Reflecting

The moon shines brightly over our world tonight. The silence deafens my ears. My skin begins to tighten as my body convulses in deep shivers and fog billows in the air from the shallow breathing escaping my chest. I don’t breath deep for fear the deep cold will ache my lungs. I pull the blanket tighter around my body and gaze at the moon incessantly. Clouds are dancing in the moonlight and comforting my soul. I am filled to the brim with contentment, but I am restless.

The clouds blur and I am in the memories of my mind. They transport me to that place that once existed, but is no more. I am 5 years old. I can see and smell the season. Sharp pine fills my nostrils and the cinnamon pinecones soothe the scents. There are gifts, wrapped in festive paper, reflecting the lights of the tree. The fire is crackling and raging fiercely, warming my little childhood home.

Mom and dad slowly make their way to the living room. Mom is huge, her stomach is protruding baby number 3 and is ready to have the baby any day now. I hope not today. I want to open gifts. My little brother waddles into the living room, carrying his blankie. The smell of coffee rises and dad brings a cup for each of them. He nods to show approval that we can open our gifts. I rush in trying to find my name and my brother’s name, and start making piles of wonder.

I cannot remember what I got that Christmas. I don’t recall what we did after or what we had for breakfast. I just remember the joy. The love we all shared as a family. The anticipation of a new sibling and the contentment that filled our home, if only for a moment. Three days later, mom had another child, a girl. I now had a sister and was delighted. I thought that a new sister would certainly ease the tension between my mom and dad, that they would find joy in her sweetness.

It did, for a short while, but it was not enough to ease the pain my parents were experiencing, it was not enough to hold our little family together. Six months after that Christmas, my dad left and my parents divorced. My sister never experienced a Christmas with her entire family. Her first Christmas was a broken one, with parents in two different homes. My brother was too young to remember Christmas as a family, and can only see the shadows that are left on photo paper.

I can hear the Christmas music playing in the background, and hold the happy memory tight in my hand. It is a gift, a treasure that I hold dear. My body starts to shiver. The clouds are moving rapidly and the moon’s glow covers my face. I breathe hard and see the white billow from my lips. My body is heavy from remembering. My mind is tired. I walk towards my front door and turn the knob to go inside. The glow of lights is bright in my little country house. The fragrance of Christmas is strong. I glance at all the nativity scenes around my house that were my mom’s. I see the Christmas books that my dad bought for me every year.

A smile creeps onto my face. I am here, that moment when you realize that you are the parent who makes the memories for your children. I am here, that moment when you realize you won’t have your children at home much longer, as they go off to college and get married. I am here, that moment when you are thankful for all you have in front of you.

The pain of brokenness from my childhood is but a distant memory, one that motivated me to establish a whole and healthy childhood for my own children. It was my resolve, my challenge, my hope. Together, my husband and I established a family that cherishes one another and others. It was hard, but well worth the work.

This year, my children each bought gifts for each other and us. It was the first time they had ever done that. It was a treat. To see each of them, delighted to share their love for each other by giving a gift. We had an extra son with us this year, as well. Adopted into our family, almost a year ago, when he had no place to go. He too, celebrated by giving each person a gift. The love and generosity that filled the atmosphere was enough for me this Christmas. It was the best gift of all.

At the end of the day, I peek out at the moon, the stars glowing brightly, the clouds drifting slowly. I take it in, the memory of today, Christmas 2015, and treasure it. I hold it close to my heart. Thankful for the time we have to celebrate our Savior, thankful for the gifts he gives to us. 

Playing in the mud

Life is messy.

It is not a neat organized, well planned event.

No matter how well we fake it, present it, package it- it’s a mess.

It is messy in our childhoods, messy in our love lives, messy in marriage, messy in parenthood, messy in friendships, messy in extended family, messy at school, messy at work.

It is the way the world works. Broken, falling apart, always dying. There is no hope in this world that can fix the messes. No joy in cleaning up the messes.

My life is a mess. It has always been a mess. From the moment I was brought into this world. Parents, not long after marrying, barely hanging on. Yelling, screaming, fighting; my father’s unfaithful heart broke my mothers. Messy. Divorce, depression, fear; my mother’s broken heart began to break ours. Messy.

At a young age, my innocence was stolen from me. Messy. Trying to find love and acceptance. Messy Falling in love with the wrong person, at too young an age. Messy. Giving too much of myself away. Messy.

I believed that life, was a fairy tale and that my prince would swoop me up from the messes and take me away to a castle far far away and all the messes would stay far behind me. My creative imagination captivated me and allowed me to live in Wonderland. My time there lasted only a year, but I found my Prince. His name is Jesus and he rescued me for the messes of reality.

In steps the man I was to marry. I was not attracted to him, I did not love him, yet the Lord told me he was my husband. I trusted my Prince and stepped into an adventure likened to Alice in Wonderland, falling down the hole into a place I could not even imagine in my mind.

For a moment in time, I felt safe and calm, brushing all the messes of my life under the rug. And for a time, a short while, we presented a clean, well-organized front.

The messes of my life and his, began to seep out from under the rug and our life became messy. In our most noble attempts to follow the Bible, trust God and believe Jesus, the messes of our lives created havoc in our marriage. Arguments, disagreement, words that can never be taken back. Forgiveness, repentance, washing our hands in the redeeming love of Jesus. Finding a way to live in the mess.

Not long after, children adorned our life and the messes from our own childhoods began to make their ways into our family. Fighting hard to keep the messes off our children, we became more of a mess. The arguing-refrained, turned into fear; the disagreements-kept quiet, turned into depression. Still the messes grew and grew in our little family. On a physical front, emotional and spiritual.

Trying to look good for church, we brushed the mess under the rug, smiled and waved at the perfect, plastic church people who maintained a clean, tight, organized life. Inadequacy wrecked our lives. At work, at home, as parents and lovers.

Then one day, as if a messenger from heaven came to deliver the message, hope came. The day was hot and miserable. The water was rushing form the hose and the kids were staying cool. Slowly the planter box filled up with water, as they played. I sat there, watching them slip and fall in the mud, laughing with a deep contentment. Mud flying everywhere, they giggled and slipped and threw the mess everywhere. Splats of mud smashed on the outside of the house, water spraying up into the air and spotting their dirty faces with hints of clean. Mesmerized by the beauty of innocence, wallowing in the mud, transfigured my mindset. Their joy spilled over into their us, thier parents, who threw off the image of clean perfection. We indulged in the simple wonder of contentment.

That was the day I began to delight in the messes. I began to delve into the messes. My vantage point was altered and the messes became an opportunity to play, to laugh, to be content. It was a life moment that would become my life motto. It was as if God was preparing me for the next part of my life. For not long after we encountered the messiest time of our lives.

Following dreams, losing dreams. Facing reality of poverty and loss. Insecure, angry, hopeless. Fighting, not arguing, fighting and yelling and screaming. Homelessness, fear, death. Being swallowed up in the abyss of grief, sorrow overtaking me. Oppression, continued poverty, more death. Guilt, shame, regret.

In the middle of it all, were my children. The ones I wanted to spare from the messes of this life. Standing right in the middle of it, my children experienced an indescribable mess. And, as if prophetic, I watched them play in the midst of it. The mess saturated their being, but it was just mud. It was just a time. The mess is still very present in their lives. It covers them from head to toe. But they have learned to find the joy in the mess, it is not debilitating. They have learned to be content in the mess, it has not destroyed them. They have learned to make the mess fashionable, and walk around without explanation of the mess.

In my attempt to keep my kids from the messes of this life, they were immersed in it. In my passion to give them more, the Lord reached down and showed me that “Life is the messy bits!” It is the stuff that defines us, that grows us, that shapes us. It will never be clean and tidy, it will always be a mess.

And so I delight in the messy bits of life. I find ways to play in the mud. I do my best to see things from the vantage point of my little children, who took the dirt of life and made it an adventure.

Life is a mess, but Jesus cleans us up. He wipes our faces so we can see, He cleanses us from the filth.  We will get dirty again, because this journey is long. But there is a promise that in eternity, the messes will no longer exist. Everything will be neat and clean and orderly as Jesus cleanses us from the filth.

Until then, I will trudge through the mud, finding new ways to play. New ways to make mud pies and mud baths and mud castles and mud art. I will embrace the reality that life is a mess, and I, I was made to play in it. 

Beukers Family Year in Review

The Privileged

I am privileged.

I have been given an opportunity that very few people will ever experience in their life. 

This privilege does not raise me above other people, but rather gives me the perception to see eye to eye.

I was privileged to grow up in a community where color and race existed as a masterpiece of community, painted with love and valued as family! We were all neighbors, who became family and allowed our different backgrounds to marinate together in a flavorful abundance of love and community.

This family was rich in diversity. We lived life together in unity and celebrated each other. From Christmas parties to 4th of July BBQ's, we did life in a way that was beautiful. 

I was privileged to eat many different kinds of foods, celebrate in different holidays in different ways and experience love from many people. 

 I was raised for a time by Dorothy Woods, who helped my mom when she had back surgery. We swam in Brian's pool. I still have the wooden cradle my Crailford Court grandpa made me, who lived across the street.  We planted trees, slid in cardboard boxes down hills, raced in our Radio flyers and took walks

Some of us moved away, but we had already become a family, so we had a yearly reunion to stay connected. We went to high school and college graduations; We celebrated Jess and Maria Musquez​​'s Daughter getting married (she was the first of us kids); we had baby showers and birthday parties and get togethers.  We cried together because of divorce; we hurt for Dorothy Woods who had a stroke too early in life and for Kevin, her son, who also had a stroke too early in life. We grieved as a family when our sister Jennifer Clark died way too young!

More recently, when my mom was dying, all of the Crailford Court moms came to say their goodbyes to their sister. 

We were privileged to see color, religion and race as beautiful and rich. We were privileged to just be a family, as we are today.... If more people focused and strived for the privilege I had as a child and as an adult today, this world would be a more beautiful place.

 That privilege was given by God. The privilege to see people for who they are and not where they came from, the color of their skin or the money they have, the religion they follow, the mistakes they made.  That is the privilege called love, true agape love that is undefiled  and pure. 

It was the closest thing to a Utopian society I have ever seen or experienced. Only the Utopian state was not in equality of jobs or money or things, but rather a state of mind. A mindset that gave me the most solid foundation of love for all humankind. I have that Utopian mindset etched into my DNA and I am thankful for the privilege that Crailford Court Community gave me to experience such a marvelous perception of life!

My Crailford Court family was an anomaly in a stitch in time where all the elements were perfect to breed such a marvelous expression of love that we all still share today. 

Legacy

It has been said that there is at least one person in our lives who inspires us, who challenge us, who mentor us to be the people we turn out to be. Most of the time it is in the tender places of our childhood, where our roots are shallow and tender. Other times it is well into adulthood when our solid oaks of who we are are transformed by a wack to the trunk and we are no longer the tree we thought we were. I have seen with my own eyes, lives shaped, changed, transformed by this journey of life. Some things so beautifully intententional, others devestating to the soul.

I have been hiding from life these days. Wondering at the place I am. Looking at the faces of my children, who are looking like men and a little woman. There are no toys on my floors, no cartoons to watch and no car seats to buckle in. I wonder if I will be that person who inspires my children. I wonder I will be the one who gave my kids the emotional and spiritual strength in who they are becoming. It is hard to be in this place. I can no longer hide our struggles from them. They know when there is no money and when we go to the food bank, or pretend to go camping in the backyard. They know that when their parents argue it is over the weight of not knowing how or when things are going to change. I watch their faces and hear them laugh and see them cry. I know they carry some of the burden and I want to take it from them. Mostly, I  feel blessed that they are near me, safe and protected.

I think to the time when I was young. I was always so passionate, full of life and adventure. By the time I was 10, I wanted to be the first woman astronaught in space. By the time I was 12, I wanted to be the first female president. By the time I was 13, I wanted to be in the Olympics and break the world record for speed. By the time I was 14, I wanted to start my own business. By t he time I was 15, I wanted to be a business woman, who made millions of dollars. By the time I was 16, I was in love and didn't really care about much of anything. By the time I was 17, I wanted to be a missionary in Africa. By the time I was 18, I wanted to travel the world. By the time I was 19, I met a man, God told me was my husband. By the time I was 20, I was married. When the ring was put on my finger and I said, I do, I no longer had personal ambitions and dreams, I now had married ambitions and dreams. By the time I was 21, I had my first son and that began my journey of motherhood. I did not ever go on the adventures I had planned...just a different adventure.

Motherhood. I don't believe that was in my list... Wait. Did I know how to be a mom, could I be a good mom? The quest of determining what we were to do with parenthood, became the topic of most of my husband and my conversations. Would I be a mom, just a mom? No career, no path, no dream, just mom? Yes, I could go down that path. I could take one step at a time. I could feed and love and care for this little one. Then the next little one, then the next. I navigated through some deep waters with much prayer and trust in my Savior. I took one step at a time and fell and soared and tripped and ran. I was a mom. I am a mom.

I am watching my own mother navigate through her thoughts and assessing her life as she battles this wicked disease. I see her fight for what she desires and believes to be true. I have listened to her stories and seen the books she filled her soul and spirit with. I have watched her read the Bible and talk about seeing Jesus. I listen to her tell me about all the fond memories she has of her 4 children and the things we did. My mom was a career mom. She worked long hours and was mom when she could. She struggled to be the stay at home mom she wanted to be in the short hours she had with us, when she was not working. It was in the hours she was working were most of my bad memories come in. I believe that is why I had a hard time with my mom. She does not know or remember or was even a part of those times. Part of me holds her responsible for not being there for me when I needed her to be; and part of me understands why she was not there. I feel like the Lord has given me a gift in helping me to understand why my mom sees things so differently than me. This gift has given me grace and love for my mom that I have not had before. There are still many things we do not agree on, but I am willing to give them to God for His care.

And so, I think about my life and who has inspired me. Who has made an impact on my life? There are so many people who have gently nudged or shoved or even carried me down this river of life. My mom is one of those people who gave me gifts along the way, who I in turn hope to give to my children.

The word legacy comes to mind. It is not just an idea, but a treasury of people and things that make up who we are today. The books on my shelf, the cookie cutters in my drawer, the tea cup in my cabinet, the doll in the cradle, the candlesticks on my mantel.... have given me a legacy that I can pass down to my kids. Each item, each story, each person who impacted me, will also shape my children. It is with that hope that I believe I can and will be that person who inspires my kids. Because in reality it is not really just me who is inspiring and shaping them, but all the people who helped me be who I am today.

Jesus Wept

Wednesday, June 15th


The emotions are high. Feeling as if I am coming out of my skin. I have been here before. This all to familiar place of anxiety and lack of control; feeling overwhelmed and uneasy. I need help! I want to call every person I know to help, but then pull back and remind myself I need to go to my Father in heaven first. Then I sit quietly trying to talk… and the air is silent. I hear Him tell me to breath; sit on His lap, put my head on His chest and just breath. So I do. I it so hard to just sit and listen to the heartbeat of God. I want to run and conquer and take over territory, so my mom will live. But my Father holds me tight, to keep me still. It reminds me of what I used to do with Elijah. He was so active that in order to get him to bed at night, we would have to use brut force to hold him close to us, to keep him still long enough, so he would fall asleep. I am picturing that with me and my Father.

Yet even in the quietest places of my space, I feel as if my soul (emotions) are in control. I want my spirit always to be in control, yet there is a constant battle that rages between my soul, flesh and body… My emotions are usually the last part of me that has control… My spirit and flesh war more than my soul… My soul usually takes a back seat and watches the other two parts of me battle it out. That is because I trained it to do so. I go into full bore William Wallace mode when I am hurting and it keeps the emotions down.

Recently, however, that side of me is fighting for control as well… I went outside when some things were said about my mom’s healing and started to cry. Then I got angry, then I wanted to go off… I felt overwhelmed again!

An in a very loving voice, I heard the Lord say, “Jesus wept.” “I know Jesus wept!” was my response. And then the Lord said it again. I was trying to figure out what that had to do with me… and the Lord reminded me that Jesus, His son, had the power to raise Lazarus from the dead, yet he still wept. Jesus knew he was going to raise him from the dead, yet he still wept. In the most powerful man on earth, was a soul. A soul that became overwhelmed with emotion of the thought of his friend being dead, and so wept. I felt amazed at this insight. He wept, not because Lazarus was dead! He wept, because he had deep emotions about his friend’s death… even in knowing he was going to raise him from the dead!!! WOW!!!

I am now, trying to embrace this emotional overload of reality that keeps hitting me in the face! So Lord, help me feel, not to the point of a total meltdown, but to the point that is heathly and helpful and real… Amen

Letting Go

Monday, June 13, 2011

Letting go…

I hold on, tight, to everything I love. I don’t want it to slip through my fingers. I love my husband and hold him very tight, very close to me. My children are my heart and I squish them and hold them, as much as I can, as long as they will let me. I hold on to my extended family and love them, sometimes from a distance, but deep inside my heart.

This morning Elijah went to summer school at the local high school. A sophomore, my baby is a sophomore. The time has flown by and I am not sure where it went. He looks so confident, so sure. He is in a new environment, new town, new surroundings. I want to hold on to him. Keep him at home and home school him until he graduates, but chances are I would be writing this same thing 3 years from now about letting go. It is so hard. I want to savor every moment and I am nowhere near him. When he gets home from football or school, he gives me a 10 minutes lowdown of an 8 hour day. He is becoming a man and I have to let go so that he can walk all the way down the road to adulthood.

These are the moments I wish I had more kids. These are the days when my heart beats out of my chest in agony of having to let go. I ponder these things and wonder why I don’t want to let go. Where is the root of this? I wonder if it has to do with letting go of my dad when he and my mom were divorced. Maybe it has to do with letting go of believing my parents would get back together. Maybe it is letting go my siblings when I got married and left home when they were still young. Maybe it has to do with letting go with my father, who I try to make have a relationship with me. Perhaps it is letting go of the hope of being close to my extended family. Could it be letting go of the anger I had for the person who stole my innocence and then denied it. Or maybe it is letting go of the pain I have felt for so long. Maybe it is the pain that chiseled and defined me as a person. I have had to let go of that false identity and learn all over again who I really am.

The hardest thing I had to do so far was let go of my sister. I always had to protect, and encourage and inspire and push. Or did I? I had to let go of feeling responsible for her and just being her sister. I have an amazing relationship with her, but have had to learn how to redefine my relationship with her, hands open, instead of hands clenched.

So I hold tight, since so many things were taken out of my hand, without my consent. So many things in my life were ripped from me, leaving scars on my hands. I do not want to do that to my kids, my husband. I want to love them with open hands, open arms, so they have the freedom to be who God created them to be. I let go, because they belong to God, everything I hold tight to, belongs to God.

And now I am sitting here, wondering how I am going to let go of my mom. Learning how to let go of the control I think I have in her healing, in her health. I am a fighter and so believe that if I fight hard enough, I will conquer the cancer. But I am learning that it is not my fight. All I can do is pray, lover her and surrender the rest to God.

Funny, today my devotional was called “Letting Go is Hard.” Hmmmm…


Letting Go Is Hard


I am the LORD your God. You shall have no other gods before Me. Exodus 20:2-3


What are you needlessly holding on to so tightly today? Corrie Ten Boom once said that she learned to hold on to things loosely because it hurt too much when God pried them away. There are many things in our life that we get attached to: our work becomes our identity, our homes become our personality, our children become our goals. Sometimes it is hard to know who we were before these things came in and took over our lives. Where do I end and these things begin? When God challenges us on our priorities, it is difficult to truly understand what He is doing.


Because I work in the ministry, it gets confusing at times to separate my walk with the Lord from my work in the Lord. Recently, I have fallen in love with the plans of a ministry that truly helps people and honors God. I received His promises and His revelation of how to get the ministry started. Then, out of the blue, I had the sense that He wanted me to give the ministry to someone else to do. He used me to get the ministry going, but now He wanted me to let it go and not feel that I must do the work for Him. It was hard to let go because that ministry had become a key part of my life. How do you let go of something that God placed in your heart to do, so that you can honor God by not doing it?


We have to remember that nothing is ours. We are just stewards entrusted with the Master's gifts. Our calling is to be obedient. Our hearts are to have nothing above Him, including His ministries or His children or His blessings. These things become little gods in our lives if we are not careful, because even they can be all-consuming over dedicated devotion to Him. We are to align ourselves up with Jesus, to rest at His feet and to have a relationship with Him. Jesus wants you, not what you can do!


Lord, thank You that You don't want my attention divided. I am sorry that I fall in love with the blessings You have given me to a point of missing Your will. Help me to walk in Your paths and stay in step with Your call. You have given me everything I have and I give it all back to You. Be glorified in me, Lord. I know I can't let go on my own, so I will pray for Your guidance. May I be an open vessel for You, only allowing what You desire to flow through me in whatever timing You want it to flow. Thank You for reminding me that nothing that I own is really is mine: work, family, accomplishments, possessions. It is all Yours. I look around me this moment and think of all the blessings You have provided, reminding myself that none of it is mine to keep. Father, I just want to be a faithful steward of everything You have provided me, offering it all back to You in some way. Show me how I am to do that today. I want to use what you have provided me to glorify You. Amen.


Original source: Daily Disciples

The journey of hope and healing...

Saturday, June 4th


My brother called me this morning and told me that my step dad was in hysterics and falling apart. My mom has not been eating or drinking and can’t sleep. The tumor has exploded in her body and all of her systems are shutting down. My brother told me that she probably has only one more week to live.

I cannot even begin to tell you the range of emotions I am feeling. I am angry and sad, hurt and confused... There are so many factors involved in my relationship with her and I am brokenhearted. I do not do sadness well... only anger... thanks to my "spiritual midwife" who pointed that out. I can control anger and so when I am sad or hurt, go there... I do not know how to be sad or hurt. I have been experiencing a lot of hurt these days and I am deeply emotionally jacked up. It is as if someone took the cap off the well and now everything I have controlled for all of these years is gushing out with uncontrollable intensity.

I love my mother deeply. I always have. I wish I was closer to her. I wish I could share my heart with her. Sigh

I am telling you these things because you are all close to me in some capacity. I need you to help me through this...in prayers, in words, in just being next to me. I do not know how to mourn; I do not know how to grieve. I am not sure what it will look like. So let me apologize ahead of time for any abnormal behavior I may exhibit in this process.

I am the strong one in my family... I have said for years... but am learning that this is not my identity. I don't know what my identity is, and is learning who I am in Christ. It is a process, and I might flip flop like a fish out of water in this place.

Please give me grace, please.



Monday, June 6th

So here it is... my heart open... it is easier for me to write this down for all to read, then talking to people... so if I am not answering your calls, it is because I am too tired and emotional to talk... You know me, I love to talk... but these days I am finding I would prefer to stay in my house, in my room listening to birds chirp, and watching the clouds go by. I feel like I am forgetting people, so if I added you to this conversation after my initial, it is only because I am overwhelmed, not because I do not love you or you are not valuable to me. My mom is frail. She is holding on for everyone else, I discern, to be sure to say their goodbyes and to talk about things that need to be talked about. She seems peaceful, ready to go. Not fighting it, not angry. I can't help but think of all the times my mom is going to miss... She is not going to see my son graduate from high school in three years. She will miss seeing my Noah play quarterback this year. She will not be at my daughter’s wedding. She will not see my sisters new baby.... pain... so much pain... she will not see her grandkids grow up. My sisters kids are 10 and under and my brothers kids are 4 and 2. MY youngest brother is not married and has no kids... She will not see my youngest brother get married... sigh... she won’t be there for my stepdad when his parents pass away, as she will go first. This is so wrong, so crazy... I want to scream and yell... I want to fast and pray and put sackcloth and ashes on my head until she is healed... My understanding of things is being tossed around in a tornado, causing havoc and grief... What the HELL... why... Even in the hardest moments with my mother, even in the most painful areas in my heart that my mother inflicted, there was still a love, still a hope I help onto for complete and total healing and restoration for our relationship so that we could laugh together and go to tea together and takes walks together... but now that hope is gone. I WILL have restoration, I do, even now... but I will not get to walk it out in this life. I will not get to feel her flesh and touch her hair... Then I think, am I giving up? Do I not have enough faith for her healing? Have I just surrendered to what my eyes see and not what my spirit hopes for? Is it her time? Or has her life been cut short? I do not know... All I can do is cry... I spend half the night crying... I can’t read my Bible, don’t say much to God. I felt as if I had crawled up on Gods lap, put my head on his chest and just cried....this is the worst feeling I have ever experienced in my life... My chest hurts, my head hurts, and my body aches with sorrow... My mom said all she wants prayer for is healing and NO pain...That God would take her physical pain away... If you could partner in prayer with me, I would be appreciative.



Wednesday, June 8th

4am...

Awake, feeling overwhelmed...my chest aches with pain...I have to make sure I breath in deep to counter the aches...it is from anxiety. I have had these pains before, been rushed to the hospital before in fear, only to be told I am suffering an anxiety attack... I don't really know where that is coming from. Is it the fear of mom dying? Is it the sadness that is too overwhelming? Is it sorrow?

Today I met with the hospice lady with my mom and step-dad. She explained things and I took notes. She talked to my mom about code status... I heard what she said but asked her to repeat herself many times. Finally my mom said," Teresa I am not going home on full code. If the worst happens, they will not recessitate." The hospice lady asked me IF I could do it. If, worst case scenario, and her body is not healed, could I watch her die and not panic. Could I just sit there with her and watch?

I did not fully process the question...Here I am, a daughter of the God who created the heavens and earth. The God who raised Jesus from the dead. The God who gave power to his son to heal the sick, give sight to the blind, and raise the dead. Could I just let my mom die at 57, never to fulfill the long life, I believe God intended us all to live?

My mom told me this morning that she believed God would heal her body, but now, as she is sitting in the hospital, she is beginning to doubt her own faith. Wondering, do I not have enough? I sat there in silence, not knowing how to assure her or comfort her, as I too am questioning my faith. Then, as if God picked her up from her seat and dropped her in the room, a friend of mine stopped by the hospital. I did not tell her where my mom was and had not talked to her much other than Facebook. She came in, with her comedy central personality and began to minister to my mom in a way I wish I could. She talked about the very thing my mom had just spoken of… It was divine and poetic. She reminded my mom of the verse that says we need to labor to rest… in other words it is hard work to just rest. She reminded my mom that she only needed a mustard seed of faith and God would do the rest. She told my mom not to worry about how much faith she has or does not have, but to just rest in the knowledge that so many others are fighting on her behalf. She gave the analogy of Moses fighting and fighting in faith, by raising his hands to the heavens until he was too weary to fight any more. It was at that point that people raised his hands to help carry his burden to win the battle. She assured her that there were so many more people raising her hands in faith and hope and life. Then she gave me permission to do the same. To allow others to help carry my burden of faith and pain…and so my mom agreed to do just that… labor to rest.

There were so many things happening today, Tuesday, June 7th. So many roads colliding in my life. My mom told me I am an angry person and she wished I would not be so angry. She told me I am a talented writer and need to use it for God’s glory and not to destroy or devastate people, as I had done to her so many times… I usually get pissed off when she makes those kinds of comments, but today I was able to say what was in my heart without fear of rejection or denial. I explained to my mom that it was never my intent to devastate or destroy her, but rather share the pain of my heart. Apologized for hurting her and told her that in sharing my heart with her it came through a filter of pain and not attack. She told me specific things that had wounded her most by my words, very true things I had shared with her. I don’t really know if it was my speaking these things out in the open that wounded her the most, or the way in which I told her. She told me she understood and left it at that.

I read her some of my poetry, and began to read her John 14. More visitors came, and I left to give her some time. My sister and Tio Mike met me for lunch. He shared with us memories he had with my mom when they were kids. Kiara, my sister’s 2 year old daughter brought so much life, so much hope of the future. We went back to the hospital and my uncle spent one on one time with her, sharing his heart. My step-dad was setting up hospice at his house, so my sister and I just sat with her… talked with her… laughed with her. Her countenance lifted and she looked light-hearted, not so heavy hearted. She ate most of her meal; we took her for a walk around the hospital and massaged her hands and feet.

We talked about wounds and hurt and how it is real and affects relationships. How we all deal with hurt differently and that relationships deteriorate because of not understanding how that person deals with hurt or because they are protecting themselves from getting more hurt. There were so many things happening in the spirit that were changing and breaking and moving. Without even trying restoration was taking place, boundaries were being redrawn, hearts were being understood. My dad came back and my sister, Tio and I drove back home. I had been there most of the day and was emotionally tired… I am so thankful for my niece Trinity and nephew Skyler who are here for my kids, and I guess my kids are there for them too…

My husband, who is unemployed, trying to get this salsa business off and being the parent who is in the “life goes on” side of this, is running around registering Elijah for school, watching kids, doing laundry, dishes, and enduring the emotional trauma I bring. His heart is so for the things of God. How he interacts with God and my and the kids is shifting. If is a wonderful thing. Part of these roads all colliding in my life…

It is as if I am standing in an intersection on a road. Only there are not four roads leading there, there are more. One road is the journey of the healing of my soul, another is the transformation of my spirit, and another is the renewal of my mind. Then there is the business road, that looks pretty jacked up and broken; the financial road that is pretty bleak; the road of family; the road of marriage; the road of broken relationships; the road of healthy relationships; the road of pain and suffering; this new road of sorrow; the road of hope; the road of faith; the road of love…. All intersecting at one time, at the same place… I am bracing myself for what is to come when they all reach this intersection… I am hoping there is a reconciliation of myself, so that I can continue down just one road, that leads me away from this intersection, and that is the road of God’s promises…

So tired… I have been writing for an hour. My chest pains have subsided, my burden is lighter. Thank you all who help carry it. Your love and encouragement is a gift that I cherish.

June 8, 2011

Mom cried today...when the hospice nurse told her that watching her blood sugar was kinda pointless... I wanted to punch her and tell her to f-off... It is not pointless... so if she goes into a coma from high blood sugar, that is okay... urgh!!!

I told mom, that is does matter and I will watch it. She began to express some regret, which she had not earlier. She told my sister and me that she wished she spent more time with her grandkids... and was crying...

It was so eye opening to me... I realized at that moment that when I was angry at my mom for not showing up to events, it was not because I was a crazy, physco control freak... It was because I did not want her to have regrets... I did not want her to ever say the words she said today...

She cried herself to sleep... I hated to see that, but was thankful for her vulnerability to me...

Praise God for another day of life... I curse cancer in the name of Jesus and speak life into her pancreas, liver, lungs and limp nodes... Be healed in the name of Jesus mom... be healed...