Family Matters

Mom. My favorite title aside from "wife". I LOVE being a mom. I understand that I am blessed to be one, and that I get a somewhat heightened experience in being one. I have given birth to beautiful daughters and have been extremely blessed in the literal sense to be a mother. But I have also been given the gift of loving and seeing potential in everyone. Because of this, I have been able to be "mom" to many, many more people than my own precious daughters. I am mom to around 600 students at my sweet little elementary school at any given time. I am mom to many young women who I have had the distinct privilege of serving and learning from in my church. I have been blessed to foster relationships with beautiful people much younger than myself who ask to call me mom because of the love we share. I relish being mom to all of them. And I gain important perspective because of it.

Me and my beautiful girls that I have given birth to.

Whether I am mom to someone through bloodlines or spirit, I recognize that in reality, we are ALL God's children. No matter who gives birth to each child, each one of us is on loan from God. Delivering and raising children is a privilege-a beautiful and exceptionally rewarding experience God gives to show us He loves us and trusts us to love each other and help each other through this life. Getting to raise God's children is icing on the cake of life. I love it. Every joy I find in motherhood is by the grace of God himself, and I am grateful for it.

I have a strong belief that God gave this earth mothers to give the love that he isn't physically here to give. He could have just placed us on the earth at will. But He gave us a way to get here and a way to grow and be nurtured. He gives us blessings to show He loves us constantly. I know there are hundreds of blessings that occur daily for our benefit that we don't ever see or know about, but He gives them to us because He is our Father and He loves us. Mothers carry that love from Him to His children. Some women are not able to be physical mothers. Some mothers neglect their own children. Some children are orphaned. All of us here are able to give love to God's children and serve His purposes in giving respite, comfort, love, selflessness and encouragement to all who need it. I feel blessed to play a tiny part in this.

Another aspect of this is the joy I accrue in finding people to love and care for. I have been blessed with so many wonderful, gentle, happy, amazing spirits in my life that I wouldn't have otherwise known if it hadn't been for my aptitude in mothering. I am not the best mother, or the most perfect mother, but I know how to love and see goodness. I know how to encourage and empathize. I LOVE being  mom. I love being mom to my girls. They are my joys. I love being "school mom" to all the children at school. I love being mom in Young Womens. I love being mom to my friends' children. I love being mom to people who enter my life and touch my heart, opening doors to Heaven when they ask me if they can please call me mom. I love you. I love being mom. Thank you for being a part of my life. I treasure this title. And I am grateful.

The Tale of Two Heathers

I consider myself to be a pretty even-keeled person. I'm reasonable and happy, I'm functional and efficient, I'm calm most of the time, and I feel pretty good about my life. And I love. Oh boy, do I love. All the time. I can't turn it off. But I know there are places in my heart and my soul that are a little bit less settled and even a little bit grey. I keep those grey spaces tamped down a good part of the time, but they exist. There's the BEST Heather, and then there's the other Heather. My goal is to keep the BEST Heather accessible and seen the most often, but other Heather surfaces every now and again.

The two sides of me don't fight often. I'm pretty quick to rally. I've been blessed with eternal perspective and a pretty bright spirit. Yet grey tries to plague me now and again, and the bright side of me has to work hard to surface. For the times I feel defeated, there's the flip side that wants to give the good fight. For times I feel stupid, I latch on to learning quickly. For sadness that is in me, there is also a bubbly, happy self. For exhaustion that plagues me, there is a reserve of boundless energy. Where I make judgments too quickly, I also find good easily. For the times I act rashly, I have fostered the art of patience.  Where my feelings get hurt, there are buckets of forgiveness. Where I lack sympathy, tenderness resides as well. When I am a coward and want to run away from life and its problems, the Super cape in my closet waits readily. For the rebel in me, there's a girl who just wants to do the right thing. I see my weaknesses. I have many. The cool thing is that for every weakness, there's an opposite strength. That's my true fight. To find the opposing strength within me. It's a battle to be sure, but one I want to win more often than not.


Some of my rebel accessories.

My husband-my cheerleader, my strength, my self-esteem champion.

Strength of family.

Gaining strength.

Settled, peaceful me.

 You know the old Indian story about the two wolves...the one that you feed is the one that wins. I know that is how every person is. I know there's opposition in all things. I know there's always going to be a little fight going on in someone. I'm not the only one with grey inside. What I want to bring forth is my thanks to the people in my life that help my good wolf win. I want to acknowledge the people that bring out my BEST Heather. BEST Heather exists because of the wonderful influences that surround me every day. BEST Heather is accessible through the grace of God, and YOU...my peeps. I'm grateful!

FIGHT SONG

I was able to take part in a conversation with a couple of people, both of whom I dearly love, last night. It was a painful, yet healing conversation. Hard things were talked about, realizations were made, trials were dissected. I sat for most of this conversation and listened to the itemization of hardship, loss, and suffering my family has been experiencing for the past several months. As an onlooker it sounded quite grim. It was actually hard to hear bit for bit what our challenges have been and what we are facing at this time.

Amy Marie and me at dad's funeral

The amazing thing was that the longer I sat there, the stronger I felt. With each tick of the box that was made in the things that were against us, I felt a heightened need to fight. For each strike mentioned, I thought, "Yeah, I made it through that!" or "And we're still alive." or "We are going to fight through this and win!" I came out of our conversation feeling good. I came out feeling strong. I came out feeling able. My faith is heightened, my outlook is good.

I'm not saying the road from here will be easy, or that having an evening of aha moments and strength is going to make my world suddenly come into balance. I'm just saying that this specific conversation didn't show me how horrible things are, it showed me how much I have dealt with and survived it...so my track record shows I can keep doing it. It was a blessing I hadn't gone looking for, but was given to me in such a timely manner.

I am not a person that enjoys a good fight. I avoid one at all costs-at least most of the time. But the fight I will fight is the fight against giving up. I will rail against depression. I will stand up to falling down. I'm standing a bit taller today. I didn't make it this far to quit. I will rely on the tender mercies of Heaven, the people that I love, and the miracle of being alive, and I will FIGHT. For me, for you, for all who are facing things-and everyone is. So I will fight. Carry on.

 

Missing MY Santa

*****My father passed away on December 30, 2016. He requested that I, the most emotional of his daughters, give a talk about Christmas at his funeral. This is the talk that I gave. ******

My dad. The real Santa.

I grew up with the real Santa Claus. I grew up with Christmas in my heart every day. My dad, Mike Summers, is Santa. Though my father many times donned a red suit and beard and shared treasures of all kinds, this is not what made him Santa. The complete understanding and deep love of what Christmas means is what made him Santa... though he wore the red suit well!

I grew up with a man who believes in the kindness and giving nature of Santa, and the saving grace of our Savior, and that those attributes together are what make the world livable, lovable and survivable.

Anyone who knows the Summers family knows that we love Christmas! We love the lights, we love the feelings, we love the joy, and the magic. We love giving and serving and watching the delight and surprise on the faces of a needy family that we just delivered Christmas to. We love the change of hearts, we love the common good. We love light, and candles, Christmas stories and Christmas music. Johnny Mathis, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra were our childhood friends, singing of Santa and White Christmases, but also crooning words of love, goodwill, and a tiny baby that would save the world with nothing but His love.

The essence of Christmas is love-the love that the birth of the Savior brought to the world, and the love our Heavenly Father gave in sending Him. Christmas is the love and generosity that Santa delivers to all the world. Christmas is love, and my father shared his in abundance. Many of you in the audience have probably been gifted with something that was his- many of them being model cars! Just days before his death, he gave a young man who was leaving on a mission one of his precious cars. This cute young man couldn't bear to leave that car home. We're hoping the other missionaries at the MTC are enjoying it with him!

One of the first stories I remember being told about my dad was the time my parents lived in El Paso, TX. My dad had his eye on a new plaid coat, and set aside money until he could afford it. He bought the coat and loved it. On the way home from making this purchase, he saw a man walking down the road, shivering with no coat. My dad knew he had just spent hard-earned and well saved money on something he had wanted, but he couldn't stand the thought of someone shivering in the cold with no coat at all. My dad pulled over, took off his brand new coat, and handed it to this stranger. He never batted an eye over it. He knew he'd done the right thing. The spirit of Christmas shone brightly through my dad that day, as it did his whole life. Now dad would tell you that marrying my mom brought out the best of Christmas in him. Together, no matter whether we were in the middle of a feast or famine, Christmas was planned, loved and given with great gusto every year of my life. It was prepared for and looked forward to the entire year. The sense of giddiness that built up in our home rivaled that of the movie "A Christmas Story." This is not to say that Christmas was always perfect. Our family would always inevitably pick the biggest, most majestic and full Christmas tree with the largest base of any other. Upon getting home, we always found the base was too big for the stand. This set off a series of events that our entire neighborhood witnessed each year. The saw came out, the tree trunk was shaved down, there was pushing and screaming, weeping, and wailing and gnashing of teeth, before the tree stand was ultimately hurled down the driveway with disgust and a swear word or two. And that, we knew, was part of Christmas too!

My family knew of Christmas magic and wonder from a young age. Because my dad was Santa, we knew every story from the North Pole. Every Sunday night of our entire lives we heard Christmas stories, told by my dad. In the summer we had popcorn and coolaid, in the winter we had popcorn and cocoa, but we knew when the popcorn started popping that story time was arriving. This magical hour each Sunday night taught us the names of each elf, the reason Santa's sleigh is red, the origination of candy canes and ribbon candy. And the way new toys were created.

But we also knew the wonder of the Christ child, sent to bring love, forgiveness and peace to our world.

I should point out that our family loves the entire Chrisman season,  and believes that Thanksgiving and Christmas go together as perfectly as my parents did. Giving thanks, and giving to others go together as well as peanut butter and jelly, so we love the whole entire holiday season that brings out the good in the world. But the best day of the calendar year is Christmas Eve. That's when The Summers go all out. For our family,  the year revolves around  Christmas Eve. As a child,  after gazing at the magical trimmed tree,  we'd  had the Christmas Eve feast,  eaten my mother's delectable assortment of homemade treats,  and we were all ready for bed,  we'd  read the story of the birth of Jesus. Although my dad had 4 daughters , who through the years would torment him with hormones,  screaming matches, crazy boyfriends,  car wrecks,  and an enormous fear of spiders,  Christmas Eve rewarded my father,  as well as us girls,  for having daughters.  After the true story of Christmas was told,  each of us girls donned a veil as Mary would have,  and my dad,  on all fours would be the donkey,  taking us to Bethlehem.  That is how we arrived in our beds.  My dad would deliver us there on his back,  showing us the wonder and reverence the mother of Jesus must have felt.  It's something I'll never forget.

As the years have gone on,  we've added more to this night.  A Mexican feast,  gift giving,  floating sky lanterns,  luminaries,  musical numbers,  treats,  memories,  and Papa's magical stories of the North Pole for the grandkids.  This year,  by my Meghan's inspiration,  we recorded one of Papa's stories, which he told to all of us,  huddled by the fireplace.  The magic was palpable,  and my dad,  Santa gave it to us. We treasure it. Our family knows that to honor my father,  all we have to do is keep Christmas  in our hearts every day of the year. And we will.

The spirit of Christmas if we have it in our hearts and live it every day is what helps us survive all the things in this world. People have asked if I will still love Christmas as much with my daddy gone, and so soon after Christmas. To this I say YES! CHRISTMAS IS LOVE.  My dad was love. So I will keep it all the year.

#bestfamilyever
#mikesummersliveson

Where Is the Love

We are in the middle of a season of love. One of peace and charity, well-wishing and goodwill toward men. I have always reveled in this time of year...it brings me joy. It gives me hope. It makes me happy and restores my belief in goodness. This time of year makes me believe in love-as if I didn't already...but also that everyone is capable of giving it and receiving it. You can love-whether you've lost, been hurt, been unappreciated, been afraid-even if you're broken. You can be loved, even if you don't feel worthy, even if you're alone, even if you have lost, even when life is hard. And you're darn tootin you can love at Christmas. That's what it's all about. That's why some of us love to carry Christmas in our hearts every single day. Every season.

I remember the lonely and alone right now. I actually remember them all the time. Not just at Christmas. There's a lot of hard stuff in this world. For everyone. Love cures a lot of those hard things. I'm grateful for the reminders to be sensitive. But there are sensitive situations our whole entire lives, every single day. How amazing that we can think of others and be kind all the time, not just right now!

I know life hurts. People come and people go. Bad things happen. Hearts get broken. People are lonely. Trials come upon us. Loved ones die. People make decisions that aren't the ones we expect. Everyone has something they are dealing with. I get it. This time of year that is all about love and joy and togetherness can be a little lacking for someone who is dealing with matters of the heart. But EVERYONE deals with matters of the heart. Watching Guardians of the Galaxy put it in perspective  for me when Rocket says, "Everybody's got dead people." At first I thought it was so harsh, but it's true. I think if we all remembered that EVERYONE has dead people (or trials or loss or loneliness etc.) that maybe we'd be a little bit kinder-and love a little bit better.

It's okay to be joyful ANY time of year. It's okay to give love and hope to others. ALWAYS. Even to people who are sad or lonely or not enjoying this time of year. There's a good chance that showing a little kindness and Christmas spirit might be the very thing that helps someone through. The little teeny acts of good will go a lot further than the moment. SO love. It is always okay to love. It's what we're here to learn. It's what we're here to do.  I'm almost embarrassed how easily I love. It pours out of me-literally (I cry a lot) and figuratively. Oh, I get hurt too. I get grumpy at selfishness. I get stung at misunderstanding. I get tired of feeling used. I get frustrated when I feel my love isn't being returned. But at the end of it all I find myself loving anyway. I can close my heart right up and wrap duct tape around it, but somehow the love finds any unblocked crack and oozes out regardless. It finds a way over the wall. It seeps under the foundation and out where it is supposed to be-with all the imperfect people and all the unfair situations. So I love you da*mit! Receive my love because it's comin' at you anyway! That's just how it's going to be. Right now at Christmas, and all the year through.

Reconcile

All  my demons have ganged up on me in the last few weeks. I have been healing from surgery, mostly house-bound with a lot of time on my hands and a mind that already overthinks EVERYTHING. I can't lift, bend, stretch (I miss you Pilates!!) clean, push a grocery cart, carry laundry down the stairs or vacuum (my therapy.) I have to watch others do the work I should be doing and stew in my own crazy brain. I miss my job-all my little kiddos and the phenomenal people I work with. I'm awaiting with eager trepidation all the little hugs I will receive when I return to work. Eager for the hugs, trepidatious because my midsection is still vulnerable. The days have gone by fast; I can't believe it's already December, but each hour is an eternity. I understand needing to heal-the days I try to do too much send me backwards, but I can't take much more. Though I know my convalescence is necessary, I feel trapped in my own life, and I'm drowning in anxiety.

This time of year is what I live for. It is what my entire year revolves around-feelings of peace, goodwill, happiness and joy. Christmas is in my heart always. Though my tree is up, and my house is decorated to the hilt, I feel like I am missing out a little this year. The whole experience of being out in the thrill of all things Christmas is a little lacking. A lot of my anxiety is the feeling that I am not living this season to its fullest. I'm not sharing love and good will- I'm taking it from others, which is all part of the cycle but I feel guilt just the same. So I am desperately searching out every bit of magic I can find.

It needs to be said that I have been treated beautifully. I have been visited and sent gifts. I have been brought food and books and movies. I have had wonderful conversations with people. I have had a wonderful team of health care specialists do exceptional work concerning my well being. My family has been patient and helpful. On the days that I am about to pop, someone steps in to ease my craziness with a drive to see Christmas lights, a walk in the cold, a quick trip to the store. I am beyond grateful for the love and care I have received.

I have to interject here that God has been so good to me. My surgery went better than I could have imagined, although my doctor ran into complications and extra work. My healing has been steady. I know that  Heaven has a hand in that. When my body and soul are heavy with anxiety and fear, God has heard me and tried to gear my thought processes in different directions than the ones that are eating me alive. And I know this has been a big job for Him. I am truly, utterly amazed at His grace and love for me. I am so unworthy, and so very human. I revel at His patience with me.

While sitting here for weeks on end with my brain in over-drive is making me insane, I have had to face reconciliation with a lot of my demons. The demons that tell me I'm not good enough (especially while I feel worthless, sitting around all day), that I should have tried harder, that I'm not making the kind of difference that counts, that I should have said something different, that I should have made different choices. I am having to face those thoughts head on and decide what to do with them. I am trying to accept the fact that "what-ifs" are of no use whatsoever. The reconciliation has come through copious amounts of thought, reassurance from others, blessings from Heaven, and a lot of work on my part. Though I am still smack-dab in the middle of this process, I will say the silver lining in staying too still is that you have to work through things...there's really no other choice. I have been advised to search for opportunities to experience the joys I crave, even if they are not the ones that I am used to participating in at this time of year. I am assured that opportunities will be there, and I'm praying I can keep my head above anxious waters while finding joy and sharing it with others. And I will be grateful.

Me and my girls on Meghan's 18th Birthday

Gutted

Weird title, right? But this is me. My life is in a bit of a tailspin right now. I have known I would end up in some version of this state someday, but the when, the why and the how of it kind of changed everything, leaving me unprepared and a little bit off-kilter.

16 days ago I had a full hysterectomy. This came after years of battling my family genetics, an ovarian cancer scare, endometriosis,  and doctor visits too many to count. I will spare you the details, but honestly I thought I had a good 10-15 years before I had to bite this bullet. The hardest part to swallow was the "6 weeks down" part of this ordeal. (oh, and the staying in the hospital part). That is so scary to me!! 6 weeks! I can't sit still for an hour. I am one of those people that if I start getting restless, I start pumping my legs and my daughter has to tell me to stop because I am shaking the whole couch. I worked in our school office one year and having to stay at my desk for hours on end just about sent me over the edge. I had to use any excuse to run errands around the school that year. 6 weeks is an eternity! No lifting, no twisting or using core muscles, no CLEANING!! Cleaning is my therapy. Sitting on the couch while Chad vacuums my house consumes me with guilt and longing. At any rate, I was not prepared for this. I am not someone who enjoys having to lay down after getting dressed or fixing my hair. I am determined to do those things-every day, But I am exhausted.!! Even though I had a few weeks to pull myself together, I wasn't ready. It doesn't matter how many meals I put in the freezer, or how clean my house was, or how many errands I had checked off my list. I wasn't ready. My house is not ready for the holidays and you know how I am about Thanksgiving and Christmas. But guess what? It has been okay. Life has gone on. We are adjusting.

Ha ha!! As far as I know, the only embarrassing thing
I did  was try to drink my ice chips out of the spoon they gave me.
"Heather, that is a straw, not a spoon, honey." Good thing
I was intubated during surgery. Who knows what I might have said?

One of the things that has happened during this (and though I am not surprised, I am humbly taken aback) is that people have literally come out of the woodwork to help my family. I didn't tell many people about this. I didn't want people to worry. I did not ask for help. I felt so guilty just asking for 6 weeks off from work that I thought I would die of shame. But my boss was stoic and comforting and kind. The teachers that I work with were generous and encouraging, and even brought me dinner. People at church are taking over and teaching my little kiddos. My neighbors have dropped off meals and movies and books and treats and flowers. Our families have brought meals and checked on me everyday . My friends have called (sorry that my phone is for the most part turned off) and I have felt love beyond compare.

Another thing I have noticed more of in our house is humor. It is how we are getting through this. It is how we laugh at mom having to tiptoe crouched over to go up and down the stairs, and how we tease Chad about looking so good with a vacuum. It is how we tell Meghan that she is getting all the skills needed to be a mom by emptying the dishwasher, cleaning the bathroom and folding the laundry-all in the same day. We laugh at everything on tv, especially episodes of The Middle-a show about a family that tries, but never quite gets it all together-in essence-us!

So though I have truly been gutted in a very real sense, I am grateful. I've got a good life going on here. I am grateful for the people in it. And I am learning that the way to get through anything is by loving and laughing through it! As my friend Jay always says...LIFE-BRING IT!!!