Let the Boys Be Boys, Please!

I have been thinking a lot about boys lately. And I've been realizing something, not all parents are cut out to be "boy" parents. Maybe it's more like not all moms are cut out to be "boy" moms. Most of the women I'd put in that category don't have boys, or if they do, those boys are grown men today. I say that because the women I put in that category don't know how to pick their battles. I find they wear themselves out over things that are just plain meaningless. It may take me a bit to elaborate on this, but hang with me, hopefully by the end of this post I will have made my point.... hopefully.

Years ago when the liberals were working harder than ever before to damage the morale of the military, Rush Limbaugh quoted a friend of his saying "The purpose of the military is to kill people and break things". I bring up this quote because I think we have to keep this in mind when we raise boys. Yes, I know, we do have women in the military and I appreciate all Americans who are risking their lives to further democracy all over the world but the reality is that it's our boys who were made for that kind of work. Many a doctor, psychologist, or even a pastor will make the statement that failing to give our sons guns to play with will only result in them creating guns out of their own fingers and thumbs. Our boys were created to be rough, to be loud, to be fast, and to be reckless. It's our job to smooth out the edges not to completely flatten them.

Boys don't care what they look like, what they smell like, or who they are running after. They don't even really care who's running after them as long as they can either outrun the other kid (or animal) or if they turn and face their "attacker" that they can "take" them. Boys are funny like that - when they get upset with each other they beat the snot out of each other and then get up, dust themselves off, and go about playing what it was they were playing to begin with.

Of course as their mom (I have three boys) I did care what they looked like when they went off our property and always cared what they smelled like. I worked with them on this in the midst of compromise. I had one dresser drawer full of play clothes that they pulled out and put on whenever they were around the house or in the yard. Once we went somewhere they had to pull clothes from another drawer and match. They had to be clean before they went to bed and when we went out but otherwise I told them that if they returned from playing outside clean I would send them back to get dirty, clean meant they didn't play hard enough. They learned there were times and places for every activity but they could always look forward to being boys every day.

I tried really hard to not shriek when I thought a jump from one item to the other (of course no jumping on the furniture - a line has to be drawn somewhere) might cause a tooth to be knocked out or a lip to bleed. There are just some injuries these boys are going to get. A scar on the chin of man is rugged, shows he was a bit of a risk-taker as a child, and there's always a good laugh that comes from the telling of where that and other scars came from. Let the boys get roughed up. It's good for them.

They also need to be allowed NOT to cry. Of course, we want our sons to be able to cry when it's appropriate... it's rarely appropriate and truthfully, as they age, they need to learn when it's not appropriate. My favorite saying around here is "Suck it up and take it like a man" My seven year old daughter doesn't really like it when I say it to her though. The boys don't need to quiver their chins every time they fall and skin their knee. They don't need to cry each time their feelings get hurt. (Although the tears I get from my sons when other people they care deeply for get hurt emotionally or otherwise warms my heart to say the least). They need to realize that although frustration may make them want to cry, they can't, they have to take a deep breath, pray about it, and advance.

They have to learn to do all these things because one day there will be a wife and children that will look to each of them for rock solid stability when something happens to make them wonder if their world is about to crash around them. Because when the world is crashing down around them their wives are going to want to be held by them while they sob and know that until it's all over they have one who is stronger than they are seeing it all through. Because those children will learn to view their heavenly Father in a way based on how they view their earthly father.

Don't misunderstand me, there will be times when my boys will become men (2 almost are) and they will want to cry; they will have to cry. But it's my job, our job, to help them learn when to cry.

I don't want them to be afraid, not for one split second. If I spend my time saying "Oh, honey, don't do that you could get hurt. Don't do that it might break. Oh, Oh be careful" then they will be afraid of everything. I want them to grab onto a rope and swing as far and as fast as they can and free fall into the water. I want them to try to go further and faster and have more fun than they had the weekend before. I want them to try to do everything that they can and attempt to do things that they never thought they could. I want them to do that because one day they may need to protect their families from an intruder. Because one day they may need to stand their ground in opposition to something that is important to them. Because some day their wife or their children will need them to stand up to something that could define my son's character for a lifetime and they can't be afraid to do that. The implications are endless and I don't want to look back and wonder what I did to hold them back.

Of course, all of this comes with guidelines, common sense, and balance. When our daughter Rebekah died, my sons saw their daddy cry, but it wasn't until the funeral. They saw their mommy cry much more often. And they saw their mommy and daddy comfort each other as well. When our children got injured we worked hard to be calm and make clear how there was never a reason to get worked up. When it was something as meaningless as a cut on the knee we put on the band aid and sent them on their way. But when we needed to go to the ER we went. When Kate's toe got cut off by the weight machine, all three boys witnessed it and they screamed all the way up to their rooms. It was a horrible experience and it was appropriate for them to react that way. But they saw their parents being calm and in control in spite of what had happened.

I don't want the boys throwing knives at each other for kicks but if they want to get a bucket of ping pong balls and wing them at each other while shirtless to see who can cause the biggest, reddest welt then by all means, have at it. The only rule is: if you join in the game, there's no crying afterward. The best story of all is when Michael took Sam to play paintball and within the first 5 minutes ruined the whole game by shooting Sam in the groin with his first shot. Sam went down and rolled on the ground in pain for 15 minutes or more. Michael hit the ground as well, he was laughing hysterically. Both Sam and I learned lessons from that experience. Sam's lesson was that playing any shooting game with an FBI agent was probably not a good idea. My lesson was that although he was in excruciating pain and he never wanted to play paintball again (and he never did) he was more than delighted to share the story and hold up the pants with the white paint stain on the crotch. To this day, almost 5 years later, he still tells that story with pride.

I debated on writing this but a story I heard recently led me to this point. It was sort of the straw that broke the camel's back. The story was from a missionary couple I know who before their retirement watched young missionary couples come and go year after year because the parents of those young couples would call them and whine and complain about how far away they were and how they'd never see their grand kids or how dangerous it was. It broke their hearts as young couples who believed God had called them into the mission field couldn't stand firm in their resolve because their parents didn't want their children so far away and in possible danger. What have we done? What have we become?

My oldest son wants to become a full time missionary. He wants to go wherever God leads him, that might mean to China, Africa, South America, or maybe San Francisco (yikes). It's my job to make sure he's ready to leave our home, able to confidently say good bye, and know that his parents are praying for him, loving him, missing him, and available to him. But never should he worry that we can't get along without him or that we worry about him so much that we would tell him we need him to be here with us.

I don't know for sure what the other two boys want to do with their lives. Whatever it is, we will support them. Most likely it will take them away from us. But then, a long time ago, when they were small enough to fit in our arms from head to toe, we brought them before the Lord and our church and gave them to God. Yes... we GAVE them, with our whole hearts, with our whole minds. We GAVE them knowing full well that God would have His way with them.

We need to realize that boys NEED to be boys. We don't allow them to be disrespectful, uncaring, calloused, disobedient, or rebellious. But we do need to raise our sons to grow up to be the men that they are created to be. We need to raise the kind of men that God called to be judges and that Christ called to follow Him.

Marley and Megan

I really am not much of a movie watcher. I don't know why. I don't inherently dislike movies, some of them I adore. Shadowlands, the story of CS Lewis, is one of my all time faves. But then so is My Cousin Vinnie and X-Men. I know, what a combination. But I rarely love movies like Shadowlands because some parts are sad, very sad, and I think there is enough sadness to go around in real life, I don't care to experience the sadness of others very much.

Two weekends ago, I didn't have a choice. Megan died on June 2nd and we left on the 4th to drive to Jacksonville, AL for her visitation and funeral. We stayed with some of my favorite people in the world so we decided to stay for several days. Sam had been there for two weeks with Bradley, Megan's brother, trying to be supportive through Megan's last days and I really missed him. Plus we were going to bring Bradley home with us, I was looking forward to that.

So we spent a lot of time watching a lot of people shedding a lot of tears. It was hard but it was good, in some ways. I sat in the funeral, with plenty of time before it started, watching the power point presentation of Megan's life loop over and over. Many of the pictures on that loop were from her trip to Disney just before she was hospitalized. It was at that moment I realized who those "Make A Wish" trips were for. Those left behind. That memory of Megan having a blast at Disney and Sea World and all the places she went to will be forever with Gary and Ian and Bradley. It was good because I saw my 6ft 185 pound almost 16 year old virtually cradle his 7 year old sister on his lap during the funeral as tears streamed down his cheeks. I knew then he related to Bradley in a way he didn't realize he could relate before. I knew then that he realized that could have just as easily been him burying his sister.

But then, one day a long time ago, it was him. He did bury a little sister before. To my surprise, I realized a couple weeks ago that Rebekah was born the same year as Megan. Those girls are the same age. I wonder if Sam had any memory of the day he sat at the graveside of his sister as they buried her. We've been through our own times of sadness and I really don't enjoy living through other's whether they are real or imagined even if it all ends well.

Unfortunately I found myself last night watching Marley and Me. I'd not seen it, I never planned on seeing it. I love Jennifer Aniston but not enough to see a movie just because she's in it. But it was on my TV and I wanted to cuddle with my daughter so I sat through the last half. The only problem was as I watched the tender scene when John stared at Marley, knowing he was about to die, and told him all the wonderful things about him; then John laid across Marley's body in pure sorrow as his beloved pet died before his eyes, I couldn't help but think of Gary and Megan.

I wondered if Gary sat next to her bed and held her hand as her eyelids fluttered while she was unresponsive. I wondered if Gary told her all the incredible things that made her Megan. I wondered if when they pronounced her if he laid across her body to try to make a lasting imprint of her on him, that somehow if he laid on her long enough he'd forever have her with him. I wondered those things because that is what I did with Rebekah, I thought if I put my hand on her face long enough that her face would forever be etched in the palm of my hand. It wasn't, and Megan will fade in a way over time for Gary and Ian and Bradley, too.

On the way to Jacksonville I was thinking about how this long haul with Megan was finally over. She was in Glory with her mother. Gary and the boys, although incredibly sad, would be able to pick up the pieces and move on and maybe after 10 years of battling cancer, they could get a break. My thoughts were interrupted by my cell phone. It was my mom. My sweet sister-in-law, Na just received word that her cancer had returned - after almost 6 years of being clean. They are all devastated. I am devastated.

See... life is sad enough.

Wake Up To Shouts of Joy... With Friends.

Psalm 30:5b says, Weeping may last for the night, but a shout of joy comes in the morning."

Megan died yesterday. I spent a lot of time thinking about writing this blog today. I had held off until this day because I just haven't been enthusiastic about anything lately. I have been thinking about Megan, wondering what she was thinking as she was getting weaker. I wondered if she was curious about heaven, if she was excited to see her mother again who died 3 years ago from breast cancer. I wondered mostly if she was scared.

I spent time thinking about Gary. I wondered if it was true, that missing a child that you've had years of memories with wasn't as bad as missing one you never had a chance to build memories with. I think it would be worse. I realized after 1am last night that Megan died just before her 13th birthday and Rebekah will celebrate her 13th birthday in heaven next week. Well, not really, I don't think there are birthday celebrations in heaven, but that's for a different post. I wonder if Megan and Rebekah will be friends in heaven.

I was thinking about Ian, Megan's big brother. His birthday is today, June 3rd. I think he's 20 today. He just finished his second year at the Univ. of Alabama. How, more than ever, must he want to be a little boy again and just cry like a child. I bet he doesn't think he can. He can, there would be an awful lot of shoulders more than willing to bear his tears.

I was thinking about Bradley, Megan's other big brother. His 16th birthday was Monday - the day before she died. Bradley, as many of you know, has a special place in my heart. It's a special God-made spot that I don't understand but am so thankful that God can do that and is happy to make that place for him. I worry some about Bradley. He's not really emotional and very few of us will see his tears. And there will be people that won't approve of that. I told him that he can't pretend to be someone he's not. But he does need to be honest with someone about his feelings - all of them. I have been trying to be that adult that he talks to. I really have no agenda and since I'm not related I'm not defensive about anything he says. Mostly, I want him to understand the perspective of the adults in his life so he's not rebellious against them and I want him to have a correct perspective about God in the midst of all of this so that he doesn't hate God or think God has something against him.

I have been thinking a lot about Sam. We took Sam out to stay with Bradley almost 2 weeks ago. He had a lot of jobs for an almost 16 year old boy. He was determined to be Bradley's accountability. Bradley would have had a lot of alone time; with Sam, not so much. But in the end, Sam, the huge hearted young man with compassion the size of Texas, was to be there to love his best buddy. Sam has been there through a lot of this with the Brittain's. As young friends, when we lived in Alabama, Sam and Bradley used to go into Sharon's room and lay on her bed when she was too week to be in the living room with her kids. When Sharon died, we had already moved to WV. I can remember like it was yesterday the phone call from Bradley telling Sam his mom had died. Michael rushed Sam to Bradley's side - telling the school that Sam was leaving for a couple of days and to get over it. Driving all day long for Sam to put his arms around his dear friend and stand beside him as they watched his mother's body lowered beneath the ground.

And now, 3 years later, Sam will once again stand beside his best friend as they watch Bradley's sister's body lowered beneath the ground. I think about my precious Sam and wonder if I will ever know all that God is doing in his life even as I write this. I wonder if Sam really has any idea. I pray that as he pours his love out into the life of his friend that God will pour more of Himself into Sam and that this will be a turning point in Sam's life.

This is my commandment that you love one another, just as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends." John 15:12,13

The Dancing Sparrow....

Are not five sparrows sold for two cents? Yet not one of them is forgotten before God. Indeed, the very hairs on your head are all numbered. Do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows. Luke 12:6-7

I am amazed by God often. So often that any form of "Amazing Grace" brings me to tears. But today put me over the edge. It was Kate's first dance recital with Ballet Magnificat! There's very little in the performance of 7 seven year olds that should bring a grown woman to tears but there were several times when my composure was pushed beyond it's limits and it was all I could do to not look visibly emotional.

About 20 years ago, married only 5 years and with children far from my mind, I sat in a small Christian school auditorium in Fayetteville, NC watching a performance of a dance troupe I'd never heard of before. Ballet Magnificat! hailed from Jackson, MS and gained fame among the Christian community as a dance arts group that performed for two reasons only - to glorify God and bring people to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. It was a small group of young women performing and I adored the music that they chose. Some contemporary Christian (at that time) and some classical but always pulling me in to their message through beautiful movement. I sat there thinking, "If I have a daughter, I would love her to dance with this company."

What a silly thought though. I had no idea when we'd have children or if God would even bless us with a daughter and to be honest, I had no intention of ever living in Jackson, MS.

Children came... first a son, then another son, then a daughter... a very sick daughter who God took home to be with Him. We did move to Jackson, MS and while there we had another son and we decided to be happy with our sweet little, healthy family. Still, when we saw little girls dancing in church it was very hard to not weep. In our minds, our little girl would dance - it always reminded us that God was raising our daughter, not us.

Then, to our surprise, we were blessed with another daughter. By the time she was three she was dancing with Doxa Dance Company in West Virginia. Terri Stutler, her teacher went every other year to Ballet Magnificat! for classes. WOW, I remembered all those years ago watching that performance. Isn't God weird? In a good way, I mean. She danced for two years before we found out we were moving... back to Jackson, MS.

She sat out a year from dancing. She wasn't sure she wanted to dance under anyone else but after seeing DVD's of "The Christmas Dream" performances of Ballet Magnificat! she decided it was time to get back in the game.

Less than one year later, I sat in an audience of hundreds watching my daughter fulfill MY dream. But really, it wasn't she that fulfilled it - it was God. Oh how true that He cares about the smallest of hopes and dreams. So now, we watch little girls dance to music that worships our Lord but we don't cry because our second daughter is dancing with them. Well, that's not true, I cry but it's because I am amazed at His grace, His love, His pleasure at gifting me with the realization of a little hope I had over 20 years ago.

Would I?

So, I'm reading Trial and Triumph (stories from church history) by Richard M Hannula during my quiet time. It's not all I read, obviously, but it's a great end to my time of scripture reading and prayer and by reading one chapter at a time I am able to get the whole book read in a couple of months. Seventeen years ago, that last sentence would have made me cry. Taking several months to read a book sounds awful. How could I have let my life get so busy? Kids. 'Nuf said.

It's been this book that I think may have exacerbated my little "funk" for the past 6 weeks that I have talked about in a couple previous blog postings. This book begins with the story of Polycarp (69-155 AD) winds through the Middle Ages, the Reformation, and into Modern Times with the closing story of Richard Wurmbrand, the founder of Voice of the Martyrs. From the first to the last these men and women of Christ found themselves tortured day and night for one thing and one thing only, loving Christ with all their heart, mind, and soul.

Day in and day out these men and women were beaten within minutes of their deaths but kept alive and in severe pain and encouraged to renounce their commitment to Christ. I use that word carefully - commitment - we have no idea of the true meaning of the word. Not all of these martyrs were older adults with years of experience seeing God's hand move in their lives and thus building the faith of a mountain. No, many were young, some no older than my own son Drew who although I think has a stronger spiritual foundation than most his age, I wonder if he's seen enough of God to enable him to stand against any "power or principality".

The question really is, could I? I have spent a lot of time thinking about it. Of course, here I am in what is currently a country that allows the freedom of worship. Certainly, there is a chance of getting teased or heckled or maybe on a really bad day, getting spit at but unlike in most countries in this world, my life isn't on the line because of Who I trust in. So it's relatively easy to say "Absolutely, they could burn me at the stake like they did Polycarp or they could imprison me and beat me for years like they did Richard Wurmbrand but I'd not recant, no way!" But really? Would I be as brave as I'd like to believe I would be? I don't know. And those three words bring me to tears and almost to nausea. What I think is true for all of us is this - the Holy Spirit is powerful in those of us who call on the name of Christ. It's the Holy Spirit that will lead me to say, like Polycarp said to his captors:

You threaten me with fire that burns for a little while

then goes out. But you are ignorant of the fire of

eternal punishment which is prepared for the

ungodly. Why do you wait? Come and do what

you want with me?

And then, once the wood and straw was doused with oil and the torch was being carried toward him, he lifted his head toward heaven and said:

Oh Lord God Almighty, the Father of your beloved Son,

Jesus Christ, through Whom we have received the

knowledge of You: I bless You for granting me

the honor of this day and hour that I might be

numbered among the martyrs. You are the

faithful and true God. To You be glory both now

and for the ages to come. Amen.

Convicting Innocence...

I began this post close to the Easter holiday. I wish I would have posted it. This was the beginning of what grew into a 6 week funk for me and had I posted this, it would have been in my face to remind me of what I needed to remember for the last several weeks. I rarely like to come to terms with my disappointments, mostly because I don't like to admit I have them. After all, look at my life... I live in America to begin with and the rest is just icing on the cake. Of course the most delicious of all is that I've been adopted by the King so who could look at any part of a life like that and see any disappointments? And yet, I'm guilty of it and find myself using that term to describe circumstances in my life lately far too often. Maybe that word, disappointment, should be stricken from my vocabulary as another word is that you will read about here:

I've gained a new understanding about what Jesus said to the rich man when he wanted to go back to earth to warn his siblings about hell. .... I say that because I tried to clear my name the other day and it was a big mistake. I generally don't believe in defending myself because I've felt for many years that my history, my behavior, my words should be all the defense that I need. I even think this way about my kids. Last year Sam was accused of defacing property. I about fell out of my chair laughing. The truth is that had he been accused of kissing a girl I'd have totally believed that - but defacing property, come on! There is no way. I know what my kids are capable of. I am honest about the faults of my children and have rarely if ever shouted "Not my kid!" but I know what their issues are and defacing property is not one of Sam's.


I should have followed my own rules. When I break my own rules I shouldn't be surprised by how things fall apart. I had just had enough of being some one's scapegoat and felt that there was a chance that this particular issue could have damaged my reputation and possibly affected what some people thought of MJF as well. But I learned some valuable lessons from this experience and had other truths validated:


The biggest thing I learned is that ultimately I have to trust God to reveal truth to other people. He will orchestrate situations that cause the guilty to get punished. He promised that in His word and I don't need to doubt it now. I only get in His way and it's my job to just step back and watch.


I realized that in the end, those who I care about the most will either not believe what they hear or they will come to me with questions. Even I am smart enough to realize when people are being falsely accused. I've often said to others "That doesn't sound like something "?" would say or do. I wonder if your facts are wrong?" If I think that why wouldn't others think that as well regarding me? Once again I have to trust God to work in the hearts and minds of my friends.




As I wrote this I realized that this is a story of Christianity in a small way. I can in no way believe that I have been persecuted and treated in the same wretched way that Christ was but we are, at this time, celebrating the crucifixion of an innocent man... an innocent God/man. He always did the right thing - always. He rarely defended Himself but just spoke truth about who He was and who God was. In the end, He trusted His Father through the Holy Spirit and His friends to tell others about Him so the TRUTH could vindicate Him and so other's would believe in Him. It's times like these that bring me comfort and make me realize that Christ is not unaware of my negative experiences and that He can turn those into positive ones even if it's just by teaching me a lesson. It also reminds me why I hate the word FAIR and why I don't allow my kids to use that word and why I need to stop allowing that word even in my head. The punishment of the innocent is never fair but His definition is probably a bit different than ours.

I've Become My Mother...

Yes, it's true what the title says. I can't decide if I'm glad about that or not. After all, I adore my mom. And she spent most of her adult life sacrificing in many ways for my brother Jimmy and I. I love to spend time with her when we visit and I love when she comes to my home. I get to ask her suggestions on decorating and she gets to see me in my element. We both love hanging out together even though the definition of that changes each visit. She's aging, just like I am, and our time together has to adjust to allow for that.

I remember how literally devastated I was when a few years after MJF and I were married she came to visit. I was so happy to see her I wrapped my arms around her neck and as I leaned away from her and saw her shoes and then her purse I declared "Mom, I love your shoes and purse!" and no sooner did I utter those words when I was crushed... HER tastes hadn't changed, MINE had... I felt that was the beginning of the end for me.

Once I got over that shock I vowed to be my own person. I thought about all the things I loved about how she mothered me and what I wanted to pass down to my kids. I wasn't raised in a Christian home but none-the-less there were basic truths that were part of my upbringing that my parents knew I'd appreciate when I was a parent. They were right because truth is truth regardless of your age. I have held on to some of those things especially the work ethic that both my parents instilled in Jimmy and I and I am thankful for that daily as I see how rare that is today. But there were things that I didn't want to bring into my mothering. Thinking back on my senior prom made the vast differences jump out at me.

I went to a small private school for my senior year. We had just moved to the area and my parents thought that might make my transition smoother if I was able to go there instead of the public school. They thought I'd make friends faster there which would be nice because I was a senior. And they were right, by the end of my senior year I had enough friends that I felt like having the "after-prom" party at my house was a good idea. It was at a time when many were worried about the safety of the kids from midnight until 6 am and I thought that at my house there could be some control. We had a big, beautiful home and with the furniture pushed aside on both floors it'd be a nice place to celebrate.

And celebrate we did. Without any thought my mom went to the local liquor store and got 2 kegs of beer. Of course, like a responsible parent she took everyone's car keys as they walked into the door. And then, in order to leave, they had to return to her up in her bedroom reading, to get them back - not all got them back. Honestly, I cannot believe we really did this. Not just because as a Christian it wouldn't dawn on me for one second to allow alcohol at one of my kid's parties but the fact that it was flat out illegal. I am not sure that that truth was realized by us for one minute. If it did cross her mind, she never let me in on her thoughts but I think we were totally oblivious to it.

It ended up being a good party. My mom, to this day, expresses her amazement that there wasn't a stain on the carpet anywhere when the kids left. Except I wouldn't agree. I think that a lot of kids left with stains. It was true that more kids ended up in my mom's room talking the night away with her than were anywhere else in our home, but in spite of how cool they thought my mom was - they should have realized there was something terribly wrong that night. Why didn't either of us realize that it was wrong to have that beer there?

I often ask myself that question. Almost 30 years later, that behavior haunts me. Isn't that bizarre? I wonder why I even remember that or think about it, but it's pretty true to my character to be concerned with what impression I leave on people. I have friends who think I obsess too much over that but my thinking is that the only way to get credibility is to have integrity.

So, I'm sitting in MY bedroom tonight at almost 1:30 in the morning but the difference is that I only have 4 prom-goers in my living room watching Slum-dog Millionaire and drinking Dr. Pepper and bottled water. They won't stay to watch the sun rise and as they drive home they will pray and thank God for a fun and safe night. And hopefully they will thank Him for Sam's "not so cool" mom who loved them enough to provide her home for them to hang out in and loaded them up on junk food and soda... and that is all.