Authored by: Robin Thompson
I was seven years old when my family made the trip from Columbus, Ohio to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina for the first time. I thought I was in heaven! Surrounded by palm trees, a steel drum band at the pool, and a seafood buffet at the very top of the Hilton Hotel, I felt like a princess! Staying in a fancy place, eating fancy food, not a care in the world. My sister and I would ride the elevators up and down, pretending to be Southerners – speaking with our best Southern drawls – inserting “y’all” with great frequency, believing we were playing the part so well.
We were hooked. We did this every year – exploring and making memories from Myrtle Beach to Hilton Head – which had even more beauty, more palm trees, family bike rides, and ice cream at the harbor in the evenings … I decided early that this is my happy place, and I was made for this!
As my sister and I have grown up and had our own families, we have kept the tradition going. As I write, I am looking out over the Atlantic Ocean at Ocean Isle Beach in North Carolina. It is our family’s week at the beach. (It is oh so nice to have a change of scenery after sheltering at home for more than six weeks!) Mother’s Day is this Sunday, and I am thrilled to have my family together for walks on the beach, happy hours on the deck, and conversations that are deep and important.
But, so far, it hasn’t looked quite like that …
At the last minute, my mom and dad were not able to come. We had inadvertently compromised our quarantine status by coming in contact with someone who had not been as vigilant, and we couldn’t take the risk. My heart aches. My parents love being at the beach with all of us so, so much, and we feel the same. It is such a loss all around – another special thing sacrificed, and it didn’t stop there.
One of our daughters is going through a painful breakup that has shattered her heart. We are walking with her in this … grieving the loss with her.
This morning another daughter was “let go” from her job. We are with her in her shock and listening to her verbally process and wrestle with fear of the future.
And then about last night. Last night was not good. Damage was done. Rupture. During a family game of dominoes, past moments of harm were triggered.
My daughter was the casualty. I literally felt sick for her. And simultaneously I was somehow transported back to being eight years old, experiencing the powerlessness and the shame of being overpowered … silenced … shut down. It felt so familiar.
The invitation for me last night (and it has continued into today) is to care for my traumatized daughter. And it also invites me to care for my younger self. To be curious about what this is that I’m feeling and where it’s coming from. To sit with Jesus and lean in, allowing myself to remember and to feel.
As the tide comes in, I ask….
Jesus, how do I receive care from you in this memory?
What do you want me to know of your heart? of my heart?
What do I most need right now?
What do I need to grieve?
What do you want me to know of your heart? of my young heart?
How do you want to mother me in this place?
How can I receive your lovingkindness, tenderness, nurture and your healing for my still wounded heart?
And then, Jesus, how do I offer care for my daughter in the wake of this? What does LOVE look like for her right now?
I am only just beginning to learn what it was our girls needed as young littles. Turns out I needed those same things.
Adam Young, in his podcast titled “Why Your Family of Origin Impacts Your Life More Than Anything Else,” shares that every child needs six things from their parents:
If your parents were attuned to you, responsive to your needs, engaged with your heart, able to regulate your arousal, strong enough to handle your negative emotions, and willing to repair failures, then the result was a secure attachment.
If your relationship with your parents was not marked by these things, then you likely developed an insecure attachment—which means that you have experienced some measure of abandonment, betrayal, and powerlessness.
Perhaps the invitation for us as mothers this weekend might actually be an invitation as daughters. The invitation for me is to keep my heart open, to be curious, and to remain hopeful even in the hurting. Hopeful for connection and perhaps even repair. Hopeful for moments of joy and play.
Enjoying palm trees and seafood (no steel drum band, but we have Spotify and speakers!) and walks on the beach, while also holding the still fresh wounds and honoring the space that is needed to feel and to process and just be.
Authored by: Sherry Jennings
About a month ago, my daily routine was disrupted. First and ongoing by the Governor’s declaration of the stay at home order, then by the declining health of our son’s dog Glory.
Accustomed to slow early morning time with Jesus, coffee, and sunrises, my mornings became more abrupt. I developed a heightened awareness of where Glory was and what she needed – long walks in circles in our small yard, sitting in clover together. I was always assessing her condition. Was she stumbling more? Less? Confused? Dizzy?
It was a Thursday morning, before sunrise, and it felt like it would be our last day with her. My heart was broken, I was crying, my tears soaking her fur, my heart cried Jesus, I’m not ready for this.
It is wild how, for some of us, the quarantine has brought the far-flung adult children home for a season. Our son and his girlfriend came home from Philadelphia, choosing to “quarantine” between her parents’ house and ours during this uncertain time. He had arrived that Thursday afternoon, in time for our veterinarian to share hope with us and medication for Glory. We prayed for healing.
I used to spend my mornings caring for Glory, feeding her, spending time with her outside, walking around the yard, her sitting oh-so-near me … and my coffee. Until a month ago, as her body slowly stopped working. She used protest being loved on; but now, she embraced the love, the nearness, the being together.
Jesus, I see Your kindness, your tenderness in the last month all around us, as if You ordained this time for us. Truly, what a blessing for Steven to be with us through Glory’s eye removal surgery in January, then for him to be home with her in February, and now, the order to stay home, allowing him to love her and be with her in her last days. Beautiful. Priceless. Tender. Kind. Divine. Sacred.
Between the sudden onset of and increasing symptoms and the lack of response to medication, we realized the time had come. Our little family cried and held each other, heartbroken. I slept with Steven and Glory on the living room floor together that night, loving and comforting them.
The next evening at sunset, she fell asleep in Steven’s arms for the last time. That night, we cried, grieved, remembering and sharing stories as we journeyed through photos, thankful to be together, to be home together. Choosing to stay in this grief together, in this stay at home time.
In the midst of moving through the sorrow of Glory’s remaining hours, Steven uttered these words, from deep places in his heart, and ultimately, from Jesus’ heart to mine, “Thank you, Mom, for loving me in this, for all that you are doing. You love me so well. Thank you for seeing, loving, and tending to my heart. I want you to know that I love you and I see you.”
In all the different places we’ve been and lived over the past decade, Jesus has been redeeming the nurturing part of my heart, unseating the lie and breaking the agreement that I am not nurturing. Through this healing, I’ve come to delight in the freedom of nurturing the hearts of women around me, cultivating life in relationships, work environments, and more recently gardening. And now, while in this place of ‘stay at home’, whilst nurturing and caring for our sweet ailing dog, Jesus whispered to my heart, “You are nurturing, kind, tender, compassionate; you love well, not perfectly, so beautifully. Keep looking with the eyes of your heart, Sherry. Don’t close them, don’t shut down, stay at home with your heart and what you’re experiencing. Walk with me, explore with me as we cultivate beauty together, you were created to nurture, to love, and are most alive when you are doing just that, whether you are caring for your husband after his tooth extraction or journeying with Steven through his first day of kindergarten or his dog’s last days.”
For me, this stay at home season has been one of nurturing, learning to be being fully present to experience each moment, allowing each day to unfold. It has been an invitation to nurture my own heart, as well as Scott’s and Steven’s. And Jesus has been nurturing my own heart as I’ve delighted in tending and caring for my gardens, and as I’ve cared for and nurtured Glory through her last month of life. Caring for Glory was an invitation to journey with Steven, to care for and nurture his heart through the loss of his dog, and to journey with him through the grieving.
Sisters, amidst the distractions and demands of each day, every day is a beautiful invitation to stay at home with your heart, journeying with Jesus for your own heart and the hearts of those around you. Distractions and ways to numb and leave your heart are all around – social media, binging on Netflix shows, taking you to a dull, bland place far away from your heart. What if you stay present, at home with your heart, experience each moment and feeling, and explore them with Jesus? That is the journey I am on, and I’d love to hear from you in your journey.
I love how Robin shared about the warfare we face as women and as mothers. It is so very important to see what is coming against our hearts, and what is luring us to leave our hearts for those far away dulling and distracting places. You can read and join Robin in this exploration here.
The Zoweh Women’s Guide Team shares stories of exploration of their hearts, the hearts of their children, and the hearts of those around them in an audio session from The Deepening Weekend.