The Ship is Leaving the Harbor. Bon Voyage.

Over a bowl of stew today, my husband and I wandered on to the subject of our church.  To be brief, our church has been struggling for a good seven years. In more ways than one, we resemble Joseph’s dream. In the early 2000s, we had seven strong years, and now, we are experiencing famine. 

As Mike and I were discussing the situation, my phone buzzed, indicating a text message.  Some friends of ours were visiting their son today.  He is currently interning at the church where our former youth pastor is now senior pastor.  As the pastor’s name came to mind, I asked my husband, “What is it about Dave? When he was at our church, he had a whole bunch of people who were eager to work for him and be a part of his programming? And now, at his new church, they are already growing like crazy? What makes him so different from all other pastors?”

As we chewed on our stew, we chewed on the topic as well. At our church, morale is low. Without getting into too many details, church attendance has been steadily waning, and I will admit that Mike and I have been half-heartedly shopping around at other churches as well. Not surprisingly, it has become more difficult now than ever to find members to volunteer and serve, and after a popular member of the staff recently left, several families opted to leave as well. All this led us back to the original question, “What is it about Dave?”

My husband is often a dark horse in conversation.  On more than one occasion, he has blind-sided me with the simple truths of life, and today was no exception.  He simply said, “I think that all of our pastors have just become too comfortable.”  

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, all of our pastors have been in the church business for a long time, and maybe they have just become too comfortable.”

It’s true. The pastors at our church have a combined total of around sixty years of service.  I’m not saying that’s a bad thing; experience breeds wisdom.  However, it’s also easy to fall into ruts and habits. . .and let’s face it, just get tired.  Likewise, in having been in service for that long, it’s easy for leaders to determine that their ways are the best and only ways, almost as if they have the divine pipeline to Godly information. I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but that sort of attitude is an arrogant one, which often alienates and disenfranchises people.   And yes, I am speaking from experience, but not bitterness.

So, back to the question, what is different about Dave?  Well, Dave has always been ANYTHING but comfortable. Dave is the epitome of the Godly stretch.  Back in the day, I worked with him for a while as a junior high youth leader. I remember him telling the kids (and me) about the fact he had started to play basketball at the City Auditorium.  He didn’t know anyone, and he didn’t talk about God while there unless someone specifically asked him a question.  He just played basketball.  Dave used that example to explain to the kids that if you want to have any hope of pointing someone to Christ, you have to have a relationship with the person first.  But that was just a small example of the Dave stretch.

About six or seven years ago, Dave felt a call to continue his education to become a senior pastor.  He had a thriving youth ministry, was involved in the community and local school, and was quite literally at the top of his game.  Even so, he believed God was calling him to a new and different challenge. This one, however, required him to pack up a family of six, sell a house, and relocate the entire conglomerate to inner-city Chicago so that he could attend North Park University.  He left everything that was comfortable – a cozy community, a successful position, and financial stability – for an ultimate God-stretch. Today, he has his own congregation, and as I said, things are going quite well. 

So far, the Dave story seems to illustrate the precarious challenges and perks of a faith-driven life. That gives me hope  - not only for our church, but also for my family.

To explain, on Monday, my husband found out that he will be unemployed on February 1.  He has worked for the same company for twenty-five years, and now, due to a downturn in the industry, the company has to downsize, which means my husband and a sea of his co-workers are out of a job.

Both of us (and our families and close friends) have already been praying over the change. Although there are flickers of apprehension, we are looking for a God-ordained employment fit, not just a job. We are in a united faith agreement that there is no doubt that God’s got this. 

After our conversation today, I was energized and challenged.  We, too, have become very comfortable.  We have lived in the same general area our whole lives; we have gone to the same church throughout the duration of our marriage. In spite of an occasional ripple and/or burst of well-intentioned spiritual growth, our lives are predictable, routine, and yes, comfortable.  Now, due to circumstances beyond our control, we are in for a stretch. Right now, though, that’s not as daunting as it looked yesterday. 

The key is relationship. It’s just like Dave said; there’s no hope without relationship first.  Actually, Dave didn’t say it first.  God did.

“Remain in me, and I will remain in you.  No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me” (John 15: 4). If there is to be any joy, blessing, or fulfillment in this earthly life, it can only be found when we are completely, wholly, and unequivocally one with the Father. 

“Most of us live on the borders of consciousness-consciously serving, consciously devoted to God.  All this is immature; it is not the real life yet.  The mature stage is the life of a child which is never conscious; we become so abandoned to God that the consciousness of being used never enters in. When are consciously being used as broken bread and poured-out wine, there is another state to be reached, where all consciousness of ourselves and of what God is doing through us is eliminated” (Oswald Chambers).

This doesn’t mean we will be without trouble.  Quite the opposite, a God-centered life usually means a passel of trouble because God is always pushing us beyond the bounds of comfortability. As the cliché states, God is not interested in our comfort; He is interested in our character. A life of faith is a life of fulfillment. 

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body” (2 Corinthians 4:9-10).

So what happens next? The answer is whatever God has ordained.  My job is not to micro-manage, obsess, worry, or control the situation, whether it’s church or my family.  “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me” (John 21:22). Even though the first part of the verse was referencing the disciple, John, the message here is clear.  Don’t worry about anyone or anything other than me. 

“If you do not cut the moorings, God will have to break them by a storm and send you out.  Launch all on God, go out on the great swelling tide of His purpose, and you will get your eyes open. If you believe in Jesus, you are not to spend all your time in the smooth waters just inside the harbor bar, full of delight, but always moored; you have to get out through the harbor bar into the great deeps of God and begin to know for yourself” (Oswald Chambers).

I guess the ship is leaving the harbor.  Bon voyage.

Derailing the Emotional Rollercoaster: How to Get Back on Track

When I decided to resume my 5 am exercise regime, I needed a new series to watch in order to keep me motivated.  Quite randomly, I chose the British series, Call the Midwife, and promptly got sucked into the storyline.  

  

It’s been about three weeks since I started, and I consider this series the equivalent of a good piece of chocolate.  I restrict myself to one episode per day so that I can savor it as I would a piece of chocolate.

But that isn’t the weird part. 

For each episode that I watch, I always end up bawling at some point in the show. It’s ridiculous. The obvious question would be “Why watch the show if it makes you cry?” That is, indeed, a good question. I just end up getting so emotionally-wrapped up in what is happening that I end up crying, either due to joy or sadness.  I am just far too empathetic for my own good.

Since Facebook quizzes (Why Harry Potter character are you?) are ubiquitous, the latest quiz to make the rounds in my friend groups has been the Memorando Test based on the Myers-Briggs Personality Assessment.  While I realize that these quizzes can quickly become self-fulfilling prophecies, I once again (I took the Myers-Briggs Assessment in college) was deemed an INFJ. This means that I am Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Judging.  That said, it’s not a stretch to see why I am so empathetically-wired and prone to waterworks. 

It’s tough to decide whether or not this is a good thing. On the one hand, I am very attuned to people’s non-verbals and moods. On a practical level, this is useful in school because I can defuse a potentially-volatile situation or perceive the nuances of student personality a little quicker. On the other hand, my own emotions can sometimes override common sense and create inner unnecessary inner turmoil. 

This got me to think about emotions in the general sense.

I have started reading The Screwtape Letters again. In one chapter, Screwtape underscores to Wormwood that selfishness and emotions are strongholds of the Enemy. For example, Screwtape told his nephew that disappointment always precedes an endeavor for God. If a human can get through the roadblock of emotion, s/he will not be so tempted again and is able to do what God asks. 

I can relate. Emotion has hijacked my life’s journey several times.  It is the reason why I allowed myself to get sucked into an eating disorder and has co-existed with every disappointment in my life. Anger, jealousy, hurt. . .all of it has asserted itself as an impenetrable cloud, impeding me from spiritual progress. I am not alone. 

Fear was an emotion that began in the garden as soon as Adam and Eve sinned. It followed selfishness – the me-first act of eating the apple-even though God had explicitly said no. “When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it.  She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.  Then, the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked” (Genesis 3:6-7)

It was the first time that a new, sinful definition of word, “fear,” evolved. “But the Lord God called to the man, “Where are you?” He answered, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid” (Genesis 3:9-10). Prior to that, the fear of the Lord existed, but it meant awe and respect.  Fear changed the course of mankind and has impeded us from obedience from that time forward. Fear blocks faith. The two cannot co-exist; it’s either one or the other. 

Likewise, pride is a multi-faceted word.  Most people see it as a brash arrogance, which it certainly can be.  It can also be any other selfish emotion – disappointment, frustration, fear, jealousy, etc. The fact is that they are ALL selfish emotions because they stem from OUR personal expectations, not God’s.

So if they are so problematic and often lead us to sin, why did God create emotions? Why do they even exist? Why did He create some people with an extra-sensitive, empathetic, emotional streak?

Emotions are only problematic when they originate from self. When they are God-inspired, they are beautiful.  Galatians 5:22 provides a marvelous list to illustrate that fact: “But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” The emotion is not the problem; the origin of emotion is. 

Oswald Chambers writes: “One of our severest lessons comes from the stubborn refusal to see that we must not interfere in other people’s lives.” Our focus is to be only on God – so attuned to Him – that we receive our directives, including emotively-based ones, from Him. 

To explain, helping others can be an act of love. . .if God has called us to it.  While our hearts may be in the right place, helping others can also be a detriment to our faith, even when we justify our actions as Godly.  For example, if people run around trying to “help” all the time, they will wear themselves out and lose focus on the One from whom all energy, focus, goodness, and love originate. As Chambers says, “a saint is never consciously a saint; a saint is consciously dependent on God.”

Immediately, the question is how do I know when it’s me or God that is controlling my emotions? The answer is that if you have to ask that question, then you have not yet completely died to self or risen to the level of being wholly connected to Him in the first place.  

God is the author and creator of all things, including emotion. He does not allow something to exist or happen that does not, in some way, correlate with His Will and Plan. When we align ourselves with the Creator, we see emotion, not as a pesky nuisance, but as a useful way to love one another more deeply and ultimately show our love for Him.  

"I Have Chosen You"

Have you ever noticed that Christians really like their symbols? From necklaces to car ornaments to tattoos, people are pretty open with sharing their faith in some form of symbolic representation.  Based on my armchair observation, the two most popular symbols seem to be the fish (ichthys) and the cross.

As an English teacher, it's no secret that symbols are pretty important to me as well. Like everybody else, I like the idea of a symbol that represents my faith.  Over the years, I have thought about a variety of them, mostly phrases. For example, my son is partial to "I am second."  Someday (so he tells me), he wants to get that tattooed on his back. The Fruits of the Spirit are pretty important to me, but I am guessing they are for a variety of people.  Jeremiah 29:11 is also significant, and I wear a ring on my right hand with the verse engraved on it.  But again, that verse seems to be about as popular with the Christian masses as the fish is.  So, I have continued to seek something that represents the personal side of my faith, and today, I think I may have just found it.

"I have chosen you."

At least once in most people's lives, this phrase is true. On their wedding day, a bride and groom publicly avow: "Of all the people in the world with whom I could have chosen to spend the rest of my life, I choose you." 

What a feeling of peace, contentment, and fulfillment comes from this phrase.  For both the bride and groom, it means you know that you not only belong in this time and place with this person; you are also desired, chosen, selected from everyone else.

God also says that phrase, and means that phrase, for every single person who exists and has ever existed.

While there is a peace and affirmation in that phrase, there is also responsibility.  "I have chosen you," simply to not just exist, but to fulfill a purpose in this time and place that only you can fulfill.  

In 2 Corinthians 9, Paul talks about the lengths he has chosen to go to in order to make sure that God's message is heard.  "Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone to win as many as possible.  To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. to those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law.  To those not having the law(though I am no free from God's law but am under Christ's law), so as to win those not having the law.  To the weak I became weak, to win the weak.  I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some.  I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings" (19-23).

On the road to Damascus, God blinded Paul to get his attention and then said: "I have chosen you," and this is Paul's response.  Paul is not coerced.  He is not guilted into it.  He does not proceed to try to "pay God back."  Paul is overwhelmed with gratitude and a feeling of belonging that he can't even put into words.  In 2 Corinthians 9, he talks about how it is now his life's purpose to help anyone and everyone enter into the same kind of relationship with God.

Wow. Just wow.  Imagine if we all had the same attitude as Paul - to do whatever (and that means giving up reputation, personal comforts, traditions, etc) it takes just to make sure the message is delivered.

Of course, there is the danger for one to get sucked in to the worldliness of the environment in which one is witnessing.  I have seen it happen.  About fifteen years ago, a high school girl willingly infiltrated the seedier, drug-infused culture of high school  with the expressed intention of bringing others to Christ.  The result was that she ended up in an abusive relationship, which ultimately resulted in her becoming a single mother.  It has taken years for her to find her way back, but she is slowly getting there. So what went wrong? She had an expressed heart for God. It's hard to say, but it might be the fact that she was trying to orchestrate the circumstances versus allowing God to call the shots.

In order for one to have a "whatever it takes" attitude like Paul, s/he has to be truly alive in Christ in order to stay the course. A close relationship with Him is the only way to proceed; that means every breath and action originates from Him, not from our best intentions.

"I have chosen you." So why is this the phrase for me?

At its most basic, it is the daily encouragement I need to become the 2 Corinthians woman of faith that Paul described.  

Most days I feel like a failure.  I bet you can probably relate.  No matter how good my intentions, no matter how purposeful I am in making Christ the center of my life, I always, always fail.  I have a tendency to be negative.  When I feel as though God is ignoring me (which seems to be frequently), I am frustrated and impatient.  I have a horrible mouth. Any way that you interpret that phrase is probably true.  For a Type A, firstborn, such as myself, perfectionism is deadly, and failure, especially when it comes to personal character, opens the door for regret and self-reproach. And yet,

"I have chosen you." 

As much as I screw up, God picks me up and says, "Let's try again."  For every time I choose selfishness first, He says, "Look at me."  Every time I doubt my existence, He says, "You're the one. I have chosen you."

His grace is sufficient for me.

If You Want To Get Ahead, Quit Moving

For the first time in sixteen years-ish, this is the first time in a long time that I don't have to be anywhere. Starting with Tot Dock and Kinderball, we followed our kids' activities throughout high school. That chapter has now closed.

It should then follow that my husband and I should have more time on our hands. Should. However, we still find ourselves tumbling (sometimes, literally), exhausted, into bed. How can that be possible? We are still busy; it's just a different kind of busy. (And although I am loath to admit, we aren't as young as we used to be either. We get tired faster and have less endurance than we used to).

Even so, with this new stage of life, I feel a definite responsibility to get involved. Both Mike and I more or less put volunteer endeavors on hold while we were running after and alongside the kids to the high school finish. A few ideas concerning volunteer service have been percolating, and the other day, I followed up on one.

And I was shot down. Told "no thanks" even though an earlier conversation had led me to believe that my services might be useful and even appreciated.

I'm not going to lie. Initially, I was mildly peeved, a little taken aback, and a tad disappointed because I thought this was really something God wanted me to do. Not much, but enough that I shared by frustrations with a friend of mine. Her response got me to thinking: "Maybe God's giving you a breather to enjoy fall for once. . .after 20 years of sports."

The more I read, the more I live, and the more I grow in my faith, the more I understand the power and necessity of "abiding." The word itself means "to continue to be sure or firm; to endure. To remain in one place.  To wait patiently for." Therefore, abiding means patient and consistent prayer and Bible study. Equally important, abiding means just being silent and listening for God's voice.

"Abide in me, and I will abide in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." John 15:4

It's no secret that the physical world in which we live is a direct inverse to the world that awaits us. In our day and age, we, as a society, value "busy."  From a very young age, kids are involved in organized activities, and parents pay and run right behind them.  Sports, church, civil organizations. . .they are all "good" choices.  I know; I have been there and done that.

However, the fact remains that it is all classified under the blanket term, "busy." There is no time to just "abide." Even when we have down time, we fill it with mind-numbing entertainment - phones, movies, music, etc  Enjoying silence, thinking deeply, and yes, abiding, is a foreign concept.

The bottom line is that the journey to fulfillment, purpose, joy, and most importantly, spiritual growth, begins when one sits down instead of takes a step. Abiding - in prayer and by listening - is the first step after welcoming Christ into your life. You have to spend time with Him - through prayer, Bible study, and silence - to develop a relationship with Him.

In that silence, God directs what He wants to have happen next.  It is our choice whether or not to obey. As we obey and continue to abide, a new door or window opens. . .and as we obey and move in the direction He asks, another door or window opens. . and the process continues.

When we don't obey and don't abide, we get off track and are frustrated. We spin our wheels and whine about our purposeless, exhausting, and unfulfilling lives. Our disobedience and busyness result in missed opportunities for God. Ultimately, we miss out on the blessings He has planned in advance for our lives and the lives of others.

As I sit in my chair on this beautiful fall evening, I am content to watch the hummingbirds chase one another across the yard. As a dragonfly lands on my chair, I watch the squirrels leap recklessly from tree to tree, and I can't help but think it's a metaphor for the life God intends for each of us.  This is not a waste of time; it's an investment.

As I ponder the door that recently closed, I am thankful for God's wisdom and the way He makes sure that I stay on the track He wants me to follow. He knows better than I where I can best serve Him, and I am humbled that He cares enough to intervene. I think I will hang out here a while longer and see what He has to say.

"God will give you the blessings you ask if you will not go any further without them; but His silence is the sign that He is bringing you into the marvelous understanding of Himself.  You will find that God has trusted you in the most intimate way possible, with an absolute silence, not of despair, but of pleasure because He saw that you could stand a bigger revelation" (Oswald Chambers).

The Road Less Traveled Has Made All the Difference

Here is a blasphemous revelation: I did not want to become a teacher when I was growing up.  To the average person, that may not seem like such a big revelation, but in the world of education, it definitely is.

When asked, most teachers will explain that they knew they wanted to be a teacher from a very young age.  Most will regale you with tales of how they would line up their stuffed animals or siblings and "play school."  Many will confess that their parents and/or grandparents were teachers as well.

I am the exception to this rule. I did not play school. I played with Barbies. . .A LOT, not baby dolls, but Barbies. "Store" was also big on my play list. Shelves in the basement were lined with all sorts of "goods" that my brother and his friends could "buy," while I ran the cash register.  No one in my family tree was, or had been, a teacher.

When it came time to decide on careers in high school, there was really only one on my list:  Journalism.  I loved to write, and I loved the class of the same name. I wrote for both the yearbook and the school newspaper; when I did, I felt "in the zone." I had found my passion.

Therefore, when I enrolled in the class, "Intro to Mass Communications" at SCSU, I was ready to start my career. As the class wore on, however, my enthusiasm wore thin. Finally, I had a "come-to-Jesus" moment in which I finally admitted that Journalism was not the career for me, simply because I did not want to spend the rest of my life writing about tragedy and bad news in people's lives. I realize that journalism involves far more than tragedy, but I just didn't want to be a perpetuator of it.

The ensuing, panicked question was, "Now what?"  I was closing in on the end of my sophomore year in college.  It was go-time in choosing a career.  Any more wavering about a major would mean that I would be taking and paying for classes for the fun of it; I was out of general slots to fill.

After considering my passions, reading and writing, I wracked my brain to come up with a career that would allow me to use both.  A light bulb went off.

I became a teacher by default.

It's not a glamorous story, and when pressed by my students as to how I entered this career, I generally try to defer the question. It's not that I want to mislead them; I don't want them to think I became their teacher because I couldn't find anything better to do (which is basically the truth).

On Tuesday, I will start my 22nd year of teaching.  The first nine were amazing.  Even though I was a new teacher and a new mom at the same time, I loved every minute of it - the challenge, the creativity, the kids. Then, I switched schools (to be in the same District and on the same schedule as my kids), and something tilted off center that has never quite been righted. It's like there is a little piece in the internal machinery that needs to be replaced, but I don't know where it is or how to fix it.  Nevertheless, my love for my students remains as strong as ever. Even though they suck the energy right out of me, I look forward to seeing them every day.

Even so, two pesky words, "What if?" have clouded my thoughts about this career within the last few years.

In 12th grade Communications (English), we read a book called Things They Carried. My favorite chapter is "On the Rainy River." Tim O'Brien has to decide whether to go to Vietnam or flee to Canada after he receives his draft notice. In order to underscore the difficulty of O'Brien's decision, we read and discuss a poem by Robert Frost called "Road Not Taken." See poemThe poem describes two choices that look equal, but the narrator just has to pick one and not look back. He promises himself that he will return one day to check out the choice he didn't take, but even as he says the words, he knows it is a lie.

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two road diverged in a wood and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

The last two lines always annoy my students.  They are completely subjective and can go either way.  The last line can be positively or negatively interpreted based on the narrator's attitude and inflection about his/her life-changing decision.  In others words, it can be the best decision s/he has ever made or the worst.

Every time I have read the poem, my career decision burbles to the surface. In an effort to add authenticity, I tell my students my story, and they always ask, "Mrs. Aaker, are you glad you became a teacher instead of a journalist?"  Of course, I tell them what they need to hear.  And it's true sometimes, and sometimes, it's not.

Until yesterday.  

This year, WHS is offering a new elective, Journalism, and ironically (God has a funny sense of humor), my colleagues chose me to teach the class.  Again, to add authenticity to the experience, I emailed a former student of mine, who is a sports writer for the XXXXXX Times. I asked if he would be willing to come and talk to my class about his career and his journey to becoming a journalist; he enthusiastically accepted.

In between scheduling details, we caught about our personal lives, and he wrote the following:

I am glad to help out any way that I can with the class. I’m just happy people are still interested in journalism. We’re suffering right now in the print industry. There’s a lot of layoffs and re-shaping of the industry going on. Eventually we’ll all be online, but it’s just taking baby steps to get there.

My company, XXXXXX, is restructuring all of its newsrooms and will have 15 percent layoffs in all 81 of its papers. We’re one of them. We’ve had some people quit in the past 4 months, so most of us should be fine. We might lose 1 or 2 people during the restructuring.

The weird thing is we have to re-apply for the new positions and interview for them. A lot of people are stressed out to say the least. So, hopefully I still have a job when I come down there in October. I’ve been told I’m safe, but you never know.

In chewing over his words and my personality, a light began to peek over the horizon of my thoughts.  If I had chosen to become a journalist instead of a teacher, I would probably be burned out by now, looking for an out.  Undoubtedly, I would have grown tired of the various writing beats by now, and I might have even been tired of writing - which would be the biggest tragedy ever. Plus, based on what is happening in the industry right now, I would be wondering if I would even be recalled (older staff are more expensive staff). Of course, there are no guarantees about my hypotheses, but like I said, I know myself and have lived long enough to understand how the world works.

As frustrating as my teaching can be (and there are many frustrations), the pros still outweigh the cons. While subject matter and necessity ultimately caused me to choose teaching as a career, people are now THE most important aspect of my career.

My faith is the center of my life and flows into every aspect of my career. Each day I go to work, I have the opportunity to do good and be a positive influence- to try to make the world a better place than it was the day before. Everything I do and say is carefully monitored, weighed, assimilated, and/or rejected; I am always "on."  One way or another, I am influencing someone - positively or negatively. The Bible says that the bar is set high for people who teach.

"Not many of you should become teachers my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly." James 3:1

I realize that Christ is speaking of spiritual teachers, but I believe it applies to me (all of us, really) as well. Rather than take that verse as a threat, I see it as the ultimate challenge.  I get to invest my time, energy, talent, and passion into a person - as many will let me into their lives - not a philosophy, machine, or organization.  I have job security.  Knowing what I know about myself, I NEED that piece in my career, or I would consider my career to be pointless.

Finally, "What if?" can be returned to the murky depths of doubt from which it originally arose.  There is now no question in my mind that I am supposed to be a teacher.  As has ALWAYS been the case, God knows me better than myself, and He has led me to this career for a reason.
Although my decision to walk this path was unorthodox and confused even me, the fact is that God has me exactly where He wants me, and I best be working with Him than against Him with my irrelevant side drama.

"Keep right with God and let Him do what He likes , and you will find that He is producing the kind of bread and wine that will benefit His other children."  (Oswald Chambers)

And when I do,

"I shall be telling this with a sigh (of contentment)
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two road diverged in a wood and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

Splitting Wood: A Mom's Perspective on Raising a Son

Yesterday, my oldest child left home, presumably for good (at least, that is what he has told me several times). Two weeks ago, we made the three hour trek to his new apartment to bring all the big furniture. His jam-packed car left with the rest sometime yesterday afternoon. A new chapter of his life has begun, and therefore, a new one has begun for me as well.

At about 10 a.m. the fact that Nick was leaving hit my like a 2x4 upside the head. That's when the emotions and waterworks were dangerously close to hi-jacking my day.  I sent a quick text to a friend for prayers for composure, and it worked.  Other than one exasperating tearful episode, I made it through. The last thing my excited yet apprehensive son needed was his emotional mother to spontaneously combust before his eyes.

As I am well-aware, my experience is not unique. A friend sent me a link to Rob Lowe's thoughts on his child leaving for college (see the link), and I can relate completely. He uses excellent description, adjectives, and metaphors to describe exactly what it feels like.

Rob Lowe on sending his son off to college

As a mother of a son, however, I have grieved this feeling of loss four times in the short twenty years we have spent together. It's a healthy process, and it has to happen, but that doesn't mean that it hurts any less.

In my mind's eye, the process resembles the splitting of a log. In order to start a fire, wood needs to be split. It's hard work, but without it, there's no fire. With each swing of the ax, the log splinters and begins to separate into two. So far, there have been four swings; the fifth occurred yesterday.

The first breach occurred when Erika was born, which is not to say that her birth was a bad thing. Through fits and turns, Nick and Erika have become best friends and co-conspirators, often preferring each other's company to that of Mom and Dad - which is how it should be.

Prior to Erika's birth, Nick and I had a evening ritual. After his bath, I would rock him to sleep each night. With his blond head tucked between my chin and chest, I loved to drink in the clean smell of Johnson's baby shampoo, his fine downy hair tickling my chin. Long after he was asleep, softly snoring, we would continue to rock. It may sound weird, but I loved everything about that moment - his sleeping weight, the peacefulness of it, the time that just we two spent together.

After Erika was born, Nick decided that he no longer wanted or needed to be rocked to sleep. Maybe he thought his new baby sister needed his spot or maybe he was displaced; I don't remember. Erika, however, wanted nothing to do with being rocked to sleep, and try as I might to get Nick to continue our nightly ritual, he refused. That was the first loss.

The second occurred at the end of Nick's 8th grade year into the beginning of his 9th grade year. Throughout the years, our little family of four did everything together. If ever there was a camping trip or vacation, the kids always came with Mike and me. I don't begrudge people who take vacations or do activities together as a couple; Mike and I just didn't do that. The kids were always included.

At the end of his 8th grade year, our church hired a new youth pastor. Suddenly, our family of four became three when it came to excursions. Nick and the youth pastor bonded well, and his social life involved whatever activity was going on at church or at Rocky's house. Likewise, Rocky became the authority on all topics. Mom and Dad's opinions were superfluous.

Again, this was a good problem to have - the kid wanted to go to church and be involved with youth group. However, the fact that he was moving away from us and choosing someone else as role model/social life was tough. Even though I knew that this is what teenagers do, I still grieved the loss of what we had had for so many years. Nick was breaking away, making his own choices, deciding his own social network, and we were no longer invited to be a part of it.

When Nick turned 16, more splintering occurred, and the chasm widened. Based on our experiences, teenagers should be locked away from the age of 16 through 18. This was, by far, the most turbulent time period we experienced with both of our kids. Since Nick was the oldest, everything was new and unfamiliar, so we had to shoot from the hip with regard parenting him.

During this time period, it was all about fun and friends, not family. Communication was limited and often negative. Conversations seemed to be battles more often than not, with respect and courtesy often being the biggest casualties.

One particular low moment was Parents Night for swimming. After the meet, everyone was supposed to go to the cafeteria to eat bars and socialize. I was so disgusted with his behavior, attitude, and lack of respect for us at the event that I told Mike that I just wanted to go home after the meet. Later, Nick came home, indignant, "Why didn't you show up? You embarrassed me!" Right back at ya, Buddy boy.

That memory, embarrassing and painful that it was, illustrated how miserable life was during that time, which is not to say it was all Nick's fault. Remember, since Nick was our first born, we were making it up as we went. In retrospect, we could have handled situations better or differently, and I'm sure he would say the same. You learn as you go.

As Mike continually tried to point out to me during this time period, Nick was just trying to figure out exactly who Nick was while trying to establish some independence. Even so, I missed my Nick. This snarly, disrespectful Nick 2.0 version was not very likable - at least to us. Thankfully, he was still respectful and kind to others; at the time, I just wished he would extend a little of that to his family as well.

The fourth division occurred within the past year. Per his decision, Nick chose to live at home for two years following his high school graduation so that he could obtain a two-year AA degree at the local community college. In making this choice, he was able to go to school, maintain two jobs, and pay off the first two years.  While this proved to be a good decision on his part, there was a decided difference between first-year Nick and second-year Nick.

During this past year, we barely saw Nick at all. He came and went as he pleased, which was tacitly understood and agreed upon. He rarely ate meals with us. Basically, even though his address and bed were here, we co-existed like two ships passing in the night.

Yesterday, as Nick and I were running an errand together, he was asking me various questions to which I truthfully responded, "Nick, I don't know how to answer. I don't even know you anymore." He gave me a sideways, questioning look, so I had to clarify, "Even though you lived at home, I rarely saw you last year. I don't know what you like and don't like anymore. The only one who can answer those questions is you." The sad reality of those words hit me as they slid out of my mouth. The hard truth is that I have lost my little boy; a man, mysterious yet similar has taken his place.

And yet, truly, that is what we have been working toward for the last twenty years - helping him to become an independent adult who is able to think, decide, and yes, deal with the consequences, both good and bad.

So when he asked, "Are you excited for me, Mom? Do you think I am ready?" I could give him the answer that he not only wanted to hear but the truth as well.

As the ax fell again yesterday, I sent my son on his way to a new life in a new city. Once upon a time, I used to be able to hug all of him at one time. This time, I had to reach up to give this man who is my son a hug and a kiss goodbye.  Most importantly, I looked him in the eyes, hands on both sides of face, and said, "You are ready for this.  Mama loves you. And remember that Mama always has your back."

And that's really all that matters. Even if and when the circumstances, roles, and duties change over time, once a mama, always a mama.