Tag Archives: Family

Returning home

Who says you can’t go home
There’s only one place they call me one of their own
Just a hometown boy, born a rolling stone, who says you can’t go home
Who says you can’t go back, been all around the world and as a matter of fact
There’s only one place left I want to go,

Jon Bon Jovi & Richie Sambora

I don’t know what creativity transpired for the musicians to pen the lyrics to “Who Says You Can’t Go Home”. What I will never know in song origin, I make up for in sentiment. Last week, I lived those words. Standing underneath the stately magnolia tree, I was transported to the elementary school days of my childhood when teachers would ask us to clean the erasers. Smacking those black woolen felt erasers into clouds of white dust, we would enjoy the Southern dappled sun peeking through the waxy leaves.

Carefully walking over the exposed roots, I traipsed back to the vehicle where my completely Midwestern family patiently indulged my tour of childhood schools and homes. The older I get the more I value roots; both those supporting my favorite tree of all time and those connecting and grounding us to our childhoods. Although I haven’t lived in the South for nearly thirty years, the scent of Gulf air and the sound of the whippoorwill are not far from my soul’s memories. I haven’t spent much of my life thinking about the influence of the place I call home, but sometimes paradigm shifts are subtle.

It’s always the little things. The interior paint of our home is called “sea salt”, my grandmother’s cast iron cornbread pan rests on my stove, and a big bag of grits can be found in my cupboards. The South never truly leaves a girl.

mama

On our recent vacation, one which was planned to correspond with my grandmother’s 92^nd birthday, I realized just how much the South has shaped my life. Although I love both of these things, my nostalgia extended far beyond “yes ma’am’s” and door-opening gentlemen and somehow I felt more alive than I had in many days. Of course, visiting in the summer was questionable judgment, but when your Mama is a June-bug there aren’t many alternatives.

My senses were overloaded in way that made my soul say, “Remember this. Savor this moment because your next infusion might be awhile away.” The sound of the Gulf waves lapping the shore were the melodic framing of many days and nights. The smells of home cooking and the sea aroused my olfactory bulbs. All the swirls of green and blue with a few white blossoms punctuated my vision causing heart to be truly content. The feel of salt spray on my skin and sand between my toes lingered for days.

This is home. This is where I truly feel happy.

It wouldn’t be the South without the swapping of tales and little humor sprinkled in the right places like the when my uncle teased the waitress the cooking was so good it would make someone want to slap their grandma or when my vegan cousin suggested he could buy a whole lot of carrots with a gift card to a fish house.

My South included the divine, sitting in the wooden pew of a little white church being surrounded by the “Amen’s” of God’s people and the standing to sing the hymns of my childhood. Having the opportunity to speak and share God’s love for others while my Southern Baptist uncle, who happens to be the pastor,, looked on and said I had missed my calling melted my heart completely.

We did a whole lot of visiting and eating. Sharing my childhood with my children included a gastrointestinal tour of the southeast. There were Cracker Barrel and Po’Folks veggie plates, lemonade and chicken sandwiches at Chic Fil’A, big ol’ Texas sized burgers at What-A-Burger, juice dripping Georgia peaches, and limeades at Sonic, but somehow my favorite boiled peanuts eluded us. Buying the shrimp straight off the boats at the biggest tourist attraction in Florida, Joe Patti’s, was a must as was al fresco dining at Flounder’s amid cannons firing at pirate ships on Pensacola Beach. A little walk-up stand was frequented twice, because the best foot long chili dogs and milkshakes in Alabama can be found there.

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Included in our moments were the new memories made like when my children asked to eat at a Waffle House because they had only seen a bazillion of them on our drive from Atlanta to Pensacola. They were dismayed at my neglect of never having brought them to one of the iconic diners. Mutiny akin to that of those pirate ships was on their mind when I professed that while they had never eaten at one, their older brother actually had. Their steely silence lifted when the gigantic waffle was set before them. Thank goodness for pecan waffles – a mother’s saving grace!

waffles

None of the places visited or the food eaten was the greatest part of our trip. No sirree! as my tiny little cousin exclaimed more than once in our visiting time. He along with every other cousin, aunt, uncle, mom, dad, and grandmother were the best part of my grounding. Hugging necks and breathing the same air as my family – all of them – was truly the greatest blessing of my summer. Having my Minnesota children experience every bit of it was – well, the lemon in my sweet tea.

cousins

Today no matter where you are and where you define home, be thankful for the memories stored there. They are a priceless collection.

As for me, these are my people and this is my home – every Southern fried bit of it!

Just enjoying the day

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This is not something I am proud to share. But my daily existence has a to-do list that never ends, and my time is often double- and triple-booked. Rarely do we have a moment that isn’t overscheduled. Yet the last two weekends were ones that had me celebrating the unexpected – the magic of the unscripted.

On Easter afternoon, I called my ninety-one year old grandmother, Mama, for a chat. She is homebound in Alabama, and I know she doesn’t entertain many visitors. An aptly timed phone call every week or so, often lifts her spirits. In our conversation, I shared we had enjoyed our Saturday and the one before it just spending time with some dear friends.

Her voice drifted away as her mind raced back through its years of memories. We don’t do that anymore, but remember, Shug, we used to do that. Just enjoy our day. You know yourself we used to all get together and just enjoy our day. We’d eat and visit and spend the whole day together. But we don’t do that anymore.

My heart broke at the last line. She’s right. We don’t do that nearly enough, or in my case, sometimes ever. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to the busyness of my life.

I say YES when I should say NO. I lead with my plans rather than checking to see if they are God’s. I fill my calendar with requests for my time even when they pull me in directions I didn’t intend to go, and yes, at times that means crazy.

Yet the unexpected time spent with family and friends (who we call family) in recent days have worked like divine spittle removing the scales from my eyes.

Two weekends ago, cousins passing through on a cross-country drive stopped in after spending the night at home of other cousins. As we sat and visited, the cousins who offered the place to rest pulled up in the driveway. At first my eyes could not believe it. What my eyes didn’t believe made my heart burst with excitement. My thoughts swirling around this is going to be the BEST. DAY. EVER! And it was!

Fast forward to this past weekend and my hectic schedule kept me from organizing get-togethers much sooner than I actually did, but traditions are the glue that hold my clan together. A quick e-mail the day before turned into a day long time dyeing eggs, visiting, and going out to eat. One big family just enjoying the day and making memories. I had to hold the tears at bay watching my adopted granddaughter dye eggs, knowing how much Reed would have enjoyed that moment. He would have loved her.

Our best friends love us despite our busyness, and they have embraced our penchant for eleven minute planning. You read that correctly, it says 11 minutes not in the eleventh hour. Our gatherings often begin with a text, phone call, or bumping into each other at the store a few minutes before we plan to do something. This style was true to form this weekend. One text created an entire Easter dinner and egg hunt of which we enjoyed every second. Good food, even better stories, one hand picked family (minus the college students) just enjoying the day.

I often say that God has to slow me down to realize what he is trying to tell me. More times than not, he has to repeat the message over and over for me to catch on. Three unexpected times of slowing down with loved ones and a heartfelt, memory-laced, reminder from my Mama were eye-opening experiences which led my heart to focus on the message in our devotion at supper last night.

How much is the sheer busyness of your life preventing you from living the life God is calling you to live?

The convicting answer was way too much. God got my attention. How will he get yours?

As for me, I am hoping to fill my calendar with many more “just enjoying our day”.

The day his coat came home

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No matter how hard I resist, a good quality book fair will suck me in every time. The memories of all the hours cuddled up with my kiddos on the floor, beds, or couches, in the van, at the park, and on gymnasium bleachers fondly race through my mind. This is the only excuse I can proffer for the reason I stopped by the book fair organized by the EMSP club at the campus where I teach. Like a moth drawn to an inviting light, I tried hard to avoid the colorful display, but eventually succumbed to the adventures found within the pages of a good book. I perused the titles, read the jackets, and one book sang its siren song . . . until the next thing I knew I had purchased the hardcover wonder to take back to my office. Safely behind closed doors, I read The Day the Crayons Came Home by Drew Daywalt and laughed until my sides hurt. I couldn’t wait to take my new treasure home to share with my youngest, even though neither of us fit the book’s targeted demographic.

Much like the book’s story, a once beloved item recently found its way home to our house. I wish I could say its arrival brought celebratory joy. Unfortunately after it was dropped off, numb was all I felt. My sweetie confessed to having similar feelings and we decided we would tuck it quietly away. The day Reed’s glasses, well one lens, came back to us was a day filled with tears of joy, but we have been so overwhelmed with intense feelings of disappointment recently that when Reed’s coat was returned to us, it was just one more reminder of the pain we still endure.

Without fanfare, I hung the coat in the closet.

And there it has hung – a silent reminder to a boy who isn’t coming home.

Days come and days go and my thoughts don’t swirl around the camouflage winter jacket hanging in the front closet.

coat

Then in a search for a lost mitten, I see it again and stand frozen before the door, while everyone else is trying frantically to get by me. I stand in silent agony and let the tears fall.

In some small, weird way, I feel I owe the coat more. Reed loved that coat and all it signified. He was now a hunter, following in the footsteps of his dad and his Grandpa Earl before him. If the coat were like the crayons in the book that made me smile, perhaps it might pen a message to us about its journey home.

Dear Family –

I know you didn’t expect my return. I have been safely tucked away in a quiet corner at the house of someone you hold dear. The someone who was called to come and pick me up when the broken pieces of your life laid strewn across a highway, later to be scooped up and sorted through. Unlike the backpacks and shoes that never made it home, I was spared the fate of those other items. I see when you open the closet, you catch your breath. It is hard not to notice. I never meant to cause you any pain.

I remember the day our boy first put me on. He found me nestled under the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, sitting next to a new duck call and a gift certificate for duck and goose decoys. When he put me on I could feel how proud he was, standing a little taller, officially a hunter with all his gear. Pride mingled with joy are amazing feelings. He wore me every day after that through all those cold and bitter days. The only day he didn’t wear me in the few months we were together was when he needed his parka to go skiing with his best buddies and Dad. I didn’t mind the slight, because I knew he always chose me when we romped and wrestled in the snow with Huck each day.

One of the best smells in the world is wet boy mixed with wet dog and I proudly wore it.

Our last day together wasn’t anything spectacular, other than being cold when we left the house. I waited quietly stuffed in his messy locker while he went through his day. I never complained how disorganized it was, because I knew our adventures would begin as soon as the bell rang.

I just didn’t know that day would be our last.

Why we got to the bus so early that day, I will never know, because most days we barely made it on in time. Sitting there behind Sawyer, it was time to go home . . . only I didn’t know which home that meant for our boy.

I know our story didn’t end the way you had expected. You know – the story where I either ended up well worn with holes or passed onto the next one in line or given away to someone more needy. I didn’t expect to be locked away in a box for over seven years, waiting to come home.

And while I want you to know I feel your pain every time you open the closet. I was proud to be the one who gave our boy his last warm hug, wrapping around him for one last time. There are others in the world who would feel the pride and joy he once had, and it is okay with me if you want to give me to another. My suggestion would be the cute little girl who will someday soon tag along on some really epic adventures.

Either way just know – I was proud to have been loved by our boy.

Sincerely

Camo Coat

Gotcha Day

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This July, we celebrated two relatively unknown holidays. For the rest of the world, our celebration did not create even the tiniest blip on the radar. Yet for two young ladies, Gotcha Day is a huge part of their lives. The background story on this is one that meshes well with our family’s concept of “created family” – friends become “aunts and uncles” and mix in a few “adopted” grandparents and college age sons. God planted amazing people in our midst, including one cousin to my husband. Growing up, they were not that close as he was older than my sweetie, but “Uncle Bryan” as my girls call him has a younger sister who was Daniel’s closest confidante for most of his growing up years.

Uncle Bryan and his wife, Michelle, really impressed us as a young couple. They were and are amazing parents, and ones whom in our earlier years, we hoped to emulate. Our decision wasn’t difficult when we asked them to be Reed’s godparents. They were tops on our list. Along with another set of dear, dear friends, Lorrie and Jay, Bryan and Michelle were Reed’s godparents. All four grieved along with us as we said good-bye to the redheaded sunshine of our world when he passed away at age 12.

All of our other children have incredible godparents, including the younger sister mentioned earlier. A few years ago, Sally was really missing Reed and figured Uncle Bryan was too. At our family reunion, she wandered out to the fish cleaning shack and put forth a proposal. Would you be my godfather too? I am fairly sure that he had no idea that was coming, but he readily agreed to step in and love her the way he had and continues to love Reed. In that one precious moment, Gotcha Day was created.

Fast forward two years and once again; we are at our family reunion, sometimes referred to as Nowatzki-palooza, because of the sheer numbers of us present. During the previous two years, Sal had opportunities to do things with both of her godfathers; conveniently both named “Uncle Bryan” to her. At the reunion, she could not wait to cuddle up with Uncle Bryan and see what was happening in his world. Our family reunions are all-day and well-into-the-night affairs. After Sally gave her good night hugs to those around the campfire, our Sister saddled up next to Uncle Bryan. The two have shared a good repartee of banter from the moment she first got a cell phone. For her grateful daddy, most of his advice centering on boys, making good choices, and encouraging her in sports.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Sister shared with him how much her little sister loves him and how she wished she had that. Sadly, her godparents divorced in her toddlerhood. Watching her brothers interact with their godfathers, she was always wistful for the same. In the middle of the night his heart melted, the man who took on one . . . took on another.

By morning, I learned that Erin had a new godfather with a very familiar sounding name. Uncle Bryan stole her heart, which is hard to do for a teenage girl in a technologically, clambering world. Tears in my eyes, I added another Gotcha Day to the calendar.

Although our Gotcha Days are one day apart, the love shared binds together three hearts, and the driving force behind their creation flows deeply from the heart of one incredible godfather. As a mom, I could not imagine a more wonderful solution. More importantly, I believe a redheaded young man looks down from heaven and smiles that old familiar grin at this arrangement, more than happy to share his godfather.

The healing came rushing in

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It all started at Easter dinner. We live hundreds of miles away from our parents and siblings; so we have created our own version of family. “Bloom where you are planted” is somewhat of a driving force behind our merry band of friends we call family. After celebrating the wonder and amazement of the significance of our Savior’s resurrection, we began what always happens at our table – swapping stories. Our dear friend shared the story of the man who saved his life as a child and how he as an adult he still maintains a relationship with him. The flint was sparked.

Later, Sawyer asked if we would mind if he invited the first responders from the bus crash to his graduation. ALL. OF. THEM. There was something like thirty units that responded; so the number of people had to have been in the hundreds. Without batting an eyelash, I told him, “Absolutely, but you will have to understand that they may not be able to attend.” He was okay with that uncertainty. We set out to find the addresses, while he penned a note explaining who he was and how he was doing. He also included a copy of a scholarship essay that he wrote defining a hero. Here is an excerpt from his closing.

“Hero isn’t a word I use lightly. The men and women who bravely serve our country now and in the past have earned that distinction. Standing next to them, are the men and women who show up to help others in their darkest hours. Although, most of these individuals would never consider what they have done as extraordinary, to me, their selfless actions are truly what defines a hero.” (used by permission from Sawyer Stevens)

We really left it at that and went on enjoying the final days of school for all of our children and preparing for his graduation day. When a mysterious letter arrived on official Minnesota Department of the Highway Patrol stationary, my first thought was someone was getting a ticket. Then when I saw the Boy Wonder’s name on it, my thoughts shifted to . . . he better NOT be getting a ticket. I could not have been more shocked when he opened this correspondence. The State Captain congratulated Sawyer on his hard work and achievements, let him know that some troopers would be in attendance at his celebration, and asked him a favor in return: be an honored guest at the upcoming trooper academy graduation.

Sawyer was speechless. I simply cried. My parents had the same reactions as I did while my husband was in Sawyer’s camp. What an honor! A few more letters like that trickled in, but in all honesty, we had no idea how much that simple gesture would mean to others or even to ourselves.

We had worked for weeks prepping our backyard, because (I will be honest) I had a vision of what I wanted it to be. In one word: SPECTACULAR for my son. What I didn’t know was I was dreaming small, and that God had much BIGGER plans.

First, we asked some very dear friends to help serve and even a few more simply volunteered. Everyone saying it was an honor to be asked. We are blessed. For their love and tireless love, we are thankful. Next, my parents came a week early to simply jump in and help. Considering my dad was just a couple weeks away from retiring, this was a huge sacrifice. Next, the other side of our family from North Dakota stepped in and started helping with final preparations. Blessings upon blessings! Then, in the final hours, people all over were praying because as I have mentioned before, I simply felt cheated that we didn’t have this experience with Reed. Grief is an ugly beast, but God’s grace is so much bigger.

Commencement went very well, but our party was looking doomed by the weather. All the hours spent grooming the yard, all the plans made, all the preparations completed were about to be undone by deluge of rain. And rain it did.

I was sad and disappointed, but again, God had much bigger dreams. We eventually made the call to move to our alternative location, our church. Moving all the supplies was a gargantuan task, made lighter by many hands. About an hour before the party was to start, I learned that Sawyer’s letter which had made its way to the news media was going to be featured that night. THAT. NIGHT!

Conducting the interview right before the party began complicated things a bit, and we were overwhelmed to see the number of people who were already waiting in line. Thank goodness we have amazing, take-charge, selfless friends who just took charge of the whole evening. Caught up in some type of time warp, I think I had talked to over a hundred people and thought this party must be close to over, when I realized that only a half hour had lapsed.

Cousins embrace with the long line of folks waiting to see the graduate.

At one point in the evening, we were completely surprised by the arrival of two great aunts and several cousins who had been keeping their arrival a complete surprise. Sister says that the unbridled laughter that erupted from me, upon seeing them was the best part of the party.

Classmates, friends, neighbors, a few teachers, church family, fellow Scouts, 4Hers, and Special Olympians, and first responders just kept filing in. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. Just like every Reed’s Run, I think I got about three bites of food in the entire evening. Thanking each one for coming, and of course, hugging as many as I could was simple incredible.

At one point in the evening, I stepped back and simply observed all the love that filled that room. I had to will myself not to let the tears come pouring out. People wouldn’t understand. The message would be misread. They weren’t tears of sadness. No, honestly they were healing tears of joy! I didn’t expect it, but a flood of soothing healing for my heart came pouring in. A tragedy had intertwined our lives, but tonight we stood together in celebration. Only God could have dreamed that was possible!

All those came in love and support of a pretty amazing young man. That alone was enough to bring tears of joy. It is a beautiful gift to be loved. Many of those in attendance would have shown up two years earlier for Reed’s graduation had he lived beyond the seventh grade, and many had come over the years to Reed’s Run. But this celebration was different. Tonight was pure bliss, nothing bittersweet. Our boy didn’t merely live, he was thriving and touching the lives of many. My Boy Wonder’s small and very sweet gesture provided healing not only for me, but most likely did the same for the last group of people to see Reed alive.

One Easter table conversation, divinely appointed, led to one tiny note which had God-sized dreams written all over it, and for that I am incredibly awed and humbled.

Here is the link to the story about Sawyer’s gesture. A special thanks to Nina Moini and the WCCO news team for this link.

Survivor Of 2008 School Bus Crash Graduates As Valedictorian

Cowabunga Dude

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Growing up, I was the only girl on one side of my extended family for many years. Then, they just kept bringing home one little girl after another for a lot of years. When it was just me and the boys, I learned to love a lot of things that my brother and cousins did. Do not get me wrong. I was ALL GIRL, playing countless hours of dollies dreaming of the day I would have a huge family, but I loved baseball, football, muscle cars, building things, and superheroes as much as they did. I am so thankful those conventions of my childhood are starting to break down.

The first weekend I met my future in-laws we took all the grandkids (one niece and two nephews at that time) to a petting zoo. I don’t remember why there was a petting zoo, but I do recall pushing the old umbrella style stroller with my little tow-headed niece down the streets of Leeds, North Dakota.

From the first moment, I was smitten. If I wasn’t going to marry this wonderful guy, could I, at least, keep these kiddos and this family? When I later learned that the oldest nephew loved a certain clan of superheroes, this news only solidified my thoughts of love at first sight. My future nephew’s favorite was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. For years, my sweetie and I would search high and low to find the perfect TMNT items for Derek’s gifts for Christmas and birthday. Whenever we would visit, we would watch the cartoons together. All these years later, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Master Splinter feel like old friends. I can never take a home-baked pizza out of the oven, and not think of one of the turtles wearing oven mitts doing the same thing.

Over the years, his interests changed as he grew and matured, and he is now a husband and daddy himself. But I never forgot about all the hours we would spend bonding over the latest way our favorite mutant reptiles would battle Shredder and his lackeys, Bebop and Rocksteady. Many times in my daydreams, I remember joy savored in the days long gone. So this last year I put my mind to preserving some of that joy by making a quilt for Derek and his little girl for his birthday and her Christmas present.

I thought this would be a great plan since our TMNT friends were making a comeback. Maybe if I lived in a larger area or maybe if I was a last minute gift planner, that plan would have come to fruition easier. It however did not. I could not physically find fabric anywhere. Rather than despairing, I called my sister (I dropped the in-law moniker years ago) and asked if by chance she had saved any of the bedding our boy had years ago. Not only did she, but she had just ran across it! As a busy mom of busy kids, knowing where something is located is a incredible feat in and of itself.

Words do not adequately express how thrilled I was when I got the flannel fitted sheet, but I will confess to being more than a little nervous. This worn flannel was a precious part of his childhood. I had a hard time cutting it into quilt squares. Once I finally mustered the courage, there was no turning back. I wanted the quilt to be cuddle sized for each recipient, and I wanted a simple design that exuded all things cartoon turtle. It didn’t take long to choose a fleece blanket backing with flannel squares in orange (for Mikey), red (for Raph), blue (for Leo), purple (for Donnie), and turtle green. The only difference between daddy’s and daughter’s quilts would be the addition of some denim squares in the larger quilt and a different sized quilt blocks due to the nature of the repeating pattern of the original sheet.

She shops around for the best yarns and cottons, and enjoys knitting and sewing. ~Proverbs 31:13 (MSG)

While I love quilting, cutting squares is not always my favorite thing to do. I chalk it up to having tiny hands; so I did have more than a few helpers on that part. The piecing and simple tie quilting were all my handiwork and I loved every minute of it. What an honor to accumulate those three original nieces and nephews and to have added four more on that side of the family and five more on the other side of the family! My dreams of a huge family came true, and with that dream came more blessings than I can even count, including these two cuddle bugs for sure.

Thanking God today for all the little boys and girls in my life over the years, and all the great adventures they have added to my world! Cowabunga!

The Penny Dress

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Yesterday’s blog shared about a family tradition I share with my daughters – a special trip to Chicago. Before I went with my oldest daughter, we spent hours paging through the American Girl catalog to pick exactly the perfect doll (or in her case, dolls) to purchase. Once her selection was narrowed down, we asked my grandmother, Mama, who was once a professional seamstress in the famed sewing room featured in the movie, Norma Rae, to sew a matching set of dresses for my all-American girl and her baby doll. That spring, we gathered all the material, notions and patterns to mail to Alabama.

When we called Mama to ask if she could possibly make the dresses, she said “Yes”, but under one condition. It was going to cost Erin – one penny. A tradition started by my cousin’s daughter who once took a couple pennies out of her pocket to pay Mama when she made her a beautiful dress for a school function. The fabric of families is held together by the traditions we weave. My tiny girl agreed to those terms.

The seamstress and the customer a year before the girls’ trip.

Shortly before our trip, the new dresses arrived in the mail. They were absolutely stunning. The first layer was a blue gingham sundress, reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie. The second layer was a gauzy and sheer coverlet, depicting scenes from the classic tale Winnie the Pooh. The tiny Sister (as she has always been called around here) couldn’t wait to put it on. (Looking back now, I wonder what happened, because we would have to pay her to wear dresses now.) We snapped a picture, penned a thank you drawing in childlike scribble, and attached the requisite payment.

When trip time came, the set was carefully wrapped in our luggage. Sister saved the dress for the big day – the one where we got to eat at the restaurant with her new babies. Yesterday, I mentioned that we were exposed to some insane behavior while waiting entry to the café. As much fun as enjoying a great meal while using our imaginations was, I don’t, for one minute, believe my daughter’s life would be irreparably damaged if it didn’t happen. That was mild compared to some of the other things we heard as we were being escorted to our seats.

Just when I thought all was safe, I was in no way prepared for watching the exchange that followed shortly thereafter. We had snapped a few pictures with the girls while waiting for our orders to be taken. It was during this time that a mom came rushing over to the table to inquire about Sister’s dress.

In about the most exasperated tone: Where did you get that dress? Dahling, I simply must have it! Wherever did you find it? I have looked this entire store over, and I KNOW that dress is not in this store.

Now in this lady’s defense, outside of our table most of the little girls and dolls were wearing matching outfits that had been previously purchased at the American Girl store.

My eyebrows almost reached my hairline on this one. Just as I was about to open my mouth to explain, the spitfire, known as Sister, popped up out of her chair, plopped her hands on her little hips, and stood eyeball to eyeball (okay probably more like eyeball to hip, but her confidence exuded eyeball), and said, “My Mama made it, and I paid a penny for it.”

Mouth agape, the woman turned and looked at me. I thought she somewhat deserved the sassy retort. When I explained Sister had asked her great-grandmother to make the dresses, the inquisitor was saddened to learn she couldn’t purchase one for her little girl. As she turned to walk away, she said with all sincerity, “You are one lucky little girl.”

Lady, you don’t know the half of it.

The little girl who almost wasn’t, because she was born dead and brought back to life, was about the most adored little Southern girl, north of the Mason Dixon line. Not a day goes by that we don’t forget that she is a miracle just being here. She is a beloved child of God, who let us have her despite her rough start.

The homemade little dress is beautiful. My Mama’s stitching is incredible, but it pales in comparison to God’s handiwork of love, the creation of a family. Someday she will pass the dress (which is safely tucked away) to her little girl. And when she does, she will able to tell of all the love that her Mama sewed in every stitch of a penny dress!

To laugh again . . .

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The first time I saw Sawyer the night of the bus crash was most the surreal moment of that evening. I already knew that Reed was gone, as did Daniel, but neither thought the other knew, as we were trying to protect the other one and deal with the horrors right in front of us. Wrapped in warm blankets to keep him from going into shock and barely lucid as medications were keeping him in a state of medically induced numbness, all that was exposed when I leaned over to kiss him were his face and ears, every inch wrapped tight. Before my lips reached his forehead, my eyes saw his ears filled with glass and bright yellow bus paint. This was much worse than the broken leg I had been told at the school. When I arrived at the hospital with my pastor and his wife along with two teacher friends, all I wanted to do was see Reed. I didn’t love Sawyer any less, but shattered bones heal. My heart longed to prove the news of our redheaded boy wrong, a case of mistaken identity. The hospital staff would not let me see Reed until I saw Sawyer because there were decisions we needed to make to save his life. When I saw the horrors of the day filling his precious ears, ones that look exactly like his grandfather’s, all the remaining joy from my world was sucked away.

The next morning when the nurses came to give Sawyer his first “bath”, they wanted to wash away the very visual reminders that still lingered. A tray full of glass fell out of his thick hair, and when they turned him over, other than those chubby, signature cheeks, there wasn’t a spot not covered in bruises, cuts, or stitches. For over a day, we were able to keep the news of Reed’s death away from him. Then an incident that I share more in depth in my upcoming book happened, and we knew that we were not going to be able to hold our secret much longer. The rest of the world was going on as we were suspended in some kind of distorted reality. He was in so much pain, and we wanted to insulate him from more.

Meeting with the grief counselor before we talked with him, I remember very distinctly saying that someday our family would laugh again. Our counselor, Mark, wiped away tears as he remarked we were incredibly strong people (I felt anything but strong) and how he was moved by our faith. We had some choices to make about our next steps, along with the words we would use to explain Reed’s absence, and our determination focused on how we would not ever let this define us, we would not allow our house (whenever we could return there) become a place of overwhelming sadness, and we would always let our love of Jesus carry us through. Visual images of Jesus laughing with little children became a real driving force in the days we endured. This could not have been more real than at the conclusion of Reed’s Celebration of Life. As the casket containing his earthly body was wheeled away, we had asked for the Star Wars theme to be played. Tears of sadness turned to tears of laughter as those present recognized the familiar tune, while our three pastors presided over the whole affair with light sabers. We could only imagine that Reed and Jesus laughed.

The first month, very little laughing, especially purposeful belly chuckling, occurred. As much as I wanted to crawl in a hole and lay next to Reed, I knew what that would say to our other children. No matter how badly we hurt, I did not want them to ever feel that they were second best, and there would be nothing worth living for now that our oldest was gone. While convalescing at home, we watched many movies to fill our minutes, the very minutes we were living through one by one. Although there were probably many opportunities to laugh, it didn’t come as naturally as it once did.

I remember very distinctly the first belly chuckle laugh that came bubbling out, despite my wanting it to. Even though we had made those promises to our future at the hospital, I wasn’t ready to live again when I really did laugh. I felt almost guilty doing so, because Reed would never laugh again. Sawyer was hurting so much we were willing to loosen our parental veto to let him watch a television show that I would not normally approve, and even Grandma said nothing about the show’s snarky sass. If you like The Simpson’s, this is not meant as a judgment, it simply wasn’t the type of show I wanted my eleven-year-old watching. He, however, found it amusing in his swirling cloud of pain medications.

I have a really bad habit of zeroing in on things that tickle my funny bone about the same time I am drinking something. Not very lady-like, but more than once, I have snorted sweet tea through my nose because of this unfortunate timing. Somehow this very thing would have produced rolling on the floor giggles from both my boys. This was no exception during the opening for the cartoon which snuck right up on me. As Marge flips through the mail containing a postcard from some exotic place, she reads the penned words while the audience sees the picture on the front featuring a voluptuous bikini-clad brunette with the words, “Wish you were her”. No that is not a typo on my part, nor is the humor all that funny, but at that moment a tea-snorting chuckle came bursting forth despite my best efforts to hold it in.

Until that moment, our nights had been sleepless, filled with agonizing pain-induced screams and night terrors and our days with sadness, grief, being overwhelmed, and bitterness. I did not want to laugh because I wasn’t ready to replace those things with something as ridiculous as base humor.

However, through the prayers of many and the determination to not merely survive, laugh I did! It was a pivotal point of new beginnings, replacing all those negative things with love filled ones. More chuckles and laughs came (as did more tears), until eventually the day came when we laughed so hard we cried. After that came the point where we looked for ways to make other people laugh, something for a while I never fathomed possible. I am incredibly thankful God had other plans as those moments of joy did finally come.

Hoping laughter finds you in your corner of the world today.

On a recent girl’s trip, Cloie with her American Girl doll, Kit, got a little carried away with the window washing equipment. That experience proved to be too much for the poor doll.

Even the workers at Chicago 360 chuckled at our antics. Poor Kit passed out from the height.

May your Christmas be Merry & Bright!

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Photo by Inspired Portrait Photography

This is the first family picture we have taken by a photographer who was not a close family friend because we struggle so much not having Reed in the picture. The empty chair melted our hearts. And if you know me at all, the photographer is now a friend.

I have finally found a few minutes to sit down and write our family’s newsletter. We have gone from one sports season to another, and it seems that we are never too far from the bleacher view of the world. It is a good thing that Santa gave us bleacher seats a few years ago. Recently, I have been teaching 2^nd grade again at a local charter school which has certainly kept me busy. I loved every minute of it. Other than adjunct teaching at the university, I have kept busy with writing, gardening, crafting, and working in my new ministry, Sweet Grace – all things that I love. Following God’s will, my ministry took me all the way to Kentucky to meet new sisters in Christ. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I returned to a long lost love this year, as I took on the position of Cheer Coach for a football team Sawyer coaches. After sewing skirts and a huge breakaway banner, I discovered – once a cheerleader might have some merit.

Daniel is still with the Schwan Food Company, working as an analyst. He enjoys hunting, including the annual trip to Montana for mule deer. He has snuck in some motorcycling, fishing, and volunteering with the Hunter Safety classes. He enjoys a good project, and this year he finished the remodeling of our basement as well as the upstairs bathroom, laying new flooring for Cloie’s room, and building a new fence for the hot tub. However, if our kids are playing somewhere, all that goes on the backburner. Following our kids’ activities is his number one hobby – hands down.

We all loved attending the Nowatzki family reunion, going to the Brookings Children Museum, and our super fun Easter weekend day trip to Sioux Falls. For Reed’s birthday, we went hiking in his favorite state park and made cheetahs for his legacy program at the hospital where he passed. We made a special trip to the Ronald McDonald House to donate stuffed cheetahs and golden retrievers. It was an amazing day to remember and to count our blessings.

Sawyer and Rachel take Brayden (one of Reed's friends to the prom).

Sawyer and Rachel took Brayden (one of Reed’s friends) to the prom.

Sawyer is still our gentle giant. It is rare to meet a kid that isn’t instantly drawn to him. He is now a junior in high school, and he is so active that we seldom see him. He earned letters in Math League and Football this year. He wasn’t able to participate in golf this past spring. (More on that below) He enjoyed attending HOBY Leadership and “med school” camp this summer. He is president of our 4H club, FCA leader, Jazz Band Member, president of the Junior class, and a youth leader for his youth group. If you were to ask him, he would probably list two things as his greatest accomplishments this year. First, he is almost done with reading through the Bible in a year, and second, he led the Pumas (the Special Olympics football team he coaches) to an undefeated season, including a trip to play at the Minnesota Vikings Winter Park. All too soon, we will be making college visits, and he works very hard to stay up on his studies.

Erin is a freshman this year. Playing college basketball is her dream, and she has spent countless hours to work toward that goal. She played on her AAU team last spring in the Twin Cities, where she was nicknamed Super Star by her coach, and spent the summer trying to reach a goal of 20,000 made shots. She did it, and we are seeing all that hard work pay off as she currently plays one half of the B squad and both halves of the varsity game. Erin is a much sought after babysitter, and she has some neighborhood kids who adore her. Aside from basketball, Erin plays first base in softball, is a Student Council Member, Vice-President of the 4H club, and active in youth group & FCA. Daniel is not thrilled that boys have discovered her as more than one of the ball playing chums. Seriously, he doesn’t like it all.

Cloie turned 9 years old a week ago. Where did the time go? I think all of us big people are really struggling to see our baby grow up. Following her big sister’s footsteps, she played basketball last winter and is looking forward to that again in the New Year. She has been drug along to watch her siblings play sports since she was born, but we never realized how much she actually took in. During a game last year, she had her hand in the face of the girl she was guarding. The girl swatted her hand and told her to stop doing that. She responded with “You must not know a lot about basketball because this is how you defend someone.” Her biggest goal is to become a professional singer like her musical idol – Taylor Swift. Erin & I surprised her with a trip to Fargo to see Taylor in concert, which she loved every minute. Currently, she takes piano, ukulele, and voice lessons. Three times, she has sung the National Anthem at our school, and each time received uproarious applause. She is also active in 4H with the big kids, loves all things Lego, and writing her own songs. One of the highlights of her year was having both Grandmas at her house for a few days – at the same time.

I have struggled with writing this newsletter because our year has had some dark patches. Reed’s graduation was this year, and all of us were heartbroken. It was a sadness that loomed over us for months, both before and after the actual commencement. Additionally, Sawyer had surgeries 6, 7, and 8 that were a direct result of his injuries from the bus crash. http://www.ksfy.com/story/23281897/avera-medical-minute-am-using-surgery-to-move-past-tragedy The surgery featured in this news story was the one that kept him from golf. Over the summer, Sawyer contracted mono which led to a late start of the football season for him. Then after years of pursuing some issues Erin has had, we felt like we had been punched in the stomach when we were told that her nose had been broken on the bus which had caused all sorts of problems and exacerbated other ones. At times, it felt as if crisis was the only thing we knew how to do well.

I did the only thing I knew to do which was pray and try to cling as close to God as I knew how. For those who follow this blog, I am sorry that it has been unusually silent. I have spent the time rediscovering what joy really means. I promise I have a lot to share on what God has taught me during this writing sabbatical.

Today’s devotion reminded me of all that I have been working on with God. His gentle ways have shown me that the origin of my joy began on that first Christmas day.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death, upon them a light has shined. Isaiah 9:2

Yes, we have walked in dark places, but Christmas as foretold by Isaiah, provided an everlasting Light that shines so brightly in our darkness. And guess what? We may have to walk in other dark places, but we will never truly be in the dark alone. THAT is something for which to be truly JOYFUL!

We opened this newsletter with our portraits, but we will close with a couple pictures of the real Team Stevens – the ones who love Jesus and love a good laugh.

Oh yeah – the ones who are really fond of superheroes!

Everyone needs a corner station

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Today marks the end of an era in my neighborhood, and I am not happy about it. We have lived in this town for a little under seventeen years, and this has been my gas station all through that time. Len’s Southside has been the place where I began to go out of necessity. Who wants to pump gas in the middle of one of the worst winters on record with a precocious toddler on her hip while being 8 months pregnant? I know of no woman who would say yes to that scenario.

Convenience. I admit it. My “relationship” with the father and son dynamic duo began as a mutually beneficial one. I needed gas, and they needed customers. Over the years however that relationship changed. It really had very little to do on my part (or the other beloved customers’ parts either). It was the way these gentle men put service into service station.

When you came to the corner of Greeley and West College Drive, you came home. Everyone was treated that way. The last full service station in our town was the place to come to fill more than just your tank. Over the years, we have swapped fishing and hunting tales. It is Minnesota after all; so, of course, we talked about the weather. We have chatted about school, sports, and pigeons. The elder was so excited to learn that we raise them; because back in the day, he did too.

On more than one occasion, my husband has accused me of frequenting the station because I like to “flirt” with older men. But as he watched our “relationship” evolve, he began to refer to Len and Jeff as my dad and brother. No one chuckled more than my sweetie when I came home after buying a scooter and told of how my “family” at the station had chided me at least seven times “to just be careful on that thing”.

Of course, the brotherly and fatherly “interference” didn’t stop there because I do have a tendency to push ‘er to the limit on remembering to fill up. More than once I coasted in on fumes, guided along by angels’ wings and several prayers – mine. Len would always just smile the knowing smile, and Jeff would slip in a “Well you sure went a little far this time”.

When tragedy struck both families in different ways, our bond was forever solidified. We prayed for each other through the loss of a son and mother battling (and winning) with cancer. Hearing updates on her progress often brought me to tears, as I can only imagine watching my heart break did to theirs.

Gardening was another love we shared. When “Mom” wasn’t able to tend a garden during treatments, I would send my kiddos on a cycling mission to pedal the bounty from our garden down to the station. Today the last day of the shop being open, I couldn’t help myself; I just had to bring them a basket of love.

Two of the finest gentlemen you will ever meet!

I filled up my old van yesterday because, honestly, I am not the only one who will miss them, and I was afraid that they might run out of gas before today. There was a beautiful sign up in front thanking the family for 44 years of service. My littlest and I enjoyed cookies and lemonade on a sweltering day. She enjoyed the treats, while I reminisced about all the memories we have shared.

When they showed me the proclamation, from the mayor, which was ceremoniously bestowed earlier that morning, I started to cry. Tears of sadness – for the loss of tradition of serving others that truly made a mom and pop gas station a place of refuge. Tears of joy – for living in a town that took the time to recognize two of the sweetest men you could ever meet. Tears of pride – for two men who just feel like family, knowing in my heart that gentlemen like that are treasures indeed!

Good luck on your next adventure! You will be missed!

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Tag Archives: Family

Returning home

Just enjoying the day

The day his coat came home

Gotcha Day

The healing came rushing in

Cowabunga Dude

The Penny Dress

To laugh again . . .

Everyone needs a corner station