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!

It Is Well With My Soul

From the moment my mother-in-law extended the invitation over the phone back in the fall, I really didn’t want to go.  I reluctantly agreed that we would - and right up until the very moment we pulled out of the driveway, I felt like my little dog on a trip to the vet.  He’s fine until we arrive and then he literally stops dead in his tracks outside the door of the vet’s office.  Without fail, he either has to be dragged in by his leash or picked up and taken inside where he will shiver uncontrollably and cling to us until the whole visit is over.

I had not been “home” in over a year and previous visits had been short ones.  Intentionally.  Barry and Hannah have visited more often, but each time -- well, I chose not to go.  The plain truth is it hurt too much and not going was my way of guarding my heart.

While we have lived in Texas for almost 7 years now, I’m reminded of what “home” is to me on a daily basis.  Every morning my sweet boss greets me with a loud “Good morning, Peach!” and even today, most people I meet here say, “I can tell by your southern dialect that you are not from here.  It sounds as if you are from the deep south.”  Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.  And correct me if I am wrong, but the last time I looked at the map, here in Texas, we are as deep south as you can get without going to Mexico, right?! (Okay, yes, I get it.  Texas is more west and not deep south.) For a while I became very self-conscious about it and then came to the conclusion that this is who God made me to be - a girl from Georgia, from the deep south - with a southern drawl, who loves sweet tea and every Zac Brown song about red Georgia clay, pine trees and Highway 20. 

I miss Georgia, but most of all, I miss the memories of all that was there for me.  All that was there until now - which makes my heart hurt.  As I write this, I feel a lump in my throat at the thoughts of visiting the small town I grew up in, riding in the back seat with my brother as my mom drove us to the same grocery store every Saturday, seeing the house we grew up in and the long driveway we would ride down on whatever we could find when it snowed, prom pictures in the front yard, and opening Christmas presents together on Christmas day.  To drive by or even visit the cemetery where my mom and stepdad are buried is just so very painful and honestly, I just don’t have the courage.   They are now gone and so is all that I once knew of “home” as I remember it.  

Today, I’m glad that like my little dog at the vet’s office, I was picked up at the door to go “home” and it was so much fun to go to the only existing old style cash only movie theatre in Cedartown, Georgia (where the mom and pop owners will tell you if you don't carry cash with you, just stop by and bring it tomorrow),  have some girl talk in the nail salon with my niece, Madison, witness the culinary expertise of my nephew, Brandon, who made a swan centerpiece out of an apple, laugh and share stories about life and raising daughters with my brother, Britt and his family, visit with my mother's lifetime best friend, share in a devotional from Sarah Young's Jesus Calling with the Bullard family and hold hands as we prayed, be a part of the Bullard girls playing a Duck Dynasty shooting game in our matching pajamas on Christmas Eve, and our trip to the lake to shoot guns on Christmas day (yes, I sure did).  Oh, how I feel blessed to have these new memories of my time at “home”. 

The history behind my favorite hymn reveals that its lyricist, Horatio Spafford, wrote it following a family tragedy.  Right in the midst of a heart that was hurting.  I’m thankful that the holes in my heart have been filled with special new memories of “home” but even more so that … 

It Is Well With My Soul. 

With Love,

The Georgia Peach

 

 

 

A Letter from Grace

He stands at the corner of a side street near I-10 and the Heights exit in Houston most weekdays adorned with his cardboard sign which reads “Vietnam Vet” along with several medals hung from his neck from days gone by.  Beside him sits a rolled up blanket and a backpack.  Even on the cloudiest of days he wears dark sunglasses.  I often wonder if it is for the sake of convenience so as to avoid eye contact as he holds out his cup to receive a donation or if it is to cover the results of an eye injury.  Either way, it reminds me of the old adage, “the eyes are the windows to the soul” and the dark sunglasses make it very difficult to see to the windows which reveal his soul. 

It has been three years since I slowly approached the corner and rolled down my window to hand him a sealed envelope.  The contents of which included a personal letter and some money for bus fare.   I had just read the book Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall.  I learned from Ron’s experience with a homeless man named Denver that homeless people don’t need money, they need friends. 

The letter was heartfelt and I explained that while I wasn’t sure what circumstances in life led him to be homeless and to be on this particular corner every morning, there is a God who loves him and that I hoped he would use the money in the envelope as a way to get to the local mission, Star of Hope, as a new start.  I knew he needed a friend, but to protect my safety, I signed the letter “Love, Grace” a pen name, which was my grandmother’s name. 

The next day and days following as I approached the corner, I hoped he would not be there.  I hoped he had made it to the mission.  To my disappointment, he was still there then and he is still there today – with his sign, medals, blanket, backpack, cup, and dark sunglasses. 

On this Thanksgiving Day, I count my blessings. Abundant blessings. And as I do, I am most thankful for a God who loves me AND who loves the homeless man on the corner at the Heights exit off I-10 in Houston, Texas.  He is a God of hope.  And He provides hope and a promise for those who believe in Him of an eternal life far better than any hunger, eye problem (whatever it may be), homelessness, and suffering endured here on earth.   

Give me courage and bravery, Lord, to share more of YOU with those who need HOPE for today and for tomorrow.  

 

 

The corner.  This picture was taken two days before Thanksgiving.  It was raining and 39 degrees.  He wasn't there -- and for that I am thankful.

A Mama's Soul Is In Her Hands

I was in the midst of a project at work and was dialing the phone when I looked down and saw them.  Right there in front of me on this crazy work day, there they were - my mother's hands.  It's amazing how you can be in the midst of something hectic when God nudges you to take a moment to spend a few minutes with Him in reflection of your life.

All my life, everyone in my family has told me that I have my mother's hands.  Of course, when I was a teenager, I would roll my eyes and smile as it didn't seem all that flattering.  Now, that I am older and I think more about her sweet hands and what they did for me, I feel honored.  Those hands reached out to me as I learned to walk, they spent countless nights rubbing my legs over hot towels as I struggled as a little child with growing pains, they dried many tears over life hurts and they patted my back, which was always the end result of a tight hug. 

I didn't always like or understand my mother's decisions.  Growing up she would always tell me, "You will understand when you have a child of your own and when you are the mother of a teenager.  Only then will you truly get it."

As a teenager and even after I was married, if I had been driving in the rain and forgot to call her, she would call me to ensure I made it safely to my destination.  In all honesty, most times it was absolutely and completely annoying because if she couldn't reach me (this was before cell phones), she would call every friend I had or every friend of a friend or their relative to FIND me to be sure I was safe from the rain.  Barry and I still laugh about it because she was relentless like a private detective!  She was persistent that way.  That's what a mother's love will do for you.

Things have changed since then.  Now, I would give anything for her to call me after I've been driving in the rain.  Oh, how I wish she was here to use those hands to dial my number.

Today, my Hannah got her driver's license and as she pulled away in her jeep, driving alone for the very first time, I could feel my heart leave my body and it was then that I knew what it felt like to have the need to try to find your baby after she's been driving in the rain to ensure she was safe - no matter how relentless. 

Mama, I truly get it....now.

"...So you see, my dearest Mama--

Yours are hands of love.

And I bet the Lord will notice

When he greets you from above."*

 

There's no doubt He noticed when he greeted you, Mama.  Thank you for your loving hands and how precious they still are to me.  I can still feel the love you extended from your soul with those sweet hands.

*Tommi Jo Casteel, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul

 

"Big Red" - be good to my girl!!

Have A Little Faith

It has been a week today and I still cringe at the thought that the words actually came out of my mouth.  I know better.  It was a heartbroken moment and in haste through the tears, I spoke.  Before I thought about the words I was saying. 

I had just left the ICU where a sweet friend, Wendy, lay on life support due to an adverse reaction to some medication she was prescribed for a fairly minor illness.  Perfectly healthy…until now.  Weeks prior, we had talked about our lives raising teenage daughters and all that entails to include grades, boyfriends, their futures, their faith, and so much more. 

At the hospital, her husband, Tony, greeted me and took me back to see her.  We entered the room and he stood back at the sink area.  As I approached her, he said, “She has been the love of my life for 28 years.”  For fear my voice would crack, I shook my head with a knowing smile and acknowledgement.  Their son, Sam, a sixth grader, stood on one side of her bed and I stood on the other.  I rubbed her arm and I asked Sam to hold her hand while I held the other.  I led the prayer as we prayed for a miracle and pleaded with God to spare her life, as so many had prayed before and after that moment in time that week. 

I visited with her family in the ICU waiting room and when it was time to go, I hugged them all - first the oldest child, Hannah, and then the youngest child, Kayla.  Sam, the middle child, was last and by far the most profound of all. He hugged me tightly and I reciprocated.   It was like a death grip in the most literal form.  It was as if we were holding on to each other on a delicate balance so as not to fall off the edge of a cliff.  In my heart, it was his way of thanking me for praying for a miracle for his sweet mother, but it was something so many of us had done – not just me.  This hug from a sixth grade boy, who was clinging to everything he could to save the life of his mother changed my life forever and I can honestly say I will never be the same. 

I drove home in tears and that’s when the words that I said spewed forth.  Unfortunately, words that now make me cringe when I think of them.  I was the only one in the car and with tears streaming down my face, I asked “How could the God of Abraham who raised Lazarus from the dead allow a sweet mother of three children to be in this condition and possibly lose her life?”   

The truth is, Sam and I both were teetering on the edge of a cliff.  My cliff was a test of faith.  Sam’s cliff will now be adjusting to life without his mom because the next day, Wendy did lose her life here on earth, but oh, what she gained when she entered Heaven’s gates.  She lives on forever with Jesus in Glory.   

The service was beautiful and one I will never forget.  Tony’s eulogy beautifully described the virtuous woman Wendy was to all of us.  Our pastor could not have said it better when he addressed the three children and encouraged them to live in faith as their mother would want.  That was the legacy she left for them.  These words were meant to speak to them, but they so powerfully spoke to me – live in faith. 

This quote by Julian of Norwich hangs on my refrigerator and I might need to stop and read it as a reminder a little more often.  “See that I am God. See that I am in everything. See that I do everything. See that I have never stopped ordering my works, nor ever shall, eternally. See that I lead everything on to the conclusion I ordained for it before time began, by the same power, wisdom and love with which I made it. How can anything be amiss?” 

I am thankful we serve a God of grace and forgiveness and that even in my moment of weakness, He still loves me and He forgives me for my doubt.  

Have a little faith.