Emotional Spin Cycle

The df* Darling [and Dear] Loker Family

This past week was an amazing outpouring of love and family fellowship. A year ago I was bawling my eyes out, not knowing when, if ever, my whole family would be together again after my son’s wedding. Who would have imagined that this summer another wedding would be the happy excuse for another reunion?

As my firstborn and his expectant wife drove away from the hotel on Sunday, I pointed out rather proudly that I was not crying. The simple fact is that I can handle good-byes when I know when I am going to see that person again. Just after I explained this (rather boastfully), my other son said, “Yeah, but when are you going to see Mike and Amy again?” True, the bride and groom were leaving for their honeymoon in Mexico before moving to California, with plans to go to the Middle East in the future.

On that note, it was as though the faucet was turned on. I cried for real with that one. To quote a df, I feel like I am on the emotional spin cycle this week.

One thing that really struck me was how relaxed things were at the beginning of the week, and how progressively complicated they became as more family members arrived on the scene. I had to consciously allow myself the freedom to live and talk and risk offending people.

It was crazy how I struggled to not hurt anyone’s feelings. By praising one person’s wedding, maybe the others would feel I didn’t like their ceremonies. By hanging out with my kids, maybe my dmil or dmom or dsis felt neglected. By caring for my dmil, dmom, and dsis, I ran the risk of ignoring my own children who would only be together a few short days. By doing one thing, I was forever making a conscious or subconscious choice to NOT do something else.

In the midst of all of it, I was still fatigued with the lingering effects of dengue fever, and rather wishing I could withdraw from the whole crowd and just relax for a few minutes. With prayer warriors lifting this particular need for my daily strength and energy, I just kept pushing ahead, trying to stay medicated enough with Tylenol so that I could continue to function.

When it was all said and done, I have to say that I have a deeper appreciation for the way God cares for the entire universe all at the same time. By my over-concern for each person’s feelings, you’d have thought the Creator had suddenly stepped down from the throne and delegated to me personally the responsibility of assuring the happiness of each and every loved one. Let me just say that it was a useless and exhausting experiment to try to keep everyone content when there was plenty of joy and fun to go around without my help. It was a wonderful, fabulous, beautiful, joy-filled, magical week. I am so thankful for every minute spent with my family, and getting to know our new extended family.

IRL* Once I gave up trying to make sure everyone was happy, I thoroughly enjoyed the whole event. I even danced at the reception.

Tapering Off: Does that have to be the norm?

This summer is all about family. I am consumed with travel itineraries. Dh is attending a family reunion with his mom in Wisconsin this week. Tomorrow, 16-year-old dd is visiting her big sister in Colorado before we all meet up in Illinois. Next week I will leave with the remaining two children, ages 12 and 14, to spend a week with ds and his fiancé before the wedding (!). Ds from Canada will join us for that week, too. The following week I’ll see the eldest ds and his wife, who are expecting my first granddaughter!

With the anticipation of many joy-filled reunions coming up, I’ve been on the Lingo phone and Skype a lot more than usual. Suddenly we can’t wait to see each other, so we are chatting almost daily. After the wedding, I’m sure the visiting will continue at a higher pace than usual, until it gradually tapers off to our norm, which is a couple of weeks between communication. Eventually real life consumes us all.

It’s like going to see the dentist. Before a check-up, I tend to pay a lot of attention to my teeth, trying to get them cleaned up before getting them cleaned. (How dumb is that?) Then after they are professionally cleaned, I am super diligent to brush and floss for the first few months, but when it’s time for my next appointment, I find myself digging out the floss again.

It’s inexcusable how neglectful I get the more time that passes between visits, whether with friends, family, or dentists. I might even argue the same applies to household help. We dash around tidying up the house if a maid is coming to clean, and then we work hard to try to preserve the clean house once she leaves. That never lasts long, though, unless we are expecting company. Clutter eventually reigns (or rains?).

Unfortunately, the same principle also applies to my times with God. The more I hang out with Him, the more I want to. Then if I am not super careful, I can easily fall back into bad habits of rushing through “mandatory” conversations with Him each day, allowing clutter to take over my daily agenda.

This summer I took the 90-day challenge with one of my readers I am blessed to know IRL. (Thanks, Inky’Spot!) We’ve been reading through the whole Bible since June. It takes me over an hour most days, and even longer if I journal, pray, and think over what I have read. It’s been a fabulous experience. The more time I spend with Jesus, the more time I want to spend with Him, just like with my family and friends.

Today is day 57, and I up to Jeremiah. I have no idea how I will carve out time for this luxury once I fly up to be with my family next week, but for now I am hooked.

IRL*Keeping up with adult children, cleaning house, flossing teeth, diet, exercise, daily Bible reading, and warfare prayer…. Discipline is such a virtue worth pursuing and maintaining.

Those Songs

Is it okay if I just admit that I HATE, HATE, HATE goodbyes? Seeing it in print is no more of a consolation than saying it aloud.

Why can’t everyone just stay where they belong?

"Pomp and Circumstance" and the "Wedding March" are equally sad tunes, and for the same reason. Both signify the passing of time and the shaking up of “things as they are.” How well I remember sitting in Three Hills, Alberta crying at my ds* and ddil*-to-be’s graduation from the Explore Program at Prairie Bible, witnessing the cap and gown procession down the aisle to that dismal march.

That’s when my son’s dmil-to-be looked over at me with tears in her eyes and asked, “Isn’t this silly? We are crying because they graduated from (pause) – mountain climbing?” At that we exploded into giggles, and poor ds thought for sure we had both lost our minds.

We both understood what ds did not. “Pomp and Circumstance” was just one small step toward the inevitable “Wedding March” we would be hearing one short year later. Now ds and ddil live 2700 miles away. I knew instinctively that song would bring me sorrow.

Next week I will be at the Oaxaca Christian School playing "Pomp and Circumstance" on the piano, provided my eyes aren’t too blurred to see the notes. The added kicker is the reminder that I might have had a child in this high school graduating class of 2011. We lost two babies in Guatemala that would have been due either in January or July of 1993. Just when I thought I was over it, the memory returned with a fresh wave of grief.

Once upon a time, I grew weary of forever saying goodbye to friends who weasel their way into my heart only to leave the field and never return. My heart began to crust over that tender spot so that I no longer felt the acute pain of parting (and miscarriages). The trouble is that you cannot selectively block certain emotions. In blocking pain you inadvertently block joy.

Being alive means experiencing both the happy and the sad.

Through the years, God completed the restoration of my soft heart, and now I can freely bawl through weddings again, plus graduations, Hallmark commercials, and even animated movies like Up and Toy Story 3 (watching Andy go away to college and leave his toys behind … waa!).

The flip side is that I can now grieve with those who grieve. The best part is that I can also deeply experience the joy life brings.

While I still cry over the reality of loss in life, I am rejoicing in the news that, Lord willing, I am to become a grandmother later this year! What jubilation I might have missed if things had “stayed the same” like I thought I wished. I can’t imagine life without my two precious ddils, whether they ever give me grandbabies or not.

IRL* May future “Wedding Marches” kindle hope rather than despair.

Purl One, Knit Two Together

Back in the early 1950's, my mom found a pattern for knitting a Christmas stocking for my older brother. That one project led to more than fifty years of Thomas family tradition as she proceeded to knit stockings for my sisters and me as we were born, and then for each of our spouses as they were added to the family. In all, my mom has lovingly created a keepsake for over thirty family members including her grandchildren, their spouses, and great-grandchildren.

My newest ddil,* Amy, received a stocking to match my son’s for a wedding present. The story I want to share is about the one stocking Mom didn't make. Jim and I had only been seeing each other a scandalously short time when it became apparent that our parallel life journeys were about to converge into one single path together.

I'll never forget the conversation we had with my parents, discussing the feasibility of a very low-key, informal wedding ceremony one week before Christmas (1984), with just the two of them as our witnesses. Dad thought this plan was greatly preferable to the alternative, which was for me to travel to Illinois with Jim to meet his family before we got married at a later date. Mom's only objection was a practical (though sentimental) one. She could not possibly knit Jim a stocking in only a few weeks, and it would be unfortunate to spend our first Christmas together without the tradition of matched stockings.

At that point, Jim innocently made a remark, obviously unaware of the significance of "the stocking" my mom was proposing to knit. "Not a problem," he declared simply. "I already have a stocking!" What I feared would turn into an unpleasant scene actually became an amazing confirmation of what we perceived to be God's confirmation of our December wedding date. It turns out that Jim's Aunt Betsy, back in 1953, had chosen the exact same stocking pattern and knitted him a Christmas stocking identical to the original Thomas family stockings from the same decade.

How's that for weird and wacky? True story!

Now it’s your turn. Care to share some Christmas memory with us in the comment section? We love stories!

IRL* Contemplating a new hobby during this next season of life as I face the reality that my 80-something-year-old mom may not live to see all my grandbabies outfitted with the family stocking.

Used To Be My Least Favorite Question

A few weeks ago, we discussed my second least favorite question, “Where do you live?” Today I will confess what used to be my least favorite question: “When are you due?”

Just before we left California, I met one of my neighbors at the mailboxes. She was shocked after asking “the question” to discover that, in fact, I am not pregnant. After all these years, I finally came up with a response to put people at ease. I told her that I really need another major surgery to repair this deformity, but I’m not willing to risk my life when it’s more fun to watch people squirm after blurting out the question.

Of all the strangers who have innocently inquired about my baby-that-isn’t, this woman had the nicest comeback. Without a blush or apology (the usual reaction), she said, “I just noticed how you are so happy and glowing, that I assumed you had been blessed with a late life surprise, and I wanted to rejoice with you.”

In case you ever make the mistake of asking a non-expectant woman this horrible question, please concoct a similarly gracious reply.

What gives me hope is that on a good day, people respond to the evident beauty of Christ reflected in my life, wrinkles and poochy stomach and all. Little by little, I am gaining victory over my sin and flesh, and learning to apply the power of the gospel even in the mundane struggles of life. The fact that I was not embarrassed helped the mailbox lady to be at ease after her “bloop.” She wasn’t even apologetic. I love that.

Rejoicing over this blow to my usual sin of vanity, it seemed a contradiction to then attend a formal social gathering where appropriate MOG* (see sidebar) attire required me to squeeze into that torture contraption known as “shapewear.” Ugh. Even then the dress did not fit properly.

My mom always says, “You can’t have looks and comfort.” In this case I achieved neither, and I have serious regrets. I enjoyed watching my husband and kids enjoy themselves and each other, but I was too physically miserable to enter into the fray at the reception. For that I am sorry.

There, I said it. Keeping it real. The dress will not be worn in Mexico or anywhere else. I’m dumping it at Goodwill this week. Next time I will wear a tent if necessary, just so I can breathe and be myself. By then, maybe I will obviously be old enough to avoid “the question.”

From my summer reading program, I recommend these for your Amazon wish list:

• Respectable Sins: Confronting the Sins We Tolerate, by Jerry Bridges


• When People are Big and God is Small: Overcoming Peer Pressure, Codependency, and the Fear of Man, by Edward T. Welch


• The Gospel Primer, Milton Vincent


• Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands: People in Need of Change Helping People in Need of Change, by Paul David Tripp

IRL* Learning the hard way that “Why aren’t you dancing?” is worse than “When are you due?”

Bittersweet Bundt

Your heart-felt stories about the “WORST” things in missionary life leave me humbled. Each one is an illustration of our common bond in suffering for the sake of the gospel. Thank you for sharing your comments.

At times I hesitate to share from my heart, knowing how trite and silly it might sound to those who are in a truly dark valley battling for your very life and soul. However, in the spirit of “keeping it real,” I want to add a word about my current struggle.

This week finds me in Wisconsin celebrating the marriage of my firstborn, Chris (the cute one in the tub at Jungle Camp), and his bride. This is my second time as MOG* (Mother of the Groom), first in Canada, and now in the U.S. Since none of the same people will be attending, I have recycled (shortened) the same dress I wore the first time. Maybe my third son will choose a Mexican wedding, allowing me to wear the same dress yet again.

Weddings for me are bittersweet. I remember attending the wedding of a pastor’s daughter in Ohio, and being impressed that most everyone there knew the bride so well. Several stood at the podium and gave quick testimonies of how they had watched her grow into such a lovely young woman.

For Chris, it will be a different story. Only his immediate family and a very select few friends will be able to attend. It was the same when my son Tim got married. I find this to be a tragic side effect of living overseas. It’s not THE worst, but it’s on my list. There are no Sunday school teachers, Boy Scout leaders, or youth pastors who have known and loved my children. Those who share memories of Christopher’s childhood are nowhere close to Wisconsin.

In addition to this, I grieve over the fact that I haven’t been able to share special occasions with my nieces and nephews. I have missed every single graduation and wedding so far. They don’t know me very well, and I don’t know them as well as I’d like either.

My younger children cannot even name all their first cousins, some of whom they have never met. I find this to be tragic, too. After growing up with two parents who were only children (thus not a single cousin, aunt, or uncle), I always thought it would be cool to have a big extended family close by like “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” Instead I feel like the MOG in that movie, an obvious outsider, contributing a bundt cake, trying to fit in and enjoy my son’s new family.

Once again, in light of eternity, this is a small sacrifice. At least all seven of my children will be together this week, and one of my sisters will be there with her husband. For that, I am grateful. It will be good.

IRL* Viva La Familia~I'm celebrating my son's wedding!