As long as the pain is productive...

This Mother's Day,  I couldn't help but think about what it took to get my sons here. The true 10 months of anticipation and hope that I would get to meet them. Hold their sweet, tiny little selves in my arms.

 But it wasn't all easy or all so simple. There was plenty of heartburn, nausea,  and other people's insensitive comments to go around.

And then the labor.  After my oldest was five days past my estimated due date, well, I was done and the romance of it all had faded. I wanted to meet him. I wanted him out. 

He was sunny-side up and back labor was terrible.  I wanted the pain to end. With an unplanned Epidural, it did. The pain was gone, but it wasn't over. I still had to get the little guy out. What a gift to have him lay on my tummy. 

The pain was productive. There was a gift, a blessing for the hard work: A cute, baby boy.

And then this morning, I finished my latest Bible Study on patience. It is about waiting both eagerly and patiently. I will admit with the pregnancies that I was eager, but not as patient. 

What struck me the most was how I was able to endure all of the highs and lows of pregnancy because of the hope in meeting my child when it was all done.

But pain doesn't always feel productive. Hope is barely there sometimes. But without it, doesn't that cancel life? How can you push through anything without it? 

I have found myself stuck in believing that no good thing can come from the pain. That the Kidney stone I passed or the surgery to get it out in 2005 couldn't offer any good to me or anyone. Yet, I hoped for it to all be over. Knowing that it was temporary...helped.

I mean pain just because well, it just sucks. Pain with purpose is far more bearable.

***I find myself still concerned, still confused at how the death of my mother could bring about good.

Then, today it hit me. 

                 When my hope is placed in the only one who brings hope, then I can believe that all pain is productive.

I can believe that no trial, circumstance or hard time is forever. I can believe that God will use it to help someone, to serve someone, to offer hope to someone else. The pain will change me and I will know that He is working.

I want to remember that there is also the very essence of faith for all of those who follow Jesus, the greatest hope is in knowing that one day we will experience this:

We will be released, freed from sin and suffering.  

 Thank you Father God for the hope we have in your Son, Jesus. 

How have you seen God work through or in your pain?

 

In memory of my Mommy...

I am not sure if what I write today will do justice to my mom. That it will really tell her story, but well I am gonna give it a go and see where it takes me. Meet my mom, Debra "DeLynn" Whalin:

Feb. 2, 1952-Oct. 29, 2006

This is how I remember her: 

My mom was a woman who cleaned with bleach. The windows opened and Barbara Streisand or Ann Murray or the Beatles played while she made the place sparkle. She loved music and it seemed to define her, speak for her, encourage her and give her energy. Although she never played an instrument, she could sing on key. Before she passed away she was listening to The Fray, and John Maher.  A woman open to all kinds of music. 

Even more, she was a DANCER. Not the professional kind, but had quick feet and style. 

My mom never went to college or really had an established career, but she could whip your tail in crossword puzzles, well, puzzles in general. An amazing speller and a quick learner. 

She was a sassy, high-cheek boned tomboy. A lover of fishing, camping and playing horseshoes. She could be quite competitive and was a practical joker. Her favorite holiday was Halloween and a chance to scare someone was her thing.

Playing horseshoes July 2006

    

She could make a pot of beans taste gourmet and brew the best sweet, iced tea. Thanksgiving in our house consisted of stuffing ourselves with her infamous southern dressing (stuffing to northern folk). In other words, she was a fabulous cook. Her creatively decorated cakes were special and magical to my siblings and I when we were kids. You should have seen the Dukes of Hazard Cake for my brother. Yes, I just dated myself a bit.

My favorite thing about my mom was her sense of humor. I think that was her biggest secret to getting through the tough trials of life. Oh, her laugh...when she laughed it sounded like a repeated, precious hiccup. We were a great team this way because I could always see the funny in the situations that she saw and we would laugh together.

I always loved holding her hand and the feeling was mutual. She was one of my greatest cheerleaders when it really mattered. Like the day I became a teacher. She always respected that career and encouraged me to do it. She always told me I was pretty. 

How she said my name..."Dyon." The correct way. Sometimes she would say "Dee" as a shortened version. I just wish I could hear that today.

The way she looked at me while I was in my wedding dress is my greatest memory. In that moment, I knew how she really felt about me. Who I was to her. How proud she was of me. I am so glad she was there for that special day.

LAST PICTURE TAKEN WITH HER THE SUMMER BEFORE SHE DIED July 2006

  
I am a motherless daughter/mother who at least knew my mother and I thank the Lord that I had her for 32 years. 

Happy Mother's Day mommy.


 

How I see me (Identity)

On Fridays over here a group of people who love to throw caution to the wind and just write gather to share what five minutes buys them. Just five minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.








How I see me right now...

I have been in this new town for a year. With you both. You trust me to be there every morning instead of going to work like I did in the first 3 years of your life...or 1 and a half for your brother. 

 I often ache for more adult conversation. More adult purpose. A girlfriend to confide in physically, but at least I have awesome hubby and two sweet precious boys.

I am big in their world. They are bigger in mine.

I can't, no refuse to imagine life without them. 

I often feel like such a failure at this parenting thing. But, then you two boys still hug me, kiss me, and say, "Mommy, play with me."

And I know how forgiven I am. 

You both use manners, smile at strangers, choose to share or kiss your brother's boo-boo.

And I know I am doing some things right.

I have been a mommy for four years. Four hard and beautiful years. I have changed. Motherhood has changed my identity and I love it.