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I’m weary.

I’m weary. You know how it is.

It’s not just one thing. It’s more than one. It’s more than two. It’s one thing upon another. Stacking. Compounding. Until that one more thing, no matter how small, seems just too much.

I’ve been aware of the stacking – the compounding – for quite some time. I’ve dealt with it in the past, and I’ll deal with it again. But for now, I’m weary. It’s like a compounding pile of rocks. Some light. Some heavy.

Today, as I write, my brother in law is in surgery, having a lung transplant. This rock is a heavy one, and it’s been on the compounding pile of rocks for a long time. Its very presence on his stack, and on my sister’s stack, causes it to accumulate in diverse sizes on my own rising pile. It makes me weary.

Facebook and Instagram photos look lovely, but we all know, there’s quite often pain behind the smiles. My family is no different.  I’ve encountered those heaping rocks many times, repeatedly, and have pushed them off, one by one, turning them over to the Lord, trusting those issues to Him. Oftentimes, when I do,  I figuratively wipe my hands and smugly say, Take that, you cursed enemy. By the power of the name of Jesus. But today, those same stones – or rocks, as they’ve become, aren’t moving as easily.  Because I’m weary. 

You understand because it happens to you too. Sometimes it’s a recurring pebble that pops up – with your spouse’s name on it. Sometimes an entire little bag of pebbles – you know, like the bag of marbles we had when we were kids.  Sometimes it’s huge – the loss of a child – or of a parent. It’s the grief that permeates and changes your life forever. It’s your child’s middle-of-the-night fever or her wicked diagnosis. It’s a learning disability or a mental illness. It’s a daughter’s addiction or a son’s waywardness. It’s the pain on your grandchild’s face and the tears in his eyes when his daddy yells and leaves the house. It’s the pain of your daughter’s singleness when she yearns for marriage. The problem burdens not just one in the family; it burdens all. You hurt not only for the burdened one but for each one who suffers – physically, mentally, emotionally. The rocks seem heavier than they once were. And they’re all stuck together. Sometimes they seem cemented. I’m weary from it. And I know you’re weary. I can see it behind your smile.

The enemy throws a lot of political rocks onto my stack, more as the last few years have progressed. My “friends” and community members have called me names – well, not me personally, but in general, along with anyone who has my political view. And I create my own stones on my stack, as well, having zero understanding of  those who view the political issues from a different perspective. It’s all so heavy. And I become weary.

This COVID thing is just  plain weighty in this pile of rocks. The COVID rocks keep appearing in various sizes and weights upon the stack:  Isolation. Sickness. Death. Fear. Hate. Divisiveness. Anger. Exhaustion. Loneliness. Separation. Anxiety. Suicide. Grief. Poverty. Judgment. Depression. This is not a bag of rocks. It’s a truck full of boulders that have become ever present month after month, enveloping our birthdays, anniversaries, celebrations, travel plans, elections, and now our holidays. We boldly and bravely  knock one COVID rock off our pile; another related rock appears. We’ve all become weary from it.

Here’s the thing: 

On the other side of my weariness is Jesus. He’s waiting just like always. He whispers,

Kathi, I will refresh your weary soul and replenish you when you are weak. I will give you pleasant sleep. My Word sustains you. Keep it fresh in your mind. Come to me. I will give you rest.

So today, in my weariness, I go to Jesus, the one who came to give me abundant life. I turn my burdens over to Him. We know He doesn’t bring any of the burdens that are making me weary. But He gladly takes them and brings the victory – some that I see today – some that is yet unseen but promised.  Either way, I have the promised rest,

What about you?  For all of these things we have Jesus. If you’re a Christ follower, go to Him. Place each burden, big or small, light or heavy, on Him. Until your weariness is gone. If you’re yet uncertain if you have Jesus, turn to Him. We needn’t remain weary!

Click here to learn more about following Christ.

Further reading:

Jeremiah 31:25, 26

Isaiah 50:4

Matthew 11:28

John 10:10

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Dear Mother (in purple crayon)

IMG_2982I almost tossed it away – it looked so insignificant, written with a purple crayon, personalized with my favorite drawings: a tree on the front and a swing set on the back. But evidently it was not insignificant to her, as she had written on the back, “Had been away over the weekend when Kathy made this,” then tucked it away in the cedar chest, along with Valentines, newspaper clippings, and report cards.

I’m wondering where she had gone that weekend, as I don’t remember my mother ever being away from home!

She often baked macaroni and cheese – using those big chunks of colby and large elbow macaroni. Homemade bread.  Sunbeam Rolls. Beef Roasts with potatoes. Warm custard when I was sick.

She laundered my clothes.

She tucked me in at night with hugs.

She held me and sang soft sweet songs like “Go Tell Aunt Tabby”and “Bye Baby Bunting.”

I knew her unconditional love. I never questioned it. I was enveloped in comfort and security.

It’s no wonder I missed her, wherever she had gone that weekend.

And it’s no wonder I miss her now.

I wish it was just for the weekend, but now it’s been eight long years. I miss the macaroni and cheese, her soft hugs, the sound of her voice, and a thousand other things.

IMG_2979Since that note to my mother so long ago, I’ve changed the spelling of my first name, and now I always use a blue, medium point pen instead of a crayon. I never draw trees on my notes or letters any longer, and I prefer writing on lined paper. But I might just write another purple crayon message on plain white paper, fold it, and on the front, write,  “To Mother.” The message will be simple. Only a few words will change:

Dear Mama,

I will be glad to see you again. I am lonesome for you.

From,

Kathi

Then I’ll tuck it in the same cedar chest and hope that miraculously she’ll receive it up in heaven.

IMG_2980

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Papa, can I lie in your bed?

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart:

I put her to bed, as usual. Well, really, with a bit more tenderness, a bit more time–reading, laying, singing, snuggling. But she is still quite unsettled when I leave her bedside, and shortly after, I hear her behind me in the living room.

Quietly.

“Nana, can I lie in your bed?”

“Sure, honey.”

I follow her down the hall. She steps up onto the little white stepping stool and up up up on to the big, soft mattress. And then I see the tears.

“I miss my mommy.”

I wipe her tears.

I lie beside her, cherishing her soft hair rubbing my cheek, breathing in its sweet, innocent scent.

Later, after she is sound asleep, Papa carries Kaylee back to her own bed.

I awaken in the night. My heart aches. I miss her mommy too. And I know a bit of the pain my precious daughter is going through. She shared it with me months ago, shortly after the arrest. Now I know that tonight, she lies on her cot, in her cell,  cold and lonely. My throat makes a foreign noise. I try to hold back the sob, knowing that when it starts, it doesn’t stop for a long time. I pray for her in a whisper – a whisper I know my Papa hears.

Months ago, after the arrest, on the 9th day, we brought her home–from that cell, from that cot–for one night before recovery began. She wanted her own bed– her old bed. The comfort of home.

Now I want the comfort of my Papa’s bed. I want that comfort for my daughter, and for her daughter, Kaylee. I want that comfort for all of us and for all others who are hurting.

I find it. I find it in the Word that is near me!

He gently tends me like a shepherd tends his flock. He gathers me in his arms and carries me close to his heart.

I might be unsettled for awhile, but I know that as I rest in his arms, close to His heart, I’ll find that comfort.

Further Reading: Isaiah 40:11; Psalm 91:1; Matthew 11:28; Romans 10:8

As you read the above post, you might connect. Some of you have or are presently raising your grandchildren. Some of you have or have had a son or daughter incarcerated. Some of you agonize, watching your own little ones unsettled and distressed, often unable to sleep. Take a verse or two and personalize it for yourself. Speak it over and over and over .  . . His Word is powerful. And it’s near you.

If you’d like to read my story about facing our daughter’s addiction and her subsequent arrest, you can order When Life Roars, Jesus Whispers by clicking here. 

Click here to “subscribe” to my blogs while you’re on this site.

And please follow me on my Facebook Writer’s Page: 

https://www.facebook.com/KathiWaligoraAuthorSpeaker

 

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I Remember Mama

Thursday

Yesterday was a tough day.

Last night was agonizing.
I can’t imagine facing a day of my life without her . . .
or a day without sobbing.
This evening is sad – seeing her, my Mama – lifeless and still upon pink satin lining the silver box . I don’t want to see her like this.
I close my eyes and remember her in the kitchen, making her yellow rolls; I remember her tucking me into bed at night; and I remember her dancing down “Main Street” on our first trip to Disney World!
Then I open my eyes and look around the large room of this funeral home, a place I don’t want to be, facing what I don’t want to face,  where earlier, alone, I couldn’t stop crying.
Now the room has taken on a different countenance. Instead of the parlor of death, it has become a playroom, filled with my young grandchildren. Their voices, full of animation, and their healthy little bodies, full of life, make me realize that Mama lives on in me, in my children, and in my grandchildren. As I reflect upon it, I realize that life is truly amazing. My friend, Connie, told me that today. “Life is amazing,” she said, “and we are a part of it.”
And I am a part of it because of my precious Mama. And now I will pass on the tradition of baking the yellow rolls and I will tuck my little ones into bed, and I will dance down Main Street.”
Tomorrow I must say goodbye – I know it’s just her body – that her soul is in heaven and that she will receive a new, vibrant, healthy body, but it’s her old body and her touch and her voice that I will miss. It’s the smell of Ponds Cold Cream and of yellow rolls baking in her oven.
 
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Chapter Seven ~ Whispers of Promise

Heartache is hearing her sentence . . .

Heartache is seeing your beautiful daughter handcuffed and taken to jail . . .
 

Heartache is not being able to hug her . . .

Heartache is answering your grandchildren when they ask if Mom and Dad will be with them for Christmas: “No, honey.”

And Jesus Whispered ~ 
Although the mountains around you are shaken, Kathi, and the hills are broken down, my unfailing love for you will not be shaken, nor will my promise of peace be removed. I am the Lord who has compassion for you and your precious grandchildren.
 
 
 
The evening of the sentencing was especially difficult for all of us. After the children were sound asleep and I had knelt by their beds and prayed, I went back into their bedrooms, checking on them all through the night, whispering one word prayers to the Father: Bless. Comfort. Touch. Heal.  Moving about our home throughout those unsettling nights, I felt the presence of the One who never slumbers or sleeps.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(An excerpt from When Life Roars, Jesus Whispers ~ Chapter 7 ~ Whispers of Promise)
by Kathi Waligora .
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Chapter Four

Thomas Griffith wrote, “Men fit themselves for hell but it is God [who] fits men for heaven.” For many years, although a  believer, I had seen myself as more fit for hell than for heaven. I was filled with guilt and condemnation. That wrong believing began to change as The Holy Spirit worked a wonder in my broken heart. Though I could do nothing to alter my situation or that of my daughter, God enlightened the eyes of my heart . . . as I listened to his whispers.

And Jesus Whispered ~

I call you ‘mine. I call you “my loved one.” You are the object of my mercy.

I read about it: “For surely, O Lord, you bless the righteous; you surround them with your favor as with a shield.” (Psalm 5:12)

Favor. Undeserved. Unmerited. But it was mine: the Favor of the Father. . . I had spent most of my adult life in condemnation and guilt ~~ never feeling good enough for God’s grace. But now, when I needed it the most, I realized, recognized, and received His amazing grace and His unfailing love for me and for my family. It was an awesome understanding that filled my broken heart. Almighty God had given me His favor.

And Jesus Whispered~

I bless you, Kathi, because you are righteous in Christ Jesus. I have surrounded you with my favor as a shield.

 
(Excerpt from Chapter 4)
Order When Life Roars, Jesus Whispers 
by Kathi Waligora on this site:
 
 
 
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He won’t “unfriend” us!

Do you remember when you first heard of Facebook? I heard some women talking. “Are you friends with her?” they inquired of each other. At first, hearing the term friends in this manner was a foreign idea, but it soon caught on, and shortly, I discovered many new friends on Facebook: people I knew but rarely saw, family and friends with whom now I could connect more frequently, and some people I’d never even met before! I started using and enjoying Facebook – and gaining more friends!

Recently, I discovered that someone – actually, a family member whom I absolutely adore – “unfriended” me on Facebook.  

When I realized it, my feelings were hurt. (I wish I wasn’t so sensitive!) But it hurt me because Facebook was the only connection between us since we don’t live close.

Aren’t we Facebook/Social Media people ridiculously silly? We “friend” and “unfriend” people for so many reasons! I’ve seen a mother and son end their Facebook relationship over political disagreements. (I hope their personal relationship outside Facebook wasn’t affected!)

Some people use Facebook to connect with friends, some for political agenda, some to “air” their feelings – like writing in a journal. We all have our reasons and interests.

Facebook has given the word friend an entire new meaning – one we never considered prior to ten years ago. But  the word friend has been around forever and its true meaning was really established and confirmed by Jesus! 

Throughout the gospels, we find that Jesus used the word friend  in His ministry. He referred to those he taught as friend and used the word in His parables, as well.   He called His followers friend. He even called Judas, His betrayer,  a friend when Judas betrayed Him with a kiss. “Friend, do what you came for,” Jesus said. Imagine! Judas – a friend! It’s a baffling thought. But you see, although Judas didn’t receive Jesus as His Savior, Jesus had nonetheless come to save Judas, just as He came to save us all,  and each one He came to save is His friend. Amazing!

Jesus said that some referred to Him as a “friend of . . . sinners,” and this is where it gets personal. He was  the “friend of sinners,” and He is the “friend of sinners,” and that means  He wants to be a your friend and my friend! When we receive Him as Savior, that amazing, supernatural friendship never ends!

Jesus never unfriends us! Aren’t you glad?

Click here to learn how to become a forever friend of Jesus. 

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That Cute Little Yellow Cup

It was a service for eight: plates with a yellow flower, yellow cups, saucers – you know – a complete set of dishes. My mother bought them for her little kitchen in Florida, their winter home. And she used them for many years.

Ron and Me Florida 1997005
Mom’s table is set with the yellow dishes! (My Mama always wrote on the photos!)

Some years ago, their winter vacations in Florida ended, as neither Mom nor Dad could make the long trip from Michigan any longer. Aging had set in – to the point of being considered “old” or “elderly,”  terms they didn’t like any more than I did. And no one liked the changes those words brought, including the end of an era of Florida vacations and winters – days filled with fishing, relaxing, family and neighborhood dinners, collecting shells and shark’s teeth, and  watching Ole’ Joe, the five foot Blue Heron who pranced the backyard and danced across the roof.Ole Joe001 Ole Joe002 (2)

Suddenly their winters were spent in the warmth of their cozy Michigan living room instead of the sunshine of the Florida outdoors.

Mom and Dad Florida 1999008
My Daddy and Mama during their “Florida” days – before they were considered “old” or “elderly.”             (Aren’t they cute?)

Along with their aging bodies, they had brought a few things back to Michigan from their Florida house, including the yellow dishes. Some time later, when their final winters were spent in a nursing home, I placed the yellow dishes, among other things, in a large sale, saying an ultimate goodbye to those Florida winter days.

Years passed, and their Venice, Florida house came up for sale; Ron and I bought it! We drove down – from Michigan to Venice – with the sole purpose of working on the house – you know – replacing windows and flooring, painting, cleaning, and generally renovating the neglected place.

If you know us, you know that Ron and I are considered coffee “snobs.” (It came about when we opened North Woods Coffee Co. in Coldwater, Michigan.) We love good coffee and we drive miles to find it. My road atlas is marked with notes of good coffee shops along the way – from Michigan to Venice. Of course, we take our favorite coffee maker along with us on vacations! (Doesn’t everyone?)white diner mug

We also, most often, take our own coffee mugs along when we travel – our favorite being a plain white diner mug, in which we served our awesome coffee at North Woods Coffee Co. But on this trip, we were so packed in our small SUV and trailing U-Haul, we had tried to bring only what we would actually “leave” at our new winter home in Venice. We didn’t want to leave our small collection of diner mugs, saved from North Woods Coffee Co., so . . .

. . . after we spent the first night in a Venice motel (the little winter home yet not renovated), we rose early and went directly to the little home, pulled the coffeemaker our of the SUV,and proceeded to make a pot of the hot brew we so loved. I  opened the kitchen cupboard, searching through the hodgepodge of dishes , which had accumulated throughout years of rentals and the vacations of numerous strangers. Searching those neglected shelves, I discovered a vast collection of mugs, some adorned with teddy bears or Christmas greetings, others embellished with the names and logos of nearby realtors and dentists. But behind the odd assortment, my eyes fell upon a cute little abandoned yellow cup: one in which my index finger comfortably slipped through the handle, one which held just the right amount of morning coffee I like to begin with, one that was filled with IMG_2969memories of Florida breakfasts and dinners of our own vacations past, and one which had been “left” in that little Florida kitchen many years before by my Mama and Daddy.

The yellow cup will remain in the Venice house, alone, among other vintage dishes – the ones I had taken from Michigan and had planned to use. It will always be a reminder of days gone by, of sipping morning brew on the lanai or a cup of French press with afternoon dessert.  The yellow cup will often be the first one I use on warm, sunny Florida mornings because, you see, for some reason, my coffee tastes even better in that cute little yellow cup!

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“In five years, Lord, may this be nothing but a bad memory,” he prayed.

“The phone call came shortly after Ron and I were both sound asleep, early in the night, between a normal Tuesday and a wretched Wednesday. I jumped out of bed to answer. With Mama and Daddy in the nursing home, I was accustomed to receiving phone calls – day or night. ‘Doctor ordered a different medicine,’ or ‘Your mother had a fall.’ But I could see on the phone ID that this call was different. It was Jesse’s dad, Jake. I knew something was wrong – desperately wrong.

            ‘Kathi, this is Jake. Amber and Jesse have been arrested.’

            Please, God, let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up now.” 

It was a nightmare – a living nightmare, culminating  years of heartache and despondency. I couldn’t shake this nightmare, as I had those of my childhood – with splashes of cold water on my face and by walking around the house.  This nightmare persisted, and at first, I had no strength to fight it.

Within those first days, I spoke with my beloved former pastor, pouring out my broken heart, with the news of our daughter’s arrest – news that had shattered my world. He now lived across the country, but he prayed for me on the phone that day.  I still remember some of those words:

“In five years, Lord, may this be nothing but a bad memory.”

In my deepest despair, those dozen words encouraged me. Was it possible that a day might come when this pain would no longer permeate my soul – when only a memory of the pain would exist? 

That living nightmare occurred well over five years ago! And today, it is nothing but a bad memory!

It’s a long story, and you’ll have to read my book to understand how the Lord lessened my anguish, bit by bit, miracle by miracle – how the Lord broke through chains – my chains, my daughter’s chains. It’s an awesome story!

 Pastor Mills passed to heaven recently. I thanked him here on earth, and I’ll thank him again when I see him in heaven:  Thank you for hope – a hope I’ve come to know – a hope I now instill in others.

Friend, as I write this, I pray Ephesians 1:18 for you – that you might know that hope – that your worst nightmare will soon be nothing but memory, a memory God has healed. You can know the God who breaks away the chains, breaks down the gates of bronze, and cuts through the bars of iron!

Click here to read the Forgotten Man Ministries’ article about Amber and Jesse’s experience.

Click here to order When Life Roars, Jesus Whispers to read this amazing story and to learn how to find hope and encouragement in your troubles.

God bless!

Kathi

Contact me through this website. I would love to speak to your group and encourage you!

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the daughter

She was truly a lovely young girl – probably a teenager – dressed in jeans and a jean jacket. Fine, thin hair. A pale complexion. Yet she didn’t appear quite like other teenage girls. She floated around the produce as I was shopping. I noticed her mother, a pretty, small, dark-haired woman, a short distance away, selecting produce, yet constantly aware of her daughter’s every move. This was obviously a way of life to which she had become accustomed.

The daughter was very thin. I immediately assumed she didn’t eat much – probably due to being nervous or high strung. My mind played out a scenario of the mother, encouraging the daughter to eat – often to no avail. In my mind, it wasn’t just a scenario. It was one I have lived. Repeatedly.

The daughter’s hands and forearms were raised much of the time, which attributed to her fairy-like floating. As she flitted by people, she moved close to them – entering their space.  She didn’t say a word, simply looked at the person approached. A nervous smile covered the face of a healthy, vibrant young woman as “the daughter” came near her. The young woman looked at “the mother” as if to ask, “What now?” But the mother had already spoken quietly to the daughter from a distance away, and the daughter floated on. I knew the inner agony of always having to watch over the daughter because I, too, watch over a child.

As I left the produce department, I observed the daughter float up to a young man. I recognized him – a polite young man who worked in the store – obviously coming in to work for the evening. He kindly smiled at the daughter. Spoke a quiet word or two, as he continued toward the back of the store to check in for his shift. I was relieved the mother didn’t have to interact again. I could imagine the distress of doing so. I could imagine because I, too, have interacted.

little sad crying girl sitting on the bedFrom the first moment I saw the daughter, my heart was with the mother.  I imagined her life – years of loving and training – years of hurt mixed with occasional tears of joy over the simplest accomplishments. I felt a bit of her pain, although she didn’t reveal any during this short encounter. But I knew a bit of that pain because I, too, have it – the pain that accompanies the unconditional love. The pain of having people judge the way a mother (or a grandmother) should act – judging how I should handle having a child (or grandchild) like this. The hurt of hearing others comment on an affliction they know very little about. The advice I wish they would keep to themselves. The lack of compassion for the pain I constantly carry. The lack of discussion – because it’s easier for them to simply change the subject.  I imagined the continuous tugging at the mother’s heartstrings as other children her daughter’s age were saying and doing normal everyday things, reaching and celebrating milestones – day after day and week after week – leading to year after year. Birthday parties and Christmases and Easter Egg hunts, and school events, and simple playtime activities that other children were enjoying while “the daughter” floated.

And by this time, I had purchased my groceries and was pushing my small cart across the front of the store, when I saw the daughter one more time. She floated up to me, her hands and forearms lifted like a precious little fairy, and I smiled at her and said, “Hello!”

Speechless, she floated on. Then I caught the eye of the mother – the sweet mother with a simple, sweet smile on her face – a smile that said, Thank you. Thank you for treating my daughter like you would any other child.