Category: Uncategorized

Farm life, Motherhood, feeding a family, picky eaters, chihuahuas, Red barn, Farmers, Uncategorized

So God Made a Farmer

jinnyhenson

barn

Maybe it was Paul Harvey’s “So God Made A Farmer.” which impacted my child. Or, perhaps it was weekends at the family farm in Troup, TX where his father rode horses as a child or maybe it was the Little People Playhouse Barn at his Grandmom’s house which planted the agricultural seed in Jack. At any rate, he loves the dirt. He told me proudly the other day, “You need a farmer three times a day” He is right.

This Summer Jack is working on Bundrick Farms as a hired hand. 40 hours a week. Just a week on the soybean farm and his neck is literally beet red. His nails are dirty and his Wranglers walk in on their own from his F-250 but he loves being outside. His hard physical work means that my cooking which takes a lax turn in the Summer has to be on point. I have to feed the farmer.

There is a holy food-provider calling for a farmer as well as a parent. Whether you are a Mom nursing a baby, a Dad nursing a sick child or even nursing a cold yourself, the little people look to you for nourishment. Even if your kids bring their kids home to visit. Inevitably I get a text requesting a list of breakfast items whenever I go home to my 75-year-old Mom’s home.

I think men may actually be better equipped for the family chef role because they don’t mount their self-esteem on the teeny-tiny whimsical palette of a four-year-old. It’s almost as if men don’t obsess about the child’s ever-changing preferences of Oreo Thins over Nutter Butter bites or something. They do not envision their child on a therapist’s couch as a result of buying orange juice with pulp. Men are amazing that way. At least mine is.

Perhaps my brain is bogged down with minutiae like which Apple Juice brand gives my child gas or the best way to time a toaster strudel icing-packet defrosting to coincide with the strudel being perfectly brown. Like our family data plan which is always ahem being used to capacity, my mind routinely hovers at the 96% used storage. Because of the Sumatra / French Roast gymnastics I work through while staring at the Keurig aisle.

My cart looks embarrasingly conflicted: Atkins bars for lo-carb John, fresh fruit, Greek yogurt for me (John Stamos brand because…ah…John Stamos) raisins and then whoa-look out: Mountain Dew, Swiss Cake Rolls, whole milk, pizza rolls, bar-be-que and cheese. I have to pack a farmer’s lunch for Jack, a balanced dinner for all of us to eat together and consider canine teeth, a hound doberman’s ear infections and treats to bribe a spastic black lab.

I finally gave up making the dog food from scratch for the little girls when I went back to work last Summer. The Chihuahuas have brittle teeth it turns out so I was actually making their soft food. It was cheaper that way. Now that I splurge on the Fresh Pet refrigerated log of dog food, every bagger in every Brookshire’s grocery store now looks at me like I am NUTS.

“Fragile teeth,” I lamely try to explain.

“Do you COOK this?” they ask. And I mumble some throw-away line like “No, the dogs do,” when what I really want to say is “There’s a $5 in it for you if you just quietly put the food in the bags, follow me out with them and squeeze them into my micro-car which I will have to rearrange my trunk crap for you to do so.”

When I arrive home and lug my carefully-selected bags of food into my home all I can think is “Thank you, God, for this food.The food means that there are people both furry and not as furry that I get to feed. I have money with which to buy food. I have people in my home who eat that I get to do life with. And even if I occasionally strike out with the off-brand meatball with something magically crunchy inside, we are here together to eat, pray, love and laugh.

After we lost Maggie Lee, going to the grocery store was a draining experience. I had all of her preferences stored in my brain and no longer any need for them. In the nearly seven years since, the sharp reality of incompleteness has softened as I consciously stare at the tremendous blessings I have left. I know what I have left is greater than what I have lost. I will always choose to look through that lens.

Good luck to all of us this Summer as we rise to the holy calling of feeding our families. Whether we have a fend-for-yourself policy, have to step up our game, are eating home-grown tomatoes or Captain Crunch for dinner. God made a farmer. Aren’t we glad?

 

#funny, Disneyfails, Faith, momfails, Uncategorized

Grace Yourself

jinnyhenson

3D  It was Disney World, so what could possibly go wrong? I had visions of our youth group at the resort hotel with kids from all over the country uniting for a weekend of challenging speakers and park fun. What’s not to love? Since John went to New York with Maggie Lee on her school’s trip in October, I got to be a youth sponsor on the Faith in 3D Conference that MLK weekend.

Because our destination was sunny Florida, I only packed light jackets for us. Despite the fact that it was  winter, ShreveVegas was a balmy 80 with 1300% humidity. The flight from Dallas to Orlando was routine enough but as I deplaned I could not help but feel like something was going down. That would be the temperature. Turns out it was not only a small world but a cold world after all. With suitcases collected, the actual adults reached into their bags for heavier jackets,  while my mother guilt reached an all new high. It rose in my spirit quicker than Tinkerbell’s concluding firework shot across the Midnight Magic Kingdom sky.

We arrived at the Disney Resort and thankfully they had a gift shop full of Jackets and hats. I reached into my wallet for my debit card and to my horror realized that it was gone! What? Was it stolen? Left at the DFW Airport Cinnabon? Then it dawned on me: I organized my purse. The ticker tape receipt parade had gotten terrifically out of control so I organized then downsized to a smaller purse for travel. Alas, amid receipts of Hobby Lobby, Kroger, Starbucks and Target (the big four) my debit card must have been left. (passive voice) Except for the $100.00 cash that John gave me for incidentals, I had no access to money.

This was such a victoriously brilliant Mom moment for me. I explained to ML that I was a moron and that we had the $100.00 to live on for the next few days. Which is easy because food at Disney is so totally cheap. She did have her allowance saved but as the Mother I was supposed to be ready for any catastrophe not the source of the catastrophe. Even if it was a First-World one.  I did bite the bullet and spend a third of our sustenance on a brown track jacket for my mini-me.

The Conference was great. There were engaging speakers, lots of emphasis on being the hands and feet of Christ in the world and fun break-out sessions. Maggie Lee met a new friend, Jessie, from North Carolina and exchanged email addresses. The weekend struck a great balance between spiritual challenge and time with The Mouse. My guilt was beginning to simmah down when I committed the fairy god mother of all blunders in my hasty attempt to help.

With only three hours left in the park, our small group gathered to discuss which rides we did not want to miss. The group determined that we would do one of the biggies: Space Mountain. But we would need our conference park tickets to get fast passes. Eager to help, I offered to run to get the passes for all of us while everyone made the most of their time left. I collected the passes and ran like the wind, Bullseye.  Like Cinderella at 11:59 I was hauling.

Breathlessly I arrived at the fast-pass machine, fed all twelve of our passes and collected the golden tickets. I sprinted back to the pre-appointed spot and handed back the park tickets and fast passes.  All eleven? What? I searched frantically in my micro-purse, sweeping the pockets both inside and out. Nothing.  I checked my pockets repeatedly with the vigor of a Viking rowing. Nothing.  I began hyperventilating, so ashamed that I had caused trouble when all I wanted to do was help.

The youth whose ticket I lost was sweet and her mom took their credentials to the info booth to get a replacement which I offered to do. Not sure why they didn’t take me up on that one. So the we all dispersed and I followed Sarah and Maggie Lee to be the purse holder.  They boarded the ride and I called John.  The tears flowed as I explained how badly I felt for my failure. I will never forget his his advice comprised of just two little words: “Grace yourself.”

“It is really ok honey, it is not that big a deal.” He soothed.

I protested,  “But they all trusted ME with their Disney Tickets and now Kelley has to spend her time replacing a ticket that I lost.  It’s nowhere. It must be on the ground, near the turkey leg stand or blowing around the parade. I’m so ashamed.”

Sensing my slight overreaction, he once more admonished me, “Grace yourself. It will all work out.” And it did. It was not the end of the world that I so meladramatically assumed it would be. I had not ruined anyone’s weekend like I was fearful I had done. Even now as I consider my shortcomings as a Mom, I relive the Fast Pass Debaucle of 2009.

I could have been more organized. When the kids started forging permission slips rather than taking the chance on my losing it, this was obvious. I could have valued the beauty of a completed load of laundry. I could have assembled the $3,000 worth of scrapbook supplies into actual scrapbooks rather than cramming the photos into random containers. I could have taken that Khan Academy trigonomatry course to help more with the kids’ 5th grade Math.

I mean why be The Pinterest Mom when you can be the Pinterest fail Mom? Way more of you reading this know the smell of Febreeze is no match for Taco Bell nacho cheese and know the panic of seeing four teenage boys bounding toward your home before you’ve showered. The struggle is real. And so are we. And in real life with the real constrains of time, energy and mental bandwidth something will occasionally fall through the cracks. At those moments, it behooves you to grace yourself.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Jin

Uncategorized

Why Me? 

jinnyhenson

Repost 

Why Me?

This time of year I am dogged by this question which refuses to go away. Perhaps you are plagued by similar feelings as you glance at the lives others are living this season.
The holidays lead us to inevitably compare our lot against that of others. Comparison leads me to look to Heaven with those profound two emotion-charged words. The sentiment birthing them: “so what did I do to deserve this?”
I am certain that I did precious little to warrant this life I lead. I had virtually no hand in determining who my parents would be. That they would unconditionally loved each other and me was an unwarranted gift.
My Father was sweet, kind and hilarious. My Mom was and is honest, loving and affirming. Neither one of them descended from such functional homes. The odds were stacked against me growing up with invincible optimism, confidence and joy.
Despite my gender, I was not abandoned. I was not tasked with fetching water which would preclude my receiving an education. I was not married off or sold into slavery at 13 as is the horrific reality of others.
I graduated from High School and thankfully was accepted to a university for which my parents shouldered the total expense. My parents persevered through my academic mediocrity, held their breath and prayed me through to graduation. Then instead of admonishing me to quit while I was ahead, they even encouraged me to attend seminary.
I married a good person, something you cannot truly know until months or years after the cake is cut. He is my polar opposite as anyone who is even a passing acquaintance of ours will recognize. I was engaged to someone else as was he and we both called things off two years before dating in seminary.
We had no trouble conceiving unlike so many thousands of couples do. Our daughter was born with no defects.

Nearly two years later our son was born in perfect health. Although the missionary salary John received would have qualified us for government cheese, we eventually paid off the medical bills for both of our children.
I have been blessed with the rarest of friends and family, those whom I always hunched would go to the mat for me. I hate that I know how unshakable God’s love through them is.
Unlike so many I have met whose support system evaporated in the darkness, mine pressed in closer to remind me of the light inside when I felt it was forever extinguished. Whispering gently and patiently that I was beloved of God even if my life was indeed upended.
I am still a wife and a mother, two of my most favorite roles. I sit here this Saturday listening to Jack play some crazy video game and my John work the New York Times Crossword Puzzle. I am not cold, hungry, penniless, thirsty or desperate for peace. And I am lead to ask, “Why me?”
/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/717/19483552/files/2014/12/img_5539.jpg

#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.

Uncategorized

And The Winner Is……

jinnyhenson

At the risk of appearing proud, this honor is far too great not to celebrate with my faithful readers. All three of you. By the way, I love you. Truly. 

This past week while at work I received notification that I was a finalist. A finalist. This tremendous honor blew me away. Apparently I made the cut from a list of distinguished nominees. 

I know that one is not supposed to jockey for position but needless to say I began lobbying. Like my friend in New York ,Andy Buck, who helps movies win Academy Awards , I went all out. I wanted this bad. I live for this kind of thing. 

After much deliberation, I was selected! I promise to be the most amazing Flat Stanley Lady EVER! Send that guy Shreveport and we will have incredible adventures. I want him to meet the mayor, go fishing with Jack on the Red River and ride on a Mardi Gras float!!! 

Thank you! I am humbled beyond measure!!! And I’d like to thank all the little people…I mean the little person who thought that I deserved this high honor. 

In the end, there are no little things. The little things you realize ARE the big ones. 

#christianfaith, #holyspirit, #humor, #maggieleeforgood, Blacklab, Uncategorized

If Being Right is Wrong…I Still Wanna Be Right

jinnyhenson

If being Right is Wrong…I still want to be right

 

  I know what my faults are. I do not feign perfection. I am well aware of what lies in my own soul. In our congregation we have addicts, ex-cons, prostitutes and even a Junior Leaguer. We are all sinners saved by grace. If that grace covers someone like me then of course it covers everyone else as well. But even I have blind spots. Occasionally, like the father of all chin hairs accidently discovered while driving, I am surprised by a glimpse of something ugly in me. That I never saw before. Prior to my launch into my latest furry discovery, here’s a look at a few of my vintage flaws:

1) I lack that part of a human brain which knows how to fold a fitted sheet…or anything else that may come out of the dryer

If I am folding three t-shirts I will fold them three different ways. May even roll one up in a wad if the mood strikes. I never did puzzles as a child. I do remember stapling black pieces of paper together the length of my body and tracing myself with a white crayon: a life-sized Jinny crime scene at four. I did have Lincoln Logs…which I taped together. Not a linear thinker.

2) I suffer from extreme multi-tasking over confidence

The gap between what I think I can accomplish and what I can realistically accomplish is a pretty profound. I no longer try to cook and change diapers but I do wand on mascara en route to work, a holdover from my hour commute to Baylor Medical Center. Right this second Evangeline has a hi-temp glue gun welded to her back seat carpet, remains of a mobile salad-consumption-attempt and red light faux-nail application fails. I have memorized comedy bits, frosted cupcakes and refereed a Chihuahua death match all in my sedan which makes me I think that I can do it all.

3) Procrastination

We moved into our old new home in December. I promptly re-tiled the fireplace in a beautiful limestone. I grouted it 3 weeks later and now, nearly March, the wire brush sits plopped in front of the project. It is as if I am signaling to any unfortunate visitor, “The smeared-toothpaste grout patina will one day be removed by the handy wire brush resting motionless on this mantel. Right here. It sits immobile to signify that one day, like Central Expressway, the project will reach completion.” All I need is a permanent “excuse our progress” sign.

I am not an overly competitive person. I don’t love an argument. I have never thought that I was one who needed to be right. At least not always right ALL the time. So when this scene unfolded and made my neck hair stand at attention I was surprised at myself. Whenever I find that something insignificant brings out my worst, I know that it is time for a deep breath and a hard look at the state of my soul.

This nugget of self-realization hit me quite out of the blue at an adorable shop yesterday. Three weeks ago I bought a reasonably-priced galvanized tray and I wanted my friend Lisa to see the cute store from whence it came. The shop’s entrance was canopied by illuminated twigs and tied with teeny chalkboard signs encouraging one to “relax,” “breathe” and “buy more crap” O.K. Not the last one. But if Magnolia Market had an illegitimate second country cousin twice removed this place would be it.

Lisa is a lady. She acted predictably: classily oohing and aahing as I blurted out, “I WANT TO BUY ONE OF EVERYTHING IN THE WHOLE STORE!” like Will Ferrell jacked up on candy corn. I love Lisa because she is self-possessed and has awesome cheeses at her home at all times. I could knock on her door at three a.m. and in five minutes she would fart out a seven layer dip and some exotic cracker with which to scoop it out. She can still wear shorts. I stand amazed. Anyway, she loved this place as I knew she would.

The owner flitted around rearranging succulents and cotton ball wreaths; the whole place hearkened back to an idealized farm-house life minus the hassle of actually milking anything. I excitedly complimented her bird cages, porcelain berry cartons, cow creamers and pedestals. The merchant, clearly over my initial enthusiasm, struggled for another way to phrase “thank you.” Just then Lisa picked up the tray I bought three weeks prior. I said, “I love that! I got that tray three weeks ago.” That statement shed light on a hidden fault as bright as the rusted bed spring fixture shining above me. As it would happen, I rather enjoy being right.

The owner looked up through the micro-herb garden to correct me, “Oh no, I remember that you bought the one that was a little larger with a ring at the top.” I stared blankly and felt my face ask, ”Could this be true? Am I mistaken? Don’t I know one two-tiered galvanized tray from the next? What kind of animal AM I?”

My lack of response evoked an even more passionate attempt from the owner to jog my memory.  “Yes, the tray you bought was a bit wider and instead of the wooden handle there was more of a ring on the top.” She made a ring motion with her right hand which she thought would bring it all home for me. “That’s the one you got.” Her speech slowed and eyes widened, as she firmly reminded me that I had not in fact purchased that particular tray but rather one like it, you know the one with the ring that stupid people buy.

I did not comment because I thought that perhaps she was right. She seemed so confident about what I purchased on my first and only visit to her shop weeks ago. Maybe I was wrong and she was hiding an enormous hippocampus under her organic, locally-sourced flax garden hat like people who can remember what they ate for breakfast in 1987. I struggled to remember our black lab’s first birthday party when I used the tray. My mind’s eye revealed decorations, Pupperoni in galvanized cups, homemade dog cake and human food: cake balls with blue #1 picks on top. No ring that I could remember.

Curiosity got the best of me and so with a grove of petite olive trees blocking the owners view, I used my remaining cell battery to search for conclusive evidence. With the moral high ground to retain, like Atticus Finch, I needed evidence to vindicate myself. This completely uninvited and unwarranted accusation must be answered, right?

I scrolled through photos until I found Cash’s Birthday montage. (don’t judge) Impatiently, my fumbling fingers enlarged the picture of our kitchen table. Alas I saw the galvanized tray just as I had remembered. A slight wooden handle adorned the top. Glee flooded my soul. I was right and that could only mean one thing: she was wrong. Buzzing with vindication, I wondered what to do next? Should I casually saunter over to Lisa and prove my innocence or do I go straight to the heart of the matter and show the owner that I was right first?

My innards rejoiced, the embarrassment left my face and my left hand held the proof that I wasn’t off my nut. Right? Then the piety set in. How dare she accuse me of recollecting wrongly? The nerve. Who does this person think she is? Then it happened; I felt a twinge in my gut. A zing which, when I listen, helps me to simmer down when something flies all over me. A still, small prompting warns me.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” I felt The Spirit question, “Why are you bothered by this? Slow your roll before your mouth blurts out that which has up until now thankfully been reserved to your head.” I breathed deeply and wondered why I felt like I had to be right? Why did this even begin to matter to me? Why would the accusation of me not remembering the details of an idiotic yet adorable kitchen accessory get under my skin so?

I recognize consistently that when I am offended by the small stuff that my heart has gotten janky somewhere along the way. The fact is the rightest thing we can do at times is not insist on how right we are. Chances are if I am feeling defensive that there is something in my soul out of whack. I am not meant to be a defensive soul but a hearty one with a loose hold on blessings, with nothing to prove and nothing to lose.

Uncategorized

You Know I ❤️ a Micro-Bible

jinnyhenson

This past Sunday John preached on how Jesus fought off the tempter using scripture. His sermon was  

 powerful as was the gift of a Bible to every congregant; a reminder for us all to employ Christ’s tactics against temptation. 

As we approach Easter and the cosmos-upending life and death of Christ it is good to pause. The Lenten Season is that brief measure. I am thrilled to embrace the more liturgical practice of Lent; the denial of something you super enjoy for 40 days. What?

That from which we abstain for these 40 days gives insight into what we treasure. I find that if nothing else Lent forces my soul into recalibration. As I miss my chocolate, glass of wine, sweets, TV, cursing, critical spirit, social media or shopping, I remind myself that nothing is worth as much to me as my Jesus. 

While I Jones for a frickin’ Chardonnay cupcake I saw an ad on TV for, could buy and Tweet about, I have my micro-Bible to focus on. How quickly God caulks our empty spaces if we will but create them. 

Uncategorized

Share the Love Where You Are 

jinnyhenson

“Wherever you are, be all there” -Jim Elliot
I bounced across campus to art class decades ago. It was Thursday, February 13th and my hopes were high that my subliminally-flirting target/ object/victim? had caught my brainwaves.  I glanced as I passed his red Toyota and noted a lack of flowers which surely would come tomorrow. Perhaps an off-handed invitation to grab lunch in the SUB would be forthcoming? Maybe a cookie dough log in an HEB baggie would be his love language of choice? 

I am challenged as I consider St. Valentine’s Day. Are you? The challenge is living in the moment just as we are with just those around us and our lives as they are. Our deluded aspirations can lead to joy asphyxiation if we are not careful. The self-defeating assumption of where we should be at this point in our lives is only worsened by our own narcissistic and masochistic social media appetites. 

I read somewhere that the surest way out of grief is to serve. The surest way to misery is self-pity. While no stranger to the former I wish I could claim the same about the latter. I’ve been to both poles and for my survival I flee from one to another. Contrary to popular belief focusing constantly on the missing actors in our autobiographical screen play may make for good drama but not an abundant life. 

So show up for your life. Love who is there, the neighbor with questionable hygiene. That “free hugs” individual who clearly gets more out of it than anyone else.  This is crazy….how about your family? If your parents live in Heaven and you’ve passed the background check, adopt one at the nursing home. If you never got to have kids why not volunteer your time helping the under-resourced. If you don’t have a girlfriend to kiss just hang around “free hugs” guy. No, why not do something kind for someone with greater challenges than yourself? 

Chances are if you ride this world a few thousand times that you will face an unforeseen sucker punch. Only in Heaven is ultimate bliss. Having great dreams and expectations for your life means in many cases taking the raw material which surrounds you and having a blast despite all reason. Despite the way things used to be or the way things should’ve been or the way we dream they will be in the future. Live in the now. Right now. 

When I sat down in art class to my utter surprise you’ll never guess what happened…No. Thing. Nothing. No candy, no dough log of happiness, no card. Zilch. No, my Great Love was on another campus and I would have to wait for a few years for that dumplin. 

So take a deep breath and a big fat look around and live the magical, overcoming, beautiful life God made you to live. Stop waiting for the roses you deserve and go deliver to the undeserving. Which as I come to think about us is all of us.  

 

Christian Faith, God's redemption of our worst-case scenario, Hope, Maggie Lee for Good, Uncategorized

When God Sets You Up

jinnyhenson

There are rare and magical moments in life where God sets us up for the easy win. Like a Father positioning the tee ball tee at the perfect level for home run success, I feel God sets us up for beautiful-swing-for-the-fence moments as well. I am convinced that at times God gives us all we need and gleefully watches us stumble on the holy ground of divine preparation. Let me tell you why. 

Three Sundays ago was the anniversary of the bus accident which took my 12-year-old’s life. I felt prayed-up and ready to roll through the day, determined that it was going to be a thankful day. Just before our church service began I noticed a lady brushing her teeth in the ladies room. The collection of fauxbric Target bags indicated that she was homeless. Her name tag read Treva and as she brushed I greeted her and took note of her bright blue eyes.

Church was a sweet refreshment to my soul and as I was leaving, Charlene caught me to tell me that Treva needed ladies clothes. Maggie Lee’s Closet clothing was too small for her and I apologized for not being able to help. I ran through options as I walked to my car. When I opened my car door a large white bag in the back seat caught my eye. I had totally forgotten about my recent closet purge. 

I lifted the heavy bag and realized that my donation this lady would facilitate the need to give her a ride. I handed the bag to her and asked where I could take her. The shelter? The Salvation Army? No. Instead she wanted a ride to the place where she had been living: a park.  I asked if she was sure that was where she wanted to go and she insisted it was. 

I dropped her off and glanced back to see her dump the contents of the sack onto the cement table. Such a basic need clothing and rediculously easy on my end because God had arranged it all.  

In the six years to the day since I have lived life without Maggie Lee here with me, I have felt a million moments of divine set up – the relentless good deeds on her birthday, October 29th, the cast of Broadway’s Wicked becoming a part of Maggie Lee for Good Day and even just this past week Khaki Fest which provided new school uniforms to 147 Shreveport kids. Had I tried to conjure up this goodness on my own it would have been a sweet disaster, I am certain.

God, however, stoops to meet us where we are in our toddler tantrum: face down in the dirt with huge neon bat long-since thrown and whispers, “How bout we give this one more try?” 

Hope, maggieleeforgood, motherhood, Uncategorized

Treasure the Perfect Imperfection This Mother’s Day

jinnyhenson

I pray for a Teflon heart on major holidays but on this day I ask for a double coating of it. I know many of you as well have gotten very proficient in quickly switching channels when the Mother’s Day commercials appear. Thankfully I still have my Mother but nearly six years ago I lost the twelve-year-old who first made me one.

The Mother’s Day of 2009 was a disaster including vitriolic fights over who would hold the breakfast tray, spilled coffee and dog vomit. And that was all before 7:30 a.m. Then came church which resulted in another squabble when I allowed our fourth-grader, Jack, to lean on me in the pew but would not allow Maggie Lee to do the same. She wanted to sprawl out in a skirt with legs balled up toddler style. Luckily John was preaching that day we were right up front.

It was a humdinger of a day where my offspring’s negativity typically amortized over a three-month period was distilled into ONE single day. Somehow my Hallmark holiday like the fleeting melody of an ice cream truck in Summer proved beyond even my most desirous reach. Maggie Lee, sensing my disappointment (by sensing I mean hearing me say, “It is Mother’s Day! Everyone is supposed to be happy today.) illustrated a book of her favorite moments with me and it is one of my prized possessions. The disappointing day birthed an absolute treasure.

So let’s pinky-swear we’ll enjoy every unscripted moment today. The sibling throw-downs and the spilled coffee. You don’t have to enjoy the dog vomit, just make someone else clean it up. You may be shouldering the burden of parenthood by yourself or discouraged about the child which has yet to come. You may be missing your beloved mother or grandmother. With all we could grieve let us look around at what we have left. And revel in the perfect imperfection of it all.