Category: Survival

#funny, #God's redemption, High School Seniors, momfails, motherhood, parenting, Parenting boys, parents love, Perseverance, Survival

To Moms of 231-Month Olds

jinnyhenson


The Holidays are over and so is the temporary reunion with my college freshman. What a joy to have him in the nest, to greet first thing in the morning at noon when he awakens and to see little love notes in the form of Taco Bell wrappers regurgitated from our dogs. I am struck now as I mail off the forgotten items today how similar my 231-month-old is to his former 12-month-old self.

1. First: Food

His palette is ever-changing. Remember how she wolfed down carrots and got an orange nose one day and hated tubers the next?  This scenario repeats itself 18 years later after you spent $200 on food craved a mere semester ago. Cue whispers of overheard cell phone comments like, “Yea, there’s nothing to eat in the house.”  This Summer I’ll just buy $3,000 in Whataburger Cards. Family food selectors are left to read the non-verbal indicators such as rotting bananas and a half-eaten dunkin’ stick left for dead in the pantry. Look sharp because gnawed-on treats in cellophane sleeping bags are the only clue comin’ your way,  Little Debbie.

2. Second: Shared Space

Surprise!!! Your house is no longer your own. I remember wondering how my home became a yard sale of Little Tykes molded plastic gardens and work benches.  Overnight. Now the living room is all “Call of Duty” couch-compounds and ghosts of Mountain Dew benders past. So, besides extra trips to the grocery and that little commitment called your job, you have to keep the house photo-ready so your kid’s Snapchat background doesn’t look like Syria.  Sure, it has been liberating cleaning house in a jog bra and fat pants since August but, trust me, you’ll want to cover  up lest your girthy mid-section headline in her own hellish Snap Chat Story.

3. Bad ideas are still contagious.

Even before little ones verbally communicate, you know that two unsupervised toddlers together spell trouble. Just a few:

“Let’s climb the refrigerator!”

“Let’s play beauty shop with real scissors”

“The fish wanted to live in the potty”

Now that young adults are eh hemm..self-supervising, it goes something like this: (and oh so very much worse)
“I bet you can’t jump that refrigerator”

“I cut hair all the time!”

“This is a crazy You Tube- Goldie’s new bowl”
4. And most of all: They still require prayer

I remember praying constantly for my two. Jack’s delivery was too quick to squeeze the fluid from his lungs so he began life in the NICU. Once home, sister tried to feed him a cookie. Then in a few weeks he was hospitalized for RSV. Those were super fun prayer prompters.

I prayed so earnestly for my children before they were born and certainly after. Even now my favorite time of the day remains the wee hours of the morning when I meditate on God’s Word. I love to just breathe, be and pray-lax in His love.

I pray for his continued work ethic and personal safety. Of course I still pray that he will “Make good decisions!” As I used to yell as he walked down the driveway and took off into his 2002 Ford F-250.

I am incredibly grateful that a college education was important to my parents and that they found a way through hard work and sacrifice to send the three of us away to school. It proved a key season for becoming my grown-up self. What a uniquely precious experience of going away and becoming your own person by making all those decisions- good and bad- yourself.

It was a blast to have Jack home and scream-sing certain original ear worms which John has forbidden. (deleted Zimbabwe praise song, you know who you are.) I even watched my son play video games just to hang out. What a blessed few weeks for him to check in, recalibrate and remember why home is such a safe place to fall. As exciting as the launch is, it certainly is nice when they return home. If only for a visit.

Hope, humor, miracle, motherhood, Survival

When Ducks Bentley Imprints on You

jinnyhenson

Ducks BentleyJack’s Spring Break happened this week. While my men worked at the family farm in Troup, TX, I kicked some dust up of my own. I cleaned my 17 year old son’s room. The debris from the cleanup warranted machinery which, instead of returning to the garage, I crammed atop the dryer and shut the door. When John returned home and began his laundry I grabbed my crap pile of tools to return to their rightful spot.

Hands full, I hipped-open the door knob (they don’t lie) and was stunned by the sight of our Lab chasing a baby wood duck. With his teeth. I screamed bloody murder and in my nightgown and morning hair a-blazing I slung my load, snatched the baby and nestled it protectively to my chest. John came running and as usual said something about the neighbors calling the Police about domestic abuse, blah, blah, blah.

Since I’ve seen that Dawn commercial like a 1,000 times I consider myself a waterfowl-recovery expert. John told me to Google proper procedure for duckling care and agencies who would help so I immediately introduced my chihuahuas to the orphan because that was way more fun. Realizing that my duck-whispering dreams were temporarily coming true he gave me my moment and did the due diligence himself.

John looked outside and thought he saw the mother in search of her baby. We kenneled the dogs and let Ducks Bentley out back to see if she would come get him. No sign. He wandered to the front yard with that heartbreakingly displaced cry and no luck. He hopped down the street and I absolutely could not just leave the hatchling to chance with all of the cats and dogs on our street. I continued to walk Eastward but lost sight of him. Eyes closed, I honed in on a faint cheep and kept walking until I saw him.

My friend knew a Veterinarian who rehabs ducklings for the state and said he would take care of it. My heart was satisfied that I had done my duty as a foster parent and he was in good hands. That afternoon when I called to see how the re-homing was going, I got some alarming news. The Vet could not take Ducks and so my friend set him free on a nearby lake. He checked on him later that day and said he looked ok but that if he did not find ducks of his own kind soon that he wouldn’t make it for long. Oh no.

I dropped the phone and headed for the Elks Lodge Lake a few blocks from our home where Ducks had been released. Not letting the “Members and Friends of Members” sign dissuade me, I blazed up the entrance. To my shock this was no pond. It was a LAKE lake. My heart sank. I walked down the boat ramp and called for Ducks Bentley. Looking high and low I spent 15 minutes calling for him. No duckling anywhere.

Walking along the wooded shore I prayed and came to peace with the fact that if I could not find Ducks Bentley that God was just going to have to look out for him. I am a hopelessly optimistic realist I guess. I returned to my car and drove further down the shore. I did not see another entry point for the lake and a foreboding  chain link fence blocked entry to the rest of the lakefront. I did see a jon boat but I didn’t want to push my luck with trespassing and theft. One misdemeanor at a time is my mantra.

In the distance I spotted a pier and parked my car. Getting out, I sloshed through the saturated grass toward the clearing, calling for Ducks Bentley all the while. I scanned the watery horizon for a bright yellow and black wood duckling yet saw nothing.  As I called, the mature ducks swam farther and farther away from me. It dawned on me what an absurd a needle-in-a-haystack endeavor this was and I did not even know why I felt so compelled to find him. Looking for the positives, I reminded myself that at least I had tried.

I spent 10 more minutes alternately calling and listening near the pier. I thought I heard a faint cheeping amid the throngs of other dusky nature sounds. The cheep was weak yet  growing stronger. I set my glance in the cry’s direction but I saw nothing. West to East, North to South I searched for what my ears believed to be the echo of my orphaned acquaintance.  There was no duckling in sight but the ever-amplified cheep fueled my hope that there would be.

Then like a winning lottery ticket I saw a tiny yellow and black speck round a bend across the water and paddle straight for me. This was crazy! I got louder and louder and screamed “Grammy’s here for you! Come to Grammy!” Grammy is my self-designation for all the creatures of the world form dogs to fish and now expanding to the world of waterfowl. Ducks paddled closer and closer and my shock increased.

Maneuvering awkwardly through the lily pads, up came my foster-duckling. He ambled on shore shaking beads of water off and I stood still as not to scare him. He promptly sat on my foot and lifting him, I began to cry at the completely bizarre chain of events. I texted John a picture of my ugly-cry reunion and understandably John was ecstatic over my good fortune. “So, what are you going to do with him?” He asked. I answered that I would find an agency to raise him with his species but we have to stabilize the little guy at least for the night.

I opened the car and sat Ducks Bentley on my lap. He hiked up into my elbow pit and rested, exhausted form his wearisome day. I got an aquarium, a light, grass and meal worms for Ducks which I floated atop the water to teach him to hunt. John engineered the heat lamp and we arranged his habitat carefully. I set a clock next to the duckling to simulate a mother’s heartbeat and turned on the radio for some white noise. The song that came on? “The Dance,” by Garth Brooks. And, no, I did not dance with Ducks.

Today I am looking for a wood duck habitat / agency to take him and reunite him with his people. He needs to learn how to be a duck and I am of no help there. He is precious but he deserves to live happy and free. While I have loved living out a Modern Family episode, Ducks belongs somewhere else. Still, I will never forget this teeny tiny little Ducks Bentley who swam a lake to get back to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#holyspirit, Christian Faith, God, Hope, Overcoming, Perseverance, Survival, Uncategorized, wisdom

You Do Get Points for Surviving

jinnyhenson


I don’t know much at all but as I hugged my friend who lost her daughter 18 months ago, I relayed those words: You do get points for surviving. I did not tell her to cheer up. I did not tell her that her Grandson’s graduation would be a snap and I did not tell her that I knew how she felt even though I have buried a daughter.

That simple statement has echoed in my mind so many times. God knows how it feels to be in the weeds, devastated and angry. Jesus felt these emotions. And it is not just my opinion that we get survival points,  the Bible flat out tells me we do. This verse in James celebrates the fact that if we can simply stand we get everything. Psst…here’s the thing- He HELPS us to stand. When we have nothing left, He pours into our spirit with His Spirit and enables us to stand.

Whatever the test, whatever the devastation, disappointment or dismal diagnosis- you can stand! Persevere because you do, after all,  get points for surviving.

Hope, Survival

Always Room for Hope

jinnyhenson
Monty Python's Holy Grail
Monty Python’s Holy Grail

You remember the feeling. Whether from a cheap shot on the football field, a sweaty-handed monkey bar slip or an unfortunate double dog dare involving a roof and flying, most know the sensation of getting the wind knocked out of us. A forceful blow to the solar plexus brings the dome-shaped diaphragm muscle to a halt while simultaneously emptying our lungs of air. We cannot breathe and that is terrifying.

It has been a season of sucker-punches for those I call friends. A freak jet ski accident claimed the life of my friend, Lynne’s son-in-law. Another friend, Kevin, lost a custody battle which leaves his youngest in a neglectful situation and him in tremendous debt. Even more grave is the report from a McAfee classmate of John’s, Jessy, in Liberia where the Ebola virus is rampant. He writes, “People are dying day by day. Please pray for the people of Liberia.”

Because of instances like these and hundreds more, hope seems in short supply. Who can begin to forge an answer for the unexplainable tragedy, life-loss and just plain struggle to survive so many face? Not me. In fact, anyone who claims to have life completely and confidently figured out scares the fool out of me. While I cannot claim to begin to have the answers,what I do know is that Christ is my best example of how to do life, my survival of any trial is a gift meant to be given to other people and there is always room for hope.

1. Guess what? Jesus was o.k. with not knowing everything so I should be, too

In Mark 13:32 with the cross not far in the distance, Jesus admonishes his disciples to be alert for his return and claims that no one but the Father knows the day or hour that will be, not angels in heaven, nor even the son. Did you catch that? Jesus, who is headed to lay down his life out of obedience to his father in utter selflessness acknowledges that even he does not need to know when his return is scheduled. You may think he’d be curious about such things, right? This boldly exemplifies Jesus’ trust in God. If Jesus did not demand answers before he obeyed perhaps we can learn something here.

2. We are not responsible for what befalls us but we are responsible for what we make of it

Dallas Cowboy’s Jason Witten, who has been selected to the Pro Bowl eight times, grew up with an abusive father. At 11, his mom and brothers fled and moved in with his Grandfather. The Boys and Girls Clubs in Elizabethtown, Tenn., helped him, “It was a challenging childhood for me and that was a place where it seemed like you go in those doors and there were people who truly cared about me.”

In turn, Jason has taken his experience and reached out to encourage others.  The polar opposite of some NFL players, he created a mentoring program for the children of women in domestic abuse shelters called The SCORE Foundation. Jason Witten is inspiring because instead of hiding the abusive past he survived, he seeks to give a hand up to those in the midst of their pain.

Whatever you have survived, there is someone in your life who needs to know that they can make it, too.

3. There is always, always, always room for hope

In the Summer of 2009, we had the wind knocked out of us. An accident left Maggie Lee in the Pediatric ICU. Sweet Dr. Travis Stork (Host of The Doctors,) sent a simple phrase through a friend of mine: there is always room for hope. Though our hope of her miraculous recovery was not meant to be, God has used that truth in my life to fill the expansive chasm of grief and lift me in a way which only he could.

When tragedy hits hard, dare to hope that despite all appearances your life is not over, your prayers are still heard and that one day you will feel normal again.  Even if doing so makes you feel as deluded as The Black Knight in The Holy Grail, dare to hope. There is always room for it.