Tag Archives: Love

Greater than . . . less than

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Today is Election Day 2016.  This day has many people worried about its outcome and I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge I am one of them.  But a simple act of kindness reminded me that no matter who is elected into office tonight, there is one thing that will remain the same.

God is still God. He is still the author of authority and the leader of leadership.

No matter who your chosen candidate is, there are two things that God has called us to do.

Love and well, yes, love.

You might be thinking that is the same thing twice and you would be most definitely correct.  Much of the discord of this election has illuminated there are many people in the greatest country in the world who feel that their voice isn’t being heard (and this goes for both sides of the political divide).

After seeing these videos posted on a friends wall, for the last few days I have been watching “The Messy Truth” episodes by Van Jones (http://www.vanjones.net/the_messy_truth) where he sits down with real folks in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania from all political inclinations to see why we can’t do just that: sit down and have a civil discussion. The final episode is powerful when one of the young men talks about the things that move him and the way he wants to change the world.  While watching this episode I was reminded of God’s call to love the least of these.

I think Jesus understood, long before Lady Liberty proclaimed:

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

that the world would always need someone to champion the least among us. Less than in the world’s eyes, but no so, in Jesus’.  I think He also knew that it would be unlikely for the political leaders of this world to be the ones to do that.  While your vote might have power, your actions and your prayers have much more.  Choose to love, especially those without a voice.  Your vote can be that voice, but more importantly, show up and be the light in their world. And don’t stop showing up.

Last Wednesday night, I was wrapped up in my own world of grading papers for my students and putting finishing touches on one for my classes.  Other than the TV on for background noise, I was oblivious to the world around me.  My teenager, on her way out to our church, noticed a little clear bag containing a battery and note hanging from our front door (which to tell you how engrossed I was in my tasks that door is 20 feet from where I was studying and I never heard a thing).  The care package arrived from the church around the block (which is not our church home).

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After reading the card, our Sister was blown away.  She talked about this random act of kindness for days.  She and I were touched by the church’s simple token embodying love thy neighbor.  It was a powerful reminder that indeed we are called to love. While we know many church members there, our political leanings had nothing to do with which house they chose.  Nope.  They chose us all, offering love without question and without conditions.

All of these thoughts were swirling around in my head last evening when – you guessed it – more grading and more paper writing was going on.  And it reminded me of just how important today is.  Oh, it isn’t the election that deems its value nor is it who is elected into office.

Rather the most significant part of today is our ability to love. 

Don’t get me wrong, I will vote and I will take my children with me to vote, because that right is one we should never take for granted.  But at the end of the day, no matter the outcome of any voting, we are still called to love and to shine our lights brightly in this world.

Choose love. Vote for love – not in the voting booth but in our hearts and our actions.  Let love be your guiding force in disagreements. Love the least of these. Love your neighbor. Use the emotions this election has stirred up to be love to someone else. Listen with love to those who differ in opinion from ours.  Let the first thing others see by our love. As my young Jedi’s would say, “Let LOVE be your FORCE”. The greatest of these is love.

Back to that call to love and to love. When asked to define the greatest commandment, Jesus answered to love God and to love our neighbors.  There it is the double whammy, one-two punch: love and love.

Behind the little curtain, we have the ability to alter elections, but behind the cloak of love, we have the power to change the world.

 

Love goes on

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A couple weekends ago, we made a trip to see our family in North Dakota.  Sadly, the reason for our trip to my sweetie’s childhood hometown was to say good-bye to our former brother-in-law.  He had always been good to us and we wanted to be there to support the rest of our family.  Since Reed is buried there, we knew we would go and tend to his grave.  I would rather be spending money on some great adventure for what would be his college years, but instead we make sure that he has flowers and mementos to commemorate his life.

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Neither reason for our road trip are ones that make me just giddy to get out of bed. Seeing our family – yes, dealing with another life gone – never. Tragic endings are rough on families.  Of this, we are living proof.  The journey is hard when “so long for now” comes much, MUCH sooner than we had expected.  These thoughts swirled through my head with each wheel turn of the more than four hundred mile journey.

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On the day of the service, I watched a morning news show where an interview with a mother-daughter author team caught my attention.  The daughter shared about how her mother’s resilience in the face of difficult circumstances really shaped much of her life. She summed this up in one sentence and as an educator, my interest piqued, wanting to paint her words on all the walls in school.

“Failure is an event, not a definition.” ~Francesca Serritella

Trying to keep my emotions in check throughout the day, this thought continually swirled around in my head as we plunged forward through the tough stuff. I could numb my pain thinking of these words and how I might apply them to the doctorate courses I am taking. Then I thought, “Wait a minute!  Teaching children to be resilient and persist when the going gets tough applies to when tragedy hits a family too!”

“Tragedy is an event, not a definition.” ~Kandy Noles Stevens

This has been my driving force since the day we woke up after the bus crash.  This horrible, terrible event would not define our family.  We weren’t sure how life would go on, but one thing was certain, love would. Our love for each other, including Reed, would endure and faith would carry us through all the tough stuff.  Life wouldn’t always be pretty, but we weren’t going to allow sadness to be our forever garment. And through it all, God would be with us.  That knowledge alone was more than enough.

When one defines tragedy as a moment in time, it becomes second nature to see that like the refiner’s fire life’s hardships shape and prioritize much of life.  But the parts often unseen in the struggle are the unabashed moments of praise are wrapped up in unexpected glimpses of joy even when we are mired in the muck.

While I was understandably sad about the circumstances of our weekend, God still has joy in his repertoire.  The first of which arrived in the form of a text from a young man, whom we have adopted through an “adopt a college student” program through our church.  The e-mail was to tell us that our now “adopted granddaughter” had arrived.

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The next moment of joy came when our nephew and his family stopped over and I finally got to hold our great nephew who has Reed as one of his middle names.  Humbled, thankful and awed is the best way to describe how it felt to hold a little boy who has carries forward my sweet son’s name.  A blessing greater than I had ever dreamed possible!

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In both cases, the joy and the heavenly praise ascended were preceded by God’s unfathomable love for us.  The same love that picked us when we weren’t sure if we would be able to do this hideous thing called grief.  Every time the pain was overwhelming there would be some small God sighting that would remind us how incredibly loved we truly are.  Even though Reed and Scotty were no longer with us, our love for them wouldn’t end.  So it was on the long drive home from our not long enough visit.

My sweetie remembered a local casino always has an amazing fireworks show annually on July 3.  Although a little bit out of our way, he rerouted our path home to take in the celebration.  Part of his reasoning was to remember and honor, Scotty, who loved putting on fireworks shows for the kids each year. We tuned into the radio channel where patriotic music is timed to the lighted brilliance. We “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” at the show, enjoying one American tune after another.

And then it happened, Reed’s absolute favorite song of all time, Toby Keith’s Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue, began playing and this was the firework that went off exactly as it did. In my imagination I can only dream that maybe in some corner of heaven, Reed, Scotty, and Jesus said, “That ought to get their attention.”

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Sure! Plenty will look at this and say it was purely coincidence.  I know differently.  A single moment of illuminated display over the windswept prairie was God’s way of reminding us that love can and indeed does go on.

 

Shine On!

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Dear Reed –

I cannot believe that today would be your 21st birthday.  How could it be that I have been a momma for twenty-one years now?  How can it be that eight of these birthdays we’ve spent away from you?  It doesn’t seem possible, and it definitely isn’t fair.

Last night, I got a serious case of the giggles.  I was thinking about how enamored you were one day with your Grandpa Earl.  I vividly remember being snuggled up with blankets on the cold, leather couch in the air conditioned basement, watching Land Before Time for the umpteenth time when out of the blue you told me how much you loved your Grandpa Earl.  You professed your admiration because your bar-owning grandfather worked at the candy store and eats fire. (Because who doesn’t go visit their grandfather at his namesake tavern and get sweet treats?)   I will never forget how hard I had to stifle my laughter.

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Reed (around age 1) and Grandpa Earl

Yet, it was a defining moment teaching me: love sees only love.

Your ability to see the love (and many times hurt) in any situation is why I feel so profoundly sad on a day like this where I miss you more than ever.

The world lost an amazing kiddo the day you died.

While you were our sunshine, you were truly a beacon to the world.  You loved with abandon and you reminded us often if people hurt you they were most likely hurting themselves.  I will never understand how someone so young could have such wisdom.  I was truly blessed to walk this earth with you even if it was for too brief a time.

In the last few years, there has been so much hate spewed in this world, I grieve simply turning on the television or radio hearing all the awful ways hate and hurt can perpetuate themselves.  I often catch my breath because it all seems so intimidating knowing I am but one voice.  Then I remind myself you never diminished the power of a single person showing up to be someone’s beacon.  With that hope, I steel my resolve and know shining a light may be all I have to offer the world, but today and every day that will always be more than enough.

We need more of what you had in this world – right now and always.

After my late night giggles imagining fire eating grandpas at candy stores, my heart traveled down a lane that I don’t like to traverse.  I recalled our last heartfelt conversation. In a busy family of four young children, small talk abounds, but deep connections are sometimes fleeting. After picking you up at the local caucus (an incredible decision for a 7th grader), we drove back to our house where a Mardi Gras celebration was well under way.

Quietly, you once again amazed me.  It isn’t going to be much longer, Mom.

Perplexed, I inquired as to what in the mayonnaise you could have been referring?

Mom, there is so much hurt in this world.  It cannot be that much longer before Jesus comes back to make this all right again.  We cannot go on hurting each other like this.  We just can’t.

I will never know what you heard at that political gathering, but whatever it was stirred your heart and called you to love fiercely as you waited for the embodiment of love to return.

At the time, I thought it was a strange conversation, but to be honest, I was more worried about whether I hid the baby in the Kings’ Cake well enough.  Seemed so important then, and now I see how absolutely insignificant it was to the lesson you were trying to teach me. Little did I know that exactly a week later, we would be returning you to heaven to bask in the eternal light of love.

All this time, I have wondered if somehow deep inside, you knew that you would not be here for much longer, and you wanted to make sure I understood that like your favorite superheroes we can never give up hope, we can never stop fighting for those less fortunate, and we can never stop believing that good will conquer evil.

Well, I listened and in my heart, I carry your legacy with me wherever I go. 

Love is a powerful force.  No matter our differences, and I daresay, despite them, we must always be willing to love and show light where darkness tries to wipe out hope.  We must be willing to come to the table with hearts open enough to recognize we don’t know everything we think we know about someone else’s story.  We must always be willing to be a helper – at all costs. Finally, we can never, never, NEVER, give up on the hope that the world can be a place filled with love.

I cannot imagine what heaven will be like, but if just for a moment, I can believe that you and Grandpa Earl will find a bar stool in a quiet tavern there today to sit together.  When you two raise a glass “to love”, maybe just to make your momma smile, put a few quarters in the jukebox to sing along like we would at a campfire.

And for the rest of us, we will raise a glass (mine will be sweet tea), and go out shine our lights of love brightly, now and until we can hug you again.

Loving you every day until then – Momma

Our sunshine from heaven

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Hey Reed – Today before I opened my eyes, my ears heard the tell-tale signs of rain.  My heart was somehow relieved, an acknowledgement heaven was crying with me, with us, on your heaven day.  The cold rain fell and the winds blew – reminding me how grief sometimes storms my heart.

But then just like this actual day, I am reminded of one little promise.

And God said, “Let there be light.”

The gray skies were still reigning.  My heart was with Sawyer, Erin, and Clo hoping that no matter what was going on in their schools today that they were being loved. The unexpected shone brightly and my heart felt lighter.

And God said, “Let there be light.”

The rain plastered the picture window, but the calls, the texts, the Facebook messages, the cards were stronger.  Laughter peeled when love came riding up in a minivan. There were bended knees and we felt each prayer lifted up. Each kindness sang a melody of “You are loved. He is not forgotten. You are loved. We are with you. ”

And God said, “Let there be light.”

When I wasn’t watching the rain lifted, and the sunshine came out in full force.  I don’t recall the last time the sun shone as bright on your heaven day.  I felt wrapped in one of those sneaky from behind hugs you mastered in your time on earth.

And God said, “Let there be light.” 

Yours shines brightly still. 

I can feel the warmth radiating through glass panes.  We still deal with many layers of the grief and the aftermath of this day. Then there are moments when I remember how incredibly lucky we are to have such amazing, resilient and kindhearted kiddos.  I think you would be proud of them.  The college guy comes home and we forget to tell him we are going to a game with a passel of 5th grade girls.  The results melted my heart and remind me of how much you loved others.

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And God said, “Let there be light.”

Remember all the hours you spent in the church nursery loving on the little ones.  Sister shares those genes.  We went to another game, and this happened.

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That morning, she didn’t even know those kiddos.  By suppertime, they moved their chairs to sit by her at the restaurant.  She loves them all. I swear we cannot go anywhere without a little one running up and giving her a hug.  It is beautiful and precious and I think you must be doing this every day in heaven.

And God said, “Let there be light.”

Then there is the littlest one.  I blink and often I think that she is you.  You share so many of the same loves that I forget you didn’t share more time together.  We still tell the stories.  We share the tales – lest she forget the details.  One day, she sang and sang in her room.  I listened to the music, but didn’t hear the words.  When she shared, my heart ached for more time, but I now know she won’t forget.

 

And God said, “Let there be light.”

And while you were here, yours shone the brightest of all. 

Reed – we love and miss you every day. 

Love – Mom

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grief came to visit

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GRIEF came to visit a few days ago and to make matters worse he brought EXHAUSTION, the kind of fatigue that causes the world to swirl as I sink further away. I STRUGGLE to hold my head up, to keep my teary eyes open. Deep in the back of mind, I am reminded all those who say I am a STRONG. Do they not know how some days I can barely BREATHE? The maniacal laughter of DOUBT rises from my soul as I remember a recent splurge of DISTRACTION. Drawn by the allure of my roots, I played one of those silly online quizzes to uncover my Celtic name.

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I am certain Boudicca would be DISAPPOINTED. I feel nothing like a Celtic warrior. The lingering thoughts of FAILURE of all those I have let down wiggle to the surface. I want to rise up and fight the INVASION, but I have absolute zero ENERGY left to do so. I WORRY about the ways I am not enough for my husband, my kids.

Then somewhere from deep inside me my own words come back to HAUNT me.

Be gentle and kind to yourself.

I may not be a warrior, but in the moment, those appear to be wise words. I CHOOSE to EMBRACE them. I don’t plan away the seconds, and I am PRESENT in the moments of our ordinary day – a day scarred by GRIEF and EXHAUSTION. I CHOOSE not to listen to the enemy’s LIES.

Eventually, I do the only thing that makes any sense. I CRY out to God. I lift an OFFERING of EMPTINESS. Empty hands and lifted face pour out a heart that hurts. And as much as a warrior I am NOT, he is – a LEGION of comforters at the ready.

HOPE arrives.

My daily bread.

My nothing is transformed into his SOMETHING.

It is the SMALL that I find the IMMENSE. God is present in it all.

A phone call from a friend who just “knew” I needed encouragement – RE-ENERGIZES and REFRESHES. A card from a coworker ACKNOWLEDGES the pain and reminds me that many are PRAYING. A Facebook message WHISPERS – God loves you!

I LIFT empty hands and DISCOVER God’s hands are not empty because I am CRADLED there, rocked gently by his LOVE. Even though GRIEF came to visit, God PROVIDED the comfort to ask the houseguest to leave.

And for me that is MORE than ENOUGH.

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Crashing waves of dark and light

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The turning of a calendar page

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I grab the phone and text the college son.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 Corinthians 4:6a (NCV)

 

 

 

 

 

When dreams grow bigger

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IMG_20131225_150145 An unexpected rap at the door on a cold wintry night removed me from a cozy blanket cocoon. A sleepless night the previous evening prompted my unusual self-indulgence. Standing at the door was a dear friend, passing through town. Maybe it was the fogginess of a tired brain, but his appearance served as a beacon to remember – write that blog, write that blog.

Many times the teacher becomes the student. Watching this friend has been all lesson in my life as this man, and his family, have been the models of generosity.

Snow melted off of sturdy boots while we talked in my living room and old dog inched closer for extra rubbings behind elderly ears. The impromptu visit became a necessity because of a societal ill – never enough time. The last time our lives crossed paths was when my friend had been honored for being a Hometown Hero – a title more than aptly fitting.

What a blessing it was to surprise him with the bestowed honor and to be there among those who like us had been recipients of his family’s boundless gifts of love, time and resources. All in attendance were there to surprise him. But here is the thing about heroes, they never cease to amaze. After learning of the award and the monetary award to a charity of his choice, he stunned everyone in the room. He quietly explained how he had hoped to surprise all of us by awarding Special Olympics with a donation. The givers became doubly blessed as not one but two checks were awarded to some of his biggest fans. Not a dry eye could have been found in the room.

I have witnessed his family who models what it means to give generously – especially to those small, overlooked, and often without a voice. Special Olympics, Big Buddies, and the Ronald McDonald house were some of the bigger names. The others are too numerous to list, but among them are the grieving, the souls beat up by loss that while the rest of the world goes on they are trying desperately to make it to the next minute. It is a marathon for life’s breath. My family would be among the recipients of their beautiful commitment to loving others even when, at times, the world was falling apart around them.

Without their help, our dream of remembering Reed at the hospital where he died would have been nothing more than idealistic, swirling firings of neurons in my head. Their perseverance while waiting for just the right thing led to a beautiful friendship. Through their business the Reed-A-Cheetah program was born, allowing us to build a dream of bringing comfort to those who need it most, in their darkest hour. Through their love our dream became real. Reed would have been proud.

We were stunned last spring by their sad news. What happened that day still leaves me in awe! Salinated drops came pouring forth as my ears and heart did not want to hear their business was closing. They have given so much. Why is this happening? In a moment that was both surreally raw and beautifully poignant, even when their darkness was coming closer, they shone a light of incredible hope. The cheetah “business” could not – would not – die. Our friends had met as a family and decided the way to ensure the proliferation of cheetahs would be to give our family the stuff your own animal business. Do what? You are giving us the entire kit and caboodle? My knees were weak as I tried to protest. This was too large. Too generous. Too lavish a gift. My bitter tears gave way to the blessed tears of being loved, overwhelmed with thankfulness. Who loves like this? My feeble attempts to protest were met with a matter of fact it-is-done-this-conversation-is-over determination. Honestly, I think I cried for days.

Friends like this are rare to find.

This is not a gift to be squandered. We have had family meetings, talked, and dreamed, talked and dreamed some more. In the end, we have decided we want this adventure to reflect the generosity with which it was bestowed. Our intention is to have a Give It Forward model of entrepreneurship. With the purchase of one stuffed animal, we will give one away. Purchasers can stuff their own animals and the ones that will be gifted to charity. If someone has a charity or fundraiser they want to support, we will work with them to hopefully make that dream happen just as our friends did for us.

It doesn’t happen often in life, but through all our dreaming and planning, words fail us on one important aspect – a name for all of this goodness. How do you name a gift so incredible? We struggle decide on a name for this new venture. Adam was given the charge to name creation. We would have woefully failed in his duty.

What I do know is that no matter the name we will strive to live up the gift givers expectations, because our last see-you-soon, prior to our quick respite from the snowy day, held the parting words “The Ronald McDonald house could sure use some little animals.” Yes. Yes, I would guess they could. Because while we move forward in healing, hurt, needing comfort is always around the corner. We never lose sight of the comfort lavishly poured out in many different ways. His words were both a blessing and a reminder to live generously with a hope that no matter what darkness surrounds someone’s story – love will conquer all.

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Name our Adventure contest: As the new proprietors and caretakers of a dream making adventure, we need your help! Reed-A-Cheetah and all his stuffie friends are waiting for a new name for their big adventure: bringing comfort and joy to those who need it most. Please submit your ideas for a name for this business adventure. The person who submits the winning name will be awarded a free stuffed friend and the opportunity to “bring him or her to life” as well as the donated friend. All submissions should be sent to mominmn@hotmail.com by January 31st. Children of all ages (3 -103) are encouraged to participate.

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You never know what adventure your stuffie will find!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Revolutionary love

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A few weeks ago, I was invited to be the speaker at a neighboring school for their Pay It Forward day. The students completed acts of service throughout the day, and I spoke twice in the afternoon, once to senior high and later to junior high students. Many hours of preparation went into the big day, because the message would be life-changing – not because I spoke it, but because kindness is transformational. Intertwining stories of my family and our darkest hour with humor and heartfelt truths of compassion, not only from friends and family but also from complete strangers, was a beautiful tale to tell.

The oldest students would have been nine or ten years old when our tragedy occurred; so other than the few in the audience who know us personally the story would be new. Delicately balancing the human side of a major news story is hard work, exhausting at best and gut-wrenchingly aching at worst as my mind, body, and soul are transported back, reliving each moment. ALL. THE. MOMENTS. The beautiful ones AND the ones so painful that some days I look in the mirror and want to high five the girl on the other side because I don’t know if she truly knows how awesome and amazing it is she survived.

In the end, I wanted my young friends to leave not feeling sorry for us, but rather to be inspired by the acts of kindnesses lavished upon our family.

Early in my presentation, I wanted a gauge of how honest and sincere my audience would be. The measure of sincerity was simple. Raise your hand if someone somewhere at some time in the world has been kind to you. Every hand in the room was raised.

Then, I upped the ante. Raise your hand if you have ever felt lonely, isolated, different, afraid, left out, unsure or insignificant. Only one brave hand was raised. The rest were liars.

Little did they know, I completely expected those results, because I wanted them to squirm a little bit before I shared my mission – creating revolutionaries. Genuine change requires some struggle, including confronting your own battles.

Sharing some basic facts about my family, I eventually expounded on our loss and pain but mostly explained why I could be considered an expert in receiving kindnesses. I wanted the precious scholars to know no matter how limited they or their budgets may appear to be, there is no kindness too small which does not leave a person transformed. If something appears to be an obstacle, plan big and DREAM BIGGER to reach out to those who are hurting.

What I didn’t share was the firestorm known as the political hot button issue at the center of our sadness. Truth be told, I lied (in omission) to them all. I never spared the truth about the hardships we have had (and still endure) as a part of that day. I openly told how the girl, who went from doing everything, relied on everyone else to do most anything. My heart was bare when sharing how much these acts of compassion truly taught me about community and love – transforming, selfless revolutionary love. What I didn’t share was the black part of my heart early on in our story.

Very few know this story, but given the news of recent days and weeks, it is time to finally come clean.

I hold many different titles, but even fewer know that for a brief period in my life I was our town’s chief crane inspector. Okay, not really. My then three year old was. I was just the chauffeur. The rebuilding of our lives came agonizingly slow, while our little town’s infrastructure was booming. The baby of our family has been and most likely always will be infatuated with construction cranes. After dropping off the big kids at school, we would drive from construction site to construction site “inspecting” the crane’s work. The final one in our tour was completing a new expansion at our county jail which at the time housed the woman who killed my son and ripped our lives apart.

Every day, while sipping on sweet tea, I wished for the crane operator to be unsuccessful in his endeavor to securely place the large preformed concrete walls. Just drop the wall and she will hurt as much as I do. Dark was that corner of my heart. The news of the amazingness known as my son and the other three children who were gone tapered off and all that was left were court cases, commentaries on illegal immigration, and sound bites from her attorneys, who in an attempt to humanize their client crossed the line when suggesting a conviction would mean her elderly parents might not ever get to see her again. Really? I am fairly certain I am not ever going to see my child again on this earth. EVER. It was all too much for me and my brokenness.

But it was through that brokenness, God showed me how much my darkness was only hurting me and how it was not now or ever going to be a part of the solution. I wanted to be better. Different. Transformed by my heart and through my darkness. Realizing my son would never want hate and bitterness to be a part of his legacy, I chose forgiveness and began carefully and tenderly (with God’s divine grace) choosing love over everything else.

With every tragedy (and by every – I mean EVERY SINGLE ACT – especially the ones on the news, where someone is left hurting), I am reminded that choosing love is a revolutionary act of defiance. The world perpetuates evil. Choosing to love in the face of darkness is an uncommon act. Everything about my sweet boy was not common, and in honoring him, choosing love was the granddaddy of all antidotes to hurt and a slap in the face of darkness.

Hate mongering, fear inducing rhetoric, social media memes shared virally, and us vs. them mentalities will never solve any problem. Evil will never go away, but none of these go-to platforms offer any sincere opportunities for hope. So here’s a thought: STOP doing them. STOP saying hurtful things. STOP posting divisive things. Stop teaching this rhetoric to your children.

And while we are at it STOP focusing on our differences. STOP pointing them out.

STOP taking tragedies like mine, Sandy Hook, Ferguson, or San Bernardino and reducing it a sound bite, a meme, a rally cry, an ideological platform, a banner flag because behind all of that chaos are real people who are truly hurting and who never asked to be a poster child.

The real issue is HURT. Even if my young friends lied it about it, pain is real and isolating.  At the root of every hurt is a genuine, amazing and awesome person – who deserves better in this world and of this world.

While real conversations can and SHOULD take place, the issues have never been illegal immigration, gun control, skin color, terrorism, or mental health issues.

The real issues are the lack of understanding, the lack of respect, and the LACK of love.

How do we uplift and honor instead of tear down and divide?

After we stop doing all those other things, let’s lead with kindness. Let’s call it our gift to the world. They will never see that one coming. Look for ways to help others. Make that our new habit. Have real conversations with eyes and ears that can see the hurt others bring to the table. Be the voice of change for those who have no voice. Stand up, beside, and behind those who are hurting, especially those different from ourselves. Give generously with your time, your resources, your mind and your soul, and not to mention your heart. Smile at everyone. Read to your children about all kinds of people and whisper in their ears they are what make the world a better place. Buy a stranger a meal or a cup of coffee. Celebrate you and celebrate others! Hold hands and pray, and when it doesn’t look like that is working, hold on a little longer. Envelop those you love (and those who are hurting) in hugs that leave everyone better.

Be genuine.

Be sincere.

Choose hope.

Be hope.

Be brave and inspirational and kind.

Never forget kind.

The world is watching.

High five that guy or girl in the mirror, for at least trying to change the world.

And, be revolutionary in your love!

christmas angel

When did this happen??

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As Super S entered his senior year of high school, I was often asked how I was handling it. My pat answer was “kicking and screaming”. Time had ticked on, but my heart never counted the sands slipping through my fingers. I simply wasn’t ready for my chubby-cheeked, curly-headed boy to grow up and be ready to launch. Head knowledge told me he was more than ready, but often my heart is not on speaking terms with the logic my brain is offering. If you were to ask one of my best friends, she will tell you I am not good with big transitions for my children. She will throw back her head and laugh while telling about the tears I shed after spending an exhausting day at Track-N-Field Day a long time ago. Sun-kissed and windswept, I stopped by her house to drop some thing or another off and broke down in tears because my oldest, Reed, was graduating out elementary school. “NOT GOOD WITH TRANSITION” would be the understatement of the year!

Often the anticipation is much worse than the event; akin to the pain you know is coming when removing a Band-Aid from a healed wound. Like Super S declared after knocking a bully silly in the first grade, “They give me a wide berth now!” (I know. I know. We should have seen the inevitable valedictorian status when he was using idioms like this in the FIRST GRADE.) I give myself large latitude of grace as milestone events approach; knowing full well I don’t do transition well.

But like those sneaky behind the back hugs Reed used to give so freely, moments have a way of catching me off-guard. Last Tuesday almost knocked me flat.

The day started innocently enough when I asked Sal what her plan was for afterschool. She informed me she would be helping a neighborhood friend with piano. Do what? You haven’t practiced piano in 6 months and you aren’t exactly what I would call a piano tutor. She assured me that her friend, K, was just getting started in piano, and she would definitely be able to help her. I reminded her she needed to be home in time for voice lessons, gave her and her school walking buddy a squeeze for the day, and headed off to inspire the future teachers of the world.

True to her word, Sal returned home about fifteen minutes before voice lessons, only to learn our beloved teacher was ill. No lessons for the day. Saddened by the news, she decided to tackle her homework so that we could have some fun later when Daddy got home. We worked side-by-side, math for her and grading papers for me, when she suddenly realized she left her weekly vocabulary words at her friend’s house. I thought nothing of it and kept working away.

I was still deep in the world of correcting of grammar glitches and offering suggestions when she returned without much fanfare. But oh! My heart was not ready for what I saw when I looked up. No warning! Absolutely no warning was given to see my little girl had blossomed into a thoughtful caring young lady!

Standing before me was my baby holding a pizza spaghetti casserole in her oven mitted hands. Piano lesson help – my left toe! Sal and K researched recipes online, settling on one from Southern Living (be still my heart and notice it was a casserole NOT a hot dish!), raided the two homes’ cupboards, sent a brother to the store for what they couldn’t find, prepared the whole meal for both families, and blessed two busy mommas with a night off in the kitchen.

Sal kept her casserole warm until the rest of the family came home.

Sal kept her casserole warm until the rest of the family came home.

 

I was SPEECHLESS. Both the girl and the supper were amazing gifts! When did this happen? When did my baby girl become a young lady? This revelation brought my “kicking and screaming” meter to a whole new level when my heart realized that my baby was only two years away from “graduating” from elementary school herself. I am not ready. The struggle is real.

Unfortunately for her, I am not the only one feeling this tug of sentimentality as none of the big people in our family are ready for her to become more than the “baby” of the family. She, however, is showing us that she has this growing up thing well under control.

I think we all better buckle up because there is very little she lets slow her down. I cannot wait to see to what heights she will soar – now if I can just convince my heart to enjoy the ride.

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.

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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.

bryan and erin