Tag Archives: kids

What’s next?

21 Tuesday May 2024

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I stumbled upon a journal entry from 2016, where, for some reason, I had penned a letter to my future self to be opened a decade later. At the time, I was 38 years old, and as I read through it today, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of writing to my 48-year-old self.

Recalling the juncture my life was at, I remember that moment in time, stepping into a bi-vocational career, feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving behind the stay-at-home mom life I had cherished for 14 years. 

feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving behind the stay-at-home mom life

Transitioning to a 9-5 desk job at a local university while also taking on the role of a part-time worship leader was daunting, to say the least. I had zero admin experience but enough customer experience to get me the job. I held onto a quote by Christine Caine: “God doesn’t call the prepared; he prepares the called.”

As I read the page intended for my 48-year-old self, I felt a surge of pride knowing that my eldest would soon graduate from college, with her two siblings following closely behind. My 38-year-old self had expressed hopes of seeing her kids in college, perhaps even married by then. I chuckled as I read that line to my husband, relieved that we still have two years until that “expiration date,” leaving the jury out on that status.

I had wished for myself to visit Italy and explore parts of Europe, a dream I’d harbored since high school. Despite numerous attempts, it seemed elusive until last spring, when Jon and I embarked on a 28-day adventure through London, Paris, and Italy. Dining on French cuisine under a Parisian moon or cruising through Tuscany’s picturesque hills—experiences beyond surreal.

In 2016, when I embraced the bi-vocational lifestyle, I had no clue how to sustain it. Some days were challenging, others incredibly rewarding. Working in higher education introduced me to remarkable students who inspired me to be my best self while leading worship in our home church allowed me to collaborate with immensely talented individuals. There were days when both roles seamlessly intertwined, and others when the weight felt unbearable, juggling deadlines and responsibilities.

A month ago, the chapter of worship leading abruptly closed. The news hit me like a sudden amputation—no discussion, just an abrupt end to 16 years of serving our church community. 

no discussion, just an abrupt end to 16 years of serving our church community

Despite the shock, I cherished the memories: working alongside my husband, watching my son excel as a drummer, and witnessing my daughter’s musical prowess and leadership. The abruptness left no room for goodbyes, only a hollow explanation.

Reflecting on this letter, crafted eight years ago, reminds me of life’s unpredictability. Since then, my father passed away, my mom remarried, close friends faced divorce, and my father-in-law continues his battle with cancer. My children, once youngsters, are now young adults, preparing to leave the nest. Yet, amid uncertainty, I’m grateful for the foresight to write that letter. Embracing the challenges of the bi-vocational life that paved the way for unforeseen opportunities.

Embracing the challenges of the bi-vocational life paved the way for unforeseen opportunities.

I’ve learned that nothing is wasted in the Kingdom of Heaven. Even toxic leadership experiences can be redeemed, shaping me into a better leader. While I can’t predict the future, writing a letter of well wishes to oneself serves as a poignant reminder of life’s essence. As Paul wrote in Romans; our sufferings produce endurance, character, and hope. I eagerly anticipate what lies ahead, knowing that every season, sweet or bitter, holds a purpose.

I might have an inkling of what’s next and anticipate God to do what God does; create an ending better than I could have ever imagined.

When have you had a moment to reflect on where you have come from and where you are going?

Table

07 Tuesday Jun 2022

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There was a thud and in the corner of my eye, I saw my son lunge for a bottle that I immediately knew was Nail Polish Remover. I lept from my couch in a sudden panic knowing that my beautiful, two-month-old dining room table was at the mercy of what just occurred. As my son grabbed a paper towel I recalled my 8-year-old self mopping up the spilled nail polish from my mom’s brand-new coffee table. A vision of my sister and I smearing dish towel fuzz into the melting varnish of the coffee table was vivid in my mind. In those milliseconds of thought, I wondered if I could change history and try what I proposed would be a better solution, a cup of water. I asked myself as I quickly filled a cup with sink water, “If I pour the chemical off the table there will be less chance of it being ruined, right?” I aggressively shoved the chairs away from the table so as not to get them wet and poured the water over the stain while my son came behind me to sop it up. My husband had moved into action as he realized the tragedy that was occurring. The water did nothing but waterfall to the floor and the table where the remover had made contact was bubbling and beginning to eat away at the beautiful dark stain. My knees buckled under me and a sudden feeling of nausea followed by uncontrollable tears overtook me. I gasped and ran down the hall to my bedroom away from the chaos and fell to my knees on my bed smooshing my face into my quilted bedspread and wept. 

I was angry. Angry I let this happen. Just ten minutes before my three children were laughing and excitedly chatting about the best way to get my eldest daughter’s shoes clean as she was preparing to leave for three weeks in Europe. I was angry that it didn’t occur to me that when they landed on a solution to clean the shoes with a wet cloth and nail polish remover I didn’t say to my son, “Maybe you should take that project into the bathroom?” Even though I knew the risk my brain at the time of the exchange was mush. It had been a long day that began at 6:00 am and I had not sat down much due to the busyness of the day. It was past 7:00 pm and we had not even had dinner yet.

The plan was that after a busy morning serving at the church where I lead worship, I would assist my daughter in packing for her trip. I helped her select her outfits for the adventures she would be embarking on and made sure she had all the necessities she would need for such a long time away from home. She and I had been working tirelessly all afternoon. I hoped that once the packing was complete all five of us would sit down at the table with a nice dinner to send her off before she began a ten-day Mediterranean cruise followed by country hopping and visiting seven different countries. My brain and body were slowing down so I informed my daughter that while we waited for the last load of laundry to dry I was going to go recline in the living room and ask her brother to help with cleaning her tennis shoes. 

At this time our middle daughter and son had returned home from their earlier activities meanwhile my husband was in the kitchen preparing a delicious meal that involved coconut-crusted cod. All three kids were gathered in our living/dining room discussing the best techniques to quickly shine up the white New Balance sneakers without putting them in the washing machine. If you didn’t know, it is all the rage that your white sneakers be worn completely free of dirt and scuffs. My son gathered all the items needed for his task; nail polish remover, cotton balls, and a damp cloth and proceeded to bring them to the dining room table. As he was working he was careful to turn away from the table over our tile floor as he wiped the remover-soaked cotton ball across the leather removing the grime. On the last turn, he set the bottle down, and as he did, it tipped over, thus beginning the succession of the events we began with. 

Now, you may think when I started this story I was being a bit melodramatic…Knees buckling? Nauseous? “Are you for real?” you may ask, but let me take you through my thought process a bit. Right now, my kid’s ages range from 18 to 21 years old. Before they were born we had bought a gorgeous table that sat six people with a leaf that allowed seating for up to ten people and if you put a few kids on a bench or on the corners you could squeeze in twelve. This table was our first adult purchase as a married couple. A year after we were married we walked into a store called  “Z-Gallery” and fell in love with a minimalistic style table with a deep ebony stain. It came with six matching chairs and seats covered in a lovely cream fabric.

We invited friends over for our first Thanksgiving meal and somehow managed not to give everyone food poisoning when the gravy “smelled off.” Apparently, we hadn’t learned yet that you defrost the turkey in the fridge, not in the sink. When we began having children we moved into a tiny two-bedroom apartment with a dining room that was not large enough for this size of a table so my in-laws graciously babysat it for five years until we bought a three-bedroom condominium. When we got that table back it became the hub of our home where we served up daily meals to our children and invited their school-age friends over for Springtime Tea parties complete with tea sandwiches and frosted cookies along with many birthday parties and sleepovers with pancakes for breakfast. My husband, the kids, and I would dress up and pretend we were eating at a fancy Italian restaurant where we served squid ink pasta and practice our “fancy manners”. Science projects and 4th-grade dioramas were created at that table. Our firstborn decided that for her Senior Prom she and her friends would dine at our home since her dad was such an amazing home cook. We served filet mignon aside roasted asparagus while they enjoyed the fare in their formal attire before setting off for an evening to remember. 

As the years went on that table became a landing pad for all the stuff from book bags, to computers, and thrifting hauls. The sheer size of it as our kids grew made our small dining room feel even more cramped especially since there were not as many family meals shared there. Our kids became busy with sports, jobs, and then soon off to college. The table was taking up room and I dreamt of having a smaller, more intimate table. I envisioned having a countertop height table with lovely bar stools that allowed us to entertain a few friends or to be used as an extension of our kitchen countertops to make homemade pasta or biscuit dough.

After watching one too many home renovation shows we decided to put our words into action and took the large table and chairs to my mom’s Airbnb in Indio, CA to make room for a new table. The hope was that it would fit into her updated dining room replacing her 1970s oak table and adding a modern vibe to her newly renovated slate floors. In order to ready the table for my mom, I gave it a thorough scrubbing to remove years of sticky soda and ice cream sundae drips from the nooks and crannies reminding me that fifteen years with this table had taken its toll. For Thanksgiving, my four siblings traveled to Indio for the first time in over two years following my dad’s passing seven years ago. It doesn’t help that we are all scattered between three different states and it is becoming more and more challenging with each passing year for all four of us including our children to be under one roof together. That year, we were to gather with my mom and her new husband around that table. Little did we know this would be the last time we would spend a holiday together in the Indio house; the home my mother and father had bought sixteen years prior together. Recently, the market took a positive turn, allowing my mom the opportunity to sell her home quickly. Without knowing what the future held over the course of that week we sat around that table many times together making memories as we served good food, made crafts, played games, and filled the space with loads of laughter; just enjoying the simplicity and joy of being together. All of us under one roof. 

Before my family headed back to San Diego I wanted to see if we could find our dream table since Palm Springs is known for their great furniture stores. The year prior I discovered a Scandinavian design counter-top height table in the area thus beginning my obsession with this type of furniture piece. We went back to the same store and even though we liked the table I had selected the chair selection was slim. We wandered across the way to a popular furniture store chain and found THEE table. It was a lovely square countertop height table that seats four people and had a leaf that extends to seat six. It’s stain was a dark walnut with hints of amber throughout with a unique grain with a rustic, yet sophisticated look while the finish had a luxurious sheen. The style had a weight to it that looked really expensive but without being pretentious. And the chairs…we found upholstered charcoal gray swivel chairs that matched perfectly. We knew this was the table and made the purchase but before we completed the transaction our sales rep informed us that we would have to wait about 3-4 months for delivery since there was a supply shortage of furniture due to the pandemic. We had heard rumors and anticipated this news. It did not deter us and we headed home elated that we had found the right table with a few months to think about it before truly committing to the purchase.

When we got home I got busy looking for a stand-in table since we no longer had one of any kind. I purchased a counter-top height folding table to get us by and was pleasantly surprised to find two beautiful countertop height folding chairs that would match. Christmas was approaching and we needed somewhere to serve food or a place to land our groceries after shopping. Traditionally for Christmas dinner, my husband serves duck and we dine on his grandmother’s China so even though this year we didn’t have the ideal arrangement we made do by setting the food on our industrial folding table while dining on her China lounging at the coffee table. 

In the weeks leading up to the arrival of our table, I painted the dining room and kitchen walls with a fresh coat of paint. We hired a company to steam clean the tile floor while my husband and I installed gorgeous reclaimed wood shelves to complete the space. All we needed was our table. The date of delivery was scheduled for February 15th yet the day came and went with no table. March 15th, no table. The company notified me after some harassment on my end only to find out that the chairs were back ordered while the table sat in a warehouse waiting to be delivered to its forever home. I was losing my patience as we rescheduled two dinner parties with the news of its later arrival.

Finally, after much anticipation, the text came that they would be delivering the table and chairs the first week of April. I was giddy!! The truck arrived as I pulled into my parking space after work on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon. I walked right up to the delivery man and excitedly asked, “Hi! Is this my table?!” He smiled, confirmed my name was “Kelly” and then nodded for me to lead the way. I apologized that we were on the second floor, he smiled sheepishly and said, “It’s ok,” even though he was already perspiring. The two gentlemen worked quickly unwrapping the styrofoam protectors and the many layers of cellophane. As they unwrapped and connected each piece together I could hardly contain my excitement. It was prettier than I remembered and the shelves I had purchased to go on the wall above the table were proving to coordinate with it so well. After almost an hour they announced they were done and asked me to look it over before signing the delivery confirmation. I walked around the table, tracing my hand over the gorgeous dark wood, and sat in each chair to be sure they swiveled as they should. I smiled at my husband and said, “It’s perfect!” Over the next two months, we sat at our table as much as possible and even for the ordinary Monday night meal. Our dear friends came over for smoked turkey legs and said, “ooh” and “aah” at our purchase. On weeknights, while my husband prepared dinner I would sit at the swivel chair chatting with him, tracking his movement as he bustled around preparing the meal. Our eldest daughter even came home from college on a Saturday night just to have dad’s stroganoff at the new table.

 As I think more about my reaction to this accident I come back to the topic of my children’s ages. Many of us know that when kids are toddlers nice things don’t stand a chance. From permanent marker stains on the couch to throwing up in the crevice of the car seats or dishes breaking. Parents around the world know that if dishes are not plastic they don’t stand a chance. Even though in the middle school and high school years we lost more bowls and glasses than I can count when our children unloaded and loaded the dishwasher or made their own breakfast, I have been under some delusion that now that they are adults then maybe now we can have nice things. But as I thought about it more examples of how untrue that is comes to mind.

For example, when I was 36 years old I totaled our min-van in my first freeway accident. At age 40 my brother broke an expensive Nikon camera while taking photos one afternoon with our family. I recall many years ago my mom broke her niece’s special wedding glasses while drying them after a dinner party. And don’t get me started on the bumps and scrapes our cars have suffered while my kids all learned to drive. Things break. There is no safeguard from damage, loss, or even theft. I think it might be one of the many reasons that Jesus said in Matthew not to store up treasures on earth but to store up our treasures in heaven. We all know the material things of this earth will not last. This table may be something we paid good, hard-earned money for and there is a very high chance it can be fixed. Yet, I am reminded though that no table, car, camera, and especially glasses are more important than the humans who use them to live life and make memories. If you were in a car accident what is the first thing that people say? It’s not, “Wow, I hope your car’s okay!” No, they ask with deep concern, “Are you okay?” Rarely does anyone pay attention to the now heap of metal that once was a vehicle? They are typically more concerned with the well-being of the person or persons involved.

As I look back at the memories we made at our old table I remember that it’s not the table I miss. It’s the little chubby hands that would reach up to my face with sticky syrup on them to kiss my cheek in gratitude for the pancakes I made that morning. The fondue dinner with grandma and grandpa or the times when our children would excitedly talk so fast about the newest movie that none of us could understand them. I celebrate that my kids would ask me questions about their faith at that table or while having a snack share with me their pain when they experienced heartache. No Thing should be more important than our relationships with one another. Even now as I share this story I hope that despite my dramatic response my son will remember my unconditional love for him and forgiveness for making a mistake. May we all remember that the relationships we have are irreplaceable and may we be sure to tell those in our lives how much they mean to us. For me, the memories made at that first dining room table will forever be in the snapshots of my mind and today our family will continue to make new ones at our new table. Excuse me though, while I go get that table cloth first.

Like Mother Like Daughter

02 Wednesday Dec 2015

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Tonight my 14 year old daughter and I got into it for the umpteenth time this month. She is slacking in her school work and I’m beside myself frustrated with the level of effort she puts into it, or lack thereof. If only she put as much effort into her school work as she does her socializing I found myself thinking. Then I heard my mother’s voice echo in my ears. Did I really just say what I know my mom said more than a dozen times? How is it that we can be so utterly shocked when our kids push back, lie, be lazy, disrespect us, find ways to get around the rules, when less then 2 decades ago we were doing the same exact thing???

Earlier this evening that same daughter was confiding in me that her friend, who is 4 years older than her is most likely pregnant. She told me before beginning, to relax, “she’s a good person and I’m not being influenced by her,” she assured me. This young lady was heading into the military come graduation and now pregnancy may derail those dreams. While cooking dinner, I listened to my daughter share with me her friend’s fears and worries. She relayed to me how she told this girl, “Now see, I told you that guy was nothing but trouble. Mom, this is exactly why I will not have sex before marriage. I am not going to live my life as The Secret Life of an American Teenager.” “Plus,” she says, “I told her she could come talk to you because you would be concerned for her and feel sorry for her situation.” At the time I laughed and chided her a bit for being harsh with her friend. She assured me she was kind in her approach. She told this young lady that she could come over and that I would help her figure out what to do. THEN she said, “And I told my friend, she HAD to tell her parents the truth immediately!” Yeah, 2 hours later I find my daughter “forgot” to tell me about a Spanish test tomorrow. What was that about having to be truthful with your parents, daughter of mine??

Here’s where I am at in this moment. I am in awe at the mother daughter relationship. How it can be all hugs and cuddles to practically a cat fight the next. How my daughter wants to emulate me in every way, but can’t stand any critique or advice I may give. How my daughter can hug me one minute and have nothing to do with me the next. How she can find the ability to confide in me with the heavy things life throws at her, but afraid to ask my permission might I say no. I know its hormones and the struggles of growing up, but I also know it’s a reflection of how I treat her. In those cat fight moments I find myself speaking down to her and mad at her lack of work ethic or drive. Yet, I am in awe at her ability to stick up for herself, to live life with such zest and tenacity and to love so fiercely. In the aftermath of our tiff over homework and upon hearing my mothers’ voice echo in my ears, I realize now, more than ever how much she is watching. I think even more so than when she was 3 and wanted to try on my high heels.

She is watching how I respond after I argue with her or her father and how we make up. She is watching what I post on social media and if I call in “sick” to work or not.  She is watching how I treat our crazy neighbors or if I pick up our dog poop when no one is watching. I forget how much she is watching and learning and trying to find out what works for her and what doesn’t. I am glad she doesn’t want have sex before she is married, but will she be able to resist when the man of her dreams is whispering how much he loves her and cherishes her? Will she tell the truth even when no one will know the difference? Will she study hard for that test not because her mother is screaming at her to, but because she wants to succeed? I don’t know. All I know is, every day I want to give up. I literally want to throw my hands up and say, “You win and I’m out!” Then I see that girl turning into a women and I look in the mirror of that girl who turned into a woman. I survived the trials and I learned from my mistakes and eventually began to listen to my mother. I persevered because my own mother never gave up. So, I too won’t give up. I will start again tomorrow with a hug and a kiss and some cuddles; if, she lets me.

A Final Chapter/New Beginning

22 Wednesday Apr 2015

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I just finished The Gifts Of Imperfection by Brene Brown for the fourth time. This time I had the privilege of sharing it with 11 other women for 10 weeks in a book club setting. These women chose to be vulnerable with me and each other. I am so humbled to have been able to facilitate this journey and I learned so much from them. I was able to stretch myself spiritually, mentally and emotionally. I’m daily choosing that I am enough. That where I am in life is enough. That the size of my house, the car I drive, and the clothes I wear are enough. I’m done hustling for “worthiness” as Brene calls it. The last few chapters talk about; what we want to do, does not have to be put on the back burner. It’s ok to claim two professions or hobbies. We can say we are a Real Estate agent/painter or a doctor/gardener. Just because if what we are passionate about doesn’t make us a living doesn’t mean we should not do it or not be able to claim that it is who we are or what we love. For a long time I’ve said, “I’m a Stay At Home Mom,” and that’s it. Yes, I’ve been a wife and a mom for almost half of my life but I honestly still haven’t decided what I want to be when I grow up. For a long time I have let society and myself tell me that unless I have a BA or am making $$$$$$$ a year then what I do doesn’t hold much value. I’m just a mom.

 

After reading Guidepost 9 tonight I can say I’m an Entrepreneur/3 time surrogate/worship leader/writer/blogger/student/amateur chef (our Chipotle salmon dish with black bean succotash that I made up tonight was delish!). I’m now a Lunch Lady/referee/and many a days a Taxi driver. She helped me realize that no matter what we “do for a living” we need to make sure we are finding time to do what we love and are passionate about it. The best part is, when we do what we love our life becomes meaningful. I don’t write to become famous, I write because I love it. I can’t move on in life until I have put my thoughts to paper sometimes. I don’t sing in church because I’m supposed to. I sing and attempt to lead people in worship because it moves me and draws me closer to God more than anything else I’ve ever experienced. Some days I believe I’m at the brink of finding what I ‘m supposed to do with myself now that my 3 kids do not need me 24/7. Until then I’m going to live my life with meaning, use my God given talents and do the fun and mundane to the Glory of God.

 

Negativity. It’s my life sucker

31 Tuesday Mar 2015

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I despise negativity. I really do. I try not to watch movies with a negative storyline or listen to music filled with negative lyrics. I hide chronically negative people from my facebook feed. I just don’t have patience for negative people. On the contrary I love positive and beautiful things. Such as feel-good movies or songs that inspire and make me happy. Have you heard “Shut up and Dance”? Best song ever for putting me in a good mood. I have a reminder plaque in my bedroom that says, “Begin each day with a grateful heart.” I cognitively try to fill my life with beauty and goodness.

Anyone who knows me knows I live life loud. I love people, I’m a social media addict and an over sharer. Some people can’t handle me. Some people, like my sister, can only handle me in doses. I use to feel guilty about this. I would ask myself upon leaving social gatherings, “Oh my gosh, why can’t you learn to be more quiet?” “Why do you get so excited? You need to chill.” I learned a few years back that according to a personality test I took through Gallup Industries called The Strength Finder’s test, that Positivity is one of my top 5 personality strengths. When it comes to family, friends, acquaintances, and social media I strive to be a positive force. I love sharing photos of my successful dinners. I’m not trying to say, “Na na na na na, you can’t cook like me,” but to say, “Look at this yummy dish I made and you can make it too!” I love to share where I went to dinner, not to say, “Look how often me and my husband go out to eat,” but to share this exciting place we tried and you should try it too. With my family and friends I am always wanting to help organize gatherings and find ways to be with them and show them how much I love them. However, recently it came to my attention that as positive as I seem to be, I am not very consistent within the walls of my home.

A few weeks ago I was sincerely overwhelmed by my daughter and son’s theatre schedule. If you do not know, I have 3 kids; a 14 year old thespian, a 13 year old year-round swimmer and an 11 year old little leaguer who played the cutest cowboy in a community production of Oklahoma. I had simultaneously signed up my eldest and youngest for 2 different plays and their schedule was running my husband and I ragged. My husband came home on a Thursday night from work to find that I had ordered a pizza. We don’t usually order pizza on a Thursday, we always save that for Friday or Saturday during Family Movie night. I had to squeeze in an extra piano lesson since my daughter would be missing 2 out of 4 lessons in the month of March and it landed on the night of our son’s performance. My husband unassumingly said, “Oh, you got pizza. Is that Pizza Hut? How is it?” “I replied snootily, “It’s good. At least we think it is. You won’t like it. It has too much crust.” The next thing I know we are in a bit of a tiff and my husband’s final words were, “I deal with negativity all day long, I can’t come home to it.” I quickly apologized and explained that I was feeling overwhelmed with all I had to do. We hugged it out and moved on. I realized in that moment that at home I am not always the bubbly, positive person that I am to friends and social media. At home I am the whip cracker to my children. I am constantly berating them if they’re rooms aren’t clean, if they left a mess in the kitchen after breakfast or if they’re not ready on time. To my husband I tend to vent all of the bad in my day without considering he’s maybe heard enough “bad” for one day.

After that short, but very profound argument I realized that here in my own home I could vent all my woes and then turn around and crack a smile to the world. Maybe it’s because I feel safe or because I know my husband is one of the most patient people I know. I began to consider that the same positive energy I put into friends, social media and many times complete strangers needs to be invested in my family. There’s nothing wrong with venting about a tough day or making sure my kids follow through with chores and respect our home. Yet I can find ways to be more positive with them. If I were a facebook feed I would have turned myself off a long time ago.

So my question to myself and to you, my reader is, am I a positive force in my home? How can I ensure that the sweet tone I use outside of my home is used inside my home?

For starters I can start by eliminating guilt. That argument over pizza really started because I was feeling guilty for having pizza on a night I would normally cook. I thought Jon was judging me and my decisions. He of course was not and would totally understand that I can’t prepare dinner if I haven’t been home ALL DAY LONG. Another way I can be better at exuding kindness and positivity, is grace. I can give my kids grace if they left the milk on the counter because our morning had been rushed or that they’re rooms are cluttered because we’ve been getting home at 9 pm. I can give myself grace when life isn’t going as planned and know that daily I always try to do what is best for my family and myself. The chores will get done and life will go on. As for my social media habits I will try and be better at portraying my intentions when I post my yummy dinner creations or exciting restaurant finds. Until then, I pray my family and friends always know my heart and no one turns me off their facebook feed.

Hope is Learned

08 Sunday Mar 2015

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A few weeks ago I was in the dentist’s office getting a cavity filled. My first cavity in 18 years, so no judging. 😉 I was lying in the chair doped up on laughing gas when I had a sudden flashback of my son in pain. My youngest child, Jackson, flashed across my mind. He was 3 in my recall and I remember huge eyes with horrific pain and fear in them that I had never seen before. I remember him reaching out to squeeze my hand and I let him til the pain subsided.

It was summer and we were enjoying my youngest brother’s wedding when out of the blue Jackson began to limp. We thought he had jumped in the hotel pool wrong and tweaked something, but after coming home from the festivities his limp came and went for 2 weeks. I decided to take him into the doctor. I took him in to see our pediatrician and after a 30 minute look-over they deemed him fine and that maybe he bruised a bone jumping or playing. We went home thinking it had just been some fluke. Over the next few weeks though, it would suddenly hurt enough to where he could not walk well or run. It was very concerning to us. This was our little agile “spider monkey.” This was our son who at 5 months stood up in his pack in play without holding the sides, at 6 months he could shimmy his way out of his crib by putting one foot on either side of the rails and inch up until he could swing himself over the side. At 18 months he did a chin up onto the kitchen counter to reach the sugar bowl; so for him to suddenly not be able to run, jump or play, we knew something was up. I took him back to the doctor. Again she could not find a reason for his limp and of course in that moment his limp was not very pronounced. I went home a bit frustrated but thinking I was probably over reacting. A week later he began to cry out in pain every time he took a step. I went back to the doctor and the mama bear inside of me came out and I refused to leave that office until they ordered an x-ray and could tell me what was wrong. They ordered an x-ray, yet were still unable to tell me what was wrong. However, the nurse practitioner knew something was not right, so they sent us to a pediatric orthopedic specialist here in San Diego. I cannot for the life of me recall the doctor’s name,but it is not an important piece, thankfully.

My husband and I both went to the appointment with our toddler in tow where we were told that Jackson had Legg Calve-Perthes Disease. We stared blankly back at the doctor, “Leg, what?” The doctor told us it was named after the three orthopedic surgeons who discovered the illness. He went on to explain that the blood supply had been cut off to the femoral head (the ball part of the hip) and caused the bone to begin to die. According to Jackson’s x-ray the ball of his hip was flat, not round and was pinching every time he walked. I remember not feeling panic, but feeling somewhat numb. He then went on to tell us that he was taking a leave of absence because he was undergoing heart surgery and would refer us to Dr. Wenger. He assured us Dr. Wenger was the best orthopedic surgeon in the San Diego region. Even though he was out of our HMO network, our insurance would cover him because of the referral. Little did we know what a miracle that moment would turn out to be.

The following Monday I went to the bible study that I lead at the time. One of the ladies brought a friend with her named Linh. At the end of every meeting we take prayer requests. When the time came for me to share I told the ladies the journey we were about to embark upon. I explained to them that our original doctor was taking a leave and had referred us to a Dr. Wenger. Immediately after I said that, Linh spoke up and said, “I work for Dr. Wenger. I am a physician’s assistant in his office.” Here in front of me, days after my son’s diagnosis, was a woman who worked for the doctor we were referred to! I felt like shouting, “Are you kidding me? This is amazing!” I was stunned, yet excited and full of questions. Over the next few months Linh was a huge blessing. She helped us maneuver through this disease and explain the care we were going to receive. Fast forward four months; Jackson was three months past his third birthday and we had our surgery scheduled to help rectify the problem. Dr. Wenger was going to clip the tendon attached to his pelvic area, they would then stretch his legs out into a V position, cast it, then leave it on for 6 weeks. He would not be allowed to have any weight on it for many weeks after that. This would allow the ball to get the needed blood flow and allow the bone to heal. Before this day none of our children had ever had surgery or been hospitalized. We had not even experienced a broken bone. Here we were; two 28 year old parents completely inexperienced in hospital care and dealing with doctors, surgeons and insurance companies; but we felt peace.

The day of the surgery I remember being in the pre-op waiting room when the nurse came in to collect Jackson. She seemed to sweep him up very abruptly and place him on the gurney. I remember panic rising in my throat as I watched him be wheeled down the hallway through the double doors. I wondered, did I hug him or kiss him enough? What if he didn’t wake up from the surgery? The surgery was a short procedure, about one hour. When we were given the OK to go see him in recovery I felt such relief. Especially when I saw his little happy face sucking on his Popsicle. Thankfully he was nice and numb, oblivious to the pain that he would soon experience and that I spoke of earlier. Once we were in his room and all settled with videos and more Popsicles, the drugs began to wear off. The nurse warned me that he would have muscle spasms; this was the tendon getting used to its new position. When his first spasm came just a few hours after getting settled I will never forget that look of sheer terror on my 3 year old’s face. His hazel eyes became huge with surprise, then a look of horror as he cried out in pain. His little body would tense up and he would squeeze my hand so tight it made my heart hurt. The nurse quickly administered the meds that put him at ease. Those spasms would continue for a solid week. We were sent home with strong medications to ease his pain. From beginning to end,  Jackson was a trooper. He loved all the attention from aunts and uncles, neighbors, church friends and grandparents who came to visit and brought him goodies to take his mind off his situation. He loved the wheel chair and getting to go naked half the day since his pants couldn’t be put on very easily; until my crafty mom made him a pair of pants with Velcro to slip over his cast.

I wish I could say that from the moment that our journey started I walked around with constant peace, but I cannot. As I look back though, I am so thankful that I can list for you the positives things that happened. First of all, we met Linh. Linh helped guide us and maneuver a very scary situation and a very quirky doctor. Without her,  I would have said, “There’s no way we can do this!” But she assured us he was amazing and he was! He was concise and knew exactly what to do. I know that because of him our journey was a short 8 months rather than years. A second positive aspect was Jackson’s age; most kids with LCPD are diagnosed at age 9. Jackson was 2. He was in a v-cast for 6 weeks the first time and 4 weeks the second time. I’ve thought many times about how much more difficult it would have been to carry a 9 year old to the bathroom or up the flight of stairs to our second floor apartment. The third reason was the wonderful support of family and friends who brought food, entertainment, prayers and encouragement those first few months of his diagnoses and surgery.

Yes, there were challenges; he peed on his cast many a times which then caused his cast to get wet inside. When he went to get his cast cut off the technician went too deep and cut his little thigh. He still has a scar. The physical therapist that we were referred to did not do the correct exercises with him and was the cause of him having to go back into the V-cast for another 4 weeks. His second casting was in August where the high was 108 degrees. It was not fun and many a days he couldn’t go swimming; he would be so sweaty and itchy he just would cry and I would cry. He wasn’t allowed to run, jump, or play sports for 2 ½ years after his cast came off for the last time. Imagine trying to tell a 3 year old they cannot do any of those things? Once the cast was off he could swim and bike. Both of those exercises were a saving grace, not only in getting his energy burnt off, but they were great therapy that built his muscle and agility back up. He got back to climbing counters and added trees and door frames to the mix.

What I always feel when I think back to that season of our life, is gratefulness. I don‘t know why our son had LCPD. We learned that it may have been genetic and my grandfather may have suffered from it his whole life. I don’t know why our journey was “easy” compared to the families I met in the lobby of the x-ray room telling me their son had had “multiple surgeries, pins and couldn’t play little league for the third year in a row.” My heart always broke for them and I was given a new level of empathy every time I left those wonderful moments of conversation with other moms. What I do know is this; this was our journey and all I can ever be is grateful for the experience and the healing Jackson received. The best thing about all of it was that it is and was the strongest interaction to God’s strength and peace I have yet to experience. I honestly think that this is what Paul is talking about when he said in Romans 5:3-5 NIV “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”

As you may have read in my previous posts that I have read Brene Brown’s book The Gift of Imperfection. Her work has opened my eyes to a level of vulnerability and authenticity I never knew I could experience. Recently I read Guidepost #3 and she talks about how she discovered that hope is learned. Not only do we have to put one foot in front of the other in moments of struggle and suffering, but I believe we have to look at the signs being given. We need to teach ourselves and our children that in every situation there is hope to be found. To this day I believe the reason I was so hopeful is because I was able to see the pavers placed on my path. This kept me sane, kept our family striving for healing and did not turn into a negative season of asking, “Why me?” but allowed us to move toward hope and peace. I‘m not for one second saying I see good in all things or that every day I smile and say that I enjoy suffering, but remembering what I learned from this experience helps me to put my daily struggles into perspective. Now when I experience financial trouble, parenting strife, marital disunity, or friend drama I stop myself and list the positives. I can tangibly see that God had his hand on our son’s life. He took a scary situation and lined up people and circumstances that allowed us to come out of this disease on the other side. I can now always look at the pavers God places on my path that point towards hope.

Today, my son Jackson is an active 11 year old who is a joy to my husband and I’s life. He’s played little League for 5 years now, climbs every door frame, tree, and jungle gym. He loves Jesus and his mommy, and wants to be just like his daddy.

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