Life After the Kids Graduate College: Surviving the Empty Nest Syndrome

The last ten years have been a bit of a marathon, filled with family challenges, serious injuries, illnesses, and the loss of my father. For a while, laughter and everyday joy felt like they had packed up and gone on vacation without me. But the good Lord never stopped nudging me forward. Well... "nudging" might be giving Him too much credit. It was probably more like a well-aimed boot to the backside. Either way, I'm finally starting to laugh more, find joy in the little things again, and rediscover my voice. Apparently, God wasn't accepting "maybe later" as an answer.

 **Life After the Kids Graduate College: Surviving the Empty Nest Syndrome** 

Ah, the moment every parent dreams about: the day your child(ren) graduate from college, get a job, spread their wings, and fly the nest. They say life after your kids graduate from college is a golden era filled with blissful peace and quiet, but let’s be real: it’s more like a rollercoaster of emotions coated with a hefty dose of confusion. 

**The Sudden Silence** 

The first thing you notice after your kids move out is the deafening silence. Gone are the days of “Mom! Where’s my other sock?” or “Dad, can you help me build this ridiculously complex science project that requires twelve different kinds of glue? It's due tomorrow!” Instead, you find yourself hearing every creak and noise through the house, convinced that someone might pop out at any moment. You might even start talking to the dog—no judgment here; it’s a real adjustment! 

**Rediscovering Your Grocery Bill** 

With your once-teenage food vacuums now college grads, you’ll notice your grocery bill is suddenly half of what it used to be. You’ll stand in the grocery aisle, holding a family-sized box of Hot Fudge Sundae Pop-tarts, wondering, “Do I still need this?” Your fridge will go from “What’s for dinner?” chaos to “Is a leftover container of queso with chips considered a meal?” panic. Welcome to the new normal, where you find joy in whatever random leftovers make it to your plate! 

**Your Home Is Now a Museum** 

As soon as your kids graduate and head out into the world, your humble abode becomes a glorified museum. “Here lie the bedrooms of a once-aspiring pilot and model,” you muse as you dust their empty room, looking at the blank spaces on the walls that were once adorned with favorite posters and trophies from their youth sports and activities. Every now and then, you find yourself reminiscing about the days when you had to step over a minefield of Legos, Matchbox cars, and dolls to get to the bathroom—those were the days of real adventure! 

**The Parenting Callback** 

After graduation, just when you think your parenting responsibilities are winding down, you realize you are now on call 24/7 for what I like to call *emergency consultations*. “Mom, how do I place a grocery pickup order?” is the frantic call when they realize adulting is far harder than it sounds. “Dad, how much life insurance should I sign up for? And what's AD&D?” becomes a new family quandary. Who knew post-college life would resemble a series of phone interviews to discuss the world’s most confusing concepts?

**The Unexpected Side Effects** 

You may also find yourself suddenly subjected to side effects such as “Hobby Overload.” With all this newfound free time, you might experiment with gardening, quilting, shopping for a wardrobe that isn't based on whether it is socially acceptable for both sleeping and early morning school car-line drop-offs, or maybe you take it a step further and tackle the real monster: organizing the craft/junk room using suggestions from Pinterest or Marie Kondo that are guaranteed to make you the star of the neighborhood. Spoiler: those rooms rarely get completed.

**The Reunion Moment** 

And just when you’re starting to get used to the quiet, you get the call: “Hey Mom, can I come home for a few days?” Your heart does a happy dance as you picture family dinner and saying goodbye to your newfound solitude - even if it's only for a day or two. Before you know it, they roll back in with a suitcase full of laundry and want to take over your Netflix account with their latest binge-worthy series. Suddenly, you’re dodging awkward questions like, “Where's the last slice of cake?” and, "What happened to the Pop-tarts?" 

In the end, while we cherish the memories and lessons learned through parenting, the journey continues, albeit in a different way. Here’s to the empty nest—may it be filled with joy, laughter, and maybe a dog or two to keep you company!

The Miraculous Intervention

Happy New Year!  After encouragement from both friends and family, I have decided to share a very personal experience to start off the new year.

Our home in Alabama

It was Halloween 2001. I was 7 months pregnant with our son and we had moved to Alabama a couple of months prior. The evening of Halloween, we went to a friend's house for a costume party. As we were walking in to our friend's home, we noticed that a weather front had moved in and the usual warm, humid Alabama night was turning unusually cold.

We were having a great time at the party until I started having a hard time with acid reflux due to my pregnancy.  We left the party and arrived home around midnight. 

When we relocated to Alabama, we purchased a newly constructed home and had the home inspected for defects prior to closing.  The inspection report had come back with a few very minor issues, which the builder quickly rectified.

When we walked in the door to our home that evening, my husband found the house a bit chilly.  He asked me to turn on the home's heat while he went and tried to remove the black and white paint from his face and hands, where we had transformed him into a skeleton for the party.

While he took a shower to remove the paint, I went and laid down on the sofa in the family room with our dog.

Pregnancy induced acid reflux required me to sleep sitting nearly upright while cool air helped to calm some of the nausea I experienced.  I put an oscillating fan next to the couch, where it would blow the air straight where I was reclining and cranked it up to hurricane force.

Exhausted from both the reflux and being pregnant with a child who was either going to be a world-class soccer player or a renowned kicker for the NFL, I drifted off to sleep within a minute or two.  A little while later my clean faced husband came in, checked on me and went off to bed.

I fell back to sleep almost instantly.  I was in a deep sleep when I started to hear someone speaking to me in a very sweet feminine and quiet voice.  "Wake up, Christie.", she said ever so gently.

In my sleep, I ignored the voice.  But the soft voice continued to gently nudge me "Honey, wake up.  It's time to wake up.".

I recognized the voice.  It was the voice of my father's mother, who had passed 20 years before.  She had been a slip of a woman with a soft voice and a gentle, nurturing, Christ-like nature.

In my sleep I argued with her.  "No, I'm tired.  I don't want to wake up.  This baby is wearing me out and I'm finally getting some sleep.  I'm not going to wake up.  I'm going to sleep.".

She again spoke ever so softly while gently nagging me, "Honey, you need to wake up.  Please wake up.".

I said again "No, I'm tired.  I need sleep.  Please stop and leave me alo.....".

And before I could finish my sentence "CHRISTIE LYNN!  You wake up NOW!!".

There was no mistaking the voice yelling at me!  That was my other grandmother, my mother's mother who had passed away just over a year prior.  She may have been diminutive in height, but she made up for it in attitude.  My red hair came from her and you did not mess with her.  It was also in that moment when I realized all 4 of my grandparents were in my dream although my grandfathers didn't speak, I could feel their presence.

At my grandmother's yelled command, I woke up in an instant.  I was immediately bombarded with the rotten egg smell of natural gas.  I hopped off the couch and ran to my bedroom to wake up my husband.

With a lot of nudging and jiggling, he woke up.  I told him the house smelled like natural gas.  He sat up on the side of the bed and told me to turn off the heater at the thermostat.  I flew to the thermostat and before I could flip the switch to the "off" position, a thought popped into my head that if the thermostat threw a spark, we could be blown sky high.

I decided against flipping the switch and ran back to our bedroom where I discovered my husband was again fast asleep.  I pushed and nudged him to wake him up.  He didn't move.  Scared that carbon monoxide may be poisoning him, I shook him very hard to wake him up.

He woke up just enough to tell me to call the fire department.  I told him to get up and put some street clothes on while I made the call.

I quickly walked to the kitchen's cordless wall phone.  As I reached for the phone to dial 911, my hand was physically stopped by an unseen force, while in that same instant my entire sight was filled with a movie-like vision of a house exploding.

I dropped my hand and backed away from the phone.  That's when I saw my purse sitting on the counter.  I can use my cell phone!

I grabbed my cell phone from my purse but before I flipped it open to dial, something stopped me.  I looked up and saw the door to our backyard and the thought came to me that it would be safer to make the call outside in the fresh (albeit cold) air.

I called 911 and told the operator I wasn't sure if this qualified as an emergency but that our house smelled like gas after having turned on the heater.  She asked if I wanted her to send the fire department and I hemmed and hawed around for a few seconds until she urged me to give her our home address and to let the firemen check things out.

I agreed, gave her the information, and realized my husband was still inside the house.  I quickly went back inside and discovered him back under the covers in bed.  I jiggled, I nudged, and I started pushing him so hard he was bouncing on the bed.  He was not waking up and my heart was in my throat.

I leaned down and literally screamed in his ear (much like my grandmother had done to me just a few minutes earlier) to wake up.  He woke up just enough that I was able to get him to sit up on the side of the bed and helped him put on some sweats and sneakers.  I told him the fire department was on their way and we needed to get out of the house.

Just as I finished tying his shoe, the fire truck was coming down the street with their lights and siren going.

My husband looked at me quite puzzled and it became apparent he wasn't coherent.  He'd only had a couple of beers at the party, so I knew this wasn't alcohol related and yet I couldn't get him up off the bed.  Every time I'd get him sitting up, he'd start to pass back out.

Not being able to get him up, I ran out front to meet the fire engine.  They were greeted by a disheveled pregnant woman running toward the fire engine.  The doors of the cab opened and firemen were stepping out as soon as the engine had come to a complete stop. 

Without even thinking I said "The house is filled with gas.  I flipped the thermostat to heat and something must've gone wrong!  I can't get my husband up and out of the house!".

No sooner had the words left my mouth than the firemen asked where my husband was located in the house.  In the blink of an eye they were inside our home.  Within seconds they'd helped my husband out of the house and had him sitting on the curb as the rest of the crew flung open the windows to our house.

In the cold early morning air, my husband began to "awaken".  The firemen asked if we wanted an ambulance, but my husband declined.  They advised for both of us to call our doctor, as well as my obstetrician and let them know what happened.

Once the gas had cleared and the house was deemed safe, we were allowed to go back in.  The fire deparment had turned our thermostat off and we were told to leave the windows open so the gas could continue to escape over the course of the next few hours.

Around 4am the firemen left and I located our builder's phone number and left him a voicemail on his cell phone describing what had just transpired.  He called us back around 7am to inform us his ac/heating contractor was on his way and would be arriving at our house shortly.

Knowing that my mom's family had a very large presence in Alabama and word of this incident could make it back to them faster than the speed of light, I called my parents as soon as I got off the phone with the builder.  My dad picked up the phone after the first ring.

"Good morning dad.", I said.

"Are you alright?!  Is everything ok?!" were the first words out of his mouth.

I never call my parents at 7am, so I was sure it had freaked him out to get a call from me this early.

"We're ok.  We're fine.  We had an incident early this morning but like I said, we're ok."

"I knew something happened." he said.

"What do you mean?  How did you know?" I questioned.

"I woke up a little before 3am and immediately heard the Holy Spirit telling me to get on my knees and start praying for you both.  I was told to pray without ceasing because you were in grave danger." he replied.

When he told me that, I started crying and told him everything that had transpired, including what (or maybe I should say "who") had awakened me.  I told him I thought it was weird that while my grandfathers didn't speak, I knew they were there.

My dad told me he had been awakened from a very deep sleep around 2:30am and was hit with the prompting to pray.  Because it was the middle of the night and my mom was asleep, dad went into his closet (which is quite a sizable space), got on his knees and prayed until sometime after 6am when he felt the pressure to pray ease up and he fell into an exhausted slumber on the floor of their closet.

He woke up on the closet floor and was getting back into bed a few minutes prior to my phone call.  I thanked him profusely for praying for us because we had been in a bad situation and needed those prayers of protection.

When the ac/heating contractor arrived, we explained what happened and he immediately called the gas company and had them come out and shut off the gas to the house before he would check the system out.

He and the gas company's serviceman climbed into the attic together.  "Holy <bleep>!" they both exclaimed as soon as the front panel to the furnace had been removed.  Next thing we heard were the sounds of photos being taken and more exclamations of "Oh my God! How the <bleep> did this house not explode!".

The two men came down from the attic with looks of utter shock on their faces.  The contractor told us there was absolutely no explanation as to why our house had not exploded, along with at least half of our street.

The gas had poured into our house for 3 straight hours prior to me waking up. Our gas water heater sat next to the furnace and since my husband had taken a shower, the flame on the water heater would have come on at some point to reheat water as it refilled the water heater.

The water heater's flame should also have come on by itself to keep the water at a warm temperature sometime in those 3+ hours the gas was flowing in unchecked.  The flame should have ignited the gas and caused our home to explode, killing us and taking out a number of our neighbor's homes around us.

We were told the system had either been shipped missing a crucial part or it had been tampered with.  Either way, it should have spelled our death.

The contractor had to go out to his truck to get a replacement for the missing part and told us he was going to notify the builder and the city inspector of what he'd found.  We agreed that it was a good idea to make those calls.

One thing we knew with 100% certainty.  While our home inspector said he had checked the furnace, the system had never been inspected because it had never been initially fired up.  Our home inspector had taken a shortcut and lied about it and he very nearly cost us our lives.

The ac/heating contractor came back inside and told us that he'd spoken to both the builder and the city inspector and they wanted to know if it would be ok for them to come out the next morning so he could show them what he'd found.  He also asked if it would be ok if they brought some people with them to look at the system.  We agreed and the contractor went to work getting our system up and running.

My husband and I both went to the doctor that day and were checked out.  The doctor performed several tests and felt like my body had filtered out most of the bad stuff I had inhaled and our baby would just be sleepy for a day or two.

My husband also had some tests performed and was found to have no lingering toxins in his blood stream and was allowed to go home if he agreed to rest quietly for the remainder of the day.

I called my parents as soon as we got back from our doctor appointments to let them know we were officially ok.  My parents told me they had emailed their church pastor and he wanted to know if I would be willing to email him a detailed accounting of what had transpired so he could use it Sunday for his sermon celebrating All Saints' Day.  I agreed and sent the pastor an email detailing everything.

The next morning at precisely 9am, the ac/heating contractor showed up, along with an entourage.  The builder was present along with the city inspector, and they both had brought along additional people.

Included in this large group were city council members, the fire department's inspector, a technician and the head of quality control for the renowned manufacturer of our ac/heating system, the owner of the ac/heating contractor, the gas company, as well as a number of other people.  My family room was packed full of southern gentlemen trying to get answers.

The ac/heating contractor who had come out the day before took the men up into our attic in small groups and explained in detail what he'd found upon opening up the system.

Every single one of these gentlemen came back down from the attic in shock and disbelief.  With heavy southern drawls, they all said that we are living miracles and it was only by God's grace that our incident hadn't killed a whole lot of families and left a sizable hole in the ground where our house stood.

That Sunday, All Saints' Day, our story was shared with several thousand parishioners in attendance at all of my parents' Sunday church services, as well as with those who listened to the podcast in the days, weeks, months, and years afterwards.

It's been 13 years since that fateful night.  In those years, I have heard of a number of homes and people who have suffered or been lost due to incidents like we experienced.  Every time I hear about one of these incidents, part of me quakes in fear and the other part of me rejoices in how God worked so visibly in our life.

Every year when it's time to flip the thermostat from a/c to heat, I still pause to pray before I flip that switch.  I hold my breath until I hear the system's flame ignite and start burning the gas and I pay close attention to our carbon monoxide detectors.

In the years since this happened, I have questioned more times than I can count why we lived when so many others have perished.  I still don't have answers to my questions.  

One thing my family does know for sure is God is real, he is present, and he still does work miracles.  We are living examples of his miraculous works, his grace, and his love.

Written by Christie Bielss

The Brick Wall

To be perfectly honest, I've been in a funk.  That's the best way I know to describe how I've felt the past several months.  One night I went to bed happy and the very next morning I woke up and felt like someone had erected a brick wall around my heart.  The day before I was tootling along just fine taking care of business, and the very next morning when I tried to pray, my brain was everywhere.  I couldn't form a cohesive thought much less a sentence.  Everything from the grocery list, to the to-do list, to home renovations, to......... "SQUIRREL!" was running 90mph through my head and heart.  When I did try to pick up my devotional to read, my insides just said "blech".  When I'd see a spiritual post online, I'd quickly scroll past it as I heard the word "yuck!" inside of my very being.

I figured it was either a phase, I was overly tired, or maybe I just needed a break from it all.  I decided to not do my devotional for a week and to step away from worrying about it.  In that week, the brick wall got stronger and taller.  I knew taking the break was a mistake but I continued on.

The next week rolled around and I promptly squelched every single thought and feeling of needing to study my Bible or participate in any other activity which would stop this backslide I was on.  I chastised myself for being lazy but I figured I'd get back to business in time.  This internal fight continued for weeks before I realized this was more than mere laziness or needing a break.

This brick wall I had allowed to be erected had gained traction and had been fortified with steel and concrete in those weeks.  What started out as a simple low brick wall now had 3 full sides, a ceiling, and a 4th side which was nearly closed.  The height of the walls was seemingly insurmountable and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't scale that wall.

An overwhelming feeling of doom pervaded my thoughts as I realized I had allowed myself to get boxed into a prison cell.  If I didn't actively do something to get off of this path, there would be no escape.  Being a redhead, acceptance of my own stupidity is difficult at best and near impossible at worst.  Even so, there was this overwhelming feeling of needing help which built up inside of me until I could no longer contain it.

I finally made mention of what was going on to a close friend.  Fully expecting to get the reproof of "Well, moron, you opened up the door and let the great loser in...." speech which only a friend can give.  I was quite surprised to hear she was having a similar struggle.  But it also meant she didn't have the strength to help me either since she was battling it herself.

For me, acknowledging a problem has always been the first step to solving it.  Since I owned up to it with my friend, I had made it past this crucial first step, but I honestly had no clue what the second step was in moving past it.  With some more very hard won bravado (remember, I'm a redhead and as such, I don't ask for help), I messaged my cousin (who is a minister) and asked for his advice.

As only a cousin can, he righted my thinking and put me back on the path of life with one simple sentence.  Although he said it with much more eloquence and kindness, in essence he said "just shut up and do it".  So I did......... finally.  Those feelings of "yuck!" and "blech!" were there every step I took through the house to pick up my Bible and devotional book.  I actually had to read and pray out loud in order to squelch all of the "SQUIRREL!" thoughts.

And you know what I discovered?  This wall which appeared so completely insurmountable, which was closing in on me, didn't have to be climbed.  I only needed to do one thing:  reach out my hands and grasp The One that had been there waiting patiently with His arms outstretched all along.  That gigantic reinforced brick, steel, and concrete wall around my heart crumbled to pieces in an instant.

On Friday, I was driving down one of the local highways and was listening to "It Is Well With My Soul".  Ok, so I have to admit that I actually had it cranked up to ear blasting levels because it felt good to have my heart feeling so full and unfettered again.  As the song was hitting its crescendo, I came over a hill and what was before me?  A man dressed in a plain white tunic, wearing a crown of thorns, carrying a cross down the road.............

Written by Christie Bielss

If Only.......

3 years ago we moved back home to Texas and chose to live in an apartment so we'd have time to find the ideal home, in the ideal neighborhood, and in the ideal school district.

The apartment complex we lived in was very nice and we had relatively quiet neighbors.  We knew the apartment was a bit out of the way and away from shopping and family, so we expected some commuting to get to where we needed to go and other inconveniences.  What we didn't expect was a situation which rapidly spiralled out of control on my children's 3rd day in their new school and something which would turn our lives upside down for the next 2+ years.

My son was in 3rd Grade and was a very bright young man.  Not much passes by him without him noticing, unless the tv is on, in which case a freight train could pass next to his head and he wouldn't notice.  By the 2nd day of school, he was marked as a "smart" kid by 2 boys in his class.  These 2 boys were 10 and 11 years old in a class of 3rd Graders, who were 8 years old, and these boys didn't like "smart" kids.

The very next day at school, they "introduced" themselves to my son.  During recess and directly in front of a teacher, the 2 boys came up and punched my son in the head and face with all their might.  The teacher witnessed the attack and shoo'd the boys away from my son but did nothing else.

She did not report the incident to the administration nor did she send my son to the school nurse.  Because she didn't report the incident, I was not notified and his classroom teacher said she was not notified.

I pulled up to the carpool pickup line that day and my children climbed in the car.  When I asked how their day went, my son immediately broke down crying.  I pulled over and calmed him down enough so he could tell me what happened.  From the side of the road, I called my husband.  He had me drive home to the apartment and was in the parking lot waiting for us upon our arrival.

Have you heard the phrase "Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn"?  Well, I think it should read "Hell hath no fury like a Redhead's scorn when you mess with her kid"!  We talked with my son's teacher and the Assistant Principal (the Principal wouldn't meet with us, take our calls, return messages, or even emails).  We were assured they'd get to the bottom of it and discipline would be meted out.

Despite their assurances, incidents like this continued.  We debated whether or not to pull our son from school and homeschool him.  He hated going to school for the first time ever, and yet he loved seeing his friends.  It was such an emotional time for all of us as we were completely unprepared for this level of violence at his age and we truly did not know what to do.  Our son was scared of the boys but he wanted to be at school.  While we wanted to protect him, we also didn't want to do more damage by pulling him out of school and taking him away from his friends.

In an effort to bring him some level of comfort, we bought a special necklace for him.  It's what he wanted and he picked it out.  It was a chain with a cross hanging from it.  He said he wanted to be able to feel Jesus close to his heart when he got scared and to feel His power.  Our son knew we were working hard to help and protect him but he wanted, and needed, a little visual confirmation that Jesus had his back too.

The level of violence escalated 2 months later when the kids were on the playground right before the Christmas break.  The 10 year old bully cornered my son, again in full view of the same teacher, grabbed ahold of my son by the throat and lifted him completely off the ground while trying to choke him to death.  My son described the incident this way: I couldn't breathe, my feet were off the ground and everything started going dark like it was night.  I was seeing stars and flashes of light in my eyes.  I thought I was going to die.  I asked Jesus to help me and that's when all of the sudden I got the power!  I hit him.  I hit him with all my power.  I balled up my fist like Dad taught me and with every ounce of power in my entire body, I hit him in the ribs and stomach.  Mom!  HE LET GO!  He started coughing and crying and then I ran off and stayed far, far away.

Again we received no call or notification from the school and it was only when I picked him up from school that I heard about this violence.  I'd had more than enough and at this point, my anger was well beyond any controllable level.  My husband and I went straight to the school.  The Assistant Principal was assigned the task of meeting with us, since the Principal refused to acknowledge our existence.  I would love to say in an ever so lady-like way that I was angry, but in reality, I was enraged.  I was so livid I could have spit nails and framed an entire building without benefit of a nailgun or air compressor.  I was so angry that my husband decided that he'd just sit back and watch the fireworks light up that school from a redheaded mother bear fighting to protect her cub.

The school was put on formal notice right then and there that we would be pressing criminal charges against the school, the boys and their parents, the district, the administration, and every single teacher in the school who was around or had any contact with my son, as well as contacting every single television station and newspaper in the state.  We also told them we would be filing a lawsuit against the district, school, administration, and every single teacher and teaching assistant in the school if there was so much as 1 hair on my son's body ever touched again.

The very next morning as the teacher was clearing out the 2 bullies' desks, the class was told they "moved" away from the school.  My son's teacher told us a couple of weeks later that she didn't realize the stranglehold those 2 boys had over her class until they were gone.  The entire climate of the classroom changed and there was a collective sigh of relief and children started relaxing, laughing, and enjoying school.  To be honest, that statement pissed me off as much as the school's lack of reporting and reaction to these bullying incidents.  How could a teacher not notice a stranglehold of fear that's been placed on her classroom by 2 hoodlums?!!

My son finished out his school year there and we found a house quickly in a different school district so he would never have to attend that school ever again.  By that time though, the damage was done.  My son was forever scarred.  We thought that moving him out of that school and putting him in a great school would erase the incidents from his mind.  My how simple-minded we were.

For over half of his first year of 4th Grade, he secretly lived in fear.  He was afraid to get close to anyone at the school for fear that someone would try to hurt him.  He trusted NO teacher, classmate, administrator, or school personnel.  None.  The hurt still lingered and it was etched into his heart.

He did a great job of hiding his hurt.  We knew he was scared when he started that year but we didn't realize at that time how deep the fear ran.  In January of that school year, we still weren't seeing "our son", so we decided to seek counseling for him from both the school and our church.  Within a couple of weeks we saw signs of progress.  When we saw the first natural smile and real, unforced laugh from him in over a year, it brought us to tears.

For those who think a child that age will just "get over it", you're grossly mistaken.  3 years later he still remembers how he felt.  3 years later he still remembers the violence like it happened yesterday.  3 years later he still remembers the teacher doing nothing to protect him.  No, a child will never just "get over it".

3 years later I still remember how I felt.  3 years later I look back and see all of the things that I could have done better and earlier.  3 years later I look back and my heart aches as I say "If only I had......".  There are so many things I wish I would have done differently but the past can't be changed.  All I can do is acknowledge my failures and move forward with a new level of knowledge and commitment.

My son is now in middle school and doing well.  He continued to wear the cross necklace we'd bought him  as his touchstone.  For my son, that necklace became a symbol of Jesus giving him the strength to fight back with amazing force, with the will and strength of character to overcome the psychological effects of all he endured.

Last Friday that cross broke in half while he was at school.  My son told me it was almost like Jesus was telling him that that part of his life was over and it was time to move forward.  This weekend we are taking him shopping for a new cross necklace.  While the last cross was a reminder of protection, safety, and comfort, this new one will include hope, thankfulness, and a happy future.

If you or someone you know is being bullied, don't stand by silently hoping it will end.  It won't, it usually just gets worse.  Get help.  Tell someone.  If you're a parent of a child being bullied, scream loud and keep screaming until the violence ends.  Take it to whatever level you need to to stop the violence.  If you don't know what to do, go to the government's website www.stopbullying.gov.  There is a list of resources all the way up to the governmental level to help you end the violence.  It's time for this violence to end and for children to no longer be victims.

Love One Another

I was in the fabric store the other day buying material to make my daughter a white angel costume for Halloween.  Apparently the stores have decided that this is the year for children to be the angel of death or the pink ballerina angel, but not a regular white heavenly angel.  Having my child dress up as the angel of death just didn't sit right with me so I tried talking her into being the pink ballerina angel at the store but all I got was an exasperated sigh and "Mooooom???  There's no such thing as pink angels in heaven". 

It's pretty hard to reason with that logic and no amount of encouragement on my part could get her to start a fashion trend by being the pink angel.  After hitting 6 other stores plus Goodwill, I finally gave up and went to the fabric store to buy some plain white costume fabric and a simple pattern for my little angel's dress. 

As I sat there flipping quickly through the pages of several pattern books at the same time (yes, I'm talented like that) looking for something acceptable (i.e. super easy and cheap), I couldn't help but overhear a woman speaking to someone she recognized.  As hard as I tried to ignore her, I couldn't.  Her voice carried to such a degree she could be a color announcer for sporting events and never need a microphone.

Before I knew it, the loud woman was asking her acquaintance (a younger woman) what church she was attending because she hadn't seen her recently.  Put on the spot in front of a store packed full of women doing last minute Halloween shopping, the quiet woman tried to quietly explain that her family had moved and were attending a church closer to their new home.  The brash woman blurted "Don't tell me you're going to blah-blah church?  That place is like Six Flags Amusement Park! HA!  That place has a bunch of people who are just too into Jesus for me.". 

The younger woman just stared at her and there was an awkward silence between them.  The older woman then picked up right where she'd left off and continued berating her in front of a store full of people "Oh my gosh! You're going to that church?! How can you handle being around all of those kind of people?!"

At this point my redheaded self was getting mighty peeved with this woman and I knew it would have taken every ounce of control I could muster to keep myself in check.  After a long quiet stare, the quieter woman spoke "I don't believe I need to continue this conversation with you, nor do I need to justify my choice in houses of worship.  Have a nice day.".

And with that the quieter woman walked off.  The loud woman turned to the fabric cutting employee and said "Ooooooo! I must've touched a nerve!".  The employee had her back to me but I heard her terse reply of "and how much fabric were you needing?".

This encounter really set me on edge.  There are over 2 billion Christians on this planet and with those billions come different worship needs and desires.  What right does one Christian have to denigrate another person's choice in worship? 

Maybe you like organ music, someone else likes a guitar, another person like a full orchestra, another person likes the rock band style, and someone else prefers no music at all.  Who are we to judge how someone else choses to worship?  Isn't the Bible clear on judging others?  Matthew 7:1-3 (NKJV) “Judge not, that you be not judged. ² For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you. ³ And why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye?

As this woman demeaned the other woman in front of a store full of people, how many of those customers were non-Christians?  How many were just turned off from ever wanting to learn more about Jesus because of how rude, hateful, and judgmental this particular woman was?

I am by no stretch of the imagination perfect and make more than my fair share of mistakes daily. But people, we all need to stop and think before we act or open our mouths and do something injurious to another. Ask yourself "Is this what Jesus would want me say or how He wants me to act?".

There are enough things in this world for a Christian to get up in arms about, but someone's choice in a house of worship, as long as it falls in line with the Bible, should not be one of them.  Do you think this is how Jesus wants us to act not only amongst ourselves, but with others?  Is this why He allowed Himself to be beaten and crucified on a cross? 

Matthew 22:36-40
³⁶ “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

³⁷ Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’^{[a] 38} This is the first and greatest commandment. ³⁹ And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’^{[b] 40} All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

by:  Christie Bielss

The Driving Force

Inspiration comes in as many different forms as there are people on the earth.  While many are inspired in similar ways, every person has a unique internal mechanism which gets recharged by a certain special experience.  That particular driving force creates a level of hope, calm, and understanding within each one of us which inspires us to do great works.

It is also that internal spark of resilience which inspires people after experiencing unthinkable injuries and tragedies to keep taking one step forward, when it seems like it would be so much easier to drown in a sea of anger, self-pity, and doubt.  That spark inside the deepest depth of their soul keeps pushing them to get back up, take one more step, and seek a new direction.

I felt that spark ignite inside of me after I was injured and the doctors explained to me what my future held.  That spark continues to drive me forward every single day.  A spark of determination which does not rely on anger or self-pity, but on hope.  A hope that cannot be denied, repressed, or quashed.

My hope and resilience, while it comes from a place within me, is not from me.  I've tried relying on myself, family members, and even close friends to bring forth that spark, but it never lasted long.  I've tried to force that spark to ignite and change me through reading books and listening to men and women speak, but they never sustained me.

It was only when the pain was unbearable and there was nothing left but the emptiness in my heart and very depths of my soul, that I came face to face with the force behind the spark.  It is the energy of the Holy Spirit that gives my soul life and my heart happiness.  His strength is what keeps me moving forward every single day when I could sit and wallow in self-pity and anger.  His love is what sustains me when the pain overtakes my body and my thoughts.  And it is His steadfastness which stands by and waits for my redheaded hard-headedness to get out of the way of His works.

Much like His servant Paul who sought healing from the thorn in his side, my healing has not been physical, it has been His grace which has been sufficient.  When the pain increases and causes my heart to get heavy while my soul grows weary, I am reminded of Isaiah 40: 29-31:

"He gives power to the weak,
And to those who have no might
He increases strength.
³⁰ Even the youths shall faint and be weary,
And the young men shall utterly fall,
³¹ But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint."

One day I will have wings like an eagle and I will soar with no limitations.  Until then, I know this spark from deep within me is the driving force which keeps pushing me.  With every push I know I am not alone because He continues to carry me when I am weak and walk beside me when I am strong.  With all that I am, I know it is through Him that I am healed. 

by: Christie Bielss

Parking Lot Escapades

Because of my Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease (CMT) and how quickly I can tire, I park in the disabled parking.  CMT is generally not one of those diseases that is readily noticable and, as a result, I have had some interesting encounters in parking lots.  There's always someone who feels entitled to a detailed accounting of my entire medical record.  They are what I affectionately call the parking lot nazis.

I've been yelled at by a shopping cart attendant at Target who thought that only people with missing legs qualified to park in disabled parking.  People who have walked past the car and told me I'm not allowed to park there because I don't have a disabled placard hanging from my rearview mirror....... uh, I have a disabled license plate.  And even some who've had the gall to say "you don't look disabled".  While I find some of these remarks rude, I do appreciate that these people are actually being protective of the disabled parking against those who are able-bodied but too lazy to park in regular parking spaces.

But then there are those few gifted souls who bring out that little redheaded devil in me that I sometimes have a hard time keeping under control.  One such instance happened just after we'd moved back to Texas.  I had just walked up to my car in the Walmart parking lot with an entire grocery cart full of groceries when I encountered one such parking lot nazi.  

I noticed him as he was exiting his car because of the sheer number of religious bumper stickers plastered all over the trunk and rear bumper of his car.  There wasn't a speck of paint or chrome visible.  Bumper sticker on top of bumper sticker and turned every which way.  The driver of that car walked straight over to me as I was trying to lift a case pack of water into the back of my car.  I thought maybe he was coming to help.  Apparently my thought pattern and his were off just a touch as he launched into a rant wanting to know why I was parked in disabled parking.  He used the reasoning that since he was going to make a purchase at Walmart, he will be paying for that space and thus, as the "owner", was entitled to my entire medical history.  Well, as you can probably guess, that didn't sit well with a fiery tempered redhead.  With a deep breath to calm my temper, I used his logic and asked him to please provide his medical information first since my purchase was, in fact, already complete.  In an ironic twist of fate, he didn't care to divulge when his last prostate exam was and what his PSA numbers were.  I also don't think he appreciated my redheaded humor when I asked if he'd had a colonoscopy and if they had been successful in locating his head.

Right then, out of nowhere, a woman of considerable height and muscular build appeared and with her index finger in his chest, gave him quite the tongue lashing.  Like a scalded dog, he jumped back in his car, backed out of his parking space, rolled down his windows and told us we were number 1.  Being the typical redhead who always has to have the last word - and seeing the 500 Jesus bumper stickers plastered to his bumper - I yelled "Jesus saw that!".  With a squeal of his tires, he was gone.  The woman chuckled and said "I think he was in a hurry to get to church and repent.".

One of the funniest experiences though was my encounter with a woman in her mid to late 80's at the Meijer grocery store in Champaign, IL.  She carried one of those great big black patent leather purses which was large enough to hold the entire contents of a kitchen pantry, as well as a shotgun.  I had just walked out of the grocery store with my groceries and was unlocking my tailgate when the elderly woman walked up to me and stopped.  She asked "What right do you have to park here?!".  I flipped around and was about to give a hot retort when I realized that she had that lethal weapon of a purse poised to bash me upside the head if she didn't like my answer!  I immediately threw my hands up in the air and said "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!  Take it easy there!".  She apparently did not appreciate that response and cocked her arm back a little further and reset her aim to align perfectly with my skull.  "Why-are-you-parked-here?!" she asked quite angrily.  Being that she reminded me so much of my feisty late Grandmother and my choices were either to answer honestly or wake up in the E.R., I chose to give this total stranger my medical diagnosis.

She instantly lowered her purse and apologized profusely.  And then if nearly being clobbered with a 50 pound purse wasn't bad enough, she literally elbowed me in the ribs to move me out of the way and started loading all of my groceries into my van.  When I told her I was quite capable of handling my own groceries, she gave me the grandma "don't  back talk me" look.  I threw my hands up in the air and rubbing my bruised ribs, backed off.  I knew better than to mess with this granny!  When she was almost done, a friend of hers walked up and grabbed her by the arm "Are you harassing another young person about parking here?!  Don't you see there are 15 other spaces available?  And look at yourself!  Acting like some kind of parking police!  You should be ashamed of yourself!  And you have obviously embarrassed yourself enough AGAIN that you are putting all this woman's groceries in her car as some form of penance when you should be going to confession!".  The friend while keeping hold of the woman's elbow, smiled at me and apologized for her friend's behavior, and marched her into the store griping at her every step of the way about how it might be time to take her car keys away and call her children.

These 2 ladies could've been straight off a skit from Saturday Night Live.  Instead of "The Church Ladies", they could be "The Purse Ladies".  I laughed the whole way home from that escapade not only because of the way these 2 friends interacted with each other, but because I can see me and my best friend doing this in 30 years or so.

And I bet you thought the only excitement to be had in a parking lot was purse snatchers, door dings, and the occasional rear-end collision........

by: Christie Bielss

My Chains Are Gone

"My chains are gone.  I've been set free.  My God, my Savior has ransomed me.  And like a flood His mercy rains, unending love, amazing grace." (Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone) - by Chris Tomlin

Everybody has a secret - whether good, bad, exciting, embarrassing, frustrating, or one that causes great struggles.  The secret for me was embarrassing, frustrating, and one of great struggle.  The picture you see is of my "legs" which have supported me and helped me to walk and stay mobile since October of 2006.

On December 16, 1992, just before Christmas, I suffered an injury while lifting.  That injury consisted of the bulge, herniation, and rupture of 3 discs in my lower back, 2 discs in my upper back located just between my shoulder blades, and the tearing of almost every muscle in my back.  My back was a mess.

I was in physical therapy in an attempt to help me recover.  As I struggled through the ungodly pain, things started to change.  Simple things like putting on a pair of earrings became extraordinarily difficult.  I noticed I couldn't feel things I was touching.  And then I started falling.  I'd walk on the sidewalk and if my foot went onto the edge between the grass and the concrete, I'd fall.  If I stepped on a pebble, my ankle would turn and down I'd go.  Heck, I could be standing still and I'd fall over.

The neurologist I was seeing said it was because of pinched nerves and I needed to undergo a risky surgery to fix the problem.  I sought a second opinion and was able to get in with the Chief of Orthopedics at Baylor Hospital in Dallas.  With my mother accompanying me, we met with this doctor who took one look at me and negated the surgery and instead called his best spine orthopedic and sent me to him right then.  This doctor not only concurred with the Chief of Orthopedics' opinion but also determined that something else, separate and apart from the injury, was creating these problems.  He called the head of neurology and sent me over immediately.  Being sent to a 3rd doctor in as many hours caused an uneasy feeling to start growing in the pit of my belly.

After an examination and an Electromyogram, I was told I have Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease.  I looked at him like he had a third eye and asked "I have a shark disease?!  I haven't even been in the ocean for several years!".  He smiled gently and told me I have one of the diseases covered by the Muscular Dystrophy Association and then spelled out the name of the disease. He asked if I had feet like anyone else in my family.  "Yes, my Dad.".  He immediately wanted to see him, so my Mom and I ran to their house, picked him up and brought him to the doctor.  After an exam, the doctor confirmed the genetic link.  An appointment was made for me with the MDA Clinic at the University of Texas Southwest Medical Center.

In July of 1993, I was seen by the specialist at the MDA clinic and the diagnosis was officially confirmed.  I have Charcot-Marie-Tooth Disease, aka CMT.  An inherited peripheral neuropathy - which is a nicer way of saying:  losing normal use of extremities due to the degeneration of the nerves and loss of muscle.  My prognosis was that I should stay about what I was at that time.  My how little they knew.

As time passed over the years, I kept losing strength and muscle.  The MDA doctor admitted he hated seeing me because I was his only case he couldn't figure out.  He'd say I was going to continue declining and I'd hit a plateau and stay the same for a period of time.  He'd say I was on a plateau and I'd start a steep downhill dive.  Being a typical redhead, I kept him guessing.  And then it all seemed to culminate in August of 2006.  I woke up one morning and fell down as I tried to get out of bed.  My legs were like jelly.  I was exhausted after walking less than 10 feet.  My hand strength had decreased dramatically as well.  I called the doctor and was told I'd need leg braces to walk and  devices to help with everything from eating to dressing.  The prognosis at my next appointment in the Spring of 2007 was that I'd be a functioning quadreplegic within 5-7 years, due to my rate of decline.

My husband, kids and I watched the movie "Forrest Gump". A few nights later as I was tucking my son in bed, he told me he'd been praying for me to be "like that guy in the movie". I had no clue what he was talking about. With a great big smile he said "You know! The one where he's running really fast and the leg braces fall off his legs! I've been praying that you'll be just like him!". At the time I laughed hysterically that he was praying for me to "Run Forrest run!".

Even with the unwavering support of my husband, children, parents, family, and friends, I felt alone.  Through the years I'd lost one ability after another to do simple things.  No one could understand having the rug pulled out from under me one thread at a time.  And good grief, the shoes I had to wear with the braces were hideous.  Not to mention having to wear knee-high socks to protect my legs from the braces.  I felt like a freak and that I was alone in this fight.......or was I?  After a long period of being angry, depressed, embarrassed, fearful, and many other indescribable emotions, I realized that no matter how hard I had tried, I could no longer fight this disease alone.  It was then, with the help of my pastor in Champaign, IL, that I started climbing out of that deep, dark black hole.  I finally realized I wasn't alone and all I had to do was look up.  No matter how bad this got, I learned that Jesus would carry me through......... and maybe inspire some manufacturers to create shoes for people with braces that weren't absolutely hideous.

As this knowledge and strength found a foothold in my life and in my heart, my physical strength began to rebuild.  Maybe it was a coincidence or maybe it wasn't, but all of the sudden in the summer of 2011, and without any rhyme or reason, I wasn't needing my leg braces to walk across the house.  By the summer of 2012, I could walk through the grocery store without my leg braces.  By the winter of 2012, I only needed them when I went to church.  And now, in June of 2013, they sit in my closet used only when I'm afraid my legs will get tired.  My hands are still declining, but I trust that the Lord will give me the strength to handle the curves in the road ahead.

So, when I hear the song "Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone)" by Chris Tomlin, it holds special meaning.  No matter what may come my way, my chains are gone, I've been set free.

by: Christie Bielss

Weeds

Today, on Easter Sunday, my children went out and picked me a bunch of "flowers" out of our yard.  They were lovingly bunched together and presented with happy hearts, precious smiles, and loving hearts.  They had worked hard to scour our yard for these weeds because my husband does his best to prevent them from growing and being an unsightly mess.

As I helped the kids pick out a vase, fill it with water, and place the arrangement ever so carefully into the vase, it got me to thinking about the number of times I did this for my Mother when I was their age.  My brothers and I would pick "flowers" that were growing in a field owned by a local resident which was close to our home.  Never once did she say that we'd bestowed upon her a bunch of weeds that would make her eyes water, her nose run, and cause sneezing fits so frequent she'd require an antihistamine.  No, not once.  She lovingly accepted them and never brought up their past.

It occurred to me on this holiest of holy days, these "flowers" were not dissimilar from me.  I am that weed which is now a flower.  There were many things that I have done in my life which could be held against me but someone came along who saw me for my inner beauty.  Someone who could see what others discarded as being undesirable.  That person was Jesus.  He saw through my prickly points and my undesirable characteristics and spoke to my heart.  He picked me before something came along which would prevent me from blooming.  Just like the "flowers" my children picked for me today, my beginnings have been forgotten.  While my life before Him was that of an undesirable weed, because of His love I am now a bouquet.

by: Christie Bielss