Sylvia is my 8 year old daughter. She's a girl on a mission 95% of the time! If she's not creating some type of artwork, she's practicing back bends and cartwheels or trying to dance like a more appropriate version of a "hoochie mama". It's hard to work your mojo when your mojo is 8 and your Mom would rather you dance like a lady. The thing about Sylvia is that she's all heart.
Everything she does is full throttle. I love that about her.
The other day, Sylvia came up to me with her ever-present pad of paper and asked me, "Mom, how do you start a fundraiser?" I have to admit I was only half listening at first. Then she said, "Mom, this is really important!" So I started really listening. "What is this fundraiser for?" I asked, and her answer caught me totally off-guard.
"I want to raise money so people don't have to have heart disease like you, Mom. I think Moms should be able to play with their kids and they shouldn't have to worry about their Moms dying. If I raise some money, they can get rid of it, right?"
She was 4 when my heart stopped. Half of her life I have lived with heart disease. I really didn't realize that she worries about me dying. That's the kind of heart Sylvia has. It's full of love for me, the other moms, and all the kids who have lost their moms to heart disease. She knows how cruel and crappy life can be when your mom's beta blockers make it hard for her to get off the couch. She's learned to accept that sometimes Mom just can't. It breaks my heart. She deserves the full Mom experience, and she's willing to do the work to make a difference.
Her timing was perfect, since the school was in the final days of their "Jump Rope for Heart" campaign. She jumps rope, people donate, and the money funds research via the American Heart Association. It's way easier than creating her "Cartwheels for Heart" fundraiser where people pledge money per cartwheel. I like her idea. We'll work on it. (She's really into cartwheels right now.)
Sylvia understands first hand what it is to live with heart disease in your family. She's jump-roping her little self silly to try to "get rid of it". It's very important to her heart that no one else lives in fear. She's blessed with a heart for others.
If you'd like to support her efforts, go to http://jumpmwa.kintera.org/sylviaswager
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
Live The Dream
At my house, we are living the dream!
It's not the dream where people feed you grapes while you lay on couches in Greek togas with golden leaves in your hair.
Even the "Cribs" dream of having more bathrooms than bedrooms, and a bowling alley and a movie theatre in your home seems a little unnecessary to me.
I'm talking about Dr. King's dream. I'm specifically talking about his vision of a place and time that children can learn and play and pray together, regardless of the color of their skin, or the where their great-grandpa was from. I'm talking about the fact that my kids care less about what color someone's skin is, and care more about what kind of person they are. We're not perfect over here, but I believe we are living the dream.
One piece of evidence of this happened several years ago on this date. The kids had been discussing Martin Luther King Day at school, and they came home with questions.
Them: Who is this guy?
Me: Dr. Martin Luther King. Preacher, civil rights activist, he was shot for his beliefs.
Them: So, martyr?
Me: I guess so, yes. He gave a very famous speech about his dream.
Them: What was his dream about?
Me: It was his hope for the future that people would just love each other and not judge each other by the color of their skin.
Them: That's stupid.
Me: WHAT?!?!?!
Them: That's stupid! Why would someone think someone was less or more important because of the color of their skin? That's just stupid!
Me: (Calming down.) Agreed. But there was a time when black and white people weren't allowed to go to the same school or church or even bathrooms.
Them: What!?! That's Stupid! What difference does it make?
This is when I run out of answers for them, because I don't know. I don't have all the answers for why people feel that way. I don't know why history was like that. I don't agree with that way of looking at people. Then the kids really got incensed. They stopped thinking of color and started naming names.
We went to Cincinnati a few years ago and visited the Underground Railroad Museum. It was awesome and I highly recommend it. I watched my kids learn the history of former slaves and free people working together to liberate those born and sold into slavery. As every cruel act was described, at every horrible disrespectful word they would look at me and ask "Why?" It was the same response when we got to sit on Rosa Parks' bus. Why?
Stay innocent, my children. Don't look for reasons to separate and hate and disrespect. Don't hate people. The dream is that Love Rules! Live the Dream! Love One Another!
www.freedomcenter.org
It's not the dream where people feed you grapes while you lay on couches in Greek togas with golden leaves in your hair.
Even the "Cribs" dream of having more bathrooms than bedrooms, and a bowling alley and a movie theatre in your home seems a little unnecessary to me.
I'm talking about Dr. King's dream. I'm specifically talking about his vision of a place and time that children can learn and play and pray together, regardless of the color of their skin, or the where their great-grandpa was from. I'm talking about the fact that my kids care less about what color someone's skin is, and care more about what kind of person they are. We're not perfect over here, but I believe we are living the dream.
One piece of evidence of this happened several years ago on this date. The kids had been discussing Martin Luther King Day at school, and they came home with questions.
Them: Who is this guy?
Me: Dr. Martin Luther King. Preacher, civil rights activist, he was shot for his beliefs.
Them: So, martyr?
Me: I guess so, yes. He gave a very famous speech about his dream.
Them: What was his dream about?
Me: It was his hope for the future that people would just love each other and not judge each other by the color of their skin.
Them: That's stupid.
Me: WHAT?!?!?!
Them: That's stupid! Why would someone think someone was less or more important because of the color of their skin? That's just stupid!
Me: (Calming down.) Agreed. But there was a time when black and white people weren't allowed to go to the same school or church or even bathrooms.
Them: What!?! That's Stupid! What difference does it make?
This is when I run out of answers for them, because I don't know. I don't have all the answers for why people feel that way. I don't know why history was like that. I don't agree with that way of looking at people. Then the kids really got incensed. They stopped thinking of color and started naming names.
We went to Cincinnati a few years ago and visited the Underground Railroad Museum. It was awesome and I highly recommend it. I watched my kids learn the history of former slaves and free people working together to liberate those born and sold into slavery. As every cruel act was described, at every horrible disrespectful word they would look at me and ask "Why?" It was the same response when we got to sit on Rosa Parks' bus. Why?
Stay innocent, my children. Don't look for reasons to separate and hate and disrespect. Don't hate people. The dream is that Love Rules! Live the Dream! Love One Another!
www.freedomcenter.org
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Closer than they Appear
My friend told me to think of your life like a car driving at night. "You can't see any further ahead than your headlights."
This totally rubbed me the wrong way, since I am incredibly GIFTED at worrying about the things to come. Not that I worry for no good reason, I am a sensible worrier. I mean, I don't worry about the whole Mayan Apocolypse, or Zombies or anything senseless like that.
However, I was given the most incredible blessing of being the mother of 7 great kids. Hence the worrying.
Some of this worry is indeed, beyond the scope of my headlights. I can't do much for my children when they are grown or when we are apart from each other. I can't make my grown kids brush their teeth. (I trust Jordan's wife makes him do that now.)I can't make them change their socks. I can't make them make good choices. Sometimes, for no really good reason, they will cheer for the wrong football team. (Sometimes that team will even win a game, which STILL does not make it appropriate to say "Roll Tide" at the dinner table.) I can't make the girls actually sleep when they have a sleepover at Aunt Chris's house, or Aunt Jenni's. I can't keep them from trying a drink or a joint. I can encourage them in the right direction, but the decision is ultimately theirs. (And, kids, if you're reading this, KNOW that I will find out and that you WILL NOT like the consequences!)
What worries me is that I can't keep them from harm.
Before they lived in Alabama or Kentucky or Louisiana, or even Michigan, they lived in my heart (and places south of that) and that makes my kids like the objects in my side mirror: CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR. At the moment, I have children in three states. In the next few months, I will have children in three different countries. No matter where they are, they are always in my heart first.
When my sons deploy, I will worry.
I will also remind myself that they are closer than they appear. I hope they will remember that I am closer than I seem also. It's hard to cuddle with half of a DNA strand, but just know I'm there, and not just me.
Our Creator is closer than he appears also. The one who loves us most. The one who can see beyond the headlights. The one who tells us that we can't change a single hair on our heads by worrying.
Alright. So I guess I'll just be happy with what I can see right now, knowing that Love is much MUCH closer than it appears.
This totally rubbed me the wrong way, since I am incredibly GIFTED at worrying about the things to come. Not that I worry for no good reason, I am a sensible worrier. I mean, I don't worry about the whole Mayan Apocolypse, or Zombies or anything senseless like that.
However, I was given the most incredible blessing of being the mother of 7 great kids. Hence the worrying.
Some of this worry is indeed, beyond the scope of my headlights. I can't do much for my children when they are grown or when we are apart from each other. I can't make my grown kids brush their teeth. (I trust Jordan's wife makes him do that now.)I can't make them change their socks. I can't make them make good choices. Sometimes, for no really good reason, they will cheer for the wrong football team. (Sometimes that team will even win a game, which STILL does not make it appropriate to say "Roll Tide" at the dinner table.) I can't make the girls actually sleep when they have a sleepover at Aunt Chris's house, or Aunt Jenni's. I can't keep them from trying a drink or a joint. I can encourage them in the right direction, but the decision is ultimately theirs. (And, kids, if you're reading this, KNOW that I will find out and that you WILL NOT like the consequences!)
What worries me is that I can't keep them from harm.
Before they lived in Alabama or Kentucky or Louisiana, or even Michigan, they lived in my heart (and places south of that) and that makes my kids like the objects in my side mirror: CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR. At the moment, I have children in three states. In the next few months, I will have children in three different countries. No matter where they are, they are always in my heart first.
When my sons deploy, I will worry.
I will also remind myself that they are closer than they appear. I hope they will remember that I am closer than I seem also. It's hard to cuddle with half of a DNA strand, but just know I'm there, and not just me.
Our Creator is closer than he appears also. The one who loves us most. The one who can see beyond the headlights. The one who tells us that we can't change a single hair on our heads by worrying.
Alright. So I guess I'll just be happy with what I can see right now, knowing that Love is much MUCH closer than it appears.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
The Rear View Mirror
I'm driving to church with my 8 year old daughter in the passenger seat. She's looking out the window at the crushed side mirror that dangles by a strap of duct tape from the hole that once held it in place. "Hey Mom. Are you gonna get that fixed?"
I intend to. It's not a big priority, to be honest. The mirror was fine until one morning when I was cranky and hurried and fuming about something and came flying out of the garage too close to the side of the garage and stopped just in time to crack the mirror glass, but not dent the door. Having the glass hanging their limp and lifeless is a great reminder to me that if I don't slow down enough to pay attention, LOTS of the things in my life will end up broken. The precious things.
Out of the blue and for no particular reason, I said "Can you imagine if we had to drive everywhere using only the mirrors?" Hmmm. Why did I say that? It got me thinking.
I think I've been trying to drive my life using only the mirrors for a while now. I don't look out the big window in front of me much. Instead, I look at the rear view mirror to see where I was and how far I've come. I look at the familiar, and how odd it looks as the perspective changes as I fly down the street away from the things I'm leaving behind.
Then, of course, I get fixated by the objects in the mirror that "are closer than they appear". Closer than they appear? Are you kidding? Certain objects loom large in my rear view mirrors! My cardiac arrest is right there. My recovery is right there. My fears and my worries are all right there. Closer than they appear! But those are the things behind me. My heart is getting healthy. I still have heart disease, and always will, but my heart event is past. My divorce is long past, and happily far from view. Lots of good happy roads have been traveled since then.
If I'm not careful, I get stuck looking behind, and forget to look at where I am right now.
NOT the view out my back window.
I'm still heading to church. I'm looking right out the front window, with the sun shining off the little bit of snow still melting on my windshield. With my eight year old daughter wondering about my broken mirror. I'd rather look at her sweet face than anything I would see behind me, anyways. Maybe it's Love that's closer than it appears.
I intend to. It's not a big priority, to be honest. The mirror was fine until one morning when I was cranky and hurried and fuming about something and came flying out of the garage too close to the side of the garage and stopped just in time to crack the mirror glass, but not dent the door. Having the glass hanging their limp and lifeless is a great reminder to me that if I don't slow down enough to pay attention, LOTS of the things in my life will end up broken. The precious things.
Out of the blue and for no particular reason, I said "Can you imagine if we had to drive everywhere using only the mirrors?" Hmmm. Why did I say that? It got me thinking.
I think I've been trying to drive my life using only the mirrors for a while now. I don't look out the big window in front of me much. Instead, I look at the rear view mirror to see where I was and how far I've come. I look at the familiar, and how odd it looks as the perspective changes as I fly down the street away from the things I'm leaving behind.
Then, of course, I get fixated by the objects in the mirror that "are closer than they appear". Closer than they appear? Are you kidding? Certain objects loom large in my rear view mirrors! My cardiac arrest is right there. My recovery is right there. My fears and my worries are all right there. Closer than they appear! But those are the things behind me. My heart is getting healthy. I still have heart disease, and always will, but my heart event is past. My divorce is long past, and happily far from view. Lots of good happy roads have been traveled since then.
If I'm not careful, I get stuck looking behind, and forget to look at where I am right now.
NOT the view out my back window.
I'm still heading to church. I'm looking right out the front window, with the sun shining off the little bit of snow still melting on my windshield. With my eight year old daughter wondering about my broken mirror. I'd rather look at her sweet face than anything I would see behind me, anyways. Maybe it's Love that's closer than it appears.
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