Let Her Cry

I cried while mowing the grass today. I'd be lying if I said this was an unusual occurrence. Mowing the lawn has always been a sort of sacred time for me alone with my thoughts, a time to pray and hash out imaginary scenarios, that is providing the lawnmower starts as it should and I'm not out of gas or battery or have a flat tire or any other thing that can go wrong with lawn equipment. If that happens, I cry then also. 

Today, I'm not even sure why I cried. Before we all go blaming it on perimenopause (the token scapegoat of the internet for 40+ year old women, maybe even warranted to an extent), I would also like to say that all of my life I have, from time to time and not infrequently, cried without the ability to explicitly explain why. Again, not unusual for me. (No need to worry. I'm perfectly well-adjusted I'm sure.)

When I started this silly blogging hobby near decades ago, I needed a creative outlet. Perhaps I was looking for commiseration or encouragement in the earliest throes of marriage and motherhood and adult life in general. I couldn't really even say (shocking, I know). It's been a lot of fun looking back and seeing how young and dumb and awful I was. Maturity happens slower for some of us. I'm not there yet, but maybe some day. 

I am in a unique season in life where I am simultaneously rearing young children and also encouraging and guiding my young adult children at the same time. Sam and I, in a quick exchange last night, confirmed each other's opinion that it is not any easier to do the latter. The younger children are simpler. The stakes are lower. You can hold them and rub between their eyes when they're tired and crying, and they go to sleep. You can feed them a snack when their blood sugar is low and their emotions are running high, and suddenly they're easier to reason with. The older ones have life-changing decisions to make and move to big, scary cities and stay up late and ask really hard questions that require saying hard things in return. Sometimes you're not sure your advice is even all that good. (That's when hopefully Sam takes a stab at it because I trust his wisdom over mine any day.) It's a whole new challenge you have to figure out in learning how to be a parent. I guess you never really fully know how to be one. Like, ever. 

The other day, I was standing in the unbelievably long line at TJ Maxx. (Honestly, why? Why is it always that long? In the middle of a weekday morning?) When I reached the register, the cashier asked my girls their ages. I had Leah (13) and Sarah (16) with me. She immediately turned to me and said, "What's that like, Mom?" I'm sure I stared at her quizzically. I'm not dumb, but rather than just answer the question people ask me, I like to run through several additional questions before I simply answer. What does she mean? Why is she asking? Does she know they are right here? After I rolled all of those thoughts around in my brain, I finally responded, "What? Them being teenagers? They're awesome." Now it was her turn to look at me with a furrowed brow. Maybe she thought I was lying. She told me she has a nine year old and things weren't going so well. I told her that's a tough age, but if you put the work in, the teen years are nothing. If you go through the pains of doing the hard work when they're little, they often turn out great. It's not a perfect formula, but it's a solid way to set up success. (They still have to make hard decisions and ask tough questions, but they aren't miserable to be around while they're doing those things.)  She thanked me for that and said it was encouraging. I should mention in my cynicism, I'm not entirely sure she was willing to put in the hard work, but at least she knows it's possible to love your teenagers and to love being around them, and I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. 

What I didn't say there at the checkout line is that all those younger years of picking battles and molding behaviors and calling sin by its name and pointing them to Jesus and becoming sanctified yourself all the while, yield unquantifiable results that are likely to have you inexplicably crying while you mow your front lawn. My kids are not perfect, but I've watched them (as I attempt so desperately not to meddle) make some incredibly wise choices that I am absolutely certain I would not have been mature enough to make at their ages, and, when they don't, take the lessons to heart. 

I've seen them turn the other cheek. I've seen them tear down their own idols. I've watched them make tough decisions and prioritize their walk with Jesus. They have handled situations with maturity and without batting an eyelash, to the point that it convicts me. They don't stand for drama. They tell the truth. They work so hard. My goodness the work ethic. Some of them are just like me and when you see your flaws mirrored in your offspring, they're so much more plain. (Ope.) That's sanctifying. How do you teach someone to correct a flaw when you haven't figured it out yourself? Some of them exude confidence and are braver than I could ever dream to be. I wish I could steal a little of that. They confide in you, sharing joys and the occasional concerns. They know how to push your buttons and then make you laugh. They are really good at making me laugh. 

Having littles is so special. But, oh man, having bigs is something entirely different. It's not easier, but it is so, so worth it. So when you see the mom pushing the mower in the yard with tears streaming down her face. It might be because she's having a hormonal breakdown, but it's also possible she's just proud of her kids for being so much better than she is - by the grace of God, some blood and sweat, and, you guessed it, quite a few inexplicable tears.

Detours, Road Blocks & How Late-Night Laundry Can Make You Cry

Sometimes life's highway takes you right into a road block, forcing a detour. It feels typical that it's often when you have just busted through the traffic, hit the open road, and set the cruise. 

Last week, I showed up at the same-day surgery wing at the local hospital for an eighteen-year-overdue hernia repair. The surgery ahead of me went about four hours long, and I kept thinking, "There's no way Sam is going to make it to the soccer games tonight." In my naivety, I did not consider what the recovery from an abdominal surgery would be like, and assumed that I would bounce back like I'm twenty, and he'd be able to drop me at the house and carry on with the soccer life. As it turns out, I groggily woke up in recovery around 3pm took some very painful, ginger steps to the restroom, and was discharged around 4:30pm. With a detour via the pharmacy for the highly anticipated overnight dose of pain medication, Sam and I decided that with the littles in the care of their Grammie, I could either lie down in the car on the way to the soccer game or lie down at home and not get to see any of it. (Hardcore! Just kidding, probably more like FOMO.) He hesitantly agreed to let me tag along, and we were off to Macon in time to catch a few minutes of the first half and the rest of the game, only the second one of the season.

(I felt like garbage. If anyone ever tries to tell you the recovery from hernia surgery is nothing, they might be lying. Or maybe I'm a weenie. If it's the second one, don't tell me.)

Sam broke some parking rules and pulled me right up the curb overlooking the field, and I got to watch my girls work their magic. There really is not a whole lot this side of heaven that brings me more joy than to watch them doing what they love. Everyone's favorite athlete is their own child, and it's an even more special thing to see them playing together. My two varsity girls play such a different game from each other, but they both play in a way that is perfect for them. Abby is strong and stolid, unbothered by flagrant fouls and gnatty forwards. She distributes the ball, and commands the field with her presence and her voice. She's a great leader, and I love watching her play. (Duh.) Sarah, on the other hand, is the gnatty forward. She is wiry and fast and literally everywhere. Sometimes she'll be playing a position up top and then, "Whoa, Sarah just came out of nowhere and blocked that shot in the box! What's she doing back there?" She's the definition of tenacity, almost reckless, but not. She is unbelievably disciplined both on and off the field, and you can see how seriously she takes every moment and every opportunity on the pitch as a time to perform with excellence, never halfway. 

As I watched the game from my perch, I saw Sarah break away with the ball down field. In my haze, I couldn't describe the exact circumstances (though I have since rewatched the film), but she planted, her knee buckled, and she went down. A non-contact injury. A soccer player's worst nightmare. Her coach subbed her off the field, and I watched with a deep sense of dread, as that knee buckled with each independent step she took toward the bench. I watched as she attempted to move along the sideline, to shake it off, each time that knee refusing to hold up her not-at-all-heavy frame. I watched her hold her pinny in her hand and plop down on the bench. And I think we all knew. 

As soon as the game finished, Sam helped her to the car. She wasn't in any pain. She simply couldn't bear the weight. The next morning, as soon as they opened, Sam took her to walk-in ortho urgent care where they fitted her with a brace and scheduled an MRI.

Long story short, on Monday, we learned she has a torn ACL. It will be surgically repaired early in March. She is justifiably devastated, especially with a looming average of nine months recovery before returning to the pitch. 

This is not the detour we expected. However, this is the road block that God has appointed. It's easy for me, a forty-something-year-old woman to recognize this. I'm not happy about it, but I do have the luxury of a few years under my belt to see and believe that God always works these things for our good and His Glory. This is an opportunity to more deeply understand her identity in Christ, not her identity in soccer. 

Nevertheless the wound is fresh, and the grief is real. She's been showered with kindness by friends, and we are so grateful for the sweet well-wishes and prayers. She's already planning ways to pass her time without juggling and shooting in the backyard. She's the toughest person I know, but she is still a teenager who got dealt really bad news. And it isn't just affecting her. It hits when Abby says, "Sarah and I will never play a game together again." When Sarah stays up to fold her laundry and the dozen pair of soccer socks get left behind on the living room floor because she won't be needing those for a while. When she's in her bed trying to sleep and the gravity of the recovery time looms in the darkness - nine months is an eternity to a teenager (not gonna lie, it sounds pretty long to me too). When I spent some time editing photos from the first game today, and I was simultaneously so grateful to have them and heartbroken to see them. 

This probably seems like melodrama. Maybe it is. I don't think so. But maybe. 

All of this to say, please be praying for my girl. We love her so. She will come out just fine. I know that with my whole heart, but man I wish it was my crunchy old knee instead. 

In the meantime, we remind ourselves this is a wonderful opportunity for growth off the pitch and in the soul. We are praying that none of us will waste this trial. Remember this when you're going through the pits.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. James 1:2-4

Unsolicited Advice from a Christian "Abuela"

Last week, Abby, Sarah, and I were in Honduras on a mission trip.  The experience was indescribable and beautiful and some day I hope to debrief and write about it.  (Today is not that day.)  While we were there, however, I came face to face with fleeting years, as I was walking back to our team housing from the orphanage lunchroom and heard a young man call out to me, "Adios, Abuela!" This was followed by a cackle and a huge grin.  Apparently, these youngsters think they're funny when they call 40-something moms visiting from foreign countries "Abuela."  Over the course of the week, three of us ladies received this hilarious designation to the reception of giggles from the boys.  (I can respect this. I laugh at my own jokes all the time.)  While I technically am I enough to be a grandmother, I feel much younger than any grandmother ought.  Nevertheless this nickname made me think about a few things in the face of the dumpster fire that is the United States of America right now, so I am capitalizing on the opportunity to impart some grandmotherly wisdom to any remaining readers I might have. (Hey there, you!)  

Sometimes when we look around at the culture and the world at large we are tempted to fall into despair, become discouraged, feel despondent.  It's little wonder. As Christians, we are watching sin and post-Christian society reap what they have sown. My first bit of advice (this one's free) is not to fall into that trap.  We should grieve sin, but we should not stay there.  We are called to be people of action.  We are to be hearers and doers of the Word.  We are God's instruments for sharing the good news.  And we were placed here and now for a purpose, for such a time as this.  This is our divine appointment.  Let's not squander it.  

My target audience for this post is anyone younger than me.  Consider this my annual advice column.  (Maybe I am a grandmother. I thought I was turning 42 this year, but I'm just bad at math. I am still 40 for a few days. Whoops.) 

Transitions have never been my strength, so let's just get down to business.

Jennie's Unsolicited Grandmotherly Advice for the Younger Folks (of various ages, but namely teens and up - also in no particular order, and geared toward those who profess to be Christians...disclaimer OVER)

Live in the Bible.  When I was younger, I did not prioritize time in the Word, and I have spent my years since playing catch up.  I promise you, reading and understanding God's Word is as essential as food.  It is everything you need for life and godliness.  It is useful for teaching, rebuking, correction, and training in righteousness. It is how we understand the character of God and can combat the uncertainties and lies of our culture.  Please read your Bible.

Laugh a lot.  Particularly at yourself.  Find the humor in the world.  I wholeheartedly believe that laughter is a gift, a pressure relief valve.  God has a sense of humor, and we see evidence of that time and time again in Scripture (a talking donkey, Elijah's toilet jokes, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?," idols falling down and their heads falling off).  Laughter is a balm for the soul.  Don't forget about it, especially when times are tough.  We weep with those who weep, but we also laugh together.  

Don't date around.  This might be counter-cultural, but as a Christian, I would heavily discourage overly testing the waters.  The purpose of dating for a young Christian should be to find a spouse, a person with whom you can enter into the covenant of marriage. While I don't think marriage should be entered into lightly, neither should dating.  There's nothing wrong with friendship and boundaries.  These, too, are gifts from God.  Covenants don't need practice.  The marriage covenant is a commitment between a man and a woman before God.  Pray before you enter it.  But on that note...

Find a godly man or woman and marry them.  When you find your person, put a ring on it.  The trend is to wait and wait and wait to get married.  Obviously, not everyone will find someone to marry in their early twenties, and that might not be God's plan for you.  However, if you do find your lifelong partner.  Just get married.  Do it.  Grow up together.  Do hard things together.  Seek God's wisdom and counsel together.  And then...

Have the babies.  If you want to do kingdom work, heed the command to be fruitful and multiply.  We need warrior Christians having warrior babies and teaching them all that God has commanded.  As much as it is possible for you, have children and love them well.  (Obviously, there are exceptions to this, but that leads to my next point...)

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.  That's not from scripture, but it is from Teddy Roosevelt (maybe), and the premise is biblical.  We were born in this time and in this place for a purpose.  Maybe that means marriage and kids, but maybe it means being single and serving in another way.  Whatever we do, we do it heartily for the Lord.  Don't forget that.

Overcommunicate.  A lot of strife could be avoided if we spoke clearly and precisely.  If we asked questions.  If we spoke our expectations.  If we voiced our concerns.  I'd rather be accused of overcommunicating than undercommunicating or miscommunicating any day.  This goes for daily life, friendships, marriage, business dealings, ALL OF LIFE.  Don't be afraid to ask for clarification.  And clearly state what you mean.  

Let love cover it.  This is advice I can give only because I need to take it.  When someone wrongs you, go to them to reconcile or let love cover it.  It really is that simple.  The sooner the better.

Don't expect perfection.  When I was younger, I was a perfectionist.  Now I know that the secret to happiness is lowered expectations.  (Just kidding, maybe.)  Don't despair if everything doesn't go according to your plans.  Excellence is a worthy and honorable pursuit, but sometimes good enough is good enough. 

Do not forsake the means of grace.  Read your bible. Be baptized. Sit under solid, biblical teaching.  Pray.  Worship corporately on Sunday.  Fellowship with other believers.  Participate in the Lord's Supper.  Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.

We don't know what tomorrow holds.  But if the end isn't near, we have work to do.  Youngins' (and everyone else for that matter), live this life well, before we lose the opportunity.  Simple faithfulness reaps eternal rewards.  Trust and obey.  

With love,

A 0% hispanic Abuela

Unsharpened Pencils

If you knew me in 2010, you probably heard this story live in the flesh.  I told it to everyone.  I was reeling from uncertainty and what felt like a total loss of my identity.  Everything I thought I wanted in life was being taken from me, and I was being thrust, completely unwillingly, into new, uncharted, and absolutely terrifying waters.  

Long story short, I lost my job at the civil engineering firm where I'd worked since graduating college.  With nary a job to be found elsewhere, I was heading home.  With my three small children.  

Put this way, it does not seem quite so dramatic, but maybe that's what 14 years of retrospect and life can do to a person.  

I remember the first pediatrician visit I had following the job loss.  I sat with the paperwork in hand for my child staring at the field labeled "Mother's Occupation."  What should I write?  I couldn't possibly write "stay-at-home mom" or "homemaker."  Yikes, those are such antiquated, menial titles.  I was Jennie, the newly-licensed "Professional Engineer."  I had worked insanely hard for that designation.  To my 2024's most-regrettable shame, I wrote the word "unemployed."   Somehow, that seemed like the better choice.

This came to mind recently when I was reading angry internet commentary about Harrison Butker.  No one really cares to hear another opinion on the matter, I'm sure, but the whole conversation (if you can call it that) gave me the opportunity to consider the arc of my own life over the past 14 years.  

Some of it comes down to a tub full of unsharpened pencils.

Just this morning, my three eldest daughters and I went to church to help prep supplies for VBS.  This is what my high school journalism teacher would have referred to as a "thankless task," the type no one notices until it isn't done or maybe is done poorly.  We have never helped with this before, but were happy to because it really is true that many hands make light work, and we are in summer break mode!  Read: We spend a lot of time wondering what we could be doing since we aren't doing the things we have to be doing.

As we doled out Sharpies and post-its and markers and glue sticks, we got to a tote box of pencils that needed to be portioned out for the classrooms.  Closer inspection revealed that these pencils were unsharpened.  Noting that there were about a billion pencils in that box and that my babysitter was due at his actual job in a short time, we decided to bring the box home where we have two very nice electric sharpeners to accomplish the task.  

Sharpening pencils is a job that just about anyone in my household can do, right down to the four year old (with supervision, probably).  It's pretty mundane in the grand scheme of the universe.  But, oh, what God can do with a pencil in the right hand.  What work there is there is to be accomplished by sharpening pencils to the glory of God! 

What some might perceive to be a rubbermaid of Ticonderogas, I must admit I see as much more.  These pencils will be held by the hands of young souls who will be presented with gospel truth at VBS.  They will be used to write Scripture to memorize and hide in their hearts.  They are implements to be used with eternity in mind.  

So what does this have to do with losing jobs and NFL kicker's speeches?

In November of 2010, I was doing everything I did for the glory of Jennie.  I wanted to make much of myself.  God, in His infinite wisdom and sovereignty, saw fit to tear that idol right down.  He took me out of my perceived prestige and put me in a perceived humble station.  I don't think I ever had any real prestige, but being at home has certainly humbled me.  

Homemaker is not a dirty word.  And it's not a denigration.  I don't know why, even if being a full-time stay-at-home mom is not what we're called to be, our culture so disparages that office.  If we believe the Bible, we are called to be keepers of the home, ladies.  All of us.  I guess that's unpopular, but those are God's words, not my opinion.  This is a divine calling.  If you are struggling with wanting to do things at home because you think it's oppression, I would challenge you to pray about that.  Earnestly.  Building a home full of peace and love where your family makes memories, learns to love people and Jesus, and feels safe and comfortable in is not a small thing.  It's constant hard work.  It's a privilege.  The home is where hearts are cultivated.  It's not a backup plan.  Or a "have-to."  It's a gift.

God took me, a P.E. with a bad attitude, and put me right in the midst of the last place I wanted to be.  At home.  I'm not sure why this idea was so unpalatable to me.  Now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.  Literally.  Please.  Just let me go home, and stay there.  It took years of sanctification to turn my heart away from my career and towards my family.  It hurts me to say that, but it's true.  I was a miserable wretch while I was working, even when I was sitting exactly where I desired to be.  God flipped that upside down.  He brought joy where I never imagined being.  

I'm not here to argue whether women should work outside the home or not.  I am not here to tell you what call God has placed on your life.  What I am here to remind you, fellow Christians, is that wherever you are, whatever you are doing, work heartily as for the Lord and not for men.  Let us "lean in" to God's will for our lives.  We were placed in this time, in this place because God knows better than we do.  Whatever you do, in word or deed, do it all to the glory of God.  If this means designing site drainage plans, or raising your babies, or sharpening pencils for VBS, do it for God's glory.    He can use it.  And He will.

When it feels like life is nothing but sharpening a box of pencils, think about the life-changing potential of the work you're putting in.  Take heart.  Press on.  There's nothing menial when you're sitting in God's will for your life, whatever that looks like.  

If He can make a homemaker out of Jennie Sheppard, there's no limit to what He can do.  Sometimes we just need to get out of our own way and watch.

A Super Short Word for 2024

Brevity is not my strong suit, but I feel the need to get this out into the world of the internet or whatever you call this silly, old blog.

I don't have time for nuance.  What I am about to say is obviously not always true, but here goes.

Sometimes, friends, when you're suffering, it's your fault.

It might be that you're struggling with unforgiveness.  It might be that you are quick to anger.  It might be that you are gripped with all manner of irrational fears.  Maybe all of those things are a problem for you.  All of it is sin, and if you think that can't take a physical toll on your life, let me tell you from experience, it can.  It will.  It does.  Ask me how I know.

If you find yourself in a pit, for whatever reason, cry out to Jesus.  Ask Him to help you with whatever sin you're struggling with.  Repent.  

Maybe God allowed you to climb straight down into that pit because you thought your way was better.  He showed you how much you need Him. 

Don't let prayer be your last resort.  Do it without ceasing.  About everything.  You don't need a prayer closet (even though that's awesome and go for it!).  Please, please, cast your cares on Him because He cares for you!  When you're driving, when you're sad, when you receive amazing news, when you're loading the dishwasher for the fourth time in a day, when you're late to pick your kid up from practice, when you see an emergency vehicle, when you get a free beverage at the drive-thru, when your imagination runs wild, when you don't know what to do, when you're so angry you're seeing red.  Pray!  And watch your life and your outlook be transformed.  Only God can renew your mind in this way.  It's a gift.  A beautiful one.  

Thank you, Lord, for the hard lessons you graciously allowed me to learn in 2023.  May my gaze be all the more transfixed on you in 2024.