Monthly Archives: May 2015

Roses from Heaven

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pink-roses-8dIn the days while we were waiting for the phone call that could change EVERYTHING for our family – again, I was preparing for an amazing speaking opportunity. My local newspaper hosts an annual event, Exceptional Women of Southwest Minnesota, and I was asked to be the speaker for the evening. After working with the organizers, I chose taking care of you as the theme of my address. I shared I was downright giddy at being asked because I was very familiar with last year’s speaker. I follow her work, and it felt like big shoes to follow. To say the least, it was a huge honor for me. I will confess I wasn’t quite ready for the marketing campaign for the event as every other day the paper had my picture and just about every business I went into had a poster with me staring back at myself.

Some days I just felt unworthy of all that attention because the beautiful polished photograph of me looked back at the no make-up, hair pulled into a ponytail, clad in workout clothes version of me. Many friends and neighbors gave me such positive encouragement, even despite my efforts to deflect all the attention. I was consistently asked one question before, during, and after the event, “Do you get nervous when speaking?”.

The honest and simple answer is I don’t, but for this event, I poured my heart into my thoughts and preparations because of the significance of the evening. Our small town paper, the Marshall Independent, not only hosts this event, but they also share with their subscribers and readers excerpts of the nomination letters as well as thoughts from the nominees themselves. I was truly humbled to read what these amazing, incredible, and well . . . EXCEPTIONAL women were doing in our community. Their stories made me smile, brought me to tears, and generally inspired me to learn of all the ways they were giving back. Every nominee’s story touched my heart profoundly. For these women, I prayed in the days leading up to the event. I prayed God would give me the right blend of wisdom and stories to encourage them to invest in themselves because without them there would be huge holes left in our communities.

As usual with every time I go off (or stay home) and speak, following the event there was a big line of those who want to hug me. I savor every word of their story, relish in every smidgeon of encouragement, and covet every prayer. Telling our family’s story in an honest, raw, and, at times, humorous way, is draining, but if sharing helps one person do anything better, I will do it every chance I get.

After all the hugging and story swapping, I went home to take a day or two to reflect on all that goodness and let’s be honest, worry that the phone call I was waiting on might not be the one I wanted to hear. When the call finally came in, I hit my knees in praise and adoration, before I cried for all those who wouldn’t receive good news. Then I got up to tackle some cleaning in preparation for our upcoming graduation party. Only the girls and I were home when the doorbell rang.

As soon as I opened the door, I had a huge smile on my face (which for the record was not made-up and my hair in a messy bun). On the front step was one of the nominees, holding a vase with some roses. I quickly invited her in and was completely blown away with the message she came to share.

This sweet new friend is a business owner and when she woke up to start her day at her family owned operation, she noticed something amiss in the parking lot. She rises really early to make sure that all her customers’ needs are met. When she ducked out in the darkness to check on the odd sight, he husband accompanied her for safety. They discovered a broken vase of roses that had been left on the pavement. Quickly cleaning up the glass and retrieving the roses, they returned to the busyness of their morning routine. Finding a replacement vase, she placed the flowers by her kitchen sink and got busy doing the dishes. As she finished that chore and went on to tackle others, her eyes kept being drawn to various words of inspiration. Two in particular kept drawing her in. Those words were “peace” and “family”. Eventually, she felt that God was bringing her close to those words. After a few hours of this repeated drawing near, she knew that God’s message was persistent. She announced to her husband, “those flowers aren’t for me, but I know who they are for”.

I can only imagine his perplexed look as she shared that she thought they were from a red-headed boy. Now here she stood on my doorstep, long-distance roses in hand. Tears quickly pooled in my eyes as she lovingly showed me how the one rose had to have fallen from quite a height in order to have the small indentation that it had on its side.

She couldn’t stay long, but her thoughtfulness and caring lingered for days. I did need that message more than she could have ever known. The sweet messenger was simply God’s instrument of love that day, and for that I love her. I don’t really know how the flowers ended up in the parking lot, but for me they will always be the roses from heaven.

The waiting room

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It was a long and agonizing wait when the Boy Wonder was in the MRI machine to determine the correct diagnosis for the lump on his leg. I refused to sit and search on my phone for all the statistics and logistics regarding sarcoma, because I knew that would do nothing but stir up my heart even more than it already was. Having had an acquaintance battle sarcoma, I already knew some details – none of which were good.

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I did what any person trying to avoid her feelings would do when sitting in the lobby area of a hospital or clinic. I picked up a magazine and tried to redirect my horse galloping heart to slow down, peruse the pages of a battered and worn Better Homes and Gardens, and attempt to calm down. For a little while it worked. I did text a friend who had asked me to apprise her of the situation, and I prayed for a while. She joined me in those prayers, her heart echoing my own fear.

After a short while, another friend and mom of a schoolmate of my children came in with one of her sons. We chatted about all sorts of things, before she asked why I was there. When I said my son was in the diagnostic machine, she grew a little concerned. All I could comfortably share was “it may not be good”.

She smartly changed the subject to prom and graduation, inquiring how planning was going on the latter. We talked for quite some time about my worries (and hers for next year) and getting everything just so, noting that not one of our guests would ever know the difference. I shared what another friend had said to me, and she quickly breathed a sigh of relief.

“I have been sitting here thinking exactly that.”

The sentiment was one of finally getting to have a graduation party. In all the ways that counted, the day was all about Sawyer, but in some inner recesses of my heart the day would also be for Reed and all the ways he and his classmate were not celebrated two years ago. This sadness going all the way back to the e-mail we received from the school stating that our “student” would have been graduating. The caged agony had been brewing. Come on! Are you serious? He was in a class just shy of 40 and no one had the decency to use his actual name? Did you forget that he died as a part of the normal school routine, riding the bus home? I would be lying if I said that shocking correspondence doesn’t still hurt, because it deeply and profoundly does.

The friend sitting there knew nothing of that nor the agonizing months we waited to hear if our son would be remembered at all, but what she did know was how much we love our children and how incredibly difficult it had to have been to not have a party for Reed. Her words of acknowledgement of that hurt soaked deep into the pores of my soul like the soothing balm of Gilead. Her words were healing, as if she had scooped me into her arms and we rocked together on a peaceful front porch, wiping away locked up tears, and sipping some iced tea for good measure. Her words so simple, so sweet, began to cover the ingrained scars on my heart for a loss of something I didn’t realize I was grieving until I was confronted with it for my second son.

In this world, we have the opportunity to do the right thing. I am learning as life goes on not as many people as I would have hoped choose to do that. For those who love out loud, please know your gifts of encouraging words, calls, texts, e-mails, prayers, unending love and support matter. Without those two women speaking truth into my heart, I don’t know how well I would have made it through the ensuing days – waiting for the phone call, preparing for graduation day, and surviving the party we had while thinking about the one we didn’t.

Maya Angelou once said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Whether it is the ravishing scars of grief or a possible cancer diagnosis or anything that brings hurt to your heart, keeping such things locked inside is an anguish that I wish on no one, but one I intimately know.

For one small moment, in a sterile clinic waiting room, battered magazine in my lap, I was incredibly thankful for a friend who let me open the cage for the bird, hiding in there, to fly away. The gentle flutter of the wings of sadness passing by the crevices of my heart created a feeling of being beautifully lighter once released.

photo by Laauraa found at http://sgsushant.blogspot.com

photo by Laura Kok found at http://sgsushant.blogspot.com

I couldn’t help but imagine that is how God’s heart feels when he is waiting in the throne room for me to bring the hurt to him. Sadly, more often than not, I embrace the hurt before I carry it to him. I think he often uses friends, family, and yes, even strangers to speak the words I need to hear to relinquish the hurt for which he is so much larger and his grace is more than sufficient to cover. He is waiting with his bottle to collect my tears, a lap big enough for my hurts, and a promise to love me through it all. A perfect reminder: I will always be his child, the one worth waiting for.

I lost it

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With a month left of his high school career, my Boy Wonder was swamped with papers for several of his college classes. Unfortunately he had to skip out on a family outing to support my mini-me at a volleyball tournament. When we returned home from the day’s games, he informed us he had a lump on his leg that concerned him, and he had called the Ask-A-Nurse number for advice.

Insert screeching halt sound effects – Do what? You have a lump? You called Ask-A-Nurse? Since when do teenage boys call Ask-A-Nurse? Is my boy now a man? Do I have to change his pseudonym from Boy Wonder to my Superman?

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After all those swirling thoughts calmed in my brain, we dissected the advice given by the voice on the other end of the line. He needed to get in as soon as possible. We made an appointment, not too worried because cysts have become a routine part of his story since the bus crash. I have lost count of the number of those that have had to be surgically removed. The one that required a delicate three hour procedure definitely hasn’t been forgotten.

Our meeting with our family doctor did not go at all how I had expected. After examination, he gave us four possibilities: a hematoma, a cyst, a benign fatty tumor, or a cancerous tumor. At that last one, I think I began having heart palpitations. Due to the size of the lump, he lowered another blow. My kids adore our family doctor, but his best advice was he was not the doctor we needed. A surgeon was required. I don’t care that my children have had over 25 surgeries in the last seven years. I turn to mush every time the “s” word is uttered. I am so tired of my children hurting.

The meeting with the surgeon came the day before the prom, and I was hoping that if a procedure was needed we could, at least, let him enjoy the final dance of his high school years. I never in a million years imagined what happened next. The doctor quickly ruled out the hematoma and the fatty tumor, and really didn’t think it was a cyst. He then went on to say that the lump was presenting as sarcoma.

The Boy Wonder was fast and furious taking notes on his phone so that he could do some more research later. Have I mentioned lately that he hopes to become a doctor? While he went into future physician mode, I wanted to ball up on the floor in the fetal position. I fought back the tears in my eyes and tried (very unsuccessfully) to be brave for my son.

Miraculously, the MRI machine was currently empty, and we jumped at the chance to get a diagnosis sooner rather than later. After about a half hour, the technician came out and asked if I was “the mom”. She then explained how the radiologist didn’t like the images and had asked for a dye injection. She assured me that the procedure would take only fifteen more minutes. Are you kidding me, lady? I would wait until kingdom come if needed for my son.

Fifteen minutes it was not. Forty-five minutes later, he emerged famished and eager to get back to school. We got into the car, and my steely resolve vanished rapidly. I tried to ask if he was okay, when he noticed the tears in my eyes.

All I could get out was “we’ve come so far”. I didn’t have to say anything more. He knew what I meant. He was weeks away from graduating from high school and clearly more than ready to spread his wings to soar. A diagnosis of cancer would change all that. Not to mention the surgeon’s words echoing in my head, “if it is sarcoma, then we wouldn’t be able to operate in that location”. Oh sweet Jesus, please let this cup pass our family. I lost it.

My incredible son looked me in the eyes and these are the words he said . . .

Oh momma, don’t cry. I don’t think it is sarcoma. I just don’t feel it is. Mom, I get it. You are worried, but here is what I know: there isn’t a challenge I have met in life that I couldn’t handle.

Although I was momentarily reassured, my thoughts kept running away from me again. When did he grow up? When did he stop being my little boy and become a man ready to make more of a difference in this world than he already has? When did he become the comforter?

The next few days were agonizing. We told only a handful of friends and asked them to pray. We plastered smiles on our faces, and we pressed on. We pretended that our insides weren’t melting to goo, our crisis survival skills weren’t kicking into high gear, and our thoughts weren’t questioning if we could endure another blow. Lots of prayers were sent heavenward. Memories replayed an MPR show from winter stating that 1 in 2 Minnesotans will be touched by cancer in their lifetimes. One in two? And very little sleep transpired.

The call finally came five days later. (In their defense, there was a weekend in there.) The radiologist found that it was NOT sarcoma (THANK YOU, GOD!). I only heard very little of the rest of what the nurse explained. The name of the diagnosis was extremely long and basically may or may not go away on its own. It will need to be watched, but it won’t take my son’s life.

After spending some time on my knees, my heart began to take its own roller coaster ride. As much as I wanted to celebrate, I couldn’t because my heart hurt for the mommas (and daddies) of the world who wouldn’t be receiving the same good news we did. They would be gearing up for the fight of a life (literally), and they would be enduring sleepless nights, searching for countless hours to find ways to help their child, fielding phone calls and e-mails and texts from well-meaning friends who have offers of miracle cures, and learning just how powerless they really are when it comes to their child’s health. All the while, they will be savoring each day, each moment, and sometimes each breath they have with their child. They will celebrate milestones and will put on plastered smiles and will cry in the hospital corridors and elevators so as not to scare their child and will do anything to make it a good day for their sweet babes. My heart cried out for them all.

Sometimes, I think God gives me these moments to remind me of those who so desperately need my prayers because I know firsthand how such prayers can give you that extra ounce of energy to take the next step forward. Prayers have bolstered my family in the darkest moments of our journey. A literal life line! I know I haven’t reminded us of this in a while, but please, please, PLEASE hug your kids tonight and be thankful for every day you have with them.

Here’s to you . . .

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Yesterday, I came home to a surprise sitting on my kitchen island, which will always be called “the buffet” because that is what it was for 15 years at my house and about hundred years before that until last fall we converted it into its new state. There was a bouquet of roses along with a card. The Boy Wonder was home most of the morning so I thought they were from him. Tears immediately pooled in my eyes when I realized that the gift was from a classmate of Reed’s, whom I have the honor of calling one of my other sons. His own mother is a woman I adore and every moment I share with him is one that I thank God for her and her willingness to share. Throughout the day, my thoughts wondered to all the types of moms in the world.

Damien's flowers

Today I am thankful for each of thoses mom. So here’s to you . . .

  • Moms of newborns who are just starting your journey. Welcome to the best and hardest job of your life. There will be moments of doubt and fear, but every time you look in your child’s eyes you will know whatever heartache you face will be worth it.
  • Mommas of little ones running around. The faster you pick up toys, wipe dirty faces and hands, and clean up spills, the faster it seems that they appear. I promise you, exhausted ladies, that someday they will pick up after themselves, and you will wonder how are you going to spend your time.
  • Moms of school agers who are starting to form the beginnings of their wings. Teach them to fly, sweet ladies – even when sometimes they pretend they don’t know what nest is home.
  • Mothers of teenagers and beyond – These are the bittersweet moments when you realize just how sturdy your knees really are. These are the times when you watch your children soar . . . until they don’t, and then you help them pick up the pieces and soar again.
  • Moms of babies who died in utero. There is no pain like the pain of never meeting your child, counting fingers and toes, or smelling your baby’s hair. I am sorry that often the world doesn’t recognize your motherhood. Please know I do and always will.
  • Mamas whose arms ache for a child carried in their womb, but that day has never come. I wish I could magically make that happen for you. Every friend’s child is a reminder of the hole in your heart. I am so sorry for the pain you face.
  • Mothers who have to lie about how many children they have because it is just too darn complicated to explain that one of your children has passed away. I know your pain. I have walked in your shoes. We close on houses and business deals, but never our children. A mother is not defined by the children you count, but by the ones we hold in our hearts.
  • Moms of children who are ill from disease or addiction or who are dying. Thank you for your steadfast love and encouragement. Your prayers and presence are guiding lights in so many lives.
  • Mommas who only recently learned that their child has a terminal diagnosis. You have every right to ache with every fiber of your being. Please know that there are legions of moms and friends who stand with you to lift you up for the days ahead.
  • Mamas whose own mothers had their own struggles and left holes in your childhood. Thank you for your forgiveness and for persevering and for being a voice of change for the next generation in your dedication to mothering your own children.
  • Mothers who work two and three jobs just to keep ahead of the bills and yet exhausted, still find time to be the best mom in the world to your kiddos. You inspire me.

May God cradle all of you mothers in safely under his wings. 

Here’s to you . . .

  • Grandmothers who due to life circumstances stand in the gap to mother their grandchildren. You are an incredible gift to mother not one but two generations. Thank you for giving so selflessly from your heart and years of experience.
  • Mothers who have answered freedom’s call. You stand on every shore, soar high in the sky, and walk your boots on every continent on earth. Thank you for the sacrifices you make so we can sleep in peace. To your husbands and families who do all the “mothering” in your absence – May God grant them peace every day you are away.
  • Mommas who are holding down the fort while your soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine is far away on deployment.  You are mother, father, counselor, comforter all while trying to hold yourself to together.  Yours is a sacrifice often forgotten.  Your family endures, every second your loved one is gone is a deep longing ache of terror and worry, mixed with pride.  In my book, you are saints.
  • Birth mothers who have given the name of mom to another woman with the gift of life. Life – precious life. Thank you for courageously giving a priceless gift. To the moms who have adopted or fostered the children loved beyond measure, thank you for being an earthly example of our charge to love the widows and the orphans.
  • Moms who are absent from their children due to circumstances they could have never imagined. Whatever your story, I can only believe that you never wanted to spend a day away from your children. Please know that wherever you are, I know you carry your sweet babies in your heart if not in your arms.
  • Divorced moms who “share” their children with another “mom”.  Thank you for being full of grace and love and mercy to show your children that love comes in many diverse ways.  Your gift is one that will free your children some of the pain of their life’s story.
  • Teacher, counselor, social work or nursing mommas who love children in the hours that they are in their presence. What you do is hard work to love on a child in their darkest moments when often they are often struggling to learn or dealing with life’s curveballs. Thank you for giving from your heart and often generously from your wallets as well.
  • Mamas of influence. No, I am not talking about the amount of dollars in a bank account, but rather the amount room in a mother’s heart to love all the children and sometimes adults within her corner of the world. You pour out love in ways that may not always be recognized, but what you do matters.   Someday, you might be surprised to find flowers on your kitchen counter too!
  • The spiritual mommas who love on those in their churches, houses of faith, neighborhoods, and communities. You are a rare gem. You give of your time to love others because you can, because it is the right thing to do, and because you have a gift to share.   Yours is a commitment far beyond a blood relation but you love anyways in many amazing ways. Thank you for being the stitches that hold together the fabric of our society.

To the moms, mothers, mommas, mamas, mas, grandmas, nannies, grammies, grandmothers, and mom figures –

You are rocking this thing called motherhood!

I know there are long days. There are days that you make a thousand selfless sacrifices in a hour, let alone in a day. You worth could never be paid. Your love could never be measured. Your value could never be assessed. Without you, this world would be a really dark place.

You are important. What you do matters. Simply put, you are AMAZING!

And I am proud to stand among you!

Happy Mother’s Day for all the ways you love the world and its people.

To those who have lost their moms, my heart aches with you. I wish I could hug you all and whisper “a mother’s love never fades away”. Each of you are an echo of your momma’s dreams and hopes for the world.

For good measure, this is my own sweet momma as a little girl.

For good measure, this is my own sweet momma as a little girl.