I’d just made my thirty-eight-year-old son a dental appointment to examine his freshly broken tooth. But instead of thanking me, he frowned the same way he’d done in childhood if I “helped” without his permission. Now, as then, he huffed, “I’m a big boy. I should call them myself.” I tried not to look hurt. […]
Category Archives: Waiting for Morning
Neighborly Love
After George Floyd died, I had the urge to dash across the street and hug my neighbor Phyllis long and hard. She’s Black, tall, regal-looking and we’re both Christ-followers. My arms longed to embrace one of only a handful of persons of color in my lily-white neighborhood. I wanted to tell Phyllis that I stood […]
A Garden of Hope
Last week, driving to pick up some plants and gardening supplies, my three sons were all sober at the same time. The. Same. Time. The late Spring sun was out and like a lot of us Pacific Northwesters, we were itching to get growing. I couldn’t wait to get my hands dirty. Oldest was excited […]
Two Things Parents of Troubled Kids Need to Survive
It’s my pleasure to introduce today’s guest blogger, Dena Yohe. Dena’s website, Hope for Hurting Parents, is a great resource for those of us who walk this path. “I can’t sleep! I’m a nervous wreck and I had another argument with my husband over what we should do next. This can’t be happening. How much […]
Tweaking the Pandemic
My adult middle son leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms. “I’m not worried about getting it.” He raised his chin. “I’m immune.” He shrugged, but his cheeks were hollow and sharp, the way they get after he’s been on a binge. I hesitated. He had to be tweaking—the part when the methamphetamine […]
The JUST Drawer
Despite the sunshine, the morning was late-winter crisp. As a friend and I ventured out for a walk, I poured out my heart. “All three of my sons are messes.” I pulled my woolen scarf higher around my neck. “And not one of them is willing to change. It’s like Russian roulette—do I wait for […]
A Peace of Me
On an early December evening, my neighbor’s holiday lights sparkle while I sign Christmas cards with Peace glittered across the front. I’m in the spirit—until I start to add personal notes. My chest tightens, my fingers grip the pen. What can I say that isn’t a big fat lie? My inner voice is cruel: Hi […]
Strong Shoulders
That night, my son’s text arrived long after I was asleep, so I didn’t hear the chime. The next morning, I read his profanity-laced description of the work party he’d attended. Worst work party ever, it read. f*** (the restaurant). The needle on my guilt-o-meter shot up so fast it could have reached escape velocity. […]
Waiting for Morning
The original title of the book I wanted to write about my journey with three grown sons who are addicted to drugs and/or alcohol was IF MORNING EVER COMES. That if is important. If reflects my decades of praying, hoping, enabling, toughing, failing and flailing, all while desperately trying to keep hope alive. I’ve been […]
