Sue Estes

Sue







Sue Estes

Design Flourish

Sue Estes

Design Flourish




Author/s: Terri


Link to original version

My Mom

Dear Lindsey,

My mother has passed from this life to her new home in heaven. Though I will miss her, I am grateful she is out of her failing body, out of pain, and in a peace I cannot imagine – such a contrast to the sickness in this world!

As a tribute to Mom, I thought I would tell some of my “Mom” stories. I originally wrote them in the letter, “Shout Out to Moms,” written for the week of Mother’s Day, 2012. In that letter, I added a daily “mom” to whom I was “shouting out.” Some were friends, some strangers, and some relatives. I saved my mom for last.

However, just this past spring, Mom called me and said, “I just read that letter you wrote about a shout out to moms! That was so sweet of you to write!” She thought I had just written it! She had never seen my 2012 shout out! That made me laugh, since I had of course sent her the specific link back then, but at 76-years-old, she admittedly was not the most tech-savvy. In God’s perfect timing, she read the shout out as one of her last readings.

In my parting words to her in hospice this week, I said, “Mom, I love being a mother – and I am sure much of it is because of the mother you were. Thank you.” She is worthy of a shout out! Here is the tribute, quoted from “Shout Out to Moms!” published in May, 2012:

Lastly, and of course most importantly to me, I would love to shout about my own mom, Sue Estes. An amazing cook, she defined volunteer work by cooking for 80 children every Wednesday night at the church where I grew up in Carlisle, PA. She knows food is a love language, and she is fluent in it! Famous for her pies, she would make an entire pie for every person who attended our Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.

Hospitality was her natural gift. I don’t mean the pinky-in-the-air matching place-settings, (which she had!) but I mean the door was open to whoever walked in, and they would feel welcome to live there, anytime. Her freezer and cupboard were full “just in case” someone stopped in “unexpectedly.” She expected it.

Jesus said, “What you have done for the least of these, my brethren, you have done for me.” My mother served “Jesus” on more than one occasion. Once there was a bad car accident on the highway near our neighborhood. We children heard the collision and ran to the fence to see. My mother followed through with more than rubber-necking. I don’t know if she jumped the fence, or jumped in the car and followed the ambulance, but I do know that the family that was far from home on vacation was hospitalized and released at different times from each other. My mother offered our home to the father and children while they waited for the other children and mother to be released from the hospital. In my memory it was months, but knowing how children’s brains work, I guess it was probably a week that this family “moved in” with us, with bandaged wounds showing, as they awaited the mother’s medical clearance.Mom had a dream to be a nurse, but when she was a teen, she came upon a bad car accident and fainted. Because of the experience, she “chickened out” from nursing school. The dream never faded, even after her courage had. Years later, when my oldest brother graduated from high school (and her youngest of four was in 4th grade), my mom tenaciously picked herself up by the bootstraps and went to college, 45 minutes from home, full time. She graduated from college as an R.N. the same week as her oldest child.

I don’t know if it is possible to identify, much less quantify someone’s greatest trait, but Mom surpasses the world’s standards when it comes to being flexible and conforming to circumstances that change. She has been babysitting for me and ended up voluntarily taking on other people’s kids when their sitter didn’t show up. Once on family vacation, when our car ran off the road on the way back from a remote fishing lake in Canada, embedding in sand and needing a tow truck, she immediately got all of the fish out and started lining them up on the ground to make a photo shoot out of the time we had to kill. What would have been a stressful, bad memory turned into fun. (Although, we did laugh AT her sometimes, I think she knew deep down we enjoyed it.)

In 2008, when I had to make the call to let my parents know I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, I really think Mom was in the car before I hung up – ready to make the 1600miles drive to be by my side…for a doctor’s appointment. Wild horses had to hold her back until a few weeks after surgery, when I really needed someone flexible enough to let me try some steps back into life, but take over when I got exhausted.

“Shouting out!” about her kids has never been held back by my mom. She would tell a complete stranger in Walmart or Wendys (the two places I specifically remember witnessing!) all about her children and grandchildren’s accomplishments. She is president of fan clubs for 4 adult-children and 12 grandchildren [and a 2014 great-grandchild] ! I love you, Mom!

J.R. (at 3-yrs-old) summed it up best when he asked, “Who is God’s mommy?” I told him God did not have a mommy, and he exasperatedly replied, “Oh, He must be so sad!”

God truly blessed us when He gave us mothers.

In love and thankfulness for Mom,

Terri Brady

Share This Story & Inspire Others


Good Grief

Dear Lindsey,

Two new holes were left in my heart this past winter, and last weekend represented the first events where these loved ones “would have been there.”  I had been dreading the events without them.

First, I lost my 42-year-old brother, Mike, (from Colorado) completely unexpectedly, after his medication cocktail (due to back pain) proved lethal. Weeks later, my dear friend Jackie Lewis (from Michigan)– also unexpectedly – went to be with the Lord at age 32 after a short week’s illness.

When my uncle, Buck Seitz, received France’s Legion of Honor medal in Denver, CO, last week it was the first time that I was at a family event…without Mike. Afterward, I flew out of Denver, directly to Florida, for a business event. It was at this business convention where Jackie and I would have shared the stage at night, sat together by the pool during the day, or been boating in the ocean together as in past years.

It brought to me an irony of grief: “good grief,” I guess you could call it.

Beginning (every day) with the end in mind has been an effort of mine for years. Physical

Mike Estes …...1971 - 2014

death is not “unexpected,” as no one has avoided it as of yet. And when I know heaven awaits for those who trust solely in the Lord Jesus, I would want it to hasten its call for believers. That is the “good” part of the grief. But oh, how it aches to have that hole in my heart of one that once was here…not here anymore. To know my lifetime ahead will happen absent of these loved ones cuts deeply into me, and even more deeply when I look at the children and spouses, and those closer to the deceased than I.

The degree of grief has taken so many different forms within me. I am no psychology major, but I know that what I experienced is probably not unique to me alone.

Sadness:

The depth of raw heartache cannot be described. What once was…no longer is. There is nothing I can do to change it for the future. There is nothing I can do to change any past, although with these two, there was nothing I would have changed. If my mind ever wanders from the sorrow, something comes to remind me of it: a waiter named Mike, a bookmark bearing Jackie’s signature, a song that instigates a flash flood of tears. It is amazing to me how I see the resemblance of their faces in SO many people – like a mirage due to a deep longing to see them again.  My heart skips a beat when I see a red head. (They both were.)

Pure Joy:

I say, “pure,” because it is the true sense of the word.  Joy: that despises

Jackie Lewis 1981- 2014

circumstances. My pure joy: in knowing that Jackie is with her Savior in heaven. There is no more crying, no more pain, no need to wait for a sun to brighten her day, because the eternal Light is always there.  There is such pure joy in knowing that she finished her life at such a peak. Her husband raves about their marriage  –which gives me joy to thank God for the timing of her death to be at such a high! She was a speaker on stages across the country, and her desire for excellence was an influence on thousands of lives to live better.  The wrinkle fairy had not yet waved her wand in Jackie’s direction. Haha! She was beautiful, so beautiful. Her love for the Lord exuded her being in all that she did, and her testimony video was recorded just this year. What a high! I have a joy in knowing that although the dash between her birth-date and her death-date was too short for my liking, its brevity is what interested tens of thousands to watch her story, which could have eternally impacted them. I have joyin knowing that though 32 years seems so short, and I wish she had lived to be 105, I can look at the grand scheme of tens of thousands of years in eternity, and the difference in a few decades on earth is so, so small.

timelineGuilt:

I know some experience guilt after the death of someone due to words that were said, or not said… Visits that were not made… Time that had passed taking for granted the love and friendship of the newly deceased. Those feelings hopefully spur us to be reminded of the preciousness and finiteness of time with loved ones.  But my guilt was different. It was as though every smile I gave brought with it a weight. Wasn’t I sad? Does my brother know I miss him? If I smile, will he think I don’t? What about other friends and family – am I offending them if I smile when they are not? I know it’s a strange subliminal guilt – my brother cannot “think” anything anymore. He is gone. But inside me, there is a pang, like a weight from below that feels good and right being sad, and guilty being happy. This “guilt” is probably most dangerous, because it is not from God. He is the one who allowed a weight to lift…and probably listened to the prayers of many to give me that moment of lifted weight…and yet I sometimes regretfully have given the unfounded guilt power in my day. I tend to think I need to “justify” my happiness, “Well, Jackie would have loved that I can laugh at this video now.” Or “Mike would have been laughing with me at this.” That justification may be true, but I just don’t want to miss the opportunity to say instead, “Thank you, God, for making the sun rise on my life again, because that night was long.”

Wanting to hide/avoid:

This part of grief seemed to have an undaunted allure. Do I have to attend that event? Everyone will be looking at me to see how I am handling it. What if there are expectations of how I am supposed to “look” and “act” in mourning? There will be others there grieving; I hate to look at others and see the pain I know will be in their eyes from their loss.   Events with people who didn’t know the deceased were even more difficult: it seemed disrespectful to be with people who didn’t even know or care about the ones I miss so deeply. My local church family didn’t know or love my brother. Couldn’t I use a few more hours of sleep? Couldn’t the world just turn without me for a while? I am hurting.

Doubt (with a capital “D”):

Have you ever prayed so intensely that it hurt? Physically, hurt? Have you ever lost entire nights of sleep or days of meals while praying for someone’s life to be saved? Have you ever visualized the victory so deeply, that you almost forgot whether the prayers had been answered yet or not, because you trusted that much that victory was imminent? Have you ever felt like you sweat blood?

Have you ever prayed that much and God still answered, “no.”

And that was His “final answer.”

Not, “No, check back with me next week.”

Not, “Wait… I like how you are depending on Me. Keep depending on Me. Let Me work on it.”

Just, “No.”

“She’s gone.”

Or “We lost him.”

Did you ever go back and doubt that your hours upon hours of fervent prayers were even heard?

I have.

Is doubt sin?  YES

Am I proud?  NO

The Bible talks about doubt:

“If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given him. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does. James 1:5-8”

But there was a time a few years ago when I doubted my prayers were heard, and I am ashamed. I have to tell you a little secret though:

I told God about it.

A. Weatherell Johnson, in her autobiography, Created for Commitment had this to say about a time of doubt in her life:

“I went to God and bluntly said, ‘God, I’m sorry but I don’t believe You always answer prayer.’ Immediately after I had spoken those words aloud, I corrected them. ‘God, I do believe but I don’t understand.’ God then gave me His loving assurance. He said, ‘My child, wait for Me. I have not finished.’ My very voicing of unbelief (to God alone) delivered me. I started to praise Him.”

Reading that, I remembered my own gut-wrenching tearful surrender that was so similar.

However, since answers to prayers do not always take the same shape of the mirages I have created, I believe we have to have the attitude my friend Diana had when she admittedly felt like prayers bounced off the ceiling back to the sickbed where she lay.

“I don’t understand, but I trust.”

The truth of the matter is that we cannot be afraid to speak out our doubts honestly, and immediately to the Lord. The very voicing of the sin can deliver us from it. How can a drowning victim be saved if she won’t admit she’s drowning? Besides, do we think He doesn’t already know our heart?  Do we think He doesn’t see behind the fig leaves with which we cover?  Are we surprised when He asks, “Who told you that you were naked?” (Gen 3:11) He already knows.

Jesus, Himself, prayed for His circumstances to change so earnestly that His sweat was like drops of blood, (Luke 22:44) yet He humbly submitted when God said, “no,” so His life was used to save mine.

The Lord holds our tears in a bottle. (Ps 56:8)

If we can just …hold on to Him a little while longer. (Haggai 2:6-7)

When God Says, “No”

Just recently, Pastor Stephen Davey shared about the topic, “When the Answer is No.” (I love it when I have a blog half-written and someone else covers the exact topic!) You can read his message: here or listen to the audio here.

He taught five components to our response to God when He answers “no” to our fervent prayers. We should respond with humility, gratitude, surrender, praise and readiness.

The Bible is clear that there is a time for mourning, a time for tears. (Ecc 3:4) Even Jesus wept at the loss of his friend.  (John 11:35)

And yet, the fact that Ecclesiastes says, “there is a time,” to me, says that the time is finite. It ends. Yes, I will miss these loved ones, but there is more.  There is more to come in this life than mourning….when I respond with humility – recognizing that my desires do not include the whole world like God’s desires do. When I respond with gratitude – recognizing that the fact I miss these loved ones means I have some memories for which to be thankful. When I respond with surrender – recognizing that I am not in control…and really never was. When I respond with praise – recognizing that I do LOVE the One who IS in control. And when I respond with readiness – recognizing that there is more to come. This is not the end.  I want to be ready to serve the Lord as Jackie was, to spread laughter as Mike would have done.

Just wait, there’s more.

I once heard it said, “Everything will be all right in the end; and if it is not all right, it is not the end.”

Girlfriend, it is not the end. Last weekend as I lived without these two was a sort of victory for me. It wasn’t the end! Yes, I cried again… at the loss… and the change… and the grief of continuing life without them. (I even held my brother’s newborn granddaughter, whom he never met.)  But the victory was in the ability to say, “I am ready, God.  I don’t understand, but I trust.”  I guess that is the good that gets squeezed out of the grief.

“Good” grief!  I couldn’t have said those words together a few short weeks ago. But God knew the day would come.

The world still turns, even though there was a time when its turning seemed impossible.  As I shared at Jackie’s funeral, I feel like God is holding on to my heart, saying, “Just wait. There’s more…”

May we heal through worshipping Him in a real relationship, no holds barred, no doubts hidden, in real communion, as we wait on His “more” to come.

“The difference between waiting on God and wrestling with God is worship.” – Stephen Davey in Nehemiah: Memoirs of an Ordinary Man

 

– Terri Brady







terribradyblog.com

terribradyblog.com

Design FlourishDesign Flourish





The Best Pain Killer

Link to original version

The Best Pain Killer

Dear Lindsey,

“DNR” and “DNI” were in bold letters on the bracelets she wore.

DNR: DO NOT RESUSCITATE.

            DNI: DO NOT INTUBATE.

Those seem like easy decisions to follow – the wishes of the patient. Those decisions were made by my mother when she was in good health, and working as a registered nurse at a nursing home. She expressed to all of us children that she did not want to be a body lying in a bed with food going in one end and out the other, with no sign of life but the movement of her chest to the beat of the respirator.

A blood clot that likely escaped her fibrillating heart headed to her brain a few weeks ago, causing a massive stroke. While her first stroke with the same cause eighteen months prior left hardly any residual, this one left life-changing ramifications: paralysis. The initial ambulance trip brought good conversation where she had her typically humorous answers to the hospital staff’s hourly questions:

  • Who is president?
    • The wrong guy.
  • Who is this? [pointing to my brother]
    • The one I am mad at. [haha!]

The following days and weeks were not so jovial. She fell into a deep sleep, where answers came no more. She shouted in her sleep, yet when awake, she mumbled with her eyes closed as if straining to communicate with nurses who asked questions. Sometimes she would wake from slumber for their questions, but the mumbled answers through closed eyes seemed disconnected to the woman I call, “Mom.”

  • What year is it?
    • 2000…no 2005.
  • What month is it?
    • October…must be October.

The clock was ticking toward death by starvation. Two weeks was the maximum that the doctors would allow her to receive nutrition from the NG tube. At that point, if the swallow test was not passed (for which she would not even stay awake!), then a more permanent feeding tube would need to be surgically implanted. Is this what she meant by “no tubes” in her wishes? What about the woman who was joking with the doctors the night she arrived at the hospital just ten days before?!

It is difficult living thousands of miles from my family, but tragedy multiplies that pain. I traveled from North Carolina to Colorado. I knew I was optional; God was in control. My dad and brother could make wise decisions without me. But I knew I would feel better if I saw her.

This is one of those times when “the only daughter” (as I am) has a special role of caring. I figured I would massage her head, wash her feet, and whisper in her sleeping ear. I decided to take Christine (age 11) along, since she would be an added blessing to Mom as well as to me. Besides, I want Christine to have experience in caring for the elderly, since I plan to be one some day.

We entered her hospital room, her 12th day. Her paralyzed left side was obvious, even while she slept, yet my heart was grateful for the glimpse of her.

“Mom,” I whispered in her ear and she jolted, so I know she knew I (or someone) was there, despite her closed eyes. Christine stood by my side, as we stared at her limp body.

After praying over priorities, I cancelled my week’s speaking engagements that had beenFullSizeRenderplanned for a year. I prayed the audience would understand and be encouraged to live their own lives by God-given priorities if a moment like this ever arose.

As we sat at the hospital hour upon hour, I realized that my octogenarian dad (as well as my older brother and his wife) had been doing just that for the eleven days before I had arrived! Dad took his seat next to Mom’s bed, with crossword book in-hand, just as normally as if it were his own living room. I am afraid he was used to “his” chair. What a blessing to have a 55-year-old marriage to weather these storms, whether my mother was aware of his presence or not. “A true love story never ends” is a sign on their wall at home.

The next day, Christine was weary of the sitting. “Can I sing?” she asked, so innocently. She has a way with spreading smiles anywhere she goes, and though I honestly wasn’t ready to smile, I knew her singing would give it a nudge in the right direction.

“Sure. That would be great.” I said.

Christine stood by her bedside opposite my father and me. She looked at me, and then toward her sleeping grandmother, then began:

“What a friend we have in Jesus IMG_9239 2

All our sins and griefs to bear.

What a privilege to carry

Everything to God in prayer.

Oh what peace we often forfeit

Oh what needless pain we bear.

All because we do not carry

Everything to God in prayer.”

Her voice was angelic. It was so light-hearted, as if she didn’t feel the weight of the situation…as if she wasn’t “needlessly bearing the pain” just like the words she sang.

My father asked, “Is Mother singing along?”

I looked at my mom’s sleeping face. “I don’t think so,” I said.

My father’s hearing problem has probably handicapped his communication, but lack of hearing didn’t mean lack of feeling what was going on.

Christine went from one song to the next into Mom’s sleeping ears. “Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us,” “How Great Thou Art” and “Amazing Grace.” It was as though she knew my mother would prefer the older hymns to their contemporary counterparts.

Somewhere in the third or fourth song, I noticed Mom’s lips moving, and even heard a groan of low singing.

“She IS singing now!” I said to Dad.

We watched as Mom mouthed the words along with Christine’s voice, sometimes jumping ahead and saying the lyrics to the familiar hymns before Christine got to them. I was happy to see Mom was still with us.

Tough Medical Decisions

My dad took advantage of the “awake” opportunity. He leaned over her bed in a caring position, and spoke directly into her ear, asking her the tough questions at hand.

“If a feeding tube is necessary for you to live, would you want to have the surgery to implant a feeding tube?”

Yes” my mother’s head nodded.

“What about a respirator?” he asked, since the anesthesiologist had warned of her high risk of needing one post surgery.

No” my mother’s head shook decisively.

To be sure she understood the questions and that we understood the answers, he asked her again, and got the same replies.

Phew. A little peace came into my heart, knowing her wishes more precisely for the situation at hand.

The following day, as they prepared Mom for surgery – I bent down to her eye level. I told

painting in the waiting room

her I loved her and would be waiting for her on the other side (though in my heart, I truly didn’t know if I meant heaven or the recovery room). She opened her eyes and smiled. Her lips didn’t move – not even the non-paralyzed side. But she smiled… deeply…with only her eyes…looking at me. Her eyes communicated a depth of love that can be transferred even through one…deep…look. Her smiling eyes said, “I love you. I am proud of you. I am glad you came,” though her lips never changed their sedentary position. Her eyes said it all, and I drank it in. Then her eyes closed again.IMG_8282 (1)

The feeding tube surgery beat the odds…or God beat the medical odds, and Mom – and her fibrillating heart – came through the anesthesia better than predicted. However, if I had thought she was asleep most of the time before the surgery, now she had gone into hibernation! The pain meds combined with the leftover anesthesia to make a sleep cocktail that ended our ability to converse…for what ended up to be the rest of my stay.

What to do when the going gets tough

“Can I sing for other patients?” Christine asked, a couple days later.

You gotta love the heart of that girl! She went from crying over the sight of “GG” being sick, to wondering what “Pop Pop” would do if GG didn’t make it…to asking if she could sing in front of complete strangers.

I couldn’t think of a better way to ease the pain.

Serving others is always the best pain killer!

While one nurse checked my mom’s vitals, I heard her take a phone call from a coworker down the hall, “No, we don’t have a worship service, but we can have a clergy visit him if he wants.”

The nurse hung up, and I smiled at the coincidence – or God-incident.

“I overheard you say that someone is looking for a worship service?” I said to the nurse. “My daughter here was just asking if there are any patients who would like to hear her sing.”

“That would be AMAZING!” the nurse enthusiastically replied. “I’ll meet you at room 32 when I am done here!”

Christine and I left to find room 32.  We waited outside for a minute, because the patient was settling into a chair.

Dressed as if for church, younger than most of the floor’s residents, the patient looked like a civilian, except for the wires which protruded from above the buttons of his shirt. He had what looked like lifelines connected to the machines that whirred behind him.

“Hello!” he said with force – much more volume than we had heard at my mother’s bedside all week. He must have already heard we were coming.

“I just can’t believe this Bible-believing hospital wouldn’t have a worship service on Sunday morning!” he said. “I mean….I go to church every Sunday, why wouldn’t I go today?! Especially today?!”

Christine asked, “Would you like to hear, ‘Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us’?”

“That would be great!” He spoke with enthusiasm – as if finally somebody was going to do something right around here!

He watched her intently, switching to glance at me a few times while she sang.

Her voice quivered a little. She can sing in front of thousands, but the one-on-one attention made her nervous. I cut her off at the third verse, fearing tedium.

“You give me such hope!” he blurted as if anxious to speak. “I mean, what is our country coming to?! All that has happened this week?! And overseas?! And then I see the beautiful picture of youth in front of me, focused on Truth!”

He went on to talk about politics. (with which I agreed!)

And religion. (with which I agreed)

He spoke of his family.

He mentioned his past…and his future. Christine and I silently listened.

“What a blessing you are, Christine!” he said, as if she had done some major deed by singingone song.

I wondered if the real gift had been in her listening, not her singing.

“You want to hear my favorite song?” she asked. Of course he agreed, and her confidence escalated into What a Friend We Have in Jesus with gusto.

His intense stare made me glad she hadn’t sung more of the other song. He was enraptured. I wondered what “griefs he bore” that the song seemed to be carrying away. His face softened and eyes welled.

I quietly sang harmony (below), while lifting prayers (above), deeply worshipping in this stranger’s hospital room.

When she was done, I asked him if he wanted to pray. I honestly don’t know what gave me the gumption at that moment; I am not usually one to hold hands with complete strangers. Nor am I one to put my daughter in front of strangers. I am not a gifted Bible teacher, and don’t feel led to lead men. I suppose the Holy Spirit prodded me to come a little closer…closer to his life.

Christine, the man and I held hands and I spoke words to the God of the universe. What a precious privilege to “carry everything to God in prayer.”

As the short prayer came to a close, I could feel his grasp gain strength while trembling.

“Amen.” I said. I once heard

Prayer is when the weight shifts from our shoulders to His.

I felt that weight shift.

Tears streamed down the man’s suntanned cheeks in giant drops.

“You have blessed my year! I can’t tell you what this has meant to me! What a blessing you are!”

The real message

To recap the message: what a glorious God we serve!

  • “No organized worship service” did not mean “no worship”…and it may have even been more intimate worship the way it happened.
  • The best painkiller is to serve someone else in pain.
  • There are no coincidences, only God-incidents. Without my mother’s illness, we would never have been in this man’s life – nor would any of you know to be praying for him right now.

As for my mom, she has since been released to a skilled nursing facility, where, Lord willing, she will begin her long road to recovery.  Christine and I felt comfortable leaving, and on my dad and brothers’ encouragement, kept our plans for family vacation in Italy the following day. (More on that to come!)

In the mean time, I am looking forward to the next time I see Mom’s smile, while holding onto the memories of many in the past.

Blessings,

Terri

P.S. Thank you for praying for my mother, my father and this patient, Tom. There was a similar “singing” story with another patient on the same hall. Almost identically, with very different backgrounds, the other patient, “Chris,” was tearfully touched by Christine’s singing and the prayer.  Please pray for him as well, since he received a very bad diagnosis the night before Christine walked into his room. He trusts in Christ alone, and according to the doctors, will likely be with Him in heaven soon.

Matthew 18:20: “For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.”

P.P.S. My mother went to be with the Lord eight weeks after the stroke. I celebrate her life in a later post here: My Mom.

terribradyblog.com

About

My life as a mom, wife and Christian can be such a blessing! so stressful! and so funny! all in the same day.  These letters are meant to vent, challenge, or simply entertain, but always to leave the reader and the writer changed.  By definition, growth cannot occur without change, so I hope that through changing, we are growing to our own highest potential.

After my sons’ coaches had changed the location and time of one night’s practices twice, my daughter’s try-outs were listed on a date that didn’t exist, and I happened to notice an error on my son’s medical record, I said to my husband in frustration, “How do dumb people be moms?!!!”  He laughed hysterically (probably at my English), and then told me, “THAT’s why you need to blog!” There are brilliant women putting degrees and accolades of the world aside in order to keep a family running – with or without another job. Our actions and reactions in life begin with seeds that grow from our thoughts.  We need to stick together!

The stories come mostly from “ordinary everyday life,” which I never feel is “ordinary,” unless you are used to underwear on fire on a chandelier, a fig tree sticking out of a convertible and being publicly assaulted because you don’t know where Walmart is. The starring roles of the stories are usually my children, Casey (15), Nate (12), Christine (8) and J.R. (7), but let’s not forget the dog, Delilah. Tissue warnings I am told would be good before reading about more serious topics like infertility, and When We Don’t See a Purpose.

Why the name? My friend and leadership business partner, Lindsey, asked me at just the right time if I had ever thought about writing a blog.  Thinking she might be the only one who would read it, I decided to write letters to her, but I LOVE that others have enjoyed reading them too!

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that my #1 fan, my husband, Chris Brady, is an author,business owner and leader who influences others to be leaders. His blog is read in dozens of countries; his Tweets are followed by hundreds of thousands; and he is asked to speak at conventions around the world. Most importantly, he is an incredible example of living his utmost for His Highest as a husband and father.  I sometimes feel like a trailer, glad I’m hitched to his truck!  Other times, I feel like I am only held on by those two little safety chains on the sides, and I’m whipsawing across the highway behind him, trying to catch up! But I have had the most fun running alongside of him, thrilled to be in this life with him, hoping to reach our highest potential for our Lord together.

Enjoy some pages from our journey with four children, including some flashbacks to their toddler days (when I had NO TIME for writing)! May God bless our time together,

Terri Brady

Read more

Check it out at terribradyblog.com

Share This Story & Inspire Others


whoilove.com
Be inspired – Be kind.

Carmel, Indiana
317.818.4595
info@whoilove.com