Monthly Archives: February 2015

A true measure

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Dear son – A few days ago we quietly ushered in your 18th birthday. No matter how quickly I wanted to slow down time to prevent this day’s arrival, my efforts failed miserably. I wanted to bottle you up as the little curly-headed boy who would pad into my bedroom and ask “Is it time for ‘bweakfast’ yet?” and keep you that way forever. If I had, I would have missed out on the glimpses of who you would really grow to be.

Time slows down for no momma which was very evident over the course of the last weekend. If time was a better friend, she would have realized that it was all too much to mourn our darkest day and then a few days later celebrate your achievements. The irony was not lost on this momma’s heart that we were remembering letting one son go as we prepared to let another one march into the world on his. If time was my friend, she would have slowed down enough to let me recover from one moment before rushing headlong into the other one. I am pretty sure time and me are no longer on speaking terms.

When you were little we planned elaborate birthday bashes, but now, you are marching to the beat of your own drum and chose to go out with friends, joining us later for a dessert celebration. The day was a reflection of what will most likely be for years to come. It was during our family gathering I was once again reminded of who you are at the core of your being. After an order mix-up, you gave your friend the bigger dessert – on your birthday. There was no arguing with you that we could order another one because it was already way past your baby sister’s bedtime. From the moment the doctor said, “It’s a boy!” on the day you arrived into the world on one of the coldest days in history, I have lived every moment investing in raising a gentleman. The dessert debacle proved to me, while I still hope you are remembering to open doors, a gentleman is indeed what our efforts produced.

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I’ve never been nervous about launching you into the world. My confidence in your future lies in believing you embody an old saying “A true measure of success is how you overcome the obstacles in your path”. I have lost count of all the surgeries and procedures you have endured, and there is no test for the childhood lost as you were forced to grow up so fast. Yet, you have always been my gentle giant, who leads with a quiet strength. Your faith has been unwavering, your perseverance beyond admirable, and your convictions your guiding light. Having the courage to stand by your convictions exudes character well beyond your years. It may not feel that way to you, but I am not the only person who has noticed how the obstacles you have encountered have been treated as mere bumps in the road. Your eyes were always on the prize – serving your Jesus.

Watching you face the giants in your life has been one of the most humbling experiences of my lifetime. It was just a dessert some would say, but to me, it was a reminder from God that He has been, is, and forever more shall be the real navigator of your success. He has taught you the real meaning of life – loving him and serving others. Along the way mixed in with many different lessons, He has taught you about frailties: your physical being, the fleeting vapor of life, and the tenderness of a momma’s heart.

From that last one, I hope you know that I am so incredibly proud of you and all that you stand for. I love you always and forever, and I will always have extra dessert – just in case – when you come home from college next year.

Love – Momma

To my Sunshine . . .

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Dear Reed:

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreading this day. My friends all know it, and they do their very best to love me through it. There are extra hugs, more texts just checking in, and offers to “sock ‘em in the nose” for the people who seem to get great joy inflicting wounds when we are down. The first two warm my heart, and the last one just makes me laugh. As January draws to an end, I don’t want to flip the calendar to February. Just the name of the month is too painful to bear.

For the last few weeks, I have struggled to eat and sleep, and have felt I was one tear drop away from releasing Niagara Falls. If I let one drop fall, a gusher was going to follow and I might not be able to stop. I knew this day – the day that changed my life forever – would come again.

I decided to avoid thinking about it, other than planning a date with a Kleenex box. I knew your siblings would be going to school; so aside from being trying to be strong and available for them, my plan was to do nothing but be kind and gentle to myself. Daddy chose to spend the day with me, taking a day off from work. You know how difficult that is for him to do; so, the tears leaked a little at his decision.

All that tossing and turning through sleepless nights resulted in a big neck ache. As I walked past the kitchen table on my way to the hot tub, I saw a beautiful jar I recently won. Emblazoned on the side are the words, “There is hope”. Today I clung to that promise. As I let my thoughts soak away in the steamy waters, my sadness was carried to God’s ears on the melodic notes of birdsong. More tears leaked out as I realized your garden was full of beautiful little birds singing the songs of hope to me. God knew what I needed to help me smile through my watery eyes.

Throughout the day, the tears came off and on like when the lady at doctor’s office realized who I was and said, “Oh this has to be a hard day for you.” Ma’am, you have no idea. More tears after the doctor saw my shirt (the last Reed’s Run one that both Erin and I chose to wear today) and in the middle of his explanation of my lab tests exclaimed, “you are truly a woman who loves her God. Romans 8:38 – 39 on your shirt. It just caught my eye.” and then just shook his head. I try, Doctor. I really, really try. I just don’t know any other way. The leaking just kept on coming when an unexpected text came asking how someone could support Sister. Even more came after the love ambush this afternoon.

Grief is a messy thing, Reed. Some of those tears were of sadness. Others were of joy and relief for the amazing grace-filled love that comes from the best friends I could have never imagined, let alone ever dreamed of asking for. Without their love and the grace of our Lord, I don’t know that we would have ever made it this far. We are far from through it. How could we ever get over you?

You were our sunshine. Even though you are not here, your spirit’s light still shines brightly. You are still here – just like the lyrics of the song shared with us today. We carry you in our hearts, our memories, and our stories. We share those stories over and over because we want every memory to still be alive in Sally’s mind. She was so tiny when you had to go home with Jesus, but there are so many times that I stare at her because she sounds just like you. She loves learning and reading and math and superheroes and Legos and animals – all the things you loved. You would bubble over with excitement as she is reading some of your old books, whipping right through them like you did. She has the same reactions when she watches the movies too! But the thing that most reminds me of you happened at her parent-teacher conference; her teacher shared how incredibly kind she is. More tears leaked out on that February day.

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Then there are Sister and Sawyer. You would be so proud. Your light, that today basks in the glory of heaven, shines so brightly in them. They hold true to the values that our family holds dear, even when it isn’t cool or popular. They root for the underdog, and they give back in the best of ways. They hit rough patches, but time and time again, they have proven they are resilient. Remember that time when Erin got hurt on her bike, and you picked her up and carried her down the block back home to my loving arms. There are so many times they both wish they could have done the same for you on that awful February day. If it is true that the angels pray on our behalf (and I believe it is), always, always ask them to hold your brother and sisters close to their hearts. Where you live, there are no tears, no sadness, but trust me, Reedy, there is plenty of that to go around back here on earth. Sadness doesn’t define our days, but there are the moments when it engulfs us.

go team

Maybe, just maybe, tears bring us closer to God, who reminds us this is not our forever home. Homesickness has a completely different meaning when we look through that lens. Another thing about those tears is they clear our myopic vision to truly see the blessings and as much as there is sadness, there blessings to infinity and beyond we encounter every day. Tears have also removed scales from our eyes so that we more easily see when someone else is hurting, and perhaps that is what God had planned for all of us for now. What if blessings come through raindrops and healing comes through tears are more than just song lyrics; they are truly the reminders of hope that keeps our eyes looking to heaven and our ears listening to the birds, who are whispering God’s love in every note.

Through my tears, I see the blessings – including the time God shared you with us. Always wishing it was for a lot longer and always loving you until I can hug you again!

Momma

 You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

you’ll never know, Reed, how much I love you

The wonder of a box

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I think every parent has been there. It’s Christmas morning, and there sits your child inside the box of the latest greatest toy you spent hours standing in line to purchase earlier in the month. Instead of dropping the big bucks on the toy, you could have headed to the office supply store and spent less than ten dollars on the biggest box available. Better yet, you could have put out a request to friends to see if any were making any large appliance purchases before the holidays and requested to “simply take the box off their hands”.

I remember as a child when one of my best friend’s family purchased new kitchen appliances. Jackpot! We spent the next few months creating an elaborate house out of the boxes. Using markers, crayons, scissors, and construction paper, we made windows and doors as well as decorated our corrugated home like it was straight out of the pages of Southern Living.

Over the years, my children have had similar experiences only instead of a house, they made the Batmobile, the Space Shuttle, and a personal favorite was the Tardis of Dr. Who fame. Of course, there were smaller creations, but these were the most memorable. One weekend last year, the wonder known as the box took center stage in my littlest’s plans. She had a sleepover with a friend. They didn’t have any big plans until . . . we decided to assemble the new recliners we had recently purchased. Both littles were great construction assistants, but as soon as the chairs were sitting ready, they flocked to the boxes like bees to honey.

After a long and lengthy discussion, they settled on becoming Wonder Women. They created “gold” bracelets out of the remnants of the Styrofoam tube packaging and instead of an invisible jet, they got to work creating their very own time machine AND a magic carpet.

They spent hours and hours just drawing and adding details. There were no squabbles or arguments, but plenty of words of encouragement for each other. They couldn’t have had more fun if we had planned a day full of activities. Uncomplicated, unscripted and unplugged – they embraced the moment. Completely content – oh the adventures they had!

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I sent these pictures to the other momma with the caption of “Our Wonder Women”. Almost immediately, she acknowledged the lure of the cardboard box, fondly remembering both her own adventures as well as those of her sweet kiddos over the years.

Recently, I’ve been thinking (A LOT) about contentment and my tendency on occasion to compartmentalize life making all my details fit inside “my box”. In my ponderings, I remembered these two sweet little girls, and their unbridled joy when I said the box was theirs for the day. Making lists and checking them twice have been my strong suits for a long time. Keeping my hands busy was a close third on my compartmentalizing strengths. Gently, God has been nudging me to just stop and be present in the moment, just like the girls. This morning I saw a photo that perfectly captured my ability to be caught up in what I am doing, but miss the rest of what is going on around me. It is going to be an uphill battle, but I am ready to embrace what God has laid before me, open to all the possibilities.

Keep company with God, get in on the best. Psalm 37:4 (The Message)

And who knows? Maybe along the way that will mean time spent in boxes, blanket forts, and tents in the backyard! I’ll have the crayons ready . . . just in case.

At the back of the bus

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Our journey home from the girls’ trip changed at the last minute. The reason for the change was our town festival coincided with our plans. On the surface, that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but when you are nine and the title of being “Queen” of the county is on the line, your priorities shift. Bragging momma warning alert! She did indeed win a title in the pageant; so, our switcheroo paid off, even if it meant some logistical changes in our transportation home. We traded in our train passes and purchased one-way tickets via Megabus (a double decker, wi-fi express).

The current Queen of Lyon County

The current Queen of Lyon County

The bus company uses the same stations as Amtrak so it was easy to know where to go in the city, although if it did take us a moment in downtown Chicago to locate where exactly the pick-up would be. Of course, I was a little flustered after leaving my phone on the concierge’s desk, and subsequently pretending we were playing Amazing Race with the taxi driver. Sadly, stations are places where people who haven’t seen blessings in a while congregate. This does not daunt me, and I try my best shine God’s light while I visit with them. The group waiting for various buses was an eclectic mix, and just before several buses pulled up, a young black man sitting on the retaining wall got my attention.

“Miss, I want you to know I think that is awesome.” It took me a moment to figure out what we did that was so “awesome” before I realized he was talking about the fact that a little white girl was holding a black baby doll. When I explained that he was the only doll she wanted, he was grinning from ear to ear. The call for Madison and St. Paul came and once again, it was time for “all aboard”.

So proud of her new doll, Noah.

So proud of her new doll, Noah.

The first thing I noticed was a shocking shift in temperatures from Illinois August air to the freezer inside the bus. I had packed a blanket but we were woefully underdressed for the mandatory cool temps (to keep drivers alert). Other than a few college kids heading to University of Wisconsin, the remainder was made up of young families and a few individuals. Since we were the last to embark, we took the only remaining seats left (which for those who know me struck fear in my heart). The final two spots were the very last row – where my son was seated the day he died on the school bus. That is a no-go zone for all of us, but I couldn’t ask families with tiny children to move. My fears subsided (a little) when I noticed both the bathroom and the stairs to the upper deck were behind us.

Once we were seated, I noticed our neighbor to the right was seated alone. Our driver gave the basic instructions of passenger-ship, and I almost peed in my pants when she said absolutely no alcohol, just as my fellow passenger had pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swig. A sheepish little smile and a shoulder shrug resulted in more than a few giggles from me. Over time, the conversation began to flow between us. My neighbor, Eugene, had fallen on hard times and was trying to get his life back in order. I had to smile when he stated unapologetically that without God’s help that was never going to happen. Between Chicago and Madison, we learned much about each other’s lives, including the fact that we actually knew some of the same people from our college days.

At some point, my friend from back at the sidewalk came down and stood between us. He joined in our conversation and asked if we would mind if he stood for a while as he was healing from a back surgery. Eugene and I were both amenable, and our new friend, Anderson, a city advocate/Franciscan missionary from Detroit, jumped right in. The next hour was spent sharing our faith stories, including the tragedies that helped solidify or test that same faith.

As the sun started to set, the conversation took on a more solemn note. The date of this ride was August 13, four days after the shot that took the life of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. The irony was not lost on me that here I was seated in the back of the bus (with two black men) while our country was being torn apart with hateful thoughts and acts on each side of the racial divide once again. Since the Saturday before, I had simply been praying for love to prevail and for our country to heal, which would take amazing courage, gut-wrenching hard work, and a willingness to talk, but more importantly listen.

Almost as naturally as me grabbing a sweet tea, we decided we should pray. Holding each other’s hands, we prayed, each in our faith comfort zone and pattern, but pray we did. We prayed for each other, we prayed for families hurting, for our own families, our communities, and our country. And we prayed for Ferguson. We asked God for his strength, his peace, and his light to shine in a place that none of us had ever visited. By the time, we were done, the remaining passengers were staring. I had tears streaming down, because I felt like the seat I didn’t want was a divinely appointed one.

We weren’t the only people in the world praying, but that one moment felt like God’s love was shining through as we road down the interstate. Even though we all knew our paths would most likely not cross again this side of Jordan, our prayers were the prayers of people who knew that none of our differences mattered when we came together in love. In God’s eyes, we are all his children, and no place was that more beautifully displayed than on our knees at the back of the bus.