Tag Archives: joy

Choosing one word . . .

As a science teacher, more than once I have performed demonstrations for my students explaining how when given the chance air will rush into a vacuum. Recently, I have come to terms that a similar phenomenon occurred in our home to attempt to fill the deep, aching, empty hole left in our hearts by our darkest day. The hurt so profound, so full of void, we allowed many different things (often material but sometimes time wasters) to rush into that dark emptiness. Much like the wonder of gravitational attraction between objects, our hearts’ songs were so mournful they had a pull on the people around us who also tried to help us fill the hole with gifts of love. The resultant aftermath was a lot of clutter – physical and emotional – which simply created chaos in our home and in my heart.

Almost three years ago now, we began a long and perilous journey to reclaim our space which meant remodeling projects throughout our house, but more importantly having real conversations regarding what we really wanted out of life. The last of those projects is nearing completion. As we finished each room, gut-wrenching conversations were required to determine what would stay and what we could allow someone else to love.

As that process unfolded, we realized things and thought-numbing activities consumed our life, in more ways than one, and even worse, we were missing out on living. There I said it. In an effort to fill the hole, we allowed unsubstantial things to fill the broken fissures of our hearts. The one thing we didn’t want to do after Reed passed – which was stop living because there is no way no how he would have ever wanted us to do that – was slowly happening, and we needed to take drastic measures to stop it.

When your heart hurts, it is so easy to find something – anything that will stop the hurt even for a fleeting moment. Leaning into our grief by letting go of artificial hole-fillers, we were deliberate in our pursuit for joy. JOY – our one word theme for last year! In tiny incremental steps, we began our search. We soon found all sorts of sources, in the most unexpected of places – the impromptu gathering with friends, the snowstorm safe at home, the taste of wonderful new recipe, the prayers of friends, the laughter of our kids, a shooting star while sitting in the hot tub, the nuzzle by wet nose of an old dog, meeting for lunch and realizing you are still at the restaurant at supper. Joy was hidden right under noses, but previously we were too encumbered to notice it. As a natural off-shoot, we uncovered joy hidden in verses as God continued to minister to us, almost like wiping our eyes with divine spittle. Our broken hearts began to feel lighter.

As the year unfolded, we began to pray about our next theme word; although I don’t believe the search for joy will leave us for quite some time. We wanted a new word which would continue to bring us closer to God and enable Him to still mend our broken places.

Music stirs my soul and next to creation, it is the place where I often get lost in God’s beauty. Last week was a rough one, filled with doctor and therapy appointments. On my drive back from dropping the Girl Awesome at school, I heard this song on Christian radio.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtXwX4Gt1Pc

From the artists’ lips to my soul, it was too much for me. I had to pull over to the side of the road, my vision too clouded by the gigantic tears falling down. The new word had been dancing into my thoughts for weeks. Hearing the lyrics was the confirmation I needed that “content” was exactly the word for us. I simply want to soak in the grace, love, mercy, and beauty that God has provided for me. I never want to fill my days, my thoughts, my heart with anything other than that.

God I run into your arms, unashamed because of your mercy . . . some day that is going to be me. A full out arms open wide dash similar to the time I ran into the arms of my Granddaddy while being chased by a goat which escaped the circus, I plan on hugging Jesus and his Daddy. I want to hug Reed and rock my babies. I am truly overwhelmed by how much He has given my family. Finding joy was a journey, and now, I am choosing to not get caught up in racing thoughts of details, worries, doubts, or fears (behaviors of which if am not a pro, then I am definitely an Olympic medalist) and simply be content with what God has provided.

Content in every avenue of my life will take a big effort. Choosing to be present in whatever path God lays my feet will be the first step. My initial search for Bible verses proved to be fruitful. We are using this verse to guide us as we search to be content in what we eat and wear, we decide to purchase, we choose to spend our time, in how we fill our moments and our days, and most importantly, in how we accept what God provides in plenty and in want. All the while hoping and praying contentment draws us closer to God.

Friends, this world is not your home, so don’t make yourselves cozy in it. Don’t indulge your ego at the expense of your soul. 1 Peter 2:11 (MSG)

Wherever God finds you today, may it be wrapped in the arms of his love! True contentment!

*Special note: Somehow sitting on the side of the highway, praising my heavenly Father, I knew this song had something to do with Africa. Honestly, I don’t know how or why I knew that – other than the children’s voices at the end of the song. I have two special connections to that continent. One is to an orphanage in Uganda (more on that at a future date), and the other is to our first adopted college student, James from Kenya. Although he is back home now with his family (and our adopted grandchildren), he is never far from our hearts. When I got home and saw the video, more tears easily fell as I praised God for our loves a world away.

7 days: and just like that

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Yesterday’s post wasn’t meant to be marching orders, but somehow God knew I was going to have a rough night. During the day when my emotions get the best of me, I lay down for a nap to ease my racing thoughts. Generally, naps are a miracle tonic for me providing refreshment, rejuvenation, and a calmer spirit. When people quip about how much I do in a day exhausts them, I always say the secret to my success is taking naps.

Last night had a combination of things go wrong, but the fact that I drank a Coke at eight o’clock probably did not help anything. For me, nighttime is the enemy’s playground. All my worst fears play out as nightmares and my old (looking for joy has really helped curbed this) habit of worrying until I made myself physically sick generally happen under the cloak of darkness. Sadness, fear, worry, doubt, guilt, and second guessing all sneak out from the under the bed or hide behind the closet doors, waiting to pounce once the sun goes down.

In the days following the crash, nightmares would have seemed like child’s play compared to the almost hallucinogenic night terrors we endured every night. I don’t believe in self-medicating, but if there had been some type of coma inducing sleep medicine we could have taken as a family, I would have signed on the dotted line. Personally, I clung to the shortest Bible verse in existence. Jesus wept. John 11:35 (NIV) There were only two things that made sense – we are strong and we will get through this.

Time and time again, friends, family, and sometimes strangers beat the drum to help us rally through tough moments. After turning out the lights last night, the familiar rhythmic beat of love started pounding. Lying in bed, the familiar ding and flashing blue light told me a text message had come in. For more than an hour, I poured my heart out to a friend who knew I needed someone to listen. Her gentle message was one of hope and encouragement not only for me, but also for one of my peeps.

The remainder of the night was spent in fits and spurts of sleep alternated with dichotomous thoughts of staying in bed or just getting up and doing something. It wasn’t sadness and despair, but simply a lot of ruminating thoughts I needed to accomplish. While too much caffeine was also a contributor, I think I just needed time to reflect and talk to God.

After my morning routine, I decided to check my emails, and just like that, God once again nudged someone to reach out and touch my heart. A dear friend who moved to half way around the world wanted me to know that Reed’s light mattered. She had recently reminded me of this in an another message, but this morning I woke up to three pictures she had stumbled across of a magical day that we had spent at her place. In the blink of an eye, I was transported back to the day of gentle blowing breezes, the river light-heartedly lapping at its banks, sunlight dappling through spring green leaves, and air punctuated by a million questions from my children.

Bliss! Pure bliss was the gift she gave me today. Her three snapshots were my modern day gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Reed’s light is shining through her heart too! What a wonderful reminder that God’s word is emphatically true. . .

Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5

The day we made fairy gardens was one of the most magical days!

On this last photo, I can almost hear my Granddaddy whisper from heaven, “Sister, get her hair out of her eyes.”

Mary’s heart (Had I known?)

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Many years ago, I attended a Christian mom’s conference. In attendance was a recording artist, who I wish that I could remember her name. At the conclusion of the two-day event, she sang a song that asked and answered what she would have done if she was Mary, the mother of Jesus. Her song moved me to tears. At the time, I had just recently used my experience as a miscarriage mom to help one of my friends through the loss of a baby. The song ripped the recently formed new scab on an old scar. Losing a child at any point is a tender wound for life.

This week a new friend shared a question that brought her some comfort following the death of her daughter. “Would you have done anything differently if you had known?” I think this is a question grieving parents often ask themselves. I know that I do. Of course, there are trillions of things we would do differently. What the heart would choose, however, is so vastly different than life’s reality. What truly matters is God chose us to be the parents of Reed (and our three miscarried babies), and we loved them all the very best ways we could.

Today marks an anniversary in God’s love story that is both mourned and celebrated by Christians worldwide, now and throughout history. Symbolically representing the day Jesus had his last supper, The Last Supper, with his disciples, we remember the words he tried to convey about what was coming. For me, like the words sang at that conference, I have to wonder if Mary understood what he meant. Did she know? If she did, would she have done anything differently?

I have been thinking what her thoughts would have been like for about a month now.

Tomorrow, our church will host a Good Friday service with various members acting out what it might have been like for witnesses to Jesus’ life and death. I am one of the participants, playing Jesus’ mom. I will admit to being honored in the asking, but will readily confess that the writing of this script was more challenging than I could have ever imagined.

I have spent time thinking about Mary’s life through a lens that I never had before – that of a grieving mom. Do not get me wrong! As much as I love him, Reed was not the Savior of the world. That hasn’t been the challenge. The difficulty lies in knowing the pain of losing a child, the anguish that a mother feels. I know what I wanted to do (and did); so, I can only imagine that Mary wanted to do (and perhaps did) some of the same things.

All her questions waiting to be answered simply did not make sense while her beautiful baby boy hung on a cross. Waiting to see how God would use this hurt definitely resonates between her heart and mine. Baring her heart and soul and not knowing where it would lead, I understand that too. Knowing that today, this pain is the greatest, hardest, most challenging difficulty I have ever endured as well as not knowing if I could physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, and mentally weather a blow of this magnitude. Those are shoes I can comfortably wear.

Trying to get inside her head, feeling that I could understand her heart, was an emotional task. Throughout all my preparations, I just wanted to hug her. To tell her that she would survive this, she would be able to get through it, and with God’s help, she would someday feel joy again.

But then again, tomorrow is only Friday, and Sunday’s coming.

The day came when she knew all of those things for herself.

Easter has always been my favorite holiday, but since the death of my son, the death (and more importantly RESURRECTION) of God’s (and Mary’s) son has the utmost significance to me. That comforting hug I want to share with Mary? Someday, because of the willing obedience of her Son, I will get to do just that.

But on that day, there will be no tears. My questions will lose their significance, as I can only imagine so did Mary’s.

No tears. No sadness. Only JOY!

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal! Thomas Moore

A letter to the Leprechauns

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I know we’ve never actually met, but I want to thank you for showing my family joy in the little moments of life. Your arrival each year seems to be at the point when we are all officially tired of winter and a bad case of the “blah’s” has set in. Having something fun and mysterious to brighten our days definitely provides a much needed boost.

I don’t know if word got back to you about the words I wrote last year, but some things never change. The universal truth about children who believe in leprechauns is that they all want to catch one. Whether because of folklore or family stories passed down through generations, there is something irresistibly enchanting about capturing one of you. I can only imagine that idea sends shivers down your little spines. Almost if by magic, the turning of the calendar page to the month of March creates in children an obsession with all things engineering and creative, if not wistfully enticing.

What you probably don’t know was how much I needed your visit to spread some fun and laughter. Time stands still for no one . . . especially our children who each day grow and mature into amazing young people. Perhaps it is because Reed was taken from us much too young or perhaps it is because my heart wants my children to stay little forever just like Peter Pan, I am simply not ready for one of them to launch into the world.

Strapped in with a warm blanket, I rode that roller coaster of emotions on the eve of your visit. Watching a movie which poignantly depicted a young man going away to college, I broke down and sobbed. While you were whispering in the wind before your stop at our home, my heart wrenched at the thought that someday soon that same scene will be one in which I play a part. The movie was delightfully entertaining, but I went to bed with a heavy heart.

As I lay sleepless in bed, my thoughts went back to a tender moment at Reed’s services when a mom, who had walked in my shoes, whispered as she hugged me. “I am thanking God that you have Cloie.” Those same words had they come from anyone else probably would not have been etched in my heart. Even so, at the time, I didn’t know how wise she really was. The last thoughts in my head, as my eyes succumbed to the weariness of the day, were her encouraging words.

I will admit to having a lingering thought of what would await me the next day because many a St. Patrick’s morn have been spent cleaning up the ~~mess~~ adventure you have left for my children.

Because of the late hour of my slumber, I did not stir until I heard the wee one (as you call her) cry out, “Oh dear! What have they done with bacon!” Nothing will quite wake up a momma quicker than the thought of cured salt pork smeared all over her house. Her astonished cries were followed by tender, gentle cooing for her favorite porcine stuffy, Bacon. She cuddled and caressed him to make sure he wasn’t too traumatized. Bacon (with a capital B) – not bacon (the breakfast food) – was snuck away from her safe little arms where he spends all of his nights and stuffed inside the trap that had been meant to catch one of you. (Of course, you all know that.)

I know you might not believe this, since so far, my children’s track record has not been very welcoming or inviting to you three. The same compassion she lavished on her stuffed friend was utilized when she jumped out of her warm bed to get you a soft towel because she couldn’t bear the thought of one of you spending a night cold and wet on hard rocks.

Floating away on the morning air, the heaviness of my heart was lifted as I watched her comfort her beloved pig. She spent the next few minutes examining the traps (Shoe Mart and Diving for Gold) to see what went wrong and what she could possibly do to improve her chances of ~~capturing~~ meeting you next year. You probably should have untied the harness, because now she has a pretty good idea exactly how big you are.

Thank you for always bringing us laughter. But mostly, thank you for reminding this momma to not worry about what tomorrow’s troubles will hold.

Today’s childhood is something to be savored.

Seamus, Finnegan, and O’Malley – wherever you are out in the world I thank you. Your “presence” in our lives is the perfect reminder to enjoy the moments that are within your grasp because that is where the magic really lies.

Until next year, my little Irish friends, be safe and enjoy that vacation in Barbados (0r wherever you end up). You deserve it!

We’re back

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When my boys were little, one of their favorite movies was a dinosaur classic. We’re Back was where the dinosaurs return from the dawn of time, through the miracle of time travel and some brain grain, to live in modern times. When the dinosaurs romp down the streets in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade singing, “Roll Back the Rock”, it didn’t matter what I was doing because Reed would beckon me to come and dance with him. I could be covered in flour or soap suds, but to him, it didn’t matter.

Getting our boogey on down, we would rock with the best of them. Holding his sweet little hand in mine, we would stomp and swirl, shimmy and giggle while a chubby cheeked toddler would laugh watching us. That, my friends, is pure joy – when you lose your adult inhibitions and get lost in your preschooler’s loving gaze – knowing at that moment you embody motherhood at its finest. You want to savor those moments forever.

Until the day, you don’t . . . which is exactly what happened to me this past year.

You lose your joy.

When you lose your happiness, you find quiet comforting. There I said it. I was sad. Heartachingly, gut-wrenchingly sad. Distraught. Overwhelmed. Frenetic. Chaotic. Heartbroken and sad.

It didn’t happen overnight. No, I would say it took about five years for it to crescendo into deafening silence.

There were many things that happened that literally ripped my heart in two. What feels like a never ending saga with the tragedy in our family played a familiar role, but so did a myriad of smaller things. Seasons in friendships changed, a health scare that frightened me, doors closed, dreams diverted, and quite simply the chaos of good intentions and overconsumption had brought a sense of darkness to our doors.

The hardest part about all of this was this was the first time that I wasn’t alone in my sadness. The floor opened up and swallowed us all. It is hard to be a cheerleader for a broken spirit of team.

In the fall of the year, I no longer felt like a cheerleader, let alone a candidate for Mother of the Year.

In the aftermath of our family’s darkest day, I had a conversation with someone who asked me some of the most unbelievable questions. I think she was blown away by my answers, but one such response summed up a large part of my sadness. When asked, “Other than the obvious things, what thing makes you the most heartbroken about your life right now?” My heartfelt reply was, “Being a red-shirted freshman.” I wanted to play in the game of life, and due to our circumstances, I simply could not.

Now here I was all these years later, and I had those same misgivings with a twist. With all the distractions and disruptions, I had forgotten how to be me. The authentic Kandy was tired. Worn-out. Exhausted. I wasn’t the mom I wanted to be, and that was breaking my heart. I had lost my joy, and I thought that at this juncture all these years later, we should be feeling better not worse.

But this is where the story starts to change. I retreated and clung as tight to God as I knew how. About the same time as my forced sabbatical, back into our lives came a friend who knew those days of dancing with little boys in the basement. Gently, she reminded me what joy looked like.

Poked and prodded by her love and the love of several others who picked up the cheerleading banner, I became encouragingly dogged in my pursuit to let go of expectations that were boxing me in, of old hurts that kept me a prisoner in my own doubts, and of chaos that didn’t fulfill us. I looked for the little things. Guess what? God showed me they were there the whole time. Making time for the little things, clinging to His promises, and reclaiming the things I enjoy were all beginning steps to understanding what I had allowed to steal my joy in the first place.

Just like catching my breath when encountering that first blast of arctic air, joy was something that I needed to clasp my hands and heart around as well.

During the bench-warming sad place, I communed with God to revisit the concept of joy. It was time well spent.

For this New Year, our family sat down and decided to follow through with the concept of a one word theme based off a devotional by the Fellowship of Christian Athletes organization. We had a family meeting where I offered that I thought “joy” might be a good word. One of our children enthusiastically concurred. What she said next spoken years of wisdom, belied by her actual age. “I agree with Mom. You know, sometimes because of our family’s story, we simply forget what joy is.” After a few murmuring assents, the vote was unanimous as we proclaimed three simple letters to be God’s cleansing tide for our souls for the next year.

We are going to search out and find joy in our lives, making it our battle cry. I don’t think Reed would want us to be perpetually sad, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that God never wanted us to lose sight of joy in our lives. It simply happened.

You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace Isaiah 55:12 (NIV)

Why family photo shoots go to new heights (or lows) with our family. Photos by Inspired Portraits

Just like that movie title – We’re back! And who knows?

You just might find us dancing in the basement somewhere along
that path.

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!

To laugh or to cry

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I recently shared that my oldest daughter had to undergo an extensive surgery due to injuries she received in our family’s darkest day. The part about this story that is so upsetting is that we had no idea that she had even hurt her nose. Sadly, my children are not the only ones who are continuing to find injuries that no one knew or even thought to check. These are the ones that can be seen on CT scans and X-rays, but there are a myriad of hurts that cannot be detected by modern technology.

This surgery which involved a septinoplasty and turbinoplasties (three of them) were to allow our girl to be able to breathe again – literally. For all these years, she had a non-functioning nose which was susceptible to sinus ailments and headaches. Erin’s dream is to play basketball for the glory of God above all else. As her momma (and one of her biggest fans), I was moved to tears this year when one of her specialty coaches told her that she believed that God gave you basketball as a platform, now go out there and shine your light for him.

Despite being a coach’s kid, I never played basketball. Tennis was my love, and I cannot for one minute, imagine playing that sport or any land sport without the ability to breathe through my nose. Honestly, I do not know how she has functioned all this time.

When the cause of her troubles was discovered, some things (aside from struggling for air in games) did start making sense. Food is just something she eats, not enjoys. She could never smell if there was an odd odor in our home. The icing of this ridiculous cake was when her baby sister explained that the different color candies tasted different, and she thought it was a joke.

Yesterday, she went for her first post-operative surgical appointment. I won’t divulge the gory details, but let’s just say for a squeamish girl, she was a little shell-shocked at the size of the stents removed by the surgeon. He asked if her expression was one of horror or disgust (as in if she wanted to kick him). Her one word answer, “Yeah”, quietly uttered, said it all.

The fact that her mother wanted to examine the stents (because she is after all a science teacher) probably pushed the envelope a little too far. Just one of the many things that will cause her embarrassment in her lifetime!

Her surgery, while definitely necessary, was somewhat radical for someone so young. This was her shot (pun intended) to get back to living and to experience life with some modicum of what everyone else does. In the back corners of my cerebral matter, I had to wonder if it was going to be worth it.

As we walked out of the hospital that day, I asked her if she could breathe better. She said that indeed she could, but she just had to get out of there. Thinking that she was still mad at the doctor, I joked that he could probably take it. She further explained that it was the hospital smells that were making her gag.

Did she just say what I think she said?

Later we walked into a store to pick a prescribed item, and her response was priceless. “Whoa! Smell overload!” I took a big inhale and realized she was right but I had just learned to tune that sensory overload out. But for her, it was like she had awoken from an olfactory coma.

Over the next few days, she has shared realizations about foods actually have tastes, smells that really bother her, and memories of how the hospital smell brought back memories of her brother’s stay in intensive care. Of course, her sister, who seems to have inherited my love of science, conducted an experiment by having her try each of the six flavors of Smarties, and yes, now she can discern a difference.

With each new discovery, we laugh, but a part of me wants to cry because of all she has missed. It has been over five years of having a deadened sense. From the early evidence, I would say that the surgery was more than worth it.

One day, while home playing nursemaid, I was reflecting on everything that has evolved from the firestorm our lives have been. To laugh or to cry played around in my head, partly because I felt that I had let her down. How could I not have known? During my devotion, God gave me a small glimmer into an analogy on this very concept.

He reminded me that sin (anything that keeps us separated from him) has the same effect on our spiritual senses. Whatever it is might start off rather benign. I have to believe that Erin could smell in the aftermath of the crash. But over time, our soul becomes desensitized to the effect it is having in our life. One day, we wake up and a myriad of other things have happened that simply do not make sense, and we are often left wondering where God is.

Wow! I was not expecting that answer when I was cuddled up, asking him to insulate my family and to help us get through this chapter of our story. Choosing joy. This seems to be a theme that time and again, God is pounding into my soul, and many times I AM my biggest stumbling block.

A little later, I had an overwhelming sense that laughter was indeed what he wanted from us. Not laughing at our circumstances, but laughing through them. And yes, that might mean, laughing at a budding scientist, using her big sister as a guinea pig. It may mean laughing when our girl realizes that not everyone smells pleasant following a grueling game.

The more we laugh, the more we are reminded that the Creator of laughter delights in our joy!

I am utterly and completely thankful that he does!

Psalm 30:5 Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. (AMP)

One of my favorite things about Erin is her ability to laugh with her whole spirit. Captured at our family photo shoot, this picture explains what I mean perfectly. Portrait by Inspired Portrait Photography.

Being still

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Photo courtesy of Lil’ Sprout Memories

A while back, I posted a blog http://kandynolesstevens.com/2013/09/09/i-cry/. The blog wasn’t difficult to write, but it was agonizingly hard to post. The shed tears were real. More salinated drops fell for some points, especially the ones for my children, than others. In the end, it was cathartic to write, because in doing so, the “monsters” don’t seem so threatening anymore. It is as if with each keystroke God allowed me to replace my sadness. Well, actually it isn’t replacement so much as relinquishment to the foot of his throne.

Why is the writing of such posts a beautiful process while the sharing of them such a challenge? At times, I feel like a modern-day Jacob wrestling with God. There are plenty of things that I write that are not published, but this time I had an overwhelming sense God wanted me to share my tears publicly.

I know I cannot circumvent the reality that losing a child is horrifyingly painful. Add to that raising injured and grieving children, and my pain at times feels like pulling back layers of an onion. Every time, I shed one layer, there is just another eye-stinging layer below. I get tired of removing layers. So much so the sharing of them with others becomes less and less interesting to me. I just don’t feel that broadcasting my pain is valuable other than to show my pain and weakness, not mention my doubts and failures. What good comes from that? Where is my purpose? Is this really God’s plan?

It is a good thing my ways are most definitely NOT God’s ways, because He continues to remind me I couldn’t be more wrong. As I was writing, “I Cry” I received a call from my sweet friends down in Kentucky. They went out to dinner and felt something was missing in the gathering. That something was their “Angel Girl” whom God brought into their lives this summer. I could “join” them as they passed the phone around the table. When the phone made it to Miss E, she shared that she didn’t understand why but felt that God wanted me to know that He would be replacing my clothes of despair with a garment of praise. She had no idea what I was writing at the exact moment my phone rang. I could barely choke out an audible syllable as her words bathed my soul in God’s love. She (through God’s prompting) gave me the exact words to share in my post. A message of hope, when in truth, I needed a good reminder.

And if I needed more proof, which I didn’t, God provided it. Within ten minutes of the blog posting, I received three messages (e-mail, text, and phone call) from dear, dear friends who said through their tears how thankful they were for someone to put into writing what their hearts were holding back. In only God’s intervention, my words became an anthem for others to be rocked gently by the continued message of hope. My heart’s desire is to honor God with everything I do. Slowly He is teaching me that the road to achieving that goal may be filled with bumps and bruises AND the sharing of them with others.

I don’t have to be the poster child for grief. Yet, in my most vulnerable moments, He has used my writing to reach out to the souls of others; thereby reclaiming my mess and making it a message. I never intended for my faith to be on display during our darkest moments, but that very faith that has sustained us. A life blood filtering from the one who shed his blood.

There has been a long lull between posts. The silence was not wasted. In the quiet time since my last post, I have used this time to literally be still, finding peace and rest in the arms of my Savior knowing that He does have a plan for all of this. I pray each and every day that He helps me to see it.

As I have shared in many previous posts, sometimes that message of love and hope for my life comes to me in a song. This time it came in the melodies of one of my favorite groups: Sidewalk Prophets. Their lyrics, like the words from my long-distance friends, touch me like God himself had them written just for me. Awed and humbled, I know if God can use the darkest moment of my life, He can for you too. Simply trust – He already has a plan in place.

Oh the cardinal!

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

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

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

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

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

The front porch at the Woodford Inn

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

Photo found at wunderground.com Credit given to cshirsch

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

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

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

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

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

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

Believe in Miracles!

Blessed is

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This last week has been one of wonders for me. So instead of a traditional blog with a story, I am going to just tell it in snippets with a few pictures thrown in for good measure.

Bliss is working together as a family for four days straight side-by-side to reach a common goal.

Celebration is seeing the chaos of your life begin to dissipate.

Awe is discovering that wayward tree growing in your lilac bushes is actually a mulberry tree your boys planted years ago on Arbor Day.

Happiness is realizing you didn’t cut it down when you first discovered its appearance above the hedge.

Wonder is spending forty-five minutes watching monarch caterpillars munch on milkweed leaves in your garden.

Satisfaction is realizing that when others thought you were weird for planting milkweed you were confident God would bring the butterflies.

Excitement is letting out a squeal of delight when you see the life-sized mechanical dinosaur move.

(Of course, this kind of delight may cause one of your best friends to almost run off the road.)

Thankfulness is knowing she loves you anyways – even if you are a science geek with a child-like love for dinosaurs.

Awe-inspiring is watching your little girl see a friend she met only once before walk hand-in-hand with that friend immediately while introducing her to her other friends.

Proud is watching the fruits of your friends’ labors create one of the most amazing small town open air markets I have ever enjoyed.

Tasty is bringing home those labors and enjoying every single bite.

Joy is watching your children smile – even in life’s smallest moments.

Amazement is being surrounded by your family and friends watching fireworks.

Rapture is swapping stories at our favorite viewing site.

Crazy is finding prairie roses in the ditch and wishing to bring them home to your garden.

Crazy love is a dear friend getting you the shovel.

Captivating is finding a killdeer nest in the community garden.

Nurturing is making little flags that warn others not to disturb the eggs.

Exuberance is espying the first lightning bug of the year!

Blessed is my life!

Sweet Grace Blog

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Tag Archives: joy

Choosing one word . . .

7 days: and just like that

Mary’s heart (Had I known?)

A letter to the Leprechauns

We’re back

To laugh or to cry

Psalm 30:5 Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. (AMP)

Being still

Oh the cardinal!

Believe in Miracles!

Blessed is