Heroism

With Memorial Day on the horizon we should each be pondering the question, "What is a hero?"  A serviceman or woman?  Most definitely!  Policemen, firemen, paramedics, and EMTs?  Absolutely!  Doctors and nurses?  Sure.  But then there's the unsung heroes.  I call mine "Mama."

Don't get me wrong--I am so proud to be an American.  I am eternally indebted to the men and women who sacrificed their lives so that I can be here now writing to you.  I hold my head high:  I am the daughter and granddaughter of veterans.  Daddy and Doodle (my maternal grandfather) were in the Navy; my Grandaddy Jones served during WWII in the Army.  I have several uncles and even more cousins who have written a check to the United States of American in the amount up to their lives.  Saying my family is patriotic is kind of an understatement.

But unsung heroes...  

I've been a wife four years.  I think it's probably the most gratifying yet least appreciated job I've ever had.  And I love it!  I think being a mom is probably similarly underappreciated.

My mother is nothing short, no pun intended (she just is 5'), of my hero.  She and Daddy have been married almost 30 years.  She has raised 3 awesome children.  (No conceit in my family--I have it all!)  She has said goodbye to one child and four grandchildren she never knew.  She welcomed Jon into her home and treats him just like she does Jessica, John, and me.  She has buried a parent.  She earned her BBA at the age of 45.  She has struggled in life, just like everybody else.  She's just plain wonderful!

Last night my mother and sister happened on a less than ideal circumstance.  Somehow, like she usually does, Mama she managed to stay calm and do what she could to help the situation.  This morning as she was recounting the details to me my heart broke for her, yet I couldn't help but feel proud.  MY mama helped somebody she didn't know.  Somebody else's child.  Was she thinking, "I'm doing this so when karma comes around somebody will be with my children?"  I doubt it.  I feel like it was more about trying to keep the situation as calm as possible.  Kinda reminds me of the Good Samaritan.  She did what she could to bring peace to an unspeakable scene.  The last thing on her mind, I feel, was "this will be a learning experience for my children."  

But this morning as Mama was telling me about the happenings, I couldn't help but think, "Even though I'm mostly-grown, pushing thirty, married, and the mother of four, I'm still learning from my mama."  I expect to learn from her the rest of her life.  Somehow, though, today I'm just a little more in awe of her.

Mama has taught me a lot of things.  She taught me to walk, she taught me the alphabet, she taught me to draw hearts, and she taught me to be responsible.  Mama has been my port in the storm on more than one occasion.  She has been tender and shown tough love.  She has disciplined me (in most creative ways) and has laughed with me.  She taught me to be compassionate and to value life.  But the most beneficial thing she taught me was to love Jesus.  My mother led me to the Lord 22 years ago.  

If she never does another thing, and I doubt she'll stop doing until Gabriel blows his trumpet, my mama will still be my hero.  Mama doesn't need a lot of recognition.  She isn't fond of pomp and attention being drawn to her. (Not sure where the three of us get that.  Daddy maybe?)   She's a great cook and a ton of fun.  I'm so glad to know my hero personally.

Who is your unsung hero?  Take a minute to thank God for him or her.  Then pick up the phone and give him or her a call.  It'll do you good, and help you, too.

Crime and Punishment--Mama Style

This morning I opened my refrigerator and realized it's time to clean it out.  That realization reminded me of a time my mother's refrigerator was in need of the same attention.

If you have known me for any amount of time you know I am a bit on the mouthy side.  Most of the trouble I got in as a child was because I had mouthed off at one of my parents.  While I do much better now, I still have days in which I can't seem to tame my tongue.  In fact, about two weeks ago I smarted off at Jon and he said, "One day your mouth is going to get you in a lot of trouble!".  One day!?  Haha!  How about since I've been talking!?

My mother is a brilliant and creative woman.  She was helpful with school project ideas (including but not limited to giving my daddy a haircut so I could make a monkey's paw).  She was helpful when I wrote papers in college; she proofed them and helped me word things better.  She always answered our questions to the best of her ability.  I use "always" liberally there because when you have three chatterbox children sometimes you say things just to get them to hush.  Mama taught us about Jesus and made Bible stories fun.  Oh, I could go on and on about her brilliance and creativity!

Along with her creativity about the fun things in life, my mother also was pretty slick when it came to punishments.  She took me to Bill's Dollar Store to get a Bolo paddle.  She made me stand in the corner.  One time when I sassed her she made me repeat what I'd said over and over until she told me to stop.  When I'd be fighting with Jessica (my sister) she'd make us sit on the sofa, hug, and tell each other we loved her.

And then there was the time I had to clean out the refrigerator.  I don't know exactly what I'd done, but I'm pretty sure it involved my mouth.

My mother loves stewed squash, and often makes it when she has fresh squash available.  It's basically cooking squash and an onion in a cast iron frying pan with bacon grease until it looks like somebody has been sick on your stove.  I've heard Mama say on more than on occasion, "If you can get past the looks of it you'll like it."  I've never been able to get past the looks of it.

So back to cleaning out the refrigerator.  We moved to a new house when I was 7.  But I will maintain to my death that my mother stewed that squash the day she found out she was expecting me and kept in the refrigerator, even moved it with us, until I had done something just south of the death penalty.  I'm thinking that I was around 8 or so when I was dealt this punishment.  I begged Mama to just let me throw away the bowl it was in.  She made me wash it.  You may not think it's such a big deal, but I assure you it made an impression.  It was disgusting!

And to this day, whenever I have to clean out my refrigerator, I think about that one punishment and almost smile.  It's highly likely that my mother will receive a call today and hear, "Mama, I've acted ugly.  It's time to clean out the refrigerator."  Your children may not remember WHY you punished them a certain way, but if you're creative enough they'll certainly remember the HOW.

Stewed squash, anyone?

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is upon us, and this year I have much to be thankful for.  You see, this time last year I was miscarrying our second child, Poppy.  We lost our first baby, Elizabeth Grace, the previous June and were devastated to find that Poppy's life could not be saved.  I was a very bitter soul.

At my parents' house each Thanksgiving we each tell something for which we are thankful.  I went ahead and warned both my mother and grandmother that I did not want to participate, and if they made me I would say I was thankful for underwear.  While I am thankful for unmentionables, it is easy to see that I had a bitter and tortured soul.  I can't tell you how many nights I cried myself to sleep and how often I begged God to take me so I could be with my babies.

Throughout the past year I have experienced more than I bargained for, and I've truly grown in many areas of my life.  I have learned so many lessons.  The biggest one is that I AM NOT IN CHARGE.  I would say that that has been the most difficult lesson of my life.  I have grown in my relationships with certain important people in my life.  I have learned to trust God completely.  Jon's and my marriage is far stronger than I ever thought possible.  (Don't get me wrong--there are still some days I could pinch his head off and smile about it!)  Losing three children will teach you how to handle trials together.

Yes, you read that correctly.  We have lost three children.  This past July, while Jon was working in Virginia and my parents were at a conference in Montana, there was a second pink line.  Like his brother and sister, Jot is with Jesus.  Each of our children is special to me.  I love all three beyond words.  However, I have to admit that I dealt better with Jot's loss than I did Ellie's or Poppy's. Don't get me wrong; I did fall into a deep, deep depression.  But it didn't take me as long to come out that fog.  Honestly, the only reason for that is my Heavenly Father.  He put His arms around me and comforted me.  God has listened to me question things I know to be true and cry "injustice."  He has also convicted me of my wrong thinking.  And He has spoken to me.  No, it was not audibly, but I heard His still, small voice in my heart giving me a promise.

But back to this Thanksgiving business.  Tuesday I went grocery shopping for the first time since our move.  The pantry had to be stocked and I had a lot to pick up for supper for the next two weeks.  I saw that my buggy was all but overflowing, and I thought, "Sarah, you don't know how fortunate you are."  I have never worried about where food was going to come from.  I have never worried about were I was going sleep.  I have been loved since my parents found out they were expecting me.  I am blessed.

While I never got to hold the children I carried, I can truly say that I am thankful for them.  They have helped me understand the love God has for you and me.  There is no way I'd give any of the three of my children to save anyone else, including myself.  But God did give His Son to give me the option of being in Heaven for eternity.  That very thought baffles me, but oh! how humbling it is.

Today I was able to tell Jon that even though my heart aches I am thankful.  I can talk about our children without crying.  I can walk through the baby department of stores without clenching my teeth or looking away.  There are still days that I shed tears, but that is to be expected.  After all, I am a mother with empty arms.

Even so, I am thankful.  I am thankful for Jon's and my health, and the health of our parents, and my siblings and grandparents.  I am thankful that God put Denna and Gratch (our dogs) in our lives.  We have a nice home and plenty to eat.  And I have Jesus Christ as my Savior.

Yes, I am thankful.

Mother's Day

Since June 9, 2011, I have dreaded tomorrow.  That was the day we found out Ellie had gone to Heaven.  (I already had my suspicions, but it was confirmed that day.)  We've been through a Father's Day since a loss, but not a Mother's Day.  Since last Mother's Day Jon and I have lost two children.  Last Mother's Day I was pregnant with Ellie and didn't know it.  The past year has been a test to me personally and our marriage.


I know tomorrow will be hard.  Jon and I have elected to skip church because it is too painful to see so many happy people recognized, while we grieve for the two babies we never met. I have a cousin who is also enduring this same emotion.  Our first children should be being passed around at Grandma's, being loved on by all their aunts, uncles, and cousins.  Or, assuming I've accepted the fact that Ellie is gone, my little cousin should be being loved on and my baby-filled belly being rubbed.  (Poppy was due July 16.)  


Instead my cousin and I are dreading tomorrow together, and doing our best to encourage one another.  But it recently occurred to me that I have more reason to celebrate Mother's Day than any other mother.  My children are already with Jesus.  Don't get me wrong; I miss them so much every day and I want to be selfish and have them here with me.  That isn't reality for me, though.  


I'm going to think of Ellie and Poppy, along with their cousins who are in Heaven with them, being passed around by their great-great-grandparents and their Aunt Jenny.  I know that my Ma Crabb and Mammy know them and have rocked them, just like Mammy rocked me.  (I was born during Ma Crabb's funeral.)  I don't remember my Aunt Jenny, but I know I would have loved her.  And I know she loves my children.  I've heard Mama talk about how gentle Aunt Jenny was with her family, and that her youngest daughter is natured like her.  Knowing that Ellie and Poppy are not only with Jesus, but also with their sweet, gentle aunt brings me comfort.  I didn't know Jon's grandparents, either.  They all passed away before I joined the family.  His grandmother, however, I understand held her faith very dear.  Elizabeth Grace is named after her.  I'm sure Mrs. Conrad is getting her turn of coddling her great-grandchildren.


I am so thankful and fortunate to have my mother as well as both grandmothers still living at the age of 27.  So many people don't.  I am even more thankful that when Jesus calls them Home they'll be with our children in Heaven.  All three women have helped to mold me into the person I am today. I treasure them, not just for giving life to me and my parents, but also because they have trusted Jesus as their Savior and passed that heritage to me.  Seeing a Christian life walked out is the best thing that can happen for a child.  I had that in all three women.  Since I've been an adult another very special lady has been thrown in the mix.  Mothers-in-law often aren't recognized, but I do appreciate mine.  She has encouraged me and loved me.  She has dealt with her own struggles (a diagnosis of cancer, now in remission, praise the Lord!), yet still gave me insight and shared wisdom regarding Jon.  Like my mother and grandmothers, she, too, will be with Jesus, Ellie and Poppy one day.


But on the flip side of my coin, there are people who don't have their mothers.  I'm not going to say I'd forgotten about them, but I will admit in my own pain I've not focused on them.  I know someone who is facing her first Mother's Day without her mother.  I can't imagine what she must be feeling.  I know our first Mother's Day without Mammy was beyond emotional.  Like children, mothers are irreplaceable.  My friend, however, like me, also has the assurance that her mother is with Jesus.  Though caught up in pain, that thought is still comforting.


Tomorrow, when I am overcome with emotion, I am going to remember that our children are far better off than we.  They are playing with their cousins and being rocked by their grandmamas in a wonderful place lit by Jesus' radiance.  And I will know that one day I will be with them... for eternity!!

Do you know Who I know?

In several of my posts I've mentioned my faith in Jesus.  Today as I was grieving with and for my family it occurred to me that I've spoken of my peace and hope, but I've never shared with my readers how to obtain it.

First of all, there's no trick or rain dance you have to do.  Nothing more is required of you than sincere words from a sincere and contrite heart.  Asking Jesus to be your Savior is so simple a child can do it.  (Matthew 19:14)  In fact, I'll share with you my story of coming to Jesus.

At the age of six I began asking my mother questions about asking Jesus into my heart.  I had the privilege of being raised in church.  I also have a mother who talked with me and answered my questions about death and Heaven.  She taught me that the only way to get to Heaven is by asking Jesus to come into my heart.  January 10, 1991, I was eating supper with my family.  At the table I decided I was ready to ask Jesus to be my Savior.  My mother asked me to wait until after supper, and I told her, "No, Mama.  I want to do it NOW."  And sitting at our table, with Jessica in a high chair, my mother led me in prayer.  Yes, it was a simple prayer, but it was oh so sincere.  I knew that I was a sinner and that I needed (and still need) a Savior.  Lucky for me (and you) God sent His Son to die for our sins .  I was baptized January 13, 1991, at South Thompson Baptist Church just outside Vidalia, Georgia.

That said, baptism is not required to be a Christian.  (In Greek "Christian" means "little Christ."  Christians are followers of Christ.)  It is a public showing of our faith and trust in Jesus as our Savior.

Now, the meat and potatoes of it:

Are you a sinner?  Do you do things you know are wrong?  Do you feel guilty?  The answer to all these questions should be "yes."

Do you need a Savior?  Do you want to avoid spending eternity apart from God?  Again, the answer to these questions should be "yes."

If you want a promise and a hope unlike any any human can give you, if you want to be in Heaven after you pass away please say these simple words, either aloud or in your heart  (God knows):

Dear Jesus, I know I am a sinner.  I know I need You.  Please forgive me for my sins and come into my heart.  Jesus, thank You for dying on the cross, for sacrificing Your life, to save mine.  Thank You for Your promise of eternal life with You and Your Father in Heaven.  Amen.

See?  It's very simple.  Let me give you this warning:  Becoming a Christian doesn't make you perfect.  You will still sin and you will fail.  But you can go to Jesus and ask him to forgive you each and every time.  He won't turn you away.  Jesus forgives us an unlimited amount of times.  However, when He lives in our hearts we strive to live for Him.  It's really not that hard.

While when you confess your sins and ask Jesus to be for Savior takes affect immediately, the change is not necessarily instantaneous.  Even though I have been a Christian over half my life I still have sins with which I struggle.  You'll find that when you spend time reading the Bible and in prayer life will be more peaceful.  We are not guaranteed lack of trials or pain.  We are, however, guaranteed comfort from the Comforter.

If you'd like Biblical references in regards to the things I've told you, let me know.  I'll lead you down the Roman road.

Please let me know if you come to know Jesus as Your Savior.  I will be able to pray for and with you.  And will I ever rejoice at the expansion of the Kingdom!!

Pain

Pain comes in multiple forms.  We have physical pain (hitting your thumb with a hammer).  We have emotional pain (a relationship problem or loss of a loved one).  Sometimes the two are combined (being sick and knowing your family will suffer from it... e.g. cancer).


With pain often comes exhaustion.  With just simple physical pain rest often makes it go away.  With emotional pain there are fewer choices for healing.  We have time.  We have pills (to dull the pain or to help us deal with it).  And we have Jesus.


Sadly, not all of us know Jesus as our Savior and Lord.  In dealing with our losses (Jon's and mine, not losses in a generic sense) I have struggled.  I have dealt with what I see as injustice.  Why are there women who can have babies for any man who rings their door bells while I can't give my husband, the man I waited 24 years for, just one?  God hears this from me frequently.  I am a stubborn woman.  I was a stubborn child.  This isn't a new thing.  However, God frequently reminds me that He has a plan, and His plan is perfect.  I don't know what His plan is, but I know that I need to be in tune to it.  Daddy taught me to listen more than talk.  Now I'm praying that God will open my heart to hear Him when He speaks, and to speak the things to others as He gives me the words.


Our family has endured yet another tragedy, and we have yet another little one in Heaven.  I am so thankful that his mama and daddy know Jesus, and that they will be with their baby in Heaven.  Again, I am asking "why?".  This little one's mama is clinging to John 13:7.


“What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand.”


Isn't that amazing?  So profound for one in such pain.  I grieve with the two who have lost.  I don't know how they're feeling (I touched on that in a previous post), but I hurt with them.  I grew up with one parent, and have come to love the other dearly in the past few years.  There are no words to say beyond, "I love you and I'm here."  


God is showing me my ministry--to those who have lost as I have.  I pray for wisdom and guidance from Him.  I pray that I don't pull a Jonah and run the other way!  But most of all I pray that I am a comfort to those I've been called to minister to.  


Please pray with me now:


Father God, thank You for Your mercy.  Thank You for the time, albeit short, that we had with our babies.  You know the hearts of the mothers and fathers who have had babies go to Heaven before they were able to chose You.  You know our pain, but you are our Comfort.  We don't know why things happened the way they did, but we trust You to make us stronger.  Help us to live for You, and to keep our faith even though we may feel abandoned.  We know that one day we will be with You, and Your Son, and with our babies.  When the time is right, help us to help others in pain.  Please, Father, hold us.  Let us feel Your Spirit upon us so that we are comforted.  Don't let us forget that You love us, and that you will never harm us.  Thank You for your Word full of promises.  Most of all, thank You for sending Your Son to die for us so that we will spend eternity with you and our babies who are already with you.  In Your Son's Holy Name I pray, Amen.

Words

Warning:  This post is a bit graphic in nature.  It is definitely contraversial.  However, to God be the glory!

Words bring joy.  ("The test was positive!")  Words bring pain.  ("I'm sorry, but I can't find the heart beat.")  Words are irreversible, even if one's heart or mind is changed. 

Words, I believe, are directly linked to our thoughts and feelings.  While we do have much control over our words there are still times when they get the better of us.

I am a fortunate woman.  Growing up my parents taught us to be careful with our words; they can't be taken back.  I am not always careful with my words, but often I try to be.  I don't want to hurt anyone.  Over the last eight months I've tried to be more encouraging to others than ever before.  I've learned how words can change the (my) world.

When we lost Ellie there were so many people who said, "I know how you feel.  I lost a baby, too."  I don't mean to be rude, but no, they didn't know how I felt.  I didn't even know how I felt.  I don't know how one person can tell another that.  Jon and I lost the same child, but I guarantee you we didn't feel the same things. 

Over the past week I've had opportunities to let words beat me up.  And honestly, they did.  If you've read my earlier posts you know how important life is to me.  I believe that life begins when an egg and sperm come together (conception).  My Bible tells me that God knew me before He knit me together in my mother's womb.  That means He also knew our Ellie and Poppy.  If God recognizes the unborn as lives I have no reason not to.

That said, the state of Virginia recently passed a law requiring women who want abortions to have ultrasounds done prior to the procedure.  (I believe this is a wonderful step in the right direction.)  Babies are too small to see inside the womb before 12 weeks.  Because of this, transvaginal ultrasounds are used.  Most abortions are performed before 12 weeks.  That means these government mandated ultrasounds are transvaginal.  People who are upset about this law are calling this "government forced rape."  I had a friend on Facebook who posted this.  I had to (mostly respectfully) disagree with him, as I have experienced them.  Don't get me wrong; I don't think I'll have them just for fun on days the library is closed, but it's far from rape.  Another poster replied that they are more like an unwanted gynocological exam.  I have to agree with her.  After some debate, someone called our children (and all unborn children) "clumps of cells."  At that point Jon advised me "not to argue with idiots."  He said I'd just get more upset.  And he was right.

Two nights later Jon found me in bed squalling for all I am worth and them some.  He had no idea what was wrong, but thought he'd done something.  I managed to tell him that those words were still hurting.  I know it had to hurt him, too.  I just could not (and still can't) believe how cruel people are with their words.  Because he let such horrid (in my opinion) things go on on his FB wall, I had to unfriend this person.  I've known him for years, but that no longer matters.  My counselor told me to delete people who hurt me.  It's Facebook.  This was the first time I've followed her advice.  (There are other instances of when it should have been done, but this was the first time I actually had the nerve to do it.)

I know we live in a democracy, and abortion has been legal my entire lifetime, but it is still a very hot topic.  I wonder how many people who support it have experienced miscarriages.  I wonder how many who have had abortions regret having them.  I know that had Ellie been born our lives would be drastically different now.  I know that had we not lost Poppy I'd be about halfway through the pregnancy now and Jon most likely wouldn't have been able to change jobs.  That doesn't mean I don't love them and miss them every day.  It does, however, make me want to NOT extend grace (Ellie's middle name) to those who view the unborn different than I.

And then Jesus reminds me that He died for Conservatives AND Liberals.  He died for all of us, not just those of us who follow (or attempt to, anyway) Him.  Jesus has extended the same offer of grace to the person who believes Ellie and Poppy were nothing more than "clumps of cells" that He did to me.  As His follower, as a child of God, it is MY responsiblity not to tell these people that not that they are going to hell for their beliefs, but to show them the way to Heaven through mine.

Think about what you say before you say it.  It could make or break your witness.