Tag Archives: birthday

Be wild and free!

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Dear Erin

Last night, Dad and I went to the store to get the one last piece of your gift for today.  I won’t say that the ceiling of the Wal-mart split open and choirs of angels illuminated the path, but what transpired was about as close to that as possible. Rather than our eyes glossing over after reading every card on the shelf, the very first card was the absolute perfect one.

Needless to say we were stunned that it was perfectly fitting.

We never expected having a daughter to be all ruffles and lace.

Good thing.  Because what we got was DYNAMITE in a dress – when we could get you to wear one.

And when we weren’t praying for your survival, we were glad to see you growing up strong and confident.

From the moment you arrived in the world, you have always traveled your own way.  I think your Dad’s declaration that there would not and I quote, “NOT BE A CLOSET FULL OF PINK DRESSES” the day we you were born was just the start of that fiercely independent streak.  After fighting to live on day one, you have proven to be a tower of strength ever since.

I am going to tell you something that I have never told you before about raising a strong, independent, and in charge girl.  Not everyone appreciates parents who do.  I distinctly remember some friends coming to visit when you were about six months old.  They had a son and a daughter the same ages as Reed and Sawyer.  Life is too short to deal with “friends” who constantly judge your parenting.  After spending the weekend together, we discovered they were raising their children to sit quietly and observe the world, while we were raising explorers and adventurers.  As they packed up to leave and said their good-byes, they just couldn’t leave it alone.  Their parting words were, “Oh good luck to you Erin. You are going to need it!”

We never spoke to them again because I was flabbergasted and shocked and appalled.  Secretly I made a promise to you on that day that you could be as wild and free as you wanted and even though your closet has never been full of dresses that you could become whoever God designed you to be.

There were days when I had to hold my breath.

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That promise meant there were bumps and bruises because you had to experience the world your way.  And while your knees were often skinned up, mine were often on the floor praying God would guide your steps.

PD_0104

But the funny thing about raising tough-spirited girls is that along the way with all the rough and tumble most develop hearts for injustice and the courage to be the change needed in the world.  More than once, I have seen you speak up when someone has been slighted, overlooked, or left out.  And that takes guts. 

Recently I watched as our whole church was stirred to action because of something God placed on your heart.  Think about that for a moment.  As a teenager, your heart led a ministry to blossom and God blessed us all for it.  Don’t ever diminish the greatness God has in store for you.

I don’t know when I recognized that the promise I made to you all those years ago was playing out in living color.  But one day I realized that you were the embodiment of one of my favorite quotes.

Well-behaved women seldom make history. ~ Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Keep being uniquely you and together with God’s help I know you will make amazing things happen.  Be fierce and courageous, never forgetting that you are made of the incredible stardust that created the stars throughout the heavens.  And just like the nuclear explosions that created their existence, your strength and dignity and faith will change the universe.

Happy 17th Birthday to you, my wild and brave warrior!

Love, Momma

 

 

 

 

When mommas fail, but schools don’t

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Last week, we had a really rough morning.  It was not my finest moment as a momma.  My youngest whose normal routine for getting ready for school can best be described in one word – poky – was trying to rush us all out the door.  Even when the stakes are high, she is never in a hurry to get all she needs to have accomplished before it is time to leave.  This particular morning was different, she and her best friend wanted to arrive at school early because they wanted to be ready for the state tests.  (Honestly, in all my years as a teacher, I have never heard of anyone who was excited to take the state standardized tests. Hats off to their Language Arts teacher!)

Unfortunately the best laid plans of mice and enthusiastic test takers often go awry. Our entire house overslept.  I’m not sure how four people could sleep through four different alarms, but it happened.  Needless to say, we did not start out on a great note.  By the time, we finally loaded into the truck, I was leaving without packing a lunch and felt under-prepared for a day of inspiring young college students.  I realized I had forgotten something critically important and went back to get it.  In an effort to be helpful, Sally grabbed my bag off the driver’s seat and placed it in her lap, not realizing that she knocked over the glass of sweet tea I had precariously sat inside the bag. When I returned, every item I had in the bag was covered in two inches of liquid.

Because I had electronics in the bag, I couldn’t just leave the mess for later.  I stormed into the house, dumped the whole bag into the empty sink and tried to salvage as much as I could.  By the time we left, I had one girl in tears and another on the verge because her friend was hurting, and I was trying my very best to give them both a pep talk about how they were going to rock this test.  No one in that vehicle believed the speech – including me.  As we stopped in the carpool lane, I tried one last ditch effort to no avail, and watched in the rear view mirror as my littlest sobbed walking up the sidewalk to the school.

After quick trip home to recover what could be saved,  I made a tough decision.  Even if I was late to work that day, I was going to the school to hug my girl and to tell her I loved her.

marshall middle school

Upon my arrival in the office, the administrative support person was delivering the daily announcements.  I listened intently.  The last announcement left me with more tears than I already had experienced that morning.  My sweet carpool girls had already told me about the significance of the day, but in our haste to get out the door, I didn’t ask too many questions.

The final announcement explained that a sweet young boy,  a former student who passed away from a mitochondrial disorder the year before, would have been 13 years old that day.  Students were asked to wear green (in support of those affected by mitochondrial disorders) and for a one dollar donation to the UMDF foundation  students could wear hats in school for the day.  This was all fine and dandy but it was what happened at the end of the news that made me incredibly thankful for the Pledge of Allegiance to regain my composure.

At the conclusion, the sweet lady announced that after a small countdown, they (the entire school) would be collectively wishing Alex a very “Happy Birthday!”

3 – 2 – 1 – “Happy Birthday Alex!” was loudly and cheerfully echoed from every hall and every corridor.  As the momma of a child who died at a similar age as Alex, my heart was breaking for his parents.  I was also so sad that they probably didn’t get to hear this amazing support for their son.  I was never so incredibly proud of a school that did not fail the memory of this young man, especially since due to his condition many of those well wishing voices perhaps never had the pleasure of interacting with him. 

Looking back now, alarms not alerting and spilled tea might have been a bigger part of God’s plan for me to realize a few ruined papers and one crazy morning are not the ruin of a day. He gently set me straight with an amazing reminder for us to celebrate – not just after loss – but in the small magical moments of the ordinary, because it is in the little stuff that the BIG stuff really matters.

And rest assured. When my little girl came down to the office, I hugged her even closer while thanking God I got the joy of sharing in Alex’s big moment with her. 

To learn more about mitochondrial disease and to support families like Alex’s, please visit:  http://www.umdf.org/site/c.8qKOJ0MvF7LUG/b.7929671/k.BDF0/Home.htm

Special note:  It has been a while since I have given this reminder, but make sure to hug your children today.

 

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.

sawyer is 18a

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

Pearls to the Pigs

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Dear Erin –

Today is your day! We celebrated in your favorite way, having lunch with family. Not much of a surprise, you received our family’s traditional gift, a cedar chest, passed down from my grandparents, lovingly restored by your dad and brother. Hours of work went into the restoration. Through their hands went love, tradition, and honor to give to you something that we hope brings you delight for years to come.

What you didn’t expect was the small black box resting inside, holding a pair of pearl earrings. Even though the pearl is your birthstone, there was another reason we chose that gift for you.

cedar chest

You are at a time in your life when there are many struggles girls your age must face. Society will tell you to be smart . . . but not too smart. You will hear that you have to be, dress, act, or look a certain way to be popular, because who you are isn’t good enough.  The hidden message is you must do these things for boys to be interested in you.  Enjoy activities you love, but don’t be surprised when people say you only got there because of something either you or your parents did or said. Critics will gloss over all the hours you spend working hard and playing harder. And the worst and most pervasive message of all: your God is not worth your time.

I wish that I could tell you none of this will happen. Sadly, you already know I would be lying.  No matter how loud those messages are my heart will always be as steady as a lighthouse beacon responding to the deafening storms, “You are beautiful. You are talented. You are smart.” But most importantly, I will be shouting, “You are loved”! I will shout it loud enough to drown out the din of the other noises competing for your very soul.

And I am not the only one. Your fan club has countless members.

Today was a great day, filled with well wishes, visitors, and gifts. It is easy to hear the message of love in those circumstances. While I wish for all your days to be like this one, I know along life’s journey you will run into bumps and snags and sometimes, dreaded dark places. On those days, remember back to days like today. Listen to our siren song. “You make the world a better place.”

In the quiet places, you will hear us reminding you of my heart’s resounding message: “You are amazing!” Choose to listen to those words. Treasure them like gemstones like your gift today.

Long ago, I received my first pearl necklace much by surprise. It was the week of my senior prom. My Granddaddy took me to the store and asked me to pick out a necklace for the dance. This was not something he did routinely; so, I was rather taken a back. When I chose a dainty string of pearls, he beamed. After trying it on, he said, “Every beautiful girl needs pearls. You make these look stunning.”

It is a moment that I have never forgotten. His was one of the voices encouraging me to become all that God has designed me to be.

Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs,

lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you. Matthew 7:6

Today’s pearls were not meant as just a token, but rather, the passing of a tradition from one generation to another. It was a passage of love.

Oh, and for all those voices sending you a message that is in any way less than the one we are all proclaiming for you, they are hoping you will throw your pearls to the pigs. And I know you are smarter than that!

Happy 15th Birthday Sister!

Love, Momma

Adding purple to my color wheel

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Yesterday I alluded to a time where I had a really bad start to a project.  One summer while travelling back to my childhood home, I asked one of my two grandmothers to teach me to crochet.  I had just started knitting, and everyone remarked that crocheting was so much easier, implying that I should have started there.   Both of my grandmothers are talented when it comes to cooking, sewing, crocheting, and quilting.  Nanny dabbled in just about every craft imaginable and was an amazing florist, and Mama was a professional seamstress who now crochets to keep her hands busy.  The amazing thing is that both share the same birthday (albeit 5 years apart) – today.

One is celebrating her first birthday surrounded by loved ones in heaven, and the other celebrates 89 young years.  This baby afghan started six years ago almost never came to fruition.  Following the passing of Nanny in December, I just couldn’t let it lie unfinished.

When I started the project, I was visiting at Mama’s house, and asked her to teach me to crochet.  A quick trip to the Mecca of the South provided tutor and pupil with the needed supplies.  I don’t know what in the world possessed me to buy purple yarn – because it was and still is my least favorite color.  (Sorry to my Minnesota neighbors, Vikings colors and all.)

While my grandmothers are equally special in my heart, they couldn’t be any more different.  One is just a plain old purple girl, and the other is definitely a mauve maven. As different as they are, they share a love of the color purple.  Maybe their shared love is what guided that yarn purchase, but other than to make a Vikings scarf, I have never had much interest in purple yarn since.

When we sat down to start our lesson, I tried as hard as I could but didn’t find it easy or enjoyable.  This isn’t a condemnation of the teacher, because she was as patient as Job.  No matter what I did, my motor muscle memory was still in training for two needles – not one hook.  I completed maybe 2 or 3 inches of the afghan before it was time to load up the minivan with suitcases, coolers, and oh yes, kiddos to head on down to Florida.

At Nanny’s house, she critiqued the work and gushed about the color.  She wanted to see how many stitches Mama suggested to create the ripple pattern.  She, too, offered encouragement, but even her tutelage really wasn’t getting me anywhere.  At this point, five inches total were done.

One not to give in too quickly, I took the whole works on a 4-H trip, working while we traversed by Amtrak from Minnesota to New York.  After that trip, the whole kit and caboodle (all seven inches) went in the recesses of the craft buckets, not to be seen again until this last December.

Like a beacon from a lighthouse providing hope and guidance to wayward sailors, the afghan became a vestige of hope for a brokenhearted granddaughter, one who would never this side of heaven be able to work collectively with both of them again.  After tackling the Granny squares mentioned yesterday, I was equipped with more confidence and ready to complete the long forgotten baby blanket.

The resurgence of new found interest was not without problems.  Thankfully, I could phone a friend (Mama) and get a few more tidbits of instruction.  Also, when you start a project six  years earlier, most likely dye lots have changed on the yarn.  So rather than one seamless project it became a tribute to all things purple in memory of Nanny and in honor of Mama.

nanny blanket 3

One evening as I was close to finishing the afghan, my sweet little Clo climbed up in my lap and asked the most beautiful question.

“Momma, who is going to get this blanket?”

My response was one of uncertainty.  Her cherubic face and inquiry brought me to tears.

“Since I love purple, I have been thinking.  Someday, I am going to have a little girl of my own.  Could we save this afghan for her?”

The snuggled up view.

The snuggled up view.

With tears streaming down my face, I agreed to that request, knowing in my heart when I meet this future granddaughter I am going to tell her all about her great-great- grandmothers and how amazingly colorful they both were, in the life of girl who needed just a little more purple.

Happy 84th Birthday in Heaven, Nanny! Happy 89th Birthday in Alabama, Mama!

One tough girl

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erin and nannyDear Erin –

Today is your big day!  (Not that we could forget since you provide us with exuberant reminders a few hundred times in June.)  But it wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t, because that is you – our vibrant and energetic girl.  I so clearly remember the day we met as your birth story is one that we will never forget.

Grandma, Granpa Junior, and Nanny all drove up to be here; so, we had a house full of love when we left for the hospital that day. Not one to sit around, Granpa organized the boys to help him with setting the footings for the deck; so, if you didn’t know this, the sliding door and deck are the same age as you are.

Most of the day at the hospital was pretty much the same as the boys’ stories – a lot of waiting.  Nanny arrived at the hospital fairly early because she did not want to miss out on being the first to meet you – which was, of course, like her.  At the same time we were at labor and delivery, our family nurse was having surgery.  I overheard her talking in the hallway, and that was my first sign that something was not going quite right.

“This is her third baby. . . this shouldn’t be taking so long. What is going on?”

Neither she nor anyone else knew that I could hear her words, but since everything seemed normal I didn’t worry.  A friend from Daddy’s work asked to be in on the delivery because despite being a three time momma herself, she had never witnessed the miracle of birth.  Her request turned out to be a divine intervention.  When it appeared that it was close to “game time”, we called her to come to the hospital.

This is when things start to change.  Suddenly a nurse comes rushing in and says, “We need to get her on her side NOW!!!”  Looking back, we remembered another nurse quietly slipped into the room and stood silent sentry between our eyesight and the monitors.  The reason:  you no longer had a heartbeat, and they all knew something was terribly wrong.

An oxygen mask, severe pain, and being held by nurses, Daddy, and our friend in a contortionist position, my mind was reeling with what was happening.  Then the words that made the room go quiet were uttered by our normally cool and calm doctor.  (Keep in mind: he and Daddy watched golf during Sawyer’s big entrance into the world)

“Oh dear God, I see the face! The pushing is crushing the baby’s heart.”

While no one said It aloud, the race to save your life was now on.

You entered the world. In one swift motion, the cord was cut and the doctor scooped you up and ran with you.  Someone announced, “It’s a girl.” The wall of nurses surrounding the doctor, keeping what was going on out of our line of sight.

No cry. No gasp of air. No first genteel introductions to our new daughter.

First APGAR: 0

Questions come falling out of my wearied mind and body.  I could see the equipment they are using without being told what they are doing.  Is she breathing? Did she aspirate meconium? What is going on?

Second APGAR: 1

In what felt like eternity, we finally hear you cry.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. The tiny girl who we have later learned has the will to push through anything proved in the first ten minutes of life that she was a fighter.  We only held you for a few moments, during which time Nanny was so proud to meet you. That bond between great-grandmother and great-granddaughter was one that never waivered from that moment on.  You were always her special girl.

Our introductions were short lived because you were promptly escorted to respiratory intensive care where you stayed for the next four days.  Grandma, Granpa, and the boys had to first “meet” you through the glass.

It was the scariest moment of our lives.  We didn’t get to hold you, only your hand, because you couldn’t breathe on your own.  We didn’t get to feed you – tubes and machines took the place of our snuggles.  And we played a waiting game to see if your lungs would be able to do it alone,  despite your rough start.

But you showed everyone at Day 4 that you were and forever will be –  one tough cookie.  They decided that you could go home (as long as we didn’t leave town because they were certain that you would have to come back).  You didn’t!

The counseling provided to us said that you might struggle with lots of things – especially reaching developmental milestones and academic learning later on.  Neither of which proved to be true! They just didn’t know what us Stevens are made of – a faith that doesn’t give up and a vocabulary that doesn’t include quit.

You showed that despite all the studies and statistics for going that long without oxygen – you were (and are) extraordinarily awesome!  Having two big brothers, you just never knew you were once a fragile baby, fighting to breathe.  You were their constant shadow, and you would prove time and again that you wanted to be big like them.  Nothing ever stopped you – and we are so glad that God gave us you.

Happy 14th Birthday Erin!  We love you like crazy! Momma

PS – You know how you have on more than one occasion told us that you have Daddy wrapped right around your finger.  It’s true, and I have proof!  On Day 4, when we were able to leave the hospital, a nurse was cutting off all your hospital identifications, and she accidentally sliced your pinky finger with a scissors.  It was the first time that I ever saw your Daddy want to smack someone.  With everything you had been through, it was too much for him. He fumed for days that his precious baby girl’s finger had been cut – every fiber of his being was offended.  That tiny, wounded pinky finger has held him captive ever since.  Good luck to any boy who ever wishes to hold that finger!

A letter to Reed

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Dear Reed – About this time seventeen years ago, I was finally holding you in my arms after 14 hours of pretty hard labor.  But at that moment,  I didn’t remember one single bit of the pain, because my dream of being a momma was finally achieved and your story began.

The nurse wheeled you and the lady’s in the next room baby down to us. Suddenly, the other baby’s 3-year-old sister popped her head out of the room and said, “That’s my new baby brother.”  The nurse responded with a simple nod and a “yes”.  “What’s that baby’s name?”  The nurse replied, “Reed”, at which the little girl put her hands on her hips and said, “But I can’t read!”  Instead of chuckling, I panicked.  What had we done!  Because Reed is a family name, it never occurred to me that it was also a homophone.  But it was too late to we had already made it official.  And to the little girl, she only knew that your name was written on the bassinet and she didn’t know her letters yet to “read”.

Right up until the 11th hour, we were going to name you Jackson Theodore (after my favorite movie character and president), but over Mother’s Day we changed our minds.  Reed Daniel just seemed fitting.  We spent hours pouring over baby name books and dissecting the meanings.  Even though we weren’t enamored with the meaning of Reed (red-haired), we still stuck with our hearts and named you after your Grandpa Jr and Papa.

When the nurse wheeled you in and I got to see the cleaned up version of you, I laughed out loud because under that miniscule knitted cap were the tiniest red curls I had ever seen.  It was then that I knew definitively that God has a healthy sense of humor.  He took my fears and washed them away by making the earthly meaning of your name a part of your DNA.

It was a reminder to me that He knew your name the moment you were formed and He knew that your adorable red hair would always be a part of your identity.

There are so many things that God knew would be a part of your story, and looking back, we wish we could have known how little time we would have to help write that story.  As for the rest of us, we continue to pen the story of our hearts missing you and facing (albeit not bravely or not composed) all those firsts without you.

God knew and so did we that you loved learning, but we were all shocked when you announced on New Year’s Day of 2007 that you would be attending Yale University.  So when your first private college application arrived over Christmas last year, I was totally unprepared and I lost it.  We guessed these things would happen, but I just wasn’t ready for it.  Desperately, I wanted to sit down and say, “Reed, I know it’s not Yale, but what do you think about this one?” Thankfully, the story of your love of learning carries on in your scholarship.

The same thing happened when I went to the school on a Sunday night with Sawyer and saw 9 of your classmates’ parents filtering out of the building.  I knew immediately – junior class parents all together meant a prom meeting.  They didn’t see me, but I pulled over and bawled and bawled.  I wanted to help you pick out a tux, pick flowers for your girl, and make a real Southern feast for your first prom.  But instead of popular tunes, your music was the sound of prairie grass waving in a North Dakota field.

I know I am not the only one who misses you.  In the past year, we have all had our ups and downs.  Daddy just has never been the same.  He misses you with every fiber of his being.  Sawyer changed his mind on you doing the hunting and him being the chef.  He went to see you in North Dakota and got his first deer on Uncle Bryan’s farm place.  Well, he somewhat changed his mind, because he is still the most fabulous cook.  He also took on some leadership roles with his faith this year – just like you did near the end of your story. Erin still continues to grow and mature, and we have seen her take a stand (even among friends) to do the right thing.  You would have been proud.  And Cloie, she misses you beyond her years.  She really wishes that you could send her a letter from heaven, but she comforts herself with stories about you and your adventures.  Those stories have become a part of her identity and while on vacation, she told one about “remember when” and she wasn’t even a year old when it occurred.  But we have told it enough that she knew exactly when and where it happened; so now it is a part of her story.

I just wanted you to know that we are celebrating your 17th birthday today, and Cloie will be sending you a letter on her balloons.  Even though we are bracing ourselves for the other firsts of your senior year, we are almost daily comforted by the fact that your story (well God’s and your story) continue to transform lives. 

And that, my son, is a story well-written!

Loving you until we see you again – Mom