Referee. Coach. Fan.

Referee. Coach. Fan.

Nobody tells you that as your kids grow through life, your roles change.

I signed on to being a "mom" and totally knew exactly what that meant (said no one ever). But at least my role was clearly defined. Early on, my job was obvious if not ever easy:

A Good Mom will:

1. Feed child.

2. Clean child.

3. Do not misplace child.

When H&J were independently portable (ages 2-7), my role was clearly that of the referee. Their days were much like a basketball game. There was a scheduled game with other little beings, most of whom I had invited. I played "on the court" as they learned to interact. I blew my whistle when a player fouled. There was a set time frame for the game. And when the final buzzer went off, all players went to their own locker room for snacks.

A Good Referee will:

1. Establish the rules for the game. 

2. Enforce the rules of the game.

3. Determine when it is half-time (and provide concessions).

Later in their lives (7-13), the sport continued. They played at a higher skill level and we coached from the sideline. I called in plays. "Hey! Wear shoes!" or "Watch out- that guy is not playing fair!" or even "Time Out! We need to talk!". I wasn't actively running alongside them throughout the day, but they knew I was always on the bench. Ready to help. I knew the other players in the game, and had helped to choose a team that was a good match for H&J. 

A Good Coach will:

1. Practice and Execute the game plan.

2. Encourage the great plays; call for a Time-Out on the bad plays.

3. Make sure everyone on the team gets ice cream.

Now that H&J are launching their own lives, we find that we are definitely in the stands. Now don't get me wrong: we are actively engaged in their daily lives. In essence we are at every 'game', going to many of the practices and buying all the "I heart H&J" fan wear we can find! 

However, our role as a 'fan' is much different. It needs to be different. We need to be different. We need to cheer more wildly than ever before. They are entering a world that will criticize their every move, and we need to provide balance. 

When I watch my favorite team play, sometimes they make mistakes. I groan. I sigh. I wish they hadn't done that. And then I yell: "Get 'em next time!" And we move on. There are times H&J don't get it right. Surprise. And as a fan I can agree with their disappointments. But I don't leave the stands. I don't yell and get all crazy. I try really hard not to ever 'Monday Morning Quarter-back' because their heads are already filled with 'you-should-haves' and not nearly enough 'don't do that again and let's just move on'. 

A Great Fan will:

1. Believe so much in their teams that they paint their faces, buy the t-shirts and fight for bragging rights.

2. Cheer from the stands on good days and cry with the players on tough days.

3. Not get Technical Fouls for inserting themselves in the game.

Putting some labels on our roles has helped Mr. Mr. and I to set some boundaries. We have tried to give H&J age-appropriate responsibilities. We wanted them to handle some of their own issues while they were under our roof. If we managed everything (referee) until they left, then those first major conflicts would have happened when we were not there to coach.

I am not saying we got it right. I am saying that H&J survived. 

Red dress.

A little over 40 years ago, so the story goes, my mom tried on a new dress. She had gone to town with dad and they had stopped at a department store just to look.

Now before we go too far I should let you know that 'going to town' was a significant event. Our family farm was located nearly an hour from the nearest real town. Buying anything, especially a dress, was not a casual event.

So mom tried on the dress. A red dress. She came out of the changing room to show dad. She was pretty. Real pretty. Dad encouraged her to buy the dress. But instead she looked at the tag. She crumbled. It was far more than she was expecting, and far more that she thought they could spend.

She said no.

He said, "Listen, if we can't afford the dress, if money gets that tight... then we'll just have to increase what we give away."

What? Seriously? Yep. Give it away.

Dad did not believe that everything he gave to the church, God would return in exact dollar amounts.

But he did believe that if he gave generously to the Lord, then the Lord would provide for them.

Sometimes the Lord even provided a Red Dress.

Chlorine.

I found leftover chemicals for a pool that’s been gone for 3 years. The directions clearly state: can be safely rinsed down the drain.

Safely?

Just ask my husband and his friend Peter, who now refer to Friday as “the day my wife tried to kill us.”

I began rinsing and pouring said chemical at a very slow rate. Less than 3 cups had poured out of my 2 gallong container, when trouble first appeared.

Series of cataclysmic events as best I remember them:
Clogged drain.
Get pokey thing. Poke said clog.
Drain runs for nanosecond.
Clogged drain. Again.
Eyes watering. Senses blurring.
Get plunger.
Firmly pack all powdered chlorine into pipe.
Eyes watering. Senses blurring. See image of Gandolf in the utility sink.
Asphyxiate anything moving in the laundry room… including Gandolf.
Call for husband and husband’s brave friend.
Bail. Plead for mercy on the court.
Watch He-Men bravely attack drain issue.
Clear path for He-Men to bolt thru garage and suck wind from mother earth.
Taste and smell nothing for nearly 5 hours.
Treat everyone involved to dinner.
Cheat death and live to fight another day.

Road Closed.

The scene is this: we are driving down the highway , I am in the back seat with my brother. Dad and and mom in the front. We fly by a warning sign that says, "Road Construction Ahead". It is followed by another "Caution" sign, a couple "Detour" suggestions, and then finally the giant orange and white barricade with flashing yellow lights and a hugantic sign that says "ROAD CLOSED".

Dad slows the car down and says, "Hm. Wonder what that means."

It's not a question. 

He's not really looking for an answer.

He's just pondering.

By nature my dad is not a rebel. He is the very definition of coffee without cream. When he questions a department of transportation sign, he is not questioning authority. He does not think that rules don't apply to him. Nor is he looking for adventure outside of the stock market and a good round of golf.

He just honestly believes that there is no road that is truly impassible.

Regardless of the vehicle he is driving, the number of warning signs, or the complete lack of any other traffic, he is confident that he and his Oldsmobile Cutlas can make it.

I'd like to have that same confidence in my faith. That unswerving faith in God that regardless of the doubt, issues or barricades, I know that the road ahead is not really closed. Not for Him and therefor not for me.

ashes.

On my grandpa's farm (it really was as idyllic as it sounds) he had a burn pile. The common things of life would be burned, then he would gather the ashes into his wheelbarrow and spread them out over his garden. It was old school, but science backs it up. The potassium in the ashes benefitted the soil and therefor the plants. And my favorite: the strawberries.

Today God reminded me of that lesson from decades ago. How often I say, "I am burnt out". I feel as if I am a pile of ashes. Used and dry. Blowing around. No weight.

But even ashes are used to make life. Out of my burnt place He can grow things. 

If I let him gather up my ashes, He will re-invest me into something new. Something different. Something way cooler than a pile of ashes.