They came, they conquered, they left me beyond exhausted. It was our grandbabies second week-long visit since Alex was born into our home. Now, I’m rethinking my limits. There’s a reason God doesn’t usually give women my age full-time care of young children. At this stage in my life, I’m just not wired for it.

Needing new limits became clear as I drove home from a forest preserve with ten-year-old Madison riding shotgun. “Meema, I prayed for you. I prayed you won’t be stressed out.” Yikes.

Kids have a way of calling us out, don’t they?

Madison hasn’t always seen my best, but that visit was extra difficult and they all saw it. There were great moments like our backyard camp out with S’mores and hot dogs, Ashley at the bathroom door waiting to share a blueberry, Braden drawing a picture of Alex and, of course, Madison praying.

They may remember the fun more than my impatience but my stress level was unusual and my coping skills were weak. So, at least for now, something’s gotta change.

New life seasons require setting new boundaries. Without them, we become overwhelmed. I stepped away from my church responsibilities because my mind couldn’t handle one more thing to remember and plan. Sometimes too much of a good thing is simply too much. I wanted more time and brain space to pursue my passion for writing.

Years ago, I chatted with a mid-sixty-year-old man as we waited outside a J.C. Penney dressing room. His wife was inside with a wailing four-year-old and a toddler crawling in and out under the door. Giving up on corralling the kids, he sighed and slumped into a chair. Poor grandpa was exhausted and grandma just wanted a new bra.

They babysat those darlings six days a week. I was tired just talking to him. At least twenty years younger, I already limited my babysitting to twice a week and still do.

I sensed grandpa was motivated by guilt as if our kids are entitled to our time. As though we owe it to them. I know there are seasons when we dig deep, put some things aside, and help raise our grandchildren. Been there, done that. And, I’m doing it again. But if we feel locked-in, obligated day after day, always putting them first, we may become burned out and resentful.

Did we work all those years, raising our children to keep putting our well-being and interests aside? Are we still adjusting our lives to accommodate everyone else?

Putting ourselves first seems opposite to what scripture teaches. But, we also see Jesus stepping away. Crowds followed Him everywhere. Drained by whiners, demands, and even fans, He needed time to Himself, with the Father. He wanted to give His best for others. If the Son of God, the Creator of galaxies needed to set limits, so do we.

I’ve learned to put myself in time-out and reset my attitude. Physical exhaustion depletes my mind and drains my spirit. Grumpy dumps out of the bucket instead of grace. So, for now, my grandbabies will visit one or two at a time.

My friend, where do you need to re-assess your limits? Perhaps, it’s at work or in your friendships.

Author Anne Lamott writes, “No is a complete sentence.” We can say it without apology or lengthy explanation.

So, if you’re stressed, have courage. Set boundaries, and say “No.” Say yes to rest and doing that thing you’ve set aside. They will survive and you will thrive.

 

 

I typed away on chapter three of my book project, excited to make progress. A few hours later, I stared at the computer screen, asking, “Why am I doing this?”

News of shootings in Chicago and terror in Orlando made me consider better ways to use my time. My writing project seemed trivial and I wanted to quit. “God, give me perspective. Bring me back to my why. It’s a tad lost at the moment.”

He reminded me that hope for our world lies in changing hearts. That’s how I met Jesus. He flowed from the hearts of two men and my life was changed forever. Thanks to a realtor’s persistent invites to church and a preacher’s witty one-liners, I met Him for the first time.

Pastor Mike, a.k.a. Brother Mike, was a converted boilermaker from Pekin and my first pastor. I connected with him right away because our history has these in common: Illinois, bars, and beer.

As he led the congregation in that little Arkansas church, he had a way with words. Twenty-six years later, I still remember:

“What goes down in the well comes up in the bucket.” 

Profound truth, simply put. It helps me understand Matthew 12:34, “Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks.”

And I’m reminded of the power of words.

How many compliments do you remember? How many harsh comments or put-downs replay in your mind? We all know words can heal or hurt. They are influenced by the good or bad we allow into our hearts. We have a choice. Will our words help or harm? It depends on what we put in the well.

Wisdom from Proverbs warns us, “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”

In one of my favorites passages, Jesus invites us: “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” I want to speak life-giving words.

So, I ask myself: Am I drawing from fresh water? Or am I stagnate in old teachings and attitudes?

When I don’t read my Bible and meditate on its message, my heart gets selfish and shallow, grumpy and cynical. If I disconnect from God and His people, my well becomes contaminated and scum eventually oozes out. And it ain’t pretty. People aren’t meant to be the punch line of our jokes or the target of our put downs.

Don’t we all just want some good news? A drink of fresh water?

We may not keep violence out of the headlines. But, like Brother Mike, whose words changed me, we may turn a heart away from hate and anger and give someone hope.

And that reminds me why I write. My darkness-to-Light story shows what God does in a heart that chooses Living Water. Only Jesus, flowing from us to others, will create world change. One heart at a time.

So, what’s in your bucket? May we experience the change we want to see. Peace for your journey, my friends.

 

Photo from  https://pixabay.com

 

 

There was music and dancing and bowling and shopping fueled by fajitas and brisket and breakfast burritos the size of your forearm. As my husband, daughter, and I laughed with friends and dined on Tex-Mex, we made wonderful memories. After the fifteen-hour drive back to Mokena with baby Alex, we are exhausted, but happy.

It was a wedding that took us to Texas where the Army rooted us for eight years near Fort Hood. We have no relatives there but we have family. We spent every holiday from Easter to Christmas with the Knicelys. John, Linda, Laura, and Josh. There were feasts, fireworks, water balloons, and handmade confetti eggs to smash on whomever we could catch.

As summer approaches, maybe you dread the cookouts and celebrations. It saddens me  that some of us go to family functions out of obligation and can’t wait to leave.

I get it. Relationships are messy. Especially the ones we were born into because they have the most potential to hurt us.

Some wounds are legit and go deep. However, a lot of family conflict is petty. It’s often fueled by personality differences or something that started in childhood sibling rivalry. But, we’re grown-ups now. Think back to where the resentment started. Is it really worth wasting another holiday?

A friend tells me, bitterness is “like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” Why do we give someone the power to control our attitude? As Kimberly “Sweet Brown” Wilkins says, “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

We can’t wait for others to change. We are only responsible for ourselves. Romans 12:18 tells us, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”

Perhaps, we’ve been the jerk and need to apologize. It may not be accepted, but knowing we did our part, we are free of guilt. As for those who offend us, we forgive. That doesn’t mean what they did was okay, it simply means we want to be free of bitterness.

Maybe you’re thinking, You don’t know my family. That’s true. But, I know about hurt and dysfunction and how un-forgiveness robs us of life and peace.

Last month, a friend of mine died only four weeks after a terminal diagnosis. At her memorial service, her husband reminded us, “Don’t take family for granted. Tell them what you appreciate about them while you can.”

Life’s too short, my friends. Let’s choose well the memories we make. Hug ‘em while ya got ‘em, ya’ll, and pass the guacamole. I’m fixin’ to continue my big, fat Texas hangover.

 

Photo by Jessica Marie Melvin

I’m thinking about someone precious today. I’m remembering my Ashley Nicole.

She breezed into my life on the first of May, spring’s new, cleansing breath. She stayed for nine days and left on my darkest night. But, thirty-three years later, I rest in what she taught me. One who never spoke a word.

When we carried her out of the hospital, joy was new and bright like sunshine and birdsong. When she died, my days grayed. Grief slithered in to steal Ashley’s joy. But it’s back, because I fought for it. Well … not at first.

Our souls have an enemy. Where there’s joy, there’s a battle.

Our pain is painted on in layers. Some by others, some by our own choices. Mine was multi-tiered. When Ashley died, my suffering sealed all those hurting layers. My empty arms ached and anger towards God spiraled me further into a pit. My pursuit of relief and escape took me where I never imagined. I dulled my sorrow with alcohol, drugs, and relationships.

Some of us lash out, over-eat, or over-shop. Whatever works to feel better, to maintain control, or to make others pay for our pain. Anger will shackle us to a victim mindset as we relive the pain, keeping our wounds fresh.

I know because my identity was wrapped tight in that victim-skin. It was a soul-killing, twisted comfort that kept me trapped for years.

Since childhood, I’d sensed a light beyond my reach, coaxing me past my pain. It was something stronger than my parents’ persuasion or my religion’s rules. Something personal. I called it false hope until grief’s weight and sinful choices broke me and I finally let Jesus into my selfish world.

He showed me that my husband and children deserved better than what broken-me gave them. He revealed who I was beyond my fear and shame: whole and healthy. He challenged me to believe that hope is real, peace is possible, and healing is available.

I learned a lot from my baby girl who breezed from my life when spring was brand new. Through the pain of her leaving and the pit I sank into, she taught me that a sin-soaked past can be turned around for good and there’s always a higher road to rescue me. She taught me that heartache, though a part of life, doesn’t define me.

Now, by God’s grace, I  resist joy-stealers. I’m no longer a victim and I’m proof that grief and joy can coexist in a heart where peace reigns.

My baby girl led me to the One who died so I could live fully and freely. Ashley Nicole showed me Jesus.

 

Photo: Robin & daughter, Hannah, born ten years after Ashley Nicole

 

©Robin Melvin 2016