A Season of Uncertainty by Lynn Dove

One of my favourite Scripture passages comes from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8:

A Time for Everything

3 There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

²     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
³     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
⁴     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
⁵     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
⁶     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
⁷     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
⁸     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

When I was a young Mom, I lamented over the fact that I had no time to accomplish all the things I wanted to do during the day.  I was so busy chasing after two toddlers, caring for their needs as well as figuring out how to accommodate the schedule of my tweenager, there just didn't seem to be enough hours in the day to fit in other household chores, Bible studies, or eking out time for daily devotions.  I had no time for myself, let alone trying to have a date night with my husband.  Getting ready for Sunday morning worship services was a task all on its own, and I found myself so spiritually unprepared for the service because I knew I had probably broken a few commandments on route to church just wrestling kids into car seats! 

A Godly, older woman I admired for her strength of character and wise counsel, spoke into my life on numerous occasions.  This time she smiled at me sympathetically as I sought out her wisdom with regards to my time constraints and my guilt for not being a "perfect" wife and mother. 

"Lynn," she said calmly, "there is time for everything, and everything in its time.  This is an important season of life for you.  ALL seasons of life are important, and your walk with God will be different in each one, but your main priority in this one is looking after those three children.  God gave them to you.  They are His gifts to you.  They are your responsibility to train up in the way they should go so they will never depart from it.  You may not be able to spend time on doing everything on your "to do" list, but embrace this season of life.  It is fleeting. Your children are only babies for a short amount of time.  Enjoy this precious time with them.  There will come other seasons in your life, when they will be grown up and you will have time for all the things you may think you're missing out on now, but you'll never have that time back with your young children. So, take advantage of this season of life now before it's over and then prepare for the ones ahead."

My first cancer diagnosis in 2001, changed me in ways I never expected.  All of a sudden things that had been priorities before, now were not important.  I was fighting for my life, and all activities were put on hold as I battled.  My entire family joined me on the journey.  I am only now beginning to realize how that season of my life, affected each of my loved ones in a variety of emotional and spiritual ways.  We all grew in the Lord, especially my sixteen year old daughter.  She had to lean entirely on Him for wisdom and guidance as she took on the role of caregiver to her two much younger siblings when I was too sick to look after them myself.  She was determined to not burden me with the load she carried every day, trying to excel at school, and be available at home.  I didn't realize at the time what a toll it was on her, but I couldn't have managed without her. 

I was so immersed in the battle, I forgot time even existed.  My husband's role fluctuated daily with caring for me, his children and working full time too.  It was an exhausting season for him.  Then when I was declared cancer-free, I started to embrace life again.  As a family, we took a big breath of relief and started making plans again.  I lived one day at a time, thankful for each day.  I wrote my first book during that season, followed by two more in the years that followed my battle with breast cancer.  I went to seminary and got my Master's degree.  I helped plan my daughter's wedding.  I began blogging.  As I told everyone, who seemed to admire my new-found lease on life, I was a "thriver" not just a "survivor".  I embraced that season wholeheartedly.

When my two youngest children hit their teen and young adult years, they had outside interests that didn't include me.  I was so immersed pursuing my hobbies, my writing, and participating in Bible Studies, that I forgot my priorities.  Sometimes I over-extended myself, having the inability to say, "No" to some activities.  It came at the expense of spending good, quality time with my two adolescent children still living at home.  Even though I was involved in worthwhile activities, I was not as engaged with my younger kids at a time when they needed me most.  It was a hard lesson to learn and a hard season followed. 

It was only after they had both moved away from home that I remembered too late, the advice from my friend that time is indeed fleeting, and I should have embraced all those precious years more readily with each of my children.  It seemed I had squandered a lot of time "chasing after the wind" to find a lot of what I had accomplished meaningless.  I was unprepared for being an empty-nester and so I poured my heart out to God, asking Him for direction through this new stage of life, and try to redeem some time again with my adult children.  God was faithful.

I started to write again, particularly on my blog, Journey Thoughts.  As the readership and followers grew, I realized God was growing it from just a collection of my musings, to a full-fledged writing ministry. I was once again fully immersed in a new season of writing, reconnecting with my children, husband, and my church.  Grandchildren were born, and I found myself telling my adult children the same advice that was given to me when they were little: embrace this season with your young ones because it is fleeting.  Thankfully, they seem to be heeding that advice.

In April of this year, when I was starting to settle into a routine with blog writing, and was eagerly embracing the thought of spending my retirement years traveling with my husband, another cancer diagnosis, this time endometrial cancer, floored me.  Every plan I had made was immediately put on hold.  I once again had to re-evaluate what my priorities would be moving through a new season of uncertainty.  In the scheme of things, time cannot move fast enough to get me through this season, and yet, God is teaching me so much about Himself through this most challenging time, I hesitate to rush through it too fast for fear of missing out on all He wants me to learn. 

My life verse: "In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps." Proverbs 16:9, has brought me comfort through every one of my seasons.  God has faithfully brought me through every season of life and I know He will get me through the ones to follow. 

Lynn Dove is the award-winning author, of the YA “Wounded Trilogy”- a contemporary Christian fiction series with coming-of-age themes.  A wife, mom, grandmother, and free-lance writer with articles published in several magazines and anthologies including Chicken Soup for the Soul books, her blog, “Journey Thoughts” is a Canadian Christian Writing Award winner.  Readers may connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and at lynndove.com   

Beginnings by Sharon Espeseth

Caleb Turned Out Just Fine

One of my stories had its beginnings in a real-life entry into the world. This was the birth of Caleb, the third grandson for Hank and me. Caleb was the third child of our third adopted child and I'd been invited to his birth-day party--in the delivery room. Hank dropped Jenny and I off at the Grey Nuns Hospital for her "induction" ceremony.

After a morning of observation and I.V., Jenny was told we could go home, go shopping, or whatever we, or she, wanted while we waited for her contractions to come closer together. When Jenny mentioned to the nurse that not all of her contractions had registered on the machine, the nurse explained that this was normal. 

"My last baby came early," Jenny added.

"You certainly can stay, if you're concerned," the nurse told her. 

Jenny and I exchanged a glance. "It's up to you, Jenny," I told her. "Remember, I'm the new kid on this block." (Reminder to reader: All three of our children had been adopted.) Hank came to pick us up and take us back to Jenny and Rob's home, which was a 25-minute drive from the Grey Nuns. That is where most of the family was hanging out and babysitting the rest of the grandkids.

I'll leave you to guess what happened from there, but I called this story, "Special Gift, Special Delivery." My version of the story was published in Western Producer on October 26, 2006 under the headline, "Experience in barn makes baby's quick debut easier." And I was not the experienced one!

"Special Gift, Special Delivery" was later published in the January-February, 2009 issue of Celebrate Life, which is the flagship magazine of the American Life League. I had entertained, or inspired, readers of two magazines with two different readerships and I had also received a check from each of the publishers.

I am reluctant to retell the whole story, because I may do a rewrite for another publication, possibly an anthology with themes related to adoption, pro-life, farming, parenting, grandparenting. . .

#Writerslife by Wendy L. Macdonald

It’s no laughing matter when a writer’s life takes a direct hit—or is it?

Right when I was making traction with my platform, podcasts, and manuscripts—right when I was getting ahead editing my manuscripts—the joyful sounds of my grandson’s giggles and gurgles stole my heart and time.

Sometimes love demands action. Because greeting cards can’t and don’t say it best. Putting down your pen and rolling up your granny sleeves when you’re prompted by necessity is how true love lives out its mandate.

I’m not a humour writer. But please don’t misinterpret that. I love to laugh. In fact, I have a gold necklace that says: Live, love, laugh. And it turns out that spending extra time with my grandson has absolutely given me much more to live, love, and laugh about. Some days my face hurts from all the smiling and laughing I do with “Little Guy.”

He’s a tickle-bunny of an Anne Geddes baby for sure.

For not only has he become the inspiration for so much of my recent writing, his image appears throughout my photography files too. I’m smitten even if I haven’t written half as much as I used to. Because love doesn’t say “no” when “yes” is the biggest blessing for all involved. Sometimes God trims our army so we can witness His marvellous interventions and multiplication miracles.

An inspirational writer won’t be fruitful if she ignores the call of God to leave the crowd to serve the one. And just to prove God has a sense of humour, He has indeed been multiplying my portion despite the extra downtime my pen has taken.

Trials trim the fat out of life when we lean into Christ.

I believe God’s using my busyness to trim out the unnecessary areas of my writing life. I’ve suspected for a while He may have plans I hadn’t planned on. So while I lean into Him and lift up my hands, I trust Him to trim what needs to be removed to make room for His plans. 

God is love. 

Whoever lives in love lives in God,

 and God in them.

  1 John 4:16 NIV

And as far as my gold necklace goes, I would love to have it changed to: Lean, learn, love. If we’re doing these three things, there will be plenty of true living and true laughing to go along with all the leaning, learning, and loving. I know because I’ve never felt so alive, never felt so loved, and never felt like laughing as much as I do since “Little Guy” was born.

Lean, learn, love; it’s good for your soul. 

I’m nosey-to-know if you’ve ever been called away from the crowd. 

(Wendy L. Macdonald is an inspirational blogger and podcaster who loves to photograph nature on Vancouver Island. Her byline is: “My faith is not shallow because I’ve been rescued from the deep.” Her main website is wendylmacdonald.com where she enjoys interacting with readers.)

Metaphorically Speaking... Marnie Pohlmann

I was visiting my son and his family this past week while my husband took a course toward his Master's in Leadership degree. I have taken some classes at an undergraduate level, but this time I needed grandbaby hugs more than education. On this visit though, I have received both hugs and knowledge.

We don't see our grandchildren very often as we live in northern British Columbia and their family lives in Saskatchewan. Yet the youngest, my Sweet-Pea grand-girl, did not play strange with us and willingly snuggled in to read books between running to get into mischief or demanding with a combination of sounds and sign language what she wanted. My most favourite (and only) grandson, no longer a baby but a wonderful little boy, was quick to ask me to play Lego or go on imaginary superhero adventures. He often said, "me love you" and my heart would melt.

I was able to watch the grands by myself a few times during the week, and I soon remembered how exhausting parenting is! Two active young ones demanding attention had me going upstairs and down, inside and out, to play or to get snacks or to wash up dirty hands or bum. Somehow it was easier to balance firm discipline with loving grace while caring for my grands than it ever was with my own kids. Perhaps that was because I saw the generational potential of their unique personalities rather than suffer the angst of not knowing how to parent. Or because I was not also working, doing laundry and cleaning house in sleep-deprived exhaustion so I could enjoy a more relaxed time. (But what made me think I would have time to write and publish this post while visiting grandchildren!)

It has been said, "writing is like giving birth." Perhaps writer Flannery O'Connor described writing more accurately saying, "Writing is like giving birth to a piano sideways. Anyone who perseveres is either talented or nuts." (So, the question begs to be asked, am I talented or am I nuts? Or is it a combination of both that keeps me writing? And is it this question that keeps you reading to find the answer?) I digress...

Birth does not end the process of childbearing. That event is only the beginning. Parenting the baby takes a lifetime. No matter how old a child is, they will always be Mom and Dad's baby.

If writing is like birth, then parenting must be the editing process. Encouraging the lovely and being disciplined enough to correct the unlovely, such as improper verbiage or defiant grammar and punctuation. Editing can be a challenge and is exhausting yet is necessary for a child to be ready to be sent out into the world.

I have used the metaphor of parenting before in a post to describe how writing and faith are complete but never finished. I often use metaphors in my writing. I often see metaphors in my faith walk, and they help me make sense of life. It is how I process, and how I communicate.

This week as a visiting grandparent I have been given a new view. What is the grandparent role in writing? Or in faith?

We know the caricature of grandparents who spoil their children and then give them back to the parents to handle. "If mom says no, ask Gramma." The reality is, though, that most grandparents love their grands enough not to spoil them. They will be a little more lenient maybe, but loving grandparents still insist on "please" and "thank you" or "three more bites of broccoli before you get dessert." Grandparents who spend any amount of time with their grandchildren will do more parenting than spoiling. The caricature is not a true picture even though it is built on a portion of truth.

We also know writing, or any artistic representation, cannot take the place of living what is presented. Writers use metaphor as a tool to help readers see what they already know in order to lead them to another thought. 

I can see that grandparenting is not a good metaphor for writing. Like parenting, we never truly move on from being a writer. Perhaps we choose to play more than be disciplined but there are no grandparent writers, only writers.

And we know God has no grandchildren. Each person who recognizes God's sovereignty becomes His own child. He is Father, not Grandfather. Even His wisdom cannot be compared to a grandfather because He is so much wiser. God is simply much more than we can capture in a metaphor. Still, we try.

All metaphors, taken far enough, will fall apart. At most, they are micro-glimpses of just a small part of truth. Grandparenting for a couple days can suggest parenting but does not compare to parenting day in and day out. Grandparenting is perhaps only like writing in that we can choose when to play and when to practice discipline. And while God does love us like parents love their kids, parental love and even grandparent love still do not adequately capture the perfect balance of mercy and judgment that God provides.

This week I have learned that perhaps the best metaphor for writing is a faith walk, and the best metaphor for my faith walk is writing. Both contain elements of fun and discipline. Both have times when they are easy and when they are difficult. And neither is anything like grandparenting. Or are they? 

How would you expand on the statements "writing is like grandparenting" and "faith is like grandparenting?" Or would you just agree that writers must be a little nuts?

Marnie Pohlmann is a daughter of God, a gramma who loves her two beautiful grands, and a writer of metaphors and more. Phosphorescent, adventures in absorbing and reflecting God's light.

Extreme Grandparenting

(Photo: My sweet (happy) little granddaughter, Jocelyn

What is it about a gurgling, drooling little cherub-cheeked baby that melts my heart? I might be having a bad day for one reason or another and then in romps my 2 1/2 year old Trenton, ray of sunshine, and all seems well with the world. Jocelyn, my newest little addition to the grandma files, is just at that cooing age. Once we establish eye contact, it's game over with Grandma. I melt and our conversation begins. She gurgles as I purr with love for her. The more I smile at her the bigger her grin. She cares not that I don't have hair. She is much more interested in what I have to say and how our eyes meet. I could sit and 'chat' with her for hours. There's something about babies that defies the human condition. I know that we are not born perfect but the way a baby looks beyond the outer shell and into the soul, seems pretty divine to me. She loves me because she senses my heart and my adoration for all things baby. Her smell is new. Her smiles are infectious and her ability to make Grandma forget the worries of the world is almost magical.

When I look into the eyes of a child, I wonder. I wonder if there was a conversation with Jesus before she was knit in the womb. I wonder if there are thoughts running through the tiny mind of a baby as she gazes past grandma's wrinkles and laugh lines. And then I wonder how God does it.

I know the Bible tells us that we don't have the same thoughts as God. So I understand that my mind is unable to grasp the full concept of creation. Nor am I really required to fully explain it. But when I look at my sweet little grandchildren, I begin to appreciate the miracle of life. The wonderful way babies are made. The incredible and consistent way growth occurs and the absolute delight we as adults, can glean from the little ones, when we take the time.

Jesus taught us a hard and fast lesson when he told his Disciples (n Matthew 19:14 to not be nitwits and of course to let the children come and sit on his lap and hang out with him (slight paraphrase.)

If we think of how that lesson applies in our lives, maybe we wouldn't see indiscriminate yelling or coersion by bullying as an option for raising children. Perhaps the moral of the story is that we need to take the time to coo and gurgle with the little ones. Or to hug without ceasing or to not cry over slopped milk or stains on the lace doilies.

Man, I should have had my grandchildren first. I seem to know a lot more now than I did then. Or...maybe I should have spent more time reading the instruction book (wherein I would have found Matthew 19:14)