First-teen

 Dearest Spencer,

Here we are again, at the end of another era, the beginning of another milestone, an old familiar, but oh so different place than we were 365 days ago.

Tonight, you close off your first dozen years and you will wake up as an official teenager.

Not kid, not pre-teen, but a teenager.

Wow.

I know I’ve been calling you a “teen” for a few months now and joking about rounding up, but it hits so much harder tonight. 

We have talked many times about how we are both learning as we go, growing as we go, and figuring this journey out together, and it still rings true.  I finally feel like I have a decent grasp on having big kids instead of little kids, instead of toddlers, instead of babies, and here we are, a new juncture, and it’s off to the races as we veer into the years of having teenagers.  You’re the forerunner, obviously.  I hope that the years are good to us, the disagreements and stresses are few and are between, and the laughter and hugs are countless.

Realistically, I know it won’t likely be all wildflowers, sunshine and rainbows, but I pray that it’s more wildflowers, sunshine and rainbows that torrents, deluges, and gale forces. I pray that it’s more dancing than falling, that’s for sure.

It has been such a joy watching you grow and transform before my eyes.  I have been reliving old photos and videos at night lately, thinking about how you were the answer to my biggest prayer- that I could be a momma.  I think about how your blue eyes have sparkled looking back at mine for the past dozen years, and how familiar that is to me, and how it ignites sparks inside my heart.  

Watching your personality blossom has been another treasure to me.  I remember when you were so much younger, and it was harder to tap into “your brave” and there were many things you just wouldn’t do.  There were many things you wouldn’t do alone, but you were braver with me by your side.  I was your steady and your charge when you were hesitant or leery of whatever was going on around you or what was being asked of you.  Your meek, little voice still echoes in my head.

But now… I’ve recently come to the realization that you may be braver without me.  I think about the fact that you were ready and willing to attend three different camps or retreats this past summer, with three different groups of people, in three different states, all without me, all with very little contact to me, and how you flourished and thrived and each one chiseled you into the young man you are turning into, a little bit at a time.  I loved seeing you again for the first time, each time, and how you would come to me, arms wide open, with a huge grin, and tell me you missed me.  It was unexpected each time, but they were threes heaven-sent moments. 

Another thing that has been a delight in regard to those excursions, is hearing other people tell me how wonderful they think you are.  You were reported to be very kind, thoughtful, hilarious, and fun.  Many of us have enjoyed watching you come out of your shell more and more. (As a side note, have I told you that I am so proud of you for starting to let more people “in” on all areas of your life including your thoughts, emotions, fears, joys, and triumphs?  I am.  You have spent many years guarding these parts of yourself, for reasons I do understand, but you’ve been slowly breaking down your walls, and it’s a magnificent thing to experience.)

As I realized these things recently, you and I had a discussion about how you feel more relaxed and open going to youth group nights by yourself, instead of with me there.  Surprisingly enough, it didn’t hurt my feelings at all, but made me so proud of you for your honesty and bravery.  You’ve climbed quite the hill in your years, and it’s amazing to see you reaching the pinnacle and I cannot wait to see where you go when you get closer. I don’t know if one every really reaches the hypothetical summit, but if you do, I’ll be here cheering you on for that as well.

In another side of your personality, I love listening to you experiment with your instruments.  I cannot tell you how big I grinned when I heard you play a little diddy on guitar that sounded like the solo to my favorite song. Your teachers at school all tell me how great you are as well, and that they are proud of you.  I know, personally, music is one of my best friends, like a cozy blanket that understands me no matter what my mood or life circumstance is.  I feel that it may be similar for you as well.  One thing that you possess that I don’t though, is the ability to pull music out of thin air, play by ear, or goof around and have it still sound good. I might be a tiny bit jealous in that aspect. 

Lately, I’ve been trying to give you more independence and trust, inch by inch, because you are older and should be gaining more responsibility and independence as we go along, but sometimes, that’s hard for me, and I apologize if I come off as overprotective or untrusting.  The world we live in continues to change into one that seems crazier and more uncertain than the one I grew up in, and I’m always trying to navigate how that should look so far as parenting goes.  As you know, and have said in the past, I’m pretty much doing it myself, and often I second guess or doubt myself and whether I am doing it right, or good enough, and so forth.  Thank you for being patient with me.  (I will admit, however, that I love the moments where you’re not “too cool” or “too old” to do things that are still whimsical and fun.  Tonight, for example, we had the perfect balance of going trick-or-treating with family, but then the independence to go again on your own for a while.)

With that said, I promise to continue to try to extend my own patience with you. I know there are times when I am less than patient and certainly not perfect in how I approach things.  I joke occasionally about how I was once a middle school or teenage girl, but I was never a middle school or teenage boy, so I don’t always know how to decode what you’re hinting at and I don’t often quite understand what you’re feeling.  I will continue to try to learn the balance between giving you privacy, but also holding you accountable.  Clearly, this stage of our lives is going to be a work in progress, possibly the entire time.

Spencer, I think you’re truly amazing, and the world is so blessed to have you in it.  I have loved watching your faith start growing in different ways, trying new things, and enjoying new experiences.  I loved getting you a Bible this summer, and each time you tell me about a verse or story you’ve found interesting brings me even more joy.  Thank you for what you’re willing to share, and know I understand that a faith life is personal too, and I respect that I cannot and will not always get to know everything.  That’s new to me too.  I’m so used to the little kid information overload that the preteen and teenage withholding feels a bit foreign still.

Thank you for loving like you do.  Thank you for giving me hugs for no reason, out of nowhere, and when I’m sad.  Thank you for all the fun we have in the car going to or from school, and for obliging when I ask too many questions about your day.  Thank you for your wonderful sense of humor that feels so much like my own, and for the respect you show asking if you can tell jokes before just blurting them out.  That probably seems or sounds silly, but it just shows me that you respect boundaries of others.

Thank you for going out of your way to help others, whether it is you giving a little of your spending cash to another student on a trip, or respectfully assisting someone who may be less physically agile due to injury, age, illness, or other reasons.  I have heard accounts of both of these things, and many others, when they’ve happened and I’m not around.  There’s nothing quite like hearing something wonderful your child did when they didn’t need to impress or prove anything to others.  Thank you for holding doors and carrying in one more grocery bag yourself so I don’t have to- without being asked.  

As bittersweet as it is to see you continue to grow up, I am truly excited to see what the future holds.  I don’t want to say goodbye to the childhood years where you need more care than independence, more cuddles than thumbs up, but I know it’s going to be a beautiful thing as you continue to grow older and our relationship starts to take on more friendship qualities as well.  

Thanks for the abundance of random information that you spout out with no rhyme or reason.  Believe it or not, I do the same thing to others.  

I pray this year brings you boundless laughter, new favorite songs, interesting additional friends, and a real sense of who you are, as a child of God, a son of mine, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, and a friend.  You are a delight to me, even on our harder days.  

Love you more,

Mom (not Bruh)

A Familiar Loss of a Different Kind

On Monday, morning, October 9, 2023, my dear friend, Buffy Sue, passed away unexpectedly in her home.

I have lost friends and family before, numerous times.  This loss, however familiar in some ways, is unique and different compared to those in the past.  This feels like new territory in some respects.

During my adolescent years, the internet was just starting to really become common and accessible.  In my tenth grade year, I joined a website for teens with journals, games, polls, messaging, and so forth.  It started out as somewhat of a social experiment in my mind, as well as an exciting way to explore new territory with people my age, all over the globe.  I had a MySpace page, where I found friends and new music, taught myself some basic HTML and photo editing skills, downloaded ICQ and AIM messengers, and continued to make connections.  It didn’t take long before I was fully immersed in the website I first mentioned, making friendships and relationships that many adults at the time would tell you were not and could not ever be real, true, lasting friendships.  It seemed absurd that you could have a relationship with someone you had never met. I grew up in a tiny town with amazing “real-life” friendships, as I would have referred to them at the time.  These online friends were no substitute, they were an addition to my tribe.

That website was the beginning of my online journaling (now called blogging) endeavor, and I wrote almost every day.  At one point, I had journaled every day for one or two years.  I honestly cannot even recall. I had friends that read daily, commented daily, and I reciprocated in their journals.  As we got older, we started chatting, emailing, writing letters, sending text messages, and sometimes even meeting in person.  While it may seem shocking to believe, I have made some of my most trusted friends on that website, and they know me, the real me, and love me in return, and we have had these relationships for twenty-some years.  They’ve been by my side, figuratively speaking, through high school, high school graduation, boyfriend breakups, college, college graduation, engagement, wedding, marriage, infertility, deaths in my family, births of children, betrayal from my husband, divorce, single-parenting, covid, overcoming, and so many more events in my last twenty years.

In 2012, after giving birth to one son in 2010, then losing a pregnancy in 2011, I became pregnant again and was due with our next child in August.  At the time, I was working an in-home daycare with one of my best friends, with a husband who worked long hours out of town and was away a lot.  I joined a pregnancy app on my phone, which came with message boards.  Those message boards were a bit rudimentary, and it wasn’t long after that an August 2012 Momma Facebook group was formed.  So many women around the globe joined that group, and we shared so much of our lives together.  That group still exists, and while it’s not as frequently utilized, we mommas are there and we still love each other.  Some have been fortunate enough to meet in person, and many of us developed deeper side friendships with mommas we really connected with, and have kept in touch in multiple other ways.  When we had our babies, we were there.  When they turned one, we were there.  When we have had triumphs and joys, we were there.  When lives turned unexpectedly upside down, we were there.  It is a core group that you know is going to be there even if it’s been a year and you need to rant about something related to motherhood, you need prayers or advice for any other topic, or you’re in a crisis and you don’t know what to do.  It’s been such a joy watching our children grow up together, even if we are not physically together.

This momma group is where I met Buffy Sue.  

Buffy Sue was absolutely my closest friend in that group.  She brought me such joy.  Her laughter was contagious and when she would get laughing, I may not even understand really what she was laughing about (because sometimes she would be laughing so hard her words didn’t sound comprehensible) but it would get me laughing, too.  She gave great advice when I needed it.  She said stupid funny things when I needed comic relief.  She sent me pictures and videos of herself and her daughters frequently.  She told me all about her coffee shop, when things were going well, when things would unexpectedly break down and cause messes, when things were going splendidly, all of it.  I always told her I wished she could deliver MY coffee, but joked that it would probably taste a little funky by the time it arrived, so she would just have to drink what I would order in my honor.  She blessed my children and I in big  and little ways, from surprises in the mail, to silly letters, and much, much more.  She helped me see straight through tears of confusion and anger when my marriage was falling apart.  She reminded me how strong I was, and how I was never really going crazy even if I thought it might be the case.  She encouraged and supported all my creative endeavors.  She was a champion for everyone she loved and so many other she barely even knew.  She would do anything she could to better someone’s life- not just mine.  I tried my very best to do the same for her in her life, and I can only pray that I made an as much an impact on her as she did on me.  As I’ve been reading tributes to her online, I am blown away, but also not really surprised, by the impact she made on her community, but even further, around the world.

When I read last night that she was gone, it felt like I was being punched in the chest.  I turned off my phone screen multiple times, feeling like I was just imagining what the screen said.  When I realized it was true, I wept quietly in my room, away from my sons.

You see, they didn’t really know Buffy.  They knew of her, because I would show them videos or photos sometimes when they’d ask what was so funny, but they never really met her.

That’s when I realized, in a way, I had never really met her, either.  Well, not in person, anyway.

That thought struck me in the strangest way, as I then wrestled with my own thoughts.  That lasted much of the night, and I cried myself to sleep, still feeling sort of strange to be feeling as sad as I was.

Today is my day off from work, so after I took my two littles to elementary school, my oldest and I carried out our day-off tradition.  I drive him across town to middle school, but on our way, we stop at a coffee shop of his choosing, and we play “coffee roulette” where I let him order a drink for me (so long as it is not straight up black coffee or espresso) and he chooses a bakery item for himself.  When we were picking up our items from the drive through window, I started to feel tears welling up in my eyes.  As we pulled away, I blurted out to him, “one of my online momma friends died this week.”

He was stunned.  He stared at me for a moment before he said “that is so tragic and I am really sorry, mom.”

I told him how I didn't want to burden them with my loss, and how I nearly broke down this morning when I realized if I sent her the goofy Snapchat photo I was sending some friends of our cat trying to get involved in non-cat-related activities she wouldn't ever open it anyway.

I began to tell him about Buffy and all of her great qualities.  I told him how she was really “Steve the Elf” a couple years ago who sent us tickets to For King and Country’s Christmas concert locally.  He laughed about it a while and then told me how she sounded so cool and it made all the sense in the world that we were friends.

“We really were friends,” I said, trailing off a little.  

I finally began talking aloud about all the conflicting thoughts I had been feeling the night prior- how could I possibly be so sad when I had never even been in the same room as her?  How could I be devastated knowing I wouldn’t get to hug her in person when we still hadn’t had that chance?  How could she possibly have left such a lasting impression on me when she was so far away?  

He and I then talked about how it absolutely makes sense that I was so sad.  She was real.  She was a real friend. She knew me better than many people.  Just because we had never been in the same place geographically, she was with me so often, in a few second spurts, day in and day out.  We shared each other’s triumphs.  We shared sorrow when her dad died.  We laughed when we would say or do stupid things.  We shared music.  We shared a friendship.

He and I then had a great talk about how you really can create life-long, true, deep relationships with people you have never met, but how you also have to be careful in letting people online into your life sometimes, especially with sensitive information.

I explained how I have two groups of real-life-online-friends, those who are still in my life from high school, and those who came into my life as a momma, and are still in my life today.  He knows I have amazing friendships with some of these.  He began asking me questions about many of them, and I got to tell him stories about how one friend and I would write a fiction blog about a world where we were actually together, and another friend and I would fill up a notebook with multiple letters before sending it off, and how I met one in Nashville, and stayed with one in Brooklyn, and met up with two in Omaha, and one came to Sioux Falls.

He told me I was a really great friend.  He wiped away my tears and reminded me he loved me.

As he got out of the car and I drove away, the song “Banks” by Needtobreathe came on the car stereo, and it brought me right back to Buffy, and the type of life she lived and the way she loved fiercely.

I was watching the sun rise above the trees, alone again with my thoughts and my sorrow.  I had finished my coffee, and remembered that my favorite local coffee drink, the Honey Bee Latte, was half price at that time in the morning, and I had enough pocket change in my cup holder to stop and grab one. I wasn’t quite ready to go home and sit with my thoughts yet, because my emotions were still swirling.  So, I stopped and ordered my favorite, one I had told Buffy about long ago, and decided to go to the outdoor campus here in town and go for a walk.  I dove deeper into my thoughts and emotion and decided that I needed to write.

I always find that I need to write.

This time, it was a little different.

I realized that I could search all over for a physical place where I felt my friend and I were together, but when it came down to it, the living room of our friendship was really the internet.  It was in writing, mostly.  I knew I needed to come sit on the virtual couch of our friendship and feel the emptiness in that room, and embrace the love I had for her in this life, through the screen in front of me.   I walked a couple of miles until my coffee was gone, with the gentle wind blowing through the trees, thinking about the songs she might send my way on a day like this, what joke she would make, and if her Honey Bee Latte would be even tastier.  I believe it would have been, no contest.  

So here I am, writing my heart out, wondering what she would say if she saw all of these words before us.  She would downplay her own significance for a while, but tell me how much she loved me, and turn it right around and build me up, because that’s what kind of champion she was.

This sorrow I feel is like that of any other friend or family I’ve lost, but different in that unfamiliar ache of the in-person hug I won’t get on this side of heaven.  As I sit through the grief, I realize this won’t be the first time on this path, because I am so blessed someday, potentially (unless I go, first) lose many more I love so deeply in this way.

My sorrow must only be a fraction of the sorrow felt by her mother, her siblings, her husband, her beautiful daughters, and her countless friends.  I’ll be thinking of them often and praying for their piece as they live out the immeasurable grief I’m sure they must be feeling.  I’ll continue to read the tributes to her online, and count myself so fortunate to have a treasure like her in my lifetime.  

I know you’re singing with the angels, Buffy, love.

Until someday,

-Me

The Middle Eleven

 My dearest Collin,

You are ten tonight.  Tomorrow, you will be eleven. You’re entering the preteen years, and I sit here, watching you play with the cats, in utter disbelief.  How did we reach this milestone?  

This past year, you have grown so much. You’ve gotten taller, wiser, funnier, smarter, braver, and even a little bit calmer.  In the last year, you’ve learned much about the way your mind works, which has allowed you to understand the world a little bit better, I think.  It’s helped you understand yourself in a deeper level, which has helped your relationships grow.  It’s been such a revelatory year. 

Just a few months ago, for example, we had a moment where you finally were able to articulate why you refuse to eat cereal out of bowls like the rest of us.  You told me, frankly, that you cannot stand the sound of our metal spoons scraping against the plastic bowls.  It was such an easy fix, and our relationship grew because of it.

For almost the entirety of your eleven years, you’ve loved trains, dinosaurs, building, and books.  Recently, you’ve been surprising me with new interests and it has been so much fun seeing those develop.  You told me the other day that you want to try band and play the trombone. I honestly was shocked, because you’ve never really shown a deep interest in music. Now, you do love some songs or melodies, and you latch onto those and could listen to them for days on end, but in general, you don’t engage in music very often.  The other day, you were even singing! You made me promise not to tell people that, sorry, I just let it slip.  I’ve enjoyed seeing you bring home drawings from school this year, as well.  I think you maybe got some of your momma’s creative abilities in there.

Collin, you have such a brilliant mind. You are one of the smartest fifth graders I know.  When you say things like you aren’t good at math, it boggles me, because you are actually quite good at it even if it doesn’t come as easy to you as some other subjects. I know fourth grade was super rough, relationship wise especially, but I have such high hopes and can see such great things coming for you in this year ahead. I am so excited to see where this year leads you!

I have loved watching you continue to love on littles around you, at daycare, at church, and in our family.  You have such a heart for younger children, and babies seem to be your calm place (until they’re crying).  My heart melts when you sit and relax with a baby on your lap.

You're a fierce defender of all people and things that are important to you. You stand up for people when they are wronged, even if it gets you into a little trouble. Watching you guard the wedding rings at your aunt and new uncle's wedding a few weeks ago showed that protective side, too, as you told people you would guard them with your life. I loved you even more that day, too. 

As I said, we have had some trials over the last year, as always, but I refuse to sit and dwell on those.  I know that you replay things over and over in your mind, failures especially, but I want you to know that I see you beyond the missteps, poor choices, struggles, and hard times.  I see the real you.  I see your kind, loving, wonderful heart.

Perhaps one of my favorite moments of this last year was on baptism Sunday, when you went from hesitant to exceptionally excited in the blink of an eye.  We had talked off and on over the course of the week before about why you wanted to be baptized, and you didn’t really know what you wanted to say.  When you were asked, there in the water, you had the most profound, well spoken answer- you know you are under God’s wing.  You elaborated more than that, and it was poetic.  My heart could have exploded in that moment, and when I baptized you in the water and you sprung back up to life and hugged me, there was no greater moment.

Mister man, I want you to know that I will always continue to pray over you and for you.  In the coming year, I pray that you know that you are good, inside and out, and you always feel that you belong in this world. I know that the world can be a hard place and people can try to break you down, but I pray that you have been built up by those who love you most, God included, that you know you will not be broken. You always have a safe place in my arms, and I will always be here to listen to your tears.  I might not always have the perfect words to say, but I pray when I do not, you can hear God’s voice.  

I pray that you laugh so much this year that your sides hurt and your eyes water, you slap your knees, and you have to catch your breath.  Laughter is one of my favorite sounds and I think you have such a great sense of humor.  I pray that you are filled daily with hugs and kind smiles from those around you.  I pray you never feel lost in this world and always know who will guide you, especially if you feel alone.  I pray that you can see the great things you have already accomplished and take excited comfort in knowing there’s so much more in store for you.

I pray this a year unlike any other, and you really, truly, get to know how wonderful you are.

It has been a long eleven years. It has been a quick eleven years.  It’s been such a blessing.  I am so grateful that God gave me you, all those years ago.

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m so glad you’re mine.

Love you more,

Mom

Washed by the Water

Growing up, I was raised believing in God, and attended Lutheran churches for my entire childhood, as well as my first couple of years in college.  I was baptized in the Lutheran church shortly after I was one year old.  I went to a Lutheran elementary school for my first two years of education, and sometime after my family and I moved into town in the spring of 1991, I began going to a Lutheran church just down the block from my house. 

I loved going to church, largely because I was going with my grandma, who loved going to church.  The services were very traditional, and I learned them quickly, able to recite the various parts alongside the congregation before too long, without needing to use the hymnal for reference much of the time.  I attended confirmation classes in that same church, was confirmed, choosing Proverbs 3:5 as my life verse, and took communion for the first time in that church.  I can still picture the red carpet, warm wooden pews, and countless stained glass windows that surrounded us.  My senior year of high school, we had our baccalaureate service in my church.  I helped teach Sunday school and vacation Bible school there. I felt so at home.  

Even now, as an adult, when I attend a Lutheran church, I can pull the traditions out from my memory and integrate myself seamlessly amongst those who regularly attend.

Halfway through college, I discovered new churches, and began to attend them.  At first, they seemed a little “out there,” with contemporary worship songs instead of traditional hymns, following different layouts for the service.  Communion was more open to everyone, and often less traditional in how it was taken.  There was much less repeating creeds, call and responses, and the sermons were more vivid to me.  I stopped taking sermon notes, as I had learned growing up, and started to really just listen and remember the messages.  I started laughing in church.  I started to love the music, raise my hands, and sway along with the beat.  

I found myself focused much less on what was coming next and much more on the experience as a whole.  I grew up knowing God loved me, Jesus loved me, and Holy Spirit loved me.  I grew up afraid of messing up and going to hell.  I grew up reciting memorized prayers.

My former husband and I were married in a contemporary church, with contemporary services, although our wedding ceremony was still traditional in most ways.  After a few years, we moved to South Dakota, and started attending new churches all over again.  We found one we fell in love with, the pastor, the programming, the children’s ministry, the worship, the Bible studies, the community.  For the first time since my childhood in my hometown ELCA church, I felt this church was home. 

By this time, I began feeling differently about tradition and was working on letting go of the “rules” I felt religion called to me, and more on trying to just feel, hear, or sense what God was calling. At first, when our oldest son was born, I was unsure of dedicating him instead of baptizing him in infancy like I grew up knowing we were supposed to do, but after prayerful consideration, I really believed that’s what was right for our family.  Along with our dearest married friends who had also recently had a baby boy, we dedicated our sons in that new home church. 

After a couple of years, my marriage started on it’s beginning toward the end, and we sadly went to church less and less.  Our second two children never were dedicated, and for years after my former husband was gone, I felt such guilt about this. I knew in my heart it wasn’t a “necessity” and if they grew up believing and trying to know God, whether or not they were dedicated as babies was not going to keep them from a life of salvation.  The enemy tried hard to dissuade me of that for many, many months.

By June of 2015, my marriage was basically over and my children and my world was crashing down around us.  We no longer attended that church, were living in transitional housing as I worked a new job after being a stay-at-home-mom, with my former husband more a figment of our imagination than a person that was actually around.  I began attending a Lutheran church that was close to where we were living at the time, because I could walk there.   I attended only a few times, and felt so out of place.  

At my new job, however, I was placed in a room at a church daycare, with mobile infants and a couple other staff, one of which became my confidante, one of my best friends, and a beacon of hope and shining light of Jesus love.  Eventually, she convinced me to come to a Sunday service at the church where our daycare located. I confided in her that I was anxious about it, not sure I would fit in, worried what it would look like to be a single mom with three little children, and hated the idea of sitting alone.  She invited me to sit beside her and her family, right there in the second row.  I put on my brave, and I attended the church.

I was completely surprised by how welcome I felt.  The children’s pastor welcomed me and my children with open arms and a heart full of joy.  Over the years, she has become another one of my closest friends, even though she has moved on from that pastoral role.  The congregation welcomed us as well.  There were so many kind, caring people who began to love on me and my littles, and we never stopped going.  That church is still our home.

Soon after we attended, there was a baptism service.  At this church, as well as the one before, children could be dedicated, but you choose when and if you want to be baptized.  I recall, so clearly, watching, cheering, and worshipping as baptisms happened up in front, and in an instant, I had this thought.. “What if some day all three of my children were baptized, and I was re-baptized, and we did it together?”

I could almost envision it in my mind.

That thought never left.  Over the years, we witnessed many baptisms.  The children would often watch, and they would cheer alongside us all as people re-surrendered, re-professed, and publicly invited us all to be a part of the joy as they celebrated their re-birth by water baptism.  Each time, I would think, “what if…”

Occasionally, throughout the years, I would ask my children if they were interested in or ready to be baptized.  Each time, they would say no, for various reasons. I would not push it, because I knew in my heart it would happen when they were ready for it to happen.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago this year, 2023.   My daughter, the youngest child, watched baptisms happening at church and told me she might be ready next time it happened, but she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to do it on her own.  Immediately, I went back to my vision, though I did not tell her that.  I simply said that perhaps, by the time they happened next, someone else in our family would want to be baptized too. I prayed it would happen, and we let the idea rest quietly.

My oldest son woke up one morning, a month or two later, and after I sang the “good morning, I love you” little song I sing each day, he asked me, before any other words came out of his mouth, “Mom, when is baptism happening again?”  I was so shocked that I was not sure I heard him correctly, and asked him o repeat the question.  It was the same thing.  I asked why, and he said, “I think Jesus wants me to be baptized.”  I found out later that it was because he had a dream he was with Jesus, and Jesus lead him to be baptized in it.  

That same day I went and found the children’s pastor and we figured out when the next baptism Sunday would be. I shared the news with my son, and he did not say much more about it.  During the end of the school year, he began attending a youth group at my friends’ church instead of our own, and started becoming more invested and open in his faith.  One day, the second week, he asked me for his own adult Bible.  He attended a youth-group summer camp with that youth group, and about a month later, a youth-group retreat with our own.  The retreat was the week before baptisms were to be happening at our church, and I had not heard much about it again, and was hesitant to ask and make him feel coerced, but I found out he told the children’s pastor at our home church that he was still going to be baptized.  I was elated for him.

The week prior to the youth-retreat that lead into baptism Sunday, I began asking my second son, the middle child, about the possibility that he might want to be baptized, too.  He was largely not committed to an answer, and would sway back and forth between a yes and a no depending on the breeze or his mood.  He told me he would think about it, seriously, and asked multiple times about the temperature of the water.  Once he heard from the children’s pastor that the water was warm, he told me he was ready to be baptized.

Just like that, it seemed, after 8 years of holding onto this vision, all three of my children were planning to be baptized on the same Sunday.

I was ready, too.

I know that to many, it may seem strange that I would choose to be baptized again as an adult, considering the fact that I was baptized as a young toddler back in my first home church.  Even I was battling that thought for a moment or two.  

I wanted to lead by example, on one hand, and on another, I wanted to stand alongside my children and proclaim to everyone that Jesus is MY Lord, Savior, Father, Friend, and Brother.  I wanted to make a public declaration that I believe in His life, and how he gave His for my own, so that I would not go to Hell because of my birth into a fallen world, like I was afraid of growing up.  He makes us new and washes away our sins, and it was time to declare all of those things for myself, of my own choosing.

On Sunday, July 30, 2023, in the middle of worship, all dressed in t-shirts that read “You are a treasure,” my children and I were water baptized in our home church, surrounded by our church family that has prayed for, over, and with us, for most of my children’s lives.  They have supported us in so many known and unknown ways, and loved us during our worst times.  

It was a perfect morning.

I entered the water first, guiding my daughter to join me.  She declared that she loved Jesus, and because of her faith, I was able to baptize her in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  The joy in her face as she rose out of the water was indescribable and she giggled quietly as I hugged her so tight.

My middle son was next, as he had asked me to baptize him too.  I was unsure what reason he would give for deciding to be baptized, because the entire week leading up to it, he was not really able to form an answer if I asked.   When given the opportunity to speak, however, he told, with beautiful language, how he knows Jesus loves him for who he is and he is under God’s wing (in his own words, which are recorded on the church Livestream for revisiting). I baptized him the same, and he rose with one of the largest, most genuine grins I had seen on his face in years, and we embraced before he left the water.

Next, our Lead Pastor joined me, and after we joked about me baptizing him, he asked me why I was choosing baptism that day.  I told a brief account of my vision 8 years ago and how every one of my children had decided, individually, to be baptized, just like the idea I had, and this was fulfilling that vision.   Pastor Brent, the first lead pastor I have met who really sees me for me, loves me for who I am, me, Nicole, as a person, was who I knew I wanted to take this step with me.  Our pastor, who is a brother to us as well, is legally blind, but really, truly, has been the first lead pastor to see me as a sister in Christ.  

 The actual submersion of the baptism felt like it was happening in slow motion. I felt the water as it rushed from my torso up over my head, warm, light, comforting, and freeing, and as I rose, it all fell away with utter weightlessness and I was immediately filled with joy.  I immediately knew that this was a prophecy that he had spoken to me, over the life of my family, being fulfilled, and I had not thought of it that way prior to that moment.  I felt strong, confident, and peaceful, all at the same time.  And as I peered out into the congregation, I saw, even without my glasses, the smiling, cheering faces, of so many who had been there while awaiting the prophecy to be fulfilled. I turned to Brent and hugged him so tight, and then made a way for my oldest son.

My son has become such a brave young man over the years.  Once, he was so anxious about things that he would hide in the back and sometimes cry.  He did not want people watching him.  But this day, he walked with pure confidence and determination, and entered the water ready. I could sense it.   He spoke of how God came to him in a dream, calling him to be baptized.  He too had Pastor Brent baptize him.  He is blessed to have an amazing, honest connection with our children’s pastor too, who has watched him grow up for many years now, and had deliberated between both of those amazing male role models to baptize him.  When he rose from the water, I saw the most brilliant grin on his face, and he came, arms wide open, to embrace me.   As we did, Brent cheered him on from behind, with the church family joining in their seats.  The hug was electric.  It was a perfect moment.

It was a perfect family baptism.  

I have watched and re-watched the baptism and looked at the photos I have multiple times over the last week.  I can play the experience back in my mind so effortlessly. I pray I never lose that ability.  I have cried beautiful tears over it all, and been amazed by how steady God has been through our lives as we all aligned to that day. He is so, so good.

(Thank you to my friend Jolynn of Beloveds Design Photography for capturing baptism photos, including the one I share publicly here.)

Disclaimer: Nothing I have expressed here is meant to condemn or ridicule the Lutheran Church (or any other traditional ones). For me, personally, the church I was raised in was becoming more tradition and repetition and feeding my soul less, and I needed a change. Contemporary church is where I found myself at home again. I still have love and fondness for my roots!)

Ol' Sweet Day

 Seventeen years ago today, I became a wife. The day was absolutely fantastic, and I carry so many wonderful memories with me still. Although our marriage ended a few years ago, I still recognize and "celebrate" the day each year, because it's an integral part of my life story, and I am grateful that it happened. 

When I was married, my youngest sister was seven years-old. My former husband and I were fortunate enough to have each of our immediate siblings in the wedding ceremony, but she was the youngest bridesmaid. She was not even up to my chest in height. It was one of my dreams come true to have my siblings with me on one of the most important days of my life. 

Today, seventeen years later, wearing my grandma's wedding dress, my youngest sister became a wife.

Before she and her fiance were ever engaged, she had asked me if I would officiate her wedding someday, if her path lead her to be married. I was completely shocked, but absolutely honored, and said yes, I would be willing to have that role.  Months later, her wonderful boyfriend, now husband, proposed to her, and she asked me again, to make sure I was still willing. I was overjoyed for her, and again, said I absolutely would do that. 

The day she introduced him to myself and my children, and I saw how well they immediately got along, and how he seemed to already love my kids, who are also a big part of my sister's life as they somewhat "grew up together" (she became an aunt when she was 11), and how at ease he was with us, I fell in love with him as a man for her. As we watched their relationship continue to grow, I prayed for them, believing he would be the one she would someday marry.

Granted, I am not one who likes public speaking, but there was no reserve whatsoever in my heart. She recently told me that she knew I would be the perfect person to write her wedding ceremony and officiate their marriage. I won't lie, it made me emotional and I laid there with tears, blown away by how strongly she felt that way about me. 

Being a divorced, single momma, married just shy of ten years... I will not lie and say I had not had a few moments where I questioned whether or not I was the right person for the job. My marriage did not last. How could I possibly be a good fit for helping someone begin a new one? It took being told that I was not bad at marriage to help me reframe my view. When I thought about it with a fresh perspective, I started to see where my little sister was possibly coming from when she thought of me as the perfect fit for her wedding. I was not bad at marriage, even though it failed. And, honestly, because it failed, I have a perspective I did not have prior, as to some integral parts of what helps a marriage be strong. I laid in bed last night, unsure of myself in this role, but woke up this morning filled with joyous anticipation of the wedding to come. 

The wedding was wonderful. I was slightly nervous speaking in front of the dear family and friends who were able to attend, but as soon as I saw my brother-in-law begin escorting his mother in, my nerves were met with pure happiness. I could not stop smiling. It was a privilege to officiate alongside his grandpa, who helped with a few components of the ceremony, making it truly a special fit for both the bride and groom. When the rings were exchanged and I said they could give a great big high five (yes, that really happened, but they got to kiss after it), I had a rush of pure exhilaration, and I proclaimed them Mr. & Mrs. It was such a beautiful evening. 

My dad held on to my sister's bridesmaid dress from my wedding all those years ago. As I look at this photo of her today, holding the dress from my wedding, wearing my grandmother's dress for her own wedding, I have so many emotions. I feel slight sadness that the years go by so quickly, because even though I was 16 when she was born, I loved spending time with her (and our other sister who is a few years older than the bride) growing up. I had them visit me so many times and created some magnificent memories. I find myself in awe of the fact that not only is she my sister but one of my best friends, and that I have had the chance of seeing her as a newborn and grow into a wonderful young woman. I've been blessed by our relationship in so many unexplainable ways. There's something indescribably beautiful about having your baby sister grow into an adult best friend. To top all that off with being involved in each other's weddings, and those weddings being on the same date, and I feel overwhelmingly blessed by the gifts God has given us in this journey. 

I am so grateful that we have been key figures in each other's life stories, and our love is so deep that we can't imagine our most important days without the other. 

I wish nothing but the absolute best, and am praying a lifetime of blessings for the new husband and wife. 

It still feels surreal to say that. 

The last single digit..

 Miss Norah,

The day is almost near. It's a day you've been waiting for somewhat patiently for months. Your birthday. Again. Didn't you just have one? And must you keep reminding me that you are turning nine?

Nine. My baby girl, my unexpected sunshine, is on the verge of her last single-digit birthday. You won't stop reminding me. I can't believe I've been a mom this long. 

The last year has been a year of growth in many ways. You seem so much taller, your hair thicker, darker, straighter. You're less baby-faced and more muscular. You're so strong, physically, mentally, and emotionally. You have faced your biggest academic struggles head on and threw down the walls of your heart in order to conquer them. 

You are such a compassionate little sister to both of your brothers. When someone picks on one, you stand by his side. You know how to calm him, reach him, and understand him, when sometimes even I don't. You are one of his safest spaces, even if some days you do more fighting than laughing. You have such forgiveness in your heart for when you are wronged. 

You know how to pester your oldest brother in a way that's filled with love, and the two of you have such a great relationship in that way. You stand up for him, but also to him when necessary, and you keep each other accountable. 

The three of you are a beautiful team. You've begun to grow in your communication skills, relating, and friendship, just as you've been growing in your capacity to irritate each other. Clearly, God made you to be a unit. 

Your almost nine years of experience living through hard situations alongside your brothers and I has helped you to be such a kind cousin and friend. 

Every one of the cousins you spend time with adores you for various reasons. You may be older than all but one of them, but you love each of them well for who they are, and you can tell how much they appreciate who you are. I adore watching you play together. I love that your cousins are some of your best friends. 

Your friends are so blessed as well. You have friends of all different ages, races, backgrounds, and abilities, and you treat each one with value and respect. Your experiences with your brothers have shaped your compassion and empathy and ability to embrace and cherish other kids who are neurodivergent which is something that the world needs more of and I am certain you are lighting the way for others around you. 

I love your heart for the suffering of others. When we see people on street corners holding up signs, you always want to help. Tonight, when we watched "the Hunchback of Notre Dame " you were filled with tears in the first few minutes as your heart broke for the injustice and suffering of one person cast out from the world. You spent most of the movie voicing how unkind people were and how unfair it was, because Quasimodo was beautiful to you with his cute, misshapen face. Your heart hurts for the hurting and you are not too proud to say so. I love watching you come alongside those who may be struggling, overlooked, or feel broken. 

This past year has been surreal in the way that you have become my little friend, not only my daughter. Sometimes, that's hard for you, when I have to parent in ways you don't appreciate, but as I have reminded, I'll always be your mom first, and friend second. But the development of our friendship has been such a blessing to both of us. I love sitting in the car with you to run errands as we laugh hysterically about something silly we said, or thought the other said, or a funny comment on the radio. We share similar interests in crafting and smoothies and have had many a date just the two of us when the boys turn us down. It's been a true delight. 

As you continue to mature, you continue to develop your own brand of sass and stubbornness, which while appreciated in some ways like in knowing you'll be able to stand your ground when you need to in years to come, and you won't just let others push you over and trample you, it has also been a bit of a struggle for me, learning to grow and figure out how to walk through it with you. In so many ways, I've found you are not like your brothers, and the things in little girl world are complex and deep many times. The one perk to going through these developments with you is that I too was a young girl once, so I relate just a little more than I do to some of the boys similar, but differing struggles. I have had to tell them that I was never a young boy, so sometimes I may need more clarity and understanding to know what is going on in their hearts and minds. 

Pip, I pray that this next year is absolutely splendid. I pray that it's filled with so much emotional rainbows and sunshine that you can hardly stand it. I pray that you can look back and see how far you've come in overcoming things in the past, and it gives you fortitude and courage for the future. 

I pray that your friendships continue to strengthen, despite the way young girl friendships ebb and flow, bend and break but then reform again, coming and going much like a tide. In the same way, I pray that those dearest friendships remain constant, also like the tide. 

I pray that you continue to see your inner and outer beauty in a world full of mirrors that are filtered to bring you down. I pray you see through that and only hold onto the mirrors that show the truth, and that builds you up. I pray I've done a good enough job filling your emotional storehouse of self-worth that you will never, ever believe you are anything less than beautiful and worthy. 

I pray the cats accidentally scratch you less and snuggle you more. I pray they really do eventually want to take pictures with you like you want to take pictures with them. 

I pray that as you and your brothers approach big years of growth, you remember who you all are deep down inside, and you can approach each other with mercy and endless grace. 

I pray that you hear the truth Jesus has spoken about you, and you hear his whispers regularly. 

Baby girl, not so much a baby, but yet, always my baby, 

I love you. 

You love me more...

But as I've told you, that's not possible. 

Happy birthday, Norah B. 

Love,

Momma