Rocks In My Dryer

Interview With an Expert

With Mother's Day yesterday, I had mommin' on the mind.  I thought it seemed appropriate to conduct a very professional, journalistic interview with the best mom I know:

Mine.

My mom and I look a lot alike, and we have similar mannerisms.  People ask us if we're twins--and I guess, in a way, we are.  Except that she is unendingly patient, perfectly self-disciplined, and she has not an ounce of snarky sarcasm anywhere in her body. 

But other than that, we're just alike. 

Well, except that she is humble and gracious and would never write her own blog, because that would be drawing attention to herself, and that just wouldn't do.  And also I've never heard her shout at a bad driver.

Okay, so other than that, we're just alike.

There are so many things my mom did right, I'd need a whole series of posts to record them all.  Instead, I thought I'd just get the details straight from the horse's mouth.  (An unfortunate metaphor.  Mom, you are nothing like a horse.  Please do not withhold the free babysitting.)  I sat down and asked her the following questions...

So, who was your favorite, me or Reed?  *grin* 

I always hoped you'd each think you were my favorite.  [Note from Shannon:  See?  No sarcasm.   If my grown kids ever ask me that question, I will totally mess with them.]

So, how DID you keep a straight face through all my ridiculous drama?

I must admit I chuckled often behind your back!  However, I felt if the issue in question was important enough to trouble you, I should respect that and take it seriously on your behalf, to some degree.  I must admit, it was hard to be patient and understanding when you were in the 9th grade and you called me at work to ask me to come get you at school because your fingernail had broken.

Imagine you could give yourself of 25 years ago one piece of parenting advice.  What would it be?

Watch less TV.  Media then (and certainly now) is the greatest robber of family life.

What are you proudest of, as a mom? 

3 John 1:4 "I have no greater joy than this, to hear of my children walking in the truth."

When you look back, what are the things you feel certain you did right? 

We raised you in church and in a Christ-centered home; listened a lot;  had lots of family discussions on various topics that came up (political, doctrinal, personal, philosophical, etc.); took many family trips together....even short ones count;  explained to you our reasonings for things (like when we had to say "no");  being lenient on the non-moral issues, like hair style, time spent on the phone, etc., so when we had to be strict on the moral issues you couldn't say, "You don't ever let me do anything!"

So, during my teenage years when you always waited up for me on the weekends, you said it was because you wanted to hear how my evening went.  But you were sniffing my breath, weren’t you? 

Absolutely!  Remember the night you came home chewing gum?  (You never chewed gum because of your TMJ.)  You didn't know I saw through that, did you???

For the second half of my growing-up years, you were working outside the home.  I look back and am amazed at everything you accomplished.  How DID you do it? 

I have no idea!  I felt like I had to be Supermom, and as a result, I don't even remember anything about the 1980's!  I was incredibly busy.  I couldn't have done it if God had not provided me with the energy I needed.

You’ve been a teacher for many years, so you’ve interacted with a lot of parents.  What are some of the more common mistakes you have seen your students’ parents making?

1.  Not realizing that all kids have a different personality at school with their peers than they do at home....even their own little darlin'! 

2.  Not discussing things as a family.  That's how kids learn to make decisions and reason things out. They need to see their parents work through decision-making principles. 

3.  Not letting their children experience the consequences for their disobedience.

4.  Being too busy to spend time with their kids.

You're watching your own kids raise children now.  How is parenting different for this next generation?  How is it the same? 

It's not fair that your kids get to watch DVD's while they travel!  You guys aren't paying for your raising!  Seriously, the technology of today creates brand new risks and temptations for kids.  It scares me, and I fear it will continue to get worse as technology develops.  One of the worst things about the technology explosion is the lack of meaningful conversation in families.  Every person is plugged into something, and that is not good. 

The same? Kids still need the very same things y'all did and I did and every generation has:  unconditional love from parents, being grounded early in the truths of God's Word, wise counsel and good example from the adults in his/her life, being listened to and taken seriously, lots of laughter and conversation in their family, and spending lots and lots of time with them! 

You are so good at being a parent to your adult children.  What’s the key? 

Thank you!  We feel like our role in your lives is to be a cheerleader, a sounding board, and a prayer warrior...that's all.  We try not to give advice unless you ask.  We try to be a welcome blessing in your lives and not an annoying burden!

Any other advice you'd like to add for moms out there in the trenches?

1. One little saying I like that sums it all up for me:  Give your children two things - one is roots, the other wings.  For me, giving my children roots was the fun part;  the wings part is much harder but just as important to their well-being. 

2. Savor each day.....even the hard ones.  There is no work you will ever do in your entire life that is more important than rearing your family.  Growing up a child who loves God and serves Him is your greatest gift to Him.

3. Pray for your child's future spouse.  That child is out there somewhere.  It's such a joy to later meet that unnamed someone you've prayed for countless times!

What did I tell you?  She's great.

Talk Amongst Yourselves: The Tooth Fairy

I'm just curious: how much does The Tooth Fairy pay when she stops by your house?  I'd tell you about ours first, but I suspect she's way stingier than yours, and, well, I don't want to look like an idiot. 

So This Is How It's Gonna Be

I am the mother of a pre-teen.  This means he is just old enough to be slightly horrified by me.

Recently in the mini-van, the kids and I were jammin' to some tunz (that's "jamming to some tunes", to you poor souls who do not have the street cred of this midwestern, 35-year-old housewife), and we came to a stoplight.

And I proceeded to do what is perfectly reasonable for a midwestern, 35-year-old housewife to do at a stoplight: The Robot.

My pre-teen son, who normally would have gleefully joined in with me, instead raised his hand to his face.

"Mom!" he said.  "Don't DO that!"

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because," he said, glancing around to see if any other motorists noticed.  "A boy has needs."

And evidently one of those needs is for his mother not to do bad eighties dances in the car. 

A new day is definitely dawning around here, as adolescence looms, and I'm trying to be sensitive.  I remember being horrified by my own parents  (who, it turns out, are perfectly lovely people and not at all horrific), and I told my son I understood.  In fact, when his teacher invited me to his class recently to share photos of my Africa trip, I specifically asked him ahead of time: tell me how I can do this in a way that won't embarrass you.

He did not hesitate.  Evidently the ways I'm humiliating are right at the top of his head.

"Well," he said, "don't sing opera."  (If you spent any time in our house, you would know that this is a perfectly valid concern.)

"And don't use the word totally," he said.  I promised him I totally would not.  He rolled his eyes.

"And," he said, pausing nervously, wondering if he was about to hurt my feelings, "just don't try to be cool."

I assured him there was absolutely no danger this. 

The talk to his class went fine.  I shot him a couple of questioning "am-I-doing-okay?" glances, and he gave me reassuring nods.  I think we're going to be okay.  I've promised him that Dad and I are sensitive to the fact that he's not a little boy anymore, and I'm standing by my word, when we're out in public.

But in the privacy of our home?  Opera and bad dancing are the name of the game.  And just before his eyes roll back in his head, I can detect a little twinkle. 

Yes.  We're going to be okay.

Hypothetically

I know there are several first-time parents of babies reading this blog, so let me tell you an immutable truth of parenting that you will almost certainly be needing within the next decade:

If (and I'm speaking purely hypthetically here, of course) one of your children (hypothetically) plops down next to you and (hypothetically) says something such as, "Hi, Mom.  I just haven't gotten to sit and talk to you in a long time, and I'm just wondering, how are you doing?  Did you have a good day?" then you may be sure that at least one of the following is true:

A)  There is broken glass somewhere.
B)  There is paint somewhere.
C)  There is a report card somewhere.
D)  There is a new Wii game coming out.
E)  Someone's fist has "accidentally" drawn blood out of someone's nose.
F)  Someone has hacked into the CIA homepage.
G)  Someone has "accidentally" set your house on fire.

Do you have any you'd like to add?

A Conversation With My Dad, and a Hayfu Winner

*Ringing phone*

Me:  Hello?

Dad:  What the heck is a hay-fu?

Me: Huh?

Dad: A hay-fu.  Or a tofu.  Or whatever it is--that thing on your blog.  What is it?

Me:  Do you mean a haiku?

Dad: Yeah, that.

Me: Dad, do you seriously not know what a haiku is?

Dad:  No, I don't.

Me:  It's a kind of Japanese poetry--three lines, with a set number of syllables.  Your six-year-old grandson knows what a haiku is.

Dad: Well, you know, a person can't learn everything all at once.  I'm only 63, after all.

Me: *laughing*

Dad:  So, what's the latest on the purse?

Me: No news.  I'm sure it's gone.  I guess I should be thankful I've learned such a valuable life lesson.

Dad:  Yes, it's good to learn a lesson.  Like what a hayfu is. 

Me:  Dad.  It's a haiku.

The winner of the Egg Beaters hayfu haiku contest is Darcie, with 944 votes.  Chelsea was a close second, with 805 votes.  Congratulations!

Joseph

Please stop, World.  Just stop.  Just for a second.

Joseph is turning seven in a couple of weeks.  I don't know how it happened.  I tucked him for a nap in his crib ten minutes ago, I swear, and now look at him.  Broadening shoulders and a defined chin.  Long, lanky legs.  Where did the baby go?

And I know, because I've done this before, that the precious remants of his babyhood that still linger will not linger for long.  My mother's heart sees it coming.

Before too much longer, he'll probably stop trying to build nests for the birds in our backyard trees. 

Before too much longer, he'll probably stop asking to sit in my lap during church.

Very soon his first tooth is (finally, he would say) going to fall out, and a very big and grown-up looking one will take its place.

Before too much longer, I doubt he will slip his hand into mine in the parking lot. 

So stop, World, just for a second.  Your busy demands have kept me hopping so quickly that I'm afraid I might have missed something.  This third child of mine, sandwiched into a wad of noisy siblings, is so easy-going.  Have I given him enough of myself?  Am I forgetting to tell him something? 

Let time stop just long enough that I still have to lean down to kiss the top of his head.  It smells like dirt and little-boy sweat.  It stinks.  And yet, I could breathe it in all day.  It's the scent of him, that little man, my youngest son, the child who has gently and ferociously swollen my heart until it hardly fits in my chest.

You get to have him for a long time, World.  But today?  Today he's still six.  And he's still mine.

Stormy

A couple of nights ago, I was awakened at 2:30 a.m. to the shrill whine of tornado sirens outside my window.  Ah, springtime in Oklahoma.

Giant chunks of hail hit my window, and my daughter came careening down my hall in a fit of fear before I could even sit upright in my bed.  (My boys, incidentally, did not wake up.  I suspect that if the roof lifted off our house and some tree branches reached in and picked the boys up and shook them upside down, they might wake up.  Might.)

As I held my daughter and tried to awaken, I noticed the room was illuminated by the soft glow of our tiny television, and my husband was silhouetted, sitting at the foot of our bed.  His eyes were honed in to a scary-looking radar screen. 

"Shhhh," he whispered.  "Go back to sleep.  I'll keep an eye on things, and I'll wake you up if we need to go to the shelter."

For about 2.4 seconds I considered arguing with him.  Then I looked at my daughter, who had already fallen back asleep in my cushy bed, and I just nodded.  I was horizontal and sound asleep before I could think another thought.

The night dragged on, storms ravaging our city.  I awakened several more times to thunderous, howling noise, but my sleepy eyes always saw, first of all, my husband at the television.  And every time, I relaxed instantly, dropping back to sleep.

The visual image is staying with me powerfully:  my strong husband, quietly yet sharply keeping watch over his family, while the rest of us were sleeping too soundly to know to be thankful.  We just slept, because it's what you do at nighttime, and we left all the safety issues to him. 

And I wonder, as I navigate other kinds of "storms"--will the day ever come when I rest quite as easily in God's watchful care?  His silhouette may not be as visible--to my eyes, anyway--as that of my husband's, but He is surely perched just as soundly at the foot of my bed, on the hood of my car, on the shoulder of my children, on a dusty road in Uganda.  May I trust, and rest.

*UPDATED* Compassion Chat

*UPDATE AT THE END!*

This is going to be a long one, but stick with me to the end--there's some good info here.

I haven't written much about Compassion in the last couple of weeks, though it's not because they're any less on my heart.  Frankly, I wanted to speak to you more about their work, but I felt like you and I both probably needed a break from the intense emotion surrounding my trip. 

Life has returned to normal for me--or, at least, to the "new" normal.  I still find myself battling moments of frustration occasionally, though these days the frustration is more with myself than anyone around me.  I wonder, at times, if my life is reflecting the changes I want it to reflect?  Am I slipping into old thinking and old priorities?  God has been so faithful to drop me moments of encouragement at just the moments I need it. 

Like the e-mail I received yesterday.  I've actually received so many amazing e-mails from many of you about your own Compassion experiences--I could start a whole blog just excerpting your beautiful words.  But this one, from Suzanne, touched me so deeply I asked her if I could share a bit of it with you (the photo is of her Compassion child, Geofrey):

I am not a woman with much money. In fact, I have more debt than I have laundry. And with three kids with a penchant for sock wearing, that's really saying something, you know. But I knew....I JUST KNEW when I saw those pictures that I would have to sponsor a child. I would find the money somehow, somewhere. God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called. I felt called to sponsor a kiddo. I picked a boy close to my own son's age. I didn't do it to make myself feel good, or to say "Oh look at me, I'm such a good person for doing this.." Not at all. I just heard God whispering to me. Probably much the same way he whispers to Geofrey, the litte boy I sponsored. Oh how I cried, clicking that button. I felt selfish for the merest of moments, thinking "I just clicked away $100 and I have debts to pay..." But then I felt peace, even knowing that yes, my debt will still be there, but a little boy will have his needs met. I felt like a momma, taking care of what needs to be done.

I myself am the mother of three kids with special needs. Each one different, but their difficulties range from Mental Retardation and Autism to speech delays. I have enough on my plate. But God whispered to me and said "Your heart is big even if your wallet is not."

Of course, stories like this are unbelievably touching.  However moved your heart may be, it's still always prudent good to ask questions before you get involved financially with any charity.  Several of you have sent me some good questions, and I'd like to address a few below.  (For a complete list of FAQ's, see the Compassion website.) I enlisted the help of my friend Brian Seay.  He's on the U.S. staff of Compassion, and he went along on our trip to Uganda (you can read his blog here).  I'm quoting him directly; his words are in blue, my own are in black.

First, read these rankings and reports from independent charity watchdog groups:

Charity Watch
Charity Navigator
Ministry Watch

Why does Compassion focus on individual child development rather than broader community development work?

[From the Compassion website] During Compassion's 50-plus years of development work, we've seen various approaches to breaking the cycle of poverty in children's lives. We've discovered that changed circumstances rarely change people's lives, while changed people inevitably change their circumstances.

Community development is important work that addresses the external circumstances of poverty and is an important complement to our work. However, our primary focus is individual child development—an inside-out, bottom-up approach that recognizes the God-given value and potential of each individual child. Many of these children grow up to become positive influences in their own communities.

Why is only one child per family sponsored?  Does this breed some resentment within families?  What about within villages, where you have some sponsored children and some who are not—is this an issue? 

The major reason for this is practical based on the number of children in need and the project/church capacity.  The belief of taking 1-3 children per family (it differs between countries) and limiting it there is based upon ministering to the greatest number of families possible.  If you don’t have a limit on number of children per family, the number of families reached dramatically decreases.  I suppose there is potential for resentment but the fact is that all members of the family benefit from Compassion (food, medical care, etc.) and many times the church is ministering in some way to the rest of the children. 

In Honduras last month I visited a new Compassion project that was only accepting young children because of their capacity and supplies.  So, the church began a ministry for the pre-teens and teens that was in addition to the Compassion project at the church.

How long does it take to get a letter to/from your child?

Two to three months.  The letter travels from your home to the office in Colorado Springs where it is read for content and packaged with other letters headed to the same country.  Once the letter arrives in the country it is translated and delivered to the appropriate project.

Our own letters with our four kids in Uganda have actually moved much faster than this--the turnaround time has generally been more like six to eight weeks.

Can I send clothes or toys directly to these kids?

The sheer cost of allowing packages to be sent to a Compassion child is staggering.  Not to mention the customs rules and charges in the different countries.  I know the intent is good on the part of the sponsor, but Compassion does not have the capacity in manpower or finances to handle this. 

Any sponsor can give three different kinds of gifts each year beyond their monthly involvement.  The birthday and Christmas gifts are used to buy items for the child and his/her family.  You can also give a ‘family gift’ with a maximum of $300 per year that goes directly to the family.  The country and project staff work directly with the family to asses the greatest need.  I have seen examples where the family gift fixed a roof, bought a goat, or helped with food and daily supplies.

When I was in Uganda, I learned that Compassion will occasionally partner with other reputable relief-type organiazations, as specific situations arise.  For example, they've worked directly with Samaritan's Purse to help with identifying children for Operation Christmas Child packages.

If you have a question not answered by the Compassion website, e-mail it to me, and I'll see if I can get it answered for you.

Before I wrap this up, let me introduce you to Christine.  She's seven years old, and she has six siblings.  She needs a sponsor, right now, today.  Let's not allow this sweet girl to go through one more weekend without somebody stepping in to meet her most basic needs.  Click here if you want it to be you.  If the link doesn't work, then--praise God!--that means someone has signed up for her!  (If it's you, e-mail me.)  *UPDATED TO ADD* Hooray!  In under two hours from the time of the original post, a reader nicknamed "Zoom" sponsored sweet Christine.  Zoom wrote to me:

I am childless.  One of my favorite scriptures is Isaiah 54.  "Sing O barren woman, you who never bore a child, burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor, "  the scripture goes on to say " enlarge your tent" and some interpretations say " many will be your children".  Christine can become my spiritual child, and for that I  thankful.  Our sweet God fills the needs of a childless woman and a child that live half a world away from each other.   What a blessing.

One last note to this marathon post:  if by any chance you're coming to the Aaron Shust concert in Broken Arrow, OK, tonight, I'll be working at the Compassion table handing out packets.  Come by and say hello!

Remembering

I remember the early days of my very first pregnancy, blissfully cloud-walking at the thought of becoming a mother.

I remember the sound of my parents' voices when they heard the news that I was expecting their first grandchild.

I remember looking at nursery furniture and baby clothes, with a grin that simply would not wipe off my face.

I remember the crushing weight that collapsed onto my chest in that ultrasound room at 10 weeks--not only had the baby died, but the baby had died 5 weeks earlier and my body simply didn't "get it".

I remember waking from the anesthesia crying and calling out my husband's name, and the nurses' gentle assurance that I would see him soon.

I remember lying in my bed, blinds drawn and phone off, wondering how I would ever face the world without that little person inside me. 

I remember that I couldn't put my hand on my belly for weeks.

I remember the painful things that well-meaning people would say, and how I would physically cringe:  "At least you weren't attached to the baby yet,"  "You can always have another one,"  "This is actually a blessing"...

I remember marvelling that I could feel such pain and such peace at the same time.

I remember learning that the hole left in my heart wouldn't be filled by another baby, or anything else--that it might just stay there.

I remember rocking Adam, my next-born, and realizing with wonder that if the first baby had been carried to term, we wouldn't have conceived Adam.  And I remember being flooded with assurance that our God is sovereign, and He is very good.

It was twelve years ago this week, but I still remember.  That little hole in my heart is still there, but it no longer hurts--it's more of a souvenir of experience I don't want to forget.  My home and heart are full of happy, noisy, funny memories--enough to mull over for a lifetime.  But with my treasured box of few tangible reminders (sympathy cards, hospital records, and even a faded pregnancy test) I remember--I will always remember--my few short weeks as that little baby's mother. 

And I smile.

(This post was originally published in April 2006.)

Six

We were on our way home from an especially well-played soccer match.  My son Joseph settled happily back in the seat and sighed.

"Mom," he said.  "I feel, deep in my heart, that I'm about to be famous."

"Really?  I asked.  "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, "You know how I'm not famous now?"  I thought for a minute, trying to remember if I'd seen his picture on the cover of People magazine.  Nope.

"Yes, I know."

"Well," he continued, "I just feel, in my heart, like I'm about to be."

He contentedly sighed again, and he gazed out his window. 

How easily I forget the wonder of having the mystery and possibility of an entire life stretching out in front of you. 

It's good to be six.