I'm Not Just Walking for Me

So, WonderBoy went to brush his teeth, and I heard a, "Mom! I think you should see this!" from the bthroom, except I didn't even have to get to the bathroom before I saw the water coming under the walls. Yep. The tub is full, toilet overflowed, and floor covered. Plumber #3 is coming tomorrow. Thankfully, already scheduled because there was concern that #1 didn't fix it all. Plumber #2? Comes Sunday to fix the drain pipe just under the house.

Me? Honestly? Thinking I am glad I already planned to put tile down in the bathroom because the bleach water I use to clean this when it is over will destroy the varnish on the stained concrete, and do I want to go with the tile that looks like boards or squares? I like the boards, but they might clash with the laminate flooring I hope to get down before winter.

Also laughing at the irony that all my towels are now wet and I have no way to wash them without making a bigger flood. Come on. It's funny.

And this is what else I"m thinking. I'm thinking one day my kids are going to be adults and they are going to go through those crazy times when they wonder if something could please go right, and I want to lay out a good map for them to follow when that happens. I don't want to be the example of stress and chaos and cussing and crying. I want to be the example of calm and clear thinking, so, I sighed more than I wish I had. Honestly, I'm really sleep deprived right now and running on low energy, but we delegated the towels and the water turnoffs and all that had to be done, and stuff was moved to my bahtroom, which, thank you, Jesus!, isn't flooding or clogged. And we laughed about the towels and decided to just let the dishwasher finish running because stopping it would only send water through faster. All calm. All methodical. Like I want my kids to learn to respond.

This isn't life-threatening. It's a nuisance. It's time consuming, but it isn't crisis. Even all the stuff crammed together the last few weeks isn't crisis. It's just transition at full-speed. We are the ones who have the crisis or not.

So, with everything that comes, I pray for God to give me wisdom to know what to do, but I also pray to handle it all well because I want my kids to know how to handle it well. To me, that is part of my privilege as a mom...laying the map for how to deal with the stuff that comes.

Thank the Lord He is amazing about guiding our steps, not just for our walk but for those following behind us.

Stay on the journey!

Jerri L. Kelley

When You Can't Be There

I said I don't post about my kids or personal stuff on Facebook because my real goal is to encourage people and be a bright place in the world. Well, sometimes those two things kind of collide, and I want to say...

To the officer who responded to WonderGirl's motor accident, thank you for your kindness and encouragement. Thank you for telling her she did the exact right thing by calling campus police and you would handle it. Thank you for your leniencies and not issuing any tickets.

To the woman with white hair, in the white nurses uniform, driving the white car who stopped after the policeman left, made sure WonderGirl was okay, offered to let her sit in your car while she waited for me and WonderBoy to pick her up, and applauded her for her honesty instead of just driving away when no one would know, thank you. WG isn't sure you were not from heaven. I"m not either.

To Shannon at our insurance who immediately started finding out if a tow truck was necessary and if medical care was needed (neither were), I love you.

To Angela who offered to leave work and go pick up WonderGirl since she was closer than I was, I love you.

To Professor Robin who said to take the week off and sleep...a LOT, your are a beautiful gift. Thank you for loving my daughter.

To the parents out there who worry about their kids, I pray for the same happy ending for you every time, and I pray that your children are also blessed to have someone there when you can't be.

Why I Chose Not to Date As a Single Mom of Younger Kids

In June 2010, my husband moved out. In February 2011, he died of a massive heart attack. I was 42 at the time, and my kids were 10 and 13.  That was seven years ago.

During the last seven years I have been on two "dates". I was told they fell into "date" status because I got dressed up, and he paid. Those two men I have loved as friends since high school.

There has been nothing romantic, not because there wasn't opportunity but because I made some choices with the intention of a specific outcome.

My kids had experienced a parent who wanted another life more than he wanted a full-time life with them.
They had an up close and personal reality check that life is not stable.
They knew what it felt to be "not valuable enough".
They were sad, angry, and grieving.
They wondered if it were their fault and if they had been something else would their dad have stayed.
They knew the devastation of not being able to depend on someone to stay and keep the world steady.

By the way, these are typical emotions for kids who experience divorce.

The kids did not need someone else they couldn't depend on. They didn't need to feel like they were a bother. They didn't need more chaos.

I couldn't undo what had been done, but I could keep it from getting worse, so I opted not to date casually because I didn't want men coming in and out of their lives who only strengthened the idea that men are not dependable but walk out on you.

I chose to focus my energy on my kids. Instead of going out with someone who made my heart flutter on Fridays, I stayed in with people whose hearts needed a steady presence.

I chose to make them first, and I canceled or said no to anything that conflicted with them.

I chose to be the stable force, and by doing so, I demonstrated with actions that they are valuable.

I stayed and made it clear to them that they were not too much, too loud, too demanding, or too big of a failure to be worth staying for. They were not the problem. And on days when the weight of responsibility got to be too heavy, I made it clear to them they were not the ones making me heavy. It was all the decisions, all the things I had to figure out, all of the rest of life, but THEY...they were the gift.

And I made sure no one came into their lives who might shake that.

Yes, I was asked out on occasion, but no one passed my four non-negotiable questions, so no one became part of the landscape, not even passing through. The kids knew I talked to this man or that man, but they also knew why it never went further than talking. I explained the non-negotiables and how I would not settle, and frankly, that made them feel safer and more stable.

My kids and their hearts were non-negotiable.

The only two men my kids have met are long time friends of mine that I knew would remain friends, and they have. My kids love both of them, and they love my kids. My kids have these friends' numbers in their phone and know they can call any time.

I won't lie and tell you it has been easy being alone this whole time. It isn't. Sometimes it isn't so bad, and other times it feels crushing, but the truth is it has been worth it. My kids are in good places emotionally and mentally. We have a great relationship. They know they are valued, and I am always here for them. They know I am fierce for them, and they feel crazy loved. Even when we strongly disagree, they know I'm not going anywhere.

I know when someone chooses to leave, it is tempting and easy to want someone to fill that void. It feels good to be wanted and loved. It feels exciting for someone to want to spend time with you and listen to you and be there for you. It feels good to the soul. I know. I really know. It also feels good to a kids' soul, and as parents, our priority should be the well-being of our kids. Sometimes giving that kind of stability and healing to your kids means you put your desire for all that on the back burner until your kids are okay.

My kids are now 17 and 20, still living at home but both in college, and for the first time, I am honestly open to dating again, and the kids are ready for it too. Not just because they are getting ready to leave home, but because they have been blessed with an intentionally safe home.

You Know that Kid that is so Far Gone He's Beyond Hope? That was me.

Dear Mommas and Daddies,

My name is Jerri Kelley Phillips. I'm a writer, a licensed pastor, a momma of two teenagers, a writer, sane, a contributing member of society, and a person with a "once was" life. I doubt you care. I don't blame you. None of that really means anything until you really know about the "once was" life.

Thirty years ago I was 16, and I was the kid you would never want your kid around. I drank a lot, to excess. I drank enough to be not feel, and sometimes it takes a lot of booze to reach numb. I also had a serious affinity for prescription medication, which most people call "an addiction". You know that numb I liked so much? I could reach it a lot faster and without suspicious odors with pills. That desire for numb, not only led me to the bottle of booze and the bottles of pills, but it also led me right into being suicidal and simply wanting out. So I got as "out" of it as I could. I hung out with the "bad crowd". My friends went to jail for a variety of reasons. Miracle of God we didn't all go to the morgue. I stayed out too late, dated gawd-awful boys, lied, and went to church every time the doors were open. I have sung Amazing Grace with an amazing hangover more times than I can honestly remember. I testified on Sunday night after testing God on Saturday night.

Did I mention I was your nightmare teenager?

Now, you are probably wondering why I'm telling you this. It's not because I need to boast of my wild escapades. I'd just as soon all of it were buried in history like my sins are buried in Christ, which is the real point.

This morning I spent time talking to a momma whose heart is broken because of choices her daughter is making, and, "She knows better."

I know this is not the only momma whose heart is broken right now by the choices of a child. I know there are mommas and daddies who are dumbstruck by the lives of their kids, wondering how in the world their child can live like that when he or she knows the truth. I am quite sure my momma and daddy asked the same thing.

I knew the truth. I knew everything I did was wrong. I did it anyway. I had my reasons just like your child has his/her reason.

And, like you, I'm sure my momma and daddy watched me and wondered if I would ever get my s-(stuff) together, if I'd ever come to my senses, if I'd ever come back to God. I know they had times when they were just done and couldn't take anymore, and I'm sure they had times when they thought it was hopeless. I know some of y'all have thought and felt that very thing even today. I don't know what Momma and Daddy would tell you. They have passed on, and I can't ask them, but as the prodigal, this is what I want you to know.

I'm not that person anymore. In fact, most folks who didn't know me then have a hard time believing I was ever like that. I'm who I am because someone didn't give up and didn't give in. I'm here, telling you God can still your reach your child because someone believed God could still reach me.

Now, no one condoned my actions. No one should have. No one told me, "Well, you walked to the front of a church and said a prayer, so you're okay." Nope. No one EVER told me I was okay.

But the people who really made a difference, the ones that "got to me", also didn't tell me how I was damned and a sinner and a pathetic mess and how I made God sick or how I was going to hell. And there were those. The ones that softened my heart were the ones who said, "This is so not okay, but I love you. I'm praying for you. I know God has good things for you when you are out of this." And, yes, there were a handful that said that.

Momma and Daddy, I know it is easy to see that child and feel ashamed by their actions. I know it is easy to be mortified that someone you raised right could be so wrong. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how it hurts your heart. I'm sorry for the hours you lie awake at night. I'm sorry for so much. But that child that looks hopeless isn't.

Trust me. Plenty of people thought I was hopeless, but I wasn't. I was hurting and confused, but not hopeless.

Your child maybe hurting and confused, but she isn't hopeless, and he's not out of God's reach.

God still has a plan.

Momma and Daddy, don't give up. Keep praying. Keep hoping. Keep loving.

Keep believing that God still has good things for that child when he or she is out of this. And they can still get out of this. The same God your praying to to reach them is the same God who heard and answered the prayers to reach me. He's still big enough. He's still loving enough. He's still in. And when you can't hope that kid will find God, trust God to find that kid. He can.

He did.

That's why I'm writing you this letter. To tell you I was that kid who was so lost in the dark that I was hopeless, except I wasn't, and neither is yours.

May God give you strength for the battle.

Praying for you and your prodigals,
Jerri

Dear Parents, Being Real Makes Overcoming Real to Your Kids

Dear parents,

 Your kids really need to see you struggle and overcome.

I know that sounds crazy, but a dear friend and I were just talking about this Monday, how my kids think I'm all that and then some (which is nice but...). Sometimes that creates an unrealistic standard for them to live up to. Today, they are watching this amazing mom of theirs relearn call signs and learn a new phonetic alphabet, 10 codes, and signal codes. My brain is not as malleable at 46 as it was when I was 20, and this is a challenge. We often fear that our kids seeing us struggle will diminish us in their eyes, but every new code or phonetic call I learn, my kids are seeing me overcome. They are also seeing themselves overcome that hard sentence in French, all those nerves they have to memorize in advanced A&P, the next obstacle they face. As parents it is not our job to make our kids believe we handle all of life perfectly. It is our job to equip them to handle life, and that starts with the belief they actually CAN handle life.

Don't just tell them they can. SHOW them they can.

Why Right Now Matters

I hate cold weather. Hate, loathe, abhor, despise--pick your verb. I promise it is not too strong. If I had to choose between a gamma globulin shot in the butt or being cold, my cheek feels better faster than my toes get warm. But this WonderBoy from my womb enjoys the cold. If it is falling white, he's all in for outside.

 

 

So I bundle up in layers and waddle outside in the ice to hang with the VIPs (Very Important Peeps) of my life.

And we walk down the street watching the water slosh under the ice we are on. I crunch along the side because my body is far more fragile than my ego these days. The kids scrape up ice pellets and make war...and memories.

And when our cheeks are numb and our legs are growing stiff, we wander back up the street to the warm home, and my angels make one last stop to leave a mark...or at least try.

 Once we are back in the house, we get warm, butt the warmest part are the hugs and the thanks because, "You're the greatest mom ever." And they know we have the greatest life ever and the greatest family ever, and even when the memories of the details fade, the fact that their mom who hates the cold loves them enough to wander out in it with them.

Okay, I gotta tell you. It all sounds all Waltons, but the truth is, I really, REALLY wanted to stay in where it was warm and say, "I'll go out next time." I mean, really, is it that big of a deal? And isn't it just as good next time? Do we really have to do this right now?

No...

Yes.

 

It was February 4, 2011, and snow fell thick on North Texas. The schools called a snow day, and the kids called up the street, and we all met where the streets do with sleds, discs, and dogs to let the snow soak through our socks and gloves while daring and laughter ran amuck.

It was a wondrous day. A perfect day.

A hard day.

Not just because sleds crash, but because sometimes, life does.

While we walked out the door, he drove up the street.

He brought the gloves and hats the kids had left at his place earlier in the week. He stayed long enough to take a trip or two down the hill and hand out a few hugs.


 

When I asked if he wanted to stay awhile, he informed me he had work to do, and it's not like there would never be snow in Texas again. He'd play next time.

 

It did snow again, but he didn't play in it with our kids.

 

Eleven days after these pictures were taken, he was gone.

 

I could tell you more, but as I finished that last sentence, WonderBoy asked if I wanted to go outside again before it gets too dark. No. I don't, but I'm going to...right now. Because later...well, sometimes there just flat out isn't one.

 

Right now, life matters, and it matters how you spend right now.



Parenting--The Amazingly Simple Answer

Folks ask me often how I have such amazing kids. Here is the recipe:

1. Pray ALL THE TIME.

2. Know they were made to be amazing

3. Understand the road to amazing is bumpy. They'll mess up and so will I and only God can cover any of us.

4. Accept the fact the best thing I can give them is my attention, interest, and encouragement. I am Mom 24/7. They are not my children simply when it is convenient.

5. Plead for and give grace....and plead for more grace when I don't give enough.

6. Say no even when it hurts...especially when it hurts me. (some of you parents know what I mean)

7. Pray some more.

8. Be amazed...every day...with the wondrous people God is growing them into.

 

Repeat EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Jeans and a Sweater

I push the door closed until I hear the quiet click. I don't even turn on the light. A few steps, and my hand finds my bed. I don't slip off my jeans or pull off my sweater. I pull the comforter back and lie down. One thump hits the floor. Then the other. I pull the cover over me--jeans, sweater, and all. I don't have the energy to take them off, and no one notices anyway.

It has been a long time since I dreaded going to bed. It has been a long time since I couldn't bring myself to undress...because there is no one to undress for.

Friends ask how I am. I shrug and say I am tired, not sleeping well.

I am telling the truth.

They suggest sleep aides, various sleep help. How do I explain this?

Oh, I can say sleeping alone is hard, and people nod because we all know how tormenting an unreleased sex drive can be. What people don't know is that the bed is so much more than sex.

The bed is where rest is found, and there is none here. I know when I lie down that within a few hours, someone will have a dream that bothered them, someone will suffer from insomnia for some unknown cause, or someone will have misty eyes from missing their dad.

The bed is a place for intimacy, and I am intimate with no one. When people ask how I am, I answer fine. If I cannot answer fine, I say nothing. In fact, if I cannot say I am fine, I avoid people altogether.

The bed is a place where the day is settled and dreams in the waking are rolled around, but I am too tired to settle anything, and my dream...? I chuckle to myself. It isn't going to bed in jeans and a sweater and it not mattering.

The bed is a place of knowing...knowing someone else...someone else knowing you. Vulnerability. Honesty. Letting someone see beyond the jeans and the sweater. And I wonder if I have enough trust in me to do that anymore...in bed or out. I try to swallow the reality that I don't think I do...and am terrified I never will.

The tears slip quietly and soak into the odd corner of the blanket where my head lies because it doesn't matter if I take up the whole bed.

Then I hear the voice through the door. His legs are cramping. Will I get him some ibuprofen? I barely have time to say I am on my way and wipe the wet from my face when I hear the emergency call. The toilet is clogged and backing up, and she thinks it may overflow, and how does the plunger work anyway?

I close my eyes tight squeezing back the hot tears and breathe deep suppressing the ability of the scream in my mind to escape from my mouth.

I pause. Compose. Toss back the covers.

Doesn't matter anyway. After all, who really expects to sleep in jeans and a sweater anyway.