Category Archives: Family Life

The Unapplauded Hero

I met a Hero the other day.

She is twenty five years old.

She’s put aside her own hopes and dreams to care for a chronically ill family member.

She’s had to quit her job because the care needs are so time consuming.

At an age when she should be having fun, dating, building a future, career or a family of her own, she cares full time for someone in need.

She cries when no one is watching.

She wonders what the future holds.

She worries what will happen to her loved one.

She worries what will happen to herself if something happens to her loved one.

She feels guilt for wanting more.

She doubts God at times.

Her faith wavers even as she continues believing.

She is a full time caregiver. Someone desperately needs her. She is there.

She is learning at a young age the hardship and beauty of a laid down life.

If you are a single young man you might want to consider a woman like her.

She won’t have much time to date, but she certainly knows about loyalty, selflessness and love; all the qualities that make a great spouse.

She’s the unapplauded in the background. One who performs the mundane today, tomorrow and the next day.

But mundane is greatness when executed so selflessly.

Those who are faithful in little things will be rewarded with much (Matthew 25:23, Luke 16:10).

She will be honored for her faithfulness.

Man may overlook.

But God sees.

He sees it all.

He sees her.

She is brave.

She is strong.

She is incredible.

And He calls her Beautiful.

The Memory Keeper

Jon’s fine motor skills developed slowly as a child. At 18 months old, one of the recommended therapies of the early intervention program he attended was picking up Cheerios from his high chair tray to help him strengthen his pincher grasp. He struggled getting his little thumb and forefinger to work together.

Cheerios accompanied us everywhere. He practiced eating them off the church pew during services, in the car from a cup, in high chairs at restaurants. I became obsessed with helping him learn to pick up those little O’s and get them in his mouth and admit there were days I was sad or frustrated, sometimes both, that it was taking him so long to do what other babies did naturally.

When David was 18 months old, he toddled to the cabinet in the kitchen where the cereal boxes were kept, opened the new Sam’s Club size box of Cheerios and dumped its entire contents over his head. I found him sitting in the pile on the floor stuffing Cheerios in his mouth so fast you’d think he’d not been fed for three days. I remember being a bit annoyed as I cleaned the mess up and washed Cheerio dust out of his hair.

As much as my boys were different, in other ways they were the same.

Jon made a trip to the pediatrician somewhere between the age of 4 or 5 because he had a pea stuck up his nose. Obviously picking up all those Cheerios taught him the fine motor skills he needed to get a pea from his plate to the inside of his tiny nostril.

David, at the age of four or five, arrived at the pediatrician’s office with a piece of styrofoam stuck in his ear.

I remember being exasperated with each of them both times.

As I think back on this Mothers’ Day, I realize, some of the most frustrating moments of raising children are now some of my fondest memories. Time has a way of softening the drama and exhaustion of motherhood.

Time also has an uncanny way of changing everything.

What was then an inconvenience and annoyance to my younger and impatient self is now a treasure stored in the safe box of my heart.

Having and raising kids is an adventure like no other and we all have the same gift of time to experience our children’s remarkable growth process.

Jon can raid the panty and fridge on his own now and has no problem putting large amounts of food in his mouth on any given day. David doesn’t stick styrofoam in his ears anymore but knows how to install it inside the walls of a house to keep the heat and cold out.

Moms, if you still have young ones, I’d like to tell you, in the everyday exhaustion and insanity of mothering, don’t freak out over the little things; but then I would be robbing you of some of the best memories to hold on to when your kids are grown.

Just know this: if that thing they’re doing frustrates you today, thirty years from now you’ll probably think of it and smile.

Time is precious.

Time is fleeting.

Time is a memory keeper.

Happy Mother’s Day!

The Best ‘Accident’ We Ever Had

Twenty five years ago today our second son, David, arrived.

Our firstborn, Jonathan, came to us with developmental disabilities and before the end of his first year, I was diagnosed with a chronic illness and told it would worsen with any subsequent pregnancies.

In light of all the odds stacked against us, we decided one child should be enough. I lived with daily pain and exhaustion and it was difficult taking care of our son; one who needed so much extra care and attention. Adding more children seemed overwhelming and reckless.

That decision, though sensible, saddened me. But the alternative seemed too much of a risk and quite honestly whenever I thought about it; fear overpowered sadness. So I settled into an unplanned life of doctors, therapists, prescription drugs and special education.

It was an enormous shock when we discovered, ten years later, we had another child on the way. Jon was in school, developing slowly but doing fairly well, and I was still dealing with multiple health issues. I was older now, and because I’d already had a special needs child when I was young and healthy, my first response to the news was overwhelming fear and tears.

As time moved forward excitement and expectation emerged and then love for the child growing inside me. He may have been unplanned but he was never unwanted. And though the fear never left, I knew I would face, by God’s grace and strength, whatever the future offered us and this baby.

The night he was born, I fought my fear battle with each contraction, but when the mid-wife checked him over, looked me in the eyes and said, “It’s a boy and he’s perfect,” such relief and joy flooded through me I could barely contain it.

God knew what I needed, even when I didn’t. David’s arrival did something for me that I’ve never quite been able to express. He was the piece of my heart puzzle I wasn’t even aware had been missing, until I held him. His arrival in our lives filled a gaping hole; an empty place inside my mother heart that I didn’t know I had until he was here.

As predicted, my health problems became much worse after David’s birth but I didn’t care and I still don’t. I am thankful everyday for the gift of this son. His life has been worth every bit of pain and damage that has ravaged this fragile suit of flesh I reside in.

Today, on David’s twenty-fifth birthday, he is distant from us in miles, but never in heart. He is fiercely loved and celebrated. And not just by us, but also by his wife, her family and many friends; so many others he has already impacted and touched for what is good and right in the world.

David Micah Connis, is the best and happiest ‘accident’ we’ve ever had and we are unspeakably grateful to God who blessed us with such a wonderful surprise.

Happy Birthday Son!

Slowly Going Nowhere

Jon wanted to go out today. I asked him by question written on my cell phone note pad, if he’d like to go to the movies.

He typed back, “I do yes sir.”

That was affirmative enough so we drove to the theater, arriving at 3:50. The movie started at 4:40. At 5:00 we were still sitting in the car.

I don’t understand Jon’s thing about sitting in the car. Anytime we go anywhere he stays in the car. While people all around us drive in, hop out and are often back and leaving, he hasn’t even opened a door yet.

How do you make a flight or doctor’s appointment on time when the guy won’t get out of the car? When he was little I could unbuckle him, grab him and carry him, but he’s thirty four now. He should be carrying me. After all those years of dealing with his goofiness, I’m tired.

I knew it would take another half hour to get him in the building if he did get out of the car. By the time we bought tickets, popcorn and drinks the movie would be half over. Who wants to fork over a quarter of a week’s paycheck to see half a movie?

And anyway, I just didn’t have the patience for it all today, so I started the car, drove through McDonald’s to get him some dinner and came home.

He was another half hour sitting in the car once it was in the driveway. I put the seat back and took a nap.

We spent two and a half hours in the car today, going nowhere.

Some things in life you can never understand.

Oh No! Home Alone!

Jon’s all time favorite movie is “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”. Following close behind is “Home Alone”.

Our first adventure with “Home Alone” started in the mid-nineties when we rented a copy, sometime during Jon’s early teen years. After watching the movie, with its many theft prevention traps, Jon took it upon himself to become our personal security system. We lived in a three story house in New Hampshire at the time and Mike had finished the basement as a playroom for the kids. In the back corner of the basement was a door we rarely used and it opened to stairs leading back up to ground level and into the garage.

I went to the basement to throw in a load of laundry one day and realized I needed to go out to the garage for something. Rather than go back upstairs and out the door off the kitchen, I opened the basement door and experienced a brief moment of horror as I watched the kid’s blue plastic snow sled, loaded with paint cans, come hurdling toward me. I screamed and slammed the door shut just in time to hear the thump, crash, bang of full and half-full gallon cans pile up against it on the other side.

Jon had placed the sled at the top of the stairs, lined it with the paint cans he’d found stored on shelves in the garage and tied the sled’s rope to the basement door knob. Although a great idea if an intruder was already in the basement, it wasn’t about to keep one out. But It was genius and imaginative really, with no thought of consequence to the people he lives with, which has always been one of Jon’s great deficits.

We went though a phase of trepidation and alertness, following this “Home Alone” viewing. We would find small toys lining the stairways, door knobs drenched in cooking oil, dish soap or shampoo, marbles and jacks on the floor in front of or behind closed doors, a half dozen eggs lined up on the garage door bracing; when the door went up eggs dropped to the floor or on the car. It was unnerving

We let Jon watch the movie again when he was in his late twenties thinking he may have matured enough to distinguish its fantasy from reality. The booby traps reappeared immediately.

The other night Jon’s caregiver told me Jon was reciting “Home Alone” movie lines to her. When I came out to the kitchen the following morning, all the Christmas balls had been removed from the mini-tree adorning the corner of the breakfast nook and were lined up under the window. There’s shampoo or something slippery coating his bathroom doorknob again, a curtain rod blocking the entrance to his room like a swinging railroad crossing gate on one end and dresser drawers blocking the door to his room on the other end.

Jon is not allowed to watch “Home Alone”. We don’t keep it in the house, but I’m thinking he’s found segments of it on YouTube and this is not good news. While the movie may be a classic family Christmas comedy, it’s off limits in our universe.

If you like us even a little bit, please don’t give him a copy for Christmas. And if you stop by, be vigilant. You could very well be Jon’s next “Home Alone” victim.

Still Doing The “I Do”

We were just a couple of crazy kids when we said “I Do”. We thought we knew the meaning but we didn’t have a clue.And here we are, thirty nine years later, still figuring out what all those promises mean.

There’s been plenty of star spangled love and plenty of days when we don’t do the first-Corinthians-chapter-thirteen thing quite so well. But we never quit and are learning the art of forgiving, letting go and how love isn’t always a feeling but a choice.

Showing honor and respect is about putting aside our own selfish desires, shutting our mouth when we want to speak, speaking when we’d rather shut it and allowing for our differences. It’s been tough sometimes, but we’re getting better at it everyday.

Not had much of the richer, at least in great wealth, but precious unseen riches we’ve held; wonderful sons, a roof over head, food in our bellies, so many people in our lives to bless us and to bless. Some things can’t be measured in dollars.

Poorer, yes, we’ve gone without many times through the years. Cut coupons, shopped sales, bought used instead of new (still do:), shared a hot chocolate and a bag of McD’s fries for date night and learned to live on what we have and watch our faithful God provide everything we need.

In sickness, it seems there’s been way more than our fair share, dealing so long with chronic illness and a child with disabilities. But hard times are a teacher and forge us into something better than before. In the midst of all the things we don’t understand we trust in God, our strength.

We’ve seen health in many other ways, in laughter and in joy and how God heals the broken hearted and helps us endure. Patience and compassion, contentment and peace have been our reward.

God has been faithful to us even when we are not. He’s been our anchor in every celebration, joy, failure and heartache, the North Star to which we always turn when we loose our way.

So, Michael Connis, on this thirty ninth anniversary of our happy wedding day, I want to say, if given the choice, I’d do the “I DO” all over again. Thanks for hanging in there on this great adventure of ours.

It isn’t over yet. We’ve come far but there’s still more to see, do and conquer and we’re just getting started!

I did, I Do, and I will…for always.

Lessons From A Hurricane Summer

The year 2004 was what I call Florida’s Hurricane Summer. Four hurricanes plagued us in a span of about six weeks.

Exactly ten years ago today, Hurricane Charley, the storm that initiated the chaos, ripped through Central Florida. We were living in Kissimmee at the time in an older neighborhood with large lot lines. Our unique property, tucked away in a corner, consisted of two acres, a ranch style three bedroom, two bath main house with a pool and a detached, cozy one bedroom, one bath guest/in-law house out back, several sheds and a separate screen room where our hot tub lived.

The property backed up to a conservation area and was surrounded by lush jungle on all sides; thick Florida flora of wild palm trees, palmetto, gigantic oaks and hanging moss. Some people thought it scary and worried about what lived in those woods. Not me. I thought it was beautiful, until Charley. We moved to Florida in 2001 and had never been through a hurricane before, but as I looked out at all those trees, I began to wonder what they could crush if they started falling.

The weather predictors vacillated for days over the path Charley might take, but when we finally knew the storm was coming for us, our family gathered in a tight circle and prayed for protection. Jon disappeared into his room and taped a paint stick perpendicular onto a yard stick forming a cross. He came back out and leaned it against the patio doors, his way of demonstrating God’s watchful eye over us. He then went back in his room and refused to come out. I found him lying stiff as a board on his bed wearing a bicycle helmet, a jacket, and a pair of boots, clutching a flashlight.

We’d had a new roof put on the main house a few months prior and fortunately never lost one shingle, unlike many of our neighbors, but the contractor forgot to nail down the three brand new skylights he installed and they blew off as Charley came barreling through. Rain was pouring into both bathrooms and the breakfast nook and it seemed as if the wind would lift the roof right off the walls.

I ran to the storage closet and found some old plastic shower curtains and a large piece of clear vinyl, while Mike went out in the garage to retrieve his staple gun and an eight foot ladder. Wind was battering the garage door so hard he thought it would blow in. He quickly climbed over potted plants and outdoor furniture we had brought in from outside, to get to his tool chest. As hurricane rookies, we never thought about keeping the tool chest where it could easily be reached.

Our son David, who was fourteen at the time, climbed up into those wide open ceiling holes in the middle of the storm to staple the plastic down. The pool solar panels had come loose and were flopping back and forth on the roof above his head. I held the ladder and prayed like a crazy woman for the panels to not slam through the roof opening and hit my son in the head, while the wind and rain roared around us.

By the time the storm passed it was dark outside and the power was down. We decided to wait until morning to go outside and access the damage. Neighbors went door to door with flashlights making sure everyone was alright. We didn’t sleep much that night or the nights that followed

It was a crazy, difficult time for many here in Central Florida. Our electricity was out for two weeks in the middle of Florida’s hottest summer month.

But I learned to be grateful for things we Americans take for granted everyday:

Water that comes from our faucets for bathing, cooking, cleaning, drinking. Without electric, our well pump was off and we had no running water in either house. I discovered how basic water is to human existence and realized I could live without many of the things we consider essential. I never want to be without water again. Every morning when I get in the shower and warm water runs over my sleepy body, I thank God for running water.

Air conditioning in a summer climate that reaches into the mid to high nineties with humidity levels to match. The sheets felt wet when we lay down on them at night. The spices in the cupboard clumped into one large blob in their containers. We never sweat so much in all our born days. We all smelled bad, looked bad and were hot and miserable. I thank God every summer for AC.

Garbage collectors became the most important people in the world. When all the food in the fridge spoils and there’s no trash collector to come haul it away, it’s not pleasant or pretty. Every week when I hear the trash truck stop at the end of our driveway I am grateful for those who do this vital work.

Uninterrupted family time. Without TV, computers, phones or modern distractions we spent time playing table games by candle light, reading, talking and working together. David found Mike’s old guitar in a closet and a hurricane catapulted our son’s love affair with music into overdrive. He now plays, writes and arranges his own songs (listen at daveconnis.com).

Safety of family and friends. Trees went down all around us, but the only structure crushed under a falling tree was one shed. It took months of cutting and clearing to rid our property of broken and fallen trees but my family, friends and neighbors were safe. No one was hurt. I am thankful everyday for the health and safety of those I love.

Looking back on it ten years later, Hurricane Charley is like the opening line in Charles Dickens’ famous novel, A Tale of Two Cities.

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.”

I hope to never go through a storm like that again but here’s what I know, storms of all kind come and go. No one likes them, but we learn our greatest lessons in the middle of them. If we hang on through the blustering wind and pelting rain, pray and trust God we come out on the other side..

Humbler

Wiser

More thankful

And a little more storm proof than we were before.

Nahum 1:7 (ESV) The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him.

Matthew 8:23-27 (ESV) And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.” And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm.

2 Corinthians 4:17 (ESV) For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison

What Mom’s Really Want – After Mother’s Day Thoughts

I arrived home from church yesterday, after a wonderful service themed around honoring mothers. My breakfast nook was bright with a beautiful medley of flowering plants in a pretty container-a gift from my husband.

A dozen red roses adorned my kitchen counter, a striking orchid was on display in the middle of the kitchen island, and my pantry was stocked with more tea flavors to add to my already ridiculous collection-a gift mailed to me from my youngest son and daughter-in-law; signs that I’m not forgotten on Mother’s Day.

After Jon’s caregiver left, I knocked lightly on his bedroom door and peeked in. “Hi Jon, how ya’ doing dude? We just got home from church.”

He didn’t respond or look up.

“Do you remember today is Mother’s Day? How would you like to take me out for lunch today? I’d like to spend the day with you and Dad and I’m hungry. Are you?” I smiled even though he wasn’t looking at me.

Jon’s face turned to a scowl, the one that could mean in this moment, ‘don’t bug me’, ‘I don’t want to go’, ‘get out of my room’ or something similar. But I know him well enough to realize he could change his mind if I leave him alone for a while.

“Ok then, you think about it,” I said optimistically, “and come out when you’re ready but don’t take too long because Dad and I are hungry now. If you wait too long it will be too late to go,”

I shut the door and hoped.

Thirty minutes later I asked again and was met with the same response.

As the afternoon went by I realized his closed door was a “No” answer so I put a pizza in the oven, made a salad and Mike and I ate a late lunch.

I talked to a mom over the weekend whose only child is serving prison time. She tearfully told me how she raised him right, taught him morals, values and to put God first in life. She wanted him, loved him, worked hard to put him through private school and college and did everything she knew to be a good mom. But he grew up, made some poor choices and now both of them are living with those painful consequences.

As she poured out her heart, my own broke for her. I began thinking how this mothering thing doesn’t always turn out the way we want or imagine.

What we really want and need from our kids, is the same thing they want and need, as children, from us. We want them. Their time, their presence in our lives, their love and maybe more so after they’ve become adults. Maybe as our kids need us less, we need them more. We want hugs, big ones, real ones, not those sent over distance, Facebook posts or text messages (though I’ll gladly take those if that’s all I can get).

I appreciate the gifts, flowers, chocolate, tea and dinners but my deepest longing is to know, I’m not forgotten and my kids still love me – their flawed, mistake laden and very human mother.

Instead, some moms get a son in prison, a child passed away too soon, a miscarriage or infertility, a daughter who is estranged from them or a child like mine, who doesn’t know how to express himself clearly. And for these moms, Mother’s Day and everyday comes mixed with a bit of sadness.

Jon finally came out of his room long after the sun went down. I was relaxing in the family room in my favorite chair reading and drinking a cup of my gift tea. He found his dinner in the fridge and scavenged around in the pantry looking for snacks. Then he came next to my chair and stood there, his eyes flitting back and forth from the floor to my face.

I looked up and smiled. He smiled back then began singing an enthusiastic version of some Disney song while playing his ‘air’ guitar. He stayed near me smiling and singing nearly twenty minutes, glancing my way constantly to see if I was watching him.

I knew what that meant. “I see you Mom and this is what I have to give you on Mother’s Day. It’s the best I can do. I hope it’s enough.”

What I really want from him, he can’t give me. What I need from him, he still needs from me; to be recognized, acknowledged, affirmed and loved exactly for who he is.

There are no hugs, no sentimental cards, texts, Facebook posts, I love you’s or gifts from Jon on Mother’s Day but I receive with a little sadness and a lot of thankfulness the very best he can give me. A silly Disney song that says, “I know you’re still here.”

My oldest son didn’t take me out to lunch and my youngest son lives too far away and couldn’t be here but I know I am loved, even when life doesn’t play out exactly the way I hope, even when I wish for more.

So for all the mothers whose special day tends toward a measure of disappointment…

You are strong. You are resilient. You are amazing.

Contentment is learning to accept what is and finding peace inside it.

I pray you find God’s peace and unexplainable contentment in all of your unique, painful and incredible mothering moments.

It Takes a Mom

In John chapter six, the account of Jesus feeding the five thousand at some remote place along the Sea of Galilee, we find the five barley loaves and two fish Jesus ‘borrowed’ belonged to a child.

Of the five thousand men plus some women and children who showed up in the middle of nowhere to check Jesus out, didn’t anyone else think to bring food or was this boy the only one in the crowd willing to share what he had?

Then another question comes to mind. Who packed his lunch?

My guess? His mom.

It was probably another busy day. Bread to be made. Water to be drawn. Mouths to be fed. So much work to be done. But she packed her boy’s lunch and as Jesus took it, blessed it and miraculously fed a multitude, I doubt this kid was ever the same.

Jesus touched his lunch and his life.

The story doesn’t tell us who took the twelve leftover baskets home. But I bet it was the little boy and his family. Mom had no idea what would come back to her later that day.

They had food enough for a week, bread and fish touched and blessed by Jesus, the best leftovers ever, all because a mom got up in the morning and packed her kid’s lunch. Again.

Mom, are you’re bored with the ordinary tasks of your daily life thinking they or you don’t matter? Another meal to cook, another diaper to change, another load of laundry, another floor to sweep, another lunch to pack, another drive to school and another trip to the ball field equate to greatness when Jesus is in the midst of it.

He will take your small, mundane and seemingly insignificant efforts, bless them and multiply them back to you and your family.

The repetitiveness of mothering will multiply, day after day and year after year, until your children are grown and beyond. Every little thing you pour out and into them, comes back to you in exponential ways.

So get up today, tomorrow and the next day and do it again ’cause it takes a Mom to pack a lunch Jesus delights in sharing with others.

John 6:1-13 After this, Jesus went to the farther side of the Sea of Galilee—that is, the Sea of Tiberias. And a great crowd was following Him because they had seen the miracles which He performed upon those who were sick. And Jesus walked up the mountainside and sat down there with His disciples. Jesus looked up then, and seeing that a vast multitude was coming toward Him, He said to Philip, Where are we to buy bread, so that all these people may eat? But He said this to test him, for He well knew what He was about to do. Philip answered Him, Two hundred pennies’ worth of bread is not enough that everyone may receive even a little. Another of His disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to Him, There is a little boy here, who has five barley loaves, and two small fish; but what are they among so many people? Jesus said, Make all the people sit down. Now the ground was covered with thick grass at the spot, so the men threw themselves down, about 5,000 in number. Jesus took the loaves, and when He had given thanks, He distributed to the disciples and the disciples to the reclining people; so also with the fish, as much as they wanted. When they had all had enough, He said to His disciples, Gather up now the fragments, so that nothing may be lost and wasted. So accordingly they gathered them up, and they filled twelve baskets with fragments left over by those who had eaten from the five barley loaves.

On Your Birth Day, Jon – What the Doctor Didn’t Know

Thirty four years ago today, you came quietly into this world uttering barely more than a squeak to announce your arrival. You were adorable, our tiny firstborn child.

We had chosen another name for you before you were born but when we met you for the first time somehow we knew you were a ‘Jonathan’, so this is what we called you. Later we discovered this name means ‘God’s gracious gift’.

Soon the doctor came with news. You were different. He told us you wouldn’t be like other kids and would be delayed in growth and learning. I dreaded the sight of that doctor because his news was never good. His reports about you were all negatives, no positives.

But here’s what the doctor never told me, what he couldn’t know:

•How your smile lights up my universe

•How mysterious, charming, funny, resilient, observant, smart and grumpy you can be

•How your every achievement feels like winning the lottery

•How seeing life though your eyes change my perspectives

•How you simplify my priorities and humble my heart

•How ‘perfect’ and ‘normal’ are ideas by which I measure my own unrealistic expectations

•How selfishness is continuously discarded from my life

•How patience, compassion and kindness must always be practiced

•How to let go, while still holding on to what matters

•How to love unconditionally

•How prayer is a life preserver

•How trust and reliance on God are essentials

The doctor never told me how profoundly your life would change mine.

I guess he didn’t know, couldn’t know because he never had the privilege of experiencing you as I have. He couldn’t see the positives because he’s never had the opportunity to live them.

Today is your birthday, and as we light the candles and celebrate; I now know that the real gift is you.

God’s gift to quietly instruct, inform and adjust me into the person I am still becoming.

Happy Birthday, Jonathan Michael Connis!

I’m blessed to call you my son.

A Place Called Special

a look inside a special life