Tag: truth

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Little Person. Big Words.

Yesterday was Thursday. Thursday at my house is like the witching hour. “In folklore, the witching hour or devil’s hour is a time of night associated with supernatural events. Creatures such as witches, demons and ghosts are thought to appear and to be at their most powerful.” (Thanks, Wikipedia.)

Image result for witching hour

Last night was unique because of the long holiday weekend last week, which meant I had to do a grocery store run on a random Thursday night because of the jumbled schedules.

Thursday is always a mad rush to pick up someone from sports and someone else from Grandma’s house and make sure that the other someone finished her homework and has her library book for Friday library walk at school. It’s also the day when I’ve spent a whole week packing lunches, moving around Elves on Shelves in a clandestine and creative manner, and making sure Mass uniforms are washed for Friday church and by 8:00 at night, I. Am. Done.

Now, it gets dark about 5:00 in Northeast Ohio in December, and the barometer on my car’s dashboard said it was a balmy 28 degrees as I’m struggling to carry in groceries – still in my professional work clothes and shoes, no less – while my 10-year-old is asking me repeatedly to read through his science fair packet that came home today, although the science fair doesn’t take place till February, and my other child is insisting that HER Elf on the Shelf has mysteriously moved around during the day because when we left the house 12 hours prior, the Elf’s feet were in a different pose.

You get the idea.

Cue the frustration, and enter my youngest son. Out of the house he comes, wearing only socks and a t-shirt and begins to help me with the groceries, no questions asked. As I’m tossing items in the freezer that we keep in the garage, he looks at me and says, “You know, Mom, there is a season for everything.” And he took his bags in the house. I literally stopped in my tracks and thought about what he said, and how a little person could say so much with so few words.

In one of her books, author/blogger Tricia Lott Williford talks about how she dealt with being overwhelmed with too many tasks at once and realized the key is that we only have to do the next thing. That’s all, just the next thing.

(As an aside, I actually attended grade school with Tricia and she is now an accomplished author and motivational speaker. Her blog is phenomenal. A link to Tricia’s site can be found here.)

After my son made his announcement, I thought of Tricia and how maybe this is the season of doing just that – the next thing.

  • Put the groceries in the freezer.
  • Hang up my coat.
  • Find a hair tie.
  • Stop my son from plowing through the Moose Tracks that we just bought and getting chocolate syrup all over the kitchen, himself, and the living room floor.
  • Whatever the next thing is, this is a good time to do only that.

Last night, the voice of God sounded an awful lot like that of my sweet seven-year-old boy. In this season of rushing and gift-buying and holiday parties, don’t forget to slow down and celebrate the season of your life, wherever it may be.

Most importantly, never underestimate the power of God’s voice — in whatever form it comes to you.

~Amy

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It runs in the family.

Hank Williams Jr. sang a song about his family traditions. The song goes like this:

“So don’t ask me,
Hank, why do you drink?
Hank, why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
Stop and think it over,
Try and put yourself in my unique position
If I get stoned and sing all night long, it’s a family tradition!”

(You can find the official video for this song here)

This song could have been written about my family. You see, I am the child of an alcoholic. I grew up knowing what Budweiser on someone’s breath smelled like. We always had beer in the fridge, with the exception of the time my dad decided to start making his own wine and it was stocked with wine. I learned not to trust that a bottle that looked like Dasani water in my dad’s car was actually water when it could very well be vodka.

There are some who debate whether alcoholism is a disease or a choice, much like the chicken and egg philosophy.  I can’t answer that question. I can only say that my dad’s grandma was a class-A drinker herself, an ex-barmaid who could drink a fifth of Wild Turkey like it was water and still stand upright.  His brother passed away in January from a handful of health problems, including a lifetime of hard drinking.  My dad’s father drank until a health scare nearly cost him his life.  I can also say that alcohol was just part of the family culture.  So is it a disease or a cultural norm?  I still can’t say.

But, my dad’s story is not mine to write.  No, the only story I can write is my own.

Contrary to what you might think, alcoholism isn’t always ugly.  It sometimes looks like an 800 credit score, three homes, and a vacation property. It looks like 30 years of hard work at the same job.  It looks like two normal, well-adjusted children and four happy, healthy grandchildren. Sometimes, alcoholism looks like a boat on the lake.  It disguises itself as a handyman, a carpenter, the life of the party.

But…sometimes it IS ugly, too.

Alcoholism looks like an unhealthy coping mechanism. It’s an effective tool to alienate your children and grandchildren. It’s a great way to chase away all your acquaintances until you’re left all alone, wondering what the hell happened. Alcoholism looks like multiple DUI’s and sideswiped cars in Walmart’s parking lot. It’s being friends with the clerks at the only liquor store in the county that will sell to you before noon on a Sunday. It’s falling down in your house and ripping half your face off and nearly bleeding to death, alone. It’s walking a fine line between unhappiness and emotional numbness.

Alcoholism runs in my family. Whether due to nature or nurture, the outcome is the same.

We all have it in our power to change our story, write a new chapter, make the ending not what the reader expects.  That’s exactly what I’m doing.

Sometimes people have said to me, “Yeah, but drinking is just what we do. It runs in our family.”

Oh, yeah, well, guess what?  Not today, Satan.  This is where it runs out.