graduating from the small things

i know that in just a matter of days she'll march across a stage and receive her diploma. her name will be read and applause will be heard. she'll toss her cap high in the air and pose readily for 100 pictures with her dearest friends.

and i know i will feel it tight in my throat and hard in my stomach and so deep in my heart.

when this happens.

but it's today, today in the small moments, where i think i feel it most.

this final morning of high school when she asked me at breakfast to braid her hair.

i'm not sure how to put that feeling into words.

i've been braiding this girl's long, dark hair for almost 18 years. french braids and tiny braids. big braids and crowns of braids. swim meets and ballet recitals and volleyball matches and a million mornings in the rush before school.
there's absolutely no telling how many times i've stood over this oldest daughter with fingers braiding.

and, yes, i'm sure i'll braid her hair at least a few more times,
but never again before heading out the door before school.

because today was her last day.

all these years.
all these days of waking up early and climbing in a car and traveling away with backpacks and lunch boxes and projects and papers.

all those days finished.

i watched as she and her brother drove off down our driveway together. this -- their final trip to school as a duo. my camera snapping a photo from the front steps and they turn out to the road. their final morning together. these two oldest. 20 months apart in age and close as any brother and sister can be.

and this is where i feel it.


i'm sure i'll shed a tear or two graduation night. but, truly, it's in the small things like hair-braids and a brother and sister backing out of the driveway.

the big moments are great for marking milestones and major accomplishments, but we live in the small stepping stones of life. we live most deeply in the in-between.

in the little things.

and though we'll celebrate what it means to be fully finished with high school on graduation night, it is this morning, in my empty house, that i celebrate what it means to be her mom.

i will always love watching her in the big things ... but i'm so grateful i have been given the gift to have fingers weaving intricately in the very small.

asking. speaking. listening. trusting.

this has been one of those weeks which would be pretty hard to sum up.  a week rather difficult to wrap up.    it is friday night and i'm in bed early.  the hamster wheel has finally stopped spinning and no one seems to need me.  no one is calling. nothing is pressing.  sure there are piles of life in some state of disrepair...dishes in the sink...baskets of laundry...random stuff out of order...children to tuck into their beds.  but for the most part i'm done.  the week is winding down.  slowly. softly. quietly. finally.

but as i sit here typing, i'm pretty sure, as much as i'd like some rest, i don't want it to all be over. i don't want it really to end.  this was the final week of school for my kids.  yesterday my children walked through the doors of perimeter for their last time as pcs students and last night tyler walked across a stage and received his 8th grade diploma -- officially graduating from a place we've all called home for many years.  this week brought with it the end of a chapter.  the end of our time in a world which has impacted our family in a way i can't possibly put to words.


last week i underwent an unexpected surgery removing a mass from my breast.  this week another type of cutting.  another type of removal.  another type of pain.  saying good bye to a school, to a people, to an extraordinary place in time.  we aren't leaving officially until mid july, but for us, the school bell in georgia won't ring again....and this is unbelievably hard.  harder than i thought it could be.  certainly much harder than i want it to be.


i think i did a pretty good job this week keeping myself numb and together and slightly aloof. i  did my very best to keep the emotions in check and the tears at bay.  it wasn't easy.  but it was one of those weeks where i felt like i had no other choice but to be tough.  it was one of those weeks where i was certain if i started to cry, i wouldn't be able to stop. have you ever felt that way?  it isn't all bad.  i mean so much of what brings me to this sharp pinnacle of emotion is the pure joy and blessing of it all.  watching my 14 year old son, arm in arm with his childhood friends, young boys turning the corner into young men.  it was watching my sarah up on stage with her best girlfriends in her final talent show act at perimeter school singing and dancing to "we go together."  it was connor running to meet me yesterday afternoon with flushed cheeks, his last time wearing a pcs uniform, slightly rumpled and kind of dirty, of course.  those uniforms have been hanging in our closets and folded in our laundry room and discarded dirty on our bedroom floors for a decade now.  there were so many sweet moments this week as we wrapped up our school year and our time at perimeter.  too many to count.  words and hugs and hands held tightly.  the searing beautiful slice to my soul --  we love and we are loved.  is there anything greater?

ty introducing his mom at graduation 

in the midst of watching my oldest son graduate i also had the distinct privilege of being the commencement speaker last night.  i got the call a couple of weeks ago from the committee,  "jody, the class voted and they'd like you to speak at graduation." i was stunned with that news. as i shared last night with the audience, my first reaction was to get all weepy...but that quickly turned into feeling like i just might throw up.  i wasn't sure i could do this. i mean i knew this class well and loved them deeply, but speaking seemed an impossibility on a night like this, in a week like this, at a time like this.  i wasn't sure i would be able to get through the evening as just the proud mother of tyler, let alone take on the task of addressing these 79 teenagers and an auditorium full of their families.  i was overwhelmed. i mean it,  completely overwhelmed with the thought.  but, because i am a strange woman, i said yes.   "i'll do it. i'd be honored."


24 hours after saying "yes", i found out that i'd need not only to prepare that week for a speech, but also for a surgery.  i saw my breast surgeon tuesday and he delivered the untimely punch that he'd like to remove a troublesome mass (potentially scar tissue - but had to be sure) from my breast and he wanted to do it right away.  i would need to fit that into these final two weeks of school's ending, graduation planning and speech writing.  so as i sat there in his office digesting this news, my thoughts kind of went like this: "okay, so now i truly have an "out"...everyone will surely understand if i pass this opportunity by and hand off the speaking responsibility to someone else.  surely there is someone else not juggling a quick surgery and biopsy results a week prior to graduation. just call them back and tell them, sorry, i can't do it."  i talked to myself like this from the doctor's office all the way to my car.  and as i began to pull out of the parking garage i wasted no time in going directly to God.  i had barely paid my ticket when i started in with my words,  "tell me what to do, Lord...be clear...tell me what you're up to...  give me an answer fast Jesus, because i'm kind of confused here...floundering, in fact...hello God, it's me, jody, again...i thought i was supposed to be spending these next couple of weeks writing and working on a speech...does surgery change all that? help me out here. God? are you there?  are you listening? God? God? God?"


the monologue in my head hardly slowed, never stopped.  i just kept talking all the way home -- and not only in my head.  i mean audibly. if you happened to be driving on I-85 that tuesday afternoon, you may have noticed an odd woman in her black yukon talking loudly to herself behind the wheel -- hands motioning and head bobbing and shaking. all the way home i just talked and talked and talked.  i just told and told and told stuff to God.  i seriously was almost to my street before i realized i hadn't stopped for a breath.  and what's even more important, i hadn't stopped for one moment to listen. i kept asking God for the answer, but that entire 40 minute car ride home,  i never got quiet enough to hear what He had to say.  isn't that crazy? what's crazier, is that this is how i operate so often. i'm pretty good at opening my mouth, but forget to open my ears...my eyes...my heart.  oh for heaven's sake jody lynn, when will you learn?  be quiet. be still. just listen.


i pulled into my driveway and sat for a few minutes.  finally quiet.  finally still.  the impact of a second surgery set in...the craziness of the entire situation began to sink in...but in that stillness, in that sweet solitude inside my stopped car on my empty driveway i felt very strongly God saying, "just do the speech jody.  stop your ranting and raving and wild questioning of me, and just be quiet and do the speech."  and i had my answer.  sometimes it's like that.  clear as day. clear as writing on a wall.  but i first had to stop.  i had to be still.  it just took a few minutes...but i had to be quiet and listen.


and over the last couple of weeks as i have prepared for last night's speech...as i have worked on the words and the message and the timing ....i cannot even explain how God has used this time to work on me.  the surgery took place smack dab in the middle of it all.  more stitches and more sore ...a little more battered and a little more bruised...but reminded, once again,  God isn't finished with me yet.  God is always at work.  He isn't trying to wear me out, but He is wanting to reel me in.  He is wanting to pull me closer. through these crazy twists and turns of life, He is drawing me to Him.  and sometimes it hurts.  hard good byes, unpleasant surgeries, emotional speeches...come closer to me jody.  come closer. eyes on me, daughter.  it was the message He put on my heart  for those graduates.  "fix your eyes on Jesus -- the author and perfecter of your faith."  all last week i typed up those words and practiced them in front of the mirror.  i must have said that 100 times as i prepared to face graduation night.  fix your eyes on Jesus.  oh, isn't it amazing how God works?  those graduates may have voted for me to be their speaker, but God knew i, too, would need this message getting through this emotional time as well.  He wastes nothing friends.  nothing.  that unexpected surgery and the wait for biopsy results kept me raw...kept me close...kept me focused on Him.


i have to tell you, i was probably as scared of delivering that 20 minute speech as i was of that one hour surgery removing what could be more cancer -- maybe even more so.  it is crazy to think, but on the top ten list of greatest fears, public speaking is actually two steps higher than cancer.  (i just googled that).  can you believe that? actually, i kind of can after this past week. i mean i can do the public speaking thing, but something about this night and this audience and this moment in time felt HUGE to me.  it felt serious and grave and completely out of my reach.  i was so nervous.  i wanted to focus only on sharing with those graduates something good from God, but i had to first take my message to heart and listen to my own words -- fix your eyes on Jesus.


that night is over.  the speech went well.  i have sighed many sighs of relief today.  i am so glad i did it and so thankful the kids asked.  but mostly humbled to have a part in an evening like that.  we are so thankful and humbled to have had a part and a place in a school like this ...all these years.  i am not sure i'll ever be able to look back at these last two weeks and completely understand how God poured all that He did into these 14 final days.  it doesn't make sense to my small brain. and though i don't always understand the hand of my God, i am always learning, more and more, to trust His heart.   i know with complete confidence,  no thing happened this week which He didn't ordain, order and direct.  


all things hard and all things good for His glory alone. sometimes we are required to speak...and sometimes we just need to be quiet and listen.  i'm learning. 


"fix your eyes on Jesus --- the author and perfecter of your faith." ~ hebrews 12:2

a time to dance

it is early monday morning,  the sun not up yet, nor this mama out of bed.  asleep, i feel his kiss gentle on my cheek and hear his whisper in my ear, "have a good week sweetheart." and then he is gone.  the sound of his carry-on luggage and him moving down the front staircase.  quiet steps before dawn.  he leaves early every monday and returns late every friday.  home now just for the weekends. kind of like a sweet country love song.  except he returns to five children, saturday sports and yard work.  often when he rolls in late on these friday nights, the fridge is empty and the house is wild and the woman is just plain worn out. i am pretty sure we're in the middle of some crazy dance, but a slow country ballad it is not.


early on in all this weekly travel we made his homecoming an event.  in typical sarah elizabeth fashion, our middle daughter one friday night created a welcome home banner, complete with plugged in christmas lights.  "i want to make sure he can see it when he drives up to our house in the dark," she explained.  she knows her daddy returns tired too.  his week is long. his days are longer. the distance from his family grows greater each week. how many more months of this long distance living?


dinnertime without dad is another thing.  clearly we need his steady presence at the end of our oval shaped table.  it has been strange these past months eating our weekday meals without him.  i suppose the silver lining is now we all fit comfortably around the kitchen table intended to seat six. with rick gone, and one less body, it works.  but not really.  i'd much rather be smooshed together with one child perched on a pulled up stool, than have the extra space from a father on furlow. but it is the dance we are doing right now.  this tricky dance of transition where we attempt to balance what we are leaving and where we are heading.  we all feel it in some way. it is different for my husband who comes and goes, then it is for me.  not easier, not harder, just different.  then there's our teenage daughter. oh,  how my heart breaks for her.  people keep telling me how resilient and adaptable children are.  and i have to agree, they are.  but teenagers aren't really children and they aren't really adults and no matter what anyone says right now it's painful. it's just a plain old hard dance for her these days.


so we move on through our weeks in the whirlwind clash of closing down and gearing up.  all of this as we approach the month of may -- the busiest season of all for those with school aged children, mind you.  and when i peek into my calendar something in me wants to shut it back tightly and sneak it fast into the bottom drawer of my desk. something in me wants to pull those covers back over my head and pretend i have nothing to do and nowhere to go. how do i open my hands wide and willingly accept the long list of items in need of attention?  mom's attention. my attention.  how do i look across the breakfast table and meet the eyes of all five kids in need of me, one woman. how do i step into the dance and embrace this season of change.  this season of mondays and fridays, of comings and goings, of the comfortably well-known and the utterly unknown. i'm not sure. if i'm being honest, i'm just not sure how to do it somedays.


but how about you? what's the dance you're doing right now? we all have them.  mine might be unique to me, but the dance of life is intended for each one of us.  we all have some kind of  swaying which takes place in the midst of our given number of days.  God hasn't left any of us to be perfectly still and sluggishly at ease. He wants movement in our life.  it is part of the dynamic way He has created us.  sometimes the dance is about living in the moment and wrapping ourselves fully around the present...and sometimes the dance moves us forward, faster than we'd maybe like to go, madder than we'd like to be, headlong into the future.

i don't know when i will get to it all. somedays i stare at the pile and realize i have no plan and begin to feel discouraged and clumsy.  spinning. twirling. dipping. it all seems too much, feels too fast for my simple steps.  it is at these weary moments though when i am most reminded about the reason we dance.  
"let them praise HIS name in the dance; let them sing praises unto HIM with the timbrel and harp."  (psalm 149:3) 
i am reminded that it is not about dancing gracefully, but dancing gratefully.  i don't dance for myself or even for my family, i dance to bring Him praise.  and even a stumbling, clumsy gal like myself can do that when i keep my eyes on my partner...on Him.  and my weary, overwhelmed self can rest in His arms when i stop trying to direct the steps and allow Him to lead.   it may not be a slow country ballad...but even this wild dance can be a sweet song...a love song...when He leads.

there is a time for everything, 
and a season for every activity under the heavens:

  a time to be born and a time to die,

   a time to plant and a time to uproot,

  a time to kill and a time to heal,

   a time to tear down and a time to build,

  a time to weep and a time to laugh,  
a time to mourn 

            and a time to dance.

         ecclesiastes 3:1

 (okay, i'll admit, shameless sharing of my girls and their ballerina photos...

emily and sarah - both in 2nd grade.  bella's first recital is next monday!)