Yesterday’s blog shared about a family tradition I share with my daughters – a special trip to Chicago. Before I went with my oldest daughter, we spent hours paging through the American Girl catalog to pick exactly the perfect doll (or in her case, dolls) to purchase. Once her selection was narrowed down, we asked my grandmother, Mama, who was once a professional seamstress in the famed sewing room featured in the movie, Norma Rae, to sew a matching set of dresses for my all-American girl and her baby doll. That spring, we gathered all the material, notions and patterns to mail to Alabama.
When we called Mama to ask if she could possibly make the dresses, she said “Yes”, but under one condition. It was going to cost Erin – one penny. A tradition started by my cousin’s daughter who once took a couple pennies out of her pocket to pay Mama when she made her a beautiful dress for a school function. The fabric of families is held together by the traditions we weave. My tiny girl agreed to those terms.
The seamstress and the customer a year before the girls’ trip.
Shortly before our trip, the new dresses arrived in the mail. They were absolutely stunning. The first layer was a blue gingham sundress, reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie. The second layer was a gauzy and sheer coverlet, depicting scenes from the classic tale Winnie the Pooh. The tiny Sister (as she has always been called around here) couldn’t wait to put it on. (Looking back now, I wonder what happened, because we would have to pay her to wear dresses now.) We snapped a picture, penned a thank you drawing in childlike scribble, and attached the requisite payment.
When trip time came, the set was carefully wrapped in our luggage. Sister saved the dress for the big day – the one where we got to eat at the restaurant with her new babies. Yesterday, I mentioned that we were exposed to some insane behavior while waiting entry to the café. As much fun as enjoying a great meal while using our imaginations was, I don’t, for one minute, believe my daughter’s life would be irreparably damaged if it didn’t happen. That was mild compared to some of the other things we heard as we were being escorted to our seats.
Just when I thought all was safe, I was in no way prepared for watching the exchange that followed shortly thereafter. We had snapped a few pictures with the girls while waiting for our orders to be taken. It was during this time that a mom came rushing over to the table to inquire about Sister’s dress.
In about the most exasperated tone: Where did you get that dress? Dahling, I simply must have it! Wherever did you find it? I have looked this entire store over, and I KNOW that dress is not in this store.
Now in this lady’s defense, outside of our table most of the little girls and dolls were wearing matching outfits that had been previously purchased at the American Girl store.
My eyebrows almost reached my hairline on this one. Just as I was about to open my mouth to explain, the spitfire, known as Sister, popped up out of her chair, plopped her hands on her little hips, and stood eyeball to eyeball (okay probably more like eyeball to hip, but her confidence exuded eyeball), and said, “My Mama made it, and I paid a penny for it.”
Mouth agape, the woman turned and looked at me. I thought she somewhat deserved the sassy retort. When I explained Sister had asked her great-grandmother to make the dresses, the inquisitor was saddened to learn she couldn’t purchase one for her little girl. As she turned to walk away, she said with all sincerity, “You are one lucky little girl.”
Lady, you don’t know the half of it.
The little girl who almost wasn’t, because she was born dead and brought back to life, was about the most adored little Southern girl, north of the Mason Dixon line. Not a day goes by that we don’t forget that she is a miracle just being here. She is a beloved child of God, who let us have her despite her rough start.
The homemade little dress is beautiful. My Mama’s stitching is incredible, but it pales in comparison to God’s handiwork of love, the creation of a family. Someday she will pass the dress (which is safely tucked away) to her little girl. And when she does, she will able to tell of all the love that her Mama sewed in every stitch of a penny dress!
When the Girl Awesome was 4 years old, I stumbled across a great deal on travel. For $19 (that really was the cost), we could travel via train from Minneapolis to Chicago – ROUND TRIP. I called a friend and asked if she and her daughter, age 7 at the time, would like to join us on the journey. They did, and my friend found an incredible deal on a hotel. Both little girls were the only daughters in families with boys; thus, the whole point of the trip was to visit little girl mecca – The American Girl Doll flagship store. Living vicariously through our daughters, I think we were more excited than they were.
So that August found us waiting for the beautiful cry of “All Aboard”. We packed extra snacks and lunches, lots of activities AND a huge sense of adventure to keep two little girls occupied on the eight hour trip. The first thing that caught their attention was the fact that the car directly behind ours was carrying the United States Postal Service mail. Eyes wide, they never realized trains might be one of the ways that letters made it to their house.
The trip was pretty uneventful (which I know is a huge disappointment to fans of this blog since EVENTS seem to have a way of finding me). Okay, there was the incident when we attended church on Sunday morning where the poor lady (who hadn’t seen God’s blessings in a while) came in screaming about how she needed help and the church wouldn’t help her. After a scuffle with the ushers, our little girls didn’t know what to think of all that. Truth be told, neither did we – other than to pray for her and the guy at Dunkin’ Donuts who kept asking for money.
We really wanted to stay on our budget; so, we planned to eat out once to indulge in Chicago-style pizza and once more at the American Girl Doll restaurant. We were hoping to find a little grocery store and luckily, there was a bodega across the street from the hotel. Immediately upon arriving, our girls were chomping at the bit ready to head down the Magnificent Mile (what divas!) to pick up their dollies. N was dreaming of purchasing a Molly doll, while Erin was planning to get the Bitty Twins. Having older brothers at this point in her life, she never wanted to be called by her given name and preferred to be called “Kyle” which is the name of one of her older cousins. I am fairly certain the allure of the Bitty Twins was that one was a boy.
We marched our way down that street, taking in all the sights and noises. Girl Awesome was enamored with the horse drawn carriages, mostly because the horses wore blinders. When we arrived at the store, we simply took time to soak it all in – it was everything we had dreamed it would be and more. Finally, we chose our dolls (and accoutrement) which let me tell you people could cost as much as your first semester of college tuition. My little girl chose the whole package (dolls, double stroller, and souvenir t-shirts for dolls and girl). I left looking like a bag lady, while shoulders back and head up with a beaming smile, my spunky four year old proudly sashayed with her babies down North Michigan Avenue. While waiting for the crosswalk, we all asked what the twins were going to be named. After a few thoughts, she narrowed it down to Daniel and Kandy (pretty proud momma moment there).
The Girl Awesome with our namesakes!
She, of course, wanted to push those babies everywhere the next two days. It was cute at first, but after schlepping that stroller which has absolutely no turn radius, the cuteness more than wore off on me – especially when I had to pick it up and carry it all.
Our little prairie raised girls got a whole education on interesting behavior on that trip. Our arranged AND reserved lunch (which if you ever are going to take your daughter to one of these stores is personally my favorite) had amazing food (think four stars), impeccable staff, and incredible attention to details (chairs and dishes for the dolls). We had an assigned time but arrived early as requested and then proceeded to try to make our way through all the people who did not have reservations. Eventually I had to cover Erin’s ears because mothers were shouting at the maître d’ words that I think would cause sailors to blush. Past that chaos, our time in the restaurant was amazing and magical and everything a little girl would dream.
My family annually purchased memberships to zoos and science museums which we were able to use the reciprocity agreements while in Chicago, mostly for free. Using the free trolley for transportation also saved a ton of money; otherwise, we mostly walked and pushed babies. We attended the Museum of Natural History (long enough to see a dinosaur named Sue for our boys), Lincoln Park Zoo and the Chicago Children’s Museum. One afternoon, we stayed back at the hotel while my friend and her daughter (who was old enough) attended the play that was once a part of the American Girl Chicago experience. While they were gone, we went to the park and watched street performers and fed pigeons. In the evenings, we visited Navy Pier and took in the fireworks offered there, but from the amazing viewpoint of the former Hancock Tower.
On our final day, we voted on how to spend our time. The Shedd Aquarium won, even though it was a little more than our original budget. Eating sandwiches for supper was a worthy sacrifice, because the Shedd was worth every penny! But for this day, I decided that the dolls needed a break which was momma-ese for “I am not taking that ridiculous stroller or any baby I did not give birth to on that trolley one more time!” The room was in shambles, and we left “Molly”, who was clearly older, in charge of the sleeping Daniel and Kandy. Throughout the day, the older N kept teasing my little girl that she was going to be up all night if her babies slept the whole time we were away. This chiding continued off and on to the point, where the Girl Awesome was about to use up all her goodness and mercy.
Since this is something to fight over, it turned out it was N’s turn to use the key to unlock the door when we arrived back at the hotel room. I really wish that I captured her face when we walked in. The room was spotless, everything in its place, the babies were up and playing, and Molly was looking a little tired after a hard day of work. Astonished doesn’t even begin to describe it. N was awed by her dolly, such an amazing babysitter who not only watched little ones, but also cleaned the whole room.
Even as early as preschool, our kiddos were pretty seasoned travelers. My little girl knew exactly who did all that work, but for the sake of her friend, she didn’t . . . spoil the magic of Chicago!
May some little piece of childhood magic touch your heart today!
As a science teacher, more than once I have performed demonstrations for my students explaining how when given the chance air will rush into a vacuum. Recently, I have come to terms that a similar phenomenon occurred in our home to attempt to fill the deep, aching, empty hole left in our hearts by our darkest day. The hurt so profound, so full of void, we allowed many different things (often material but sometimes time wasters) to rush into that dark emptiness. Much like the wonder of gravitational attraction between objects, our hearts’ songs were so mournful they had a pull on the people around us who also tried to help us fill the hole with gifts of love. The resultant aftermath was a lot of clutter – physical and emotional – which simply created chaos in our home and in my heart.
Almost three years ago now, we began a long and perilous journey to reclaim our space which meant remodeling projects throughout our house, but more importantly having real conversations regarding what we really wanted out of life. The last of those projects is nearing completion. As we finished each room, gut-wrenching conversations were required to determine what would stay and what we could allow someone else to love.
As that process unfolded, we realized things and thought-numbing activities consumed our life, in more ways than one, and even worse, we were missing out on living. There I said it. In an effort to fill the hole, we allowed unsubstantial things to fill the broken fissures of our hearts. The one thing we didn’t want to do after Reed passed – which was stop living because there is no way no how he would have ever wanted us to do that – was slowly happening, and we needed to take drastic measures to stop it.
When your heart hurts, it is so easy to find something – anything that will stop the hurt even for a fleeting moment. Leaning into our grief by letting go of artificial hole-fillers, we were deliberate in our pursuit for joy. JOY – our one word theme for last year! In tiny incremental steps, we began our search. We soon found all sorts of sources, in the most unexpected of places – the impromptu gathering with friends, the snowstorm safe at home, the taste of wonderful new recipe, the prayers of friends, the laughter of our kids, a shooting star while sitting in the hot tub, the nuzzle by wet nose of an old dog, meeting for lunch and realizing you are still at the restaurant at supper. Joy was hidden right under noses, but previously we were too encumbered to notice it. As a natural off-shoot, we uncovered joy hidden in verses as God continued to minister to us, almost like wiping our eyes with divine spittle. Our broken hearts began to feel lighter.
As the year unfolded, we began to pray about our next theme word; although I don’t believe the search for joy will leave us for quite some time. We wanted a new word which would continue to bring us closer to God and enable Him to still mend our broken places.
Music stirs my soul and next to creation, it is the place where I often get lost in God’s beauty. Last week was a rough one, filled with doctor and therapy appointments. On my drive back from dropping the Girl Awesome at school, I heard this song on Christian radio.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtXwX4Gt1Pc
From the artists’ lips to my soul, it was too much for me. I had to pull over to the side of the road, my vision too clouded by the gigantic tears falling down. The new word had been dancing into my thoughts for weeks. Hearing the lyrics was the confirmation I needed that “content” was exactly the word for us. I simply want to soak in the grace, love, mercy, and beauty that God has provided for me. I never want to fill my days, my thoughts, my heart with anything other than that.
God I run into your arms, unashamed because of your mercy . . . some day that is going to be me. A full out arms open wide dash similar to the time I ran into the arms of my Granddaddy while being chased by a goat which escaped the circus, I plan on hugging Jesus and his Daddy. I want to hug Reed and rock my babies. I am truly overwhelmed by how much He has given my family. Finding joy was a journey, and now, I am choosing to not get caught up in racing thoughts of details, worries, doubts, or fears (behaviors of which if am not a pro, then I am definitely an Olympic medalist) and simply be content with what God has provided.
Content in every avenue of my life will take a big effort. Choosing to be present in whatever path God lays my feet will be the first step. My initial search for Bible verses proved to be fruitful. We are using this verse to guide us as we search to be content in what we eat and wear, we decide to purchase, we choose to spend our time, in how we fill our moments and our days, and most importantly, in how we accept what God provides in plenty and in want. All the while hoping and praying contentment draws us closer to God.
Friends, this world is not your home, so don’t make yourselves cozy in it. Don’t indulge your ego at the expense of your soul. 1 Peter 2:11 (MSG)
Wherever God finds you today, may it be wrapped in the arms of his love! True contentment!
*Special note: Somehow sitting on the side of the highway, praising my heavenly Father, I knew this song had something to do with Africa. Honestly, I don’t know how or why I knew that – other than the children’s voices at the end of the song. I have two special connections to that continent. One is to an orphanage in Uganda (more on that at a future date), and the other is to our first adopted college student, James from Kenya. Although he is back home now with his family (and our adopted grandchildren), he is never far from our hearts. When I got home and saw the video, more tears easily fell as I praised God for our loves a world away.
The first time I saw Sawyer the night of the bus crash was most the surreal moment of that evening. I already knew that Reed was gone, as did Daniel, but neither thought the other knew, as we were trying to protect the other one and deal with the horrors right in front of us. Wrapped in warm blankets to keep him from going into shock and barely lucid as medications were keeping him in a state of medically induced numbness, all that was exposed when I leaned over to kiss him were his face and ears, every inch wrapped tight. Before my lips reached his forehead, my eyes saw his ears filled with glass and bright yellow bus paint. This was much worse than the broken leg I had been told at the school. When I arrived at the hospital with my pastor and his wife along with two teacher friends, all I wanted to do was see Reed. I didn’t love Sawyer any less, but shattered bones heal. My heart longed to prove the news of our redheaded boy wrong, a case of mistaken identity. The hospital staff would not let me see Reed until I saw Sawyer because there were decisions we needed to make to save his life. When I saw the horrors of the day filling his precious ears, ones that look exactly like his grandfather’s, all the remaining joy from my world was sucked away.
The next morning when the nurses came to give Sawyer his first “bath”, they wanted to wash away the very visual reminders that still lingered. A tray full of glass fell out of his thick hair, and when they turned him over, other than those chubby, signature cheeks, there wasn’t a spot not covered in bruises, cuts, or stitches. For over a day, we were able to keep the news of Reed’s death away from him. Then an incident that I share more in depth in my upcoming book happened, and we knew that we were not going to be able to hold our secret much longer. The rest of the world was going on as we were suspended in some kind of distorted reality. He was in so much pain, and we wanted to insulate him from more.
Meeting with the grief counselor before we talked with him, I remember very distinctly saying that someday our family would laugh again. Our counselor, Mark, wiped away tears as he remarked we were incredibly strong people (I felt anything but strong) and how he was moved by our faith. We had some choices to make about our next steps, along with the words we would use to explain Reed’s absence, and our determination focused on how we would not ever let this define us, we would not allow our house (whenever we could return there) become a place of overwhelming sadness, and we would always let our love of Jesus carry us through. Visual images of Jesus laughing with little children became a real driving force in the days we endured. This could not have been more real than at the conclusion of Reed’s Celebration of Life. As the casket containing his earthly body was wheeled away, we had asked for the Star Wars theme to be played. Tears of sadness turned to tears of laughter as those present recognized the familiar tune, while our three pastors presided over the whole affair with light sabers. We could only imagine that Reed and Jesus laughed.
The first month, very little laughing, especially purposeful belly chuckling, occurred. As much as I wanted to crawl in a hole and lay next to Reed, I knew what that would say to our other children. No matter how badly we hurt, I did not want them to ever feel that they were second best, and there would be nothing worth living for now that our oldest was gone. While convalescing at home, we watched many movies to fill our minutes, the very minutes we were living through one by one. Although there were probably many opportunities to laugh, it didn’t come as naturally as it once did.
I remember very distinctly the first belly chuckle laugh that came bubbling out, despite my wanting it to. Even though we had made those promises to our future at the hospital, I wasn’t ready to live again when I really did laugh. I felt almost guilty doing so, because Reed would never laugh again. Sawyer was hurting so much we were willing to loosen our parental veto to let him watch a television show that I would not normally approve, and even Grandma said nothing about the show’s snarky sass. If you like The Simpson’s, this is not meant as a judgment, it simply wasn’t the type of show I wanted my eleven-year-old watching. He, however, found it amusing in his swirling cloud of pain medications.
I have a really bad habit of zeroing in on things that tickle my funny bone about the same time I am drinking something. Not very lady-like, but more than once, I have snorted sweet tea through my nose because of this unfortunate timing. Somehow this very thing would have produced rolling on the floor giggles from both my boys. This was no exception during the opening for the cartoon which snuck right up on me. As Marge flips through the mail containing a postcard from some exotic place, she reads the penned words while the audience sees the picture on the front featuring a voluptuous bikini-clad brunette with the words, “Wish you were her”. No that is not a typo on my part, nor is the humor all that funny, but at that moment a tea-snorting chuckle came bursting forth despite my best efforts to hold it in.
Until that moment, our nights had been sleepless, filled with agonizing pain-induced screams and night terrors and our days with sadness, grief, being overwhelmed, and bitterness. I did not want to laugh because I wasn’t ready to replace those things with something as ridiculous as base humor.
However, through the prayers of many and the determination to not merely survive, laugh I did! It was a pivotal point of new beginnings, replacing all those negative things with love filled ones. More chuckles and laughs came (as did more tears), until eventually the day came when we laughed so hard we cried. After that came the point where we looked for ways to make other people laugh, something for a while I never fathomed possible. I am incredibly thankful God had other plans as those moments of joy did finally come.
Hoping laughter finds you in your corner of the world today.
On a recent girl’s trip, Cloie with her American Girl doll, Kit, got a little carried away with the window washing equipment. That experience proved to be too much for the poor doll.
Even the workers at Chicago 360 chuckled at our antics. Poor Kit passed out from the height.
Although the sun is shining bright on the prairie today, the scene outside my picture window is a little more than fantasy of a beautiful day. The weatherman says the temperature outside feels like 30 below due to the windchill. Morning chores done, I sit wrapped in a blanket surrounded by the glow of candles for a hygge-like trip down memory lane. I need this journey because after reading the letter from the mom of the sweet courageous, selfless young lady who passed on the bus in North Dakota, I am clinging to God’s promises of showers of blessings even in the midst of great trial.
There will be showers of blessings. Ezekiel 34:26
Last August, I embarked on the most amazing trip with my son. In reality, I only spent one day with him because he was attending the National Flight Academy. For me, this trip was one of desiring to place my feet deep within the roots of my childhood, hoping to get tangled there for a while.
After spending a few days with my grandmother, I drove from Opelika to Pensacola to simply hang out with my parents for the rest of the week. I don’t know why, but it was the most magical time I have had in a long run. Truth be told, I haven’t had my parents to myself in forty-two years. I am nothing if not patient, but that was a long time to wait. It was worth it, because we had a blast! (Although, I thought they were trying to kill me when they took this Southern-transplanted Minnesota girl to clean out their storage shed on a 110 degree day.)
My parents have just about everything they could want in terms of material goods; so, a few years ago, I started giving them gifts of trips and adventures. Before I arrived, my dad called and asked if I would want to go with them on one such adventure – a day of snorkeling and kayaking in the Gulf of Mexico. Would I? That was about like asking me if I wanted sweet tea to go with my meal.
I was so excited! A day on my beloved Emerald Coast with just my mom and dad where I didn’t have to worry about anything or anybody! I believe everyone has a place on earth that brings them great joy. Those white sand beaches (and my vegetable garden) are mine.
My happy place!
Driving over to the pier and settling onboard the vessel were fairly uneventful. Although, we did meet a lovely Minnesota born and raised server at the What-A-Burger for breakfast. This will not be much of a shocker but yours truly won a little game called, “Who travelled the farthest to be on our little excursion today!” The prize wasn’t much other than a little repartee with the ship’s captain who happened to hale from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. A free beverage would have been much more appreciated!
The trip to the man-made reef was a surprise all in itself as there were dolphins that escorted us along the way. They are absolutely the most amazing and entertaining hosts. We snorkeled for an hour or so until the tide came in. The fish were as diverse in their beauty as in their number. Even the moon jellies were captivating to watch float by!
Everything’s better down where its wetter . . . under the sea.
The last leg of our trip we journeyed over to the sound side of the island. We set anchor just mere yards away from my sweetie’s retirement village, where boaters anchor and have a floating city all day. Counting the days until that dream becomes a reality – especially on days like this one!
Where we hope to retire!
I will admit that on the way over there I was thinking they really should do this trip in reverse. The sound side is much less adventuresome than the gulf side. I could not have been more wrong in my thinking.
At this point, my mom had more than enough adventure; so it was just my dad and I exploring. I don’t know if it was the adventure part or true to her Southern roots she didn’t want to mess up her hair. (Sorry mom – it was a toss up!) My dad and I soon discovered there was just enough current that you could get in a good work-out without leaving your spot. Like cartoon characters who spin their “wheels” without going anywhere, here we were a mom and grandpa frolicking like we were Neptune’s children, uninhibited without a care in the world.
During that crazy moment was when I uncovered my greatest memento of the day. I reached down and found a complete shell (okay if I was going to get all science teacher on you, I would tell you it was an intact, minus its former inhabitant, bivalve shell). In all my years, I have never found one that still hinged and lined up perfectly like when it was someone’s home. I cradled that sweet treasure in my hands as I ran (I seriously did not care what I looked like) to my sweet mom’s shady spot on the banks of the sound.
At that moment, I wasn’t a forty-something momma and wife, I was transported back to the days of when I put flowers behind my ears for earrings and was the little mermaid I have always believed myself to be. Pure bliss washed over me as I showed her my discovery. It was truly one of my most magical moments!
Today, that little gem of the sea sits on my night stand to remind me of the day when my roots transported me back to a time I had long since forgotten. I might have gotten more tangled in seaweed and less in roots, but it was more than worth it. That tiny little shell is like an Ebenezer stone reminding that joy does come after the storm. Because even though, the Boy Wonder still had another surgery upcoming and the Girl Awesome is still healing, for one day I was simply God’s and my parents’ girl. That is not something to take lightly. If not today, may someday soon will be one where a joy-filled moment finds you!
My version of the Ebenezer stone.
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.[c]
Psalm 46: 1- 3 (NIV)
Music, like the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, always soothes my soul. This song has brought me comfort in many tear-laden hours wrapped under that quilt. If you are hurting today, may it bring you peace.
Drawing Copyrighted property of Reed’s Run
Last night, I received a text message from my cousin relaying news about another horrific school bus crash. The site of yesterday’s crash – a little over an hour away from where we laid our own sweet boy to rest in North Dakota. Her words sent me to my knees and to the deep recesses of my memories, a place I don’t like to visit. Sadly, I have earned an advanced degree in what lies ahead for BOTH the families of the grieving AND for the families of the injured. Unlike my cousin, I do not know any of them personally. If I did, these are the words I would want to say.
Right now, you feel as if the whole world stopped spinning. There are those who will say, “I know how you feel.” Don’t listen to them. Every person’s story is their own and no one, including me, can ever know exactly how you feel. Your world did stop and as much as I would like to tell you otherwise, it will never be the same.
Breathe. One breath at a time. For a while, maybe even a long while, that will be all your fragile and shocked system will be able to do. There are decisions that will need to be made. Why is it at our lowest moments there are boatloads of decisions that MUST be made. Simply trust that your faith, family, and friends will help guide you. Just breathe. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will get through this.
In the coming days and weeks, you will discover that you are stronger than you ever knew possible and more loved than you can ever imagine. People – those you know well and those you have never met before – will rally around you. They will dig out crockpots and cake pans, watch your pets, call friends and family, blow snow and pick up mail, hug their kids while they cry for yours, but mostly, they will pray because they don’t know what to do to help you.
Believe me, they will want to help, but all won’t know how to do this gracefully. There are many reasons for this. The biggest of all is what just happened to your family (as what happened to mine) is their worst nightmare. You will be a living reminder that bad things do happen to good people. “Life is absolutely precious and can be gone in an instant” and “I don’t know what I would do if this happened to us” will be at the forefront of their thoughts.
This is where it gets tough because like I said nothing will ever be the same. Some of your friends will not be able to handle their own grief while trying to help you with yours. Remember they love you and your family too. Some will never get over the fact that something bad could happen to their own children. It is too hard of a truth to bear. Others will believe you are enjoying the “fame” that this event will have in your story, as if this is ever how you envisioned the life of your loved ones. Know that you did nothing wrong. Know they didn’t either. Their fears do not negate your grief or your hardship at any point. You will probably develop a thicker skin, but underneath that outer covering will be a broken and shattered – yet humble – heart that will recognize pain in others. Use that light to guide you someday.
Keep breathing and learn to be gentle and kind to yourself. Your body just experienced a trauma even if you were not sitting on that school bus. Every cell in your body experienced the most toxic of shocks. Bodies are resilient, but toxicity takes a toll. You will struggle with the simplest of tasks. You will be forgetful – because that is the amazing thing about these beautiful creations we are. God equipped them with ways of insulating pain – even it lasts for a moment and is fleeting. Right now, you are still focused on one breathe at a time. Someday – oh someday – you will be able to do more than that.
I don’t know all the details of what happened yesterday, nor do I need to know them. I simply know you are hurting. However, you are going to learn all throughout today and the coming days and weeks, how insatiable the appetites are of curious minds. News reports and conversations can and will get the details wrong. As much as that will hurt and you may want to right every wrong, it will not change your hurting, your grief or your loss. This is your story. You are the author of the previous chapters and of the precious ones coming up. You can choose how much or how little you wish for the world to read.
Just keep breathing because every tiny inhalation and exhalation means you are surviving.
Soon you are probably going to just wish you could erase this day and get back to living. This one day will leave an indelible scar, but I know you are stronger than all of this. I promise that you absolutely will LIVE again. It will never be the way you want it to be, but the day will come when you wake up and this isn’t the very first thing on your mind. The road to that day may be short for some, and painfully and agonizingly long for others. That day did come for me, but the journey that began almost seven years ago after our darkest day still has lingering and lasting effects for our family.
Healing is a word that will get tossed around a lot in coming days. Healing can be a lifelong journey. You may have considered yourself a sprinter in life before this moment, but now, you will be changing your pace to endure becoming a marathon runner. There will be surgeries, hours of therapies, medications, appointments, loss of work and income, arguments with insurance, services, memorials, remembrances, and grief, insanely profound grief filled with what-ifs and whys. On those last two, they are jerks and trust me, they will never bring you comfort. You will learn to become your child’s advocate as you didn’t realize that not only are you training for the toughest race of your life but somehow you were promoted to coach of the team as well. Breathe. You are made of the right stuff to lead your family to the finish line – however long and far away that might be.
Things will never be the same. Your lives are changed forever. You won’t want to hear this right now, but you will see better days. The earth opened up and swallowed you into the darkest pit you could ever imagine. But listen in those quiet still moments – even those filled with doubt and fear and trepidation. Really listen. You will hear the voices of those that love you cheering as loudly with their heart songs as possible. Their melodies are there. Old and new friends, you have yet to meet, are cheering the loudest, because they too have found themselves in the pit. They KNOW what you will need to just get up out of bed in the morning.
They always say light shines the brightest in the dark, like those horrible creatures in the deep, deep ocean. Even when grief and pain rear their ugly heads, keep your eyes open. There will be tiny light reminders of love and encouragement, including some heavenly sent, all along the way. Keep your eyes open and breathe. Cling to that shining love because those moments will help you take baby steps to what will ultimately help you move beyond just breathing.
Four little letters that string together to provide the mightiest of foundations. H-O-P-E. Hope it is such a tiny little word, but it changes everything. Outside of breathing, there is nothing greater than I can say to you than cling to hope in whatever way, tiny or grand, God provides it for you. Breathe and hope.
Outside of my words, I wish that I could bring my favorite quilt and rocking chair to your halted world today. We could curl up together while my tears mixed in with yours. We would rock and pray, cry and rock, but mostly, I would just hold your hand and remind you to breathe.
As much as I wish that my experience and pain could lessen yours, I know it won’t. There were others than came to comfort us with the comfort they had been given. Their words did not fall on deaf ears, but my heart was not ready to believe the unbelievable. I didn’t think we would make it. The one truth that finally spoke to my heart were two words, the shortest verse in God’s word. Jesus wept. In the aftermath of losing one child and caring for two severely injured others, it was the first thing that made any sense. Jesus wept, and so too am I and many, many more for you and your families. You will make it through this, not because of these words or anything I or anyone else can or will do, but because I know that with Jesus’ dad, all things are possible – including living through and beyond your darkest day. With legions of others, I will be praying for you to be comforted with one beautiful breath after another.
We have very simple Team Stevens Christmas traditions. Tonight, my kiddos will open new pajamas, and receive another bird ornament to add to their collection. Every year, our children get bird ornaments of their favorite birds. Someday when they have homes of their own, they will have a tree decorated beautifully with their bird ornaments from us and the Hallmark ornaments lovingly mailed each year from their grandparents.
The bird tradition started quite by accident when the boys were very tiny, and it actually started because of one of Sawyer’s godmothers gave him the most beautiful cardinal ornament that year for Christmas. Reed was so enamored with it we decided to try to find an ornament for him as well, but of his favorite bird, the blue jay. Every year since then, each child receives their chosen bird as an ornament.
My last elf workshop project this Christmas was to make their ornaments. Some years are store bought, but earlier this summer I found these adorable patterns and knew these were exactly the perfect gift.
Notice I still make or buy Reed an ornament each year. I just cannot bring myself to not do it. My heart would ache too much. I face the same dilemma when making Christmas cards. How do we take a picture knowing that he cannot be there? Some of our friends who have lost children simply choose not to send cards because they cannot bear to not put their child’s name on the letter or card. If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times: the saddest day will be the day when no one says Reed’s name again.
We have the best friends in the whole world, and while that fear has a small flame flickering, my heart knows that all of the people in our lives would extinguish that fire with showers of love. And if we really keep our eyes open, the veil between heaven and earth is lifted just for a moment, and we have a God whisper right in our mist.
We wanted to do something kind to give back for all the kindnesses given to us in 2008. So we had these cards made to tell of just one of the encounters our family has had when heaven didn’t feel so far away.
The cardinal is a beautiful bird with a gorgeous red plumage and an equally inviting song. There is an old legend that says that the cardinal was once a white bird, in fact as white as snow. The cardinal came to the cross on Calvary’s hill and sang to Jesus at the base of his cross. The cardinal sang with all its might to his Maker and Master. During his song, Jesus’ blood dripped onto his feathers, and henceforth the male cardinal has been his brilliant red color.
As many of you know, our children have received every year a bird Christmas ornament. Each of the children receives a different bird that has some significance to their lives. Reed received the blue jay because he loved to watch the blue jays eat sunflowers outside his bedroom window. Sawyer has the cardinal because he received a gift from his godparents that had a cardinal on it, and he loved it. Erin has the chickadee, because Kandy was so excited to have a little “chick” in the house. Cloie gets the American goldfinch because while pregnant with her a goldfinch came to the family’s feeders for the first time. Each of the children’s birds had visited our feeders except for the cardinal. No matter how many different ways we tried, we just couldn’t get a cardinal to our backyard.
So then the most unspeakable horror happened to our family. We were deep in the midst of our grief when the most improbable and impossible thing occurs. On exactly one month following Reed’s death, a male cardinal landed in our backyard tree (with no feeders filled) and he started singing the most beautiful song our ears could hear. But it took the faith of a young man to realize what miracle has happened. Sawyer realized that it is a message from Reed to tell us that he is doing just fine in Jesus’ arms. See Reed knew exactly which bird to have Jesus send to get our attention. He also knew how deeply hurt Sawyer was at that point in our journey and he knew which bird would be the one, that above all other birds, Sawyer needed to see. (It probably didn’t hurt that he sent a bird that was his favorite color.) Well, some may call it coincidence, but we choose to
Believe in Miracles!
Thank you for being a special part of our family this year!
Ever since that first appearance, the cardinal has become our family’s connection to heaven. He also seems to appear when our friends and family need him as well. We have countless stories, some we have told and others we have not, where the cardinal has visited us when we needed it the most. Each one buoying our spirits and regenerating our hope in God eternal!
It took us a while to decide what we wanted to do for the picture this year for our family Christmas card. Faith – Family – Football is more than a motto. Truly the way we live our lives; so in honor of Sawyer’s last year of competitive football as a player, we chose his current and former #74 jerseys.
The best laid plans are often waylaid by weather on the prairie. Once we made up our minds, we had to wait for a semi-decent day to take the picture. We waited and waited . . . for what seemed like weeks. When the moment arose, we had to sneak away from unexpected company to snap a few shots before the last of the remaining sunlight faded away.
Then it happened . . . heaven’s veil was lifted yet again.
Stepping out into Reed’s garden, we decided that was the best we could do to include him. We would take the picture on hallowed ground where Reed once had grand adventures with his siblings. When we set up to snap some fun pics of our favorite player and his fans, the plumage of red feathers came zipping by. Their faces were priceless! Mom, did you just see that? The tears streaming down my face was all the answer they needed. I continued to shoot their pictures while the cardinal zipped in and out of where they were standing. Just like that, we were bathed in the wonder and amazement of God’s creation and love.
We needn’t have worried at all! He is always here, mostly in our hearts and memories and on a few very beautiful, God-breathed moments in our midst.
A friend sent me this picture. I wish I could find the original source to credit the photographer.
Even all these years later, we are still choosing to believe in miracles!
May the Miracle of Christmas capture your heart now and forever!
With love from all of Team Stevens
The greatest aspect of being a teacher is the opportunity to be a student for life, fostering the love of learning for every child in my classroom. I consider myself to not be an expert in any area because there is always, ALWAYS more to discover. Our journey to joy, our theme word for the year, has been no exception. At times, it felt like Jesus’ spittle had been rubbed on my eyes, giving them clear vision to uncover joy in some of the most amazing, and often unexpected, places.
My quiet time with God, the way I strive to start each day, held a deep well spring of joy hidden in verses I had previously overlooked. Or maybe it was God’s way of gently leading me to see what was right in front of my nose all along. Sometimes, I just want to pinch myself, the truth revealed being that exhilarating.
No secret that I celebrate the little stuff, these discoveries sometimes leave me wanting to dance, other times cry, and many times just plain speechless. Since I started this twenty-five day countdown, I vowed to be present this holiday season, my mantra was to not sweat the little stuff because I am recovering worrier, often taking on way more than I should and missing out of the little moments of life. In that vow, several times there were two days of blogs posted on the same day, but this is the first advent in a long time where I was not frazzled.
It is amazing how much more energy my spirit has had to learn when I am not running around like a crazy woman. Sometimes my sweetie looks at a gizmo or gadget and says, “Now, why didn’t I come up with this?” The take your breath away moments I have had this Christmas were equally awe-inspiring and baffling because I couldn’t believe I had never thought of them before.
All were dichotomous in the way that there was always more than meets the eye.
The baby who was born to die . . . so we could live
Our youth pastor breathed these words in a closing prayer the Sunday of our pageant. I stood by my pew with tears streaming down. Tender is the heart of a mother who has lost a child. Easter is my favorite holiday; so, I know the ultimate ending (on earth) for the sweet baby in the manger. God, in flesh, pure royalty chose to come to a world full of every possible evil to be born of humble heritage, knowing, KNOWING, he was coming to die. Although I am certain, she knew the prophesies, did Mary really know the implications of being the mother of God and what his calling on earth would be. My heart broke for hers all these years later because I remember holding that sweet little boy for the first time, laughing because his given name was present in his tiny red curls. Reed means red-haired. I could have never imagined that like Mary, I would outlive my child. Yet, because of her son someday I will see my son again. And for that, I can never be more thankful.
The first visitors were shepherds
Well, most everyone knows that. Next to tent makers and fisherman and farmers, shepherds are a pretty popular profession in the Bible. They are present in many different books of God’s word. But what most people (including me) don’t understand is that while there were plenty of them, theirs was not the most revered occupation. Later in life, Jesus even used them in some of his very own parables. What I didn’t understand was the solitary (in the field) lifestyle of the shepherd often prevented them from participating in ritual cleansings required by their faith. To many, they were lowly and unclean. No wonder, Goliath laughed at David, not only was he small in stature, but he would not have been respected by his own people either. Yet, when the King of Kings was born the first people to be told of the great news were the shepherds. Not having entertained the thought previously, I was humbled to think this is exactly what my Jesus is all about. The outcast, the reject, the lowly, the forgotten, the unclean, the huddled masses were exactly his favorites. He didn’t see shame or neglect or regret, only radiating love. From his first breath, the people the world chose to despise, were loved, loved enough to receive the first formal birth announcement.
Anniversary of his birth
Every year, Christmas is touted as the most wonderful time of the year. For many it is, but for millions of others it isolating, lonely, persecuting, or dreadful. I love Christmas (albeit not as much as I love Easter). Yet as a child, I along with every kid I knew well anxiously awaited its arrival. Wishing and dreaming of a morning filled with surprises was the highlight of the year. As parents, we have continued some of the same traditions for our children. Candles in the window, an Irish tradition, alert Mary and Joseph that there would be room in our home. Next to the tree, sits an empty manger waiting to be filled with a stand-in baby. My devotional the other day filled me with more awe than any other in a long time. In Mary and Joseph’s time, many knew the Messiah would one day come. His birth had been foretold in many different ways and through various prophets. The Israelites knew God to be a God of his promises. The exact time was not known, and yet, they waited in anxious expectation for his arrival. They waited for God’s promise to be revealed, much like children wait for Christmas packages. While today, we celebrate the anniversary of his birth, there is one component I had been missing all along. Like God’s people two thousand years ago, we are awaiting his return. He promised he would come. It has been so much easier to keep my vow to not worry over details when I used the perspective that what I am truly celebrating each year is exactly what Simeon waited for his whole life. He waited for the Messiah to come and each year on the anniversary of his birth, I am anxiously awaiting his return.
Learning is a lifelong journey. And God truly knows this girl has a lot more to discover. May this Christmas be the one God reveals great lessons to your soul.
As I sit typing this blog, it is a very, gray and dreary day on the prairie. Hovering right above freezing, early fog and light rain have been the highlight for today’s weather. I don’t even know if rain is the right word. Spitting is what my Papa would have called it. My childhood home lies closer to Mexico while I currently live closer to Canada. On days like today, I hoping for sunshine and not at all, dreaming of a White Christmas, especially when the lawn has big muddy patches from our ninety-something pound dog.
We spent the weekend, cleaning house and working at the Elf Workshop. Having a daughter who plays high school basketball limits how far we can travel during the season. So it will be just us home for Christmas. We are planning a low key day, and we even gave our kids the freedom to choose what they would like for Christmas Eve and Day meals. Chicken Enchiladas and Poor Man’s Lobster were rather interesting choices, but nonetheless, we will be together celebrating the anniversary of Jesus’ birth. Next to him, my children and a love of learning and imagination are the best gifts I have ever received.
Dreary days like today drain me, but I am pulling myself together because it is baking night. No one in this house has any Belgian DNA in their cells, but we live among Belgians and have adopted their customs. Among the delicacies on the bakers’ agendas for this evening are these delightfully, crisp little waffle-like cookies known as Belgian cookies. We will be using a specially designed waffle iron (though I personally prefer the native name of lukkenyzer), which was fashioned, patented, and manufactured down the road in Ghent . . . Minnesota by “The Belgian” (who lived in the house that one of my best friend’s dad grew up in). I have very special memories of learning how to make these cookies from another bus family, whom Reed adored. So in a small way, he’ll be here with us.
In addition to looking forward to tonight’s family baking extravaganza, I found a little bright spot earlier when I looked up from my dining room table to discover the Christmas cactus, given to me for directing the children’s pageant, was starting to bloom. It reminded me of another dreary time this summer when I found a blossom in the most unusual of places. The sweet friend who sent the pictures of my kiddos making the fairy gardens a few days ago was the same friend who owned an amazing herb farm down the road. Reed loved her lemon balm, and one year chose that plant as his special addition to his garden space. I think it must be propagated on the wings of angels, because it has sprung up in the most unlikely of places all over our yard.
I was having a really bad day following the Girl Awesome’s sports injury this spring. Some people had said some really awful things to her. My heart broke for her, which brought up all the hard things our family has been through in the almost seven years since our worst day. I spent most of that day in bed crying and talking to God. Eventually I needed to get back to living. After dishes, the most pressing thing on my agenda was taking out the trash. (I know – I live the glamorous life.) A little glimpse of green caught my eye on the way to garbage can. Embedded in the rocks (where no plants have been in over ten years) was the tiniest lemon balm plant poking through the rock bed.
A different kind of tears filled my eyes as a chuckle so tender and quiet alit from my heart. I knew exactly what God (with maybe a little help from a redheaded boy) was trying to tell me. If I can make a plant grow in the most inhospitable of environments, I can take care of your troubles too.
There is always hope. Revolutionary, day-changing, love-filled hope!
Tonight we will bake and forget our dreary day! We will laugh and sneak batter and eat way too many cookies and dance like crazy people (a baking necessity), but most of all we will bloom where we are planted.
If you are in the neighborhood, stop in. There is always room at the table.
This may or may not come as a shock to most readers: one season I played tackle football. It was the fall of my junior year in college for an all-girls league in intramurals. Our coaches were our classmates who just happened to be on our alma mater’s gridiron team. If my participation on a football team isn’t a surprise, the position I played probably will be. I was a lineman, or is that linewoman? The offensive line is somewhat of a family tradition as both my husband and I played there as did our sons. My specific role was center, snapping the ball to the quarterback and blocking defenders. I liked the grit of the action on the line, even though the coaches originally pegged me as a receiver. Pshaw!
The advent of football season sparks another season around here. In my mind, I refer to it as “Elf Workshop Season”, when I really get down to business in the creation of gifts for friends, family, and my children’s teachers. Just like I reinforce to all my children, “Champions are made in the off-season.” I spend the months leading up to August, planning (which is code for reading magazines and spending hours on Pinterest) and gathering supplies. Making lists and checking them twice, I am in top crafting shape when the lines are chalked onto the football field. Of course, my family might have a very different version of my season because they inevitably get invited roped into being assistant elves. They haven’t gone through rigorous training as dedicated to their sport as I have done, but let’s face it, I can’t afford to get picky. I do have a deadline after all!
To reach that finale, I keep a pretty detailed agenda of what needs to be accomplished when. Yesterday morning was no exception. I got up early to embroider a blanket. Okay, I actually just push a button and the machine does all the work, but there is a fair amount of prep work upfront. At some point, I said, “I love this season. I really enjoy making gifts for those I love. But in reality, I should have been a quarterback, because I would have stunk at being a receiver.” In only the way he can, my sweetie just smiled and nodded with a glimmer of understanding twinkling in his eyes.
As much as I would love, Love, LOVE to have a session of Show-N-Tell of all of this season’s final line of presents, I won’t spoil the fun for the gift recipients. I am providing below a sneak peek of one the recipes we made for teachers and school staff. This recipe is one my children have enjoyed as gifts and for breakfast at their adopted grandma’s house. It is delish! Enjoy!
Homemade Granola
Combine:
8 cups oatmeal and 6 cups rolled wheat. (We use 14 cups of oats.)
1-1/2 cups chopped dates
2-1/2 – 3 cups of raw, large-flake raw coconut – no sugar added.
1-1/2 cups chopped almonds
1/2 cup or more of dried sunflower seeds.
Blend:
1-1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup honey
1-1/2 cup oil
2/3 cup powdered dry milk
2 tsp. salt
Add this blended mixture to the dry ingredients and mix well. Spread out in three cookie sheets with edges on them. *Bake at 250 degrees for 40 minutes. Stir granola. Lower oven to 200 degrees and bake for 1 hour 15 min to 1 hour 40 minutes. (Here, again, you just have to judge how dark it is getting.) Stir every 20 minutes and don’t cook too brown. (When done, add 1 or more cups of dried cranberries/raisins.) Store in air-tight containers. Makes about 4 quarts.
*We have a very large enamelware bowl that we use to both mix the granola and bake the whole recipe.For that type of pan, we bake at 250 degrees for two hours, stirring every 20 minutes.
kandynolesstevens 