My last day with Grandma

My grandma died today. Just typing those words makes me teary-eyed. But even through all the tears and though I will miss her, today was still a good day.

Yesterday my grandma went to the church she has attended for, oh, I don't know...over 50 years, just like she did every Sunday. Toward the end of the service, she didn't feel well and quickly fell quite ill. Her oldest son took her straight from church to the ER. The problem was diagnosed and was irreversible. It fell on her children to let the rest of the family know that Grandma had only a day or two left on our earth.

So today, many of her loved ones gathered at her hospital bedside to say goodbye. Yesterday she could talk and was able to speak on the phone to her brother, a grand-daughter, and maybe some others. She had several visitors yesterday. Today she was too weak to talk but was awake most of the day. Her breathing was labored and she would breathe faster when the pain increased.

I was at the hospital for a couple of hours. During those short hours, there were 38 family members present. Her children, several grandchildren, and a few great-grandchildren came to say goodbye. We kinda sorta took over the hallway. At times there were many people in her room. Other times, just a couple. Most of the time I was there she was aware of who was talking to her, her eyes fixed on their face.

I stroked her shoulder and told her I loved her. She was able to kind of breath out/sigh "love you" back to me. They were the last words she spoke to me. I knew those words were true the entire 45 years of my life she was there for. Besides my mom, no one in my life as ever expressed verbally that they love me as much as my grandma did. She told me all the time, pretty much every time I saw her. And I never doubted her words.

My mom read Psalm 23 to her, through tears, because Grandma loved Scripture so much and it was a huge part of who she was. I'm so glad that the last place she went before she got so sick was her beloved church. She got to spend time with her church family one last time. She was the oldest congregant of her church, at 91 years of age.

As I stood by her bedside today, I didn't know what to say, so I sang. I told her I would sing to her the songs I sing to my daughter every night at bedtime. So I sang these words:
Oh, how I love Jesus
Oh, how I love Jesus
Oh, how I love Jesus
Because he first loved me
I cried through most of that little chorus and my voice cracked quite a bit. But then I was able to continue, without crying much.

Then I sang to her another song I sing to my daughter most every night.
God is so good
God is so good
God is so good
He's so good to me.

He loves me so
He loves me so
He loves me so
He's so good to me.

Then I sang the chorus to my favorite hymn, How Great Thou Art. When I began to sing that her eyes opened wider and her mouth was moving like she was trying to say the words. I was so emotional that I couldn't think of the first verse, so I started at the chorus:
Then sings my soul
My Savior God to thee
How great thou art
How great thou art.
Then sings my soul
My Savior God to thee
How great thou art
How great thou art.
My uncle, Howard, was the only other person in the room at the time, and so he started in at the second verse. I joined in and we stood by her bed, a duet with a nice baritone voice and my crackly/crying voice. It was a very special moment. My uncle and I told her how important her faith was in our lives and that her love for Jesus was her legacy.

Right before I left the hospital to go back home, I went back to her bedside one last time to say goodbye. I just stood next to her, looking at her, her eyes barely open. Her breathing was quite labored. I stroked her face, told her I loved her. She couldn't respond. I told her to rest and the final words I said were, "Sweet Grandma." Because that's what she was. So sweet. Never said a bad word about anyone. Loved Jesus with her whole heart. Treasured her church family, her time reading the Bible, praying, and never wanted anything more than her family to love Jesus. That's all she ever wanted.

She slipped away to Jesus a few hours after I left the hospital. She's pain-free and with Grandpa, who left us 22 years ago. Her stomach issues are gone. Her aches and pains are gone. Her diabetes is gone. She saw the face of her Savior today. And that's what makes our sad day a good day.

Happy retirement, Dad!

* Disclaimer: all info in this blog post is from my recollection so it might not be 100% accurate. I'm sure I will be corrected if it's not.

My dad grew up in a small farming community, raised in a family with nine kids and his father was a dairy farmer himself. Being one of nine and living on a farm, you don't really have a choice but to become a hard worker. So that's what my dad has been his whole life - a hard worker.

When my dad was a teenager, he got a job working at Junkans Motors - a small local business that repaired farm machinery. He was a Senior in High School and he walked up to Dick Junkans and asked if he had any part-time work. No application, no interview. Dick said he did and Dad started right away. The summer after he graduated, Dick said, "You're sticking around, right?" Dad said he had planned to if he could work full-time that summer. The next school year he commuted to college and put in a semester or two. After that, he was a full-time workin' man. At the ripe old age of 20, my dad married my mom. He needed a few days off for the wedding and a quick honeymoon getaway. It was probably the first time he had asked for time off since he had started at Junkans. His boss told him he could have the time off, but he needed to find someone to cover his work. He asked his friend, Kevin Monson, to fill in. When Dad came back to work, Kevin stayed. 

A few years later, my dad thought it might be time to look for a different job. He landed an interview at a local food processing plant (then called Land O' Lakes). My dad thinks that somehow his boss found out about the interview and that he was looking for a different job. It is a small town, so that's completely possible. So I believe it was the next day (or shortly thereafter) when Dick approached him and said something to the effect of, "I'm looking to sell my business. Do you want to buy it?" And so that's what happened. In their early 20s, my dad and Kevin decided to buy Junkans Motors and go into business together. They took on a third partner, one of their co-workers named Lawrence Hanson. Except no one called him Lawrence. His nickname was Squirrel (for reasons unknown to me) and I didn't know that his "real name" wasn't Squirrel until I was a teenager myself.

A newspaper clipping from 1975. My dad is the second one on the left. His name is spelled wrong. Next to him is his oldest brother. Then there's Squirrel (his last name is also spelled wrong) and Kevin is on the far right.

Since there was no one with the last name Junkans in the business picture any longer, the business was renamed. The three co-owners had last names of MonSON, HanSON, and PaulSON. I believe they had a contest to rename the business. A local woman submitted the name "Son Equipment." If you said it fast enough, it kind of ran together and sounded like "Sunny Quipment." Amongst my family and many of the Monson family, it became referred to as "The Shop." 

A new building, just on the edge of town, right on the highway, was built and it became my second childhood home. I spent hours at Son Equipment. My dad ran the garage part of the business (the shop), Squirrel ran the parts counter, and Kevin ran the office and sales part of the business. That's not to say you wouldn't find Kevin back in the shop or my dad in the office...they both pitched in with all aspects of the business.

My entire childhood my dad pretty much worked a 50-60 hour work week. He worked every other Saturday. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights every day. He fixed on tractors and farm equipment. Many times he drove out to farms and fields to repair a broken down piece of machinery that a farmer had tried to get going but needed help. 

My dad's hands were pretty much always stained from grease and motor oil. He smelled like "shop" when he came home. His work boots were a fixture in our entryway. The Shop was a big part of our lives, of course. Squirrel eventually retired, selling his part of the business to Dad and Kevin, leaving them as the sole owners. It was a good fit as a partnership, Kevin being a bit more of a risk-taker than my dad, my dad being the one to always carefully weigh the pros and cons of business decisions. And both of them were willing to roll up their sleeves and do the hard work of running a small local business, serving their community they raised their families in.

In the 1980s, small family dairy farms were struggling as the farming industry was taking a big financial hit. So in the early 90s, the business switched over from farm machinery sales and repair to used car sales and repair. And the business name changed from Son Equipment to Son Auto. We still called it The Shop. 

As a teenager, I did odd jobs around Son - mostly washing cars, getting them ready to go out on the car lot. I showed that pressure washer who was boss. I vacuumed out the interior, I scraped off window tint, I ran through a checklist to make sure all radios and blinkers and windows were in working order, and I checked oil and windshield fluid levels. Sometimes I drove all around the countryside, picking up parts at other stores and garages. One time I was sent to a town about 25 miles away, in a pickup truck without a speedometer that didn't work, to haul back a piece of farm machinery. I think it was a disk. It was wide and took up the whole lane and then some. The farmer hooked it up to the pickup truck and off I headed back. But the thing swayed so much that the pickup truck would start to rock if I got going too fast. But I had no idea where the threshold of beginning to sway was because I had no speedometer. I held up traffic for miles on stretches of two-lane road where I couldn't be passed on the highway. I got a lot of honks. I don't think I could go much over 25 mph and it well over an hour to get back to Son. As a teenager, this was a highly embarrassing and stressful situation I found myself in. One guy passed me and as he drove by, he mocked me by swaying his shoulders back and forth, rocking like I was inside that pickup truck.

Once I got my license, I always brought my car to Son to wash it. I was out of college before I drove through a car wash for the first time. I was married before I ever took my car anywhere to get an oil change - my dad always did it for me in the shop. It has been quite handy and fortunate to have a dad that knows "all things cars" and can fix it. And if he can't fix it, my sisters, husband, and brothers-in-law call him and ask if the price quote we got from another garage is reasonable or inflated.

And so it went for many years - Dad and Kevin selling and fixing cars at Son Auto. They tried to be as fair as possible to employees and customers, helping as many people as they could. My dad would get early morning calls and phone calls on Sunday at the house from people needing him to figure out their car problem from over the phone. And he could do it. Sometimes it was someone broken down on the side of the road and they needed rescuing. Sometimes it was a brother or friend who was working on a car and needed some advice. Dad got good at doing diagnostics without even looking at the vehicle. So much so that when my husband and I were dating, we were at a birthday party at my parents' house and he wanted to ask my dad for permission to marry me. His plan was to use his Jeep as a ruse to get my dad out of the house for a private conversation. He told my dad that he wanted him to look at his Jeep because he was having an issue with the air vent blower not working correctly. My dad asked him a couple of questions then told him what the problem was and what needed to be done to fix it, all without leaving the living room. And thwarting my husband's plan that day.

Eventually, the business sold and fixed speed boats and pontoon boats, in addition to cars. A couple more locations were added. Then they opened a couple auto parts store around the area. Several years ago Dad and Kevin were approached by a friend and local businessman who wanted to buy their business. The business was sold and they stayed on as employees, having a boss for the first time since the mid-1970s. My dad had his very first performance review (insert an eye roll by me). Without going into specifics, shortly after the business was sold, circumstances out of their control changed. Kevin left to find another job and it was the strangest thought to me that my dad and his business partner for almost 40 years wouldn't be working together any longer. Change is hard. At least for me, it is.

Another change happened when the "auto parts" part of the business was sold off and my dad went along with it. He moved to another store in a different town. It was another change that was a bit hard to get used to...knowing I would never be in the old Son Auto - the building I spent hours and hours of my childhood in. Knowing that Dad wouldn't have access to a shop to fix cars in, no access to trailers and skid steers and other equipment used to get things done. Again, change is hard. Eventually, Dad returned to a job back in his hometown, just down the road from the old Son Auto, at another location of the parts store he worked for. He no longer had any association with what was Son Auto. It was a new business name, with a new owner, with a new business plan.

Dad and grandkid #6 at his job in 2014.

Dad and grandkid #7 at his job in 2017.

My dad is the hardest working person I know. And today is his last day of work. He is retiring after working five days one week, six days the next, for about 50 years. I'm sure that there were times during his time as a business owner that he wanted to quit. But so many people were relying on him and Kevin. I'm sure there were a ton of hard-to-deal-with situations I never knew anything about - things that kept him awake at night. I'm sure Dad and Kevin didn't always agree on everything. But they changed with the times, pivoted their business, served the community, employed many people through the years - all without college degrees. They put in the long hard hours as business owners and made a lot of sacrifices. I'm so proud of my dad. He is one of the most fair, reasonable, responsible men I will ever know and I'm so grateful he raised me and worked hard for me, my mom, and my sisters.

My kids and my dad on his last day of work. I decided spur of the moment to bring him balloons and lunch to celebrate (and because I always need closure on life changes).

Enjoy your retirement, Dad! Your kids and grandkids are excited that you now get to sleep in, nap when you want, come to ALL the activities, and spend more time with us. When you're not doing yard work, working on home improvements, working up at the cabin, or helping us with projects at our homes, that is.

Oh, and P.S. my dad was at our house a few days ago and replaced a couple of parts on one of our cars. Some things never change.

Big time sports in a small time town

In 1986 one of the sports-movies-to-end-all-sports-movies was released. A tiny Indiana town scrapes together a few boys who overcome several hurdles to put together a scrappy season. The town rallies behind the boys and momentum grows until finally the underdog team from a town no one has ever heard of triumphs over a much larger school. Jimmy Chitwood sinks the last second shot to win the 1952 basketball championship. If you know anything about sports movies, you know I'm talking about the movie Hoosiers.

I have watched Hoosiers so many times and I've cried more than once during the pinnacle scene. There's just something about a story of an underdog that moves us, doesn't it? But this movie has always moved me for a different reason, due to the fact that it's a movie not just about a small town team, but it's also a movie about a small town.

I grew up in a small town. Whatever "small town" means to you, think smaller. As you drove into town, there's a population sign and most of my childhood it read "899." Then, at the next census, it jumped. To 901.

My graduating class had 50 students. When I took driver's education, I had to drive to the next town down the road with my instructor to practice driving through a stoplight. Because my town has never had one. Growing up, I could show you where every single classmate of mine lived, I could tell you their pet's name, I could tell you what church they attended, and I could tell you what car they drove when we all got our driver's licenses. I moved away from my hometown 25 years ago when I went to college. My parents still live there and not much has changed. Including that fact that nothing brings our small town together like an exciting sports season with any of the high school's teams.

When I was in high school, I was on the basketball team. My freshman year I was on Junior Varsity (also sometimes known as the "B" squad). I had three friends that were bumped up to Varsity, even though they were only freshmen. With such a young team, our Varsity did not have a winning record that year. My sophomore year I played on both Junior Varsity and Varsity. It was the most physically exhausting time of my life because I practiced with both teams. I played in several Varsity games and that year, due to more experience, we fared a little better. We had a winning record for the first time in a few seasons. We won the first round of tournament play and you would have thought we won the entire championship...we were so excited. We lost the very next game to end our season, but it was an improvement over the previous year. My junior year, we really got rolling. I think our record was something like 22-2.

In my state, the basketball playoffs are Regionals, then you advance to Sectionals, then you advance to the State Tournament. Keep winning, keep playing. Lose and you're done. Schools are matched up by enrollment numbers. So schools play other schools relatively the same student body size.

My junior year, during tournament time we won the first two games to become Regional Champs. We had two games to win in Sectionals to get to the State Tournament in girls' basketball for the first time in our town's history. We won the first Sectional game but lost the game that would have put us in the State Tournament. My senior year, the exact thing happened. Against the same teams. In a wild coincidence, the same four teams made it to Sectionals and the outcome was exactly the same. We beat the same team in the first game, we lost to the same team in the second game. Both years we were so close to making it to the State Tournament!  But it was not to be.

What I remember most about those winning years was the camaraderie with my teammates, the butterflies in my stomach at the start of every game, the teams we battled against, and the support from the fans. The support from our small town was incredible. I would go to our local grocery store and people I bumped into would say, "Good game last night," or "You girls are going to win next week." For many games during the regular season, the stands were full. But during tournament time, they were packed. The whole town and then some would show up to support us. Alumni would come back from college to watch. Older alumni would bring their families to watch and cheer. The bleachers would be a sea of blue and white, our school colors. And it would get SO LOUD. Every made basket was celebrated. Students and adults jumped out of their seats multiple times. Cheerleaders rallied the fans in chants of support. At times the volume was so high in the gyms that we could barely hear our coach from the bench or even each other out on the floor.

To this day, twenty-five years later, when I go to a high school basketball game, I still get butterflies in my stomach when the pep band is playing in the gym, the smell of popcorn floats through the air, the players' shoes are squeaking on the floor during warm-ups, and then the warm-up clock buzzes, the players are introduced and the refs assemble the teams on the floor for the opening jump ball. Those butterflies are Pavlovian, I suppose. All those sounds, smells, and sights bring back a lot of memories and feelings.

Seven years after my team got so close to the State Tournament, the girls' basketball team DID make it to State for the first time in our school's history. (The boys' one appearance at State happened in 1972.) You can bet that I was there, cheering on those girls. It was an exciting time and support from the community was out in full-force. Signs in store windows, pep rallies, buses full of students, blue and white shirts on everyone, signs being held up at games, a rowdy and excited student section, a loud and proud pep band giving it their all. And it's all happening again right now.

This time it's the boys' basketball team making a run of it towards the State Tournament. And even though I live 50 miles away and haven't been to a game this year, it's all very exciting all over again. My parents go to just about every basketball game, even though they haven't had a child in the school system in 16 years. That's what you do in a small town. You support every team and cheer on kids you have watched grow up. You watch children of second, third, and maybe even fourth generations of families who have been playing basketball for the school for years. Both my dad and my grandpa played basketball at the same high school I did. At least three of the boys on the team this year has a parent that went to high school with me (man, I'm old). Through my parents being fans, I've heard updates and stories about this year's team. My parents took my daughter to her first basketball game last week to watch this team of boys. She's told me that she wouldn't go again because her "heart was too loud in her chest." That means the bass drum in the pep band was loud and she's four so that's the best way she could explain that. To her, the best part of the game was the bag of popcorn she consumed.

I am loving seeing all of the photos on Facebook of all of the boys' games. I love seeing the sea of blue and white sitting in the bleachers. I love seeing the joy and pride on the faces of the fans, players, and parents as this team takes the whole town on an exciting and wild ride. And it's different when it's your own hometown, versus another team you're rooting for. I have two cousins who grew up in a small town, about the same size as mine. When they were in high school they made it to the State Tournament in both football and basketball. And boy, was that an exciting time. I went to several games, cheered for my cousins, cheered for their friends I had gotten to know. But it just isn't the same as when it's your own town playing.

This is one of the best parts of being from a small town...supporting the local high school team, whether it's basketball, football, volleyball, or wrestling. And when it's a season where the team is really good, it's just so unifying for all those fans. There just isn't really anything else like it.

I won't be able to go to the big Sectional game tomorrow and if the boys win and make it to the State Tournament, I won't be able to go to that either. But I'll be cheering from afar! And maybe I'll pop Hoosiers into the DVD player, just for old times' sake.

Billy Graham

Billy Graham finally saw the face of his Savior today, when he passed away and entered Heaven. This morning when the news story broke on the TV station I was watching, they ran a piece highlighting his life and ministry and I cried. My husband and I have had the conversation before on the subject of celebrities dying and that people cry over a person they personally never knew. I told my husband I couldn't think of one celebrity that I would cry about when they die. I was wrong. I've been weepy all morning over Billy Graham's death. But it's not tears over the man so much, as tears over what he meant to so many people, worldwide.

In 2015 we took a family vacation to North Carolina.
We went to a Billy Graham exhibit at a museum in Raleigh.
This was a snapshot I took of one of Billy's Bibles.

Billy Graham was a huge part of the Christian culture where I grew up. Once upon a time, he was the president at the Christian school where I started my college career. He left that position to go into his preaching ministry full-time. His legacy was still felt at that school when I attended over twenty years ago; forty years after he left. Billy's ministry headquarters were also located in the Twin Cities for many years before moving to his home state of North Carolina. He also started the biggest local Christian radio station in the Twin Cities. Yes, the format is very different from when he started it over sixty years ago, but the purpose of the radio station remains the same. To proclaim the gospel. The station reaches millions every day with the good news that Jesus came to save mankind. The ripple effects of Billy's ministry will never be known this side of heaven.

But perhaps the biggest impact of Billy Graham's legacy in my life is the fact that my grandparents went to one of his crusades in 1950 and accepted Christ. Of course, I'm sure that there were many people in my grandparents' lives that contributed to their faith journey. They both grew up going to church. I'm sure their mothers prayed for them. They had Sunday School teachers and pastors who poured into their lives. But Billy Graham was the one that got them to cross the finish line and start their new lives in Christ. The gospel message that Billy spoke that day finally reaped all of the seeds of faith that so many had sown into my grandparents' lives. Because of their decision, they raised six children in a Christian home. My grandma's favorite verse is Joshua 24:15 which says, "But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." And they have served their Savior faithfully together for over 60 years. And because of that, their daughter did the same and raised me in a Christian home that served the Lord. And now, I do the same with my family.

So why am I so weepy today? Good grief, the man was 99. He lived a good, long life. He is in the very presence of Jesus and with his beloved wife, Ruth. I never attended one of Billy Graham's crusades. I did not know the man personally. I think one of the reasons for my tears is because his legacy is part of the fabric woven into my journey of faith. But I think mostly it's because of what he stood for - The Gospel of Jesus Christ. The fact that Jesus left Heaven to come to earth to die on a cross so that sinful mankind can enter into a relationship with God is the most paradoxical event in history. The gospel...so simple a child can understand it. Yet so complicated that biblical scholars have debated it and dissected it for centuries. The gospel...it can humble you to your knees, in a low posture. Yet it can cause you to reach your hands as high as possible, in as big of a posture as you can muster. The gospel...it can make you weep while wearing the biggest smile on your face. The gospel...it brings freedom to those who believe it. Yet some rulers and governments in history have tried to repress it because of their fear. Billy Graham was about one thing - telling as many people as possible around the world the good news of the gospel. His greatest goal was to point others to Christ. He knew that the gospel cannot and will not be stopped. God gave him a giant and far-reaching platform to tell people all over the world. And people listened. They flocked to Billy's crusades by the millions. Because Billy spoke the truth. And it was never about him. It was always about Jesus.

Was Billy Graham perfect? Nope. Far from it. Because no one is perfect. Did Billy realize that he was a sinner and only the saving grace of Jesus Christ could rescue him and give him life? Yes. Does God love Billy Graham more than He loves you? Nope. Will we ever have the scope of ministry Billy was given? Nope. In Mark 25 Jesus told a parable of what Heaven is like. This is the passage of scripture where Jesus is quoted as saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Those are the six words that every Christ follower longs to hear when they enter Heaven. I am certain that Billy Graham heard those precious words today. Not because of the number of people he brought to Christ (I don't think God really cares about stats). But rather because he was obedient to God's calling on his life and he did his best for Jesus with what he was given. May we all do the same.

A $3150 ripple effect

Last week I got a front row seat to a HUGE answer to prayer, thanks to a Facebook post by a friend. I just delight when God answers a prayer with a resounding, "Yes. I've got this," and last week there was encouragement when an answer like that was shared on social media.

I have two friends from my college days. Let's call them Eric and Jen (not their real names since I'm going rouge and didn't ask permission to write about this event. Ha!). Eric and Jen met in college and married one another. They have both always had a heart for teenage students and helping them cultivate a personal relationship with Jesus. Eric was a youth pastor for many years. He moved from being a youth pastor within the church to working with a ministry that reached teenagers. Through all those years, Jen was by his side, being a part of the ministry with him. Now, Eric works in a ministry that does not include students, but adult athletes. (And Jen is still by his side, as a part of the ministry.) However, Eric and Jen still have a passion for reaching students for Christ.

Eric and Jen have two teenage children. So currently, they host what they call "Breakfast Club." Once a week Jen makes breakfast and a pile of teenagers cram into their house before school to eat and have a Bible study led by Eric. Jen has the gift of hospitality - seriously, she will welcome anyone in her home. And she will feed them. And she's one of those rare gems who can rock it, cooking for the masses. It does not phase her when multitudes of people stream through her door and into her kitchen. So Eric and Jen always say that Breakfast Club is "feeding their tummies and feeding their souls." She cooks, he teaches. Kingdom teamwork!

They often post photos on Facebook of how this Bible Study is growing. I have seen photos of their basement FILLED with teenagers. Seriously, they are piled on the furniture, there are folding chairs everywhere, and every space on the floor is occupied. Jen used to post photos of the giant pile of shoes by their front door, in the entryway. Until the shoe pile became too big for the space! Now the shoe pile is out in the garage. The group has grown to over 50 kids showing up in the early morning to eat and hear from God's Word.

Now, feeding 50+ teenagers a few times a month isn't a cheap endeavor. And I would imagine that as the group has grown, the cost has grown. So, Eric and Jen began to pray to ask God if they should continue Breakfast Club or finish out this school year and end the Bible Study. They asked God to make it very clear what He wanted them to do. No ambiguity, please.

About a week after praying about continuing Breakfast Club, Eric had someone ask him about the "pile of shoes" pictures he had been seeing on social media and what that was all about. Eric told him what it was all about and he asked how much it cost each month to make all that food for that many students. Eric told him and that was the end of that.

A few days later, Jen gets an envelope in the mail addressed to her and she opens it and finds this.

A check for $3150, which is enough to cover the cost of Breakfast Club for the entire school year next year. Like Eric said, in his post, "Who does this?" This money is from a couple who live several states away from where these students live. They will never meet these kids. But my guess is that they were being obedient to God and what He asked them to do!

The answer to Eric and Jen's prayer about continuing Breakfast Club was met with a resounding, "Yes!" from God. Wow. What a miracle. What a testimony this will be to those students about the power of prayer. Obviously God has plans for those students and He wants to continue to use the Bible Study to rock their world and create ripple effects for years to come. That personally is one of my favorite aspects of ministering to teenagers - the ripple effects. You know how you toss a rock into the water and the ripples just get farther and farther away from where the rock landed? That happens in ministry too. The way that kids can spiritually grow when taught through God's Word can shape them for years to come. And then sometimes, in their adult years, they turn around and minister to teenagers and the ripples of God's Love just keep reaching out throughout the generations. It's amazing to think about how God is going to multiply this $3150 many times over because of the Truth students will learn though another year of Bible study because someone obeyed and gave.

This world pulls at teenagers in a million different ways and there's a lot of "noise" out there, demanding their attention. This is just one small way God is using a couple to cut through the noise to teach these kids that they matter, they are loved, and they need Jesus.

This one's for the moms!

Happy Monday, everyone!

This photo of my baby is a fairly accurate representation of how our Monday was going before we even got out of the house this morning. The baby was very much out of sorts as soon as he finished his bottle upon waking up. If he wasn't being held by me, he was crying. Which is very unlike him. He is rarely fussy or needy. But today he was both and this was not conducive to our morning routine to get out of the house.

The sun was barely up and I already had a toddler that wasn't obeying, the baby spit up all over my bare foot (being a parent is so gross sometimes), there was laundry to dry, a diaper pail to empty and reload with the bag for it, a full kitchen garbage bag to take out, the baby had a nasty dirty diaper and I had a dreaded sink full of dishes to tackle - in addition to getting myself ready for work and the toddler ready to go to daycare. (How can it be that I get up at 5:00 every day and barely make my 7:30 deadline of getting out of the house?)

We are on day twelve of my husband being gone - I haven't even seen him yet this month and we're ten days into the month. So last night, when I looked at the dishes and bottles that were dirty, I didn't have the gumption to deal with it. I was just too tired to hand wash bottles AGAIN. It's a never-ending chore right now. But that meant that I had to wash them this morning so there were enough to get the baby through the day. The baby sat at my feet and cried the whole time I stood at the sink. Nothing could console him except being held. Which makes washing bottles fairly difficult!

As I was washing a bottle for about the 5,000 time in my life, I could feel the frustration rising and my attitude was about to go south pretty dang quick. I didn't WANT to wash another bottle - why does this baby drink so many bottles? I didn't WANT to pack my lunch for the day - why do I have to take leftovers to be heated in a gross microwave in our office break room? I didn't WANT to brush my toddler's hair - what did she get in her hair that was so sticky and impossible to brush? I didn't WANT to deal with a crying baby - what was his deal today? But as the pity party was taking root and I was scrubbing that darn bottle, suddenly this came to mind: Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord. Colossians 3:23. Attitude check! I know that I know that I know that in everything I do, I should do it as working for the Lord - especially the mundane everyday things that need to be done. Especially the everyday things that get no accolades. Especially the everyday things that can grind down your joy in the moment. Especially the every day work that no one sees. And most days, I FAIL at working with all my heart, as working for the Lord. It's usually all about poor 'ol me.

Moms, we have a lot of those thankless, mundane moments, don't we? And yes, you are doing it for your kids. Because it's what you signed up for, because they can't wipe their own runny noses, because they can't pour themselves a bowl of cereal, because they can't zip their own jacket, because they can't buy themselves shoes for their never-stopping-growing-feet, because they can't do that science project all by themselves, because they can't drive themselves to soccer practice, because they can't put money in their lunch account, because they can't wrap that friend's birthday present, and on and on. For years and years. But all of those things you're doing? You're working for the One who sees. Who knows there are hard days. Who has asked you to be a steward of these kids and knows you're trying so hard. The Lord has given you these joyful, challenging, giggling, hot-mess little ones. And when you serve the children, you're serving the Lord as well. So, feel encouraged. There are a lot of moms who know what you're going through. There's lots of moms who know how you feel in the thankless moments. And if they could give you a high five, or a hug, or a gold star, or whatever you need, those fellow "moms in the trenches" would.

Keep working. With all your heart. Because your kids will never thank you for washing their bottles over and over and over. Or for any of the other millions of chores you will do just to keep them safe, healthy, and alive! But they will thank you for being their mom.

Do the unnoticed things for the Lord. Because He sees. He notices - because you are taking care of His kids. The gifts that He has entrusted to you for a short time. Take heart, momma. You can do it!

Being an "old" mom

It has been over a year since I lasted posted anything to my blog. What have I been doing in that time? Well, you know - working a full-time job, I worked a part-time job for most of that chunk of time, running my Mary Kay business, raising a toddler, and oh yeah, growing another child inside of me, giving birth, and adjusting as a mom of two kids. Just a couple of things going on. It's that last little part that I've been mulling over and wanting to write about for some time now.

I am an old mom. I got a late start in life when it came to my own family, as that was God's plan for me. I didn't put kids "on hold" for the sake of a career. That's just how it worked out for me. I know there are many women who have children toward the end of their child-bearing years, so I'm certainly not the exception. But I am in the minority. Although, it sounds like maybe it's a growing minority. I saw a news story a couple weeks ago about having babies at 50. And according to the interwebs, one in five women in the US are having their first child at age 35 or older.

Did you know that any woman over 35 is considered a "geriatric pregnancy?" Worst. Medical. Term. Ever. I guess it's more common to hear "advanced maternal age," but I personally heard geriatric pregnancy in my experience. I can't help but think of some old granny with a white bun on top of her head while she has a bun in the oven. For some reason, I picture the old lady from Looney Tunes. Um, so not me. Or any woman who is expecting, no matter her age.

A lot of my friends that are my same age got married in their mid twenties and were having babies while they were in their late twenties or early thirties. I have friends my same age that have children getting their driver's license. I have friends my same age that have children graduating from high school. I have friends my same age who already have kids in college. And here's the real kicker - I have friends my same age that are becoming grandparents. Grandparents! I am a whole generation behind some of my friends. Or they are a generation ahead of me - however you want to look at it.

Being a first time mom at 39, I sometimes wonder about my daughter's future school friends and their parents. More than likely, my husband and I will be two of the oldest parents of the kids in the class of 2032; although, maybe not, since more women are having kids after 35. My daughter will graduate 40 years after I did. My husband and I are both pretty "young at heart" so I have no doubt we won't have any trouble making friends with our kids' friends' parents. It's just strange to think about it - the MOTHER of my daughter's future best friend could've been born when I was in high school.

My grandma was a young mother. She was 20 when she gave birth to my mom. My mom was a young mother. She was 22 when she gave birth to me. I am the oldest grandchild, so that means that my grandma was 42 when I was born, making her a grandma. Guess how old I was when I had my second child - 42. The same age my grandma was when I was born! It's kind of crazy to think about.

This is my grandma and me. She is 42, I am 7 days old.

This is my son and me. I am 42, he is five days old.

This is my grandma and my son. She is 84, double the age when I was born. I may have been her first grandchild, but he is not her first great-grandchild. He's number 23, I believe.

The other day I was changing my daughter's diaper and a thought occurred to me. It is very well possible, and most likely, that our son will be about three-years-old or so when he is potty trained. This means I will be changing my son's diapers when I'm 45. Changing diapers at 45 is something some of my friends my age can't even imagine - their kids will be teenagers or out of the house when we hit 45. Several will probably be changing diapers, but it will be their grand kids. Not their own babies.

I'll be honest - being a mom of babies in your forties is hard. I'm tired and often wish I had the energy I had 10 of 15 years ago. There's a reason most people have babies in their twenties and thirties. You're up in the night a lot, you're on the floor a lot, you're lugging around babies in bucket car seats, you're lifting kids into high chairs, car seats, and cribs. It can be exhausting, physically. But it can be empowering too. There are times I honestly think, "A lesser woman couldn't do it. But I can! Thank you God for giving me health to do this. Even if my back is sore. And my knee hurts. And I just want to sleep for more than three hours at a time." You just do what you have to do! Those babies don't care how old you are. All they know is that they need their mama to take care of them.

I have a friend who has a few kids and her youngest is about nine-years-old. When she found out I was having my second child at 42, she said, "I can't imagine." I'm sure there are plenty of people who have thought, "Glad it isn't me. I'm glad I had my kids when I was young." But you know what, I am glad it's me. If I were in charge of my life, I would've been married 10 years earlier and started my family before I was 30. But I'm not in charge. God is. I told Him a long time ago (in high school) that I desired what He had planned for me and He was driving - I'm just along for the ride. Why did I have to wait to become a wife and a mom? I'll never know on this side of heaven. But I'm so happy that it was God's plan for me to become a wife and a mom. The fulfillment of my heart's desires was never a guarantee. It's not a guarantee for anyone. So I'm just so glad that even though I'm an old mom, I am a mom. Even if it doesn't "look" like I thought it would look when I was in my twenties. If you would have told me at twenty-two, "Well, you have to wait fourteen more years before you meet the man you'll marry, and fifteen years from now you'll be the bride, then about the time your friends are entering the teenage years of parenting you will just be getting started. Oh, and when you send your first kid to kindergarten, the majority of your friends will have a kid in college," I would have said, "Shut. Up. That cannot be for real."

If you are at a place in life where you thought, in your younger years, would "look" different than it does, please take heart. When you have an expectation of how you think things should be, it can lead to disappointment. Be patient, be grateful, be willing to obey God's leading. There have been times in my life when I have questioned God's plan for me and so I have repeated, out loud, over and over, "I trust You. I trust You. I trust You." Sometimes that's all the prayer you need to say.