Happy Birthday to Doni

Wednesday went really well considering the circumstances. Thursday went even better. Today is restful in every way, and I am grateful. Tomorrow, my family will fight for peace again.

November 30th is Doni’s birthday. The truth is, a birthday is a hard day to get through after you lose someone because it was a day that you once had the opportunity to celebrate them. Now the injustice of life stolen so soon really looms the closest. You realize how cruel death is just by celebrating birth.

I was thinking yesterday, though I had already blogged so transparently earlier in the week, that I wanted to celebrate my mother in law’s life nonetheless. Much of her married life was spent raising children. Then she was ill with Lyme Disease and Pancreatitis. In the middle of fighting for prodigal children, fighting for the livelihood of her husband’s church in the midst of a politically correct split, then for as long as I’ve known her, fighting for her own life, she was pretty low profile. I think she liked it that way. Of course, I remember her showing up at the church nearly every Tuesday and Friday morning to coordinate and run a food pantry, love on stinky, lost, and broken people. In her time spent bed bound, I remember her watching every you-tube video she could gather on what Mary Beth Chapman was doing in her adoption ministry, what Heidi Baker was accomplishing in Mozambique, and how Natalie Grant was seeing souls changed through her music and ministry. She loved a good testimony. She loved. She loved. She loved.
Now, so did my father-in-law, Wolf. He was the face of a ministry that was truly making an impact for the homeless in Tuolumne County, a revolutionary in terms of his courage to step outside of a trending movement and fight for truth. He was a published author. He stood on years of outreach, attending conferences with popular bishops and spokespersons, and became a sought after speaker in his own community. Sometimes it really saddens me that he and Doni had to share a memorial. Trust me, Doni doesn’t care. You could not convince her to attend to her own needs if another was in need first. But the service was disappointing for me, for her sake. The pastors and bishops that spoke had little connection with Doni, but had formed deep relationship with Wolf over the years. Kind things were said about her, but for those who didn't know her, nothing new was made known.

     I know my blog doesn’t have an enormous amount of traffic, not as much as a newspaper. But I wanted to write a real obituary for her, something that she deserved. I want to say some of the things that should have been said at her funeral, but got overshadowed by the things her husband had accomplished. That’s fine, Wolf deserved it. He was an amazing man, and lover of God. It just isn’t fair for two people to share one funeral, that's all there is to it. Here are things that I felt should have been said.

Doni loved to know what God was doing in other people’s lives. She responded to hope like no one else I had ever known, and never gave up on what others were contending for. She fed off the accomplishments of missionaries who had seen deaf ears open, blind eyes see, and hungry bellies full only by His provision. She gave herself less credit when those who came to the food pantry for extra cans in the pantry left with a surplus of food, new hope and perspective for who God wanted to be in their life. She was an exuberant, life giving audience to have. She could laugh away cares. She could talk her way out of her own pain, convincing everyone that the attack on her life was really about all that God had promised Wolf, to compromise his ministry and platform. It was hard to talk her into fighting for herself because she could not get over the call on her life to serve, to stay low, and fight at the roots. If I could go back, I wouldn’t laugh with her anymore about that. I would tell her how beautiful her dreams were, and I would tell her that she was worth a healing from God-not just everyone, but her, as she seemed to believe. I would see her as a main player, not as a sidelines sitter, as she always lead me to believe about herself. I would think of her as an administrator, as someone flowing with freedom from heaven to pour out on the bound, who prophesied naturally, a healer, and someone with supernatural faith. I didn’t see it then because she spent so much time showing me what others were doing-by the way, she may have seen a deaf ear healed, food multiplying in the food pantry, and demons manifesting at her window and fleeing in the name of Jesus-but what she was seeing was a smidgen of what she wanted to see in her lifetime.

     She dreamed, she dreamed, and she dreamed some more. She was going to sit in the dirt in Mozambique. She was going to serve at Maria’s House of Hope in China. Though she was housebound for much of the time I knew her, she never let her struggles limit what she hoped she could do in her lifetime, the things she dreamed about. It may have limited her immediate ministry, but God always provided the means for that to continue. At home coping with her limitations, she imagined life getting bigger and better. And at the heart of her life getting bigger and better, and closer to her long standing vision, she still hoped to be serving. Just in a third world country this time.

I wish I would have questioned her when she told me she couldn’t write or draw or speak to a congregation. I wish I would have rolled my eyes when she told me her main vision for life was to see her husband and children succeed. I wish I could shake her and tell her how special she was, that all she was doing really mattered. It mattered to me. When I think back to her funeral, it was the culmination of all she had told all of us about herself for so many years- I am in the background, I belong there, I am a servant, and I want to be the least of all. The community might not have seen her very often. She didn’t go to church for months at a time because of her issues. But she did serve, and she did love- I see much of the fruit in the hearts of my children, in how much I miss her just because she was always there, always available to encourage me. In the kingdom of God, that is the most honorable job to have. After I got home from the funeral, I got up the courage to read her notes on face book afresh. I read her “about me” and thought, “that’s so her. No one said that!”  This is who she is to me. Not someone who finished the race in second place behind her impactful husband, but someone with an incredible heart to serve, love, and get as low as she could to meet others where they were at. These were her words:

“I am a lover of souls. Someone who has been saved by grace. A daughter of the most high King, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a teacher, and a servant of the poor.

     I am an adopted daughter of the most high King. I love my Savior Jesus Christ, my husband, my four children, my daughter-in-law, my son-in-law and my grandson and granddaughter. I love the church where my husband and I have served for 21 years. I am passionately in love with the poor.”

Followed by her favorite quotes, authored by Heidi Baker and Mother Theresa.

I love her, and I miss her. If she were here I would tell her all that and more. That just by serving me and my children, she left a legacy. I want to love my family with all that I am capable of, and more. I want to live an abandoned life to God. I want to serve low. The difference is, I want to serve myself once in awhile. I want to recognize early that a life of servant hood is of great value and a lasting inheritance- I know that now because of her. I want to value myself enough to let others fight for me if I need it, and let God save me if I get so low I can’t come back on my own. I wish I could see her one last time and tell her how much she meant to me- how much I loved her heart, her laugh, and her crazy dreams. I am not one of her children, but have spent countless hours with her, lived with her for months at a time, then again for weeks at winter’s worst. I know her, and if you didn’t, it’s simple.

“Sitting down, Jesus called the Twelve and said, "Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all." Mark 9:35

She would have never asked for it, or desired it for herself by any means, but in my books she’s the first. I love her so much, Happy Birthday to an amazing woman of God.

A Window into my Grief Journey

 (I wrote this days ago....TODAY is the anniversary. A beautiful day of Thanksgiving preparation!)

It will be here soon. The anniversary - can I even call it something so positive sounding??- of my in-law’s death. I hate that day with a passion.

Just in case you have never had the job of telling the person in your life that you love the most that his or her parents have both been killed in a car accident, I don’t recommend it. It was the most heart-wrenching moment of my entire life. In my family, I found out first because Paul was at school and had no cell phone. In the moment of my greatest weakness, I had work to do. I had to call friends who were local, friends who were far, call my husband’s work and lie about why I needed him to come home as soon as he had arrived. I had to call his 15 year old sister, who didn’t know what had happened yet and tell her that everything was fine because I didn’t know if she was alone or not. What a horrible day. What a freaking horrible day. The next morning my precious husband slept until 9:30 am, definitely a record for that early riser. I remember watching my phone ring over and over and just letting it go because I wanted my husband to sleep. I didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep that well again. When he woke up, we threw clothes together in a bag, and got on the road by lunchtime. The week we spent in Sonora flew by. We were held up so incredibly, selflessly, and flawlessly by our community. So many details stand out to me, but the place my mind was had to be chaos. I’m sure most of the family felt this way, maybe worse, but this is my story. I was confused, lost, and shocked. Absolutely shocked.

     My Mother-in-law, Doni, was a dear friend of mine. I asked my husband last night just before I fell asleep, "remind me what your mom told you after I left California the week I met her." He whispered in my ear, "I love her like she came from my own womb." I am not saying that I am her daughter, or am grieving the same way as the children- my heart grieves for the pain they all feel. I am saying that I lost more than a mother-in-law. I lost one of my best friends, definitely my greatest encourager and prayer covering, and the "Nana" that my children absolutely adored and loved [and their Opa too]. Slowly, slowly the months crept on after I had lost them and I thought I had handled the grieving season well. I don’t think that my life really began to disintegrate until 4 or 5 months after the accident. I have never been in such a dark place in my life. Panic attacks became my norm. Eating disorders. Irrational fear over everything. Depression like I had never known. Dear Jesus, I don’t even know how I crawled out from that place. I was afraid to love, afraid to feel, and afraid to trust God. I was in a culture where people who had faced similar circumstances to what I had known now were saying, “God is good.”

But I couldn’t lift my hands to Him. That’s my story.

         I was angry. I didn’t trust Him with anything and the burden of control was crippling. I remember one day God telling me, “If you can’t worship, could you speak in tongues?” So I did that for Sundays on end. I would just get on my knees and speak in tongues. Sometimes I felt NOTHING. Worship would continue and I would open my  heart little by little. My soul was so broken before Him and I remember thinking that I was just worshiping by faith at this point. I didn’t feel like worshiping. I didn’t feel like feeling. I did it anyway. Slowly I commanded that place of brokenness to take refuge in God. I didn’t feel anything changing, I didn’t feel myself slipping into His grip. I didn’t feel safe. I just decided along the way that either this precious family that was stolen from me was going to ruin my life, or I could just maybe choose truth. Choose to worship. Choose to do scary things-like drive on the interstate, get on an airplane, put pictures up of Doni and Wolf in my home- and trust God to carry me. I chose to let God get into that place in my heart that I didn’t want anybody or anything to touch, ever again. After awhile, I found myself lifting hands in worship and telling God, “I don’t feel you, but I do love you. I don’t trust you right now, but I do need you.” Along the way my depression began to lift, and life began to make sense again. I took time to enjoy my family. I started choosing joy. One day I was making breakfast, playing with the kids and it dawned on me, “I’m happy again. I’m back.” Not that grief wasn’t still part of my life, I just tamed all the uncertainty. I asked God, “How did I make it through that season without regular, professional help?” (I probably NEEDED more help, but didn’t have access to it because of finances and such a busy lifestyle with the children! Thank God for dear friends who had walked through grief themselves!) but God showed me a picture of myself in worship, surrendered. So surrendered. David told his soul to worship God. I realized that’s simply what I had done, even when I didn’t feel anything happening in my heart I still chose to go to God.

This song is new around Bethel, so I hear it a lot. It wrecks me. Take time to listen if you'd like:




I feel like I’ve been able to track my progress in grief by how I respond to this song. Last night, this song played during worship and I danced. I love this song. I cried some, laughed some, and thanked Jesus for His sacrifice. I know that I know that I know where Wolf and Doni are now. I asked God to show me a picture of their grave because I wanted to dance over it. And to me, their grave does not represent death, but my pain. I wanted to dance over my pain, not just for my beautiful Savior who has never let me go, but for my soul to know how far it has come on this journey. During my early grief season, I really feared losing my husband, my children, my parents…anyone that I loved. I can’t say I have won this battle completely, but I will, because I have a revelation of the power of the cross. I know what it means for death to lose its sting. I know Doni and Wolf are alive. I know my God is good, kind, and mighty to save.  I also know that the sting of death doesn’t own me. Grief doesn’t own me.

I am still sad. I call it ‘enduring sadness.’ It’s there, especially this week. I torture myself with thoughts like, I can’t believe I haven’t talked to Doni in a year. It breaks my heart into a million pieces. Now, I acknowledge that pain and take it to God. God, I miss her. I’m hurting. I feel Him now. I hear Him speak. There’s not panic in His voice, or pain, or fear- He’s eternity minded. He knows where she is, He knows she’s safe. It reminds me of when my kids cry about a monster in their closet and as parents we KNOW there is nothing to fear. Or Sonora who cries about an ‘owie’ and we as parents expose it nonchalantly as a smidgeon of dirt. “Oh,” she says, "it's not an ‘owie’!" His perspective is so necessary to get through this season. It has saved me. This isn’t specific wisdom for grief. It’s just where I’ve come from, and where I am now. Jesus has carried me through this like I never knew possible, even when I didn't know I was being carried.

      If you are going through a grief journey, whatever you are doing to get through is normal. That was the most practical advice that I received from others who have walked this path: God is ok with you’re journey, you should be ok with it too. This is all assuming you are allowing yourself to grieve. Just do it. I found myself continuously caught up in the conundrum of grieving and wanting to live as if my days were numbered, which meant I didn't want to be depressed and lazy. Ugh. I just had to let it go. Somewhere in the exhaustion, pain, sleeplessness, and confusion is a glimpse of hope- it’s your own life. You’re still here. Take a deep breath, and live. Above else, what I’ve learned about grief is that Life. Goes. On. And we’re all blessed for it.

Setting Boundaries in Parenting

     I am sick. Again. I cannot get well and every time I say it out loud, my Bethel schooled husband says, “Don’t say that, you’re giving it power!” Yeah, well, I think it’s already got the power. Because I’m sick, dang it! Sickness and motherhood do not mix well. When my kids get scratches, bruises, and scrapes I inevitably think as they meltdown on my lap, “I wish I could trade places with you.” When I have a head cold, I think “I wish you guys could trade places with ME!” Yeah, I know that’s sadistic and whatever but I will happily serve them when I’m healthy. People who have sore throats and snot belong in bed. End of story.
As my kids have gotten older, a new phrase has been coined. It’s usually when Paul walks in the door and I’m still in my pajamas, my hair standing up straight, and arms akimbo at the end of my rope, “They’re just running me!” Allow me to explain.

Kid # 1: Mom, can I have some oatmeal?
Mom: Of course.
Kid # 2: I want oatmeal too, please!
Mom: I’m on it.
Kid # 3: WAAAAH!!! [interpretation: hold me]
Scene: Mom has screaming baby on hip, grappling for plastic bowls and spoons from the cupboard, transferring it all in a colorful plastic chaos closer to the oatmeal. She puts oatmeal into three bowls. Carves out three slices of butter and puts it on oatmeal. Adds chia seeds. Add cinnamon. Drizzles honey. One by one the plates get doled out to the table, and Kid # 3 gets fastened in high chair, which she does not believe in sitting in until food is prepared.

Kid # 1: Mom, this doesn’t have enough honey for me. Can I have just a little bit more, please?
Mom: Sure *Grabs bowl, heads to kitchen to add honey, returns to table*
Kid # 2: Mom, you forgot to give me juice.
Mom: Give me just a minute, baby.
Kid # 3: WAHHHH! [interpretation: feed me faster, woman.]
Kid # 1: I want juice too, Mommy.
Mom: *Gets up to retrieve three juice cups, fills them all with heavily diluted juice and returns to the table*
Kid # 1: Can I get more oatmeal?
Mom: Give me a minute, please.
Kid # 3: WAAAAHHHH! WAAAAAHHHHH!!!! [interpretation: how could you ever stop feeding me?]
Kid # 2: Mom, I need to go pee-pee
Mom: Ok, I will take you, let’s go.
Kid # 2: You forgot to get me more oatmeal!
Mom: I will when I get back.
Kid # 3: “WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” [interpretation: I am famished!!!!!!]

Are you tired yet? I am. This is my mornings on occasion. Not every morning, but often enough that I can quote it. This is dinner too, just a little different food. Maybe you’re wondering where my husband is in this? You see, he is an early riser, like my children. Lots of times he feeds them when he is up before 7 am, and on the occasion I crawl out of bed closer to 8:15, then I will begin feeding them a second breakfast of oatmeal around 8:45. So, he’s a good man. He served his time before the sun came up.

Today the Lord spoke to me about boundaries. I’m terrible at them. In the particular situation He spoke to me about boundaries, Jake was hassling [guilt tripping] me to play legos with him. I wanted to. Dear God, I would have done it if I wasn’t doing a million other things. I kept telling him that I wanted to JUST finish dishes. JUST fold a couple clothes. JUST help Sonora change. JUST put the baby down. It did keep adding up, and before I knew it, an hour had gone by and I still hadn’t acknowledged his sweet little heart. Unfortunately, as I moved to sit with him I realized that I was thirsty. Not just a little thirsty, a LOT of thirsty. It was 10:30 and I still hadn’t taken a drink of water for the day. Just a cup of coffee. I was dehydrated, starting to fall apart, and my son was waiting on me. So I sat with him instead of getting water and I started thinking, “I am so mad that Jake doesn’t care enough about me to let me get water for myself. He just wants me to see his stupid legos!!!!” I felt so resentful of my son, and I immediately asked God to help me out. I didn’t want to feel that way, but somehow I found myself hanging onto the end of a rope for dear life, not sure how I got down there. As I consulted the Lord I heard Him correct me, “It’s really not Jake’s fault that you don’t set boundaries.” Even though the Lord always convicts in love, this hit me in a soft spot and it hurt. This is an area in my life that I have often times felt hopeless. I have fished for the root, and I think I located it.

When I was young, I was terrified of the dark, tortured by the enemy in my sleep. My parents took me to the psychologist, got me on medicine, and regularly kept me in touch with counselors. No one knew then it was a spiritual battle. My Mom had some boundaries in place-no sleeping in her room. I co-slept with her when I was younger, but once I was 8-9-10, when my fear really took off, she had already started dating my step-dad and it was no longer appropriate to share a bed with her. At my grandparents house, things were different. I stayed over at their house almost every weekend as I grew up and I loved it. They kept their bedroom open. They invited me, “If you get scared, please come stay with us!” Now, I only saw them 2 days a week, so I’m not faulting my mom for keeping her door closed. It was just life. At my grandparents, I had full access to anything I wanted. Even though I can look back on that time now and understand my mom’s boundary and its purpose, then I thought, “my grandparents know how to make me feel safe.” Thus began a long parenting journey of believing the healthiest possible parenting tool I had going for me was giving my kids full access to my life.

It doesn’t work.
It will kill you.
You will find yourself despising the tiny little army that follows you to the bathroom, into the shower, into the bedroom every night, and hanging onto your ankles as you try to go out by yourself- THE ONCE A WEEK TIME YOU GET OUT BY YOURSELF. If you teach them they have full access to you, they expect it. I have often joked that my kids think that the Bible verse, “Knock and the door will be opened to you” means that if the door is locked, and I am in the bathroom, I will open it if they annoy me enough. You see, when I had one kid, this worked. When I had two kids, I survived this. Now that I have three children, I am JUST NOW starting to understand that I need to put some personal boundaries in place that protect my needs.
I meet their needs. That means loving them. Cuddling them. Disciplining them. Serving them nutritious meals, taking them outdoors, doing fun and meaningful activities with them outside of the home. I have really happy children. But you better believe that once I popped out that 3rd child, I started to use the word NO.
Can we have more juice? “NO”
Can we have another piece of cheese? “Nope.”
Will you get me a cracker? “When I go back into the kitchen.”

I don’t know what perverted sphere of society has taught us that children can have everything they want, when they want it. I bought into it, and I remembered a tiny fragment of my childhood that reinforced, “boundaries are evil things.” I sat on the couch a couple days ago and watched 4 hours of TV. It’s true. My throat was sore, my muscles ached from my shoulders to my feet. I served breakfast, morning snack, lunch, and an afternoon snack. To my surprise, my kids survived a day of the word ‘no.’ They survived, and not only did they learn that they are not entitled to every single one of their selfish little kid whims [though I love my kids, and it pleases me to bless them], they learned that mom doesn’t dehydrate herself, or starve herself, or push herself to the brink of exhaustion when she’s sick. She takes care of  herself. I think that’s a better lifestyle lesson for them to learn, as opposed to the “ask and you shall receive” principle. I really don’t think that verse applies to an abyss supply of snacks, and access to mommy in the bathroom.
Here are some tips I have to setting healthy boundaries with my kids:

1) I announce when I’m in the kitchen or bathroom, “Does anyone need anything in here?” A schedule would be ideal, but eh, it’s not my thing.

2) Sacrifice your sanity by letting your kids help you do things around the house. Do it. Let them spill the juice as they pour it into their cup, use gobs and mounds of peanut butter as they make their own sandwiches, and put groceries away in the oddest of places. There is purpose to all of this: they are learning some self-sufficiency. Whenever my almost 6 year old asks me to dress him we have an awkward moment of silence where I challenge him to a stare down. I’m not dressing a 6 year old [unless I am in a hurry!]. It’s important he learn to do these things, it’s part of growing up. If you make this all fun when they are little, helping won’t be a “chore” as they grow up.

3) I think it is a good habit in life to learn to say ‘no’ without explaining yourself. It’s part of being a healthy adult, or something like that. I, however, think it’s important to explain it to your children. They are learning about boundaries from you so it’s a good thing to say, “I can’t get you another cracker right now because I was just in the kitchen, and I plan to fold laundry for 15 minutes. How will I ever finish laundry if I keep having to stop?” The boundary can go the other way too, "Yes, I would love to see what you drew so I am going to put my word puzzle down, and I can do it later when I'm not with you."

4) Value yourself. What are your needs as a human being? Do you know them? Figure them out. My husband has a much shorter fuse than I do because he’s an introvert. Little people all-day-long start making him plum crazy. I don’t take a lot of day trips for that reason. I, however, will start to escape [sit on face book] when the kids start “running me.” That is a major trigger for me to feel overwhelmed. Sometimes when it gets really crazy I *gasp* put a clingy  baby in the crib for 10 minutes so I can JUST get dinner started. I carry my baby a lot, and love her dearly. Boundaries will not make her feel unloved, they will reassure her of my love in the long run. Do you know why I started this? One time she was clinging to my hip and she lunged at the counter and spilled a glass jar. Just a huge mess, but it COULD have been a hot pot. That crib boundary is for her AND me.

 I am learning this. It’s my journey. Teach yourself how to have healthy boundaries, and teach it to your kids. It is a really important life skill to have.

**We’re all getting this, right? Never would I imply to not meet your children’s needs because mom is sick, or tired, or thirsty. Just take care of yourself. Parenting is a laid down life of sacrifice, but there is no reason why we can’t enjoy the process and learn some life lessons along the way.