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Team Stevens

Just the other night I was out weeding my gardens, and I got to feeling sorry for myself.  I am not typically prone to that particular pastime, but that night I was ruminating over the fact that I am unable to attend my 25 year high school reunion this weekend.  It was a scheduling conflict that simply couldn’t be avoided.  Nonetheless, there I sat among the kohlrabi and the cabbages wishing that I could go and see how much we have all changed.  That thought led me down a different path – one more in line with self-reflection than self-pity.

How have I spent the last 25 years?  What would my classmates see or notice about me now? What would I want to tell them?  I spent quite a few hours among the weeds pondering that question, and thus, once again, God provided me with fodder for another blog.

The more I thought about it, I could give a basic recap of my life in little snippets or I could speak from my heart by sharing that somehow God has allowed my life to mimic the chorus lyrics of my son Reed’s favorite campfire song. (I married into a wonderful Polish/German family that has sing-alongs at every get-together.)  That special song is “Blow up Your TV” sung by John Denver.

Blow up your tv – While we didn’t literally follow this little tidbit, we didn’t choose to have cable television until three years ago.  My kids learned that books were a better adventure, and your imagination can carry you to more exciting places.  Perhaps my insistence on less mind-numbing technology has to do with the fact that I grew up to be an educator.  As my children grow up and go to college though, I am certain they will regale the other co-eds with tales of their mother’s science experiments in the kitchen.

Throw away your paper – To be honest, I still get the daily newspaper.  I enjoy a good crossword puzzle.  Yet using a little creative license with this part of the chorus, I threw away my obsession with “papers, titles, and namebrands”.  At some point over the last 25 years, I learned to be really comfortable in my own skin.  I became less concerned with titles (of which I hold several) and papers on my wall,  because even my dog has those things. Instead, I focused more attention on the relationships God has blessed with me each and every day.

Go to the country –  No creative license here!  Unbeknownst to me at the time, my parents moved me away to North Dakota the day after we graduated from high school.  I went to college there, graduate school at Auburn, but in the end married a sweet boy from ND.  We now live in a prairie town in southwestern Minnesota.  The older I get the more I miss the South and Florida’s beaches, but I wouldn’t trade small town living for anything.  I will confess that I do miss having gentlemen open doors for me, hearing “Yes ma’am” or “No sir”, and having sweet tea be a menu staple.  Yet there is nothing like experiencing all four seasons and raising my children in a town where we know many people by their first names.

Build you a home – By the time I had entered high school, I had probably moved at least 7 times; so roots were not something I had established.  Around 15 years ago, my husband and I bought a modest home in a modest neighborhood.  We were both up and coming in our careers, and the thought was to buy this house as a starter home and then upgrade in a couple years.  Those plans changed when our neighbors convinced us otherwise.  It wasn’t by anything they said, but more so, by what they did.  Sharing garden produce, keeping an eye out for each other’s kids and dogs, pitching in together after severe storms (tornados and blizzards) – these things were just more important than a bigger house in a bigger neighborhood. A tiny house evolved into a home over those years.

Plant a little garden – The highlight of my summer is the garden plot that my family tends. Many hours are spent caring for those plants in hopes of a bountiful harvest.  Yet gardening isn’t the only hobby we have related to food.  We are much more connected to our food than that.  That steak we had last night, we saw earn a blue ribbon last year at the Lyon County Fair. Same goes for the chickens and the eggs.  All came from friends our kids have in the 4-H club or the FFA. The highlight of the fall is when father and sons start the hunting season.  The goose, pheasant, or venison roast for special holidays is typically one that the guys brought home after spending time outdoors together.  While I can’t go to Joe Patty’s for Gulf seafood, I do enjoy fish from Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes.

Had a lotta children – I am guessing for most of my classmates, this will be an understatement.  I am the proud momma of 7 children.  Sadly, four of those children now live with Jesus in heaven.  If there was one defining moment of my life over the last 25 years, this would be it.  I dreamed my whole life of being a momma, and I enjoy the “fruits of my labor” every day.  Yet, losing three of my children as babies and then one of my sons to a tragic school bus crash has changed me in remarkable ways.  I worry less, forgive more, judge less, and give more.  God has shown me that not only can your heart begin to heal, but it can also seek out and love others who are hurting.

Eat a lot of peaches – Right now, it is County Fair time, and my children are busy with projects and showing animals, which in our case are pigeons.  While it is fun to earn ribbons, it is more of a way of life around here.  Yet another ritual begins at this same time as the fair, the peaches arrive and the canning season begins.  Over the course of the next few months, there will seldom be day that the canning jars aren’t lined up ready to go.

Try to find Jesus on your own – We have known Jesus for a very long time, but through the horrific events surrounding the death of our son, Reed, and the injury of two of our other children we saw firsthand that God and His Son are truly among us.  Friends, family, neighbors, and yes, even strangers filled our home and our hearts with love, tokens of remembrance, assistance, shoulders to cry upon, and gifts of time.  But the most important gift was that they prayed for us.  Daily during those dark days we could literally feel those prayers as we were able to just get through minute by minute.  I honestly don’t know how you could survive tragedy without faith, because I know I couldn’t.

I still feel blue that I wasn’t able to join my classmates this weekend for the reunion.  If you haven’t ever heard John Denver’s version of “Blow up Your TV”, take the time to find it. When you listen to it, just know that one content, sweet little, Southern transplant is living and loving well – way up here in Minnesota.  But no matter where you listen, it probably won’t sound near as good as around a crisp North Dakota campfire with four generations of family members singing along.  For that, I am blessed and thankful!

Thanks for the Ride

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Sally Ride
Photo from www.sallyridescience.com

When I was a little girl in school, it became pretty clear that I was interested in subjects that not all the other girls enjoyed.  I was (and still am) enamored with math and science.  Even today, I enjoy a good algebra or chemistry problem.  In fact, the first day of my high school physics class, the teacher announced, “Gentlemen, we are going to have a great year. Ladies (of which there were 3 of us) not a single one of you will be left in this class before the year is over.”  I was just stubborn enough to prove him wrong, even if I stood alone.

Sadly though, my physics experience wouldn’t be the last, and my education up until that point was pretty bereft of exposure to women in what would become my chosen fields of study with the dreams of being a teacher.  The only women scientists I knew were Sally Ride and Christa McAuliffe.  I cried for days when Christa and the other six crew members died in the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster.  Yet her courage, to go where no other teacher had before her, filled my little heart with soaring pride to be not only an American, but also a girl in America. My dream to someday be the “Teacher on the Trail” for the Iditarod stems from her pioneering spirit.

On July 23, 2012, we said good-bye to my other science role model, Sally Ride.  I thought she was the most amazing and fearless woman to walk the earth.  Sharing common interests, tennis and science, I always kept tabs on her career following her 1983 barrier breaking mission as the first woman astronaut.  She inspired me to push farther, to dream bigger, and to never settle for second best.  As an educator, I strive to find resources to expose children – boys and girls – to pioneering role models from whom they can learn.  Sally Ride was that inspirational person for me.

Last week was a crazy one for my family as I made two trips in as many days to take 2 of my children for appointments at the Mayo Clinic.  It is a four hour drive one-way from my house.  At the end of a road-weary and draining Day 2, my daughter asked me why all the flags were flying at half-mast in the town we were driving through.

I replied incorrectly, “Perhaps, it is because Sally Ride died yesterday.”  (I have since learned it was to honor the victims from Aurora, CO.  God bless them every one.)  My daughter had no idea who Dr. Ride was. I shared my story of how Sally Ride (along with Christa McAuliffe) was my role model in a time when women role models were not the norm, especially in the things I loved.  Hearing my enthusiasm and passion, my daughter learned a little bit about what inspired me in future career choices when I was her age.  Her response was priceless, “Wow! Mom, she sounds like an amazing person!”

Whomever Erin chooses to be her inspiration, hopefully she finds someone, like me, who encourages her to hook her dreams to the stars and to enjoy the ride.  So long, Sally – you will truly be missed.

Monday – Funday 3 things for July 30, 2012

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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!

I miss Mayberry

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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.

Confessions of the Zucchini Faerie

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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.  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!

Things that Make me Smile

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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.

A letter to Reed

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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

Let me get my shoes on.

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Image

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.

Surgery No 5

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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 – In God’s Timing

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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.