Mom's Letter

This letter was written by my Mother to my grandparents (Dad's side). She was just 2 months post surgery for a brain tumor, which they were not able to fully remove and unknowingly, just 7 months from her earthly death. The tumor was located in the portion of the brain which controls speech so her words were not always exactly right and often sounded juvenile but her messages ever clear. Her faith ever strong.

I am writing it exactly how she wrote. I realize its meaningless to anyone that did not know her but faith and eternal hope in God's Word, truth and promises shines through. I hope you find that message here and in your own life.

(Bob was her husband)

9/27/88

Dear Meme & Grandpa:

Bob and I arrived Monday 9/12/88 at Arlington Hts Ill, Bob's daughters Liz house. I was feeling fine Till Friday. 9/16 I got sick. Bob called the hospital and they sent an ambulance, I got to the hosp. right away. I felted so bad, hosp. kept me Till Mon. 9/149. Val, took me to her place in Michigan. I feel O.K. the doctor in Ill. told Val how many medicine I have to take, and I might get sick again. So far I have bee feeling good.

Melissa is coming this weekend, 9/30 after I see her I pray to see her baby but I keep praying to wait. I don't mind to go to heaven, I know I will go there.

Bob, is stating at his daughter's house in Ill. He is helping her because she got her baby the same day I got sick 9/16. I don't Mind him stating there . Val & Sam is taking GOOD care of me. And for Bob to see me its only 5 hours drive to Val's house.

Val's house is so beautiful and BIG. I hope some day you will see her house.

Thank you for the food you gave us, its so good to open the jars.

I'm so busy every day trying to write to everyone. When I die I told Val I don't want flowers on my funeral, I will be in heaven and can't see them. I rather she GET money from people and send to my church. They need a need church so bad. The money give to my church is better than flowers. Sorry I can't write right my Brain is lower.

I was so happy to see you people.

LORD JESUS BLESS YOU.

LOVE
Ramona

Unhappy Endings

I hate the end to most things. I mean you don't understand --- I haaaaate endings!!! How much to I hate them?

Books are the worst. I love to read but no matter how happy the ending of a story may be, I'm very sad when it’s over. In fact, I might even mourn the "loss of the characters" for a few days. I just can't get them out of my mind -and I wonder what happened next. While I'm deeply engrossed in a book, the characters become my friends and I live and travel in all the settings in the book. When its time for me to go back home permanently, I get sad.

I don't mind when a TV show ends but I hate when a TV series ends. Despite the fact I had never ever seen one episode of it, I was sad for days and days when Friends ended. I didn't even watch the show, how stupid is that? I feel that way when most series end. Having grown up with a Dad that was a huge M*A*S*H fan, I became a fan myself but when the series ended, I refused to watch the very last episode and in fact to this day, I've never seen it. I would just be too sad. I like to pretend the series is still going on, the war in Korea is still being fought and Hawkeye, Radar, Major Burns and all the rest are still there. I'm still in denial that Johnny Carson isn't the host of the Tonight Show, I believe Bewitch is still twinkling her nose and making magic, I know somewhere out there Al's Diner still exists and the Happy Days characters are hanging out there, the Huxtables still live in Brooklyn, Doug and Carrie are still screaming at each other in Queens & Deborah and Ray are still being terrorized by Marie & Frank.

Movies are much the same for me. I want to know more of the story. More! Tell me more!!! Did Scarlet and Rhett every get back together? I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!

Its not just stories; I hate the end to everything -- when my Starbucks latte is down to a sip or two, I get a little sad and upset with myself I didn't make it last longer. When I'm taking my last bite of a meal, I might even tear up a tiny bit, "You mean -- that's it until the next meal?" How sad is that? Vacations are almost not even enjoyable to me because when it gets down to the last day, I almost don myself in complete black and mourn the rest of the day. When I scrapbook with my best scrapbooking buddies, around 11pm I could cry because it’s almost time to pack up. I want to stay longer and chat and scrapbook and sniff my papers!

I even hate the end to a day, especially a good day. As soon as it starts getting dark I start to say good-bye to the day --and parting always makes me so sorrowful. There's nothing sweet about it.

When Jerry retired from the military I was sad for months, if not years. I miss the Army like I'd miss an old friend. When Jerry and I were in DC recently and visited a few Army posts, I was at home again! It felt like, "Hello, Army! Where have you been? I missed you so much. Let's get all caught up now."

You know what else I hate? Empty towns, buildings and houses; I hate when a town dries up because an industry leaves. I hate when old glorious homes are abandoned. Recently I read a devotional that mentioned an old Silver mining town in Colorado once booming with people and profitable businesses, its now abandoned and long forgotten --and I couldn't even concentrate on the rest of the devotion as I sat picturing that old western town --wondering where all the people had gone. I hate old rail road tracks where trains never come to anymore, too.

Graduations make me sad. I realize its a celebration and new things are opening up for the grad, but its still closing a door, a chapter and that means one thing had ended and for that, I am terribly sad. This spring I'll be sad to say our final good-bye to Northmont High School as our youngest walks across the stage to accept his diploma. We'll bid farewell to Miami University too, and I'm sure there will be tears. *sigh*

You must think I'm a terribly sad person and in a way, that is very true. I mean, I'm not Eeyore walking around with my head down and droopy ears but most times even though I can laugh and have fun, there will be a corner of sadness in my heart. I can't help it. I HATE endings and yet, I live with them. I mean, I can step into a fantasy world and imagine all my favorite TV characters still on set but I know reality too. And I eventually forget about all those characters in a book and it’s not long before I'm over that too.

I can move on -- mostly but you see -- there's one ending I just can't grapple. There's one ending that torments my soul --forever. There's one ending that makes me the most sad and even now, over 35 years later in some cases, my still heart aches because

I just can't bear the ending of a marriage. I mourn it every time, like a death in the family. I never get over it. I can never stop being sad about it. Though I know there are cases in which divorce is warranted, I think those are so few and far in between.

I know, how dare I say such a thing, right? What do I know?

I just know.

And I'm sad.

Where Did She Go

Where did she go, the baby I once had
I went to her crib and walked away sad

For the tiny baby that had my heart in a furl
Has now been replaced by a little girl

And I loved that girl and watched her play
Hoping a little girl she always would stay

But I soon discovered her dolls were no more
For now she has stepped through yet another door

And before me I saw a young woman at heart
Hoping with this one, I never would part

Then one day I discovered she needed no longer
My hand to hold her--and I had to get stronger

To let her walk away into a life of her own
For my baby girl is ever so grown

I see in her eyes such spirit for living
Her heart ever open, her soul ever giving

To the future before her, unknowing and new
So I step to the side, as us mothers must do

Before me a I see a woman I adore
My pride ever swelling more and more

Though my arms ever empty and my hands ever still
My baby ever growing, my heart gets its fill

Of the love of a baby, my girl and my daughter
Watching her learn lessons life has now taught her

And the journey of this mother's heart
That sometimes can get stuck back at the start

Because I sit and I wonder, where did she go
The baby I held, that needed me so

The crib so long gone and the dolls packed away
A baby and girl she could not stay

And it all went before me ever so fast
Dashing through the present, making a past

Where did she go, the baby I once had
I went to her crib and walked away sad

The One That Broke The Mold

My Dad is one of two children, he has an older sister. My mother was the oldest of seven, with five brothers and one sister.

Mom's sister has one child. Girl. Mom's oldest brother no children. Next brother FOUR Girls. Next brother THREE Girls. Next brother THREE Girls. And baby brother THREE Girls.

So my Dad's sister had one child. Girl. Then my Dad had his first child. Girl. Then I came along *takes bow*. Girl. Then the third child was born. Girl. Later when my Dad remarried and adopted my step-sibling. Girl.

Years later we started the next generation. My sister Val had her first baby. Girl. My cousin Marsha had her first child too. Girl. Val had another baby. Girl. Marsha had another baby. Girl. I get in the mix and I have my first child. Girl. I have child number two. Girl. Val has child number three. Girl.

So just in case you lost count, let me recap that for you:

Mom's side of the family, my generation - 16 Girls. Next generation - FIVE Girls (so far).

Dad's side of the family, my generations - 5 Girls. Next generation - SEVEN Girls (so far).

That's a whole-lotta pink!!!!!!

And then . . . one quiet Sunday afternoon in 1991, on the 8th day of the month after hours of labor and pain and pushing ---- a nurse exclaimed to me, "IT'S A BOY! MOM, YOU HAVE A BOY!" And thus, Zachary Earl Newsome was born into our family and breaking the mold, the Dodges finally have a boy of their very own. A BOY!

So you're thinking I was ever so happy to have a boy, huh? Not really. You see, I didn't believe them. They rushed my baby over to the table to clean him up and do whatever it is they do and all I keep thinking is, "Dodge girls don't know how to have boys. It has to be a girl. They must have made a mistake."

It wasn't long before they brought my tiny new born babe to me --er, I mean the new born babe was 9 pounds 1 ounce so what I mean is --it wasn't long before they brought my sort-of tiny new born babe over to me, wrapped ever so snugly in a new born baby blankie and they laid that babe on my chest and said, "Mom, would you like to nurse him?" HIM? Why do they keep calling my baby a boy? Don't they mean HER? You see, probably mostly delirious from you know --that whole giving birth thing and the fact that I had already convinced myself Dodge girls couldn't have boys, I was absolutely convinced they, you know -- trained medical professionals, made a mistake and I actually had a girl. So instead of gazing at my new born baby and trying to nurse the hungry little thing, I tore the blanket off of him and low and behold -- boy parts! Boy parts?

Now what do I do?

That was my first thought, as if every moment of parenting I had ever done was now all null and void because I had a boy.

I snuggled my baby boy close to me and I assured him I'd figure it out.

My first lesson --diaper changing and no, I never did get any misguided squirts but I did quickly learn there was a lot more to cleaning up a boy baby than a girl baby. And I soon learned too that boy babies were much louder than girl babies and boys liked to climb and jump and "fly". And I learned how to buy a cup for football and I learned that playing in mud wasn't such a bad thing and riding your bike in the rain was okay too. I learned that old towels make great super hero capes and green plastic army men hurt when you step on them barefooted. I learned that the highlight of the week can be when the trash truck comes-- so when we'd hear it we had to run outside to watch it. I learned that Legos were endless hours of entertainment and not so much what you could build but what you could destroy. I learned that Batman was cooler than Superman and what a baseball T was. When my boy "discovered himself" and thought he had swallowed some marbles, I learned how to explain "boy parts" to him. I learned that snuggling a baby boy was just as warm and wonderful as snuggling a baby girl. I learned that buckets made great Army Man helmets. I learned how to use Cheerios as "targets" for you know, aiming practice in the toilet, not around the toilet. I learned how to shop for men clothes and explain to my boy how to ask a girl on a date. I learned how to feed a ferocious growing-boy appetite. I learned not to have a heart attack each time I'd come home and found my boy roaming around on our roof top. I learned to breath amidst the clouds of Axe body spray emanating from the bathroom . . . . but what I mostly learned is that a boy has his way of wrapping himself around a mother's heart. I love and adore my girly-girls and nothing compares to our "Beauty Shop Nights" but this boy, my one and only son --is my Prince.

Eighteen years later I'm still learning how to mother a boy, a boy that has turned into a man, ever so charming he is.

Happy 18th Birthday, Son!

Our Hero

One very early morning Jerry went for a 5 mile walk, as he so often does. Not long after he left I remembered a few things I needed from the store and decided to hit Kroger before the morning crowd shuffled in. As I drove down the street I saw Jerry walking and at first I didn't think it was him. You see, he was walking much slower than I would have expected him to be. His shoulders were rounded over and forward as opposed to the tall erect stance I was so accustom to seeing. Is that my Jerry? My Jerry? You see, when I first met Jerry I would often watch him do PT (Physical Training). He was fast as lightening, tall and strong. This man I saw walking could be Jerry but what happened to that man I married? Where did he go?

As I sat there watching him walk it occurred to me where he had been. Yes, that was my Jerry walking down the street and this is where he has "gone".

Those shoulders have seated our children at a parade or crowded event or just to answer the child's question, "Daddy, let me see if I can touch the sky." The little heads of our children rested upon those shoulders while the child slept or cried or had a moment of sadness. Upon those shoulders rested the straps to a rucksack, a backpack soldier style, with 50 pounds or more of gear packed into it. And those shoulders carried that weight for miles and miles of training and marching during 23 years of service to this United States of America. Those shoulders have carried the weight of our family upon it during financial crisis, marital woes and those bumps in the roads that come with raising children. All the care and concern of this family rest upon those shoulders and many nights I have gone to bed able to rest and sleep in peace because I knew those shoulders were broad and strong enough to bear the weight. Many of my tears ended up on those shoulders as I laid my head upon them and poured out my heart.

Upon that back our children took horsey rides or climbed the "tower". Upon that back slung and M16 rifle on its way to a firing range or road march for a faithful 23 years.. One time, upon that back was our Grandfather Clock when we moved it into our German apartment and in Hercules fashion, that man took that clock upon his back and walked it down a flight of stairs into our garden apartment. Laying upon that back, that man spent hours beneath our cars to change the oil, breaks, filters --whatever it took to make those cars go and be safe. Upon that back was the brunt of the weight of our furniture when we were moving to a new location or just at the whim of this wife, who wanted to change a room around. Most recently, upon that back the weight of furniture belonging to our college senior daughter and her roommate moving into their first apartment.

Those muscular arms caught my attention many years ago and even yet today I find myself gazing in wonderment at them. Those muscular arms wrapped around me millions of times in sweet tenderness and affection. Those muscular arms were "monkey bars" to our little ones has they'd hang off of them and squeal like a monkey. Those muscular arms seems to hold the power of a giant and yet, in sweet tenderness, held our new born babes. Those muscular arms at one time could carry all three children at the same time --just scoop them up ever so effortless. Those muscular arms dug holes and trenches to put up a new fence or build a deck or drywall our basement into a useful family room. Those muscular arms picked up our sickly teenage daughter and swiftly and gently laid her into the back of our van as we transported her to the ER. Those muscular arms held out into the air as our children fearless jumped from the side of a pool into the safety of those muscular arms. Those muscular arms wrestled our boy for many many hours on our floors and yet knew how and when to hold back and how and when to exert more force. Those muscular arms stood at a free throw line over and over and over again showing our son how to shoot a basketball. Those muscular arms once held up layers and layers of tulle on a prom dress while I stood underneath them to steam out each layer. Those muscular arms threw our babies into the air while they screamed with delight and drooled upon that man's face. Those muscular arms lifted and carried Army equipment in order to accomplish a mission.

Those strong hands took young soldiers by the hand, literally and figuratively and trained them to be fit for active duty. Those strong hands swatted the behind of our sometimes disobedient children. Those strong hands would rescue a crying baby from their crib and tenderly ask, "What's all that fuss about?" Those strong hands played peek-a-boo over and over to giggling babies. Those strong hands signed many and many and many checks to pay the bills and give to our family the things we needed and wanted. Those strong hands handed over hundreds of dollars to our growing teens so they can go out with friends, shop or put some gas in their cars. Those strong hands took little tiny baby spoons and scooped up baby food into our little ones' mouths. Those strong hands took care of car repairs, plumping repairs, house repairs and yard work. Those strong hands tied ties around our boy's neck and those strong hands taught our children how to loop their shoe laces into perfectly tight bows. Those strong hands wrapped themselves around an M16 rifle hand grip, M60 machine gun and other military weaponry aiming and firing with the utmost precision and expertise. Those strong hands held patriotic salute to our nation's flag, our symbol of the freedom he served and fought to protect. Those strong hands once held my small hand within them and slipped onto my finger a golden wedding band. Those strong hands gripped themselves around ropes repelling down from a hovering helicopter. Those strong hands once refused to sign divorce papers I had served him and pushing them away said, "This marriage isn't over."

Those Infantry feet marched and marched and marched until they were bruised, bleeding and blistered. Those Infantry feet jumped out of air planes and landed squarely on the ground. Those Infantry feet support this family and walked us through Germany, Georgia, Hawaii, Kansas and Ohio. Those Infantry feet paced up and down the floor trying to sooth fussy little babies. Those Infantry feet ran up and down basketball courts with our son, stood on the sidelines of band competitions and basketball games and soccer games and stood in proud ovation to a musical performance. Those Infantry feet donned combat boots for 23 years, never ceasing to walk the walk of a soldier.

And those shoulders could stand tall and erect as that man often declared, "I'm a child of The King!" And that strong back wore the full armor of God declaring to Satan, "Not me and not my family --your time is wasted here." Those arms and hands held high in glorious submission and praise to a Savior that showered grace and mercy on this Newsome family time and time and time again. And those Infantry feet -- every single night without fail those Infantry feet make those strong knees bow at our bedside as that man pours out the petitions of his heart, praises to our Lord and brings each and every one of our names before his God; Melissa, Amanda, Monica and Zachary.

And to that this Army wife says --

Thank you! You are still our tall strong hero.

It Feels Like -- THIS

When I had small children all under foot, I used to look at moms whose children were teenagers or grown up and wonder how that feels. I used to long for the days when I could go to the store without first buckling three toddling babes into car seats and seat belts. I wondered what that kind of freedom felt like. And now I know.

It feels like:

Joy - I'm so proud of the adults my children are growing into. Sometimes when I see them my hearts sings. Its such a privilege to be their Mom.

Sorrow - I miss my babies. I miss having all control. I miss tucking them in at night and knowing there they'll stay til the morning. I miss their wonderment & their chubby toddler fingers trying to master a fine motor skill. I miss baby voices and laughter. I miss them being able to sit on my lap and hug my neck. I miss my babies.

Fear: Are they making wise choices when they're away from home? Are they safe? Do they miss me? Have they forgotten me? Are they so glad to be away from home?

Excitement - Where will they end up living? What job or careers will they land? Will they get married? Have children? Its so exciting to watch these things unfold before my very eyes.

Anticipation - I can't wait to help plan a wedding or help them find their first home. I can't wait to see who they will marry. I can't wait to have grandchildren and spoil them rotten. I can't wait to see each of them be an Aunt or Uncle ---

Rediscovery - I sit in my home with no particular place to go; no football games or band events, no picking up or dropping off, no slumber parties or movie nights or playing beauty shop. I sit in my home and look over and see a man who resembles a young soldier I used to know --a man that was dashing and handsome and one that drank in the very words I would speak. I look over at that man and wonder where he's been the last 20 years --lost in between birthdays and school events, growing pains and spankings, AWANA, lawn mowing and car fixing, football and basketball, band and high school, graduations and tuition . . . Somewhere in all of that, my young soldier got lost but I look at him now and think, "Wow, who are you? Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Wonder - I don't know where we go from here. Like every other parenting step, in these years I take one day at a time, one child at a time, one event at a time . . and I do the best I can. What it feels like to be the Mom of these grown up children is exactly the same as it feels to be the Mom of little tiny babies and yet, its completly different too.

New Blog

I'm moving my blog. The Army story continues here . . .

http://melissasmilitarymoments.blogspot.com/

Mothers

An Army Blogging Break to say, I'm so thankful for my children and being their mother is truly the most honoring & exciting experience I have ever had. I'm blessed beyond measure.

Any amount of love my heart is capable of flows from a merciful God that demonstrated his love for us when his son died on the cross. We love Him because He first loved us. Second to that are the lessons of life and loving I learned from two very godly strong women; my mother and my grandmother, Meme. They are both home with the Lord now. My heart is ever so thankful for having the privilege of knowing and loving them both.

Happy Mother's Day!

Setenta

There's a place I like to go and hide
It's a place that's locked down deep inside

It's a trip I don't very often take
It's a journey I only sometimes make

In payment for the gladness and joy to be had
I render my tears and walk away sad

So I wait for my heart to tell me when I can go
And I enter with caution, my steps ever slow

I find the key and unlock the place
That holds the memory of my mother's face

By closing my eyes I simply can find
I'm a child again -- my adult years behind

Ever so anxiously I wait to see
The beauty of her -- the one that once held me

The torrent of memories come pouring in fast
Of the most endearing times of my childhood past

She's every bit the person I remember her to be
And never once is she not smiling at me

We visit the places we used to like best
Like Randhurst and Dunkin and all the rest

I linger there with her and wish I could stay
As a child who never wants to end her own play

Then I remember the woman I've grown up to be
I reach in my pocket fumbling for the key

I look up to kiss her and tell her good-bye
But she's no longer there --I'm left wondering why

She left me so suddenly and I wasn't aware
For the rest of my days, she wouldn't be there

But the present is beckoning me to come back
So I crawl from my past through the tiniest crack

I seal up the space and lock it up tight
And look for the darkness that's black as the night

My tears fill my eyes until I can't see
But I feel her presence like she's still here with me

I reach out to touch her --Mom, is that you?
I knew you'd not leave me, that you missed me too

My eyes are much clearer for now I can see
That's not my mother there before me

But the essence of her that once held me close
Is alive in the children I simply love most

The ones that grew in me a mother's heart
Are the ones that will bring me back to the start

For now I know what it's like to be
The beauty of her -- the one that once held me

The Best & Worst Day Ever!

Having three children especially close in age, it is a rare thing to have a quantity of one-on-one time with each child. Though I love family time and being with all of my children, you learn the most precious things about your child in solitaire moments.

Yesterday, after a long winter break, I took Monica back to Kent. Though we've made this trip together on several occasions, this was the first time she didn't sleep most of the drive up there. For three solid hours, we chatted without interruption about the most random subjects. We talked about our likes and dislikes in movie stars, music, interesting facts about our family members, my childhood, my Mom (she often slips into our conversations), funny family stories, Jerry's cooking . . . . . It was a delightful trip.

When we got to Kent, we were fortunate enough to score a wheeled bin right away so it only took one trip to get Monica's things up to her 7th floor room. She was quick to show me all of the new things she added to her room since my last visit there in September. I helped her unpack a few things and then our hungry stomachs were demanding food.

With no particular agenda for the day, we took our time driving through downtown Kent, taking notice of stores or places that would come in handy in the future. We drove to the Alpha Phi house but didn't get to go in. At least now I know where it is. We ended up at Panera for lunch and both were disappointed when they were out of the bread for our favorite sandwiches, which seems to be happening more and more at Panera! Annoying! Lunch was more conversation and discussions - -though this time, Monica was a little preoccupied with text messages.

For some reason, we can't seem to take our girls to school without a trip to Walmart -- so we headed off to Walmart. Monica needed a few things but mostly we browsed and compared this new rather large Walmart to the one we frequent at home. After a small purchase was made, we headed back to Monica's room.

I sensed Monica was not yet ready for me to leave and quite frankly, I was not ready to say good-bye either. I stayed in her room for about an hour and we just chatted some more -- accomplished nothing along the lines of unpacking or organizing Monica's things. I wanted to stay longer but knowing I had to work the next morning and unsure of the northern Ohio weather for the evening, I did not want to be on the road too late. Monica walked me down to the van and since I parked a little far away from her dorm and she did not wear a coat, I drove her back to her door. I was glad for the excuse to have her linger with me a little while longer -saying good-bye this time was as impossible as it was the first day we took her to Kent -- maybe even a bit worse.

All I could think about was how wonderful it was having her home for break -- even with her crazy Golden Girls obsession. I knew coming home from work each day was going to seem empty without her there to greet me.

With the snow and a lot of traffic due to students coming back, the parking lot was a mess which prevented any lingering good-byes. Like the first time we dropped her off, I tried to watch Monica walk back to her dorm but with all of the people and boxes being moved in, I lost sight of her. As I turned the corner to leave, I tried to catch a last glimpse of her but it was too late . . she was already in the building and on her way back up to the 7th floor of Wright Hall.

As I drove off campus I wondered if my heart was going to ache this much every time the girls went back to school after a break. It seemed the drive home was going to be very sad, lonely and long. I began to busy my mind with all of the dinner options I had before me - -eating on the road is sometimes my favorite thing to do. I was trying to decide between actual food or just a Starbucks treat -- or both. I wondered if I should sit and eat alone, which I really don't mind doing, or just hit a drive-thru and eat on the road. I was a little happy I didn't have someone with me that when asked what they wanted to eat the reply would be, "I don't care, what do you want?" Then proceed to turn down every suggestion I had. I needed to stop and get gas and decided I'd give the salty windows a good cleaning while I did. With no further planning left to do, I let my thoughts wander --until they were back at Kent.

I wished I was sitting at home watching an episode of the Golden Girls with Monica. The day had been so perfect - -Monica and I talked so freely and had no disagreements on where to go or what to do. We were not rushed for time or had any appointments to get to - -the day was ours to enjoy and I did, immensely. I called Jerry to let him know I was on my way back and the approximate time to expect me home. Zach was asking for me earlier, which made me a bit more anxious to get home.

About an hour into the drive, Monica called me to ask me something about her schedule. We talked, and talked ---

And we talked.

And if you know anything about me, you know how much I hate talking on the phone so it was quite a feat that we stayed on the phone for an entire two hours. We hung up when I was about to exit to Englewood. The day and the phone conversation is probably the most I have ever talked to Monica at one time. As we hung up, I realized how much I enjoyed Monica that day. I realized what a rare thing it was, having uninterrupted time alone with one of my children -- I wish I had more opportunities to do that with each child of mine. I was so immersed in the conversation I never did stop to eat or feel hungry despite only having had one meal that day.

As I neared home, I braced myself for the empty feeling the house was going to have, both Amanda and Monica now being back at school. Both Zach and Jerry pretended to be asleep when I walked in - -despite me pretending to be hurt and needing their assistance. They shared with me an article about Zach that was in the local paper -- he was selected Player of the Week last week. We talked for a little bit but when the conversations were done and the guys left the room, I grabbed the remote control . . . .

and I frantically searched for an episode of Golden Girls.

Basketball Mom

Is is just me or do other basetball Moms sit in the stands during a game and think of their sons:

As the team parades out in a single file line, I recall those chubby 2 year old legs stomping around the house like a soldier, "hut 2, 3, 4 -- hut 2, 3, 4 . . . ."

When he runs down the court, I suddenly get flashbacks of his first toddling steps.

When he shoots the ball, I suddently get flashbacks of him standing in front of a 4 foot Little Tikes basketball hoop - -and barely able to reach the goal.

I wonder -- How did he grow to 6'5" when it was just yesterday, I was holding him in my arms.

He grabs the ball from an opponent and I clearly remember the numerous times he'd grab a toy from one of his sisters.

He runs. He shoots. He jumps. He plays. They know him. They shout his name. They cheer him on. To this place and this crowd, he is Zachary Newsome, #32, 6'5" Junior, Forward for Northmont Varsity Basketball. I know him too. I cheer him on. I'm so proud but when I look out on the court, I don't see a 6'5" Varsity player. There, rebounding and scoring I see a player and to me he's simply . . . .

My Boy.

Things and Stuff

Things. I like things. I like nice things. I like new things. I even like expensive things. I like having things. I want more things. It's the American way and I am an American. When I get things, then I want other things to go with my things. I need to accessorize my things.

Stuff. Just gotta have it. I gotta have more stuff and then when new stuff comes out, I want to upgrade my old stuff. My basement is filled with stuff I used to love but now has been replaced by nicer and newer stuff. My closets are full of stuff that I use on occasion but mostly, it's just stuff to stuff the closets with.

Things and stuff.

All of the above is true of me. I'm no martyr or saint that has taken a vow of poverty. I own more than a few pairs of shoes, a few coats and though my wardrobe pales in comparrison to most others, I still have more clothes than I need. Though my home is sparsley decorated, I still have many things on the walls and sitting around -- things that have sentiment or things that just add interest or color to a room. Though I don't have everything I want, I have so much more than I need. So why do we continue to want more things and more stuff? I don't get it.

For the past 5 years or so I've been bothered by Christmas. Nowhere does the bible tell us or even give us an example of celebrating Christ's birth. I'm not saying that we shouldn't but I am bothered on how much time, engergy and money is spent on Christmas --but how much of that time, engergy and money is just wasted? I don't have any answers but often times, as I'm stuffing myself full of Christmas ham or opening yet another present, I think about all the people that are hungry and have no clothing or home. I think about the reason Christ was born and I wonder if all we spend on the celebration is counter to the reason why he came.

Tis the season for giving - -Tis the season for joy. As Christians, do we need a season to be charitable? Love, JOY, peace . . . . . does it come just once a year?

'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.' Matthew 25:45

My Blessings Keep Flowing

One Sunday when I was too sick to go to church -- and by "sick" I mean so completely overcome with depression that I could not even find strength to remove my body from bed. That Sunday, Jerry asked our Sunday School class to pray for me. Later that week, I received a note from a lady, whom I did not know by name, and she was trying to encourage me.

I wasn't encouraged. I did not want to hear her words. I didn't care what SHE might have experienced in HER life because this was MY life and NO ONE could possibly understand what I was going through.

That was my attitude. So I ignored the card.

The first few days after Amanda and Monica went to school I was a mess. I could barely function and what little I forced myself to do was not only a huge effort, I was annoyed that it had to be done - -like --showering! My husband and son tried to encourage me. Zachary tried to be funny and kind and caring. Jerry kept telling me he understood my heart but how does a man understand the heart of a mother? He kept telling me he was sad too but did his life come to a halt? Did he want to live out the rest of his life underneath the covers on our bed? DID HE EVER CARRY A CHILD IN HIS WOMB FOR NINE MONTHS? Yeah see, us Mom's always try to trump a father's heart with that one.

I tried to tell myself I was carrying on much too much and much too far and yet; it's all my heart would feel. I couldn't stop the pain. I couldn't stop the depression. I couldn't stop the uselessness my heart felt.

And then each day got a little better. I never stopped missing the girls and I never stopped hurting, but I at least got back to functioning and taking ever so slight steps towards letting go. When the dark cloud of depression finally lifted, I was seeing more clearly and then I remembered the card.

I went back to the card I had received in the mail and read it again and this time, it was such a blessing. I read it as if for the first time and my heart was instantly comforted knowing another mother's heart felt the same thing. As hard as my guys tried to console me and as much as I did appreciate it, it wasn't the same as another mother that had lived through the same thing.

So I set out to find this angel that God sent me -- a woman who was living out Titus 2 when Paul instructs Titus, "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children . . . "

This was a lesson I was learning in loving my children. I had to learn to love them at a whole different level - -to mix my love with respect of their adult status, to love them enough to let them go, to love them enough to trust them to live their own lives. This was a new love, a different love and by example and compassion, this woman came into my life and helped me see my way through it.

I took my card to bible study one Saturday and asked the other ladies if they could please point this woman out to me. The next day at church, I finally found out who my angel was. That evening, I went up to her and thanked her for her card and her encouragement.

The week after Thanksgiving, she came up to me and said how happy she was to see my girls were home for the holiday. I was so touched she remembered and rejoiced with and for me. I felt a moment of being kindred with her and it felt like it was my final lesson in my learning to let go.

Tonight after choir practice, I got to talk to her again. When I explained to her all the blessings I'm now finding in this new freedom with the girls gone; more time with my son, rediscovering my husband, a quiet peaceful home, time to do things I enjoy - she instantly understood me and in fact, on several occasions, we were able to finish each others' sentence. I stood amazed as if in a peculiar way, I was talking to myself. That’s just how completely she understood me.

And so in my quest to open my heart and my eyes for all those blessings the Lord sends my way, I am ever so thankful for my angel, Sonda.

More Blessings

Every week I'm more in love with our church and more excited to be there. Saturday we had a Christmas dinner and ornament exchange, though there were very few ornaments and seemingly more stuffed snowmen than stuffed turkeys on Thanksgiving!

So my blessings this week were:

Everyone at my table for the Christmas dinner but especially Bruce and Kay and Alycia. These three people have gone out of their way to make us feel welcome and a part of Vandalia Baptist Temple. I'm so thankful for them.

All of the sweet children that lent their voices to our children's Christmas program - --out of the mouths of babes!

Twilla, who captured my heart weeks ago in ladies Bible study but also on Sunday when she was such an encourager to me.

My sister Sam continues to be my rainbow - -and kitchen supplier! :)

Blessings

I think if we open our hearts, we'll find blessings in the most unusual places. That has been my quest and though I don't know the names of each of these people and the situations might be "you had to be there" type things, I want to list the things that bless my heart. I hope to never be so busy with "things" that I miss these precious moments:


Gina singing with her parents. I hope she cherishes those moments in her life.

Gilah agreeing to come to my church's Christmas Cantata (she's Jewish).

Dave playing with his cars and "going to pick up Miss Lissa".

My new/used refrigerator.

My sister Sam being my rainbow.

The Sopranos in my church choir.

Every day I find new blessings and people that unknowingly touch my heart in the simplest of ways. I don't ever want to miss them.

Driving Lessons

I think one of the important elements of parenting is to know your strengths and weaknesses. For instance, when it came time to teach the children to ride their bike without training wheels, I definitively knew this was Jerry's thing. A considerable intolerance for being outside and a lack of patience made me the most unlikely candidate for such a task. Besides, I always made the kids wear a helmet, knee and elbow pads. They would complain they couldn't peddle with the knee pads on to which I would reply, "Be quiet before I mummy wrap you in bubble wrap too." Jerry could handle seeing the kids spilled and splattered onto the pavement -- I preferred not seeing them until they could stay on the bike, break and dismount without shedding one drop of blood. Fast-forward now to the teenage years and it being time to teach your oldest to drive. I guess technically it's an outdoor activity but since I can still sit in the comfort of air conditioning or heat, I didn't mind taking on the challenge. I very vividly remember sitting in that blue Impala driving around the Randhurst parking lot with my Mom -- good times -- those were the days! I can make the same lasting memories with my kids --.

For the past year I've been Amanda's primary driving instructor. If I've learned anything from this experience it has been -- Jerry will have to be Monica and Zach's primary driving instructor. I will develop a serious heart condition if I have to go through this experience again. Amanda gets all flustered with me and she often whines, "Don't yell at me while I'm driving." It's not that I yell as a disciplinary action and I think my yelling is warranted. You know, when you see an ambulance coming head on and your driving daughter oblivious to its existence, I don't think yelling, "STOP! GET OVER! AMBULUANCE HEAD ON!" is unreasonable. I also don't think it unreasonable to yell after that same driving daughter nonchalantly tells you, "What? I didn't see it." So yelling, "HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE OR HEAR AN AMBULUANCE FLASHING IT’S LIGHTS, COMING HEAD ON AND EVERY OTHER CAR ON THE ROAD PULLED OVER?" Hey, who says Lamaze is just for childbirth? Those breathing exercises come in handy when you feel like shaking sense into your child. Like I said earlier, patience is not my virtue.

Wanting to finish the job I started, I realized the only thing we've not yet done in Amanda's driving lessons was highway driving. To give Amanda credit, she really is a good driver. The mistakes she makes are just part of the learning process. The problem is me, mostly.

Sunday afternoon we were just all kind of hanging out so I decided to take Amanda out for a drive. Monica came with us as my intent was just to drive around town and perhaps stop for ice cream along the way. OK, I confess -- my intent was to get ice cream under the premise of taking Amanda out to drive. There, I said it! I'm so ashamed. We were driving around town only to find our little Ice Cream spot was closed. I decided we'd just drive around some more. When I saw we were approaching the on ramp to I-70, I decided it was time for some interstate experience. After all, Amanda has been driving for over a year now. It can't be avoided forever! In retrospect, I guess it would have been better for Amanda had we planned this and not just spring it on her. She didn't have time to emotionally prepare but that's what I thought was good! She didn't have time to worry about it -- and we all know what a worry wart she can be!

I instruct Amanda to get into the turning lane and she says, "There? Turn left? Going on the highway? There? Mom?" I sensed she was nervous so I acted like it was no big deal, "Sure. You're ready. Let's try it." We circled around the on ramp and as we approach the highway I'm now more nervous than she. What was I thinking? Is she really ready for this? I have Monica in the back seat for goodness sakes! Where is my clarity of mind? Amanda was very hesitant to merge into traffic so she was going quite slowly. I was in the passenger seat looking over my shoulder at this truck coming our way and the left lane blocked so he couldn't get over and I repeated, "Speed up, speed up, Amanda -- speed up.....! In the outside mirror I can see another van on our tail anxious to speed up for his own merge into traffic but not able to do so with Amanda in the way. My eyes are darting between the truck, road ahead, the van behind us and Amanda. In those split seconds I realize if I instruct her to break, we’re getting rear-ended by the van. If she doesn’t speed up, we’re getting run over by the truck. If we hit the guard rail, we’re getting smashed in by both. There is no shoulder to escape to. We are now sandwiched between a speeding truck, van and the guard rail. "Amanda, speed up. Don't be afraid. Speed up! SPEED UP! AMANDA!" She kept creeping along and finally I yelled, "FLOOR IT!" The next thing I knew my head was pinned against the head rest and out of the corner of my eye I could see Amanda's hands tightly gripping the wheel at the perfect 3 o'clock and 9 o'clock positions to the point her knuckles were bright white. We merged just ahead of the truck when, finding an opening in the left lane, the truck gets over and passes us. As my heart begins to slow down to a normal pace, I realize my right foot is pinned to the floor of the van in my attempt to make the ghost accelerator peddle on my side speed up the van. I relax my tightened muscles, take a deep breath and look over at Amanda. Her eyes were wide and intent on the road and her body was so stiff she looked like a statue. I don't think she was breathing so I said, "Relax Amanda. Take a deep breath. You did fine." I see her chest rise and fall as she takes in some air for the first time in several minutes (which is what it seemed like) and the color returns to her face. I look back at Monica who seemed to have taken the whole thing in stride -- her feathers never seem to get ruffled, so I thought.

Silence the rest of the way home.

Pulling into the driveway of 1019 Lofton Drive was never so comforting. As I get out of the van Monica approaches me from behind and in a very soft whisper she says to me, "Sissy almost killed us!"

Sissy did no such thing. Her mother, however, put two children and herself into a path of danger. Amanda didn’t speak a word about it.

Later that night while relaxing and playing cards, Amanda blurts out of no where, “Man, you just don’t realize how fast those cars are coming on the highway until you get behind the wheel.” We all broke into some nervous laughter and I felt a surge of relief, regret and pride.

It’s confirmed.

Jerry takes the helm with Monica and Zach’s driving lessons.

The Memory of My Mom

When you become a parent, you can't help but look for yourself or your spouse in their tiny faces. As soon as a child is born, the parents immediately try to decipher who the child most resembles. If there are other siblings, you compare their features and look for that family resemblance. I see more of a resemblance in my children when I look back at their pictures from years ago. It's amazing how much one can look like the other. One time my brother-in-law was looking at some old pictures and said, "Amanda looks like Zach with hair!" I do see an awful lot of Newsome in Amanda and Zach. Amanda shares a very strong likeness with her Newsome cousin Hope. Monica is more Dodge -- her dark skin and curly hair is distracting to my likeness but if you look beyond those things, you'll see how much of me there is in her. But no matter what the strong resemblance seems to be, I see both sides of the family in each child. I especially like when they make an expression and it eerily looks just like an aunt or cousin of theirs. Genetics amazes me - creation amazes me. The Creator amazes me!

My mother died in 1989 so my children never knew her. It's been so long now and sometimes I'm sad how much my memory of her has slipped my mind. I mean, of course I remember her but sometimes I strain to hear the sound of her voice and I can't hear it, can't remember it. It seems the harder I try, the further the memory gets away from me. Memories mostly sneak up on me -- a scent or a sound will suddenly take me back to a moment in time when I was with my Mom -- sometimes it makes me happy or laugh but mostly, it makes me sad to miss her so much -- to still need her so much. Memories of Mom are private to me and I never really have discovered why. I can only talk to my kids and my sisters about my Mom -- talking about her to anyone else seems so invasive on my personal life. I can't explain it - -I don't know it -- I just feel it.

I don’t often see my Mom in my kids --although every now and then I'll catch a glimpse of Mom in Monica's expression -- but it's really a rare thing. I always look for those things, inherited traits, in their physical features but one day something about my Mom surfaced and completely and totally knocked me off my feet. One day, just an ordinary day doing the things we do -- I was in the kitchen and Monica was sitting at the counter. In the course of the conversation Monica started laughing and at that point, my back was turned to her. At the sound of her laughter, chills ran down my spine, tears welled up in my eyes and I felt like I had frozen in place and if I moved, I would just break into pieces. The most extraordinary sound reached my ears and threw me for a loop -- the sound of Monica's laughter was EXACTLY like my mother's. It wasn't as if I heard something similar to Mom. No, it was as if I was hearing my Mom. It was so real to me I felt if I turned around, there my mother would be but I knew that wasn't possible.

And yet, she was.

Mom is gone but in me and Amanda, Monica, Zachary and all of her descendents, she lives on.

Her smile beams on Courtney's face. Her laughter resonates in Monica's voice. Her compassion lives in Brittany's heart. Her art transforms through Sam's hands. Her music sings in Jeremy's soul. Her beauty radiates on Shelby's face. Her creativity runs through Emily's being. Her faithfulness is grounded in the essence of Amanda . Her tenderness is wrapped around Spencer's heart. Her eyes are seen where Zachary's lay. Her dedication serves at the hands of Val. Her liveliness jumps in the spirit of Sophie.

Her love drives us all.

In the simple ways we live our lives, we capture Mom. Just when a memory seems too faded to recall, it finds its way back to my heart through a smile or laughter or gesture in one of us.

I think Zach summed it up quite nicely one day when he said, "I think of Aubela as being the best of you, Aunt Val and Sassy all rolled into one."

The memory of my Mom is alive in all of us. I can hear her and touch her and see her. Our children know her because they know us. I will never forget her. I will never stop missing her but I will always be with her when I am with one of us.

Monica

One of the joys and challenges in parenting three children is the uniqueness each brings to the family. I loved discovering all of the likes and dislikes of each of my newborn babies. As those babies grew, it was my joy to walk along side them in the activities and interests they each pursued. I think I know each of my children better than anyone knows them and maybe even a little better than they know themselves. I've been so attentive to who they are and who they were becoming their whole lives and all of that is emblazed in my mind. Though I do admit, as they approach their adult years, I find myself knowing less about their personal style but when it comes to the core of their personalities, I pretty much have that pegged.

Or so I thought.

Monica has always been our strong and brave child. As a young toddler, in the middle of the night she'd venture out into the darkness of our home in search of a cookie or a favorite toy. She was the only one of the three that didn't seek the comfort of Mom and Dad's bed during a storm or after a bad dream. She was such a sweet and adoring child and yet, had this rough exterior that kept most people at bay. In that oxymoron way Monica operates, she was a very loving child and very affectionate -- and yet, she kept the deepest places of heart locked up and guarded. It was a rare occasion even to see her cry.

I was less emotional taking this child off to college as I was the first because SHE was less emotional about going. In her usual way, she portrayed an armor of strength which made me feel more at ease. That's not to say, however; that I wasn't sad about her leaving. Monica has always been my partner --where I am, she is. Where I go, she goes. What I do, she does. I knew I was going to miss her presence tremendously but I worried less about her dealing with it.

The day we took Monica to Kent I woke up a bit confident with a sort of "been there, done that" attitude in my heart. Eh, we already took one daughter off to college - -this is a piece of cake! We felt more prepared in what she needed to bring and how to accomplish moving her into a 7th floor dorm room. We loaded up and we were off.

The move-in was much of what's to be expected and quite uneventful. As the day moved along though, my heart grew heavier in anticipation of that final good bye. When that time came, Monica walked us out to our van. She said good-bye to her Dad and he got into the van. She and I stood in front of our van for a long time. She would not leave. She got back into the van and said she was going back home with us. Every time I tried to say goodbye she would simply say, "No." I had to get out and pull her from our van. Again we stood there in silence and her eyes could not conceal the truth that she herself had no strength to build walls of an unwelcoming nature. Like a river, her every emotion, untainted and true, flowed freely from her expressions. It broke my heart.

As I stood there in the parking lot, it occurred to me I was receiving a very special gift. Monica, for the first time ever to me and probably the first time ever to anyone, was fully exposing her heart. As her guard was let down and all those fortresses crumbled, her heart seemed so raw to me. There she was so vulnerable and pure and I knew that I wanted to not only cherish the moment and linger it in but also to protect her and accept this honor of her fully trusting me with her soul.

And yet . . .

In those moments a mothering instinct kicked in that was far beyond me. I found myself reacting contrary to what I would have expected. There was no part of me that wanted to bring Monica back home. I wanted her to fly. I knew it was time. It was sad for me, no doubt, but it also just felt right. It took some lingering and convincing but Monica finally walked away from the van. As she headed towards her dorm I called out to her, "Flap your wings!"

I got back into the van and Jerry backed out of our parking space and we could see Monica walking away. He stopped the van and then in complete silence we just sat there watching her get further and further away - -until she disappeared back into the dorm. Jerry then slowly pulled away.

Driving away I suddenly remembered how much my children hated shots when they were younger and Monica! That child would throw an absolute fit. It usually took one nurse to hold her arms, me to hold her legs and another nurse to administer the injection. I hated doing that to her and I especially hated how pitiful she looked to me as if to say, "Mommy, why are you doing this to me?" But I knew I was doing what was good for her and though it was difficult to do at the time, it was a long lasting benefit to her health. I didn't like or enjoy it, but I did it because I loved her.

Leaving her at Kent felt somewhat like that -- having her to endure pain for a little while to reap long lasting benefits.

Its 2 months later now and mere words could not do justice to explain how much I miss Monica but in the silence of the dark nights, I hear the soft flutter of flapping wings.

And we're okay.

Random Ramblings

Monica went to Florida with Winterguard and she got her ear (cartilage) pierced and I don't have much to say about that -- I don't have a long post about elephants or eagles because I learned that hard lesson when Amanda spread her 18 year old wings and besides, when Monica sent me the pic of her ear I sighed and thought, "Whew, it's not a tattoo."

Zach had an awesome basketball season and I really should give him props with an entire posting just for him but -- maybe I'll work on that later. He's now playing AAU basketball and today is his first tournament. I think the extra playing experience will be good for him for his Varsity year next year.

Monica got accepted to Kent State so April 14th we're headed up there to register her for fall classes and yes -- I guess that deserves a whole posting of itself too but well -- I'm losing my blogging touch, aren't I? I don't like to think of Monica being old enough for college so I just pretend it's not happening. When the reality of it all hits, the day I'm driving away from Kent having dropped her off, I'll probably have a long story to write about that. It's funny -- when I showed Jerry the picture of Monica's pierced ear he paused and said, "I don't think we should let her go all the way to Kent State."

My grandmother is going to be 90 in October and that has nothing to do with anything and October is pretty far away so yeah -- the title of this post is "Random Ramblings" and that was pretty random, wasn't it? But I think about her all of the time.

I started ride-sharing with a lady that lives in my area and works out by me too. I found her through a website that connects would-be commuters. Now I can't say I'm loving it -- because it does limit my freedom and take more time -- but it's saving money and miles on my van and I feel like I'm being a little more responsible toward the environment so -- I'm sticking with it, I guess. Notice the lack of enthusiasm? RSL (Ride Share Lady) is very nice and we have great conversations. She's a Christian so we have a lot of common ground. I love how God puts people in my life like that. I've been doing all of the driving but next week she's going to drive.

So that all the random ramblings I have for now. I was kind of just killing time while I waited for a load of clothes to dry so . . . I think they're ready now.

To My Teenagers

I do not want to be your best friend. I am your mother, the position of authority remains with me. I don't care how much you might tower over me, size or height does not equate authority. The transfer of authority from me to you will happen the first time you have to change my Depends.

The last thing I want to be in your eyes is a hypocrite so I will try not to tell you, "Do as I say, not as I do." I want to set a good example for you but be patient, I am imperfect.

"Because I said so!” now that's a cliché I might sometimes use. I will try my best to always give you an explanation but sometimes your behavior or attitude doesn't warrant me to explain myself and other times, I simply do not have the time to go into it.

Not having time for your needs does not mean they are not important to me. There is one of me against 4 other family members. Please understand and do not feel slighted when I have to take care of someone else before you.

I am not your maid, cook or chauffeur so please do not treat me as such. This is not Burger King so you can't always "have it your way". I expect you to pick up after yourself and do your part as a member of this family to keep our home safe, clean and happy.

The day you were born in blazed in my memory forever. It was the perfect culmination of God's creation in which he used two broken vessels such as myself and your father and created you and the greatest miracle of all, entrusted your life to us. I will never forget the day of your birth and because it brings me such immeasurable joy, I will tell you about it over and over again. Please do not ask me to stop doing so.

I realize you're almost an adult and you have a full grown adult sized body but when I look deep into your eyes or beyond your sassy smile, I can still see that precious baby I once held in my arms and nestled into my neck. I can't help it, no matter how old you get to be, you'll always be my baby.

When you lie to me, you are hurting yourself more than anyone else. I know how difficult telling the truth may be but when you weave a web of deceit, it will crumble the foundation of your morale character that will destroy you. Also, I can't help you when I don't know the whole truth. Do not break my trust in you.

If you ever are in trouble, no matter how terrible the situation might seem, I can help you far better than your friends can. I have the maturity, experience and resources to help you find your way out, your friends do not. Come to me before you go to them.

I would rather you have one true friend than 50 superficial friends. Popularity only lasts 4 years of high school; true friends can last a life time.

The risk of STD's and pregnancy are real as are the harmful effects of drug and alcohol use. Those are important enough reasons to abstain from premarital sexual activity and drug or alcohol use but the real reason I want you to chose not to is simply; you have been created by God, in the image of God and for God. You are a masterpiece of your Creator. Respect your body as such and do not defile His creation with such foolish sin. It will harm your body and torment your soul.

When you lose a game or competition it's probably because you and your teammates made a mistake or the other team just played better, not because they cheated or the refs cheated. When you lose, do it with dignity and learn from it and become a better player/performer because of it.

Your teachers and coaches have your best interest in mind, I doubt they lie to me about your grades or behaviors so when you get in trouble at school, please don’t try to blame them. Accept responsibility for your actions. If you tell me someone has cheated you or an injustice has been served, I will fight for your honor and if it is later revealed you were not truthful, you leave both of us looking foolish but most importantly, you harm my credibility and then when a real injustice is done, my voice may not be heard.

The world is full of mean people. Never be one of them.

The world is full of kind people. Always strive to be one of them.

The purpose of dating is for two mature individuals to eventually find the life mate God has intended for them. High school age is not the time to start looking for that person. Exclusively dating one person leads to a false sense of belonging to each other, which leads to kissing, which can lead to other things too. In your young teen years, you do not have the maturity to control those things so just remove the temptation in your life all together. You may occasionally go on dates and to dances but you will not be permitted to exclusively date one person or have a girlfriend/boyfriend. Enjoy your high school years without all that drama and when the time comes that dating is proper for your age, proceed with prayer and caution.

I reserve the right to choose your friends. You may be friends with whomever you choose however; if I see their influence on you is decaying your moral character and causing you to make bad choices in your life, I will limit the time you spend with them or even demand you sever your ties with them. This is not negotiable no matter how upset or angry that makes you, my age and experience allows me to see far deeper than you are capable of.

I want you to have the freedom to express yourself in the way you dress, music choice and other areas of personal choice however; you may not cross the line in decency or morality. If you cross that line, I will intervene.

It is not possible for me to love one of my children more than the other and everything I do is with each child's best interest in mind. You will always be equally loved by me however; you will not always be equally treated by me. Each child has their own level of responsibility and maturity at different stages in their life. What one child might have done at age 15 another child might not be ready to do until 17. It is not unjust nor is it favoritism -- it is simply weighing each circumstance with the uniqueness of each child and acting accordingly.

Though the law says you can drive at age 16, we your parents say you can drive when we feel you have earned the privilege. That's right, EARNED. It is not your birth right to take our vehicle to the road while we pay for your insurance and gas. That is earned by you demonstrating responsibility, trust, maturity and obedience to other rules set forth. The most important factor in deciding when you are able to drive is your safety. We just aren't willing to risk that.

I do not want to pressure you to be the star player, get the Varsity letter, make honor roll, be or popular among your friends or anything else however; I do want you to push yourself to the limit and employ all the gifts and talents God has graced you with. I want you to put forth your best efforts because though your father and I will be extremely proud of you, the person you will please the most is yourself.

What might seem an act of meanness to you is my sincerest efforts in protecting you.

Every time I look at you I think to myself I love you to the fullest extent that my heart is able -- and then a new day dawns and I find myself loving you even more than I did before. God keeps growing my heart bigger and deeper and every day I fall more and more madly in love with you.

But no matter how much I love you, God loves you infinitely more. Learn to lean on Him before me because I am only your mother; he is your Creator, Sustainer, Savior, & Father. Therein lies your source of significance & life with a wellspring of grace, mercy and forgiveness.


Love, Mom