Happy Thanksgiving!!

Thanksgiving looks very different this year. There was no 20 pound turkey cooking through the wee hours waking us all with delicious aromas. No sweet potatoes, pumpkin, and apple pies surrounded by a myriad of snickerdoodle cookies. No greens, corn, and candid yams flanked by Mac and cheese and green beans. No cornbread and dinner rolls spilling over from their dishes. There weren’t extra tables and chairs in the lower level with football playing on the television. No bodies packed in making the house so hot we had to open windows. No kids voices mixing with adult laughter.

There were three people in my house today. We had ham, Mac and cheese (boxed not even homemade) and crescent rolls. We played board games by the fire and switched between football and National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. It was quiet. And odd.

I know that next weekend my house will be full to the bursting with people as we celebrate our combined Thanksgiving and Christmas. All the food that wasn’t crowding my kitchen today will be present and accounted for next weekend. But, today was still odd.

It’s the first holiday my newly minted 18 year old has spent away from me. A piece of me is missing. we all felt his absence today. But, my eternally optimistic heart holds hope he will be here next Saturday to eat, laugh, and be a part of the family photos. I know he won’t stay if he comes, but having him there would make my heart soar. No one ever tells you how much having kids can hurt.

So, today, with our humble but tasty dinner, the three of us are thankful for each other. For time together. For being unhurried and unharried. For love. And family. And very excited for the chaos of next weekend.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I pray you were surrounded by love and stuffed to the brim with good food.

Baked ham and board games

Get yourself some…

Praying friends.

Anyone keeping up with the crazy that has wrapped itself around my family these past few weeks knows it’s been rough. All the emotions and then some have worked through this place and I’m really over them all. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. Sadness. Denial. Too many of them, often at once, circling like bats at feeding time. It’s been rough.

The one common constant has been the people in our lives lifting us up in prayer. They’ve watched the story of our teenage son unfold over the last few years. They’ve seen our struggles. Some even shared similar ones. And we all do what comes most naturally when life throws bricks at us; we pray. We pray for our own issues but we also pray for one another.

When I cried all over the women’s event, prayer came from all directions. It truly helped. It didn’t take away the big feelings I kept trying to stuff down. But, it helped me move toward a place of functioning peace. You see, prayer isn’t about asking God to instantly fix the things gone wrong. He’s not a genie. It’s about giving him what’s burdening our hearts. This whole situation has been weighing my momma heart down and it has been incredibly heavy to bear.

Now, I never claim to be perfect. By any means. I’m as flawed as the next person. But, I pray. Funnily enough, I tend to pray for everyone but myself. Still working on that whole idea of being worthy enough to ask God for anything for myself. I’m a work in progress. In this whole situation, I’ve prayed.

Prayed my kid was safe, healthy, eating and sleeping like he should. Prayed he wasn’t doing anything stupid that would get him arrested or worse. Prayed my daughter, who feels so hurt and betrayed, would find a way to accept and forgive her brother. Prayed my other kids wouldn’t harangue and hold my son’s idiotic selfishness against him. Prayed my husbands hurt over everything that’s happened would lessen and start to heal. But, I haven’t prayed for myself.

Today, I received the most amazing voice message from an amazing prayer warrior. I count her amount the few people I actually call friend. In this message, she didn’t just say she was praying for me – she actually prayed for me. Right there, in that message, she spoke words over me and my family. She prayed for me. Thats huge. And it means more than I would ever be able to express.

How many times do we say “oh, I’ll pray for you” but never actually do it? I know I’ve done it. It’s so easy to say. Rolls off the tongue as if second nature. But, do you? Do you actually pray for that person? Do you comment on that social media post seeking prayer with an actual prayer? Do you stop them in the hallway and literally pray for them? Send a message of prayer? Add them to your personal prayer list?

That two minute voice message filled with spirit lifting words meant everything to me today. A friend took that time during her meal prep for her own family to lift me up in prayer. And Ill play that message many times over the next few weeks as we fly through the holidays. Not knowing what will happen, I know her words will help my momma heart find peace. Those are the kind of friends everyone needs. If you don’t have praying friends, get you some. Quick.

Prayer comes in many forms

It’s been one week….

Since he left.

Yes, I’m still heartbroken. Actually, to be incredibly transparent, I am not sure what the heck I feel!

I feel like someone cut off my hand. I know it’s gone, but I still feel like it’s there. I go to see him, talk to him, hug him, but there’s just empty space in his place.

I feel like I’ve cried myself dry. I’m not a crier unless something really hurts. I don’t get all weepy over movies or tv shows. I shed a happy tear or two at the birth of my kids and grandkids. But, I don’t cry. Friday night a random statement during our nightly wind down time had me crying all over my husband. Hair plastered to my tear soaked face, runny-stuffy nose, puffy eyed, headache inducing cried all over him. Saturday, crazily thinking I was fine, I went to our church’s women’s event. And cried through two breakout sessions, dinner, and half of worship. Then I cried all over two amazing women who held my hand, hugged me and prayed over me.

I feel like breaking into hysterics and laughing until my sides ache. Because when all else fails, laughter is always a great back up plan. The whole situation just seems so surreal that I can’t quite come to terms with everything that’s happened.

I feel like curling into a ball and sleeping for a week. I am beyond exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. I want so badly to turn off my momma brain but I can’t. Questions like is he eating and sleeping plague me? How are his allergies during this temperature shift? Is he remembering to wear his glasses when he needs them? Is he alive? And the answer of I honestly don’t know drives me insane.

Life looks very different right now. I don’t know what the future holds for him. He’s either going to figure it out and fly, or fall perilously and hopefully come home if he does. I don’t know when I’ll see him again and that hurts my heart. So, yeah, I have no idea what I’m actually feeling.

All that’s left…

The shoe dropped….

And the whole closet went with it.

Today, our youngest son, freshly minted age 18, sat down in front of me and told me he was moving out. He couldn’t find the right words to break my heart with, but eventually, he said them.

I knew it was coming. The writing has been splashed in neon graffiti all over the walls. Whispers of it have reached me ears, whether I wanted to believe it or not. But, I held out hope the rumors were wrong.

I have this problem where my face says what I’m thinking without using actual words. My kids tell me the looks on my face cut them down far worse than the words I use. It was todays look that stalled his words. And the longer he fumbled for the right ones, the worse my heart hurt. But, I made him say them.

I suppose I should be proud of myself for not melting down completely, begging him to stay, telling him what a huge mistake he’s making. I even managed to pretty cry, not ruining the mascara I actually applied this morning. I remained calm even though I was screaming on the inside.

He’s not the first to leave the nest, but he’s the one I worry about the most. High school has been a rough road and it sits perilously unfinished. Differences in thought on future plans have carved ruts into the dynamic of our family. My momma heart has been through the ringer.

I won’t get the early morning head nods as he makes his way to forage for cereal before school. No more random after school conversations about crazy things that happened during the day. The sounds of him and his sister doing odd Tik-Toks and laughing like maniacs won’t shake my walls. There’s no human tree to elbow out of the middle of my kitchen as I cook.

He’s been gone fifteen minutes and there’s a hole in my heart. He was the first human I grew from scratch. The first boy who ever had my whole heart. The first time I ever really understood what true love meant was when he was placed in my arms. And now that piece of my heart has packed his clothes and left.

No one ever prepares you for moments like this. There’s no instruction manual to being a parent. You pretty much wing it and fly by the seat of your pants. If there were a manual, this chapter would be titled “Man does this suck”. Sigh.

I guess today wouldn’t hurt so much if I thought he was ready for the world. Lord knows his dad and I tried to prepare him. Did any of the lessons stick? That’s anybody’s guess at this point. But, regardless of whether he flies and soars or falls flat, he knows where home is and the door is open if he needs us.

20 Seconds….

Of insane courage!

Twenty seconds isn’t a lot of time. A normal person can hold their breath for about that long. You might blink half a dozen times in twenty seconds. Most thought pauses last longer than 20 seconds.

Twenty seconds can also change your life. A single choice made in 20 short seconds could alter your course. Think about what you could do with 20 seconds?

I’ll tell you what I did. I took 20 seconds to hit send on an email that sat in my drafts folder for six weeks. My finger hovered, my resolve wavered, but I clicked send before I could change my mind. What was in the email that had me questioning my sanity? It was the formal request to compete for the title of Mrs. Indiana!

Now, before you roll your eyes at the very idea of a pageant, stop and listen. Pageantry isn’t what most people think. It’s not just beautiful gowns, crowns, and sashes. It’s women looking for a platform to stand on and change something in the world. Pageant women advocate for some of the most incredible causes. Our current Mrs. America advocates for inclusion of people living with disabilities. She works toward building playgrounds ALL children of every ability level can enjoy!

So, you’re not rolling your eyes but you are secretly wondering why and why now. For the past five years, I’ve thought about it. For the past two years, I talked about. I hemmed and hawed. I talked myself out of it. I had some seriously negative self talk going. “I’m not thin enough. My hair isn’t long enough. I’m not pretty enough. My thoughts on issues aren’t that important.” Oh yeah, I was my own worst enemy on steroids.

Then, it hit me and I told my inner mean girl to pipe down and go away. I am awesome. Sure I’m short but clearly God thought 5’3” was tall enough. Yeah, I’m not model thin. I’ve grown two humans and I’m healthy. I lift weights, walk, and run so I’m fit! There may be some gray sneaking into my brown tresses but who cares. And, my thoughts on issues like self-esteem and bullying are incredibly valuable.

I’m absolutely terrified to walk the stage in a swimsuit. Or a floor length evening gown with tripping hazards. But, I’m going to do it scared. Speaking in front of people is as easy as breathing so that doesn’t bother me. You know what does bother me? Not letting my daughters or their friends who watch what I do see me take on something that scares me and rock at it.

I want my adult daughters to watch me smile and strut with my head held high in my one-piece and be proud of the body I work hard on each day. I want my teenage daughter to be inspired by my poise and grace as I answer that on-stage question. I want women like me, work from home moms, women who aren’t model perfect, women who do so much for others with little thought of their own dreams, to see me and be moved to action.

20 seconds of insane courage could lead to the title of Mrs. Indiana. Maybe even Mrs. America. Quite possibly Mrs. World! The hubby already calls me Mrs. America so it’s up to me to make it happen. Scared and excited, here goes nothing!