Author Archives: ardisanelson

A Mother’s Day Gift to my Sons

10 Wednesday May 2017

Posted by in generations coming together, God's healing love, leaving a legacy, mother wounds, Mother's Day, the healing journey

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The last time I saw my mother alive was seven years ago over Mother’s Day weekend.  As I wrote in “Walking My Mother Home,” my story in Journeys to Mother Love, these trips back home were instrumental to my healing.

In 2012, during the editing process of the book, I decided to give the manuscript as a gift to my sons.  After my mother’s passing the year before, I’d had a heartfelt conversation with them. I tried to explain the significance of what had happened to me.  Now with the imminent publishing of the story “for the whole world to see,” it was time to give the boys more personal insight into my healing and my journey to mother love.

Here is an excerpt from that letter:

Dear Boys,

As Mother’s Day approached this week, I’ve been reminded many times that the last time I saw my mother alive was on Mother’s Day 2010. A lot has happened in our lives in the two years since then…

Since you are males, you will probably never understand the bond between a mother and daughter. But you will marry one day and will have to understand and be caring with your own wife and the relationship that she has with her mother. I hope and pray that I can have a loving relationship with my daughters-in-law too.

As you know, I didn’t have a close relationship with my mother, not so much by choice, but by natural consequence because of her mental illness. As my mother neared the end of her life though, God made it very clear to me that I needed closure and restoration with our relationship. The attached manuscript is that story.

What I hope and pray you will see in this story is the same thing I want others to see—how following God’s will for our lives, through the good and the bad, leads to amazing blessings.  I want you to embrace opportunities when God wants to use you. It won’t be easy. But that is where the biggest blessings come into play—when we are stretched beyond our comfort zone and have to rely on Him. He shows up when we lean on Him. We just have to trust Him.

So as I start on my writing journey, I wanted you to know that is exactly what I am doing. I am trusting that God is behind this and that He will use it.

I love you both dearly. I hope and pray that when you look back at your lives that you will remember that legacy that I want to leave for you. I want you to trust God and follow Him all the days of your life.

‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

With all my love,
Mom

My sons didn’t read my manuscript right away. They were teenage boys, after all. When they did, their words of love were a blessing back to me.

I have the same prayer for all who read my story and the other eight stories in Journeys to Mother Love. : May you be inspired by God to embrace forgiveness and healing in their mother/child relationships.  He will redeem your pain and give you peace.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Sharing our Stories in Community

13 Friday Jan 2017

Posted by in emotional needs, encouraging each other, losing mom too soon, stepmom relationship, the healing journey

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As one of the authors in Journeys to Mother Love, I’ve been eager to read the stories of the other eight authors in the compilation. I could particularly relate to the story, “When I Feel Forsaken,” by Catherine Lawton. My story, “Walking My Mother Home,” is about the final two years of my mother’s life and the healing I received ministering to her during that time.

When I read the passage in Cathy’s story about the death of her mother, I took note of how it affected her. Cathy’s mother died when Cathy was 28 years old, before she was ready to lose her. She wrote that now she’d “never be able to know her mother as a person” and develop an adult “friendship” with her. Those words struck me. Although my mother lived to an old age of 78 years, I had “lost” her emotionally when I was only six, after she had a nervous breakdown.  Like Cathy, I never got to know her as a person, yet I never thought of it in those terms until I read her words.

That is the beauty of telling our stories—the good and the bad. They can impart a nugget that we don’t expect for someone else. Those nuggets can be life-giving.

My mother wasn’t someone I could ever share my inner most thoughts or feelings with. Because she couldn’t model that for me, I didn’t know I was supposed to do that with her or with others until much later in life. By then, my mother was too far gone mentally for us to communicate in that way. Fortunately, like Cathy, I had other women who “mothered” me and helped me to get my emotional needs met.

As sad as it may seem to realize what I missed from my mother (not knowing her as a person), I also realized two positive outcomes in the process. Over the past few years of my mother’s life, I wrote letters to her. Although she couldn’t write back, I think she was getting to know me as a person. She must have recognized this as a gift because she was very attentive during my visits, even after all those years of my abandonment of her.

Secondly, I realized that the Lord did give me a mother who I have been able to know as a person. I’ve had a stepmother in my life since my divorced father remarried 38 years ago. I never lived with them or called her “mom.” But we have become close.  We know each other in a way that I never got to know my own mother. It’s been a life-giving and healing relationship.

There were other parts of Cathy’s story that resonated with me as well, but I mention the above nuggets to show the value of sharing our stories. I gained an insight about myself and my journey from reading Cathy’s story. I know God wants me to integrate that into my heart for my own healing.

So I invite you into community with me and the other eight authors of this compilation. Your stories are important. You have a voice. Let the Lord use your story to inspire or bless someone else in an unexpected way.

Pick a story from one of the nine authors in Journeys to Mother Love. How did you relate to that story? Or share your own story.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

A Grateful Lesson in Letting go of our Children

22 Sunday Nov 2015

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, expectations, Gratitude, importance of prayer, Motherhood, Parenting, Thanksgiving

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Letting go of our children reaps a harvest in unexpected ways.

As much as I want it too, time doesn’t stand still. In fact as we age I’ve found that it actually seems to move at a faster pace. Kids grow up, graduate from college, leave the nest, and settle into a new life as they seek independence and start a career or family.

Whether our children choose to live nearby, across the state, or across the country, we will be faced with challenges to our parenting and our ability to let go.

It’s a timeless lesson in love and sacrifice.

My older son graduated from college a few years ago and, because of a lucrative job offer, immediately moved out of state. There was no time for transition between the two major milestones.

It was a crazy time for my husband and me as parents. We experienced the pride of his graduation and excitement for his new life. We packed up all of his belongings and settled him into his new apartment. Then we had to face the tearful goodbyes.

Those first few months were pretty rough on all of us. Our son expressed his dissatisfaction with being so far away from his friends and family.  It was hard for him at work—starting over as the low man on the totem pole and learning the technical aspects of his job and the organizational culture. I think if he hadn’t been bound by a two-year employment contract, he would’ve seriously considered moving back home.

He recently made an expected visit to our area, and surprised his father on his birthday. I don’t think he realized what a gift that was to our family—away from the normal holiday rush that soon awaits us. For that one day it felt as if he had never left home—like one of his visits home from college.

In our short time together, I was struck with his maturity and the dramatic change in his demeanor. He said someone at work told him that the first six months on the job would be the worst. Well, he survived that and is now applying for a one-year assignment in another country. That’s quite a shift for someone who had a hard time looking beyond his present circumstances as a new employee.

As we talked about his life in his new home state, I also noticed his maturity in other ways. He was making adult decisions, making new friends, learning more about himself, his likes and dislikes.

Then it hit me. Our letting go had given him a chance to find his own way. Letting go had been a process. In occasional conversations during this time, his father and I had offered our encouragement and support. We came to trust our son to make his own decisions and for God to guide him (and us) along the way.

We sacrifice for our children in so many ways when they are young—our time, commitment, and finances. We pour our love and our hearts into them, hoping and praying that they will become wise and godly stewards of their time and talents.

Through it all, I know this to be true: they grow up way too fast, but letting go always reaps a harvest in some unexpected way.

In parenting our children and preparing them for adulthood, we can be grateful for these unexpected blessings from Above.

What lesson have you learned in letting go of your children?

~ Ardis A. Nelson

The Blessing of ‘Imperfect’ Children

06 Monday Jul 2015

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, encouraging each other, Gratitude, importance of prayer, Parenting

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Pre-school-graduation

What a challenge and a blessing, walking with Cameron from preschool graduation (above) to Class of 2015 graduate.

For those of us who have children with learning disabilities, educational milestones like a high school or college graduation are especially significant. It is a very proud moment indeed, one that celebrates the journey as much as the goal.

My youngest son was diagnosed with ADHD at the onset of high school, and was greatly challenged by a rigorous curriculum at a new school in our district. He persevered and recently received his diploma as part of the first graduating class at his high school.

What I’ve been struck with in hindsight is how eager I was to compare my son’s journey to his older brother. These two intelligent boys forged their own educational paths through different schools. The older one started school at a very early age and rarely needed any homework help or guidance. He was considered the ‘perfect’ child and made parenting easy.

His younger brother put in a tremendous amount of effort, but was hindered by his learning disability from keeping pace with his course load. Before he was diagnosed, we didn’t understand how someone so bright could have so many academic problems.

He challenged my husband and me. At times it was hard to not internalize his academic struggles as a reflection of our parenting. At other times, I began to think I had failed him miserably.

Like other parents with more than one child, I learned the hard way what it means to be proud of, to love and respect my kids for each of their unique gifts. In the process, I also learned a lot from my son. His struggles with ADHD helped me to come to terms with my own adult-diagnosed ADHD. We pursued treatment together and bonded in loving ways.

As graduation neared, I was reminded of a friend who told me she prayed a blessing over her son every night when he was young. She would recite Deuteronomy 6:24-26.

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

I was touched when I heard that she recently sent the Deuteronomy blessing to her now adult son in a card as he celebrated the first birthday of his daughter. What a beautiful spiritual legacy she is leaving her grandchild.

Blessing and praying for our children is one of the greatest gifts we can give them. Graduation seemed to be the perfect time for me to give my son the spiritual gift of a blessing. So I wrote this prayer/blessing:

May Cameron grow into maturity as a godly man, clinging to his faith when the challenges come his way. Lord, bless his hands and may the fruit of his labor serve to glorify you. When the time is right, bring a godly woman into his life that appreciates him for his uniqueness and heart of compassion. Lord, guide his footsteps and give him godly wisdom and discernment for the journey. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.

I invite you to likewise write a blessing to say or silently pray over your children. Even if your kids are now adults, it’s not too late. I know the faithful prayers of my mother made a difference in my life. Pray about what the Lord wants you to say.

Our ‘imperfect’ children teach us that we are imperfect parents and imperfect people. However, if we are open to the Lord’s lessons throughout the challenges, we will also learn that we are perfectly blessed to steward them into adulthood.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

“You’re Just Like Your Mother”

25 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, childhood memories, feeling inadequate, Learning to appreciate Mom, mother wounds, Parenting

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Mom's visit

Just like my mother: a rare photo of my mother, me and my oldest son, 1996

“You’re just like your mother!” Those words and that fear have been engrained in my mind and my psyche throughout my adulthood. They were like a blemish on my face that screamed for attention every time I got a glance of myself in the mirror. Not literally, but that’s how often the message surfaced.

I didn’t want to be anything like my mother! That comparison brought too much embarrassment, too much shame. After all, she was mentally ill.

My fears started as a teen. Whether you’re an adult (who once was a teen) or the parent of a teen, you know the feelings of embarrassment that can arise. As teens start to separate from their parents, test their independence, and explore who they are, they veer away from parental input and advice. They don’t want to be seen with their parents. And they certainly don’t want public displays of affection!

A recent episode of “The Goldbergs” addressed this very uncomfortable situation in a comical manner. Beverly, the mother in this sitcom family, which takes place in the 1980s, is always intervening—or interfering—in her teenage children’s lives. It is humorous and most often embarrassing— as you can see in this short, video scene: Beverly Catches Erica Hanging with the Cool Mom.

Fast forward to the present day and age of social media where the tables have turned. I’m now the parent of 17 and 21 year-old sons. Is it cool to be friends with your children on Facebook? And if you are friends, is it OK to ‘like’ or comment on their posts?

In my family, there is an unwritten rule: no tagging and no comments. Uploading photos are a rare treat for me. In other families, I’ve seen how they bring the good-hearted ribbing and familial connection that they share at home into the online community. I do respect the boundaries established in my family on social media interaction, although it does take some fun out of the experience.

I’ve come to realize that any embarrassment that my sons may feel due to my maternal behavior is normal. I don’t want to project the embarrassment I felt related to my mother’s behavior onto them or fuel the voice inside my head that says, “You’re just like your mother!”

However, my embarrassment with my mother was more than the normal parent/child phase of growth and maturing. My embarrassment and shame was rooted in private and public displays of her mental illness. I witnessed some pretty erratic and unhealthy behaviors from my mother during my teenage years. At times they can still haunt me.

As I wrote in “Walking my Mother Home,” my story in Journeys to Mother Love, I experienced huge identity revelations and healing with the passing of my mother in 2011. What I realized then and continue to see in new ways since her passing, is that I am just like my mother. I’ve had to separate the good traits from the bad ones. And I’ve learned to embrace those parts of me where she made a positive influence.

Four years later, I can proudly say, “It’s OK to be like my mother.”

Have you been embarrassed by your parents? Have you ever embarrassed your kids? Where are you on the spectrum of becoming just like your mother? We’d love to hear a little of your story in the comments below.

~Ardis A. Nelson

A Journey to Brother Love, Part 2

09 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by in confessing our need, emotional needs, encouraging each other, family gatherings, generational patterns, God's healing love, reconciliation, the healing journey

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With my brothers in 2014

My brother and I with our half-brother (center) in 2014

In the post, A Journey to Brother Love, Part 1, I shared how as an adult I was shocked to learn I had a half-brother. I only met him once, 18 years ago. The opportunity arose to meet him again recently. I didn’t want any regrets, so I traveled to see him.

From the moment we were reunited, my brother was friendly and open, even greeting me with a hug. It felt very welcoming. He is a charming and engaging man. Yet for me, the time spent together was surreal.

What do you say? How do you communicate with a brother who was raised by maternal grandparents since he was two years old because his mother died and he was abandoned by his father (my father)?

Does he even want relationship with me (us)? After all, we were the chosen family.

My parents were married for 17 years before they divorced. I was nine years old at the time. I had my own wounds. It took me years to work through them and forgive my father.

My brother is on his own journey of healing and forgiveness—as are each of us five siblings, from three different marriages. We share the same father and the same DNA, but we all have carried different wounds from the generational curse of abandonment in our family.

I don’t have any wounds related to my half-brother, only compassion for what he endured and experienced, not knowing his earthly father. He has had to come to terms with two dramatically different tales of his abandonment.

Where was he on the spectrum of forgiveness and healing, I wondered.

Except for one private conversation we had where he recounted to me the story of his miraculous reunion with my father after 52 years of separation, our conversations weren’t really about that. I listened as he talked about his previous marriage and painful trials with his adult children. Every time he talked I could see and hear my father in him. My half-brother wasn’t raised by him, but my father is unmistakably in his DNA.

At the end of our visit, I still didn’t have the answers I sought. So I invited him and his wife to walk me into the train station to say our goodbyes. I didn’t want any regrets. I prayed and let my heart lead the way.

The conversation that ensued was perfectly ordained by the Lord. It started off tearful for me as I admitted I am a sentimental person. I think we both said what we needed to say and cleared the air about our own personal father wounds. I already knew I wasn’t alone in my struggle to overcome my past, and I wanted him to know he wasn’t either.

The icing on the cake for me was being able to share with him my sense that our father was at peace in heaven. Shortly after Dad died, I had a poignant spiritual encounter in church while praying. Shortly after that, Dad acknowledged that he hadn’t “been there” for me. The veil had been lifted for him and his denial was gone. That encounter was very comforting to me, and I hoped sharing the memory with my brother would bring him some healing and closure also.

So was my family visit for my healing, or my brother’s healing? I think it was for us both.

My journey with my new-found brother is just beginning. It took my Journey to Mother Love followed by my Journey to Father Love to find it. When our journeys are bathed in our Heavenly Father’s love, it will end with healing and hope; because His DNA is what really binds us on our pathway to wholeness.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

A Journey to Brother Love, Part 1

09 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by in emotional needs, family gatherings, generational patterns, God's healing love, letting go of anger, reach out and touch, reconciliation, the healing journey

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1996 Reunion

With my father and brothers in 1996

Recently a new pathway of healing opened up to me: a “journey to brother love.”

My father married many times and had children from multiple wives—my siblings being the last. I grew up knowing about an older half-sister, but never met her. I didn’t know about a half-brother I had until 18 years ago when my father reunited with him after 52 years of separation.

I was in my early 30s, just starting my own family when my father called to tell me about my half-brother. It was an ‘Oprah’ type story of amazing coincidences that led to their reunion.

I felt like my world had been turned upside down.

My father invited me and another sibling to meet him. The half-brother lived across country and was making a trip to our area. I eagerly obliged, or maybe obeyed is a better word. This was in my pre-recovery days when I was still holding onto the past, carrying a lot of anger, and searching for my father’s love. Now I had to share that love with some long-lost family member.  My resentment must’ve leaked through in that one and only meeting.

My father remained in close contact with his new-found son over the years. They had several cross-country visits. I occasionally heard of their trips together. Each time I nursed my internal pangs: “But what about me?”

Since that time, I’ve spent many years of healing and recovery work to get to a place of forgiveness and love for my father. My dad even helped with some family history while I was working on the final draft of my story in Journeys to Mother Love. Unfortunately, he passed away a month before the book was released.

My half-brother couldn’t make it to our father’s memorial service. My stepmother (not his mother), ordered an autographed copy for me to send to my brother’s wife. I had experienced even more healing and forgiveness with my father wound with his passing. With that fresh perspective, I decided to send a letter to my brother, along with the book.

Here’s an excerpt from that letter: “I think each of his (my father’s) children carry a distinct Smith* mark in their DNA that we had to overcome as his children. And just because we had more physical time living with him, it doesn’t mean we didn’t carry familial scars. I say this to you in the hopes that you won’t let any of those feelings get in the way of continuing to stay connected with this family.”

Soon I received a nice note from his wife telling me how much she loved the book and that my story touched her as she grieved the recent loss of her mother. We continued our communications, but there was no direct response from my brother.

Then a few weeks ago I got a call from my stepmother that my half-brother and his wife were going to be in town. I was invited to come home for a visit. At first I declined due to an already full schedule. But thoughts of my brother and our disjointed family connection kept surfacing.

Did I need more healing or was it for my brother? I needed to know.

So I set aside my work and hopped on a train across the state.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of this post to find out how this Journey to Brother Love ends.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

*Surname changed to protect family privacy.

A Letter on Leaving the Nest

02 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by in encouraging each other, leaving a legacy, Parenting

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He’s gone…my firstborn child graduated from college last month.  Then we packed up his belongings and settled him into an apartment 500 miles from home.

The last several weeks have been a frenzy of activity, including his 21st birthday.  I had glimpses of the emotion that I knew would come.  But none was as surprising as the wave that hit me when my son returned a letter to me I had written him when he left for college almost four years ago.

We were cleaning out his room, sorting what to take with him, what to keep at home, and what to get rid of.  He isn’t the sentimental type and asked me if I wanted to keep the letter. Naturally I agreed. While his focus and attention remained on sorting his belongings, I snuck away to read the letter…and the tears came.

I was surprised by the things I told him. I recalled the timing of the letter and what was going on in our lives. The events that led to my writing “Walking My Mother Home” in Journeys to Mother Love were just starting to develop: Pedro had returned to Spain after his first summer with our family; my communication had started with his mother Rosa; we had found out that Carmen, Rosa’s mother, only had a few months to live; and my mother was on hospice care back in Illinois.

Yet there in the midst of the pain of my aching mother wound I took the time to write a beautiful letter to my son. It seems my heart was already changing. The Lord was directing me to make a connection to my son in one of the few ways I felt comfortable—by writing him a letter.

I wish I’d done that again now. Maybe I still will. Or maybe this is the start of a season of occasional Skype calls and Facebook chats.

In any case, I’m sharing excerpts of that original letter here. Much of it still applies to my son’s post-college launch as it did to his move into the dorm. My hope is that it inspires you or gives you ideas on how to also write or connect with your son or daughter who has left the nest.

Dear Evan,

I don’t suppose that this note will tell you anything that I haven’t already conveyed to you in some way.  As you know, I am a person of many words.  This is my way of giving you a keepsake as you ‘leave the nest’ today.  Please keep this note and re-read it when you are feeling low, frustrated or confused while away at college…

…Your success in life is not based on what college you attend or the grades that you achieve.  It is based on your ability to integrate life’s disappointments and failures into your character and grow from them…

…Living on campus will present new challenges and exciting times for you—making your own decisions, meeting new people and learning to live with two roommates.  Sometimes it may seem like there are too many choices or not enough time.  You will need to sift through those choices.  If something doesn’t work out well or is not what you expected, it isn’t the end of the world.  You can still pick yourself up and move on with your head held high.  You can choose to forgive others and you can offer forgiveness to others too.  And remember, it’s not about being right.  Sometimes it’s about the greater good or the bigger picture.  It is hard to humble ourselves.  It is even harder to admit we were wrong.  Sometimes those simple words, “I’m sorry” can mean so much…

…The main thing I want to convey to you is that we trust you and that we are here for you.  We want you to explore your independence and to make your own decisions realizing that there will be some stumbling.  We hope that you will come to us for advice, to vent your frustrations and to rejoice in your successes.  We want to be here for you in whatever way we can as you transition to life on your own.

We love you regardless of the circumstances.  More than that, God loves you.  I hope and pray that you will use His Word and His Spirit inside you to guide you in your difficult decisions and your daily walk.

Love,
Mom

Reading that again even now, I have the overwhelming sense that these words were not just meant for him (or our children), but they were meant for me (and other adults) who didn’t have that kind of encouragement poured into them.

I know that today as I embrace this new season of motherhood and close the door to my son’s empty room, I need just a bit of encouragement too. How about you?

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Can we Talk?

17 Tuesday Jun 2014

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, confessing our need, emotional needs, encouraging each other, Parenting

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Looking-up-to-older-brother

My two sons. The younger one always looked up to his older brother.

I feel an incredible urge to sit and chat—to talk with my close friends and to talk to my mother. But none of that is really possible these days—especially since my mother passed away over three years ago.

I am in a rush, rush, rush to the finish line. No, it’s not the race for the prize, the eternal crown, that is referenced in 1 Corinthians 9:24-25. It is the finish line to the day my oldest child moves away from home to another state—only six more wake-ups.

Yesterday started my internal mother clock with the memories of what my son has gone through to get to this point in time. His first college graduation ceremony was last night. (He is attending a large state university where they hold separate ceremonies for your major as well as the all-school ceremony in the stadium.)

Although I wanted to be there, I made the difficult parenting decision to attend my other son’s final school band concert. It was also his 17th birthday—more memories surfaced there as well. My husband attended the graduation ceremony.

What I am struck with is how significant these events are in my life and my strong desire to have time to reflect and process them. Since there is no time, I am writing them down here in the hopes that other mothers will resonate with the pull of my heart.

Where has the time gone? How do we let go of our children? How do we parent the one left behind who is also aching over the time lost with his brother? He had just reached an age when they could relate to each other more and become friends. I have to process my own loss, and be vulnerable, yet strong, and encourage my youngest son too. This is hard to do—especially when this kind of parenting wasn’t modeled for you by your own parents.

If I droned on about how proud I am of my son, or how I wish I’d been there more often for him—the missed baseball games, chess tournaments and math competitions—or how I wished I was a more attentive mother at the early stages of his life, would you tune me out or think I’m just too sentimental?

That is the risk I take in sharing with you now—mother to mother. Maybe you have already been down this road. Or maybe it lies ahead for you. But rest assured, if you have children, you will reach a point when it is time to let go and say goodbye.

The tears will come and it will feel like a part of your heart has just been ripped out.

That quote describes what I am sensing as I write this. The day is not here yet, but sitting here chatting with you about it helps me face and express the feelings. And ultimately that was my goal—to get a chance to slow down and let my emotions surface instead of rushing through the day—to connect with myself and with you, dear Sister.

Thank you for letting me talk my way through this. I just got a text message with a request to help my son pack up his apartment at school. I’m off to the races again. I’m grateful that I can do these last things for him. I’m grateful that he asked and that he needs me just a little bit more.

Time to set aside my emotions and run.  Thanks for stopping by. Thanks for listening. It was nice to talk. I hope you’ll stop by again soon.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

A Journey to Stepmother Love

09 Friday May 2014

Posted by in childhood memories, emotional needs, letting go of anger, stepmom relationship, the healing journey

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Step-mother-love-01I was nine years old when my parents divorced. I’ll never forget that day. After hearing the news, I ran into the woods behind our house and cried my eyes out. “Why? Why? Why?” I cried to God.

Those repressed memories surfaced a while back in a therapy session as I got in touch with the little Ardis who was hurting from the trauma of this event. I’ve processed this before, but this time I remembered something new. I remembered that I told my father I hated him. It became one of those pivotal moments in my life when I decided I had to be a BIG girl and stuff my emotions.

I surfaced from those woods, calm and collected. I WAS a big girl. But try as I might, that anger at what was going on between my parents was still there. Both of my parents soon remarried. I lived with my mother and stepfather thousands of miles away from my father, who had retained our family home as part of the divorce settlement. The only time I got to see him was on summer vacation periods. His remarriage was so short-lived that I never met his new wife and never even considered her a stepmother.

When I was 13 years old, another woman came into my father’s life, and he remarried again. Inside I’m sure I was devastated, although I never talked to my father about it. I was desperately searching and longing for his love and approval. After they wed, my summer visits were spent at her home. My days were long, lounging around the house watching soap operas, and taking care of her dog—not much fun for a teenage girl. Yet I continued to worship the ground my father walked on.

My stepmother treated me fairly. I don’t remember being mean or unruly with her. I never called her ‘mom’, only by her first name.  But to hear her tell of this time in my life, I get a very different story. It’s a story about an angry, lazy teen that didn’t do much of anything, and made her wishes and demands known to all within earshot.

The healing of that turbulent angry young teen took many years of deep spiritual growth and recovery work. And when my father passed away two years ago at the age of 94, I had already forgiven him and learned to accept that he could not give me the kind of love I had longed for.

But it was the love of his wife, my stepmother, which really helped to fill that hole in my heart.

Over recent years, we have spent countless hours on the phone, talking about adult women issues, and sharing our hearts. She has been a big supporter of my writing and always wants to hear about what is going on in my life.

Interestingly enough, what brought us together was the empathy and compassion we both received from an understanding of what it was like to live with my father. They were married 38 years.

As I got healing for my father wounds, I was able to come alongside her more as well. She endured long suffering as she cared for my father the last several years of his life. She sacrificed. She toiled. And when he passed, she asked me to write his eulogy, and gave me and my siblings carte blanche on how to run his memorial service. It was a huge gift to me.

My stepmother celebrated her 80th birthday recently, with a huge party of friends and family. While I barely knew any of them, my family and I traveled the 150 miles to celebrate with her. She’s been a pillar of strength for me to lean on these past several years. I owe her that much in return. After all, while I didn’t recognize it much over the years, she has been to some degree the mother I never had.

We had a rocky start, but this journey to stepmother love has been worth the wait. Happy Mother’s Day, MOM!

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Orphaned or Adopted? ~ Reflections on Easter Sunday

20 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by in Adopted children, encouraging each other, God as our parent, Jesus on the cross

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cross

We all have parents, whether we physically knew them or not. In my case, I knew both of my parents, growing up in a home where they both lived until I was nine. It was at that point that they divorced. My mother, my two brothers and me moved 2,000 miles away so we could be near my mother’s relatives.

Saying goodbye that day to my father on the plane was a very painful experience. It was back in the day when non-ticketed friends and family could go beyond the security check-point at the airport. My father walked us all onto the plane and paid special attention to me. Through my tears I could hear him reassuringly say, “Everything is going to be ok. You need to be a big girl now and take care of your mother.”

That was not my first taste of abandonment, but it’s the one I remember most. My previous taste of abandonment was when my mother had her nervous breakdown when I was six years old. She didn’t choose to abandon me, but the effects of that event led me to never really knowing my mother as a person.

Those two abandonments early on in my life left me seeking to fill the void in my heart in unhealthy ways. I tried throughout my teens and into adulthood to win my father’s approval—to feel important in his eyes. Worse than that were the choices I made to rebel against God. Thankfully God has redeemed the pain of my youth and beyond.

When I grew up—I mean really grew up emotionally on the inside—not my physical age, I started to recognize and label these abandonments for what they were and the affects they had on me. Now that both of my parents are gone (going on two years), a friend who recently lost the second of her parents asked me if I feel (or felt) like an orphan after they passed.

Her question gave me an opportunity to reflect on that very point. We talked about it a bit. My response was ‘no’. I can certainly understand how one would feel that way. However, for me, I led the life of an orphan most of my adult life. As I actively turned to Christ in the last decade or so, I learned more about my significance to God and the role the Body of Christ was intended to play in my life. I built relationships with other women who were also hungry for God and seeking to become the women He designed them to be.

I was no longer orphaned; I was adopted. I was adopted into the Body of Christ and was now part of His family.  Romans 8:14-16 tells us:  For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God.  The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba,Father.” The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.

With that adoption comes a responsibility to live life as God designed. Easter Sunday is a marker of that adoption for all who accept Christ as their Savior. Our adoption certificates are signed with his blood. Let us not take that for granted.

Regardless of the relationship you had or didn’t have with your parents, may you embrace the love of our Heavenly Father and His physical representatives on earth as your family.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Leaving a Legacy of Healing

25 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, emotional needs, forgiving mom, generational patterns, God's healing love, leaving a legacy, Parenting, the healing journey

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Evening Light on the Grasses

Lately I’ve been struck with reminders of the importance of legacy and purpose in our lives—most recently while attending a memorial service for someone I knew at church who died suddenly before Christmas. She was a vibrant part of our church community, serving in many capacities, but most notably as Lady Jellybean, a beloved clown in the children’s ministry. Her passing was a great loss to all who knew her.

This got me to thinking more about the legacy that I’m leaving. What will people say about me after I’m gone? How will my family remember me? I’m the first to admit that I don’t have it all together, that I am at times overwhelmed by all the irons I have in the fire, and even that I’ve fallen short of my kids’ or my husband’s expectations.

I came into marriage over thirty years ago carrying a lot of baggage from a turbulent and empty childhood. I didn’t have the kind of parents who modeled a godly marriage or who poured into my siblings and me in ways that bonded us on an emotional level. Quite the contrary, we didn’t know anything about emotional bonding.

It wasn’t until much later in life, when I re-dedicated my life to Christ, and started attending Bible studies, spiritual growth classes, and Celebrate Recovery, that I realized the damage I was causing in my own family and in myself.

As I started to understand things about myself, learned what I hadn’t received emotionally (or have modeled to me), I began to make changes in my parenting and my relationship with my husband—though both are still far from perfect. The point is, we can make changes in our lives that will affect the legacy we leave behind.

Case in point: although my mother was mentally ill all her life, I realized in her passing three years ago that she didn’t leave me a legacy of mental illness as I had feared she would. She left me a great legacy of faith by modeling that to me. I didn’t appreciate it when I was young, but see it now as a vibrant part of who I am.

Before my father passed away the following year, there was a great deal of healing between us as well. Those last few months gave both of us peace in his passing. Those are the memories that stand out to me now as I think of what he gave me. I attribute that to God’s work in me and my ability to forgive both of my parents early on in my recovery and healing process.

I am breaking the generational curse of dysfunction by modeling biblical principles with my sons. I wish I had known then—when my kids were young—what I know now. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if they enter into the therapeutic process because of things I said or did out of my parenting and biblical ignorance.

My hope in all of this is that, when I’m dead and gone, my sons will remember that I had a heart for Jesus and that He became the foundation of my life. And when they decide to enter into the healing process, I hope and pray that they will embrace it with grace for themselves and their imperfect parents, along with embracing their Abba Father, who is the Healer of all wounds.

“Lord my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me.” Psalm 30:2, NIV

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Treasuring Christmas in our Hearts

22 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in encouraging each other, expectations, God's healing love

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Christ-NativityAt this time of year as I try to set aside the holiday rush and connect with the real reason for the season, I find myself wondering what it was like to be a witness to what God was doing in the lives of Mary and Joseph. The Bible doesn’t say what their immediate families thought about Mary’s claims to be a virgin with child. The only glimpse of unbelief comes from Joseph when he considers divorcing Mary.

Looking at how Mary and Joseph kept their faith in the midst of such possible ridicule and shame helps me to see how God operates in our lives. Here are a few ways that God reminded Mary and Joseph what He was capable of:

  1. An angel told Mary she would give birth—as a virgin.
  2. Mary visited Elizabeth and received confirmation of what the angel told her.
  3. Mary carried Jesus in her womb as a constant reminder of God’s promise to her.
  4. Shepherds were sent by angels to worship Jesus.
  5. The wise men bearing gifts were guided by a star to visit Jesus.
  6. God protected the young family as they escaped to Egypt to avoid Herod’s murderous spree.

While it may seem like a stretch to compare ourselves to Mary and Joseph, they were human and I imagine that they needed these reminders as well—especially when it came to watching Jesus be crucified on the cross.

In my pastor’s Sunday message, he noted one way to experience peace this Christmas is to find ways to remind ourselves of what God is capable of. The verse that comes to my mind as I look back at how God has shown up in my life is also from the Christmas story. It is Luke 2:19: But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

Like Mary’s story, God gives us glimpses of Himself in our lives. He wants us to treasure them, to remind ourselves of them, and sometimes even cling to them in times of trials and tribulations. When we remind ourselves of God’s goodness in our lives, we can trust Him in the dark periods too. It builds our faith and it gives us His peace.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

A Grief That Can’t be Spoken

02 Monday Dec 2013

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, God's healing love, grief and loss, the healing journey, when tragedy hits

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Rose Kennedy, holding Joe Jr., presumably prio...

Rose Kennedy, holding Joe Jr., presumably prior to 1921. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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President John F. Kennedy and his mother, Rose (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When my birthday rolled around this year on November 22, I was reminded again of the significance of that day in history. It was on my fourth birthday in 1963 that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, and I remember it well.

I hadn’t heard the word “assassinate” before that day. The sorrow that gripped my family also gripped the nation. I didn’t like it. I wanted it to go away. But every day the television was awash in news stories as the nation prepared to bury our president.

Four days in history. Four days in mourning. Four days that shook our nation and the world, now commemorated 50 years ago.

My birthday link to the Kennedys left me with a fascination for this public family. I collected books and commemorative magazines over the years. The grief of the nation and the grief of the Kennedy family didn’t end with JFK’s death. Less than five years later we witnessed another horrific Kennedy assassination when Bobby Kennedy, JFK’s brother, was killed. Our nation grieved with the passing of Jackie Kennedy Onassis, JFK’s widow, in 1994. Then in 1999, the unthinkable happened when JFK, Jr. died in a tragic plane crash over the Atlantic. More sorrow. More grief.

There’s a song in Les Miserable called “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” that Marius, the sole survivor of the student revolt, sings after the heart-breaking massacre of all his friends. Two lines of that song stand out to me and aptly describe the grief of our nation. “There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on.” Haunting words in his unfathomable predicament—fighting his guilt while also embracing the newfound love of his soon to be bride, Cosette.

These words ring true to me as I think of the Kennedy family and their grief. How does a mother like Rose Kennedy live with the grief of losing two sons to the bullet of an assassin? She had already lost two of her nine children to tragic plane crashes in the 1940s. Surely this was “a grief that can’t be spoken.” Yet she survived and lived to a ripe old age of 104.

It takes an amazing amount of faith and perseverance to endure that kind of loss. As mothers we feel the pain of our children’s hurts and disappointments—from the pain of a scraped knee to the hurt and rejection of bullying words voiced in school. But we were never meant to watch our children precede us in death.

Thankfully I’ve never experienced that kind of grief. I can only provide prayer, compassion, and sympathy to those who have. Like Rose Kennedy, whose faith got her through the pain and heartache shared by the nation, we can turn to the God of all comfort when life turns tragically wrong and we enter into a season with “a grief that can’t be spoken.”

“For no one is cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to anyone.” (Lamentations 3:31-33, NIV)

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Mothering Inadequacies

30 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, family gatherings, feeling inadequate, generations coming together, God's healing love, mother wounds, Parenting, the healing journey

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Rocio's Art

Ardis received this drawing from Roxio, one of the children she met in Spain.

I was 33 years old when I had my first child. Like many women, I felt unsure of myself and ill-equipped to be a mother. Unlike many, though, I believed I had good reason for my misgivings.

My mother had a nervous breakdown when I was six. She was still able to function in her role as a housewife, but it left her emotionally unavailable to me. For whatever reason, she rarely spent time with me in the kitchen or preparing me for my role as a wife or mother.

As I grew up and went out on my own, I wondered whether I would ever be a mother or have kids of my own. I never had a strong desire to be around children. I didn’t have the longing, like I hear some women express, to have children to feel complete.

After ten years of marriage my husband and I welcomed our first child into the world. My heart was stretched in new ways as my love poured out on my newborn son. My life revolved around him—struggling to nurse, on-demand and nighttime feedings,  carrying him in a sling, etc. My love grew, yet my fear of mothering inadequacy hung over me, landing me back on my career path after the first year.

Then three years ago—thirteen years after the birth of our second son—my heart was stretched again when we opened our home to Pedro, a Spanish exchange student. This last summer, during my six-week stay in Spain, I was welcomed with open arms into Pedro’s family.  His home was my home.  His family was my family.

Although Pedro is an only child, I knew he has a large extended family and is very family-oriented. I’d heard their names, laughed at his family stories, and prayed for them in times of trouble.

I knew I’d be meeting many of Pedro’s relatives. I so wanted to put aside my fears of inadequacy. I wanted to make a favorable impression on Pedro’s younger cousins. I wanted to be able to bridge the language barrier.

These children didn’t really know much of the story (told in Journeys to Mother Love) behind why I was there. They didn’t know how our families were connected in grief with the passing of their grandmother. They didn’t know or understand about the healing of my mother-wound. All they knew was that I was the American host mother when Pedro visited Seattle.

It was genuinely difficult for me at first to meet these young kids. I was very much out of my comfort zone. I watched as Pedro and his parents engaged them with tickling and other silly antics. Laughter permeated the rooms of their flat in Madrid. I, on the other hand, was paralyzed inside by my lingering fear of mothering inadequacy. Initially I stuck to what was safe for me, communicating with the English-speaking adults.

My saving grace with the children was the gifts I brought with me from America—Beanie Babies for everyone. My gifts imparted the sense of love and gratitude I had for this family. It was the start that I needed to overcome my fears of connecting with the children. In time, I felt more comfortable and was able to bond in more natural ways.

When we accept Jesus as our Savior, God adopts us into His family. He has a way of putting people in our lives to help us heal the broken parts of us. My Spanish family has been that for me in so many ways. It started with Pedro, then to Rosa, his mother. It has grown to his father, his aunts and uncles, and his cousins. I met 26 relatives in all.

I do still have some doubts about my ability to mother my own children—especially as I’m learning how to parent a child with ADD. But in God’s goodness for the summer of 2013, I know I was loved by these children. I hope they will remember me in the years to come as they grow up. I know I will treasure the memories I had with them, and integrate that as a way to overcome any future fears of mothering inadequacy.

~ Ardis A. Nelson