responsibility

I’m jealous…

/ Nancy Heath Howell / 1 Comment

Subconsciously I’m in turmoil.

Oh I may look calm, put-together, and self-assured on the surface.  I’ve actually become a master (mistress??) of the look.

You know, the look of “normal.”

The look of a person who has moved forward, despite some crappy circumstances.

The look of a person seemingly content to sit at sporting events, cheering on her kid…alone.

The look of “happy-happy-joy-joy” everyone feels more comfortable being around.

I assume the look to avoid what many have said to me:

“Aren’t you over that yet?” 

“Why don’t you move on?”

“It’s time to let it go.”

You don’t “get over” the loss of a spouse to death.

You don’t “move on” in life.  You can, however, “move forward,” and my family is living proof that can be done.

Let it go?

You’re kidding me, right?

For over two thousand days (2,061 to be exact), I have awakened as a widow.

No matter how wonderful those days may have been (and there have been many more good days than bad), that simple fact remains.

I. Am. A. Widow.

My sons awaken to the realization they are still orphans (Biblical definition: fatherless).

And while we’ve made a new life, one that incorporates the best of their dad’s legacy while still moving forward, they are missing out. Big time.

Today, it hits me like a ton of bricks–my subconscious turmoil is jealousy.

I am jealous.

I am jealous of two-parent households.

I am jealous of kids who have their dads cheering them on from the stands, offering batting stance tips and advice on fielding.

I am jealous of women who awaken as wives, their husbands snuggled in close beside them in their beds.

I am jealous of extended families who make themselves available to help one another with what to me are logistical nightmares at times.

My sons have me.  Period.

Uncles, aunts, and two cousins live states away, as do both grandmothers.

Questions about sex, dating, shaving, and peer pressure?  Fall to me.

Teaching them to drive?  Me.

And while I look all calm and pulled together on the surface, I’m like those ducks you see on ponds, gliding along beautifully—underneath that calm, under water? They’re paddling like crazy.

I’m paddling like crazy to maintain the beautiful glide.

I’m also working on this green-eyed monster, ’cause it doesn’t jive with the whole being a Christian thing.

Naming it and claiming it are good first steps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Savoring the sweet….

/ Nancy Heath Howell / 4 Comments

In this roller coaster ride called life, you’ve got to savor the sweet.

There will be sour, dour, unhappy times–of this you can be sure.  Some folks seem to get more than their fair share of the unhappy, which makes the happy & sweet even more precious to behold.

Every once in awhile, God gives me a glimpse of the bigger picture, one that I have cursed, cried about, begged to have taken from me numerous times in the past almost-six years.

I didn’t want to be a solo parent.

I didn’t want two little boys to be without their daddy.

I didn’t want to learn how to mow the lawn, weed-eat, take the vehicles for oil changes, inspections, and registrations.

I didn’t want to be responsible for making every adult decision in my household.

I didn’t want to even tend the garden out in front of my house.

And that’s just the few things I came up with, right now, off the top of my head.  Heaven knows there are hundreds more.

I still remember the first time I was given a respite, where God, in all His glory, gave me a few moments of peace in the first few months of this gig I have now embraced (if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em).  I was waiting for my boys to come out from their elementary school.  It was a lovely, bright spring day.

I sat at an old picnic table, way past its prime at the time.  There was no one else around.  The wind was blowing slightly, rustling the new leaves in the huge trees above me.  The sun lazily peeked through them; birds were going about their business of courtship, with lovely tunes filling the air.

In that moment, all my worries and sadness slipped away.  I felt content. I felt peace.  I knew my boys and I were going to make it.

That moment lasted maybe 30 seconds.  But it was exactly what I needed to keep plodding along.

There have been other similar moments throughout the past few years, but the first one will always be memorable.

Yesterday, God gave me another.

The eighth grader gets picked up from school first, so we have about 10 minutes of alone time, just the two of us, while heading to the high school to retrieve the freshman & two of his friends.

Some days, we just have small talk.  Some days, we don’t say much at all.  Still on others, we jam to music, singing along if the tune’s worthy of our pipes.

Yesterday, though, Ben clearly had something he wanted to share.

“Mom, I’m really glad you don’t have to work out of town, or crazy shifts, where we wouldn’t get to see you.”

Ben, so am I.  Your daddy and I worked long and hard–we are so very fortunate that I am able to be here for you and your brother.  Many parents don’t get that opportunity.

When I probe a bit further, I find he’s worried about a fellow student.  A student with both parents living.  One works nights, the other, days.  This kid rarely ever sees the one parent, who is either sleeping most of the time the kid isn’t, or when not sleeping seems to have priorities other than family time.

My kid, the one who lost his dad at age 8, is putting himself in another person’s shoes.

“Mom, I feel sorry for him.  I know that he has both his parents.  And I really miss Dad.  But I want to tell you, you’re like having two parents.  You do it all.”

I’m like having two parents. 

That is, most likely, the sweetest sentence I have heard in years, outside of “I love you.”

He’s being all matter-of-fact.  And I just lose it, right there on Kemp Boulevard, next to Applebee’s, in the midst of after-school traffic.

Tears.  Nose running. Laughing and smiling.

“Ben, you’ll never know how much that means to me.  You’ve made my week.  You very well made my month!”

God, once again, knew what I needed whenever I didn’t have a clue.  A spring-time glimpse into the bigger picture.

A picture that evidently includes two empathetic, loving young men, developing beautifully in spite of the fact their dad is in heaven.

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#thanksGod

 

 

The devil’s NOT in my details…

/ Nancy Heath Howell / 3 Comments

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I spent this past weekend in bed.

Crippled by a stomach virus that had me running the Texas two-step, unable to keep any liquids down, I was a mess.

I hate being sick for many reasons, not the least of which is I’m a terrible patient.  As solo parent, there’s no one to pass the baton to for daily responsibilities of home and family.  The blessing (if there can be a blessing in this situation) was that it was the weekend.  We had no where we had to be.  No school, no athletic events, just an absence from church.

The hardest part for my family is the fear I see in my sons’ eyes whenever I’m under the weather like this.

I’m supposed to be Superwoman, “I am woman hear me roar,” a badass that can leap tall buildings in a single bound (at least in the eyes of two teenagers).

But when I’m a pale incoherent puddle, barely able to get out of bed to go to the bathroom, unable to speak in complete sentences, much less roar, it is terribly difficult for AJ and Ben.

I reassure them it is “just” a virus.

I tell them I will be fine.

Although they try to believe me, they’ve seen similar circumstances before.  A daddy tells them he’s going in for “routine” surgery but never comes home.  I write this not for sympathy nor empathy–it’s been 5 1/2 years and will always be an integral part of our lives.  Many of our decisions and beliefs and ideas about living and dying have been shaped by this loss.

As I lay, unable to sleep, unable to eat or drink, dreading the night because I know it will be excruciatingly long, my mind wanders.

Call it fever, or weakened immune system, or a mind unable to process any coherent thought, but I was tortured.  By doubts.

Doubts that bubbled to the surface.

I heard, “You’re not good enough to be in charge of this family.  Who do you think you are?”

“What a joke–you think you have your life together?  You’re just going through the motions, everyone sees through the smoke and mirrors.”

“How are you going to afford to send two boys to college as a single parent?”

“What the heck were you thinking, building a cabin in Kansas, two states away.  You must be nuts!”

—and those are just a few of the doubts and thoughts racing through my mind on continuous play for what seemed like an eternity.

I cried out for help and my boys came running.  I assured them I was calling out for God, not them (and that probably really freaked them out.)

Satan took this most perfect opportunity to hit “Superwoman” when she was down.

It was the hardest singular night I’ve had since the day Mark died.

I prayed, the best I could in my dehydrated semi-crazy state, over and over for relief and shelter.

The next morning I was better and could see things more clearly.  Those statements the devil threw in my face are all decisions I made after careful deliberation and prayer.  I remain steadfast and confident in them.  With God, I am enough.

When I was able, I grabbed a Bible and went to my favorite book, James.  These words comforted me:

5 If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and he will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking.

6 But when you ask him, be sure that your faith is in God alone. Do not waver, for a person with divided loyalty is as unsettled as a wave of the sea that is blown and tossed by the wind.

7 Such people should not expect to receive anything from the Lord.

8 Their loyalty is divided between God and the world, and they are unstable in everything they do.

 James 1:5-8 (NLT)

Do I still have doubts?

Sure, because I’m human.  I have a lot of irons in the fire.  I’m pulled in a dozen different directions on any given day.

I miss my help mate taking care of me when I am too sick to take care of myself.

I try not to worry about tomorrow because I know God is already there.  I have assurance that He will make our paths straight so we can use our lives for His glory. I trust that He will provide for my family as our needs come down the pike.

I will continue to ask for wisdom.

Without wavering or doubting.

According to James, if I waver I should not expect to receive ANYTHING from the Lord.

I don’t know about you, but I need me lots of good stuff from the Lord.  For my sons.  My larger family.  My sometimes-lonely heart.  My community and my nation.

So the devil is no longer welcome in my details.

I’m leaving my details where they should’ve been all along—at the feet of Jesus.

p.s.  Two teenagers can make it all weekend on pizza delivery, peanut butter sandwiches, Pepsi, and assorted snacks.  On-line pizza ordering, evidently, is a breeze with Mom’s credit card.  How’s that for thriving, Satan?

 

*thanks to hersword.com for the beautiful image above*

Breaking up is hard to do….

/ Nancy Heath Howell / 5 Comments

It’s not you, it’s me.

I have watched as this Presidential election has pitted friend against friend and divided families.

For the most part, my family has tried to stay above the fray, not using social media for anything except positive posts, family photos for the grandmas, and dog/cat logs.

But this morning, things are different.

I thought things would be better on November 9th.

My social media newsfeeds tell me otherwise.

Never one to stick my head in the sand (found out a bit over five years ago that doesn’t work–believe me, I tried!), I have decided I have outgrown social media.

It’s lost the intended purpose for which it was created–a way to stay in touch, a way to share joys and concerns, a way for my sons’ family members living far away to see how much they’ve grown and matured.

So I’m breaking up with you, Facebook.

It’s been real, Twitter.

Except for the occasional grandson picture for Mary Ellen & Sandra, and cross-posting of my blog (which I have greatly neglected BECAUSE of social media), I am done.

Finished.  Stick a fork in me.

For those of you who have not subscribed to my blog, please do so, because here and only here you are going to get me, the real me.  100% of who I am.

Some of you, after reading future posts may decide to unsubscribe 🙂

I’m just a widow, raising two sons, instilling in them a sense of justice, to be colorblind when it comes to skin tone (all souls are the same color, don’t you know?).

They’ll treat women with the respect they deserve, as equals, capable of achieving anything–they see a strong woman leading their family, after all, which is a humbling realization for this left handed girl from Western Kentucky.

They don’t see nationality, gender, religion or lack thereof.  They will treat each and every person as if they have worth–because they DO.

I’m going back to my first love, blogging and writing.  Facebook has been a sorry substitute for what God has called me to do. I’ve spent way too much time staring at a screen, getting my panties in a bunch over crap that doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.  The view on social media is much like a racehorse’s wearing blinders; you don’t get the real picture of what’s going on around you.  You see one path, oblivious to anything and everything else.  In the process, you can become jaded.

Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad thing when you’re a racehorse.

But it can be dangerous when you’re a human being. Seeing the whole picture is what sets us apart from the racehorse.

The greatest thing He has called me to do is to love.  A close second is be a positive role model for two teenage young men, who are looking to me today for guidance more than they have in years.  I assure them we’re going to be okay.

So if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to change and boys to raise.

In other words, I have bigger fish to fry than “liking” posts or “retweeting” profound prose.  I am weary of social media.  It’s become a cancer instead of a cure.

In the end, when all is said and done, all we take from this earth is love.

As for me and my house, we will continue to love extravagantly without any stipulations, to feel others’ pains and empathize, and most importantly live large (a favorite saying of my late husband).  The three of us want to take so darn much love with us when we head to heaven that we’ll need extra bags to put it all in 🙂

“It’s not you, it’s me….”  And this breakup is amazingly freeing.

I highly recommend you do the same 🙂

“So these three things remain: faith, hope, and love. But the best one of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13 (GW)

Waiting for the Lord—or is He waiting for me?

/ Nancy Heath Howell / 5 Comments

 

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I’m waiting.

Waiting to see how my health insurance coverage will turn out.

Waiting to see if I have to re-enter the workforce full-time after the first of the year, just to acquire insurance for my family.

Waiting to hear back from a book publisher.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

I feel stuck.  I’m worn.

I’m tired of being chief cook and bottle washer, breadwinner, chauffeur, only parent, landscaping guru, keeper of the vehicles, financial advisor, vacation planner, decision maker—as my father would have said, “jack of all trades, master of none.”

I may look like I’ve got it all together, but this Jesus girl is filled with insecurities about the future.  Heck, I have insecurities about the present.

We made it through the absence of Mark yet again yesterday, on what would have been his 60th birthday.  Five October 25ths without his laugh, his love, his strong hugs, his wisdom, and his physical presence.

It was tough.

For any person reading this still blessed with your significant other, I don’t expect you to get “it.”

“It” will not go away.  (Heaven knows I wish it would at times.)

“It” will not completely heal.

If you think I’m beating a dead horse, so to speak, just do me a favor and quit reading this.  Right now.

Grief is a life-long process for those left behind.

“It” gets better, you heal through the grace of God.

But it’s always there.

If you don’t get it, trust me—someday you will.  For your sake, I hope your “someday” is many, many, many years down the line.

Death is a part of life.

An integral part.

The more I pray about my waiting game, the more I see that waiting for problems such as health insurance coverage, book deals, job possibilities, and the future of my family to be reconciled are trivial.

I should be waiting for the Lord.

He is my problem solver.

He is my portion.

He is enough.

He knows I still cry everyday, at some point, without fail.

He sees how difficult it is to walk into a Sunday School class full of couples, and feel like a fish out of water.

Unfortunately, he hears as I utter a not-so-nice word while trying to crank a self-propelled push mower that will not cooperate.

In one simple verse, the Psalmist David gives me the solution to all my self-imposed problems.

Wait for the LORD.

Be strong.

Take heart.

And wait  

FOR THE LORD.

Psalm 27:14 (NIV)

People will fail to meet my expectations each and every time.

But God?  He fails not.

He doesn’t grow weary.

He doesn’t mind my anger.  He forgives me for saying that curse word over the mower.

He checks in on widows and orphans.  We have a special place in His heart.

He wipes away the hot tears dripping down my face.

He is enough.

If He can bring a dead man back to life, he can most certainly help my family with health insurance.

The photo above is from a series sent to me after Mark’s death.  They document a work trip down the Brazos River several years ago.  I’ve looked at the photos dozens of times, but never noticed this one until now.

All others show a beaming fisheries biologist, doing what he loves and getting paid to do it (how many of us can identify with that?).  His smile lights up every picture.  I needed those.

This photo, however, is a metaphor for my family’s life now.  His back is turned.  He’s got his fishing rod in hand, waders on.  His glorious plan has come to fruition.

At almost 4 1/2 years since his heaven-versary, Mark’s got important things to do.  He knows God has us in the palm of His hand.

In other words, he’s got bigger fish to fry.   And while he is in heaven cheering us on, he knows that God’s got this.

So he can enjoy his happily-ever-after without worries.

His back may be turned, but we’ll never forget his smiling face.

I see it in the increasingly-chiseled features of our 8th grader.  I hear him in the soft wisdom  voiced by our 7th grader.

I feel his hugs while in their strong arms.

I give every trivial, hard, silly, crazy problem to the Lord.

He’s been waiting for me to do it.

I will not be stuck.  I will not be defeated.

I will be strong, take heart, and wait.

For the Lord.