Limps vs Struts--God Dependence

(REPOSTING of this blog that has disappeared from the site. I'm re-posting for the same 2 reasons I post everything to this blog---1) so my boys have a record of how they were discipled to know the Lord when they are all grown up! (and they'll understand why some songs are burned into their memories forever!) and 2) to encourage other moms in honesty who've been a tremendous encouragement to me!

“While we were children, our parents did what seemed best to them. But God is doing what is best for us, training us to live God’s holy best. At the time, discipline isn’t much fun. It always feels like it’s going against the grain. Later, of course, it pays off handsomely, for it’s the well-trained who find themselves mature in their relationship with God,” Hebrews 12:10-11.

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Mothering was zapping all my resources. Uncertainty seemed to wrap around every decision I made. Confidence was a thing of the distant past that seemed to only mock me now as a mother to three little boys all under 2.

I wanted to go back to simpler times---being newly married to my best friend, working in a career that was full of reward, hanging out with friends whoopin’ it up till the wee hours of the night, shopping sprees, going out to eat, Saturday mornings spent sleeping in then playing tennis, apartment living with no maintenance….quite simply, back to the life that was all about me and Chris.

I wanted be able to watch Johnson and Johnson baby commercials without feeli

ng like I’d been duped. I wanted the squeaky clean dream without the reality. I was bitter at the miring disillusionment which was showing no signs of releasing its strangle hold.

My home was not the place of peace I’d known the previous 7 years of marriage before children.

The home Chris and I had worked so hard to create, the kind I thought couldn’t really exist in real life, was slipping away into chaos, diapers, exhaustion and sick babies. Doing the work of maintaining our marriage was taking a back seat to the pressing demands of our babies. Fear set in because the place of hope I had known the last 7 years, a home that I longed to return to at the end of the day, now seemed to be morphing into a giant ball of stress and fatigue.

The question that haunted my mind while sitting up with sick babies in the middle of the night was, ‘how far of a slip was it from where I was to the home life I had known growing up?’

Growing up, home was a place where hiding was the safest, thus most appealing option. There were far too many visits from Social Services, police and other well intended, but somber faced, bad news bearing officials.

College was my break free and fly time. I was the first person in my whole family to attend college---so the waters were unchartered, but full of promise and I hoped my ticket out. And that’s exactly what college was for me—an escape and a soft place to land. It was there, in that soft spot, that I also realized it was not a college degree I needed to rescue me, but a Savior.

Chris and I married ¾ of the way through my college years, after a complete renovation of our relationship, but that’s another story, for another day! We created a sweet little home for ourselves in a one bedroom/bath apartment full of GoodWill furniture and a lot of joy. I was so excited to know that life could be full of promise and home could be a place you anticipated returning to with joy instead of fear and anxiety.

Looking back, I think God gave me those pain free years, college through the first 7 years of marriage, as a soul strengthening time. A time to plant my feet solidly in His kingdom before He would begin to turn my world upside down as the mother to three little boys in a year and a half time frame. Life would never be so neat and manageable again. Predictability was out

the window!

I look back now on those years of transition and know God was doing a great work in my life. Not one I signed up for, but a great work none the less. Growing more into who God desires me to be is not a pain free process. Before those years of life with babies, I knew how to live in pain apart from God (growing up), and I knew how to live a life of peace with God (college-marriage before kids) and now I had to learn how to live ALL of life with God.

Now I see how God was gracious to bring me through each of these stages like a loving Father does, knowing when His children need a little extra push to keep growing. Walking with God did not mean I would be spared the turmoils of life; it meant He longed to develop his fruit of the spirit, which needs as its fertile growing soil some pretty sordid times. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this---God’s finest creation in Genesis begins with dirt.

Rick Warren suggests God would rather His children have a perpetual limp from a thorn He’s given, to a perpetual strut of independence. God knew my dependence had grown on my own ability to rise up and meet each challenge square in the face and He needed to teach me that it was not by my strength that I had been set free.

There would be challenges that, regardless of my ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ mentality, I would not be able to meet on my own. God was teaching me to hold onto Him, which meant letting go of the fairy tale that two people who loved each other and God would avoid miserable times in life.

Contemporary worship music has been a consistent component in my journey to know God more. It has fed the life of His Spirit inside me and brought me to my knees countless times. It has helped me to quit clinging to the fleeting so I could hold onto Jesus.

Sara Groves ranks up there as one of my favorites primarily because of her honesty. Her music has an incredible truth telling quality about it that cattle prods my selfish heart straight to His refining hand more times than I’d like to admit. She reveals God in our lives right in the midst of when we’d chose our own comfort over His character development. She exposes. Man I love her music! I saw her live last winter---she is the real deal!

If you are looking for a CD that's gonna stick with you and draw you closer to Him---check her out! “Painting Pictures in Egypt” still brings tears to my eyes, 8 years later from the time when I jotted down the notes that I would one day write up into this devotion. Sarah recounts how the Israelites pined for the very slavery they had begged for release from while they journeyed in the desert. That passage of Scripture has always struck me as ironic, the Israelites begged Moses ‘take us back.’

Yet, here I was, pining for simpler times that didn’t require so much of me. God was teaching me during these broken years (see “Poop Stained Lessons” devotional) to know Him more in the path I’d chosen. I’d sing/shout these lyrics in the car as an offering and acceptance of where I was as a mother. The song didn't take away the struggle, just validated it and helped expose my desire for comfort over character building.

(My boys have patiently endured hearing this song probably 100's of times over their lives now at 8,8 and 9! Often times the twins join in singing it with me from the backseat!)

"I don't want to leave here, I don't want to stay. Feels like pinching to me either way. And the places I long for most are the places where I've been, they are calling out to me like a long lost friend. It's not about losing faith, it's not about trust. It's all about comfortable, when you move so much. And the place I was in wasn't perfect, but I had found a way to live. It wasn't milk or honey, but then neither is this. I've been painting pictures of Egypt. Leaving out what it lacks. The future feels so hard and I wanna go back. But the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I've learned. Those roads are closed off to me while my back was turned."

Abigails for All--(self control)

"Forgive my presumption! But God is at work in my master, developing a rule solid and dependable....When God completes all the goodness He has promised my master and sets you up as prince over Israel, my master will not have this dead weight in his heart, the guilt of an avenging murder. And when God has worked things for good for my master, remember me."

And David said, "Blessed be God, the God of Israel. He sent you to meet me! And blessed be your good sense! Bless you for keeping me from murder and taking charge of looking out for me! A close call! As God lives, the God of Israel who kept me from hurting you, if you had not come as quickly as you did, stopping me in my tracks, by morning there would have been nothing left of Nabal but dead meat." I Samuel 25:28-34

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I’m supposed to be working right now, but I find myself writing instead. I don’t really feel like I’ve ‘chosen’ writing this devotion over work…more like it chose me. After this morning’s devotional and the hurried pace of ‘grab your lunches,’ ‘tie your shoes,’ the bus is coming!’ litany my mind still keeps coming back to our devotional time at the table and I’m compelled to write this down for my boys.

You’d think my mind would have wondered off into the questions about circumcision that William was asking me on our walk to the bus. What took his mind there? I’ve long since given up trying to figure out the path these boys’ minds take to the 1001 questions they ask daily. So, since I can’t let our morning devotional go, seems that’s His urging, for whatever reason, to bump this one up in the queue over others who’ve been patiently waiting in the form of notes.

We are a few weeks behind in our children’s read thru the Bible in a year so we covered two this morning on the life of David. First story took place when David was hiding in a cave with his men because King Saul was hunting him down to kill him. The highlight of the story is that although David had the perfect opportunity to kill King Saul, while Saul was relieving himself in the cave, David refuses to do so. Instead he cuts the back of Saul’s robe as a demonstration of what he could have done and then shouts out to Saul to show him. 'Look Saul I could have killed you while you are on the war path for me, but I didn't,' is the point David's making when he draws attention to himself. Not many of us would point ourselves out to the man we've been hiding from who's trying to kill us!

Saul is humbled. He knows God has chosen David to be king and his days are numbered. There’s a small piece of Saul that thinks he can usurp God’s plan to replace him, but a much larger part that knows God’s plan for David to be king will prevail. He sees in David a responsiveness to God’s plans in God’s time, not his own. He’s heart is smitten by this acknowledgement while envious at the same time.

David refused to kill King Saul although he’d spent months on the run in hiding from the man who was searching out every avenue he could find to kill David. His rationale---God has chosen Saul to be king and he would not kill God’s king, even if it means he must die at the hands of Saul. Talk about a trusting self control!

Yet, our very next story highlights David and his crew still on the run from King Saul and needing food. He sends word to a rich man, Nabal, asking for food for his men in fair compensation for the protection he's granted for Nabal's herds of sheep. When Nabal insults David and his men David’s furious and ready to attack, kill and take what’s been refused.

David is stopped through the intervention of Abigail, Nabal’s wife. She brings the men food on the sly, knowing her bull headed husband would have never agreed. She knows it is the only hope to save their lives and she acts quickly.

She pleads with David along the lines of honor. She reminds him he will be king someday and it would be horrible to have this blood on his hands as king. She calls him to a higher standard than he was able to see in his heat of anger over Nabal’s insults.

David’s response? He thanks Abigail for sounding a warning bell in his life and causing him to put the brakes on a plan he surely would have regretted when his anger cooled. He promises not to attack. When Abigail later tells Nabal, after he’s sobered up, what she had done he flew into such a rage that he suffered a stroke and died 10 days later.

David hears of this and sends word to Abigail that he would like to make her his wife. He saw the value in this woman who helped him see through his anger and reign in plans that would have left him blood stained. He not only hears her warnings but his heart also responds with humility instead of more anger or retaliation. He realized this is the kind of woman he needs by his side.

This story is sticking with me because I think we all need an Abigial in our lives. I pray for an Abigail in my boys’ lives. I pray that their hearts would be cooled by the godly wisdom of a woman who is not caught in anger’s web. I pray when disaster is right around the corner they would respond with a soft heart to one speaking wisdom into their lives.

Wyatt commented about a little girl in his class who he doesn’t think is going to have a very good life when she grows up. I asked why. He said, ‘because she always makes grumpy faces at everyone and she even told me the other day, “I don’t like people looking at me.”

“Hum, well you never know what’s going on inside a person that makes them sad or angry, we should pray for her and her heart to be softened. Have you tried talking to her about why she gets angry?” I asked.

“When I do she just puts up her hand to stay ‘stop’ or she covers her ears with that grumpy face on. She’s not going to have a happy life,” Wyatt explained.

Again I was struck by the need we all have for an Abigail in our lives. One who can speak the truth and talk us away from plans that will lead to our ruin. It’s so darn easy to give into the anger and depression that sometimes leads to disastrous results for our lives. Sometimes that anger just puts up a wall that keeps everyone at an arms distance in our lives. Often that anger leaves us feeling very lonely.

We can have those Abigials but we must hear them and that comes from a heart that’s soft before God. A heart that’s bent towards His ways, His Words, His shaping hand instead of our own desires which often run counter to God’s. When our heart hardens words of wisdom will fall by the wayside and our lives start looking like the descriptions of fools in Proverbs.

Our talks at the table wondered to Nabal and how a person is killed by a stroke and what exactly a stroke is. A blood vessel to the brain either blocked or bursting causes a stroke. Some strokes are totally random, some of are caused by unhealthy patterns of anger. Nabal’s explosion of anger literally exploded a blood vessel in his brain killing him!

Discussion then went to my dad who died of a stroke 3 years ago at the age of 55. My boys are well aware that his life was lived in an almost constant state of eruptive anger.

We spoke of why David listened to Abigail and how important it is to have someone in your life who helps to save you from really bad decisions in the heat of anger. We spoke of how easy it is the heat of the moment to give in to actions that we regret later. We spoke of keeping a soft heart towards God and not turning a deaf ear to someone who God sends into our life to raise the warning flags.

As we walked to the bus talking about circumcisions, I inwardly prayed for Abigails for my boys’ lives. I am well acquainted with David’s life, the good, the bad and the ugly and know that his heart was not always soft to heed the Abigails in his life.

As mothers we have a pretty high calling to help disciple these children entrusted to us towards knowing God. Not just knowing about God, but knowing God. I often think of David’s mother, when I walk the grocery story lane of gossip mags. Imagine having raised a son who God called friend? Wow! Her People magazine cover would read: “Man given highest honor in the land”—surely this would have been the proudest day of her life when her son was called a man after God’s own heart by the Creator Himself! Yet, there’s another headline awaiting her years down the road: “Scandal! King charged with murder and adultery”---lowest moment in her life.

These conflicting events have always troubled me in David’s life. We want our heroes neat and tidy and living lives that we can always point to as models of how we should live. This why so many children’s Bibles only highlight David for his slaying of Goliath and his kingship minus all the misery some of his decisions generated.

I guess we have to get comfortable knowing our heroes are stained and their lives offer us lessons to be learned about the consequences when we heed the voice of God and when we reject it. Our rejection may not be in anger, perhaps it’s apathy, distraction, busyness…the list could go on and on. I pray for an Abigail for each one of us. An Abigail who will pull our hearts away from plans that would result in our misery and instead bring us to the plans that He would have for our lives.

Moppy Hair--Compassion

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ," Galatians 6:2

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Reaching into someone’s life with the compassion God sets as His standard just never seems to come as naturally as I’d like. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. What does come naturally?---preserving my own stuff, caring for my own needs, turning the other cheek to need and chasing hard after my own desires.

Judgment’s often hard on the heels of this selfishness; they are ugly kissing cousins of one another. Judgment blinds us to the underlying needs even when they are glaring us right in the face. If I judge the situation for how it does not measure up to my standards then compassion is the furthest thing from my mind/action. I’m off scott free to go and build up my own little mountain of stuff, never realizing the quiet treasures awaiting me that would have revealed the smallness of my mountain in an instant.

How we reach into the lives around us looks different at every age but it always seems to be rooted in a desire to invite God into our every day lives. Not our cleaned up/well managed lives. Just our every day, messy lives. We begin to love when we truly experience His love for us which it seems is when we are most vulnerable and in need.

Around here, we’ve realized we can’t wait until our lives are cleaned up/everyone’s getting along/sin patterns are under control/work is caught up---if we did, well we’d still just be pursuing our own very small kingdoms. I’m not sure what’s sadder---that we’d never take the steps further into His kingdom and find the joy that only comes from reaching out beyond ourselves or the blessings others would be robbed of by our selfishness.

The other day I heard someone complaining about the amount of money our nation spends on foreign aid. It’s interesting that in our nation obsessed with things like ipads, diet dog food and celebrity gossip we would begrudge the world our contribution to remain “#1”. We like the status of #1 but wish it didn’t come with such a high calling on our purse strings. We want the kings ransom for a pauper’s bill.

It seems this begrudging comes from failing to really acknowledge all our own blessings. The blessing that envelop most of our lives often only gets noticed for their accompanying hassles. Our homes are cluttered with too much blessing, we are over weight from an abundance of food, the medicines that nations pray will make it into their borders sometime in the next year annoys us when we have to wait an extra 20 minutes at the pharmacy for their pick up, clothes spilling out of overstuffed drawers try our patience … the list could go on and on but the result is always the same----when we fail to see the blessing we will always find cause for cursing.

This morning we were racing around for school, as we always are despite the fact that we are the latest bus in the county. William disappeared after being chastised for not getting his bathroom business done before breakfast----to go brush his teeth and hair? No. He came down with a bag of Legos and the same moppy hair he’d gone up with.

My immediate internal reaction, ‘really Legos instead of brushed teeth, will boys always choose toys over personal hygiene?”

“William, we don’t have time for toys now…” I started.

“No Momma, these aren’t just for me to play with. I’m getting them because Dylan gets headaches on the bus,” William said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“We have the mean bus driver today, the one who always shouts at everyone and Dylan always gets a headache when he’s our driver. So I’m going to take these Legos to play with him so he won’t get nervous or get a headache. I think it will help him get distracted by having fun,” William explained.

“Wow, William what an awesome way to show the love of God! That’s a great feet to faith idea!” I said.

Here was my child, unbrushed teeth and hair (clearly not as concerned with his personal hygiene as he was the welfare of a friend) focusing on someone else’s need and how he could meet it. I ran a quick brush thru his hair while he packed the Legoes into his book bag. While I brushed I prayed, “Lord give me eyes that see the need, not the moppy hair.”

I will never fail to stand in amazement at how God uses my boys to teach me more about Himself everyday. It’s so easy for me to get sidetracked with their messes/fights/homework/pee under the trashcan, etc. that I often take my eyes off the eternal. When it's a frustrating day with the boys and I read, ‘children are a blessing,' I think, ‘not today they’re not!’ Yet, I’ve realized that blessings don’t always come in the pretty packages we’d like.

God knew our children would teach us to know Him more in this parenting venture. He knew we'd never really 'figure out' parenting so instead He calls us to Himself in this crazy venture of raising another human being. He points us to His Word for wisdom and He teaches us about His role as our Father. One of the truest blessings of children is that they teach us to know Him more, that’s probably the real blessing! In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the whole reason we are here. Blessing doesn’t have to look like a Johnson and Johnson commercial to be true blessing! When it does---well, that’s just icing on the cake!

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"Finally, all of you, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble." 1 Peter 3:8

One Tear--[redeemed]

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

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A solitary tear fell large, but with no commotion. It was bathed in the spillover light from the stage as it rolled slowly down the father’s cheek to be followed by others, one at a time, in their own quiet procession. The stage was filled with musicians and singers leading us in Sunday morning worship while these tears found their quiet release.

These tears caught my eye because they were unabashed. They were unaccompanied by the customary quick hiding wipe away generally seen when a man is shedding tears. For me, it was as though a spotlight was on these tears instead of the gentle stage spill over light. These tears had a story to tell and like all great stories God writes into the lives of His faithful, it seems there are always tears.

As I watched them, I stood in quiet amazement that I was 38 years old and this was the first time I had ever seen a grown man cry without wiping away his tears.

This man allowed his tears to travel their path, seemingly savoring this moment and all that had brought him to this point. There was no shame in these tears; they were offered in praise to His God. Perhaps each one was symbolic of prayers that had brought him to this point today?

These tears were spilled forth from a heart that was free to stand before God ‘Just As I Am’ and be found acceptable in His sight. No jumping through hoops to meet an unreachable standard. He bids us come and then lavishes a love, that when fully realized, leaves His children speechless and often in tears.

What a transformational spot to be in! Wiping these tears away it seemed would discount what was so precious and he was unwilling to rid himself of even the smallest piece of this moment.

I watched this father worshipping his God and beaming with joy at his adult daughter, now a mother herself, as she helped to lead him in worship. The devoted intensity in his gaze was nothing short of incredible. These tears seemed to be a reckoning.

These tears were what I imagined the prodigal son’s father shed as he ran to meet his son. These tears seemed to symbolize a man coming face to face with his God. How had he arrived at this next level of discovering the next level in his walk with his God? His daughter had helped to point out the path where this encounter would be found.

This daughter who he walked through the rebellious teen years with…whose head strong ways drove him to his knees on a regular basis… who challenged and rebelled against the legalistic approach to God that was all he had ever known… this daughter who wanted nothing to do with a small God whose chief ambition was to disciple rule followers….this was the daughter now leading him in worship.

How he beamed with love! I was taken aback to see such radiance from a father. In fact, I’m not sure that I’ll ever forget the expression on this father’s face. Bursting in my mind was the proclamation, ‘if this is how a human father can love---just imagine how much greater My love is Jennifer. Just imagine how I dance for joy when one who was lost hears My still small voice and comes. I celebrate My children and I love them aboundingly, wastefully and extravagantly!”

This moment spoke to me because personally I was just getting settled in the realization that my role was to disciple my boys to know our God, but that the decision to follow Him would be theirs alone. I hated that I had to let go of control of this and yet felt God was calling me to take the great gamble as He had done with each one of us. (“Gamblin’ Time”—Trust, Oct 2010 blog)

So of course one of my largest fears is that any of my boys would walk away from God with a ‘who needs Him’ attitude. At times, this feels a heavy burden of worry to carry. Yet today, God placed before me a man who quite probably shared the same fear, walked the journey with a daughter who questioned her own need of God and came out of all that questioning with a realization that He was to be her all in all.

She emerged from this rebellion not hardened against God or even indifferent, but to find Him in a love relationship that would rock her world. She would no longer see Him as the great small task master but the lover of her soul who longed to shape her more into His image daily as they shared this life.

The journey to get to this point was full of many roads that I’m sure both father and daughter wish they had not walked down. Perhaps this is what gave me the most hope. It encouraged me to see that regardless of how strained a relationship may be, how indifferent or in opposition to God a child may be, that there is always hope that God’s still small voice may break through those walls of defiance and apathy and shatter them to reveal Himself. Likely the shattering will not take the channels a parent would prefer or choose, but our Father God knows the paths that lead to Him and we can take confidence in that! Our Father God is in the business of redeeming His children, at all costs!

May your tears tell a story that points others to knowing the extravagant depths of our God!

Where Are Your Stories Told? (legacy)

Last week I attended a funeral and this one, like all funerals, caused me to drop all the business of life and consider the memories my life is making. My husband’s grandmother, Margaret DiDio, died at 95 years old. Although she journeyed here from Sicily as a teenager, till the day she died her English was almost swallowed up by a very heavy Italian accent we all cherished. She became a bride at 17 to Chris’s grandfather, who was 35.

This couple went on to have 6 children who knew the committed love of their mother and father. They understood that family, for all its good and bad, was an unbreakable bond. The kids learned early on that everyone pitched in and life was meant to be shared. The siblings all joke how one toy belonged to everyone so God help the child who broke it!

As the family grew, Margaret brought laundry and tailoring in to the home to help put food on the table. That food was pasta, everyday, as Chris’s dad Angelo likes to point out with a grimace. Ang jokes whatever else they managed to have, didn’t matter what it was, it went in the pasta pot. This is why Angelo today is the only Italian I know who doesn’t eat pasta!

Angelo and his five siblings all knew when they returned home from school there was tailoring and laundry work to help their mother with before they were set free to play. When they found ways to earn money outside the home, the money wasn’t considered theirs. This was money to help keep the family afloat. Whatever little bit they managed to hold back on the sly was like a kings ransom jingling in their pockets as they made their way to the corner store for candy.

When I first met Margaret over 20 years ago she welcomed me into her Baltimore home and I was ushered right past the immaculate plastic covered living room furniture, down to the basement. I wondered why we weren’t visiting upstairs, until I was met with the aroma of her sauce as I entered the basement. I realized immediately, this is the room where family happened. My senses were electric with the smells of her legendary sauce and the loud commotion of a family all talking and laughing at the same time.

This was the place where the light as air pizzas with no cheese were created. This was the place where Chris told me he would eat until he felt like he was going to burst. This was the place where babies were born and lost, marriages were made and broken, stories were told and retold, laugher and tears flowed as easily as the wine, dreams were born and died, lives were encouraged and loved ones were remembered. This was where family was grown, not the fairy tale kind that only exists between the pages of books, but the nit and grit of everyday family life. This was where bonds went through the fire and found strength resolved.

It was immediately obvious that Margaret took a quiet delight in preparing food for the people she loved, while she was surrounded by them. Her cooking was undaunted by all the chaos that surrounded her. One of her great grandson’s was racing around the kitchen running head first into the wall. At this point I was years away from having children so when Grandmom yelled, ‘Anthony, Anthony what are you doin’, your gonnna breaka my wall!’ I erupted into laughter. The wall I thought, no concern for his head?

Now that I have three boys, I get it. Grandmom had already raised three little boys and she was well aware that walls give much more quickly than little boy heads!

As I sat at her wake, I couldn’t help but remember ‘you breaka my wall” and Grandmom's quick smile with sweet nostalgia. Her son Sam spoke at her service, ‘you know, when I came home from being out I’d always say, ‘mom, I’m home.’ I just always assumed I was the most important thing to her and she knew it was me when I said that. That’s home and that’s the kind of mom she was. She made everyone feel special.”

Sam went on to talk of trips to the beach where neighbors would all caravan along with their family. Metal baby wash tubs full of fried chicken and pasta were all strapped to the top of the car. I can just imagine what the house must have smelled like for days as Grandmom spent cooking to prepare for these trips.

Grandmom had a stroke several months ago and when it was time for her to leave the hospital, her daughter Evelyn who she lived with said, ‘I’ll continue to care for Mom.’ This strong woman who had spent her entire life caring for all around her would now need care and it would be in the loving hands of those she had spent her life caring for.

After the stroke Grandmom was unable to care for the home she shared with her daughter’s family or prepare food she was famous for her whole life. Unable even to get down the stairs without assistance, Grandmom was confined to her bedroom for most of the day. This was not a life Grandmom had ever known and it was not one she would adjust to.

A beloved neighbor, who I’m sure never measured five feet tall in her highest heels, also from Italy told me of her relationship to Grandmom. “I called Margaret ‘Mom’ because she told me to. She said I was like another daughter to her and she was like a mother to me.’ She said this with a distinct mix of pride and obvious loss. She went on to tell me how she and Grandmom would sit on the front stoop speaking Italian to one another, reminiscing about the old country. Wouldn’t I have loved to be an Italian fly on the wall during those times!

Grandmom lost her will to live when she stopped being able to care for the ones she loved. When a life has spent 95 years caring for others the switch to being cared for is not an easy one. Laying back to be cared for was just not in the DNA of this strong woman. Friends and relatives tried to cheer Grandmom up and set her sights towards getting better but her reply was, ‘I no happy. I ready to die.’ Problem is, no one was ready to let her go.

The family gathered together after her funeral at Carrabbas to share a meal in Grandmom’s honor. The time would have been exactly as Grandmom would have had it: plates piled high with pasta, wine glasses full, raucous laugher, story telling hinting at the DiDio connection to the mob, singing, Aunt Edie teaching the little boys how to do a James Cagney “you dirty rat” gangster impression, and more laughter.

Grandmom’s love of cooking was something she shared with Chris’s mom Joyce. Anyone who knows Joyce has at least three dishes they look forward to having when they go the DiDio’s to do life together. Annually, to the delight of all who attend, Joyce reproduces Grandmom’s meatball soup at her Christmas party. Grandmom taught Joyce to prepare dishes with a reassuring ‘”it comes good” as they shared time in the kitchen. Joyce’s love of cooking was something I was introduced to as a teenager who must have eaten pounds of shrimp creole in their old Klee Court kitchen. It was difficult for me to say what I enjoyed more, the food or the time spent around the table long after the food was done. I have gone on to establish time around the table, sharing life, over mounds of food as a foundation in my home. Reaching out with love and food is just the DiDio way.

I’m struck by this legacy of time around the table sharing life and how it’s thread has been woven into all the DiDio homes. I'm struck by Jesus' example of sharing meals with those He was building into, those He loved. The photos that show our family around the table doing the everyday business required to build strong bonds from within are some of my favorites. I say this to encourage you to spend time around the table as a family. Tell your stories so they may be carried on to future generations. Take pictures that show the bonds within your family for they will be the ones that tell your story to future generations! Let your story of God’s goodness be told and retold around the table in a way that inspires future generations to invest in the love God has placed in their lives!

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"A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds. First thing in the morning, she dresses for work, rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started. She senses the worth of her work, is in no hurry to call it quits for the day. She's skilled in the crafts of home and hearth, diligent in home making. She's quick to assist anyone in need, reaches out to help the poor. She always faces tomorrow with a smile. When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say, and she always says it kindly. She keeps an eye on everyone in her household, and keeps them all busy and productive. Her children respect and bless her; her husband joins in with words of praise: 'many woman have done wonderful things, but you've outclassed them all!'" Proverbs 31 excerpts

**these photos are an homage to Grandmom DiDio’s inspired Italian creations in my kitchen. Thanks Grandmom for sharing your love of Italian cooking so we would realize all the delight awaiting us in tiramisu, bruschetta, italian bread, sauce, pizza, tomato caprese, meatball soup, minestrone, zupa toscana, and stromboli!

Needles (fear)

Three moms and 8 little boys all were headed home on a three hour journey after a beach weekend away they would not soon forget. The weekend was full of laughter, sun and surf, “booger ice cream”, Thrasher’s fries, bingo, Stratego, hives, and one little boy’s first time ever sleep over.

There was one issue though that kept rearing its ugly head throughout the weekend though, a 7 year old boy’s struggle with Type I Juvenile Diabetes.

Carson’s not a kid who lets his diabetes stop him from any typical little boy activities. I had known him for months on the football field before I ever even knew he had diabetes.

But not being able to wear his pump at the beach had really thrown his diabetes into a terrible cycle of highs and lows. His mom’s best attempts to reign in this unpredictable beast proved to be a lesson in futility. IV lines jammed with sand, sun took it’s toll, supplies ran low and mom’s concern only continued to mount as her precious son just wanted to run in the surf with his friends and forget about the disease he lives with daily.

Diabetes and one mother were squaring off toe to toe that weekend. This fight required a delicate balancing act. But, despite her best efforts, diabetes quite simply refused to submit to every effort to manage it. The worry was evident on mom’s watchful face.

The last day on the beach had seen a turn around because a dressing had been found that would allow Carson to wear his pump on the beach. Scales were tipped in favor of mom’s perseverance to provide a ‘normal’ day of play at the beach for her boys.

However, hours later while driving home Carson’s numbers were telling a different story. His body would not respond to adjustments made through the pump and mom began to fret over the decision that she knew was right around the corner.

‘I really should give him a shot. Ohh, but I really would just like us to get home first because we are getting so close and it’s not going to be pretty,’ she said.

‘Do whatever you need to do to keep him safe. If we need to stop, we stop. If he throws a fit because he has to get a shot, then he throws a fit. It doesn’t matter, you just do what you need to do and tell us how to help,’ I said.

Carson knew what was coming and fear crept in, ‘no Mom, I don’t want to get a shot, I don’t want to!’ he said with urgency and obvious trepidation. Despite his best effort to hold them back, the tears began.

Wyatt seeing his friend in distress asked, ‘does Carson need to get a shot Ms. Kelly?’

“Yes, he does Wyatt,” she replied.

“You can give me his shot,” Wyatt replied with an obvious desire to take this pending pain from his friend.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been prouder of him than in that moment. Sometimes the impulsiveness I'd been working so hard to try and reign in and redirect with Wyatt led him to moments like this. This was the sacrificial love we had talked about in theory when we studied God’s Word but now here it was in practice!

In my mind I was taken back to when Wyatt was a year and a half old.We were in the doctor’s office getting shots and he had gone first. Then his twin brother went and I’m quite sure Will’s howling could be heard rooms away.

“Oh, did you see that look he is giving me and that stink eye! He is mad at me!’ the nurse said.

‘Yes, I saw! Wyatt’s not hiding how angry he is that you just hurt William. He’s letting you know the best way he can as a one year old,’ I laughed.

We still joke and reproduce that furrowed brow, angry leaning in face with an angry snort that Wyatt gave the nurse that day. Today he likes to say he was trying to blow boogies on her to make her stop hurting Will!

Now, here he was 5 years later still not wanting to see someone he loved get hurt. Only now he had the words to convey his intent and he was willing to take onthis hurt himself.

Kelly thanked Wyatt and explained that it wouldn’t help Carson if he didn’t get the shot, but what a wonderful friend he was to offer. Carson seemed to perk up a bit and we began to talk about what all the boys could do to help their friend.

“You can pray for Carson that he’ll be brave for his shot. Maybe we can sing him our song we sing when we are afraid---‘brave like David in the lion’s den, brave like Jonah in the belly of a whale, brave like Joshua at the battle of Jericho….” I sang knowing we were moments from pulling over for the shot.

We pulled over and I gave all the boys drinks while Carson went to get his shot in private. As I stood handing out drinks Carson came to ask for one.

“Oh, not yet, you need to get your shot first and then see how your numbers are,’ I said.

“I did get my shot and it’s ok,’ he replied non chalantly.

“What! Get out! I didn’t hear one peep out of you! Are you kidding me!!?? That’s it, we’ve got a new line to add to our song. It’s going to be, “Brave like Carson when he’s getting a shot,” I said.

Carson’s smile beamed ear to ear and so did the other boys. I marveled how a lesson God had taught me about using his Word to combat fear in my boys lives was rising to the surface again years later (“Lord of the Flies—Worry,” June 2010 blog). Carson was the brave one and now he had been placed in the ranks of biblical heroes like Daniel and Joshua. That’s the power of the Word of God to build courage into a life!

I thought how quickly we are to wish and pray away all these uncomfortable/messy/sad/devastating and anxious moments and ask God to replace them with predictability. We want moments that make us comfortable, but as Rick Warren reminds us, God’s more interested in our character than our comfort and our holiness than our happiness. It seems predictability is never where the Spiritof God is developed in our lives. Love, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are truly grown in the trenches!

In this moment I understood what God meant when He told us to come to Him with thanksgiving for everything. The diabetes I had been cursing because of the strain I saw it place on people I love, had now become a conduit to develop God’s kindness and gentleness between two friends. I was able to tell God, ‘thank You that You take sordid things like diabetes and use them to grow beauty. Thank You for making devoted mothers like Kelly who goes about her day with such sacrifice to all her around her. Thank You for giving her strength to rise to each new challenge she faces to protect her children. Thank You that You invest in our lives through the things we would wish away so that you can develop beauty not found in the comfortable spots we seek.

Carson enjoying his first ever sleep over (Mom was one room over so she would be able to check his numbers in the middle of the night) while Tad reads him a story.