My Salvation Lies in Your Love

The weeks and days leading up to Christmas found me growing more and more reluctant to celebrate it. After all, it's not really the day Jesus was born. It's a pagan holiday the Christians decided to adopt as their own to witness to those who've never heard of Jesus. Plus, I try to celebrate Jesus every day. 'Try' being the operative word. Christmas to me has become a time when my kids get to be greedy for useless (euphemism) and I have to come up with my own wish list so I don't get useless (euphemism). It's touching commercials on TV so I'll buy their useless (euphemism) and decorating contests to make me spend money on useless (euphemism). It's wasting my time putting up a tree only to come back down three weeks later, leaving a huge dried up mess on my living room floor. It's my bank account slowly emptying due to poor budgeting and barely affording the gas to make the obligatory trip to Colville and back.

When I was a child I absolutely loved Christmas! Mainly because I got to be greedy for useless (euphemism), but also because my mom loved it. I remember Burl Ives on the record player and A Very Special Christmas compilation album on cassette. Our stockings would start filling weeks before and of course we had the fun tradition of helping decorate the tree. Every year I got a new ornament for my very own and I remember my brother and I trying to guess the wrapped presents under the tree (a skill I became very good at). I wasn't taught to believe in Santa Clause, but we still had our Santa traditions. My parents would place unwrapped presents under the tree Christmas eve after we'd all gone to bed. The purpose...to occupy the early risers while Mom and Dad slept. Presents weren't allowed to be opened until Mom and Dad drank their coffee, we had eaten a complete breakfast with eggs and bacon and hashbrowns, and the table was cleared and dishes were done. Then the passing out of presents, and the orderly opening of them one at a time starting with either oldest to youngest, or vice versa. And never did we open all our presents on Christmas eve like all my friends did, like I always begged. Only one was allowed to be opened the night before. Same goes for baby Jesus in our nativity scene. He didn't appear till Christmas morning.

In my cynical bitterness two nights ago I realized how lucky I'd been as a child. I have only one memory of spending Christmas with extended family. Every other Christmas through childhood and adolescence consisted only myself, Mom and Dad, and brother (who of course moved away and was replaced with various foster children). How does that make me lucky? My parents went to such great lengths to create memories for us. I was reminded of this when my niece, Madeline, called yesterday morning and my mother answered, "Merry Christmas ho ho ho!" To which Maddy replied in like manner. I then called my brother, James, who answered his phone, "Merry Christmas ho ho ho!" To which I replied in like manner. A Dad Wilson-honored tradition. With my own children, I started out with great intentions, wanting to pass down the great traditions and memories my mom and dad gave me except they had all the trimmings of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins every year! I filled the stockings, did my best to get them ornaments, remembered to hold presents from wrapping, and definitely, most definitely had to give them as many presents as my brother and I had under the tree.

Enter bitter ungratefulness.

I got a divorce and soon faced Christmas alone. What happened to all those gifts carefully wrapped and appreciated? All over. All. Over. ALL OVER. Everywhere! The benefits of having extended family so close also means CRAPLOADS of CRAP! I love that my children can be blessed with things that I can't afford to get, but where the (EUPHEMISM) do I put it all? I don't have time to sift through all their old things like I used to and purge what they no longer play with. Getting the tree out and lighting it is no longer special when there's no dad there to help...it's IRRITATING. And my perfectionism only squelches their decorating creativity. "No, don't put it there that's too close. No, no that doesn't go on yet! Sigh...just let me do it." The only reason I get it out is to satisfy them! And who gets to bring it down and put all the cra...stuff away? Me! Yes that's right! You're right! You guessed absolutely right! This Christmas Eve found me with a glass of wine, sitting on facebook, procrastinating the snacks I'd bought to fill their stockings (to fill their appetite during the obligatory trip to Colville where the real stockings from my mother were waiting). Christmas had turned into one expensive day of obligation. And I was hating it. I went to bed in my daughters' room (by their request) and woke with a stiff neck and back (not the greatest mattress).

My children had emptied their stockings and were waiting for me to empty mine. Chloe had noticed prior to "the" day that I never fill my own stocking. She decided to make her own presents and partnered with my mom to fill it this year. I took it off its hook and prepared the performance of emptying it and looking excited and surprised. My mom had put cute Christmas earrings inside and Chloe had taped some papers together to make a book. So I guess I should read it right there because that would make her happy. So I did. So I will copy the exact words (with correct spelling) for you. 

The title:  Your Family! (With picture of me, Elijah, Isabelle, and Chloe)
Page 1:  Your family is there for you, no matter what you do. (A heart in the middle of the page and a picture of me with a lawn mower and a girl with a toy mower)
Page 2:  Your family is there for you at night. (Two people looking up at the stars with one saying "look")
Page 3:  Your family is there in the morning. (Two people sitting at a table eating cereal)
Page 4:  The most important thing about your family is...They love you!!! (picture of me and the kids again)
Page 5:  The End!! (Happy Christmas written inside a heart)

Along with the book was another picture that read "I love you no matter what you do!" With a picture of Chloe and me inside a heart. Something we often say to each other.

Well, needless to say, my Scrooge was melting away. The drive to Colville was tolerable and as soon as we walked in the house the warm memories of why I ever loved Christmas had returned. The stockings, the "Santa" gifts, breakfast cooking on the stove, the kids playing Santa and handing out the gifts. We opened them youngest to oldest this time and Elijah cracked us up every time it was his turn. I had a wonderful day. Some day, instead of hurrying to get to my mom's Christmas, I'll be able to give the children my own Christmas. Until then, I get to appreciate the memories I have and they are making.

And now I get to sift through all the crap they no longer use to make room for all the new crap.

Not Less. Just Different.

Every so often I'm blessed to fall into a deep and profound conversation with my son. They have become few and far between and I was starting to think that maybe I had seen the last of them until tonight. Tonight it happened accidentally by way of trying to convince him that he should wear pajamas to bed instead of the jeans and t-shirt he wore that day (this started around the beginning of school) as well as switching from his fall-weather hoodie to his winter coat. I saw the look on his face and realized exactly what I was asking of him. Adjustments are hard for anyone, but nearly impossible for Elijah. The boy just lost a good pal. He took Emmett for walks around the block every day after school and this week...well, he has gone for a walk around the block every day after school. Now I'm asking him to CHANGE out of his nice warm JEANS into freezing cold PAJAMAS AND wear this BIG HUGE COAT to school EVERY DAY? I offered a compromise. I wasn't going to push the pajamas issue if he started wearing his coat. He asked me if I knew what his dad said about him wearing jeans to bed. I didn't. He says it's weird. 

Temple Grandin has become an inspiration in our household. I've watched the movie three or four times now and referenced it a few times since. Saying goodbye to our dog, Elijah asked about a part in the movie when a horse died and Temple asked where it went. So he wanted to know where Emmett would go. I tried to help the kids cope by telling them the same thing Temple's teacher told her. To try to remember Emmett when he was alive. We're still working on that. We're still sad.

I had tried to explain to Elijah that most people wear pajamas to bed. It's not weird that he doesn't, but different. Guess what he said back to me? "Sometimes I like being different. Just like...ahhh (pounding his head) what is it?" The lightbulb went off in my head. Temple Grandin? "Yeah, just like Temple Grandin. She was different." Different, but not less. That phrase was repeated a few times during the movie and one of the main things that spoke to me. Different, but not less. So I hugged him and kissed him and told him that I love him for being different. That I'm proud of him for being different, and if different means he wears jeans to bed, then go ahead.

He almost changed his clothes for me just to make me happy. Almost! 

Rare Moments Treasured

Elijah is an interesting character. When he's excited, he'll rock from side to side and gesture in odd ways. He has sound effects for everyday physical actions. Like running for instance, he will make the woosh sound quietly to himself. He used to follow up his jokes with a rimshot (you know, budum-ching!). When hearing a stern tone from his father, he audibly gulped like in the cartoons. He'll talk to you if he wants; won't if he doesn't, but if you bring up a video game he likes, you can't shut him up. He went through a phase where he'd greet me or his nana by running straight into us, almost knocking me down a few times from behind. Elijah is diagnosed with high functioning autism.

In Pre-Kindergarten, his teacher had asked if he had ever been evaluated for autism. He would stiffen if she tried to touch him, or physically guide him away from something. I remember a day after school when he came to me to pick him up (he was a very small 5-year-old). He laid his head down and melted in my arms. I stood there in the midst of all the children and all the staring parents with my eyes shut, rocking him back and forth. Those moments were very rare and very special.

Lately Elijah has been very "huggy." It's not that he's NOT a hugger...it's just that they're usually those 12-year-old side hugs or a couple pats on the arm with an awkward "heh." Maybe it's because I've been so busy, but every day when he comes home he finds me, gives me a hug, and tells me how his day was. Tonight I had music practice at my church. I came home after the kids had gone to bed, but Elijah heard me and got up. He hugged me and then hugged me again. He asked me all sorts of questions he had already asked me multiple times during the day but had forgotten on account of his short-term memory (I've read hydrocephalus can cause that). He started asking me a question and then started over and then started over again, as he is known to do and then hugged me again. He gave me a long, tight hug. One of those hugs that melts away the whole day and gives you that short burst of energy. I've told him over and over how much I love his hugs, so he knows that is a way he can show me love.

I walked him to bed and I lay by his side and we chatted for a bit, hugged, chatted, and hugged some more. In the midst of our chatting I told him how much I loved him. That no matter what, even if he makes a mistake, even if he is angry, that his dad and I still love him. He stared into my eyes (and not slightly to the right of them like usual). I could see the love (and not the normal hint of confusion mixed with a far off look). It reminded me of the horrible dream about his death. I woke up crying uncontrollably and went into his room to watch him sleep. He woke up and patted my arm softly, and still half asleep, comforted me. "There, there." He offered to sleep with me that night so I would feel better and blew me a kiss when he went to his dad's house.

My son isn't typical. He isn't standard. He's odd, repeats himself, rocks back and forth, walks in circles around my kitchen, has occasional ticks, and doesn't know how to socialize with his peers...but I'll bet you anything he knows how to express his love better than any other 12-year-old kid when he wants to.

Why I Celebrate Easter

Why I Celebrate Easter

By Jessica Carson

If I were to reveal to you all the mistakes I've made in my life, all the bad choices, most of you would think, "Wow, how can she call herself a Christian?" And perhaps you have a point. I'm not necessarily following Christ when I make these choices. But when I figuratively stumble, or faceplant it, or "catch a digger," God is right there to figuratively pick me up and figuratively dust me off. Always! His mercy (not giving me the punishment I do deserve) and grace (giving me the reward (salvation) I don't deserve) is never ceasing. And it's all because of what Jesus did; the life he led, the death he died, and most importantly, the resurrection he...resurrectured. I realize a lot of you do not wish to believe the words I just typed, and that's a choice I must respect. My choice is life. Abundant life. God's life.

He is there to pick me up and dust me off. And He tells me exactly what I tell my children. "Do better next time."

I hope you have a wonderful Easter. I hope you get to spend time with family; color, hide, and find Easter eggs; and I hope that you would reflect on the life you lead. What changes can you make? What is a change you have made that you are proud of? What can you do better? And be sure that if ever it strikes your fancy to visit a church, I have a 7-passenger van. You can come with me.

Happy Easter!

Daily Grace Inspirations from Joseph Prince Ministries

"God’s Word says, “And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist.” (Colossians 1:17) The Greek word for “consist” means “held together”. In Christ, all things are held together. And that is why when Christ is the central figure in your life, you will have it all together. Your mind will be held together. Your hopes and dreams will be held together. Your family will be held together by the cords of His love."

Thank you, Jesus!

Chronicles of an Ex-Wife or I'm Starting To Get It.

I thought I had made an effort to see things from the new wife's perspective, but I've been thinking recently. I was too busy presuming that she would never think to even try to see things from my perspective. Well, I guess that's her responsibility. Mine is to learn and to grow and to love. Here is a woman seemingly in love with a man who has three kids. Her goal is to get along with these kids so that her relationship with this man can continue harmoniously, because in her mind, this has real potential to progress into marriage. This man was once married to the mother of said kids, and may or may not still harbor feelings for her. So she is faced with two obstacles: 1. Win over children. 2. Be sure the mother is no longer in the picture.

Here's my perspective. I am a woman who was married for nine years with three children. I have witnessed at least three women in and out of this man's life before the new wife came along. Two of them had interaction with my babies. I'm not thinking of his happiness. I'm not thinking of her happiness. I'm thinking of this strange woman playing family with MY CHILDREN.

But, you see, she has to. She has to play family. She has to become involved and interested in their lives. She can't be disconnected or detached. At least that's what instinct tells her. I still haven't decided how healthy it is for a new partner to be thrown into the children's lives. Finding and subsequently losing a new partner can often mean confusion and disappointment for the children involved. It's a scary thing, which I imagine can be easily forgotten in emotions and excitement of a new love.

So you see, while I'm not exactly condoning the method in which this relationship was formed; reached; established. I'm remembering that we are all humans with real emotions; real hopes; real fears. I can't sit over here stewing because whatever didn't happen the way I wanted it to. Whatever did happen. Life is happening and I can't control every little bit of it. I can only control how I respond to it. So when I speak of the new wife to my children, I am slowly losing that twinge I once so heavily felt. She is a part of the family. When my children go over there, they are a family. I get to think of her as just a girl who feels she has found her happiness, and hope that she can richly add to my children's lives.

Time to Regroup

I'm attending a Christian divorce support group called Divorce Care. This is my second time through the 13-week session. Yes, it's been four years, but I've learned that it can take up to five to really heal from a divorce. It's a good reminder of what I've always known and at one time practiced. I subscribe to their daily emails, each one an encouragement and lesson to help us grow spiritually through this awful process. This one especially has stood out because I find it's where I repeatedly trip up (Note the paragraph in bold). I thought I'd share.

Resetting Your Expectations
Day 27

You have certain expectations in your daily life. Expectations of yourself, your children, your family members, your friends, and your former spouse. Until you stop and think about it, you may not realize just how high your standards are for yourself and for those around you. To move forward into the future, you need to learn to reset your expectations.

Consider how much you are asking of yourself and how much you can actually handle. Also, do you expect more from others than is realistic under the circumstances of your divorce? If you find yourself getting upset because someone does not live up to a certain expectation of yours, then maybe it's time to back off and reset that expectation.

Dr. Jim A. Talley says, "You expected somebody to do something. That person didn't do it, and you get mad. What makes you even madder is that person doesn't seem to give a rip that he or she didn't do it. Now you're really hurt, and you begin to boil on the inside. You shift at that point to real bitterness. You have to go back and reset your expectations to what you can control and deal with. You can't force other people into your expectations."

Reset your standards to a place where you can function, and examine your motivation for having that expectation in the first place.

"People may think they are doing what is right, but the LORD examines the heart" (Proverbs 21:2 NLT).

Heavenly Father, sometimes I expect too much and for the wrong reasons. Show me how to reset those expectations to a healthy and productive level. Amen.