I have had a week to once again think of all the things that make me smile. Even in a world where turning on the evening news makes me want to cry and pray, I keep looking for the little things that bring me joy.
Not our actual camper but one very similar.
Photo credit RVs.com
1. Camping – We had the opportunity to go along with some friends on an annual camping weekend at Storybook Land in Aberdeen, SD. If I were completely honest, I would admit that we almost backed out at the last minute. This was not due to the company we would be keeping, but more a by-product of our frenetically paced life. In fact, I enjoy every moment we spend with these friends, and this trip was no exception. We had a great time as a family just simply being present. We did activities when we felt like it, or we just sat around and visited. As we weren’t exactly roughing it, it was so much fun to eat like royalty with garden bounty. But of course, it would not be communal camping without nibbing at all the other family tables too. Sometimes, I have non-camping friends who ask what exactly do we do while camping. It a 3 word sentence answer: We have fun! This weekend was no exception. When you have 8 families with sixteen children ranging from 3 to 15, there is ALWAYS something that can be done. Watching how all of the kids interacted was awe-inspiring; this included the teenagers making sure to hang out with the little ones. Aside from just having quality family time, my most favorite moment came when the littlest among us learned how to “re-teach” Huck, his one and only trick. After watching Daniel, S placed a treat on Huck’s nose, told him to wait, and finally gave the okay signal. Huck, like a pro, caught the treat midfall. S turned around and said with conviction, “I did that!” Seeing a little boy’s eyes twinkle with the same sparkle Reed had when Huck first learned that trick gave me a warm heart and a few tears, but it was also worth a giant smile.
Avera St. Luke’s Hospital
2. Having a great sense of humor. Since camping and fun are synonymous in our book, it must be said that you can sometimes have too much fun. On Friday, one of our friends nearly sliced the tip of his finger off. I served as ambulance driver and chauffeur. Then during a rousing baseball game on Saturday featuring daddies versus kids, Sawyer had a mishap resulting in a sprained ankle. Since I already knew the route to the ER, a friend and I took Sawyer there for Saturday night’s festivities. I hadn’t noticed the parking signs the night before but they stood out the second night. The ER parking has beautiful sign pointing to a lot next to the helipad. Now I am rephrasing this but there were then signs that said, “Park at your own risk, you are next to a helicopter landing site.” I laughed aloud thinking that perhaps the hospital was “drumming” up business. As Sawyer’s visit finished up, I got a giggle when the doctor told us that he was happy to help our merry band of travelers for a second day. That was followed by, “If you so feel the need, we are open 24 hours a day.” As I was standing next to the nurses’ station upon discharge, I asked if I could get a punch card for future visits. When life hands you lemons, kick back with a great sense of humor and smile!
Courtesy of 4-H
3. It’s fair time! Today was judging day for general fair projects for Lyon County 4-H. It is so much fun to see all the 4-Hers hard work come to fruition with the incredible exhibits. Seeing kids flit about from judge to judge in a synchronized dance makes me think of Lake Wobegon where all the kids are above-average. (But in this case, it’s true; these kids amaze me with their creativity, hard work, and talent!) It’s fun to eavesdrop as the kids (not my own) speak to the judge about their project. I adore watching the faces light up after the judge hands over a ribbon. As an educator, I am often dismayed when I overhear people making blanket statements about the lack of initiative or work ethic among today’s youth. I am guessing that if those who make those comments came to the 4-H building, they would see kids passionate about learning and doing, and that definitely makes me smile.
Until next week, keep looking for the little things that make you smile!
Photo found at Hollywood How To blog (based on USA today article by Ann Oldenburg)
In my family, some of our best conversations and heart-to-hearts occur when we are travelling in our van. It is also the place where I glimpse what is going on in my children’s world by listening very carefully to their backseat chatter. One such time occurred when I had a van full of boys and one sweet little girl. It was quite a few years back, but I remember the moment as if it happened yesterday.
My sister-in-law’s family along with my mother-in-law came on a surprise visit to be at our house when my husband earned his MBA. Following the afternoon graduation, I took my kids and two of my nephews swimming at the YMCA. It was a December graduation; so, it was quite cold when I loaded all the kiddos in the van for the short trip home.
While we were waiting for the van’s engine to warm up a few minutes, a conversation started regarding funny television shows and movies. There was quite a repartee regarding which shows a group of elementary boys thought were funny. They swapped funny scenes and eventually everyone settled on their favorites (although not a single one of them agreed). Ah, boys! But what was note-worthy was a small declaration from a sweet little red-head in the back-seat. “Hey guys, do you know who the best comedic actor in the world is?” No answer came from the peanut gallery, and even I was stunned that he knew the word, comedic. Finally, he gave us his answer, “Don Knotts!” I had to chuckle from the front seat, because I knew the origin of that comment.
The previous summer we had visited my grandmothers, and Mama (pronounced maw-maw) Cloie gave my kids all of her videotapes and DVDs of “The Andy Griffith Show”. Once back home, we watched every one of those episodes. Each show caused my kids to erupt into peals of laughter – sometimes we laughed so hard we had tears running down. Reed, in particular, had his funny bone tickled in every watching – often watching particular episodes over and over again. For Andy Griffith fans, think exploding goat!
At the time, I don’t think I ever really appreciated what that show and Andy Griffith meant to my family. I fondly remember watching Andy, Barney, Opie and Aunt B every night when we had supper growing up. I have always been a nostalgic romantic loving anything involving simpler days and times, and Mayberry was one of those places that my imagination could easily appeal that desire. Later when I lived with my Mama and Papa in graduate school, our afternoon routine involved the recapping of my day at the chemistry lab while watching “Matlock”. So Andy (and later Ben) has always been a part of my family’s culture.
Many conversations centered around the various lessons that Andy’s friends and family needed to learn. Of course, always present was Reed’s infectious giggle especially when the conversation steered to something that Barney (or the oafish Otis) did. My family alone could give testimony to the show’s timeless appeal. How many shows today could hold the attention of four generations – at the same time. Despite having aired originally in the 1960’s, the characters drew in my little boys more than forty years later. With all the other noise on television today, I loved that my boys were just as enamored as I with the simple, but honest relationships that Andy shared with everyone in Mayberry.
With the passing of Andy Griffith, I was deeply saddened. I wanted to curl up on a front porch with ice cold Coke in a glass bottle and one of Aunt B’s famous cakes or pies. If I use just enough imagination, I can picture a sweet little redhead hand-in-hand with the legendary sheriff as Andy got a VIP tour of the best fishing holes in heaven. Over the clank of fishing rods hitting the pail, I can hear the soft tune of the two of them whistling.
One day of bounty from our garden
As promised from yesterday’s blog, I plan to give you more insight into my history with the illustrious (at least for me) zucchini. For all who know me personally, I have a pretty healthy sense of humor. Hence, no one in my family was surprised when while perusing for zucchini recipes I let out a serious belly laugh that resulted in tears flowing down my cheeks. What tickled my fancy so much you might ask. While searching for a zucchini saute, I noticed a little link on the side of the page.
When I opened it up (which I encourage you to do so – right now), I guffawed even more. (Sadly it is no longer available.) http://allrecipes.com/howto/sneak-some-zucchini-onto-your-neighbors-porch-night/detail.aspx?msg=2#comments I love “invented” holidays – like “Watch the Last Sunset of the Year” which is a Team Stevens family tradition; thus “Sneak Some Zucchini onto Your Neighbors’ Porch Night” was right up my alley. It was part good-natured fun, part It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with a little mischief thrown in the mix.
What really spoke to me about this holiday was the notion I was way ahead of my time as a college friend and I were trailblazers in this movement. While reading the article, I was transported back to a night in the fall of my senior year of college. Both of our dads taught at the college we attended; so we made the frugal choice to live at home and save our money. Late one night while studying for Physical Chemistry in my friend’s basement, we heard a small voice coming from the top of the stairs. “Girls, could you please come up here for a moment?” Considering the time was already approaching 11 pm, we did not delay in our ascent upstairs. Upon our arrival in the family kitchen, we discovered bags cluttering the counter. Yes! Bags of club sized zucchinis! “Girls, when you are done with your studies I would like you to kindly walk around the neighborhood and deposit these bags on the neighbors doorsteps.” My mind was racing – “Did I hear her correctly?” and “Is this even legal?” were the most prevalent thoughts floating around. Growing up in the South, I hadn’t quite embraced the Midwestern flair for neighborly love and sharing, because I know some neighborhoods where that type of generosity would be more than frowned upon, particularly at that hour of the night. However being sweet college chemistry majors, we obliged the matronly request as if Mother Earth had whispered to us a siren call of sharing her bounty from the family’s garden. In the chilly North Dakota darkness of a fall night, we ran with bags overflowing up and down a certain 1st street in a small town bequeathing beautiful, bountiful squash. Vividly, I remember the adrenaline rush of our commando mission in the crisp air and the reverberations of our giggles throughout the neighborhood.
I know not everyone will embrace this holiday as much as I think I just might. It has the potential to become an annual summer festival around my house. (Just to clarify, however, I do not plan to employ all the suggestions for revelry including, but not limited to, running naked or wielding a machete.) Personally, I think this would be a much better countdown than the number of days until back to school.
So here’s to 15 more days until . . . the Zucchini Faerie strikes again!
On our trip back from Florida, the kids and I listened to the first three books of my favorite book series – The Mitford Series by Jan Karon. It was fun to share my favorite characters with them, and the revisiting of “old friends” warmed my heart. One of the things I had forgotten was how one of the characters, Cynthia Cavanaugh, is often asked by her husband, Father Tim, “What do you love?”. Cynthia seems to always have a triple answer roll right off of her tongue. I have always been enamored with her ability to find 3 things that she adores in the blink of an eye, and I have decided to follow in her footsteps by creating a new category for this blog. It will be known as Monday – Fun Day where I will post things that make me smile. This will be a hodge-podge of items; so, don’t expect a routine response (My fictional model never says the same three things in her responses either.)
So here goes on our maiden voyage:
1. Unexpected visitors – Midweek, we saw a vehicle slow down and stop in our driveway. Because of a crazy numbering system for our neighborhood, we seldom get too excited about a vehicle stopping by. Because we both have house numbers of 206 on a weekly basis, we get our neighbors’ items which include things like mail, furniture, pizza, visitors, and flowers. That last one really stunk because once I was having a bad day, and POOF! here came a dozen roses delivered to my door. I opened the card to read, “I love you, Caroline.” Bummer, dude! But I digress . . . because this time it was an unexpected visit from friends who were between appointments in town. It was wonderful! We had a whole hour to visit, catch-up, and have some time together that we would have never had otherwise. I am so thankful that one of her sons made the suggestion to stop by, because it made my day to see them. I am so thankful that God has blessed me with such wonderful friends to share this journey, and that will always make me smile!
Not my actual garden
2. If you follow my Kan-Do group on Facebook, you know that yesterday, I waxed poetically about zucchini and our harvest so far this year. We have been enjoying zucchini in just about every fashion you can. Since it is my favorite squash, I am trying all kinds of new recipes as well. Think zucchini and smoked sausage saute as well as eggplant-zucchini bolognese. Y-U-M-M-Y! Every minute spent weeding and watering has been worth every every single bite! My love of zucchini (and a good laugh) will carry into tomorrow’s blog. I think my love of gardening stems from the times spent with my parents and grandparents digging in the dirt, planting, tending, and finally harvesting. Despite the dry and hot weather we have been experiencing, every new blossom in my garden reminds me that God still has a plan even in my small patch of ground, and that makes me smile.
3. I am always amazed when someone thinks I have a good, creative project or idea, because truthfully, I read a lot. I mean A LOT. So many times, I have seen something in a book, blog, or magazine, and then I tweak it to fit my needs or desires. I enjoy having eclectic tastes and striving to find something that stands out even if it is a small detail. So when I ran across this blog entry, I knew that I would have to try it myself. http://cupcakesandcashmere.com/?s=mermaid+nails Even though I don’t believe I will become a mermaid anytime soon, I can at least pretend with some really fun nails.
Mermaid nails (Photo from Cupakes & Cashmere blog)
My first run at this style was for Erin and her friend, and they were adorable. If you read the blog, you can certainly see how the sky (or the sea) would be the limit for the creative ways you could change this style. After my trip to Florida, I realized how the Gulf of Mexico is etched deeply in my heart. When I stand next to her, I realize how small I really am. And yet, in my smallness, I know that God loves me B-I-G, and that too will always make me smile! I wish for you to find the the things that make you smile – on a daily basis.
Dear Reed – About this time seventeen years ago, I was finally holding you in my arms after 14 hours of pretty hard labor. But at that moment, I didn’t remember one single bit of the pain, because my dream of being a momma was finally achieved and your story began.
The nurse wheeled you and the lady’s in the next room baby down to us. Suddenly, the other baby’s 3-year-old sister popped her head out of the room and said, “That’s my new baby brother.” The nurse responded with a simple nod and a “yes”. “What’s that baby’s name?” The nurse replied, “Reed”, at which the little girl put her hands on her hips and said, “But I can’t read!” Instead of chuckling, I panicked. What had we done! Because Reed is a family name, it never occurred to me that it was also a homophone. But it was too late to we had already made it official. And to the little girl, she only knew that your name was written on the bassinet and she didn’t know her letters yet to “read”.
Right up until the 11th hour, we were going to name you Jackson Theodore (after my favorite movie character and president), but over Mother’s Day we changed our minds. Reed Daniel just seemed fitting. We spent hours pouring over baby name books and dissecting the meanings. Even though we weren’t enamored with the meaning of Reed (red-haired), we still stuck with our hearts and named you after your Grandpa Jr and Papa.
When the nurse wheeled you in and I got to see the cleaned up version of you, I laughed out loud because under that miniscule knitted cap were the tiniest red curls I had ever seen. It was then that I knew definitively that God has a healthy sense of humor. He took my fears and washed them away by making the earthly meaning of your name a part of your DNA.
It was a reminder to me that He knew your name the moment you were formed and He knew that your adorable red hair would always be a part of your identity.
There are so many things that God knew would be a part of your story, and looking back, we wish we could have known how little time we would have to help write that story. As for the rest of us, we continue to pen the story of our hearts missing you and facing (albeit not bravely or not composed) all those firsts without you.
God knew and so did we that you loved learning, but we were all shocked when you announced on New Year’s Day of 2007 that you would be attending Yale University. So when your first private college application arrived over Christmas last year, I was totally unprepared and I lost it. We guessed these things would happen, but I just wasn’t ready for it. Desperately, I wanted to sit down and say, “Reed, I know it’s not Yale, but what do you think about this one?” Thankfully, the story of your love of learning carries on in your scholarship.
The same thing happened when I went to the school on a Sunday night with Sawyer and saw 9 of your classmates’ parents filtering out of the building. I knew immediately – junior class parents all together meant a prom meeting. They didn’t see me, but I pulled over and bawled and bawled. I wanted to help you pick out a tux, pick flowers for your girl, and make a real Southern feast for your first prom. But instead of popular tunes, your music was the sound of prairie grass waving in a North Dakota field.
I know I am not the only one who misses you. In the past year, we have all had our ups and downs. Daddy just has never been the same. He misses you with every fiber of his being. Sawyer changed his mind on you doing the hunting and him being the chef. He went to see you in North Dakota and got his first deer on Uncle Bryan’s farm place. Well, he somewhat changed his mind, because he is still the most fabulous cook. He also took on some leadership roles with his faith this year – just like you did near the end of your story. Erin still continues to grow and mature, and we have seen her take a stand (even among friends) to do the right thing. You would have been proud. And Cloie, she misses you beyond her years. She really wishes that you could send her a letter from heaven, but she comforts herself with stories about you and your adventures. Those stories have become a part of her identity and while on vacation, she told one about “remember when” and she wasn’t even a year old when it occurred. But we have told it enough that she knew exactly when and where it happened; so now it is a part of her story.
I just wanted you to know that we are celebrating your 17th birthday today, and Cloie will be sending you a letter on her balloons. Even though we are bracing ourselves for the other firsts of your senior year, we are almost daily comforted by the fact that your story (well God’s and your story) continue to transform lives.
And that, my son, is a story well-written!
Loving you until we see you again – Mom
I have always been enamored with my paternal grandmother, Mama Cloie’s, response to requests to go do something. Requests of “Hey Mama, let’s go get a hot dog and milkshake” or “Let’s go pick up some fried chicken for supper” were always met with a “Let me get my shoes on!” My Mama (pronounced maw-maw) has never had a driver’s license; so her involvement in my ideas always required a driver. Her enthusiastic response was one that I felt embodied a life without hustle and bustle and was always a resounding nod that whatever thing I suggested was important – important enough for her to drop what she was doing and go on my suggested adventure.
Lately, I have been very quiet on this blog and there exists a myriad of reasons for that. The biggest being my ability to be sucked into the enemy’s number one tool – busyness. Last March, I had the joy of participating in a women’s conference in my church. It was a wonderful day and I was so glad to share my story with “my” people. That elation lasted all of a few hours as the enemy’s attacks came fast and furious. At least a dozen women that attended had the rug pulled out from under them – emotionally, physically, financially, spiritually – in the coming hours, days and weeks. My own home and heart were not spared either. After hearing me talk, many of those same women reached out to me for prayer and counsel. I am thankful that my refinement by God’s fire has given me a heart to recognize hurt, pain, and suffering, but more than that – a heart that wants to help, if I can.
Additionally running in the background was an e-mail sent to me by a dear friend about a blog she stumbled across that I might enjoy. As I watched a video on the blog, I was humbly brought to my knees watching myself in the woman’s story of being too busy to recognize her child’s need to simply spend time together. The blogger’s decision was to make each moment matter with her child and herself. My emotional response to the video was reinforced by a conversation I had with the little C. After seeing one of her curly-headed toddler pictures flash on our digital frame, I lamented, “I miss that little, curly-headed Clo.” Without even batting an eyelash, her response went straight to my heart, “Well, I miss the momma who wasn’t always so busy working and doing other stuff.” Sadly, she was right, and I knew it.
I had been a bench warmer for a few years while Sawyer was healing, and once he was better, I went on a wild spree to not only get back on the field but also play all the positions available. Not a wise, nor Godly choice.
This silent time in my writing was not wasted. It was a revival time spent with God deciding what to do next and how to go forward to be the woman He wants me to be. One of the biggest decisions I made was to step away from the ministry where I was involved because it was what God needed me to do. I renewed my efforts to pare down, get rid of, and otherwise de-clutter to prevent material stuff from keeping me from making memories. I reaffirmed that I love teaching, and that God truly gave me a talent for working with children. Yet, I also recognized that the best job and ministry I will EVER have involves the children God gave to me.
But the most important thing I discovered was freedom. Freedom that truly comes from giving it to God. I think my two Cloie’s were conduits to that message of freedom. One reminding that I was blowing it by saying yes to every request for my time, and one modeling that I don’t need a title to work for God.
I simply need to be ready to put my shoes on.
My whole life I have been enamored with poetry as a medium to express my feelings and emotions. This poem was meant to be healing to me – to convey exactly how I was feeling. Sadly the hurry up of Sawyer’s surgery brought our family right back to the night of 2/19/08 because we just weren’t prepared. We have had to work our way out of that fog, and just be together as a family (even in stuff that seems little to others). It doesn’t to us, because it was once again a reminder of how big of a hole we experience every day. But as you read this all the way through, I hope that you too are reminded of how BIG our God is to fill that hole right on up with His love! A special thank you to those that see us working on that fog lifting and continue to cheer us on. Sawyer is doing fabulously and that makes us all feel well again!
Surgery No. 5
We don’t really sleep.
Tossing and turning, fitfully checking the clock to make sure we are up in time.
We quit pretending and get up even before the alarm clocks buzzes.
My child cannot eat so neither will I.
We get ready as best we can (when your suitcase is a small purse and school folder containing your homework).
Deep inside we dream that it wasn’t like this.
We walk through cold, skyway glassed corridors. We watch as the rest of the world goes on . . . moves forward while we are forced to go back and relive once again the terrible tragedy that befell our family.
We make small talk trying to overcome our nervousness.
We walk – still a part of the city – not yet a part of the world of doctors, surgeries, nurses, and staff.
Eventually, we know we’ve crossed that invisible boundary – not because of any sign that we proclaims we are here. No, we know that smell. The sterile, clinical smell that tells us we have arrived at our holding spot until they are ready for him.
We know this road. Hurry up and wait. Wait to be asked the same questions over and over again. We know it is for his safety, but after a while, it feels like an assault on our honesty, our integrity, our intelligence.
It is almost time to start – which is a polite cue that the Momma has to go now. We do what we always do. We pray, but somehow this time it is different. As we pray, we are reminded of the choice that this young man, my son, has made about his future.
We pray for the usual things peace, guidance, and wisdom for the surgeon, safety during the procedure, healing, and fast recoveries.
But somehow a rush of words come bubbling out . . from the boy soon to be a man and from the momma who loves him with every fiber in her being.
Lord show us how you are going to use this one day for Your Glory when this child grows up to work for you.
Tears freely flow from me as I try to hold it together. Arms of strength offer comfort from the one who needs the surgery to the one who has to wait and watch and to endure that loss of childhood once again for her son. What love this child holds!
Alone . . . for what seems like eternity. Alone not because I want to be, but simply because of the urgency that surgery no. 5 required. Alone because my husband needed to go home and comfort the girls. Alone – because we didn’t really have enough time to ask anyone to be here with us. Alone because my boy is floors below in a surgical room.
I sit.
I wait.
Over time (lots of time), I grow cold. Why are hospital waiting rooms so cold? Why didn’t I bring a sweatshirt? This is March in Minnesota after all.
The first pangs of hunger appear. I am going to hold out. Maybe this will really go as fast they said it would.
It didn’t.
I wait.
I sit.
Then it starts to take hold of me. I feel it bubbling up from heart to my head.
I want to run, but I don’t dare leave – he might need me.
I want to hit something – though I have never done that in my life.
I want to scream – but polite people don’t do that in waiting rooms.
I want to stop it – yet it comes anyway like a freight train pounding through my body.
The MAD and all its choking tentacles arrive and begin to strangle me.
Here we are again, back to that horrible February day. I’M MAD.
Someone else’s actions put us here. I’M MAD.
He’s going to hurt again. I’M MAD.
He will have to give up things he loves. I’M MAD.
Our family will have to adjust once again. I’M MAD.
All the people who tell us that he is perfectly fine, that’s there is nothing wrong with him. I’M MAD.
What gives them the right to judge us? Are they his doctors? Do they think world renown hospitals do things at my command? I’M MAD.
Emotions
Anger and fury
I wrestle internally.
I fight to beat back the mad.
I do the only thing that makes sense to me. I pray.
God doesn’t answer in the way I expect. I want peace, but all I get is overwhelming hunger. A Hunger that cannot wait and forces me to leave my not-so-cozy waiting room corner.
I look at the device that tells you all the things going on the bowels below.
Not even in recovery yet.
I decide I must get something to eat. NOW!
The mad inside me is my marching cadence.
I make swift steps to the cafeteria.
That all-consuming hunger, now doesn’t seem as important as all I think I can keep down is a nibble and a swallow.
Slow down. I will myself to walk slowly up from the belly of the clinic. I emerge at one of my favorite spots. A soothing spot. A location where some gentle soul speaks to mine with songs filled with melodic notes. Schubert. Bach. Beethoven. Liszt. Not today – their music isn’t here today.
What is here instead is familiar. It is comforting. It is soothing. It transports me back to little white churches in Georgia and Alabama. It wraps me up in all the things that I know to be good and pure and safe.
Definitely safe. Where mad doesn’t exist. Only love.
Tears begin to stream down on my muffin.
I bobble my juice to wipe my eyes.
The mad starts to seep out of my body as my voice finds a way to express itself.
Unashamedly, I sing even though I don’t think polite people do that in public places.
I know this song. God has answered – albeit not in the way I expected.
God answered in the words of Chisholm and notes of Runyan.
Great is thy faithfulness. Great is thy faithfulness. Morning by morning, new mercies I see. (I am seeing the mercies right now, taking away the mad.) All I have needed Thy hand hath provided. (You have provided all of this around me to take care of my son). Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.
I emerge, like the butterfly from the chrysalis.
I am better than I was before.
I flit back, now lighter, to the waiting spot.
I arrive just in time to see him come back to our starting place.
The first smile flashes across his face. Within moments that snappy sense of humor quips a joke with the nurses.
It’s then that I know that we are going to be okay.
I know for certain because I laugh – God’s healing balm on my soul.
New mercies I see!
Healing . . . it is something that my family has been forced to know intimately over the last four years. After losing one son and having two of my other children injured in one incident, we have been healing physically, emotionally, and spiritually as we continue on our journey. When I have shared Reed’s story at women’s conferences, I put together a top ten list of healing. Two items on that list are looking to God when everything else seems impossible and allowing others to be the hands and feet of Christ to help you meet your needs, sometimes even the most basic ones.
But the one I want to focus on today is the one that God most prevalently reminded me just two weeks ago . . . healing comes in small increments on God’s timing. Just as physical healing doesn’t often happen over night, neither does healing of the heart and soul.
Recently my son needed yet another surgery to deal with injuries suffered on the bus crash. This would be his fifth surgery in four short years. Surprisingly, we knew it was coming, but we didn’t realize the urgency. At a routine check-up, the surgery was scheduled for the next morning and we would need to stay at Mayo for 3 days. (My suitcase was a purse and Sawyer’s was his school backpack.) Needless to say it was an adventure!
While Sawyer was in surgery, I had to fight hard to hold down “the mad”. Someone else did this to my son . . . he was going to miss out on his golf season . . . here we go again with surgery, bills, hassles, and struggles. My prayer was, “God, take away the mad. Help me to see how you are going to use this in Sawyer’s life to bring you glory.”
The answer didn’t immediately come, and after waiting for 4 hours, I was cold (why are hospitals so chilly?) and hungry. So I ventured down to the cafe in the main Mayo building. As I emerged from the underground tunnel to the area where people play the piano, God provided his answer. Instead of the typical classical music (which I love), the pianist was playing, “Great is thy faithfulness!”
With tears streaming into my muffin, God reminded me that he was very much present in that moment and that healing was coming if . . . if only I clung to Him and allowed His timing to be my answer. Boldly and unashamedly, I belted out the words, “All I have needed thy Hand has provided!” That includes the right measure of healing in the exactly precise time . . . for surgical wounds, for broken bodies, and for wounded hearts.
I tell you the truth, you must accept the kingdom of God as if you were a child, or you will never enter it. Luke 18:17 NCV
In the past week, I have had basically the same conversation with two very different individuals. One was a sweet 12-year-old girl that I know, and the other was my equally as sweet 82-year-old grandmother, affectionately known as Nanny. The conversation was about Easter traditions and favorite activities. What struck me was the fact that both shared the exact same heart.
When I asked my 6th grade friend what her favorite part of Easter was, she proclaimed enthusiastically, “The egg hunt!”. She then went on to elaborate that she loves to wake up with wide-eyed wonder to find baskets and get ready for church. She shared with me that she was dismayed that many of her friends and classmates didn’t share her passion for simply enjoying the moment. She didn’t understand why everyone was in a hurry to grow up so fast, and in her words “be too cool for Easter”. Her words really touched me, because 30 years ago, I would have been that little girl.
Fast forward a couple days to when I phoned my Nanny, she asked what we were doing this week. I replied that we were preparing for Easter. We reminisced about the last Easter we spent together and dyeing eggs with my kids. (The one thing she failed to mention is her passion for eggs means there better be enough for her to dye as many as everybody else.) We laughed about all the fun memories we had with egg-dyeing over the years. Within seconds, she announced, “Even though, I’m goin’ be by myself this year, I’m goin’ to the store and get me a dozen eggs. And yes sir, I am goin’ dye each one of them – even if I throw ‘em out later.” I just had to smile, because 40 years from now, I want to be that girl. This Southern lady who is comfortable and confident in who she is that she doesn’t mind doing something that her peers think childish or a waste of time – seeing as she has no one to share the joy with her this year.
Today, the Easter season is that transportable moment for me. I wake up dreaming of walking to that tomb only to discover my Jesus isn’t there. He conquered death and proved gloriously that he was and is and is to come, exactly who He said he was. The rebirth of Spring only adds to my excitement as I daily count how many tulips have popped open, which area of grass is prospering, what garden plants are returning, and which trees are budding. I am carried by my imagination to Easters past of white patent leather shoes, little white gloves and Easter bonnets, every time this season comes to call. Oh and the hymns, I get almost giddy thinking about singing, “Because He lives”. I love it!
Wouldn’t it be amazing if we looked at each new day and each new experience through the eyes of my two incredibly amazing friends? I believe that is exactly what we are asked to do in both Mark and Luke. We need to be able to lose our jaded-ness and grown-up tendencies, and submit to the childlike wonder and awe that each creation and each situation was given to us by God. Childlike faith lets us not be too big for ourselves and our ideas – like my little friend who wanted to enjoy Easter. Childlike faith lets you act with abandon on occasion to do something that brings you joy – just like my Nanny. Childlike faith lets you realize that God the father, who loves you very much, delights in seeing you happy.
Take-away: What is something that you can do – just for you – in the next couple days that would bring you to childlike joy? As much as I love Easter, I have a few other things that I love that bring me right back to childhood no matter where I am. Even if you can’t act on childlike joy immediately, make a list of those things. Here are a few of mine: running through the sprinklers, lying on the grass watching the stars, drinking from the garden hose, blowing bubbles, collecting clams on the beach, digging in soil to plant anything, listening for the ice cream truck, and my all time favorite – catching lightning bugs in jars. If you are bold (or should I say childlike enough), please post a couple of yours – I would love to know what brings you joy!
There are times that I look at my children and think how incredibly lucky I am to have them as a part of my life. At times, the life lessons learned from them is greater than anything I have learned from anyone else. The Easter of 2008 is one such time.
Many people know of this incredible date, March 19, 2008, because of the cardinal that appeared when we, more specifically Sawyer, needed him more than anything. This story made it around the world because it was shared over and over by our friends. What most people don’t know is another smaller event that occurred on the same day.
A few days prior, Sawyer had been cleared to take a few steps with a walker. It had been one month since he had been able to be on his feet, and that small step of independence seemed liked a key to freedom. Unfortunately, one missed step happened and Sawyer slipped, fell, and broke the heads off of two of the screws holding his leg together. Another trip to the emergency room and that is where the smaller event took place.
The E.R. nurse, we later discovered, was the sister of the man who was also involved in the bus crash. Our school bus fell on top of his pick-up. We knew he, too, had been hurt very badly. Sawyer took the time, despite excruciating pain to inquire as to how the gentleman was doing. The report was not good. He was feeling very low – wishing he could have done more to help.
That was all it took. The seed was planted. For days, Sawyer begged to go to the store to get something without ever really telling us what it was he desired so intently. Because it was winter in Minnesota and not very easy to maneuver in a wheelchair, we stalled. Eventually, his insistence won out, and off to the store, he and his dad went.
The thing he just had to have was puzzling to us. He bought a tiny Easter basket, added a few small token gifts, and later, personally added hand-written a note. Yes, he wanted to send a special message to the gentleman saying he didn’t blame him for anything that happened and that he wanted the man to know he was thinking of him and praying for him. Tears of amazement mixed with pride streamed down our faces.
If memory serves me correctly, he talked his Uncle Sheldon into delivering that basket with no expectation of anything in return. Rather simply, his desire was to do something nice when there was very little of anything else that he could do anywhere – at all.
Even though the gift was not meant to be reciprocated; we did learn that Sawyer’s new friend kept that basket right by his bed as long as he was at the care facility where he recuperated. It wasn’t allowed to be moved or removed. Learning that news helped Sawyer through many a dark night – knowing that he made a difference.
I still learn a lot from my kids, but I think this small act of love will be one of my most treasured Easter memories.
Take-away: How often do we stop in the midst of our own storms to do something kind for someone else? We are all capable of compassion, even when we are busy and overwhelmed. More often than not, it isn’t the grandiose gestures, but the small things that really seem to get the most notice. Jesus was BIG on small acts. If we really think about it, other than believing in Him, there wasn’t anything he expected in return. He loved and continues to love us with abandon. The hands that were nailed to the cross also hold our names written across them. Couldn’t we all be his hands and feet by doing acts of love even in small ways? I truly believe that we can.
kandynolesstevens 