It's Hard to Ask for Help Sometimes

I’ve been fighting a battle.

Granted, it’s not near the magnitude of the battles that some people fight… cancer, death, divorce, the very serious situations.

I’ve been at battle with an infected sebaceous cyst, and it has lasted for six weeks.

I think the thing that has bothered me the most is that I needed help. I couldn’t really function as normal. My husband has been a trooper, and when he was out of town, my kids stepped in to help me. I’m the wife and mom! I’m supposed to be helping them.

Not the other way around.

And even a coworker volunteered to help me so Jim wouldn’t have to come over to my office on his lunch hour. Every. Single. Day.

Asking for help when you need it humbles you.

It’s easy to go along as a self-sufficient person until something happens to change that. And it also reminds you that you need other people.

When you are taking care of yourself and don’t feel the need to rely on anyone else, it can make you feel empowered. However, it is very isolating, too.

There really is no shame is leaning on someone you trust and letting them in to take care of you if you need it. Chances are - it will happen.

And chances are you will be the helper, too.

Real Love and Valentine's Day

I love you, Mom. You won’t be my last Valentine, but you will always be my first.

Valentine’s Day.

You either love it, or you hate it.

Growing up, I was never the girl with a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. In fact, the first year I had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, I was 18. And that isn’t a good example.

The first year Jim and I were married, 1992, Valentine’s Day was a DISASTER.

There have been good ones thrown in there every now and then, though. And I have met friends with birthdays on V-Day, so I think of them and hope they have a great birthday/Valentine’s Day.

However, for those of us who can’t afford the gifts of jewelry, fine dining, $100/dozen roses, and overpriced chocolate gifts, we do the best with what we have. We make beautiful dinners at home with our kids and spouses, we laugh and watch movies together, knowing these days won’t last forever.

Now I’m not saying that those who give expensive gifts don’t do these things. What I am saying is this: I’m glad my love language is not receiving gifts because if it was, I would feel very unloved. And it wouldn’t be because my husband wouldn’t buy me gifts because he would if we could afford it. But we can’t, and we know it.

I don’t feel unloved at all.

My love language is acts of service. A great show of love to me is my husband making dinner, changing my bandages over this last couple of weeks, and praying over me.

While I think those who receive gifts are not bragging or trying to hurt anyone by talking about their gifts and showing pictures on Facebook or other social media, I think about those who don’t have a significant other, or those who are single parents, or those who are heartbroken. For those people, V-Day can just be a reminder of what has never been found, or what has been lost.

In all honesty, people should show their love more than one day a year anyway! That’s what real love is. It isn’t a part in a play; it’s REAL LIFE.

When Isaac hugged me last night before bed, we were joking around, and I said, “Okay, repeat after me.”

Mom… You won’t be my last Valentine, but you’ll always be my first.

He laughed. But then he said it.

And he smiled.

Prodigal Magazine is Going Away Soon

My first article in an online magazine. It was in 2013, and it was so exciting!

The magazine is closing down, and the content is going away. If you want to read some very inspiring stories, go to their website and check it out before it's gone.

My story is at http://www.prodigalmagazine.com/more-than-i-knew-i-needed/.

I've shared it here before, but I'm reclaiming since the website is going away.


The fact we already had three young sons was a miracle. After the diagnosis of Endometriosis, we didn’t know if we would ever have any biological children.
But here I was, pregnant for the fourth and last time. And we just found out we were having twins!

As we drove home that Monday morning, I was at a loss for words.
In fact, at this “routine” 20-week ultrasound appointment in my doctor’s office, all my husband could do was laugh when Dr. Glover zoomed in on the two heads in the picture. Twins! Wow…

Jim said he knew it all along, though there appeared to be only one heartbeat each time we went to the doctor.

Dr. Glover couldn’t tell us the gender of our precious little ones who were growing inside me. She said she would schedule an ultrasound at the hospital so the babies could be measured and looked at more closely.
I was in a higher risk category because of carrying multiples.
We left there in a fog. All we could do was laugh.
Noah was 4, and Jonah was 3, so they could understand that Mommy had two babies in her tummy. But Caleb was only 16 months, so he had no clue. I don’t remember much about the drive home except we were just in shock.
As soon as we got home, I started calling everyone I could think of. The conversations went something like this:
Me: Well, they couldn’t see if I’m having a boy or girl.
Them: Oh, really? Why?
Me: Because there’s two of them!
Them: What? Twins?
And then we’d take turns laughing, and some of them would ask what we were going to do… All we knew is that we would love them.

My head was spinning in all directions as I lay in bed that Sunday night.

Our appointment for the more in-depth ultrasound was the next day, and we were anxious to learn more about them. We also wondered how we were going to care financially for these five children, when taking care of three on a teacher’s salary was proving to be difficult.
Our biggest need was beds. I needed to get out of the waterbed we were sleeping in. I wasn’t comfortable at all. Noah and Jonah were sleeping in our “other” bed, and we needed to buy bunk beds for them.
We knew five kids in a three-bedroom place would be crowded, but doable.

My prayer was simple.

“Please, Lord, help us. We don’t have money for new beds for the kids, but I know you will provide what we need. And I trust You.”
I didn’t tell anyone about my prayer that night, including my husband. In fact, I actually had peace after praying, and I had no anxiety when I woke up the next morning.
Our boys stayed with a sitter, Rachael, that afternoon while Jim and I went to the hospital.
Excitement and disbelief rushed over us again and again as we heard the words. “’Baby A’ is a boy! And ‘Baby B’ is a boy!” It was just so crazy! We had them named Jesse and Isaac before the ultrasound was finished.
When we arrived at home, Rachael’s parents were waiting there to pick her up. We told them the news, and we all laughed and praised God. I could hardly contain myself! Then, Rachael said there was a package for us that had come in the mail, and it was on the table.

I was standing next to it the whole time I had been home and hadn’t even seen it.

It was a square package of about 7 inches. The postmark was Guthrie, Oklahoma. We didn’t know anyone in Guthrie, so I couldn’t really imagine what it could be.
When I opened the box, there was a letter inside.
“Dearest Hammer Family,
This is a gift for your family that the Lord knows you need and wants you to have. It is sent to you with great love anonymously because our Heavenly Father deserves all the glory, and it is never to be repaid.
The Lord has touched many lives for eternity through your love, faithfulness and witness in Christ.”

The letter held seven crisp $100 bills.

Only God and I knew I had prayed the night before for beds for our children. And God had already answered my prayer before I prayed. You see, the package was mailed Friday, December 3, 1999.
This day was Monday, December 6th.
Jesse, Isaac and I went through some preterm labor and nights in the hospital before they were born three weeks early. They were tiny boys at birth weighing 5 pounds 14 ounces and 5 pounds 5 ounces, but they were healthy. And they were beautiful.

Our family is no different than any other. We laugh, and we cry.
We endure painful trials at times. And if I hear the murmurs of the enemy, the lies hissing God doesn’t care about me or my family, and if I am ever tempted to believe it, my mind automatically goes back to the winter of 1999, and the miracle of God answering my prayer… before it was ever whispered.

Reading my story again only strengthens my resolve that God is in control of the major and seemingly minor events of our lives. What a life I've been given!

I'm Getting Old!

Do you ever get the feeling that you’re losing who you are?

2014 was a very interesting year for our family. There were sweet times, and there were very hard times. And every now and then, I feel like I’m walking through quicksand. For a whole year to go by in the blink of an eye, well, I don’t know what to say about that.

Maybe it’s because later this year, I will be 50 years old.

50!

Last Thanksgiving was the first holiday our family was split. Noah and Jonah had to work, so they weren’t able to go to the family get-together. It was tough leaving them here without us. I knew we would be together at Christmas, though.

And we had a great time! We watched both of The Hobbit movies on Christmas Eve, and then we saw the third movie at the theatre on Christmas afternoon. All of us together. 

 

I don’t know if the time I spend with them will ever be enough.

I guess as the kids get older, as they get married and start having kids, our holidays together might be fewer and far between.

I’ve also realize how rude it was of me to act like I did to my own parents when I moved out and didn’t talk to them for weeks at a time. I knew they didn’t agree with my choices, and so I made the decision to not talk to them to avoid the confrontation. I didn’t understand the love of a parent then.

Noah turned 20 last week, too. I can't believe that 20 years have gone by since the day I became a mother.

Is it the fact getting older that is so hard?

Is it the fact my kids are going to be moving out and starting their own lives that is so hard?

I think it’s probably both.

Take Pictures, For Goodness Sakes!

One of Jim’s former students, who is now in his 30s (unbelievable!), helped organize a fundraiser in Kansas City for Halloween. Jim told me last year that we were going this year… no matter what! So in the midst of all that was going on here, we arranged for a friend to stay with the kids, made some plans, paid for our tickets, and we were off.

I am ashamed to admit that I only took 3 pictures. I can’t believe it! Jim took some at the costume party and of us dressed as pirates, ARG, but I missed out taking pictures of some of my favorite people.

We went to the party on Halloween night, met good friends for lunch, drove around the town we lived for 9 years… We moved to AR 8 years ago already. We sat outside of our old house we lived in for 6 years and reminisced a little about the memories. Good times.

We surprised some other good friends and went to see a friend who is like a mother to us. Her family adopted us into theirs when we met at church in 1998, and she affectionately became “Grandma” Barb. They spent holidays with us when their kids were at the in-laws. Her husband, “Grandpa” Bill, passed into eternity a year ago, and we had not seen each other for several years. We only had an hour together, but we made it great.

We went to a church that our friend started in Independence. It was so exciting to see what God is doing through him and his family.

And then we went to my brother’s house. Even then, we didn’t take any pictures of my beautiful niece and sweet little nephews. I can’t believe it!

Last Sunday, we left Kansas City, had lunch in Wichita with my parents and sister and her family, and we were back home in Texas before 8pm. A whirlwind trip of 3 days and 1100 miles. It has taken the whole week for me to feel human again.

But, oh, what a trip it was… even if there isn’t much visual evidence.

Loving Your Kids Makes Your Heart Ache Sometimes

This picture was taken on the first day of school in 2005. Aren't they precious?

I have been on the verge of having a good cry for several weeks. If you’ve been reading my blog, you know I’m really struggling with remembering that God loves my kids more than me.

It’s very hard for me to not try to fix things that are going wrong. It’s hard for me when my kids are making decisions that aren’t what I would choose for them.

Some are detrimental to their well-being. Some decisions could be life-altering… and not in a good way.

It’s hard to remember that I made serious and life-altering decisions when I was their age. I wanted to be right about everything. I wanted to believe that the people I was with had some good qualities and, because I am a nice person, I would rub off on them.

But the opposite happened, and I was pulled down into the depths of despair instead.

You might think I’m being dramatic, but I’m just being honest. During that time, I was hungry (no money), had utilities shut off for non-payment, had a very high anxiety level, and was even homeless for a short period of time.

But I refused to give up.

That can be a good quality in someone, that sheer determination to make everything work out well. But it can also be bad if you can’t admit that you were wrong and make changes to your own life that will be for your benefit. No, that is not selfish, but some people might tell you that it is.

And, in all truthfulness, it’s scary. When you live your life a certain way for a period of time, it’s scary to change… even if the change is good. You don’t know what is coming your way, though, and one sharp-turn decision, one 180-degree turn, could be the catalyst to changing your life.

For me, it was running towards Jesus. It was me running to Him at a slow pace, but Him meeting me with open arms. It was me admitting I don’t have all the answers to my life, or the lives of other people I know.

When it’s my kids, though, I’m having trouble. I’m having trouble keeping my mouth closed and allowing them to make these decisions that are the direct opposite of what we’ve taught them for 18+ years. It’s me not alienating them with the things that I say or the way I treat them. I just want to take them, shake them, and say, “Please, please listen to me! I know what I’m talking about!”

The thing is, though, they know. They know the path I chose and how hard it was for me. They know my first husband was abusive, and they know I suffered greatly at his hand. They know I was homeless for a few weeks because of my decisions. And yet, here we are at this place.

I feel that if I could just have a good cry, I wouldn’t cry a little every day... some days more than others. I wouldn’t tear up at every single song that has something to do with the way God loves us and cares about us. And I pray for them when I hear certain songs, like “He Knows My Name” by Francesca Battistelli, that they will KNOW that God knows their names. He has written their names in Heaven. I pray that God will show Himself to them in a real and personal way so they have no more doubts that He is who He said He is. I pray that they see Truth as a cornerstone to their lives and find it significant. I pray for them to believe it and live it and be open to whatever future God leads them to.

I’m praying for me, too, because I find myself not knowing what to do. It was easy when they were little. I “controlled” their schedule. I didn’t always control what they did, and they were kids, so they did wrong things sometimes. But as we grow and mature, we learn from our mistakes and try NOT to make them again.

I’ve said to before, and I’ll say it again. Being a parent is hard. I’ve been both a kid and a parent, and I would say being a parent is harder. You can’t make your kids make the right decisions. You can’t protect them from themselves. Oh, I wish we could, and I would do it in a heartbeat.

But we all have free will.

I’m pretty sure that God wants to protect me from myself, too. I’m just grateful I have Him to lean on in these times. As much as I love my boys, God loves them more.

And again, He loves me, too.

Psalm 126:5 – Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.

Psalm 30:5b - Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.