When I miss them

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We are looking at a house tomorrow. The sellers are considering doing a contract for deed for us. We would have had Dad come over to check it out. He was so wise and knowledgeable. He would be honest about what he thought we should do. He would look at the paint and the ceilings. He would be excited for us if it was a good opportunity. I miss that I can’t call him to tell him.

I’ve been feeling overwhelmed with being a mom lately. It’s nothing new. My kids aren’t being especially naughty or disobedient. They are just being 4 and 5. I would call or text Mom and she would either come see us and send me to a movie and do my dishes and laundry. Or take the kids home with her and Dad for a few days. For sure she would call or text or email and tell me that I’m an awesome mom and that God was walking with me and that He would give me the strength. She would remind me that I don’t get today back. That I need to quit worrying about tomorrow and don’t get stressed about a dirty house and take the kids to the park. I miss her encouragement. I miss that I can’t call her.

I’ve applied for a different job. Actually about six weeks ago. I have sensed since last Fall that God was leading me to something new. Something where I can share my faith, my struggles. Where I can be an encouragement to others. Well I guess I can do that anywhere, right? But anyway, Mom and Dad would have been so excited about this opportunity. I hate to say it because Pat gets mad that I doubt myself, but my chances of getting it are pretty slim. But it’s weird because still I have peace that God is calling me to it. And they would have said that I could do it, no doubt about it, because of God’s strength working through me. They would tell me that God wants to use my past and my pain to help others. To draw others closer to Jesus. I’m scared to find out next week if it is in fact what God is calling me to. Because if it is, I won’t be able to tell them. And if it isn’t, I won’t be able to tell them. I miss that I won’t be able to tell them.

For the past nine years I’ve struggled with the guilt and shame of my past. I feel that God did heal me from it, but in my own pride and self-sufficiency, I always went back to it and questioned my choices and wondered how I could walk away from my faith. Mom and Dad would remind me that I was forgiven. It was gone. There was no condemnation. When they died, it was finally finally finally gone. It hasn’t crossed my mind even once since June 12th. I hate that I can’t tell them. I hate that they can’t rejoice with me, know that I’m finally free from being consumed by it. I miss them. I miss knowing that I can’t share my joy with them.

Today the kids were being really funny. They were “decorating” Caleb’s room. I took a video of it and will probably post it here. I would have emailed it Mom and Dad. They would have laughed and thought it was the funniest, cutest thing ever. I miss that I can’t share the joy of the kids with them anymore.

When I do laundry I miss them. Because their big quilt is sitting on the table in the laundry room. I don’t know what to do with it. And in almost every load of laundry is one of mom’s shirts. I hate that I have them and that she doesn’t. But I still need to keep them and wear them. Even though it makes me miss them.

When I eat I miss them. Our family likes to eat. We have so many memories revolved around food. Seems kinda silly. Chips and dip. Chips and salsa. Crab legs. Bread. Lots and lots of bread. Goulash. Steak. Dad would always choke on steak. Hot dogs, burgers and fried potatoes. We had that every single time we were on the boat. Dad’s potato salad.

When Pat rubs my shoulders I miss them. Every single time we were together Mom would rub my shoulders. She would take a towel and get it a little wet and get it warm in the microwave. She would put it around my neck for awhile. And then she would rub my shoulders and she would always say, “Oh Missy, you have so many knots. You poor thing.” Her fingers and hands were so rough and calloused.

Every time I see a boat. Every time I see something about Dad’s chick flick movies. (Six Days & Seven Nights and Overboard were his favorites :)). Every time I hear the song Mighty to Save (before it was popular Mom introduced this song to me and I introduced it to our Youth Director). Every time I see a horse or something about cowboys or something about sheep.

I guess I miss them all the time.  Jesus and time heals the grief.  But the longing for them. The missing them. I don’t think that will ever go away.

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