Travel, An Exercise in Self Control
Travel, An Exercise in Self-Control
Judy Tomczak | March 2025
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My husband and I are not big travellers at all. We are home bodies and stick pretty much close to home and we’re okay with that. I had to think hard about how long it had been since we had been on a plane together when recently we took a journey to the province of British Columbia. Neither of us had ever been there before and with a work opportunity there for me, Ron decided to join me. We extended our stay over the weekend and planned a visit with friends who live there. We were excited for the journey especially knowing it would be a break from the freezing temperatures of Eastern Canada. We were excited for the adventure of a new experience.
The self-control part began before we even left our home. Luggage! No one seems to trust the airlines not to lose luggage anymore, so many pack everything they need into carry-ons and that one personal item that has to fit under your seat in front of you. For me, who loves my fashion, this is an exercise in self-control. I wanted badly to bring my super-cute white booties that I purchased for an amazing price at Winners but there wasn’t enough room. I had to make due with my super comfortable black boots that I could wear the entire trip. I’m not sure if my husband had the same struggle as I did…I expect not. I had to choose between my bulkier more fashionable sweaters and my more practical less bulky turtlenecks. I was pleased with my choices and zipped up both my bags and was ready to go.
Flying from East to West was a long trip with a stop in Ottawa. We were prepared with downloaded programs to watch on my tablet and fully charged electronics. But things happen, especially when travelling. It had been an early morning for us because we had to take our Golden Retriever to doggy daycare before leaving for the airport. A long day was ahead.
With recent weather issues and plane crashes we weren’t that surprised when we received our first delay. Our connecting flight was coming from Toronto where there was a bad snowstorm. We were delayed in Ottawa for 5 hours. There we sat in the uncomfortable seats in the gate we were assigned by the very few charging stations for our fully-charged electronics, now needing charging.
I was deeply impressed by the father and daughter sitting beside us sharing the same charging station. They were fun, pleasant, and a joy to share the waiting area with. Then they told us their story. They were supposed to be enjoying a well-planned vacation, creating father/daughter memories in the sunny destination of Florida. Delays and cancellations meant they made it there only to have to immediately return home, via, Toronto, Montreal and now Ottawa. Home was Vancouver. Vacation cancelled, plans lost, indescribable disappointment and yet so excited to finally be on their final flight home. I couldn’t imagine how they felt but you wouldn’t have known it to talk to them. It impacted me.
We finally arrived in Vancouver at 1:30AM, I believe 4:30AM our time. We were exhausted and so relieved to finally be there. Fortunately, I didn’t have to report to my meeting until noon the next day. And, interesting fact, during that meeting we experienced an earthquake. It shook the whole building. Fortunately, not big enough for damage but big enough for a little excitement and a new experience that my husband and I can say we experienced together.
With business complete, Ron and I enjoyed visiting with old friends that had moved during COVID and we didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to. It was like no time had passed. We thoroughly enjoyed the views of the mountains on our drive to their place, enjoyed our time together which went by way too quickly. The following day we enjoyed time with another friend who actually lives in PEI but works in Vancouver. Yes, that’s a thing. He was an amazing tour guide for the day and made our last day a pleasant experience.
We hoped that the trip home would be shorter than our trip there. We enjoyed our time in Vancouver but were looking forward to being home. We woke up to the dreaded cancellation notice without reason, no storm, no accident, just cancelled. We had been cancelled and rerouted. Our departure 12 hours later than planned. Another day of doggy daycare, and a lost day of wages for this self-employed person. We could have had an extended stay in our room but only received the notification from the airlines after spending the entire day in the airport gate. Instead of Toronto, we had a stopover in Montreal. We received food vouchers that you had to spend at one chosen airport food station all at once, lunch and dinner. There were many people with food vouchers. We were definitely not alone.
It was a welcomed surprised to see the lounge chairs in our empty gate for our connection home, right beside the charging stations (that didn’t work). We napped, until the two other flyers started very long video chats on their phones. They were loud. I wanted to yell at them…but I exercised self-control. After almost 24 hours waiting in airports, our final plane was ready for boarding. There we stood in line, waiting, waiting, waiting. I wanted to yell… “WHAT’S TAKING SOOOOOO LONG” but didn’t.
Seriously, how is it that more people do not loose it on a plane, or in an airport. I’m a taller than average person so don’t even get me started on the seats on the plane. Torture to sit like that for even a short flight. Who made the decision that this was enough room for humans. What humans? Not this human. Then there’s the people who don’t listen to instruction. I applaud the woman that scolded other passengers for putting their coats in the overhead bins when they had been told not to over and over. Carry-ons everywhere and not enough space. Seriously, how hard is it to keep your coat on your seat. I used mine as a blanket and pillow. Humans crammed in a small space for hours on end. Exhausted, frustrated humans nearing explosion. Or maybe it was just me that wanted to explode… I’d like to think not.
This all caused me to think as many challenging situations cause me to do. Why do we do this? It is human torture to do this. Maybe a little better for those who can afford the better seats. Note to self, pay a little extra next time, if at all possible. The reason we do it has to be the destination. That could be seeing beautiful places, new experiences, or visiting loved ones. All worth the journey. I know when we got on that last plane home, we felt relief, and pure excitement at seeing the familiar Confederation Bridge from the air. We were home!!! Just like the father and daughter on our plane to Vancouver, nothing mattered but the destination. I didn’t loose my cool. I had no choice because loosing it would have cost me, maybe even another delay I couldn’t afford and so I remained focused on the end goal… home.
I wondered, what if we approached all of life the way we do travel. Sickness as a temporary layover, financial hardship a cancellation and new direction, heartache a noisy passenger, a passing annoyance in our lives. I wonder if we focussed on the destination instead and trust that the one in charge would get us there, and get us through. Would we get less upset at the roadblocks and detours, the often extremely uncomfortable and sometimes pure torture of circumstance? I wonder if we would appreciate more, the special moments, memories, destination and new experiences and eventually the comfort of home?
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Every winter has a spring. Every journey a destination.
Broken Joy
Judy Tomczak | December 2024
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I have a rule…no Christmas decorations before December 1st. I’m not a scrooge, I just want distance between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I want and need a little snow to feel festive. But in early November this year, I was visiting my daughter in Ontario and she and my grandson wanted to decorate for Christmas. Little Brady was so excited all day and just couldn’t understand that we had to wait for Amazon to deliver the hooks for the new Christmas ornaments that mommy bought. He asked as all excited 5-year-olds do, over and over, when the package was coming? Countless times he made her check her phone for delivery status updates. Exasperated he sighed and asked one more time… “mommy when are the hookers coming?”…. Hilarious right?! That was funny! The hooks, not the hookers finally arrived, and we began the process of decorating the tree. His joy made me want to decorate my home as soon as I returned … before my December 1st rule.
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To get myself in the mood, I put on Christmas movies. They play one after another from probably the beginning of October. Who knew?! They are all the same and pretty cheesy, but it helped and I even caught myself shedding a tear…uhg! These movies are all the same really, same plot, same ending, different faces. Then I remembered I was in a couple of these movies back in the day when my husband and I did background acting for fun. Not to burst your bubble or anything but there isn’t anything real about them. New York is likely Toronto, the snow is fake and it is in the middle of summer when they are being filmed.
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Each movie depicts some sort of hardship, loss, grief, obstacle to the perfect holiday season, to joy and to peace and most often love. They work through this in the movie plot and there is some sort of magic to the season that brings people together, restores relationships and there is always a happy ending which usually involves a kiss. Awwwww. Most of us can relate to the hardship and we all want that happy ending. But, for most of us that ending we want is uncertain, a long way off or maybe even impossible.
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As I began to unpack my Christmas boxes, with a movie playing in the background…there it was, my broken Joy. It is one of my favourite decorations and it made the trip with us to PEI but every year when I open that box, it is broken. It is a handcrafted wooded sign that I purchased at a craft show. It has the letters J, a snowflake for the O and the letter Y. It’s the letter Y that is broken every year and every year, I take out my glue gun and glue it back together.
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This one simple task is actually very symbolic of my Christmases. There’s no getting around it, my joy is broken and it’s the Y (why) that I struggle with the most. My mom’s dementia has stolen her from me in many ways and that’s always sad. I deeply miss my two oldest grandchildren and the grief is deeper at this time of the year. I still have unresolved issues that seem unsolvable and while we do love living here it does mean that our Christmases are far from those we hold dear. We have actually started a new tradition where we have turkey dinner and all the trimmings when they come to visit in the summer. It isn’t the same but its our new normal.
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I fix my Joy and I place it in my favourite place. I don’t have a glue gun that can fix the other things in my life, especially the WHY?, but I do have a God who is where my joy comes from. So, I give those broken pieces to Him and we go about Christmas and in the midst there is joy. Joy in the concerts we attend, the parties with friends, and the Christmas eve service at church. There is joy in the carols we sing, and the peace of knowing the reason for the season. There is joy in the memories of Christmases before.
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I encourage you to put your joy back together, piece by piece give it over to the one who can heal and restore. Christmas won’t end like a Christmas movie. That isn’t real, but take pleasure in the little moments, like a funny comment from a grandson or a kind word from a stranger.
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As a family we celebrate progress not perfection. This has been a good year, and we feel very grateful. Our story is still unfolding, and I like what I see. There is hope in what might be in our future and joy in what is today.
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Merry Christmas!
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Sometimes, Someday Comes
Judy Tomczak | October 2024
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“Someday, she will thank you” the woman said to me as I sat there beside her waiting for our interview to begin. It was one of the first times I had gone public with my story, and I was extremely nervous. It was a live podcast hosted by the local newspaper. The subject matter was addiction and mental health. This would be the first time, she (my daughter) might hear what I had to say, my daughter and her partner might hear it, and I was terrified. Not scared of the countless strangers listening but scared of the two who hated me most. Invited to participate in the podcast were local experts working in the field and then me, just a mom who’d walked the journey of having a loved one fighting this battle and feeling helpless to fix it.
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The words the woman spoke to me held a lot of weight. She wasn’t just a random stranger. She was my daughter’s support worker and someone who had walked in my daughter’s shoes and had come to the other side of it. She had heard me tell my story before at another event and she also knew my daughter’s story. It meant something coming from her, that maybe, just maybe, some day she might actually, thank me. But not that day. Following the pod cast I picked up my phone and saw that I had a few hateful texts from my daughter and her partner. That Someday seemed a long way off that night.
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It was my story to share about my journey to freedom though, I imagine, they feared I would be sharing all their secrets. It was never about that. Would I ever get the chance to explain that? I doubted it very much, but I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I believed I should. I wanted to be a change maker, a barrier breaker and yes, a storyteller to help others who were suffering in silence.
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That podcast was broadcast around the same time that my book was published though I didn’t mention it in that interview. I did wonder about the day my daughter would find out about that book, how she would react, how it would affect her, and our relationship. It was with the encouragement from others, professionals and friends, that I made the decision to publish it. There were years of estrangement from her when it didn’t really matter because she wasn’t in my life anyway. She couldn’t hate me any more than she already did. The book was published in 2015, almost 10 years ago and a lot has happened since then.
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She learned about the book during a time when we were reconciled, and I finally gave her a copy. That first copy she never read but it travelled with her for years. Her reaction was more positive than I thought it would be. She knew I was doing some speaking engagements and sharing my story, and she was surprisingly proud of me. Then we became estranged again during the ups and downs of her toxic relationship. I never knew if she actually read the book, until last year when she asked me to mail her another copy.
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It took almost another year before she actually read it, and she told me the timing was perfect. She told me that years before she wouldn’t have been able to read it. Some of it was hard to read now but she was able to read it and hear and receive the love in which it was written. It was only just the other day I received a text telling me… “I love you so much mom and I am so thankful for how you truly love me, you touch my heart…and I think of the things you have said to me even in your book that helps me understand myself.” My heart was full as I read those words and I couldn’t help but think of the words spoken to me by the woman who sat beside me during that podcast. Someday came.
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I have a lot of Somedays on my prayer list and most of them seem very impossible. Almost as unlikely as winning the lottery. I pray that some day I will see my two oldest grandkids again, hold them, share life stories with them. I pray that some day both of my girls will live a life free of anxiety. I pray and hope for healing, reconciliation with broken relationships, for financial freedom, and a cure for the disease that has stolen my mother’s memory.
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In my journey to letting go, I’ve learned to live in the today and not the some day. Tomorrow isn’t promised. Yesterday is past and we can’t change it. The future is out of our control. We won’t get to see all our Somedays happen, but some times they do. If I lived in what wasn’t, I would miss out on a whole lot of what is. It wasn’t easy, isn’t easy still, as I miss, so desperately miss, my grandkids. My daughter’s words give me hope for the Somedays I still pray for and that she prays for too.
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I’m watching my daughter who has some of the same Someday prayers that I do. She’s come so far and is doing so well. It is very encouraging and dare I say inspiring to see her just simply live in the today. I really hope and pray her Someday comes. We don’t know what the future holds all we can do is move forward, embrace the good in today, give our Someday hopes and dreams to God and live.
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Don’t give up on your Somedays but don’t wait to live until they come. Live like they will, some day.
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God in the Suffering
Judy Tomczak & Daughter | March 2024
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Recently, my husband and I skipped church. Not entirely, we skipped our own church so we could watch a church service being held three provinces away. We could have watched it at a later time, but we wanted to watch it live because our youngest daughter was being baptised and watching it live made us feel like we were there, in the moment with her. This is one of the many perks that have come out of COVID…church on-line, anywhere, any time and of course online shopping (sometimes not a positive), grocery pick up and delivery…I could go on.
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So, there we sat in our comfy cozy clothes with our Golden Retriever cuddled between us and a box of Kleenex in front of us, because we knew tears would be shed. She wasn’t a difficult child to raise though she did stray in her teenage years and did some dumb teenage stuff and had a teenage attitude, but she didn’t stay there long. She righted her ship in her early twenties and took a path that led her into ministry on the mission field in foreign countries and then later a career that requires a heart filled with compassion for others. But, she struggled, and it was heartbreaking to watch. It wasn’t so much what she struggled with that broke my heart, but it was the self-blame and her self-doubt for God’s love for her that troubled me most. Where was that coming from and why did she feel that way? This isn’t her fault, she isn’t alone, and why can’t she see that?
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I’m so excited to share with you her words, her story that she is graciously letting me share with you. I hope it touches you the way it has us. We have witnessed her growth over this past year as she processed through truth from untruth. We are so thankful that she didn’t throw God and church out with the bad advice from well-meaning, loving people but greatly misguided and misinformed. Her church community is a strength to her and key in her getting through what she struggles with the most. We have watched her soften in spirit as she began to let go.
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In her words…
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“I am a believer of Jesus and the victory and power He has accomplished on the cross. I was brought up in the church but unfortunately it fell short in teaching the love of Jesus and focused more on religion and the dos and the don’ts of how to be a Christian. More unattainable rules and if I had struggles or problems it was because I had sin in my life. This teaching brought me condemnation when I would mess up, feeling Jesus was unattainable and unapproachable.
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I became a Christian when I was 20 and it wasn’t because my life was together. I was lost and into drugs and making men my god to bring me comfort, self-worth and purpose. I was miserable, bitter, full of resentment and so hard of heart. Jesus found me there in the mess. He placed people in my life I hadn’t seen in years and they were on fire for God and full of peace, love and acceptance for where I was at. I felt no judgement from them. I wanted what they had. He gave me the strength to get away from an abusive relationship. I had no strength to do so on my own.
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Life, it’s so messy and beautiful and full of mistakes and failures, highs and lows. Life, like an EKG has ups and downs. If it were flat, we would be dead. Through the damage of religion and impossible expectations and just the stuff of life, trauma, etc., I developed anxiety, and panic attacks. First, on a mission trip in the Philippines of all places. I became a stigma, I had mental illness. I must have done something really bad to get this, according to what some told me because we need to be happy all the time. NOT! Deny what we are feeling, put on a mask. My heart now breaks that this is what some people believe. I thought that way too.
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I have had wonderful people tell me that I shouldn’t be on pills for this the rest of my life. God can heal me. I read a Facebook post from someone who wrote “all these people posting about Robin William’s death is making me depressed, don’t they know that there is a God that can take depression away?” To someone that suffers with depression and anxiety, that felt insensitive and hopeless. You wouldn’t tell someone who suffers with cancer to not take their treatments, God will heal you, pray harder, have more faith. Yes, God can miraculously heal, but sometimes He walks with us through these dark nights and valleys. He works ALL things to His good. He puts tools in our lives to help us too. He uses these dark times to minister to others that are suffering.
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I have been earnestly seeking God for freedom in this but instead He has brought me freedom from self-condemnation. He has taught me that He is here through my highs and lows. He loves me regardless of what I may be feeling. The most influential people in the Bible suffered loss, anxiety, depression, physical ailments. Did God not bring about His good will and purpose through it all? YES! Job lost everything. Elijah had clinical depression and ran. Jonah was full of bitterness and tried to run from God. David, the book of Psalms, do I need to say more, literally the biggest book in the Bible, is full of highs and lows, his honest emotions and struggles and failures laid out for our God. Jesus, our saviour was not excluded from suffering and emotions. He wept with his friends, even though He knew He would raise Lazurus from the dead. Paul with his thorn in his flesh prayed three times for God to take it from him but God said, “my grace is sufficient for you for my power is made strong in your weakness.”
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I believe God has the victory over everyone and everything and He has the final say. If this is my cup I have to drink than so I will. What I will say is my mental illness has taken my once judgmental way of thinking, and my hard, unreliable heart and softened me. God has given me more love and compassion for people than I ever thought possible. When I feel anxious, I turn to prayer. My greatest desire is for everyone to know Jesus in a deep and personal way and that they will take comfort that Jesus will not give up on them. He paid too high a price for us to be burdened with religion and self-condemnation. He is not oblivious to what you are going through. He is with you through it. Get grounded into a good church that brings hope and a love of Jesus regardless of circumstances. Don’t be Job’s friends telling them they must have done something to deserve it. God was angry with them for that. He also had Job pray for them and forgive them. He always desires us to forgive because that’s what He does. Jesus came for all the lost and the struggling, with mental illness, addictions, or anything. God sees you. He has not forgotten you.
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I know some people are more accepting of people with physical illness because that’s more relatable and understandable. God sees the broken, the people with the unknown, that feel rejected by others. God loves you, I love you and most importantly, you are not alone.
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Romans 8:38-39 (TPT)
So now I live with the confidence that there is nothing in the universe with the power to separate us from God’s love. I’m convinced that His love will triumph over death, life’s troubles, fallen angels, or dark rulers in the heavens. There is nothing in our present or future circumstances that can weaken His love. There is no power above us or beneath us—no power that could ever be found in the universe that can distance us from God’s passionate love, which is lavished upon us through our Lord Jesus, the anointed one!
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Comments that she heard over the years that kept her crippled and in a cycle of self-blame are not unique to the church, but a wide-spread society misunderstanding of mental illness. We have come a long, long way and I’m proud to say I go to a church that runs its own Celebrate Recovery, does a multitude of outreach ministries to the surrounding community and a place where all are welcome.
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I knew what it was like to feel depressed, I knew what it was like to feel anxious and to want to give up. I even knew what it was like to take medication for it, but I didn’t fully understand the difference between what I was going through in comparison to what someone who struggles with a mental illness such as bi-polar, borderline personality, clinical depression and so on. I haven’t been in their shoes. My stress, depression and anxiety is from the outside in. My stresses and triggers are external and temporary but for someone who struggles with clinical depression or bipolar disorder and so on, their triggers and stressors are from within and don’t always have reason and are often not controllable without medication, therapy and yes, prayer.
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I think it would be irresponsible for me to give someone advice on medication or treatment because I’m not a professional doctor or counsellor but there are well-meaning, loving people who think they can do that. That kind of advice can be triggering to someone who already feels shame for their mental health struggles, and that advice can sometimes have devastating consequences. Let’s be careful and mindful of the things we don’t understand. We can think we know but we don’t know unless we are in another person’s shoes.
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Even though I still get texts asking me to pray for her because something has triggered a panic attack, I am not hearing the self-doubt and blame anymore. She’s learning how to cope with what is often debilitating and triggered by a simple change, or fever in her child. All normal everyday life things but for her devastating. Prayer always helps her through it and her church is today, thankfully a great source of strength for her.
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On one occasion she asked, “why can’t I trust God with this, what is wrong with me”? I replied, shocked that she didn’t already know this and said … “you do trust God with this every time you do anything that you know is going to trigger you and you do it anyway because you know He is going to get you through it.” She went to the other side of the world twice, had a child, takes in every stray animal that comes across her path, has a very stressful but rewarding job in healthcare, all causing chaos but she does it anyway. To me, she’s a hero, and an inspiration because even though it is very much a part of her struggle, she doesn’t let it hold her back and she’s willing share it with others.
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She shares this because she wants to do her part is lifting the veil of shame and guilt that surrounds mental health issues. She wants others to know they are not alone and its okay to not be okay. She wants more people to be careful and mindful of advice they give those who are struggling with this. You wouldn’t tell someone with any other physical ailment, to “get over it”, “pray harder”, “read more”, “stop taking your medication”, “remove your glasses”,…that would be poor advice. God can heal but he also brings about great things in the suffering whether it be a lifetime or only a moment because He is in the suffering right there with us.
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I applaud her for this, and I am a proud mom.
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While I Was Angry
Judy Tomczak | January 2024
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The single mom sat with her mother and two little girls in a McDonalds. She wasn’t supposed to be there. This wasn’t where she wanted to be. She had just accomplished the bravest, scariest thing she had ever done and was exhausted. She bought a house. A modest semi-detached home a couple of doors down from a friend’s house. It was equally exciting and scary. Up until this moment she hadn’t even paid a bill on her own but buying was cheaper than renting. In a couple of months, she and her two little girls would be starting a whole new journey together. That, in and of itself was terrifying and overwhelming. Single parenting wasn’t something she ever saw herself doing.
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But there she sat…angry. She was an hour away from home and delayed by a minor detail. She waited in a McDonalds for the signing of the papers to make the sale complete. Why couldn’t this one thing be easy, go smoothly, peacefully, without a hitch? Why did everything have to be so difficult? If she could have made it back home in time, she could have taken the girls (in JK and SK) to school. More than anything in the world she wanted a nap. She wasn’t asking for a spa day or an expensive outfit, just a nap. Desperately, she wanted a couple of hours to herself, to catch her breath, clear her mind and absorb all the chaos that was going on in her life.
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Inwardly, she cursed her God and felt completely abandoned by Him. Did He not care? Did He not see her stress and desperation? Did He not love her? Wasn’t everything else she had endured to get to this point, enough?
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The papers were finally signed, and she made her way back home with her children but not in time for school that day. It was a relief when the girls finally went to bed, and she could finally rest. Was that really, too much to ask for?
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The next day was a regular day and the girls made it to school that afternoon as normal, but there was nothing normal about this drop off. She was greeted in the hallway by both their teachers who took her aside. They began to tell her that the day before, her estranged husband showed up at the school and told them that she had been in a car accident, and he had come to pick up the girls. It wasn’t the alcohol they smelled on his breath that gave away his lie, it was the fact that the girls hadn’t made it to school that day at all. They were stuck in a McDonalds, delayed by a minor, inconvenient detail.
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The young mom was washed over with a sense of relief and of knowing that while she sat in a McDonalds shaking her fist at her God, He was busy protecting them from more chaos that only He saw coming.
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I will never forget that day. It was the day, I moved into my parent’s home for my own safety and the safety of my children. It’s a day I reflect on whenever I feel God’s silence and I wonder if He loves me, sees me, hears me? Sometimes, I see the work He is doing to protect and heal and bring positive change out of the ugly things that are clearly meant to destroy me or those I love. There are the other times where I know I may never get to see the change, but I know He is still working, and still loves me. I also know that He understands my anger. He knows my perspective is not the same as his.
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When I think about the woman I was then, compared to who I am now, I hardly recognize her. Sitting in that McDonalds, she was still in her twenties. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was insecure, desperately lonely, afraid, and broken, but she had an unshakable faith. That day doesn’t compare to some of the even more difficult days that lay ahead of her. It wouldn’t be the last time she would be angry with her God. It wouldn’t be the last time she felt his silence. She would want to give up many, many times. Life, too hard for too long, too often, but its that faith that would get her through. Often, in the silence, she would remember that day in McDonalds and choose to trust in what she cannot see.
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Each difficult situation brought about new growth and change in her. She became very independent and capable of things that she never dreamed of doing. She made mistakes, but learned to forgive herself and others. Through her greatest challenge she would learn how much God truly loves her and her children. A love not based on performance, but just pure unconditional, unbreakable love.
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It would be many years before she would truly enter her season of rest, healing and restoration. There wasn’t time back then, to fully heal. She’s in that season now. Struggle is still part of her story, but in her sixties, she’s come to know God has her, sees her and is quite capable of getting her through to the finish line.
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My perspective has changed and I can now see what a privilege it was to have been able to purchase a home as a single parent. Many never get that opportunity. I remember that interest rates were in the double digits and considered a good deal…wow… I know we complain now but it was worse. The price of a home was much, much lower then. Purchasing a home and moving still stresses me out but not as much as that first time. I lived hand to mouth always, but we always had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. There wasn’t a lot extra for extra things, but we had plenty, though at times, it didn’t feel like it. We had each other and had helpful parents and friends who were there for us and to whom I am eternally grateful.
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I’m no longer single and have been happily married for over 18 years to my husband Ron who entered our lives when my girls were in their teens and definitely not at their best. He is a brave man, who loves us all and the back story we came with. It is a privilege to enjoy this restful, retirement season with him by my side here on the peaceful Prince Edward Island. We also enjoy sharing this place with so many friends and family who come to visit. Priceless moments and priceless memories that make the journey worth it all.
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Parenting wasn’t meant to be shouldered alone. There are not many who intentionally choose that path. Be a light to a single parent…mom or dad. Their burden is heavy, and their need is great.
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Why a Child?
Judy Tomczak | November 2023
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Like a storm, addiction entered our home. Its path of destruction was felt by all. We rebuilt and it returned over and over again. Sometimes we saw it coming and sometimes, we did not. I had seen this storm before in the life of my first husband, the father of my children. On top of the pile of infidelity, broken trust, broken promises, lies and abuse lay the love that I once felt for him. It destroyed our marriage.
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When addiction took root in the life of my child it took on a whole new kind of pain. The pile of broken trust, broken promises and abuse though similar in many ways, the love I felt for her wouldn’t die, could never die, because she is my child.
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I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. The war on the other side of the world is hard to ignore or imagine. War is horrible without question but when it affects the innocent lives of children, it cuts deeper. The child, there is something about the child.
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I started thinking and wondering as my mind often does. Is that why God refers to us so often as his children, his child? Is that love different? For me it was, same offences, the same struggle but the love endured. Full disclosure, there were many times when I was estranged from my daughter, but the love, and longing to be in relationship remained. I knew what she could be, could do and I knew her story. I feel that way about both my girls. Their offences are easily forgiven with a simple apology or an, I love you mom.
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Think about becoming a mom. Before our children are even born, they cause pain in our bodies. They change our bodies forever and not in good ways. They come into this world in great pain. Sleep, well that is a luxury we will never fully enjoy again. Even when they are adults, they can still steal our sleep. They are demanding of our time and attention, selfish, self-absorbed, dependent, ignore our wisdom, rebel against our instruction, go their own way, do their own thing, but there is just something about our child that makes it all worth it. We would do it again. Many of us do. Siblings…double the trouble, double the pain, double the cost.
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Here I sit at my desk surrounded by photos of my now grown children and their children, keepsakes, gifts and memories. They have my heart and always will. Their piles of rebellion not so high that my love was lost. Heaven help the person that would dare try to harm any of them.
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I am in no way comparing my love for my children with the love of God. I’m seriously not perfect, nor is my love, but the love I feel for my kids and grandkids is a different kind of love. Grandparents out there think about how you feel about those grandkids…that’s a special kind of love level that cannot be put into words. When I think about it though, my grandkids are so very special to me simply because of whose children they are.
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Hmm there goes my mind again…God’s love is perfect, so if He loves imperfect me (His child), oh how He must feel deep love for my kids because they are mine.
My kids sometimes trust me to care for their precious children, despite knowing all my imperfections as a parent. I’ve had to learn to trust God with my children because they are now adults. I know His love is perfect and He has never let me down so why not trust Him to do for them what He did for me. It’s been a tough journey to get there. Many years of trying to be my child’s savior, protector, and compass and then with my grandchildren too. When left to no other choice but to let go, I let go, and left them in His perfect love.
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I may not get to see the heroes He will place into their lives to guide them, the mentors, the teachers, and caregivers but I have a peace in my heart that He is doing just that. Life won’t be easy. It wasn’t for me, but He certainly sent all those things into my own life and is quite capable of doing the same for them.
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My youngest daughter just got another tattoo and I feel it is fitting to close with its message. I do not have tattoos, but she has a few. This latest one, I love. There were two actually. The first is of a mother holding in her arms a child and the second was a scripture verse.
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Romans 5:8 (NIV)
But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
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She summarized that verse with what is written below:
Romans 5:8 – I loved you at your worst.
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Simply put. She strategically placed it where others could read it and hopefully receive its message.
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While we were still going our own way, doing our own thing, ignoring His wisdom, He sent His greatest gift, the child, His child, to save us, His children, and grandchildren.
There is no greater gift. There is no greater love.
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The Little Things
Judy Tomczak | October 2023
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This past Monday was Thanksgiving and though it was only the two of us (3 if you count the dog) I felt incredibly thankful. We had turkey and our favorite side dishes and it was delicious. We even shared a few bites with the dog. No, not from the table because, well, that’s not allowed. He waited patiently until we were done, and then he was given a few bites in his bowl. Before you applaud me for teaching my dog good manners, you should know he sleeps on the bed and is allowed on the couch.
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We counted 15 overnight guests which included a friend’s Golden Retriever for our first summer here on the beautiful Prince Edward Island. Each visit gave us new cherished memories. Each had their own wish list of things to see and eat during their stay. We tried to do something new with each guest. Something new to us and to them so they could be a part of our journey in exploring this island.
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It was fitting that our first visitor was our youngest daughter and our oldest daughter was our last. Both of them, brought uncertainty with them as they both had health issues before coming which meant up until the last minute we didn’t know if they would be able to make the trip.
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I wrote in an earlier blog about our visit with our youngest Melissa and grandson Brady and our kayak adventure on the ocean. Our last visit was with our oldest. For those of you who have read my book “When the Light at the End of the Tunnel is Another Train”, you know her as Ashley. Taking a trip to PEI was something the two of us always talked about doing but her life took us on a journey that made that dream seem impossible.
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When Ashley came to visit, she brought with her a fiancé. Having this opportunity to see them together, their interactions, the way he loves her and embraces her quirks that make her, her, was priceless. This is something I thought I would never get to see. He understands her past. He has been there too. Their life together is simple, work, home, walks, puzzles, feeding the neighbourhood squirrels and birds and most importantly, sober. They take joy in the little things.
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There were many moments I enjoyed during their visit but there was a moment that touched my heart the most. Our good friends offered to take us on a little boat ride. During the ride, Ashley’s fiancé became overwhelmed with emotion and freely and unashamed, he cried. It was his first time ever seeing the ocean and he felt overwhelming gratitude. His life, not an easy one but in that moment, with Ashley by his side, his life felt rich and complete.
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While on a walk along the boardwalk, Ashley talked about how much she was enjoying every bit of their visit but admitted that in every good moment, there is a cloud of grief that hangs overhead. Grief for the children she misses and we miss, grief of regret, guilt and sometimes shame. As I watch her put one foot in front of the other, in spite of the clouds above her, I can’t help but to be proud of her. Her story is still unfolding. I’m already seeing things, I never thought I would. This small moment, doing something as simple as walking and talking was a moment, at one time, I thought would never come again.
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Keeping it real, in the year before we moved here, I lost my will to live. I was in a very dark place. We have a cloud of grief too. In the past few years, I have experienced betrayal, disappointment, loss, fear and anxiety, like never before. Life was too hard for too long. For the big things, the things I have no control over, I have learned to let go of. Sometimes daily and sometimes more than once a day.
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I’m enjoying life very much these days, and I’m in a better place, physically and emotionally, but the other stuff is still going on. Like…
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My parents, who remind me of what it was like raising teenagers. They don’t listen. They haven’t made a solid plan for their future. They are completely unaware of the dangers and deceptions all around them. They take unnecessary risks. I feel there might be a future blog on this topic because I know I’m not alone on this one. It’s a weird stage in life for all of us. We begin to parent our parents and surprise, they don’t like being told what to do and fiercely hold on to their independence.
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Betrayal, that’s a big one. I’ve experienced betrayal and disappointment by someone I once looked up to and respected. That’s a daily letting go, because I don’t want to go to a place of hate or live in a place of anger, while accepting that my feelings are valid.
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Grief at not knowing if or when we will ever see our two oldest grandkids again. That’s a big cloud but one I refuse to allow to take from me all the wonderful memories I have of them.
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Anxiety, because of the trauma we went through. It sometimes gets in my way, but it hasn’t stopped me from moving forward. What other direction is there?
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I could go on, but I have this thing called faith, that allows me to believe that God has the big things. All the things that I have no power to change and so I give those to Him every day. In doing so, I get to enjoy the little things like:
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My husband’s hand in mine as we walk along the ocean front. It is just water, but like my future son-in-law, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude that its beauty is a part of my life and I get to share it with the love of my life. It doesn’t have to be an ocean. I recently enjoyed a walk with my daughter Melissa on a beach called Turkey Point in Ontario. It’s just walking and talking, but to me, priceless. Every time I look down at my manicured fingernails, I feel the warmth of the memory of Melissa and I getting our nails done together. Conversations with friends, daily phone calls from my girls, endless cute stories about our youngest grandson, (I mean seriously, incredible cute stories) the warmth of the sun on a Fall day and I could go on and on. I love the changing of seasons. Even the snow doesn’t bother me as much anymore because the joy it gives my puppy somehow makes me enjoy it too.
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It’s the little things that bring to me the most joy, if I don’t let the clouds that hover above keep me frozen in place. Life has only one direction….forward. Life has gone on for me and for Ashley, though the clouds hover, our stories continue to unfold because the author isn’t finished yet. There is more to come. If that last visit taught me anything, it was that life has hope even if I have lost it. The moments and memories we made, I could never have imagined two years ago.
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I will continue to enjoy the little things because when I do, the noise of the clouds above hush and I see God’s beauty. We are not promised tomorrow, not promised a life without struggle, or consequence, but there is so much joy in the simple, little things that are part of our everyday life, often taken for granted.
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Me, Brave?
Judy Tomczak | August 2023
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It’s been a crazy, busy summer of visitors here on the island of PEI. Our first summer here and we have had family and friends come and stay with us, who have never stayed with us before. Its been so fun having each one of them and making memories that will last a lifetime. Most of them arrived here by plane, one by car and then there was a special arrival that really impacted me in a unique way.
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There are two Judy Shepherd’s in our family. I always thought that it was cool to have an aunt with my same name. She’s a pretty cool aunt too, often doing things that I consider, brave. When she (who is now a senior) pulled up in our driveway this summer on her Spyder with her friend, I was blown away. For those of you who don’t know what a Spyder is…I’m not talking about the 8-legged kind, though that would be cool too, but not welcome, I’m talking about a motorcycle with 3 wheels.
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We called them the 2 widow ladies because they are both widows. They both embrace life with gusto and make the best of every day. My aunt who has mobility issues and at home uses a scooter to get her from place to place, drove a motorbike from Sudbury Ontario to the island of PEI. Like, what?! Not only that, following the sudden passing of her dear husband, she travelled abroad to Nicaragua to visit her son. These two widow ladies also did a European trip together, even staying at times, in hostels. I just couldn’t see myself doing that. These two ladies were an absolute hoot and far braver than I saw myself. Impressive, right?!
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At one point during our visit I said to my aunt, “I wish I could be as brave as you” and she quickly replied without hesitating, “I think its pretty brave for you to move across country, I don’t think I could do that”. I was so taken aback by her response because I hadn’t seen myself brave at all. But there’s that perspective thing again.
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Like always, I began to ponder and think about what she had said, and I began to feel brave. I was brave when in my late 20s I said “enough” and entered into the life of single-parenting. I had never paid a bill before but managed to obtain my own home and mortgage and very good job while juggling the lives of my two little girls. Single parenting took bravery every single day. I was brave a few years ago when I stood before a judge to fight for my grandchildren. Though the system is very broken, I was brave to stand up and fight. There have been days when just getting out of bed were brave steps, with the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was brave to stand before a crowd of strangers and share my story. I’m brave every time I pour my heart out in words and share them with you.
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I was also impacted by our first visitor here which was my youngest daughter Melissa and 4-year-old grandson Brady. I knew it would be a difficult trip for her. She often gets overwhelmed with the “what ifs” of change. Anxiety can overcome her in these situations, but she was brave and made plans to come anyway. It was her first trip with Brady alone and his first trip on a plane and there were a lot of “what ifs”. As she struggled to stay calm at the airport, she began to hear the familiar voice in her head “I can’t do this” and was ready to call it quits. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice. “Melissa?” It was a dear friend from high school that she hadn’t seen in years. Her friend and her mother were travelling on the same plane, both directions. Melissa knew instantly that she could do it and she wasn’t alone. We both knew that this wasn’t a happy accident but God ordained. I’m so grateful for her bravery that day because the memories we made on her visit were priceless.
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My aunt and her friend were a delight to have in our home, but the secret to her bravery, my daughter’s and my own were revealed on her last day with us. She had one request before walking out the door and beginning her journey back home, prayer. We then stood in a circle and held hands and prayed a prayer of thanks and a prayer for a safe journey.
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It’s brave to believe in a God we cannot see, but I do believe. In my moments of doubt and the voices that tell me “I can’t do this”, I hear a familiar voice calling my name and I know I’m not alone. I believe He is with me in every step, every mess, every obstacle, every moment. I feel that presence pushing me forward and making me brave.
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On my aunt’s last night here, I climbed aboard the back of her Spyder and allowed her to take me on the short ride from the boardwalk to our home. She had made it this far so I trusted she could get me safely home. To get to our house, her and her friend drove through heat, wind and rain, but seemed to have no regrets. Maybe it was the destination that made it all worth it. I want to live my life like that.
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What's With All the Yelling?
Judy Tomczak | June 2023
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What I’m about to tell you might change your opinion of me. Here it goes…I love reality tv. Not all reality tv because I do have my limits, but I have my favorites that I watch on the regular, “90 Day Fiancé”, “Married at First Sight”, “Amazing Race”, “Survivor”, just to name a view. Hey, my relationship with my husband started with reality tv. No, we didn’t meet on reality tv but when we first started dating, we were strictly friends, not looking for a relationship. We did have a mutual love for the show “Survivor”, so we got together every Thursday night to watch it. Obviously, friendship grew to love because we are very happily married today but it started as two friends enjoying their favorite show together.
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It's the “Tell All” that you really want to see. That’s the best part where all casts members get together with a host to talk about the season that we all just watched. Lately, I’ve noticed a shift in the amount of yelling. There’s always been the yelling, but lately it seems worse. Why so much yelling? As a viewer you can clearly see nobody is listening to each other. The name calling, shaming and blaming and no one taking responsibility for their own actions. I’ve watched them all do despicable things over the seasons on their own journey, so why all the finger pointing and name calling? Is name calling ever okay?
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My father told me when I was young and this stuck… “the person who keeps their cool, wins the fight”.
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Dad wasn’t one to yell often but when he did raise his voice, we listened, because it meant something. My husband isn’t a yeller either. He rarely gives a straight answer and is full of one-liners, always wanting to make you laugh. When he does raise his voice, it’s not yelling but just serious, so we have nicknamed it “Serious Ron”. We enjoy “fun Ron” more, but “Serious Ron” comes out every once in a while and we take notice because he isn’t serious often. It means something.
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I think there is a place for yelling, like when your older brother is about to push you into the deep end of a pool and you can’t swim. A good yell is in order for that situation. Or if a person is texting on their phone and about to walk in front of a moving car…yell as loud as you can…save a life. However, if we are yelling all the time, and all at once, who’s listening? As a single mom of two girls 18 months apart, I yelled often, but I have to say, I regretted every yell. All very understandable and justifiable but very regrettable.
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I yelled a lot at my husband recently. Let’s just say I will never go tandem kayaking again. I taught canoeing in my youth to campers and steering a kayak is similar. In a tandem kayak, the heavier person sits in the back and is supposed to steer the boat. It’s a bit loud on the ocean with the waves and wind and my husband couldn’t hear my instructions. Wait, he did hear me but kept doing the opposite, hence the yelling. “I taught this, trust me”. I’m pretty sure I yelled that a few times. I yelled different instructions but nothing stuck so I got to experience salt water in my eyes and mouth from the wave that almost capsized us. My daughter who was in another tandem boat with our grandson Brady, said I sounded like a seagull squawking instructions. She thought it was hilarious and though it doesn’t sound like it…it was fun, and we all had a great laugh during and afterwards. I would do it again. Kayaking on the ocean is pretty cool, but next time, I want my own boat. Ron agrees. Here’s the thing, sometimes the yelling doesn’t help, it isn’t heard, it just sounds like awful noise, and it falls on deaf ears.
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There’s been yelling in my own family lately, that I haven’t experienced in a long time, if ever. Let’s just say, I’m not a fan of politics, certainly not a fan of talking about politics but some of my family members are. This wouldn’t be so bad if everyone was on the same page, but they are not. Life is hard these days, really, hard and when I get together with family, I want to laugh. My dad calls it passion. He is passionate about these things and loves to talk about them. I’m passionate about my mental health and well-being and I just can’t focus on all the doom and gloom that surrounds us. There are so many good things happening in the midst of the awful muck of what our world has become. I want to talk about those things. The heroes in the storm, the miracles of faith and the strength of human kindness in the midst of tragedy. I want to talk about family and laugh about old times. When my dad’s passion rises, it sounds to me like yelling, like a seagull squawking and I want to do the opposite. Thankfully, our family has come to an agreement. We agree to disagree and now avoid certain topics when together.
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Throughout our journey, with our daughter and our grandkids, I’ve wanted to yell a lot. There are a lot of people I’d like to yell at, give a piece of my mind to. I want justice, I want redemption, I want freedom and restoration and I desperately want to see change in a system that’s been broken for too long. I want to yell so bad but I’m learning to wait for my voice to be heard. It won’t be a yell, it will be a soft, calm voice that will be heard when the listeners are ready to listen. They aren’t ready yet. My words would fall on deaf ears. The yelling wouldn’t solve anything, restore anything, and change nothing.
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There are so many wonderful conversations I’ve been able to have with my daughters over these past couple of years. Conversations, I’ve wanted to have for what seems like forever, but they weren’t ready. The conversations were soft, quiet and meaningful and they brought about healing, understanding, restoration and change.
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Before we yell, maybe we stop, first look in the mirror and see our own reflection, which might make us more understanding of the one we are about to yell at. We all have a story and a perspective. Let’s think about our timing, about the other person’s readiness to hear (sometimes timing is everything). Read the room, think about whether we should, because just because we can, doesn’t always mean we should.
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If all we are doing is yelling, is anyone listening?
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Never, Always, Everything
Judy Tomczak | May 2023
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Those are words that I try hard to avoid. It may seem like I’m not a good listener to those who are speaking to me, but I am listening to every word. I have a head full of squirrels who take pieces of what you say and go off in other directions. It SOMETIMES seems like I’m not listening. I am aware of this and I’m working on it. I don’t ALWAYS get it right, but I don’t ALWAYS get it wrong. It would not be a fair statement to say that I NEVER listen. Okay, you get where I am going here.
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The word I have the most difficulty with is the word Everything, especially when it is followed by the words…happens for a reason. Now hear me out, I know this is a popular saying. I’m not asking you to throw it out, I’m just asking that you might listen to why it might be inappropriate. I can accept the word “Somethings” in place of “everything” because somethings do happen for a very specific reason. Some things are divinely created to happen to save us, shape us, move us in another direction or save someone else, shape them and so on. Somethings happen because they are consequences to choices made by us and unfortunately by others, whose consequences greatly affect us. It has been known to happen in my own life. But, does EVERYTHING happen for a reason?
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It's a nice saying and can give a sense of purpose to a difficult situation, but where I have trouble with it, is its implied message, that it (whatever it may be) was divinely planned by God to teach us a lesson, or to create a greater purpose out of whatever it may be. I’m a recovering perfectionist and this saying kept me in a pit of despair trying to figure out the reason behind the it, that happened. And if it happened to me and in my life, I must need to learn something from it. It happened for a reason, to teach me, correct me, change me, get my attention. It must have happened because I did something to cause it to happen. I got off track, made a wrong turn, had a bad thought, broke a rule, something, anything to give this it, purpose.
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These words, this saying “everything” is not comforting to someone who is going through a life-threatening illness, a parent who just lost a child, a child who has been abused or abandoned. These words are shame and guilt inducing words to those, like me, who grew up believing that if they do all the right things, obey all the right rules, all will go right with their world. The problem with my thinking was and is that I’m not perfect and perfection isn’t possible. Perfection, were it possible, can’t control the behaviour of those around me, can’t control the world I live in, nor change the things that happen to me.
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Romans 8:28 - And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.
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In going through my daughter’s battle with addiction, I became stuck in a pit of guilt and shame, blaming myself for what was going on in her life. As I clawed my way out of that pit, I learned more in the letting go than I ever did in the trying to do all things right. I spent years trying to figure out the reasons to blame myself and take ownership of what was someone else’s consequence. For my daughter’s life, what did I do, what didn’t I do, what was the reason this was happening and what was God trying to tell me?
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“Everything happens for a reason”, keeps many of us captive. I was stuck for a long time in a cycle of trying to fix something that wasn’t mine to fix, to learn some lesson I thought God was trying to teach me. There are so many lessons I have learned throughout this journey, mainly how deeply God loves me and her, unconditionally, unquestioned, unfailing, love. I don’t however, believe that God inflicted this pain and torture on my daughter in order for me to learn them. I learned these things because I cried out to God, gave the struggle over to Him and watched Him turn it into something good.
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My husband and I used to (for fun) work as background actors on various movie and television shows filmed in Toronto Ontario. We have many fun stories to tell about our experiences on set. My husband spent hours in a body bag as a murdered cop in a made-for-tv movie, I was in a scene by myself with Bruce Willis in the movie Red, I breathed the same air as Channing Tatum in the movie The Vow. While on set, you spend hours waiting to be called. You sit around tables with strangers and the conversations are fun, at times deep and thought provoking and sometimes down-right strange. There is one conversation I had with a young lady that I will not forget because she said “everything happens for a reason” and I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
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… “you know, I really hate that saying.”
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She looked at me, kind of puzzled, and asked, “Why?”
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“If I were to believe that, I would have to believe that little children are molested for a reason, or little children get cancer for a reason, and I just don’t believe in a God that would be that cruel. I believe we live in a world with many broken people, and bad things do happen to those who don’t deserve it.” I went on to tell her that I believe in a God who can take that which was meant to destroy and turn it around for good. Our wounds can be healed and make us stronger, and we can go on to help others. …
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She listened carefully. Then this young lady I’d not met before turned and thanked me. “As a child, I was molested and felt it had happened for a reason, and no one has ever said that to me before.”
-When the Light at the End of the Tunnel is Another Train, by Judy Tomczak
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She went on to share with me that she was doing background acting to help put herself through college to be a counsellor to help others coming out of abuse. I was a stranger to her and she shared her most deepest hurt with me that day. That’s a moment, I believed, happened for a reason, because she needed to hear, that while it was good, that she was using her experience and her pain to help others, God didn’t inflict that pain on her, in order for her to help others. God never intended for that to happen to her. Somethings happen for a reason, not everything.
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We cannot walk this earth without rubbing shoulders with pain, loss, heartache and sometimes pure evil, but I believe God never meant for us to hurt. That was never His plan for us. All things work together for good, but not all things are good. Struggle is very much a part of the journey.
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It’s okay for me to ask the question…did I do something to cause this? We should check ourselves. It’s not okay to expect myself, to ALWAYS be on, to NEVER fail and to get EVERYTHING right.
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Heritage Pride
Judy Tomczak | April 2023
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The children were lined up in a row and their father stood before them with a shotgun in his hand. “You will all be dead by morning”, he said. I don’t know where the mother was but from what I’ve heard she was not much help in this situation. Standing in the line of children that evening was my grandmother and this is where I come from.
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As the story was told to me… my grandmother’s father was a raging alcoholic. She grew up in a highly abusive home but as a child was invited to a neighbourhood Bible study for children. It is there, that she was first introduced to a Christian faith. She and her siblings survived that awful night, otherwise there would be no me.
To say I came from humble beginnings would be putting it mildly and when I was in my early teenage years, I was a little embarrassed by my small-town country roots. Some of us made it out and into the big city but I don’t think any of us completely lost our sense of country. Though I've tried very hard to remove this word from my vocabulary sometimes it slips from my mouth and gives me away... prent’near... short for pretty near. It’s a word, right?
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In her early teens, my grandmother escaped with her siblings with the help of a concerned neighbour. She got a job and raised her brothers and sisters as best she could. Grandpa was on his way to becoming a professional baseball player but a knee injury changed his life’s path. They married young and had their first child right away. It was then, that my grandmother felt the pull of that commitment she had made to God at the neighbourhood children’s Bible study. She told my grandfather that she wanted to find a church. They began attending the local Pentecostal church and dedicated their lives to serving God.
My grandfather felt called to become a farmer and raise many children. My grandmother was reluctant having been raised on a farm where her memories of abuse were vivid, but she agreed and the two became farmers in Glenburnie, a small town just outside of Kingston, Ontario. They did indeed have many children together, lost one to pneumonia and also adopted a mentally challenged boy.
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I am impacted, mostly by events in my life and the stories of others, where I feel God makes a point to me in a way that I never forget. I was impacted so very deeply by my grandmother’s funeral.
Given my grandmother’s background she was not the grandmother who played with you, read you stories and baked cookies. Going to grandma and grandpa’s for me, was more about the running free in the open fields, playing in the barn with the puppies, cows and chickens, playing with cousins and exploring all the nooks and crannies of their big farmhouse. What grandma was so very good at though, I never really appreciated it until she was gone, was praying. She prayed every single day for all her children, grandchildren and anyone else on her list. Her home was open to anyone and everyone who needed a place to go. She never worried whether it was clean or well decorated and it wasn’t. Her concern was for the person and their soul. I don’t ever remember them being judgmental, no matter what a person’s status in life. They were warm and open-hearted to everyone they came in contact with.
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The day of her funeral was a long drive from Brantford to Kingston. I was a single mom at the time and my two daughters were still quite young, so the trip was not an easy one. I went to the funeral thinking it was no big deal. This was my grandmother who was a good woman and had lived a good long, full life and it was just her time to go ... not a big deal, just part of life.
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Here’s where it gets interesting for me and life changing. We gathered at the church and the family was organized by individual family so that we could form a processional line into the service. I watched as we formed the very, very, very long line. Here is what I saw, and I will never forget.
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My grandfather – Lorne Shepherd Senior (church board member, Kingston)
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My aunt – Marjorie Shepherd (church music ministry, Pembroke)
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My father – Rev. Lorne Shepherd (founder of Heart to Heart Family Ministries, Hamilton, former Director of 100 Huntley Street)
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My uncle – Rev. David Shepherd (District Superintendent of the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (Western Ontario), Burlington)
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My uncle – Rev. John Shepherd (Senior Pastor, Sudbury)
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My aunt – Mary Taylor (Pastor’s Wife, Hamilton)
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My aunt – Lorna VanBlitterswick (church board member’s wife, Brockville)
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My aunt – Ruby Carroll (Pastor’s wife, Orangeville)
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Rev. Paul Carrol (cousin)
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Rev. Phillip Carrol (cousin)
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Rev. Kevin Shepherd (cousin)
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Rev. Jamie Shepherd (cousin)
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Rev. Brent Shepherd (cousin)
The list went on and on almost all involved in ministry in some way, including myself. I was blown away as I watched before my eyes family after family that came from this husband and wife, my grandparents, who felt God had called them to raise children to serve God and others.
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All of my grandmother’s children meant the world to her and when God called many of them into ministry she felt Him ask for her permission because it meant they would all be scattered across the province of Ontario and beyond. She was okay with what it would cost and let them go. The week before she passed, each one of her children came for a visit, not planned, and without knowing it would be their last visit with her. The last person to visit her was my sister, the eldest grandchild, then she peacefully took her final breath.
The church was packed the day of her funeral. They brought in busloads of people from the city of Kingston and surrounding towns as this was the impact that this lady had on countless people over the years. I listened as a man whom I remembered as the man who saved my life by running into the lake and pulling me out of a strong current. He shared the story of how his family and siblings were known as the “bad kids” in town and no one wanted them around their children. He and his siblings were often at the Shepherd household. A neighbour lady took my grandmother aside and asked “aren’t you afraid of the bad influence that these kids could have on yours”... my grandmother replied “I choose to think of the good influence my kids will have on them.” His name was Rev. Oscar Simpson.
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It took my grandmother’s death for me to really appreciate God’s faithfulness in her life and what he created out of the ugly muck of addiction and abuse. I saw God’s hand on my life starting way back to God’s hand on hers and the lady that led a Bible study for little children. You will never know the ripple effect that one life can have on countless others.
Here’s the thing about that day... I was thankful my girls were tired as they slept through the funeral. I on the other hand cried like a baby through the whole thing and couldn’t stop. I was overwhelmed not with grief, because I knew where my grandmother had gone, but with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my heritage of being raised in a Christian home ... what an awesome privilege that I had taken for granted.
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My grandma and grandpa were truly joined at the hip and no one would ever argue the fact that they loved each other deeply. They never worried about money, image or status, just about the souls of people all around them. My grandparents were rarely apart and so it was fitting that my grandfather followed my grandmother not long afterwards. A blizzard kept me from attending his funeral, though I heard that his was much the same as hers, standing room only.
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Many of my aunts and uncles are now retired, some have passed and many of their children have followed in their footsteps into ministry. Not all my relatives are ministers though it does seem that way. Having a positive impact in people’s lives does not require a ministry diploma, my grandparents didn’t have one. You might be the concerned neighbour or the kind lady who does a Bible study for children, a daycare worker, a teacher, a stranger who says a kind word, a friend, a foster parent or even a boss giving someone a job when it’s desperately needed.
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I am proud of where I come from, and my Chritian heritage, not because we are successful, classy, have perfect children, or families (because we don’t). We are not remotely close to perfection. I’m proud of what God did in the life of my grandmother and the ripple effect of her life into others and into mine. We will truly never know the full impact of one woman’s choice as her children and her children’s children continue to give the gift of life-changing faith.
God is bigger than any situation that we are born into, raised in, or climb out of.
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He Blew Bubbles!!!
Judy Tomczak | April 2023
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When I heard my daughter Melissa’s voice on the other end of the phone, my first reaction was “oh no”. I could hear her voice crack and the excitement in her tone and I immediately thought…what happened!? I couldn’t have been more wrong in my assumption.
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Her 4-year-old son, my youngest grandson, had just attended his first swimming lesson. She was overcome with emotion and couldn’t wait to tell me how well he had done. From her viewpoint she could see him following all the directions the teacher gave, she saw him be the first to try everything. She heard other parents say, “look at that boy, he is so brave”. He wasn’t doing triple flips into the pool or winning any races, basically all he did was blow bubbles and dunk his head underwater trusting the instruction the teacher gave him. That’s all it took for his mom to burst with pride. But that’s not his whole story.
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Before the age of 3 little Brady was diagnosed with being on the Spectrum of Autism. This is a diagnosis our family is familiar with and Melissa knew what this could mean for him. She grieved and struggled with accepting what might be ahead. Communication did not come easy for him which led to many temper tantrums and long sleepless nights. I have had those hair-pulling motherhood moment phone calls from her as well. So when she saw her son by the pool with other children his age, fully engaged with others, following instruction and respecting his teacher and being the first to blow bubbles, she celebrated, because she knew his full story and how far he had come.
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It made me recall one of the many moments like this, that I had with her. She was a shy little girl, socially a butterfly but not the kind of kid who would stand before a crowd. She shocked me one day when she told me she had tried out for the class musical and had earned a part in “The Little Engine that Could”. She was the Rusty Old Engine and she had a solo. A solo? Could she even sing? I didn’t know. There I sat in the audience so nervous for her. I had to bite my tongue and lip in order to keep myself from bawling embarrassingly right there in front of everyone. Not only could she sing well, but because of a technical error she had to sing her part all over again and she didn’t flinch. Both times she did it perfectly and beautifully. I was bursting with pride, knowing what a huge step outside her comfort zone this was.
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Many years later I watched this same daughter board a plane for the other side of the world. She would be gone for the next 6 months on a mission’s trip and going to places and doing things all outside her norm. Not 24 hours later her older sister entered into rehab for the first time, due in large part to her younger sister’s positive influence in her life. For very different reasons, I was bursting with pride for both of my children. I knew their stories and I knew how brave they both were being. I still get tears in my eyes when I think of that time.
I wonder how our Heavenly Father sees us from His viewing point. He knows it all, the good, bad, the ugly, the limitations, nothing is hidden. I wonder if he sees us and bursts with pride, knowing what it took, knowing what it cost, knowing where we have been. Look at her… getting out of bed after everything she has been through…look at him getting through another day without reaching for another drink or drug to sooth his pain, look at her leaning on me in the face of such loss, look at her turning her own pain of abandonment into loving other abandoned children, look at my child, look at her, look at him. That’s my kid!
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I wonder how He feels on Sunday morning when he sees the countless faces and hears the countless voices, upstretched hands, all in worship to Him, when he knows all that it took to take that step, make that leap and surrender that trust to Him. He must burst with pride just like a parent does, for every first step, first smile, every moment of growth, a treasure. When we fall, he is right there, making a way out, making a way through, making a way back. When we genuinely ask for his forgiveness, it is forgotten. His hand always outstretched for us to hold on to.
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The thought brings a tear to my eye when I think about that. How about you? That joy of accomplishment you feel for your child, your Heavenly Father feels for you too.
I encourage you to watch this video of my grandson Brady and his mom, not because he is incredibly cute but listen carefully to his words and take them as your own. You are wonderfully and perfectly made, and He is proud to call you His.
Psalm 139:14 - I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,...
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Surrender
Judy Tomczak | March 30 2023
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When my body hit the floor, I knew instantly that I had done something terrible to myself. Seriously, did this just happened? There I lay helpless and alone, limited by my sudden and unexpected brokenness.
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When I think of that day I think of a single word “surrender”. I didn’t plan it but it happened just as most of life does. There was no “undo”, “mulligan” or “do over”. This was not a bad dream I could wake up from….this happened and now I had to deal with it.
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First, I had to surrender to the kindness of strangers because I was helpless. A helpless, though well-dressed heap on the floor of Walmart. (I mean, if you are going to fall in a public place, its nice to have a great outfit on). It didn’t take long for others to notice me and come to my aid and I was thankful. They called for help in the form of an ambulance. They didn’t hear the three words I said under my breath, “help me God”, my call for help. He sent that help in the form of a coworker (I was on my lunch break from work). She stayed by my side, held my hand and made me laugh. She got me home safe in the middle of a snowstorm with the help of another coworker. This meant I had to surrender my keys to my brand new car (I hate handing my keys over). I was forced to trust others that day because they could do what I could not. I will never forget the kindness they showed me and the God who sent them to me.
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As it turns out I broke my humerus in four places. It wasn’t very humorous and it was a long road to recovery. I had to surrender all my immediate plans and independence. Thank goodness my daughter Melissa is a PSW and could help me shower, though it was probably a tad traumatizing for her. With the help of others, I was able to work from home before that was a thing. For what seemed like forever, everything I did, required help.
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This surrender thing is complicated. We are such independent beings determined to do things on our own from the time we take our first steps. I’ve seen this in all my grandchildren when discovering their own will. They are determined to do things their own way and on their own terms. Until they fall and need nothing more than their parent’s help and comfort. In my case, I hit the floor and realized fully my dependence on God and others.
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Surrender sounds like giving up but maybe it is the opposite and about who we surrender to. We need each other. God designed us that way. We were never meant to carry life’s burdens alone. In my journey as a mother, I’ve had to learn to surrender, at times to experts who knew better than I, most importantly, surrender them to the God who created and loves them beyond what I could ever imagine.
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Phil 4:13 says: I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me (KJV)
This is one of my favorite Bible versus but I have often lived it like this: I can do all things in my own strength until I can no longer stand and then I ask… help me God.
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Let’s be real, my fall was nothing in comparison to other heartbreaking things that have happened before and since but the principle is the same for me …surrender.
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I recently attended a women’s conference here in PEI. My intention and purpose for going was to meet new people. I went alone but came away with new friends. This was my goal and I was happy to have achieved it but what I didn’t expect was the even greater takeaway that I came home with. The theme of the weekend was “Surrender”. Great…what more did I have that I could surrender? I had already given up all the things most precious to me and laid them in God’s hands. I do that daily. I have no other choice. Over the course of the weekend these women poured into me with life-changing words of affirmation that I didn’t even know I needed to hear. In our final quiet time of reflection God brought to my mind two very important things that I needed to let go of … justice and blame.
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It’s a daily struggle to let go and let God, to let others into our shaky and broken places so we don’t carry the burden alone. There will always be something that we are holding on to that we need to let go of. Why do we wait until we are desperate to let God and others in? In surrender, there is healing, strength, growth and change and most importantly freedom. We often cannot change what has happened, we can only surrender what has and God does the rest.
Grief Without Closure
Judy Tomczak | February 13 2023
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When she confused my brother and sister with her own, I thought it was funny. It was kind of cute and one of many things that she now gets confused. But when I looked into her eyes for the first time and saw that blank look coming back at me, her youngest child, it broke my heart. She doesn’t know who I am. I saw it in her eyes. It was the first time, I felt the grief of losing my mom. Her diagnosis came several years after we knew there was something wrong. She is still with us, but dementia has taken her, in many ways, from us.
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In the beginning, there were uncharacteristic things like leaving the price tag on Christmas presents or asking how you liked your gift, days before Christmas came. We laughed at those moments passing them off as senior moments. Then came the divisive comments. Her truths that she would share amongst family that weren’t quite correct. Comments that divided us until we compared our notes. Something wasn’t right. This isn’t like mom.
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I grieve the loss of the mom that I could share my hard days with, my exciting moments, cute grandkid stories and all of life’s moments. For the family, she has been our soft place to land, always a shoulder to lean on, to cry with, laugh and recharge.
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I have felt this kind of grief before in moments when my oldest daughter returned into the life she tried so desperately to escape. Each time she made it a little further down the road to freedom before turning around and going back. Each time I grieved her loss, knowing I likely wouldn’t hear from her for a while, if ever again.
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I felt this grief any time either one of my daughters were upset with me. If you are a parent at some point you will likely feel the blame for things that go wrong in your child’s life. We all do it to some extent. I have at times blamed my parents for choices that I made. Whether we deserve the blame or not, its crushing. No one’s opinion of me, matters more to me on earth, than the opinions of my children. I remember the first “I hate you mommy”. Ouch! For a simple “no” to an outrageous request but all the same, ouch! When either daughter is estranged from me, I feel grief.
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I felt grief the day we said goodbye to our two oldest grandchildren, knowing it would likely be the last time we would see them. That’s another story for another day and carries a lot of grief with it.
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In one of these deep moments of grief, weeping and curled up in my bed, I felt something deeper. I realized that this is how He feels when we shut Him out, when we forget who He is, blame Him for the things that go wrong in our lives and when we curse His name. My mom’s forgetfulness, my daughter’s opinions of me, my grandchildren’s wellbeing wouldn’t mean anything to me, if I didn’t love them so much. God’s love for us runs so much deeper and while I lay there weeping, He was right there with me, grieving for me. I grieve because I love. God grieves because He loves us deeper still.
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Letting God into that grief has made the grieving easier because when you know how much He loves you, it is easier to trust Him with that pain and easier to let Him in. I miss my mom but I take comfort in the fact that she is happy. At times, in her own little world but for the most part happy. I treasure the moments I do get with her, even though the moment they end, she may not remember I was there. I treasure every moment I’m close with my children, every conversation, every video chat and “I love you”. I don’t crumble when they are mad at me, I’ve learned it too will pass. Every thought I have of my two oldest grandchildren, remind me to say a prayer on their behalf. I give them to the One who grieves with me, for them. I treasure the many laughter-filled memories I have of them. These are all grief moments without closure, without knowing, with endless wonder but also hope…because as long as there is breath there is hope.
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I’m learning to embrace my own life, separately from all those I sometimes grieve. In that, I cherish all the beautiful things I once took for granted, like walks with my husband surrounded by beautiful landscapes and wonder, laughter at the little things, a good meal at a new restaurant, the sound of beautiful music, the smile on a friendly face, my dog whose excitement over the freshly fallen snow makes me enjoy the snow more, every adorable conversation my youngest grandson has with his mommy, transcribed to me by his mommy by text (he has his mother’s quick wit), the nightly video chats with my oldest, the sunshine, the warm breeze, every breath a gift, and every day a chance to enjoy all of these infinite blessings.
The Jesus Doors
Judy Tomczak | June 13 2016
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In the summer of 2015, our church decided to host a food truck event. We began in mid-summer and with our ideal location just off the 403 highway at Exit 36 in Brantford, Ontario we were an instant hit. In fact, it was such a success we extended the event to run every Thursday night from May to September for the following two years. This was a significant undertaking and my husband was assigned the task of organizing it. A huge commitment but with huge rewards.
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It raised funds for the children and youth programs but that was not its main purpose. Gone was the annual church family picnic and in its place were the food trucks, an event which welcomed the surrounding community. From 5 – 8 each Thursday night we invited our neighbours to dinner. This took many volunteers whose main focus was to make everyone who came feel at home. From setting up tables, emptying garbage cans, taking care of the children’s games and most importantly sharing a smile, a welcoming “how is your food” and “where are you from”?
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We never anticipated the hundreds of people who came to our home on Thursday nights for dinner. Many returned over and over. Our neighbours and out-of-town guests came, sat and ate at our tables. We were not evangelizing. Our pastor wanted us to be more than a building or an exclusive members-only club, he wanted us to be part of the community.
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My heart was touched by the many stories that came out of our weekly event. Like the truck driver who had a terrible day and saw the food trucks and came for dinner. He had conversations with the pastor and my husband and later while the event was closing down for the night and diligent volunteers were putting things away, the truck driver returned and found the pastor and my husband and asked for prayer. He said he had felt something amongst us that night and he was compelled to return for prayer.
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There are many stories like that but the one that touches my heart the most is that of a little boy. This little boy was not allowed to go to church, but he was allowed to go to the food trucks, so his Grandma often picked him up and brought him. Each time he came he played with the giant game of tick tack toe, checkers and tag with the other children.
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He would have liked his grandpa to play the games with him, but his grandpa was busy running the event. There was however, a moment each time he came, when grandpa was not too busy, and that was the moment when the little boy asked… “Grandpa can you take me through the church” and hand in hand they would take a tour of the inside of the church.
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On one occasion this little boy’s mommy brought him to the food trucks to surprise his grandpa. As was his usual routine, he played with the games and tag with the kids and then there was a moment where he asked the question, but this time it wasn’t grandpa he asked. “Mommy can I take you on a tour of the church?” She didn’t need the tour, she grew up in the church and it hadn’t changed much, but to my surprise she put her hand in his and they walked up to the church doors and then I heard it… “mommy we have to open the Jesus doors”. My heart stopped. As he walked through the halls and sanctuary of the church, he told his mommy that this is where Jesus lives. I wondered what ran through my daughter’s mind as her son led her through the building she tried so desperately to avoid.
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He wasn’t allowed to go to church but on food truck nights when his grandpa took him through the Jesus doors, just like the truck driver, he felt something. Something so great that he just had to show his mommy. Far greater than the games outside or the food offered by the trucks, he opened the Jesus doors and walked through the building where he believed Jesus lives.
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I've prayed for my children and for their return to church and to their faith. It is in moments like these, where my heart stops and I listen as someone else leads them back. Who knows what will bring them back through the Jesus doors? It might just be their own child who leads them home, an event, a crossroads in their life, or a food truck event at the local church. What I do know for certain is that His reach goes far beyond the walls and doors of any church. There is no pit too deep, no distance too far where His reach isn’t deeper and further still.
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I wrote the above several years ago and it remains one of my favorites. It is also the favorite of the daughter who walked through those Jesus doors with her son. It means so much to her and to me as we pray for that little boy to one day remember what he felt in that church so long ago and that His hand will lead him, his sister and all of those he holds dear, home.
Beauty for Ashes
Judy Tomczak – April 2015
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It wasn’t without cost, doubt or questions in my mind like “should I, “why”, and “what if”, before I shared my story at the "Jesus is Enough" Conference in 2015. At 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning I stood at the microphone and began the story, I believed, God wanted me to tell within the 45 minutes that I was allotted. My story, my faith journey through my daughter’s battle with addiction.
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The guilt, shame and fear that a mother feels while watching her child fight this battle is more than anyone can bear alone. It is my story of letting go of what I had no power to change and then God, changed me.
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I felt calm and at peace as I began to address the full room of women before me. I started each session by introducing myself. I had not intended on using my very well-known, respected and loved by many in the Christian circles…father’s name, Rev. Lorne Shepherd. God however, laid it on my heart to do so. There would be many in that crowd whose lives have been touched by my father’s time in ministry. They may even be surprised that this could happen in our family too.
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I introduced myself as the youngest of three in a preacher’s family. My sister was the oldest and the “practice child”, my brother the “strong willed, middle child” and then there came me… the “spoiled, I mean favorite child”. I was a child that didn’t give my parent’s much grief. I tried to colour within the lines and didn’t stray far from the path set before me. I gave my heart to the Lord at a young age and tried desperately to be that perfect Christian (which by the way doesn't exist). My role in the family was that of informant, though my siblings called me a tattletale and didn’t appreciate this role. My parents clearly needed my help in raising my brother and sister because they seemed to have no trouble colouring outside the lines.
I suffered very little growing up and lived a relatively normal, peaceful life and then I became an adult and I found out… that I was not special. I learned that I too would have to go through hard times and heart ache just like everyone else.
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I repeated my session two more times each session the same and each session full, which told me, there was a need for the subject matter. At the end of the day I was physically and emotionally exhausted and my friend Kerry and I made our way home. Waiting for me at home was my husband and my beautiful little grandson whose face gave me the energy I needed to get through to his bedtime. This was his night for a sleepover and we were determined to not let him down.
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I thought I would sleep forever but at 6:00 a.m. my eyes began to leak. I began to wipe my tears away with my sheets as faces of the day before passed through my mind like photographs in an album. I saw the countless moms and grandmothers who swarmed me after each session, with tears in their eyes saying “I’m going through the same thing”. I saw the young woman in her early twenties who couldn’t wait to meet me and with excitement told me she just came from detox and a lady had brought her to the conference. She held in her hands a copy of my book and asked me to sign it. I was given the opportunity to give her a hug and words of encouragement.
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I saw the 18-year-old girl who thanked me and talked to me for a long while after the session ended. She was sober for 4 months and had no idea what she had put her mother through. My story helped her to understand and perhaps forgive. She told me she wanted to help other kids like her and I encouraged her to do so. I had the privilege of giving her a huge hug, like the one I longed to give my own daughter.
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I saw the mom sitting in the front row of my final session who during my closing words was crying uncontrollably. As soon as the session was over I reached forward and took her hand. She looked into my face and said “I thought I was all alone in this and that nobody would understand” … “she said everything I had shared is everything she was going through”.
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Then I saw the lady who waited until everyone else had left and then came and sat beside me on the stage. She wanted to take a moment to encourage me in regards to our grandson. She began to tell me that she was that child. Her mom was now elderly and sober for only 2 years. She grew up not wanting to have anything to do with God because of how she was raised but somehow God found her and protected her from going down the same path as her mother. She told me she had a grandmother on the other side of the world whom she saw only a handful of times in her life. That grandmother prayed for her faithfully. She learned later in life that her own mother had been raised in a Christian home though, for some reason lost her way and fell into addiction. She told me to not underestimate the impact that a grandmother can have on a grandchild’s life. Her words then, are words I treasure now more than ever.
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I no longer have doubts or questions about whether or not to share my story. I’ve seen its impact and in the beautiful faces of those I meet, God made beauty out of my ashes.
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Isaiah 61:3 (NKJV)
3 To console those who mourn in Zion, To give them beauty for ashes, The oil of joy for mourning, The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; That they may be called trees of righteousness, The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”
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I don’t know when our story will be over. I don’t know what my future holds but I know who holds my future.
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I wrote the above in 2015 when I first went public with my story. Years later I had the opportunity to discuss this with my daughter and said to her … “no one cares who is sharing the story or who it is about, all they care about is that someone is talking about this”. So many are silenced by the guilt and shame that surrounds addiction and mental health issues. This happens on both sides of the struggle. There is so much hope and healing which often begins with someone saying… “you are not alone”.
I Don't Look Like My Photo
Judy Tomczak – January 2023
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When we decided to publish my book “When the Light at the End of the Tunnel is Another Train” which was my journaling through a very difficult time in my life, we didn’t have big goals for it. Being vulnerable and transparent was worth it if we helped even just one mom or family. Knowing you aren’t alone is the best gift you can give someone in dark times.
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I was shocked the first time someone asked me to sign my book…wait…what? I’m just a mom sharing her journey in the hopes of helping others. When I was asked to do a book signing, I had to really think about it. A book signing? That’s not what this was about. It was about helping others but then I thought maybe this is what you do when you write a book and part of the deal. Maybe showing up to meet people in person was helping. A lady approached the table with my book in hand, and I anticipated all the things that she might be wanting to say to me, or ask. I could see the look on her face that said, she wanted to say something, but I could never have anticipated what she actually said. It is seared in my brain forever. She said…wait for it…
“you don’t look like your photo”. She was referring to the photo on the back of my book. I could see the look of regret on her face as the words came out of her mouth. I’ve been there so many times myself. "Why did I say that?" I tend to put my mouth in action before I put my brain in gear. I knew what she was talking about and I felt busted.
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When my publisher asked me for a photo for the back cover, I knew just which one I would use. I use it for everything. I am not photogenic. I have rarely liked a photo taken of myself and I might not be alone here. No, I know I’m not alone, otherwise there would be no need for photo filters. I remember another such moment like this when I was in my twenties. I had my security photo taken for work and I actually loved it. This was the first photo that I was proud to show. I immediately showed it to a close family member and she chuckled and said…. “isn’t it funny how those things never turn out”. Uhg.!!! … she burst my balloon with one sentence. Huh?! I actually liked that photo. I don’t recall if I ever told her that but I remember the conversation to this day…vividly.
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The photo I use for my book, I use because I like it. It was a headshot taken back in the day (getting old when you say that) when my husband and I were doing some background acting for fun. We had a blast doing it and made some extra cash on the side. It was fun and so fun to say we breathed the same air as some pretty famous people, like Bruce Willis, and Channing Tatum. Here is a fun fact…they don’t look like their photo either. How shocking is it to see your favorite famous people and find out they are a foot shorter than you imagined or not so glamourous as they look on screen.
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This particular photo of me was taken by a professional with proper lighting because apparently good lighting for a good photo is very important. It was a good hair day for reasons unknown because my curling iron broke that day. I was at my preferred weight and I fit into all my favorite outfits for the shoot. To be truthful I was also several years younger than when my book was published.
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I had to laugh when this lady said this because I knew that time had changed what I looked like. It was fun to watch her try and pull that comment back into her mouth and thankfully, I saw the humour and also the lesson in it. Yes, a few years had gone by since it had been taken. I’m no longer at my goal weight though I am working on it, again. Those clothes… well that ship has sailed.
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If given the choice you would have done the same thing as me, right? Don’t we all do this? Post the happy family photos, use filters on our close-up shots, our freshly cleaned decorated house before the kids mess it up, vacation photos, birthday parties, Christmas dinners, graduations and so on…that’s the photo we show the world and why not? The other stuff is ugly.
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Recently, I read a post from a young mom sharing with the world her very dark day, which if we were honest, is reality for most young moms. I gave her post the “heart” emoji. Good for you, I thought. I immediately copied it and sent it to another struggling young mom. I had to send it to her by text because she has removed herself from Facebook. Who wants to see happy families, clean houses, and vacations when you are in a dark place. The happy times are part of the story and thankfully we have those, but the struggle is part of it too.
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I applaud those who can post the dark days along with the great days. When we share our flaws, others feel free to share theirs. We aren’t alone in this journey and we don’t always have to pretend to be the filtered versions of ourselves. Not all of us are sharers. I wish I possessed the ability to keep things inside, but I think I would burst. If you only knew the things I don’t share, you might be impressed with my reserve but that isn’t me, so I embrace it.
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I remember a time when I too was a young mom and I hosted a small-group Bible study in my home for other young moms. I felt deep in my heart to discuss topics of abuse, sexual abuse, and depression. I questioned this in my prayers because those who attended my group were women who came from good backgrounds. One was a pastor’s wife, another a pastor’s child and so on. How could these women relate to such dark topics? Then they began to come to me one by one, in private, to discuss struggle never discussed with a single soul before. I realized I had created a safe place. I was thankful I followed my heart and not my doubt on this one.
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I too received this gift, sitting in the backrow of New Life Assembly in Brantford Ontario. Tears were streaming down my face uncontrollably while the Sunday morning speaker shared her journey. A well-known pastor’s wife in the Christian circles shared in detail a journey with her own daughter that mirrored the journey I was on with mine. Her name was Joanne Goodwin. She truly is an inspiration, a gifted speaker and hilarious. Years later I had the privilege of meeting her and we swapped stories. It was fun to discover our paths had crossed many times throughout life. She grew up with the same friends, I knew her younger brother Kevin Pauls, her cousin married my cousin and she used to babysit my best friend... small world. It was a gift she had given me that Sunday morning and afterwards I entered into a healing journey of my own, unashamed to share with others who could help me through it.
I’m not a counsellor or therapist but what I can do is be unfiltered, make a safe place, and guide one into a place of counselling, hope and healing. Here in PEI where the sun doesn’t shine, moss grows. You can see it on the roof tops, corners and hidden places. I think this is also true of our struggles, and where we don’t allow the light to shine, the hurt grows, festers, and unwanted growth is allowed to flourish.
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Whatever you are contending with behind the filters, know you are not alone. None of us look like our photos. You would be surprised to hear and know how much alike we all are when the filters are removed. You are not alone, and not the only one.
WHAT IF?
Judy Tomczak – May 2011
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I took my seat in the crowded, stuffy gymnasium for the high school athletic awards evening. I was my husband’s plus one and not there for the food or the awards but for the keynote speaker, an Olympic gold medalist. I couldn’t wait to hear her story and journey of how she ended up at the top of the podium.
I am a huge fan of the Olympic athlete and all the dedication and effort it takes to be one. I always love to hear the bios of the athletes during the airing of the games. Well, to say I am a fan is putting it mildly. When the summer or winter games begin, my husband bids me farewell and says, “I will see you in two weeks”. He knows I will be glued to the tv night and day watching the various events, athlete stories, and underdog victories. During these two weeks, I watch sports I would never watch during the rest of the year. I’m fascinated by what it takes to get there, the drive and determination, the cost and courage.
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Her name was Heather Moyse and her back story is what I listened to this evening which left me so deeply inspired. Let me break it down for you a little: Heather was first recruited to the sport of bobsleigh in August 2005. She was a star on the Canadian world rugby team and former track star, an accomplished athlete living her dream. One evening “by chance” she shared a table at a banquet with a coach for the Canadian women’s bobsled team. He talked to her about trying the bobsled and told her she would be perfect with her speed and athletic abilities. All she could think of was... bobsled... spandex from head to toe... no thanks.
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She didn’t give it anymore thought until she ran into him again and again he tried to convince her to give it a try. This time she said she would give it some thought and asked him for more information. After careful consideration she asked herself WHAT IF and decided to give it a shot. She had nothing to lose. At the trials, she ended up with some of the best push times ever and made the team without ever having tried bobsled before. In her first year, she was partnered with Helen Upperton who was at the time partnered with a girl named Kaillie. Heather, the newcomer ended up bumping this long-time champion Kaillie off the Olympic team and separated her from her bobsled partner Helen. I Can only imagine the disappointment, anger and jealousy Kaillie must have felt. She had trained and fought long and hard with great success to be bumped by this unknown who had never trained for the sport and basically was only doing it because someone bugged her enough to try out.
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Heather and Helen won the Canadian Championships, finished 2nd overall in the World Cup Circuit with one gold, two silvers, one bronze, and push-start records on five international tracks.
Kaillie travelled with the team as an alternate and watched from the sidelines. I’m sure this made for some very awkward moments between the two and between the other teammates who were long-time friends of Kaillie. Can you imagine how Kaillie felt as she watched as her dream was being lived by someone else? All her hard work and effort defeated by this novice. Can you imagine how awkward it was for Heather to travel on the team bus with disappointed, angry, jealous Kaillie and all her friends?
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Only one year after beginning the sport Heather and Helen were favoured to medal going into the 2006 Olympics. Heather trained in unconventional ways in her hometown in PEI (which is now my hometown) where there were no bobsled training facilities. The odds were stacked against her but she was determined to give it her best shot, even training and competing with a hairline fracture in her arm.
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Heather and Helen finished in fourth place at the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin, Italy, where they set another push-start record.
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I listened as Heather talked about the thrill of being a first-time Olympian and to be a medal favourite and how awesome that was. Then, they came fourth. Fourth is a tricky place to land, made worse when you are talking about a millisecond, less than the time it takes your heart to beat, that’s all, that’s the difference between being a hero to your country and a loser. Falling short by such a small fraction of time with no do overs, no undos... that’s it.
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She went home defeated but proud of what she accomplished in such a short time and began to focus on the next phase of her life, school and earning her degree. Her partner Helen Upperton continued training and focussed on the next Olympics and gained a new partner, Shelly-Ann Brown. As time passed and the next Olympics approached, Heather began to ask herself... what if? What if she never tried, could she live with that, especially with the Olympics in her home country?
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She went back to training again and set her sights on participating in the 2010 Canadian Winter Olympic Games in Vancouver, Canada. She was without a partner, a driver. She was paired with a woman who had made a recent switch to driving instead of pushing and was also without a partner... that woman was Kaillie.
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In February 2010, all eyes from her hometown and the rest of PEI and Canada were on Heather and her pilot Kaillie. Heather Moyse and Kaillie Humphreys were in first place through all four heats, breaking the start record twice and the track record three times on their way to Canada's first-ever Women's Bobsled Olympic gold medal.
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Helen Upperton, Heather’s former sled partner and Shelley-Ann Brown captured the silver medal. What if, Kaillie decided to hold on to a grudge and refuse to work with this woman who stole her dream and derailed her life? What if, Heather refused to work with Kaillie who had made her feel so guilty and ashamed for just simply doing her job? What if, Kaillie hadn’t been willing to try something new and switch to driving instead of pushing? What if, Heather never tried again after failing in her first attempt? Working together and feelings aside they made history.
Following the Olympics Heather took on a new role, doing motivational speaking for corporations, organizations, charities, benefits/fundraisers, schools (which is where I met her) etc., and enjoyed bringing inspiration and perspective to various situations, motivating anyone in grade school to an executive boardroom to pursue their own personal excellence.
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Heather pushed (pun intended) through many other obstacles in her way, the negative people who said you shouldn’t or couldn’t and the guilt of stealing someone else’s dream. Can you imagine the loss for her and Kaillie and all of Canada, had she not asked herself, what if? What an awesome accomplishment for all and countless young students, adults, and charities who are now inspired to ask themselves, what If? What if, Heather was unwilling to take a chance? What if, Heather listened to her negative thoughts and was derailed by obstacles or judgements against her?
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Her story was one of opportunity, perseverance, forgiveness, rising above defeat, victory and inspiration. I left truly inspired that evening and recalled the many “What If’s” in my own life in the past and in the present. At the end of the day, I want my story to be the same. I want to ask myself “What If”, when presented with opportunities, I want to persevere through pain and obstacles, I want to rise above my failures and have the courage to try again, I want to forgive those who hurt me and in the end be victorious and inspire others to do the same. We might not always win, but if we never try, we will never know. There is victory simply in the trying.
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During Heather’s presentation she bravely passed her gold medal around to the over 200 teenagers (myself included) in attendance for them to touch, hold and photograph. As a Christian I feel my reward is much greater than a gold medal and worthy of the athlete’s dedication, devotion and determination to rise above and finish the race and our victories, God’s victories are certainly ones to be passed around and shared.
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There have been many times I felt like giving up and giving in as I faced my obstacles and negative voices within and around me, blocking my path... “What if I had, and What If I hadn’t”? How many things can we accomplish together as Christians, and as teammates, if we ask what If... and what if we put feelings aside to work together? How can we make history?
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Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.
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I wrote this in 2011 and was reminded of it this week when I got my hair done for the first time since moving to PEI. My hairdresser is located on Heather Moyse Drive (small world). Heather also has a park named after her and her photo hangs in the sports centre. She is a local hero and here am I in her home town, remembering her encouraging story which is not unlike many stories of local athletes. There is something to be learned from these stories. Everyone's story is important, inspiring and at times challenging. Sometimes we need to ask, not only "what if I do" but "what if I don't"?
I vividly remember the year I lost my Christmas Spirit. I never lost the true meaning of Christmas but the festivities, I grew to hate. The very day our painful journey began was on a Christmas night after the festivities of the day. One decision changed our family’s lives for many years to come. Christmas, for years to follow brought a reminder of this one event. Its uncertainty, the sense of loss, the chaos, the conflict it brought amongst our family members, all of these things changed how I once felt.
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I distinctly remember the year I took Christmas back, many years later. Though I know it isn’t about the festivities, the presents and food, there is where it began. I became the crazy Christmas lady that year, like a child experiencing Christmas for the first time. I purchased a new tree and all new decorations. All my presents were perfectly wrapped in coordinating wrapping paper that matched the rest of the Christmas decor. I participated fully in the ugly sweater contest at the office, I baked, I invited all who could and would come for dinner, attended Christmas parties and I purchased every gift with joyful expectation at the one who would open the gift. Our home looked and felt like Christmas. I attended church functions and felt the peace of the familiar songs and what those songs were about. My Christmas was back.
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The process was intentional, choosing to not allow what I had no power to change to have power over me. To not allow what wasn’t perfect, not yet resolved, completely uncertain and out of my control to not steal my hope, joy and peace any longer. My circumstances had not changed but something in me had.
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Christmas, for those who are struggling with loss, depression, loneliness or family conflict can be the most difficult season of all and yet it is meant to be one of hope, joy and peace. My heart aches for those whose hearts ache this season for lost loved ones, for those who have loved ones who are lost and for those who are lost themselves. I’ve been there.
Even Jesus himself had family conflict. If you don’t believe me, read Mark 3:20-35
His family turned on Him and accused him of all sorts. He understands. It is comforting to know and far easier to trust His Son, our Christmas gift, with whatever we face during Christmas and throughout the year, when we know that He knows just how we feel.
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Our hope doesn’t come from our family though we put so much of our expectations into our flawed and very human, ever evolving parents, children and siblings. They will let us down. It’s a sure thing. They are human. Put your hope in the One who will never fail, never forget, and never leave you.
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John 14:27 – I leave the gift of peace with you – My peace. Not the kind of fragile peace given by the world but My perfect peace. Don’t yield to fear or be troubled in your hearts – instead, be courageous.
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Dear Lord
I have a friend who doesn’t like Christmas.
All the tinsel and jolly, it makes her sad.
Reminding her of loss and what she is missing.
All the good times that she once had.
I have a friend who doesn’t like Christmas.
Surrounded by family and friends while in a bad mood.
Not even music or laughter, lifts her spirit.
Not the gifts or candy or even the good food.
I have a friend who doesn’t like Christmas.
I don’t wonder or judge what is the reason.
I know the dark cloud that hovers above her.
Stealing the joy that surrounds her this season.
I know in my heart how this can be.
My friend who doesn’t like Christmas, used to be me.
-JTomczak | Christmas 2014
I wrote this poem many years ago and as I think of my friend today, I can’t help but to wonder how her Christmas has changed. I imagine and highly suspect that the little grandchildren that now fill her life are filling her with joy this season. I imagine she has her Christmas back. Though she’s never lost the reason for the season, I am certain the season now has the joy, hope and peace that new life brings, change, new memories, the hope of new beginnings and the healing of heartache and loss.
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We are spending our Christmas alone this year in our new home on the island. We anticipate many video chats with our loved ones back in Ontario. We will miss them. It isn’t our first Christmas alone but we are hopeful, we feel joy in the midst of the great losses of 2022 and we feel peace though the future remains as always, uncertain. This is my hope for all. Let the gift of the season, carry you and heal you. You are never alone, never forgotten and deeply loved.
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Merry Christmas!
It was a rough year, 2017. Life has always been full of twists and turns but for approximately 20 years, my job was secure. The one steadfast thing I could count on but 2017 would hold the news of our organization closing its doors. First, there was denial and hope that perhaps this was all just talk and it would go away, but it didn't. Then there was the anger. I mean talk about bad timing. I'm 55 and oh so close to those retirement years, who would hire me now? How could they do this to us after this many years? Feelings of betrayal and abandonment crept in.
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Then for some reason it seemed like a good time for me to break my arm. An innocent shopping trip ended up in a “slip and fall” and my first ambulance ride to emergency. I broke my humerus in four places…not very humorous at all. Seriously, could this get any worse? Weeks of recovery would ensue, boredom, pain, depression and more boredom. Still in recovery, my co-worker and friend decided it was time to add a third child to her family. Maternity leave for her, meant more work for me. A challenge, yes and why would I say no. I was thankful I still had a job and I like a good challenge, but did I mention, I'm 55 years old. Multi-tasking and learning new things just don't come as easy to me as they used to. I knew it would be difficult, but I severely underestimated how difficult and time consuming it would be. I came close to losing my marbles on this one. The worst is now over, work wise, except for the upcoming end of something I love. Thinking about it makes me feel sad.
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So, this Christmas time, I counted the days to my holidays. We were receiving a generous break and I know I had earned it and boy did I look forward to it. But then it happened. The first day of my holidays, the coughing started, the pounding headache and sore throat and I wondered how I would get through the next few days. Our schedule was packed with commitments with family, friends, and grandchildren. So much to do and well I felt like I was in a fog.
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I wanted a refund on Christmas this year. I got ripped off. This wasn't anywhere on my Christmas wish list and I wanted to return it and start over. My husband returned the slippers he got from my mom. Oh he liked them very much but he liked them also last year when she gave him the very same pair but in his correct size. One of the many clear signs that mom is not the same as she used to be and there's a sadness when we think about that and what lies ahead. Without letting her know, he returned the slippers and got just what he wanted, and he was happy.
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It's easy to return something we don't want. Exchange it for what we do. He didn't just return one slipper, that wouldn't be right. He had to give back both in order to have what he wanted. All or nothing. So, in my haze of medication and too much time in front of the tv, I began to think. Do I really want a refund or exchange on this Christmas?
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Let's start with the first day of celebrations. This year we would have separate Christmasses because well the girls aren't speaking again. It's a long story but I understand and in sharing this with others, it is apparent we aren't alone. So, it began with Christmas Eve morning service where we were joined by our eldest daughter and her two children, sandwiched in between us in the standing-room-only service. This was my daughter's first time in church in a long time and our granddaughter's first time ever. I took photos because I wanted to capture the moment and keep it forever. Our little granddaughter loved it and danced in the pew to "Oh Come All Ye Faithful". Our grandson pretended to be unhappy but I captured a photo of a smile on his face. He loves the music and while he wanted to be at home playing video games, he admitted afterwards that he enjoyed the service. There was a moment that I wouldn't take back for anything. My daughter tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to look at her daughter who stood on the pew between us with both of her arms stretched upwards as we sang praises to Him. It was beautiful and so pure and innocent as she did what she saw others doing. A tear trickled down my cheek at that point. What a gift that was to have them there with us that morning and pleasing I'm certain to our Heavenly Father as he saw those little up-stretched arms.
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Our turkey dinner was that afternoon at our house with our youngest daughter and husband. It was a great afternoon of laughter and good conversation. Though we were separated this Christmas, the separation allowed for a much deeper communication and visit. The grandkids can be such a distraction when we all get together making it hard to finish a sentence.
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Then the presents came out. This was a very tight Christmas for us financially but somehow, we managed to get everyone something from their list. When I began to open presents from my daughter and her husband, it quickly became apparent that I was going to get everything on my list that I had given her. She knew it was a difficult year for me and decided to spoil me, to spoil us and we both got everything we had asked for. This was a new experience for me, and I could see it gave her great joy to give back to us. I don't want to give this part of my Christmas back. I want to keep it.
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That evening it began to snow and we had a conversation that even though we had commitments for Christmas day, we would stay home if the weather and roads were too bad. We woke up in the morning to sunshine and a foot of snow, so a decision had to be made. The sunshine told us that it would be fine, but we would have to dig out first. Well Ron had to dig us out first. Running late, we started our journey into Brantford for the Tomczak's Christmas breakfast. Because of drifting snow, the roads were terrible, but we kept going. Being the last one's to arrive it gave us a really nice visit with Ron's sister, niece and nephew. I wouldn't want to take that moment back. I'm keeping it.
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After a quick visit with the grandkids we made our way to our next stop. We had made a commitment to help at a local shelter and serve a Christmas dinner. This was a new experience for us, and we were looking forward to it, but I wasn't really feeling up to it. There wasn't much to do when we arrived and so we observed. Ron helped cut up meat and I chatted with the other ladies there to help. Let me just say that a standing desk or standing job isn't in my future because that was not fun. Who knew standing for so long could be so tiring. I'm a people watcher and I watched the schizophrenic boy walk back and forth and I thought...that's someone's precious son. They all had different stories. Some drug and alcohol had taken over their lives. Some were just down and out and alone at Christmas. There were families I wondered how they ended up there, but they were smiling, laughing and joining in on the karaoke and games. I spoke with a mom and daughter and a lady from Antigua ... all alone at Christmas, there for a free meal. If you met some of them elsewhere you wouldn't have known they were struggling. The moment that struck me the most was the opportunity my husband had to speak with his own brother, who was among those there for the free meal. It would turn out to be his last opportunity to speak with him as cancer took his brother’s life soon after. They are all someone's precious child, all God's precious ones and what a privilege it was to be there with them. I don't want to take that back.
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When we finished at the shelter, we walked out, and the sunshine was gone and the snow was coming down. We then made our way through terrible driving conditions to Norwich Ontario to my sister's house. When we initially got this invitation, we wanted to decline because we already had a busy day and I wasn't feeling well but we knew we had to. Mom isn't doing well. The signs are pretty clear, but something happened that day that hasn't happened in many, many years. All three of us siblings and mom and dad sat around the same Christmas table and had Christmas dinner together. Who knows how many of those we will have left? I don't want to return that moment either. Not long after dinner, I was exhausted and we made our way home and the weather had cleared.
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Boxing day was full of more company. My oldest daughter’s family and mom and dad for yet another family dinner followed by a grandkid's sleepover. I know crazy right, but a promise is a promise. By the time the kids left the next day, I hit a wall of exhaustion of just plain being sick but I made it through. Even a short visit with Ron's niece later that day, I got through. For this one, I didn't even get dressed.
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Since then, I've been doing nothing but laying around trying to recover. It really sucked to be sick over Christmas but I'm not returning this one. There are too many good moments to keep forever. We struggled to fit all the family gatherings into our schedule. It was a challenge but then I think of the ones we fed on Christmas day who didn't have any other options, no family, no loved ones, and many no home to go to. I had a great Christmas, how was yours?
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What lies ahead is uncertain for many of us, but I like you, are going to trust in the one that sees all things and knows all things. There will be challenges but within the challenges will be the moments that make the journey worth it. I'm looking forward to the moments ahead. I'm going to keep both slippers.
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I think I will hold on to 2017 as well and all the challenges it brought with it. Hey, the broken arm might bring me a much-needed windfall of cash just at the right time. The work challenges for this 55-year-old were huge but I'm so very proud of myself for pulling it off. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks? We enjoyed a beautiful wedding with my two daughter's side by side supporting each other. I have amazing photos of the two of them from that day. It wasn't all bad. God is good, so good, if you look closely. He is in it all, every step, every laugh, every tear, every uncertainty. We are never alone.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.
It’s not fair! Life’s not fair, get over it!!!
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I’m not proud of it but this is a conversation that I had with my girls often. Children as it seems, are obsessed with fairness. She got the biggest, it’s my turn, she went first last time, it’s my choice this time, I wanted that first….on and on and on it goes. “It’s not fair” was their cry, and my response “life’s not fair, get over it.” Probably not the best mommy response but it’s all I had at the time.
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It wasn’t fair that I was all they had. They never got what they needed from me, they got what was left over at the end of each and every exhausting day. The life of a single parent. Yet, they were my world. They were the reason, I kept going.
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I used to cry on snow days because snow days threw my world into chaos. First, I had to get them out the door in the snowstorm, (two sets of snow pants, snow boots, mittens, hats and coats) travel approximately 35 minutes to my parent’s home for babysitting and then proceed to work which was another 35 minutes. All in the snowstorm that was deemed unsafe for children to travel to school in. Let me say, kids never seem to care if you are going to be late for work. In the middle of days like that, I didn’t want to hear that life wasn’t fair. I knew it wasn’t fair.
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I have two daughters so vastly different. My oldest bounced off the walls with overflowing energy from the moment she could move. I used everything created to entertain babies, swing, jolly jumper, anything. Then, my youngest came along and needed none of that. She was content to lay or sit and watch the world go by. What a breath of fresh air she was and my little ray of sunshine.
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While I loved her so very much and of course appreciated her calm demeaner, where did all my attention go, in her eyes?... her energetic sister. In the beginning, she drove her big sister crazy because she wanted and tried everything her sister did. Did I mention they are 18 months apart? I am still amazed at how two children can come from the same parents and be so vastly different but then so are my own siblings. Both are uniquely special and bring so much joy and their own unique challenges. Some days you wonder what you have done, doing this parent thing. What was I thinking? They drive you to the brink, just about every day. Then they do something cute or get horribly sick and you wonder just how you could do life without them.
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Then there came the teenage years. Both gave me grief but as you know, if you have read or heard my story, my oldest gave me a special journey that at times, really broke me. When she wasn’t doing well, I stopped living and this is typical. Her sister’s life and her own struggles were often put aside as all the focus was on her sibling and this too, is typical. She needed me too, but she got what was left over at the end of each exhausting battle. Not enough, and it wasn’t fair. The mom guilt is very real here.
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Truth is, as moms we could have 5 children and 4 doing great but one is lost and that one, is the one, we measure our worth as a mother by. We would die for our children, most of us. We risked our lives to have them and as a friend recently said to me who bore witness to my journey in those early days, “Judy, you gave up your life for your children”. I guess I did, but I would do it again. Some things I would do different for sure, but I know I always did my best with what I had to give.
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I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. I’m keenly aware of how I fell short in many ways as a mom. We all do because we are only human, with our own personal challenges and shortcomings and let’s face it, we are out-numbered. Most of us do our very best every day. Today, I’m not going to yell at my kids when they fight. Today, I will be fun even when I’m exhausted. Today, I won’t complain when they ask for my time when all I want to do is relax from a hard day of working. We start each day with the best intentions but somewhere in the middle of their fights for fairness, for time you don’t have, for patience that has run thin, we fail.
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I haven’t thought of the sheep parable in a very long time, but it came to mind the other day.
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The Parable of the Lost Sheep
Mathew 18:10 "See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.[1] 12 "What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? 13 And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. 14 In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish.
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As moms I think it is instinct that we are drawn to save the lost one, the sick one, the one whose need seems greater than the others. We aren’t failures for doing so, its natural, and loving. I know if you are a mom reading this, that you don’t love your other children any less. You are grateful that they are okay and proud. It’s also easy to become too obsessed with trying to fix the lost one. We can completely lose focus on all others in our lives.
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There’s where we need to do the letting go and let Jesus do the pursuing. He can do what we cannot. My maiden name is Shepherd, but I am not the great Shepherd that I think this parable is referring to. I can’t save my adult children but his pursuit of them is relentless.
I also began to think of the prodigal son Luke 15:11-32. I related to both of these parables.
The father let his son go. When he came back the father celebrated. How did the other son feel… “its not fair”. If you were to ask either of my daughters, they would say the other is my favorite because perspective is everything. The other got more time, a brighter light, a bigger piece. I can’t win here.
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I have learned to let go in my journey and to let her fall, which has been the best thing for her, in getting to a place of change. Each time she came back to us, we celebrated. We celebrate even now, even though there were many things done and said, that some might say were unforgiveable, just like the prodigal.
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It would be natural for my younger daughter to feel “its not fair” because it isn’t. Her feelings would be justified and valid. She deserves a party and celebration just for not going too far off the path. I’ve had to learn to let go of that as well, knowing that these sisters are on their own journey to forgiveness. Perhaps forgiving each other and forgiving me for the things I got wrong along the way.
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It isn’t fair, but it also wasn’t all bad. I worked full-time, with not much left in the tank at the end of the day and no extra money for extravagant vacations but some how we had side-splitting laughter moments. I never missed a track and field event, school play or sports tournament. I suited up and went sledding in cold weather I hate, I caved and let them both have their own dog (mom guilt plays a lot there). I sacrificed to send them to Christian school so their roots would run deep in faith from an early age.
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Those of you who know my dad (Rev. Lorne Shepherd) probably think I had perfect parents. I had great parents don’t get me wrong, but they were as human as any other parent. Sometimes they got it wrong. Sometimes they chased after the child who went off track. They too were outnumbered. They got it right many times and the greatest gift they gave us all, was the gift of faith.
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I equipped my children just as my parents equipped me to get through the hurdles in life. It’s my children’s choice as to whether they stay the course, forgive my shortcomings and embrace my triumphs. They will get it wrong sometimes just as we all do, and it won’t always be fair.
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I have found through this particular journey of addiction and all it can encompass as a parent, that there are things you can do to stay a little more balanced. Be intentionally present when you are in the company of others you love. Don’t make the topic of conversation always about your loved one’s struggle. Do not stalk your loved one on social media…knowing what they are doing is not going to help. Allow other family members to be on a different page as to how to deal with this. When I let go, my parents took over with the enabling and it was very difficult not to be angry with them. I had to realize, that just like me, they had to try and fix it. It came from a place of love. They weren’t ready to listen to what I had learned through professionals and my support group, so I had to let that go. Christmas, Thanksgiving and Birthdays, focus on those who are present around the table, and not those who are missing. Give yourself freedom to feel the joy that is right in front of you. Don’t cancel plans when chaos comes up. Don’t let their consequences become yours. Embrace every good moment you are gifted. All easier said than done but it can be achieved one step at a time. Don’t engage in the crazy…I know you know what I mean…when they are texting you late at night blaming you for everything, cursing your name and so on. Resist the urge to reply, to defend, to explain. It won’t help. It will fuel whatever is going through their minds at the time and they are likely not in a good frame of mind. Let it go. For me, this meant silencing my phone at night and sometimes blocking a number. You can’t own what isn’t yours to own when it comes to fault. In all likelihood, you did not cause this addiction, nor can you fix it.
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What if the prodigal doesn’t return? I’ve met several precious parents who have lost their child through this battle, through suicide and overdoses and so on. It’s heartbreaking to say the least. Mine still lives and it’s not fair. It could have been mine. In letting go, I had to go to that place in my mind and heart that, losing her forever was a very real possibility. But then, I began to see the three crosses on an Easter weekend and not just the one in the middle. The worst criminals were crucified in those days so there on either side of Jesus, was the worst of the worst but even then, in their final moment, Jesus gave them a simple choice. I knew my daughter, without a doubt, would cry out to God in her final breath and while for me, a different kind of grief would begin, she would be home and safe in the arms of her savior. That gave me peace.
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At the end of the day, I want for my girls to see me as a person first. A person, with hopes and dreams, heartache and triumph. A person who wanted nothing more than to become their mommy but had the rug pulled out from under her feet over and over and nothing she had planned turned out the way she had envisioned. I want them to see me as a woman of faith first, humanly imperfect but perfectly loved. I want them to know I did my best for us all. I want them to be inspired by the good moments and forgive the times I got it wrong. Life is seldom fair, but we serve a God bigger than anything life throws our way. He is ever present, always just, never failing.
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Thanks for reading…see you next time.
Jesus Take the Wheel
Home Sweet Home
We stopped every 4 hours and had two overnight stays, one in Cornwall, Ontario, and the other in New Brunswick. We didn’t know how our puppy would be on the journey but he was a rockstar. It’s hard for me to even wrap my head around the fact that this animal is in my life, let alone the fact that I drove with him, by choice. I need him. He is my support animal and I love him so much. God, I know, created him just for me. My diagnosis was PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A diagnosis, I thought, was only for those who fought in battle, but that is exactly what we have been doing for so very long, fighting a battle that wasn’t ours to win or lose and now with hands on the wheel, I could hear Carrie Underwood’s song loudly in my head.
Jesus take the wheel.
I’ve done everything I can, my heart broken, my body exhausted and now, it can only be You.
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There I was driving alone, with my 10-month-old very large Golden Retriever Puppy in the backseat. I felt brave, scared, excited, grief and anxious all at the same time. My husband followed behind me, in his overstuffed truck. I was the navigator for our 18-hour drive from Ontario to PEI.
“First you dream, then you do”
is the sign that hangs on my living room wall. I’ve been dreaming it since I was a young girl after falling in love with the Anne of Green Gables’ movies and books. PEI has been calling me for years. On our first trip, I cried when we drove over the bridge to the island. I never thought this dream of mine would ever come true. One month following our week-long vacation in PEI, we were moving there permanently.
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I left my family and friends behind and believed that they would follow, at least for visits, and new life-long memories. It was by far the bravest thing I had ever done, but it felt right. The process was only a few weeks long. The goodbyes were too quick to dwell on emotions, we had to pack and get going and so we did. We were entering into a season of rest and healing and hoped to provide for others in need, a place to recharge and refresh.
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If you have read my book “When the Light at the End of the Tunnel is Another Train”, then you know our story. The story didn’t end in its final chapter. The struggle continued.
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On the final attempt for our daughter to leave her toxic relationship, we received a call and it was the second time we received this type of call. It was a sentence, not a question, on the other end of the phone and it changed our lives in ways we were not prepared. “We are placing the children in your care, today.” No, we didn’t have time to prepare. No, we didn’t have things in place. No, this wasn’t convenient. No, we couldn’t financially afford it but yes is what we did. They needed us.
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Approximately, six months before the whole world shut down, we were on lockdown. We surrendered our privacy, our freedoms to come and go as we pleased, gave up our rights to our home, took early retirement, and our financial, mental and physical well-being were all put at risk. What else could we do? There we were, caught and held hostage, by a love we have, for our grandchildren.
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We started each day with “no one can get hurt or sick” because there wasn’t any time or grace for either. Every bruise, every move, every raised voice was cause for question. Perfection, is what we all strived for each and every day. There were weeks we high fived each other and celebrated a job well done, and then there were others where we hung our heads in shame, knowing we failed.
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We found ourselves in a system that is set to fail. Our worker told us the statistics were not in our favour and they would likely end up in foster care but we believed we could beat the odds. We were caught in a cycle of insanity that at times blew our minds. We met lovely, well-meaning, good people who were just as powerless as us, to change the outcome.
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The stress was unsurmountable. The half-hour drives back and forth for visitation, were enough to make me want to poke my eyes out. Two young children fighting in the backseat of a moving vehicle is a sound I don’t care to ever hear again. Do you know you can buy a bicker barrier for your vehicle? An actual bicker barrier created for this very thing. We couldn’t afford the one online so we constructed our own and it worked. It saved us, divided them, but no, that came into question as well and we had to remove it.
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Packing lunches for school at my age was nothing like what it used to be. I remembered my grandson when he was around 6 or 7 was caught pouring his water out of his plastic water bottle into a reusable cup and his mom asked him what he was doing and he replied, “I’m saving the planet, by not using water bottles.” I took his lead and I unwrapped Lunchables and packed them into reusable containers, and fruit cups, I did the same. Their school had a point system and it would cost them points if I didn’t. Don’t judge, I was desperate.
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The sounds of my husband trying to get the kids on the bus in the morning was like nails on a chalkboard. It was a daily battle until one day I said, “that’s it, we are driving them.” It wasn’t long into the school year when COVID hit and our first lockdown began. I could hear my husband’s frustration through the floor as he tried to walk the kids through their online schooling. My 10-year-old grandson apparently didn’t need any schooling at all because he knew everything there is to know. How, do you get a kindergarten child to do school online? My husband lasted longer than most parents did. I was upstairs trying to work from home. It was a living nightmare and not at all what being a grandparent should be. We missed just being fun and silly and then sending them home. The kids missed it too and began to see us as the enemy and a barrier between them and their parents.
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After over a year of immense stress of walking on the eggshells of perfection, with no breaks, we had to wave the white flag and the kids went to a foster home, just as the worker had predicted. The challenges were beyond the day to day work of raising kids. That would have been enough. There was so much more on top of it that made our heads spin and left us with so many questions. None of it made any sense. We burnt out.
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I had already learned to let go by this point. I had repeated the grieving process every time my daughter went back to the life she tried to escape. Each time getting further down the road to freedom before turning around and heading back. I grieved her loss each and every time, expecting she likely wouldn’t survive.
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In one of my darkest moments, curled up in a ball in my bed, God spoke to my heart. He whispered… “I know how you feel, you can stay here if you want but if you do addiction and the evil behind it, will get a two for one deal”. I hate when evil wins. In the past few years, I have seen evil win over and over and it angers me, but I have a choice over what I allow this to do to me.
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There is no skipping the grieving process. We have to go through it, not over it. You can’t just get over pain or depression. It’s normal, and painful, but I have learned that I will always get through it because I serve a God that is bigger. The battles that are won are just battles, the War is God’s to win. I hold on tight to that unseen hand even when nothing makes sense, the outcomes are unfair, and justice takes longer than what hope can endure. I’m not my child’s savior, nor my grandchildren. I can stand in the gap, be an example, a place of shelter, a shoulder to lean on, but I cannot fix or heal them.
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Here is what is so important about what God spoke to my heart that day… “I know how you feel, you can stay here if you want”. He knows how we feel. He’s been there. This pain of grief and loss, he feels every time we turn our backs on him, we curse his name, or reject him. His love runs deeper and is perfect. But that’s not even the best part for me and my inner child trying so hard to be perfect. He whispered…you can stay here if you want…curled up in my bed, broken and dying inside. His love for me wouldn’t have changed no matter what I did or didn’t do. Do nothing, was an option. His love is unconditional.
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I decided to put one foot in front of the other and as I did God began to restore me. I began to experience joy in the midst of loss. I didn’t do it alone. I leaned on others who were placed in my life to walk alongside me, some were Christians and some were not…a support group, experts in the field, people who have been there and the greatest husband I could ever ask for, never asking for more than I could give, never making a bad situation worse, always willing to listen and not try to fix it, and we can always count on him for comic relief.
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Letting go of our grandkids though, was a challenge on a new level and a different kind of grief but I knew I would get through it.
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The kids are now out of the system. They are as far as we can tell, okay. Life isn’t how we expected or wanted for them, but it could be far worse, better too, certainly not perfect, and that’s okay. I know they are in His hands because I place them there every time I think of them, along with their mother, father and all my loved ones. I name them one by one and place them at the feet of Jesus. Intervene in their lives in ways that I cannot, surround them with your angels and fight for them each and every day, is my prayer.
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Thank goodness for isolation because throughout the early days of grieving this loss, I loved being alone. I slept a lot. I had little ambition and for all of you who lost 20 lbs during COVID…I found it, in bags of Lays potato chips. But one day, I started having a strange craving. I’d not had this before and it was a surprise to everyone. I could visualize his face and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I began to see others like him everywhere. So, I did the only thing I could, and shared this vision with my youngest daughter Melissa, who took things into her own hands. Within an hour of telling her, we were on our way to pick up our Golden Retriever puppy. No, we weren’t prepared. No, we couldn’t afford it, but yes, is what we did. We once again, surrendered our privacy, our freedom to come and go as we pleased, gave up our rights to our home, and our financial well-being because puppies are very expensive. I sent an email to the breeder and said what a joy he was to us and she replied, “God made him just for you”. I fully understand the term “therapy dog” now. I get it, he gets me out of bed, go for walks, he makes us laugh several times a day and even though he is very big, he thinks he is a lap dog and gives me several cuddles a day. He is exactly what I needed.
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As I lean on God, and forge ahead, I see joy in unexpected places. There were so many God moments throughout our journey that reminded me that God was at work and much bigger than me. Our grandson used to have regular nightmares and always asked for prayer before bed. Their foster family who became a part of ours, allowed him to call us when he needed a prayer but one night he didn’t call. When I asked him about it, he told me, he prayed himself, and God spoke to him… “not out loud grandma but like just in my head”. When I asked what God said he told me…He said “I am” and that gave him comfort. “I AM” God said. I got shivers when he told me this because he is a boy not brought up in church and not familiar with this language. It was one of those “God’s got this” moments. There are so many moments like this, friends, social workers, lawyers, unexpected support in unexpected places, countless, unforgettable, supportive moments.
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It doesn’t escape me, that even though I thought my daughter would never be in relationship with me again, she is. We are in a good place and today, she chooses God as her comfort. Even though we thought we wouldn’t see our grandchildren for many years, if ever, we have. These are huge miracles. Even finding joy, in the little face of a puppy, I see God’s handiwork, just for me.
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None of the difficult times erase the countless good memories we made. Laughter that made our stomachs hurt, games of tag and hide and seek outside in the yard, riding bikes in our oversized driveway, teaching my granddaughter to swim, water balloon fights, and cannon balls into the pool. Thank goodness we had a pool. What would we have done without it during lockdown? I choose to cherish these moments and not the ones that broke us.
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So here we are now, living and settled in Prince Edward Island. I have “pinch me” moments every day when we walk along the ocean boardwalk with our puppy leading us. In the short time we have been here we have experienced more heart-wrenching moments that drew our hearts back home. I searched for plane tickets to go back and to be there, but God and others I trust, nudged me to stay put and let Jesus take the wheel. Not having my travel ID yet, helped me do just that, by giving me no choice and sometimes we need that. I speak to my two girls every day and that eases the distance. I’m letting Him take the wheel and it isn’t easy but the God moments continue. Sometimes, I wonder, were we just in God’s way?
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We feel like we have gone on vacation and took all our belongings with us and it feels good. I feel safe. I’m excited for the spring when they all start to come visit. I’m excited to see how things unfold as we are in our season of healing and restoration and they are in their season of growth.
Stay tuned.
Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I am God...”