Yesterday, I had coffee with a friend that I had not seen in a very long time ... as in years.  I met her when she was a teenager and I a young woman of 22 years old.  We sat across from each other, coffee in hands, recounting the years that had passed between us.  

As the day drew to a close, I began to reflect on the years that have passed between me and my coffee date.  Despite the number of days on a calendar that would prove a great number of hours and minutes have ticked on the proverbial clock of life, it seemed as if time sped by in a racing car that I was unaware had even passed my way.

Because of my passion to see young women navigate the waters of motherhood successfully, young Moms are on my heart this morning.  Before you know it, Young Momma, 28 years will have come and gone.  You may find yourself sitting in a cafe across from someone in your past.  Your children will not be cutting teeth, cutting their hair when you are not looking, or cutting up your favorite curtains.  They will be 28 years older.  Your season of motherhood will have passed. 

In 28 years, I have gotten married, birthed babies, raised children, and have sent some of those children into the world.  

I've said it times too numerous to count ... hold on to the days.  Hold on to the days!!!  Each season has its own treasures.  Enjoy and embrace the season you are now in!  Don't recoil from the day's events.  Don't bear grudgingly the tasks on your list for today.  They.go.too.fast.

Being back in Norman at times feels surreal.  It highlights the time that has passed since we raised our three girls here in this city.  One of those past seasons included something called a Bridge of Beauty.  You see, once upon a time, when our family lived in Norman, so focused was this Mom on her daughter's carrying traditions in their heads and hearts of happy childhoods that she created moments - and lots of them.  Taking one of her favorite routes through town via her silver minivan, the Mom realized on one particularly spectacular Fall day that the trees covered the street creating a canopy of sorts of splendidly covered red, brown and orange leaves.  At that very moment, she called this her girls' "Bridge of Beauty".  She told them to capture the moment in their heads just as they would a digital camera.  From now on, every time they would see a similar scene, it would forever be their "Bridge of Beauty" moment.

Libby and I drove under that Bridge of Beauty.  We will celebrate this season!  We will make our days count!!

Because we are moving to the U.S. in a matter of weeks, questions have been generated.  By far, the most frequently asked question:  What will you miss the most? 

Think about your own life.  There is a rhythm.  There are things in your normal that has become innate, natural, part of who you are and what you do.  There are the big things in your life that demand attention like birthday parties or special events.  Yet, for the most part, life is usually most often marked by the normal.  The day-in-day-out routine that seems effortless until interrupted.  The dash living ... the living that takes place between the year of your birth and the year of your death.  If I live to be 90 years old, I will have celebrated only 90 Christmases.  Yet, in those 90 years, how many trips to the grocery store, routine errands or work days will have passed that were just part of my normal life?  Many.  Many days of ordinary that when taken into full account make up the sum of my living.

With Mother's Day being yesterday, I did a little reflecting on my days spent with my own mother, on my days of early motherhood, and the slipping of time through hands that are unaware of the speed at which time travels.  The little things are the most remembered:  the way my girls would say my name before they reached puberty, the way my Mom's lips would press together when cutting material for a dress she was making ... for me, the way Sunday afternoons drift by, the way mornings rush in a hectic flurry, the way nighttime feels when good nights are said.  These are the things that capture my attention when time is given to entertain the simple treasures of life.

Recently, a friend lost her 14-year-old son in a tragic boating accident.  Another friend has not seen her 3 children in over 9 months due to heartbreaking circumstances.  What each of them wouldn't give for another moment.  I am reminded to cherish days.

Life will never be perfect.  There will be people you wished lived closer.  There are pounds that you wish didn't sit in obvious places.  There are bills left unpaid.  There are struggles left to battle.  Yet ... it's the magic of the ordinary days when captured through the right perspective that makes each day precious.  All it takes is the foresight to recognize the moments as a gift given by a good Father who uses it all for our good and presents each challenge with a promise of His divine and miraculous presence.

What will I miss the most?  The ordinary days lived in my corner of the world.  I'll miss them.  Yet, I'll be grateful for having lived them.  I will be grateful they were lived well.  I will cherish them and not pine away for them.  There are new ordinary days to be lived in the next chapter.

Turning pages into more ordinary,
Christina

The circle of life is a strange thing.  Any first - child, goodbye, death, move - brings with them emotions that are dreaded but not experienced as real until they unfolded in whatever "first" life event you experience.

When our oldest child left home for the first time, I thought I would crumble.  The build up to the goodbye was the worst.  I harbored feelings:

• "What is this going to feel like, this leaving of a child from our home?"
• "What is to become of her trying to do life on her own?"
• "What is to become of her siblings trying to live life without her?"

And when I wasn't imagining what feelings would emerge I was feeling emotions:

• this is the last First time I will pack her lunch
• this is the last First time I will watch her play volleyball
• this is the last First time she'll sleep in her childhood bed

She left our home four years ago.  I survived.  Her siblings survived.  It wasn't without tears and longing ... but we all got through it.  And now we are gearing up for another departure among us.

Parker is living out her last year of high school and preparing to fly the coop!  Just as with Addison, we mark her events as the "last" Firsts.

• Last first day of school
• Last first volleyball game
• Last first Fall break

This time it's easier.  We know - sort of - what to expect.  We know emotions will come and pass.  We know that we will all survive.  We know that life goes on and God is real in the middle of the last Firsts and we ... move forward.

I find myself getting "homesick" for the days when my girls were little.  There was something so sweet about the tracing of little hands to make Thanksgiving Turkey's, the packing of lunches that included love notes, and the tucking in of little bodies under warm covers.

Moving forward requires moving on from what was to a new place that has its own advantages.  I will always treasure the "little" days.  But I am learning to always welcome the new days.  And ...  in this particular season with Parker ... I'm embracing the "last" Firsts.

Hold on tightly ... and loosely ... for the days slip of out fingers faster than you think,
Christina

Modern day orphans come in all sorts of packages that upon first glance can deceive.  Most orphans I know today are part of families.  I'm 49 years old ... and still need a Mom.

Recently, a precious soul I would like to know better constructed a phrase on social media that has stuck with me:  feeling motherless.  In my experience with women, one common issue that always rises to the surface - other than body image being usually somewhere near the top - is the issue of Mother/Daughter relationships.

In an ideal world, all of our Mom's would be loving, naturally maternal, bake great cookies, work part-time jobs, not embarrass us in front of our peers, always give the best advice, remember what we said we wanted for Christmas, send us cards in the mail, treat us like adult children, be emotionally present, say I'm sorry, influence us for good, and a host of other wish-list characteristics that we could all pick and choose from that would best suit our needs/wants/desires/hopes.  We've all got a list.

Children need Moms from the beginning.  For example, the most dysfunctional person can become a Mom.  She deposits into the heart of her baby a need for the one that gave birth to them to love them.  Even if that love is offered in unhealthy doses, conditional timing or sparingly given, it's always wanted.

I have rarely met another woman who was physically abused by, abandoned by or legitimately orphaned from her Mother.  Yet, so many women struggle with the relationship with their Mom.  We, daughters, get much of our ideal womanhood from our Moms.

My Mom baked coffee cakes every Christmas for neighbors, friends and co-workers.  I watched as she followed a recipe for her dough, arranged the shapes for the end result, adorned with red and green sprinkles and decoratively packaged these tasty morsels.  There was no official lesson.  She didn't give a narrative of why she was doing this or how you should do this or even what her motivation was for doing this ... I was just a watchful bystander.  I learned some lessons:  it's nice to be hospitable, fun to make things for those for whom you care and Christmas is a time to give.

My Mom also struggled in life.  She suffered a stroke at the age of 38 years that altered the trajectory of her life for the next 10 years until her early death at 48 years.  I learned a lot of lessons during this time as well.  These lessons have been less about Christmas cheer and more about pain.  These lessons are the things that made me fearful to be a Mom.

What I tell most precious females who spin tales of their feelings of motherlessness through tear-stained faces is this ... which has become the deepest cry of my heart:  HE knows.  

HE - God - Creator of all things ... knows your heart.  He knows your pain.  He knows your longing.  He knows your need.  He knows your feelings.  He knows it all.  AND ... He knows your Mom.  He knows her heart.  He knows her pain.  He knows her longings.  He knows her need.  He knows it all.

Your Mom is not your enemy.  There is, however, an enemy that roams planet earth.  His name is evil and his goal is destruction.  He will take that which is most precious - a bond between a Mom and a child - and twist it into unrecognizable proportions that cause pain, hurt and feelings you were never intended to feel from a parent.  He will use her past, her struggles and her challenges and hurl them towards you at breakneck pace to get you to question your worth, your value and your competence as a woman.  If the one that gave you birth has issues with you ... then you are somehow inherently flawed.  That's what you think, right?  That, my dear, is a lie from the evil one.  Lies conceal truth.

I listened to that lie.  I listened and bought into it and lived in a place of hurt and misunderstanding for a long time.  Too long.  And then, because God is a good Father and desires my freedom more than my imprisonment, He revealed light into dark places.  Light always exposes dark.  Light always sets free.

I've come to know ... really know ... that God chose my Mom FOR me.  And, I was chosen FOR her.  He has used her to deposit so much yummy goodness in me I will be forever grateful.  He used the pain in such a beautiful way I will be forever humble.  It was never about me ... or my Mom ... but always about what God was doing to make all things work for my good.

Those things that caused me so much doubt about ever being a fit Mom have been used to make me passionate about being a Mom that looks to God for every thing I need to be the best Mom my girls deserve.  They get all of me ... warts and all ... but all of me.  They get the parts that are still rough around the edges.  They get the parts that have been refined through pain.  They get the parts that have been miraculously healed.  They get the parts that are still trying to find balance.  They get all of me ... who is giving all of me ... to the ONE that knows us best ... and chose each of us FOR one another.

Mothers and Daughters are precious.  I'm in it for the long haul to ensure Mothers know how to be good Moms and Daughters learn how to rely on Him more than their Moms.  I want to erase the feeling of motherlessness.

Doing it one Mom and Daughter at a time,
Christina

Time is such a strange thing.  We measure it in increments we barely understand.  The significance of it's passing doesn't hit us until that which we've walked through is over.  While experiencing it, time is so real.  When we reflect on it, it seems almost a mist.  Time.

When Addison was about to enter her last year of high school, a time period that seemed so uncharted and mysterious to our family, I took her on a Mother/Daughter get-a-way.  Because she is the first child and the object of all manner of experimentation, I didn't know what I was doing.  Time as our tester of that which is good, showed me that this idea was a good thing and worthy of being repeated with each of my girls in similar life stages and has thus become an Elledge Girl family tradition.

This was Parker's turn ... a making of a Mother/Daughter memory.  We took off for Hungary (only 45 minutes away) and retreated for a Spa weekend.  Toes, fingers, backs, heads, faces and arms were massaged, peeled, oiled and scrubbed.  We clothed ourselves in white robes and enjoyed AC that we set real low.  We feel asleep to the voice of the narrator of A & E's Biography and woke up to my child telling false stories of my snoring.

Resting with someone is important.  Resting with someone who is in a life transition is priceless.  Together we explored possible options and outcomes of the year to come.  We unpacked real feelings.   We related to one another without the trappings of normal life.  We took the time to embrace what we normally would put off.  We participated in intentional rest together.

What Time and Motherhood has taught me is to enjoy my daughters at the life stage they are currently experiencing.

This summer I got to spend the night with my grown-up, adult Addison in her space.  I followed her around while she worked, did errands and life.  I was her spectator.  Then we got to fall asleep  in the same bed and listen to each other brush their teeth the next morning and share heart issues about something that would rise to the surface.  We did it because we knew time was limited and needed to be taken advantage of while it was being offered as sacred.

Mothers, have the courage to rest with your daughters.
Mothers, have the courage to be still with your daughters.
Mothers, don't rush moments but take advantage of them.
Mothers, don't try to fix daughters but let them explore options.
Mothers, love your daughters well.

Making time for more of my daughters,
Christina

When someone tells me to "be quiet", "be myself", "be assertive" or "be respectful" ... I kinda raise my back feathers and want to rebel.  Just being honest.  What I first conclude is that they think I am not exuding the qualities they are asking me to display.  If they (and who in the sam hill is "they"?) tell me to be quiet, apparently I am not being ... or acting ... quiet.  Again, laying all Sunday school answers at the door and being brutally honest, I want to clear my throat loudly, stomp my foot, and whisper loud at their request to be quiet.  Quiet, in fact, becomes the last thing on my mind.  Loud.  Loud is what I want to be ... and act out ... and develop.

So when I read in 1 Thessalonians 4 what Paul writes to his friends, I cringe.  Yikes.  Paul is someone I admire, respect and consider worthy of taking advice from.  He says to them ... "be holy".  I gotta ponder that a moment, for I, the keeper of a rebellious heart, have some questions.

I am a Mom.  I love my three, precious, beautiful, smart, witty, brilliant, strong, soft, assertive, justice-seeking, single-minded, merciful daughters.  When I look at them, I don't see what's wrong with them ... for could there be any fault in such beauties?  Yes.  Yes there are faults, but not ones I want to rub in their faces and mock.  Their faults are things (characteristics/tendencies) that I see I have struggled with and want to bring into the light and encourage them to develop to make strong.  I don't want them to keep these faults hidden and neglect them and wish them to disappear.  Hiding only highlights the defect.  Exposing brings into a place of sweet revelation and healing.

So when Paul tells his friends to "be holy", I have to suppose he desires for them to take into account their current behavior in light of an alternate behavior that will bring them good, make them healthy, lead to a better way of living.

But is it behavior he is after?  As a Mom, I want a certain behavior, but not at the expense of my girls leaving their heart at the door and only feigning actions without strong conviction behind those actions.

When they say they love their friends, I don't want them to merely act like they love their friends.  I want them to love them from a heart level.  I want them to care for, pray for, devote themselves to, invest in, cry with, laugh with, stay awake for and be deeply committed to their friend.

I want their heart first.  Actions leap from the deep places in the heart.

And therefore I've answered my own questions about what Paul was saying to his friends:  be holy.  Don't act holy.  Don't put on a show.  Don't give lip service to.  Don't attend certain gatherings because.  Don't abstain from things or engage in things because.  Just be holy.  At a heart level, making a commitment to be holy, will ooze out into all areas of my life.  I will act holy if in my core and in the beating of my heart is the decision to be holy.

And then, kind of as a "kicker" to the whole equation, Paul says this after his request.  First, he tells them to be holy.  Then, he says that because God is so faithful, He will make it happen.  It isn't enough that we make a commitment to be holy.  No, God comes in and then says "I will do this for you, you sweet girl, because I see your heart and I am the One who will transform you."

Wow.

In a recent conversation with a dear friend who is a young Mother, I made this statement:  "Are you after behavior modification of a heart change?"  The same principle applies here ... be holy.  It's a statement about the condition of our core being.  The behavior springs from this place.  And if there's a good core, there will be good actions.

Being holy,
Christina

P.S.  Holy doesn't mean perfect ... and that's another story ...

Yesterday I read a well-written and reflective blog by a friend who is facing a Season.  I've met with so many women this past year with the same issue of entering into or coming out of a Season.  They - Seasons - are inevitable.  You can try to hide, deny, ignore, run away from it's impending presence but facts and truth collide in the shape of a Season.

If you live in Oklahoma, perhaps a weather illustration is not a good one since Winter resembles very little of itself and puts on the alluded guises of Spring and Summer.  But ... for the rest of us ... Seasons make sense.    I know that when September arrives in my beloved Vienna, it's going to be the optimal time of year affectionately known as Altes Damen Wetter (Old Ladies Weather):  cool in the morning and evenings but warm in the day.  Perfect.  Upon the ending of September I brace myself for the fleeting Autumn and know that my down coat needs to be put in the batters box because soon and very soon Winter will make his debut ... and stay ... usually for a long, long time.    But come April"ish" ... I get itching to pull out lighter jeans and dispose of the fleece uniforms I've been wearing for months.  July and August I suck it up and deal with the warmth inside my apartment that has no AC because I know ... this is for a Season.  September is coming.

Seasons change that which was our reality.  Seasons take time to mourn.  Seasons should cause us to reflect.  Seasons come and go ... and come and go ... until we meet Jesus.

I find myself in a Season that I really don't know how to define in terms that are either comprehensible or proper for a good girl like to me to put in black and white.  I know the title of this Season:  Menopause.  Other brave women who I now respect more than most Rock Stars, Brain Surgeons or Barista's in any coffee shop worth it's grinds encourage me that this Season will end ... and I will survive.  I have my doubts.  But I trust their words.

As a young Mom, I was so insecure.  I was afraid most of the time.  I was so afraid that what I did wouldn't count.  I was afraid I'd get something so wrong in the raising of my beautiful offspring that they'd never recover.  I was afraid that they would "pick up" on things that I did, said, believed - oh yes believed - and have the same struggles I did.  Fear was a constant companion.  I loved God.  I learned His Word.  I tried my darndest to "get it right".  I rarely shook the Fear.  Until ...

Until that day when God used Anxiety to break the Fear Season and show me a Healing Season.  The good news is that the Healing Season still continues!  If you know Jesus and read God's Word which is alive and powerful and full of good stuff and relevant and flat out inspires and thoughtful and challenging and seeps into all the soft spots in your heart - but more importantly into the hard spots that crave attention and then the Word speaks ... with loud speakers ... then... THEN you will always have a Healing Season.  Always.

As a not-so-young Mom, I'm not insecure.  I'm not afraid - most of the time.  I am not afraid that I what I did didn't count.  I'm not afraid that what I got wrong they won't recover from.  I'm not afraid that they picked up on anything I did, said, or believed and suffer from my same struggles.  Fear is no longer a constant companion.  I love God.  I am learning His Word.  I'm not trying any more to get it right.  I have shaken Fear.

Sound arrogant? It would if I were speaking from the vantage point of being my own Healer.  But I'm not!  I can confidently say these things because the Spirit of God's Wisdom has opened my eyes - through many Seasons - to show me that when I make Seasons self-focused I will always fear.

Let me illustrate by using this current Season of my life:  Menopause.  Self-focus navigation tells me that I must find the right doctor to give me the right meds, hormone replacement therapy, food lists, creams, Valium to make it through.   Self-focus navigation urges me and often shames me into gathering all the information I can to be well-informed.  Missing vital information could harm me.  Self-focus navigation keeps everything in this Season all about what I can do, should do, should not do, could do, must do until I'm just flat worn out.  It's not enough to carry the weight (literally) of this Season but I must also carry the burden of the exit of the Season.

It's stupid. It's stupid to ask Winter to be responsible for bringing in Spring.  It's stupid to rely on ourselves to navigate our own Seasons.

We look to God, who is wise and who's thoughts are way higher than ours and we breath and we calm down and we put down our banner that says "Me" on it ... and we sit.  We sit because we are tired.  We sit because it's in our weakness that God, who is strong, speaks to us in soft tones because we've become overwhelmed.  It's in those soft tones we feel empowered.  And then when we hear enough in the soft tones, we get up and we do what He told us to do and we navigate from a new place that takes "Me" of the top of the organizational flow chart and puts "God" in my place.

If He tells me to go to a doctor, I go.  If He tells me to gather information, then I gather.  But I don't do anything other than what He tells me.  If I hear nothing, I don't sit in shame and guilt.  There is no place for shame in guilt in the lap of my Father.  Hearing nothing may mean I need to just sit awhile.  I sit until I hear and then I go and do ... and do with more confidence that this is a Season who has an Author and it's author is not me.

Walking in a Season,
Christina

This blog was born out of a few resources you mind find helpful:
The well-written blog by my friend
Dr. Henry Cloud on Seasons

When I gave birth to my youngest, Libby, I was slammed with an awful case of anxiety.  Having faced anxiety in the past, I knew my opponent.  However, this time it came out with it's guns loaded full throttle and I was prey that demanded to be taken down.  For six weeks, I felt as if I had a target on my back and in my heart that kept being pelted by attacks - over and over - and over and over.  I was so tired of running I literally thought I would die.  My mind was wasted.  My body was disturbed.  I didn't trust my emotions.  I was a mess.


I thought it was my battle.  I thought it was my responsibility to go to war every day armed with scripture to take captive the thousands (literally) of thoughts that ran like enemy rogues in my head.  Yet this time, I had nothing left to give, fight with, stand against.  I.was.tired.

It was in this season (and can I just say that all enemy attacks have their seasons - they don't last forever) that God displayed His "I AM A MIGHTY WARRIOR" characteristic in a way I had never experienced.  I learned that in my weakness, in my break-downs in the shower under the safety of running water that muted my pitiful cries for help, God injected power into my situation.  I emerged six weeks later as a new person.  God won my battle.

How?  Weakness.  When I am strong, I am very strong.  I know I can leap mountains, scale buildings, bake brownies, and win Mom of the Year all while wearing pearls and having good hair and kissing hubby at the end of his hard work day and make him glad I'm a woman.  But, when I am weak, I am very weak.  No leaping, scaling, baking, winning, wearing, having, kissing goes on for weakness trumps willingness to pull it all together.

Yet, weakness also sets aside "me" for "Him".  When He's all I have, He's all I get.  And when He's all I get, I am no longer weak.  Body, mind, and brownie-making ability all gets sorted out and put into the right places under His strength.  My mouth gives proper credit to a Creator who performs on my behalf because body knows how weak it is.

Gideon (Judges 7) experienced the same thing.  32,000 soldiers had been prepped and waited to do battle against an army that compared itself to a vast hoard of locusts.  Yikes!  I'm thinking 32,000 didn't stand a chance.  And yet, God reduced that number of testosterone warriors to 10,000.  Why?  "If I let all of you fight the (enemy), the Israelites will boast to me that they saved themselves by their own strength."

Get it?  In a culture that values hard-work, self-made people, can do attitudes, we did it our way philosophies, God says something else.  Let ME do all the work.  Let ME fight your battle.  Let ME be God and you be child.  Counter culture.  God's culture.

When God wins the battle, it's finished.  What six weeks of mental mind games and gut-wrenching heart-ache paired with uncontrolled panic and anxiety set out to do - destroy - God used for my good.  He destroyed things that I could have never fought against.  He transformed my mind, bypassed many a heart-ache, put panic and anxiety in it's proper place (under His feet) and brought me to a new place.  That's what He does.  God's culture.

But wait there's more ... Next time.
Christina

Yesterday I had coffee with a friend.  She is a new friend, a peer, and we were digging deep to find out the finer details about one another.  She comes from another culture but our similarities were too many to count.

In talking about siblings, she mentioned one of hers.  He is obviously well-respected by her family but also in the community in which he lives.  He has a very good job, reputation, and impressive credentials.  If I told you where he lives ...you would be totally jealous!

She mentioned that as a young man trying to "find himself", her brother would often tell their Mother he was tried of her "Kitchen Theology".  Later, it turns out, that after several university degrees -  including one in Philosophy - and living life with a few good lessons under his belt - his Mother's "Kitchen Theology" proved to be a solid and trustworthy foundation for living.

This got me to thinking.  "Kitchen Theology".  Most of my life up until this point has been lived preaching "Kitchen Theology" to my girls.  Stirring pasta, whipping up a batch of brownies, scrubbing left over gunk from the bottom the sink ...all have been podiums from which my sermons have been cast.

Recently, one of my dears shared a concern about a friend all while I attentively listened and interjected over pots and pans.  We danced about the kitchen as I grabbed milk or put away spices.  She continued to spin her tale as I collected each sentence with ears on the story and hands on the spatula.  At the conclusion of her discourse, she weighed two options.  Giving my rebuttal and a few good truths that I have learned through life experience she came to a conclusion that left her tasting the yummy goodness in my pot and hugging me around the neck before exiting my courtroom ...I mean kitchen.

This, THIS is "Kitchen Theology" at it's finest.  It may spill onto the kitchen table, while shoveling spoonfuls of spaghetti into hungry stomachs.  It may end in a heated debate over homework being done at said table.  None-the-less, it's a classroom and I find myself not only the teacher but the learner.

As teacher, my "Kitchen Theology" gets dispersed in effortless strains of one-liners or mini speeches, but the message is heard in a non-intimidating setting.  As learner, my "Kitchen Theology" gives me a glimpse into the world of my dears - their struggles, their hurts, their world-view.

"Kitchen Theology": doing life and discussing it along the way.

rattling pots, pans, and words,
Christina

When I was a young Mom, overwhelmed at times by the responsibility of raising my first little person God gave me ... I was given two gifts that impacted me for the rest of my life.  These two gifts were in the persons of two older women (probably the age I am now!).  They opened their hearts to me by loving on my Addison.

Anna Ruth was kind, patient and energetic ... qualities that I - as a first-time-Mom - were lacking.  She would scoop Addison up and love on her as if she had earned a Master's degree in nurturing and child rearing.  She helped me see Addison with new eyes.  She filled a gap that I was in great need of  ... and without knowing she wove magic around me that left me ... after all these years ... grateful for her presence in my life.

Promptly after we left our Oklahoma roots for the first time and made our way into the great wilderness called Tucson, Arizona ... our second gift emerged out of many months of prayer. Lydia entered the picture.  Lydia, full of fire and spunk, had grandchildren that all lived on the East coast.  Seeing our need for a surrogate family she "adopted" us as her own.  She filled a gap that I was in great need of ... and without knowing she wove magic around me that left me ... after all these years ... grateful for her presence in my life.

Now ... 20 years later ... despite still feeling like that young Mom, I am the "older woman" in a young woman's life.  Now I get to exhibit kindness, patience and energy ... not because I am so pious ... but because 20 years under the bridge gives you new perspective.  Baking cookies with a two-year-old, wiping a snotty nose and watching a temper tantrum are now seen through new lenses.  I have the advantage of experience to know this is just a season - a very fast-paced season - that will fade before my Young friend will even recognize it's gone.  Young Mom's are superhero's that need an occasional break from saving their corner of the world.  The beauty of mentoring gives the experienced a chance to redo what they wish they would have done ... and gives a Superhero the occasional nap!

chasing a two-year-old and loving every minute of it,
christina

Addison sarcastically commented when I snapped this photo of her on the Ubahn that she could see me using this photo on a blog when she was gone.  Well, she was right!  Here it is ... Addie!

There is a popular phrase roaming around the Internet on Pinterest and Face Book that says:  "Don't cry because it's over.  Rejoice that it happened in the first place."   I'm not heeding the anonymous authors' advice. I'm crying because it's over.  I need to cry because it's over.  It's healthy to cry because it's over.

Today, as that grown up girl of mine headed out the door to catch her plane to fly to another continent that she calls "home", I cried because it was over.  I've cried all throughout the day ... because it's over.

I keep asking myself why I am crying and then I remember her sweet face as she woke up every morning stumbling into whatever room I was in, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the cheek.  I am gonna miss that face - or ...

I cry when I see her PJ's laying in the empty drawer ... ones she left behind for the next visit ...whenever that might be.  She told me they were "granny" PJ's and we laughed over the fact that every time they were washed, the bottoms kept getting shorter and shorter.  I am gonna miss that cute little laugh - or ...

I cry when I hear the songs she downloaded on my playlist on my computer.  We'd listen to these songs as we played a perpetual game of Backgammon.  I'd hear her precious voice harmonize to everything from Jack Johnson to Sons and Daughters.  I am gonna miss her harmony.

Despite the tears that have trickled in random cycles throughout the day down my face and soiled my makeup way too many counts to count, I'm also rejoicing that it happened in the first place!!  I'm rejoicing that my grown up girl was home for 5 weeks ... occupying the same air that I breathed ... drinking from her favorite coffee cup ... sleeping on pallets on the floor with her sisters ... giving out fashion advice to her poor ol' Mom ... riding in the same Ubahn and making silly faces across the aisle ... going with me to the grocery store because she can ... staying up late to watch a movie ... just ... being ... together.  Together in the same space.  Priceless.

It is more and more evident that I have joined the ranks of others ... those parents who parent from far away ... less involved in the day to day events of their children ... because their children are adults ... operating on their own ... and needing little from us ... us the parents ... who serve another role.

This parting is tough.  This parting makes me want to run home to my own parents, hug their necks, and tell them I now know how it feels.  This parting makes me ever so thankful for another place and time that is to come ... this place being prepared for me and others like me ... who have put their lives record into the hands of an Almighty God.  This parting makes me long for this place of no more parting ... ever.

This hurting will soften.  Tomorrow another week will unfold.  I will dig into the "normal" and long-distance phones calls with my girl will replace the daily conversations.  I may shed the occasional tear at the thought of a past memory ... but more often I will rejoice at the relationship that has moved into a new phase.

For all who've gone before me ... Oh, how I respect the road you've traveled.  For all who have yet to walk this road ... bless you.

singing my membership card,
christina

Addison arrived December 13th and has extended her stay (insert giant smile) until January 18th!  Her being here, home, has been such an experience for me.  It's given me another perspective in which to see Motherhood.  Those who've walked this journey of parenting "adult" children know these feelings of which I speak.

As this woman talks to me of her life details: juggling school, work, relationships I stare at her.  I'm paying attention to the words, but in my heart I'm having my own conversations:

• When did she grow up?
• When did she stop looking like a girl and start looking like a ... woman?
• When did she start carrying tissues in her purse ... like a real person?
• Look at how she's being thrifty ... making the most of her hard-earned dollars!
• She laughs different, yet still like that silly 5-year-old I used to know.
• She carries herself different ... again, like a woman.
• She's good with people ... I like that.
• She's more mature with her sisters.
• She learned that from me ... I like that, too.
• She learned that from me ... bless her heart!

You may not know, but the woman who gave birth to me, I most resemble, and was the first female I loved ... and called "Mom" ... has resided for about 18 years in ... heaven.  When she died, I was 27, was a Bride for about 4 years, had a 16 month old baby, and lots and lots of unresolved emotional baggage.

What I think I most appreciate about life but especially about a journey toward discovery with God ... is the way He uses time to transforms us humans.  The healing of wounds, the passing of time, the ability to see clearly leads me to this day.

If I had a way to send my Mom a letter ... this is what it would say:

Dearest Mother,

It's Christmas - your favorite time of the year.  It never ceases to amaze me how this time of year floods me with memories of my childhood:  closed doors that hid your schemes to sew a Christmas dress ... gifts hidden under your bed ... the giddy way you'd get excited over us opening our stockings (even as adults) ...  homemade divinity ... coffee cakes (how I'd kill for one of those right now!) ... you humming "I'll be home for Christmas" ... you delighting over getting a robe - every Christmas!!! - candlelight Christmas Eve's ...  giant smiles over simple things ... you!!

There are so many things I wish I could tell you ... but most of them don't have words to articulate the vast emotions that fill the deepest parts of my heart.  I guess what I want to tell you most of all ... is thank you.

As a mother, I feel I can relate to you, finally.  Especially this year ... having a grown-up daughter coming home for Christmas.  This is how you must have felt when I would come home from college.  Thank you for making it so special.

There is such a bond there with Mother and Daughter.  I think most Daughters don't realize it until they become Mothers.  You kept a hidden treasure deep inside your heart that I can finally unlock as a Mom to daughters.  We now share that mutual bond.

I just want to tell you that I still miss you ... especially at Christmas.  I'm so thankful for Shirley and JoAnn ... who mother me so well.  I know you would love how they love me.  All those "little" things that Mamma's do ... they do them.  I know that would make you smile.

One day I envision us sitting for long periods of time ... me sipping coffee and you tea ... talking about our journey's of Motherhood.  You will nod your head when I tell you how it felt to see Addison walk off the plane for the first visit in 4 months ...  how it feels to look at Parker and realize she looks more like a woman than a little girl ... and how I want to hold on to every moment left of Libby's girlhood knowing how fast the others traveled this chapter.  You know!

Merry Christmas, Mom.
I love you.
I.really.love.you.

Your daughter ... who is finally beginning to understand what it means to be a Mom,
christina

I cut my early womanhood teeth on the hit T.V. show from the late 80's/early 90's, "Designing Women".  Four Southern women resolved contemporary issues in 23 minutes with Southern charm, grace, and a whole lot of "sassy".  I wanted to be just like them.

I recently watched this Christmas episode (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wi6BE1p9G18). All four Southern Belles have experienced some sort of set back that has made them less than festive during the Christmas season.  Julia Sugarbaker (the one I most aspired to be like) is now a mother of a 20-year-old-son who has made other plans for Christmas.  In her nostalgia, she makes the following comment:

"Every Christmas just brings out the part that is still the mother of a little boy peaking through the railing on the stairs."  

As a Momma to three beautiful young women, I totally get that!  I still buy Advent calenders filled with cheap chocolates for them to countdown to Christmas day.  I scurry about the store to find "just the right one" for each girl.  I hide them under my winter clothes and pull them out on the first day of December.  I giddily present them to the girls as if they were receiving million dollar lottery checks.  They smile.  Libby gets excited to open the first chocolate.  Parker thanks me.  I put Addison's on the shelf because she isn't here.  And then, with little fan fare, they both go on their way.  I tape the calendars to the kitchen door ... even Addison's ... and am left with my memories.  It's not bad ... it's just different ... it's different from when they were ... little!!

So ... Mamma's to small children ... this is for you:  enjoy!  Enjoy every moment of these "small" years with your toddler that spills juice on her new dress, breaks your favorite ornament, finds the secret stash of presents you've hidden under your bed.  Thrill at the bump on his forehead that will forever be captured in his photo with Santa this year!  Smile at the sleeping face that finally gave up after too much hot cocoa and cookies.  Laugh at the way she can't stop from rearranging the "perfect" decorations you've put throughout the house.  Savor every imperfect moment because these are the things that will land in your memory bank and draw interest over the years.

Babies grow up - as they should - and Christmas' change - as they should.  Whatever season of Christmas you find yourself celebrating ... celebrate it!  It may be different than what you expected, anticipated, dreamed of and wished for ... but it's exactly what it's supposed to be.  Celebrate!

celebrating,
christina

At 27, I was a Mom for the first time.  The first time of anything is unique, isn't it?  It's wrapped with excitement and fear and a bit of freak out and tied in a pretty bow of anticipation.  These were all the feelings captured in my heart upon the first look of my Addison.  I was the chosen one. I was the one she would call Mother.

Now, 19 years later, this is the first time I am a mother to an adult.  This time, too, is wrapped with excitement and fear and a bit of freak out and tied in a pretty box of anticipation.  This little baby has now sprouted wings, along with personality and drive and vision and plans and smarts and looks and a car ... and now a boyfriend.  This person who captured my heart then has now occupied a place within me that can not be explained - only another Mother would understand!  Growing into our adult relationship, I'm discovering the unspeakable joy of having my daughter as my ... friend.

Last night as she chose to celebrate her birthday a day late - to make room for graduation celebrations of others - I just watched her.  She oohed and awed over the finger foods I made for diner, enjoying her favorite little morsels as if they were imports from another land.  I watched as she thanked her sisters for their gifts of jewelry - as she giggled at how each piece looked just like her and thrilled at how well her younger siblings knew her.  I fought back tears and gut producing laughter as the "Mama Mia" soundtrack played and the 3 beauties that I call daughters sat around the table singing every song lyric with passion - and with full comprehension - at the top of their feminine voices. (We've done something right as parents!)

It's these things that I still hide in my heart.  The way her voice sounds when she thanks me for making her favorite cookie cake, the way her eyes sparkle as she sings, the way her body awkwardly dances to the soundtrack.  These are the beautiful things.  These are the things that when I was chosen to be her Mother, were destined to be the things that gave me such unspeakable joy, tears or words can't explain.

Addison.  This is for you.

I recently spoke at a "Ladies Brunch".  My dear friend, Carol, was in attendance along with her  little girl (I want to say she is 6 years old). I was worried.  I had prepared a talk to inspire women.  What would poor Anna do while I spoke?  I dug into my bag and retrieved a handful of colored pens (I never leave home without them) while her Mama found some plain paper.  We had a plan.

As I began to speak, my attention moved from my 6 year old hearer and steadied on the women who I knew God had a message for.  Afterward, many of them thanked me, encouraged me by their words, and affirmed what God had been speaking to them.  However, the biggest blessing I gained that day was from little Anna.  I made my way toward her while she held out a picture she had drawn of me.  As I stooped down to her level to say a proper, "thank you", she said something else. "You know when you were talking about doing things that God tells you to do?  My Mommy does that."

You see I had challenge the women, and myself, to get back to the basics of our faith.  Are we responding to the promptings of God through the Holy Spirit?  How God wants to bless us when we give our lives away for someone else!

 For the next few minutes, Anna recounted a time when she and her Mama were in their car.  Her Mama spotted a women who needed a ride.  She gave the woman a lift.  Because Anna was taught to never talk to strangers, she said she didn't talk to the woman while she was in the car (insert me smiling here!).  She could not understand why her Mama would pick up a stranger.

Anna came to the conclusion of her story.  After the woman was transported to her destination, and normal activity began in her car , Anna asked her Mama, "Why did you pick up a stranger?"  You know what her Mama said?  Carol simply told her precious Anna, "Because God told me she needed a ride."  Story was over.  Anna skipped away.

My dear Carol is a young Mom with three kids.  I'm sure she doesn't do everything right (although you'd be hard pressed for me to find something wrong!)  According to my brief encounter, she's doing the important stuff right!  Carol modeled for her daughter what it looks like to have an encounter ... in a car and with a stranger ... with God!

Blessed by a young Mama,
christina

Oh that Eliza is one smart cookie! No truer words were ever spoken about our species (if you are a woman) than those of the above well-turned phrase.  How we are treated makes a difference.

However, as a woman, I spend too much time looking to the media, the magazine racks by the grocery store checkout aisle, the weight loss infomercials, the movies, my mental images of how I "once" looked and determine my self worth according to the size of my jeans.  The WORLD is not treating me in a derogatory way - directly - however I am letting the WORLD affect how I treat myself!

For the most part, I feel like a lady.  My self image is based on biblical truth.  I know who I am.  However, certain times of the month, conversations, and social situations pull my thinking into the gutter and I dwell on all that is wrong and before I know it ... SHAZAM ... I am a flower girl.

This week I took one of my beautiful girls shopping.  Once the dressing room door closed and garments meant for toothpick girls were tried on and didn't fit ... the flower girl mentality came over her.  I could physically see her buy into the fact that because her beautiful body didn't fill out all the right places she was somehow less than ideal.  I hate that!  Hate, hate, hate!

Girls, ladies, women everywhere!  Unite!  We are not the number our jeans display ... we are created "good"!  Why can't we see that gentleness, strength, inner beauty, kindness, authenticity, truthfulness, compassion, driven, creativity could be the label on our clothes and how we are defined!  I choose to define myself ... beautiful.  I choose to plant seeds and cultivate truth in my beautiful girls that who they are has nothing ... NOTHING ... to do with a number.  They are NOT flower girls ... they ARE ladies!!

On a soap box,
christina
size: passionate

My Libby has chapped hands.  It's been unseasonably cold here in good ol' Oklahoma!  The wind has been sweeping down the plains ... and the plains have been covered in snow and ice.  I don't mind. I like the white stuff and the way it makes everything look like a Hallmark postcard.  However, it doesn't take away from the fact that my Libby has chapped hands from the cold.

So, at night, I've been rubbing them with coconut oil.  She likes the way it makes them feel and I like the way I feel when I hold her growing hand in mine.  Chapped hands allow me to rub a changing girls knuckles.  I know too well how these are the "precious days" ... the days before they grow up.

Dear young Momma ... look for ways to make the "precious days" count.  Rub chapped hands.  Doctor skinned knee's.  Sooth scraped elbows.  They need Mamma's loving touch ... but you need it more.  The touch reminds you of what you were made for in this moment.  These moments will fade all too fast.  These moments settle deep inside you and will reside within you long after they leave your nest.

Moments will flee all too fast.  Your current frustration, aggravation and complaints will too!  At this moment, don't fight what you think life should look like.  The ONE who set planet earth in motion - today - has planned for you to be right where you are.  Smile.  Hands, knee's and elbows await you!!

loving motherhood,
chrisitna

My girlies from a by-gone era ...

Yesterday I had the privilege of seeing two dear friends.  Our paths crossed only briefly.  I've known these girls for several years.  Now, they have babies and busy lives and I'm scratching my head wondering when did I walk out of the stage of life they are now living?

This morning these girls are on my mind.  Our paths don't cross on a regular basis but they are etched in my heart.  This morning I've spent some time talking with my Father about them and for them and am left with a lingering "I wish I could say something" to them kind of feeling.

When babies cry and noses run and bo bo's bleed and carpet gets stained, it's so easy to forget the focus of these days.  Time and sleep are precious treasures.  Etching out one moment for yourself seems like a modern day miracle.  Having enough energy to settle in on who you are and who you are becoming seems to high a price to pay in relation to the priorities of little ones' needs.

Yesterday, I wanted to hold my friends' hands and tell them:
"Remember, these are the precious days.  These are the days that will captivate your heart when these babies grow up and out of your house.  Try to not sweat the things that don't matter.  Try to hold on to the first steps and spontaneous smiles and cracker smudged faces and cozy snuggles.  Remember the truth of who you are and who these days are allowing you to become.  Send up arrows of prayers to One who created you for this moment.  Arrows of thanks, of desperation, of secret smiles, of captured moments, of direction and redirection.  These arrows keep you flying straight.  When you loose it, join the club.  Just start again.  It's not a set back as much as a reality check.  Your humanness keeps you humble.  Your Spirit reminds you of who you really are."

I love the club that initiates its members by giving birth.  Members pay a high price to join.  It's worth it ... every step ... is worth it.  Hold on young Mommas!

From one remembering the holding,
christina