. He makes me laugh when I am too serious. He is the calm voice of reason when I am in a frenzy. He knows me better than I know myself most days. He is the one I will grow old with and the one who will have my heart forever.

I smile when I think about our wedding day, but even more so when I think about our first date.  It was on that first date that he asked me to marry him.  In complete shock, I smiled and laughed out loud.  So thankful all these years later he wasn’t kidding after all.




Candid shot on our wedding day - April 6, 1991

 

 

 23rd wedding anniversary - April 6, 2014

After the Fear There Is Freedom

It was around this time last year when I asked my husband what his thoughts were on the idea of me starting a blog.  Not knowing what I would be writing about, his first response was concern that some blogs can be very offensive.  I smiled and reassured him that this would not be the case.  Although, I surely realize it could have and may yet happen – unintentionally I hope.  The fear I was more concerned about was the risk of judgment of others in sharing my heart in print.  
 
I’ve shared my testimony with our middle school youth group at church on a couple of occasions and each time I start out by telling them I was jokingly nicknamed “Loud Mouth” by my second grade teacher.  Not for obvious reasons, but because I MIGHT have said two words the entire school year.  That was me – the painfully shy girl who smiled at everyone but never said a word.

Today, even though I know I have a Savior who has no doubt master planned my life, I am ashamed to admit that I live in fear more than I should.  If you’ve ever raised a teenager, you have lived there or are living there yourself.  Fear that they will always remain true to God, fear that they will make the right decisions, and fear that they will grow up to trust Him in every aspect of their life.  In only two short years, my teenager will leave to go to college.  I won’t be at her fingertips … and what she will have to rely on (in my physical absence) is her faith to get her through whatever difficulty or trial she will face.

God has transformed that scaredy cat little blonde haired second grade girl and He has helped me overcome the fear of judgment in sharing my heart in print.  Chris Tomlin’s song Amazing Grace describes it perfectly.  My chains are gone.  I’ve been set free.  And I know that He will continue to be there for this mama on days when raising a teenage daughter are challenging.  I also know that He will always be there for her when she needs Him.  He is our foundation and He always will be. 

The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures

After the fear there is freedom.

A Friendship Made in Heaven

One of her sweetest gifts is her singing voice, but on that particular day, her gift was not expressed through song - it was expressed as she spoke the words to a precious eulogy given at her best friend's funeral.  They had met at church over 30 years ago and had been best friends ever since.  This sweet lady's name is Karen Couch and she was my mother's best friend.

As she spoke about their special friendship, she shared that they were truly best friends.  They stood up for each other.  They shopped together, prayed together, laughed together, cried together and most importantly loved each other without judgment. They were each other's confidants.  They could tell each other anything without being judged or criticized.  They would ask each other's opinion and advice about all sorts of things and always knew the response was coming from a place of love. 

I recently saw the YouTube video "100 Year Old BFFs" and as I watched these 100 year old ladies being interviewed about pop culture with responses that had me laughing so hard I almost fell out of my chair, I was reminded of my mom, Carol and her best friend, Karen and their best friendship.   Had they made it to 100 years of age together, they would surely be like these sweet ladies being interviewed.  It's a hilarious video and if you haven't seen it, check it out!

I watch on social media as the middle school and high school girls post selfies with what they refer to as their best friend, but as time goes on, I see them rotate to others they now refer to as their best friend.  I've seen it with my own daughter and I've seen first hand the hurt of words and betrayal.  But what I do understand is this - it could take one, or three or 10 for that matter, so called best friends until you find the one who is willing to love you for who you are, lock your secrets in her heart and throw away the key, and tell you the truth no matter how much it hurts. 

Karen is now battling bone cancer and is on a form of oral chemo.  She says she worries about leaving her family and grandchildren, but she is at peace with leaving this world when the time comes because she'll get to Heaven and see so many she has missed, especially her best friend, Carol.  She misses her laugh and her sweet smile, which was contagious.  On our last visit to Georgia, Karen said to me, "I miss my best friend and I see her in every butterfly."  She visits us all in the form of a butterfly and my face lights up every time I see one nearby ... because I know it's my mother.

In Karen's most recent email to me, she asked, "Aren't you just a little jealous that I'll get to see her before you do?"  With big tears, I paused and thought, I'd be lying if I said no.

"If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies."  Author Unknown

How To Love A Pig

I knew there would be tears and I had been preparing myself emotionally to comfort her the day she would have to say goodbye.  How is it that a relationship could develop within a three and a half month period of time between a 16 year old girl and (of all things!) a pig that could cause your heart to break?

It all started back in October when Hannah drew number four out of 100 FFA students in the school district to select her pig.  She was nervous and wanted to select one with good coloring, great body structure, and well - one that would prove to be a champion.  She picked a 50 pound, black and white Hampshire pig she named Paisley. 

The first day I met Paisley I said, "Hannah, please do not get attached."  Her response was, "Mom, I will give her the best life possible while I have her and that is all that matters."  I accepted that and kept a distance for quite a while. Until that weekend when Hannah was out of town and I had no choice but to be on pig duty.  What seemed like a pig who grunted and charged at me most of the time became putty in my hands when I bathed her and rubbed her skin down with skin softener.  All it took was for her to roll over on her back for me to rub her belly like a dog and it was instant love  - right or wrong.

If you had told me the day my "girlie girl" was born that she would be raising a pig in her lifetime, I would have laughed out loud and never believed it.  However, I'm so glad it was part of God's plan for her and in spite of the sadness in saying goodbye to her pig, she will remember Paisley fondly as a part of her sophomore year in high school. 

While it's difficult to compare the two, the heartbreak of loving a pig for a short time and losing it to the fate of the agricultural process is similar to loving people.  The only difference is -- a pig doesn't intentionally hurt you in its life span to eventually become bacon.  However, whether you invest and open your heart and soul up to people for a short period of time or a long period of time  - sometimes  they will hurt you more than you ever imagined. Does that mean we shouldn't love either one of them?

Most of the time children are to learn from their parents, but I learned something from my Hannah in her relationship with a pig.  ALWAYS love unconditionally and love with all your heart - in spite of the hurt that may come.  Enjoy the journey.

Paisley won first in class at the progress show and then on her final weigh in at 241 pounds, placed third in her class at the Humble ISD livestock show.  This pig, tagged #240 had a huge impact on the hearts of our family - even if it was for a short time.

How to love a pig.  One feeding, one bath, and one belly rub at a time. 

 

Humble ISD Livestock Show

3rd Place Ribbon!