DEAR HEARTS

I am not a painter, sculptor, or musician.

I am not a dancer, baker, or poet.

So, for want of greater skill, I took a pinch of my heart, tucked it into a dab of clay, and rolled it into a ball.

I did this again, and again, and again, until I reached into my chest with sticky red fingers to discover I had used my heart all up.

I sat and contemplated why I had thought that was a good idea in the first place – tucking pieces of my heart into pockets of mud, until my heart was spent. Oh, I have been such a silly fool, I thought, and now I am undone! For, silly as I’d been, I did know I could not live long without a heart.

I had not grieved this revelation for very long when one of the clay balls began to tremble. It sprouted a head, grew arms and legs. The smidgen of mud and blood stood up and walked. And then it danced! The clay danced a story so incredibly sweet that my chest ached, and my tears flowed like springtime streams.

When I thought I could no longer stand the ache of that beautiful dance, the second clay ball sprouted a head, grew arms and legs. It stood, spread wide its arms, threw back its head, and sang a song about pearl white moonlight on sleeping fields, about soft spring breezes sweet with the smell of clover and the sad lament of the mourning dove. I wept again and was certain now that my chest would soon be crushed by the weight of the beauty of that song.

Then the third ball – a daub of brown mud, swirled red with my heart’s blood - sprouted a head, grew arms and legs. It stood, grasped a great brush, and painted light and fire across the sky. It wetted the brush again, and stroked swirls of poetry and birdsong, apple blush and sunset gold, baby laughter and lover’s tears across life’s canvas. I looked, and I could not breathe because of the beauty of that painting.

One by one, each of the clay balls stood. They danced and sang, painted and baked, loved and laughed, cried and cried out, made light and new life in the world around them. Each time, the great hole in my chest – the place where my heart had once rested, before I had pinched it into tiny pieces to be tucked inside balls of clay – each time, that great hole in my chest ached with a mixture of wonder and joy and indescribable longing. Ached until, finally, my frail chest – that hollow place where my heart had once rested - could bear no more.

Oh, the cracking and tearing! All that was the Outside side of me quivered, screamed, shivered into a thousand-thousand pieces. A pain the size of eternity shattered my whole being.

And then…

Quiet.

…

How long have I lain pulseless, bled out by that great rending?

How many times has the moon sailed across the night sky?

How often have the trees changed gowns for the autumn dance?

One

Deep

Slow

Breath.

I wake.

I find that I was not crushed after all.

Rather, I was turned inside out.

Another deep breath. A pulse, so tentative, so faint...

What is this? A new heart?!

I did NOT die when I gave my heart away. I was born again.

And I am just beginning to live.

---

My dear hearts,

Thank you.

YOU MAKE ME SMILE

I settled into my second-row seat in the lecture auditorium for Wednesday morning's Microbiology class. The professor whose class had just vacated the room stood beside the lectern in the front of the room, sorting papers and notes and packing them into his satchel.

Barrel-chested, a little on the short side, an epic beard that reached halfway to his waist, a pleasant face...the man fit the description of a professor one of my kids had enjoyed studying under a couple of years ago. As he passed in front of me, headed toward the exit, I leaned forward in my seat and ventured a guess: "Excuse me, are you Dr. P---?"

He stopped and turned to face me. "Yes, I am."

I stood and held out my hand. "I'm Camille Kendall. I am so glad to meet you, Dr. P---. I believe you taught one of my kids - Reuben."

Dr. P---'s countenance brightened. "Why, yes! How is Reuben doing?" he asked as he grasped my hand and shook it vigorously. "Where is he now?" I gave Dr. P--- a quick update on my son, then Dr. P--- continued: "I still have a few specimens with Reuben's name on them. Every time I look at them, I smile. Please, tell Reuben I asked about him," he beamed, "and that I say 'Hello!'"

* * *

When I mentioned my son's name, his former professor's face lit up like sunshine. This happens not infrequently, this response to "I'm Reuben's mom." It happens, too, when I say, "I'm (Emily/Nate/Tom/Ben/Martha/Helen)'s mom."

All of this to say...

Dear children of mine -

Scripture commands: "Honor your father and mother..." (Exodus 20:12). Everyone single one of you has done that. Each time I encounter someone else whose life you have impacted, I am astounded at the great honor with which you have blessed me.

Thank you. I am deeply grateful. And, I am deeply humbled...such honor from those who best know my frailties!

Thank you.

And, I love you.

You beautiful people make me feel like the richest woman on earth.

Wow...this was six taken six grand-babies ago!

MOM LIFE, NEW SEASON

I have been a mom for over 30 years. Wow!

My kids are all grown up. They are kind, wonderful, beautiful people. They really are the coolest, most interesting people I know.

But I don't get to spend as much time with my kids as I once did. We no longer share living space 24/7. More and more, I am just Camille...no kids in tow.

Things I am learning, things I am un-learning in this strange new season of life:

I do not have to eat garbage. Used to, I'd make a meal off half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches, half-eaten containers of yogurt, the most burned grilled cheese (because, to tell the truth, I burned them all!), and the leftovers from last week that, obviously, no one else wanted to eat.

Where did I get the idea that "Mom" = "garbage disposal"? Probably sprouted from some distortion of the importance of not wasting food (because food costs money). Reduce-Reuse-Recycle is a great strategy for reducing household waste, but it does not mean Mom has to eat what would otherwise go into the trash can.

It is okay for me to eat things I enjoy; it's okay for other people at my table to eat these things, too, even if these foods are not their personal favorites. It is reasonable, as a wife and mother, to want to cook food my family enjoys. But over the years, I let "Umm, it's okay, I guess, but it's not my favorite" become a death-sentence for some of my favorite recipes.

How long has it been since I made linguine with clam sauce? Picadillo with cornbread? Fried chicken livers? (Yes, I am a fan of fried chicken livers.)

I am learning that it is okay to prepare foods I personally enjoy, even if others do not, and it is reasonable to expect others at the table to receive these foods graciously.

How clean my house is...is only as big a deal to me as I make it. I really do prefer a clean, tidy space to live in. But sometimes, other things in life are more important to me than housework, and those things get time priority. When the floors get so nasty that I hate to walk on them, then I will knock something off the calendar so I can sweep and mop.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: if the clutter and dirt don't bother me, they are not a problem; if they do, I can do something about it. I don't "keep house" for other people. This is my home, not theirs. Visitors are always welcome, but they are visitors...not home inspectors. Welcome to the mess!

How clean my house is...is actually not that big of a deal to other people. And if it is, they are more than welcome to pick up a dust cloth or broom and get to work. Won't hurt my feelings at all!

I am under no obligation to conform to the fantastic expectations other people have of me. Wife, homeschool mom, homemaker, writer...people conjure up cozy, romantic, completely out-of-touch-with-reality ideas of what my life looks like, then I get this crazy notion that it would be wrong for me to disappoint them.

Yes, I love home-baked bread and vegetables fresh from the garden; but I also love Cheetos and Diet Coke. I love Austen, Tolkien, and Rowling...and The Princess Bride, Napoleon Dynamite, and Nacho Libre. I lament the immodesty of our culture; I wear jeggings and yoga pants. I am transported by hymns and praise songs; I dance to Bruno Mars and Meghan Trainor.

Go figure.

I am learning to be comfortable with the idea that people can like me for who I really am, or they can not like me. At any rate, I am no longer preoccupied with people liking me for someone I am not.

I do not have to conform to my own unrealistic expectations, either. Somewhere over the years, I got the crazy notion that, if I wanted to be a good wife and mother, I should not get angry, feel pain deeply, express strong opinions or preferences, pursue personal goals, care for my own emotional needs, etc. I thought these things were expressions of selfishness. Instead, I should always be strong, be patient, sacrifice, hold it all together, persevere, be grateful, be content...even if I really wasn't.

The very worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves...and then believe.

In this new season, instead of thinking in terms of "should" and "ought" and crazy ideals, I am more prone to think: "Where am/who am I right now? How do I want to grow?"

About clothes...

I do not shop for clothes for myself. Shopping involves two things I dislike: spending money (always a no-no) - and - trying on clothes and looking at myself in a mirror. I HATE clothes shopping. Instead of shopping, I wear clothes that come out of black bags, clothes passed on by an older lady at church or by a friend of a friend of a neighbor.

Let me say right here: I am so grateful for black bags! Without them, I'd have gone naked the past couple of decades, and trust me, NOBODY would have wanted that.

With the recent onset of cooler weather, I realized I needed some warmer clothes. Normally at this point, I would have started hoping for a black bag to show up on my front porch. But instead, I asked the youngest, who possesses ninja shopping skills, to meet me after school to go shopping. For me.

And I bought clothes.

That I picked out.

For myself.

And I like them.

Shopping wasn't painful at all, not even writing the check.

So, yeah, that's something new, too. 😜

CHERISHING THE ORDINARY

It's been a long day. For me: work, grocery shopping, laundry, dinner. For my youngest: school, work, and now homework.

I love a quiet evening at home, just me and this chicken. Upstairs in the office (aka "the boys' room"), she is working on a speech for Friday's Public Speaking class, while I catch up on emails, book-keeping, and writing assignments. She's drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows (more marshmallows than chocolate, BTW - nom, nom, nom); for me, wine.

As we sit across the table from each other in the glow of our respective laptops, work is interrupted frequently by short bursts of conversation and laughter.

"What do you think about...?"

"Hey, listen to this..."

This moment is precious not because it is extraordinary, but because it is ordinary...and it will soon be gone.

A LITTLE BIT OF HEAVEN

Old picture, but...

The Japan contingent is home for a visit! And this evening, while Daddy put the little girls to bed, the sisters sat down at the piano together and played and sang.

It's been going on for about an hour now. One of the sweetest sounds I know.

I think this is a little hint of what heaven will be like.

IN BETWEEN, TOGETHER

Life five years ago was routine, predictable: school, laundry, taxi service, church, dentist appointments, feed the cat, music lessons...

Life five years from now will no doubt be characterized by routine, too. What that routine will look like? I have no idea.

Today, however, I find myself in a season of In Between, between full-time homeschool mother of seven - and - who knows what. This is a place of shifting rhythms and irregular activity, where the demands of each day differ from those of the day before, and each month's calendar creates a unique thumbprint of life lived between lives.

I do not like In Between. I like The Known. I like familiar, routine, predictable.

My oldest son once commented that there is wisdom in planning one's family so that kids are not going through puberty at the same time Mom is going through menopause. (Amen, Little Brother!)

I will say, however, that there is something very sweet about being In Between together, me and my youngest.

We share similar struggles, frustrations and faith challenges. Although I am fully confident my youngest has a beautiful life ahead of her, I am sympathetic to her questions, doubts and fears. I know firsthand how little comfort platitudes like "Oh, don't worry...everything will work out fine!" can be. I understand that the best I can do for my daughter is listen, encourage and pray as she works through the challenges of this season her own way and at her own pace.

I do not like change, but I should not be afraid of it. While I do not know what the future holds, I do know with absolute certainty that God is sovereign, faithful, loving and good. I may not be able to answer my youngest's questions about the future, but I can share with her a confident faith in the One who does have answers to life's difficult questions.

She, in turn, gives her mother bursts of sunshine and delight as we walk this foggy path together: music, sung or played; spontaneous dance parties; spur-of-the-moment adventures; ice cream runs. Her joy for life is never long suppressed, even when life is full of uncertainty. And her joy is contagious.

In five years, my dear child, we will both be in very different places in our lives, perhaps calmer, more settled, more predictable places. But today, I am thankful we get to walk the path through In Between together.

BRAVE

My children are the bravest people I know.

Of course, none of them are actually children any more. And while I suppose there may be braver people in the world, there are none braver within my circle of intimate acquaintance. By their brave example, my children encourage me to be brave, too.

* * *

When my passel of kids were all very young and I was feeling overwhelmed, I asked a wise older friend, "Does this mom thing ever get any easier?"

Her answer: "Yes, it will get easier...at least physically. You won't always be as exhausted and physically stressed as you are right now. But as your children get older, you will be stressed in different ways. Your body will not be so tired as it is right now, but your heart and your soul will be stretched beyond anything you can imagine."

One of the most difficult things I have ever had to do was give my children the freedom to fail in hugely significant ways. I'm not talking burn-your-hand-on-a-hot-coal or back-the-truck-into-a-fence-post kind of ways, although those were difficult for this mama, too. I'm talking break-your-heart and break-your-body and scar-your-soul kinds of ways. Not refereed tae kwon do sparring on the blue mats at the gym, but no-holds-barred and no end-of-match bell in the fight-cage of life.

This mama gig is hard, people. It's downright terrifying sometimes. I get that - I really do. It knocks you to your knees. As my youngest put it to me recently, "There's nothing like having a bunch of kids to invigorate your prayer life!" Amen, little sister!

Ask any of my kids, "What is your mom's 'Big Three?'" - and they will tell you, "God is sovereign. God is good. And He loves me very much." The Big Three - I believe them, in my head and in my heart, all the way into my very core. YES, I believe that God is sovereign, He is good, and He loves me very much - I really do!

But believing that for myself and believing it where my children are concerned: those are two entirely different things.

In my 53 years, God has taken me to some terrible places, dark places, painful places, scary places, and He has said to me, over and over, "Do you still trust me, Camille? Do you trust me even here?" And in every place God has taken me, He has proved himself trustworthy.

No, I don't particularly want to go back to any of those hard places, but I would not trade the deep soul assurance and peace God worked in me in those places for anything in the world, certainly not for a life of ease or a life free from pain.

But my children, Lord?!

Do you still trust me, Camille? Can you trust me even with your children, even here?

So, to my friend whose beautiful, young (and, yes, vulnerable) daughter is moving halfway across the country (as my own daughter, at a very tender age, headed halfway around the world - God, be merciful to me and to my child! Please, go with her" Stay close!), I want to encourage you: your daughter is stronger than you think. But more important, God is with her, and He is stronger than we can imagine.

Yes, your sweet daughter may get battered, even broken, in the brave living out of her life. But even in the scary broken places, remember (because it's just as true for your daughter as it is for you, dear friend!): God is sovereign, He is good, and his love for your daughter...well, let me put it this way...your love is a drop in the ocean compared to his love for her.

You can trust Him.

And to my friend who is struggling to loosen her protective grasp on her adult son, fearful to give up control of his life - But I know the temptations he will face! What if he falls into gross sin? What if he ruins his finances? What if abandons the faith his father and I have diligently labored to teach him? You don't know the dangers he may face?! The risks are too high...I cannot afford to let him fail! -

Dear friend, your beautiful son is already a man. Give him the freedom to stand or to fall as a man. Yes, he may fall - indeed, he probably will fall. I know the thought of terrifying consequences frightens you - I have sons of my own, and I have known this great fear, too

But I want to encourage you, friend: it is at that place of fiery trial, not under the sheltering protection of your motherly care, that this faith will become his own. It is there that your son will meet God "face to face." It is there that your son will see for himself that God is sovereign, God is good, and He loves his children very much. Would you "protect" your son from that?

You can trust God with your son.

* * *

My children are the bravest people I know. By their lives, they are teaching me to be brave, too - not only for my own sake, but for them, also.

Earlier this week, one of my daughter's posted this on FB: "I want this to be my theme song." Tasha Cobbs, "Break Every Chain." I LOVE IT. Take a few minutes to listen - you'll be blessed.

My theme song for this season of life? "Brave," Sara Bareilles. Turn on the music and dance with me!

("There's nothing like having a bunch of kids to invigorate your prayer life!" Dear sisters, I love you, and I am praying for you and for your children. Mamas, let us be brave. Let us be encouraged: we pray to a God who is sovereign, who is good, and who loves our children very much!)

SO MUCH JOY!

This morning, I was looking through family photos on my computer. I'd been sitting here browsing pictures for several minutes when I realized: I had the biggest, goofiest smile on my face!

My kids do that to me.

Yeah, yeah, I know...everyone thinks their own kids are the most special. You know what? I think we are all right.

Every single one of my seven children has taught me new things, expanded my horizon, challenged me to think in new ways and to see with new eyes. Every one has made my heart exponentially bigger, then filled it full to overflowing. When I thought my heart couldn't stretch any bigger, my kids brought home friends and sweethearts, classmates and wanderers, then stretched my heart a little more and tucked these precious people inside my heart, too.

I used to think as a parent: "It is my job to teach my children." But my children have taught and continue to teach me far more than I ever taught them.

I thought as a parent: "I want to love and encourage my children." But my children reciprocate with a tsunami of love, grace, and encouragement so great that it astounds me.

When I think of my children, my countenance and my mood brighten. I can't help it. They give me so much joy!

So, I was sitting at the computer this morning, looking at pictures of the kids and grinning like a 'possum, and I got to thinking: God delights in his children, too. He calls us his beloved, his chosen ones, the apple of his eye.

I think about my children this morning, and my heart feels so incredibly full. To think that God looks at me, his child, and smiles; to think that I give him delight, like my children do me...I think my heart just exploded.

LOVE YOU, MAN! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

GONE FISHING

Several years ago, I wrote here at the blog about how much I loved to go fishing with my Pap when I was a little girl. (Read that post HERE.)

Pap on the lake

I loved being near the water, soaking up the sunshine, listening to summertime thrum of the cicadas, waiting for my red-&-white bobber to dance. I loved catching fish, and then eating them for dinner.

Fish for dinner!

But mostly, I loved being with Pap. Fishing, you see, wasn't nearly so much about fish as it was about being with the sweet man I loved.

Last week, I shared how my youngest and I are going to try to go on at least one adventure together each month. (Read about our 2018 adventures HERE.) Why plan an adventure every month? For fun. To learn something new. Because Mom is prone to work too much and play too little. To put an end to "if we ever get around to it."

One of the activities on our adventure list: "Spend an afternoon fishing."

I haven't had much interest in fishing since the summer my Pap died. Too hot. Too many mosquitoes and chiggers. Too slimy. Too stinky. Too sweaty. Too plain messy.

My youngest, however, loves to fish. Seems the fishing bug jumped clean off of me and onto her.

I haven't had any interest in fishing for years, but this year, I want to go fishing. Forget the mosquitoes and the sweat. I already know I am going to love being near the water, soaking up the sunshine, listening to the thrum of the cicadas.

Maybe we'll catch some fish and fry them up for dinner. Mostly, though, I am looking forward to making memories with someone I love.

(A big "Thank you!" to my sister Alix for the pictures!)

ADVENTURE OF THE MONTH

Hiking frozen Reelfoot Lake back in January. SO COLD!!!

I am a house mouse. My youngest is an adventurer.

For the sake of my daughter's sanity, I am trying to come out of my shell a little, expand my horizons. Because I do anything better if I have a plan, I have resolved to plan and execute one adventure with my daughter each month this year.

Helen and I brainstormed a list of possible "adventures." Some are indoors, for cold or rainy weather; some are outdoors, for when the weather is nice. Some are close to home; some are further away. Some are free; some would require us to save up a bit of moolah ahead of time. Some are silly; some are serious/educational.

Here is our list so far:

1. Tour a historic house/property.
2. Visit an art gallery or a museum.
3. Spend a day at a botanical garden.
4. Hike the trails at a state park.
5. Spend an afternoon fishing.
6. Explore a cave.
7. Go kayaking or canoeing.
8. Attend a concert.
9. Take a handgun class at a shooting range.
10. Go horseback riding.
11. Ride a train.
12. Have a spa day.
13. Take a cake decorating class.
14. Plant a garden planter or hanging flower basket.
15. Camp out for a weekend on Granddad's farm.
16. Host a dance party.
17. Book an airplane tour of our home county.
18. Go out for burgers and a movie.
19. Tour local cemeteries and look up dead relatives.
20. Organize a picnic with friends.
21. Go Goodwill shopping.
22. Plan and host a dress-up party for the nieces and nephews.
23. Visit the zoo.
24. Take a photography class.
25. Go creek stomping.
26. Try a new restaurant.
27. Audition for a play.
28. Volunteer to read and help with crafts for story time at the library.
29. Plan a mini-concert for nursing home residents.
30. Visit a fancy dress shop and try on evening wear.
31. Enter some kind of creative competition (art, music, writing).
32. Check out a student art exhibit at the university.
33. Have a cookie decorating party.
34. Attend a piano recital.
35. Plant a tree.

So far this year, in addition to freezing our patooties off at Reelfoot Lake in January, we have...

...visited the beautiful Victorian Village district in downtown Memphis, TN. (BONUS: A stop to catch up with sweet friends on the drive home!)

...and something educational in this gal's particular area of interest: we attended Beef Field Day at the University of Tennessee at Martin, and then later the same week, had the privilege of attending a lecture by Dr. Temple Grandin

This year -  2018 - is off to a fun start. Let the adventures continue!

YOU MAY BE A MOM IF...

My youngest and I were tracking through WalMart behind a young mother with four little children. On the dairy aisle, Helen leaned over and whispered, "I think I've heard 'Mom!' shouted fourteen times in the last five minutes!"

I laughed. I remember days when my own children were small, when I thought the incessant "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" would drive me crazy. Occasionally, I would announce, "My name is not Mom today. I changed it, and I am not telling anyone what it is!"

Yesterday, I was working on an article about coffee. Specifically, about how many times I reheat a cup of coffee in a given morning, before I actually have a quiet moment to sit down and drink said coffee. Which got me to thinking...

YOU MAY BE A MOM IF:
(in no particular order, because moms don't have time for that kind of nonsense)

• You have ever exchanged "Mom" for a secret name known only to yourself.
• You have ever heated your cup of coffee more than five times before drinking it - or - you completely forgot about your cup of coffee in the microwave (eg., found Monday morning's coffee sitting cold and forlorn in the microwave on Tuesday morning).
• You pick spinach off of other people's teeth or boogers out of other people's noses.
• You seem to have an inordinate preoccupation with poop...not your own, but everyone else's in the family.
• You have ever locked yourself in the bathroom, not to use the toilet but to have two minutes alone to yourself so you can breathe.
• You are the only person in your house who knows that light switches and electronics have an off position as well as an on position.
• You have a secret stash of chocolate in the freezer or on the top shelf of the pantry.
• You make a circuit to flush all the toilets before you leave the house.
• You have ever woken up terrified at 3:00 am because a small child was standing next to your bed staring silently into your face.
• You sleep with "mom ears" - no matter how exhausted you are when you fall into bed at the end of the day, you are suddenly wide awake at the sound of the faintest bad-dream or tummy-ache whimper from down the hall.
• Your idea of an all-nighter is getting five consecutive hours of uninterrupted sleep.
• More times than you can remember, your lunch has consisted of half-eaten PBJs and leftover Cheetos that got lost in the clutter on the kitchen table.
• You have ever held the hem of your shirt up to a small person's snotty face and said, "Blow!"
• You have ever caught throw-up in your hands.
• Little people have waked you up in the middle of reading a bedtime storybook because you fell asleep and they did not.
• Comments like "Do you want me to pick up pizza on the way home?" - or - "Let me take care of baths and bedtime with the kids tonight" - or - "Here, sit down and enjoy a glass of wine while I wash the dishes" are sooooo much more romantic than "You sure do make those jeans look good, Baby!"
• You feel like the inside of your heart is bigger than the entire universe because of the space your children occupy in it.

THE GOOD DOCTOR

When my youngest was four years old, she suffered a traumatic head injury. I called a neighbor - "I need you at my house NOW!" - buckled Helen in her car seat, grabbed a sibling, and drove 90-miles-an-hour to the nearest hospital emergency room.

"Keep talking to her! Make her stay her awake!" Big Brother was a trooper. My heart raced and tears streamed down my face as I bulleted down the highway.

At the ER, staff fastened Helen into a bunting board, a device that swaddled her small body tightly. The board made her immobile so that she couldn't thrash around while the doctor treated her wound. Helen was already crying when we reached the ER, but after they put her in the bunting board, her wails went through the roof. Pain was one thing; the terror of being completely immobilized against her will, that was something altogether different.

"You will have to step out into the hall." A young woman in blue scrubs led me to the door, then closed it behind me.

From the other side of the door, Helen's screams ripped at my soul. I leaned against the wall for support, then sank to the floor. Curled up in a ball, knees to chest, I buried my face in my bloody hands and wept. Big Brother curled up next to me on the floor, and his small voice - "I'm right here with you, Mommy. You are not alone." - and the warmth of his small body provided a comfort disproportionate to his size.

A few minutes-that-felt-like-hours later, the screaming subsided. The door opened. "Mrs. Kendall, you can come in now."

One of the hardest things I have ever had to do as a mother is to entrust the welfare of one of my children, when they are suffering greatly, completely to another.

"Can I hold her?"
"No."
"Can I stand next to her and touch her, so that she knows I'm here?"
"No."
"Can I at least be nearby, in the same room?"
"No. You must step outside and wait."

And, as hard as this has been in situations where my children's physical health was concerned, it has been ten times more difficult in situations where their hearts and souls have been concerned.

When Helen suffered that head injury many years ago, I had no choice but to trust the ER doctor who treated her. I had no medical training, no technical skill, no ability to help her. I could weep for her and pray for her, but, as much as I loved my daughter, I was not qualified to treat her wound and alleviate her suffering. The best I could do for her in that terrible moment was to take her to the doctor and release her from my hands into his. I had to trust the doctor, because he was the only one who possessed the knowledge and the skill to help her.

Likewise, I find that often, when it comes to painful spiritual growth, to heart wounds, to dark nights of the soul, I can do nothing to fix the broken places deep inside my children's hearts or souls. The best I can do for my children is to take them to the Great Physician and place them in His hands. As I weep for them and pray for them, I must trust God to heal their hurts and to restore them to joy and to spiritual vigor, because He alone possesses the wisdom, skill, and power to do just that.

It is a terrible place to be, in that shattered, time-warp world on the other side of a closed emergency room door. But even in that terrible place, God does not leave us without comfort. He is such a good, good Physician - I can trust him completely with my children, their bodies and their hearts and their souls. And when I find myself curled up in a ball on the other side of that door, moved by my children's groans to tears and to prayer, God never, never, never leaves me - "I'm right here with you. You are not alone."

A NEW COOK IN THE KITCHEN!

Snowed in? Bake something delicious!
I tried a new bread recipe today from Shauna Niequist's book,
"Bread & Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table." YUM.

The youngest is taking over menu planning and grocery shopping at our house. Yes, I am excited! After 30+ years of planning and preparing meals, I feel burned out, used up, stuck in a rut...same old meals, over and over and over. There's nothing wrong with trusty favorites - chicken pie, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, beans and greens, venison stew, etc. - but a young cook makes mealtime so interesting. A new cook doesn't have a repertoire of tried-&-true recipes: because every recipe is new, any recipe that sounds or looks interesting is worth a go.

Have I mentioned yet...I AM SO EXCITED!!!

So, Helen spent the morning looking up recipes and making a list of ingredients. She came up with a fantastic strategy for planning evening meals for each week: one night, soup and bread; one night, a pasta dish; one night, meat and three; one night, veggie main dish; one night, salad or whole-food bowl; etc. (I love that she developed a framework for meal-planning. Cool idea.)

Because Helen is a full-time student who is also holding down a part-time job and because I am responsible for upkeep of the house and am going back to work, we plan to split cooking duty. On Helen's long days, Mom cooks. On her light days, she cooks. Saturdays and Sundays, we cook together. Pretty sweet deal, huh?

On the menu for the week ahead (provided we can get out of the house and down the snowy highway to the grocery store), Helen has some familiar foods, plus these new recipes:

White Bean Parmesan Spinach Soup
Maple-&-balsamic vinegar-glazed pork chops, plus sides
Black bean and sweet potato tacos (Yum!)
Chicken Florentine w/ white wine cream sauce, served with pasta

Have I mentioned...I AM SO EXCITED!!!

Looks like dinnertime is about to get a lot more exciting at the Kendall house. 😋

THANKFUL FOR THE TEARS

Granddaddy banged on the door early Friday afternoon. He'd found a dead cow and an orphaned newborn calf in the field by the pond. He needed Ben and Helen to help get the calf up to the barn.

We weren't sure how long the little fellow had been out in the cold and damp without food or care. A day? Two days? Last week was so bitterly cold. When one is very new to the world, every hour is the difference between life and death.

To me, the calf was an answer to prayer. My youngest has had a difficult couple of months. Too much hurt, too much sadness, too many tears. I was thankful for the tiny calf - something to captivate my daughter's heart, something to draw her thoughts from her own grief to the needs of another frail creature. You can see from the picture that although Friday began with a gray countenance, it ended with a smile.

Orphan calves often do not survive. Helen did not want to name the calf. "If he makes it past a couple of weeks, then I'll name him," she said. Granddaddy was not so reluctant. He named the calf Sam. (The name Sam Kendall is a bit of a joke inside the family, and it always makes us smile.)

So, Friday and Saturday and Sunday and Monday, Helen was often at the barn. Sometimes, she headed over toting a giant bottle of milk/calf formula. Sometimes, she headed over empty-handed, just to check on her charge and spend time with him.

Monday evening, my daughter and I walked to the barn together for Sam's 5:00 feeding. He had been lively and eager to see his adopted mama earlier in the day. Monday evening, he was dead.

And so Helen and I sat in the barn and cried.

"I am so sorry, Helen," I said through tears.

"It's okay," Helen sniffed.

"No, it's not," I replied. Death is never okay. Death screams at us that all is not as it should be, that something is badly wrong with the world. Death is a dark shadow that testifies to sin and its consequences. It reminds us how desperately all of creation needs a Savior.

Helen has grieved the deaths of other orphan calves before this week. She knew from the get-go that Sam might not make it, probably wouldn't make it...but still, she hoped. And I hoped with her, hoped this bright spot in the midst of a gray season would last. But it didn't.

There is something therapeutic about tears...something healing about embracing sorrow and crying freely, away from the callous comments of those who would press our hearts in its tenderest places. No need to explain, or justify, or give an answer.

Before we left the barn yesterday evening, Helen took off her coat and spread it over the little calf. She knew her warmth could not revive him. She covered him as a loving Amen.

I need to walk back over to the barn today to retrieve the coat. Granddaddy will dispose of the body.

I am thankful Helen had Sam for a short time. I am sorry that he did not live.

I am thankful for the privilege of tears shared in a dim, dusty barn.

I am thankful for a God who is sovereign over every detail of life and death - mine, Helen's and Sam's. I am thankful for a God who sees our tears and counts them as precious.

STUDENT/TEACHER

You pour yourself into your children. Sometimes your pour out so much of yourself, so much physical energy and emotion and prayer, that you think there is nothing left inside of you. You feel emptier than the inside of a stale ping-pong ball.

But then...

Those amazing young people turn around and fill you up in return, like water that has rushed out to sea only to return again to the shore in powerful light-flecked waves that fill the tidal pools and smooth the fretted sand.

You pour yourself into your children, and they fill you up in return.
You teach your children, and they teach you in return.
You encourage your children, and they encourage you in return.

Recently, the youngest and I were having a conversation - more than one conversation, actually - about setting goals and achieving goals, about obstacles and disappointment, about pressing through discouragement to complete an arduous task, about not giving up when success proves elusive.

Such valuable life lessons to pass from parent to child

...or from child to parent.

I received a letter this past week. A "Thank you, but no thanks" kind of letter. Not devastating, but disappointing. Truthfully, one of the most gracious and encouraging no-thank-you letters imaginable. Still, when I read the letter, a sad little sinking feeling settled around my heart.

I took a deep breath, read the letter again silently, and then I read the letter aloud to my youngest. Her response? "That is so awesome, Mom! Now you know some specific things you can do to improve. That is so encouraging!"

Awesome? Encouraging? Seriously?

Yes.

Not the no-thank-you part of the letter, but the here-is-how-you-can-improve part.

Persevering in the face of disappointment was a lesson fresh in my youngest's experience, so she shared the lesson with me.

I am thankful for such a sweet and gracious teacher. And, yes, I am encouraged.

And now...back to work!

SIX EASY WAYS TO GET YOUR CHILDREN TO COME TO WHERE YOU ARE

I know I can get a little heavy here at the blog. Overthinking things...that's my spiritual gift. I am not generally a person characterized by levity.

Other people have the gift of levity. That's one of the reasons we need each other in the body of Christ: we all bring different gifts to the table. Thinkers, lovers, do-ers, emoters - we help each other grow and stretch in different ways. Clearly, God loves diversity and thinks it is a good and necessary thing!

That said, Madam Heavy has something she wants to share with you other moms out there.

Moms, have you ever had difficulty finding your children when you need them? difficulty getting your children to come to where you are?

Dinner is on the table getting cold - or - you're standing at the door with your car keys, ten minutes late to leave for a doctor's appointment - or - the dog just threw up and the baby is crawling across the floor and you just can't get to both the dog and the baby fast enough - and you yell, "Hey, kids! I need everyone down here NOW!" - but NO ONE COMES.

You wonder if your darlings relocated two states over while you were switching the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer. Were they abducted by space aliens? Where the heck are the precious little dumplings?!

This seasoned-mother-of-seven has learned the secret to getting your children to come to where you are FAST. Today, I want to share with you...

 SIX EASY WAYS TO GET YOUR CHILDREN TO COME TO WHERE YOU ARE

1. Mop your floors. Don't know where the kids are? Sweep and mop your floors. Your kids will swarm into the house like flies into a hog barn. They will probably be wearing muddy boots.

2. Try to use the toilet...alone. Grab a book, lock yourself into the bathroom, and settle comfortably on the porcelain throne. I guarantee that within minutes your children will gather right outside the bathroom door, and they will all be screaming. Your toddler will need to pee NOW!, your six-year-old will have a medical emergency, and your 8-year-old will be yelling something about an explosion in the microwave.

3. Whisper. As in, a secret or something confidential. Now, this won't work if you're just whispering for the sake of speaking softly. Whispering - "Kids! I need you here right now!" - won't accomplish a darn thing. You actually have to be whispering something that you absolutely DO NOT want your children to hear. Whisper something confidential, and you kids will pop up around you like whack-a-moles: "What? What was that? What did you say?"

4. Reach for your secret bag of chocolate. You know those dark chocolate baking chips hidden in the back of the freezer? The mini-Snickers on the top shelf of the pantry, pushed back behind the box of oatmeal and the jarred spaghetti sauce? Yeah, that chocolate.

The same children who cannot hear you calling their names at the top of your voice, they develop Spidey senses the minute your fingers touch a package of hidden chocolate. It doesn't matter how quietly you open that bag of chocolate...your kids will hear the faintest crinkle and come running.

5. Make an important phone call. You need to talk to a representative at your insurance company about a claim they denied again - or - you need to give Angie the sad news that the cat she left in your care while she spent the summer in Europe, well, the cat died (maybe you won't tell her the part about the coyote) - or - maybe someone calls you, a friend who is going through a major life crisis, and she needs an ear to cry into before she completely cracks up.

Get into one of these phone conversations, and I promise, your kids will come out of the woodwork. Not only will they be present, but will be ridiculously needy and vocal, too. "Mom, I'm starving!" "Mom, I can't find my favorite bra!" "Mom, I need help NOW!" "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Shush!-ing - and - the Can't-you-see-I'm-on-the-phone! death look - and - the I-am-going-to-kill-you-if-you-don't-be-quiet finger across the throat - totally ineffective. You will swear that the Apocalypse has begun right at your elbow. And your noisy kids will not go away: they will stick to you like burrs in dog fur...like noisy burrs.

6. Get naked with your husband. The kids are upstairs playing with Legos or outside in the back yard building a fort. Dad comes in from mowing the yard to take a shower. When Mom brings Dad a fresh towel, you both get to thinking - forget the towel: how about a little "afternoon delight" instead?!

Get romantically tangled up with your husband. Before Mom's undies have time to absorb the water on the bathroom floor, everyone under the age of ten who lives in your house will have paraded into the bathroom, and Mom and Dad will both be scrambling for towels. Works like magic.

* * *

Your turn: what tips do you have for finding your children? Please share!

WELCOME TO ADULTHOOD

My youngest explained to her older brother last week that she was faced with a mountain of work she simply did not want to do. She was struggling to find the motivation to tackle tasks she needed to complete. "I guess I just have to push ahead and do the next thing," she sighed, "whether I feel like doing it or not."

Her brother's response? "Welcome to adulthood!"

I have been a mom - nonstop, 24/7 - for almost three decades. Have I ever had days when I thought, "You know, I just really don't want to do the mom thing today?" Yes, indeedy. But then, I did the mom thing anyway.

You can't really skip work when your job is The Mom. Kids have to be fed and clothed and nurtured, whether Mom is having a good day on the job or not. Kids are such great motivators!

If you are a mom or a teacher or a cashier at WalMart, being an adult means taking responsibility for the things you need to do, whether you're psyched about doing them or not.

Adulting 101: Doing things you don't particularly want to do - because they need to be done and it's your job to do them.

Sometimes, I take on more responsibilities than I ought. Sometimes, I say "Yes" too many times - and then feel overwhelmed by the number of things that must be done. My problem is not that I have so much work to do, but that I need to learn to say "No."

Again.

Saying "No" is a lesson in which I frequently need a refresher course.

Adulting 102: Learning to say No - how to have reasonable expectations and to limit your workload to something that vaguely resembles what is actually humanly possible.

You work hard, right? So, you know what? You deserve a break.

We all need time to relax, do something fun, and recharge our batteries. Yeah...but maybe not today. Maybe today, what I really need is to knock out those writing assignments, so that tomorrow I can enjoy some play time.

Adulting 103: Delaying gratification - rest is much more restful when it is free from the stress of a looming deadline or an unfinished assignment.

I don't know about you, but for me, as a parent, I want my children to grow into mature adults. Yes, I want them to be happy and to enjoy life - but the truth is, life isn't always going to be - isn't always going to feel like - a Saturday picnic in the park.

Will they (will I?) have the discipline to do what needs to be done, whether they feel like it or not? Will they have the wisdom to limit themselves to making realistic commitments? Will they appreciate the value of delayed gratification?

I don't want my kids to content themselves with some kind of weak, whiny, perpetual childhood. I want them to aspire to vigorous adulthood.

Adulting 104 - What would YOU add to the above list? Share in the comments!

CHRISTMAS GIFTS

One of the ironies of being the mom is that while you are busy with holiday shopping, cooking, caroling, and parties - in the midst of all the festivities - you also have to keep the laundry caught up, the toilets cleaned, and the cat fed. "Holiday" does not mean you get a day off work. It means you get to enjoy a few extra special things while you work.

I'm okay with that. It's part of the job.

You want to know something that really warms my heart, though? It's when others realize that while they are enjoying a break from school or work, Mom is still on the clock - and so they decided to use some of their "holiday" time to make Mom's job a little easier.

Ben cleaned upstairs and vacuumed the landing and the stairs on Saturday. No, I didn't ask him to, but I'm grateful that he did!

Helen and Ben stripped down all the beds this morning so that I could wash sheets. Now, all the beds are freshly remade and ready for holiday visitors.

Helen cooked dinner this evening so that I could use meal-prep time to work on a writing assignment.

The kids have been asking me lately, "What do you want for Christmas, Mom?"

I can't think of a better gift than their willingness to share my workload so that I can share their holiday.

THOUGHTS ON MOTHERHOOD

"I do not at all feel like I have chosen an inferior career path. I don't understand why some people feel that way about motherhood." She kissed the newborn in her arms.

We welcomed a new baby into the family last week.

It is interesting, viewing motherhood from one step back, as a grandmother instead of as a new mother. While I pulled Grandma duty in the days just before and just after baby's arrival, a couple of things stood out to me... 

Motherhood requires incredible strength and stamina - physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.

As I watched my hugely pregnant daughter care for her husband, her two-year-old and her home, I was amazed by her strength. A restless night of labor, a sleepless night with a newborn, another sleepless night...with constant demands on her body and her emotions...and yet she persevered with a patience and steadiness that astounded me.

Instead of complaining, "I am so tired!" (which she was) - she instead exclaimed, "I love my sweet babies so much!"

Motherhood requires incredible sacrifice.

Yes, my daughter has personal dreams. Some of these have been put on hold, possibly forever, while she focuses her time and energy on the tremendous task she and her husband have of raising their family.

Life, interrupted. Is that what motherhood is?

No.

It is life. It is living this day, this moment in communion with the divine, in the company of eternal souls that try the limits of your understanding and your faith and your endurance.

We welcomed a new baby into the family last week.

WE welcomed a new baby into the family last week.

We welcomed a new baby into the FAMILY last week.

Motherhood is about community. It is about the WE and the FAMILY, instead of about the I and the ME.

Motherhood takes a woman out of the narrow confines of her own skin and stretches her soul, her heart, her energy, her dreams...

infuses all these parts of her mother self into the selves of others, who grow up into unique people, very different from herself, and who in turn begin the cycle anew and, by doing so, disperse her mother heart even further, into yet another generation...

so that the teeny-tiny spot one mother occupies on this planet (where she lives, her job, her aspirations, her disappointments, her personal preferences), this teeny-tiny little spot can no longer contain her because she has been so greatly expanded, through space and time, sometimes quite literally around the globe.

* * *

"I do not at all feel like I have chosen an inferior career path. I don't understand why some people feel that way about motherhood."

Why, indeed. Today, as I celebrate this newest addition to the family, my heart breaks for young mothers who are frustrated, disappointed, and depressed because they feel "trapped," the moms who feel like they have given up so much in return for so little, the mothers who have not yet understood the greatness of their calling.

Oh, for eyes to see!

IS IT TIME?!

We are waiting for a baby. Baby's due date is TODAY!

My third child arrived two weeks after his due date. We lived those two weeks on the other side of a wormhole in a dimension where time moved at the speed of dirt.

There is no way to communicate how much the words "Are you having another contraction yet?" irritated me. My nerves were flailed raw by wave after wave of late-pregnancy hormones, all of my bones ached, acid reflux burned my esophagus after every meal, and deep, restful sleep was a fuzzy memory from the far distant past.

All the signs indicate this new baby may arrive TODAY!

I have been saying that - "Looks like it could be today!" - for two weeks now. Every time I've thought that or said it, I have meant it. I still mean it.

Mom is resting now. Big sister is taking a nap. Dad is catching up on some chores around the farm. The laundry is caught up and the kitchen is tidied, and Grandma is sitting here wondering...

How on earth does a person do life...in the middle of life?

For a brief stretch of time - a day, a week, two weeks - all of life shifts into a slow-motion orbit centered on one particular, who-knows-exactly-when event. A quick run to the grocery store, a walk on the farm, starting a load of laundry, a pan of bread in the oven...every ordinary, this-is-just-life-as-usual activities swing on the thread of one simple question: "Is it time?!"


It's not time yet, or I wouldn't be sitting here typing. Not right this moment, but maybe - very possibly - an hour from now, or two hours, or two days, or a week.

And when, finally, the answer to "Is it time?!" becomes an emphatic "Yes! Now!" -  everything else STOPS. When the answer is "Now!", who gives a frog's tooth about clean laundry or dirty dishes in the sink?!

This is life lived very much in the moment, with eyes wide open toward the near future. "Is it time now?"

I can't help but wonder...

This living life in such an urgent, focused pause, this place of such deliberate action and such intense anticipation - "Is it time?!" - is this not where we all live, or where we all should live, every day, between Christ's ascension and his return?

* * *

We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye... - 1 Corinthians 15:51-52