Finding Hope in the Christmas Chaos

I’m not going to lie. It’s been a tough Christmas so far.

Let’s rewind to last Christmas. My sister was in the hospital in ICU. After being resuscitated twice and spending two months as an inpatient, she pulled through. It was a lot of waiting and hoping and praying.

This year HAS to be an easy one, right? I’m due, right?

Instead, I’m knee deep in crazy.

The litany goes like this. My mom has had eleven hundred doctor appointments. Mother-in-law is in the middle of radiation therapy for breast cancer. I am trying to get my new diagnosed laryngopharyngeal reflux disease under control which includes giving up my precious Diet Coke, cold turkey. Younger son, newly engaged, is home for the holidays from Japan with his  fiancé. My older son and his wife are hosting her family from out of town for the holidays. We’re having everyone over Christmas night.

That’s enough, right?  But no.

Late last week our ten year old black pug, Scooter, started throwing up. Which started the wheels in motion to have his gallbladder out on the Tuesday before Christmas. Thanks to our amazing vet and his incredible staff, Scooter made it through. Great, right? Well, except he’s not eating yet. Did I mention he’s diabetic? Oh, and he’s blind? But the fight is not over yet.  Scooter is one amazing pug and has muscled his way back from pancreatitis, thrombocytopenia and gastroenteritis in the past few years.   My husband and I are quickly becoming critical care nurses, giving a cornucopia of pills and insulin and offering tender support. Our cherished vet tech offers support via Facebook messenger. (Today’s speeddial!) Scooter’s deeply entrenched in our hearts and we are willing to try our best to give him a chance to heal. It’s not over, ‘til it’s over, but it sure is one hell of a roller coaster ride.

Scooter prepping for surgery. 

So what happened to my Christmas in the chaos?

I realized Advent was slipping past me in the blur. I couldn’t even stay current in my online Advent study (15 minutes a day) but I was determined to honor the birth of the Christ child in some way.

So I found a block of time this week, wedged between the doctor appointments  and while Scooter was in surgery and went to the Duke Chapel Open House.  The sky was grey when I emerged from the parking deck and a crisp breeze pushed me and other visitors towards the looming chapel.

 I stepped through the massive front doors and immediately felt…sanctuary. I felt apart from the stress, from the worry. I felt part of something bigger than me. Bigger than the worries that threatened to overwhelm me. I felt the presence of a loving and welcoming God.

The Chapel was filled with people, chatting, milling around, taking pictures or sitting and comfortably listening to the massive pipe organ play carols. I snapped pictures here and there and was especially moved to step up into the chancel and approach the altar. While I drank in the atmosphere and the beauty, my mood remained somber.

The Altar

As I worked my back along the aisle back towards the entrance, I gloried in the jewel tones of the stained glass windows. Though the day was grey outside, the colors were still bright, though subdued. I stopped here and there to take more photos.

Then, suddenly, a shaft of brilliant light pierced one of the windows right in front of me. So bright, my eyes must surely have blinked at the surprise. I stopped a minute to marvel at the way the colors of the stained glass caught fire and squinted as I attempted to identify the glowing images. Out of the many windows surrounding the chapel, that sunbeam shone solely through the tall slim window depicting the early life of Christ! At the top – the birth of the Christ child, beneath that, the angel appearing to the shepherds, then the wise men, and finally the escape into Egypt! Amid everything and everyone, that stubborn little sunbeam chose that window to bring to life!

The Sunbeam 

That is what Christ does to our lives – he brings it to life – he allows us to see more clearly the landscape of our lives – he illuminates!  He comes into our hearts and fills them with peace and grace and appreciation – for life, love, and yes, even the chaos that sometimes threatens to overtake us.

I carried that bright and brilliant moment home with me. And deep in the night when worries threaten to engulf me, I hope I can bring back that brilliant moment of peace and grace and let it illuminate my life again and again.

Our time of waiting is drawing to an end. Come, Christ child, come!

The sun finally shining as I exit Duke Chapel. 

Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost. Romans 15:13, KJV

The Words Every Mother Longs to Hear

When my boys were little, I did the unthinkable. To this day, I don’t think they have forgiven me.

 

Perhaps it was the times – perhaps it was being a Southern Mama, but I confess and freely admit that - - - I dressed them alike.

At first it was big brother, little brother outfits – especially when Zack was a toddler –   in which manufacturers used the same fabric or design detail, but the outfits were different – but as they grew and these outfits became unavailable, I turned to an even worse habit. I bought them identical red, white, and blue bathing suits every summer! I thought (and still do) that they looked ADORABLE!

But you need not fear, they paid me back in spades.

From late elementary school onward, they balked, resisted, complained, and refused to go clothes shopping. My compliant and engaged children turned into mules who refused to step foot in dressing rooms. I honestly believe they would rather go to the pediatrician’s office and spin a giant  roulette wheel of  immunizations and suffer the consequences that try on a single pair of Levis.

I pleaded, I wheedled. Nothing.

Eventually I took to guessing the right waist size and length and bringing home pants for them to try on in the comfort and privacy of their bedrooms.  But there was always an excuse. At night time it was “I’m too tired.” In the morning I was “I’ll do it after school.” After school it was “I don’t want to try them on now, I will at bedtime.” Which resulted in “I’m too tired.” Yes, an infinite loop of refusal, broken only when a school program or too small pants necessitated a fresh pair. And always, always accompanied by eye rolls, heavy sighs and horror.

The acquisition of  new pants was such a dreaded task, that Earle and I spoke of a punishment for them that was worse than death. We threathened that  we would take them to Pants Mountain, a demented variation of Space Mountain, where they would be eternally trying on pants. Hell on Earth. 

As they grew into high school and college students, they seemed to think that 2 to 3 pair of pants was all anyone could ever need. Zack, in particular, wore jeans so “broken in” that they appeared to be held together by dental floss. I tried not to comment. I tried to look away. It was to no avail. Their pants were the stuff of my nightmares. And they could not have cared less.

And finally, finally – when  my own involvement in their wardrobe selection had dropped to zero. When all control was relinquished and all hope was lost, I heard the words that every mother of sons longs to hear.

“Mom, will you take me pants shopping?”

It seems that in Japan, Zack is a bit of an oddity. At 6 foot, he’s taller than most of his peers  and their “skinny jeans" just don't fit him properly. On his week long visit to America he needed American pants. Nothing special. 32 x 34. But bonafide NEW PANTS. 

So my answer? “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll happily take you pants shopping!” And though I was gripped with pain from a a gouty big toe, and anticipating a massive summer evening thunderstorm, Zack and I ventured out to Target, where Zack PICKED OUT and TRIED ON  MULTIPLE PAIRS OF JEANS AND CHINOS. And I, happily, paid for them. 

It was a parenting moment I thought I’d  never see. And it happened to me. To all the mothers of sons out there, keep the faith. It CAN happen to you, too.

Now, if only I could get matching jeans for Nat…..

At Nat and Lilly's wedding in 2014 - the last time they dressed alike! 

A Jewell of the First Water

 Proverbs 31:10-31

The Wife of Noble Character

^10 [a]A wife of noble character who can find?
    She is worth far more than rubies.
¹¹ Her husband has full confidence in her
    and lacks nothing of value.
¹² She brings him good, not harm,
    all the days of her life.
¹³ She selects wool and flax
    and works with eager hands.
¹⁴ She is like the merchant ships,
    bringing her food from afar.
¹⁵ She gets up while it is still night;
    she provides food for her family
    and portions for her female servants.
¹⁶ She considers a field and buys it;
    out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
¹⁷ She sets about her work vigorously;
    her arms are strong for her tasks.
¹⁸ She sees that her trading is profitable,
    and her lamp does not go out at night.
¹⁹ In her hand she holds the distaff
    and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
²⁰ She opens her arms to the poor
    and extends her hands to the needy.
²¹ When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
    for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
²² She makes coverings for her bed;
    she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
²³ Her husband is respected at the city gate,
    where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
²⁴ She makes linen garments and sells them,
    and supplies the merchants with sashes.
²⁵ She is clothed with strength and dignity;
    she can laugh at the days to come.
²⁶ She speaks with wisdom,
    and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
²⁷ She watches over the affairs of her household
    and does not eat the bread of idleness.
²⁸ Her children arise and call her blessed;
    her husband also, and he praises her:
²⁹ “Many women do noble things,
    but you surpass them all.”
³⁰ Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
³¹ Honor her for all that her hands have done,
    and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

I always called Jewell Faye Glover “Mrs. Glover.” That’s what we did when I was a kid. And it stuck, despite the fact that I found myself affectionately calling the mothers of other friends “Miss Nancy” or “Miss Jeanette.” I loved all the mothers who helped raise me and surely Mrs. Glover was one of those, but there was something about her that I recognized, even in my bedraggled Girl Scout Days, that set her apart. Mrs. Glover was what novels call a “jewel of the first water, meaning she was extraordinarily fine and I knew it from the start.

Mrs. Glover embodied the Wife of Noble Character in Proverbs 31. I can attest to that because, in several periods of my life, I had a chance to be a firsthand witness of her life. A witness of her witness.

The first was when I was a friend of Jill’s, whom I met at school and got to know more as we grew: through Girl Scouts and church activities and trips to the State Fair and Camp Caswell. Jill was a year younger than me and we became fast friends at the end of middle school and the beginning of high school. It was during this time that each of us often visited the home of the other.

Visiting the Glover home was a bit of a thrill for me. My own sister, 9 years older than me, went to nursing school when I was 9, so I often felt like an only child. But in the Glover home, there were five children! It was hard for me to wrap my head around. And two of those were brothers! I longed for brothers!

Someone looking in might imagine a house with five children – TEENAGERS – as chaotic. It was anything but with Mrs. Glover at the helm. She saw that the home was beautiful, inviting, and dare I say – serene. A miracle! I remember once when sitting down to a chicken dinner, I looked around the table at all the siblings and wondered “Hmmm, are they going to fight over who gets the breast?” I was surprised and amused to see the only arguments that ensued were over who got the wings. WINGS! How teenagers could overlook the breast, shortleg – the good parts – and argue over the paltry wings was a miracle in itself! No-one fought over the good parts – instead leaving them for others.

But that was how Mrs. Glover saw the world, she never overlooked anything or anybody and always put others before herself. She saw through my braces, wire rimmed glasses, pimples, extra pounds to see the real me, long before others did. She extended such love and grace to me that I always felt so cherished in her presence. I remember her voice from those long ago days as mellifluous and enveloping as her warm embrace. She always had time for “Miss Jackie.”  She saw her own children that way too, each important, each different, each unique and lovable in their own way. Jill was a bit of a spitfire and yet her mother sought to make her feel loved, nurtured and validated, despite Jill’s wont for teenaged turmoil. And I believe this allowed Jill to fell free to be herself and to express herself, because she knew she was loved. Always. What gift is more precious?

In addition to modeling how to be an extraordinary mother, she modeled how to be an extraordinary wife. Her love for Mr. Glover was a palpable thing and their relationship was the heart of the family. Their casual affection felt so intimate and true that more than once I blushed and turned away rather than intrude on a private moment.

The second period of my life when I drew close to the Glover family was when Jill was in an automobile accident and spent  much time at UNC hospital. I lived near campus and often visited with Jill and the family.  Mrs. Glover exhibited her usual strength, faith, and love during all of those visits. I believe she never forgot that Jill was God’s child and as well as her own. That regardless of Jill’s physical condition she was on the path to Heaven.

Mary Frances Draper and  Jewell Faye Glover

I also have memories of visiting Jill in the nursing home some months later. I met Mrs. Glover in town and we went in together. The whole place lit up when she walked in the door. She called everyone by name – staff and residents and inquired over each. She was a witness that day and everyday, whether in her faithful presence by Jill’s side, in her support of her church, in her marriage, in her life as a mother, in carrying Bibles to Russia, in visiting my family in the hospital days before my own father’s death. In so many ways! And that is why the mourners at her funeral were so numerous they spilled out the door of the sanctuary and the fellowship hall. Because so many people felt her unconditional love. 

Mrs. Glover surely had the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and gentleness. And she brought up her children, and her grandchildren to live and love God as she did. What a blessing for them! What a blessing for us all! 

Rest in blessed peace, Mrs. Glover. And please, give Jill a hug for me. 

Jill and I