I never read a novel from front to back. I usually skim the ending first, and then, as I’m going along in the book, I often flip to later chapters so I can see how the situation I’m currently reading about is going to turn out.
This drives my loved ones crazy, but I just want to know what to expect. Good or bad, I like to know how things are going to turn out.
On Thanksgiving Day, I sat on the loveseat in my sun-soaked living room and read the final pages of Ann Voskamp’s book, The Broken Way.
As I wrote here, God used Ann’s words to change my heart about my relationship with my mom, wiping away 46 years of expectations and releasing me to focus on how I could love her better.
My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2016 (although in retrospect, we can see she had likely been on that path for at least a couple of years).
That summer, she broke her wrist very badly, which really accelerated her decline. Then last June, a bad fall in the shower landed her in the hospital, then rehab, then long-term care.
When I got behind the podium to speak at my church’s Christmas Tea a few months ago, it would have made sense for me to elaborate on how God has answered our prayers for healing, and all the many ways He has made His presence known to our family this past year.
Instead, I felt compelled to talk about the miracle God did in my own heart before my mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis was even confirmed to us. As I wrote last week, the topic didn’t address the tea’s “Home for Christmas” theme exactly how I had envisioned, and not everything I said portrayed me in the best of lights.
But none of that mattered. I knew this was what I had to share.
• • •
I’ve always had a good relationship with my mom. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t strained—it was fine.
In the 12 years we’ve lived fairly close to my parents, though, I didn’t spend as much time with her as I could or should have. I used to get irritated or frustrated with her about petty things. I didn’t always set a good example for my girls when it came to adult mother-daughter relationships.
In recent years, my interactions with her were marred by a lack of understanding about what was happening to her as well as my long-time expectations of how I wanted her to respond to me and listen to me.
I don’t think this is uncommon among mothers and daughters. I see now that my mom loved me well in ways I either didn’t appreciate or had no feel for at the time.
Even so, after she broke her wrist and her decline became more noticeable, all these thoughts and feelings began to weigh heavily on me. Guilt, regret and anxiety about what was happening to her piled up. I felt helpless and didn’t know how to fix any of it.
The tipping point came around Thanksgiving of that year. As I read Ann Voskamp’s book The Broken Way, lines like this jumped off the pages and landed straight in my heart:
• “The best way to say you love is always time. The best time to love is always now.”
• “This is what dying to live means: You love as much as you are willing to be inconvenienced.”
• “Sometimes it helps in the moment to think: people aren’t being difficult—they are having difficulty.”
I felt something shift in me as I processed these words. It was as if all my expectations of how I wanted my mom to love me simply evaporated, and I just decided I was going to do my best to show love to her.
I can’t explain how this happened, and I can’t take one ounce of credit for it. All I can say is this: When God breaks a chain, it’s a gift of pure grace.
I realize that the healing or restoration of relationships often requires time, forgiveness and maybe even counseling. But I don’t think we have to wait for all this to learn to love differently.
Maybe, instead of clinging to our expectations of how we want the people in our lives to interact with us, we can look around and truly see those people—even the difficult ones—and do our best to make them feel loved and valued.
Sometimes, you don’t know how much someone loves you until all your expectations of what that love should look like are gone. But even if that doesn’t happen, unconditional love (as 1 Corinthians 12:31 describes it) is always the better way.
When I was putting these thoughts on paper in preparation for my talk, I frequently felt totally inadequate and unqualified to share what I felt I was supposed to say. The last thing I wanted to do was put anyone on a guilt trip or fill people with more regret than they already had.
Instead, I somehow wanted to communicate that what God gave me that Thanksgiving Day—and what He offers to us today—is simply this: the opportunity for a fresh start.
We can’t revise the past. We can’t get back any time we’ve wasted. We can’t undo anything that’s been done. We can’t make anyone act a certain way. We can’t fix anyone or bring anyone back.
What we can do, though, is make the most of the time we have now. To repeat Ann Voskamp: “The best way to say you love is always time. The best time to love is always now.”
God is in the business of changing hearts, there’s no doubt about that. But when you let go of your expectations of how you want other people to love you, there’s always the possibility that the heart that changes might not be your loved one’s.
It might be yours.
• • •
Next week, I’ll explain what happened next, and how God gave us precious opportunities to spend time with my mom during her last few weeks living at home. I hope you come back to read the rest of this story. And if you have a sister or friend who might be encouraged by this post, I’d love for you to share it with her too.
♥ Lois
When God breaks a chain, it’s a gift of pure grace. Share on X Sometimes, you don't know how much someone loves you until all your expectations of what that love should look like are gone. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, Coffee for Your Heart, Chasing Community, Faith on Fire, Fresh Market Friday, Faith ‘n Friends and Grace & Truth.
For the last decade or so, I’ve helped organize my church’s annual Christmas Tea.
I’m involved with ticket sales, table decorating and other logistical details, but one of my favorite responsibilities has always been finding someone to give the morning devotional.
Past speakers include a woman whose first husband died unexpectedly, a young mom who lived in Qatar for a few years while her husband was completing an overseas work assignment and a friend of mine who went back to school at age 47 to fulfill her dream of becoming a teacher.
When I think about who to ask each year, I’m drawn to women who have a compelling story and a heart for encouragement. Some say yes right away, some agree after a bit of prayer and thought, and some graciously decline.
I start praying about this process many months in advance, and when people have said no—usually because they prefer not to speak in public—God has always brought along someone else.
Another of my favorite duties is coming up with the theme for the morning. Last year, for example, my mom’s transition to a skilled nursing facility sent my thoughts in a decidedly nostalgic direction, prompting the theme of “Home for Christmas.”
In early September, I asked a friend whose home exudes warmth and coziness if she would speak. She’s declined in the past, but this year, she said she would pray about it.
I took that as a hopeful sign.
Around mid month, she told me didn’t have a clear answer one way or another. She wasn’t ready to rule it out, but she didn’t have the peace that comes when she knows God wants her to do something either.
I told her to give it a few more weeks, but I had a back-up plan. If she said no, I knew exactly who I would ask next.
The last Sunday in September, I decided to check with my friend one last time, even though I was fairly certain what her answer would be. I was pondering my next step in the shower before church when that still, small Voice interrupted my thoughts.
YOU need to speak this year.
Maybe you can imagine my response.
What? No, no, no. That is NOT what I had in mind. How could I ask myself to speak? I have no energy for this. My life is stressful enough as it is right now. I don’t want people to think I’m trying to steal the limelight. Ugh.
Despite my inner protestations, I was pretty sure where this was going to end up. As odd as it might sound, my reluctance actually served as confirmation for my conflicted heart. I know myself pretty well, and if I had been jumping at the chance to take the microphone, I would have had good reason to question my motives.
My friend said no, just as I expected. And the other members of the tea committee—dear women who are very familiar with my parents’ situation—agreed that I needed to speak.
My backup plan went back on the shelf, and I started thinking about how to approach the theme in my talk. It had been easy to imagine my friend talking about seasonal nostalgia and the joy of opening our homes around the holidays, but I sensed I needed to dig deeper.
Memories of Christmas at home led to thoughts of my mom, which led to thoughts about our relationship. It didn’t relate much to the season—at least not on the surface—but I soon realized that God was prompting me to talk about how my relationship with my mom had changed in the last few years.
This was a vulnerable topic for me, one that would showcase some of my deepest regrets. But there was no getting away from it.
If I had any doubts about the direction I was going, they were allayed by how I felt in the weeks leading up to the tea. At times, I felt like I was engaged in spiritual battle. Emotional struggles from years past reared their ugly heads and hit me square in the face. I found myself dragging around from one thing to another—tired and worn.
More than once I wished I could just tell the women’s ministry director I couldn’t do it and forget the whole thing. But I couldn’t leave my own tea committee in that kind of a bind, so I pushed forward.
Strengthened by the support of praying friends, I finalized my talk about a week before the tea. When I practiced my words out loud, even the parts that were supposed to be funny made me cry. When I presented it to Randy, I had to stop several times to compose myself and blow my nose.
I figured I would be a complete mess up there behind the podium, but I took this as a good sign. If my words were affecting me this way, I couldn’t help but think they might resonate with someone else.
• • •
Next Tuesday, I’ll share the first of two blog posts that I’ve adapted from my tea talk. I’d love for you to join me!
♥ Lois
When I practiced my Christmas Tea talk out loud, even the parts that were supposed to be funny made me cry. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Fresh Market Friday, #TellHisStory, Coffee for Your Heart, Recharge Wednesday, Faith on Fire, Faith ‘n Friends and Grace & Truth.
Look around. Watch the news. Listen to people talking in the next booth. Scroll through your social media feeds. I don’t know about you, but it seems pretty obvious to me that we are all in need of some serious saving right about now.
Never mind for a minute about platforms and hashtags, soap boxes and aisles, movements and slogans. There’s really only one solution, one remedy, one antidote to the sickness that plagues our world today.
The week after Christmas, my sister texted me to find out how our holiday in North Dakota had been. It was good, I told her. I got sick on the way there and didn’t feel like myself most of the time, but it was nice to get away.
Then I added this:
“I think this whole year has sort of finally caught up with me … a week in a secluded mountain cabin sounds really good about now.”