Comfortable in Our Own Skin

2008

I close my eyes and wonder what it would be like if we were comfortable in our own skin, my family and I. The pictures of us together are few and far between because the process of standing and smiling and making it look carefree and natural is painful. Save for a few pleasant surprises, the snap of the camera finds us frozen and stiff. Our discomfort is frozen in time for all posterity.

I tell myself that the color coordinated pictures other families pose for with abandon are only artful cover stories. That behind the white shirts and blue jeans and away from the sandy beach where their smiles gleam like polished pearls, they are as itchy in their own skin as are we. I sit in the dark while the tears slip down my cheeks. I wait for God to show up and tell me why. Why can't we be comfortable in our own skin like those picture perfect people?

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

If emotional work made itself known in the way of physical labor, I'd have bloody fingers and calloused hands from the arduousness of the effort. I look at my hands and imagine my heart as ragged and bruised as it feels. I put on my mask and smile and pretend we are one of those families on the beach, smiling back at you making you wish you were me. If only you knew the truth I am hiding.

The night is quiet and dark, and morning is on a relentless march towards me. Still I wait. “God. Are you there? Are you here in this lonely brokenness? Will you bring joy in the morning after the tears of this long night? Do you remember my name?”

Where has he been as my heart has broken in prayer? Has he heard my unselfish prayers crying out for the faith to keep believing and to keep reassuring my family even in the darkest of times? I have not asked for wealth or fame. I have asked for faith. I have asked for eyes to see when my heart is too weary to recognize reality. I have asked that my children have faith even stronger than mine. Still, I wait. I do the next thing and wait for God to show up.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

This week. This week has ground along with bone crunching agony. Waves of despair swept one of us away. In the heat of battle, despair over-washed us all. The very reassurance for which I have prayed mocks me. It flees from me as quickly as the dark from the dawn.

I have given chase until I feel as tho' I am chasing a fairy tale Gingerbread Man who will never be caught. All around me are reasons to give up. If I give up, how will we go on? What will become of us? Even tho' I don't want to, I move again. Doing the next thing because it must be done.

I am fighting to overcome 13 years of chaos. Chaos has consumed us for more than half of my children's lives. One grew to adulthood while we waited for normal again. In reality, chaos stalked us even when I did not know it was there. He hid in our lives like a suicide bomber waiting to make chaos even more chaotic at any given moment. How did we survive? How much longer can we survive?

It feels as if we will never escape. It feels too late. It feels as if chaos swallowed us up and spit us out again. The place we landed is so foreign and remote that we will never find our way back to where we should have been. I shake my head and clear the image. We will survive intact. We will find a way to thrive. Even if it kills me. We will.

2006 - A New Beginning

It has been 6 years now since I looked the monster in the eyes. I did not know all I would come to know. I knew enough. I staked my claim. I drew my boundaries. The room grew deathly quiet. The eyes looked back at me, unflinching, as if a 2^nd pair of reptilian eyelids precluded the need to blink. The stiller the frame the greater the need for fear. I knew that truth without being told. Still I forged on.

My breath was measured, deliberate. My heart pounded as if at the command of a drum major in a marching band. I straightened my back and locked eyes. “I am not afraid of you. I may be the only person who will look you in the eye and tell you that. I am not. I do not know how we will escape this situation. As God as my witness, we will. We will move past this chaos. We will put our life and our family back together. I don't know how or when. We will. If it is the last thing I do.”

2011

Six years later, life has returned to much of what it was before it disappeared all those years ago. Strangers passing on the street have no clue we are the walking wounded. But, we are different. Wounded. Faltering. Unsure. Uncomfortable in our own skin as individuals and as a family. A shell of what I had hoped we'd be or what we might have been.

I am weary of the war. I want to see my sons laugh with abandon and move thru life with a sense of well-earned ease. I want them to move forward without always checking over a shoulder to see if disaster is again waiting to pounce. I want them to have a sense of roots and community which was torn away from them because chaos was always at the door. I want God to lean close and whisper, “Welcome home. Take a deep breath. It is ok to be comfortable in your own skin.”

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Hello, fraidy cat. I do not know what your chaos is...only that you do not have to explain it to me. You are both safe and welcome here. One must not be a super hero of the faith to belong. We live in a fraidy cat world where everyone needs a safe place to call home. I hope you will find this a warm and comforting haven as you journey through your days. Come again often and bring a friend. Love you long and strong. See you soon? 

Courtesy B. Creasy

Hebrews 11: 1(ESV)

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. 

 

Hebrews 10: 39 (NIV)

But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved.

I Can See Clearly Now (Pt. 1)

Courtesy A. Squires

My roommate turned to give me one of those 'are you crazy' looks. She added an almost imperceptible, negative nod. The rest of my posse chimed in with vehemence. I got up and stalked across the cafeteria to prove my point. The person in question was exactly who I said he was.

I pulled up short – the smile of triumph changing to a gasp of horror. The stranger looked as if he wanted to turn and run from the crazed woman heading for him at warp speed. He sighed with relief when she pulled up short. My shoe heel squeaked from the force of my pivot.

I scurried back to the table. Chastened, I took my seat. “Uh...look at the clock,” I pointed across the cafeteria hall. “What time does it say?” Their answers did not match mine. They spoke as one. “Girl, you need to get some glasses!” I gulped and gasped as my mind came to grips with my new reality.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

A few weeks later the eye doctor gave me a bemused smile as he polished the lenses of my shiny new specs. “Your vision may take a few hours to adjust because of the degree of correction. Till your brain adjusts, things may look distorted. Don't plan on driving for at least 24 hours.”

As cautious as he was, he should have prepared me for the fact that I'd need a guide to help me walk as well. I put those glasses on. Five minutes later, the entire world went sideways. If I turned my head to adjust to the new horizon, it would flip back. And so it went for hours as I flipped my head to and fro trying to see straight. I walked like a drunken sailor after 6 months on a stormy sea. Waves of motion sickness washed over me for the next 36 hours. I didn't drive for 2 days.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

When my vision did clear, it was amazing. The trees across the 4-lane highway from my house jumped into ridiculous relief. Instead of one of those green blobs that appear on the art papers of primary school-aged children, each little leaf and limb appeared in startling detail. It was amazing. It was glorious. I was drunk off the reality of it all. And incredulous. How had I missed so much for so long and not known it?

Did you know your soul has a vision of its own? I had a sense of that reality as early as age 12. All my little friends had signed up for the rite of Believer's Baptism to confirm having professed faith in a good God who provided a Savior for their sins. Believe me, I accepted that reality with my entire heart and soul. But, I was still that tricycle riding rule breaker at heart.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

So, I did the unthinkable for a preacher's daughter. I said, “No thanks. Not now. Maybe later.” I'm not real sure one of the older sainted ladies ever got over my continued refusal. She looked crestfallen every time she saw me. If she was God's class monitor taking the names of the misbehaving, I'm toast.

I don't mind telling you that when my metal-head-of-a-music-loving Son #2 wrestles with the realities of faith, I get where he is coming from and can say so with conviction. I tell myself my past will contribute to his future in a meaningful way. There is no faith like a sweaty, hard fought for faith. Can I get an A-men? That's ok. I'm gonna tell myself that anyway.

Like Mother.... Like Son

Back in the day of my teens and 20's, my sense of dis-ease grew and grew. It's hard to explain given how I was in church on my 3^rd day of life and have clocked more pew time than most of my readers will in a lifetime if I never go to Sunday church again. The older I got, the more I knew there was more to know about my faith in a good God with a loving Savior as his son.

I couldn't put my finger on it. And, if I'd had the courage to say it right out loud, it would seemed blasphemous. The only preacher I'd EVER had was...gulp...my own father. Good daughters don't even imagine expressing doubt when it could undermine his entire career. Oh, the agony. His sincerity was insufficient to quiet my gnawing hunger. Wasn't there more to this thing called 'faith'?

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

There came a day when I could no longer refute my own soul-vision. In that instant, the world snapped into spiritual focus. I could see clearly for the 1^st time. I was again incredulous. How had I missed so much for so long, and why had no one told me? I was just as seasick as I had been the 1^st day I wore glasses. 

I was simply scared to death even tho' I knew I was on the verge of what I had always been searching for. I had found freedom but, in reaching for that freedom, I risked hurting the people whose faith I knew most intimately. Oh, the agony.

What about you, fraidy cat? Something about the faith package you've been exposed to all your life leave you wanting more but not sure how to find it? Feeling a little like a traitor because you admit, even if only to yourself, that you want more than you've been given? Does your soul-vision whisper there is more and beg you to come looking? What? You never had the chance to explore your faith? Feel jaded by faith experiences? Just plain don't know where to start?

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

It's cold out there. I know. I'm shivering right along with you. Come back tomorrow because.....you know me...this story isn't over yet. We are in search of my good God with the good plan. If you are looking for him too, why don't you tag along? Love you long. Love you strong. Welcome home.

2 Chronicles 16:9a (NIV)

For the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.

                                       Jeremiah 29: 23-24 (NIV)

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

This is what the LORD says: "Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom or the strong man boast of his strength or the rich man boast of his riches, but let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight," declares the LORD.

Torn Between Two Lovers

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creat

Her efforts at teaching me the fine art of hand tying bows would, in the end, be for naught. Her hands created a masterpiece every few minutes. My efforts came in stops and starts. Her bows were uniform and masterful. Mine were.....quickly unraveled so that I could try again. And again. And...I pretty much gave up by the 3^rd attempt.

Conversation flowed as furiously as the fluid motion of her fingers. We were like butterflies flitting around in a garden of conversation as we touched lightly upon first one topic and then another. Until, that is, I stumbled upon a trap I didn't see coming.

I don't recall the specific concern to which I referred just that I was praying for something specific. Her gaze had remained steadfastly locked on her work until that moment. The motion ceased. I looked up to see if someone had thrown a wrench in her gears because of the abrupt end to her labor.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

She stared me down with a perplexed and troubled look. In the age old manner that teachers speak to errant children, she said, “Prayer doesn't change things. Don't you know...it changes people. Prayer changes the one who prays..not the circumstances for which we pray.”

Thus it was I became aware of yet another issue that divides the spiritual hearts of men who name the name of Christ as Savior. I was into my 3^rd decade of life and had been inhabiting the halls of Christendom since my 3^rd day of life. How had I not gotten such an important memo?

Being as how I'm not a theologian and all, that great divide still makes my head hurt. Especially here in the buckle of what we Americans call the Bible Belt where there is a church on every street corner, prayer has been elevated to an art form. There are probably a bazillion books on how and what to pray. You can pay big money to go to conferences on prayer if you are so inclined.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Imma tell you the truth, with all the experts on TV, in the bookstore, and in the pulpit to tell me about prayer, I still struggle with that conversation of 20+ years ago. My family would tell you that I pray. A lot. In our homeless days, if our wheels were rolling, I was praying. I haven't changed much in the last 6 years in that regard. And yet, I still find myself wondering, “If prayer doesn't have any effect on my circumstance, why pray?”

Frankly speaking, there are days I don't wanna change anymore. I've been thru enough life changing circumstances in the last decade. I'd like to stay the same for a while and let circumstances change. Know what I mean? Especially this week. We've faced some stuff this week. Things that have left me awake in the night as I agonized with God over what to do and how to react.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I found myself thinking, “I really, really want to see God act on our behalf in a way that my sons will see their God as a God of action who intervenes on behalf of his children. It's fine and dandy if he uses the circumstances of life to grow our faith, but can't he do so by affecting the circumstances too?” Is that too much to ask after all we've been through?

I am torn between 2 lovers and both are named prayer. I do not know how to reconcile this thing we were called to do when Jesus taught his disciples how to pray. I can understand that as we pray, a Holy God can perfect our prayers and prepare us for the outcome he knows is on the path ahead of us. As we pray, he changes our hearts. Our actions and desires follow. I get it. It ain't rocket science.

I am the fraidy cat daughter of Abraham, tho. In my humanness, I also have a longing need to see a chain of events that lets me know God heard my prayer. I long to see circumstances evolve in a way that allows me to connect those dots as well. Don't tell me about how the Children of Israel had all that and still doubted. I got that memo in Sunday School. I'm looking for a deeper answer than that.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Earlier this week, my husband turned to me and said, “I am afraid.” It is not a comment he makes often. So, you take notice when he does. He said, “God did not protect me when I was young and could not protect myself. He stood by and let what happened happen. He stood by when I was sick and let us lose our home. How do I know I can trust him now?” I had no answer, but I understood the question.

Somedays, I feel like a length of ribbon. My lovingly hand-tied prayers are awkward and uneven. They unravel only to be reconstructed in hopes they will come together with craftsman-like perfection. Unlike my foray into ribbon tying, I'm still trying 20 years later. How 'bout you?

                                    
                                                        Hebrews 4:16

Courtesy B. Creays

Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.

Romans 8:26 
(International Standard Version)

In the same way, the Spirit also helps us in our weakness, since we do not know how to pray as we should. But the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans too deep for words,

I Looked in the Mirror....and Saw Richard Branson!

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Piers Morgan, Larry King's CNN replacement, interviewed Richard Branson tonight. Branson owns Virgin Air and a bunch of other stuff that mere mortals aren't allowed to own. The way I hear it, only God is richer than Richard Branson. Which is an interesting irony given the story I just heard Mr. Virgin Air tell.

As he told it, he and a friend recently argued about the existence of God while seated at the dinner table of his Necker Island vacation home. He OWNS the ENTIRE island. The house has hosted the likes of Oprah, Lady Di and the Princes, and other ultra rich, famous people.

In case you aren't the newshound I am, let me give you the 411. That same house burned down a few weeks ago. It burned down while a violent rain storm, kicked up by the soon to be Hurricane Irene, was dumping INCHES of rain on the island. The famous actress Kate Winslet carried his mom out of the blaze because the octogenarian couldn’t move faster than a burning tropical hut/dream house. Amazingly, no one was injured.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Wanna guess what night the fire occurred? Branson and his friend ate and argued about God's existence, went to bed, and woke up with the house in flames that very same night. It was in ashes within 10 minutes despite the fact that Baby Irene was dumping as much water on the place as a battalion of fireman would have used to hose it down.

I'm thinking if I was him, I'd feel like I heard God's answer to the debate. A 10 minute fire on a Robinson Caruso-like island that destroyed my house during a rain storm, without anyone coming to bodily harm, would make me a believer before the first flame died out. Know what he said? He says he still wishes someone could convince him of the existence of God. He WANTS to be convinced. He said so. I could see the intensity of that desire in his eyes right here in my living room.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Oh my! Poor Mr. Branson and poor me. When I think about my journey over this last few years, I think I look a whole lot more like Mr. Branson than I'd like. As he spoke, I could see what I thought was an almost painful hunger to know the truth. It seemed to me that he is having a real crisis of faith in his...well...lack of faith. He's got all that money, all that stuff, all those beautiful, famous friends....and down deep inside, he is a fraidy cat just like me.

He must be brilliant or at least know how to surround himself with brilliant business people. Yet with all that intellect, he too is flummoxed by the most foundational questions in life. Is there a God? If there is, why did he put me here? What is my ultimate purpose? Who am I in the grand scheme of things? How can I really know if he is there and that he is trustworthy?

I strained toward the television to catch every inflection of his voice and every mannerism. There it was....his inner fraidy cat! He's arm wrestling as furiously as am I; he just hasn't figured out with whom he's wrestling. I'd like to think I'm one step ahead in our mutual process since I've known quite clearly that God was at the other end of my struggles. I didn't have to wonder if he existed or if my wrestling match was worth it.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

One need only look at the complexity of creation to know that each member of nature cries out in testimony to the fact that a Creator God exists. That Creator God uniquely designed each one of us, and every member of the natural world, to fulfill a specific purpose. Nothing else can do what a click beetle, platypus, jellyfish, Venus fly trap, calla lily or mushroom can do. No one else can fill the spot in God's plan for time and eternity that I will fill. There will be only one YOU in all the expanse of time...even if you are an identical twin.

Perhaps I've had a spiritual mid-life crisis of sorts? Perhaps he is having one as well? Here I am wondering who I'm supposed to be when I grow up. I'm especially puzzled about that answer now that it seems God has made it plain he doesn't need me on his cheer leading squad. At the same time, the world's richest man – who can be, buy, or do anything he wants – is crying out to know who he is in the grand scheme of things too. Man....like they say: money can't buy everything. If it could, I think he'd have bought his answer by now. It would be a lot easier and less painful than sitting around debating the what if's and what if not's with friends. Quicker too!

I, for one, really know how it feels to have a desperate inner fraidy cat like that! I could have taken the coward's way out and kept on pretending that I had all the answers. I know it would make a lot of folks feel a lot more comfortable around and pleased with me if I just sucked it up and uttered a lot of 'God is Good. All the Time'-s. I just reached a point that I had more questions than answers. A long time ago when I was a kid, some adult told me that when you reach that point in life, you are a bona fide adult. YIPPPEEE. Not.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Just like I got sick and tired of secret keepers and mask wearers, I got tired of feeling as tho' it was un-Christian to wrestle with my faith and admit that the battle was hot, lonely, and scary. In fact, I imagine my battle is about as ugly as the effort Mr. Branson and his resort guests launched that night during the fire. From where I sit tonight, I'd say my effort is as worthwhile as the one he put forth during the fire to save lives.

Mr. Branson has reported that they will rebuild his island oasis bigger and better than before in time for his daughter's wedding. Again, I think we have something in common. A fire (of sorts) destroyed all I had hoped to be and all that I had worked to become. I am writing my way back to God. In the process, I hope to rebuild my life and myself from the ground up again too.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I'll pray for Mr. Branson tonight. In fact, as crazy as it sounds, I'll probably remember him in my prayers often. Maybe as often as I remember the troubled couple in the grocery store parking lot. Given the enormity of his recent post card from Heaven, I hope he wakes up and smells the coffee – once the smoke from the resortfire clears his mind, that is!

Love you long and strong. You are fearfully and wonderfully made with a unique purpose that is yours alone to fulfill. Let's conquer those inner fraidy cats together....and do something fearfully wonderful. Ok? See you tomorrow. I'll be here if you will!

Romans 1:20 (International Standard Version)

For since the creation of the world, God's invisible attributes-his eternal power and divine nature-have been understood and observed by what he made, so that people are without excuse.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

1 Corinthians 26-29 (New American Standard)

For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no man may boast before God.

A Fraidy Cat Prepares for an Empty Nest

Don't let anybody kid you. The empty nest thing - you start prepping for it the day you let the first one check the mail or park the trash on the street. You don't successfully navigate that step till you cut the rope you tied around the child's waist to tether him/her to the front door. 

Depending on who you are, it's all uphill from there. Meaning as a parent you spend most of your life walking uphill both ways while barefoot in the snow. (Southern speak dictionary available upon request.)

I know I'm a different breed. I figure it is my job on this earth to set my kids free to live bigger and broader than I was allowed to live at their ages.  That process started the 1st day of Son #1's K5 experience.

At the time, I had taken a solemn oath that I would NEVER (*interject sniff of superiority*) become one of those weird homeschooling moms that wore Birkenstocks with denim skirts, used homemade deodorant, and ate only homegrown organic vegan.

The collective K5 mom roar began in early July. Moms anticipated the dreaded first day. Most pictured a day of tears, fears, and jarring encounters as arms were pried lose from waistlines. Those were the mental imagines of  principals ushering moms out of Muffins for Moms while insisting the event did not last till the dismissal bell at 2:30p.

I always wondered if my little clutch of friends eyed me suspiciously because I was eerily quiet during these pre-game sniff-fests. My future looked rosy. 

1998

Instead of fears and tears, I anticipated hours at the gym followed by a few chores to justify my husband paying me to be a stay at home mom. I figured I'd followed up with some well deserved bon-bons and a book or talk show. The only thing I saw myself missing was a pool complete with cabana boys!

When the day came,  I tried not to dance as I took the obligatory 1st day of K5 picture. His K5 teacher was a dream. The classroom was awash in fairy tale themed props complete with a floor to ceiling beanstalk and Jack's leg dangling from the ceiling.

Courtesy M. Horrocks

I worshiped the ground that woman walked on. Even still, I hugged my brave fella goodbye, wished him a good day, and turned on my heel before he could see any glimmer of doubt on my face about what I was getting us into.

I figured I could do one of two things. I could set that kid free to live with my confidence, or I could forever tether him to my front door with my doubt.

Homeschool friends know how to Par-tay! 

I never saw it coming. I denied I'd ever do it. No one was more shocked than me when we began homeschooling mid-way through first grade. I have yet to wear Birkenstocks, have been told by really sweet friends to lose the denim skirt, and have never used homemade deodorant.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should report that I am moving my family toward a real food diet and have even flirted with the idea of paleo. Even tho' we came home to school, I never stopped seeing my role as that of facilitator toward the front door and right on out into the big wide world.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Over the years, there have been plenty of crossroads complete with gut-busting choices. One choice would have kept my child cloistered and tethered to the front doorknob of our home. The other would set him free to fly.

Despite having been told my sons have learning issues which would affect social interactions, I continued to look for ways to equip them to live larger than I was encouraged to live and to live more successfully than the doctors who evaluated them predicted.

I agonized when the church van pulled away to take son #1 on his 1^st and 2^nd Middle School ski trips. 

I was an old hand at how hard it was to set him free to fly when he went on a High School summer mission trip to inner city Atlanta. It was, however, still no easier when he spent a week in his mid-teens doing inner city housing rehab in coastal South Carolina.

I got really good at one part of the process, I think. I got really good at NEVER letting him see me flinch. We always reminded him we were as close as the phone if anything or anybody seemed amiss. 

Other than that, we never hesitated until after the wheels had turned enough revolutions to have him safely out of sight. Then, my heart sighed as I wondered, “What have I DONE?”

Yep. Yep. Ask me about socialization. 

We must have done something right because this kid with all the 'social' complications of his LD entertained a group of almost eighty at his 17^th birthday party. Take that all you doctors that told us how life was supposed to be for a kid with his diagnosis.

 He graciously extended the invites to his friends and their families. Homeschooled kids don't get the memo that they must only invite kids their own ages to big events in their lives. I present the pictures as exhibit #1 if ever unknowing prey wanders into my 'but what does a homeschooler do about socilization' trap?

2009

A year later, Son #1 surpassed his fraidy cat mom. A passport took him on his first airplane flight all the way to China and back. I'm clearly allergic to post 9/11 flying and even more clearly allergic to passports. Therefore, you know I was gratified that I had given this son of a fraidy cat wings to fly - literally.

Courtesy H. Wills - 2011

Two years later, he accepted a consulting job in Australia and flew solo to a country where his only contacts, apart from business, were blog friends who lived a four hour flight from Brisbane. He celebrated his 21st birthday in the company of strangers a week after he arrived.

As I write this post, my head is full of those memories tonight because we put Son #2 on this 1^st bus to camp today. He's had a lot more to deal with in regard to bullies than his older brother did. So, he left us with emotions that are as raw as sunburned skin.

Prayers, Tears, and Fears for Parents in a Fraidy Cat World

We are hoping he has a week of respite away from his tormentors. We are hoping the week will refresh him socially and spiritually. The camp staff has assured us they are on top of it. We are giving them a chance to put their actions where their words are.

The jury is out as I wonder yet again, "What have we done?"

And me? Today I did what I always have done. I hugged him long and strong. I told him to go make me proud. I affirmed the incredible chance he had to go where he was going. I reminded him we were as close as a phone call if anyone or thing seemed amiss.

I blinked . . . 

Then, I pointed him toward the door and watched as he walked to the car with his Dad and world traveling brother.  My men going off to face the world as a team.

I'm a fraidy cat. I don't fly. My kids? One day...they will soar right out of my nest and into the world I tried my best to prepare them for. And then, I'm going to go sit by a pool, eat bon-bons, and watch the cabana boys. Yea...that's my story. And, I'm sticking to it.

. . . and they were grown. 

Come back tomorrow and bring a friend? I think I can face Part 6 of my story as I write my way back to God. Thanks for your patience as I grope my way in the dark. I'm not nearly as a-skeert as I was now that I know I'm not alone. I see your clicks on my page and I hear you say,  "Go, Fraidy Cat, go!" So, if anyone asks, remember to tell them: Fraidy cats rule!

To read more about my parenting and homeschooling adventures, you might enjoy:

Fraidy Cat Parenting in a Fraidy Cat World

Mamma, Don't Pray

The Gentle Art of Kamikaze Parenting

Psalm 112: 1,2 (Amplified Bible)

Praise the Lord! (Hallelujah!) Blessed (happy, fortunate, to be envied) is the man who fears (reveres and worships) the Lord, who delights greatly in His commandments. His [spiritual] offspring shall be mighty upon earth; the generation of the upright shall be blessed.