Author

Lois Flowers

How a Lack of Peace Pointed Us to the Right Path

by Lois Flowers September 22, 2015

by Lois Flowers

Although infertility is an issue that has deeply influenced my life, I don’t write about it much on this blog.

My book about the topic—Infertility: Finding God’s Peace in the Journey—is available here. Several months ago, I had the opportunity to do a Q&A about adoption and infertility with a wonderful blogger who graciously uses her own experiences with this painful struggle to reach out to others in the same boat. And I treasure the opportunity to share comfort or shed tears with someone whose dreams of motherhood are not coming true in the way she had hoped.

But the fact of the matter is that infertility is part of my past, not my present. Other matters occupy most of my time and energy these days, which is as it should be, I think.

Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about what I wrote in my book more than 12 years ago, and what, if anything, I would change if it were re-released today.

To tell the truth, I wouldn’t alter much. I still believe what I wrote about God’s goodness and sovereignty, about comparisons and prayer, about developing a thick skin and letting go.

There is one area I would revise just a bit, though. It has to do with treatment options, and how far people should go, medically, in their quest for pregnancy.

In the book, I was pretty cut and dried about my opinions regarding in vitro fertilization, and if I had a chance to rewrite, I would probably soften that some.

Although Randy and I chose not to pursue IVF, I’m not opposed to it. In my writing, however, I did offer some rather strong opinions about the boundaries a person should consider before attempting it. And what I’ve realized since then is that, though there definitely are ethical lines that should not crossed, our choices had a lot to do with our personalities, our aversion to certain kinds of risk, and, ultimately, with God’s plan for our family.

If I had a chance to update the book, I would leave more room for differences in all of those areas.

But here’s what has been confirmed to me, once again.

The peace of God is the umpire that guides my decisions. (Colossians 3:15)

As we considered IVF, I always had that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that signals, for me, a lack of peace.

Looking back, I realize a great part of that might have been the fact that I simply am not a risk taker, especially when it comes to finances. This can be a negative thing at times. It can show a lack of faith and a lack of trust.

But in this case, I believe God used it.

We didn’t want to risk a large sum of money on the possibility that IVF might not work. On top of that, if I had conceived this way, I’m quite certain that I would have been a ball of knots the whole time I was pregnant, fraught with worry about everything that could possibly go wrong.

That’s no way to live, I can assure you.

By the time we got around to thinking about more advanced treatment options, we were already worn from endless medical procedures to treat endometriosis. So when the procedure we had decided would be the last step in our efforts to conceive failed, there was no doubt in our minds what the next step would be.

We would adopt a baby girl from China.

As I think about this, I almost have to laugh out loud at the irony.

International adoption is full of risks and unknowns. Things can, and often do, go wrong. And that’s only before the child comes home; there are often unforeseen problems, developmental delays and medical issues to deal with afterwards, as well.

I never had a single qualm about any of this. Not once.

The wait was long (though nowhere near as long as it is now for couples wanting to adopt a non-special needs child from China) and incredibly frustrating at times, but I was not afraid.

Not of any of it.

Randy often jokes that I got us through China. While he was regularly having stomach problems due to nerves on our trip to get Lilly, I ate like a horse, handled all the paperwork and did whatever else needed to be done without batting an eyelash.

How could someone who was so ate up inside over the thought of doing “risky” IVF not hesitate for a moment before jumping into international adoption with both feet? Exactly 13 years after we met our first daughter, I think I know.

God knows how I am formed, and he remembers that I am dust (Psalm 103:14).

Had we not had that sick feeling in the pit of our stomachs at the thought of IVF, who knows what we might have missed out on?

That’s kind of a rhetorical question, but I have an answer. Actually, two answers.

Lilly and Molly.

♥ Lois

September 22, 2015 16 comments

Thoughts on Writing After One Year of Blogging

by Lois Flowers September 15, 2015

by Lois Flowers

When I was a business reporter years ago at a newspaper in Northwest Arkansas, I came up with some of my own story ideas, but I mostly wrote what I was told to write.

Wal-Mart just released quarterly earnings. We need a story.

The manufacturing plant down the road is making a big announcement at a press conference today. Go cover it.

There’s a bunch of dirt being moved at the corner of Central and Moberly. What’s going in there?

You get the idea.

September 15, 2015 31 comments

When You Fear You’re Running Out of Parenting Time

by Lois Flowers September 8, 2015

by Lois Flowers

by pool “Only 18 summers.”

It’s a phrase I’ve seen a few different places lately, referring to the limited amount of time parents have for intentional, one-on-one influence before their kids go to college or leave home for other reasons.

It’s encouragement to make the most of every cold bite of watermelon, every lazy day around the pool, every family vacation. It’s a reminder that time is fleeting, that before we know it our children will fly the coop and the only tangible artifacts we’ll have from their first 18 years are boxes full of dusty sports trophies, camp T-shirts and band concert programs.

I get the point. I really do.

I felt the ache more than once this past summer as I watched my little girl play Monopoly with her stuffed animals, pretend to be a mermaid when she swims and clump around the house all day in her Anna and Elsa nightgown.

I know big changes are coming for her (as they eventually come for every girl), but I can’t help but yearn for her to remain little as long as possible. There are moments when I want this season to last forever.

And don’t even get me started on the fact that, while my big girl is just starting eighth grade, in a few short years, our conversations are likely to be dominated by talk of college majors, career choices and dorm-room décor. While life seems simple now, not-so-simple is looming on the horizon.

Because of all that, it’s tempting for me to bow to the stress “only 18 summers” can trigger. If I let myself, I could easily panic at the thought of how little time we really have with our children before they grow up.

But something a friend said recently—a passing comment really—has alleviated some of the self-induced pressure that comes when you think you only have a certain amount of time to do something extremely important (and, as long as we’re being honest here, when you think the outcome is mostly up to you).

What did my friend say? That her favorite stage of motherhood is parenting young adults.

This is a mom who endeavors to study her children, the youngest of whom just left for college. She would never claim to be a perfect mom, but she has parented faithfully through the good and the hard. Maybe more than most, she understands the unpredictable, fleeting nature of life. She knows, firsthand, that there’s no guarantee we even get 18 summers with each of our kids.

I know my friend’s experience is not universal, and that what is true for her may not be the case for me. But her passing comment struck a chord somewhere deep within me, jarring loose my grip on the expectations I tend to put on myself and my family for the years that our girls are under our roof.

When I asked her to elaborate, she explained that—based on what she has seen and felt—the preschool years are physically demanding for parents, the elementary years are mentally challenging and the teenage years are more emotionally taxing.

She enjoyed each of these phases, she said, but when her children hit young adulthood, parenting took on a different, more rewarding sort of vibe. There’s just something about watching freshly minted adults exercise their freedom to try new things and visit new places, to listen as they “think out loud” and try to figure out what they want to do and where they want to go in life, that she finds very satisfying.

“I love helping them see their strengths, interests and talents,” my friend told me. “I like being there to pick them up when things don’t go well and to help when help is needed to give them a boost. Of course, the best part is when they put it all together and find their way in life independently.”

There are no guarantees in parenting. There’s no surefire way to “raise them right” so they will always make the best choices all the time. What works for one family may not work for another. What works for one child may not work for another child in the same family.

But as my friend’s words encouraged me, parenting doesn’t end when the kids turn 18, graduate from college or get married. It changes, of course, but it doesn’t stop. And even if they leave home at some age and vow never to return, that’s not guaranteed either. Most of us probably don’t have to look very far to see that lost sheep are found, that prodigals do return, that years of parental prayer do pay off.

I realize I may feel differently when my own empty nest is looming large in eight years or so. But the pressure to make sure I enjoy every single second and take advantage of every single teachable moment has lessened some, at least for now.

It’s not like I’m going to take my mothering any less seriously or get lax in my job of preparing my girls to be emotionally healthy, productive, God-fearing members of society. But I’m not trying to be the perfect mother of perfect children, because nobody around here even comes close to meeting that standard.

Instead, I’ll do the best I can with what I’ve been given. I’ll enjoy as many moments as I can, while resisting the temptation to feel guilty when I wish some days (or seasons) would just hurry up and end, already. I’ll pray for wisdom, for grace, for forgiveness.

And rather than dread the day my almost-grown ducklings leave the nest, I’ll look forward to all the good things that can come with helping young adult children figure out who they are and why they’re here.

My friend says the best is yet to come.

I choose to believe her.

♥ Lois

September 8, 2015 18 comments

Song of the Month: “Seeing for the First Time”

by Lois Flowers September 6, 2015

by Lois Flowers

In my last post, I described how I found relief after years of wandering around in a emotionally and physically draining wilderness.

When I finally cast aside my fears and started using the medication my doctor had prescribed for me, I felt like I had been totally and completely unwound.

As I wrote, “I was exhausted, overwhelmed and irritable. … “But I didn’t know just how badly I had felt before until I felt better.”

In the years leading up to this moment—years when I didn’t really know or understand the hormonal cause of all my symptoms—I prayed often that God would heal me. Not gradually, but instantly, like He healed the woman who touched the hem of His garment in Mark 5:29.

September 6, 2015 12 comments

Unwound

by Lois Flowers September 1, 2015

by Lois Flowers

Sometimes, grace blooms in the unlikeliest of places, springing up like a surprise lily near the end of a hot, dry summer.

As I may have mentioned a time or two in this space, my so-called child-bearing years lurched to a halt at the ripe old age of 41.

This transition, if you want to call it that, was early but not totally unexpected. Years of ever-worsening physical and emotional symptoms predicted it, and a blood test confirmed it was coming.

But still, I wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t know anyone else who had walked a similar path, and I felt alone and unprepared.

September 1, 2015 14 comments

Six Things Moms Never Stop Needing To Hear

by Lois Flowers August 25, 2015

by Lois Flowers

The other day at the grocery store, we saw a young mom with an adorable little girl. You know, the kind of child who draws you in with her bright eyes and sweet smile. The kind who plays peek-a-boo with you behind her mama’s shopping list and looks ever so cute in her sparkly Tom’s slip-ons.

Yeah, that kind of kid.

Down Memory Lane

As Molly pushed our cart and Lilly zipped around the store collecting the items on her half of our list, I couldn’t help but feel a bit nostalgic. How well I remember those days when I was the mom pushing the little girl around in the cart. Talking quietly as we perused the aisles. Answering one question after another. Smiling sheepishly at the kindly, older gentleman when one of the girls (I won’t say who) invited him to our house for lunch.

Fasten your seatbelt, mama, I thought as I smiled back at the little girl. Before you know it, your daughter will be the one chasing all over the store with her own shopping list.

I kept these thoughts to myself, though, because I remember what it’s like to be where that mom is now. It’s quite probable that her inward response would be more gracious than mine would have been, but still. There are things you discover as you go along in life, things that you have to experience for yourself to truly comprehend. Things that are better left unsaid when you’re talking to a mom with kids who are younger than yours.

For example:

“You’re gonna miss this.”

Maybe she will, but maybe she won’t. Maybe what she’s facing right now is so hard or so exhausting she can’t imagine ever looking back on it with anything but relief that it’s over. You just never know.

Or, “It goes by so fast.”

I’m not sure why, but this statement really irritated me when my girls were younger. Now I get it. I see it happening right before my eyes. Back then, however, I much preferred insights that applied to my present situation.

These days, I pretty much stick to “your child is so cute” kinds of comments when interacting casually with moms I don’t know. But when the relationship is more than just a passing one, I try to share words that I think might have helped me when I was in their shoes—and still help me now.

Such as:

1. “You’re doing a good job.”

My heart craved affirmation like this when I was newer at parenting, especially from the important women in my life. I felt so inadequate, so unprepared, so unsure of my ability to train up my little girls in the ways they should go. Which is why, whenever possible, I want other moms to hear this bit of encouragement from me.

2. “It’s not all up to you.”

You are not the ultimate authority in your child’s life; God is. Your job is to get to know your children as well as you can and make decisions based that knowledge and the timeless truths of scripture. And remember—in God’s eyes, their story doesn’t end when they turn 18 or 21. In fact, it might be just beginning.

3. “Don’t believe anyone else’s opinion about the worst of times.”

I know. There’s a reason those early years often are called the “terrible twos” “terrifying threes” or “horrible fours.” There’s a reason people shudder and roll their eyes when the topic of raising teenagers, pre-teen daughters or strong-willed children comes up.

But every kid is different. Don’t automatically assume that your child is going to fit whatever stereotype people want to pin on her. Don’t expect that the next phase is going to be all sunshine and roses, but don’t expect the worst either. Take what comes, do your best and refer often to No. 2.

4. “Educate yourself. But when in doubt, go with your gut.”

When the therapists, teachers or dental hygienists tell you one thing and your heart tells you another, you’re not obligated to do what they say—now or ever.

5. “Apologize often.”

When you’ve overreacted and everyone knows it. When you’ve raised your voice unnecessarily one too many times. When it’s your tone that needs correcting, not theirs.

Kids are forgiving, but it’s often up to the adults in their lives to give them that opportunity. And trust me on this one. You never know the difference your apology today might make in their lives when they are much older.

6. “Pray like your children’s lives depend on it.”

Because they do.

♥ Lois

When the therapists, teachers or dental hygienists tell you one thing and your heart tells you another, you’re not obligated to do what they say—now or ever. Share on X In God’s eyes, your child's story doesn’t end when she turns 18 or 21. In fact, it might be just beginning. Share on X

August 25, 2015 22 comments