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Tackling fears . . .

This past week has been one where I have really felt God molding and shaping me. None of what that first sentence entailed was easy. A week ago, I travelled and spoke to a M.O.P.S. (Mothers of Preschoolers) group. During the talk, I shared that sometimes I call my friends whom I know utilize the same devotional books as me to ask them what the words were on their pages. I just need reassurance that God had the same words written for everyone because they seem to be uniquely tailored to my needs. Just one place where I have heard God’s whisper this week. . .

Next came the book I was reading. Beyond Tuesday Morning written by Karen Kingsbury was one that I desired to read but have had sitting at my house for seven years. I am a little ashamed to admit that because it just shows how easily my day is shifted away from doing something I enjoy like reading. In the story, the main character comes face-to-face with dealing with her life and her reliance on fear in every decision she has made since a tragic loss in her life. The ensuing words were as if the floor of my bedroom opened up and I began to fall, tumbling into the abyss. I sat and cried for what seemed like hours. God whispered again . . .

Even though God whispered, I did a lot of talking . . . to him. I realized that since the bus crash I had fallen into patterns of fear that were, at times, keeping me from living. My fears are real (to me), and they have kept me catching my breath for years. I am the mother of seven children, but only three of them live with me. I have survived the deaths of four of my children, but I do not wish to endure that agonizing pain again. While I don’t want to smother life out of my kids, their every move in the world sometimes paralyzes me. I shared with God my deeply rooted fear of failure. I am not sure where that comes from, but I do have a strong desire to succeed in God’s plans, (and I am my worst obstacle). There are other fears that God (and others) knows about that have kept me from fully engaging in life.

During our quiet time together, I realized what my fears really said about my faith. My fears said I didn’t quite believe that God was who he said he was and is. That was a sobering fact to face. Thankfully as I shed tears and handed over control, I felt like a rock was lifted from my soul. I literally felt lighter – almost buoyant. God collected my tears in his bottle and lifted me up. . .

My “Reed’s” graduation gift last year. A bottle symbolizing my beloved Bible verse Psalm 56:8 and that God will replace my tears with stars in the skies.

Apparently, I have the most the routine behaviors, because that cathartic afternoon was a topic of unexpected conversations with two of my friends.

Daily I get a text message from one in the inner circle asking for my prayer requests for the day. Usually I respond with the one intercession most pressing on my heart, but that day I listed “a prayer of thanks for a lesson about fear”. Although her phone call was not immediate, it did come ringing the alarm bells that afternoon.

“What in the mayonnaise is going on? Are you okay? What has happened? I am worried.”

I assured her I was just fine. Giddy, actually! I simply wanted to relish in praise and thanksgiving for God completely changing my thinking. I shared how I felt like a new person, and that I was finally ready to ‘fess up my fears to God, letting him take control of those things holding me back.

A few days later I ran into another circle friend whose words caught me by surprise. Right there in the cracker aisle at Mecca of the South, she exclaimed, “What has happened to you? Something’s different! Even the color has come back to your face!”

Wow! That was a glowing review! I am choosing to focus on the positive (And NO! I don’t want to know what I looked like before.) In just a few words I summed up what she clearly saw, “I’m letting go of fear”.

Today as I was completing my devotions which I was woefully behind, again I was humbled by the message reverberating for my soul.

[The next step is to introduce them to Me (insert: Jesus), enabling me to embrace them in My loving Presence.] (Jesus Calling by Sarah Young)

Although I didn’t weep this time, I was much lighter in spirit when I said, “Hello fear. Let me introduce you to my Jesus.”

I don’t think that I will be fear free ever in my life, but I am choosing this day to live mindful that I can turn my fears, doubts, worries, and insecurities over to God and his Son. I think this is the beginning of something amazing in my life, and it is my heart’s desire that is for you as well. Here’s hoping God is whispering into your world today!

Author’s note: I have heard this song a few times on Christian radio. Music often stirs my soul. If you watch the video, it gives a good visual of what control I have allowed fear in my life. Even better yet, you will see how God has plans to restore or in the case of the video reverse that pattern. I may always be a wistful optimist, but I truly believe that our heart’s songs rise straight to God’s ears!

A letter to heaven

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Dear Reed –

Today is the day I dread all year long. It seems as if the whole month of February is always a blur as I insulate myself from the pain of this day. But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t tell you that some things are a little different this year.

Sometimes, I daydream that you aren’t really in heaven, but gone away to college instead. That is a problem though when you are as vivid a daydreamer as I am, because more than once I went to call you on the phone to ask how classes are going. There are few things in life that I will never regret passing on to you kids and a healthy imagination is one of them.

Remember the days of getting pixie-led in the forest and just how far those little buggers got us off the path. Can you still hear their siren-like call in heaven too? How about all the dragons that you kept away from our house with your countless battles? Is there a place for them there too? Do you and Nanny still have the dinosaur that lived at our house but only came after he decided that it was too hot in Pensacola? We don’t hear much out of him anymore; so, he must live with you. It was a good thing because I wasn’t sure “roof cave-in by dinosaur” was covered by our homeowners insurance.

All those boyhood things sandwiched into a life much too short.

When you left us, you were so much older in spirit if not in chronological years. And I think that is one of the things I miss the most, all the grown up experiences we didn’t and don’t get to share together.

I cannot believe that you went home to Jesus six years ago today. In some moments it seems like the blink of an eye, and then at other times as we deal with Sawyer’s and Erin’s injuries, it feels like an eternity ago.

Daddy is doing better – only not today. Today, he trudged along at work in a place where if people remember the day not many verbalized it. How sad and awful that has to be when I am sure he feels as if his heart is on display for all to see. Somehow people need to know that it is okay to talk about you (and J, H, and E) even if it makes us cry, it tells us they remember.

The Boy Wonder – you would be so proud of him! He is really an incredible young man. Last night as we were saying our goodnights, I broke down and cried. I asked him to name the number one thing he missed about you. His heartfelt reply was that he couldn’t answer that because he missed everything about you. The late night conversations, the giggles from the basement, the wrestling hijinks, and saving the day are hard to do when one of the dynamic duo is missing. He shares your love of the underdog, and you would have loved to see him coach his Special Olympics players to gold medals. Somehow it would be easy to picture the two of you coaching that team together. Just know that even though you were very different boys, you are carried everywhere in his heart.

And Sister! She isn’t quite as tall as Sawyer yet, but she definitely towers over me. You would be so proud of her. She carries your tenacity to get a job done. She set a goal to improve her basketball skills, and she spent most of her summer to make 20,000 made shots. She’s come a long way from the “Laura, Mary, Carrie” wind-up days of when you boys first taught her how to shoot baskets in the front yard before kindergarten. With your love of sports, I can only imagine you would be cheering the loudest in the stands when she makes an amazing rebound or banks an unimaginable three-pointer. Her face of pure joy rivals the time that you forced and recovered the fumble in Ivanhoe. She has your smile, and every time we see it in a game, I think of you!

Sally is the one missing you the most these days. She has had some really rough days. I wish that we could grant her desire to visit you all in heaven just one time. She says that if she could do so; she would be able to live the rest of her days contented. If David is a man after God’s own heart, she is a girl after yours. Every fiber of her being is just like you, even the words she uses. Looking in her hazel eyes is like a mirror to times long ago. She is another nine year old bundle of energy, who has a large vocabulary and who can’t learn about the world fast enough. Since it is a miracle we even have her, I think God made her as close to you as possible to bring us comfort. And she does. Now if only we could keep her little forever.

Your boy, Huck, is really starting to slow down. His beautiful red coat is starting to show more and more gray. I’m always sad that I don’t have any redheads in the house anymore, and then sweet Huck comes loping into my room. I have the redheaded boy’s red-haired dog still, and that does count for something. He still has some mischief in that big ol’ body because he can still sneak a sandwich or stick of butter off the counter. Just as you loved him every day of your life together, I am carrying love’s torch for our boy even if the hourglass is working against me. I am going to hold on to him as long as I possibly can before he comes to be with you again.

A few more loved ones have come to join you in the last year. Hug them all for me! Maybe one of those sneaky around the back hugs would be the perfect gift. Just know that I love you more than you can possibly imagine, and I know that you don’t want us to be sad forever. Some days, I wish my heart understood what my brain knows.

In the meantime, I want you to know that our friends have wrapped their arms of love around us in both BIG and small ways. They always have, but for some reason I see it more this year. I thank God that he whispered into their hearts that we needed them, even if they didn’t know how much. Just sharing the moments of this journey has been an immeasurable treasure.

Even through my tears, there is one more thing that I will never regret. Teaching all of you about Jesus! It is because of his love that my love for you has meaning. It is because of his sacrifice that I KNOW – not I hope or I wish – but I KNOW that I will see you again.

Just like I believe God whispered to my friends, today I felt a strong reminder to remember that even though the hole in my heart feels like that fateful Friday, Sunday’s coming. With a message that powerful, I can only believe that God blew it straight into my heart.

You will always be my sunshine!

Loving you every single day forever . . . until Sunday comes!

Momma

Strength

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If I had a dollar for every time, someone has said to me since February 19, 2008, “I wish I had your strength”; I wouldn’t be driving a well-loved mini-van with 260,000 miles on it. Mind you at least one hundred thousand of those miles have been for doctor’s appointments related to our horrible day, but I digress.

In my mind, there exist two apparent problems with their logic.

Number One – I don’t believe or perceive myself to be all that strong; so, I can’t really impart any strength building wisdom on to them.

Number Two – The actual response to this is one I only recently had the courage to utter. “No, you would never wish for that.” The only way my perceived strength was on any radar was after our family walked through the nightmare of our darkest day. No one would voluntarily walk through the storms we have had to face. Trust me.

To be honest, I don’t know if I would call the perception of my behavior, strength. Frankly, I didn’t realize I had the option of not being strong. I had three other beautiful children to raise, and they needed me. PERIOD.

Quitting and giving up weren’t options. There were many days – let’s get real there still are days – that I would like to dig a hole next to Reed and just wait until God calls me home.

But that isn’t his plan for my life. So strong – whatever that means – is what I will keep on doing.

The other sentiment that I have consistently heard since that awful day was, “I wish I had your faith.”

When I look in the mirror, I see a girl who happens to love Jesus, her family, a good laugh, my kids’ sporting events, and sweet tea! Notice, I didn’t say a woman of great faith. It’s not that I don’t want to be known for having a great faith. It’s just I’m not sure that God is done with my development yet. I know all my failures, sins, and regrets, but here is where the difference lies between strength and faith, I know who is stronger than all of that – Jesus.

He loves me like crazy. He has plans for my life. He cries when I cry, and he laughs when I laugh. He – only he –can pick up my broken pieces and merge them back together. Whatever “strength” I have comes from holding out my hands and asking him to help me, and always in his time, he does.

I have learned in the last six years, I care less about what people think and more about what he thinks. I have reconciled my thinking to understand that sometimes fire and trials have the result of bringing you closer to Him. Never in a million years did I think I would say this . . . but I am thankful that his strength has the power to take your despair to use it for his glory. This does not mean that I won’t grieve losing Reed or our babies until my dying day, because I will.

However, God and his Son are great recyclers, and together, they are reframing my storms to show me incomparable joy.

Waiting

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Traditions. They are the things, no matter how small, that become rituals. The very strings woven together in the fabric of families are the traditions they hold dear.

One such tradition beloved at our household is saying good-bye to a previous year. No, we are not raucous revelers. Neither are we ball-drop watchers. In fact this year I had to do a little creative researching because the teenagers had a big bash at the school, leaving three adults with a party crowd of four kids ten and under. My quest was to find where in the world would it be midnight when it is 9:30 PM at my house. ( I really wanted to throw in “is Carmen Sandiego?” in that last sentence, but that would just be silly.)

J-A-C-K-P-O-T!

Newfoundland was my answer! So with kid’s wine (sparkling cider) we said good-bye to 2013 by celebrating some of its best memories and by sharing our hopes and dreams for the upcoming year. Hey! They might be little in the eyes of the world but the two families present that night have endured some big struggles, and out of the mouths of babes were some prophetic words. A little tinkling of glasses and good night kisses, all done in pjs and slippers, would not be considered a remarkable party by some, but it was to all of us.

“The Newfoundlanders!”

Partying like Newfoundlanders is not our end of the year tradition. Usually it is just the members of Team Stevens, but we are a more the merrier bunch. So anyone is welcome to join us as we watch the last sunset of the year. We usually have to bundle up and head out in the blustery cold to watch, but it is always worth it.

Checking the Almanac, we discovered that sunset for our hometown was 4:55 PM. Isn’t that dreadfully sad? Such little sunshine in the winter months can be draining on the spirits. We bundled up and headed out into unholy negative temperatures to try to follow the sun into tomorrow.

As the driver, I feared it was too late. We left the house right at the sunset time and headed west with our young men and women. As we drove closer to our viewing destination, Camden State Park, (one of Minnesota’s finest), the sky simply got darker, and our windows more frosted. My heart felt so sad. Why didn’t we leave sooner? I really wanted so much more for our kids.

We did see some deer feeding on our drive there and back, but that was small beans compared one of God’s sky paintings (as Reed used to call them).

With sad hearts and tired (already) children, we turned around and headed back for home. I don’t know what made me look back on the drive, but I am certainly glad that I did.

I let a “whoop” and swung that minivan into the next subdivision entrance. We whipped open the doors because by then the windows were completely frosted from the bitterly cold temperatures. We all sat in awe of God’s perfect use of pinks, purples, yellows, and oranges, such ordinary colors blended in one of his finest masterpieces. It was our own private art showing in the gallery of the sky. A reverent hush overcame the vehicle, replacing the jokes and silly songs. I was overjoyed by God’s provision.

This picture captured on my cell phone in no way compares to the beauty of that evening!

I was reminded of that experience this morning when my daughter and I shared oohs and aahs over one of his finest sunrises. How often do I give up on my request because God doesn’t give me the answer I wanted right away? I walk away thinking I guess it wasn’t God’s will after all. Beleaguered and trodden down, I walk away. But then some time down the road, God gives what I thought I needed immediately. Only to discover, that it was so much sweeter after the wait. The only difference is sometimes I don’t look back and see what God was orchestrating the whole time I walked away.

God knows the desires of our hearts, and he wants us to dream BIG. His LOVE is much grander than the tidy, little package we try to place it in. More importantly, his TIMING is perfect – whether we acknowledge that or not.

So today, wherever you are, dream big with God and know that a little way down the road you might see the most amazing masterpiece out of your ordinary colors. Just know some unofficial Newfoundlanders are dreaming with you.

Shock & Awe

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A few days ago, I sat waiting once again for one of my children to undergo another surgery that was a direct result of injuries sustained in the bus crash that often feels like the albatross around my neck. We have been doctoring for four of those years while she has dealt with debilitating migraines, out of control sinus issues, and difficulty breathing during sports. Knowing she has allergies, we sincerely thought allergies and asthma were the cause of all of this. Our allergist thought differently, and started doing some pretty extensive detective work. Searching through her past medical records and knowing that no allergen treatment had been effective, he ordered more scans and sent us to an ENT. I never once suspected what we were told the day we met with him.

Looking at this old CT scan, I don’t see anything amiss.

The radiologist report says the most recent one is good too, but three days after it was taken she had a major sinus infection.

Well, I don’t know that I agree with that report. See this . . . she has a deviated septum and these turbinates are completely engulfed in swollen tissues. It is no wonder you cannot breathe out of your nose! Did some sort of trauma happen to you when you were younger?

It was at that precise moment when I felt as if someone punched me in the gut. Shock!

Trauma

Disappointment

Dismay

As the room was swirling with sinking thoughts, I tried to hold it together to hear the doctor’s suggestions and plans.

How could we have not known that she couldn’t breathe? Shock!

How did we not know that she was injured there too? Shock!

When is this ever going to end? Shock!

The prayers began.

Ultimately, the decision was hers to make. The doctors believed having the surgery would increase her chances of chasing her dream – to play college basketball. Her only stipulation was the surgery could not interfere with this year’s basketball season! She was exhausted with living this way.

Bracing ourselves for another post-surgical patient in our home, we cleared our calendars, finished up projects, and generally tied up loose ends. In a household as busy as ours, preparations, lots of them, must be made when you need a parent at home at all times for seven days of recuperation.

As S-day approached, slowly, like a leaking pipe, fear began to ooze from my thoughts. There are very few friends with whom I choose to share this vulnerability. Despite my recent costume attire, I do not, even for one second, believe that I am Wonder Woman, impervious to fear and doubt. Being afraid for my children is a pastime that I would love to retire. Fear started to creep in, choking me, and I reached out looking for a lifeline.

God answered my prayers by calming my fears, and throughout the day, his reminders just kept billowing in.

Early in the morning:

Text from me:

Fear is consuming me. I just wish you lived closer.

Text from my friend:

What time is surgery? We’ve been praying.

10:00 AM

I will be there.

What? This cannot be! I wish I could put into words the gift that my friend gave. Let’s just say, her willingness to come from miles away, leave her children at home, and spend a day worried about me, more than my girl, was a priceless treasure. Awe!

Lunch at school:

Out of the blue, a fellow teacher and wonderful Christian woman shared a story with me about how God holds those who are in the darkest moments tightly to him. Tears streamed down my face in the cafeteria as I heard words, literally breathed from God. Awe!

Early afternoon:

An e-mail from the church secretary (and dear friend) alerted me that our pastor (and also dear friend) needed the time of the surgery. He, too, would be coming to spend the time (which ended up being a day) with us at the surgical center. His steadfast friendship since the day of the bus crash has amazed us. Awe!

Later in the evening:

After I shared on Facebook my prayer request for the surgery, e-mails, messages, and posts came pouring in. These were not your average messages either. They were heartfelt promises of prayer, practical suggestions from those who had also similar procedures done, and offers to help in any way we needed it. Humbly awed!

Overnight:

Clothed in those prayers, I slept peacefully – which I don’t normally do. Awe!

Walking into the surgical center:

In a way only God could orchestrate, he placed two mommas (along with my pastor and friend) at the same surgical center, the same day, with the same doctor. A little girl who my big girl mentors was having surgery immediately before her. Honestly, what are the odds? During her dark moments of waiting, she buoyed me by giving me the biggest hug of encouragement. Just another reminder my teacher friend was right!

God does hold tightly those he loves – especially when they need it the most.

Like a small child on Christmas morning, I will never lose a sense of wonder of how he provides everything that I need, even when my light is dimmed by fear, doubt and worry.

So thankful that my God is bigger than all of life’s shocks and fills my soul with awe!

Many, LORD my God, are the wonders you have done, the things you planned for us. None can compare with you; were I to speak and tell of your deeds, they would be too many to declare. Psalm 40:5 (NIV)

Post-surgery: Okay, so this is not my actual child. She was pretty miserable so I would not take that picture - EVER!

Post-surgery: Okay, so this is not my actual child. But this bear, her parting gift, gives you a good idea of what she looked like. They had matching gauze guards and Band-Aids. I will admit, biasedly, that my daughter is much cuter!

I cry

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In the past few weeks, I have been revisiting the sad place. It is the place that I can only journey alone, in the earthly sense. I never really travel alone. There is always a heavenly presence. I don’t understand it, but often in the silent places of deep in the valley of the shadow, I feel closest to God. In the sad place, I find that I can be totally honest with myself about how I am feeling. No mask. No filter. Raw, but honest.

My littlest one asked the other day, “Momma, why are you crying so much.” I had to explain that I had to go to a sad place. She is eight; so, I likened the place to the “Slump” in Dr. Seuss’ “Oh the Places You Will Go”. She gets that because in her world she doesn’t want a sad mommy. But sometimes, you will come to a slump. That she understands.

These were the words swirling in my most raw moments when I soaked my pillow with my tears.

I cry . . .

in a single moment all was changed. Now all we have is memories and old photographs.

I cry . . .

silently not wanting to share my pain in front of my children, for fear of scaring them. Their pillar of strength is really human, after all. Secretly I know they know this, but I will give my dying breath to protect them.

I cry . . .

The hole in my heart leaves such a scar in my existence. Its caverns echo the beat of the sad song when the wind blows out of the valley.

I cry . . .

a melody reminds me of happier days when we sang and danced and laughed about our singing and dancing.

I cry . . .

Feeling that I have let my children down because there are days when I feel hopeless is winning.

I cry . . .

Jumping at the ringing of the phone, desperately wanting the answers I want to hear.

I cry . . . tragedy brings chaos. I detest swimming in chaos. No matter which way I paddle my strokes chaos’ rip current threatens to pull me under.

I cry . . .

My scars are invisible, but theirs are real. Pain is a daily visitor, and yet they hold their heads high.

I cry . . . perseverance might be one lesson while waiting. Wondering how long that lesson must take and why did we have to earn advanced degrees. For once in our lives, couldn’t we just be average?

I cry . . .

because everything he loved was taken away, and yet there are still people who say ridiculously stupid things.

I cry . . . wishing sometimes I was the kind of person who smacked people who say stupid things.

I cry . . . choking down the lump in my throat because platitudes and trite sayings, do not help. I want to scream, “Do you not see the hole?” But we’ll take your word scars, your thoughtless actions, AND we will continue turning our cheeks, knowing very few could walk in our shoes.

I cry . . . understanding the tortuous relationship with genetics. When your children hurt, a part of you is woven into them. Like tiny saucers sending a message to the mother ship, every fiber of my being is writhing in pain for them.

I cry . . . sadness has creeping tentacles grasping for all of my family. Mustering the strength to become a warrior to fight back its choking appendages, some days takes all my energy.

I cry . . . bearing burdens is grueling, heart-breaking work.

I cry . . . fervently hoping that my visit to the pit of sadness won’t be long enough for my card to be punched.

I cry . . . eternity seems so far away. Wanting to hear your giggle and wondering how you will look without glasses. My ears longing to hear, “Hey Mom. This is Jesus. You are going to love Him!” followed by one of those sneaky behind the back hugs.

I cry . . . knowing that in the light of eternity all of this seems small.

I cry . . . remembering that He is collecting every tear in his bottle.

I weep . . . embracing the promise that He will replace my cloak of despair with a garment of praise.

I sob . . . knowing His grace is sweet, yet powerful enough to cover it all.

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. ~John Vance Cheney

Where the dance will lead . . .

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Photo found at www.selectregistry.com

In addition to the tender moment shared yesterday, there were a couple more moments that took my breath away at the hospital. One in quiet reflection, and the other in laughter.

Over the course of the summer, my pastor has had a wonderful sermon series entitled, “What’s messing with your faith?”. His transparency is palpably real as he confesses to struggle with each topic. His genuineness in delivery has touched me very deeply, because I struggle with all the same things. These things that mess with our faith take us so far away from contentment in God’s plans for our lives.

On my travels, I decided that I would use what God had been stirring in my heart based on what I had gleaned from each topic this summer. With a renewed spirit, I wanted to travel with no agenda other than to love and to serve.

Just a few days ago, I saw a post a friend had on Facebook and it read something like this. “Are you waiting on God? Tell me then, when did you ever get ahead of Him?” Those were very convicting words, indeed!

The times when my faith is the most vulnerable is when I allow – worry, fear, bitterness, doubt, or busyness – to lead my thoughts. So upon embarking on this journey, I decided to just follow. Follow where God took me, and not try to get ahead of Him. It was already evident that traveling this far from home was His idea; so why not enjoy the travels.

One Saturday in July, following God’s heart took me to the hospital bed of a black grandfather and pastor. As we sat there swapping stories, I felt compelled to ask a question. When I say compelled, it was like an explosion of my soul as I was being pulled farther and farther away from the shore of my control. My question was simple. Can we pray?

Just the four of us, including the patient, clasped hands and prayed. I prayed for peace, for healing, for wisdom, and for all the things God laid on my heart. It was beautiful and tender and very much God-breathed.

As family members and hospital staff came in and out of the room, Ninny would introduce me. “This is Kandy. She is Bug’s friend, and she KNOWS the Lord.” Not one single person that entered that room was spared of that introduction. Those words made me smile, at first, but later became a badge of honor. I was His beloved, and I KNOW His love. I had never stopped to think of myself using those words, but they tasted so sweet. THIS is Miss Kandy, AND she KNOWS the Lord!

As the day unfolded, I was unceremoniously adopted as “Daddy” proclaimed me, somewhat teasingly, as his to the nurse. She came in to take some vital sign measurements and asked him how he was doing. Despite feeling pretty awful, it was joy to see that he still had a bit of mischief up his hospital gowned sleeve. He said that he was doing great because he got a new grand-daughter today.

“Really!”, she excitedly asked. “Where was she born?”

In a barely perceptible grin covered by the oxygen mask, he replied, “I have no idea, but you can ask her. She’s sitting right there.” At this point, he motioned to me sitting at the foot of the bed.

If I were a poker playing kind of gal, I would want to play cards with this nurse. The look of confusion was painstakingly present. How can this grown white woman suddenly be your granddaughter? The rest of us in the room could hardly contain our giggles.

I have to think at this point even Jesus snickered in heaven. His Dad’s love opens wide the door of family. When He does, you get a small glimpse of how He sees you and all his children. In those moments of tenderness and a fit of giggles, I began to see what transformative power slowing down and ceding control can do for your soul.

Allow God to lead the dance of your life’s journey, and see – just see – where He and the dance take you.

All in a touch

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The home my Nanny and Granddaddy lived in since 1961 was one in which several additions were made to it. I’m old enough to remember the carport renovation and the subsequent addition behind that. With those two extra rooms, the traffic flow of the house became like a race track. Anyone could make laps around and around inside the house, and as kids we often did just that.

My favorite part of romping through the house was when my Granddaddy would come in from work and plop down in his chair, a burgundy swivel rocker/recliner, to relax and watch a little television. Inevitably during one of my laps, Granddaddy would stick out his gigantic hand, riddled with arthritis and aged with years of hard work, with his palm up.

This was my cue. The ritual was enduring, and it continued right up until his passing.

His outstretched hand blocked the path of my meandering. I would always stop, waiting for the next line in this well-rehearsed script. I would squeak out with glee, “Hey Granddaddy!” and then slap his calloused hand with mine, thus giving him “five”. Then in a booming voice, dripping with a Floridian Southern drawl, he would announce, “Hey Granddaughter!”

As a child, if I had been asked to define love, I would have drawn his hands. Even today, I would give anything to once again touch his gigantic, but gentle, man-paws of hands. Every once in a while, I am fortunate enough to see that kind of love in tender moments of others. I think God knows my soul needs to espy those gentle touches.

I was blessed to witness such a moment on my trip to Kentucky. One of the days, our plans were changed because my friend’s grandfather was sent to the hospital. Rather than taking in the sites of the area, I offered to ride along with her and her grandmother to sit with “Daddy”. He was in considerable pain due to diminished breathing capacity with masks, tubes, and machines everywhere.

Quickly, quietly, lovingly, it happened – that comforting ritual. Her grandmother, affectionately known as Ninny, reached over and gently rubbed his legs. My breath caught in my throat because the lump lodged there seeing such tender love. I hoped no one in the room saw my tears. God’s beauty often does that to me. Those beautiful hands that had worked for years, raised babies and grandbabies, and had many times folded in prayer were the embodiment of how God loves. I don’t know what possessed me, but I asked Ninny and Daddy if I could capture the moment. They agreed it would be alright. One click and the moment was preserved forever in image and in my heart.

Even though spending the day in the hospital wasn’t what was originally planned, it was where God needed me to be. After glimpsing love that day, I knew precisely why He had called me to that place at that moment. For gentle reminders of how tenderly He holds each of us, I am so thankful.

If you enjoyed today’s blog, I would love to hear what you would draw for love.

Oh the cardinal!

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The morning I arrived in Kentucky, I was whisked to a cool, dark soccer field. Still groggy from my three in the morning pick-up at the train station, my sweet friend opened the locker room to allow me to freshen up. I spent the next two hours huddled under a blanket (who knew it would be that cool in Kentucky?) watching one of the most motivational coaches I know work with her soccer team. (And that is a pretty big compliment coming from this coach’s daughter.)

While shivering, oops I mean, sitting, my ears heard the song of an old familiar friend. Somewhere hidden in the trees surrounding the field was one of our favorite songbirds – the messenger of hope to our family – the cardinal. I had to smile because I was listening to the red bird’s melodious song while watching the preseason practice of the “Lady Cardinals”.

Joy – pure, unadulterated joy – filled my soul and spirit as I took the field to share with those darling girls what it means to create a legacy. The reason for my happiness was simple. Among the foliage was a little piece of home.

Later at breakfast, I shared with Coach B of how God (and in our hearts, Reed) sent the songbird in one of our darkest hours. She, like many others who have heard the story, was moved by the cardinal coming at exactly the moment when we needed him the most. I am sure that our server (another one of my sweet Kentucky sisters) was wondering what in the mayonnaise was going on at that table. We did create quite a ruckus praising God for his sense of humor of putting a cardinal lover together with a coach of the cardinals.

After breakfast, it was time to head over to the B&B to rest and relax. Upon stepping out of the car, I was taken by the beauty of the inn, the sounds of the South, and the smells reminiscent of my childhood. My eyes were drawn to the front porch lined with inviting rockers. I knew I would be spending every chance I got right there.

The front porch at the Woodford Inn

A flash of red appeared in the corner of my eye. Immediately, I knew what was happening. For me, that is a God sighting – when he allows the red bird to remind me I am loved. I couldn’t help myself, but I began to hit Coach B on the arm. I am certain that she thought I had lost my marbles. I had only “known” her for 7 hours, and here I was smacking her to grab her attention.

Photo found at wunderground.com Credit given to cshirsch

All I had to do was point to the corner of the porch, and she understood. Honestly, hitting her was my only option because I couldn’t speak. The lump in my throat was that big. God called me to this place, and like that moment five years ago, he sent “Reedy” to tell me that all of this was a part of his bigger plan.

With tears in my eyes, I couldn’t help but smile that the young man I shared in my legacy story earlier that morning was “present” in the red wings of God’s love.

For those unfamiliar with our family’s story, below is the wording from the card we had made for Christmas in 2008.

The cardinal is a beautiful bird with gorgeous red plumage and an equally inviting song. There is an old legend that says that the cardinal was once a white bird, in fact as white as snow. The cardinal came to the cross on Calvary’s hill and sang to Jesus at the base of his cross. The cardinal sang with all its might to his Maker and Master. During his song, Jesus’ blood dripped onto his feathers, and henceforth the male cardinal has been his brilliant red color.

As many of you know, our children have received a bird Christmas ornament every year. Each of the children receives a different bird that has some significance to their lives. Reed received the blue jay because he loved to watch the blue jays eat sunflowers outside his bedroom window. Sawyer has the cardinal after he received a gift from his godparents that had a cardinal on it, and he loved it. Erin has the chickadee, because Kandy was so excited to have a little “chick” in the house. Cloie gets the American goldfinch for while pregnant with her a goldfinch came to the family’s feeders for the first time. Each of the children’s birds had visited our feeders except for the cardinal. No matter how many different ways we tried, we just couldn’t lure a cardinal to our backyard.

Then the most unspeakable horror happened to our family. We were deep in the midst of our grief when the most improbable and impossible thing occurred. Exactly one month following Reed’s death, a male cardinal landed in our backyard tree (with no feeders filled), and he started singing the most beautiful song our ears could hear. But it took the faith of a young man to realize that a miracle was happening. Sawyer realized the red bird was a message from Reed to tell us that he is doing just fine in Jesus’ arms. See Reed knew exactly which bird to have Jesus send to get our attention. He also knew how deeply hurt Sawyer was at that point in our journey, and he knew which bird would be the one, above all other birds, Sawyer needed to see. (It probably didn’t hurt that he sent a bird that was his favorite color.) Well, some may call it coincidence, but we choose to

Believe in Miracles!

One lump or two

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Well, um . . . none, if you are referring to coffee. Southern-style sweet tea is another thing altogether. I am almost embarrassed to admit how much sugar goes into a gallon of that, but today, I am talking about java – the caffeinated lifeblood for many. In my entire life, I have probably drank about 11 sips of coffee. The last time I tried coffee in my middle 20’s, I became violently ill with the stomach flu and have never touched the stuff again. (There was no direct correlation between my illness and the 3 swallows of coffee I drank that day, but let’s just say the experience left a lasting impression. )

My loathe opinion of coffee has put me in some awkward situations as an adult as it seems many friends want to hold impromptu meetings at one local coffee shop or another. Not my idea of a good time, as the smell sometimes is too much for me. However, I do regularly meet for “coffee and show-n-tell” with some of my favorite octo- and nonagenarians at our favorite gathering spot. I just order a Coke while we visit and share the latest project of our heart and hands work.

Fortunately, I didn’t allow my dislikes to sway my decision to attend “Coffee with Ingeborg” in which the writer Lauraine Snelling would attend clad as her famous book character Ingeborg Bjorklund. During “coffee”, we would have a chance to visit with the determined Ingeborg (and other characters) as well as enjoy wonderful Scandinavian goodies, music, and entertainment.

So what does a non-coffee drinker do when she has the opportunity to “meet” one of her favorite characters? She invites along her sisters-in-law who also have the same addiction to the book series AND who happen to be non-coffee drinkers. We all decided to put on our big girl pants and dive in – even if it meant proving the old adage “Misery loves company” true.

I won’t give away too much about the day, because I believe “Coffee with Ingeborg” might be a regular event for the author. I really detest spoilers; so, I won’t ruin the mystique for the next attendees. We enjoyed the atmosphere, hearing the guests’ questions and the stories shared in response. It was somewhat like a homecoming for me as well, because all of my new writer friends (sans one) were in attendance. Warm smiles across the aisles and later, genuine embraces reminded me that we had been brought together once again as part of God’s miraculous plan.

With my vivid imagination and child-like faith, I could almost picture the novels’ characters aging in time and their children constructing the very building (a memorial hall) where we were visiting. While purely fictional, those characters are based off the faith-filled, hard-working, salt of the earth immigrants that settled the lands of the plains. Even the adorable bathroom curtains were a reminder of the yearned for landmarks that legitimized towns. The dainty lace depicted rolling plains with a schoolhouse and church replete with steeple – both believed by the settlers were necessary to create a better life for their children. Such was the way of the prairie!

We had a delightful afternoon. I cherished the time spent with the sisters (as we seldom do anything together without our kids). We thoroughly enjoyed all seven Norwegian delicacies lovingly prepared by members of the local historical society. And we washed them down with water. Thankfully, imbibing coffee was optional. It’s a good thing too, because if it was a requirement, I would have been looking for a nice houseplant in one of the corners.

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Tag Archives: faith

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Where the dance will lead . . .

All in a touch

Oh the cardinal!

Believe in Miracles!

One lump or two