The Little Girl Inside

When I was a little girl, I was captivated by the movie, “The Sound of Music” with Julie Andrews.  Although I was only six years old at the time, I loved the music and knew all of the songs by heart.  It was one of the few movies I actually got to see in the theater.  Soon after its release, my mother had her nervous breakdown and we stopped going to the theater.

1965 movie soundtrack for "The Sound of Music"

1965 movie soundtrack for “The Sound of Music”

Our Home was Alive…with “The Sound of Music”

Pedro, our Spanish host son, played “The Sound of Music” on the piano in our home the first summer we met.  His interest in that music along with my love for the movie landed my family at an outdoor theater in the mountainous setting near Leavenworth, WA—a Bavarian themed village.  It was a gift for his 17th birthday and it was a bucket list item for me.

When Pedro played that music in our home, it awakened in me deep feelings from my childhood.  My father was a strict disciplinarian.  I grew up in fear of his anger and his belt.  He didn’t show his love or give us words of encouragement.

Watching “The Sound of Music” as an adult I can almost relate to how the Von Trapp family children were treated—standing at attention at the sound of a whistle, etc.  Captain Von Trapp, their father, treated them like they were soldiers in the military, not like his children.  When Maria, played by Julie Andrews, entered their lives, play became a normal part of their day.

Ever since my mother died almost three years ago, I have gotten in touch with the part of me that wants to come out and play—the part of me that says it’s ok to laugh, it’s ok to dance, and it’s ok to sing.  It’s a part of who I am, but for years thought it meant I was doomed to end up crazy like my mother.

The hills really were alive with the sound of music, Leavenworth, WA

The hills really were alive with the sound of music, Leavenworth, WA

Playtime in Spain

That playful and unabashed side of me turned up in Spain this past summer.  I lived it up, maybe more than I should’ve at times, but I didn’t want to have any regrets about this trip of a lifetime.

One of my most precious memories in Spain involved “The Sound of Music”.  I lived with my Spanish family in their vacation home on Mallorca, an island off the coast of Spain, for ten days at the end of my trip.  I had already broken the ice and felt more comfortable with Pedro’s younger cousins by this time.  (See Mothering Inadequacies.)

Sitting on the edge of the pool one afternoon, I watched some of the children swimming and diving.  All of a sudden, a few of the girls started to sing “Do Re Mi” in English.  I couldn’t believe my ears.  These children barely knew any English yet they were singing this wonderful song from the musical.

I took that as my cue to join with the sing-a-long.  They did a double take on my cue and delighted in my participation.  Unfortunately it was the only song that we both knew in English.  Nonetheless, it turned into a fun-filled adventure with them creating a theater (teatro) production with me as their poolside audience.

The stage is set for the children's poolside theater performance.

The stage is set for the children’s poolside theater performance.

Getting in Touch with my Inner Child

In years past, I might not have even noticed the urge to sing with the children.  If I did, I would’ve definitely fought it.  I felt free in a lot of ways while I was in Spain.  Was it because of the love and generosity of this family?  Or maybe it was just out of gratitude to my heavenly Father for giving me something so special in this moment of time.

My little girl is slowly being integrated into this adult body that I have.  She is learning that it is ok to take risks, to use her voice, to love more fully, and to sing without abandon (in worship or in the privacy of my home or car).

My inner child, circa 1966

My inner child, circa 1966

I’m giving her lots of room to experience the emotions of a turbulent childhood and to grieve the loss of a mother that she never really knew.  My tears and my laughter are a beautiful gift that I am giving myself as I embrace this new season of self-discovery.

What about you?  Have you gotten in touch with your inner child lately?  Are you experiencing all that God intends for your life?  Healing is just around the corner when you invite God into the process.

Though good advice lies deep within the heart, a person with understanding will draw it out. (Proverbs 20:5, NLT)

This post was shared on Create with Joy/Friendship Fridays.

Mothering Inadequacies

God heals us and satisfies the desires of our heart in such surprising ways. Meeting my Spanish family this past summer is confirmation of that.

ardisanelson's avatarJourneys To Mother Love

I was 33 years old when I had my first child. Like many women, I felt unsure of myself and ill-equipped to be a mother. Unlike many, though, I believed I had good reason for my misgivings.

My mother had a nervous breakdown when I was six. She was still able to function in her role as a housewife, but it left her emotionally unavailable to me. For whatever reason, she rarely spent time with me in the kitchen or preparing me for my role as a wife or mother.

As I grew up and went out on my own, I wondered whether I would ever be a mother or have kids of my own. I never had a strong desire to be around children. I didn’t have the longing, like I hear some women express, to have children to feel complete.

After ten years of marriage my husband and…

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Hitting a Home Run for Recovery

After my second viewing of the movie “Home Run” a few days ago, I’m left thinking about the face of recovery and why so many people sit in denial about their issues.  By issues I mean unhealthy habits like hiding their hurts, medicating their pain, isolating, and trying harder to make life fit their demands.

Cory Brand, the main character of the movie, played by Scott Elrod, is one such person.  He is a major league baseball all-star who is forced to face his alcoholism after a DUI and team suspension.  In recovery circles, we call it hitting bottom.  It is not a pleasant moment in one’s life, but for those who choose recovery as a result, and work through a 12-step program, their lives are transformed.  I know because I lived through it myself.

Breaking Through the Wall of Denial

Through the use of vivid flashbacks, the movie shows the pain of Cory’s upbringing, as he lived with an alcoholic father who expected perfection from his son at an early age.  The scenes are hard to watch at times as you feel for what Cory went through (rated PG-13).  These painful reminders drive Cory to drink and lash out in anger, unwittingly repeating the generational curse of his father.

Cory is like many of us who have found recovery.   We don’t come easily or quietly.  Our denial runs deep.  What struck me in this story, was that despite his being mandated by his team to attend a 12-step program as a condition of his suspension, he doesn’t embrace it until later on in the movie.  He just goes through the motions.  His life continues to spiral out of control until he finally realizes he can’t do it on his own.  That is the point in which one really starts recovery—coming out of denial.

Why Recovery?

Step 1 of Celebrate Recovery reads:  “We admitted that we were powerless over our addictions and compulsive behaviors, that our lives had become unmanageable.”  That brings me to a misconception that is dealt with in a powerful way in the movie.  Recovery gets a bad rap because most people think that recovery is for “those” people.  You know who I mean—alcoholics, drug addicts, and people who REALLY have problems.  That is so far from the truth.  I won’t give away the story, but suffice it to say, that just because someone is a Christian or lives their life in a Godly manner doesn’t mean they’ve had it easy.  We all carry hurts inside of us, and we all have to deal with life’s problems.

Celebrate Recovery - A Christian 12-Step Program

Celebrate Recovery – A Christian 12-Step Program

Celebrate Recovery (CR) is a Christian 12-step program that helps people with their hurts, habits and hang-ups.  It’s for anyone who struggles in life.  Typical struggles that people address at CR are anger, fear, grief, guilt and shame, holding on to the past, inability to forgive, isolation, need to control, finances, eating disorders, alcohol or substance dependency, pace of life, rejection, relationship problems, sexual addiction, stress, and emotional, physical, sexual or spiritual abuse.

CR is often described as guided sanctification.  That’s just a fancy theological term for becoming the person God intends for us to be.  CR gives one tools to take responsibility for our actions, offer forgiveness to those we have hurt, forgive ourselves, learn to lean on others for help, and to give back from a grateful heart.  All this transformation comes through the power of the Holy Spirit and a relationship with Jesus that is core to this biblical program.

See the Movie for Yourself

In my opinion, “Home Run” hits a big home run for recovery.  It is a realistic view at how turning our lives over to Jesus brings about healing, wholeness and transformation.  It brings about freedom from our past and hope for the future.  In Cory’s situation, it gave him a chance to restore a broken relationship, giving him a new lease on life.

Even if recovery isn’t for you, I’m sure there is someone you know who needs a program like Celebrate Recovery.  With the end of baseball season looming, it’s the perfect time to view this movie.  “Home Run” is available on Blu-Ray/DVD, on demand, or watch it online on youtube.  To find a Celebrate Recovery program near you, click this link.  You or someone you know will be glad you did.

Home Run Movie Photo

The Road to Spain, Update 7 ~ Spiritual Readiness

After turning my back on my Catholic faith as a youth, I had only stepped inside a Catholic church once or twice in my life, like for a funeral.  The church didn’t seem relevant to me.  It seemed rote—reciting pre-scripted prayers and responses.

However, when I took Pedro, a Spanish exchange student who lived with us, to an afternoon mass in Seattle three years ago, I witnessed something I had never seen before in a Catholic Church (or was too young to notice).  I witnessed people raising their hands in worship during hymns or at times of the rote responses.  I saw genuine worship, expressed like I had only seen done in Protestant churches. It left a favorable impression of the Catholic Church on me and started to erase my leftover bias.The Cross

Six months later when Pedro’s grandmother died, I had a mass said for her (a common Catholic practice).  I also had a mass said for my terminally ill mother. (If you don’t know what that is, think of it as a prayer service dedicated to someone you love).  It was at that mass that God opened my eyes and ears to really being in tune with His voice.

Reawakening my Faith

According to Gary Thomas, author of “Spiritual Pathways”, we are uniquely wired in the ways in which we connect with God.  His book describes ten ways:  Naturalists, Sensates, Traditionalists, Ascetics, Activists, Caregivers, Enthuisasts, Contemplatives and Intellectuals.

After my experiences at this Catholic mass over 2 ½ years ago, I realized I was a contemplative. The defining characteristic of a contemplative is that they connect with God through adoration. So I started to attend mass and a weekly prayer service where I could devote quality time with God.

It was in these times of adoration that He was spiritually preparing me for my trip to Spain.  He has given me a glimpse into the Catholic Church, that at first glance may seem like a strange thing—a Protestant attending mass.  But I believe it is through these experiences, that He has uniquely prepared me to cross denominational barriers and connect with the people of Spain.

Exploring my first church in Spain, San Jeronimo el Real, Madrid

Exploring my first church in Spain, San Jeronimo el Real, Madrid

First Spanish Mass

Ever since these discoveries about myself, I have been looking forward to seeing the historic cathedrals of Spain and attending mass in a different setting and language.  I desired to worship God alongside native speakers and feel God’s presence in this place and time.  All of the pieces have been aligning for this part of my journey.  I left Seattle spiritually ready and open to experiencing God in a new way.

I had a glimpse into that on my third day in Spain when I attended my first Spanish Catholic mass.  It didn’t end up being in some grand historic cathedral like I envisioned.  It was in an old neighborhood Catholic Church with Rosa by my side.  I was pretty lost in the service, not understanding the words, but could generally follow along with the order of the mass. None of this prevented me from silently praying for the people of Spain or preparing my heart for this part of my journey.  When the tears came, as I knew they would, Rosa was there with a comforting hand.

Interior of San Jeronimo el Real Church

Interior of San Jeronimo el Real Church

What’s Next?

This part of my journey is just beginning.  I know I will visit other cathedrals in Spain—and hopefully another mass, as well as a Protestant church service.  My days are long and filled with lots of activities.  It has been hard to develop a routine and spiritual discipline here, but I would be missing out on why I believe God has called me for such a time as this if I didn’t respond to His invitation.

So I am ready physically, mentally and spiritually for this trip of a lifetime.  I have been consciously and subconsciously preparing for it in stages for the last three years.  I know God walks before me into this next phase of my journey.  I am grateful for His pointing me in this direction and for the support and prayers of my friends and family.

~ This completes my “Road to Spain” blog series.  My Spanish travel series starts with España Update 1 ~ The Longest Day.  Adios and vaya con Dios! (So long and go with God.)

Going Down Memory Lane

As we sat at a Seattle waterfront restaurant watching the rain, clouds and sun fight for control of the views out the window, I marveled at the thought of the 19 years that had passed between my friend and me.  We didn’t look 19 years older, but the age of our children was reality enough to ensure we were not dreaming.

A blustery day on the Seattle waterfront

A blustery day on the Seattle waterfront

Two Peas in a Pod

Mildred and I met when I re-entered the workforce one year after the birth of my first child.  We have a very strange history together.

Our work history intersects at three different employers.  I was her supervisor at two of those employers.  At one point in time, I held a former position of hers and then later she held a former position of mine.  That speaks volumes in itself.  It is a testament to her character and her work ethic.

Nineteen years later, she has a nice retirement nest egg from her employer waiting for her; and I am just now finding my career niche—my writing.  Unlike most writers I know, I don’t have a day job to fall back on.   Some might say it is a luxurious lifestyle.  For me, it is part of my self-care program.

Mildred was eager to hear all about my upcoming trip to Spain.  As if to confirm why she was such a good employee—and how very like-minded we are—she immediately suggested having my story translated into Spanish.   I agreed and told her that I negotiated the foreign rights to my story with my publisher and that Pedro had already translated the manuscript.

Does time really heal all wounds?

Does time really heal all wounds?

Wounds of the Past

We caught up on talk about our kids and our parents—being in the sandwich generation.  We naturally ended up talking about work.  Many of my former colleagues and employees had retired or moved on to other organizations.  A few remained.

As we talked about work, the memories and people’s names started to drift back to my short-term memory—people she had even long since forgotten about.   Some of my memories were of painful events, like my demotion.  Except for one brief moment, I experienced no emotional pain in discussing it though.

They say that time heals all wounds.  I’m not sure who that ‘they’ is, but that is not something you’d ever hear in recovery circles.  If you don’t look at the painful wounds of the past, you bury them alive.  They will leak out in unhealthy ways when you least expect them—like in outbursts of anger, or can lead to physical symptoms like ulcers, etc.

In my case, I worked through my character defects that brought me to my knees at the hands of my boss.  I’m grateful for it, as it pointed me down the road to recovery, and eventually to Celebrate Recovery, a Christian 12-step program.

Memory LaneMoving Forward

Going down memory lane is a healthy practice—not for self-condemnation or holding on to resentments—but for healing.  The one painful memory that surfaced helped me to realize that I still have one last thing to clear up—an amends of sorts.

Even as Mildred and I reconnected we touched on the same thread between us—making sure we understood each other and to not take advantage of our friendship.  Her words served to encourage me, and likewise mine for her.

Another luncheon is over.  Another friendship is rekindled.  Another day is done.  All because of the connection my story is making in people’s hearts.

Maybe I do lead a life of luxury.  It’s not the kind of physical luxury or success that pays the bills.  It is the luxury of friendship.  That’s the best kind of riches to have.

Do you embrace opportunities to go down memory lane or avoid it like the plague?  I hope you’ll embrace it and free yourself from the pain of the past.

Reclaiming Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day forever changed for me in May 2010. That was the last time I saw my mother alive.  It was also her last Mother’s Day.  Previous to that day I think the last time we were together on Mother’s Day was my senior year in high school—a span of 35 years.

Happy Mother's DaySeparated by Mental Illness

Over those many years Mother’s Day wasn’t something I looked forward to.  It was a day of obligatory cards or calls. She was remarried (again) and happy it seemed—that is until her husband died.  After that she drifted in and out of mental hospitals and eventually became a ward of the state.

I had tremendous guilt about my relationship with her.  I wanted a mother, but didn’t want her to be my mother.  Due to her mental illness and emotional instability she wasn’t able to teach me how to be a mother myself.  I had to figure it out on my own.  I didn’t hold that against her.  After all, I was pretty self-sufficient in those days.  I just accepted that she was mentally ill.  I chose to distance myself from her physically and emotionally and told myself it was for my own sanity.

Coming Together Again

My final Mother's Day gift to my mom

My final Mother’s Day gift to my mom

When mom had her stroke in 2009, God nudged me back by her side for two visits. The Lord was working on my heart on those trips.  As she lingered on hospice, living day to day with the aid of a feeding tube, God was making it clear His work wasn’t done between us yet.  That led me to that last visit on Mother’s Day 2010.

Between that trip—the last time I saw her alive—and the day she passed away nine months later, Pedro and Rosa, my Spanish family, entered our lives.  And the rest, as they say, is history—forever documented in Journeys to Mother Love.

Mother’s Day Reclaimed

Those first few Mother’s Days after she passed away were hard for me.  I deliberately spent them entrenched with my immediate family, to distract me from those painful reminders.  Now, I celebrate Mother’s Day with Rosa, as my kindred spirit of mother love—although it is one week earlier in Spain.

Mother's Day Gift of LifeAs strange as it may sound, I feel like every day is Mother’s Day to me now.  My mom’s death in February 2011 brought about a rebirth in me that forever changed the way I view my life and Mother’s Day.

It was as if her death brought me life, not because of any burden I was carrying of guilt or shame, as some might do.  It was because I got in touch with pieces of myself that were previously buried deep within me—parts of my identity that weren’t ok to express.   God revealed to me in her passing that I am beautifully and wonderfully made in ways like my mother that I couldn’t bear to embrace before.

So every day really is Mother’s Day to me, because of my gratitude to my mom, and to the Lord for giving me back my life.  I have reclaimed the real purpose of Mother’s Day in my life.  It is the incredible gift that mother’s give to everyone—the gift of life.

Regardless of the status of your relationship with your mother, my wish for you is a Mother’s Day that is filled with pleasant memories and gratitude to the one who gave you life.

Journeys To Mother LoveMore “Journeys to Mother Love” & Free Ebook

If this is the first time you’ve stumbled upon my blog, I encourage you to also check out journeystomotherlove.com, the blog hosted by Cladach Publishing, the publisher of Journeys to Mother Love.  This blog, dedicated to encouraging each other in mother/child relationship healing, is authored by the nine contributors to “Journeys to Mother Love”, and invites others to share their stories.

Now through Monday, May 13, 2013, get your free Kindle ebook of Journeys to Mother Love at Amazon.com.  Since this is free, after you’ve read the book, would you do me and my publisher a huge favor by writing a review? And don’t forget to subscribe, follow, like, pin, press this or share in your favorite social media!

May these stories inspire you on your journey to mother love.  Happy Mother’s Day!

Dad & Mom ~ Birthday Reflections

When I logged on to my computer Wednesday morning my Outlook calendar reminded me that it was my father’s birthday—his first since he passed away last summer.  He would’ve been 95.  I gave his eulogy and wrote a series of posts about his passing while in the midst of my grief and processing.   In those posts I recounted how beautiful his passing was and about the family healing that resulted.

Nine months have passed and we have all returned to our busy lives in various parts of the country.  My stepmother has meticulously cleaned out the house and my father’s belongings.  She invested in some long overdue major house repairs.  Earlier this month her son permanently moved into their home.  It is her time to be cared for and rest easy after several years of being my father’s primary caregiver.

Remembering Dad

In years past, I would call my father on his birthday or sometimes send him a card.  He wasn’t a sentimental person so that didn’t matter to him.  In a strange sort of way though, I felt closer to my father this week than on prior birthdays.

My father's rosary

My father’s rosary

My father’s birthday fell on a Wednesday, the day that I regularly attend a church service and devote a large block of time in prayer.  Although not Catholic, I keep his rosary with me during these times.  Yesterday as I clutched it and prayed, I sensed his presence and his peace.

When the family went through my father’s personal belongings, I was surprised to find the rosary.  He turned away from his Catholic roots many, many years ago.  Dad was a born again Christian, yet he still had his rosary—although he probably forgot about it long ago.  It was broken and not much to look at—black with small wooden beads.

All of my siblings and family are now Protestant (we were raised Catholic) so I knew no one would want it.  Since the Catholic Church played such a significant role in my mother’s peaceful passing and my healing, I knew I couldn’t let it be discarded.

Remembering Mom

Much like Wednesday’s remembrance of my father, I mark my mother’s birthday with pleasant memories of her.  I don’t have either of the rosaries I bought her on my trips back home.  Both were lost.  The only mementos I received after she died was a bracelet I bought her for Mother’s Day—the last time I saw her alive—and a remnant of the chain from the first communion cross pendant I gave her on my 50th birthday.

My mother's chain & bracelet

My mother’s chain & bracelet

Mom’s first posthumous birthday also fell on a Wednesday, soon after I had started my personal weekly prayer vigils two years ago.  Her birthday was only a few weeks after she died.

I vividly remember that day because after my prayer time, I had a beautiful song waiting for me on my phone (via email) from Pedro.  It was “Rome”, the second song I knew he composed.  He sent it out of the blue, not knowing it was my mother’s birthday.  It immediately brought tears to my eyes due to its sheer beauty and the perfect timing of its receipt.  That song was a precious gift, which for me, is forever linked to my healing and my mother’s passing.

Still Grieving?

I think I can comfortably say that my grieving for my father is done.  When the time is right and I return to the house he called home for the last 35+ years, I suspect a new wave of sadness will hit me.  Then when I step on Spanish soil in two months, and meet Rosa face to face, more tears will be shed over the passing of our mothers and how God has beautifully connected us.

Two deaths.  Two eulogies.  In two years.  And now two posthumous birthdays that I privately celebrate with gratitude to God for the perfect way He orchestrated my parent’s passings and the healing in my life.  I think that’s worth some quiet time of reflection, don’t you?

It’s Not too Late to Forgive

I never considered mercy one of my spiritual gifts. In fact, I’ve never felt called to feed the poor, go on mission to a foreign country or minister to the health care needs of the elderly or terminally ill. Which is why I believe the trips I made back home to care for my mother at the end of her life were so transformational for me. God was giving me a heart of compassion and helping me to put aside my needs.

Then last year, during Holy Week, I traveled 150 miles south over spring break to care for my aged father. God was opening the doors for more healing and preparing my father to go in peace. I think forgiveness, and a letter I wrote to him before he passed, were key to that (excerpts in the “Journeys to Mother Love” blog post above).

My father would’ve been 95 this week. I’m very grateful I had that caregiving time with him.

Rest in Peace, Dad. And in case you’re wondering, I’m doing just fine.

ardisanelson's avatarJourneys To Mother Love

Like a scab ripped from the skin, my wound was exposed again. Why would I deliberately enter into that wound again? How could I think that it was really healed? A recent post, “I Forgive You,” by Catherine Lawton was the catalyst that prompted me to take another look. That, and the fact that I spent Holy Week last year caring for my 93-year-old father, sent my mind back to the months preceding his death.

Catherine’s post reminded me of how the words and actions of forgiveness were not something that was modeled to me when I was growing up. Tears weren’t allowed either. We were taught to ‘buck it up’ and move on. Reading that post took me back to the letter I had written my father a year before he died. My grief at that time was still fresh from my mother’s passing, and my healing…

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Acts of Service, Part 2 ~ Take Care of my Sheep

It’s Spring Break—a time when many families head off to sunny climates and fun-filled adventures.  With less than three months before I travel to Spain, I am staying put and working toward that goal.  But I have very vivid memories of my Spring Break trip last year.

It wasn’t exactly a fun-filled adventure. Yet it was an important next step on my journey to healing in my family relationships. I was away from home caring for my ailing father.  Considering what I went through with my mother, as mentioned in “Walking My Mother Home”, it felt like déjà vu.

CaregivingServing My Stepmother

My stepmother had been my father’s only caregiver the last few years and needed a break.  In recent months my father had significantly deteriorated, but they opted to keep him at home as long as possible.  Weeks shy of his 94th birthday, he spent most of his day in bed, used a walker to get around, his eyesight was waning, and his hearing was limited too.  Thankfully he was still pretty lucid though.

My father was a very proud man.  He didn’t want any help and fought desperately to keep his sanity and his dignity.  He was also mean-spirited at times, inconsiderate of others and had a strong need to be in control.  On top of that I was never very close to my father.  So one week of caregiving for him sounded like a recipe for disaster.

However, I had grown closer to my stepmother over the last few years and wanted her to get some time away.  She deserved it—not only because of his deterioration, but because I knew how hard my father was to live with in general.  This was my gift to her.  (My sister-in-law also made the decision easier for me by graciously offering her home to my son for the week.)

Helping HandsServing My Father

When my father woke up the morning after I arrived, my stepmother was already gone.  He knew I was coming, but nonetheless he acted surprised to hear that I was going to be his caregiver for the week—and he wasn’t happy about it.  That day was the worst.

My father’s anger surfaced right away and he said things I’m sure he later forgot he said.  (I guess that is one benefit of old age.)  It shook me up a bit—triggering the little girl in me and reminding me of how he used to scold and criticize me growing up.  Thankfully I was able to recognize what was going on inside of me and stood my ground with him.  He didn’t much like it.

It was in sharp contrast to caring for my mother.  She had suffered a major stroke and couldn’t talk.  I think that was part of the gift God gave me while caring for her.  With her schizophrenia, my previous visits were so emotional for me—never knowing what would come out of her mouth.  God had taken her voice and replaced it with eyes that spoke volumes in love and gratitude.

After the first day of butting heads and testing the water, my father started to accept my caregiver role for the week.  I knew his time was short so I embraced his storytelling a little bit more (the same ones I’d heard numerous times before).  This time though they didn’t feel the same.  My conversations were more deliberate and felt more significant.

My father and stepmother reunited at the end of the week.

My father and stepmother reunited at the end of the week.

A Change of Heart

Over the week, my father’s attitude towards me changed.  He expressed his gratitude for my taking care of him.  He told me how proud he was of the manuscript for “Walking My Mother Home” and his stories even helped me with the final edits for the publisher.

My father passed away three months later.  I know this time with him helped me to let go and get more closure in our relationship.  Although he never mentioned it, I think the letter I sent him about forgiveness on Father’s Day the year before (excerpts recently posted in “It’s Not Too Late to Forgive”), made a difference.  He was softening.  He was preparing to say goodbye.

The Unexpected Gift

It’s funny how I never really considered myself much of a caregiver—even with my immediate family—yet I ended up giving some respite to both of my parents at the end of their lives.  In return I received the gift of healing and restoration in our relationships.

On your road to your final destination, take time to care for others.

On your road to your final destination, take time to care for others.

Serving both of my parents in this way reminds me of the scripture where Jesus tells Peter (shortly after Jesus’ resurrection) to “take care of my sheep” (John 21:15-17).

You never know where God is going to lead you—in what kind of serving capacity.  I encourage you to be prepared to serve your parents while you still can—even if, like me, you don’t think you can do it.  It may be the gift you both need to let go and make peace with the past.

Acts of Service, Part 1 ~ Wash My Feet

Although Holy Week and Easter Sunday celebrations are over, my mind is still on the events of last week and one particular act Jesus did for His disciples—and ultimately for us.  It was his humbling act of washing his disciples’ feet (John 13:1-17).

Being Served

On Thursday evening, at a church service I attended in celebration of the Lord’s Supper, attendees were invited to participate in a foot washing ceremony.  People were slow to come forward and not everyone participated.  I guess, it’s not for everyone, but to those who participated, I’m sure it left them with a sense of humility and reverence.Foot washing

I first participated in a foot washing ceremony at a women’s retreat several years ago.  It was at a time in my life when my faith was being renewed and stretched in ways I’d never experienced before.  I didn’t jump at the chance then, but prayerfully waited and emptied my inner self before submitting to this act of humility.  It was very freeing and left a memorable mark on me—one that I recreated as a final act of service for my mother after she passed away.

Serving My Mother

Washing my mother’s feet wasn’t something I planned to do in advance of her passing.  But on the plane ride back home to take care of her funeral arrangements and memorial, I felt the Lord put this desire on my heart.  I had never even heard of doing it for a deceased person and thought that might sound strange.  However, I knew that bodies were anointed with oils in biblical times—like was done for Jesus—and it just seemed to be the right thing to do.

My family and I were only allowed one viewing of my mother’s body before they cremated her remains.  I knew the funeral home would have to agree to my request.  I was nervous about asking and prayed about it in advance.  They agreed, even setting up the facilities and giving us the privacy to wash my mother’s feet.  The tears flowed as I dabbed water on my mother’s feet and told her my final thoughts and prayers on her behalf.

Serving OthersWashing my mother’s feet was just one of the many powerful and beautiful ways that the Lord allowed me to serve and honor my mother in her parting.  If you are not a Christian or have never experienced something as humbling or selfless as this kind of act, I imagine it may sound somewhat strange or even ridiculous in nature.  I would’ve thought the same in years past myself.

Serving Others

The point is not to go around physically washing others’ feet.  Jesus used this symbol of humility and obedience to model to his disciples, and to us, to serve others.

Since my mother’s passing, my perspective on how I serve others has taken a dramatic shift—a Holy Shift, if you will.  It isn’t generally in structured ministry opportunities at my church.  It isn’t even in a non-profit setting.  Besides my writing, I’ve chosen to serve others through opportunities to connect over coffee, email, Skype and now in the speaking realm.  It may not look like ‘serving,’ but it is meeting the needs of others as we share Jesus’ message of hope and healing.  And, as followers of Christ, that is His call to wash each other’s feet.

  • WELCOME to my site!

    I'm an author, writer, speaker, mentor & mom. I've struggled to find my voice all my life as I lived in the shadows of a mother with mental illness. Thankfully that was not the legacy that she handed down to me. It took a lot of recovery and deep healing work to rise above it.

    I am thankful to God for Making Me Bold in the process. Now I use my writing and speaking voice to help others on their journey to turn healing into hope.

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