Homelessness

I’m swinging on my porch swing, journaling and wondering what Wesley’s doing right now.

I taught my son to be independent. But sometimes I so miss his dependence. Grampa used to tell

Grammy that she was pushing her boys away with one hand, yet clinging to them with the other. I have such mixed feelings when watching my son grow up.

I’m so heart-swellingly proud of the young man he’s become. But… Remember when…

My son’s newest endeavor is to experience what it’s like to be homeless. 

With a friend from college, he’s spending two weeks on the streets of a city an hour and a half away.

He thought ahead. He made provisions and sought wise counsel. He prayed, planned, and prepared. He’s got a deacon at a nearby church in contact, and he’s checking in.

But…

And then Abba steps in with His own ‘Remember when’s.

Hey, Moi – Remember when you were young and pregnant? When you thought you’d have to give the baby up for adoption?

Remember that first day he spent with his dad, away from you?

Remember that first time you put him on a bus with a complete stranger?

Remember the day he got his license and drove off alone?

Remember when you dropped him off at college?

Remember just a couple of weeks ago? When you gave him back to Me?

Remember when you fell down the waterfall and woke up in My arms? 

I’m holding him, too. Wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

This life is not about playing it safe, or having a good time. 

It’s not about being healthy and wealthy. It’s not even about having loved ones around you, or having a place to lay your head at night. 

It’s about getting to know the God Who loves us beyond words.

Sometimes we can’t do that from a porch swing.

But the contented peace in this mother’s heart confirms that sometimes we can.

Just Another Day

On Friday, my Stella cat first woke me around 4:30. Fortunately, she came with a snooze button and I managed to get another hour of dozing by rubbing her head every time she meowed at me. Then I got up and gave her breakfast before showering and getting my own breakfast.

I drove to work, watched my students sing on the stage, and then calmed them down enough to study earthquakes and volcanoes before reading a story about crocodiles collecting rocks and reflections. We wrote another page in our autobiographies, ate lunch, had recess, and played with calculators. After the students left, I sat at my desk and graded papers before filling out my planbook for the coming week.

I left work around 4:30, and headed home to grade a few more papers before going to Pizzeria Uno with my son for dinner. Back home, I graded another handful of papers while we watched TV until 11:00. Then I headed up to bed.

It was just another day…

…6 years from the day I was diagnosed.

He loves us

This is Stella.

I adopted her Wednesday night from a local animal shelter. She’s five years old and has had at least two homes before coming to live with me, and her last family gave her up because she “needed too much attention.” After that she spent three months in a cage in the shelter.

She's rather chubby -- we think one set of owners must have just kept feeding her to keep her quiet. Her first night with me, she cried all night. Last night, her second night, she slept on my bed by my feet. 

She’s very skittish as she’s slowly being exposed to different parts of the house. She heard the toilet flush, and she won’t set paw in that room again. Unfortunately, that’s where I planned to keep her cat box and food tray. I’ll put a couple of cat treats on the floor in there when I go to work and see what happens.

Often, Stella is content to roam around exploring (as long as she’s in the same room as I am),  but every now and then, she needs reassurance. She begins crying and won’t stop unless I’m touching her. At those times, I sit down on the floor next to her and just rub her with both hands, keeping up a steady stream of gentle conversation.

“I love you, Stella. I’m right here, because I love you. I’ll go away for a couple of hours, but then I’ll come back, because I love you. You’ll be fine. You can go explore, and I’ll still be here. Because I love you.”

As I rubbed her head, and kept up the steady stream of reassuring words, I realized how familiar they sounded. That’s what our Abba is whispering down to us in our total panic moments. He will always be with us – because He loves us.

Hold tightly to that promise as you explore today. 

He loves you!

It's time...

I got the call last night that my application has been approved.Tonight I'm going to head out to the Second Chance Animal Shelter to find my new soulmate.

I'm getting a pedicure this afternoon because it's imperative that my feet are up to snuff for that first sniff. What do you wear for such an important first impression?

I am so excited right now that there isn't even an iota of fear about the important I have with my oncologist in two hours...

Isn't it neat how God works?

I remember when I first thought of getting a dog. I wanted a companion to fill the empty nest and to hike in the woods with me. But instead of the butterflies of excitement I have now, it was dragonflies of fear whenever I thought of the commitment. What if I'm too tired? What if I need another surgery -- who'll take it for walks? What if the cancer comes back? How do you explain to a dog that you're dying? Who will tell the puppy waiting for me by the door that I'll never get home?

Cancer can take away your ability and desire to make long term plans and commitments.

But God can give it back.

I also remember the day when I shared these fears with a friend. Before I could even finish my list of what if's, she barged right in with the simple words, "I'll take him" and the simple promise that no matter what happened to me, that dog would still be loved. 

Friends -- do you have any idea what heavy loads you lift off tired shoulders with only your simple words?

Just the reminder that no one truly walks alone helps get me through the darker days.

But today there's not even a hint of darkness.

Because today I'm letting go of the fears and embracing the Hope.

This May marks 6 years since my diagnosis.

Six years!

Every milestone this year will bump me out of that dreaded 3-5 bracket and into a whole new future. And I'm ready to share that future. 

Time to pet proof the house...