Birthday Buddies

Two birthday girls. Sisters born on the same day, fourteen years apart. What is the likelihood? What is the degree of probability that out of three hundred sixty four other options, these baby girls would  make their landing into this world on the same day? We always knew the juxtaposition was God-breathed, imparting a special bond between the bookends of the sister-siblings. 

Big sis followed a trio of brothers into our family, adding pink to the pallette and additional aisles to Toys R Us shopping. When Mandy was born, my daddy was struggling with cancer. Although in remission at the time, he actually died on the day he was scheduled to fly into Atlanta to meet our tiny daughter. Daddy  loved our sons, but was adamant about wanting us to have a daughter. (He and Mother reared three....we did only  girls at our house growing up.) "Now, you've got your girl", he announced to me over the phone, with great satisfaction. And I think God had allowed him to linger until she was born. God honors those heart desires sometimes, I do believe. And although they never got to meet on this earth, Mandy grew up telling others the story and that Grandaddy has a hug waiting for her in Heaven. 

Baby Girl is the family caboose. Fourteen years and six sibling births later, Josie was due near our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Knowing that she might wonder later in life why in the world she was the only kid in her high school graduating class that had grandparent-looking parents, we pensively pondered her name. Josephine comes from Joseph, the eleventh son of Jacob whom God used to redeem the nation and to restore the family. We figured that as the youngest, some big family responsibilities may fall to her in future years. Sterling, her middle name, refers to silver, a precious metal that is refined and known for its luster and reflective qualities, which we hoped would come to reflect the light of Christ through her life. We wanted Josie to grow up knowing that her debut into our middle-age years was not a financial burden or an inconvenience or a mistake, but that she was more precious than gold. And when Josie was four years old she could repeat that whole premise, including the announcement, "I am more precious than gold."

On the day of Josie's birth, Mandy was a delighted young teen declaring that her new li'l sis was her birthday present. She requested that she take the baby to bed with her and I allowed it, making a deal that she would let her babies sleep with me one day. (I remind her often.) Never begrudgingly sharing the birthday limelight, Mandy often made Josie's cake, sewed her birthday dress or collaboratd with me on her party. It was a mutual admiration society. When Mandy went off to school in England, Josie sprayed the nursery with freesia, Mandy's fragrance, every day at nap time. And it was only within recent years (truly!) that Josie realized that Leaving on a Jet Plane had been recorded by Peter, Paul and Mary and was not an original that she and Mandy had made up, although they adopted it as their song. 

Thousand of miles separate the celebrants today. Last evening I spoke with Mandy as her birthday was dawning on the other wide of the world. At my morning's musing, she would be ending her day as Josie's begins. My head feels a bit dizzy, like in a time-warp somewhere outside of space and time as I think back to thirty-four years ago today and then to twenty years ago. Even though the birthday-buddies  are worlds apart, busy with their own lives, and enjoying relationships in their own arenas, I trust my girlies will always be there in life for one another. Surely the God who orchestrated the commemoration of their births to occur simultaneously on the same recurring day of the timeline will bless the tie that binds their hearts and this mother's prayer. 

. 

And to Ruth Bell Graham's poem, I would add:

Let them have sisters, too, to care. 

SWOOSH!

My baby turns twenty this week. How can it be? I remember decades ago, someone in the church we were then attending inviting me to a junior high parents' gathering. Why, I asked myself quite sincerely,  would they be asking me to join a group called Parents of Teens? It actually took a few minutes to realize that I resembled that remark. I would soon be the mother of, not one but, two teens!  Now, here I am, twenty-eight years later, having survived. Is there a medal? A badge of courage? A notation  in the Guinness Book of Records for most consecutive years mothering teens?

Not that it was a negative. I have never believed  in labels like the "terrible twos" nor the bad press often clumped on teens as a group. Nonetheless, there are commonalities, predictable frays and hormones to fit every season. I recall one of my biggest fears being that we would have toddlers and teens in the house at the same time as menopause. It happened. We made it. But....

....SWOOSH! 

Those twenty-eight consecutive years of parenting teens seem like a blur. I have not even begun to do the math on the number of teen-agers we had dwelling in the same household at any given time.

I recently paged through a journal from thirty-some years ago when our oldest sons were toddlers. The entry: "No matter what happens later in life, should you disappoint us, (as we all do with one another), you have made us very happy today." I smiled, remembering my naïveté as a young mom. Even though I knew our sons were a gift from God, a sacred trust, and that they were not my own but only loaned for a little while, did I really think they were here to make me "happy"? While our stated goal in parenting was that each child would grow "to love The Lord with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind", is that the take-away with which they left home?

Recently, one of our adult children disappointed me. Hugely.  I mean, my heart ached and I dab at tears even now, just thinking about  it. The issue was not illegal, immoral or financially devastating. Their decision, not mine to make, was so counter, though, to what had been taught, what had been modeled, what we embrace. I was not happy. I am not happy still. So am I  just as immature as I was all those years ago as a fledgling mama? No, I will not throw myself under the bus, but instead thank The Lord for loving me even when I make choices that certainly do not make Him happy. I will thank Him for moment-by-moment grace to get out of the way so that my adult kids can hear from Him.

Even though we consciously gave our kids back to The Lord at birth, at their dedication, at their first overnight camp, at graduation, in marriage, I sometimes feel a need to pop up when it seems like God is  not coming through loud and clear. That's why no one calls me the "still, small voice", by the way. They already know what I think. I can trust you, God, to use consequences for their indiscretions or excesses or poor judgement to draw them to you, to your Word, to your wisdom that is ageless, timeless, not old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy like me. Help me, in my attitudes, to convey the love and acceptance that woos them through the Holy Spirit to You. 

So I am thinking at this juncture in time when the basketball is no longer swishing through the hoop (I could hear that ball bouncing and those dribble drills in my sleep for many years) that swoosh sounds a bit like the rush of wings. Swoosh also sounds a bit like hush. As teenager-hood has swooshed through our home, a hush a fallen. No longer need I parrot reminders to make beds or complete homework, to reduce speed when driving in the rain, to remember who you are and Whose you are, to wake up, to look others in the eye when you shake their hands, to remember grandparents, to choose the best over the good, to wear a sweater when I am cold. I am hushed. My daily pray is that they have learned to hear from You. 

Nike, that winged goddess of victory, according to Greek mythology, sat beside Zeus, the ruler of the Olympic pantheon. Her mystical presence, symbolizing victorious encounters, presided over history's earliest battlefields. The symbol has come to represent new levels of mastery and achievement. The swoosh embodies the spirit of the most courageous and chivalrous warriors. In a much more spiritual sense, Lord, I am asking You to call our kids higher, to raise them up as victorious warriors for your Kindgom purposes. 

Those who wait for The Lord will gain new strength;

They will mount up with wings like eagles,

They will run and not grow weary

They will walk and not faint

And hush me so they can hear from You. 

You Again

 Looking at my life

Through the eyes of a young girl growing older all the time,
Maybe just a little wiser
I can clearly see
All my mistakes keep coming back to visit me
Pointing out the roads not taken
So much I'd like to change but one thing I'd do the same

I'd choose you again, I'd choose you again
If God gave me the chance to do it all again
Oh, I'd carefully consider every choice and then
Out of all the boys in the world
I'd choose you again

Times weren't always good
Seems like the Lord gave all the easy parts away
But every time the road got rocky
You'd look at me and say
Had all you needed long as I was there with you
You're the reason I kept going
If I could start my life anew
The first thing that I would do

I'd choose you again, I'd choose you again
If God gave me the chance to do it all again
Oh, I'd carefully consider every choice and then
Out of all the boys in the world
I'd choose you again

I'd choose you again, I'd choose you again
If God gave me the chance to do it all again
Oh, I'd carefully consider every choice and then
I'd listen to my heart and I'd choose you again
You again, you again

Fourty-five years passes pretty fast. I am grateful for the story He is writing through our lives. It's His really, all His.

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=cpOwHifKxyc

Withdrawal

How does one cope? What can one do? How might one ever recover from twelve straight days of taking tea? Tea in a bakery. Tea in a pub. Tea in a shop. 

Tearooms, remember, are tucked into every self-respecting establishment and place of business in Ireland. Tea at a fancy hotel, in the solemnity of a museum, in an ancient castle, a quaint farmhouse, a  formal flower garden, a welcoming church. Tea over looking the Irish Sea, above green valleys, at the base of rolling hills, alongside cafe windows being pelted with rain. Tea for comfort from winds blowing through the heather, across the moor. Tea at day's end steeped in the warmth of friendship.  

Tea is both an art and an everyday occurrence that makes everyday-days special, and special occasions, more so.  Tea can be opulent with gourmet accoutrements. On the other hand, nothing is diminished when it is served in the humblest of means alongside lentil soup and Irish brown bread. Unhurried hospitality begins with a well-stocked pantry. Shopping or baking for a spontaneous tea-time works, too.  Shortbread cookies, savory tarts, cream filled pastries, sausages, cheeses, breads and cakes (they are oh-so-cute in those enamelware tins labeled CAKE kept high on a shelf) are among favorite options. The thing that struck me most about peeking into the tea rooms in a government building or department store was the homogeneous mix of young and old, male and female, absolutely taking their ease. No one appeared to be in a hurry to return to work or to shopping. There was no frenzy to make a table available for the next customer. Bills were not brought by the servers until they were requested by the patron, the assumption being that one had come to share time as well as sustenance. I like that. I wanted to package the conviviality and bring it home. 

So, along with memories of the Emerald Isle, I am intentionally keeping the tea tradition forefront. The tray is set. Little dainties are tucked into the pantry and fridge. I need only to put the kettle to boil and invite my guest to choose a cup from my own tea cupboard. We will sit and sip and share. (And if she seems to like looking at my hundreds  of Ireland photos, she is sure to be invited back again.) For now, it is time to get back to real life. But upon leaving after tea, instead of saying "have a good day", one says in one's best Irish accent, authentically exuberant over shared reverie, "all the best" or "safe home".

Tah-tah for now.

"Nobody sees a flower, really--it is so small--we haven't time and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time."

Georgia O'Keefe