A week ago, we had yet another blustery day cancelling activities; so, thankfully, it was a quiet night at home. I love those evenings when all the chickens are in the henhouse, and this momma hen’s soul is peaceful and content while everyone was doing their own “thang”. My activity of choice was crocheting while watching crying through the Olympic tribute to Sarah Burke, when I heard the familiar ding for a text message.
Photo found at http://www.today.com/sochi/olympic-skiers-pay-heart-shaped-tribute-sarah-burke-2D12150211
Wiping my tears before swiping the screen unlock, I wondered who might be reaching out on this cold Minnesota evening. The picture on the screen declared it was one in the inner circle.
U watching the Olympics?
Yes! That was quite the story!
Broke my heart! Totally thought of u and the great lessons
you keep teaching the world about loss and grieving.
Her words, of course, brought more tears to my eyes. The lesson she referenced was from Sarah’s mom, Jan Phelan. In my best paraphrase, Jan explained that at first she was sad about not having Sarah any longer, but then she realized there exists a sadness even greater than that, which was never to have known her sweet daughter.
Intimately, I understood her words and sentiments.
Today marks a moment about which people still inquire, and if you have ever heard me speak, I do talk about it. I don’t think the inquirers remember that today was the day, but grief has a way of etching some dates into our psyches. However, this topic is just not something that comes up from my end of conversation very often. Six years ago today was my sweet boy’s Celebration of Life. I refuse to call it a funeral because it was so much more than that.
Many times, I have shared that due to Sawyer’s extensive injuries, we did not have the luxury of grieving Reed immediately. Required decisions had to be made, but we were doctor/nurse/grief counselor/physical therapist/pharmacist around the clock. Little energy was left to grieve. We arrived home in the evening only two days prior to the service. Greeting us at the door were a meal, a new ramp and flooring for a wheelchair, and the funeral home director. We needed to make final decisions for quite a few things still, and the clock was ticking.
I think I must have hugged over a thousand people the next two days. So when it was time for the final service, I was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. But we needed to say goodbye on earth, and we had planned a beautiful way to remember him. I probably caught the FH director off guard with some of my choices – from Reed’s dog being a pallbearer to light sabers and the Star Wars theme, but at the end of the day, I wanted Reed and Jesus to look down and be proud.
Instead of typical funeral songs, we chose to have a worship band and family members sing. During the processional, that included family, friends, classmates, teammates, teachers, and Scouts, we chose “How Great is our God” to be sung. Our family alone took up half the gym floor; so the processional took a long time, which meant the song was repeated over and over.
The moment that people still comment on was one that was intensively private between me and God, even though all eyes in the school gymnasium were able to witness it. At some point, the words of the song really washed over me. As I stood there with a broken heart, my boy was standing before the throne of a King wrapped in splendid light. The same God from the beginning of time who chose to let his own son die so that I could see my son again was not lost on me. The God worthy of all praise who is infinitely wiser than I will ever be . . . chose me to be Reed’s momma.
Tears, cleansing tears washed over me at that instant, and I realized how incredibly blessed I was to have had him in my life. I wasn’t aware of anyone else in the room as I lifted my hands high in praise and sang the words to that song over and over. Interspersed were whisper prayers thanking God for choosing me to Reed’s mom. What an honor that was and always will be!
All time stood still as I was singing, praising, crying, and praying simultaneously, wrapped in the peace that can only come from God. It is hard to explain, but I was truly thankful and blessed God gave me that realization.
Even today when I hear that song, I am transported back to the gym floor, and my hands are raised in praise of a God who loves me like crazy and who chose for me to the be momma to some really great kids.
If you are unfamiliar with the song, here is a link for the song and lyrics.
A few years back, we wanted to impress upon our sports-loving kids that the game officials needed to be acknowledged. Even though we don’t always agree with their calls (okay you can stop snickering now), we wanted our kids to understand those folks in the stripes gave up time with their own families to benefit them. Our children’s job was to personally walk over and thank the officials at the conclusion of every game. It took a few times before that became a habit. I am proud to say that many of their teammates now follow suit. When my kids first started doing that, many of the officials were stunned. Creating a spirit of good sportsmanship, a hand shake or high five was just a small acknowledgement, but it went a long way. As time wore on, those methods of thanks were replaced with Howie Mandel’s ubiquitous fist bump, lovingly referred to as knuckles around our house.
Over the course of the last week, I wrote a reflective blog on my perceived strength and another that bared my soul regarding my personal grief journey. Grief ebbs and flows, and we have many good days. Every once in a while, at obvious times like last Wednesday, but just as often at seemingly random moments, the grief “monster” will rear his ugly head. Writing allows me to acknowledge the monster, and then as if almost by magic, with each word written, the monster loses his power. By releasing my emotions, God allows my storms to calm. For that, I will always be grateful.
Another thing that God has provided in my journey is amazing, loving, caring, forgiving, and understanding friends. Only a handful of them know what I am about to share, and I refer to them as my inner sanctum, the refuge where I can be me.
I have always bristled when someone has remarked about my strength or faith. In those previous two blogs, hopefully, you can somewhat understand why I don’t always see strength when the scars on my broken heart are still so raw. So I was astounded when one in the inner circle made the “strength” remark at a 4H potluck, our annual Christmas party, (always held in January).
As soon as the words were uttered, I said, “Can we just put this nonsense to rest?”. Eyes bewildered, everyone at the table stared in disbelief. Quickly, I shared a story that had all eyes looking at our table.
This is that story . . .
The first Christmas without Reed was just plain agonizing. My beloved Nanny had given us money as a gift with the stipulation that we should go and do something together as a family. We decided to spend New Year’s Day doing something most of us find therapeutic. Notice I said most of us, my sweetie would probably rather have listened to nails on a chalkboard, but he was a good sport and went with us to a paint your own pottery studio.
We painted and glazed and used every ounce of creativity we could muster. Our thoughts never lingered far away from the hole in our hearts. Putting on a brave front, we tried to go through the motions.
Once our pieces were finished, it was time to make the hour and half trip back home. A quick glance at my watch told me that we could still hit, “Happy Hour”! I know what you are thinking. She took her kids to get half-priced drinks. What kind of mother is she?
Well, she is one that loves a good deal and an even better limeade! I steered that mini-van to the closest Sonic where we loaded up on our favorite beverages for the road. At this point in our healing journey, we were still dealing with night terrors, heavy doses of medications, wheelchairs, and daily hospital visits for therapies. Exhaustion came easily.
Every single person in the van was sound asleep by the time we made it from the speaker to the drive-thru window. So I could have kept this story to myself and only one other person would have EVER KNOWN.
In my defense, I was as equally tired as my passengers, but as the driver I didn’t have the luxury of a nap.
As soon as I reached the window, I knew we were in trouble. Seriously, how hard is it to make 3 milkshakes and 2 limeades when those items are the bread-n-butter of your franchise? Apparently the answer to that question is a LONG time.
That will be $6.30.
In one swift motion, I handed him my debit card.
Then he walked away, not to be seen again for quite some time. Impatiently, I sat there long enough that I could have milked a cow and squeezed the limes myself. Then, through the window came the first milkshake. Chocolate, and lots of it, was literally dripping down the side of the cup.
Perturbed and exhausted, my response to a lap full of cacao and dairy was an eye roll and, “Um! Napkins???” said with a tone of exasperation.
Oh yeah. Here.
This was, of course, said with about as much enthusiasm as if I had asked him if he wanted to clean the clog in my bathroom sink.
Another really long wait before he handed me two limeades. I wish I could tell you that this was a better experience. It, however, was not – as these too had as much carbonated beverage on the outside as in. Thank goodness when he gave me napkins earlier he had given half of the dispenser.
On a positive note, it was Sonic and not Subway; so, I am not really complaining about the extra napkins.
Then there was the equally awkward moment of silence when I didn’t drive away immediately. At this point, my-I-hope-for-his-sake-trainee frankly looked irritated that I just sat there.
With my best one eye eyebrow raise, I proffered, “Perhaps I could have my debit card and receipt.”
His look of shock was almost worth this ridiculous adventure. I could see him shimmy to the till nearly knocking over one of the carhops.
He came back with my debit card and receipt. Now, I could have just driven off, but I am hopeless when it comes to misplacing things. I purposely took the few seconds to actually return those items to their proper spots in the black hole, I mean, my purse. Just as I was getting ready to roll up the window, I saw his outstretched fist out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head just in time to hear him say, “Hey. Hold up!”
Knowing full well, I had everything I ordered, my debit card, and don’t forget enough extra napkins to host a dinner party, I just shrugged my shoulders and did what anyone would do in this situation.
For a fleeting second, I thought, “Well this is different”, but I am all for making peace when I can.
Fingers curled . . . I gave my new found “friend” a fist bump.
A barely perceptible smirk crawled across his lips.
Well, that was nice and all, but here’s your mints.
Even the so-called strong have their moments.
With tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks, I laughed the entire way home, and it had been a long time since I had laughed like that.
Wonder Twins Power: Activate – Sonic Dude!
Photo found at http://www.returntomanliness.com
And to you my dear friends: Knuckles to you!
Dear Reed –
Today is the day I dread all year long. It seems as if the whole month of February is always a blur as I insulate myself from the pain of this day. But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t tell you that some things are a little different this year.
Sometimes, I daydream that you aren’t really in heaven, but gone away to college instead. That is a problem though when you are as vivid a daydreamer as I am, because more than once I went to call you on the phone to ask how classes are going. There are few things in life that I will never regret passing on to you kids and a healthy imagination is one of them.
Remember the days of getting pixie-led in the forest and just how far those little buggers got us off the path. Can you still hear their siren-like call in heaven too? How about all the dragons that you kept away from our house with your countless battles? Is there a place for them there too? Do you and Nanny still have the dinosaur that lived at our house but only came after he decided that it was too hot in Pensacola? We don’t hear much out of him anymore; so, he must live with you. It was a good thing because I wasn’t sure “roof cave-in by dinosaur” was covered by our homeowners insurance.
All those boyhood things sandwiched into a life much too short.
When you left us, you were so much older in spirit if not in chronological years. And I think that is one of the things I miss the most, all the grown up experiences we didn’t and don’t get to share together.
I cannot believe that you went home to Jesus six years ago today. In some moments it seems like the blink of an eye, and then at other times as we deal with Sawyer’s and Erin’s injuries, it feels like an eternity ago.
Daddy is doing better – only not today. Today, he trudged along at work in a place where if people remember the day not many verbalized it. How sad and awful that has to be when I am sure he feels as if his heart is on display for all to see. Somehow people need to know that it is okay to talk about you (and J, H, and E) even if it makes us cry, it tells us they remember.
The Boy Wonder – you would be so proud of him! He is really an incredible young man. Last night as we were saying our goodnights, I broke down and cried. I asked him to name the number one thing he missed about you. His heartfelt reply was that he couldn’t answer that because he missed everything about you. The late night conversations, the giggles from the basement, the wrestling hijinks, and saving the day are hard to do when one of the dynamic duo is missing. He shares your love of the underdog, and you would have loved to see him coach his Special Olympics players to gold medals. Somehow it would be easy to picture the two of you coaching that team together. Just know that even though you were very different boys, you are carried everywhere in his heart.
And Sister! She isn’t quite as tall as Sawyer yet, but she definitely towers over me. You would be so proud of her. She carries your tenacity to get a job done. She set a goal to improve her basketball skills, and she spent most of her summer to make 20,000 made shots. She’s come a long way from the “Laura, Mary, Carrie” wind-up days of when you boys first taught her how to shoot baskets in the front yard before kindergarten. With your love of sports, I can only imagine you would be cheering the loudest in the stands when she makes an amazing rebound or banks an unimaginable three-pointer. Her face of pure joy rivals the time that you forced and recovered the fumble in Ivanhoe. She has your smile, and every time we see it in a game, I think of you!
Sally is the one missing you the most these days. She has had some really rough days. I wish that we could grant her desire to visit you all in heaven just one time. She says that if she could do so; she would be able to live the rest of her days contented. If David is a man after God’s own heart, she is a girl after yours. Every fiber of her being is just like you, even the words she uses. Looking in her hazel eyes is like a mirror to times long ago. She is another nine year old bundle of energy, who has a large vocabulary and who can’t learn about the world fast enough. Since it is a miracle we even have her, I think God made her as close to you as possible to bring us comfort. And she does. Now if only we could keep her little forever.
Your boy, Huck, is really starting to slow down. His beautiful red coat is starting to show more and more gray. I’m always sad that I don’t have any redheads in the house anymore, and then sweet Huck comes loping into my room. I have the redheaded boy’s red-haired dog still, and that does count for something. He still has some mischief in that big ol’ body because he can still sneak a sandwich or stick of butter off the counter. Just as you loved him every day of your life together, I am carrying love’s torch for our boy even if the hourglass is working against me. I am going to hold on to him as long as I possibly can before he comes to be with you again.
A few more loved ones have come to join you in the last year. Hug them all for me! Maybe one of those sneaky around the back hugs would be the perfect gift. Just know that I love you more than you can possibly imagine, and I know that you don’t want us to be sad forever. Some days, I wish my heart understood what my brain knows.
In the meantime, I want you to know that our friends have wrapped their arms of love around us in both BIG and small ways. They always have, but for some reason I see it more this year. I thank God that he whispered into their hearts that we needed them, even if they didn’t know how much. Just sharing the moments of this journey has been an immeasurable treasure.
Even through my tears, there is one more thing that I will never regret. Teaching all of you about Jesus! It is because of his love that my love for you has meaning. It is because of his sacrifice that I KNOW – not I hope or I wish – but I KNOW that I will see you again.
Just like I believe God whispered to my friends, today I felt a strong reminder to remember that even though the hole in my heart feels like that fateful Friday, Sunday’s coming. With a message that powerful, I can only believe that God blew it straight into my heart.
You will always be my sunshine!
Loving you every single day forever . . . until Sunday comes!
Momma
If I had a dollar for every time, someone has said to me since February 19, 2008, “I wish I had your strength”; I wouldn’t be driving a well-loved mini-van with 260,000 miles on it. Mind you at least one hundred thousand of those miles have been for doctor’s appointments related to our horrible day, but I digress.
In my mind, there exist two apparent problems with their logic.
Number One – I don’t believe or perceive myself to be all that strong; so, I can’t really impart any strength building wisdom on to them.
Number Two – The actual response to this is one I only recently had the courage to utter. “No, you would never wish for that.” The only way my perceived strength was on any radar was after our family walked through the nightmare of our darkest day. No one would voluntarily walk through the storms we have had to face. Trust me.
To be honest, I don’t know if I would call the perception of my behavior, strength. Frankly, I didn’t realize I had the option of not being strong. I had three other beautiful children to raise, and they needed me. PERIOD.
Quitting and giving up weren’t options. There were many days – let’s get real there still are days – that I would like to dig a hole next to Reed and just wait until God calls me home.
But that isn’t his plan for my life. So strong – whatever that means – is what I will keep on doing.
The other sentiment that I have consistently heard since that awful day was, “I wish I had your faith.”
When I look in the mirror, I see a girl who happens to love Jesus, her family, a good laugh, my kids’ sporting events, and sweet tea! Notice, I didn’t say a woman of great faith. It’s not that I don’t want to be known for having a great faith. It’s just I’m not sure that God is done with my development yet. I know all my failures, sins, and regrets, but here is where the difference lies between strength and faith, I know who is stronger than all of that – Jesus.
He loves me like crazy. He has plans for my life. He cries when I cry, and he laughs when I laugh. He – only he –can pick up my broken pieces and merge them back together. Whatever “strength” I have comes from holding out my hands and asking him to help me, and always in his time, he does.
I have learned in the last six years, I care less about what people think and more about what he thinks. I have reconciled my thinking to understand that sometimes fire and trials have the result of bringing you closer to Him. Never in a million years did I think I would say this . . . but I am thankful that his strength has the power to take your despair to use it for his glory. This does not mean that I won’t grieve losing Reed or our babies until my dying day, because I will.
However, God and his Son are great recyclers, and together, they are reframing my storms to show me incomparable joy.
There is a catchy country song that came out a few years ago that ends with the line, “Thank God for good directions and turnip greens.” The cute song tells how a boy, selling turnip greens on the side of the road, steers a beautiful, yet lost, young lady back to the interstate and some good sweet tea (of course, you know I would like that part of the song). Once the young lady gets there, the purveyor of that intoxicatingly sweet beverage is the boy’s momma who steers the young lady right back to the boy in the truck.
And my favorite part is implied.
HAPPILY. EVER. AFTER.
Since today is Valentine’s Day, you might think that this blog is all about me and my sweetie. It isn’t. Okay, maybe a small piece.
As today’s title infers, we did indeed meet on a blind date. Only it wasn’t all things quintessentially Southern like turnip greens and sweet tea that brought us together. Nope it was much more academic than that. And I do mean academic – think Calculus and Chemistry. Two of our professors – mathematics and science – thought we would make a good couple, and they were right. From our first date, we both just somehow knew we would be together. We had the stuff that added up to the right chemistry. (I couldn’t resist a silly pun.) The motto of our alma mater, Mayville State, is “The School of Personal Service”. I have joked for years; it doesn’t get much more personal than picking out your husband for you.
Even through all the ups and downs (and trust me, we’ve had plenty), no one can make me laugh like he can, nor surprise me like he does. At the end of the day, there is no one whom I would rather spend all of my days.
So even though, I love my sweetie, today’s blog is actually dedicated to a woman that I don’t even know.
Somewhere out there in the world is a girl – probably now a grandma – who missed out on an opportunity. That opportunity was a blind date with a Navy boy. Well, if my understood version of the story is correct, he was an Alabama boy, college graduate, and Naval officer stationed at Pensacola Naval Air Station. All things dreamy back in the day. Well, maybe not the Alabama part to Florida girls.
The girl I want to thank was supposed to go as the escort – on a blind date with this Navy boy – as a favor to her friend who was dating another Navy Officer. For those of you not familiar with living in a Navy town, this sort of thing happens all the time. Many a relationship have started with service men or women meeting local people. Pensacola is no exception.
Well, except for this day. The woman I do not know – not even her name – got cold feet, leaving her friend in quite a perplexed situation. I mean really – not having a double date for going out with your sweetie could be quite devastating news! I like to think of her looking something like this after her friend’s refusal to even entertain the thought of going on this date.
photo found at beatlesnumber9.com
Not to be known in this story as one without resources, the now only female member of a rather odd three person date decided to beat the path of her co-workers to see if anyone would help her out of this ridiculous predicament.
Lo and behold – there was a willing soul found in the workplace washroom! This unsuspecting local girl who worked at the library of the university was pounced upon by Miss Debbie Desperate in the bathroom.
“Hey! Would you be interested in going on a double date with my boyfriend’s friend tonight? They are both in the Navy.” That last tidbit could possibly seal the deal . . . or break it, depending on how you look at it. A casual conversation that took place over the porcelain sinks with the reflective images of the two girls watching and listening earnestly.
The replacement girl’s answer was something rather romantic and dreamy like, “Um. Sure. Why not! I’m not busy.”
Cue the super hero music because replacement girl just saved the day!
Turns out in the stories of happily ever after, that good fortune of needing the potty at that time and having an adventuresome spirit was a good thing.
Tomorrow, replacement girl and Navy boy will celebrate three kids, eight grandkids they’ve met, three they will meet in heaven, and forty-five years of marriage together!
So today, I am thanking God for cold feet and blind dates!
Note: The events of this story took place in November 1968. Since I wasn’t born (as the first of those three kids) until November 1969, I might not have all of the details exactly accurate. That, and I might be known for having a little bit of a flair for embellishment.
My Mom & Dad. And no! They do not normally pose in front of racy art auction paintings.
Happy 45th Anniversary to my mom (replacement girl) and to my dad (Navy boy)! Love you both!
And for the record, I adore happy endings!
After Sunday’s service, there was an endearing exchange that occurred at the back of the church. An elder was praising our girl for her great game on Friday night. Jokingly, I asked him if she was now speaking to him. The reason for the ribbing was her “insistence” that he jinxed her team when he came to root for her in his town wearing that town’s fan gear. She said she was going to blame him for their addition to the “L” column. Despite the bad apparel choice, he cheered for her team (and her specifically) the entire game. All of this playful teasing was followed with raucous laughter, lined with appreciation, love and support – and of course, basketball advice.
I have purposefully waited a few days to let the words in my previous blog ruminate in all our hearts. My intention was to share that no church anywhere is perfect, because they are full of sinners. If you are looking for the perfect church, you won’t find it because all are filled with imperfect people. My writing was also to proclaim that a veil had been lifted from my myopic vision. God showed me how I contributed to the problem, keeping me from my heart’s desire is to encourage others in their faith.
I don’t want to be a stumbling block or obstacle – which required me to take a long look in the mirror of my soul and get real with God. Rather than forgiving, I internalized hurts and perpetuated a problem. I do have a fervent wish to love without reservation – just like Jesus did, and in my inner recesses, I think he would be grieved by how we who love him have turned away both the lost and the found by our actions.
Many years ago, I had a friend who believed in Jesus but never attended church. She would always quote Matthew 18:20 (For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them. [NIV] ) as her reasoning. Whenever I asked if she would like to go, she would respond that churches were full of hypocrites. Well that is true, but I didn’t really feel like our shopping trips and fun excursions counted as church. I know Jesus was in our midst, but that didn’t fill my longing for church.
This is not a condemnation of anyone’s views or church attendance patterns. This is more a love story of how a collective group imperfect people work together to encourage each other in God’s love and what that means to me, personally.
When our darkest hour happened, the first people to rally around were church people – our own and those from sister churches. I could write a tome on all the kindnesses that have been extended to us over the last six (has it really been that long???) years. Those acts of being the hands and feet of God were forever etched in my heart. Church, however, is so much more than Sunday morning service and helping out when a hardship hits.
SO. MUCH. MORE.
We eat together, serve together, craft together, study together, pray together, love together, and mourn together. Basically, we just do life which includes the messy stuff too.
Do we fail each other? Yes, but we forgive and reconcile. Like the time, Reed learned the hard way that casting the first stone might break the nursery window. The grace extended to him in that incident embodied encouragement and understanding. For me, Hebrews 10:25 let us not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another [NIV] is more in line with why my church matters to me.
Encouragement. We all need it.
Do we forget that verse sometimes? Yes, I am afraid we do, but when the Holy Spirit convicts our hearts, we return with repentant attitudes.
One of my favorites is how much we laugh together which I know has to be music to Jesus’ ears. Young and old – we really know how to fellowship. From quilting bees to freezer meals and from campfires to game nights, there isn’t a moment where you would not find some chuckles to be shared. Some jokes just seem to never grow old either.
The Herdmans in the The Best Worst Christmas Pageant Ever have nothing on us, as one year an exuberant preschooler hit the lit advent wreath which flung up in the air in what appeared to be slow motion before it came to rest – thankfully extinguished – at the base of the organ.
This, of course, is second to the pageant where the wiggly preschooler fell off the stage and was wedged upside down with only his feet showing between the piano and the alter area while the soloist lived up to the slogan, “The show must go on!”
Our senior pastor is often at the helm of many of those jokes as he encourages us to laugh with (and frankly sometimes at) him. Not many can say their spiritual leader has attended parties dressed as an octogenarian to celebrate someone being “over the hill”. He was also one of the chief cheerleaders as our Boy Wonder healed from surgeries, and his prowess with Nerf Dart Gun attacks on stacks of Styrofoam cups would awe anyone.
We clip newspaper articles of each other’s children, exchange high fives, bake cakes for funerals, make jello molds (something I thought I would never do), exchange recipes, know who made what food for the potluck based solely on the crockpot, send letters and notes, (and laugh when we put the wrong card in the wrong envelope), create new traditions, cuddle babies, make quilts, sing Hallelujahs, hug and wipe away tears, help you pick up the pieces when life seems shattered . . . all out of love. A love for a God who made us all family even with all our flaws and imperfections!
So it was last Sunday, loved exuded as three generations of God’s people gathered around the back pew to laugh about the familiarity of friendship and the love of a game. No we aren’t perfect, but we are all trying to love God and love others. Somehow that just feels like home.
I recently read this blog forwarded to me by my cousin, Amy. The incredible message was that Christians forget that their actions can lead people . . . far, far away from the church doors and even farther away from a God they profess to love.
From what I know, churches are full of liars, cheaters, misfits, and condemners.
Each and every seat or pew is filled with . . . sinners.
Hypocrites, Bertha-better-than-you’s, and judges – lots of them – can be found in every nook and cranny in every church, synagogue or house of worship.
In God’s eyes: haters!
And I am one of them.
That was a difficult thing to write.
For years, I have watched as God’s people have become known not for what they stand for, but more for what they stand against.
Christian brothers and sisters – Whatever happened to love and grace?
If as the author of Pearls and Grace states, we turn away the unsaved (and we do), then what are we doing to those Christians with whom we share the pew?
I really hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about this until the weapon of judging was launched at my own family.
Basically, we heard that some people were complaining that we sit at the back of the church in the section that is loosely reserved for Families of Small Children. The chatter kept coming back to us in such a way that the message seared into our hearts was – we weren’t welcome in our own church.
Picture found at thatreformedblog.com
Et tu, Brute?
Our baby is nine. She can sit perfectly still and quiet during Sunday morning services. We don’t sit there because of her. We sit there because of me.
Taking a line from the aforementioned blog:
“She will reach to the back row and encourage and minister to the hearts of the women who can’t get past the grief and sorrow of their own life.”
That describes me perfectly. My grief, not my child’s behavior, a few Sundays a year, prevents me from making it in the door let alone to any pew.
I know I am loved by God, but sorrow strikes every cell of my body on those days. I do not want to bolt past the whole congregation with mascara tracks streaming down my face from a front pew.
Don’t get me wrong. I know people love us there, but I don’t always want to share those moments with others.
I’m pretty tough, but attacking my baby girl for my comfort zone insecurities pushed us out the door for a while.
How many others have left for similar reasons?
Gossip and judgment allowed us to feel alienated.
When we did return, every time I saw the people who had hurt us, I bristled and walked away. My hurt heart hardened.
In the last few days, God reminded me that my reaction to their hurt was in every bit as much of a sin as their words against us.
Anyone who doesn’t love is as good as dead. Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer, and you know very well that eternal life and murder don’t go together. 1 John 3:15 (MSG)
I had to ask God’s forgiveness for being one of the haters up in here – my actions were in direct opposition of his words and his commandments to love.
One of those sinners sitting in those pews . . . is me.
The one who is learning graciously with God’s gentle ways that love is what, and only what, he has called me to do.
Imagine how Christians would be perceived if we did just that – Love our brothers and sisters – period.
What a revolution that would be!
Special Note – * I apologize to every English, Language Arts, or grammar teacher I have ever had for using such bad grammar for my title. But if Mrs. Langemoe taught me one thing in Junior High; it was shock value goes a long way. Funny how her shocking revelation was to tell us every day in a public school that she loved us!
I first met W – who for the rest of our time together I’ve lovingly called him Grandpa – at a craft show at the hockey arena.
He and his wife were here visiting, and I was introduced to him by his daughter-in-law, K. She enthusiastically told him, “This is my very best friend”. I was amazed by his woodworking talents. Little did I know how that sweet little old man would come to hold a place in my heart!
After Grandpa moved to Marshall, he took in an interest in his church family and in K & S’s friends. That was extra special for us, because that meant that my children had a grandfather figure when their grandpas lived so far away. Didn’t matter if it was concerts, Boy Scout derbies, sporting events, or 4-H poultry shows even if it was 100 degrees; if he wasn’t busy, he attended.
I am so glad that I got to know him before his memories started to be cloudy and slowly a silent stealer took them away. My place in Grandpa’s life changed at the beginning of this journey. If I told the truth, it was really Grandpa’s place in my life that evolved. See my own grandfather, Papa, went on this same journey of lost memories and passed away just before all these changes happened for Grandpa. They were just a few years apart in age. This was something that wasn’t missed on this girl who no longer had her grandfathers.
Grandpa had a young man that lived with him and one day they had a disagreement. The young man called S (who couldn’t leave work) and K, who also couldn’t leave work, but who in turn called me. Oh my! My instructions were to see if I could calm everyone down. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then I remembered; I had cookie salad in my fridge. My Tupperware in hand, off I went to diffuse a situation.
Never knowing the real reason for my stopping by and bearing sweets, Grandpa and I became pretty good friends. We visited at church and at “family” functions. As the journey wore on, so did the amount of care that Grandpa needed. One day, S and K asked if I would consider coming a few mornings a week to help provide caregiving.
Enthusiastically, I said yes! It was during this time, that I learned so many things about Grandpa’s life, and I didn’t mind if I heard the story over and over again. Every time, he told the stories his eyes twinkled, and I felt I got to see his heart. A heart that loved God above all, and through that love lavished love on his wife and his children and grandchildren!
After Grandpa moved to the M Manor, I wasn’t done taking care of him. I finagled my way into a volunteer position with our family dog, Huck, visiting residents. This way, I could regularly go see Grandpa and share just a few small moments with him.
There are so many personal memories that I could share, but I will limit it two of my favorites.
Grandpa and I share November birthdays – just three days apart. One year we had our birthday celebration at a local pizza place. We were a little late to arrive as usual. It is dark early in November; so, we could clearly see inside the windows. Grandpa was not “glowing” like a birthday boy should be. When we walked in, Grandpa’s whole demeanor changed. My husband whispered in my ear, “Remember this moment. Right now you are the Belle of the Ball. Look at how his face changed.” I don’t know if you have ever had that experience. I have only had that moment once before – on my wedding day.
My second favorite memory is from my days of caregiving before Grandpa moved to the Manor. After a few weeks, he asked me if I would have devotions with him. Would I? Absolutely! The next time I arrived, he had his Bible, his devotional, and his prayer book for our church’s active missionaries. Those were some of the most precious times I have ever spent. We took turns reading, praying, and discussing the devotion.
One day, we read a devotional based on Psalm 105: 1-2, which I now think of as Grandpa’s verse.
Oh give thanks to the LORD, call upon His name;
Make known His deeds among the peoples.
2 Sing to Him, sing praises to Him;
[a]Speak of all His [b]wonders. (NASB)
During our discussion, I shared with him that I had a decision to make because I had been recently asked to begin speaking about our family’s story, including our great sadness. As I sat there at the kitchen table with tears streaming down my face, I said that this verse seemed to be confirmation as to what I was supposed to do – even though I was going to have to go way out of my comfort zone at times, leaving my family.
Without missing a beat, after a sip of his tea, he quietly said, “Jesus and I were wondering how long it was going to take you to figure that out.”
For all those who have heard me speak, those marching orders I have never forgotten.
I am so thankful to the family of W for giving me the chance to call him Grandpa. He will be missed until we can have devotions at his table again someday.
I remember the moment like it was yesterday. It was a youth basketball tournament in Redwood Falls. Several kids were playing a pick-up game on an open court. A loud scream echoed through the cavernous gymnasium. In a primal movement, I bolted at the sound a mother recognizes. On my way to the court, I plowed into a boy exclaiming with tears in his eyes, “It’s Sawyer! He’s hurt!”. It was agonizing to see our boy crumpled on the hardwood floor, writhing in pain after he had only recently began to walk again following more than two years of rehabilitation. After comforting him, I returned to the fan bleachers for the girls’ game.
Quietly, I said to my friend, “I’m going to hold it together for my daughter, but could you meet me behind the bleachers after the game is over? I’m going to lose it then.” The girls lost devastatingly, only scoring two points on non-shooting technical fouls because an opposing player refused to remove jewelry.
When the game was over, that friend along with at least a dozen other moms, held me as I sobbed behind the bleachers. They cradled, hugged, and cried with me. Those sweet women spoke words of truth into my heart as I had reached overload. My mettle meter was busted. Not one cell in my body could be strong at that moment. Audible and silent, their prayers soothed my soul. It was probably one of the worst and best crying sessions I have ever had.
I remember all the faces of those that walked by. You could read their thoughts as if they had cartoon bubbles escorting them along. It is just elementary basketball. It’s just a game. How can she be that upset?
The burden was just too big for me. Even though, I didn’t really care what other people thought, deep in my heart I wished for some universal sign to say, “Be gentle. I’m sinking.” I wanted normal – whatever that was – back in my life.
My devotion yesterday introduced me to a new idea regarding the carrying of burdens. http://odb.org/2014/01/23/load-line/ The Plimsoll line was a completely foreign concept to me, but the devotion was one that resonated with my soul.
While I won’t advocate for a load line to be painted on those who are suffering (no matter what the reason), I do wish, in a world where hasty judgments of misunderstandings are a norm, there existed a signal for “OVERLOAD” for our burdens.
For years, I have said that black armbands should have never gone out of fashion. I am just old enough to remember their use in my childhood. What are black armbands? I’m glad you asked. The black armband replaced the mourning dress of all black to signify that someone was grieving. I don’t think I could pull off the black gowns of Miss Scarlett in Gone with the Wind, but the armband could be my fashion trend.
I’ve pointed the bands out to people who completely missed them all together, and then find they are astonished to know they never noticed them. The Bailey family in It’s a Wonderful Life don black armbands in the scenes following the death of the patriarch Peter Bailey. The simple slip of black cloth worn on the upper left arm signifies to the world the wearer is mourning the loss of someone dear.
President Calvin Coolidge wearing an armband in mourning for President Harding. Photo found at americanhistory.unomaha.edu
There are days when I am brave and strong and could tackle ten lions with one arm behind my back, but then there are the other days. Those painful hours when a black armband could save me from some of the cruelty of life. The simple cue that says, “Today I am struggling”.
I never thought I would see leg warmers come back into fashion. Completely wrong was my thinking as my little girl’s bureau can attest. So, a girl can always hope that black mourning bands might see a fashionable comeback.
Even if they don’t, we can all use a reminder that the well-worn shoes of another never truly feel comfortable no matter how close the size.
We can remember that a kind word goes much farther than harsh one. A hug is better than words most of the time. And no one truly knows how it is to live someone else’s life.
For some of us – I daresay the blessed ones – we are also surrounded by friends who simply get those last three sentences. They are the friends who will sit on a gymnasium floor and whisper, “God loves you. We love you. You will make it through this.”
Those friends see the black armband that is invisible to the rest of the world.
Thank God they do!
Traditions. They are the things, no matter how small, that become rituals. The very strings woven together in the fabric of families are the traditions they hold dear.
One such tradition beloved at our household is saying good-bye to a previous year. No, we are not raucous revelers. Neither are we ball-drop watchers. In fact this year I had to do a little creative researching because the teenagers had a big bash at the school, leaving three adults with a party crowd of four kids ten and under. My quest was to find where in the world would it be midnight when it is 9:30 PM at my house. ( I really wanted to throw in “is Carmen Sandiego?” in that last sentence, but that would just be silly.)
J-A-C-K-P-O-T!
Newfoundland was my answer! So with kid’s wine (sparkling cider) we said good-bye to 2013 by celebrating some of its best memories and by sharing our hopes and dreams for the upcoming year. Hey! They might be little in the eyes of the world but the two families present that night have endured some big struggles, and out of the mouths of babes were some prophetic words. A little tinkling of glasses and good night kisses, all done in pjs and slippers, would not be considered a remarkable party by some, but it was to all of us.
“The Newfoundlanders!”
Partying like Newfoundlanders is not our end of the year tradition. Usually it is just the members of Team Stevens, but we are a more the merrier bunch. So anyone is welcome to join us as we watch the last sunset of the year. We usually have to bundle up and head out in the blustery cold to watch, but it is always worth it.
Checking the Almanac, we discovered that sunset for our hometown was 4:55 PM. Isn’t that dreadfully sad? Such little sunshine in the winter months can be draining on the spirits. We bundled up and headed out into unholy negative temperatures to try to follow the sun into tomorrow.
As the driver, I feared it was too late. We left the house right at the sunset time and headed west with our young men and women. As we drove closer to our viewing destination, Camden State Park, (one of Minnesota’s finest), the sky simply got darker, and our windows more frosted. My heart felt so sad. Why didn’t we leave sooner? I really wanted so much more for our kids.
We did see some deer feeding on our drive there and back, but that was small beans compared one of God’s sky paintings (as Reed used to call them).
With sad hearts and tired (already) children, we turned around and headed back for home. I don’t know what made me look back on the drive, but I am certainly glad that I did.
I let a “whoop” and swung that minivan into the next subdivision entrance. We whipped open the doors because by then the windows were completely frosted from the bitterly cold temperatures. We all sat in awe of God’s perfect use of pinks, purples, yellows, and oranges, such ordinary colors blended in one of his finest masterpieces. It was our own private art showing in the gallery of the sky. A reverent hush overcame the vehicle, replacing the jokes and silly songs. I was overjoyed by God’s provision.
This picture captured on my cell phone in no way compares to the beauty of that evening!
I was reminded of that experience this morning when my daughter and I shared oohs and aahs over one of his finest sunrises. How often do I give up on my request because God doesn’t give me the answer I wanted right away? I walk away thinking I guess it wasn’t God’s will after all. Beleaguered and trodden down, I walk away. But then some time down the road, God gives what I thought I needed immediately. Only to discover, that it was so much sweeter after the wait. The only difference is sometimes I don’t look back and see what God was orchestrating the whole time I walked away.
God knows the desires of our hearts, and he wants us to dream BIG. His LOVE is much grander than the tidy, little package we try to place it in. More importantly, his TIMING is perfect – whether we acknowledge that or not.
So today, wherever you are, dream big with God and know that a little way down the road you might see the most amazing masterpiece out of your ordinary colors. Just know some unofficial Newfoundlanders are dreaming with you.
kandynolesstevens 