Category: Growing as a Person (Page 8 of 9)

My Broken Wedding Vows

August 7, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 0 Comments

My husband and I had agreed to exchange cards instead of gifts for our 27th anniversary since our finances and time were being consumed by our only daughter’s wedding coming up eight days later. I pondered what deep words to inscribe into the card and decided to track down our wedding vows and copy those words as my message to him in the card. I searched through boxes and closets to locate the wedding memory album that contained the vows. I finally found the book in an obscure corner of a bookshelf and flipped to the proper page. Memories flooded my mind as I thought about the evening we composed our vows. Two 22-year-old children who didn’t have a clue of what the years would bring discussing and drafting what we thought marriage would look like. If I recall correctly, afterward we collaborated on drawing a mustache and horns on Susan Lucci on the cover of TV Guide. That shows how mature and ready for marriage we were. I was shocked at the idealistic words we came up with, which read,

“I commit my life to you before all these witnesses.

I will use all of my tomorrows to the best of my ability to share with you in responsibility of creating a Christian home, full of love and understanding.

I will encourage and support you through all times, both good and bad.

I promise to always respect you and your ideas, and to never put myself first, but to always build you up.

And I ask you to hold me accountable in keeping God the center of our marriage.

I will be the best mother than I can be to our children.

And I promise to be your best friend for the rest of my life.”

I’ve broken these vows! How many times in our marriage have I selfishly put my needs above his? Have I always been the encouragement and support I should have been? Have we been accountable to one another about keeping God the center of our marriage? Is our home full of understanding? I started to panic.

Then I reflected on what we had done right. We are still best friends, and we’ve devoted ourselves to raising the children we’d not yet met when we wrote these words into amazing adults.

One of those amazing adults lay sprawled across our bed chatting with me two days before her own wedding. She confided that she hadn’t finished writing her vows. Now that I knew where ours were located, I pulled the book out and showed her. Her eyebrows rose as she silently read the promises and she muttered under her breath, “That’s a lot!”

Marriage is an arduous journey, yet so rewarding. I’ve made plenty of mistakes. I’ve been so frustrated at times that I couldn’t see straight. I’ve wondered if we would beat the odds and keep our marriage together. Yet when I wake up early and watch my husband sleeping beside me, I can’t imagine being anywhere else. I’m even more in love with him than the day we wrote the vows we’ve broken.

Confessions from the MOB

June 29, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 0 Comments

No, I haven’t joined organized crime. No, I am not part of an angry crowd. In nine short days, my only daughter is getting married, and I will be the Mother of the Bride.

Here are some observations I have about this time:

My emotions are constantly whirling…One minute I am so excited for the wedding and my daughter’s marriage and the next minute I can’t hold back the tears.

I really like hanging out with my daughter.

There are more expenses and decisions than I ever anticipated.

I can’t please all people at all times.

Planning can be a lot of fun.

I’m far more preoccupied with what I wear and how I will look than I thought I’d be.

Some of my suggestions are spot on, and some are really out of touch with the 21st century bride.

It’s not my wedding.

My daughter is going to be joined to someone else instead of us. Her name and address will change.

We do not need everything the bridal magazines suggest in order to get them married.

I have no control over the weather for the wedding.

Communication is key, and encouragement is vital.

It’s impossible to invite everyone that has been a part of Abbie and Joe’s lives.

I really miss my mom and wish I would have asked her all her secrets about wedding planning.

My hubby is a very sweet daddy when it comes to his little girl.

I really want to have a great time at this wedding.

I don’t know how I’m going to keep from crying on her big day.

I still think of Abbie as a little girl, but she has grown up to be an amazing and capable woman.

I’m really going to miss her.

It’s not about me.

Life is a Gift!

June 20, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 0 Comments

Today marks another anniversary that will always stick out in my mind. It may not sound like a positive experience, but it truly was a gift that redefined my life.

Three years ago today started as a fairly normal day with house chores, going out to lunch with a friend, then preparing to go to work. Then the day took a dramatic turn….I suddenly felt complete fatigue and collapsed on the coach. As the day progressed, so did my weakness, until I couldn’t move from the couch and I was struggling to swallow and breathe. It was frightening yet not totally unfamiliar. At the age of nineteen, I had been diagnosed with a neuromuscular disorder called myasthenia gravis. I had experienced bouts of weakness over the past 25 years, but this one felt the most severe. My husband was immersed in a project with a swiftly impending deadline, so I didn’t want to bother him, but I knew that I needed more help than rest on a couch could provide.

A few hours later, due to an insistent phone call from our daughter, Darren took me to the emergency room, and I was admitted to the neuro ICU and hooked up to a number of machines, especially one to help me breathe. Once I was settled there, Darren needed to go home and finish the project. I was still fully conscious, and my thoughts were beeping and whirring around in my head much like the machines that surrounded me. How had my life changed so profoundly in the course of a few hours? I’d always thought of the Intensive Care Unit as a place where people don’t often exit alive. Was the end of my time on earth near for me?

As I lay alone, I heard an electronic melody and immediately identified it as “Brahm’s Lullaby,” a song my mother had sung to me as a child. Was Mom sending me a message from heaven, calling me to join her? I later found out that the hospital PA system plays the song each time a baby is born in the maternity unit!

I reflected on my life…I had graduated both high school and college, married the love of my life, experienced motherhood with both a son and a daughter, and watched those two children graduate from both high school and college. Would this be the complete experience of my life? How would people remember me? I still had so much more I wanted to do with my life!

I received the blessing of a second chance. I stayed five days in the hospital before gaining enough strength to be released. The summer of 2014 was a limited one, spent mostly in a wheelchair at my dining room table with my Bible and a journal. I memorized the book of Philippians and found out just how much God loved me. He loved me so much that He didn’t want me living an over-stuffed, stressful life but instead one filled with purpose and love.

Three years later, I am in the best condition of my life–both physically and emotionally. Each day is a challenge to see just how many people I can make a difference with, care for, and love. I know firsthand that tomorrow is not assured, so I choose to live each day like it is the most precious gift that I could ever receive.

A Goodbye Said Too Soon

June 19, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 2 Comments

My Amazing Mom, LuAnn February 4, 1943-June 19, 2004

A girl will always need her mother, whether she is nine years old or forty-nine years old or even eighty-nine years old. I didn’t realize the truth of this statement until it was too late…..

So many of my earliest memories are of times spent with my mother. She taught me so many lessons through the way she acted and how she treated other people. Despite a difficult upbringing and unhappy marriage to my father, she remained positive and made it her goal to give us a better life than she had experienced. I am her youngest child, born when my mom was twenty-four years old. My sister was already approaching her 5th birthday by the time I arrived, so I had many hours of one on one time with her when my sister began elementary school. My mom and I shared a love of cats, chocolate, and the beach.

As I entered my teens, I became so determined to establish my independence from her. I regret that so much now. She loved me when I was quite unlovable. She retired to help plan my wedding and never complained as I squeezed her hand through each contraction of my two labors. She doted on my two children, calling them her “doll babies,” I knew she was always as close as the other end of the phone line.

Shortly after her 60th birthday, she began experiencing tremors in her hands. She kept this information to herself at first but then decided to seek medical attention to identify the cause. I was so wrapped up in my life as a homeschooling mother that I didn’t pay much attention until the day my husband came home from work early and wanted to speak with me privately. He compassionately told me that my mom had called him at work to tell him the diagnosis…cancer with metastasis to the brain. I listened in shock but then needed to spring into action as I accompanied her to many appointments and tests and helped her communicate this news to others.

The next year was a rough one as I watched her health decline even though she was fighting the disease so hard through radiation and chemotherapy. She didn’t want to leave us, but I felt her slipping away…..

During her final weeks, I would travel to her house for half of every week to take care of her. Even though it was so hard to leave my husband and children, I cherished the time with her. She could still talk and laugh and enjoy the Krispy Kreme doughnuts I would bring each time. Every day, I would sob in the shower so nobody else could hear.

One Saturday in June, my husband, twelve-year-old son, and myself picked up my ten-year-old daughter from camp close to my mom’s house and made a planned visit so Abbie could tell her Grandma Lu all about camp and my family could have a chance to see my mom. We spent a couple of fun hours together as Abbie sang camp songs and I attended to Mom’s needs. My sister and her husband were also coming for a visit that day as well. It was rare that we were all together since my sister and I were “tag team caregivers.” Mom was still fully alert but so physically weak that her legs crumbled beneath her and she scraped her leg, requiring medical attention. The ambulance arrived, and Mom calmly told the EMTs all the proper dosages of her current medications. Mom’s male companion, Jimmy, rode with her in the ambulance while my sister and her husband and my family and I followed in our own cars, fully expecting that Mom would be released after receiving stitches.

My mom lost consciousness in the ambulance and never regained it. After the medical personnel performed CPR on her for a while, we made the difficult decision to have them stop in accordance with Mom’s wishes. She died 13 years ago today.

So many times since that day I’ve reached for the phone to tell Mom some important news or to ask her a question, only to realize she can no longer answer. My absence remains an ache in my heart, but I have chosen to follow her example of optimism. Every day I do something that would make her proud. She will never truly be gone as long as her memory and lessons live on in those she loved.

I will never forget you, Mom!

The Race Set Before Me

May 8, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 0 Comments

I moved from California to Ohio between my freshman and sophomore years of high school and joined the cross country team to become involved in my new school. I had never been a fast runner, but in my unrealistic teenage thinking, my change of location would make me the fastest one on the team. I was the slowest member of the team, and I experienced significant knee pain. My high school cross country career ended after one season in 1983, and I never thought I’d run a race again.

One of our first races together!

My husband began running for exercise and recreation in the fall of 2009 when our children were in their senior year of high school. He enjoyed it, but I resented the time and money he spent on his new hobby. I had allowed the excuse of busyness and raising a family derail me from a regular exercise routine, and I had steadily put on nearly 80 pounds since my cross-country days. Running was the last thing on my mind or to-do list. Nearly three years later, when he couldn’t run a 5k for which he had registered, he asked me if I would walk it with him. I was surprised how much I enjoyed it. In fact, as I approached the finish line, I joyfully broke out into a sprint over the finish line. I was hooked!

On my first solo run, I could only run one block before I had to stop and walk. I would head out a few days a week and increase my distance each time. I finally could start running 5k races. My husband was supportive, and it strengthened our marriage that we could share this hobby, even though he was much faster than I was. He began running half-marathons and even a full marathon, but I was content to jog no further than 3.1 miles.

After some severe health setbacks, I became determined to complete longer distances. My husband and I signed up to walk a half marathon as he recovered from injury and I recovered from illness. We crossed the finish line of the Running with the Bears half marathon in 4 hours and 23 minutes on August 15, 2015. Since then I’ve gone on to run a number of 10k races and 2 more half marathons.

Crossing the finish line of my first half-marathon!

Crossing the finish line of my second half-marathon exactly one year later. What a difference a year makes!

It isn’t easy to lace up my running shoes in the early morning when I’d rather be in my warm, comfortable bed, but I’ve never regretted the decision to exercise once I’m dressed and out on the road. I have dropped 60 pounds and gained great confidence. The stress melts away as my feet move to the beat of the worship music playing in my wireless headphones. I’ll never be the fastest, leanest runner of the pack, but I am faster and leaner than I used to be, and I am thankful to run the race set before me.

Pure joy on my face after shaving 33 minutes off my personal record for my half-marathon!

What Compels You?

April 18, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 2 Comments

I remember mornings as a young child. My mother would wake me up and tell me to prepare for the day ahead. Whether that was going to the beach or attending school, I wanted to please my mom, so I obeyed.

College was a new experience with nobody checking to make sure I was up and attending my classes. I soon learned that one of the main keys to an A or a B involved actually attending class. I made every effort to be at each class section because I was motivated by grades.

Within two years after college graduation, I brought my firstborn home from the hospital. His piercing cries in the night and complete dependence on me jolted me out of bed multiple times during the night and early in the morning. Less than 17 months later, his sister arrived, adding her voice and needs into the mix. The next 18 years with them were thousands of mornings of rising to tend to their needs and educate them. My love for my husband and children and desire to be a great wife and mom got me out of bed morning after morning.

Then, the children grew up and moved out on their own. They no longer needed me to take care of them. My husband remained home, but he is better at taking care of himself than I am. I floundered a bit, wondering what would excite me enough to pop out of bed with drive, energy, and purpose each day. I wrestled with my identity and significance as a person.

My son moved out over six years ago, and my daughter has been gone for over four years, and I’m just beginning to get a more focused picture of what the compelling force in my life needs to be. It can’t be based on shifting circumstances, but it needs to be based on the One who put the circumstances in my life and works all circumstances together for good.

The following verses have been rattling through my minds this week as I considered Christ’s death and Resurrection. “For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that One died for all, and therefore all died. And He died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for Him who died for them and was raised again” (2 Corinthians 5:14-15 NIV). If I am compelled by Christ’s love, I have eternal purpose and endless possibilities. Christ’s love compels me to get out of bed on Mondays to walk both physically and spiritually with other moms on the same journey and to visit a widow to compel her out of bed. Christ’s love compels me out of bed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays to be trained and to teach in Bible Study Fellowship. Christ’s love compels me out of bed on Thursdays for a standing coffee date with 10 other women who sharpen me and point me to Jesus, to visit a friend’s mother who no longer drives, and to tutor reading at the local elementary school. Christ’s love compels me out of bed on Fridays to mentor up to 30 moms in our church’s Moms group. Christ’s love compels me out of bed on the weekends to spend time with my favorite person on earth, my husband. Christ’s love compels me to share what He is teaching me with you.

What compels you?

Sundays at 10

April 9, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 5 Comments

The last picture of my father and I, February, 2015

I had an appointment every Sunday morning for well over a decade that I seldom missed. I kept this appointment in airports, car rides, hotels, and outdoors, but I usually was at home. As the clock displayed 9:59, I would make myself comfortable and dial a Kansas phone number with my father’s words about curfew when I was a teenager reverberating through my head, “When I say 10 o’clock, I don’t mean 10:01. That’s not good enough!” As soon as the clock struck 10, I would connect the call and hear my father’s booming voice on the other end. Our Sunday telephone calls would last up to two hours as we discussed everything under the sun from gas prices to family life to health issues to Shark Tank, one of his favorite television shows. We never failed to tell one another that we loved each other before we completed the call.

My father was a good and brilliant man, but he was not easy to please. One of his favorite sayings was, “Be reasonable. Do it my way!” and one of his favorite books was “Winning through Intimidation.” He was emotional and passionate bout many things, such as real estate lending, his dog, saving money, and his family. I was the youngest of his two daughters, and by the time I was born, my parents’ marriage was already disintegrating. My mother and sister were extremely close, so Dad would often spend extra time with me. We bonded over reading the newspaper and taking tandem bike rides. He moved out when I was 6 years old and remarried when I was 7. Over the course of the next 10 years, he moved to three different states. I would spend summers and every other Christmas with him. I came to live with him and my stepmom, Marsha, for my last three years of high school. I really got to know him better during those years. By the time I graduated, Dad had already moved from Ohio to Arkansas and he and Marsha were divorcing, so I came back to California.

We never lived closer than 2000 miles apart for the next 27 years. We would visit him, and he would visit us, and we always had our Sunday morning chats. It was the perfect way to stay connected and current with him. In March of 2004, he called during the week, which was quite abnormal. The news he shared was urgent and devastating. He’d just been diagnosed with multiple myeloma, cancer of the blood plasma. Over the next 11 years, he fought the cancer hard with chemotherapy, stem cell transplants, and frequent discussions with his doctor. His final year was very hard on both of us. He fell many times and needed to be placed in skilled nursing care as his body weakened. My phone calls became more frequent. My husband and I flew out to visit him in February of 2015. He still believed than someday, he would be released from skilled nursing care back to his own home and resume living independently. By the end of our visit, he came to the sad realization that he would never drive or live on his own again. He chose to receive hospice care shortly after we returned to California. I called him almost every day after that just to check up on him and hear his voice. The last time I called, his voice was so weak that I could barely understand him.

Two years ago today, as I was driving across town on a busy day, I received a phone call from a hospice nurse. My heart sank as she asked me to pull my car into the nearest parking lot. I asked her in a whisper as I was pulling my Camry into a Starbucks, “Is he dead?” and she confirmed my suspicions. She reassured me that his passing was a peaceful one, and he was now free of the pain that had plagued him for over a decade. I never thought that day would come, and when it did, I felt lost.

Two years later, I still feel lost. Being an orphan sucks, to be gut level honest! I wish I could have one more phone call or visit with Dad to let him know that I love him and miss him. My world will never be the same, especially on Sundays at 10….

The Day My World Hit the Cement

April 6, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 8 Comments

This past Monday started out like any regular day, but I don’t think I’ll forget it for the rest of my life. I woke up and began preparing for a full day when I received a text from my mother-in-law that she would be in town. We only see her 6 or 7 times a year, so we wanted to make her visit a priority. My husband had already made arrangements to take the day off work because we had more than the usual activities going on that day. My daughter’s fiance’s parents were coming to town for lunch, to look at the wedding venue, and to scout out a place for the rehearsal dinner, and we were joining them. In addition, my husband had a doctor appointment, a lawn care person coming to the house to help us rescue our lawn, and a late afternoon training run for his upcoming marathon. I had my usual Monday schedule of walking 3.75 miles with the moms from my Mornings for Moms group at 8:30am and meeting with two friends for Bible Study at 10:30am.

It was a beautiful day for a walk through Bidwell Park’s lush foliage. We had never seen so many butterflies in one morning. My three friends and I were engaged in conversation about the joys and trials of family life. I tried to stay in the moment, but I was a bit on edge with our late start to our walk and the full afternoon awaiting me. As we rounded the last corner before heading to our cars, I stumbled over a piece of bark, causing my ankle to give way and hurling me toward the sidewalk face first. I didn’t have time to react before hitting the ground with a sickening thud. I pushed myself up to a sitting position and noticed the scrape on my sunglasses, the concerned looks on my friends’ faces, and the blood dripping onto the cement from my mouth and chin. I ran my tongue along my upper jaw and felt two teeth dangling precariously. The pain throbbed throughout my body.

My friends sprung into motion as Carol called her dentist to see if we could rush me in, Tiffany gave me her baby wipes and prayed for me, and Lori bandaged my largest wounds. Within minutes, I was in Carol’s Suburban heading to the dentist, stunned by how my day had derailed. The next hour was spent in a dentist’s chair as the dentist and his assistant fought to save my teeth and stitched up a gaping hole inside my mouth. My mind raced with thoughts of the effect this would have on my week and life.

I did not join my daughter’s future in-laws on the afternoon outing, but I did visit with my mother-in-law and her best friend. I expressed my hope to be teaching again by Wednesday morning and have everything back to normal. I awoke Tuesday with a groan as my body shouted in protest from head to toe. My reflection frightened me with abrasions littering my face. I knew it would be a long week.

Two days later, muscle relaxants are my friends. I have not yet resumed my normal activities and am not sure when I will able to again. Sleep is uncomfortable. I have only left the house to go to Prompt Care and the chiropractor. I still don’t look like myself. Eating is difficult at best.

We never know what will occur in our lives from day to day. We can’t emotionally budget for the unexpected, but we have to accept it as it comes. When hard times come, we have to look for the lessons in them and how much worse it could be.

How was your life changed by unexpected circumstances this week?

Celebrating the Empty Nest

March 24, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 3 Comments

Almost everything I have read while anticipating and newly experiencing the empty nest defined it in negative terms. When Googling the empty nest, words surrounding it include syndrome, coping, grief, depression, loneliness, loss of purpose, worry, and stress. It sounded horrible and something to be avoided at all costs. I briefly debated between never allowing my children to leave and bracing myself for the onslaught of this dreaded affliction, but I knew I would be stifling my children if I didn’t allow them to experience the independence that they were designed to attain. The fact that children have the confidence and knowledge to move beyond the four walls of their childhood home is a testament to our success as parents.

I have found the empty nest to be a time of joy, freedom, and celebration. I am not lying awake, listening for the key in the front door in the wee hours of the morning. The clutter and laundry only belongs to my husband and I. When we get together with our children, it is because they want and choose to spend time with us. We love hearing tales of their new adult lives, and we have new tales to tell them as well. We have the freedom to travel without much forethought about logistics surrounding the children. We no longer have bathroom wars over anyone taking too long or leaving it in poor condition. My husband and I enjoy each other and the extra space.

While we will always miss our children and treasure the memories of the years they were under our roof, it’s time to take an optimistic look at a job well done in raising our children to successfully fly away from the nest.

Those Dates that Stick Out in your Mind

March 24, 2017 / juliesc@pacbell.net / 2 Comments

David grew as tall as his father about the time he obtained his driver’s license.

As soon as I wrote the date this morning, I scratched my head, trying to recollect why this date stuck out to me so much… I know that March 23 is my paternal grandfather’s birthday, but he passed away when I was four years old, so that didn’t explain the draw. Then Facebook reminded me that eight years ago on this date, my firstborn obtained his driver’s license.

I remember the grin on his face after his successful exam, as if he could do anything in the world. I was so proud of him, yet I hoped that it wouldn’t mean that he felt that he outgrew his need for us.

This piece of paper or the date, March 23, 2009, may not seem like that big of a deal to most people, but it represents the beginning of my children’s independence. David no longer had to ask me for rides in the trusty family van, and he could give his sister rides where she needed to go. I missed the conversations we would have while driving places, but I confess it was so helpful to have an enthusiastic and capable substitute when I couldn’t drive or didn’t want to. It was also the beginning of my independence.

Each time that he pulled out of the driveway, I would marvel that my boy was old enough to drive and say a silent prayer for his safety. Eight years later, I still marvel…and I still pray.

What are the dates that stick out in your mind?