Conversations With Coconuts

“There is no secret ingredient,” said the wise goose to his adopted panda son of his infamous noodle soup in Kung Fu Panda. Those words came back to my mind at the end of our annual summer trip this year in such a mighty way.

 Every year we take our kids on a long road trip. Depending on the day of the trip and my mood, some of those trips seem longer than others. This year we traveled from Austin, through Arlington, to St. Louis, Springfield (Illinois), back to Missouri to visit Independence, Branson, and finally back home. We racked up about 2700 miles on the Coconut mobile. It was not as many as some years (last year was a whopping 4600!) but quite an adventure. I know, it seems like insanity. There are times on these trips that I question the soundness of my own mind but the benefits outweigh the momentary lapses of judgment.  

Our reasoning is simple. First it’s an opportunity for us to disconnect from our normal world. Being self employed means work goes with us, but like hubby says, it’s much nicer to deal with real estate woes with a view of the Ozarks. Although work is our travel companion, we try and keep it to a minimum on these trips. Putting down the phone and computer, connecting with the kids as much as possible. We make memories, make messes, and make connections. Secondly it’s an opportunity for us to expose our kids to the world outside of their safe little bubble. It’s a chance for them to learn, to accept, and many times, to serve outside of our little field here in Texas. Most of road trips involve a stop where we spend some time serving others. Last year it was in LA’s Skid Row, another time it was in inner city Atlanta. The world is full of loud, narcissistic young people who have been catered to, pampered, and have been told that doing what “feels right” is most important. They are swamps without borders. Stagnant ponds where nothing grows but bitter leaves, mold, and algae. We are endeavoring to raise up mighty rivers with banks that channel the strength of the water, bringing life and beauty wherever they flow. Teaching them that is more blessed to give than to receive, that life is not about them feeling good, and that God expects a return on the investment He’s placed in each of us.

And finally, these trips are for fun. And boy did we have lots of that on this trip! Arlington allowed Hubby and the man child to pretend they might have a shot next draft season. I was able to merciless remind them both that they might indeed have a shot, since the Cowboys love to lose. St. Louis was full of adventure from City Museum, where we almost lost the Coconuts in the ball pit and in the various nooks and crannies that defy all safety rules to the Arch, which reminded me how I hate heights and tiny, confined spaces. Both of which one must conquer to experience the amazing views. Our adventure to Springfield was an educational journey through the Abraham Lincoln museum where I think we learned as much as our kids. Independence, MO allowed us to connect with new friends who became like family, and in Branson we were able to channel our inner child with roller coasters , dinner theater, late nights, and good food. Not to mention the fact that spending time celebrating Hubby’s parents 50^th (!!) wedding anniversary was a priceless memory for us and the Coconuts.

I’m always a little sad and a lot reflective on our trek home from these adventures. And yes, a little weary of being asked, “Are we almost there yet??!!” There are thousands of blog posts out there that give advice on how to be a better parent, a better spouse, a better human.  I admit, I’ve read many of them, while hiding in my pantry, sneaking chocolate to console my guilt over having lost it over that final math problem. But here’s the deal, there is no secret ingredient. That silly goose from Kung Fu Panda that I mentioned earlier got it right. There is none. Not just in noodle soup but in parenting. You can read as many books and blog posts as you’d like for advice but nothing makes up for the time you give your kids. Time that you spend with them and time you spend in prayer for them. Redeem the time.

Our oldest just turned 12. She is tottering on the precipice of womanhood. I allowed her to shave her legs on her birthday this year and cried my eyes out when she politely informed me she didn’t require my informative “how-to” commentary. We have 6 more years before she’s 18. I am committed to redeeming the time I have left with her.

And so these trips we take, although not for the faint of heart, are priceless to us.  We may not live in the fanciest house, drive new cars, or vacation in the Bahamas, but the memories we make together, I would not trade for a million dollars.

Redeem the time now. Before this time is a distant memory.

My mother has been gone out of my life for 5 years today. Some days it feels like it was just yesterday. Grief is the unwanted house guest that has worn out its welcome but it also makes an excellent teacher when used by the Master. And so, I’ve learned much.

When I was a girl, I lived out in the middle of the desert, literally.  Our closest neighbor was 10 miles away and town was 25 miles.  The wilderness was my playground and the mountains, my schoolyard.  My dad was a gold and silver miner. He bought mining claims just on the Arizona/California/Mexico border when I was 2.  The area was once a booming mining community in the late 1800’s, however when we purchased the land, there was nothing there.  Just a vastness of desert that was foreign to the mind.

Our little homestead was located in the center bottom of a mountain range.  Although a relatively small range, the tallest mountain boasted only 2200 ft elevation, they seemed to tower above our little property. Part of the Chocolate Mountain range, and named so because of their dark brown appearance; were stark, especially against the blue sky.  While other kids watched cartoons on Saturday morning I went cave and mine shaft exploring.  While my peers would ride their bikes down the sidewalk to visit their friends, I rode mine throughout the canyons mindful to watch for snakes.  Finally, while my friends explored neighborhood parks, I explored deep valleys and canyons.  And it was to these valley’s that the Lord took me back to as I sat in the ICU with my mother as she was dying.

There are parts of that time that are seared into my mind and heart. The sound of the ventilator, the various beeps and alarms that went off for any reason.  The horrible sound of her coughing as the techs cleaned out her lungs.  But most vividly, the sound of the curtain pulled back as doctors and nurses came in and out.  All with the sad look on their faces of trained professionals who know the look of death and recognized it on my mother.  I refused to accept it though.   I begged, pleaded, ordered, demanded that God raise her up.  And I believed that He would.  I was desperate for a word from Him.  I scoured the bible, listened closely to the Pastor, and analyzed every word that came out of my husband’s mouth, scanned every text, every email that came from the body of Christ. I was confident that the Lord would send me something.

And then Tuesday night came.  And so did the word I was looking for.  Mom had been in ICU about 36 hours.  I had reached that place in the hospital where time and space all ran together.  I could not have told you what time it was or what day it was.  But I was sitting in the chair next to her reading the bible.  I felt the Lord direct my eyes to Matthew 20:15 – “’Is it not lawful for me to do what I wish with my own things? Or is your eye evil because I am good?” And I realized with an awful finality that He was going to take my mother.  He was telling me that my mother ultimately belonged to Him.  And it was time.  I would not hear of it though.  I stubbornly refused to believe it.  When my husband would ask me if God had given me a word that it was her time, I would say, “I don’t know.  I’m too close to the situation.  I can’t feel my faith even.” I just thought my faith was weak. Here’s what I learned though. It takes more faith to let go of someone we love, to completely put them in the Masters hands, trusting that He knows what’s best, then it is to believe for a healing or a miracle.  I heard God asking me:

In whose hand [is] the life of every living thing, And the breath of all mankind?  Job 12:10

He was asking me if I trusted Him.  And I faltered. When the middle of the night came and I sat in that room watching my mother die,  I struggled with my faith.  Ever so softly I heard the Lord whisper the same question He asked me that Tuesday night, “In whose hand is the life of every living thing?” He was gently telling me, “it’s ok, leave her in my hands”.  Finally a few nights later, I picked up the bible and started reading the 23^rd Psalm.  I got to the line “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil”. I tried to move on but I kept feeling impressed that there was something there.  Finally in frustration I mumbled out loud, “Lord!  I get it….the valley of the shadow of death…mom’s dying….what are you telling me??” And the thought that followed immediately behind it was this, “No, this is not her valley, it’s yours. Prepared by me” And followed behind that thought came, “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to [His] purpose. The true meaning of that verse is never more evident than when we are in the valley of the shadow of death.

There are parts of who I am that need to die and be broken off.  It’s in these deep valleys of sorrow and grief that the Lord does His work if we’ll let him.  I knew that He was there in that valley with me, using this time of sorrow and grief, to do a work in me.  A seed sprouts in the dark, wet, and tilled up soil.  The mighty oaks roots run deep into the ground, plowing through hard rocks below.  In the dark, lonely shadows of our grief, the Lord does His greatest works.  When we ignore Him we circumvent the cure.

God wants to take us THROUGH our valleys,though. If we do not follow the Shepherd out of our valley, we will remain there.  And it’s easy to stay there and even easier to return.  There were many times in the first couple of years after Mom died that I returned back to the depths of the valley.  When I allowed my mind to think, “Should I have made the decision to remove the ventilator?” “Could I have done more to get the staff at Seton to move faster the morning of mom’s stroke?”  I was reminded of when I would go exploring the canyons as a kid. Some were steep, frightening channels carved into the land with the mountains rearing up sharply on both sides.  I remember scraping shins and banging knees as I would climb higher and higher.  And then one of the rocks I was using as leverage to climb would give way and I would slide down.  That’s what our mind does to us.  It slips us back to ‘what ifs” and loosens our hold on the “what are’s.”

It has been a difficult journey.  But I’ve learned priceless life lessons.  I’ve learned that I can’t rely on “feeling” and that faith is doing what you know is right even if you don’t feel like it.  I’ve learned that God’s grace really is sufficient for the moment we are in and that planning for the future is important but living in the moment with Him is paramount.  Those 193 hours spent in ICU and the many hours of sorrow after gave me on the job training in the sufficiency of God’s grace.  ‘My grace is sufficient for right now,” He would whisper into my soul in the days following when I found it hard to put one foot in front of the other.

Jesus was a man of sorrows and I have been comforted knowing that He knows the brokenness of grief and loss.

“Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3

You will keep him in perfect peace, Whose mind is stayed on You, Because he trusts in You. Isa 26:3

From the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. Psalm 61:2

Mourning and grief is part of life but how we respond to it and how we handle it determines its effect on our life. Even after 5 years, I still walk in the grief of losing my mother.  But the canyons are a little less steep, a little less dark these days.  I continue to watch the Lord break things off of me and to prepare me for the next valley.  And one of the few constants that life brings is the valleys.

My mother may be gone physically but her memory burns bright in my heart.  Her voice still rings in my ears with all of the lessons she thought I’d never learn. Thanks Mom. I was listening.

The other night as I lay with Coconut number 4, I was hit with overwhelming sadness. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep over the course of the past several nights as we have begun the weaning process of our littlest Coconut. At least weaning from night nursing that is. She’s turned me into a pacifier and since I have 3 other Coconuts and a husband that require my attention, I’ve got to get more sleep than 2 hour stretches. I digress though…More than likely my sadness came from the realization that with this one comes all of the last firsts. The last first look on a little face that I spent 9 months imagining. The last first breath. Last first bath, smile, tooth, steps, words.  Last first Christmas’s and first birthdays. Although I realize that there will be other firsts, like cars, jobs, loves, apartments, etc, the season of baby’s firsts is coming to an end for us.

As I snuggled my last born, feeling her small, warm body, I thought back to my first, second, and third born and all their firsts. All important and embedded in my mind and in my heart. I could instantly tell you about their first steps, words, teeth, but something about knowing that this one yields the end of “baby’s first” brought a lump to my throat. Nostalgia rolled over me as I thought back over the past 11 years and how fast it really goes. The throes of parenting with sleep deprivation and the daily repetition of the word “no”, along with the constant search for all things tiny, had masked the speed of it all. How many nights had I just fallen into bed, exhausted and thankful that another day was over and we were closer to….what? The kids being grown?

I began to think about seasons and how the bible admonishes us to “redeem the time.” My mind started sorting through the catalogs of time that I spend with them. Redeeming the time. It’s easy to become caught up in the daily grind, but every moment I am teaching them something. Good or bad. So I am trying to worry less about whether I’ve taught them how to correctly handle laundry and more about how I’m teaching them to handle life. Less about how to approach the art of homemaking, more about the art of building relationships with others. Less about what to do in an emergency situation, more about WHO to run to in a crisis and how to approach the King of Kings in time of need. Our lives have become a balancing act of family, ministry, work – a little like a three-legged stool that is constantly in danger of tipping over. There is only One who keeps it balanced. Is that what I’m teaching them?

Redeeming the time.

Someday the last firsts will become the last of the lasts. The very last of the bedtime stories, drinks of water, diaper changes, early morning snuggles. Last shoes to be tied, sandwiches to make. Last boo boos that only my kisses make better. I remember vividly the first nursing session that felt like an awkward and painful tango danced with a complete stranger. But now here we are close to the last where our “nummie” sessions have become a smooth pas de deux. Our bodies are so connected that I can’t tell anymore were baby begins and my body ends.

Redeeming the time.

I silently pondered, if I would have known with the other Coconuts when the last time we nursed was going to be, would I have tried to make the moment last just a little longer? Or the last time my oldest needed her hair washed, wouldn’t I have just enjoyed the moment instead of being in a hurry to get her into jammies, teeth brushed and into bed? I will redeem the time I have left. In this moment in which whatever I say is taken without doubt or question. I will speak life, plant truth, and cultivate beauty into their little hearts.

I lay in bed that night, watching the moonlight stream through the window, snuggling my last baby as she struggled to go to sleep without nursing. In this magical age between baby and little girl we find ourselves. Oh soul! Soak up every moment. The smell of her baby skin. The feel of soft hair on my arm. I am burying it deep in my memory so that when the last Coconut tumbles from the tree and into their own lives I can embrace these times. For now, I am redeeming the time. Breathing in every last first. Savoring every last, last.

There are moments in life that are so sacred, so intimate; we are possessive with whom we will share them with. Yet at the same time, because they are so meaningful to us we desire to share the memories with many as to offer a glimpse of the divine. The moment each of my children were laid upon my chest, warm and wet and full of life; When the words “I do” on my wedding day tumbled from nervous yet joyful lips, and even the final minutes with my mother as she took her last breath were all such times in my life.

And then sometimes it’s something that appears simple but it’s perfection is hidden in that simplicity.

A New Adventure…

 

 

This past week we took the Coconut’s camping. I know what you are thinking. “Camping with 4 kids, sacred? More like insane.” I thought the same thing the first day as we traveled the 3 hours in a 30 foot RV with a cranky husband, a skittish dog, and 4 kids who, between the three that could talk, must have asked a bazillion questions. We were pressed for time, trying to make it to Garner State Park before dark because backing a vehicle almost the size of an 18 wheeler into a campsite was not on Hubby’s list of Things That Sounded Like Fun. But God is gracious and we made it with a little day light to spare. That first night consisted of us just doing our best not to scar the kids (or the dog) for life and passing out from the shear stress exhaustion of it all.

Since we had arrived so late the night before, poor Hubby had to ride his bike back up to the front that first morning to actually check us in. Thankfully, another camper had pity on him, having passed him on the way up to the front as Hubs was huffing and puffing it on his bike, and brought him back to our campsite. With coffee in hand, we were now ready to explore our surroundings. And it was simply amazing. The Coconuts were overwhelmed by nature. Everywhere we looked we were drowning the in the beauty of His creation. We wandered the banks of the Frio, the kids splashing each other in water correctly named! We discovered we were the proud owners of a true water dog as Asa bravely followed the kids on their adventures, half swimming, and half plowing through rapids with his solid body. We even played put-put golf at the camp course. Later that night s’mores and glow stick games completed a perfect day. I couldn’t have scripted anything more amazing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day two we decided to take an “easy, little hike” but alas, leave it to the Coconut Family, we found ourselves on a trail that led us up 500 feet of elevation in half a mile. We literally scaled the side of a mountain with four kids, one of which was strapped to one of our backs, and the dog. At one point I felt like the Von Trapp family escaping the Nazi’s by fleeing over the Swiss Alps. I would have burst out with “Climb Ev’ry Mountain,” Julie Andrews style if I hadn’t been so focused on keeping my kids from sliding off the face of the mountain we were on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But as I watched my kids soak in the beauty that was around them, as my two oldest would spontaneously burst into prayers of thanksgiving to our God and tell me how grateful they were, I knew I was witnessing the sacred. The moments that technology and modern conveniences not only cannot give us but in all actuality detract and distract us from the divine. We had absolutely no cell or wifi service and it was so liberating. We spent every moment just re-connecting with each other. Listening, talking, hearing, and seeing. Although we are now back to reality, the memories we made will be the ones that we will look back on as a family and wish we could freeze in time. My heart is full.