My Mom is my Hero

My Mom is my hero. She recently celebrated her 80th year walking Planet Earth. Her journey hasn’t always been an easy one. Truthfully, it has been filled with extreme difficulties starting with fleeing her childhood home ahead of the advancing Russian Red Army. She hadn’t turned six years old before she watched her mother and grandmother pack up their belongings–except for the valuables they’d buried in the backyard–and attempt to catch a train to Berlin. By the time she turned seven, she had survived a World War. She was a happy girl, in spite of living the life of a refugee, with no place to really call home. Her youth was filled with hardships, but she kept her spirits up, and somehow through it all, managed to hold on to her innocence.

Mom met Dad at a church camp one Summer. She loved him instantly and hoped he would be the one God intended her to marry. And get married they did, but not until after they buried her future father-in-law, who died a hard death from a combination of cancer and other ailments. She stood by my father’s side as he grieved the loss of his dad and looked after his mother. Like me, my Dad grew up an only child.

They got married and lived in small apartment hosted by the owner’s of a small café and inn in a tiny German town near Lake Constance. From their they moved to Switzerland because the jobs were more plentiful, due to a burgeoning economy. When I was born they met some friends at the hospital who would later invite them to come to America, continuing my family history of migration.

The Bantaus

When we came here, neither of my parents spoke English. Like me, they had to learn. And learn my Mom did. She adjusted to a new life in a new land, leaving behind her parents, siblings, nephews and nieces, and friends. Marshall, Texas was a hospitable place, but not one used to foreigners. Certainly not Germans.  But Mom, who has displayed an incredible friendly spirit through her life, made friends quickly. The list of people who helped her adjust to her new home is long. You simply can’t make it in this world without a good support network.

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As a young lady, Mom was a beautiful, gregarious soul who never met a stranger. This continues to be true today. Mom makes friends, through church, through community outreach, and through her artwork. Though life has thrown her more than her fair share of challenges, Terri and I have witnessed my Mom rise to the occasion, exemplifying what it means to be an overcomer. Through it all, I’ve seen her faith blossom and her love for people grow. That ain’t easy in this world. That’s why Mom will always be my hero.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who have been blessed to raise children and who have been a blessing to so many. You may not always realize it, but you have had an incredible impact on more people than you can ever imagine.

God bless you all.

Mom is my Hero

What to Do When the Crazy in Your Life is You

Admitting your life has become unmanageable and asking for help takes courage. You’re not quite sure when it happened, but sometime during the 24-7-365 party, you became powerless over your addictions and compulsions. You may just have one; or if you’re like me you suffer from a combination collectively destroying your life. And make no mistake about it: your addiction and compulsion will kill you, unless you get help.

Getting over yourself, your hurts, habits, and hang-ups isn’t a solo show. You can’t do it alone. You need strength from above and support from a community of people who know what you’re going through because they themselves have gone through it.

It won’t happen overnight. You won’t wake up Monday morning cured. What ails you runs deep and has its roots firmly implanted inside you. Addiction won’t let go easily. You won’t just suddenly give up your compulsion.

overcomer

The longer I was out and about actively chasing my highs the floor of my lows gradually dropped lower and lower. What were once solid boundaries crumbled like the walls of Jericho. The friends I once partied with got busy, so I got busy getting new friends. The crowd I hung out with got rougher and rougher. The line between right and wrong faded in the distance. All I cared about was copping a buzz or getting high. No matter what the cost or consequence. The more the merrier. Until one day, everything came crashing down and I found myself  hugging the porcelain god, sick and tired of being sick and tired. Getting clean and sober became a matter of living or dying. The choices before me were clear. One road led to recovery and a new life. The second road led to a lifetime behind bars (the kind they have in jail cells not by the hotel lobby) or an early grave. It wasn’t easy. It didn’t happen easily. I stumbled a lot early on. And I got up, only to stumble again. But I kept trying. “Hang in there,” they said. “Keep coming back.” So I did.

Perhaps you can relate. Maybe you can’t quite yet.

For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.

Romans 7:18 (NIV)

Change

Wherever you are in your journey, know that you don’t have to go it alone. You weren’t meant to. There’s plenty of help out there. You can find meeting rooms for you compulsion or addiction of choice in your community. You can find support and help online (this blog is an example).

Life CAN be different. Life IS worth living. Remember to keep it simple and take it one day at a time. I’m praying for you. You CAN recover. Take the first step…

You’re not alone.

recovery is possible

But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us.

Romans 8:37 (NASB

#recovery #itworksifyouworkit #overcomers #together

One Day at a Time