Worship, a Party, and Egg Cracking Fun

Party remnants sit on my kitchen table. Plastic liners lay on my back porch. Gifts and cards clutter living room corners, reminding me of our Sunday celebration.

Last Sunday, Sam, his friend Micah, and a gifted cellist named Michael led worship during the Baccalaureate service. So even though Sam graduates today (in a mere seven hours) we partied after the service. 

This is Sam warming up before putting on black pants and tie.

This is Sam and Micah during the service.

Of all the graduation events I've attended in the last month, Baccalaureate was by far my favorite. I didn't even know Sam could sing and play the guitar a year ago. He held out on me and surprised our whole family by singing an anthem at our Sunday morning San Destin worship service last June.

He was inspired because he'd been asked to lead worship with Micah at their FCA meetings this year. Watching him sing Sunday was truly a gift.

Later, several of his Bible study friends stopped by our porch party. During a lull in the action, Jessica, my niece, asked me if I would support egg cracking fun one more time. She smacked eggs on Nathan's head just a few months ago during his birthday party. Bringing them out again seemed apropos.

She justified the fun based on a tradition I started years ago, when my boys completed first and third grade. Having survived my first Merry Month of May as a single mom of two school aged children, I could hardly contain my "school-is-out" joy. As we stood in the kitchen, I tried a prank. I made a fist and gently knocked it on Nathan's head, wanting him to think I was cracking an egg instead.

He didn't buy it.

So I got out a real egg.

When I gently tapped the real egg on his head, it actually cracked. I didn't mean for it to crack; didn't intend to be stuck with a partially destroyed egg in my hand while in an unpredictable state of mind. But there I was, facing two ready-to-pounce boys with an egg that couldn't go back in the refrigerator.

So I did the only thing I could do. I lifted it high and cracked it on my own head. It was therapeutic, freeing, and stunned my children. Nathan ran around looking for a camera while Sam stood in awe asking over and over, "Mommy, why did you do that?"

I doubled over in laughter as the yolk slid from my head to my shoe.

For years after, we cracked eggs on our heads on the last day of school. We even had an egg fight with cousins after dark one year.

It's been a while. Life sobered my inner child. But Jessica caught Sam up by handing out five eggs to eager friends. That takes care of eighth grade and beyond.

And he didn't see it coming.

Uncle George took the video while I caught some great still photos. So yes, when Sam picks up egg slime at the end and walks towards the camera, he was headed towards me. I got yoked. A massive chase took place after and retribution is still being planned. Jess will have to watch her back while on our yearly family vacation in a few weeks.

But it was worth it.

Worship was followed by light hearted fun at the end of a long four years. And it was very good.

"Sing to the Lord a new song for he has done marvelous things..." (Ps. 98: 1)




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Talking to Mountains and Mito Moms at Grace 17:20

Mito moms at Grace 17:20

We sat in dim, elegant lighting around white table linens. Thirteen of us, once Lauri and I found our way. A white rose adorned the middle, in honor of Ainsley who lost her battle to mito just last week. I didn't know everyone that well. But I drove across town to simply sit with moms who face what I face - and more - every day.

They speak mito speak. They understand the financial stress. They buy CoQ10, carnitine, riboflavin, and other ingredients to mix the "mito cocktail" for their kids. Their children battle seizures, asthma, kidney issues, autism, muscle weakness, and more. They can't handle too much heat or too much cold. Some require wheelchairs while others continue in physical therapy to stay strong.

The daily walk requires a different kind of strength. A different kind of faith. A surrender to a plan not our own.

I found this Bible verse on the restaurant website when I looked up directions. And I've been thinking about ever since. You can find it at this link:
http://www.grace1720.com/aboutus.html

( matt 17:20) "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed,
you can say to this mountain, 'move from here to there' and it will move.
Nothing will be impossible for you."

Those words confuse me sometimes cause I've talked to plenty of mountains that haven't seemed to move. Yet the verse says if we have the tiniest of faith, we can talk to mountains (or large impassable mounds of rock and dirt) and they'll listen. They'll even move... as in out-of-our-way move.

Every mom at that table faces mountains we long to see head on their way. And while I'm not sure what that shift would look like in the tangible, I know being with them gave me strength to keep conversing with my mountains; to tell them to go; to believe there's more than life in the shadows on this side.

"Nothing will be impossible for you."

That's a big statement in light of what everyone faces. But it's a promise I'm soaking in today after sitting at Grace 17:20 with moms like me... moms fighting everyday mito mountains, even when armed with only mustard seed faith.

Finding Balance in my New Swanky Shoes

I haven't blogged in two weeks and I'm not sure where to begin. I'm mito tired today. But my porch needs to be cleaned, a graduation party planned, and my heart stabilized before I watch my youngest graduate from high school.

Three graduation events (in a week) plus a short visit from Nathan (last weekend)disrupted my flow.  The coordinators of one event requested that parents write letters to their graduating seniors. As I wrote, I grieved the last several years. The surgeries. The biopsies. The spinal taps. The diagnosis. The chaos. It just wasn't the ideal scenario I would have scripted for my son's high school years.

But who gets the ideal?

"Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." (Ps. 46: 10)

When I'm still... I feel my new shoes with my new inserts. I picked them up Wednesday morning. Since the muscles in my feet and ankles don't balance well, the new inserts are elevated on the outside edge so my feet slant inward. My ankles rest easy in them, although my legs and hips are still adjusting

When I pause, I feel my feet, solid, comfortable, angled in a way that allows foundational balance. And I'm excited about how my legs will feel in two weeks, a month, maybe even three months.

And while I know I'll ache when Sam leaves in the fall, truth is, I've felt off kilter as a mom for years. The mom muscles needed in days past aren't viable now. Adapting to the new balance has required pressing in while giving space; staying close while letting go. At times I've felt as wobbly in my once familiar role as I have on my formerly stable legs.

My new inserts remind me to look forward after grieving the past - not because my legs will be as reliable as they were years ago or because my boys will need the mom I used to be. But rather to celebrate new beginnings, a firmer foundation, another God given start for all of us.

For "The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress." (Ps. 46: 10)

So I will let go and walk in my new shoes. Trusting. Looking up. Reaching for more.

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