faith

Don’t Forget That It’s Hard

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

These words have been on repeat in my head for several months now. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

Honestly, I thought that diabetes would be easier by now. And to be fair – it is in a lot of ways. New technology has given me the gift of sleep, something I realized I hadn’t had in 10 years. And it’s given Hugh independence and freedom – more than I thought possible when he was first diagnosed. 

And yes, diabetic issues are now second nature to us. We don’t even blink when there are low blood sugars or site changes or supply order problems. We live a life with diabetes in the background most days, kind of like that annoying pain in your back or rattle in your car. You simply learn to live with it. 

But just because we have learned to live with Type 1 diabetes doesn’t mean it’s not hard. 

I have to remind myself of that often.

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

Especially when you are a 15 year old boy who is navigating the choppy waters of high school, where all you want to do is fit in and not have to worry about things like blood sugar and boluses and alarms ringing out throughout the school day. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

New issues have popped up, like going on overnight trips, learning to drive (What do I do if my sugar drops low and I’m driving, Mom???), the inevitable feeling of invincibility that naturally floods a teenagers brain, and yes, the occasional rebellion from it all. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

When I get upset with him, when he lashes out at me, when I just don’t understand why he would ignore his alarms, I whisper these words to myself. Of course he’s going to lash out. Of course he will have times when he burns out with alarms. Of course he’s sick of diabetes. It’s so utterly and unfairly and miserably hard. 

So what should I do? When I open my eyes to recognize the hard he is living? 

The only thing I know how to do. Give him lots of grace. More grace than what I think he deserves sometimes. Pour heaping amounts of love on top of him. Squeeze him tight on those really tough days and whisper to him that he can do hard things and that we will always help him. Tell him that he’s never alone. 

Maybe the hard is a gift – something I don’t like to admit, but that I’m slowly coming to terms with. Maybe the hard is not just something my family has to go through. Maybe everyone has their own hard thing in their own lives. 

Maybe that’s the gift. Recognizing that hard is hard and we all have to live with it. The divorce. The lost child. The cancer. The betrayal. The bankruptcy. The drug addiction. The loneliness. The job loss. 

I look around a crowded room and I realize the hard is all around me. Maybe the gift of my family’s hard is that now I can see it in others. 

So what should I do? When I open my eyes to recognize the hard others are living? 

The only thing I know how to do. Give them lots of grace. More grace than what I think they deserve sometimes. Pour heaping amounts of love on top of them. Squeeze them tight on those really tough days and whisper to them that they can do hard things and that I will help them. Tell them they are never alone. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

On my really bad days, when I get so angry that my son is living with this, when I lash out at my family and curse the D word all over again, I try to remind myself of these words too. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard, Mama. 

Then somehow, in some beautiful way, I am given grace. More grace than what I deserve. Love is poured on top of me and I can feel arms squeezing me tight – arms that I can’t see, but I know are there. I hear a whisper in my heart  that I can do hard things and that He is right there to help me. And I am reminded once again, that  I am never alone – even when it’s hard. 

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A Beginning of School Letter to My Kids

Dear Kids, 

Well here we are again. Another beginning of school. Another stressful few weeks of trying to figure out new schedules, new routines, new friends. Another season of firsts. 

It seems like these beginnings come faster and faster each year – one day when you have children of your own, you will understand. 

And because I can’t slow down time – no matter how hard I try – the next best thing I can give you is this – a letter reminding you to look for the fingerprints. 

You see, as you enter into this new phase of junior high and high school, those fingerprints become harder to find. I’m not sure why, but it probably has something to do with the world telling you to be the best, to never slow down, to roar and fight and conquer all. And because the world seems so loud and chaotic and consuming these days, we start to forget to look for the fingerprints. 

I know that as you go into this year, there will be so many wonderful things that happen. You will make some great friends. You will have fantastic teachers. You will climb mountains. 

But I also know that sometimes not so great things will happen too. You might get hurt by a friend. You may have a teacher who you don’t get along with. You will find yourself in valleys, I’m afraid. 

And that is when you must look for the fingerprints – On the days when you are walking through the valley. 

I promise you the fingerprints will still be there – they are everywhere really. But as we get older we quit looking for them. 

So kids, this letter is to remind you to never stop looking for them. Not when you’re 14 or 44 or 84. 

Seeing the fingerprints is what will save you. 

Where can you find them? And how do you see them? Well I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, but I can tell you that when you see them, you will know. 

When you sit next to a new kid at lunch because he’s eating all alone, and you don’t say much, but you give him a smile – there’s a fingerprint. 

When you see your teacher is having a bad day and you decide to not go along with the class joke of making fun of her, but instead you help her pick up papers – there’s a fingerprint. 

When you give up your seat on the bus for a kid who is struggling to walk – there’s a fingerprint. 

You see, we all have these fingerprints on our lives – we are covered in them. And they are fingerprints from something so GOOD and KIND that we never can get rid of them. And believe me, some people will try. Some people do some pretty awful things to erase the fingerprints, but they never can. 

Because those fingerprints are so full of LOVE that we will never be able to wipe them away.

And those fingerprints come from hands that will never lose us or let us go. 

Everyone has the fingerprints on them  – that’s what I want you to remember. Yes, even that kid who’s so mean to you he makes you cry. Even that homeless man you pass by every day on the street on your way to school. Even that teacher who gave you the worst grade you’ve ever made. They are covered in the fingerprints too.

Do you see them? 

I hope so. Because as long as you see them, you will be just fine. 

Have a great year. 

Love, Mom

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Go Where There Is Good

Dear Friends,

I know.

I know how hard it is to hear of another tragic event happening in our world. I know what it’s like to be struggling with why right now. I know what it’s like to be hurting. I know what it’s like to question your Faith and your God and to wonder if there is anything kind left on this planet we call home.

I know.

There are days where it all falls on top of you and you have to be the bad guy at work or at home or with your spouse. There are days when you turn on the TV and turn it right back off again because you just can’t take the media bickering and the catastrophe of bad news.

I know.

I know that there are social media bombardments for you to pick a side, to take up arms and fight, to shout out your opinion as loud as possible so everyone can hear your outrage.

I know.

Not too long ago I struggled with these things too. I felt like I was drowning in the sea of negativity that is constantly swirling in our world. There were difficult times before Hugh’s diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes, of course, but his diagnosis was almost more than I could bear. The fact that my young son was diagnosed with such a cruel and un-forgiving disease was confirmation for me that the world was bad, and more specifically, out to get me.

I was angry. And everywhere I looked, for those first few months, I saw bad and evil and wrongs. Through my eyes blurred with tears and through the fears in my heart, I only saw the worst.

But I just couldn’t stay there. Maybe it’s the way I’m hard-wired. Maybe it’s the copious amounts of coffee I drink. Maybe I’m just goofy from lack of sleep.  Or maybe, just maybe, I had to go where there is good.

My grandparents own a farm in rural Mississippi and even though my grandfather has passed away, my grandmother still lives on the farm and we visit her often. Our Mississippi family has now spread out all over the country and spans the globe, but at any given moment, there is a house full of relatives and friends spending time on the farm. There are doctors and teachers, preachers and bankers, architects, engineers, nurses, therapists, students, and young children mingling around. There are people from different races, ethnicities, and countries, people who speak several languages, people who are Baptist and Methodist and Catholic. There are people who grew up in poverty, people who grew up in privilege, people who were educated in the best institutions in the country, and people who were educated in the rural schools of the South. When I wake up in the morning, there is usually already a group walking to the small pond, someone going fishing, a deep conversation happening on the porch, and there is always, always something wonderful cooking in the kitchen.

The sky is bigger there. The food tastes better. Colors are more vibrant and the stars are endless. The smells are a mixture of pine and grass and sweet potatoes roasting in the oven. And there, right there, in the middle of nowhere, there is good.

A few months after Hugh’s diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes, we took the kids to visit in Mississippi and for the first time, I felt like I could breathe. As I looked around the kitchen table at the odd assortment of people who call each other family, I remember thinking “This. Is. Good.”

And do you know what? It didn’t matter that Hugh had been diagnosed with Diabetes. As painful and difficult as that was, we were still there, eating biscuits sticky with syrup, reading the morning paper, laughing over a story together. The goodness was there and it always will be.

For decades now, people have been loved and nourished around that kitchen table. It didn’t matter what language they spoke, what their background was, who they voted for or what country they voted in – they were all welcomed and accepted. When I think of God’s love in human form, I often think of that table with my grandmother serving food and loving generation after generation, NO MATTER WHAT.

Dear friends, listen to me closely. There is so much good in the world. Sometimes I get weepy just thinking about it. There are people sacrificing for each other. There are families saying I will love you despite our difficulties and fears. There are thousands of volunteers every day feeding the hungry or advocating for children or giving their time and money for no other reason than it is the right thing to do.

So what do you do when the negativity seems to overwhelm you? When all you see is anger and fighting? I think the answer is very simple.

Go where there is good.

A rural farmhouse in Mississippi is not the only place where there is good. Step out of your box. Go serve a meal to the homeless. Sit on the back pew of a church somewhere and listen to the words of an old hymn. Volunteer to help children with special needs. Park yourself on a back porch with friends and laugh until the sun goes down.

Go where there is good.

Visit the sick in the hospital. Offer to sing at a nursing home. Invite all of your friends and your kids’ friends over for a night around a campfire. Share a meal with your family and for heaven’s sake, TURN OFF THE TV and PUT DOWN YOUR PHONES.

Go where there is good.

Remind yourself that there is still  good in the world and that it is all around.  But if you still can’t see it, come with me down a country road to a place where I know it exists. We will give you biscuits and a little bit of cornbread and black-eyed peas, and a whole lot of God’s love. And that might just help you open your eyes.

Love, Sally

P.S. Wallace Stegner writes in his book Crossing to Safety of a large family – “Happily, eagerly, they expanded their circle and let us in. Professors, diplomats, editors, bureaucrats, brokers, missionaries, biologists, students, they had been most places in the world and loved no other place as they loved Battell Pond. Their loyalties were neither national nor regional nor political nor religious, but tribal.”

The farm in Mississippi is my Battell Pond and the tribe is based solely on the fact that we know we are loved. I hope you have your own Battell Pond and that you feel God’s Beautiful Love when you are there. Find your place. Go there often – but don’t stay there. Go back out and share that goodness with others. The world is so desperate for it. 

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