I should probably start off by apologizing for today’s title to my two most beloved high school English teachers: Mrs. Langemoe and Mrs. Gallagher. Although upon second thought, I think both those sweet, sassy women would get a pretty good chuckle out of my word choice. Today’s hijinks vexed my very last nerve, and I am not kidding in the slightest. Before I get into the sticky (and I do mean sticky) details, I should give a little background.
For years now, we have had a system for cleaning our house. One day every couple weeks, we clean our house top to bottom. Originally we assigned jobs for each person to complete. The jobs were getting done, but closer inspection revealed, not really well. After a LONG family chat, we decided to create a master list of all jobs to get our house spic-n-span, allowing each person to pick the jobs they most desired to do. This system worked much better, and after one task is crossed off the list, we keep picking jobs until the entire list is completed.
I don’t know if it is just the way my mind works, but I like things neat and orderly. My desire for a clean house is so strong that cleaning day is not thwarted by extra guests or unexpected playmates knocking at the door. One sweet boy seemed to have the uncanny luck to always have a sleepover with Reed on days that coincided with cleaning. He never once balked and always stepped right up to help out. My personal favorite was the time two brothers showed up to play with our kids. My answer stating my kids couldn’t play until the house was clean was met with a question asking if they could help speed up the process. I simply pointed to the list, and watched one brother pick up supplies to scrub toilets while the other grabbed the vacuum. Not bragging, but I am not sure Mary Poppins can’t top that story!
When the house is done, we always treat ourselves. Hot fudge cake in the crockpot is a perennial favorite, as is a trip to the ice cream shop. And yes, if you cleaned, whether I gave birth to you or not, you have earned the right to celebrate a job well done. Also, before anyone turns me in for child labor concerns, the entire process to dust, scrub, and polish our modest home takes less than two hours start to finish . . . or about as long as it takes for that cake to bake. But, I digress. . .
This whole long tangent is to explain my discovery this morning dealing with all things Irish and engineering. Over the weekend, Sal, the scientist extraordinaire, got busy perfecting her latest in the way of leprechaun traps. Little did I know that said trap needed some type of goo to help snare entice the objects of her affection. I went to bed, hoping and wishing that my little Irish girl would finally get her wish of meeting a real live leprechaun, but awoke to something much less desirable than order and decorum.
All of my dining room chairs were strewn about, the piano rolls which had been conveniently placed to form stairs to one of the traps fun times were kicked to kingdom come, Sal’s bedroom was covered in toilet paper, and finally, the “Fairy Party and Leprechaun Lounge” was tipped over leaking syrup all over our floor. Happy momma went to panicked momma in about 2 seconds flat. Apparently our leprechaun friends were lured to the lounge by the video on the pink tv (ipod) in which a fairy friend explained how much fun it was in there. Little did I know how much faeries and leprechauns are fans of maple syrup! Seriously, if that is how our tiny friends like to party, who am I to judge?
I am nothing if not a fan of imaginations; so, when I saw my girl’s intense examination of all her designs, I couldn’t be mad. I just simply couldn’t do it. Syrup cleans up (Thank you God above)! According to the miniscule note from our little Irish friends, we understand one of them did indeed get stuck and is now worried that every dry leaf and blade of grass from here to Ireland will be stuck to him. For that I am sincerely sorry, because wanting things clean is something I understand.
It took quite a while for my gang to uncover the whereabouts of the hidden treasure box which this year held gold wrapped candies and new Irish t-shirts. After the syrup incident, I am surprised our leprechaun friends didn’t wage war on my little (and big) engineers. Thankfully, they are much too noble for such pettiness!
As I was heading out the door, Sal wanted to share what she had uncovered about leprechaun traps in her ten years of experience. 1) any box used has been knocked over pretty easily. 2) any trap which involves falling into hasn’t been deep enough yet. Wheels of genius spinning, she was already devising a plan for next year. As a science teacher, I couldn’t have been more proud of her observations and thinking.
So to Seamus (again, terribly sorry about your coat), Finnegan, and O’Malley: Thank you so much for keeping her creative ideas flowing, even if, at times, it feels like I am going to lose my mind. But most of all, thanks for keeping her reaching for the pot of gold stars.
Growing up, I was the only girl on one side of my extended family for many years. Then, they just kept bringing home one little girl after another for a lot of years. When it was just me and the boys, I learned to love a lot of things that my brother and cousins did. Do not get me wrong. I was ALL GIRL, playing countless hours of dollies dreaming of the day I would have a huge family, but I loved baseball, football, muscle cars, building things, and superheroes as much as they did. I am so thankful those conventions of my childhood are starting to break down.
The first weekend I met my future in-laws we took all the grandkids (one niece and two nephews at that time) to a petting zoo. I don’t remember why there was a petting zoo, but I do recall pushing the old umbrella style stroller with my little tow-headed niece down the streets of Leeds, North Dakota.
From the first moment, I was smitten. If I wasn’t going to marry this wonderful guy, could I, at least, keep these kiddos and this family? When I later learned that the oldest nephew loved a certain clan of superheroes, this news only solidified my thoughts of love at first sight. My future nephew’s favorite was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. For years, my sweetie and I would search high and low to find the perfect TMNT items for Derek’s gifts for Christmas and birthday. Whenever we would visit, we would watch the cartoons together. All these years later, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Master Splinter feel like old friends. I can never take a home-baked pizza out of the oven, and not think of one of the turtles wearing oven mitts doing the same thing.
Over the years, his interests changed as he grew and matured, and he is now a husband and daddy himself. But I never forgot about all the hours we would spend bonding over the latest way our favorite mutant reptiles would battle Shredder and his lackeys, Bebop and Rocksteady. Many times in my daydreams, I remember joy savored in the days long gone. So this last year I put my mind to preserving some of that joy by making a quilt for Derek and his little girl for his birthday and her Christmas present.
I thought this would be a great plan since our TMNT friends were making a comeback. Maybe if I lived in a larger area or maybe if I was a last minute gift planner, that plan would have come to fruition easier. It however did not. I could not physically find fabric anywhere. Rather than despairing, I called my sister (I dropped the in-law moniker years ago) and asked if by chance she had saved any of the bedding our boy had years ago. Not only did she, but she had just ran across it! As a busy mom of busy kids, knowing where something is located is a incredible feat in and of itself.
Words do not adequately express how thrilled I was when I got the flannel fitted sheet, but I will confess to being more than a little nervous. This worn flannel was a precious part of his childhood. I had a hard time cutting it into quilt squares. Once I finally mustered the courage, there was no turning back. I wanted the quilt to be cuddle sized for each recipient, and I wanted a simple design that exuded all things cartoon turtle. It didn’t take long to choose a fleece blanket backing with flannel squares in orange (for Mikey), red (for Raph), blue (for Leo), purple (for Donnie), and turtle green. The only difference between daddy’s and daughter’s quilts would be the addition of some denim squares in the larger quilt and a different sized quilt blocks due to the nature of the repeating pattern of the original sheet.
She shops around for the best yarns and cottons, and enjoys knitting and sewing. ~Proverbs 31:13 (MSG)
While I love quilting, cutting squares is not always my favorite thing to do. I chalk it up to having tiny hands; so I did have more than a few helpers on that part. The piecing and simple tie quilting were all my handiwork and I loved every minute of it. What an honor to accumulate those three original nieces and nephews and to have added four more on that side of the family and five more on the other side of the family! My dreams of a huge family came true, and with that dream came more blessings than I can even count, including these two cuddle bugs for sure.
Thanking God today for all the little boys and girls in my life over the years, and all the great adventures they have added to my world! Cowabunga!
There are so many things I love about being a teacher. While the pay is not always indicative of how much we educators pour our hearts into our students, the non-tangible fringe benefits are out of this world. The opportunity to see a student master a topic that previously caused them to struggle is amazing. To see a scholar tackle a problem in a new and creative way is awe inspiring. Watching your students grow into incredible people who are truly making an impact in the world is breathtaking. And then there is what happened at a burger restaurant . . . that completely caught me off-guard.
I recently took my university students to their first professional conference. Thanks to the generous work of a colleague’s grant and the devotion of the science department, outside of paying for a couple meals, my future science teachers were able to attend the two day event for free. After seeing the long lines at most restaurants, my little group decided to head to a “Five Guys Burgers and Fries” for our evening meal. When we got up to leave, I realized that a darling young woman whom I had taught in middle school and her significant other were also there. As my group was on the way out, I stopped by the table to say hello. When she introduced me to her beau, I was humbled by her word choice, “Jeff, this is Miss Stevens, my absolute favorite teacher!”
Wow! What an introduction! As my group loaded up in the van to return to the hotel, one of my students whom I had hoped to inspire with the energy and enthusiasm known as the Minnesota Science Teachers conference blurted out, “That was better than ever earning teacher of the year!” So true, my young friend.
Forming relationships with former students and their families is just one more endearing benefit to being a teacher. Last summer, I had the opportunity to put my crafting skills to work to help one such family. I had taught two of their children and was extremely close to their third and youngest as she formerly dated my son. Over the years, our families have transformed from colleagues (the momma is also a teacher) to close friends. The oldest of their children was getting married and had her heart set on a having a chandelier for her outdoor venue. The bride could not find what she wanted, and that is where I come in.
I believe all teachers would go to great lengths to use creativity and innovative ideas to help students make knowledge their own. I guess I could say the same about sharing my talents when someone needs help. Can’t find the decoration of your dreams? Let’s see if we can put our thoughts together and make it happen. (I tell my university students all the time that we cannot teach resilience, but we can sure model it!) After some initial brainstorming, the bride’s mom, sister, and I got down to business to create a chandelier to meet (and hopefully exceed) her bridal dreams. We spent countless hours shopping and crafting, but in the end, the finished product was more than worth it.
First we found the perfect chandelier to “up-cycle”. It may not look like much, but trust me, just like a struggling student, I saw its potential from the first moment I laid eyes on it at our local Habitat for Humanity ReStore.
Next we removed all the electrical components and spray painted it. The one thing we learned is that while Chicago may be the Windy City, it has nothing on southwestern Minnesota. We also learned you can get spray paint out of your good jeans, but that is a story for another day.
The next step was to add the flowers and greenery. A few trips to Hobby Lobby resulted in some of the best greenery, roses and faux hydrangeas to coordinate with the live ones that would be coming from the bride’s grandmother’ garden for wedding day.
The final steps were to hand string the crystal beadwork for embellishment and attach the solar crystal garden lights for the piece de resistance! Our hours spent pondering over beads in Michael’s paid off on the finished product. The lights came from our local big box hardware store.
The wedding was beautiful. The couple stunning as was their venue atop the Stillwater (MN) Public Library. It was such a picturesque evening with ideal temperatures, lighting, and fellowship. Oh and along with the bride and her brother, I had the wonderful opportunity to catch up with these amazing women, all of whom I had the joy of teaching. That, my friends, is a priceless treasure and one I will store in my heart forever.
A lesser known benefit of teaching is sharing your family with the students you adore. There have been countless moments over the years where that has happened. When going through the wedding photos with the bride’s parents, we stumbled across this jewel. My littlest has a penchant for catching the bouquet at weddings. She is in the pink dress on the left hand side. Notice her stealthy moves as she once again came away as the victor!
As school years are coming to the end, if you have the chance in the upcoming weeks to thank a favorite teacher (whether it be your own or your children’s), it will be a gift worth more than gold!
Not that long ago, I read a housekeeping blog on how to clean your front-load washer and dryer. What do you mean? The forced and mandatory clean cycle is not enough? Say it ain’t so, Joe! It always seems that pesky reminder message appears when I am dealing with Mt. St. Laundry and (No! Thank you very much!) I do not wish to run the clean cycle right at this moment. Thankfully, there is a by-pass mode which allows me to complete five more loads before having to run the cycle to clean the washer itself.
I would be lying to you if I said I had never encountered problems with my front loader before. My last set developed a distinct (Oh, shall we say used sweat sock) odor that no matter how many cycles of bleach, vinegar, or various washer-manufacturer cleaning supplies could not eradicate. A quick cursory look on the internet told me what I didn’t want to learn – mold! We had a serious mold issue in our tub which turns out is a known proclivity of front loading washers. When you have a child that is off the charts allergic to mold, this knowledge that her clothes could lead to anaphylactic shock was defeating at best. Short of replacing the tub, a costly expenditure to say the least, there was little we could do to remedy the situation.
We spoke to a technician who gave us some ideas of old fashioned remedies that helped for a while, before it became obvious we would have to replace the washer. When we bought the new set (another front loader) I did a ton of reading on how to prevent the mold build-up from happening again. Most information centered on not using commercial fabric softeners and using specific detergents for front loaders. All the forums highly recommended (as in Do not pass go and do not collect $200) never skipping the clean cycle on your front loader. Yeah, well tell that to my children who generate Mt. St. Laundry in the first place, and then need a specific shirt or uniform by dawn’s light. Where are the cleaning fairies when I need them?
After doing a little further research, I learned that just running the clean washer cycle was probably not enough and some other periodic cleaning would need to be done manually or should I say “womanually”. Hope springs eternal, and to be honest, I want to take care of the items God has chosen to bless my family. Not that many years ago, my husband washed his clothes in a bucket in the middle of a desert, when fighting for our country. A washing machine is a luxury globally, and even though the irritating reminder comes on at the least opportune time, I do want to take the best care I can of the old gal (Okay, really she is only a couple years old. I don’t want to offend her).
The process involves creating a mixture of half water and half vinegar. For the chemists among us, that would be a 1:1 ratio. Grabbing some paper towels and Q-tips is also very handy. Using the mixture you wipe down the interior tub and every available surface on and inside the washer. Then comes the part of cleaning inside the rubber seals on the tub and the tiny holes where water filters out. At first, cleaning the large areas just felt good and productive, but by the time I got to pulling back the rubber seals and digging into those tiny holes thoughts of “Well, I am sure glad I got a degree in advanced chemistry for this job” were at the forefront of my thoughts. Let me tell you people what came out on those cotton swabs was beyond disgusting. I liken it to what the cleaning lady saw after the birth of Reed when the doctors and nurses and my husband and my new baby left me lying there on the table because two of us mommas shared the same doctor in our small town hospital. I had the luck of delivering two minutes before the other gal. Rather than finish piecing me back together, there I lay waiting for almost an hour. The poor cleaning lady thought the room was empty and just came right on in to the shock of her life. Needless to say the gunk that came out of my washing machine was equally as shocking!
I do not advise cleaning your washer with clothes inside it. But it is a snow day in Minnesota and we are getting lots done around here! These are the offensive holes.
The longer I worked the more my efforts resulted in more hidden disgusting gunk being revealed. My thoughts were not pleasant and a whole lot of grumbling was going on. Then I was reminded of the time my lamenting about cleaning kids, dishes, and laundry resulted in my Mama saying, “Well, bless your heart. Isn’t it terrible you have all those things to clean?” Pretty convicting words!
Sitting on my laundry room floor surrounded by more yuck than I knew was imaginable; I began to examine my heart. How many times do I harbor the gunk of life and bring that with me to the throne room of God? More often than I want to admit. I want to bring my requests and my concerns – a laundry list, if you will – without cleaning out the yucky stuff first. It was a humbling lesson. A reminder from God what place I sometimes reserve for him in my busy day. Definitely not something I would boast about. Thankfully though, my God specializes in messy people. He loves us even we forget to clean out the dirt and have it hidden in all kinds of places. Instead of grumbling like me about misplaced opportunities, God has the crimson blood of his son which scrubs every heart clean and fresh as snow.
Even though that was seriously one of the dirtiest jobs I have ever done, today I am so incredibly thankful for endless grace for messy hearts and a washing machine that still gets the job done!
Dear son – A few days ago we quietly ushered in your 18th birthday. No matter how quickly I wanted to slow down time to prevent this day’s arrival, my efforts failed miserably. I wanted to bottle you up as the little curly-headed boy who would pad into my bedroom and ask “Is it time for ‘bweakfast’ yet?” and keep you that way forever. If I had, I would have missed out on the glimpses of who you would really grow to be.
Time slows down for no momma which was very evident over the course of the last weekend. If time was a better friend, she would have realized that it was all too much to mourn our darkest day and then a few days later celebrate your achievements. The irony was not lost on this momma’s heart that we were remembering letting one son go as we prepared to let another one march into the world on his. If time was my friend, she would have slowed down enough to let me recover from one moment before rushing headlong into the other one. I am pretty sure time and me are no longer on speaking terms.
When you were little we planned elaborate birthday bashes, but now, you are marching to the beat of your own drum and chose to go out with friends, joining us later for a dessert celebration. The day was a reflection of what will most likely be for years to come. It was during our family gathering I was once again reminded of who you are at the core of your being. After an order mix-up, you gave your friend the bigger dessert – on your birthday. There was no arguing with you that we could order another one because it was already way past your baby sister’s bedtime. From the moment the doctor said, “It’s a boy!” on the day you arrived into the world on one of the coldest days in history, I have lived every moment investing in raising a gentleman. The dessert debacle proved to me, while I still hope you are remembering to open doors, a gentleman is indeed what our efforts produced.
I’ve never been nervous about launching you into the world. My confidence in your future lies in believing you embody an old saying “A true measure of success is how you overcome the obstacles in your path”. I have lost count of all the surgeries and procedures you have endured, and there is no test for the childhood lost as you were forced to grow up so fast. Yet, you have always been my gentle giant, who leads with a quiet strength. Your faith has been unwavering, your perseverance beyond admirable, and your convictions your guiding light. Having the courage to stand by your convictions exudes character well beyond your years. It may not feel that way to you, but I am not the only person who has noticed how the obstacles you have encountered have been treated as mere bumps in the road. Your eyes were always on the prize – serving your Jesus.
Watching you face the giants in your life has been one of the most humbling experiences of my lifetime. It was just a dessert some would say, but to me, it was a reminder from God that He has been, is, and forever more shall be the real navigator of your success. He has taught you the real meaning of life – loving him and serving others. Along the way mixed in with many different lessons, He has taught you about frailties: your physical being, the fleeting vapor of life, and the tenderness of a momma’s heart.
From that last one, I hope you know that I am so incredibly proud of you and all that you stand for. I love you always and forever, and I will always have extra dessert – just in case – when you come home from college next year.
Love – Momma
Dear Reed:
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreading this day. My friends all know it, and they do their very best to love me through it. There are extra hugs, more texts just checking in, and offers to “sock ‘em in the nose” for the people who seem to get great joy inflicting wounds when we are down. The first two warm my heart, and the last one just makes me laugh. As January draws to an end, I don’t want to flip the calendar to February. Just the name of the month is too painful to bear.
For the last few weeks, I have struggled to eat and sleep, and have felt I was one tear drop away from releasing Niagara Falls. If I let one drop fall, a gusher was going to follow and I might not be able to stop. I knew this day – the day that changed my life forever – would come again.
I decided to avoid thinking about it, other than planning a date with a Kleenex box. I knew your siblings would be going to school; so aside from being trying to be strong and available for them, my plan was to do nothing but be kind and gentle to myself. Daddy chose to spend the day with me, taking a day off from work. You know how difficult that is for him to do; so, the tears leaked a little at his decision.
All that tossing and turning through sleepless nights resulted in a big neck ache. As I walked past the kitchen table on my way to the hot tub, I saw a beautiful jar I recently won. Emblazoned on the side are the words, “There is hope”. Today I clung to that promise. As I let my thoughts soak away in the steamy waters, my sadness was carried to God’s ears on the melodic notes of birdsong. More tears leaked out as I realized your garden was full of beautiful little birds singing the songs of hope to me. God knew what I needed to help me smile through my watery eyes.
Throughout the day, the tears came off and on like when the lady at doctor’s office realized who I was and said, “Oh this has to be a hard day for you.” Ma’am, you have no idea. More tears after the doctor saw my shirt (the last Reed’s Run one that both Erin and I chose to wear today) and in the middle of his explanation of my lab tests exclaimed, “you are truly a woman who loves her God. Romans 8:38 – 39 on your shirt. It just caught my eye.” and then just shook his head. I try, Doctor. I really, really try. I just don’t know any other way. The leaking just kept on coming when an unexpected text came asking how someone could support Sister. Even more came after the love ambush this afternoon.
Grief is a messy thing, Reed. Some of those tears were of sadness. Others were of joy and relief for the amazing grace-filled love that comes from the best friends I could have never imagined, let alone ever dreamed of asking for. Without their love and the grace of our Lord, I don’t know that we would have ever made it this far. We are far from through it. How could we ever get over you?
You were our sunshine. Even though you are not here, your spirit’s light still shines brightly. You are still here – just like the lyrics of the song shared with us today. We carry you in our hearts, our memories, and our stories. We share those stories over and over because we want every memory to still be alive in Sally’s mind. She was so tiny when you had to go home with Jesus, but there are so many times that I stare at her because she sounds just like you. She loves learning and reading and math and superheroes and Legos and animals – all the things you loved. You would bubble over with excitement as she is reading some of your old books, whipping right through them like you did. She has the same reactions when she watches the movies too! But the thing that most reminds me of you happened at her parent-teacher conference; her teacher shared how incredibly kind she is. More tears leaked out on that February day.
Then there are Sister and Sawyer. You would be so proud. Your light, that today basks in the glory of heaven, shines so brightly in them. They hold true to the values that our family holds dear, even when it isn’t cool or popular. They root for the underdog, and they give back in the best of ways. They hit rough patches, but time and time again, they have proven they are resilient. Remember that time when Erin got hurt on her bike, and you picked her up and carried her down the block back home to my loving arms. There are so many times they both wish they could have done the same for you on that awful February day. If it is true that the angels pray on our behalf (and I believe it is), always, always ask them to hold your brother and sisters close to their hearts. Where you live, there are no tears, no sadness, but trust me, Reedy, there is plenty of that to go around back here on earth. Sadness doesn’t define our days, but there are the moments when it engulfs us.
Maybe, just maybe, tears bring us closer to God, who reminds us this is not our forever home. Homesickness has a completely different meaning when we look through that lens. Another thing about those tears is they clear our myopic vision to truly see the blessings and as much as there is sadness, there blessings to infinity and beyond we encounter every day. Tears have also removed scales from our eyes so that we more easily see when someone else is hurting, and perhaps that is what God had planned for all of us for now. What if blessings come through raindrops and healing comes through tears are more than just song lyrics; they are truly the reminders of hope that keeps our eyes looking to heaven and our ears listening to the birds, who are whispering God’s love in every note.
Through my tears, I see the blessings – including the time God shared you with us. Always wishing it was for a lot longer and always loving you until I can hug you again!
Momma
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
you’ll never know, Reed, how much I love you
I think every parent has been there. It’s Christmas morning, and there sits your child inside the box of the latest greatest toy you spent hours standing in line to purchase earlier in the month. Instead of dropping the big bucks on the toy, you could have headed to the office supply store and spent less than ten dollars on the biggest box available. Better yet, you could have put out a request to friends to see if any were making any large appliance purchases before the holidays and requested to “simply take the box off their hands”.
I remember as a child when one of my best friend’s family purchased new kitchen appliances. Jackpot! We spent the next few months creating an elaborate house out of the boxes. Using markers, crayons, scissors, and construction paper, we made windows and doors as well as decorated our corrugated home like it was straight out of the pages of Southern Living.
Over the years, my children have had similar experiences only instead of a house, they made the Batmobile, the Space Shuttle, and a personal favorite was the Tardis of Dr. Who fame. Of course, there were smaller creations, but these were the most memorable. One weekend last year, the wonder known as the box took center stage in my littlest’s plans. She had a sleepover with a friend. They didn’t have any big plans until . . . we decided to assemble the new recliners we had recently purchased. Both littles were great construction assistants, but as soon as the chairs were sitting ready, they flocked to the boxes like bees to honey.
After a long and lengthy discussion, they settled on becoming Wonder Women. They created “gold” bracelets out of the remnants of the Styrofoam tube packaging and instead of an invisible jet, they got to work creating their very own time machine AND a magic carpet.
They spent hours and hours just drawing and adding details. There were no squabbles or arguments, but plenty of words of encouragement for each other. They couldn’t have had more fun if we had planned a day full of activities. Uncomplicated, unscripted and unplugged – they embraced the moment. Completely content – oh the adventures they had!
I sent these pictures to the other momma with the caption of “Our Wonder Women”. Almost immediately, she acknowledged the lure of the cardboard box, fondly remembering both her own adventures as well as those of her sweet kiddos over the years.
Recently, I’ve been thinking (A LOT) about contentment and my tendency on occasion to compartmentalize life making all my details fit inside “my box”. In my ponderings, I remembered these two sweet little girls, and their unbridled joy when I said the box was theirs for the day. Making lists and checking them twice have been my strong suits for a long time. Keeping my hands busy was a close third on my compartmentalizing strengths. Gently, God has been nudging me to just stop and be present in the moment, just like the girls. This morning I saw a photo that perfectly captured my ability to be caught up in what I am doing, but miss the rest of what is going on around me. It is going to be an uphill battle, but I am ready to embrace what God has laid before me, open to all the possibilities.
Keep company with God, get in on the best. Psalm 37:4 (The Message)
And who knows? Maybe along the way that will mean time spent in boxes, blanket forts, and tents in the backyard! I’ll have the crayons ready . . . just in case.
Our journey home from the girls’ trip changed at the last minute. The reason for the change was our town festival coincided with our plans. On the surface, that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but when you are nine and the title of being “Queen” of the county is on the line, your priorities shift. Bragging momma warning alert! She did indeed win a title in the pageant; so, our switcheroo paid off, even if it meant some logistical changes in our transportation home. We traded in our train passes and purchased one-way tickets via Megabus (a double decker, wi-fi express).
The current Queen of Lyon County
The bus company uses the same stations as Amtrak so it was easy to know where to go in the city, although if it did take us a moment in downtown Chicago to locate where exactly the pick-up would be. Of course, I was a little flustered after leaving my phone on the concierge’s desk, and subsequently pretending we were playing Amazing Race with the taxi driver. Sadly, stations are places where people who haven’t seen blessings in a while congregate. This does not daunt me, and I try my best shine God’s light while I visit with them. The group waiting for various buses was an eclectic mix, and just before several buses pulled up, a young black man sitting on the retaining wall got my attention.
“Miss, I want you to know I think that is awesome.” It took me a moment to figure out what we did that was so “awesome” before I realized he was talking about the fact that a little white girl was holding a black baby doll. When I explained that he was the only doll she wanted, he was grinning from ear to ear. The call for Madison and St. Paul came and once again, it was time for “all aboard”.
So proud of her new doll, Noah.
The first thing I noticed was a shocking shift in temperatures from Illinois August air to the freezer inside the bus. I had packed a blanket but we were woefully underdressed for the mandatory cool temps (to keep drivers alert). Other than a few college kids heading to University of Wisconsin, the remainder was made up of young families and a few individuals. Since we were the last to embark, we took the only remaining seats left (which for those who know me struck fear in my heart). The final two spots were the very last row – where my son was seated the day he died on the school bus. That is a no-go zone for all of us, but I couldn’t ask families with tiny children to move. My fears subsided (a little) when I noticed both the bathroom and the stairs to the upper deck were behind us.
Once we were seated, I noticed our neighbor to the right was seated alone. Our driver gave the basic instructions of passenger-ship, and I almost peed in my pants when she said absolutely no alcohol, just as my fellow passenger had pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swig. A sheepish little smile and a shoulder shrug resulted in more than a few giggles from me. Over time, the conversation began to flow between us. My neighbor, Eugene, had fallen on hard times and was trying to get his life back in order. I had to smile when he stated unapologetically that without God’s help that was never going to happen. Between Chicago and Madison, we learned much about each other’s lives, including the fact that we actually knew some of the same people from our college days.
At some point, my friend from back at the sidewalk came down and stood between us. He joined in our conversation and asked if we would mind if he stood for a while as he was healing from a back surgery. Eugene and I were both amenable, and our new friend, Anderson, a city advocate/Franciscan missionary from Detroit, jumped right in. The next hour was spent sharing our faith stories, including the tragedies that helped solidify or test that same faith.
As the sun started to set, the conversation took on a more solemn note. The date of this ride was August 13, four days after the shot that took the life of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. The irony was not lost on me that here I was seated in the back of the bus (with two black men) while our country was being torn apart with hateful thoughts and acts on each side of the racial divide once again. Since the Saturday before, I had simply been praying for love to prevail and for our country to heal, which would take amazing courage, gut-wrenching hard work, and a willingness to talk, but more importantly listen.
Almost as naturally as me grabbing a sweet tea, we decided we should pray. Holding each other’s hands, we prayed, each in our faith comfort zone and pattern, but pray we did. We prayed for each other, we prayed for families hurting, for our own families, our communities, and our country. And we prayed for Ferguson. We asked God for his strength, his peace, and his light to shine in a place that none of us had ever visited. By the time, we were done, the remaining passengers were staring. I had tears streaming down, because I felt like the seat I didn’t want was a divinely appointed one.
We weren’t the only people in the world praying, but that one moment felt like God’s love was shining through as we road down the interstate. Even though we all knew our paths would most likely not cross again this side of Jordan, our prayers were the prayers of people who knew that none of our differences mattered when we came together in love. In God’s eyes, we are all his children, and no place was that more beautifully displayed than on our knees at the back of the bus.
No matter where I travel, I always seem to return home with a story or two. Some have been quite interesting. Others downright show-stoppers. Last August’s girl trip had its moments as well. At first, we almost cancelled the whole shebang, because I am adamant about staying downtown near the Magnificent Mile. Because we dawdled a little too long, I wasn’t finding a hotel room for under $400. I love my girls, but that price was way over what I wanted to spend for a night’s lodging. I am in no way getting paid for this, but at the very last minute, I searched www.booking.com and (Shazam!) found a room for around a hundred dollars only a couple blocks from the American Girl store (which I failed to mention yesterday had moved locations since the last girls’ trip). I would be lying if I said I didn’t prance around the house saying, “Booking dot Yeah!” for a few hours.
When we arrived at the very upscale hotel, the concierge explained that if it was okay, we would be staying next door at their sister property. My elation at a good deal felt like the rug was just pulled out from under us. I am nothing if not a seasoned adventurer (Trust me people, I have slept in my van – not down by the river however – with three dogs while travelling back from North Dakota because there was no room in the inn for my four-legged buddies). My friends hate that I do that, but at least, I’m not like my one friend who used to camp out in cemeteries while bicycling across the country. I had no choice other than to agree to the relocation and hope for the best. The property really seemed more like an apartment building, but as long as we had a bed and bathroom we would be fine. We opened the door and nearly fell over laughing. We walked right into a one-bedroom townhouse complete with living room, dining room, kitchen, more closets than we could count, office, and lofted bedroom. We’re no dummies, and we thought we might be guests at the Roach Motel, but instead ended up feeling like we were real Chicagoans.
Union Depot, St. Paul, MN
As unexpected as the accommodations were, my favorite travelling story happened before we even left the station back in St. Paul. Due to the oil boom in North Dakota, the Empire Builder is now historically late. In fact, we had been notified that we might be placed on a charter bus (which has happened to me before) to get to Chicago. Since we had a sleeper car and were not connecting with another train, we were part of the group that was left to wait for the train. The delay was only a couple hours; so, we did the best to occupy our time while waiting.
Sally and Kit can hardly wait for the train to arrive.
But we wait we did!
Eventually, the station master signaled the call for all travelers to line up for the platform.
Gate C to Chicago!
After making it through the ticket gate, we descended the long escalator from the station to our assigned location. When you travel with little ones, you rarely get anywhere quickly. At the bottom was a smiling station security officer. As we were heading to our area, I heard a voice behind me.
Almost there!
Miss. Excuse me Miss. Do you have your ticket?
Sally and I both stopped and turned around, thinking the officer thought we were perhaps trying to sneak our way onto the VIP section of the train. I grabbed my boarding passes to show him.
No, I’m sorry, ma’am. I am speaking to this little girl here. Miss, does your friend (pointing to Kit, the doll Santa had given her a few years earlier) have her ticket?
A quick glance up at me told me she was asking if this guy was for real. Her glance was met with a shoulder shrug on my part.
Is he for real?
Um. That would be tiny little ticket, wouldn’t it sir?
Indeed, it would be. Where are you two girls heading?
Chicago. We are going to the American Girl Doll Store.
Well, I see. This seems to be a pretty big occasion. I will trust that you have your papers in order, but that is such a tiny little suitcase for your friend. Do you think she has enough clothes packed for such a big day?
Well, we are only going to be there for two days. I packed her pajamas and a special dress for when we get to eat at the fancy restaurant.
Do you think you might need to buy her an outfit while you are there?
That was kind of the plan.
Okay, well that sounds good. Has your friend ever been to Chicago?
No sir, but I have once. I was a toddler, but this is a trip that my momma does with each girl in our family. Now it is my turn.
I would have to say that is about the most wonderful plan I’ve ever heard.
A loud whistle told us all the train was coming into the station. I quickly made sure that Clo (who still struggles to hear things approaching from behind) was far from the edge of the platform as we waited for Engine 27 to pull in. While we stood back, I spoke quickly to the officer.
Can I ask you your name? Officer Matt. Officer Matt, you just made my little girl’s day. Thank you! You’re welcome. I have a little girl about her age, and I think of my daughter whenever I see a little girl standing on this platform. I try to go out of my way to brighten her day, hoping somebody is doing the same for my little girl. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you!
It was all the conversation we could squeeze in, as the train was trying to make up time, and we needed to board quickly. When we returned home, I called the station and the security company and gave a glowing report of the magic of Officer Matt. The dispatcher was bawling when I got done with my story. She said that most of the calls they receive are complaints, but that no one ever takes the time to say thank you. It touched her so much that she decided to do the same and nominate Officer Matt for a commendation. Then it was me who was choking up on the phone.
That conversation on the platform probably took all of five minutes, but it left a mark on me and my mini-me which rippled out to the staff of an entire train station. The world needs a few more Officer Matt’s who aren’t afraid to use their hearts and their imaginations to brighten someone’s day!
A lot can change in eleven years. Many of the very somber scars of my heart have occurred in the last decade. But I want today’s blog to be more upbeat. The most celebrated event of our lives was the birth of our baby (who despite all of our best efforts, at ten, is no longer anywhere close to being a baby). Of course, there have been a few other changes, like our remodeling our home, gain a few pounds, lose a few pounds, trips to the hairdresser suddenly becoming more necessary, and instead of chasing toddlers, keeping up with teenagers.
Another difference compared to my life eleven years ago is the way I am able to interact with friends and family on a daily basis. Accepting the inherent dangers, the advent of social media has been a game changer for us. While definitely insignificant compared to the birth of our last child, keeping up with friends and family has revolutionized my world. While we do have cousins a little over an hour away, our parents live more than four hundred miles from our home. Sometimes, my best long-distance “connections” are no farther than a finger swipe away.
Last summer, I came to the realization that our baby girl hadn’t taken her trip to Chicago. Since our Boy Wonder is now a senior, I knew the clock was ticking on how much longer she would even be little. We checked the calendar, cashed in an Amtrak travel voucher, and packed our bags. A big send off by Sister and Sally Gal and I pulled out of the driveway. Sister’s parting words were, “Take lots of pictures and keep us updated.”
All Aboard!
Throughout our travels, I posted snippets of our adventures. If it was a new and novel experience, a photo was snapped to document the memory. Don’t get me wrong! The point of the trip was to be with my little girl; so, I only shared highlights with my corner of the world.
Who knew that Kit dreamed of working as a valet at Union Station?
Kit and Sally are ruthless card sharks! Ruthless I tell you!
Eating breakfast outdoors was nothing compared to eating in the middle of skyscrapers.
I drew the line at bringing the stroller this time, but trust me walking like this takes a long time by any definition.
Most of the comments were ones about my ridiculous ideas, but one comment completely caught me off guard. While not these exact words, I interpreted the message to be: I hope she appreciates all of this. Why is it that we can have hundreds of supporting comments and uplifting messages, but one small negative interjection can stop us in our tracks? Sucks the joy right out of you. Last year, I received my first hate mail on this blog, and believe me it was vile. At first, I was shocked, then saddened, then really saddened that someone could be hurting so badly to write hate mail about a blog in which I talked about the support we received when Reed died. In the end, I just wanted to find this person and give them a really big hug. I didn’t, but if you know me, that is exactly what I wanted to do.
My transformation didn’t happen instantaneously. The words ate at me for a long time. I actually talked to my pastor about it when our families were having supper one time. The same blog that elicited the vitriolic response was the one that opened the doors on my readership and in the end, tens of thousands of people read it. My sweet pastor gently explained how I would never please everyone and the positive comments far outweighed the one person who was clearly hurting. Just let it go, remembering I share my story to help people.
Which is exactly what I did with that comment on Sally’s gratefulness, I let it in and then I let it out. Or did I? God knows my thoughts, my doubts, my fears, and my hurts. As we were riding in the taxi to the station to head home, I snapped this picture.
The absolute best moment of the whole trip!
Of course, this was after we were two blocks from the station, the first time, and realized I had left my phone sitting on the counter at the hotel. The AMAZING and MOST UNDERSTANDING driver ever let me use her phone to call the hotel, waited with my child on the street while I ran in, and still got us to the station on time. Can you say huge tip and a hug?
Anyways, after I snapped the picture, completely unscripted, my baby girl looked into my eyes and said, “Momma, I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough! This was the greatest trip of my life! Thank you, Momma, for buying me this baby, but mostly for taking me on this trip! I love you!”
God knew . . . as I wiped away tears. God knew that the comment stung what I would like to think is my very tender heart wrapped in a tougher than I have ever expected it would need to be exterior. He also knew when he created this little (and grateful) girl the exact words of reassurance she would say that would forever melt my heart. I am abundantly thankful that he did!
Wherever you are today, may God use someone’s words to whisper into your heart!
kandynolesstevens 