Category: Family

Posted in Faith, Family

Long. Slow. Deep.

Posted on by Esther Goetz
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.

Words said to me over and over again with every single contraction I had as I labored with each of my four kids.

Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.

Words I say to myself whenever my heart starts to race, my palms get sweaty and my brain is off to the races, filled with anxiety and dread.

Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.

Words the Tender Lover of my soul speaks to me when the heartache both within and around me feels unbearable.

Breathe.
Just breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.
Breathe.

Words that I imagine were spoken to Mary by the women in her caravan coaxing her through the laboring pushes and birth of Jesus and the comfort and joy that prevailed in the afterbirth.

———————————-

It’s now past midnight.

Someone I love is in much pain.

Most days, I would push it aside and go to sleep.

Not tonight.

I’m sitting at my table just breathing.
In and out.

Breathing in her pain. Long. Slow. Deep.
INHALE.

Holding my breath for just a few seconds as I hold her before the God who is with her in the middle of her pain, her heartache.

Breathing out the love of God to her. Long. Slow. Deep.
EXHALE.

I’m not in the physical room with this one I love.
I can’t be right now.

I can’t take away her pain.
I can’t make it magically all better.
But I can breathe for her.
I can breathe with her.

Long. Slow. Deep.

In the story of creation, God took the dust, the dirt, the ground and breathed life into it. His powerful, beautiful, love-filled life.

What sprang forth in all its beauty was us. You and me.

We were glorious.
We were sacred.
But we were also fragile.

But God didn’t and doesn’t stop there.
He didn’t and doesn’t create us and then leave us alone.

We are still glorious.
We are still sacred.
And we are still fragile.

We need Him, His breath of life, every single day.

In our pain.
In our fear.
In our sadness.
Even in our joy.

We need His powerful, beautiful, love-filled life.

That’s why I breathe.
Long. Slow. Deep.

For those I love.

For myself.

Often for those I don’t even really know, but can love because they are glorious, sacred and fragile just like me.

———————————-

Each of us takes about 20,000 breaths per day.

20,000 chances to inhale our individual and collective suffering.

20,000 chances to hold each other and bring each other to the One who holds us in the palm of His hand and in the recesses of His heart.

20,000 chances to exhale His unending and unfailing love to one another.

But most of our breaths are rushed, fast, and shallow.

We move at a pace that requires this.
Rushed. Fast. Shallow.

It’s no wonder we miss out on the powerful, beautiful, love-filled life that God has to offer us and we have to offer each other.

So tonight, at this dark and quiet hour, I don’t want to miss out.
I want to be present. I want to soak in the power, the beauty and the love that is ready at the waiting.

I do nothing else but breathe.

Long. Slow. Deep.

For the one I love.
For me.
And for you.

(I lit my fourth Advent candle this morning…the one the speaks to LOVE.)
Posted in Childhood, motherhood

Parenthood (The Constant Return to Advent)

Posted on by Esther Goetz
“Advent is for the ones who know longing.”
“Tis the Season.”
(Mom utters with eyes rolling while corralling child hyped up on the latest candy cane-induced sugar high)

“Tis the Season.”
(Dad pronounces with pride brimming watching high schooler dance in holiday pageant)

“Tis the Season.”
(Parents cry waiting for any hopeful news of their adult child living on the streets with addiction)

“Tis the Season” is right!

A season filled with wonder, joy, hope and generosity.

A season also filled with waiting, anticipating, yearning, the pleading question “is it all going to be okay?”

This is the howl of Advent.
Christmas Morning is the answer to that question.

The entire journey of parenting feels a lot like Advent.

In fact, it starts with the womb, nine months of waiting, anticipating, yearning, the Question, “WILL THEY BE OKAY?”

Our precious baby is born and for a moment when the doctor says, “All is well,” we burst with joy and wonder, waves of relief flooding our hearts as the question is answered.

“Yes, they are going to be okay.”

Advent quiets. Christmas Morning arrives.

Until…

We arrive home, alone with this human we are responsible to feed and care for, keep alive and healthy. We wake in the dark, tiptoe over to the bassinet and put our hands on their backs or our fingers under their teeny noses to see if they are breathing.

The Question arises again, “are they going to be okay?”
Advent returns.

This constant returning to Advent, to the Question, permeates parenthood.

WILL THEY BE OKAY???

Will they choke on that bagel?
Will they make friends in their class?
Will they learn to read?
Will they score a goal?
Will they have a seat in the lunchroom?
Will they tell us the truth about that party?
Will they drink and drive?
Will they get into a good college?
Will they struggle with loneliness?
Will they meet someone who loves them?
Will they make enough money?
Will they be a good mom or dad?
Will they have a happy marriage?

WILL THEY BE OKAY???

Advent grieves broken places that are yet to be healed, questions that have no answer today and yearning that is unfulfilled.

BUT (and it’s a big BUT), Advent also speaks the hope of an answer at the end of a long season of waiting, a Christmas Morning to come.

But as parents (whether our child is 2, 22 or 42), we wait, always returning to the Question. Wondering if there is an answer to the burning doubt inside.

WILL THEY BE OKAY? Really OKAY?

Is there a Christmas Morning for us, for our children who we love so tenderly and so dearly?

Not too long ago, I was in the middle of a long period of Advent with one of my kids, asking and asking the Question. It was nearly impossible to see any glimmer of hope on the horizon, near or distant.

The waiting was long. I fell into a bleak and dreary place.

The Question engulfed me until I asked an ever scarier one:

WHAT IF THEY ARE NOT OKAY? What then?

Just when I needed it (or more likely, when I was able to hear it), a gentle Voice spoke into my heart, clear as the air on a crisp Spring day.

“Even if the unspeakable happens, even if their treasured life comes to an end, they will be with Me, enveloped in My unfathomable love. They will be perfectly safe.”

Further words came after that I had so longed for:

“THEY WILL BE OKAY! REALLY OKAY!”

And then, when I thought it was over, the same kind Voice gave the answer to an even deeper question I had not even asked:

“AND SO WILL YOU, MAMA.”

The sigh of my soul was almost audible, as I collapsed into the knowing place that no matter what, even if all questions are answered with a NO, the Question is answered always with a YES.

Advent always ends with Christmas Morning.

Posted in Family, Grief, motherhood

For the Mom Whose Kid is Hurting

Posted on by Esther Goetz
The back door opens. It’s late.

I’m awake because that’s just how it is as a mom. No sleep until every child of mine is home safe.

My recent college grad walks into the family room where I lay on the couch, eyes heavy.

“We broke up, Mom.”

I bolt upright, dumbfounded. I can’t compute the words I hear.


This boy of mine and his girlfriend have been together since they were kids.

Seven years.

Tears form in his green eyes.

I don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen him cry since he was little.

This is a girl he was going to propose to.
This is a girl I love. Her picture hangs on our family photo wall.

I want to fix it, make him okay.

I am sad. I am angry.

I want to send her a “please love my boy again” text.
I want to buy him a plane ticket to visit his sister.

My own eyes well up and I offer him the only thing I can: my presence.

This is how it is now. The older my kids get, what they need comforting for or help with are not things I can do much about,

I can’t make people like them.

I can’t (and shouldn’t) fight on their behalf for a grade or a promotion at work.
I can’t force someone to want to spend the rest of their lives with them.
I can’t stop the world from hurting them.

What am I to do?

Offer my presence.

In simple ways.

Answer their text with a simple “I love you.”
Listen when and if they want to talk.

Take them to a movie, complete with popcorn and candy.
Write a “you’ve got this” note.
Make their favorite cookies.


Remind them I am praying for them.

Offer my presence,

Their lives are going to be filled with problems I can’t solve and pain I can’t take away.

This might be the most difficult part of being a mom. But perhaps it’s also the most beautiful.

By offering my presence, I’m being God (with skin on) to them.

I’m not doing the work that’s theirs alone.

I’m not fixing the dilemmas they find themselves in.
I’m not concocting ways to ensure they are not in pain (try as I might).

I am being with them in the middle of the quagmire.
I am reminding them they are not left on their own.
I am here for them, worrying, trusting, cheering, praying and hoping.

There’s no place I’d rather be.

Posted in Childhood, Family, motherhood

What was said mom to do?

Posted on by Esther Goetz
There once was a nine-year-old who asked her mom for a lacrosse stick. And goggles. And to join a cute team of other nine-year-olds.

 

Which meant cleats and a uniform and driving back and forth to three practices a week and God-knows-how-many games.
 
It made sense. Her older sister played. Her two older brothers played. Lacrosse equipment littered the garage, the kitchen, the trunk of the car and the talk around the table.
 
What was said mom to do?
 


She was exhausted with all the laundry, the cooking, the driving, the homework, the music lessons, the mayhem of motherhood.


 
Said mom, who was awful at making good boundaries and had the illusion she was supermom, responded with “yes.” 


 
She loved sports. And who knows? “Maybe her final child had a chance at the big leagues” (whatever the heck that means when it comes to women’s lacrosse).
 


A fancy stick was purchased.
Along with pink goggles (a two-pack) and black cleats with a pink stripe.
Forms were filled out along with a hefty check written.

Practices were driven to, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Cheering happened at games and mom friendships were formed on sidelines.
 

The little girl loved it.
So did her mom.


 
Year after year, the girl grew and played and grew and played.


 
Fancier sticks.

Bigger goggles.

Straight-up black cleats (no more pink stripe).

Special lessons.

Elite teams.
 
Very very soon (like a minute in mom years), the nine-year-old was donning a nylon mesh pinnie and headed to high school tryouts.


 
After a week of running and catching and dodging and attacking, the news came. She had made Junior Varsity.


 
The not-so-little girl loved it.
So did her getting-older mom.
 


More practices.

More driving.

More special and elite this-and-that.

More money.

More time.


 
News the following tryout year was even better. Varsity as a lowly sophomore. Varsity.


The season was long. And hard.

The coach was rough. And knowledgeable.

The girl was in shape. And very very busy.


 
The big girl loved it less and less.

The couldn’t-wait-for-the-next-game mom loved it more and more.


 
The announcement came one end-of-winter morning.


 
“I’m quitting lacrosse, Mom. I want to focus on my music. I want to help in the church sound booth.”
 
Said mom gathered herself quickly and tempered her aghast look (hopefully).


 
What was she to say? To do?
 


This was not what she wanted. Or expected. This would make her sad. Very sad.


 
“Okay honey. It’s your life and you should do what you want with it. You do you.”


 
That is what she said out loud.

That is what she meant down deep in her heart.

That is what she believed in her mom soul.


 
She wanted this girl to be completely herself and do whatever it takes to find out what that is.


 
But her mom loss was big.
 


The loss of standing on the sidelines, enjoying the crisp spring air, cheering for her girl.

The loss of easy friendships she had long-formed within the lacrosse microcosm.

The loss of her expectation of what her girl might accomplish or be.


 
So said mom who was learning better boundaries and how to take care of herself just a little bit more, gave herself permission to be sad.


 
Just plain old sad.

For a while.


 
You know what?
 
She still really misses all things lacrosse. Very much.

 
She hasn’t gotten rid of the sticks. Not quite yet.
 


But her girl??


Her girl loves music. And sound-board buttons.

And her mom especially loves that her girl found that out.


 
The End. For Now.
Posted in Faith, Family, motherhood

A Much Bigger Dream

Posted on by Esther Goetz

I had one girl and two boys, all under the age of seven.  I was ready to burst, my fourth baby wiggling incessantly inside my pregnant belly, leaving me exhausted and eager to give birth.  I had chosen NOT to find out the gender, but not-so-secretly dreamed of a sister for my oldest.

You see, I was the only girl in a family of three older brothers and always wanted a sister. But no matter how much I pleaded with my mom, no more babies were to be had.

A few days after an awful procedure called an “external version” to flip over my not-head-down baby, I packed my bags and headed to the hospital.  After hours of induced labor, the doctor came rushing in just in time to shout, “IT’S A GIRL!” 

My heart leapt for JOY (her middle name that mirrors my own) and, in that moment, I thought my BIG dream had come true and my earnest prayer answered.

Little did I know that something much BIGGER was on the horizon.

The birth of this baby girl became the very starting point of a now years-long journey of healing for me. I’m still not sure why.

Perhaps it was a fluke.  Or maybe God just knew that I might be ready.

Immediately, her sparkly eyes drew me close, as if she could see right into my soul.
I had never before been able to open my heart without pause.

She was unconditional love wrapped in a tiny package of flesh and bones.
I had never before been able to receive love without restriction.

As she grew, her child-like wisdom shocked me in the best ways.
I had never before been able to move out of formulaic thinking.

KNOWN.
LOVED.
WISDOM.

Three crucial pieces to a puzzle that had long been missing in my life, and that changed it forever.

As I write, this young lady stands on the precipice of a hope-filled future, one that reaches far beyond me.

BUT…

She still sparkles and I feel seen.
She still loves unabashedly and I receive it with JOY.
She still speaks wisdom and I am, again and again, moved toward healing.

My BIG dream did come true that autumn morning, the birth of a sister for my oldest.

But God had a much BIGGER dream for me, an “immeasurably more” kind: the slow, deliberate, continuing and tender mending of my own precious soul.

#doublejoy

Posted in Family, motherhood

Beyond Tired (Exhausted Actually)

Posted on by Esther Goetz
There was a mom who was really tired. BEYOND TIRED.

She was counting down the hours to “end” her active parenting.
It had been every day for 25++ years.

She found herself sitting on the floor, covered in empty boxes, about to sleep on a futon that had been through her three other college kids and was now gracing the dorm room of her baby.

She couldn’t believe she was finally here.
But she knew why she was absolutely exhausted. Who wouldn’t be?

She lay awake thinking about ALL.THE.THINGS.

  • Q-tips covered in alcohol carefully for 10 days on each of four babies’ umbilical cords until that gross thing turned black and fell off

  • Shopping with four children under seven (it was like taking four goats to the store…I “kid” you not…get it? get it? I “kid” you not)

  • Sorting legos into bags by color, size and type at least 52 times (to be exact)

  • Playing Ms. PacMan on Nintendo 64 surrounded by eight excited eyes until she beat all the levels and killed the witch

  • Filling out back-to-school forms until her eyes twitched and hands curled up in agony (can’t this be computerized school board?)

  • Packing 180 (# of days in a school year) X 4 (# of kids in her house) X 13 (# of school years) lunches (equals 9,360)

  • Chore charts, memory verse charts, learn-to-pee-and-poop-on-the-potty charts, and behavior charts, all complete with stickers and prizes

  • Watching (or at least hearing from the kitchen) ad nauseam reruns from the Disney Channel, Nick Jr., PBS, Cartoon Network and Netflix

  • Coaching and watching basketball, soccer, baseball, lacrosse, wrestling, field hockey, swimming, track, volleyball, and softball (the records for all of those sports combined probably .500 exactly)

  • Listening to piano, clarinet, bassoon, guitar, and recorders (yikes!)

  • Doctor, dentist, oral surgeon, voice therapist, orthodontist, counselor, ENT, orthopedic surgeon and emergency room visits enough that she should have “frequent shopper cards” (buy 10 visits, get one free)

  • Themed birthday parties each year complete with specialized decorations and games (Pin the Tail on Pikachu anyone?)

  • Graduations from preschool to middle school to high school to college (secretly bored out of her mind, but still taking all the pictures)

  • Driving at least 5 or 6 times the distance of the globe to practices, lessons, youth groups, parties, play dates, school, and girl/boyfriend’s houses

  • 3,247 fights over paper-cup lids, halloween candy, bathroom etiquette (or lack thereof), and on and on and on

  • Teaching (or more true, freaking out in the passenger’s seat) four teens how to drive

  • Moving four kids in and out of college dorms and college apartments (one night she actually slept on bath mats…the softest thing she could find in said child’s off-campus apartment)

You can see why she was wiped out. W-I-P-E-D out!

A couple of days later, back home snug in her bed, hoping to finally get some much-needed sleep, she patted herself on the back for a mom job well done.

As she headed off to dreamland at the luscious hour of 10 pm, her phone DINGED, the familiar tone reserved for her blessed four.

It was a text from her college junior. “Mom, can you help? I need to figure out how to switch a class.”

She quickly responded, telling him he needed to wait until the morning.

“Okay Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too. We’ll figure it out.”

Five minutes later, another DING, same familiar tone.

Slightly annoyed, she checked to make sure all was well with whoever was now texting.

Her recent college graduate was sending a note from the kitchen.“Mom, where are the spatulas?”

She told him which drawer. He said he already looked there. She unwrapped herself from her cozy covers and walked down the long flight of stairs. She opened said drawer. It was right there, hiding in plain site.

“Thanks Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too. Good night. Please clean up after yourself.”

She marched herself right back up those stairs, slipping back under her covers and shutting her heavy lids. Sleep came quickly.

DING! DING!

Same tone.

Different child (this time, adult and oldest child living on her own).

“Mom? You up? I’m a wreck. Can’t sleep. My roommate is being a jerk. I think I should move out. What do you think I should do?”

She pressed #2 on speed dial.

After 45 minutes of listening and listening and listening and then more listening, the two of them said the same words to each other since forever.

“Love you to the moon, Mom.”
“And I love you all the way to the moon and back again, Peanut.”

She was now fully awake. She tossed and turned and tossed and turned.

The clock had struck midnight and her restless legs were acting up.

LOVELY.

She peed.
She turned her pillow over to the cool side.
She prayed.
She stared into the darkness.
She irritatingly glanced at her fast-asleep spouse, mouth agape.

DING! again.

“WHAT NOW? WHO NOW?”

It was her baby.

“Mom, I love you. And miss you. Sorry if I woke you up.”

She answered pronto.

“Love you too, honey. And miss you like crazy!”

She laid her head back on her not-cool-enough pillow, closing her eyes tight. Wise words from an older mom friend echoed in her mind, and she understood them just a little bit better.

“This parenting gig never ends, because love never ends.”

She drifted off (FINALLY) to a sweet sleep, all phones quiet.

As she woke in the morning, her mom body ached a little and she was still tired, exhausted actually, but her mom heart, just like every day for 25++ years, was full to the brim.

Posted in Family, motherhood

Every Parent’s Never-Ending Battle

Posted on by Esther Goetz

It starts early:

Should we PUT DOWN our four-month old (let him “cry it out”) or PICK him UP when he is fussy? Holding him tends to calm him. He sleeps better. He stops crying. He is basically happier.

It continues: 

How about the daily battle of knowing how much to help our budding adult children (pick them up when they are “fussy”) or let them figure things out on their own (many times painful and uncomfortable)? Helping them tends to calm them. They sleep better. They stop “fussing.” They are basically happier.

It never ends:

What about an aging parent’s battle about how much to help their youngest son with the care of his children? He lost his wife about a year ago and the situation is complicated. They are 84. He is 56. Helping him calms the situation. Everyone sleeps better. The “fussing” is abated. He is basically happier.

No matter how old our child is, the battle of whether or not to PICK UP or PUT DOWN is one we will fight until our last breath.

It can be teaching a baby to sleep by themselves, driving a forgotten homework assignment to school for your elementary daughter, purchasing a car for your new driver, allowing an adult child to live at home rent-free for a season, watching grandchildren for your middle-aged son, the list goes on and on.

The questions are basic:

How much do I “PICK UP,” help, console, “save the day,” when my child has a need or even a want?

How much do I let them “ride out the storm,” figure it out on their own, “PUT them DOWN” so to speak?

Where is that line drawn?
When is that line drawn?
How is that line drawn?

What choice should we make so that we are promoting emotional health and good boundaries, yet making sure the other feels safe and completely loved?

We fight this battle on the daily, no matter how we old we are or how simple or complicated the situation is.

Our hearts burn with this question:

“What should I do in “X” situation with “such-and-such” child? Do I PICK them UP or PUT them DOWN?”

If I “PICK them UP,” the voices in my cute little brain shout loudly.

You are doing too much.
Your boundaries are too lax.
They need to learn for themselves.
This is unhealthy.
This is bad.

If I don’t help and PUT them DOWN, I hear opposing and equally noisy voices.

You aren’t doing enough.
Your boundaries are too rigid.
They need to feel loved and not alone.
This is unhealthy.
This is bad.

Ugh. Double Ugh.

So what do we do when we feel trapped in this impossible and never-ending battle?

  • We remind ourselves that even though the questions seem easy, the situations are complicated. No two are the same and rarely is there a quick answer or fix.
  • We recognize that this dilemma is part of being a parent, period. There’s no getting out of it.
  • We realize that other parents are in the same boat. We all need each other, not to judge and give solutions, but to listen and give grace.
  • We stop asking ourselves if the decision is right or wrong, black or white, good or bad. Rarely are decisions that we make all one way or the other. That’s an exhausting treadmill and only promotes fear, guilt and shame. Either decision will have both difficult and wonderful attached to it. Usually it’s some combination of beautiful and messy.
  • We ask these questions instead: What do I really need? Why do I want to help? What do they really need? We can take the long-view and dig a little deeper.
  • We allow ourselves to change our minds if we need to. We give ourselves permission to re-evaluate and get counsel from others. There is great freedom here.
  • We show ourselves boatloads of grace no matter what we decide. We remind ourselves that God loves both of us and He can come in and provide all that’s lacking no matter what decision is made in the moment.
  • And lastly, we ask God for wisdom because He gives it GENEROUSLY and FREELY to all without finding fault, and we trust that will be given to us (James 1:5).

Do not forget, my friend, that we are in the same “mom boat,” paddling along, trying not to sink and, at the same time, enjoying the big, bumpy, beautiful ride together.

From my heart to yours.

Posted in Faith, Family, motherhood

It Wasn’t Pretty

Posted on by Esther Goetz
It wasn’t pretty.

What started out as a kind gesture on my part turned into a knock-down, drag-out fight with my teen.

On a summer day, as he slept in, I snuck his keys and took his car to the coin-operated car wash and vacuum place around the corner.  I wanted to surprise him with a clean car full of gas just to send him a mom/teen son “love note.”

As I opened his trunk, that sweet, knowing fragrance that I had often smelled in my brother’s car wafted to my nose.  POT.  It was P-O-T.

My mom heart did flips of fear, anger, shock, and shame.

What if he gets caught?  What if he ends up in jail?  Is he dealing?  How often is he using?

How dare he?!?!?!?  After all we’ve done for him!  Just wait until I get home!!! This is the end of the line!  This car is not going anywhere for a long time!  Neither is he!

What in the world?!  How did I not know?  He’s such a great kid!  This just isn’t happening.  UGH.

What am I doing wrong?  I must not be _______ (fill in the blank) enough.  What if they find out at church?  Or almost worse, on his team?  What will they think of me?  And him?

As I finished up the vacuuming and slid the wet wipe over the final seat, I drove home still flipping through all of those emotions, my eyes wet and my heart pounding.

I raced up to his room, threw open his door, and began to yell.  I mean yell.  He woke up dazed and confused.

It was NOT my finest parenting moment by a long shot.

All my fear, anger, shock and shame came tumbling out in words and threats I don’t care to share.

He fumbled back with excuses and “relax Mom.”  Needless to say, that didn’t help at all.
After I was done with my rant, I made my way to my bedroom closet and just sobbed.

What am I going to do?  How can this be fixed?  How can I make him stop?

At first, my controlling, black-and-white, formulaic parenting reared its head.

FEAR was beckoning and overtaking my mind, my heart, my soul, and even my spirit.

He is grounded.  He can’t have a door to his room.  No more car!  I will drug test him every week.  He could really mess up himself, his future, and us!  I am going to fix this!!!

Guess what?  My natural, very unhealthy, unwise, go-to way of parenting did not work.

I couldn’t control him.  I couldn’t fix him.

I was at an absolute loss, one of the first times in all of my motherhood journey that I couldn’t figure out.  Or solve.

I needed something.  Something different.  Something new.

A friend began to pray for me.  I began to pray.

Not prayers that sound fluffy and happy and like I have it all together.

More like prayers that were filled with curse words and “help me” and guttural sobs on my knees.

One day, a still small voice spoke to my heart.

“This isn’t about him, my Sweet Mama.  It’s about you.  I am here to help you.  You are not alone.”

I sat right there and cried.  This time, not the tears of despair, but ones of hope.

“I am the Lord, your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go.”  (Isaiah 48:17)

I paused.  Listened.

I sought counsel.  From my friends.  From my spiritual mentors.  From a counselor.  And from the Holy Spirit, the most trusted Counselor of all.

In fits and starts, fear raging back at times and supernatural peace overwhelming at others, I got HELP.

HELP in the form of wisdom, not having it all figured out, and all my controlling ducks-in-a-row.

HELP in the form of guidance, being provided only the next right thing to do on any given day with this sweet child of mine.

HELP in the form of comfort, knowing that God can reach into those places in his heart that I have never been able to, no matter how much I have wanted to.

Lastly, HELP in the form of a beautiful, soul-resting, peace-bringing thought, one for my beautiful, but hurting mom heart:

Even if my ‘brain-hasn’t-fully-developed’ child makes a wrong or foolish choice that seems life-altering in all the worst ways, God can weave it into their story so that when it comes down to it, it’s the “right” one. He’s just able to do it.

This has not been an easy road. It’s been an up-and-down, twisty-turny one.  It’s been one that I wouldn’t have chosen.  But it’s one that I’ve needed and has allowed me to grow into a much larger space with this God who loves me and loves those I love even more than I do or ever will.  I am truly grateful.

So today, my friend, remember that God’s got you, no matter what crazy and hard road you are traveling right now.  He’s got your child.

Take a long, slow, deep breath with me, resting in His tender and loving arms, knowing that He is WITH us and FOR us, and we are not alone.

**first published on Liquid Church Family Devotional**

Posted in Childhood, Family, Grief, motherhood, Thanks

Two Spoons

Posted on by Esther Goetz

I could see that she was holding back tears as she walked down the steps of the school bus and into the passenger seat of our family minivan.

The words came tumbling out like a waterfall, “He broke up with me at lunch.”

My heart sank as I watched her body curl into a ball and her head flush against the window, tears flowing freely now.

“Oh honey. I’m so sorry. I know how much you liked him.”

I laid my hand on her arm for a moment and she wrapped herself further into a ball. Silence ensued for the rest of our drive home.

She bolted into the house and to her room, shutting the door. I followed her up the stairs, and as I rested my head on her closed door, I could barely make out muffled sobs.

My heart sank even more. My girl was hurting. And no matter what I did or said in that moment, it probably wouldn’t help at all. She was suffering the normal heartbreak that comes with first kisses, first crushes and first rejections.

I would just let her be for now, alone with her own heart and all the feelings that were new and confusing and downright difficult. It was the best and only thing I knew to do. It seemed to be what she wanted and needed the most.

I meandered to the kitchen, not sure what to do with myself. I wanted to run right back upstairs and wipe her tears away with a kiss, a hug, an emotional bandaid, an “I love you” or one of the other many mom tricks I had up my sleeve. Not this time. Instead, all I could do was pray (and I sure did) and feel awkward and start to make dinner.

Time seemed to march ever so slowly that afternoon, normal when pain is loud for us or someone we love. Time feels achingly long and almost cruel. Why can’t it pass quickly so that we are on the other side of loss and grief and back to our hopeful selves?

How I wished that for her that insufferable day.

Right before dinner, there was a knock at our front door. Odd at that time of day.

I glanced through the window and right in front of my own teary eyes, one of my daughter’s best friends was anxiously standing there, carrying two spoons and a huge container of my girl’s favorite ice cream flavor.

I opened the door, gave her a quick, thankful hug and whispered, “She’s up in her room.”

I heard another knock, footsteps, a door open and then shut again.

Talk about strange and hard for my mama self, yet somehow wonderful and what I hoped for all at the same time.

What I couldn’t do anymore as a mom (as much as I desperately wanted to), her friend was able to do. Listen. Relate. Comfort. Eat ice cream out of the container right before dinner.

All so normal for that season of her life.

I kept milling around the kitchen, gratitude welling up inside of me for this friendship that my daughter had.

The kind that goes to the grocery store instead of her dance practice.

The kind that shows up instead of stays away.

The kind that hangs out with the tears instead of just the laughs.

I heard the front door close and a car pull away.

In what seemed like only a few moments, her friend was gone again, just like that.

Had it been enough for that very miserable afternoon?

I wondered what would happen next.

Only moments went by when I heard the familiar creaking of my girl’s door opening and loud footsteps down the stairs.

She bounded into the kitchen, hair a mess, eyes all puffy, but the next words out of her mouth were priceless.

“I’m going to be okay, Mom, even if I’m not right now.”

She threw her arms around me and we hugged for a long time and as I held her close, I knew deep inside that it had all been enough.

“What’s for dinner?” she quietly asked.

As we unwrapped ourselves, I whispered one last thing into her ear, “I made your favorite.”

Posted in Family, motherhood

I’m Glad I Will Never Know the Answer

Posted on by Esther Goetz
Adventure (noun): An experience or activity that is unusual and exciting, typically hazardous.

Motherhood is one of the great ones. The feeling of trepidation as we rubbed our burgeoning bellies and yet the happy butterflies inside of them is still almost palpable for us.

We are thrust out of the safety of our personal space into the great unknown.

We’re stretched into all things NEW.

A NEW person entering into the landscape of our very existence.

Many NEW ideas about how life actually works.
NEW and completely surprising experiences never known before.
Seriously. A whole NEW life for us.

We don’t know what’s ahead, or just around the corner.

It might be something scary or a huge happy surprise.

It could be “the” dreaded phone call or a simple unexpected “I love you” text from our child.

The not knowing freaks us out and ushers in hope all at the same time.

We come to know that it’s not all rainbows and butterflies, but it’s also not all monsters and mean girls.

It runs the whole gamut, all the feels, and all the things.

The different scary, joyous, disappointing, tear-laced, hilarious, exhausting, and love-filled things.

Yet somehow, we wouldn’t it trade for the world.

It’s a wild ride, but a wonderful one.

Even if it we cried looking at those two lines on the pregnancy test and wished it wasn’t happening, motherhood has woven together the larger story that makes us us.

Who would we be without it and especially without the one who took us on the adventure to begin with?

I am glad I will never know the answer.