It's never too late to begin the healing process from childhood sexual abuse. It's never too early to fall in love with the person God created you to be. Long ago someone made a choice to take away your innocence, but today that someone can't touch your freedom to heal.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Tree Huggin' Momma

Mom, I’m leaving now.”

My son hesitated at the door, his backpack flung over his shoulder.

Wow, he’s waiting for me. He actually wants a hug.

It had been a wake up call, a two-by-four moment. Bam! I felt the jolt of the invisible board hit me right upside my head. Listening to the radio I heard the voice of wisdom. “Continue to hug your teenagers even if they act like they don’t want to be bothered or could care less.” That caught my attention. I began to ponder.

When did I stop hugging him, Lord? I don’t remember the last time I reached out and touched him?

Physical affection doesn’t come naturally to my mother, to her mother or to me. I come from a long line of stoics. Proud of our abilities to suck up the tears, pick our selves up by our bootstraps, we keep moving on no matter what comes our way.

But I couldn’t ignore the voice of wisdom wafting through the airways loud and clear. “Your teenagers need hugs and physical affection from their parents at this time in their lives--now more than ever.” So where do I begin, Lord? How do I begin? He’ll think I’m nuts if I just start hugging him. And to be honest, I’m frightened he’ll reject me. I had grown weary of his apathetic attitude and struggled constantly not to take his eye-rolling personally. But all of the intellectual reasoning in the world could not take the sting out of his constant displays of rejection. I don’t think I’m up for the task, Lord. Oh, help!

But I made a decision. I took the challenge.

It was just another morning to my son, but to me it was the day I was altering the course of my family’s history.

“Luke, I’d like to hug you each morning before you leave for school. I know that you may not like it, and it may feel awkward, but I really want you to know just how much I love you.”

He looked at me. His eyes circled in their sockets. His shoulders shrugged, and apathy oozed from his pores.

Ugh! This isn’t going to be easy, Lord.

I reached toward him. He stood still. As I embraced him, his body stiffened. My goodness, a tree trunk would feel more inviting. This is going to be harder than I imagined.

Discouraged but determined, I made a commitment to myself to continue the hug “tree-tment” each and every morning.

Day after day began with one goal in mind: hug that teenager before he gets out the door. I had to stop him many times from whizzing right by me, reeling him back so I could establish my tree-hugging routine.

But slowly I began to notice a subtle response. Was that a squeeze back I just detected? Did I really feel a touch?

Then one morning, I was distracted from my goal. While emptying the dishwasher I heard a “ha-hmm.” I looked up. There he stood, in a slump, slouched against the door jam with his backpack hanging off his shoulder.

Does he have a cold? I wondered. But wait. I was wrong. He was waiting for me. He was waiting for a hug! And his momma was willing to oblige.

Oh, I was elated! My diligence had paid off. The voice of wisdom was right. I sauntered around the kitchen counter trying to pace myself, resisting the temptation to tackle him and thus overwhelm him with my boundless joy. I put my arms around him and received one of the most precious hugs of my life.

I stood peering out the window. My eyes followed him as he walked to his car and slid into the driver’s seat. As he drove away, I could not contain my excitement any longer. With the voice of a sports announcer I bellowed as I pulled my fist down through the air, “Yes! She hugs, she scores!"

What a way to start the day. Thank you, Lord.

Months passed. The hugs continued and Christmas brought a new puppy to our family, a bundle of black fur and energy that needed to be taken to the backyard to go potty each morning.

I stood outside one particular morning in January while our puppy busied himself at my feet. I was distracted once again. Suddenly, my son bounded down our deck stairs heading toward his car.

I heard his car door slam and continued on with my mission, when I heard his car door open. Moments later I looked up to see him standing at the entrance to our backyard, a smile on his face. Waiting once again. Waiting for me. I smiled back as I scooped up the little fur ball and headed directly toward my son with a big hug just waiting to be unleashed.

He got out of his car, Lord. He stopped what he was doing--all for a hug. Resolute, I vowed to never again question the value of a hug to my teenage son. The voice of wisdom was right, and I was glad I had listened.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Give Me Your Eyes

It was his second day on the job, and I was one proud Momma. Ben looked so handsome in his uniform. Gone were the saggy jeans and t-shirt replaced by belted pants and a polo. I couldn't have been more pleased. I glided with my handful of items up behind a female customer who had a cart load of groceries in Ben's checkout line, a smile perched on my face.

Then she turned to me after adding a few more cans to the conveyor belt, her lips scrunched toward her nose, eyes bulging, cradling her finger in her hand, "I always break a nail on these shopping carts." Miss Sourpuss hissed.

"Oh, I hate when that happens." I responded with a smile, wondering what it was about the carts in this particular store that caused her to break a nail every week. Poor thing. I thought.

I looked toward Ben who was scanning and rescanning and rescanning a piece of meat. Ugh oh, disaster on register three.

Miss Sourpuss looked at Ben. "I'm sorry, Mam, but this rang up twice, and I can't get the machine to take it off." He said.

Then Miss Sourpuss looked at me, lips scrunched toward her nose, bulging eyes rolling...I couldn't resist. With shoulders back, head held high, and a smile on my face, I giggled, "That's my son...second day on the job. He's still learning."

Immediately Miss Sourpuss' eyes stopped rolling, her lips relaxed and drifted away from her nose then sauntered into a smile. "Oh my, I've been there. " She said. Then she turned toward Ben and nodded, "I've been there."

I was struck by the moment. Until Miss Sourpuss broke her nail and spoke to me, I saw her as just another person in a check-out line, until I told Miss Sourpuss that the "idiot" behind the cash register was my son, she saw him as just another person making her day a little more miserable, and until Ben saw Miss Sourpuss change her attitude, she was just another unhappy customer. And God saw all of us, three human beings, all with their own stories--all precious in His sight.

Lord, give me your eyes.

Check out Brandon Heath's music video "Give Me Your Eyes". Just click on the title.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

A Bumble Bee and a Mother’s Plea

“Luke, leave that bee alone; it’s going to sting you.” I cautioned.

My three year old continued chasing the bee, swatting at it as it buzzed busily around the flowers in my garden.

“Luke, stop it! The bee will hurt you.”

He ignored my plea once again.

A thought shot through my mind. Fine. If you get hurt, don’t come crying to me.

Then came God’s whisper: “I’m not like that, Carolyn.”

Immediately I understood.

I wonder how many times I disregard God’s loving warnings in my own life and later find myself crying out to Him, “Lord, please help me. This hurts!”

He never retorts, “I told you so. Don’t come whining to me.”

God reminded me of His loving character that day in my garden. And I want to be a mother, who like Jesus, never turns her hurting children away… no matter what.

God’s arms are always open to His children at any time and for any matter what.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...