Yellow Jeeps- A Touchstone of Love…for when you just need to know

The drive home from Little Rock was quiet after his heart broke and shame spilled out into the space between the his perch in the back seat and mine in the driver’s.

“I must of done something wrong, Mom, I’ll try to be better….to be better. Why did they take all my food away?” He cried and said he was sorry…that he would try harder. I did what moms do- I comforted, I quieted…I told him it would all be all right.

But when he finally slept- exhaustion and the after-effects of anesthesia taking over- I wept fear.

We were traveling home from Arkansas Children’s Hospital with news that crushed my little boy’s heart.  He had been so good….he had followed all their rules…eaten only chicken and rice for six weeks, but the little section the surgeon had snuck in and stolen from his insides and the pictures they’d taken while they were there told of story of an overactive immune system that was attacking any food.  They wanted to take it all away…stick a pipeline of goopy elemental formula straight into his stomach and fingers crossed pray that would reboot his system.

Xander at Arkansas Children’s Hospital in Oct 2008

I was outraged at the words the doctor used in front of my seven year old child.  Words like “it’s clear he just can’t control himself” and “I am positive he hasn’t been sticking to the diet we prescribed” and “you are killing him with his food.” Words full of fear and shame.  It split me open and awakened the hibernating bear-ess that was inside and I fired that man on the spot.  I walked away from the appointment not knowing the ramifications of what I had done…the black stain of the doctor’s fear weighing heavily on my heart.

As Xander slept heavily in the back seat, I prayed.  Dear God, heal my son…show me what to do now.  This doctor was our hope.  And then my prayer got really real…God, why is this happening to him? Don’t you love him? Don’t you love us?

I was deep in a wrestling match with God.  Tuned out to any words of comfort He might actually have for me…the angry woman beating the chest of an embrace with her fists. Quietly, from the back seat comes my answer -

“Yellow jeep, God loves me.”

The “yellow jeep game” began as a leadership devleopment exercise my partner, Tim (bulletproofteams.com) and I were using to help demonstrate the power of “noticing.” We would go into a group and ask how many yellow jeeps they had seen that morning.  Generally, the number was low for a the group- two or three.  We would release the group for the day with the charge to count yellow jeeps. The next day the numbers would often be in the teens.  We began to notice yellow jeeps everywhere.

At the time, I was at a place in my life where I needed to be consistently reminded of God’s love for me.  So I prayed for God to send me a tangible sign of His love at the times when I most needed it…the Yellow Jeep.  When I see one, I say out loud, “Yellow Jeep, God loves me!”

There are few other times in my life when I have needed to know God’s love for me than that moment.  I looked out the driver’s side window, expecting to see a single jeep passing by on the highway….instead there, at the roadside jeep dealership, was a long row of them.

With each one we passed, Xander said “Yellow Jeep, God loves me!” Twelve times he said it….and then he said, quietly and full of grace-

“And guess what, Mom? He loves you, too.”

What’s your yellow jeep?  Do you have a sign that reminds you that you are loved?  

Dreams of a Tiny Dancer…for when God-sized dreams are catching

“ What’s a God-sized dream, Mom?”

She stands with head tilted, blue eyes glinting over her black rimmed glasses, complete with hearts and gold filigree and diamonds that scream her personality for all the world to hear.  She is stunning- this mini version of her father with her “Mom’s instincts.”  (It is, by the way, the greatest compliment I could ever receive that this child of wonder, full of love, would identify her personality as mine.) She munches Great Value BBQ chips in my ear as she reads over my shoulder a blog post written by another dreamer about a launching place.

“Is it a dream that God gives you or is it something that you ask God for?”

Her nine years feel like they have fast-forwarded thirty and I stop reading, struck by the question I echoed just three days earlier as my new friend and I made our way up US Hwy 71 toward a sacred meeting place for dreamers.  I’ve practiced this weekend the art of asking questions as an answer and so I do this now, seeking wisdom in the faith of a child.

“What do you think a God-sized dream is?”

“I think God makes us with dreams inside and with all the things we need to live them out.  What do you say always from the Bible? ‘God created a purpose for you before he created the Earth and created you for a purpose.’ Yeah…so I think he makes us like that.”

I smile.  Ephesians 2:10.  A verse that guides every dream conversation I have.  Never fear, moms, these “littles”, they do listen and take to heart.

“I think you are right on, sweetheart.  Do you have a God-sized dream?”

“Yes.  God gives me the same dream every night.  I’ve dreamt it more times than any other dream I’ve ever had.”

I start to correct her…that the ‘dreams’ we are speaking of aren’t exactly the same kind of dream that one has every night, but before I say anything, she opens her heart and spills out the dreams of a nine year old girl that wants to use her new-found gifts to change the world for Jesus.

“I am a primary dancer for a Christian dance company like Ballet Magnifcat. We are at this big auditorium filled with people and I am dancing with such grace and beauty.  The ballet ends and I am standing in the middle of the stage taking my final bow, someone hands me roses and I step forward and tell the story of Jesus and how he laid down his life for us and how we all need Him everyday. I invite those who don’t know Christ to come to the front and lots of people come to know Him. They come to know Him through my story. They come to know Him through my dance. I bring people to Christ with what God made me to do.  That’s my God-sized dream.”

I am undone by my tiny dancer.

I think back to a late night conversation by the fireplace in Nebraska with another dancer. One older and who has walked much further through life, but who holds onto the dream of dancing for God again.  And to the woman who wished she hadn’t waited 54 years to begin believing in her dream of writing for Jesus.  And to the man who wasn’t sure that he was dreaming his dream or God’s and needed help discerning the difference. I think back on these conversations and I wonder at God’s timing.  I am in awe of the way He has prepared me for this moment through my experience with His dreamers of all shapes and sizes this past weekend.

Gratitude spills over and floods the room.  Thank you, dream sisters and brothers, for sharing your hearts and stories with me, for giving me the opportunity to practice listening and encouraging others in their God-sized dreams.  Thank you, Adonai Ballet Academy for a safe place for my daughter to hone her craft so that she has the skills to live out her dream.  Thank you, Sally for preparing my heart to hear this dream come from hers.  Thank you, Ballet Magnificat for inspiring dancers to dance for God.  Thank you Holley Gerth, for giving me the language around which to speak these hearts aloud.  But mostly, Thank you my Sweet Dreamer for sharing your heart with me and reminding me that I am living my dream of helping others to see theirs right where I am.

Photo credit: Adonai Ballet Academy

AVFM: Precious Moments…for when your little ones are all grown up

This post is part of a series I like to call “A Visit From Mom.”  These posts are written by, well…my mom. I think she kind of rocks! My mom and her mother were the primary inspirations for me to starting writing way back as a little girl.  Now, I share my blog with my mom cause I think she has some things to say that you might really love.

“Precious moments. . .sneak up on us. I don’t think it matters how young or old our children are.Sometimes it’s just a quick, funny smile, or a small gesture they make, that sparks that overwhelmingfeeling of total love.” – Shari Cohen, Chicken Soup for the Mother’s Soul

I got to see my grandchildren, Elizabeth and Alexander, in their annual school presentation last weekend. Their parts entailed making a biographical presentation of an historical person, including costume and 10 minute first person oral presentation.

They were brilliant!

Lizzy was Clara Barton

Xander was Nikola Tesla

I enjoyed it immensely. . .almost as much as I enjoyed watching my eldest daughter taking in their work. It prompted memories of hours of Odyssey of the Mind competitions, volleyball and basketball tournaments, and academic honors ceremonies. That search for excellence is still within her and drives her daily. It makes her loyal to her husband and children and tireless in her faith. For this and many, many other qualities, I am truly proud.

On Saturday, I got to see my grandson, Crawford, and my new grandson, Roman. We joined my
daughter, Lora, and son-in-law, Dustin, at Crawford’s soccer game. It was a first experience with Roman, and a cherished one. Crawford was excited to have his grandpa there to watch the game and Roman was excited to pick the newly discovered grass from the field and place it in a bucket. Our parting moment, when he kissed my cheek without being prompted, ranks right up there with most beautiful moments in my life.

Roman, Lora and Crawford at the orphanage in Kramatorsk, Ukraine

I look at my sweet, sweet Lora, and so understand why God gave her the perseverance to rescue this child from his homeland. She has all the technical skills needed, certainly, but she and Dustin are the most consistent parents I have ever seen. If, as I believe, it is true that we can change this world one person and one act at a time, this desire to raise these two beautiful boys will make a huge change. What a legacy!

On Sunday, we joined my youngest daughter for lunch before she returned to an afternoon of homework as she pursues her Master’s degree in education. I watched her interact with others in the restaurant, taking in how beautiful she is and how charming she can be. She has a gorgeous love of color and surrounds herself in it. She teaches art, you know.

My beautiful daughter, Alexis.

She possesses an amazing talent—not just the artistic talent, but the ability to convey a joy of learning to the children she teaches. She has survived some traumatic emotional events, and continues to display an amazing amount of personal strength and determination. She is a natural caregiver, displaying a loyalty that few people ever possess. Give her a project, and she will accomplish it. Give her a challenge, and she will overcome it. I do so admire her inner strength.

I love this picture from her Junior Prom!

Yes, it is true: it doesn’t matter how old or young your children are. There are those moments when you behold a smile, a turn of the head, a mannerism, and feel that total, unabashed love for your “little one”. Thank you, Heavenly Father, for my blessed family!

Blessings,

Me and my family….aren’t they beautiful?

Carlene Welch is the General Manager at Home Instead Senior Care of Northwest Arkansas, and avid writer and poet, and my mom. She serves as a Stephen’s Minister at her church and is one of the wisest women I know. She writes custom poetry and prose for cards and gifts. For more information, contact us at stringsattachedministries@gmail.com.

AVFM: Sometimes Action Speaks Louder…

Mom’s not here today, but she has a really great reason for taking a day or two off….

It’s been an emotional week.  I find myself raw with the weight of it all.  Lifted up by the prayers of so many family and friends, held tight by folks who consistently remind me that life continues to pulse through the hearts of those I love, and somewhat distracted by the everyday mundane.

Yesterday, I was inviting my mom and dad to my children’s living history presentation on Friday when it dawned on me that in my rush through the last few weeks…in my effort to survive through the chaffed heart that bleeds tears at the drop of a hat…I had forgotten that my daughter, Lizzy, needs to dress as Clara Barton.

I quickly ran down the list of sequined and sparkly clothing she has in her closet….do you think Clara Barton had a bedazzler? Or that her favorite colors were lime green and hot pink? No?  Weeellll….

As my mom watched this realization break over me, she picked up her debit card, grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go get some material.” (The office we work in happens to be next door to Hobby Lobby….danger, Will Robinson..)

I watched as my mom gathered items to make my daughter a costume….from scratch…with no pattern, no picture…you know, just out of the blue…from her head…cause ya’ll, my mom is so cool!

I walked into my office this morning to find this:

Yeah, so…she didn’t write a post for us today because she was busy being the best mom/grandma ever!  But no worries, she’ll be back later this week!

Grace and Peace,

Carlene Welch is the General Manager at Home Instead Senior Care of Northwest Arkansas, and avid writer and poet, and my mom. She serves as a Stephen’s Minister at her church and is one of the wisest women I know. She writes custom poetry and prose for cards and gifts. For more information, contact us at stringsattachedministries@gmail.com.

Because My Mother’s Heart is Breaking….

It happens almost every morning.

As he wakes from his fitful sleep that was interrupted by sweat drenching and gut wrenching, he curls his body around the gnawing ache in his stomach, the one that threatens to wretch and heave, and he clamps his eyes shut tight and prays desperately to God for the strength to rise another day.

He is eleven.

He is my son…and I cannot help him….and it is eating me alive.

I stroke his hair and back and pray healing over his body.

I pray “Lord, help my unbelief.” My head knows You can and do heal, but my heart doesn’t trust it.

My heart rises up to choke out the words, “It’s time to get ready for school,” and he clamps shuts his eyes and nods.  “Give me just a minute, Mom.”

Tears well up and I turn away and on the inside I rail at the world and at me and at God because dear God he is only eleven and yet every morning he makes a decision that I, in my age and maturity, would struggle against.

I am transported back to the morning just a few weeks after his sixth birthday. The morning I woke up to find him asleep on the bathroom floor with his pillow and blanket. It was the first time he had not come to wake us when he got sick in the night; the first time he closed the door so we could rest.  That morning, as I held his heaving body over the toilet for the third time in an hour, I realized our life would never be the same. And as I rocked him and told him he didn’t have to go school that day…we would stay home and rest, he took my face in his hands and looked me in the eyes and said,

“Mama, this is my life now. I can’t just stop living it.”

He was six….

And so wise…wiser than I.  And my heart rose up in my throat, and tears welled up in my eyes, and a mother’s bittersweet pride filled up my chest and I railed at the world and at me and at God.

This journey has been long and arduous, hard for our whole family, and we are not near the end of it.  We had the help of doctors and healers in the beginning…until there was talk of stomach tubes and elemental formula and a growing boy who can’t eat and my mother’s heart said no.  Then we traveled alone and have for the last few years….feeling out our way….having good months and bad months…and good days and bad days…..But now, it’s been six bad months in a row and countless bad days and every morning is the same heart wrenching and gut wrenching routine.

So would you pray with me today?  Pray for Xander’s healing first and foremost, but also for heart and head wisdom for our family.  It is time to walk the journey with others again and it takes a good deal of discernment to determine who those should be.  It’s time to make some really difficult decisions about our schedule and our routine and make changes that may be painful for all of us, and it is time to face the fear that we may have harder days ahead of us, and frankly, my strength for the journey has been sapped by the miles already traveled.

Thank you, Lord, for this absolutely amazing family you’ve given me stewardship over.  Thank you for the wise little soul you knitted into my son, and for the partnership of a man who is rock solid and yet tender and gentle at the same time, and for a place where my heart feels safe enough to say “I don’t feel good enough.” Thank you, Lord, for preparing us for this journey and for walking with us every step of the way. Lord, I know you heal and restore and redeem…I declare that by the blood of Jesus Christ and the resurrection and life of Jesus Christ, that my son will be healed.  Lord, I praise you and claim that healing now.  In Jesus name, Amen.

Thank you for your prayers.  If you’re interested in learning more about Xander’s disorder- Eosiniphilic Esophagitis check out www.apfed.org and here’s a post I wrote several years ago about where we were on this journey. 

Because sometimes someone else says it better….

I have to admit- I didn’t have a post ready for today.  I spent the weekend in Dallas at a basketball tourney for the kids full of precious times and well, now I am a bit under the weather and just don’t have the bandwidth to think through a post….

and then this from my sister from the other side of the globe.

She is off living the adventure of a lifetime while she and her family adopt a young boy with special needs from the Ukraine.  There have been many crazy adventures along the way…adventures that we have watched from afar through her blog.

We’ve fallen in love with a sweet boy with dimples.

We’ve gnawed at nails waiting for appointments.

We’ve kneeled before God when their hotel caught on fire.

We’ve watched this family…we’ve watched my sister rise up and be the hands and feet of Christ…

And then today, she writes this…and I was undone…Maybe you will be too….will you go over and read it with me? And then perhaps leave her some love please?

 

AVFM: Cocoon…for when it takes a village

This post is part of a series I like to call “A Visit From Mom.”  These posts are written by, well…my mom. I think she kind of rocks! My mom and her mother were the primary inspirations for me to starting writing way back as a little girl.  Now, I share my blog with my mom cause I think she has some things to say that you might really love.

It has been awhile since my children were in elementary school.  Cari was in the third or fourth grade and truly idolized her wonderful teacher.  When Christmas came, and Cari wanted to present her with a gift, I wrote the poem that follows and framed it for her.  Thus began a tradition I truly enjoyed as it gave me an opportunity to uniquely express appreciation and admiration for those special people who choose to teach our youth.

Today, as we had our first opportunity to skype  with our daughter, Lora,  who is in the Ukraine finalizing the adoption of my new grandson, I felt again the importance of those special people who are drawn to forming and nurturing young people.  What a legacy it is growing the generation to come!

Cocoon

Wrapped in silky threads,
Secure against the wind,
Cocoon holds fast to tender leaf
As branches sway and bend.

Each day makes it stronger
As it feeds and grows and feeds,
And the gentle leaf it’s anchored to
Fulfills its every need.

The silken thread begins to loose
T0 free the life it holds.
The butterfly sees worlds anew
As shaky wings unfold.

Now it soars at edge of sky
With sun-drenched wings at flight,
And cocoons itself in memories
Of a tender leaf—FIRST SIGHT!

© Carlene Welch, 2012

 

 

Carlene Welch is the General Manager at Home Instead Senior Care of Northwest Arkansas, and avid writer and poet, and my mom. She serves as a Stephen’s Minister at her church and is one of the wisest women I know. She writes custom poetry and prose for cards and gifts. For more information, contact us at stringsattachedministries@gmail.com.

AVFM:The Broken Fiddle…for when your feeling used up

This post is part of a series I like to call “A Visit From Mom.”  These posts are written by, well…my mom. I think she kind of rocks! My mom and her mother were the primary inspirations for me to starting writing way back as a little girl.  Now, I share my blog with my mom cause I think she has some things to say that you might really love.

As a youth, I was a highly successful student, becoming valedictorian of my class, and accumulating academic accolades including numerous scholarships.  It was always my intention to do the same in college and have a lucrative career changing the world.  When I met my future husband in college, we married and had a youngster, leaving my aspirations for a college degree on permanent standby.  Since so much of my personal identity was wrapped around those achievements and dreams, I spent several years deeply regretting and resenting what I considered to be a huge sacrifice. The following poem was written during that period of time when it finally dawned on me that I was holding the most significant contributions I could ever present to this world and that my self-value and legacy would always be tied to the hearts I managed to touch along the way—whether I discard the remnants of a broken fiddle or lovingly coax it back to life.

Broken Fiddle

Each strand twangs as it rends apart

Until it dangles lifelessly at the end,

Curling up in desperation and fear—

Recoiling from the dreadful bow

That tore itself across the heart once too often.

The tender melodies have long since been silenced

By the constant friction of years of meaningless abuse.

This instrument was built to be held in loving hands

And caressed and treasured.

But someone gave it to relentless children

Who used the bow as a weapon to destroy the finely tuned wires,

And then discarded the broken fiddle

To suffer its injuries in a dark, forgotten corner,

To grow mildewed and musty.

And then she came—picking up the broken fiddle

With loving fingers, caressing the scratched and dented wood,

Mending and healing age-old wounds,

Cherishing the spirit within.

Waxed and polished and strung taut with new life,

Resurrected through reverent hands,

The fiddle shrieks in high-pitched tones—becoming accustomed

Once more to the bow scraping lightly across its tendrils.

And then. . .the violin sings its tender melody for her.

© Carlene Welch, 1979

Carlene Welch is the General Manager at Home Instead Senior Care of Northwest Arkansas, and avid writer and poet, and my mom. She serves as a Stephen’s Minister at her church and is one of the wisest women I know. She writes custom poetry and prose for cards and gifts. For more information, contact us at stringsattachedministries@gmail.com.

Five Minute Friday- Loud

 

This is an old Five Min Friday post I found in the draft folder when cleaning up my blog this week… I thought it warranted a voice, so I am posting it today….on a Monday….just a few (oh about 8 months) late…Enjoy!

For fun, for love of the sound of words, for play, for delight, for joy and celebration at the art of communication.

For only five short, bold, beautiful minutes. Unscripted and unedited. We just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.

Won’t you join us?

Here are the rules:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

2. Link backhere and invite others to join in.

3. Most importantly: leave a comment for the person who linked up before you – encouraging them in their writing!

OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:

Today’s prompt is:  Loud

Ready? GO!

“I’m going in the bubble now. I won’t be able to hear you for a few minutes.”

Insert plug in port and ahhhhh….the sounds of Jesus Culture, Bethel, Elevation and even David Nevue create a sanctuary away from the spring break father-son bonding that’s occurring via X-Box and video games in the next room.   Raucous laughter sprinkled with booming, “No way, Dad! I didn’t even know you could do that! You’re awesome!”

I can feel Dad beam and son admire and a quiet, secret smile spreads across my face.  I just love my boys….but man they are loud.

The sound drowns out the thoughts rattling in my head and chases them away.  Puzzle pieces of blog posts and emails to be written and tasks to be completed float through the din threatening to escape for good.

So off to the bubble I go….to create more loud to drown out the rest….hmmmm…should I be learning from that?

STOP!

Flows Like Water

“Come away with me….to the wild.” Jesus invites me to lunch.

“Ok.” I sigh and follow where he leads. I have been smiling and preaching the need for home care up and down these streets all morning and my smile feels a little pasty and crooked now.

So I follow Him to a park with benches and slides and children playing.  Here, Lord?

“Yes, but deeper.” He says.

I glance to the side. There is a sawdust path marked “Natural Planting Area.”

“Here.” He says.

Internally my eyes roll as I look down at my crisp white dress pants and my black leather pumps….Grrrreeeaaattt.  So I take my lunch and my Bible and this journal and I start up the path.

The wood chips are soft like a moon jump under my feet and my heels sink in and bounce out with each step.  I come to a picnic table nestled in this Natural Planting Area…which really means this is where God is gardener and man steps back to simply enjoy his handiwork.

At first I am chilly (the trees provide lots of shade) and I have to pee and I’m not hungry yet so I guess you could say I was a bit resistant and then I sit and eat soup with Jesus and we talk about the lady arguing with her husband on the phone because she “doesn’t have time to do it all.”

I can’t see her through the trees, but her voice raises sharp with panic and I pray peace over her and Jesus says yes and we fill her up with the love of Jesus.  She packs up her tow-headed two year old and rushes away and I pray that soon she will remember that no one has time to do it all.

All we have time for is long-lingering hugs that smell like little boy and sand castles and lunches in the trees with Jesus and I pray that God will remind me when my voice raises like panic and I dream of drowning in laundry.  I pray that God will remind me that He has filled me with His peace and love and the really important things involve filling others from that well.

I pray to Jesus.  I desperately want to hold onto this peace. I want to hold onto this presence.

And He brings to mind the fountain on More Mountain. It is a sculpture of cupped, but open hands joined at the wrists and living water gurgles up through those hands and spills out over them and down over the fingers and fills the bowl beneath until it runs over.

He says to me, “From open hands my spirit flows freely.  Don’t hold on….open your hands.”

And I think of what my pastor said this morning to his group of young shepherds.  He said that the Spirit is like a fountain. A fountain can only take in more when it has given out of its abundance and the only way the fountain continues to flow freely is when it spills out all that it has taken in and in its place there can be more.

And then God reminds me, “Cari, what does your name mean?”

Cari- Turkish- Flows like water.

And I smile and tears sting my eyes because he knew me before I was born.  Because he created me for a purpose and he created a purpose for me and OH! What a beautiful journey discovering that purpose is.

¹⁰ For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.- Ephesians 2:10