Monthly Archives: October 2015

Her heart spoke volumes

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She has been a confidante, a friend, and most importantly an “adopted” grandparent. Grandma Ruth Lee is the matriarch of our church.  At 95 years young, she has been a guiding force in our lives for many years.  She is an encourager and prayer warrior, cementing her place in my heart one day over “coffee”.

As an organizer’s for our church’s National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day service, I had no idea the first year would help Grandma Ruth. “We didn’t have those things back in the day.”  As a momma who has miscarried three babies, my heart momentarily leapt to my throat. Grandma Ruth lost a baby too? I never knew. Little did I know how much she really does understand the longing to want to hold your baby, one more time!

Grandma Ruth grew up on the South Dakota prairie in a home where “God was always with her”.  Recently she shared how relieved she was to learn Ruth Graham didn’t have a special faith acceptance day either.  God was just always with her, and so too, was her mom.  She was mother, friend, and sister to Ruth as an only child.  Even in her 90’s, she still speaks reverently of her parents and her childhood. She went to college to become a teacher, fell in love with her high school sweetheart, and lived a very quiet life. . . until America joined World War II.

Leaving her classroom in Iowa for a few short days, she traveled to Mississippi to marry her love.  Ruth and Bob Lee were wed on Christmas Day in 1941 in the manse of the Presbyterian church.  Without today’s fanfare, they celebrated by going to the movies with the couple who stood up for them. She felt an urgency to return to her school and didn’t tarry long enough to have the honor of pinning her newlywed’s wings.  Today, she laments that decision, following her brain and sense of duty, rather than following her heart and staying for the formal aviators’ graduation.

Her trip “home” was not without complications, however.  The taxi which was supposed to pick her up never arrived, prompting she and Bob to walk to the station.  They arrived in time to see the train pull away.  She had to wait until the next day for the next northbound railcar, which broke down halfway back to Iowa, causing her to resort to telegraphing the school along the route.  Exhausted, she returned four days later than expected.

B17 Super Fortress World War 2 Bomber

B17 Super Fortress World War 2 Bomber

She finished the school year, and along the way discovered she was expecting their first child.  Grandma Ruth returned home to live with her parents while her beloved was halfway around the world flying fifty-one missions at the helm of a B-17 flying fortress.  Waiting for the arrival of a new baby was a delicate time when your husband was serving his country thousands of miles away.

When I first met Grandma Ruth, she was already the matriarch of a family and a church family.  The momma of four and grandmother of many, she loved our family like her own offering comfort to us when our oldest son died. The story I learned a decade after first meeting Grandma was their precious David Paul was born, but lived a little more than an hour. She wrote every day to Bob, but the only letter he ever received was the one informing him of his baby son’s death.  Upon learning the news, all he wanted to know was if his girl was doing okay.

Over coffee one morning, she quietly shared she knew exactly the first thing she was going to do when she got to heaven.  I’m going to rock my baby. I have never forgotten the moment. Many years had passed between her baby passing and our coffee time, but a momma’s heart never forgets. I believe God knows her heart’s desire too, and I am hoping when she gets there, he will have the rocking chair ready.

He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us.  2 Corinthians 1:4 (MSG)

Is there someone in your life today to whom you can offer comfort? Can your story offer hope and healing to another? Grandma Ruth may never know how much her story, shared over a coffee (and a Coke) and some Hardee’s biscuits changed my life forever.  While she was most definitely Bob’s girl, more importantly she is God’s! When to the rest of the world ours is a quiet – often not spoken – hurt, God’s girl, Ruth, boldly shared her heart which gave life-changing, life-breathing hope to mine. Instead of a rocking chair, I think I am going to ask God to have the front porch swing ready when I arrive . . . with toes dangling my babies and Reed and I will swing away.

Sitting with her dear friend, V, Grandma Ruth on the right at her surprise party at our church!

Sitting with her dear friend, V, Grandma Ruth on the right at her surprise party at our church!

Note: October is National Infant and Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Month.  If you have experienced the same pain my “Grandma” and I have, please know our hearts are with yours!

Fourteen years . . . and nothing changed

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I don’t know how it happened. Time literally slipped through my fingers. As much as I am feeling the pain of lost days, my baby girl is experiencing the sadness even more. When I was her age, Christmas took forever to arrive. I am certain for her that date on the calendar is insignificant compared to another date she pines for every day. There is not a day that goes by in which she doesn’t lament how much she misses her big brother. This side of mothering is a terrible tight-rope walk. On one cliff’s edge is the fragile, beating heart of a little girl who misses her other half of the dynamic duo, who loves superheroes and Dr. Who as much as she does. On the other mountaintop is the man who was once our precious boy, scaling to higher and higher heights. Yes, I miss him every day, and I wish he were closer. But I also wish for him to soak up every experience offered to him, hoping his university years are as memorable and cherished as my own.

In between the rock and the hard place, I tenderly cradle my girl while secretly cheering him on.

We do hear from him, albeit not as regularly as his little sidekick would like. I can’t quite be certain, but I would not be surprised to see her create a public shaming encouraging video, like the mom who posted on Facebook explaining to her son how to use the phone to call home. I can see it now: E.T. wants to phone home, and sassy sisters want to hear from their big brothers.

If I were honest with her, I could have known this is how his college days would be. I knew it fourteen years ago . . . on the first day of kindergarten. My theory is that children don’t really change all that much over the years. I knew on day one of kindergarten what move-in day as a college freshman would look like. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.

After taking our annual First Day of School pictures in our front yard by the tree near our driveway, we drove away anxiously anticipating a new adventure. The school district where I taught had just built a new K-12 building. We made the difficult and prayer filled decision to open enroll our children so we would all be in the same building with the same schedule. For Reed, it meant leaving his beloved Christian school, but for Sawyer it meant starting fresh as the first kindergarten class in the new school.

I took a picture that day which is still my dad’s all-time favorite photo of my kids. Then we walked from my classroom to each of the boy’s. Reed’s entrance was fraught with a little more questionable outcome because these kids were not his classmates from the previous two years. A quick hug and more than a few prayers went up, as two of us walked on to the kindergarten room. I was hoping for a smooth entrance, but maybe not as a smooth as it actually was.

first day of kindergarten sawyer

I wanted to take in every corner of the excitement known as Kindergarten Room 1, but alas, my boy wanted nothing of it. We no more than stepped into the room when my chubby-cheeked, curly-haired boy spun around and told me, “You can go now.” WHAT? No hug? No photo of your name on the desk. No helping you put your supplies in your cubby. No putting away of your napping mat. No last minute pep talk by the locker. NOPE. Nothing!

All I got was a “You can go now”, and he was off and running. He had people to meet, things to do, and a world to change!

The whole drive to South Dakota to the college of his dreams, he and Sal and I giggled and enjoyed the three hour drive, while Dad and Sister were bringing up the rear with a mini-van full of what every college kid in America was hauling to campus. In my heart, I was trying to tell myself to savor the moment, because I knew it would be over quick, no matter how much I didn’t want to believe it.

Going through the check-in process, we continued to rock out because somewhere he read to have your favorite jams because Move-In day can be long and tedious. They lied. It was neither. His university had the whole process down to assembly-line precision. From start to finish, I think it took less than one hour (which included getting his paperwork and keys in order, hauling all his belongings up three flights of stairs, and unpacking almost all of his items).

As soon as the last box was unpacked, he had the same look he had back in Room 1. The look of a caged animal who knows he is about to be set free. Thankfully, we raised him to be a gentleman and he didn’t actually utter the words, but my heart knew what his heart was saying. . . Mommasita (yes that’s what he calls me) and Dad, I’ve got this! You can go now.

He did at least allow us to get some pictures this time, even though I had to wait fourteen years to get one! And it is a good thing that we parents had on shades to hide the tears behind the dark glass.

first day of college sawyer

The best I can do is to savor each moment, because it won’t be that long before I will be sending my girls off to college. We will have to trust that we did some things right along the way, and that God has the rest covered. But hey! If my theory proves right, we might want to warn the university that we will have to peel one of the girls off of me, and I will be sending some of my students to check in on her to make sure the crying has stopped.

But for now, I will cradle my sweet girl and together we will miss her big brothers – the ones in heaven and the one away at college.

Starting a New Tradition

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Over the years, I have been blessed with amazing kiddos (those I birthed and those on loan temporarily from their families).  We are planning our annual family photo, and I got to thinking the other day how there are two photos that I really want.  One would be similar to the one buzzing on social media where shadows would be in place of our children who reside with Jesus.  I am proud to be a mom of seven, even though only three share the earth with us today.  As long as I live the most difficult question to answer will always be, “How many children do you have?”

Every fiber of my being wants to yell “SEVEN”, but sometimes I don’t because I don’t always know how invested in the inquisitor I will eventually be.

Yet to pull off a picture of that significance means having to coordinate schedules with the three children who have busy lives. It will be a cherished treasure when we finally coordinate it all.  The other photo I hope to organize is one with all of our children, including our “adopted” ones – who call me Mom, but only in the “God put us all together” sense of the word.  These sons have never lived in my home and all have families who love them. For a period of time, we have had the joy of calling them one of our own.  Now if I thought the first picture was going to be a challenge to coordinate, imagine adding one son (and family) in Africa, one son (and family) just up the road, two additional college student sons, and two other sons from our school days. If you didn’t notice a pattern here, our daughters are really outnumbered. Yep, I love each of extra sons as if they were my own, and once upon a time one of them surprised me one of the greatest honors I have ever received.  I wrote more about it on the Minnesota Bridging the Gap ministry blog page, and I am sharing it here.  But let’s just say the little girl in the tutu stole my heart from the moment she was born.

Future Mustangs

Adding a grandbaby into the mix helped start a new tradition – which is a really BIG thing around Team Stevens Headquarters. From cookies and cocoa on the first snow to tracing our handprints on Thanksgiving, we excel at celebrating the every day. To the world our celebrations may look to revere the ordinary, but to us, it is the reminder of who we are and what we cherish. The little stuff truly matters.

Families are incredibly unique. Birth families, adopted families, blended families, or family of your own creation. God loves them all. However you define family, and whatever traditions (old and new) you celebrate, be blessed in knowing that God loves the things that bring families closer together!

Now here’s hoping those schedules will work out for those photos!

The art of hospitality

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I am not with the Welcome Wagon, although I maybe should be. One of the best compliments I have ever received was regarding my hospitality. This alone should aver my qualifications! More than once I have told my pastor that someday my front door will be painted red, a symbol of safe harbor and refuge. Need a place for your children or pets? We’ve got you covered. Need a warm hug, meal, or bed? There’s always room at the inn! Need a cup of sugar, a lawn tool, or a costume for your kids? We love to share. Even in our darkest hour, we have desired to be a place where guests feel comfortable. Moments before we told Sawyer that Reed had died as a result of the bus crash, my sweetie and I made a very conscious decision that our home would continue to be the place where people gathered and felt welcomed. Despite the many and varied differences between our childhoods, this is one COMMONALITY our mothers share. If there is food, beds (or floor space), gas in the car, or an item in need, our mothers would be first to offer assistance. They both passed their hospitality genes onto to their children.

Our love of sharing our home with others has blessed us with amazing friends over the years.

Some years back, we got up one Saturday morning and embarked on a typical weekend activity: a trip to the farmer’s market. On our trip home, a moving truck was parked two doors down, signifying the new neighbors had arrived. After unloading our freshly harvested produce, we headed down the street to greet the new neighbors as they were waiting for our college football team to come and help them unpack. When our friends tell this story, they always share the part when after introducing ourselves we ask if they have any children. They explained they had a 13 year old and 5 year old and were flabbergasted when we said, “We do too, with an 11 year old in the middle.” It was the first time in their lives someone didn’t make a snide or judgmental comment about the age gap. Having a sister who is 14 years younger, I would have never entertained the thought.

We didn’t help them unpack, but we did offer to mow their grass and invited them to the backyard movie night we were hosting later that evening. We have been kindred friends, well, really more like family, ever since. I regularly thank God for moving them in just a few doors down. Ours has been an easy friendship with lots of shared adventures, life’s celebrations, a place of refuge in moments of trouble, and plenty of times of gathered around tables.

But there was this one time . . . when I looked like a crazy person running down the street. While I am not officially the town’s welcoming committee, I did try extremely hard to share with our friends all the best things to see, do, visit, eat, and attend around our town for the first year. All was going well until early October, when I burst into their home looking something like Kramer from Seinfeld.

“OH! MY! WORD! I promise Mrs. O’Leary’s cow did not start the town on fire!” came spewing out, before I could explain our local fire department takes Fire Prevention Week very seriously. Every year on the Wednesday evening of FPW, the fire trucks complete with flashing lights and sirens blaring drive up and down every (and I mean EVERY) street in town as a reminder to practice Operation E.D.I.T.H. (Exit Drills In The Home).

My sweet friend had seen the trucks as she drove our Sister and her daughter home from swim practice. As the hurrah made it to our side of town, I jumped up from the dinner table, yelling, “I have to warn the neighbors.” Suddenly, it hit me I forgot to warn them about this time-honored town tradition. Although my entrance was comical, my friends were somewhat concerned about what was going on.

Maybe my dereliction of duty is why I have never been extended an invitation to perform official Welcome Wagon duties. Whatever the reason for this egregious oversight every year about this time; two families have a pretty good laugh!

Our town's fire department is pretty hospitable too! Reed was the first young man to have his birthday party at the Fire Hall.

Our town’s fire department is pretty hospitable too! Reed’s 4th birthday party was at the Fire Hall.

Special Note: If your family does not have a plan to escape in the event of fire, today is the perfect day to plan and practice one. Know your escape routes, practice fire safety with your children, and have a meeting place. We have crawled through windows. We have practiced not going back to get our family pets if conditions are not safe; no matter how heartbreaking that would be. We have felt for hot doors, and planned alternative routes, working to get out safely and meet at our designated gathering spot. If you happen to be in our town on Wednesday, you will see us at the mailbox, and then you will hear a whole of lot of “remember when Mom ran down the street”. Now that’s the stuff that makes memories!