“And after years of hearing the heart-cry of women, I am convinced beyond a doubt of this: God wants to be loved.”
~John Eldredge, Wild at Heart~

Well, I took the advice of what others suggested and sat with someone else besides my family at the potluck. Josh was in Urbana filling in for a pastor. I sat with one of the couples who’d been in the marriage group that he and I led over this past school year. The flowers on the altar today were given in honor of this couple’s upcoming 49th wedding anniversary. In our group we had a semi-regular newlywed couple, along with four other regular couples who had all been married for 35-40+ years.

Earlier this morning I’d texted a woman from church asking if she wanted to come to the potluck. She and I have connected over potlucks before and the jokes we make about having to bring things. I told her I’d made an extra item she could have if she needed something to bring. She texted back and said she and her husband were in Canada on a cruise celebrating their 50th. I told her that was a good reason to miss, that there’d almost certainly be better food there, and to enjoy her time.

It was actually fine and I enjoyed my time too. This couple that I sat with was actually very instrumental in normalizing what I am currently going through with my oldest. On the night of our last marriage meeting, the topic of kids leaving the house came up. In reference to this, this husband said, “I remember there were lots of tears involved”. That opened the door for me to ask, “Can you tell me more about that?” And for the next half hour the wives shared stories of tears and the husbands affirmed.

I was very grateful for that night, because I think it increased my husband’s own awareness and compassion. He’s been very patient with my tears these past months, comforting me when I’m crying out of nowhere again. I know you’re not supposed to compare sufferings with others, but with myself I’ve started comparing seasons, wondering if this is worse than the time when they were all young and little. This is the first time since then that any season of motherhood has caused me to ask this.

From the time when my kids were very little, my heart was full of love for them. The things I did for them, the life I chose and lived for them, the life I chose to keep on choosing for them, the way I poured myself out for their welfare was done for one reason and one reason only–because I loved them. It was done without thinking about my own life or consequence. That did eventually start to come, but it wasn’t there in the beginning. I didn’t know what love was, what all the deepest of loves entailed.

Loving them was the first time I ever identified with Christ’s love. He suffered and gave his life, I was doing the same. I could look at Jesus and also see myself on the cross. Nothing else had even come close to that magnitude. Of pain. Of love. Of sorrow. Of brightness. For where Jesus was, my light was also. And I didn’t do it to be loved back. Loving them, just having them itself was enough. I do wish sometimes they’d love me more, and I can let that go too, because to love someone really is setting them free.

This is off topic, but I’d really like to serve the Lord. Whether up there or down here, I’ve got things I want to do. It’s interesting because when kids are little we talk about how forgiving they are toward our mistakes, and they are. We also talk about how much we lose ourselves, and we do. It can make me sad and make me feel like they did not fully know me. They know what they have seen, but they have not seen it all, because everything could not be seen at once, a fuller grace and truth for more than me.

The boys and I went to the beach this morning. We met a friend and her kids to have some swim time from 10-12 to beat the heat. Thankfully it didn’t end up being as hot as originally forecasted. Like I said, there really has been nothing to complain as far as the weather goes. My sister-in-law lives in Dallas and whenever I check their weather all I see is triple digit temperatures for weeks on end.

We had a nice time together. I consider inviting people to the beach a personal ministry. Really it is just the ministry of friendship and spending time together. Those two things together produce refreshment and joy. Why we don’t end up doing this more often is beyond me. Logistically I see the reasons. Maybe if we did it more often it would soon becoming indistinguishable from the rest of life’s demands.

The boys played volleyball the entire time. Her kids are younger than mine and needed much more attention. As they say in thoughts and movies, “I remember those days”. The regular play-date interruptions when trying to talk to a friend who also was being regularly interrupted by her little ones. There was a popular meme on social media quoting C.S. Lewis or somebody saying something like,

“Children are not the interruption to our work. They are the most important work.” Of course that resonates during a time when truly almost everything you do in a given day is for your children. It is hard to talk about then and now without sounding like grumbling. Words and thoughts are meant to flow freely, and our destined and desired state is wholeness and completion, not fragmentation.

Motherhood definitely made more of a feminist, not less. By feminist I mean someone who notices the personal and societal pains and burdens unique to women and in turn rallies to work and try to alleviate them where possible. I was just thinking that maybe sometime after this LCMS national convention they need to have a similar follow-up gathering for women but without the resolutions and meetings parts.

That’s probably asking too much, I know. And thinking like that for too long will be the actual thing that embitters your heart and wrecks your mind. I love how the Bible talks about bitterness in terms of roots: “See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that ‘no root of bitterness’ springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled (Hebrews 12:15).” A weed pulled up can often send dirt flying.

In other words, it makes a mess. But once the root is gone, once the weed is no longer taking up space, it leaves more room for the soil to breathe. The soil’s nutrients no longer are being sucked up by the roots that are only being used to feed and grow the bitter plant. In the case of the believer, God’s fruit can then grow there, of which there are many and various kinds. In the giver we feast from an undying tree.

This morning I stopped by the grade school to get the boys registered. At least one of them still needed their birth certificate on file, so I brought those along, in addition to an accidentally kept math textbook and two outgrown uniform polo shirts. It turns out the office was closed, but the principal’s son saw me at the door and let me in.

I know there have to be boundaries between sort-of friends and work and those messy times when things like this cross. I didn’t want to take advantage of anything, most of all her kindness or time. I quickly filled her in on why I’d come, collected the papers, asked her when the school’s summer office hours were (M-Th, 8-noon). She did copy the birth certificates to give to the secretary for when she would be in the office again.

She asked how I was doing and proceeded to share that she’d been crying lately almost every day. I’d been doing that too but it seems to have calmed for the present time being. We both have oldest children (boys) who are going to school. I’m kind of over talking about it now, it just seems like it shouldn’t be this big of a deal. I don’t really care to admit how much this whole thing has been messing with my heart in harsh ways.

There are definitely other issues involved. Like the possessive, clingy, insecure, desperate parts of me are affected by this. And throwing their fits. I’m too old for this, too mature for those qualities, and God can be a rough surgeon sometimes. It really is better just to own who you are without trying to hide it. It’s too much work to be anyone but yourself, especially when it comes to fessing up and dealing with your problems.

With me. Next to me. That is where I want him as I’ve been thinking about him night and day. Today I was imagining our hug before he leaves. I was squeezing his torso like a boa constrictor suffocating his prey, digging my face into his chest, crying, and I wasn’t embarrassed. Other times I imagine being more composed, mature, and saying a prayer with my arm around his waist in more of a side hug, praying like my dad did.

This really is silly. I have been thankful though for the women who have shared their experiences of going through this. Childhood really is broken up into trimesters like pregnancy was. You have the years through age 5 as the first trimester, 6-12 as the beautiful golden years of the second trimester, then the 12-18 ages as the final trimester with its fullness, readiness, and births. They have to leave you somehow.

His was the only birth that I had an epidural with. His also took the longest with pushing 2 1/2 hours. Looking back now I think the nurse was inexperienced and had me start pushing too early. For me pushing was always the hardest part. I think if I had to give birth now I would just take the epidural and pray it wouldn’t leave me with pain or unwanted side-effects. Some pains we simply don’t need to go through again.

The raccoons have not been seen in a while. I was kindly asked to stop feeding them over by the campsite bathrooms. It was fine until someone came and camped there for a week. Another RV couple also moved onto the property and have been staying here with their kids for the past couple of weeks. It made sense to not feed them there anymore, and they were getting big enough anyway to not need to be fed.

It’s crazy how I have this thing for raccoons now. This morning on Facebook marketplace there was a dog kennel for sale for $200. It would’ve been the perfect size for the original baby raccoons we had. My main reason for getting rid of them was not having a big enough space for when they got older. If the kennel would’ve been $50 and a little closer by, I would’ve bought to have for if we ever have raccoons again.

I know that my daughter at least has thought the same way. When we were cleaning out the linen closet and deciding what to keep and what to get rid of, she suggested hanging on to a few older linens just in case we ever have another raccoon situation. I thought that was a good idea. Most of our hand towels disappeared in the short time they were here with us. We would use them for feedings and to pad their bins.

Speaking of Facebook marketplace, I made my first purchase today. It was a headboard and “like new” twin mattress, each being sold for $10. When I was doing the boys room I had looked at a headboard for the non-bunk bed. The one I wanted was close to $100 on Amazon. I didn’t buy it. The one I bought today was the exact color and style as the one I had wanted. We were also down a twin mattress, so that was a good deal.

I mostly joined so I could try to sell some of the bigger things I didn’t just want to drop at goodwill. I have a $300 food dehydrator that I bought back in 2020 and have never even opened. So I’m hoping I can find someone for that. Out of the nine school books I’ve listed on eBay, seven of them have sold and earned back some money which I turned around and spent on the listed books needed for the upcoming semester.

No, I don’t need praise for any of this. I don’t even know why I write this stuff out except for that it’s just what comes to my mind. There are so many other deeper thoughts I have throughout the day, but for whatever reason, this chatter recounting the daily things is what I end up writing about. I wonder sometimes if the deeper life things are being saved for later, like if it’s not actually what I need to be writing about now.

This morning I asked my husband what he’d do if I moved out of our house and got my own place. Like would he make it difficult for me to come get my stuff, what little I actually could say that is mine, or would he just let me take it and go? I was thinking specifically of the bookshelves I’d bought for the living room several years ago. They go together, but they were also not cheap at $175 a piece. Would he let me have them?

Because technically none of this has been my money. I am not the one who has earned a single penny, at least not of any recent or significant amount. He said, “Rebekah, you’re not moving out. Just relax.” He reminded me that this was the busiest time of the year and something about things getting better. It was somewhere in the four o’clock morning hour when I asked, the second morning in a row that I have needed to talk.

There is no amount of wisdom that is going to stop me in those moments. Yeah, you learn to speak your peace and let it go. Stopping then may seem inconvenient, but worth it. But sometimes, no, if I have been awake since 3AM, if I’ve tossed and turned, and gotten out of bed, and found my yoga block by the light of my phone, if I’ve stretched and moved on our new bedroom area rug and it’s still not better, I’m talking.

“For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.”
~2 Corinthians 1:5~

God really never stops loving us here. I tend to think sometimes that when it comes to sanctification, God takes us for a time, does his work with us, and then sets us free as purer beings. We go through a rougher time, or an awful time, and then it’s over. After such harder times of refinement or purification you might think, “That was enough to last me a lifetime. Surely we got through most of it then.”

Except as my dad pointed out today, that’s not how it works. Until the day we are called out of this world into the next, we are ever being renewed. The Bible even says it, “though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day (2 Corinthians 4:16).” It’s not renewed every 4-5 years, or every 4-6 months, or once a decade. Every day the Lord is using our circumstances to draw us to him.

Closer to him and closer to who he is. I tend to associate and imagine being conformed into the image of Christ as suffering only. To be conformed to Christ’s image is to be put on a cross to die there as he did. So often I stop there, forgetting Christ himself did not stay on his cross, nor did he stay in the grave he was placed when he left it. His destiny is ours. His entire life, death, and great and everlasting joy.

I feel like I’ve lost my momentum with the cleaning. God granted me the focus and resolve I needed and now I’m opening back up again to be a little more involved elsewhere. The bedrooms are basically done, with the exception of mine which still has some clutter as well as a cubby shelf that I am wanting to better organize. It worked to keep me busy until about last week, where I hit the wall of being ready to just have some actual family time again.

The heat has gotten worse this week. It’s been a very mild summer weather-wise, so I really can’t complain. I wouldn’t even be worrying about it if it weren’t for the fact that I have a child who’s been having to do these pre-season running workouts that have gradually been increasing in intensity throughout the summer. There is not enough down time between camp weeks in my opinion. The extra activity and lack of time to get some decent rest in bugs me.

I really am a pretty negative person. When I write it’s like the things I want to write about are the things that are currently causing me worry, frustration, or sadness. It’s like it helps to get rid of the present negativity so that I don’t have to weigh anybody else down with it. I do have problems with complaining too much, but in general, if I get a chance to say what bothers me I do feel better. It does seem though like there are often more pains than smiles in life.

This latest round of sanctification going on has not been pleasant. I had grand plans to write tonight but I’m struggling now to keep my eyes open.

The high schoolers are here for high school week. The boys were all at camp last week so I’m happy to have them home again. I miss them greatly.

Sleep is a wonderful gift from God. Not only does he give us rest from our labors but he uses the night to grant us a deep restoration from the day.

More and more I’m realizing just how prone to disconnection I am. And when I am disconnected I do not feel like myself. And when I do not feel like myself, that is, when I do not feel happy and fulfilled and like people are these wonderful beings who bring so much joy, wonder, and excitement into life, it feels to me like something is wrong. It feels like I am missing something. It feels like I am bored and alone.

We had a board of directors meeting tonight at the church. Before I went I was not looking forward to it. I have enjoyed my role and being a little more involved but I still feel like something is missing there. Just like in your intimate relationships they say how you can’t expect your spouse or romantic partner to meet all your needs, I wonder if it is the same with church where it can’t meet every social need.

People had suggestions when I brought this up. I could change where I sit in the pew on Sundays. That way I’d get a chance to talk to a wider variety of people. Or during the 5th Sunday potlucks, instead of our family sitting all at one table, we could split up and spread out among other tables. Someone mentioned me coming to pew sisters again. I probably would if it weren’t that this year I will now have classes on Tuesdays.

So there it is. It’s this combination of “no, I’m not going to do that” (change where I’m sitting) and “that legitimately isn’t going to work for me right now”. I was reminded, however, sort of indirectly in my spirit, that there is nothing stopping me from noticing someone else and reaching out to them. There is definitely truth to forgetting about yourself for a while and looking to see and meet the needs of others.

This is what I’m most looking forward to doing. Being able to give people my undivided attention. To listen to them and be a witness with them. To love them in a way that many people have never experienced but is lastingly healing once you do. There is nothing special about any of this, that is, nothing beyond what God has already called and given me to do in this life. I was thankful for the needed reminder.

It’s been fun documenting some of my cleaning process here. Today I made another trip to goodwill. I bagged up the books I’d taken out of the schoolroom, as well as the kitchen things I got rid of after cleaning out the cupboards to the right side of the sink. There was an entire garbage bag that I filled, including the contents of almost ten plus years worth of accumulated cords.

We threw out the microwave that we have had for fifteen years. It was a gift from a former congregation member who told me in the note she wrote that every young mother ought to have a working microwave. I was thankful and touched by her generosity and thoughtfulness and the microwave has served us well. Right now I have no plans to buy a new one. I told my husband we can see how it goes. We still have a stovetop popcorn popper that was also a gift.

My mother-in-law and I went shopping for an iPhone today. For graduation she told us she would help get Ethan a phone. She was also going to cover the first year of his payment plan. It is things like this that have tremendously helped us out financially along the way. Two of our working cars were gifts from my in-laws. In total we have received four vehicles from them as gifts.

Back in May I got together with a with the woman whose feelings I was sure I had hurt on one of the evenings of my daughter’s play. She invited me over for morning of tea and conversation. I always like talking to her, as she’s one of those people who you just dive in deep with as far as conversation goes. She had strawberries and muffins and these pretty little plates set up in a screened in porch.

Her first question for me was “What are you grieving?” It was such an odd question that it scared me at first. Was I supposed to be grieving something? Did it seem like I was grieving? Was this some sort of sign that grieving was imminent? The first thing that came to mind was my son, the whole thing about children growing up and moving on. “Ethan”, I said, a little self-conscious about my answer.

She gave me an old copy of The Magnolia Journal, the magazine that always has Joanna Gaines on the cover. She’d marked a page about a woman who was writing about grief. The woman wrote:

“I wanted to be a mom so bad and felt called to be a mom, so when I couldn’t make that happen I felt stuck in some sort of in-between space. I realized that I didn’t really know who I was and I also didn’t know how to start the process of figuring it out. I had to create space and step outside of my situation, and I had to have the guts to grieve. I learned that just because I’m hurting, it doesn’t men I don’t trust God. I didn’t have to get over this quickly or sweep it under the rug to benefit others. It’s ok to grieve and it’s ok to give myself permission to have a hard time. It’s ok to be just where I am in this journey.”

My son and I had a very close relationship when he was little. He was an absolute joy to have around daily and be with. I loved being his mom, carrying him around, watching Arthur in the background, buying his dot-to-dot books that he loved to do.

Somewhere in the middle years we lost what we had. The last thing I remember he was a third grader in the track tent, in one of the only meets I saw in grade school. While going through his room this summer, I was packing up the things from his walls. There were ribbons from his elementary school years, from the track events when he was in 3rd and 4th grade. I had no idea he had been in so many meets.

Or at least, I had no recollection. What I remembered was us holding hands, walking to the concession stand to buy us both some hot chocolate. He wasn’t weird for him to hold my hand, or sit with me under a blanket between events. I don’t even remember ever seeing him run. I just remember the long jump because that one had a picture. I remember the two of us staying up late to watch the Cardinals in the 2011 World Series.

He was only seven years old. Somewhere all of this slowly stopped happening…

Heartache is definitely a part of motherhood, just as it is in many other vocations. There’s the wonderful relationship I had with my son. There’s the relationship we had together but lost. There’s the relationship I hoped for but never had. There’s the time with him I can’t get back. There’s the part of my heart that will always be his.