On Letting Our Kids Down by Carol Orsborn, Ph. D.

A friend sent this article to me and I just have to share it. I hope it helps someone who's too hard on themselves to find some peace and serenity in the midst of their struggles. Love is so powerful! We WANT to give so much more than we are able. Just remember God knows our hopes and desires and He is the one in control. One day He will restore all things! - Acts 3:21.
God Bless You, - Just Me.


"On Letting Our Kids Down" - by Carol Orsborn, Ph.D.:

Once a month, I gather with a group of us who are on track to being trained as spiritual directors. While we come from different ages and stages in life, when we dig deep enough, we find we have much in common.

Sometimes, what we address are the joyful themes. But at this weekend's gathering, our conversation turned somber, as we began sharing about various flavors of disappointment regarding our relationships to our children.

Of course, there are children who haven't fulfilled their potential, having difficulty establishing an adult life, doing drugs and worse. But disappointment goes both ways. Adult children as well as their parents express sadness over having lost the closeness they had as a family growing up — or never having been close in the first place. Some feel estranged from family members who live across the country. And then, there are those who do live in close proximity but who still find ways to disappoint one another.

Frankly, by the session's end, I was disturbed. What are we supposed to do with all this disappointment? I asked the group leader if we could speak privately for a few minutes. She readily agreed. We walked together from the meeting room to her private office. I immediately noticed that there were framed photos of her adult children and grandchildren lovingly scattered about. Surely, she would have the answer.

And in fact, she did. But it wasn't what I expected.

"You hope to find the direction you can turn in regards to your children that will not carry with it some degree of disappointment. But no matter how hard you try, it won't be enough. For beneath the push and pull of all the, I wants, I didn'ts, and if onlys, there is an existential disappointment that underlies all the others."

In a nutshell, here's what she told me. There are limitations to what any one can do for anybody else, including one's beloved child. We can not stop them from having pain; create for them a safe, easy world. In fact, we can't deliver on virtually any of the hopes and promises we made in our hearts for our children as we birthed, raised and grappled with the challenge of releasing them to their destinies. The only hope and promise that we can hold onto, through all the disappointments of life, is that we love them no matter what.

I heard her, and it was a lot to take in. But it was getting late, and my guide indicated that it was time to go. As I lingered in front of one of the framed photos, she realized that I still wasn't sure.

We stood there quietly for a moment, and then she started to talk.

"This one..." she said pointing to the photo "is disappointed in me because I'm not as available to her to baby sit as often as she'd like. This one..." she said pointing to another "needs more financial support than I'm able to give. I'd love to be able to send my grandchild to private school, and it hurts that I've had to say I can't." She sighed deeply.
"That is what we women do...our particular greatness. We endure."

I suddenly got what she was trying to tell me. The time had come for me to stop trying to address the problem of disappointment by attempting to defy the core limitations that are built into the human condition.

The only way to do this is to stop attempting to solve disappointments as if they were a problem, and to willingly provide loving space for everything — including our disappointments — in our hearts.

It wasn't the answer I'd been hoping for, but as I noted the unshakeable look of peace on her face as she studied the photos, patted her own heart and hugged me goodbye, strangely, it did not disappoint.

My Name Is Pride - by Beth Moore

My name is Pride. I am a cheater.

I cheat you of your God-given destiny . . . because

you demand your own way.

I cheat you of contentment . . . because you

"deserve better than this."

I cheat you of knowledge . . . because you already

know it all.

I cheat you of healing . . . because you're too full of

me to forgive.

I cheat you of holiness . . . because you refuse to

admit when you're wrong.

I cheat you of vision . . . because you'd rather look

in the mirror than out a window.

I cheat you of genuine friendship . . . because

nobody's going to know the real you.

I cheat you of love . . . because real romance

demands sacrifice.

I cheat you of greatness in heaven . . . because you

refuse to wash another's feet on earth.

I cheat you of God's glory . . . because I convince

you to seek your own.

My name is Pride. I am a cheater.

You like me because you think I'm always looking

out for you. Untrue.

I'm looking to make a fool of you.

God has so much for you, I admit, but don't worry . .. .

If you stick with me

You'll never know.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I Needed The Quiet

This poem was such a comfort to me when I was very ill. I'm posting it to share with others who may know someone that's going through a difficult time and can use some loving encouragement.

God is always closest when you need Him the most! God Bless, Just Me.

I NEEDED THE QUIET

I needed the quiet so He drew me aside,
Into the shadows where we could confide.
Away from the bustle where all the day long
I hurried and worried when active and strong.

I needed the quiet though at first I rebelled,
But gently, so gently, my cross He upheld,
And whispered so sweetly of spiritual things.
Though weakened in body, my spirit took wings
To heights never dreamed of when active and gay.
He loved me so greatly He drew me away.

I needed the quiet. No prison my bed,
But a beautiful valley of blessings instead--
A place to grow richer in Jesus to hide.
I needed the quiet so He drew me aside.

Alice Hansche Mortenson

Mom's Empty Chair

A woman's daughter had asked the local minister

To come and pray with her mother.

When the minister arrived,

He found the woman lying in bed with her head

Propped up on two pillows.

An empty chair sat beside her bed.

The minister assumed that the woman

Had been informed of his visit.

'I gues you were expecting me,' he said.

'No, who are you?' said the mother.

The minister told her his name and then remarked,

'I saw the empty chair and I figured you knew

I was going to show up.'

'Oh, yeah, the chair,' said the bedridden woman.

'Would you mind closing the door?'

Puzzled, the minister shut the door.

'I have never told anyone this,

Not even my daughter,' said the woman.

'But all of my life I have never

Known how to pray.

At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer,

But it went right over my head.'

'I abandoned any attempt at prayer,'

The old woman continued.

Until one day four years ago, my best friend said to me,

Prayer is just a simple matter

Of having a conversation with Jesus.

Here is what I suggest.

Sit down in a chair,

Place an empty chair in front of you,

And in faith see Jesus on the chair.

It's not spooky because he promised,

'I will be with you always'.

'Then just speak to him in the same way

You're doing with me right now.'

'So, I tried it and I've liked it so much

That I do it a couple of hours every day.

I'm careful though. If my daughter saw me talking

To an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown

Or send me off to the funny farm.'

The minister was deeply moved by the story and

Encouraged the old woman to continue on the journey.

Then he prayed with her, anointed her

With oil,

And returned to the church.

Two nights later the daughter called

To tell the minister that her mama

Had died that afternoon.

'Did she die in peace?' he asked.

'Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock,

She called me over to her bedside,

Told me she loved me and kissed me on the cheek.

When I got back from the store an hour later,

I found her.

But there was something strange about her death.

Apparently, just before Mom died,

She leaned over and rested her head on the chair

Beside the bed. What do you make of that?'

The minister wiped a tear from his eye and said,

'I wish we could all go like that.'

- Author Unknown -

Daddy's Poem

Her hair was up in a pony tail.
Her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
And she couldn't wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,
That she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
If she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid.
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
Of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,
For her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
She tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school
Eager to tell them all,
About a dad she never sees,
A dad who never calls.

There were daddies along the wall in back,
For everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
Anxious in their seats.

One by one the teacher called
A student from the class,
To introduce their daddy,
As seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
And every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
For a man who wasn't there.

'Where's her daddy at?'
She heard a boy call out.
'She probably doesn't have one,'
Another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a daddy say,
'Looks like another deadbeat dad,
Too busy to waste his day.'

The words did not offend her,
As she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,
Slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
Came words incredible unique.

'My Daddy couldn't be here,
Because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
Since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know
All about my Daddy,
And how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories.
He taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
And taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,
And ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him,
I'm not standing here alone.

'Cause my Daddy's always with me,
Even though we are apart.
I know because he told me,
He'll forever be in my heart.

With that, her little hand reached up,
And lay across her chest
Feeling her own heartbeat,
Beneath her favorite dress.

And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,
Her mother stood in tears;
Proudly watching her daughter,
Who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love
Of a man not in her life,
Doing what was best for her,
Doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,
Staring straight into the crowd,
She finished with a voice so soft,
But it's message clear and loud.

I love my Daddy very much,
He's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
But heaven's just too far.

You see he's an American soldier
And he died just this past year,
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy
And taught Americans to fear.

But sometimes when I close my eyes,
It's like he never went away.'
And then she closed her eyes,
And saw him there that day.

And to her mother's amazement,
She witnessed with surprise,
A room full of daddies and children,
All starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,
Who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
They saw him at her side.

'I know you're with me Daddy.'
To the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
Of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in that room could explain it,
For each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
Was a fragrant long-stemmed rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
By the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing,
That heaven is never too far.

I received this poem in an email and although no author's name was given me, I just had to share it.

A Woman and a Fork

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order", she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.

She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

"There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the Pastor's reply.

"This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The Pastor stool looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked.

"Well to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Pastor.

The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along it's message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep dish apple pie. Something wonderful and with substance!"

So, I just want people to see me there in the casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder: "What's with the fork?" Then I want you tell them: "Keep your fork, the best is yet to come."

The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the youong woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She 'KNEW' that something better was coming!

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.

He was right...So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.

AND..."Keep your fork."

Poem I Copied When At The Gosnell Hospice House

There is sacredness in tears

They are not the mark of weakness

But of power.

They speak more eloquently

Than ten thousand tongues.

They are the messengers of grief,

Of deep contrition

And unspeakable love.

- Washington Irving