Second Chance Mom

For twenty years long, she was the faithful wife of an abusive alcoholic.  For eighteen of those twenty years, she was also a mother.  My mother.  She and I, together and separately, survived.

WE BARELY SURVIVED.

My entire childhood filters through the reality of this truth.  I dreaded and despised my relationship with my father, and his abuse and control left me with mere shreds of a relationship with my mother.  She was burdened by the weight of responsibility to insure that our basic needs were provided.  She diligently worked day in and day out at a dingy little small-town factory.  Her meager hourly wage was our only source of steady income.  He never held a job, and the wages he did earn rushed through the sieve of booze, women, and other selfish desires. His anger and violence dominated our home.  There was no time, energy, or emotions left for a brown-eyed little girl.

My mother, sweet and kind, was robbed of truly being a mom.  Eighteen precious years were stolen and tainted with wounds and sorrow, struggle and heartache.  My mother was belittled and weakened, yet she still possessed quiet strength.  We both got out alive.  SOMEHOW.  Although parts of us died, we lived.  We made it through. 

GOD IS A GOD OF SECOND CHANCES.  

BECAUSE HE IS GRACE, MY MOM IS A MOM OF SECOND CHANCES, TOO.

Although time lost can never be regained, it can be redeemed.  The funny thing about second chances, is that some people ignore them.  It's up to you what to do when your second chance comes along.  But those who do take their second chance, embrace the MERCY-GIFT with wholehearted gratefulness.  Perhaps they appreciate even more in the shadow of what was lost.  Perhaps they love a little deeper, hug a little longer, and smile a little brighter because they never thought moments like these would ever return to them. 

REDEMPTION IS BEAUTIFUL.

My mom only mothered me, but she is re-living her second chance four times over with my children.  I love to watch her cuddle up to read stories, plop on the floor to build Legos, or sit at the table for hours to play games, work puzzles, or roll out Play-doh.  She goes on long walks with my teenage daughter, and every evening takes special interest in her day. 

Watching my mom's love for my children unfold before me is like viewing how my mom would have chosen to love and nurture me.  It is healing balm for my little-girl-soul, and I know it is salve to her mother-soul as well.  GRACE.  It is grace alive... living and breathing in our midst.  Grace rebuilds.  Grace restores. Grace covers.  Grace heals.

GRACE IS THE STUFF OF SECOND CHANCES.

GRACE IS THE STUFF MY SECOND CHANCE MOM IS MADE OF.

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This piece is in honor of my mom.  Today is her birthday.



HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY, TOO!  
I LOVE YOU! 


p.s.  The picture on this post is my "Second Chance Mom" with my two oldest daughters.  :)

Remember

River's flood angrily swells.  
Currents swiftly sweep by.
Fear trembles soul's depths, 
Even with His promise to part.

Bold trust leeches fear.
Faith steps in.

Water walls erect a passable hallway.
Sand squishes over sandals...
Over toes.

A promise fulfilled strengthens belief...
Strengthens steps...
Strengthens shoulders buckled under burdens.

Imprinted path ~ a trail forged to follow.
The bank is reached.
Waves crash sand-prints, 
As river walls fold into one.
Evidence of the journey walked swept away.

There is no looking back.  
You rest knowing you stand secure,
Across the raging river on the other side.

...and you REMEMBER.

Beach Grace

Peter sat quietly in the handcrafted boat made by his grandfather.  Generations of fishers passed down their family trade, and now Peter was the boat master.  For the past three years, Peter's fishing career had suffered, but all of that would be different now.  It was back to the methodical life of before...

BEFORE JESUS...

SIGH...

The boat lulled softly on the still morning water.  Peter struggled to keep his eyelids from dropping shut.  He hadn't slept soundly the past few days.  He wondered if he'd ever sleep soundly again.  It was Peter's idea to go fishing this night.  Perhaps, routine would be a distraction from the insomnia, the sorrow, the regret.  All night they cast their nets into the cool waters, and not a single fish was taken captive.  Discouraged, Peter thought about the time their nets burst with so many fish that two boats could scarcely hold their catch.  Jesus was there on the miraculous fishing day.  Peter fell on his knees humbled, awestruck, unworthy. That was the day Peter left his nets behind to follow Jesus.

JESUS...

JESUS...

JESUS...

Peter worried a loose wool cord from one of the nets between his fingers as his wandering thoughts betrayed the task at hand.  The sky shifted from navy to light gray.  Clouds mirrored the pink reflection of the sun that would soon break the horizon.  Peter's shoulders sank as he remembered the day Jesus gave him a special name.  ROCK.  Peter the rock.  "On you, I will build my church,"  Jesus told him.  Peter's confidence soared that day, and His heart was overwhelmed with love for  Jesus.  Now, Peter's heart crumbled in shame.  Tears streamed down Peter's sun weathered face.  Things between Jesus and him would never be the same.

PETER THE ROCK...

PETER THE BETRAYER...

In Jesus' darkest hour, Peter told others that he never even knew his friend, master, teacher.  Peter denied.  Peter betrayed.  Peter lied.  Not once.  Not twice.  But three times.  Jesus, himself, had warned Peter.  Peter refused to believe from the depths of his bones that he would ever reject Jesus.  The rooster crowed, and the veil was lifted from Peter's eyes.  On this RUBBLE no church could ever be built.  The sun peeked through the horizon.  The sky was awake in flames of orange and pink.  Peter halfheartedly tossed the net into the sea.  He didn't want to fish.  He wanted to run.  Run to escape the grief,  the pain, the reality of who he was. 

ROCK.  BETRAYER.  RUBBLE.

"Peter, look!  It's Jesus!  On the shore.  Look, Peter.  Look."  Peter's thoughts jolted.  He didn't even bother to see which of the others was speaking to him.  Eyes squinted, he focused his gaze towards the beach.  Was it really Him?  Was it... JESUS!  Peter's heart pounded hard within his chest.  Without thinking, he plunged into the water recklessly.  Each stroke closer to the beach.  Each stroke closer to Jesus.  Peter's palms smacked the water.  His legs kicked fierce.  Maybe he could tell Jesus that he was... that he was SORRY.  Peter's heart ached and his conscience poked wounds.  BETRAYER...  The sting was almost too much to bear.  "What am I doing?  I am a fool," Peter thought.  Madness had overtaken Peter's sense.  Now, it was too late.  He was already halfway between the boat and the shore.  There was no turning back.

Soaked in regret, Peter stood up in the shallow water.  Legs heavy, heart sluggish, he waded the rest of the way towards the beach.  RUBBLE BRACED HIMSELF FOR REPRIMAND.  He would have no words.  No answer.  No explanation.  Jesus motioned for Peter to come.  Peter's heart tripped and stumbled as he dragged himself closer to his beloved friend.  A small driftwood fire was blazing bright in the shadow of dawn.  Drenched, Peter sat close to the fire to chase the wet and chill from his bones and clothes.  A rugged stick, propped on a rock, pierced two hearty fish that cooked over the flames.  Peter's eyes welled up with tears and spilled over his cheeks.  Jesus placed a single index finger over his lips as if to say, "Shhhh, it's okay."   Peter almost lost himself within the deep of Jesus' warm brown eyes, but shamefully turned to look down at the sand...the dirt like him.  Jesus gently put his hand on Peter's knee.  Cautiously, Peter raised his eyes to meet Jesus' tender gaze.  Grace began to soothe regret.  The fish crackled over the fire, and Jesus reached for the stick.  Smiling, He passed it to Peter.  FORGIVENESS SHATTERED SHAME as Peter realized that Jesus had been waiting for HIM.  God made Rubble breakfast, and he would never be the same again.  BEACH GRACE gripped the bones of his soul.   

ALL HE HAD TO OFFER WAS THE RAW BROKENNESS OF WHO HE WAS.  

TO JESUS, IT WAS ENOUGH.

***********

Could it be that Jesus waits for you to jump out of your boat and swim to Him, so He can blanket you in His love, intimately cook you breakfast, and envelop you in His BEACH GRACE?  All that you are (and you know what you are) melts away in the heat of the fire, in the warmth of His eyes, in the tenderness of His touch.  ALL THAT HE IS BECOMES ALL THAT YOU ARE.  You are you, yet changed.

RUBBLE TO ROCK-NEW... 

Could it be the one humbled by failure, reduced to rubble is the rock on which the church is actually built?

RECKLESSLY ABANDONED TO JESUS, OUR FAILURES AND FLAWS BECOME STORIES... THAT BECOME RELATIONSHIPS... THAT BECOME COMMUNITIES... THAT BECOME THE LIVING-BREATHING-HANDS-AND-FEET-AND-HEART-OF-CHRIST-TO-OTHERS.

This is the ROCK on which His church is built.  True.  Church.

Offer your RUBBLE.
    
IN HIS BEACH GRACE,  TO JESUS...
  
IT IS ENOUGH.



"Now come and have some breakfast...."  (John 21:12)

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The above "fiction" is based on the following scriptures:

Luke 5:1-11

Matthew 16:18

Mark 14:66-72 

John 21:1-14