Special thanks to “Brave to Just Be Me” at Tumblr
Every child’s spring should jump in puddles, play in the wind, involve something with baseball, and watch for birds and flowers to return.
I enjoy each of those things, but one holds a special place in my heart. Baseball! A few years back, we wanted to attend opening day festivities for the Minnesota Twins when they were still playing in the Metrodome. Sadly, my husband was travelling, and it was too overwhelming to make the six hour round trip during the middle of the week with, at the time, three small children. I had long, sad faces. The kind of faces where suddenly you realize your children could be eyelash models.
During the day I hatched a plan that I thought would be the best alternative given the circumstances. I sent everyone out to play when we arrived home from school, under the guise that they needed to enjoy the beautiful day. I reassured them I would call them in when supper was ready. While they were outside playing, I stripped beds and dug out every white sheet and chair that we owned. When called in for supper, they arrived to find our living room transformed into the Metrodome West, replete with hot dogs and popcorn. We spent the most magical evening watching the game, and enjoying the fact that at our Metrodome, you could lay on the floor.
I was reminded of that magical time when last Friday evening, I watched my youngest start hauling one blanket at a time up the stairs while I was busy organizing in the basement. My husband, eyebrows raised, asked, “What are you doing with all these blankets and when are you going to pick all that up?” Her swift response mentioned that she was having a meeting with her stuffies.
As a true connoisseur of blanket forts, I knew exactly what the twinkle in her eye meant. Being the youngest and the only one home that evening, she was creating her own fun. There was a party (which actually had some serious conversation) going on between one little curly-headed girl and a whole bunch of stuffed animals, snuggled safely in the confines of their fleecy abode.
Eventually, my freckled-face sweetie emerged with the results of the meeting. The item on the agenda was who among them would be able to attend the school field trip to the Teddy Bear Clinic. Enter the music and words from the Charlie Brown special where Snoopy wants to visit the little girl in the hospital. Only one stuffie allowed! Would it be Joe, the teddy bear who saw a sweet little girl through nights of terrors after her brother was killed, but who has a penchant for mischief? Would it be Bacon, the pig, who loved a little girl at grief camp and who has a secret life as a superpig? How about Reed-y bear made from her brother’s clothes? Or Pork Chop, another pig who came home with us after a swim meet and likes to lounge by bedroom windows? The only catch for tomorrow’s field trip is the stuffie might get a shot and possibly a cast. After a lengthy discussion, a decision had been made.
Curled up in my arms, she confided only Reed-A-Cheetah, who teaches others about loving in the face of tragedy, was brave enough to go on the adventure. Right there with those tiny arms wrapped in mine, messes didn’t matter, because I knew that imaginations were alive and well. Mine was the only house on the block with a VIP board room, and more importantly, one stuffy brave enough to protect little girls lives here.
I wish I could locate my photos of the two Reeds together.
I received one of the sweetest text messages ever today, while still snuggled in my quilts and pjs. The message was simple:
May the 4th be with you! Thinking of you and Reed today. Love you!
It was a simple acknowledgement of how fun this day was to our favorite little redhead, but more so, the remembrance that someone recognized we would miss him, just a little more today. Written in the text was a whole lot of love from a friend who always brings me joy.
Once up, I spent a little bit of time searching for the perfect Star Wars video on Youtube. I wanted one that would make my proclamation of love for my Jedi, who actually had the e-mail address jedione@????.??? once upon a time. Settling on the link below, I posted a quick tribute and was off to spend the rest of the morning with my family.
All was well, until I stepped outside in bare feet to deliver items to the recycling bin. Ouch! That is cold! (Later in the day, I actually noticed a few snowflakes mixed in with the drizzle that persisted throughout the day.) If ever a light saber would come in handy, today was it. Of course, it could have functioned as a blue therapy light as well. I might actually have to look into that. Additionally, I would want it to make the great sounds effects as well – which would doubly serve to lift my sad spirits.
After reading the thermometer (a not so balmy 38 F) by my kitchen window, I got the chuckles. You know those that I seem to have a proclivity for, the kind that bubble up from a deeply hidden well-spring that just erupt forth spewing uncontrollable laughter.
The source of my giggles was from a cold April day in Alabama many, many years ago. I was living with my grandparents during graduate school at Auburn University. My Papa (pronounced pawpaw) and I were going on one adventure of sorts. Upon stepping outside that day, we noticed our breath in the air, which was not typical in late April in Opelika. We (well okay I) went back in to get a warmer jacket. Papa Reed was dressed appropriately – because he was astute follower of the best weather forecaster around: The Farmer’s Almanac. Anyways, once I finally joined him, he dropped some good ol’ fashioned country knowledge on his young, but educated granddaughter. “Gal, it’s cold as a blue lizard out here.”
I still remember looking at him and bursting into laughter. If that saying didn’t describe the situation to a tee, I don’t know what one would. He relished my giggles and we continued on, him with a twinkle in his eye and me with a giggle at the ready.
Standing at the kitchen counter today, I could almost picture my two Reeds in heaven, each with those sparkling blue eyes.
One saying: “Momma, May the 4th be with you!” and the other saying, “Yep, Gal, still cold as a blue lizard.”
Today, I am grateful that God gave me the opportunity to love both of them.
All Rights Reserved Lil’Sprout Memories Photography
Compared to where I grew up, I live in a small town. Right here I feel like I should insert a perennial Hee- Haw favorite. Marshall, MN – population 13,700 – SALUTE! More than once, comments have been made to our family with noses turned up, “What do you do for fun there?”
The truthful answer is we make our own. We spend time with friends doing all sorts of things, but nine times out of ten our fun has some food component. My favorite plans (and meals) are the ones that get put together about eleven minutes before they happen. It might be a chance meeting in the grocery store and then – Voila! – we have the makings of an impromptu party.
I relish small town living, and for me, personally, the only major drawback is the missed opportunities involving food, particularly fine dining. Another even smaller town restaurant had coursed meals for years, but the chef moved away, much to my broken heart. We loved driving down and enjoying a relaxing evening among friends and strangers alike. But those glory days are now done.
Over the weekend, I had the opportunity to put my love of food – cooking, eating, and fine dining – to good use. The result was an eight coursed meal for two special young people in my life for their first prom. I posted a few comments on Facebook about my busy day, which elicited quite a few inquiries as to what I was doing. So, I am using today’s blog to tell a story of food, but it is more so a story of two families who created their own fun for one afternoon.
All courses were homemade, except for the bread (which I simply just ran out of time) and cheese (but reassured I do know the cows).
Course One –lemon sorbet
Course Two – fresh fruit bowl
Course Three – bacon wrapped scallops
Course Four – strawberry gazpacho
Course Five – baby lettuce, pecans, red onions, feta cheese with homemade lemon balm/basil/blueberry vinaigrette
Course Six – Assorted cheeses, bread, dipping oil with pesto
Course Seven – Grilled T-bone steaks with steamed purple and gold potatoes served with steamed yellow and green summer squash with dill and sea salt.
Course Eight – Mini-cheesecakes with fresh berries
In the end, the sun was shining, the prom goers and staff (parents and siblings) were well fed, and many laughs ensued. So what do we do for fun in a small town? You never can tell what we come up with next!
It is April 18th today, and my children were released from school early because of a snowstorm. I snapped this picture of my favorite goat (a tin ware caprine friend given to me by one of my favorite families). Poor Beauregard was plastered, prompting an immediate rescue. Hope springs eternal, and ol’ Beau has seen more than his share of winter in the two weeks he’s been back standing sentinel on the front stoop.
What he has witnessed got me to thinking about another time honored evidence of spring. Each year, we watch, waiting for our feathered friends to alight our yard. The arrival of robins in my neck of the woods also means the utterance of old time sayings. Most have something to do with the emergence of spring, but one in particular seems to be most fitting.
Gotta snow three times on a robin’s (or you could substitute guard goat’s) back before it’s spring.
This year the saying is definitely true. And it’s been verifiable a few other times in my life as well. Today marks number three for cold, white backs on our red-breasted birds.
While the rest of us begrudge and bemoan what seems like the worst winter yet (basically because we were spoiled with virtually no snow and warmer temperatures last year), there are others like a dear friend of mine who are thanking God for the miserable weather.
Sometimes it takes the wisdom of someone walking through a storm of life for you to really gain perspective. Chatting at church last night, my friend shared that she, too, was sick of winter, but then she figured God has a plan for everything.
Turns out a little boy very close to her is doing battle in his own body (Enemy #1 = leukemia). For the next so-many days, he is restricted to indoors while the war wages on. What’s the best way to stop sick little boys from playing outside in the fresh springtime air? The answer: make the weather miserable so he doesn’t want to go out.
Wow! Talk about a different perspective. While we still have our struggles here, some snow on the ground or extra days in school are pretty small beans in comparison to fighting for your life. Yet, it took the words of a worried friend to give me new vision.
Safe, secure, and snuggled in with my precious babes, today I am going to look at each flake as a blessing from God.
And just in case we get a whole lot more blessings on any backs, I will let ol’ Beau vacation a little longer in the house.
Picture found at http://www.awayathomemom.com whose blog on this subject made me chuckle.
I had the honor of speaking to a MOPS group in a town not-so-far from my own this morning. It was a blessing, bringing joy to my heart with the knowledge that my story of forgiveness touched other lives. Time and time again, God has used events in my life to teach me about His heart for forgiveness. Totally unscripted as I stood there before those sweet mommas; I knew how I was to end the talk.
Without forgiveness, mercy and grace are just words.
It was a great experience, and I am glad I had the chance to go. But that isn’t what I am choosing to share with y’all. No, today I am going to share one of those divine appointments that just make you smile.
One my drive to the church, I had drunk a large Coke which didn’t seem to be a problem until I was backing out of the parking lot to head home. Now here is a serious lesson in pride – something this girl could use some work on. I was too prideful to scoot back in and ask to use the church’s restroom. Racking my brain on what was available in Montevideo, I made a bee-line to the mecca of all Southern girls: Wal-mart.
As I entered into the bathroom, I ran into a mom of one of my children’s former classmates. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, and I don’t think she recognized me at all. Thus, it wasn’t time for a reunion in the potty department. First, I really had to go, and second, who does that? Hey! I know our daughters were not really friends, but your child used to be a classmate of my child. So nice to see you! Glad we bumped into each other. I love what they’ve done with the place. That probably never really happens.
I soon discovered that this mom wasn’t using the facilities, in the traditional sense. Nope! Instead of bathroom, it was her conference room. She was having a cell-phone conversation with another one of her children (who apparently made a bad choice at school). She proceeded to coach the child on what she expected of him; told him, yes in fact, he was in trouble; and explained how he was to apologize the teacher and make better choices for the rest of the day. She ended with the words all children need to hear: I love you.
Then it came over me, and I knew why God put me in THAT bathroom at THAT very time. Seriously God! I am tinkling here, and you want me to tell that Mom you are proud of her.
Apparently, her child thought the conversation was over and hung up. But this mom called back to the school to make sure she connected with the teacher. (This was a good thing because I still needed to wash and dry my hands, and I didn’t want to have to chase her around the rolled-back discounts.)
While she was on hold, I walked right over to her and said, “If no one has told you this in a while, God wants you to know: YOU are a really good momma.” I stayed long enough to see tears well up in the corner of her eyes, and then I excused myself.
I keep my eyes and ears open to how I can bless others, but this was new. . . even for me. So I guess, today I am thanking God for good mommas and full bladders.
Hinged AFO
Autism
Cerebral Palsy
Traumatic Brain Injury
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Cushing’s Disease
Speech Delayed
Attachment Disorder
Lupus
Down’s Syndrome
Multiple Sclerosis
Attention Deficit Disorder
Spinal Cord and Nerve Injury
Depression
Schizophrenia
Different
Weird
Useless
Draining
BLESSINGS, but definitely not burdens!
Over the course of the last five years, God has given me a new type of vision. The visual clarity that sometimes only comes when you have a small glimpse into how someone else lives. Even though our son’s healing journey continues, his day-to-day activities become less and less impacted by the injuries he received.
Not so for many of the wonderful families we have met while in the hospital waiting rooms or on Caringbridge. This is something that I really took for granted prior to the day that changed our lives. I am embarrassed to admit, I never thought about the struggles that some families face. I remember the moment the tidal shift occurred in my visual correction.
We sent Sawyer to the store to pick up something that we had forgotten. He used his adapted bike to travel the few blocks to the store, and once there used the store’s mechanical cart. A store employee came over and berated him for playing with something he didn’t need, calling him inappropriate names. Apparently, this man didn’t notice the AFO or the scars on Sawyer’s leg or the struggles he had getting off the cart.
Distraught when he returned from the store, the news he brought home caused the Momma Bear in me to erupt with Old Faithful geyser-like timing. The problem was the same thing happened at two other businesses within the same week. After many tears and few choice words, I was exhausted battling stupidity.
I was disgusted with humanity. I was sick of people and their stares and their lack-of-understanding. Remember Kandy, this will be temporary in Sawyer’s life. That small realization straight from God completely changed my heart and my prayers. Back then, I had no idea that we would still be having surgeries now, but I knew some families wouldn’t have the same results that we would someday have.
After feeling the sting of discrimination and ignorance, my prayers changed. I began to ask God to see each person the way He does. The list at the top of this blog represents real people who have touched my life. Each one of them has blessed my life in ways so much more than I can explain.
Some of the greatest of these has been the ability to live in the moment, to love someone for whom they are, and to never see what you can’t do, only what you can. Those lessons will change your life. They did mine.
I have shared over the last few weeks that Easter is my most favorite holiday. What I haven’t divulged is how that sentiment has evolved over time. I have given glimpses into my childhood memories of little dresses with gloves and Southern-style Easter egg hunts as well as the memories made with my own children. But there is something so much more powerful about the day for my life now.
When I was little, most of my hours of play revolved around one storyline based upon my favorite book. That book was the Little Golden Book Classic titled “Little Mommy”. All these years later, I still have it – tattered and loved. Loved so much, I wore the front cover right off of it. (The book and its cover rest in a place of honor at my house.) I am sure it was one of those hot off the presses purchases my parents made back in 1971 for thirty-nine cents. They definitely got their money’s worth – kind of akin to the box being better than the present sometimes.
The best book ever!
My whole life there were only two things I desired to be: a mom and a teacher. All of my hours of play revolved around the day that I would someday get to be the real-life mommy. My mom confirmed that there was never a time that I wasn’t toting a baby doll around. In all my years of playing mommy, never once did I imagine that someday I would have to give back to God one with whom he had chosen to bless our family. It wasn’t a part of the storyline. The kids got sick, but they never died.
N-E-V-E-R! That doesn’t happen in the pages of childhood storybooks and certainly not in the sweet imaginations of little girls dreaming of motherhood.
So what does any of this have to do with Easter? Easter once was a beloved time of year for the emergence of spring and, of course, all things pastel. Oh, I recognized the significance of the remembrance, acknowledging how much Jesus had given up for me and for my eternal future. Yet, I never really embraced the full reality of that gift. Following the death of my child, that changed. Easter became the promise I would believe in – literally. Very little made sense, but I knew that without Jesus’ sacrifice, the one thing I hold so dear – seeing Reed again – would never happen.
Now each Easter I sit in the pew, and I cry. I weep because unlike my unprepared heart, God knew what was ultimately going to happen with his Son. I cry tears of sadness for His loss, because now I understand what it is like to lose a son and mark anniversaries. I cry bigger tears of joy for the promise He and His Son gave to me.
The promise that one day – just like I practiced all those years ago – I will cradle my sweet boy in my arms again.
Sixteen years ago, when we bought our house, we thought that this would be a great starter home, and in a few years we would buy the one of our dreams. After settling in and getting to know our neighbors, our roots grew deeper and deeper. One day I was sharing those sentiments with my Mama, and what she said seemed to settle the matter. “Well, honey, you were going to move until your neighbors convinced you otherwise.”
So it goes with much of what happens in my life. I often have plans or standards until God shows me that my plans need to change, or at least, my thinking needs to bend. So it has recently gone with our family’s thoughts on dating.
Our rule has always been: No Dating. No Dating. No Dating in high school. Our thoughts were you are only kids once. Then along came a sweet girl in study hall. Blast that study hall – where no one actually does any studying! In all honesty, our families have known each other for years, but the girl suddenly went from just a girl we knew to the interest of our son’s heart.
As this budding romance began, I had some conversations with the young lady’s mom which in turn led to our family praying about this situation. She knew our family’s stand on dating, and she also knew us to be people of our words.
Many know that the verse of my title actually ends in “Behold it was Leah.” Genesis 29:25 (NIV) Jacob’s surprise ending to what he thought was going to be the love of his life, but ended in a major disappointment. Our willingness to pray about the situation led from our awareness that perhaps our thoughts needed some adjusting. One realization was our sadness that our young man wasn’t so little and wouldn’t be living with us for that many more years, and the other was that he would have plenty of his own Leah moments in life as that growing up took place. Having rigidity in our parenting isn’t something we were known for; so, we didn’t want to begin now, causing all of us disappointment.
After looking at how he has conducted himself in every other aspect of life and after spending much time in prayer, we knew that our thinking was based not on the responsible young man who lives with us. We decided that as long as one condition was met, the two could begin dating (which mostly consists of hanging out at either house with parents home). We have always expected our sons to be gentlemen and this was no exception. The condition: we required Sawyer to ask her parents’ permission to date her and to share about his faith and how he would conduct himself with their daughter. Showing courage beyond his years, he did.
But that is only part of the story . . .
The sweet girl shares his love for Jesus and for others. Both share a love for little kids – she’s a Sunday school teacher while he coaches little kid football. Family dinners, movie nights, impromptu suppers after sporting events became routine. (I will admit that it probably took some time to get used to our senses of humor.) Over time, she just blended right into the fold of this crazy life we lead around here.
So even though, I am still having a hard time letting go of childhood for a soon-to-be man, I could not be more thankful that the girl we all get to grow up with is Rachel.
God only knows what the future holds for them each as individuals, much less as a couple, but I do know that when he was little we prayed for “the girl” he would find someday. I just didn’t think we’d get to meet her so soon.
Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Psalm 126:2 (NIV)
I was recently watching an episode of one of my favorite television shows. At the conclusion of the show the main character spoke about it doesn’t matter what started a tradition as long as the tradition brings people closer together. Those words spoke to my heart.
Another thing that deeply touches me is when friends are honest enough to look at your life and say something that is laugh out loud funny as well as heartwarming. A friend watched the video presentation of his life that we used at Reed’s services and genuinely asked me, “What’s up with your kids and egg-dyeing in their underpants?”
One of many egg-dyeing moments with Reed.
After a quick dance of perplexed eyebrows, I burst into laughter. That rumbling that comes deep from within your belly escaped from my mouth. I knew exactly what she was talking about. Now before anyone gets crazy ideas about nakedness in this household, you might want to know that I despise dealing with stains in clothing. If I were a super-hero, Red Food Coloring and Glitter would be my arch-enemies.
Rather than having to battle later, my good Girl Scout training taught to me to think ahead. No clothes = no dye stains! Therefore, prior to the bus crash, if you were little enough to stain your clothes, you did your egg-dyeing in your skivvies. (That tradition like rotary phones went by the way side as time went on.)
All I saw watching that presentation was a short lifetime of memories. It’s anybody’s guess what others saw. Those pictures were there before God and tons of people, and only one friend said boo about our unconventional tradition. A simple question that made my heart laugh at a time when I needed it the most. Isn’t that exactly why God gave us friends to help us guide us to laughter even when our hearts are breaking?
A great reminder that someday we will laugh again!
A few years back our honorary son and his girlfriend called us up asking if we had plans for one of the days of Easter break. They were free from college courses and wanted to come over and love on “their” younger siblings. For us the definition of family is those who we choose to love. I think Jesus would be okay with that definition. Josh had been a part of our kid’s lives since they were teeny, and after Reed’s death and later Andy’s death, he had assumed the role of oldest brother in this family. It was something for which we are forever grateful.
That call led to an epiphany moment, “Would you want to dye eggs with the kids?”. Always up for an adventure, Josh and Nicole both happily agreed. Egg-dyeing is one of those traditions that was hard to go back to after losing a child. So began the new tradition. Since that first year, we have had many memories as we embraced all of Josh’s extended family into the tradition. We have had stuff stuck in trees (long story), splatter painted sheets with leftover egg dye, and gotten downright funky in our egg-dyeing techniques.
This year was no exception. While we missed two members of our merry band, the rest of us – nine total – gathered around a table first for dinner, and then for the annual egg-dyeing eggstravaganza! When we broke bread (yes- the homemade kind), we read from a devotional that shared about Good Friday. It was divinely appointed that all of our birds (white pigeons which resemble doves) flew out of the cote exactly at the moment we read, “It is finished.” John 19:30 (NIV)
The thought of those sweet words being a Victory shout brought tears to the eyes of a few of us at the table. Never had I thought of those final words as victorious. It was a humbling moment for my heart.
After supper we were up to our elbows in eggs – eight dozen to be exact. We did try old favorites of using those hole protector stickers to create designs on the eggs. Who knew we had so many white crayons? We upped the ante by using electrical tape for some pretty bold geometric shapes and designs. Erin even pulled off a methodical and tedious checkerboard pattern using that same tape on one egg.
Once the last egg was dyed, the laughter and creativity lived on. Since our yard still had quite a bit of snow cover and I did not want Easter egg colored dogs, the sheet idea was O-U-T! (Sometimes a momma just has to put her foot down.) I remembered that we had some small blank canvases in the basement art stash. The wheels began to turn.
Out came the stickers and one canvas! Next came the paintbrushes . . . followed by a big dose of creativity. Everyone painted a small area, and in the end it was a beautiful group art piece.
What was even more beautiful was the creation of our hearts. Even though all present miss Reed, we have been able to go beyond the societal definition, and rise from the ashes of tragedy to create a masterpiece of enormous proportions – a family.
The link to our devotion:
kandynolesstevens 