Predicaments and Ponderings Blog

I guess I look at this passage of time as just that. A passage of time. Year after year, month after month, hour, minute—moment after moment. No matter what we do, we can't stop the clock of life.

God has blessed me to become a writer and to give me seven novels—a dream a little girl never imagined would happen. A friend asked me the other day, "What will you do if you don't get another book contract?" Well, I'd be sad because I do have a passion for the craft of storytelling, but if it ended, I'd just ask God what's next. After all, He guides His plan for us. I say okay and try to be obedient.

We aren't guaranteed the next moment in this life, so we make the best of the moments we have. Right? (This is where you nod and say yes.)

Anyway, I put my Christmas tree up in November and enjoy it thoroughly until the afternoon of December 25. Then I'm biting at the bit to get it back in its box. An empty tree AFTER Christmas makes me sad.

So, you guessed it. The afternoon of Christmas Day, I grabbed the ladder and off came the chicken tree topper. I loved it while it was BEFORE, but AFTER—I'm done and down it comes.

My Orlando son and daughter-in-law went home the day after Christmas. The house is quiet, and the corner where the tree stood now looks empty. Well, I did put a plant stand there, so 'almost empty' is the more accurate term. My heart is sad and a tad bit lonely. My youngins have all gone home, and here I sit, staring at an almost empty corner.

I've said before that when our kiddos are wee, our thoughts tend to push ahead. "I hope they grow up to be wise, good, kind children. Successful." We always look ahead to when he crawls. When he walks…goes to school…gets a job. It's always "ahead" until we reach this point in our lives, and then time just passes while we hope our children call or come home for a visit. Kinda a freaky reversal. We wait and hope for them to grow up, and when they do, we kinda-sorta, resent the little snots for doing what they're supposed to do. Grow up and have families. Be happy. We're a warped sort of folks, aren't we?

Still, in my sadness that they've gone home, I find a deep comfort in the fact that they are good men. They are successful. They are believers, and when they wander from God, searching, I've learned it's not my fault. God entrusted them to my care. I've loved them with every fiber of my being, cared for them. Put their needs above my own. Raised them with a good work ethic, kindness, honesty, and love. I've supported them even when I disagreed with them, because part of parenting is being faithful to them and gently guiding them back where they need to be. Sometimes it's being quiet but simply being there (‘cuz we all know our adult children THINK they know everything, right?) But when they figure out they don't know it all, they look and see that I was there...in the background. On my knees, praying. Waiting. Trusting in their behalf.

I've told my boys before that the hard part of being a Mom is watching your adult child climb the ladder of life and seeing that one of the rungs is cracked. Don't step on that one… please try to step over it. It's gonna break if you put your weight on it. And then they do anyway. "But Mom, if you saw that, why didn't you say something?" You have to bend your head and stare at the floor, then say, "I wanted to, but you'd not listen, and some things you have to learn by trial and error. But I do pray every day that the consequences are milder than they were when I stepped on the rung, and it broke. Parenting is hard when your children are tiny. But it's really tough when they are adults.

Still, I'm fortunate that my boys are good men, responsible, believers, and hard workers, so when I look at that corner and see the missing Christmas tree and that the boys are gone, I do believe that God is pleased. He knows I did my best and continue to do my best with my sons. In fact, when they wander, and I cry out to Abba Father, He reminds me that I could control their actions when they were little, but I cannot make their adult decisions for them. Turn the hands of time on the life clock to read, I-am-here-any-time-you-need-me. And always will be. And Abba Father reminds me that I pray for them daily. That I now entrust their care to Him who is far mightier than I.

God entrusted me once, and now, I have to entrust Him. The hands on that clock have spun all the way around. Whether it be 1976 or 2026, life continues. I believe it was the writer of Ecclesiastes who said, "Meaningless, meaningless." Of course, his thought process was that he'd seen and done it all, had wealth and power, but when the day ended, it was meaningless without God. And how right he was.

I have my Abba Father. I've always accepted Jesus as my Savior and God as my Father (in a very formal way), but I've only recently understood what it means to call God my Abba… my papa… my parent. I've learned that I'm still an adult child in my Father's eyes, and there are times that this adult child thinks she knows everything. Meanwhile, Abba Father says, "Don't step there. Jesus stepped there for you. The rung broke. Step over."

When my consequence follows and I ask God, "If you knew that would happen, then why didn't you say something?" He'd respond, "I did, but you didn't listen, and well…sometimes you have to learn the hard way. But I've never left your side. I've always been right here, supporting you. Waiting. Keeping an eye open so I could welcome you back into my arms."

Talk about the hands on the clock spinning around and around. Holy broken clock spring, Batman.

Merry Christmas 2025, but the happiest of a New Year for 2026. May He bless your coming and going, your awake and your sleep, and all the days of your life, His goodness and mercy shall follow you.

Photo 1 Image by sztukaorganizacji from Pixabay  Photo 2 & 3 CindySproles.com  Photo 4 Image by MasterTux from Pixabay