Tag: family

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A Lesson in Trauma

When I was 6, my parents found out they were expecting again.   Considering the 10 years they’d waited for me and then more for this child, we were all so excited at the thought of this baby.  But, at 5 months, my mom miscarried. I don’t remember much about that time, just that while my mom went to the hospital to have the procedure, I went to Aunt Paulette’s.

Going to Aunt Paulette’s was not out of the ordinary for me.  Her house was as much mine in my mind as my own. Actually, it still is.  For me, her house wasn’t one where you knocked or rang the doorbell, you just walked in the backdoor and asked who was there.  This is where I spent most summer days and where my larger extended family often gathered because Aunt Paulette’s was where Granny lived.

The loss of the baby was the first time in my life that I knew in trauma.  I probably wasn’t as aware of what it was then as I am now, but I do remember the shock and hurt of the event.  We often want to shield children from pain and trauma. We want to protect them from any type of hurt. I think we do this because we think they can’t handle it.  That’s probably true unless we walk through it with them. What Aunt Paulette did in the time of crisis for me and for my mom has never been forgotten.  

Some memories are fuzzy now, but there are several vivid things that stick out to me during this time of trauma in my family.  

  1. We went shopping- I know that seems trite, but we went shopping for my mom.  We went to Belk in Pine Hills and picked out a beautiful pink nightgown and matching robe for my mom to wear when she came home from the hospital to recover.  
  2. We talked about the baby- There are very rarely elephants in the room with Aunt Paulette.  We found a way to talk about what he may have looked like, how he would have acted, all of those things.  
  3. We prayed- We prayed for my parents, for me, and we thanked God for his sovereignty.  Sovereignty wasn’t really a concept I understood at 7, but I was beginning to learn that God is in control of all things and always has ultimate say in outcomes.  

As we are in an odd time of crisis, the lessons I learned from Aunt Paulette during my first memory of trauma are very valuable.  

  1. Do something for someone else- I know we are keeping our distance.  But maybe banana bread to a neighbor or takeout delivered to someone’s doorstep.
  2. Talk about it- Talk with your children about their fears, about truth, about hopes, dreams, anything.  Don’t isolate within your own home, come together.
  3. Pray- It seems so simple.  But how many of us believers are almost so stunned by the rapid, odd turn of events we’re not even sure how or what to pray?  Teach your children to pray. Pray with them. They might not understand it all, but they will forever remember it was your response during this time.

I’ve used Aunt Paulette’s method of dealing with crisis/trauma over and over in my life.  She probably doesn’t even know she did this, it was probably just a reaction because it was how she had dealt with trauma.  Learning is funny that way… more is caught than is taught.  

Trauma and crisis don’t have to define us.  They don’t have to define our kids. How we respond to trauma and crisis will help them as they grow and inevitably face crisis over and over again.  It is our job to teach our children how to respond in these times, to teach that God is sovereign and loving, willing that none should die but all should come to eternal life.  

“Imprint these words of mine on your hearts and minds, bind them as a sign on your hands, and let them be a symbol on your foreheads.  Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit in your house and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.  Write the on the doorposts of your house and your gates,” 

Deuteronomy 11: 18-20

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Echoes of Granny – “Doesn’t Hurt To Say It”

“He’s basically the family hero.” I overheard Kate, my 15 year old daughter say to her friend.  She was referring to my Uncle Wayne.  She’s not wrong. He certainly was a hero in my book and apparently I’ve done quite the job convincing my kids of that as well.  Uncle Wayne was a law man.  I say that because he wore lots of different hats throughout his career from motorcycle cop to undercover detective to Chief Deputy. These roles weren’t the only reason Kate referred to Uncle Wayne as hero.  No, the reasons are much different than your typical “family cop” ones.  Sure, Uncle Wayne was always out to get the bad guy, always out to protect and serve, just not always in the way we typically think.  

My grandfather died when my dad was 13.  Uncle Wayne was who drove my grandmother to the hospital to see him for the last time when he was 16.  Uncle Wayne is the one who quit school before graduating to provide for my dad and their younger sister.  He stepped in to the role of father when he didn’t have to.  He protected them and served them.  He became who my grandmother leaned on in that very trying and uncertain time right after her husband’s early death.

There are a 1,000 stories I’ve heard over the years that could tell you of the ways Uncle Wayne was “the family hero”.  However, the one that stuck most is one of selfless love.  The remaining kids in my grandmother’s house moved to Florida after my grandfather died.  Uncle Wayne soon took a job to provide and when it became too much to work and go to school, he chose work.  While my uncle was working to put groceries on the table, my dad was able to go to school and play football.  By play football, I mean became the All-State, recruited to the University of Florida on a full scholarship type of play football and according to Uncle Wayne, headed to the NFL.

One evening, my dad was required to attend a formal event.  I’m not sure if you’ve ever bought size 12 EEE shoes, but they’re not easy to come by nor are they particularly cheap.  My grandmother and Uncle Wayne had gotten enough together to make sure my dad had clothes to wear but his school shoes wouldn’t do.  Before my dad went to put on the only shoes he had to wear, Uncle Wayne bent down and took his shoes off and gave them to my dad to wear that night.  

Being a man of few words, Uncle Wayne often spoke most with actions.  Just like the night he gave my dad the shoes, his life spoke of actions of love.  I’m sure his wife, children and my other cousins could all tell you of Uncle Wayne’s actions of love.  He was a doer, not necessarily a speaker.  

In conversation the other day, my dad was talking of the last few months of my Granny’s life.  He said, “do you know the conversation she had with your Uncle Wayne just a couple of weeks before she died?”  I’m sure I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t recall it, so he told it.

Granny called Uncle Wayne to her bedside and posed this question, “son, do you love me?”  What kind of question is that from the woman who knew he loved her?   This is the same boy who quit school and took a job to provide.  The same one who’d moved her into an apartment he’d built so her kids could come and go as she lived out her final days.  The same one who’d done countless unseen things for her and showed his love in so many ways.   How could she ask such a question?  

His response, “Mama, you know I love you.”

To which she said, “well, it wouldn’t hurt you to say it every once in a while.”

After I gained my composure over this exchange between two people I dearly loved, the thought hit me.  I wonder if Jesus feels that way about me?  He sees all the “things” I do that say I love him.  He sees the people I try to minister to, the right and good things I do, all the ways I “show” my love.  Have I said it enough?

Maybe you feel this way.  You do all these things to show him your love, but do you say it?  Do  you think, surely, Jesus knows I love him.  

Of course Jesus knows we love him, but it wouldn’t hurt to say it every once in a while.   

Echoes of Granny
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Some of y’all never… and it shows

I love a good meme.  I’m not sure who invented the idea, but I’d like to thank them for the endless entertainment I’ve gotten from this art form.  One of my recent favorites is a text based one from Twitter that says, “Some of y’all never (fill in the blank) and it shows.”

For instance, “some of y’all were never line leaders in elementary school and it shows.”

“Some of y’all never watched Dr. Phil and it shows.” and the memes go on and on.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were in church and the worship band begins one of my recent favorite songs.  Just the drum intro and I was ready to get going.  I mean, like aerobic exercise worship time.  The song begins, worship team is doing a great job leading and I begin to look around because surely others in the congregation are going to join me in my excitement.  I mean, this is worth getting excited over. But they didn’t.  They calmly (tried) to clap to the beat.  Most of the congregation almost seemed annoyed by this new worship song.

The band continued, the worship leader tried to help the congregation see the value of the words, but nothing. Suddenly, this meme comes to mind… Some of y’all have never (fill in the blank) and it shows.

Some of y’all have never been in a place where the only thing you can do is worship.

Some of y’all have never faced a giant so big you didn’t know how to fight but you knew God had equipped you with the ability to worship him and that was all you needed.

Some of y’all have never felt so alone and desperate that God was all you had.

Some of y’all have never been in a position of spiritual warfare for your family and were so fatigued of the enemy’s tactics all you could do was sing.

Some of y’all have never been in those places and it shows.  It shows in your worship.  It shows in your commitment.  It shows in your community.  It shows in how you live your life.  Some of y’all have never encountered Jesus and it shows.

My grandmother was about 5’1″.  But she was a giant in faith.  One of her most famous lines I quote to myself often is, “I’m not afraid of you or 40 devils like you.”.  I always thought it was so sassy, southern woman of her to say that.  However, I’ve realized she wasn’t afraid because she had been through some battles and she knew that she could take on anything she faced because God was on her side.  She could sing at the top of her lungs that there ain’t no grave gonna hold her body down, because she’d faced death.  She could worship and walk through the lowest valley because God had never left her or forsaken her.  And she certainly wasn’t afraid of the devil because he was already defeated.

Granny had faced some giants, defeated the enemy, survived the unimaginable, and it showed.

She also used to tell me that “every pot has to sit on his own bottom”.  So much rich theology in that statement.  What Granny was telling me was that she couldn’t believe for me.  She, my dad, my mom, my aunts, my uncles, none of them could worship for me, none of them could accept Jesus, for me, that I had to do that for myself.  And boy, was she right.

As an adult, I faced circumstances and giants that I wished I hadn’t.  I fought giants, I walked in the shadow of death, I walked through the desert.  Granny never would have chosen for me to experience any of those things.  However, she knew that in order for this pot to sit on its own bottom, it had to experience some things.

So, when I worship, when I face trials, my experience is different than those who have never walked through anything.  I’ve walked out of the grave of sin and shame. I’ve been where a melody is my only weapon because Jesus comes to fight for me.  I’ve seen the goodness of God in the land of the living.

If you fit in the “Some of y’all have never…” category, my prayer for you is that you start experiencing some things because nothing makes your faith stronger than facing adversity.

Consider* it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.  James 1:2-4

*Consider here doesn’t mean think about it, it means count on it.

I should have rushed a club instead of rushing the marriage.
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We are Family

One of the number one things I’ve taken grief for in my life is being an only child.  People always have something to say when they discover this fact.

“Oh, that explains so much.”

“Really?  Well, I guess I can see that.”

“Huh.  You don’t really act like an only child.”

I’ve gotten all of those responses and more.  Well, I’m sure that my being an only child has formed a lot of my thinking and even probably explains why I think or feel about things how I do.  I was not an only child by my parents’ choice.  My mother would have had a houseful had she been able.  But God saw fit to just give them me.  I always liked to think they reached perfection with the first go-round, so why try anymore, but they saw it differently.  My parents, more than once, have referenced my birth as a miracle.  They had been married for 10 years when I was born.  Doctors had said it probably wouldn’t happen.  They had started the adoption process.  But God thought differently.

So, here I am as an only child, raising 5, (yes, 5) children with my husband.  There is so much I don’t understand.  First, the rules of shotgun.  I just don’t get the specialness of the front seat.  Or gosh, with our kids the passenger side back seat.  They call “dibs” on everything.  It’s been quite the learning curve having more than 1 child.  I wouldn’t trade the lessons for anything.

Another lesson came at basketball last night.  Our family is blended. A “yours and mine” situation, we say there will be no “ours”, but in truth, they’re all ours.  The girls were watching the youngest brother play basketball.  My daughter’s half-sister (her dad’s daughter) sat with us.  Our good friend’s boys also sat with us to cheer on their brother and my son. The youngest of those boys is the most delightful of boys you’ll ever meet.  Caden accepts and loves without question.  He has come to refer to my son, Matthew as one of his “brudders”.  As I sat there the thought came to me, in our very imperfect family structure sits this perfect mosaic of what God sees in us.  He views all believers like Caden views Matthew, just another one of the “brudders”.

Granted, there are no half-siblings, step-siblings, or family friends in the family of God.  And as a wise woman once said, God doesn’t have any grandchildren either.  However, no matter how we came to our salvation experience- as a child, a teenager, an adult, or an older adult, God views us the same.  It doesn’t matter if you have this amazing testimony of how God saved you from the depths of sin or how he kept you since you were a child, we are all the same.  Accepted.  Loved.  Called his own.  He values each one of us.

I sometimes struggle with the family of God, not always understanding how that dynamic is supposed to work.  You know, since I’m an only child.  However, the more I see my kids interact and grow, the more I understand.

Are your “brudders” (or sisters) doing something worth cheering on?  Then, cheer them on.

Do they need some encouragement? Encourage them.

Do they need accountability? Step in.

Do they need discipleship? Help them.

Thankfully, as a part of the family of God, I’m no longer an only child.  I’ve got lots of “brudders” and sisters to celebrate with and to mourn with, to encourage, to be encouraged by, and all the things that families do.  It’s really a great thing to be a part of this family.

 

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