Tangled Reflections

Yvonne at My Back Door is hosting Fiction Fridays today, so hop on over there for more great fiction.

The bathroom mirror reflected more than outward appearances that day. Nancy’s grim face was lined with frustration, and her eight-year-old daughter was shrieking with anger.

“Moooooom, You’re hurrrrrrrrting my head! STOP!” Splotchy patches of pink covered Melissa’s tear-stained face.

“I’ve told you a hundred times to comb your hair every day, Missy.” Nancy’s biting continued. “These are your consequences. When you don’t comb your hair out, it gets tangles. Then when you do try to comb your hair out, it hurts. It’s as simple as that.” She couldn’t help patterning the strokes of the hairbrush after the rhythm of her nagging tone.

“OUCH, not so hard, Mom. It hurrrts.”

Her shrill sobbing sent a twinge of pain through Nancy’s forehead. “Yeah, well it hurts me when you don’t obey me. Your room is a mess. The house is a mess. YOU’RE a mess.”

Having had enough of her mom’s condescending tone and painful grooming, Melissa shouted, “FINE, then give me the brush and I’LL fix it.” She yanked angrily away from her mother and grabbed the sweaty hairbrush from her.

“Go ahead, you do that!” Nancy slammed the bathroom door behind in a huff.

I’m so sick of the whining. Doesn’t she know how much that grates on my nerves? Nancy grabbed a wet towel off the floor and started up again. “Wrinkled wet towels get moldy, you know.”

As she stomped through Missy’s messy room, she stepped on a sharp Lego. “ow, Ow, OW!” She could still hear her daughter sobbing behind the closed door as she hopped on one foot through the hallway.

Why do I even bother? “NOBODY helps me around here, and I’m just so sick of all the mess. PLEASE STOP CRYING.”

“I hate it when you’re frustrated! Why can’t you just be patient?” Melissa lashed out at her mother loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Even through the walls, Melissa’s tantrum sent waves of frustration through Nancy’s body. She put her hands over her ears and proceeded to the kitchen. “Better start getting supper ready. Who even cares that I haven’t had a chance to clean up from lunch yet?” She slammed a pot down on the stove burner. “No ONE. That’s what I thought.”

She looked out her kitchen window and noticed a hummingbird outside as she washed her hands. Her stained-glass sun catcher reflected a convicting message: 'And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:7.'

All of a sudden, she noticed the house was totally silent. Oh, thank goodness, she’s finally quit crying. "I’m so sorry, Lord. Please help me to spread peace instead of anger.”

Nancy began to feel compassion for the small trauma that her daughter was experiencing and decided she would turn it into a teachable moment. I’m the mother. I’m supposed to be the calm one. Before she could get to her, the wailing had begun again.

“Ma-maaaaaa. Help!”

Nancy ran the rest of the way. When she opened the bathroom door and looked at her daughter in the mirror, she could not believe her eyes. Although her heart was racing, she kept a tender tone. “Sweetheart, what did you do?”

Little Melissa was standing in a pile of jet-black hair. She sniffled and whimpered in between words. “I—was--sooo—mad—at—you. I wanted to make you mad, but now…” She looked in the mirror again and started to yowl. “Now look at iiiiiit. I look like a weeeirrrrrdoooo.”

Scooping Melissa up in her arms, she overcame the horror she felt at the sight of her beautiful daughter’s hair. It was ruined beyond help. Melissa’s school scissors lay on the vanity surrounded by locks of tangled curly hair.

God, please help me work through this tangled mess I’ve made.

“Sweet Missy, I am so sorry for my anger,” Nancy whispered into her daughter’s hair-filled ears. As she noticed a near bald spot right above her ear, she kissed it tenderly. “Next time we’re mad at each other, Mommy will just stop and say a prayer, okay?”

Melissa whimpered. “I’m sorry, too. She dug her shagged hair into her mama’s neck. “I feel so ugly, Mama. Can we stop and pray now?”

Yes, the bathroom mirror reflected more than outward appearances that day. Nancy’s grim face was lined with regret, and her eight-year-old daughter was sobbing with sorrow. But the glorious reflection of God’s grace shone brightly through it all as they prayed.


*Scripture reference taken from the NIV.

In the Key of HE,

A Day In My Life As Mama, from A to Z

This is a mini writing challenge I did for Faithwriters a little while back. I thought it would be fun to share here, since it is singing my lifesong (well, a somewhat dramatized and exaggerated form of it) in the form of the alphabet.

The A to Z Challenge

1) Use the entire alphabet - A to Z
2) 26 lines - it does NOT have to be a poem - and try to stay on one topic!
3) Alphabet letters can appear at the beginning, middle or end of the words--for example: Xerox Example Fox
4) No word limit

************

Austin, AnaLee and Allison, aka, the “A” Team, are part of the sanctification process for me. Before I say much else, please don’t hold the following information against me or report me to the authorities.

Caring for the “A” team is a blessing, but it isn’t always a picnic. Drama—our home is all about it, as I am probably considered the capital "D" Director of it. Except for an occasional calm day, there is almost always some sort of ordeal.

For one, my oldest child—my new GIANT son (now taller than me)—is beginning to seem a little like Jekyll and Hyde. Growing into a Gigantor overnight isn't easy, I'm sure, but it has to be easier on him than it is on me. He used to be my little compliant baby boy, but now I’m compelled to keep all eyes on him—even the ones in the back of my head. I know I can’t be there every second, but I regularly remind him that God sees, even when I’m otherwise occupied.

Just when I think I’m getting through to him, it’s time for my second child, AnaLee to work the drama. Keeping an eye on her is not a problem at all, as she makes sure she is in my constant view (and earshot). Lots of love can be lost between the two of us if I am not loving her God’s way. Maybe that’s because we are so much alike. Needing extra time in the spotlight, she regularly belts out her favorite song.

“Open the eyes of my heart, Lord" will bellow from her throat voice loud enough to open my ears wide, too. “Pretty, sing pretty,” I remind her. Quick to earn my praise, she then sings the way God made her to sing, bringing this mama to tears.

Running around the house all the while—or should I say “RrrrUFF”ing around the house, is my youngest, as she is a dog freak. Speaking in Spot’s language, she will beg all of us, any of us, to pull her around on her leash as she dutifully plays her role of ‘Man’s Best Friend.’ To add to the chaos, our REAL dog, ABBY (yes, another “A”), decides to snip and snap at Ally-Spot, because she doesn’t like the competition. Unruliness can become an issue, so I often have to step in before someone ends up getting bit by ONE of the dogs in the family.

Visiting friends regularly comment on the less than ideal noise level in my home, but they are kind to stop before making me feel too terrible about my parenting skills, or the lack thereof. What’s this desperate, dramatic, David-like mama to do? X-rays of the head may be considered in my near future, but I'll have to keep you posted on that idea.

You may be thinking about calling ‘Super-Nanny’ on my behalf, but first let me request a favor: Zoom out, and you will see a mama who loves her kiddos, all the way from A to Z, and I’m so thankful that God never stops parenting ME.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, 

that we should be called children of God! 

And that is what we are!” 

1 John 3:1a

How bout ya'all? Any of you need a blog post to write? Give the challenge a try if you dare!

In the Key of HE,

What Am I, Apples and Peanut Butter?

I felt rejected. And jealous. Yanking off my apron and tossing it on the table, my emotions took over my vocal chords. “What am I, Jen, apples and peanut butter?” I cried to my daughter.

She justified, “No, Mom, it’s just that Dad builds the best Lego castles, you know that.”

“Oh yeah?" Pity Party time. "Well, I know a thing or two about Lego Castles, little Miss Jenny—and you’re missing out.” I shuffled into another room to mope.

After all these years of feeding, bathing and homeschooling—day in and day out—now all they want is Dad. “Dad, can you play with me?” “Put me on your shoulders, Dad.” Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, DAD.

Regaining my confidence, I attempted to bond with my son. “Hey, Justin—ya’ wanna show me what you’ve been destroying on SpyScape?”

“Just a minute, Mom. Dad and I are trying to win this quest together,” he replied, eyes glued to the computer.

“What do you mean? Dad’s at work,” I objected.

“Well, he’s taking his lunch break to play online with me.”

“Oh?” My bottom lip popped out--wayyyyyy out. “How fun for the two of you.”

Figures. I moped again, aimlessly wandering to the next room.

It’s not that I don’t want them to like their Dad…it’s just that all I’m known for around here is whipping up apples and peanut butter for a snack. What happened to “Her children will rise up and call her blessed?” I used to be blessed. I wanna feel like the blessed Mommy again.

Little Jen crashed my pity party. “Mom, can I call Dad?”

“No, honey, he’s busy. What do you need?”

“I want him to draw me a camel.”

“A camel—Daddy doesn’t have time to draw camels at work, Sweetie, but I’ll help you.”

Jen hung her head in polite surrender. “Welllll—okay.”

Here’s my chance to put moms everywhere in the spotlight again. My weepy heart began to swell with excitement. “Now, just let me find one on my handy, dandy Mac. I go to ‘Search’ right here, and type, ‘Camel pictures.’ See honey? This will be eeeeasy breeeezy.”

Ten minutes went by, and I could not find a single traceable picture of a camel. Jen had given up on me. “You know, who needs camels anyway? I’ll just go draw a ladybug or something.”

“NO,” I blubbered, “I’ll get you a camel…All I have to do is type in ‘Camel Coloring Book’….Bingo! Look—481,000 results. And the very first one says, ‘Camel Coloring Pages.’”

Like a triumphant warrior, I clicked on the link only to receive a message on my screen saying “SAFARI CANNOT OPEN THIS PAGE.” I clicked like a maniac, and the same dadgum message appeared over and again.

“Now can I call Daddy?” an exasperated Jen whined.

“NO, you most certainly will not bother Daddy at work.” I chomped my upper lip. “I can fix this.”

Justin yelled from upstairs. “Jenny, you don’t need to call Daddy, I’ve got him right here on I.M.”

“OH, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she shrieked with delight as she ran to the likes of Dad via instant messenger.

All she wanted was a camel, Karen. You can’t even come up with ONE camel?

I sat there, completely defeated—defeated by Legos—defeated by technology—defeated by Dad.

The three of them are just up there gabbing away, and here I sit all alone staring at a big, ugly camel.

Apparently, Safari had found its page in Egypt or something.

“A camel?!!? Hey, Jen, I found a camel.” I turned into a giddy ninny. “Go get the camel off the printer. That didn’t come out right, but hey, who’s the bomb now? Huh?”

“Thanks, Mom, NOW I have two camels. Daddy sent me one to Justin’s email.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, a defeated smirk smeared across my face.

“Hey, Mom, everything okay?” Justin had the audacity to ask as he slithered into the room.

“Oh, Son, I’m just a big bag of crazy today. You sure you wanna open it?”

“Uhhhhhhhh, Oooo-kayyyyy...but can I open it after you slice me up some apples and peanut butter?” he said, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together. “You do it best, Mom.”

“Music to my ears, dear Justin.” I hugged him like nobody’s business, and he tolerated it.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Mom. Dad said he loves you and that he is the most blessed man on earth.”

“He did, did he?” I suddenly realized what a lunatic I had been.

“Hey Mom, where ya goin’?”

“What am I, apples and peanut butter? I’m goin’ to call the greatest Dad on earth.”

******

Scripture reference--Proverbs 31:28, NIV

***Sentiment is all in fun, for "those" mom days...enjoy!

***Special blessings to all the dads who rock their kids' worlds. And their wives' too! :D

At the Well Monday/Raising Godly Boys--Yikes!

Lori at I'll Take it Lord, all You Have to Give is the hostess of "At the Well" this week.



I have to tell you, the topic of raising Godly boys has thrown me a bit of a loop. Lori threw out some INcredUlous questions on the subject, however, which are the following:

1.What advice would I give to women to raise Godly boys?

2.If you are raising boys, what areas concern you most?

3.If you don't have or haven't raised boys, what is your concern for boys in today's culture?

Okay, so nobody gets to bow out of this one...she's covered all the bases. So go on over to her place and sign the Mr. Linky, then give us your thoughts on the subject. Doesn't have to be anything fancy, but you know, we're all in this together, and our answers to the questions just might help each other out a bit. If you don't have time to blog about it, just leave your thoughts right here...NEED to hear from you on this one.

So back to why this has thrown me for a loop. A loop-d-loop actually. My firstborn--my baby boy--my Little Sweetness (my name for him in the womb)--is now a thirteen-year-old giant. I'm not kidding you, I was JUST holding him, reading the I'll Love You Forever book to him while rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...NOW I've fallen off my rocker because he came up behind it and pushed me out of it by force of his pinky.

I've been through so much with him the last year...learned a lot...been humbled quite a bit (both of us). And he would be completely humiliated if I publicized to the whole world why and how and what. So I won't. All I can say is that I pray a TON. More than I ever have before. The struggles that a teenage boy has to go through majorly blows me away. Their thought life is so complicated, so foreign to me.

My opinions shared today are those based on being the mom of a new teenager. The way you parent your toddler will be different from the way you raise your son who is growing up in his pre-teen to teenage years. If you're not there yet, hold on to your hat, because fast forward is already in motion.

After praying about this post, the best advice I can give you at my stage of parenting is to pray. Pray that he owns his faith--not you. Pray that when you turn your head, he knows where to turn when temptation strikes. Pray that you will have wisdom to know what freedoms to give and not to give. Pray that you will know how far to let him go before you become Mama Buttinsky. Pray that HE will have wisdom in situations where Mama Buttinsky is not around. Pray, pray pray. And when things seem okay, like he is Godly and rooted and "better behaved" than other boys his age, pray some more. Maybe even more at that moment.

Communicate. Don't ridicule. Don't exasperate. Don't humiliate. Communicate. What are his likes? His dislikes? What in the world does he think about this and that and the other? Be amazed and thrilled at the differences in reasoning and logic, listening more than lecturing.

Learn. Learn from what you learn from your communication with him. Learn from others who have gone before you. Learn from God's Word. Learn from good books. Never stop learning. Learning as you listen.

Stop saying "never." The stuff you said you would "never let your son do." Don't be afraid to pray about that, reevaluate that and be open before God about what is best for the way your son is wired. Make sure you have consulted the One who knows your baby boy better than you do. Be open-minded as you pray, communicate, listen and learn.

Let the ponytail down every now and then. Remember, our boys get to a point where they want adventure, they want action...they want to be busy all the time. Keep reminding them that it's good to be still, and it's great to chillax, but don't forget to be a little crazy with them sometimes too. This is my achilles heel in parenting. I would rather teach him how to behave and journal and pray (which are essentials) than to let him teach me how to have an adventure and do something out of my comfort zone. But nothing brings us closer than when I do some stuff his way every now and then. That leads me back to more prayer...and listening and learning...

Anyway, rambling. Quite honestly, I have never had to exercise more faith than I have to at this stage in my son's life. I know more is to come, but right now, I'm consumed with what I have in front of me: and that is a very very tall, fuzzy-upper lipped, deep-voiced (with a touch of croak), testosterone-filled boy. One who loves Jesus, who wants to live for God, who sets an example for other boys...but is struggling with what it means to do all of the above with genuine faith--not the kind his parents pressure him into, but the kind he desires passionately with his whole heart, soul, mind and strength.

Which leads me back to prayer...

Worship On My Mind

***Posted for Patty Wysong's Fiction Fridays. For more great fiction, click here: http://pattywysong.blogspot.com

hurry, Hurry, HuRRy, HURRY UP! My thoughts were racing as I lugged my six-year-old across the church parking lot with her wrist in my tightly gripped palm. “Mommy, this shoe isn’t tight enooooough!” she whined while stomping her foot on the pavement for dramatic effect.

“You’ll live! I’ve tied it three times already, now hurry up!” My barking softened to a whine, “Come on, sweetie, I don’t want to be late for worship time.” We funneled through the crowd inside the building, somewhat lopsided from her dragging and me pulling. Oh boy, lots of familiar faces. “Hi, I’m fine. How are you?” Boy, can I fake it when I need to. “Hey there!” Big plastered smile.

The smile quickly turned upside down. “What!?! Her room is full,” I huffed to the check-in lady, What’s-Her-Name. “You’ve GOT to be kidding!” Oh, what’s the point? Great, now my daughter is crying, and I am fuming, but we will not miss the worship time, no sir-ee! I scooped her up in my arms, set my eyes straight ahead as to not make eye contact with anyone and darted into the church service out of sheer determination to get my fix. I yell-whispered a “HUSH IT” into my daughter’s flushed ear, and she dug her head into my shoulder to end her whimpering.

Bummer! It’s already started, I complained inside my mind. Down one aisle, nope, no seat. Down the next….So much for being discreet. Oh, there was a spot in the middle…I wish those people would move in. No such luck. “Sorry, excuse me,” I half-heartedly uttered through my clinched teeth while trying not to step on anyone’s foot or purse or Bible.

There. I released a deep breath, thankful that it was finally time to worship. My little one decided that it was finally time to tighten her shoe. I tightened it, alright! And put a triple knot in it. She looked up at me with those red eyes and started to plead…. No way! After seeing my “don’t you dare” glare, she changed her mind about asking me to attend to the other shoe.

Everyone was clapping and swaying as I dug desperately through my purse to find something with kid appeal. If she will just leave me alone, then—THEN I can finally sing. “Here, sweetie, draw me a picture of worship,” I pleaded as she grabbed the notebook and pen I had found. There. All settled. I began to praise with a grin as big as Texas on my face. “It’s all about You,” I sang. It repeated once.

Wow, those drums are loud...Oh well. “It’s all about You, Jesus,” I belted out…until I noticed my Bible study leader across the aisle. I wondered why she wasn’t singing. That’s strange. I couldn’t help but hope that my mentor would notice me giving my all to the Lord in robust praise. The last chord of the guitar strummed, and I was so bummed! I reluctantly took my seat along with the others. It’s time to sit down already? I just got here.

Oh good, they’re starting another song. Ah, yes, “We fall down, we lay our crowns at the feet of Jesus….” In the middle of this worshipful moment, right NOW! What are they talking about? I restrained myself from tapping the shoulders of the two ladies conversing in front of me. The guy two rows up to the left took a drink of his out of his shiny silver coffee mug. We’re worshipping, people!

As I sat heartbroken in that spot bravely holding back the tears, I looked down at my daughter, fully expecting to be interrupted by her again. And I was.

She sat there melted into the pew with her head and her hands raised toward heaven. On her lap sat her sketch—Jesus hanging on the cross with thorns on His head and nails in His hands---The top read, “My Pikcher of Wership.” It wasn’t a sketch—no—it was a MASTERpiece! Lord, forgive me. My heart has been so selfish!

In was in that unexpected moment that I finally got to worship, and it had nothing to do with the music, nothing to do with the crowd, and it especially had nothing to do with me.

In that true moment of worship, it was finally ALL about Him.

“I will thank the LORD with all my heart
as I meet with his godly people.”
Psalm 111:1 (NLT)

Mad Housewife

I'm mad alright--as a hornet!  And I'm hoping writing this blog will help me calm down a bit.

So first I'm desperate--now I'm mad!  Why are housewives getting picked on so much?

You see, I'm standing in line at the grocery store this evening, and right on the end cap of the candy rack is...I'm not kidding you...a wine being showcased called "Mad Housewife." And it's not just at the end of my row, it's at the end of every row! 

What's up with that?

You know, it's high time housewives started standing up for ourselves. Why does the media company think we're so unhappy that we need to have a show about us desperately reaching out to all kinds of sinful habits to be happy again? Why does a winery think that we're so unhappy or "mad" that we'll buy their product to solve our problems?

Aaaaahhhhh!  Just makes me so mad!

My prayer is that as housewives--or family managers or whatever new title we have come up with to bring dignity back to our position--would begin to show the world what we're made of. By being God-strong, God-confident, God-sufficient and God-consuming, we can take back our name. One of two things will happen. Either they'll all leave us alone because they know they can't win or they'll fight harder.

I'm calming down now, and I'm reminded in my spirit that the battle belongs to the Lord. It will be fought on my knees, in my mind and through my words and actions.  I only hope that some other mad housewives will join me along the way...

Ephesians 6:11-13 (The Message)

And that about wraps it up. God is strong, and he wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we'll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.
Be prepared. You're up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it's all over but the shouting you'll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You'll need them throughout your life. God's Word is an indispensable weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other's spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out.

Mama On My Mind

It would have been my mama's birthday today. May 7th, same as my hubby's birthday too. I find myself wishing that God had called me out to write Mom's story while she was still alive, because she has quite a phenomenal story indeed. Can't seem to get my mama off my mind.

The bottom line is that she was handicapped by a tragic car accident in her adulthood. The damage from it caused her years and years of horrific pain that I'm sure no more than a handful have experienced in their lifetime. Though it's taken me my whole life to learn, I am forever endebted to the example she set for me in the faith.

When I get disgruntled, her memory is there. When I get discontent, her memory is there. When I get insecure, her memory is always there. As Mother's Day approaches, it will be my second without her to call on the phone. I miss her. So happy she is whole in mind and body, but I miss her none the same.

God-in-her is the reason that I am who I am today. And what I am is someone who desperately depends on the Lord to get me through each day. She taught me the secret that so many Christians cannot even fathom. It is found in 1 Corinthians 1:27-29 (NIV):

"But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him."

The photo above is the last picture my sister and I had with my mom before she couldn't sit up for pictures anymore (only six months later).

Yup, I just got my mama on my mind today...so I may just have to sing a "Happy Birthday" song to her, even if it's just for me.


Two publications have posted my mom's tribute this month, and I am ever so thankful. One is a Christian newspaper in Amarillo, Texas. The other is an online ezine that is viewed all over the world. You can click here if you are interested in reading my mother's incredible story of courage and God-strength: 

http://journezine.com/May08/LessonsShaw/tabid/1648/Default.aspx