The Third Option…(A Lesson from the Good Samaritan)

Robin Bible Study, Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized December 1, 2015conflict over views, Good Samaritan, Third option

I woke up the day after Thanksgiving with lower back issues. I was in significant pain, unless I was lying down. So I was in bed (or the hot tub) for a day and a half.

I am embarrassed by how much I enjoyed it. It gave me time to ponder…

This has been an interesting year for me and my faith. I have been exposed to far more people than ever before who have a Christian walk that looks different than mine. I can ~~possibly~~ be accused of creating a homogenized environment.

Not totally. Maybe mostly.

My life often feels like it runs thematically. This season over and over again are these situations: One problem evaluated by two different perspectives. Not surprisingly, two different conclusions are made, and fought for, by the two wildly varying views.

It happens with my kids’ education.

It happens in politics.

It happens in current events.

And it happens in the church ESPECIALLY, it seems, about current events.

Recently an old friend, a new friend and I sat down with our Bibles wide open to discuss some differences in perspectives and theology. We asked questions of one another. We flipped through pages and looked at context. We opened my laptop to research original languages.

We connected, rather than divided.

It was wonderful.

We agreed on many, many things and understood each other’s perspectives on others.

That result is shamefully rare. I wish there was that a million times over.

In this heartbreaking season of terrorism and refugees, I seem to swing my way into battles with people on every side. Sigh.

On one side, a close-the-borders-friend posted a meme asking whether a Muslim Nation would allow Christian refugees to come to their country.

Because I believe that is an irrelevant question for a Bible believing Christian, and because we had been in Bible study together for years, I told her so. I contend we establish our morality–that which is right or wrong–not on what another religion says, not on what political leaders say, but on what the Bible says.

That didn’t go over well.

On the other side I have heard (more times than I can count) believers, who are cautious and don’t want the refugees brought by the thousands to America, called “un-Christian” or “not-very Christian.”

Double sigh.

Reading through the book of Luke, it occurred to me that God provides us with a beautiful third option right there in Scripture…The Parable of the Good Samaritan.

The 10th chapter tells the story of a businessman who is beaten, robbed, stripped and left for dead on the road between Jerusalem and Jericho. A priest–someone who had chosen a life of faith as a profession–saw the victim and passed by on the other side of the road.

A Levite–someone who’s family history tied him to religious privilege and responsibility–also passed by on the opposite side of the road.

Each of them, by their inaction, decided the wounded, broken man was not their responsibility.

Any version of the story makes it abundantly clear that Jesus does not want us to be like the priest or the Levite.

The Samaritan bandaged him, put him on his beast and took him to an Inn, where he cared for him for a day. But as I read on, something really struck me. He then left him in the care of the Innkeeper, promising to pay for his needs.

He didn’t load the beaten man up and carry him off to a foreign land, far away from home. He lovingly cared for him where he was. He offered both his personal time and financial resources to help.

This is food for thought.

Another thing leapt off the pages of the book of Luke and seared its way into my consciousness. The story of Mary and Martha immediately follows.

I think Christians who want to serve the refugees in this country, who are so harshly judging those who don’t, should have a look. If I am serving, but my heart is judging, God is going to want me to change that.

Oh how I have lived that so many times over…

I think Christians who are shouting about terrorists and Radical Islamists should have a look at what is Jesus most radical teaching: “But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,” Matthew 5:44.

Not my strength.

That Jesus. He doesn’t let me off the hook, but He does make me think that the Inn Keeper is the unsung hero of the parable. If I am the good samaritan, I need to make sure the Inn Keeper is financially able to do that work.

I must not look the other way when lives depend on it.

I must be willing to support help where people are, where they can get back home someday. I must not dismiss people who see things differently without working to bridge the gaps. I must base my beliefs and decisions on the teachings of Jesus, which means it doesn’t really matter if they are our enemies, or if they would not help me. I help because I love HIM.

That is the only option that matters.

I Can Make A Great Pie Crust…

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized November 27, 2015gratitude, pie crust, Thanksgiving

I just don’t.

I know. I know. That is blasphemy to some, including some in my extended family.

But that is my real life.

I love the holidays. I love that my kids’ favorite meals of the year are turkey and prime rib. I love a warm and decorated house and pounds of butter melted over everything. Several years ago I ~~forced~~ encouraged everyone to play games when we gathered. We’ve laughed through countless rounds of Apples to Apples, Cranium, Scattergories and poker.

However, real life and really great ideas can’t always occupy the same space.

In my little world, over the last decade, we have dealt with a daughter with special needs, a son at war in the desert a million miles away, two parents with Alzheimer’s, other family drama, the financial crash of 2008 and the daily mutiny of life. There is a lot.

And because we want to do this life we have with as much joy as possible, I had to let some things go.

Pie crust is one of those things.

Photo by saveur.com

Making it from scratch makes a big mess. Perhaps not for everyone, but for me there is flour everywhere. I rarely get to it in time to refrigerate it properly, so there is excessive ice water involved. It works, but it is not ideal.

Ironically I used apple pies to get my hubby to fall in love with me. I would go to church with him on Sundays, then stop at the store and get pie making ingredients. We’d have dinner and pie for dessert…with homemade crust.

As I have matured I realized that doesn’t illustrate my failure as a current-day pie maker, but the necessity of embracing seasons. This is not the season for homemade crust.

Letting go of such things truly allows this to be a season of gratitude. In that spirit, I am again linking up with Kelley at Mrs. Disciple.

I am grateful for prayer. Yesterday was Thanksgiving. My house was clean. I had all the shopping done early. The night before as I went to bed the pies were baked, the turkey stuffed, the mashed potatoes finished, the table set and the kitchen cleaned.

That is astounding for me…completely out of character.

But I have been praying for God to work on my laziness…to fashion and mold my character. I have asked dear friends to pray for me.

This Thanksgiving was a victory.

I want to keep in mind overcoming my laziness is not so that I can add more to my world; it is so I can do the things already in my world with greater excellence.

I am grateful for breathing room. We had a different gathering last night. A few faces who are always welcome, but rarely show filled in for others who are usually here, but not this year.

It provided breathing room.

Life is messy. Relationships are hard. Sometimes breathing room is valuable; restorative; invigorating.

I discovered that relational breathing room allowed for more energy to get things done. It shocked me…what an effect that had. It is causing me to look around and reevaluate.

I am grateful I am a terrible housekeeper. Obviously not always, because chaos depletes life. And, of course, I can’t and don’t let myself off the hook because God won’t let me.

But there are times when a family game of poker is more important than an empty sink.

When people have a long drive ahead of them after we gather, how will I choose to spend time with them? Doing dishes and sweeping floors or laughing and talking?

I don’t even struggle with this.

As our guests were leaving one said, “I feel so bad leaving you with all those dishes.”

“I am the kind of person who can totally sleep with a dirty kitchen,” I confessed.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Here’s the reality I often remind myself of: “There are benefits and drawbacks to all things.” All things. Clean people often miss out on moments. Messy people have to deal with the piles in the morning. I am trying to find a balance for the everyday, but yesterday I was glad to be able to easily let it go.

I am grateful for the ability to cook. I love when the smell of turkey and stuffing fills my home. I love watching my youngest devour mashed potatoes. I love how much my middle daughter looks forward to pumpkin chiffon pie.

Why don’t I gather more people around my table more often?

I am figuring that out.

But when I do, I really enjoy the smells and sights and flavors of good food.

It is not too much work for me, as it can be for others. I enjoy it.

Part of the reason I enjoy it is I am comfortable with store bought pie crust.

I am grateful for my family. Aching, stretching, beautiful gratitude fills me. I am happy to be married, and to have the marriage work for us. We are flawed. In many ways we have low expectations which leaves room for wonder.

We know the areas of our lives that need work…we are working on those places. We are so much less likely to get rattled today than we were years ago. In many corners the hard edges have been knocked off, not by the battles and disappointments but by surviving them.

I am so happy to be a mom. Sometimes I wish I were a better one, but mostly I realize that there is no such thing as perfection in parenting. Each of my three kids, different as they are from one another, is a precious gift from a God who loves me.

Back when I gathered on Tuesday nights to study the Bible with friends, we would begin by making gratitude lists. Gratitude is imperative in my life…Yesterday and everyday.

Five Senses

Robin Grace, Growth, Uncategorized November 21, 2015

Aaaahhhhh…that Kelly over at Mrs Disciple. She is younger than I am, but I still want to be more like her when I grow up. She is consistent and dedicated, and her Friday 5 Link Up seems to be the only thing I can manage these days.

Five Senses is today’s call. I am certain she means seeing, tasting, hearing etc., but I am a brat and I am struggling, so I am going in another direction.

SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT. When I allow the poison of entitlement to seep into my thoughts, discontentment overflows.

It is not pretty.

The sense of victimhood bosses my emotions and reactions around like a military officer at boot camp.

There is shouting. There is anger. There is a loss of control.

Dr. Phil says that feeling like a victim is the root of rage. I have lived that. I hate that part of me.

This last week I have battled feeling entitled to help for my daughter, money in my bank account, recognition for my ideas, and being right.

Sigh. Haven’t I come farther than this?

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit in me.” Psalm 51:10

Now that I acknowledge my sense of entitlement, I can give it (again) to the Lord.

SENSE OF RIGHT AND WRONG. What a week for this.

Most can agree on what is wrong…rounding people up in a music hall and shooting them; blowing yourself up with the specific intention of killing other people; killing for the sole purpose of creating chaos and gaining power. All of that is so, so wrong.

But the perspectives on the right thing to do about it have divided and destroyed many opportunities for reasonable conversation. Christians against Christians, right-wing verses left-wing, so many people have said so many horrible things about one another.

I am ~~disgusted~~ stunned by it.

There is room to feel vulnerable. There should be a feeling of compassion somewhere in our hearts that turns into action. There can be wisdom.

Whether we want to admit it or not, there will be people who hate us no matter what we do…and who are willing to die in order to destroy us. But that is not an entire race or religion.

Facebook is the least productive, but sometimes only available, place to have the discussion.

I believe in a sense of right and wrong, but I want to live it out more often in the framework of Acts 2:42: They were continually devoting themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.”

Lord, please help me.

SENSE OF WONDER. Sometimes I wonder why things go the way they do. My questions, when turned inward, can breed anger and dissatisfaction. Turned toward the Lord and His word, it can bring a sense of wonder.

“I will give thanks to the Lord with all my heart; I will tell of Your wonders.” Psalm 9:1

Of course right now I don’t actually want to…back to the aforementioned brattiness and struggle. But now that I am facing my feelings and incorrect thoughts, there is much more hope that my want-to will line up with my beliefs.

SENSE OF AWE. There have been sunsets this week that have taken my breath away. There have been the most spectacular shooting stars dancing in the night sky. There is my hubby, who is still with me 20 years of marriage later.

None of those things actually make sense to me.

How can one sleeping sun create that many colors in the sky? How, with the stars too many to count, was I looking at the one that decided to ignite itself across the horizon? Why do we still love each other when the pressures of life descend relentlessly?

I really don’t get it, but I really do love it.

SENSE OF GRATITUDE. It all builds to this when I let it.

Gratitude is a choice.

Gratitude is a decision.

Gratitude is a discipline.

And gratitude is the most effective hope I have for pulling out of this funk.

“Therefore He is able also to save forever those who draw near to God through Him, since He always lives to make intercession for them.” Hebrews 7:25.

Even when I am struggling, He lives to make intercession for me. Even when I am bratty, He lives to make intercession for me. Even when I am ungrateful, He lives to make intercession for me. Even when awe eludes me, He lives to make intercession for me. Even when I am questioning, He lives to make intercession for me. Even when things go wrong, He lives to make intercession for me. Even when I am entitled, He lives to make intercession for me.

It is the only thing that helps my life make sense.

5 Dinner Guests

Robin Growth, Special Needs Families, Uncategorized November 13, 2015Bible Study, everyday, imperfection, Moments, paying attention

My friend Kelly from Mrs. Disciple has a Friday 5 link up each week. AAaaaanndddd each week I tell myself I am going to “DO THIS THING!” Then each week I don’t.

Maybe this time I will.

5 Dinner Guests is SUCH an intriguing concept. In fact, my hubby and I already discussed ours this morning over coffee in the hot tub. (A favorite morning activity…soaking, chatting, watching the night sky disappear in the daylight.)

Here goes:

Clearly I like words. If this is insight into my life, I am most definitely in a season longing for growth and learning, and this list of 5 proves it.

1.) Antonin Scalia. My father was a Superior Court Judge who served as president of the California Judge’s Association. His father was also a lawyer who clerked for Earl Warren. If Grandpa Hal had not died at 43, there is every likelihood he would have gone with Earl Warren to clerk for him in the Supreme Court.

It is in my blood.

Mr. Scalia is brilliant. His judicial acumen and ability to write decisions that illuminate application for the common man are inspiring. My brain might hurt after, and I would likely have to write things down to look up later, but it would be fascinating.

2.) Stanley Greenspan. This one’s tough. He died in 2010, but before his death he was a pioneer in brain development and special needs diagnosis and treatment. His work on “floor time” was revolutionary.

“Floortime meets children where they are and builds upon their strengths and abilities through creating a warm relationship and interacting. It challenges them to go further and to develop who they are rather than what their diagnosis says.”stanleygreenspan.com

That makes me cry.

The ability to collaborate with, learn from and listen to a man of his expertise would be life changing for my daughter.

3.) Hyrum Smith. He is the founder of the Franklin Quest Company and author of the book The Ten Natural Laws of Successful Time & Life Management. He is one of the most powerful speakers I have ever seen, and his book is life changing.

“Natural laws are fundamental patterns of nature and life that human experience and testing have shown to be valid. They describe things as they really are, as opposed to how we think they are or how we wish they were.” page 12

Well said. Walking through his process of figuring out my governing values was brutally insightful. Putting priorities in order is a skill that I have carried into many, many other situations.

You can only ever have one #1 priority at any given moment. Accepting that is freeing.

4.) Albert Mohler. (Could also be John MacArthur…either/or.) Mohler is a theologian and apologist I deeply respect. His reverence for the Lord inspires me.

Growing in my understanding and application of God’s word is of the most importance to me. I LOVE to fill my brain with Scripture. Talking about how to apply it and live life helping others to do the same is something that would keep my attention raptured for hours and hours and hours.

What a joy that would be.

5.) Lysa Terkeurst. “We have to put our hearts and minds in places where wisdom gathers, not scatters.” Exactly.

Lysa is married to a business owner, is a mom, started a ministry, writes and speaks. She is passionate about applying Biblical truth to life.

She does what I do times a million, with far greater excellence.

She is my hero.

She is funny. She is moving. She is insightful.

And most importantly she is an example.

Both times I went to the Proverbs 31 Conference SHE SPEAKS, I was gobsmacked by how humble and edifying the entire team was. I had never seen women treat each other that way before, and I wanted more of it.

When I read this blog of hers, I was a devoted fan forever.

I would be a better person for interacting with those 5… What about you? Who are YOUR 5 DINNER GUESTS?

Clothes Are Good

Robin Grace, Growth, Uncategorized October 17, 201550 Shades of Grey, cell phones, parenting, teens

We have lost our minds.

Reality stars and those who became stars as children (to entertain our children) are vibrant, technicolor reminders this culture has lost its way when it comes to all things sex.

I wish I didn’t have to talk about these things to my kids, but I do. We must. It is out of control.

When it comes to issues of sexuality, my values fall all the way to the “right”…tucked within the pages of Scripture and protected, when all is well, by the bounds of marriage. But even if that is not you, surely we can find some place, somewhere in this discussion to agree. PLEASE?

Junior high aged girls are sending naked pictures of themselves to boys on their phones.

Junior high aged boys are begging them to do it.

Many of us grew up in the culture of “I’ll show you mine if…” The human body is and always will be a source of tremendous ____________________ fascination; pleasure; shame; connection; distance. There is likely no way to navigate this road without bumps and bruises, but for the love all things pure and precious, can we try harder?

Some statistics say the porn industry is a 13 Billion Dollar a year enterprise. I am sick to my stomach typing those words.

That amount of money means that LOTS of people are buying in. Lots. More than we want to admit. More than we are facing.

I believe there is a direct correlation between the porn industry and the sex trafficking industry. And I believe there is a direct correlation between the sex trafficking industry and underage girls being taken for prostitutes. I won’t connect all the dots here and now, but a deadening of values must take place before this could ever begin to take root. Billions of dollars of annual revenue means it has not only taken root, it is flourishing.

These are our daughters.

It is easy to weep and wail when ISIS comes into villages and removes all girls nine and older, but are we are allowing a silent rapist to come in and sexually abuse our kids? My daughter’s generation grew up watching Hannah Montana, admiring her and the actress who played her, then watched as she gave up all boundaries, all modesty, all purity. Is it any wonder it is hard to find our way?

When a young girl sends her most private images to a boy, a part of her disappears forever. No matter what the banter; I don’t care how many times the lie “it’s no big deal” is repeated; I don’t give a schmidge of credence to the fact that everyone is doing it. It needs to stop.

Girls have always been desperate for attention.

Boys have always been curious.

Moms, we have to start talking. We have to tell our daughters that their bodies are beautiful and private. Sex is a wonderful part of marriage but a painful part of casual, immature relationships. We have to ask if our girls feel pressure to pose, or have given into that pressure before. If they have…we need to love them with abandon. We have to ask them how to help protect them. And we have to be the adults.

If it is not my daughter, it is her friends. I promise someone she knows has done/is doing this because we have lost our minds and our direction. The writer of 50 Shades of Grey is the fastest selling author in history. Would anyone want their son or daughter to be those characters? Seriously, if Christian Grey drove a beat up Pinto and lived in a mobile home, would millions of moms have read that book?

What is readily available on cable tv was a rated R movie just a few decades ago. I flipped through pornography at a hotel just using the remote control. This was HBO–not the “Adult Channels” you can block.

Thanksgiving weekend, while visiting family, I got home late and started looking for something to watch and came across…Pornucopia, Down In The Valley. That is what the TV Guide called it. My 12 year old son was in the next room, with access to that very channel. Lord, help!

I have never regretted not having cable television in my home.

I am thrilled that some hotels are changing the way they do things. WE ALL NEED TO.

We need to be talking to our sons. It is not just with the male population that demands this, but boys are certainly in the belly of the beast. Tell your boys not to ask girls to send naked pictures of themselves. I don’t care if it is embarrassing. I don’t care if you don’t think your son would do that. Tell them anyway. And tell their friends.

I am starting to wonder if part of the strategy I want to implement in my life is to purposely gather with my kids’ friends’ parents. If our kids see us all talking; if they know we are in this together; if there is less hope of “getting away with it”, perhaps we can make some inroads? I am starting to think that the solution for more and more issues begins with gathering around the table.

The conversation has to address the fact that for every-day kids, from every-day families, sending images on cell phones (that were once only available in Playboy magazines hidden under the bed) is happening every day.

Silence won’t end it.

Please know I am on your side. I am on our kids’ side. I believe this sexting, pornographic culture is hardening hearts and breeding dissatisfaction.

But let me be clear. If you will come at me with “kids will be kids” or “this is no big deal,” I don’t care about your opinion.

I just don’t. There is not room in my world for it. ITS TIME FOR THE TRUTH TO BE TOLD.

Men and women who purpose to get aroused by images of people they are not married to are addicts. People who pay to have sex are broken. They need healing and help.

Sexual arousal and activity disconnected from (a marriage) relationship disconnects people even more. Lonely desperation is the guaranteed destination that road offers, and our kids are beginning down that path at a time when family, friends, school activities and grades (and getting to know Jesus) should be their main focus.

I don’t pretend to know what the answers are, but this is what I am going to do:

I am going to start talking about it. I am going to talk to my daughter, her friends, and youth group leaders. I am going to talk to other parents, and find a group of people who believe we are in this together.
I am going to learn. I will start here: http://endsexualexploitation.org because I have to start somewhere.
I am going to pray. I will write notes to remind myself. I will pray for pure hearts and clear eyes for my family and friends; for my pastors and teachers.
I will try to spend my money where my mouth is. Carl’s Jr. won’t get my business until they change their advertising. I will support Hilton Hotels and tell them why. I will never, ever spend a dime on anything to do with 50 Shades of Grey.

Will you join me? Together, we can do this. We can teach our kids that naked is not the answer and that clothes are good. Keep them on.

The Perks of Being 45

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized October 16, 2015

I am linking up with my new friend Kelly over at Mrs. Disciple. Each week she hosts a FRIDAY 5 link up, and each week I think, “Hmmmm. I should do that.” Then I don’t.

Not a huge shocker.

But today, thanks to my desire to stay in my comfy bed, I may just get it done.

Keep watching Little House on the Prairie, kiddo, homeschool will start a little late today.

1.) 45 JUST AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE. Really, I think my mom was so old at that age. Today there are better lotions and more health options. I think it is easier to stay younger longer than it once was.

Recently, my very tall teenage daughter, who can now look me eye to eye, said (with a horrified look on her face), “MOOOOOOMMMMM. There are two white hairs right there on your head!”

Calmly I replied, “You know I am going to be 45 in a few weeks. Two grey hairs is really not bad.”

“Tell yourself whatever you need to,” she said flatly.

This is what I am telling myself: “A couple of grey hairs at 45 isn’t bad at all. I have earned them!” Sure, I would love to have cutely colored hair all the time, but apparently not as much as I want to keep my girls in the private school where they are thriving. Which leads me to number two:

2.) LIFE IS A SERIES OF CHOICES. Some good. Some Bad.

Somewhere along the line I learned the concept of OPPORTUNITY COST. This is simply acknowledging that every decision eliminates the possibility of every other decision in that time, space, situation. There is a price and a prize for every choice. (I am pretty sure that’s a Dr. Phil-ism.)

I get to choose what seeds I want to sow.

Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; whatever a man sows this he shall also reap. Galatians 6:7

Sowing seeds is a Christian term for making choices.

I love that it says not to be deceived. Deception is a tricky thing, because unlike an outright lie, deceptions carry a bit of the truth in them. I can tell just enough truth to make me feel better, blame someone else, get off the hook for finding a solution. But if the Bible is correct, which I have based my life on, the harvest I reap will be the harvest I have actually sown and not the one I wanted to pretend it was.

3.) YOU DON’T HAVE TO LIKE ME. It’s okay. I get it. I am my own brand of cocktail that is not to everyone’s liking.

I like to laugh. I like to learn. I often think people are idiots.

That is because people are often idiots.

What does matter to me is that those I am shouldering life with know that I love them. I also pray I am better at loving them than I was in the past.

I want to get better at living the life I have.

That means sometimes facing the inevitable situations that will. not. work. out. “I suspect we are not going to be able to bridge this gap. How can we navigate our way out of this, so we can say goodbye peacefully?” is a perfectly acceptable conversation. Feel free to write that down and use it in the future.

You’re welcome.

4.) I DON’T HAVE TO KNOW EVERYTHING/BE GOOD AT EVERYTHING. I wish I would have known this as a teenager. I thought not being an expert at everything meant I was a failure at everything.

That way of thinking is so hard.

Letting go of wrong paradigms leaves me room to celebrate the wonder of others. I WANT to be around people who are better than me at many things. I want to learn from them and ask questions. I want to celebrate their victories, rather than waiting for an audience for mine.

In this season of life I am very comfortable with my own intellect. No one can make me feel stupid, even if they try. (Which they often do. I like politics, and today’s culture often tries to make a point by belittling others. Sad.) I know what I know, and I am not afraid to ask questions and find new answers when I don’t.

5.) Tough love is sometimes the best love. This one goes down like vinegar to some. We live in a day where much of the Christian church is rallying for grace everywhere.

Grace is everything.

And I cannot overemphasize my need for it.

But I also believe the book of Romans when it says: The wages of sin is death.

For some battling addictions and anger that can be an actual, physical death. In my life it can look like a death of relationships and dreams. It can manifest as a deadening of my walk with God or my love for His word. When I refuse to acknowledge and repent for my own sin, I am squeezing the life out of my world.

I am so glad I have friends who will say, “Hey…how you are handling this does not line up with Scripture…” or “You are called to behave this way…”

That is tough. That is love. That makes my life better.

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

Not every situation calls for confrontation. Sometimes we pray. Sometimes we sit and listen.

But sometimes what others call grace looks like celebrating sin to me. Sigh.

In these 45 years, one thing I have learned for sure is that life is messy…and that I am increasingly okay with that.

My Demented Oreo

Robin Alzheimer's, Apraxia, Grace, Growth, Homeschool, Moments, Special Needs Families, Uncategorized October 11, 2015Dementia, gratitude, imperfection, Moments, paying attention, sandwich generation

I am part of what is called the sandwich generation, tucked between nurturing and growing my children and caring for aging parents. Because I am ~~naturally~~ soft in the middle, it makes sense to me that if I have to be a sandwich, I should be a cookie one.

So I have decided to be an Oreo.

Just over a year ago my father in law passed away from Alzheimer’s. The last few years of his life were a roller coaster. There were hospital stays and care facilities; anger and emptiness. The journey of Alzheimer’s is learning to grieve the living.

Although my father in law died first of Alzheimer’s, many years before he began to show signs my mother in law’s memory was disappearing.

My husband and I will celebrate our twentieth anniversary this fall, and for over 15 years of that my mother in law has been fading. Her mother had dementia, and she resigned herself to the same fate. She has never been responsible for caring for my kids. My girls have never gone to grandma’s for the weekend.

She is still one of my favorite people in the world.

I call my mother in law Winnie the Pooh. She has a heart of gold but a head full of fluff. She is never cranky, always happy. (I called my Father in Law Eyeore, because he was quite the opposite.)

While some in our family have understandably struggled with the reality of both Grandma and Grandpa radically mentally impaired, my youngest–our precious little peanut–knows no different and loves her world. She loved her grandpa.

She loves her grandma.

This week was Grandparents Day at my daughter’s school and I knew Ryan would love to have Grandma there. Her school is 20 minutes away, and the memory care facility where my mother in law lives is 40 minutes past that. That meant quite a bit of driving.

As Grandma and I were walking out the door of her home to pile in the car I asked her, “Do you know who I am?”

No. She did not.

By the time we reached the first stoplight two blocks away, she asked me half a dozen times who I was. The conversation usually goes like this…

Me: I am a married to one of your sons. Who are your sons?

MIL: Let’s see. (Starting to count on her fingers…) Bernie, Carl, Everett.

On occasion she’ll add someone else to the list, her husband or son in law.

Me: Now which one would have been smart enough to marry me?

She laughs at that every. single. time.

Me: I am married to your son Carl. Usually if you say it together, you can remember my name. Carl and _______________…

MIL: Robin.

It is an interesting conversation. Or not. But it is my life.

For the whole drive we chat about the scenery and philosophy; family and the past. It is often the same conversation on repeat. I believe the fact that she is my mother in law and not my mom makes it easier for me to enjoy her as she is. There is not as much loss to bear.

We get the walker out and toddle to the group meeting.

I get Grandma a snack she can eat with her hands. She lost the ability to effectively use silverware a while ago, but she loves a sweet treat.

Then we headed to the classroom.

Ryan was so happy. Daddy had to come along for the fun.

San Luis Classical Academy, my daughter’s school, is a beautiful part of this season of life. Ryan is on campus two days a week and homeschooled three days a week. I am hauntingly optimistic we will make tremendous progress this year.

Ryan did her “recitation” of Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

When your child can’t talk, you must improvise and prioritize. I decided that for this recitation, being comfortable in front of the class was the goal.

Look at that face. Today was a winner.

After recitations were art projects and show and tell times with Grandma.

Keep in mind that at the very moment my these pictures were taken my Mother In Law had absolutely no idea where she was or who she was talking to. None.

THIS IS GRACE.

THIS IS LOVE.

THIS IS BEAUTIFUL.

My daughter who can’t talk and my Mother in Law who can’t remember have a relationship that looks like this. And they both mean it with all their hearts.

I love this part of the Message version of the third chapter of Ecclesiastes:

A right time to cry and another to laugh, A right time to lament and another to cheer.

This is my life right now…a crazy, mixed up jumble of lamenting and crying while also laughing and cheering.

It is my demented Oreo of a life, and while I may not have chosen it, I do–in fact–love it.

To The Lady in the Lobby at the Hotel

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized September 12, 2015fear, hotel lobby, human trafficking, strangers

Forgive me.

I had just landed in Sacramento after an amazing adventure in Texas. It is a 5+ hour drive home, and during the layover in Dallas I realized I was too tired to make it home so I called my hubby and asked him to find me a hotel.

He’s a great guy.

I am directionally challenged at times and masterfully pulled into the back parking lot. I was fatigued and drained as I rolled my polka-dotted suitcase toward the front door.

But I did see you.

I saw your 5 inch candy apple Stilettos and skin tight skirt. I noticed you fidgeting, looking around. I wondered if you were waiting for someone; perhaps someone you’ve never met who was going to pay you to meet him at a hotel.

I was returning from a crazy trip to Austin, Texas, where I gathered in a house with twenty women I had never met, and went to party with two hundred additional stranger-friends. There were so many conversations about calling, and loving, and being small.

Sometimes my face goes blank as I hear words but don’t really get the meaning. You showed me I have so very far to go.

I immediately talked myself out of any assumptions. I live in a bubble on the Central Coast of California. This is a city. People dress differently. Who am I to think….

I went inside to check in and, of course, couldn’t find my ID. I was digging through the papers and weekend remnants in my suitcase sized carry on when I heard a man say, “My room’s this way.”

He had his head down, dark curls covering his face. The see-through liquor store bag he carried was full of whiskey and soda. A dozen feet behind him you followed.

I looked up just in time to look you in the eye and smile. I couldn’t breathe as you rounded the corner out of sight. You see, I am certain I saw fear in your eyes and I had no clue how to help.

It wasn’t that I was scared–I wasn’t. I was genuinely lost. I had no ideas. I had $13 in my wallet, and believed that wouldn’t help fix whatever had broken in your world that led to this moment.

Making a scene in the hotel lobby didn’t seem like it would add to your dignity. No one else around appeared to notice or care. Was this normal in this place?

Yuck.

I went to my room and prayed but the whole time I was praying I was thinking about the passage in Joshua chapter 7 when God tells Joshua: Rise up! Why is it you have fallen on your face?

Christians can sometimes use the term “On my face” as a badge of honor describing earnest prayer. But in Joshua, God is saying now is not the time to pray. I can so easily use prayer as a cop-out. “I’ll pray for you,” can be both a wholly beautiful promise of love, and a way to let myself off the hook because I don’t actually want to do anything.

This time I had no inkling what to do.

Driving down the long stretch of Highway 5 to home the next morning, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Flipping through radio stations to fill the silence and remembering the fear in your eyes, I became one of those people.

I cried huge, prolific tears at a country music song:

It’s where I drank my first beer
It’s where I found Jesus
Where I wrecked my first car
I tore it all to pieces
I learned the path to heaven is full of sinners and believers
Learned that happiness on earth ain’t just for high achievers
I’ve learned I’ve come to know
There’s life at both ends
Of that red dirt road

Brooks & Dunn

I don’t pretend to know one iota of how you got here, but I do know something has gone wrong and I am so, so sorry.

I want you to know there is still beauty. Beauty in you, beauty for you, beauty in the arms of God who is waiting to hold you.

I have not lived your story, but I do know from my own sometimes shattered world that getting pummeled against the rocks wounds.

And I know that it can be so hard to believe that just around the corner from the rocks is a new place, that can be the beginning of a whole new life.

But more than anything I want you to know that I saw you. You are not invisible. You matter.

I don’t know what I will do the next time I am in that situation, but I will try to find answers that make sense. Fixing human trafficking is (as of this moment) not my calling, but that is no excuse to do nothing when something of value–you–right in front of me is about to be…

I don’t have the right words.

But I do know that I am so, so sorry.

For the Love of Owning My Own Life

Robin Grace, Growth, Moments, Uncategorized August 19, 2015For the Love, Moments

Several years ago I sort of set out on a journey to own my own life.

For me it meant embracing the good and facing the ugly in my world.

Dealing with imperfections and coming up with plans to work on them opened my eyes to beauty peeking out of the cracks and breaks in my systems. Layer upon layer of life–the bold goodness, the nuanced depth, the obvious flaws–began calling me to greater risk and steadier faith.

Long before I read the pages of For the Love, I had begun the painful process of figuring out what to show up for, if I wanted to have a life that I loved.

Late one night, while finishing up a long day at a Brighten A Corner project, I scrolled casually down my Facebook feed to see that Jen Hatmaker was creating a launch group for her latest book. 500 everyday folks would get an advanced copy, join a private Facebook page, and help to promote the book upon its release….It sounded like an adventure and an opportunity to learn something new. Plus I have this friend who I believe will publish a book someday soon, so I thought perhaps I could ~~steal~~ get a line on some great ideas for her.

Apparently 4,999 other people thought it would be fun, too. Imagine that.

I was tickled when I got an e-mail a few weeks later saying that I had been picked for the launch group, would be receiving my book in the mail soon, and was added to the For the Love Launch Group on Facebook. I decided not to watch from a distance, but to show up and own the opportunity. In an instant everyone else on Facebook disappeared.

The Launch Girls were my world.

I shared prayer requests. I prayed for others. I had an opinion for everyone about everything. I survived the Supreme Court Decision while disagreeing passionately with people. I learned how to hashtag. I grew as a writer because of the input and support of the team. I found delightful friends. I laughed until I cried. I wept over losses. I shook my head in awe at how wacky life can be.

I lived out the words of the book that brought us all together.

Which is why I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Life is a kick in the pants. Being a Jen Hatmaker fan has been a bi-polar experience for me. I have liked and unliked her page numerous times based on a moment, or a mood, or a half-understood perception.

Sometimes I just don’t get it.

This book, this group, this season of life forced me to figure out if I was looking for agreement or honesty. I realized if I want a life that profoundly honors God, I was going to have to get used to the tension that comes with differences. Living in that tension is where the love people talk about really exists. It is not waiting for me to surround myself with homogenized versions of me. It is tucked away in community with variety.

The book and the launch team could not have come at a better time. My life is richer, fuller, more on track to my dreams in the Lord than it has been in a long, long time. I so, so, so want that for you. I want you, and me, to own our lives. There is so much room for others when we do….THIS is what I am talking about:

Now fully able to cheer wildly for friends and colleagues, I am free to be me without the constrictive mesh netting around my heart. Everyone else is free to be themselves, and I am thrilled about us all. For the Love, by Jen Hatmaker.

To The Lady Behind Me at Target

Robin Apraxia, Special Needs Families, Uncategorized August 11, 2015

I knew it was going to be a long day. I warned my Facebook friends to that effect.

Ryan, my precious little peanut, has a canker sore the size of Texas on her tongue. She chewed the dickens out of her mouth after having a cavity filled. And now the bugger hurts. Bad.

First thing this morning, she was (what my mother would call) caterwauling. Howling and sad, she slammed doors and threw fits.

This is entirely out of character for her.

Add to that, sometime in the last few months she decided she wouldn’t be a good sport about taking medicine. Apparently, roughly 37,000 pleasant doses was her limit. (After one particular surgery she needed medicine 22 times each day.)

So it was a necessary battle to give her something for the pain and rinse her mouth out in an attempt to help her sore heal. You see, next week she and I are boarding a plane to fly across the country to meet with a speech therapist who specializes in oral motor placement therapy. We are investing time and money on the chance someday she might be able to talk, and a wounded mouth is something we desperately don’t need.

For special needs families there is often a tension. The risk of hope is the fear of disappointment. The dreams I have for my daughter make me incredibly vulnerable. That insecurity can follow me around, creating its own place in my world. Today, you stepped into that space, uninvited.

So my daughter poked your bread. Was it so important that you needed to correct her? We were checking out, almost through our shopping adventure. It was Target for goodness sakes, not Mr. Holme’s Bakehouse.

Although my response of, “The next time a friend of yours talks about the difficulty of parenting kids with special needs, I want you to remember how important your bread was to you that day at Target,” was not my finest moment, it was actually proof that I have grown.

Truly, it’s only because Jesus lives that your bread didn’t look like this:

That talk about fits of rage in Galatians? It is aimed at me. And through the grace of God I struggle much less than I used to, yet I still am not perfect. Telling my daughter to stop poking your bread almost made me forget I don’t like to lose my temper.

Now…I am not saying it is good behavior for a child to poke a loaf of bread, but telling someone else’s child what to do is to enter into sacred space. In our world there are many people allowed in that place; staff at school, friends and family, people at church. I don’t believe your loaf of bread gave you that right, with my daughter.

What should you have done? I am so glad you asked.

You could have let it go. You’re a mom. You’ve heard the song. It’s good advice. The truth is I am a fairly strict mother. While I was busy swiping my card to pay and didn’t see the infraction, I certainly wouldn’t have let it continue once I noticed, had you just given me the chance. The statistical odds of Ryan having poked your bread more than once or twice without me noticing are slim…In all likelihood the bread was going to survive.
You could have moved the bread. Problem solved. Move it away from the curious finger of my daughter without bossing around someone else’s child.
You could have distracted her. You say you take care of special needs kids? Then certainly you have learned the art of distractions. Sometimes a pleasant, “How are you?” can interrupt harmless, inconvenient behavior.

There were many choices, but your choice made one thing clear: Your bread was more important to you than my daughter’s feelings or camaraderie with another mom. Seriously, I hope the sandwich is good.

To be clear, I am not a helicopter mother who protects my kids from everything, and ignores the world around me for fear of interfering. That’s not my style at all.

I have stepped in front of stranger’s kids when they were clearly misbehaving and about to run in the street. Once, at the community pool, I heard a mom say, “It’s time to go.” And a boy yell, “No!”

Then that boy, with the body language of naughtiness emanating, walked into the middle of the kiddy pool.

I had my sundress on and was gathering the towels and snacks of my girls when I turned to see his mother. She was in a wheelchair. Without a moment’s hesitation I asked, “Would you like me to go get him?”

“Would you?” She pleaded. I said I’d be happy to.

I walked into the pool, grabbed his hand and returned him to his grateful mother. Solidarity, people. But here’s the gig: I would never interfere with someone else’s child for the sake of my own comfort. Never.

Safety first, always. I don’t even think–it just happens. And if a mom clearly needs a helping hand I can give? No problem. I am happy to have her back.

But to interfere with parenting without allowing the mother time to speak, over something so trivial, is yucky. Your bread was clearly more important to you than I hope any loaf of bread ever will be to me.

I hope tomorrow is a better day for both of us.