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The thing about grief . . . Part 7

from the website www.1065thearch.com

Originally, I thought that I was going to write a 6 part series on grief, but twice I woke up and clearly God had something other than what I had planned ready to go. Trust me; His ideas are always better than mine; so here we are with at least a couple more parts.

Since we chose to bury Reed near his Grandpa Earl in North Dakota, we had to drive the 430 miles to the cemetery. It was our first time out in the larger world since 10 days prior when my whole life changed. I don’t remember the item we needed on the trip home, but I do remember how out of body the experience seemed. We stopped at the Super Target in Grand Forks. I remember standing by the carts at the entrance when suddenly I had to grip the cart corral. I watched as everyone in the store flit about, going on as normal. I wanted to scream at them all. They moved around like ants marching in fast forward in a world of pointless errands. Everything around me was spinning. My only thought was how can they not all see how sad I am. Then the worse thought crept in. They really could see the gigantic hole in my heart, but they didn’t care. I wanted to know when it would be that I could move around again with no worries or cares in the world.

The honest truth was it took months to even feel human. Even though we continued forward with life, it took that long before I didn’t feel shell-shocked. But the verse Psalm 30:5 is true, “Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” It wasn’t literal for me in this case, but there came a time that I did reenter society – shopping at the store, attending school functions, and getting my hair done.

The thing I remember most vividly is the first time I really laughed. I honestly thought I would never do that again. I had a few giggles at the memorial service where kids who loved Reed shared a few great stories. If I could earn gold medal in worrying, I would be, at the very least, a silver medalist in laughter. I love to laugh, always have. It is something that I inherited from my mom, and have passed on to my own kids. When my heart was ripped into pieces and my whole being was exhausted dealing with two injured children, laughter looked like something that had left without me.

Then one day several weeks after the crash, I was waiting for the sweet family that was bringing us supper that day. Sawyer was sitting in his recliner watching television. Normally, I wouldn’t have let him watch this show, but at that point, he was still writhing in pain 23 out of every 24 hours. So, if watching The Simpson’s kept his mind of losing his brother/best friend (not to mention his own losses), I wasn’t going to declare a war on inappropriate television.

While sitting there, the opening of the show had a postcard arrive in the mail. Marge looks at the scenic side of the postcard. At first, I missed the sarcasm. But when it sank in to my numbed brain, I began to laugh. I laughed so hard that I trembled. Tears rolled down my cheeks. It was at that moment that I knew I would be able to laugh again. I realized that “joy had arrived in the morning”. I wasn’t betraying Reed by being happy or laughing. I didn’t feel guilty laughing at the snarky card. Simply, I enjoyed good humor.

Exhausted, yes! Overwhelmed, absolutely! Edgy humor, definitely inappropriate! Beginning to feel that I would laugh again, amazing!

It was a simple start, but it was a baby-step beginning to normalcy. I did an internet search just the other day on that episode. Sadly, I couldn’t find it in English, but it is available on Youtube in a language I don’t even recognize. It really isn’t all that funny, but for whatever reason, it sent me into uproarious laughter.

Maybe you had to have been her.

The thing about grief . . . Part 6

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from brandeating.com

I hate chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes. I mean hate, hate, HATE, them. The reason for my extreme distaste is that meal was served to me over and over and over in the ICU following the bus crash. In the hospital’s defense, it wasn’t their fault. It was purely my own. In the aftermath of our darkest hour as we were dealing with one son’s death and the other son fighting to hang on, I didn’t even notice the menu that came each and every day for me to fill out. So for 8 days, every lunch and supper meal was chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes with chicken gravy. Yuck!

I really couldn’t even think about eating. (Again it wasn’t the chicken nuggets fault.) I just was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t even remember how to chew food. Southern to the core, I eventually called my dad at the hotel and asked if he could pick me up a jug of sweet tea. And so, it was that I existed mostly on ice and sweet tea for probably 8 days.

I remember was everyone hovering around asking me to eat, all knowing that I really needed to do so, but also realizing that under the circumstances I was doing okay. Oh, I got offers to leave the hospital or even to go down to the cafeteria, but everything I held precious was in that children’s wing in the ICU (including my sweet little girls). And I WASN’T leaving – even if it meant I was sentenced to a life of chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes.

The game changer came on a Saturday afternoon a few days following Sawyer’s discharge from ICU to the rehabilitation children’s wing. On that Saturday, friends who are teachers at our school came down for the day. While they were visiting with Sawyer, they asked him if there was anything they could get him. His response floored us all because he too hadn’t eaten much since Tuesday either. “Mr. and Mrs. (Teacher), do you really mean anything? If so, I would really love a foot-long chili dog from Sonic.” Without batting an eyelash, those sweet people drove across town to get my boy his request.

Their willingness (along with all the other sweet and kind things people did for us) helped me to be okay with finally saying yes to get out of the hospital for a few hours that same evening. My parents agreed to stay if we (Daniel and I) would go out to eat with my siblings and their significant others. We drove around from restaurant to restaurant seeing long lines. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bear to watch people be happy and enjoy themselves. Finally after driving around for an hour, we ended up at Sonic (despite the frigid temperatures). We ordered, we listened to Christian radio, but mostly we sat in a vehicle with windows frosting over while we waited for the food to arrive. When it did, I really was ravenous, but I took one bite and broke down.

I cried over and over for a boy who would never eat cheeseburgers and drink limeade again. He wouldn’t enjoy those moments with his family, but more importantly we would NEVER enjoy them with him. I felt guilty for being there without him. I felt like I was cheating him. All I got down was that first bite.

When we returned home the first day, there packaged in the sweetest man I have ever met was a home-cooked meal. He came, donning his apron under his coat, with his bundle of delicious food. He didn’t want to stay because he knew the funeral director was coming any moment. Yet what he brought was so much more than a meal, he helped bring us HOME to where the memories we held most dear lived – not mention many of the people who loved us as well. His tenderly prepared meal gave us HOPE.

It was at that moment that I realized that even though I wouldn’t be sharing any more meals with Reed – I would be sharing meals for the rest of my life with people who carried him in their hearts. While I ate here on earth, Reed was probably enjoying the best cheeseburgers (ketchup only) that Heaven had to offer. With that thought in mind, how sweet was that first bite.

The thing about grief . . . Part 5

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from contentrules.com

The amazing thing about grief is the realization that not all of what you valued is really that important. It strips away all pretenses to the core of who you really are, and it helps you to eventually see more clearly who really loves you.

Simply put: grief changes you.

Before Reed’s death, I had lost my way valuing busyness, promotion, achievement, and even material possessions. My faith was still there, but too much value had been placed in things that were temporal and not hope-filled. All of those non-important things did not make me a better person nor did they bring me comfort when I needed it. I didn’t care about any of it, and I would have traded it all to change a moment in time.
If grief changes you (which it does); so, too do your relationships change. Sadly, we have lost friends since Reed’s death. This isn’t a judgment. The loss was just more than the friendship could withstand. This is one of those by-products of loss about which no one really talks. In some ways, I think they did us a favor. Just as we read in Ecclesiastes, maybe they were just to be our friends for a season.
But the friends we’ve gained . . . oh, the relationships that have sweetened. All along our journey I could feel the prayers said for our family. Those prayers carried us when we didn’t have one ounce of energy left. The outpouring of love was overwhelming. Our friends and family are our greatest assets, this side of heaven. I would give anything to have Reed back, but I wouldn’t give up one single relationship to do so.
There were also the acts of kindness and the gestures that were tokens of love and remembrances of Reed. Our favorites being the time that someone shared a small piece of Reed’s life through a story that we didn’t know. Even though they made us cry (happy tears), they brought us such joy. Each time was a remembrance that it was people and relationships that we value more than anything else.
Every thought, card, gift, hug, or act is something that I will never forget, because the giver is giving more than they might even know. What message they are really sending is “I haven’t forgotten him”. They squash the greatest fear held by bereaved parents – that no one will remember their child. Their stay on earth is so short that long lasting legacies seem impossible.
For those changed by grief and for those supporting the grievers, we know that really isn’t true. Because the nature of the change resulted from that loss, and thus, a legacy was born.
So here I sit, reminded of one of the greatest acts of love given to me recently. It will come as no surprise to learn I am dreading graduation. Reed had such big dreams – proclaiming that he was going to Yale in the 6th grade. I am proud of his friends/cousins and excited for them, but as a teacher who loves learning about as much as Reed did, this leaves an enormous hole in my heart.
The gift came out of nowhere, which really is the best kind of surprise. I wasn’t expecting it at all, but there wrapped in the love of my nephew came the first gift of hope for commencement day. I don’t want to speak to his reason for asking, because I really don’t know why. The request was “Auntie, can you bring your camera so I can take a graduation picture with Reed?” The request came at my other nephew’s wedding and caught me completely off-guard. I just sat with tears streaming down my face.
We did a little planning, and after a while, we agreed on what we wanted. Now, trust me, he has much better senior pictures, but in my heart the gift he gave to me that day will be the one that I remember forever. Once again, my heart was changed because now I have one tiny little hopeful slice for graduation – the love of sweet young man (whose heart knew exactly what I needed). For bringing me joy to fill in the sadness, I love you for being a reminder of what really matters. LOVE!

The thing about grief . . . Part 4

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There seems to be a prevalent myth that only the first year of grief is the hardest. Don’t get me wrong it is enormously difficult to encounter the “firsts”. For me it was things like the first St. Patrick’s Day with one less leprechaun trap, the first birthday without a birthday boy, the first day of school with only 3 backpacks, the first football game without a left guard named Stevens, and the first Christmas with an empty stocking. All of those were difficult, but honestly, sometimes the anticipation of the day was worse.

Earning an Olympic gold medal in worrying, I fretted about if we could handle it. For the most part, the day eventually arrived and we survived. Often times quietly, but never alone. God would place it on the heart of a friend to reach out and make that first better. We were buoyed by the friend who offered to pack those backpacks and the friend who showed up with a batch of cookies for the first football game, knowing that I probably wouldn’t have the heart to bake that day. I have said it before, but I will say it again we are RICH in friends.

The first year is awful, but the truth is “firsts” happen for years to come. When it comes to grieving Reed, later year milestones hurt as bad as the first Christmas. He didn’t get his driver’s license nor earn a letter in football, and neither will he walk across the stage at the upcoming emptiness of graduation. I can only imagine all the firsts that will happen for those, like the Newtown families, who lost one so little.

Heart-wrenching are the events that you didn’t think a whole lot about but yet sneak up on you. Those firsts apply to all the losses we grieve. I tried to call my Nannie on Christmas day only to realize that I don’t know heaven’s extension. I grieve our three miscarried babies. For my little ones, the hardest days have always been the time of the loss, the first day of school, and the day we hang Christmas stockings. Those days always hit me hard. I seem to go through the motions, while my heart is literally aching.

What I didn’t expect was the physical and emotional response that I had two years ago at my church. We give Bibles to the first-graders. It is such a sweet day. These little bundles of energy are given a child’s Bible with parents, grandparents and congregation looking on. There are flashes from cameras, big smiles, and rousing applause. There I sat, when suddenly I broke out into a sweat, my heart was pounding, and I started to feel flush. What in the world is going on here? Am I ill?

Eventually, I knew the reason for the reaction; I should have a little one up there on the altar steps. I should have a camera, giving “a big thumbs up” to my little boy. Tears began to trickle down, slowly at first. Those tears turned to gushes of anguish until I had to excuse myself from the sanctuary. I sat in the foyer sobbing for a little boy that I never held in my arms, but I still hold in my heart.

The hardest part was I knew that it was “Bible Sunday”, and I hadn’t paid it any attention with my habitual worry and fret. It just snuck up on me. Those are the firsts that are the most challenging – the ones you didn’t even know you should be worried about. We all do it. It can be a smell that reminds you of your grandma’s cooking, and then you miss her more. It can be a song on a radio, and you wish you had your mom to sing the harmony. It can be the fishing spot that was your best friend’s special place. They sneak up and grab you when you didn’t have time to batten down the hatches on your emotions.

Thankfully, there are those who have walked this road before me. One of those friends told me, “The first year is difficult as you experience all the firsts, but the second year is much more difficult as your heart begins to realize that the ache and emptiness are always there.” Her words didn’t make it better, but they did offer hope. Hope that we would survive and that we weren’t alone. But her words were also like “marching orders” that someday we would be able to offer the same encouragement to another grieving family.

I wonder if that is how God created grief. It is painfully debilitating, eliciting physical responses and numbing to the mind and soul. You walk through it – not always well – but somehow you pick up one foot and then another, until you wake up one day and it isn’t the first thing that you think about it. Sadly, you do revisit it. Just as physical scars remind us of past injuries, heart scars remind us of our loss but also of our survival. Maybe God’s plan is such that we can put that grief to good use to someday walking along someone else as they experience their own heartache.

I don’t know for certain if that is true, but I do know that God sent people to comfort me in my darkest hours. Even though it hurts like crazy, maybe just maybe, all those firsts, seconds, and even thirds will help me to love someone else.

photo from jQuery by example

The thing about grief . . . Part 3

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From deviantart

Recently I was listening to a charismatic pastor on television. He relayed he was sure that he was going to heaven. But if for some reason, he wasn’t; it wasn’t the fire and brimstone or pain and suffering that scared him. I thought what could be worse than that. Growing up Southern Baptist, I have heard more than a few sermons on that topic. Thinking for sure he was going to say the absence of God’s love, I almost tuned him out because that made sense to me. I am so glad I didn’t because what he said next totally cracked me up. He said that what he was most worried about was spending eternity with idiots. He was talking about the people who say things like, “I’m going to do such and such now, and when I am older I am going to get right with God.” He wasn’t stereotyping, profiling, or judging. He was trying to point out that today might be your last chance to get to know God.

In general, I would agree with him. But as a grieving person, I have encountered my fair share of idiots. As a disclaimer, grieving people aren’t the most logical or reasonable people. Additionally, because death is so mysterious, there are some people who say things that aren’t helpful, but their intent was never to hurt. They just didn’t know what else to say. But then there are the people that for whatever reason say things that make me want to say, “You do know you said that out loud.”

My personal all-time favorite was the woman at a school function who looked me in the eye and said, “Aren’t you over that yet?” In my humanness, I wanted to knock her on her butt and sock her in the nose. Since I haven’t ever really done that, I simply walked away and cried. After a long while of steaming and stewing, I chose to forgive her. But now, I just feel sorry for her. There are two things that make me feel that way. First, she didn’t like attention being drawn to my family and the others who had lost children. (We didn’t ask for that attention, nor did we really want it.) Second, it makes me sad because if she truly thinks that you are over the death of child in a year and half, I would hate to be her child.

Back in my rocking and grieving stage of mourning in my recent emotional coma, that was one of the things from which I wanted to share and to protect those sweet Connecticut parents. The unintentional hurtful comments are unavoidable. I know because I have said those same things. But, the intentional acts or comments elicit emotions worse than grief. It is like being kicked when you are down. So when I saw the people protesting the innocent children’s funerals, I knew that I was already too late. My heart ached even more, and I couldn’t eat for two days. As long as I live I will never understand protesting funerals of soldiers or children.

Here is what I DO KNOW and UNDERSTAND: God is LOVE. Period. He did not orchestrate the Newtown tragedy or the one where my son and three friends were killed. But I also know that He gave us a free will to exercise as we wish. If He pushed the pause button, then it isn’t really free will. It would be more like having the extra brake like in a driver’s education car. He can’t run around like Superman stopping us all from the calamitous choices we make. I wish He could but then what would be the point of His extravagant grace.

It doesn’t make it easier, but even in the midst of dealing with inflicted hurts I have chosen to cling to the shortest Bible verse.

John 11:35 – Jesus wept. (NIV)

Somehow it is comforting, knowing that Jesus understands what it is like to hurt. He cried when he was grieving. Even though it is hard to swallow, I know that Jesus cries for the idiots too, including the idiot known as me.

For the record: you close on houses and business deals, but you NEVER close on your children!

The thing about grief . . . Part 2

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It has taken me a long time to write this blog for a myriad of reasons. The largest one is the bare “nakedness” of sharing something that is difficult to admit even to myself. But in the end, I feel that God wants me to share because somehow by talking about my challenges someone somewhere might be helped. The things (both good and bad) that I am sharing in this series come from hidden places that very few know.

Losing someone is hard. Grieving that loss is even harder.

Grief is messy work. So messy that at times, things just don’t make sense. One of my challenges is the inability to retrieve words when I am speaking. It has slowly gotten better over time, but at one point it was so bad that I spoke to my doctor about the possibility of early onset Alzheimer’s. When I slow down and really think, I can retrieve the word, but sometimes it just doesn’t come.
To help you to understand, it is often a common ordinary word like refrigerator. I might want to ask my kids to get something from there, but no matter how hard I try I cannot get that word out. Eventually I settle for a sort of word version of charades, akin to “Can you get the hamburger out of the thing – you know – the thing that keeps food cold?”

I have been reassured that I do not have Alzheimer’s disease. I simply have a word retrieval issue as a result of grief brain. It has gotten better over time, but I do still encounter it. I would liken it to one of those pesky August flies in Minnesota that you just can’t seem to swat. For someone who uses her words professionally, this lapse is frustrating, at best. My challenge isn’t something I can just make better. It is completely involuntary.

The Monday following the Newtown tragedy found me travelling with students that I help coach. I was doing my normal coaching duties when suddenly the entire page looked like hieroglyphics. Numbers and symbols that I adore – became gibberish. I was still so emotionally raw that I became teary-eyed and explained to the fellow coaches that my brain was trapped right back to February 19.
Instead of treating me in all the ways my imagination thought possible, one cried, one jumped in to do my job, one hugged me, and one reassured me that I was in a safe place and that he was praying for me. It was a good reminder to me that being truthful was sincerely better than attempting a façade of sunshine and fields of daisies. Instead of holding inside my messy bucket of grief, it was okay to let others help me carry the load. They couldn’t walk through my brain, but they could hold my hand and guide me. For that I am eternally thankful.

The thing about grief . . . Part 1

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Drawing Copyrighted property of Reed’s Run

There was a momentary pause in my writings in December. I had originally intended to write one more blog in “The Long Road Home” series. Then came December 14, 2012. At our house it was Clo’s 8^th birthday, but for the rest of the world it will be remembered as the day that beautiful souls entered into heaven as a result of the Newtown tragedy.

Around lunchtime, I learned of a school shooting via text message. Thankfully, I didn’t learn any real details until well into the evening. For my birthday girl’s sake, I am glad that I didn’t. The first thing I learned was parents were waiting at a local fire hall waiting for word about their sweet babies.

Those words were all it took to push a button on a trap door in my living room floor that led to an avalanche of grief. No matter how tightly I gripped and clawed to the edge of reality, I was sucked into a vortex of emotions. Instantaneously, I was transported back to the night of my darkest nightmare when I was the last mom left in the school’s Media Center on February 19, 2008 – waiting, waiting, prayerfully waiting to find out where Reed was.

I collapsed into the nearest chair and sobbed. I bawled for Reed, (and for Jesse, Emilee, and Hunter), for the dreams gone, for the children lost at Newtown, but mostly my heart ached for those parents still awaiting word. This is one cup that I desperately wished had passed me, but sadly, I knew what is was like to walk in those parents shoes.

That trap door to my emotions spiraled out of control. For days I was locked inside an emotional coma. I didn’t eat, sleep, or do anything well. If I caught a glimpse on television or internet, I sank deeper into the bottomless pit of grief. Caught in the rip current and frantically swimming parallel to the shore of my life, I wasn’t getting out of it. Inevitably, I unplugged – literally and figuratively.

Eventually, I did have to reconnect, and when I did I discovered several e-mails affirming that I wasn’t going crazy. All were from trusted grief professionals providing comfort with the same message. When challenged with something as senseless as losing a child in an unforeseen way, the brain tends to fracture all the emotions at the time of tragedy, hiding them in the deepest, darkest recesses of gray matter. It is a coping mechanism. All seems fine and then, (WHAM!), out of nowhere a switch flips – which is like your brain playing a colossal game of Hide-N-Seek – finding that splintered memory.

The messages were soothing, yes, helping me to find my footing again. But for the record, I hate that my brain still has slivers that I am inevitably going to encounter someday. I hate that for someone who usually remains composed and logical, that grief, at times, is bigger than rational thinking and even normal body rhythms. Disheartened, I know there will always be another tragedy, because after all this isn’t heaven.

During the deepest part of my emotional coma, my husband found me one day – crying and rocking, rocking and crying. I spoke about how I wanted to rush out to Connecticut just to rock and cry with the parents who babies hands they no longer held. I blathered on about the why and the how, when his gentle hand rested on my own. In his own grief, he pleaded with me to stop trying to make sense of the senseless.

That’s when it really penetrated my heart (and my brain) that the place I needed to be wasn’t relying on myself or standing on my feet. The place of healing was on my knees, asking God to fill up the hurt places in my heart and soul as well as in the hearts of anyone else, anywhere in the world, touched by tragedy. Slowly over the coming days, the fog lifted, and I swam out of that rip current of dark grief. Battle worn and weary, I knew that my prayers were answered. I still don’t like my battle scars proclaiming “how I got here”, but I know my journey has created in me a new heart – one that honestly knows that I – without God – wouldn’t have survived any of it.

Before the throne

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The place I always feel closest to God. Pensacola Beach

Yesterday I shared about the words that the missionary spoke that were a balm to cover up an old wound. Well, that same day, one of Reed’s friends led worship for the day. Yes, a sweet high school senior listened to God’s prompting to lead a congregation in praise and song. During the offering that day, he sang a song that had me crying in my pew. It seemed as if the words he sang were an affirmation to what I believe to be God’s will for my life.

As I sat there in the pew, I allowed the words to sink deep within. All of my own struggles (too many possessions, worrying about the wrong things, prideful in accomplishments, my failings and where I have failed others, and the fear of not leaving a Godly legacy for my kids) were right there – packaged in one song. By the time we got to the fifth stanza, I was a puddle of tears. I literally would give up everything I own to know that my children’s hope (and future) lays securely at the foot of Heaven’s throne.

Songs do that to me. I have shared that before, but sometimes I will hear a song and I will have to pull over on the side of the road and cry. I have always loved to sing, grew up singing (church & school), and hope that my family will honor my wishes when I pass away of having an hour-long time just singing praises to God.

I do have a small confession to make. The song resonated with my soul; so, despite all my normal sensibilities, I whipped out my smartphone during service and did a Google search. My efforts discovered the song, “Everything I own” by Marshall native, Jason Gray. (I have included the lyrics and a Youtube link below.) After services, I did thank our sweet boy for his role in my heart-stirring and confirmed that I had found the right song.

I am going to play this song often this year as a reminder (when I get off the path – which I know I will) that this is where I want to be. I want to be in daily contact with the giver of wings so that all else will be according to His plans in my life. Who knows, this one might just be added to the playlist one day for my family to sing one day. Because by that time, I will standing before the very throne that this song reminds that I need to be before every day!

I would love to hear about what songs (of any genre) really speak to you and why! Hoping to be daily before God and praying I see you there too!

Everything that I own (Jason Gray)

What would I give to be pure in heart,
to be pure in flesh and bone
what would I give to be pure in heart
I’d give everything that I own

I’d rid my whole house of its demons of lust
and open the window to trust,
and out of that window all fear will have flown
I’d give everything that I own

What would I give for the words of God
to come tumbling from the throne
tell me what would I give for the words of God
I’d give everything that I own

I’d open my head and they’d roll right in,
When I opened my mouth they would roll out again,
and up root the weeds of the deeds that I have sown
I’d give everything that I own

What would I give
for my children’s strength on the day they stand alone
I mean, what would I give for their strength to stand firm
I’d give everything that I own

Cause I’ve wasted my life accomplishing things,
ignoring the giver of wings
so Lord teach them to fly to the foot of your throne
I’d give everything that I own

All I’ve accomplished, the titles I hold,
my passions, positions, possessions and gold.
To God they must look like a thimble of foam
and it’s everything that I own, dirty rags are all that I own.

So I stand before God with my stubble and hay
He just laughs , but says there is still a way
because Father forgive, are the words Jesus moaned
and He gave everything that he owned

So what would I give to be pure in heart
for the known, to be made unknown
what would I give to be born again

Pick your sword

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My real Bible and our family sword placed on my grandmother’s quilt.

So a new year and a new adventure begin for all of us. I have had a few weeks to reflect and to ponder on what direction I feel God pulling my heart. One thing is for sure, I am glad that we are embarking on a new year. This past year, 2012, wasn’t my best year. I spent 9 months very ill (albeit not letting on to most people), 7 months planning, executing, and wrapping up Reed’s Run, and one month in deep grief over my grandmother and the Newtown tragedy.

Desperately, I needed a new start and a new direction. After much prayer, I know that God is calling me to spend more time with my writing (particularly on finishing a couple books I have started) and with kids – simply basking in the joy of being their momma (which He knows has been my lifelong heart’s desire). Secondarily, God is asking me to answer his call to the various churches that have invited me to come and speak. So there you go – my spiritual goals for the New Year.

In order to achieve those goals, I need to be firmly rooted in God’s word. I achieved my goal of reading through the Bible (cover to cover) last year. It took me several years to do it, but I ruminated over what God was telling me and then digested it. That is where I want to start my writing for this year. I want to implore all who read this blog to really consider carving out a time to connect with God through his Word. Don’t let your Bible be something that you dust!

Where do you begin? Wherever your heart leads you is the answer I would give you. There are wonderful daily devotionals (in print and online) as well as pacing schedules if you want to tackle reading the whole Bible in a period of time.

But wait! Before you begin, I want to share a little story with you. A few years back I was at a get-away and I was busy working on some baby quilts. A new friend that I had met earlier in the week stopped into the room I was in. We visited for quite some time about our lives, our families and our faiths. Eventually, she asked me, “What Bible does your church use?” I was a little bit taken aback. I asked a clarifying question to make sure she was asking about what version/revision/translation that we used. I answered that our pew Bibles were NIV, but that each person uses the version that spoke most to his/her heart. Her response felt like someone sucker punched me. “Oh, I guess you aren’t really Christians because you don’t use the original King James.” DO WHAT???? I wanted to argue about how King James wasn’t around at the time the Bible was written in the original Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, but I decided that it was wasted breath.

Her comment reminds me so much of a Ghandi quote, “I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. They are so much unlike your Christ.” Wow! With the fighting and bickering among Christian denominations, it is no wonder that we who follow Christ are getting a bad reputation. (On a side note, I found a really great blog on that topic http://www.mongoosemom.com/?p=27 so I won’t go into that, but please read it if you get a chance.) My concern here is to talk about the only sure way we know what God is trying to tell us.

Two weeks ago in church, we had a guest missionary who spoke during the sermon time on his work with Wycliffe Bible Translators. He spoke something that soothed over that wound in my heart and affirmed what I already believed. He talked about our church’s initiative to read through the Bible in a year (which I tried and failed miserably at doing previously). He asked us to pick our swords. “What did he just say?” My ears perked up. He clarified, “Pick your sword – whatever translation of the Bible pierces your heart the deepest.” Now that has stuck with me. My first go round with the reading the Bible through was with a study companion that was over my head. I didn’t understand it, and thus it was doomed from the start. Later, I found a study Bible by one of my favorite authors and then it clicked. God’s word literally pierced my heart and my soul and I found that I couldn’t put it down.

I know the direction God is calling me for the time being. Trust me, I have failed miserably and will fail again. But I know that God is for me; so, I get up and keep going. If you are hearing your name being whispered, follow the source to his written word. If you don’t know your sword yet, pick out a couple to try. When you find the right one (or ones – I have several translations that I like), then my prayer for you is that you find the greatest love story ever written to you!

Last thought for today: God was smiling on me when I researched today. For those that take the time to read the blog by Mongoose Mom, look at the date that she originally posted that blog. Just know that God prompted her heart on the day of my darkest hour, fully knowing that someday I would stumble across a message that resonated with me. Simply put, GOD is AMAZING!

Merry Christmas 2012

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Mom & Dad: I, Kandy, keep busy with the kids’ schedules, teaching at the college, coaching Math League, volunteering, and sneaking in some crafting, writing, and speaking at various churches. I have recuperated from some health issues, and I am feeling the best I have in many years. Daniel enjoys hunting and fishing any chance he gets. He had success again in Montana, and has enjoyed his trips to SD to hunt with Sawyer. He continues to work at Schwan’s and volunteers with Hunter Safety.

Erin is now 13 years old and in the 8^th grade. She is active in 4H, Jazz band, Knowledge Bowl, Math Counts, NJHS, Student Council, FCA, FFA, youth group and of course, basketball. She continues to play at school, any 3-on-3 tournament she can find, and on her AAU team. About half of our year, Erin is playing on one team or another. All of her extra effort has paid off as she earned a spot on the C/B squads this year. She has grown to 5’9” and she wears size 11/12 shoes. She volunteers as a leader in the AWANA club and she regularly babysits. Her future dream jobs are WNBA player, physical therapist, or teacher.

Reed’s Run: 2012 was our 4^th and final run. We had gorgeous weather, an incredible turnout, and precious memories. We came away exceeding our fundraising goal for the 4 years. There were so many special memories from that day: my best friend from high school, Matthew, and his wife, Kimberly, flying up to run and share in remembering their son, Alex (Big A); that same friend organizing Reed earning his Eagle Scout status; the incredible live performance by Jesus Painter Ministries; having Sawyer’s god-brother attend his football game the night before as Sawyer’s biggest fan; family that flew and drove to be there; and most importantly, the amazing outpouring of love that we received from family, friends, and community. www.reedsrun.com

Really great garden: planted, tended, harvested and shared between our family and our dear friends the Bell’s. Despite drought conditions, we had an overabundance of garden produce. We also had our fair share of weeds. The garden has produced much frozen, canned, and stored produce for our family for the winter, but it also provided a place for laughter, therapy, and a daily reminder of God’s abundant blessings.

Yearly traditions continue to be the things that keep our family ties strong. A few years back we conducted a family survey on what traditions meant the most to us at Christmas. The strong favorites were the annual sleepover under the Christmas tree, the candlelight service on Christmas Eve, and the pageant held at church. Once again this year, our children are participating. Sawyer has a Bible passage to read. Erin Elisabeth is playing Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist. Cloie is signing to Away in the Manger. It is always one of my favorite days in December.

Studio B photography

Cloie is soon to be 8 years old and is in the 2^nd grade. She continues to be a true delight in our family, as she is all energy and spunk. She loves school, especially reading and math. Cloie began piano and voice lessons this year – where she sparkles. Our little “Sally Gal” wowed us all at Reed’s Run where she sang the national anthem flawlessly, bringing tears to the eyes of many. Her dream is to be able to sing at a Twins game. Clo continues in swimming, AWANA, and is itching for basketball to start. Still a Cloverbud in 4H, she talked us into letting her show goats and pigeons at the next fair. Her dream jobs are to be a professional singer or teacher.

Heavenly home – we mourn the loss of loved ones very dear to us this year. In January, our beloved kitty, Ocho lost his short battle with leukemia. We lost Daniel’s Aunt Imelda in April. We always enjoyed her Christmas cards. In June, we were devastated to lose the son of very dear friends. Through AJ’s death, we have learned that God has a purpose in all our experiences as we have been able to walk alongside our friends. A few months after our visit this summer, my aunt Margaret went home to Jesus. My aunt has always held a special place in my heart as she often said that I was the daughter she never had. I was moved to tears when she and my uncle made a surprise day trip to come and visit me this June. The one person I always believed was larger than life went to her heavenly home in November. My Nannie, Katie Campbell, was my world as a little girl and will always hold a special place in my heart and memories. Now more than ever I am THANKFUL for our long trip to Florida this summer. My children celebrated their remembrance of the most magical time spent with Nannie at the Fiesta Five Flags parade by throwing Mardi Gras beads at our outdoor remembering tree. This morning Uncle Ted Schuler went home to Jesus. Our hearts are filled with sadness for a great uncle who loved everyone.

Remodeling was the theme of the year in our house as we spent a large majority of the year redoing the basement. At first, it was meant for aesthetics and organization, but it turned out to be a needed project as we discovered support beams a fraction of inch away from crumbling. We love our “new” space and we enjoy that it truly feels like our designs.

In need of a Savior – we are so thankful that God in his wisdom knew exactly the best present that we would need for Christmas. The first Bible verse Reed learned was an abbreviated version of Luke 2:11. “For unto us is born this day a Savior who is Christ the Lord.” Listening to the tape over and over to help him prepare for his first pageant, I am reminded of it each and every year. As our children get older and their wish items become smaller and more expensive, we have had some great conversations about what really matters at this time of year.

Sawyer will turn 16 in February and is in the 10^th grade. At 6’1” and size 12 shoes, my gentle giant towers over me. This year marked milestones for him as he had his first football coaching jobs: Chad Greenway Day-to-Reach camp, Lakeview mini-camp, and Special Olympics Junior team. He loved every minute of it – coaching his SO team to 2^nd place. Sawyer is involved in Student Council, Math League, golf team, Knowledge Bowl, pep band, FFA, youth group and football. He volunteers as a leader for AWANA, is VP for the 4H club, and is one of the huddle leaders for FCA. This year, Sawyer has his first job, working as after-school care for two little girls, and he is working toward his lifeguard certification. We are already starting to receive notices from colleges – YIKES. His current career plan is to become a pastor.

Trips – we have had some incredible trips this past year. We spent 3 weeks visiting my family down South. Daniel drove down with us, then flew home and the kids and I drove cross-country to get home. We loved every minute we spent seeing everyone and enjoying some of the finest beaches in the world. We savored every bite of Southern food. In August, we had a great daytrip to the Minnesota zoo to see the Dinosaurs exhibit and back-to-school shop. The guys enjoyed their hunting trips. Our visits to ND for our nephew’s wedding and for Thanksgiving were just what we needed. The last family trip was into Canada to see “How to Train Your Dragon – the LIVE spectacular”. Our whole family enjoyed Winnipeg, good food, and an AMAZING show.

Many special moments – this year we have started to shake the fog of deep grief. While we will always miss Reed, our eyes have been awakened to the many, many, MANY blessings God has bestowed upon us. I feel that we have been given spiritual vision to see our blessings daily. We have been able to reconnect with old friends, share an unexpected laugh with many, savor good food and even better conversations, and simply live and love. While this is in no means an exhaustive list, these are a few of my favorites.

Sailing and dining with my parents in the Gulf of Mexico.
Having three generations glued to the tv at Mama’s house for 3 days to watch the Hatfields & McCoys mini-series.
Throwing beads in the Fiesta Five Flags parade in Pensacola with Nannie.
After 23 years of waiting, reconnecting with my best friend, Matthew.
Laughing hysterically at the largest sweet potato possibly ever grown in the state of Minnesota.
Successfully seeing Reed’s Run to completion.
Watching our nephew cry when he saw his bride.
Finding our special cardinal in the most unexpected places.
Having our breath taken away by the everyday, ordinary moments of life with our friends back here at home.

A new addition: our hearts were too sad to replace our little, Ocho, with another kitty. So, on Easter Saturday, we welcomed home a new little Mal-shi puppy whom we named Hiccup. (All our dogs are named after book characters.) We have learned that training little dogs is much more challenging than big dogs. So there are many days that we would put him on the corner for a quarter, yet Hiccup has helped to keep Huck much younger. Before the puppy’s arrival, Huck (age 10) still volunteered at the nursing home, but mostly slept. Now, he wrestles with the little guy and that is quite a sight. A ninety-seven pound golden retriever playing with a ten pound tyke is definitely entertaining.

Snow – we had snow for only one day all of last winter. We made the most of it, and made sure to make a snowman and girl in the backyard. Now to most people, they would say, “Count Your Blessings” and for the most part we did. However, Sawyer didn’t get to use his Christmas snowshoes and there was no sledding or snowball fights. But the biggest chuckle – the Christmas present we gave our entire family last year was a dog-sledding adventure. The outfitter gave us a rain (or should I say snow)check. Since Cloie has her two front teeth, we are secretly wishing for snow this Christmas.

More importantly, we are wishing that you find the Light of Christmas in your heart always. Merry Christmas!

Photo taken by Studio B photography

May your days be filled with blessings
Like the sun that lights the sky,
And may you always have the courage
To spread your wings and fly.

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Author Archives: admin

The thing about grief . . . Part 7

The thing about grief . . . Part 6

The thing about grief . . . Part 5

The thing about grief . . . Part 4

The thing about grief . . . Part 3

The thing about grief . . . Part 2

The thing about grief . . . Part 1

Before the throne

Pick your sword