Tag Archives: encouragement

Crashing waves of dark and light

Leave a reply

feb calendar 2

The turning of a calendar page

Such a simple act for most people. For me, the turning eleven months out of the year is no problem. But, there is always a but, the twelfth month is a harsh reminder. A reminder that the waves I don’t see now are swirling out there in the inky abyss and they will come crashing down around us at various times in the course of these twenty-nine days. I am not ready. I haven’t packed any lifelines – other than well-worn knees that ask God for divine portions of his heavenly grace.

I turn the page and see the young man born in this month. As great as my sadness is I can only imagine the dichotomous roller coaster he must feel. Celebrating the day God gave him to us, to the world, but (there it is again) a few days prior we mourn the loss of his best friend – our first born. The world grew darker when our little sunshine was dimmed. In a world where he was perfectly happy to be second to the big brother who was his world, do we now make him feel second even more so as we regroup from our sadness to celebrate his awesomeness.

feb calendar1

The waves start to crash down. I confidently know that we are part of God’s melodic love song. Reed’s verse was shorter than we had hoped. But my heart’s song will always echo more. More. I just wanted more.

Like those waves of grief, I cannot stop the reverberation of more.

The cheerleaders, the well-wishers, the givers, and those on bended knee are still there. Their love carries us forward, even when we know the waves are coming. We prepare ourselves to be beaten into the rocks and to taste to saltiness of the waves. Somehow we are buoyed by those who remember.

Then an unexpected wave comes crashing down. I am caught completely off guard.

Stinging tears fall down. Maybe it is because I know the page turning will commence soon. Maybe the month I dread is on the next page. Time flies when you are having fun and sneaks in when you aren’t ready.

Everyone is gone from home and I sit and cry. I cry remembering all those long ago moments when the holes and scars and battle wounds didn’t fill our days. The days when life was simple, and we would spend half a summer day in our jammies and be filled with the wonders of the world.

Then somewhere deep in the cortical folds I remember the games we made up. The ones we played (momma and kiddos) on the white carpeted floor. The games where we would play for hours and fall out laughing from the joy of our silliness. I long for those days. I want to savor them, hold them in my aching arms and embrace them. The scent of childhood innocence still lingers here.

The memory of the game makes me laugh and smile, but it makes me cry even more. The simplicity of days. The joy of memories of days long ago, but days that God allowed us to have. The memories are too precious to carry alone.

I grab the phone and text the college son.

Having a tough grief day. Missing the days when we played “we are going to make a salad”.

In one moment, the university man remembers his time as one of the boys of summer, Stevens style.

That game was the best and me and Reed always had to be hair ball ingredients.

His response – reassuring and validating – was like manna of grace raining down. The lifelines I hadn’t packed God amply supplied. God’s grace. God’s amazing, providential, all-loving grace seeps into the dark crevices that ache for the time when this month wasn’t painful.

Once again, I am reminded that God’s light shines brightest in the darkness. Through it all – the pitch black of grief and the moments of silliness in our summer jammies and everything in between – God’s love has been in every moment.

And come what may in the tsunamic waves of grief and the turning of calendar pages; this same love will carry us through.

God once said, “Let the light shine out of the darkness!”

2 Corinthians 4:6a (NCV)

 

 

 

 

 

Her heart spoke volumes

1 Reply

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!

Why I blog. . . (a.k.a. the blog hop)

Leave a reply

I have been away from home for a week while traveling with the Boy Wonder, who had an amazing opportunity to attend an academy in my hometown for a week. While he was away on daring missions, I was blessed to visit with some family and friends. Anyone who knows me also knows that I enjoyed every morsel of good Southern eats because unless I make them, I’m not getting them in Minnesota. During my stay with my 90-year-old Mama (pronounced maw-maw), I received a message from a friend that I had been tagged in a blog hop. My quick response back to her was to let her know that I would definitely participate, but my internet was spotty – read: zero bars – so I would have to get back to it when I had better service.

Seriously, awesome food at The Varsity in Atlanta, GA. Enjoyed with my son, my uncle, my friend and his family.

Seriously, awesome food at The Varsity in Atlanta, GA. Enjoyed with my son, my uncle, my friend and his family.

 

When I did, I was off on adventures with my mom and daddy whom I have waited to have to myself for a while – 1973 to be exact. My children know I have a saying, “Unless Jesus or Reed are calling, I’m not missing hanging out with peeps right here in front of me.” So, dear sweet readers, this blog could wait until today.

I met my friend, Nancy, who nominated me for this blog hop on a plane. Wait a minute.  That last sentence looks like she nominated me on a plane.  No, no.  This won’t do.  She actually met me on a plane, but nominated me when I was hanging out in Alabama. Part of the story of that first encounter can be found here. She became more than comfort in my not finest hour, but rather a true friend. We don’t get to see each other as often as we would like, but when we do, it always seems we just pick right up where we left off. She is the kind of friend, who shares my sense of humor, but more importantly shares my awe and wonder at how Jesus loves completely flawed girls like us. Her writing often leaves me in stitches, and knowing her like I do, at times in tears, because her writing is real and refreshing!

Why do I write what I write?

Before I answer that directly (and since when do I ever do that?), I want to say that I am amazed that anyone would ever want to know that about me. As a science and math teacher by trade, English was my worst subject. Yes, I am old enough to call the class “English”, not “Language Arts”, where I am certain I would have been an abysmal failure. Seriously, I grew up in Florida during a period of time where if you used a contraction in an essay, you were automatically marked as an “F”. C’mon y’all ? Does anyone else see the problem with that? Although, I did earn excellent grades, more than once I had to de-Southernize my papers to bring my grade up. I still shudder thinking of those red F’s on my paper.

One of my all-time favorite quotes is this one by Anne Frank

“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”

My writing sprang up from a well of deep pain and sorrow. Following the bus crash that claimed Reed’s life and injured Sawyer and Erin, I wrote on their CaringBridge sites to tell people what our prayer needs were. From there, people began to come out of the woodwork telling me that they looked forward to my writings and to the honesty with which I shared our struggles. (They weren’t kicking us when we were down, but something in my writing stirred their hearts.) The more I wrote, the less the burden of our reality seemed to bog us down.  As time wore on, I dabbled in blogging and realized that the things that God lays on my heart on a variety of subjects resonate with others. If what I write helps anyone in any way, then the bearing of my heart is worth every re-write.

How does my writing process work?

Now that my deep dark confession of being terribly afraid of writing is out there, I will also confess that my knowledge of the writing process is probably less than my knowledge of a hole in the ground. But I have also learned over time that I know way more than I often give myself credit for. Way back in high school, my daddy and his buddies were enrolled in an FFA judging contest. When they arrived at the competition, the advisor told them that they had been entered in the soil judging because he needed someone to do it. They were rock solid on their other competition, but soils – what do we know about soils? They were given clipboards, judging forms, and pencils, and then escorted to (I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP) holes in the ground. They scratched away their best thoughts on each hole, and lo and behold, they ended up taking first place.

While I have made public apologies in my blog to former English teachers, I write just like I think and speak. The story ideas; however, come from God. Most often it is something from my everyday life that moves me. Many times I sit on it, but it will just keep popping back up in my thoughts. That is when I know that God truly wants me to write about it – even if it isn’t something that I would have chosen to share. One hundred percent of the time I get a private message from someone after posting one of those gut-wrenching blogs that my words were EXACTLY the encouragement they needed to get through a hurdle.

If that is how God works, I am delighted to be his vessel – even if I use contractions. Carving out the time to write and faithfully listening to God seem to be my largest hurdles.

I also read and re-read my writing trying to catch all the little mistakes.  That can sometimes be an exhausting experience.

What am I working on right now?

The honest answer is just trying to be the best me, wife, momma and writer I can be. I am so glad that God’s grace covers all of that! Amen! Since I know this is about writing projects, I won’t give a litany of all the things I see I need to do around here.

My number one writing focus has been this blog and my books. I have a contract to publish my first book. (Again, finding time to write is my largest obstacle.) There have been road blocks along the way, but I truly feel that the finished product is one that is better than if I had hurried through.

I have written for some writing contests, and I have enjoyed the challenge. I won one of the contests, earning a major award. Daniel didn’t like the fish net stocking lamp. Oh wait, that was in a movie. In actuality, I won a Google tablet and a signed copy of a new novel, by one of my favorite authors.

Recently, I was asked to begin working on articles for the Minnesota Bridging the Gap’s website. I am honored to have been chosen, and am looking forward to getting to know the other ladies and to write God’s story of my life for a broader audience.

My writing also opens doors for speaking opportunities – which I L.O.V.E. (I mean absolutely love). So I have been working with a web designer and a long-time friend to get our ministry out there. We are “this close” to launching our own website, which tickles me to no end.

What other writers would I like to introduce to you?

I read quite a few blogs. I enjoy them all. Some move me to tears with their writing gifts, like tony, who never wishes his name to be capitalized in the blog-o-sphere. His shares about his life, mostly centered on his career as a musician and song-writer. If heaven has sirens like in Greek mythology, I think tony’s words would be a part of their repertoire. I have never heard him perform, but I will consider myself blessed if I ever do.

Others amaze me with the way that they see God in the every day.

One such “friend”(as we have never met) is Daisy. She writes over at www.adaisygarden.com. I will tell you that she, too, writes from her everyday experiences, and she posts the most amazing pictures. There are days that I envy her eyeballs. Some of her pictures make me want to just follow her around for a day, taking in the beauty that she shares on her blog. Her recent post would be a good example of what I mean. What I enjoy most outside of her pictures is the heart she has for finding the blessings in the ordinary. A girl after my own heart! She follows my blog as well, and I am always amazed at her heart for prayer. And I, for one, need all the prayer warriors I can get!

This last blog is from someone whom I have gotten to know in “real life”. We didn’t always know each other personally, but our blogs connected us. We chose to meet one day for coffee (okay, I ordered a smoothie since I don’t drink coffee. AND sweet tea wasn’t offered there). When our food arrived, Missy wanted to take a picture of the beautiful muffin on her plate. I laughed, not because that was a silly notion, but because it is exactly what I would do. This blogging friend is a warrior. She truthfully, honestly, and sometimes very poignantly raw shares her life through her words. Our connection originally was one of deep and profound loss, but our mutual decision to trust in the Lord’s plan of hope is what keeps us connected. I am amazed at her persistence to find the good in life – even if it is a beautiful muffin on a café plate. Her words resonate with my soul, and I am proud to call her my friend.

While the presentation isn't nearly as beautiful as Missy's muffin, shrimp straight from the Gulf, bought at Joe Patti's Seafood, is my kind of comfort food.

While the presentation isn’t nearly as beautiful as Missy’s muffin, shrimp straight from the Gulf, bought at Joe Patti’s Seafood, is my kind of comfort food. Oh yeah, guest appearance by sweet tea, too!

Daisy, Missy, and tony – you are welcome to jump on the blog hop, and I hope you do. I would love to know more about your writing process, but I understand that life pulls us in many different directions. Sometimes all at once! If you are able to participate, then I want you to know that I admire your writings, along with Nancy’s who nominated me. You, my dears, are sweet balm to my soul.

For any aspiring writers out there, the best advice I can give is to write from your heart, especially if it is something God lays there. You can never go wrong with that.

 

 

Shock & Awe

Leave a reply

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!

What I want today . . .

3 Replies

Reed70

Last year for my dad’s birthday, we bought tickets to a baseball game for the local boys of summer, Pensacola’s very own – Blue Wahoos.  After a much enjoyed Whataburger and sweet tea (of course) lunch, we headed on down to the stadium – sunscreen in hand.  It was my first Wahoos game at a stadium right on Pensacola Bay.  As we were approaching our section, we noticed two ladies hop up from some seats and two gentlemen in what appeared to be our seats.  After a recheck with the ushers, the ladies that had left and the gentlemen now seated were, in fact, in our seats.  They apologized and moved one section over.  All was great until the ladies (and at this point, I use that term loosely) came back.  One of them announced (well, more like hollered), “You are in OUR seats.”  I politely answered that in fact these were our seats.  I tried to further explain, but was cut off by a woman with her face in mine yelling that she had paid good money for these seats.  I stood up and showed her my tickets as the usher stepped in stopping my mother from bopping her in the head.  The usher showed the two where their husbands were sitting and that they had sat in the wrong section in the first place.  Strangely,  no apologies were uttered.

Sadly, I get her frustration.  She wanted to watch a baseball game on Sunday afternoon, and she was proud of her seats.  I get it.  Did I like being yelled at? Nope.  But in the end, we all got what we came for that day.

Right now, I am feeling a giant passel of wants.  Today, my son, my beloved red-headed boy, should be graduating from high school.  But that isn’t going to happen, because he and three sweet other babes were killed when someone made a choice five years ago.  I knew this day would come, and I am trying to hold it together with the best grace that I can muster.

Here is a current list of my wants –

  • I want to tell everyone that my son is attending Yale. (The university he vowed in 6th grade he would attend.)
  • I want to be going crazy, cleaning and shopping and preparing, for a graduation party.
  • I want my eyes to stop hurting from the tears I have cried this week.
  • I want the pounding in my chest to stop hurting.
  • I want my thoughts to be clear, not insulating me from the pain that is going to come.
  • I want to remind a certain few that I am not apologizing for my emotions. There is and forever will be only one momma to Reed.
  • I want to hug my son today – not just see a gown on a chair where he should be.
  • Lastly and more importantly, I want to tell him just one more time how proud I am of him.

But just like those seats at the stadium, what we want and what we get are often two very different things.  So in the last couple weeks, I have clung – tightly- to the One who has collected each tear of mine in His bottle.   I asked Him to show me where He was in the midst of all of this.  It seems every salinated drop has provided spiritual vision that has opened the eyes to my soul.  In all honesty, my provisions have been great and had I blinked I might have missed:

  • The well wishing to another mom who is doing the crazy planning before I had a chance to feel sorry for myself.
  • The hugs from fellow moms of graduates who have sought me out when I needed them the most.
  • A mailbox flooded with invitations from Reed’s friends for their parties because those tender hearts want us to know we are loved.
  • The mom who held me when I sobbed on the front steps of the church on Sunday.
  • The friend almost a thousand miles away who has texted or called every day – just make sure that I am doing okay.
  • The friends who upon hearing my joke about taking up excessive drinking offered to do so with me – just so they could hear me laugh.
  • A midnight ice cream run with a friend because that can solve most of life’s problems.
  • The mom who gave me a pep talk in the Wal-mart parking lot telling me that each of the graduates who knew Reed well was going to change the world because his presence changed the world.
  • The friends that offered to sit with me at graduation to just to hold my hand and pass me Kleenex.
  • The church that called and asked for me to come and speak this weekend, numbing the empty void of no celebration, but more importantly, reminding me of what He has planned for my life and Reed’s story
  • An e-mail extraordinaire that gave me the strength to get out of bed today.
  • Continuing on in traditions – oh yeah – McDonald’s for breakfast on the last day of school.  We have to go on – even when it hurts.
  • A cell phone battery almost dead before 8:00 am filled with texts of love.

Even though the items on my first list hurt with an ache that I didn’t know was humanly possible, I look at that second list and I can feel God’s touch.  I hear His whisper of love and mercy.  I know that He will be there with His bottle collecting my tears, wiping away each one.  So that one day when I am reunited with Reed and I meet God in person, we are going to walk hand-in-hand to empty that bottle right on into the ocean.

Then I will stand before my Father with hands raised high – praising him for each and every sweet provision, including the chance to be Reed’s momma.   After that, I am going to hug the mess out of my boy!

This song says it all . . .

The thing about grief . . . Part 9

2 Replies

random acts of kindness

This will be the final installment, at least for a while, in the grief series.  I have shared that, indeed, you will laugh again even as you encounter the “firsts” without your loved one as well as some of the ugly sides of grief.  But today’s thoughts come from a happier place known only by select handful.

Throughout this journey even though some days it feels contrary to reality, we have never been alone.  The obvious reason is that our precious boy, Reed, didn’t die alone.  He was one of four beautiful children killed that frigid February day.  But that isn’t the isolation about which I am referring.  While existing, exhausted with a big hole in your heart, you feel as if there is no one who cares or understands what you are going through.  Definitely, not true!

So many came alongside our family and reached out in big and small ways.  They gave gifts of  forgotten stories, meals, and hugs.  Family, friends, and strangers have come to our home and served us, offering help when the tasks were just too much for us.  There have been e-mails, texts, letters, cards, and posts of encouragement.  All of these have become precious pearls of memories for each of us.

Each token was worth more the item itself as it was the embodiment of hope. Too many to enumerate have become some of my most loved things.  Of all the gifts that given, there is one that sticks out as quite possible the most unique.  A stranger, whom we have never met, gave sacrificially every day for two years, in what has become one of the greatest gifts of my life.

Shortly after arriving home from the hospital there was a small notecard outlining her covenant with our family.  In the handwritten card, she explained, years before, she had lost several family members in a tragic accident.  She knew the isolation, despair, and challenges of grief intimately.  Our earthly angel also knew the power of prayer – as that had pulled her through the darkest days.  (I have to imagine that she too had a wonderfully supportive community.)  Her covenant with our family was to pray for us every day for two years.  She also must have experienced the same phenomena that the first year was hard, but that the second year was harder. I don’t really know her reasoning but she prayed us right on through that second year as well.

We didn’t hear from her daily, but every once in a while came a letter with a reminder that she was living up to her end of the arrangement.  Her notes would arrive, and once again, we were bolstered by the devotion and commitment of a complete stranger.  Because she gave this gift without the need for recognition, I am choosing to keep her identity private.

Her love and random daily act of kindness have been in my heart ever since the first note arrived.  Her thoughtfulness was the first thing that popped into my mind when I first learned of the #26acts movement started by newswoman, Ann Curry as a way to honor the victims of the Newtown tragedy.  It took me a long time to be able to even look at those sweet babies and brave adults, but when I did I knew Ann was right.  One great way to help a community heal from such evil was to be purposeful in being kind and thoughtful.

My family continues our philosophy of service by quietly completing our own 26 acts.  In a strange turn of events, we were, once again, the recipients of someone’s kindness when I received a glitter-filled handwritten Bible verse from an anonymous encourager. It made my day! While I have been thinking of others, someone was thinking of us.

It was at that moment that I knew how God wanted me to end this series of writings.  The truth is that there are many people who tell you in the early days of grief that if you need anything just call.  Well intentioned, yes. Practical, not really! Honestly, I didn’t even know my own name in those mind-numbing first moments.  Yet, I still had to be a mom and a wife, running a grieving household while taking care of injured children.  At that point, we could have eaten pocket lint, and it would have been fine by me.  I literally had no energy left to think of calling anyone, let alone to ask for help.

To truly help someone who is grieving, don’t wait for them to call you.  Call them and ask if you can watch the kids, get the groceries, walk the dog. Get creative! It is like the old Nike ads. Do Something! Anything that is a gift of time and service is usually helpful.  But if you can’t, for whatever reason, give chunks of your time, can you send a note of encouragement?  Can you pray? Even better, can you send those notes timed to first events the grieving family might be experiencing? Can you make a long term commitment to loving and encouraging someone who really needs your help? If experience is any teacher, the giver is the one far more blessed than the receiver -even when it comes to grieving folks.

What an incredible world it would be if every grieving family had an earthly angel just like us! I, for one, will be following her example, and that alone will be a blessing.

 

8 days to go: We’ve got spirit

Leave a reply

We are Lakers!
Photo borrowed from my friend, Cathie Bueltel

This year has seen a return to Laker football something that has been missing for quite a few years – cheerleaders!  These sweet girls and their awesome leaders are doing a fabulous job! I am so proud of them and all the hard work that they have clearly put in, and they should be proud too.  Their presence really makes a difference in the atmosphere of a game.  They have been a delightful addition to the football experience at Lakeview. Wow! Talk about a half-time performance!

But isn’t that true about most things in life?  A ho-hum experience can turn into a great thing with the right kind of support and enthusiasm.  I think back to all the students I have taught in 21 years and I have seen many sparks ignited simply because I or another teacher believed in a student.  An average student with a passion can change the world.  One of my favorite sayings is “It isn’t aptitude, but attitude, that determines your altitude.”

How much more could we all accomplish if we had our own little cheering section?  In an earlier blog, I shared about how my personal cheerleaders really boosted my spirits when completing the triathlon.  I recently heard a story about how a peanut butter sandwich boosted a friend who completed the Breast Cancer 3-day (all 60 miles of it).  I know that Sawyer worked a little harder when the “cheerleading” posters arrived for his Mayo hospital room from Auntie Ellen’s class in North Dakota.

Apparently advertisers know this little secret too because there is a sweet commercial right now about a gal in a bike competition and her husband who does all this cheering along the way.  He cheers, he makes signs out of boxes, and then he is waiting at the finish line with a pizza box with a love note written in it. We all KNOW a little positive encouragement works.  But how often do we make time to do it?

An opportunity to encourage all kinds of people is coming up in 8 days.  As a Reed’s Run committee, we are looking for lots of people to help us out.  This request doesn’t require any special training nor does it have a long time commitment.  We need pockets of people along the race route to cheer people on. Families, clubs, organizations, church groups, heck – knitting groups and book clubs are perfect.  We simply need you to show up and cheer on the runners when they come running by.

Maybe running or walking a 5k isn’t for everybody.  But all of us have the ability to spread some encouragement.  I won’t be donning my old uniform nor digging out my pompoms, but I WILL be there close to the finish line cheering every single runner on!

If you know the history of Reed’s Run, this is one opportunity that we all have to be like Reed and encourage others. And what better place than his run.  His motivation was because he was filled with spirit (the Holy Spirit).  So, we can all confidently say, “We’ve got Spirit! Yes, we do!”

The Value of Friendships

Leave a reply

Imagine a late summer day, my kitchen is steaming from the canning of tomatoes.  The phone rings, and the caller id says it is my best friend.  She is 430 miles away “delivering” her oldest to college in North Dakota.  I knew from hello she had something exciting to tell me.  “You know those crockpot liner bags that we’ve been dreaming of?  Well, I have finally found them. Woo hoo!”  Now let me tell you something about that moment.  It takes a real friend to know that you are going to get “jump and down excited” over that news.  And I did!

Yet, this friendship like most of my closest friends also has had to endure life’s challenges and hardships.  We have weathered the loss of grandparents, parents, and children; job changes, house relocations, illnesses in our children, and everyday hurts and disappointments. There are those people who will drop everything to come running when you need help.  And she has on more than one occasion.  

Incredibly, I AM SO BLESSED because I can make a list of  friends of that have loved me beyond measure.  Friends who appear in the line at your son’s memorial service and tell you that you are going to sit down and eat something – not because you want to but because you need to.  Friends who call you because God has laid you on their heart and they don’t know why.  Friends who offer to take your kids so that you can have some peace and quiet.  Friends who remind you that you cannot do everything, and they hold you accountable.  Friends who keep your traditions when you are so exhausted that you cannot. Friends who love you even if you are a maniacal sports mom, and they cheer with you.  Friends who call and tell you that you have incredible kids because they caught them in the act of doing something wonderful.  Friends who know that you will answer the phone in the middle of the night and who will cry with you.  Friends that  get your sense of humor and laugh with you in a lightning storm on a football field. Friends who share the coveted title of mother on her son’s wedding bulletin.  Friends who live far away but use technology to keep in touch and to encourage you. Friends who defend you when others don’t know what you are going through.  Friends who are praying for you, even though you didn’t ask. Friends who remember the little things and send a card, e-mail, or letter.  Friends who encourage you to be so much more than you think that you are, but yet who God designed you to be.  I have all these friends, and yes, I AM TRULY BLESSED!

It was a phone call recently that prompted me to pause and really think about friendships. Her words were like a soothing balm to me.  “I just had to call you because you would get it.” The short version is that through a previous conversation, she was thinking about something she wanted to share with me and some other friends,  but what she wanted to give us wasn’t readily available.   Then in a series of everyday events, the speaker she was thinking about was on her radio.  She just had to call to say that God was amazing, and that a little flip of a radio channel was the bolstering that she needed to go forward. 

 She was right! I did “get it”.  I shared a similar story of the friend where God laid me on her heart and her faithfulness to reach out.  God blessed her with a radio channel, and for me, it was recently a text message. With God, there are no concidences.  The same is true with friendships.  With God, there is no friendship too proud to get excited by crockpot liners, too humble to encourage a friend (even if you don’t know the circumstances), too busy to serve in love, too complacent to say thank you, or too blind to love beyond our shortcomings. 

God has used  spiritual spittle – manifested as the tears of my eyes – through life’s difficulties to wash away the dust cloud of doubt.  He has shown me that He has surrounded me with all sorts of friends to be the living, breathing reminder of the friendship that I share with His son, Jesus.  Through each of my friends, I have come closer to Jesus because each embodies a part of Him that I so desperately need. 

As an “older” Girl Scout, I keep hearing our old meeting song in my head . . . Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver and the other gold.  With all the friendships I have been given by God, I am truly swimming in heavenly gold.