Sharing Stories by T. L. Wiens

I recently got the privilege of being my daughter’s birth coach. Nothing about this birth followed the rules I learned during prenatal classes with my daughter going into labour a week before the baby made an appearance. I know medical people like to refer to this as “false labour.” Midwives hate that term and won’t use it. I have to agree with the midwives. For seven days, my daughter had contractions that did not stop. It left her exhausted which tells me that her body was working very hard—nothing false about it. Together, we worked at breathing and trying different things for my daughter’s comfort. By the time we got to the hospital, we had a system. When it came time to push, the nurse stood back.

            “Mama’s got this,” she said as she held back her fellow nurse.

            And we did. I watched as my granddaughter took her first breath and let out her first cry.

So what does this have to do with writing? During this week long ordeal, I abandoned the medical expertise and started doing a lot of research. I went back to things I talked about with my mother and my own experiences with birth. I searched the internet for stories and information. It was during these searches that I read several entries in different blogs that upset me. What I found was a lack of older women helping the younger women. So many of the entries were scared first time mothers trying to help other scared first time mothers.

In Titus 2:3-5, it says “The aged women likewise, that they be in behaviour as becometh holiness, not false accusers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things; That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children, To be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed.”

It made me realize how blessed I am to have a mother who taught me, told her stories and passed on the lessons she learned. As a writer, I can now share her wisdom and add some of my own. There is a great amount of wisdom being lost because we are failing to teach and guide our daughters as the Bible instructs. It’s something I’m going to be more aware of and do my best to change.

My Cheerleader by T. L. Wiens

It’s important to have someone in your life that believes in you. I’m lucky to have such person in my life—my mother. She’s always been someone I can go to for support.

My mom isn’t just one of those parents who offer blind encouragement. She’s honest. I let her read my rough manuscripts and they come back to me covered in comments. If one of my stories doesn’t appeal to her, she tells me. She’s my first line of help in the long journey of writing a book.

I’ve watched shows on television where parents are standing behind their child, telling them they’re a star when in reality, it’s an unattainable dream. The child doesn’t have the talent. I often think it would be better for the parent to be honest so that the child could pursue true talents. I would be upset with my mom if she lied to me.

I’m blessed with a mother who gives me a true edit, not just in my writing but with many life decisions. But she’s not one to force her opinions on me. She’s watched me make mistakes and been there to help pick up the pieces. Since I was a teenager, my mom has told me that she taught me right from wrong and that I knew the right decision in most situations. It was up to me to take the right path. And she’s shown me a path of integrity and love that I try to follow so I too won’t be a blind cheerleader for those around me but an honest editor as well.

Indulgences - Lynn Dove

If you will indulge me...

It's been a very topsy-turvy summer.  My "baby" turns eighteen today, and I am feeling the throes of "letting go" once again and letting the last of my children fly from the safety and confinement of the nest into the world.  You know what that means, don't you?...

Empty Nest Syndrome

Well, not sure it's appropriate to be called a syndrome yet, but I am certainly feeling the emptiness of the house with just my husband and I rattling around in it.  We moved our youngest into seminary residences only a few days ago, and even though she only lives minutes from our home, every time I walk by her room, I feel a pang of loss. 

We bought this acreage and house, just north of Cochrane, Alberta, when my son was only a toddler, and my oldest daughter was just a child.  Our baby was born a year after and this house has, for close to twenty years, been filled with birthday party celebrations, pool parties, and youth activities.  It seems so silent all of a sudden.

Someone said to me that once the kids move out I'll have plenty of time to write.  Wow.  I wish I could feel some comfort from that statement, but I haven't been able to write all summer.  Oh, I blog a bit but my heart hasn't been into sitting down and completing that manuscript that beckons to me every once in a while, taunting me with its incompleteness. 

And amazingly to say...I'm okay with it.

A Christian writer knows that there is a "season for everything".  I have to adapt to this next season of life for me now without kids in the house everyday.  I plan on taking a couple of months to establish a new routine, a new normality if you will, for my days.  Certainly that manuscript may be added onto in the months ahead but right now the focus is connecting with my husband like I did BC (Before Children), and settling into my new Empty Nest role gracefully. 

Thankfully my kids know that they are just a text message away from their Mama, and my baby even has my permission to bring over her laundry weekly and I'll even wash it all for her; I won't even grumble about it.

Wow, things really HAVE changed!



Lynn Dove calls herself a Christ-follower, a wife, a mom, a grandmother, a teacher and a writer (in that order). She is the author of award winning books: The Wounded Trilogy. Her blog, Journey Thoughts won a Canadian Christian Writing Award - 2011. She has also had essays published in "Mother of Pearl: Luminous Lessons and Iridescent Faith" and "Chicken Soup for the Soul - Parenthood" (March 2013),  (Sept. 2013) and O Canada The Wonders of Winter: 101 Stories about Bad Weather, Good Times, and Great Sports (Nov. 2013).  Readers may connect with Lynn on Facebook, Twitter and on her blog: Journey Thoughts 

Mother Knows Nothing

I know nothing. My daughter lets me know this whenever we are at that photo computer in Walmart and I begin pushing buttons to develop my pictures. “Mom,” she says, turning around to see if anybody is watching. “Don’t you know anything?”

My son also reminds me of my lack of competence whenever we are driving. “Didn’t you forget to do something, Mom?” he asks. “You really should drive with both hands on the wheel.” I do hope they remember their own advice when they take the wheel.

“Don’t say anything, Mom. Please,” begs my older daughter when her boyfriend comes to pick her up. Apparently I’m from the Middle Ages and he wouldn’t understand my language.

Funny, though. My daughter burst in the door at noon hour the other day and said “I have a project due right after lunch, Help!”

I translated words from English into French for her so quickly that I forgot how dumb I was. My daughter must not have noticed either. And then there’s the case of that butterscotch square I baked for her and her friends. Awesome, she called it. Again, a momentary lapse on her part. I may have to take her to a counselor. She's showing signs of schizophrenia. One moment I’m the simpleton mother that is only good for driving her gym clothes and lunch to the school on the days she forgets and the next moment I’m amazing. She may need to be medicated to straighten her out. After all I find it confusing. Some days I actually have thoughts of grandeur. Perhaps it’s me that needs the drugs.

No, come to think of it, I’m sure it’s my daughter that needs the doctor. Today when I attended Track and Field day to watch her compete, she couldn’t hear me calling her name, though she was only a few feet away. The other girls turned and looked but she seemed totally unaware that I existed. Poor hearing does run in our family, it seems. I finally caught her by the arm as she was running by. “Did you apply sunscreen?” I asked, facing her directly so she could read my lips if necessary.
She rolled her eyes up into her head. I immediately took her temperature. Sun-stroke, I was sure of it.

“Where’s your water bottle?” I asked, hoping that a drink of cool water would revive her from the heat.

“You were supposed to bring it. Where is it?” she asked.

Oh dear. She believes I actually know something. She’s accrediting me with knowledge. She really must be going into shock.

I was tempted to retrieve the water bottle for her that she’d left on the grass by the 100 metre run. After all, she needed cool water. But I didn’t want to embarrass her by saying that I actually knew where it was. Besides, I was getting confused at that point. Did I actually know something? Couldn’t be. She must be tricking me. She’s hallucinating, I’m sure.

“Is it possible that you left your water bottle back there on the grass?” I asked with my head down, ashamed to one-up her.

At this point her hearing seemed to return, her eyes focused on me and she even managed a weak smile.

“That’s my girl!” I said, reaching out for a hug. I leaned in and she leaned away, as if I had forgotten to use hand-disinfectant. At that point she mentioned the fact that she needed more money. “To buy a hot dog,” she said.

“I thought I gave you enough money this morning.”

Her jaw clenched and she fixed her blue eyes on mine. “Mom.” She spoke slowly so I could understand. “I want to buy a frozen yogurt too. Do you want me to eat nutritiously or not?”

Hmmm, I thought as I watched her long jumping from a distance. She had pointed out the bench to me half a mile from the long-jump pit. She’s learning something – she’s eating yogurt, staying away from germs, and she’s discovered my name. Not bad for a day’s work.

That night as I rubbed aloe-vera lotion onto the back of her sun-burned legs, she pointed out that I missed a spot. It felt so good to settle back into the familiar security, that once again, I know nothing.

Pam Mytroen