I miss "normal"

It has been so difficult to write about Ryan’s illness. My mind runs around in circles and I can’t seem to turn it to the keyboard instead of racing around inside my head. My insides are crawling and my patience seems to be resting squarely on a banana peel.

Here’s the update: We got a call on Sunday afternoon at 2:00 from Ryan’s endocrinologist telling us that two of Ryan’s growth hormone tests came back abnormal. He had to have more testing done because it is rare to have two elevated growth hormones. Nothing like having rare findings in an effort to diagnose a rare disorder (the neurological sleep apnea).

We’ll know the results of these new tests on November 30.

He got the CPAP machine last week and it seems to be helping. He is finding it difficult to adjust to the tube and the thing in his nose and has pulled it off in his sleep several times. The good thing is that he is actually waking up and realizing it isn’t on! Before, although he rarely got beyond stage 2 sleep, it took an act of Congress to wake him up, so that is a good thing.

Emotionally I find myself mourning a loss of security that I never knew I had before it was gone. I’m also mourning the fact that I'm having to put some of my I’m-nearly-an-empty-nester dreams on hold. That is really difficult and I don’t like it at all.

I seldom listen to the radio but my boys listen to it all the time in their room and in the car. I guess God must have a plan because every time I turn around, sometimes two or three times a day, I end up hearing a song by the County group Rascal Flats. The song talks about Sara Beth, a High School girl who has cancer, looses her hair then dances the night away at her prom. It never ceases to make me cry, and I used to hate to hear it…yet it is a song of hope. Although I often sit and weep as it plays, it reminds me that because whatever-Ryan-has was caught early there is hope, if not for a complete recovery, then for management.

Lord, help me to know that this-too-shall-pass, that no matter what happens in the future, You will give me the strength to make it through. I believe...help me in my unbelief.

Morning worries

Ryan got the CPAP machine yesterday. They told us it could take a week for him to tell any difference. I am hopeful, yet, at the same time, I’m scared to death.

Sometimes it’s difficult to keep my spirits on an even keel, but it’s a necessary struggle. It isn’t fair, but historically my attitude steers the way my family deals with problems and this morning the weight of that responsibility is terrible. Oh, I know that Ryan isn’t sick because of anything I did or didn’t do, but running the everyday workings of our family weighs heavily on my heart. I’m coming to a gut deep knowledge that it’s just plain difficult to be the mom of a sick child.

That knowledge makes it even more important that I deal with my feelings.

I woke up early this morning with tortuous phrases running through my mind, different types of cancer that this might be, concern about a thousand unknown details of my son’s illness. I find myself terrified that the machine won’t help. I worry about the fact that Ryan’s oxygen level has been dropping so low and what the long term effects of that may be.

Sometimes I find myself hoping that if I close my eyes and open them again Ryan will be okay. I wish I could click my heels twice and go back to my old life, yet in other ways nothing has changed. Then I remind myself that Ryan IS okay for now. We don’t know anything bad at this point and borrowing trouble only makes everyone miserable. The odds are that whatever is causing the central apnea is a benign hormone excreting tumor.

And until we know anything for sure, which will be, at the very least, November 30 at the next Endocrinologist appointment, I pray that the Lord give me the grace to keep things as normal as possible.

Oh, Lord, I am weak but Thou art strong. I am weary but You promise to share my yoke. Be with me in the coming weeks and thank You for answered prayer. Your guidance and grace is all I have to rely on because in and of myself I won’t be able to handle things. I believe, Lord, help me in my unbelief.

Zimmerer Tales

I logged in to the blog today and found myself surprised that it has been nearly six months since I last posted. Wow, has time flown by!

I’m going to be posting some of my thoughts going back in time as well as forward because, you see, during this time some amazing things have happened. Some of them have been wonderful and others have rocked my world.

I’ve been finding it difficult to pen my thoughts because they have been so scattered, have involved interpersonal relationships as much as internal battles, and my feelings have often been difficult to pin down. At the same time, I’ve been afraid to write because I’ve fallen back into that old thought pattern that everything I pen has to have some kind of happy ending, a moral of sorts…and sometimes that is difficult…but you’ll learn more about our trials in other posts.

First I’d like to share that today is my twentieth anniversary. Twenty years with my beloved Albert. All those years ago I thought I was defective in some way, that I would never find a relationship that would last…yet now I’ve marked one fifth of a century with my man. What a blessing. I am deeply grateful…and still deeply in love.

Looking out the window, I see that it’s also a day when one of my favorite things in nature is happening. It’s raining leaves. The wind is whipping the colorful kites around instead of letting them simply float to the ground and I find that amusing. The change of color has happened gradually this year instead of all at once; I’m not sure which I favor the most, quickly or slowly, but I treasure the days when green turns to gold, just before the world moves into it’s time of rest.

Yet, I had to cut-n-paste these blessings from the bottom of this tale to the top. I had to consciously choose to count my blessings because it has been so difficult to think about anything beyond how to get Ryan’s health issues fixed. Housework, schoolwork, all the other responsibility besides finding answers for my son, pales in my thoughts. Watching, waiting, counting the breaths (or lack of them) when he is asleep, forgetting to breathe myself during the episodes, is wearing me out. At the same time, all is hopeful for my son. If it is a pituitary tumor, as all indications predict, if it isn’t “curable” it is at least controllable. I can’t imagine how horrible it must be for parents who have no hope for the recovery of their child.

Part of me knows that he’ll be better once we get treatment on the road, however, another part of me realizes deep inside my soul that things are changed forever, it’s another of those lines of “before” and “after” that run through my existence. Although life will, at some time in the future, settle into some new sense of normalcy, I miss the way things were. I have been deeply grateful for my children’s’ health yet I took it for granted. Now I find myself counting breaths anytime a loved one is asleep in my presence, the rise and fall of their chest, the rhythmic breathing, no longer taken for granted. It is a creepy thing.

Help me, Oh, Lord, to remember that all is in your hands. Help me to keep on an even keel, to take care of myself so that I can give to those whom I love. Help me to do whatever-is-next on the list of priorities so that problems don’t overshadow the joys of living in Your light. Just as you’ve seen me through trials for so many years before, I trust that You’ll see me through the years to come…and especially the difficult days until we get some answers (and some relief for the fatigue) for Ryan. I believe, Lord. Help me in my unbelief. But most of all, Father, help me to remember to count my blessings instead of dwelling on my problems.


Thanks for logging in. I appreciate you.

Tutoring Lyuda

One morning a couple of weeks ago, in one of those bittersweet moments that have a way of marking time as "before" and "after," I put my tea pot up.

That doesn't sound like a big deal, but the action brought me to tears. Why? Well, that is a long story.



My tale begins one Sunday morning in the spring of 2001 when Albert walked into the bedroom as I was getting ready for church and announced that we needed to try to adopt a daughter.

The sudden statement knocked me for a loop.

Please don’t get me wrong. I understand that I have a lovely family; I realize to the very depths of my heart that I’m lucky beyond words to have been given four wonderful sons, seven years as a full-time mom, five of them homeschooling, and a plethora of volunteer work to pledge my talents to. For these and my many other blessings I am deeply grateful.

BUT… there are moments when I long for a daughter. Albert and the boys have known of that desire for years and are real dears when I feel cranky and outnumbered by the sheer male-ness of my household, especially when testosterone seems to be dripping down the walls. Then there were (are?) the times, especially when the boys were younger, when simple tasks like attempting to purchase clothing for myself seemed to call attention to what I didn't have...

“But Mom, this is GIRL stuff…”

Humph…last time I looked I was still a girl. Sometimes that fact seems to get lost in the shuffle.

Although Albert and I talked about adoption numerous times, we’d just never done anything about it…until that fateful Sunday morning. After a family meeting in which our sons wholeheartedly supported the quest, Albert and I decided to look into domestic adoption via the foster care program.

The next day we began our journey…and a voice from Child Services suggested we check out the web site to see if there were any "available children we might be interested in." I don't know what I expected, but THAT wasn't it. The whole thing felt degrading, sort of like staring through a pet-store window at puppies, trying to pick out the Right One.

I wasn't picking out a new pet...those were children!

Still, we decided to go on with the process, then, relatively quickly, we came across several heartfelt objections (the deal-breaking kind) to some of the mandatory governmental requirements and restrictions. THEN… we looked into out-of-country adoption but found that we weren't anywhere close to being able to fund that option (the pesky more-month-than-money thing again…). So, when our own ministrations fell devastatingly short, I put the whole thing in God’s hands.

If we were supposed to adopt, the Lord would have to make it happen.


Part of me wishes this were the tale of how the Lord put a little girl (or two, or three?) on our doorstep to take and raise as our own. But, alas, that doesn’t seem to be in His plans. It’s been three years now…and we’re not getting any younger...and still nothing so far.

Nothing, that is, except a periodic, heart-rending, bone-deep longing to share the gifts the Lord has given me with a daughter for a change.


Right now seems to be the appropriate time to digress and share that I spent much of 2004, and now 2005, praying about my family’s growing need for extra income. The same more-month-than-money issue that stopped out-of-country adoption began curtailing visits to the grocery store as fuel prices soared. Everything was (is?) going up…insurance, taxes, cost of living ... everything, that is, except Albert’s paycheck, which took a huge hit in his employer’s downsizing of 2003. Things were getting so tight that, at the beginning of the summer of 2004, I looked into getting a part time job. Gratefully I was quickly offered a position but, after more prayer, felt led to turn it down.

Yup, you read that right. I told them no. Sometimes the roller coaster ride that is faith in God’s plan can be a bit taxing. First the Lord asked me to look for a job, and then He seemed to be urging me to turn it down. Why couldn't He make up His mind?

It was a difficult, yet remarkably simple decision to make…and the fact that, after six years of being a full-time Mom at the time, I could still find a job was a boon to my ego. Yet there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the Lord DIDN'T want me to take that particular position and I felt deeply at peace with the decision.

But… the experience didn’t help our bank balance a bit.

Later that summer, in another of God’s quiet coincidences, I was given the opportunity to tutor the son of a life-long friend. The young man had encountered difficulties in mathematics and had failed a state mandated test.

I had only met with the twelve-year-old a few times when I began to suspect that, somewhere along the way, the quiet, intelligent young man had simply missed something crucial…and without any means of testing him, I couldn’t quickly find it. That alone wasn’t a problem. We just needed to keep working backwards until we reached a starting point, but he was soon to begin seventh grade and was facing Texas’ infamous “No Pass, No Play” rule. Since he wanted to play football, he didn’t have the luxury of time on his side.

After a few sessions I encouraged his mom to have professional testing done. Although I needed the money I was being paid for the tutoring sessions, it seemed in his best interests to be referred on. Within a week, professional testing showed a significant gap in mathematical problem solving skills that was the foundation of most of the other deficiencies. The decision was made to have the boy do several weeks of work at the testing facility’s learning center.

Once again I found myself turning down an opportunity to make extra cash. Unsure of what the Lord’s Will held in store, but knowing in my heart that I was doing the right thing, I took a deep breath and let go.

“Okay, God,” I thought, “this, too, is in Your Hands…”


As is His way and in His mercy, a couple of days later I received a phone call from Debra, another childhood friend who now lived down the street from my family. It seems that my name had once again been mentioned as a tutor, this time for her ten-year-old daughter who was struggling in math and language arts.

That fact that was hardly surprising since Lyuda had only been in the country for three years. Adopted in the Ukraine at the age of seven, the lively child had come a long way, but still needed tutoring to catch completely up. Would I consider working with her long-term?

God’s ways are certainly not our own…and when He answers prayers, He doesn’t do it in half measures. She didn’t have to ask me twice; I jumped at the chance.

Lyuda's mom had no way of knowing how much we needed the extra money. She also didn’t know that her request to tutor the dark-haired ten-year-old came at a time when I was struggling with the fact that my boys have grown up so quickly, nor did she have an inkling that I was again wrestling with the desire to adopt.


Somehow, I think God must have been smiling at me that hot July day because Debra's providential phone call gave me a chance to share my time and talents with a very special little girl three days a week.

Lyuda is extraordinary in her love of learning and I’ve never had the privilege of working with a child (including my own!) who tries as hard to learn as the bright ten-year-old does. In addition, her parents are loving and supportive in the desire for the daughter-of-their-hearts to have the best education possible…and I found myself deeply grateful that it was in the Lord’s will that I be part of Lyuda’s education.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons quickly took on a simple routine that became a delightful part of my week. The tutoring sessions all began the same way. I picked Lyuda up at school, then listened intently as she told me about her day on the drive home...for the first time in my life I was privileged to be the recipient of little-girl after-school news.

Once we reached my house I fixed her a snack which was usually accompanied by a pot of herbal tea. One of my favorite moments of the day was when Lyuda would stare fascinated at the stainless steel, whistling tea kettle while we waited for it to heat up. She loved the shrill call the hot water made that told us it was time to prepare our afternoon pot of whatever-flavor-we-chose-that-day in a much-used white and blue ceramic tea pot with an already badly cracked lid.

At first we served tea in some of my pretty china cup and saucers but she quickly showed a preference to my simple white coffee mugs. As the months passed, she even learned how to pour the hot liquid from the ceramic tea pot AND keep the lid on (something that still challenges ME!).


Then, one day a few weeks ago, God caught me by surprise when He unexpectedly answered my continued prayer for extra income in a way that made me catch my breath. In His providence, I was offered a part time job that exactly fit our needs -- but it came with a heavy price. Three afternoons a week would need to be spent in a Dentist's office in a nearby town...

...and that meant I had to give up tutoring Lyuda.


On our last afternoon together, I did my best to be brave, until, that is, her dad drove away that final time. Once my charge was out of sight I began to shed soft tears fueled by mixed emotions: acute sadness that my time with Lyuda had ended, profound gratitude for the hours I was privileged to share with her, combined with an attitude of expectation about the obviously heaven-sent, much-needed answer to my family's financial needs.

As you might expect, the transition from tutor to dental office has been bittersweet. I enjoy the new position that provides additional income, allows enough flexibility to continue homeschooling my two sons as well as continuing the volunteer work I love so much. Wearing career clothing again after so many years sometimes feels like I'm a little girl playing dress up and the Dentist I work for is a good, Christian man...but every time I see the white and blue ceramic pot or those partially-used boxes of tea in our kitchen pantry I am reminded of my young, three-afternoon-a-week charge.


And thus my memory-laden tea pot is now in the china hutch...and if the level of difficulty I experienced in penning this Zimmerer Tale is any indication, I think it may need to stay there for a while, too, or at least until I get used to the new order of things. But although I still miss my young student, looking back I realize that, at some time during my nine months with Lyuda, something unexpectedly wonderful happened. One afternoon pot of tea at a time, the Lord granted me a deep sense of peace that has softened the pain of my unanswered prayer for a daughter.

Instead He blessed me with the time I spent tutoring Lyuda.


Copyright 2005 by Jackie Zimmerer

Still Protecting My children

I had no sooner hit the "send" button on the story about protecting my children than I was presented with one of those God-given opportunities to practice what I preach.

You see, about that time my seventeen year old walked in the house obviously distraught. He was wearing that particular red-in-the-face look that told me he was deeply disturbed.

The details aren't important; suffice it to say that he was having problems with his job and was experiencing emotional overload. The situation, to me, seemed surreal...after all, I'd just written a story about backing off and not being overprotective of my children...but watching helplessly as my six-foot-tall son wrestled with something that was completely outside his emotional familiarity nearly broke my resolve. My mind raced and I was sorely tempted to turn off the practice-what-I-preach mentality in favor of switching on momma-bear mode. All sorts of "I-could-fix-this-if..." thoughts and scenarios sped through my mind as I watched Ryan hurt in a way he had no previous experience in dealing with.

The next few hours were like walking on eggshells in the Zimmerer house. Because Ryan was so frustrated he struck out in anger at US...after all, we're safe; he trusts that we love him unconditionally. For a time talking to him felt like trying to herd a swarm of wasps but I'm grateful that, instead of yelling at him, God gave me the wisdom to gently remind my son that we hadn't done anything to deserve his ire. I was also given the strength to keep my own emotions in check long enough for him to work through things.

But it wasn't easy. Every mother knows that there is a portion of her heart that beats in the body of her offspring... a very real part, yet completely out of the realm of her control...and on that day I felt my son's pain as if it were my own. My emotions were turbulent. I felt so helpless and, at the same time, I wanted to lash out, or pick up the phone and fix things. I wanted to wrap my arms around my baby-who-is-now-nearly-a-man and make things all better ... but ... something stronger, something deep inside prevailed. I recognized that if I acted on any of the things I was thinking I'd be denying Ryan the opportunity to develop much needed adult-type problem solving skills. Fixing things might make me feel better but difficulties-on-the-job is something he has to learn how to face...and letting him handle things while he is still young seemed to be the better gift.

But watching him suffer nearly tore my heart apart.

We talked off and on during the next few hours. He also turned to one of his trusted friends and soon decided on a course of action. At that point, his spirit seemed to lighten a bit and he was able to let go of some of the pain...he wasn't a hundred percent but his decision, and the action he took on it, made him able to have fun at the weekend 4-H competition in Houston he had committed to several weeks before.


I've found myself awake in the middle of the night several times since. That often happens when I am struggling to deal with emotional issues (or maybe it's just because I'm middle-aged...) and I've decided that when God wakes me up at that time of the morning He needs someone to pray. One of those mornings I was surprised to awaken already in the act of praying for those involved in Ryan's situation.

Besides being awake when I'd rather be sleeping <>, another benefit of making Ryan responsible for the outcome has been the refresher course that how I react to any given situation really is my choice. I can feel and hurt deeply yet still make the decision to offer prayerful love, respect and support instead of modeling manipulation, worry, concern, and anger.

For those of you who have known me very long, you'll recognize that the Lord is doing a real work in my heart!


Then, yesterday, as usual, shortly after noon Ryan left for work... only to walk back in the door about fifteen minutes later. The look on his face tore my heart in two.

"Mom, I've been fired."


Although we've discussed it, my distraught seventeen-year-old is having difficulty understanding the difference between being fired and laid off. His head knows that being fired means being let go due to some infraction of the rules...and that isn't the case. He has been laid off: the job, as he knew it, for reasons completely beyond his control, simply isn't there to go back to. But as far as his heart is concerned both things have the same meaning: he doesn't have a job anymore. Even though his only financial responsibility pertains to the cost of operating a car, suddenly his future is uncertain; although he has worked off and on since his early teens, this was his first real job and he is heartbroken that it ended like this.

What could I say? What could I do? I watched helplessly as my manly-man blonde offspring with the size seventeen ring finger stood in the living room, head hanging and bitter tears escaping his reddened eyes. My heart cried with him but, gratefully, my prayers during those middle-of-the-night hours spent tossing and turning had been heard. I was given the heaven-sent gift of a particular kind of painful peace that washed over me and I found myself able to sit quietly and let him talk. I didn't try to tell him what to feel nor to remind him that both Adam and Guy (his older brothers) had been through this same kind of thing. Thankfully God allowed me to allow Ryan to experience his own emotions.

After a few minutes of listening I walked over and gave him a hug. There wasn't a thing I could say to make him feel better so I continued to lend an ear for the next hour or so as he talked, knowing that nothing I could do would make as much difference as simply loving him. Later I silently praised God that I was at home to provide emotional support when this happened.


Through the years I've learned that, in most cases, problems are best dealt with by stopping to feel feelings yet still doing-whatever-comes-next. That's the only way my emotions don't overwhelm reality, so I did my best to continue to be understanding and supportive, and, at the same time, encourage Ryan to participate in whatever-task-was at hand. I questioned him about a bit of school work he still needed to do, then sat on the couch as he worked on (and asked questions about) the task. Then Joshua, who was through with his studies, wanted to watch "Cast Away." Usually we don't turn on the TV in the afternoon but yesterday a distraction seemed to be the best option, so the three of us sat and watched the movie. Then, for the rest of the day Ryan worked on a couple of projects and otherwise kept busy until time for bed.


I find it ironic that as I write my son is asleep just around the corner...I'm the one wide awake over the whole ordeal. Gratefully, while I have experienced a whole range of emotions and thoughts, so far I haven't indulged my temptation to want to fix things for my son. That struggle is actually why I'm up in the middle of the night penning this story. Words are my outlet and writing my way through trials and tribulations is cathartic...this morning is no exception. Although I've experienced several sleepless hours tossing and turning...and praying... since last Thursday, I'm thankful to do my best to act on the things that help Ryan the most...listen, love, and encourage...however, the most generous gift I can give him in this situation is my continued choice to consciously replace worry with prayerful support.

Even though I am wide awake...and it is now 4:45 in the morning, I have faith that, along with the trials of this new day, the strength to be loving and supportive ... but not overprotective... will be granted as long as I am willing to choose, then accept, that gift.

Jackie

Copyright 2005 by Jackie Zimmerer

Last week my seventeen year old son made a decision that went awry. No he didn't get in any trouble, he just chose an option based on an assumption...and you know what "assume" really means, huh?

To make a long story short, Ryan was shocked to find out that reality wasn't as he expected... so he had to spend several days trying to straighten out arrangements that involved nearly a dozen people. The fact that it was his responsibility to clear up is important because if he hadn't taken care of it, all the partners-in-the-bargain would have been out of luck...and out the cash...and the others affected would have happily stuck to their original plans.

Why didn't I fix things for him...especially since it would have only taken a couple of phone calls? Because if I'd straightened out the problem he would have been denied the opportunity to fix things. It was his money (well, part of it, anyway) and he enough desire to cause him to admit he'd made a mistake, then remedy his error. I'm proud of his tenacity, and, with the help of a couple of the other adults affected, new arrangements were made.


But encouraging my boys to fix their own mistakes...or giving them the freedom to goof up... hasn't always been the case. For years I dedicated my life to protecting my children, fixing things, making the road straight for them. I wiped their tears, shielded them from their fears, and did my best to cushion them from negative-feelings-in-general. I banished trial and error, kept out as much temptation as possible and enclosed them, metaphorically speaking, in a clean white paper bag with both ends sealed.
Then one day, God, with His usual accidentally-on-purpose aplomb, gave me cause to rethink. I vividly remember where I was sitting in a physician's waiting room when I absentmindedly picked up a Focus on the Family newsletter. In it Dr. Dobson explained what a disservice overprotective parents (gasp...ME?) were committing by not allowing difficulties, challenges and other life experiences to be dealt with and handled by our youngsters. He said it was necessary that our kids face, at some point in their raising, every emotion, both positive and negative, they would come up against as an adult in order to become a functioning human being.

At first my heart screamed that Dr. Dobson didn't know what he was talking about! How dare he criticize my style of parenting...how dare he tell me that I should have been allowing my boys to make choices, experience negative situations, and emotionally pick up after themselves instead of spending so much of my time and energy shielding them from life's hardships!

But the more I thought about it, the more the wisdom of Dr. Dobson's words shone through (although that took quite some time to internalize), after all I won't be around to fix things forever...and, come to think of it, at the time I was emotionally exhausted, weary of the weight of the reality that I really couldn't protect my boys from all harm. I was also incredibly tired of feeling like a failure when things I couldn't control went wrong.

It was difficult to make the mental switch in parenting styles...it has taken quite some time, and I'm not sure I'm "there" yet. While I've done a fair job with the oldest three, as of this writing I am struck by the fact that I still tend to shield my youngest child from his learning disabilities....

Alas...

However, the longer I have put Dr. Dobson's words into practice, the more I have come to understand the consequences of my overprotective actions. My intentions were honorable and good ... to a point...but I carried my need to shield them to extremes. I was showing my children love and protection in the best way I knew how, but in my desire to insulate-my-boys-at-all-costs, I was denying them the opportunity to learn how to make their own decisions, as well as experience the consequences of their own behavior.

In not allowing them to handle all-those-things-I-was-protecting-them-from, unfortunately I was denying them the opportunity to grow in the courage, strength and skill it will take to maneuver through the big, sometimes-ugly world out there. With the utmost love in my heart, the constantly-shielding behavior cheated my offspring out of the room to stretch and grow...and sometimes screw up. By not giving them that space I was denying them the opportunity to fall flat on their face, surmount difficulties, as well as reach great heights of achievement, after all, allowing them to make their own decisions also makes them responsible for their victories!


It wasn't until much later that I learned there is another HUGE problem with being an overprotective mom. The actions I took, entered into with the purest of intentions (to safeguard my children from harm), was interpreted by my boys as a lack of trust.

Yup...they thought that all the energy I poured into shielding them from life's sometimes painful lumps meant I didn't trust them. The day I found that out (after an argument with my then-twenty-year-old-son) rocked my world! I'd spent one-fifty-of-a-century wearing myself out emotionally, worrying, plotting, planning, all the while trying to make the road straight for my boys...

... and they interpreted my actions as meaning that I had no trust in them.

My intentions were admirable (at least in my eyes): I didn't want them to make the mistakes I've made. I didn't want them to hurt the way I've hurt and carry the life-long heaviness-of-heart (even after repentance and confession) that bad choices can sometimes leave. However the outcome of that safeguarding behavior was that my beloved children doubted their ability to make their own decisions. After all, they reasoned, if I didn't have enough confidence to allow room for them to make their own choices, then they must not be very trustworthy.

It has not been easy to let up on the boys and allow them, in the words of a friend, enough rope to hang themselves while still providing enough protection to make sure they don't fall too far. I've had to bite my tongue, sit on my hands, and choke back my instinctive reaction to some of the trials and tribulations that have come their way since. I've had to silently stand by (okay...as silently as possible) through rumors, lies-on-the-part-of-trusted-friends (who then bragged about "getting away with it"), friends-who-got-them-in-more-trouble-than-they-could-get-out-of at a party, and a whole slew of other problems. However, by letting the boys handle their own problems I have given them the gift of learning to struggle through life's challenges.

You and I both know that as adults they'll need that skill.


I read somewhere that my job as a Mom can be summed up in a few words: it is my responsibility to teach my children everything they need to know to live as an adult...then let go. Unfortunately for those of us who tend to be overprotective, that means I also have to teach them how to deal with pain, despair, disappointment and hurt. Lately that's meant letting them learn to value honesty by allowing them to experience dishonesty, to value truth via the effects of untruth and to experience the fact that friendship sometimes has it's limits. Their education has also included letting them learn about love by allowing them to see what happens when love goes awry.

None of these are easy lessons... and so, for today I am continuing to acknowledge that I can't make the road straight for my kids and I've come to the conclusion that I'm not sure I would if I could. Life, unscripted, is amazingly difficult at times, but knowing pain means that joy is ever more sweet.

Dr. Dobson's suggestion that we teach our children to handle positive and negative emotions and situations is, at once, both terribly difficult and amazingly simple. Part of me still screams that I need to shield my boys because allowing them to make and be responsible for their own choices when the problems they face seem to grow in magnitude...and consequences...is very uncomfortable As my family "ages" (I only have two sons left in high school, the other two are now grown men) the work of my hands is decreasing but the work of my heart seems to be getting bigger and more complicated every day...especially now that I admit that I'm not in control of their lives anymore.

Jackie

Copyright 2005 by Jackie Zimmerer

Taking Care of Myself

I woke up this morning feeling agitated and out of control. Why? Because my sense of having-to-be-on-top-of-everything has been set aside for several days and I find that VERY uncomfortable.

What began three weeks ago as a tight feeling in my chest has ended up being something akin to drowning in my own snot. I've coughed until my blood pressure is elevated and ...to put it delicately...I have the Mommy/cough/laugh/sneeze problem. Just suffice it to say that the doctor was right when she told me that the surgery to correct the problem in '90 would last ten to fifteen years...

Why does that leave me feeling so out of control (literally as well as figuratively)? Because taking care of myself when I am ill is something that is relatively new.

From the time my oldest son was born, I somehow internalized the notion that the Momma (wait, that's me!) waives her right to sick time. Yeah, I know that is a martyr-like attitude but I really believed that good Mommies forget about themselves and their own needs and, in exchange puts her children and family before her own welfare.

Problem is, I pushed myself so far to the back burner for so long that I started to neglect my own physical needs...and we won't go into the spiritual and emotional ones! In fact, over the last 23 years (Geez...I've been a Mom over half my life!) I lost sight of the fact that there are times when it is legitimate (and very necessary) to stop long enough to recover from whatever ails me.

Instead I've trudged through life as if a battle-weary-foot-soldier in some unacknowledged army. Along the way I also developed a warped sense of self-importance, mentally claiming total responsibility for the fate of my family. So completely did this myth consume me that, as time went on, I became terrified that if I left my Mommy-guard-post, even for a moment, something terrible might happen. If I admitted any weakness, the welfare of my whole family (and my whole life) might come crashing in.

I used to hold this martyrdom up like a badge of honor. "Always being there for my family," though, meant that increasingly I wasn't there for myself and, over the years, I drained my physical, spiritual and emotional reserves to a point where, at one time several years ago, I had nothing else to give.

Looking back I can see that what was really going on was a desperate attempt to banish (or otherwise ignore) a twisted, constant fear: if I wasn't perpetually on top of things, doing whatever-needed-to-be-done-no-matter-what-the-cost, my family might figure out that I felt like a fake, a farce, an imposter. What if they discovered that they didn't need me...

Instead of stopping and facing that fear, I ran from it, hiding, pretending it wasn't there. I didn't recognize that I was placing absolutely no trust in my loved ones and unfortunately, the harder I ran, the larger my fear became until it took on a life of its' own. The fact that I couldn't be everything-to-everyone, heal ouchies, kiss it and make it better, or even keep the monsters at bay, was too painful, too difficult to wrestle with, so I ran on...and on...and on...until one day I found myself on my spiritual, emotional and physical knees.

There was no where left to turn but up.


As often happens, God used my emptiness to begin a process that has given me a new foundation...but as wonderful as that is, it has come with challenges that reinforce my newfound state of life. The last two weeks have been a case in point.

My story goes that I've been fighting whatever-bug-it-is-I-have since the first of February. I didn't "catch" it but couldn't quite shake the tightness in my chest either. Then, early last week, I found myself feeling worse so, on Wednesday I decided to do something about it. That, in itself, is a big deal because we now have a deductible before our medical co-pay kicks in. I can't tell you how many times I've chosen not to go to the doctor because I didn't want to spend the money on an office visit or on the medicine...so making this appointment was a battle all of it's own.

Seeing that in print blows me away! What I was really telling myself when I "didn't want to spend the money" was that I wasn't worth the cost...and effort...of getting well! Geez... talk about a lack of status in my own scheme of things!

Anyway, last Wednesday evidently isn't a good day to get sick because the first available appointment was at 9:00 the next morning. By that time I felt like an elephant had taken residence on my rib cage and my breathing could be heard in the next room. Several prescriptions later I was sent home with instructions to make sure I took all of the back to back courses of antibiotics.

Physically I felt terrible but that night I had a commitment I felt I couldn't opt out of. The next morning was Enrichment, and since the boys love co-op classes I dragged myself to Gainesville again. Then, Saturday and Sunday I didn't feel any better but decided that I had too much to do to "let" myself be sick.

However, Monday morning my body decided I'd had enough. I came to understand (the hard way) that I had overextended myself in this particular mind-over-illness battle. Gratefully I was able to admit that I'm not SuperMom, nor am I SuperHuman and allowed myself to sit in my chair and let the world (and the fact that my family was leaving for San Angelo the next morning) go on around me.

In short, I made the decision that it is more important to take care of myself than to keep going while pretending I'm okay.

That may not seem like a big deal, but it was a HUGE step for me! Taking care of myself meant giving up something I really wanted to do (being with Albert, the boys and the other members of the Redneck Welders at the metal-shop show in San Angelo) for something better (allowing my weakened body time to heal). It hasn't been without anguish and struggle, though. I cried, argued with God and did all sorts of mental gymnastics in an effort to "feel better" all day Tuesday. But it was to no avail. I made the conscious and hard fought choice to let my family leave without me.

Through it all, though, God has helped me deal with my emotions, the periodic loneliness, and the cough/laugh/sneeze issue. He's granted me the strength to acknowledge that it's okay to feel disappointed that I'm not with my family, but it is more important that I allow my body time to heal. I deeply miss the fact that I didn't get to see the boys show the "Redneck Kitchen," their modern-day metal chuck wagon, the fruit of five months work. Yet I have done the better part, because to have denied what my body was telling me could have had dire effects...and if I struggled with spending the money on an office visit and four prescriptions, what would a hospital stay have done to my sensibilities?

I'm reminded this morning to let go of the fear of not being in control. I can choose to opt out of my mental wrestling match because doing so robs my insecurities of their power. My sense of self-importance, and the love my family has for me, isn't tied to what-I-do-for-them or whether-I'm-physically-present. They love me because I'm me ... and my ability to give my loved ones what they need is intrinsically tied to the way I care of myself.

So, for today, I'm taking my medicine (and eating yogurt to see that it stays down), getting plenty of fluids and rest, taking care of myself and allowing my body to heal all the while looking forward to the call telling me the results of the judging.

For today, the world will have to go on without me... I think it'll manage quite nicely.

Jackie