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The long road home . . . Part 4

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My Nannie

My Nannie

A week ago on Wednesday, we had the Celebration of Life for my Nannie.  I was one of three family members who gave the eulogy with my mom and my uncle (her brother) being the other two.  We each shared from our own recollections as Nannie’s children and grandchildren.  Last week, my Aunt Nernie (my mom’s sister) wrote the sweetest thing on my Facebook wall.  She affirmed that I was the light of Nannie’s life as the oldest grandchild.  (The truth is all of the grandchildren were the light of Nannie’s life.  I just happened to be the first.)

Since I tend to embellish and paraphrase when I talk, my notes are not going to be exactly what I said that day, but I wanted to share with the whole world how absolutely wonderful my Nannie was to me.

Remembering Nannie –

I am Kandy Noles Stevens, and the oldest grandchild of Nannie (whom many of you know as Miss Katie).  I travelled here from Minnesota not to say good-bye, because as Christians there are no good-byes.  So I am here to say I will “See you soon” and to share with you the grandkids perspective of who our Nannie was to us.

My earliest memory in life involves my Nannie and Granddaddy.  My family lived across the street from them at the time, and I cannot remember if my brother was being born or if he was having surgery.  But nevertheless, I was at home being watched by my great-aunt.  At some point during the day, a travelling circus or petting zoo came through our part of town, and somehow a billy goat got loose, running around the neighborhood.  My great aunt was doing laundry in the carport at which point she got butted in the bumper.  Then the goat started ramming its reflection in our picture window.  I was panicked, and I did the only thing that made sense to my three year old little self.  I decided to make a break for it.  I took off across the street and I screamed, “Granddaddy, Granddaddy save me!”  My Nannie and Granddaddy came running.  Their arms around me told me I was safe and secure.

With Nannie & Granddaddy

With Nannie & Granddaddy

My mom just shared that they came from humble beginnings, and that has not necessarily been my story.  My parents moved us up from poverty to upper middle class.  I was afforded things that my Nannie nor her kids could have ever dreamed possible.  I have advanced degrees, and I have had lots of opportunities in life.  With that said, there are some things that I will never do as well as my Nannie.

  • I will never make mac-n-cheese as good as her.  I don’t really understand it, because she only made Kraft out of a box.  Mine just never tastes as good.
  • I will NEVER make chicken-n-dumplings as good as her.  And she gave me lessons 3 times.  Without her there to help, they just turn out like soup or mush.
  • I will never love and tend a plant as well as she did.  I love to garden, but whatever plant she touched just seemed to flourish.
  • I will never know how she could love a child with such abandon.  I love my children (and those I teach), but in Nannie’s presence you simply knew you were loved.

Recently I learned to crochet while I was healing from some surgeries.  My mom said she was proud of that because at least that skill would not die out with Nannie’s passing, but I will never be as good at it as she was.

My Nannie did not invent this phrase but she certainly embodied it. YOLO = You Only Live Once!  There were many things that she enjoyed that are also memories that I have of her.

She ENJOYED her stuff.  If you have ever been to my Nannie’s house, you know that she had a lot of material things.  Even though she loved to purchase items for herself, no one enjoyed gift giving more than my Nannie.  I remember one Christmas when they came to our house.  As she and Granddaddy brought in present and after present, I started to get disheartened because none of the packages had my name on them.  Finally in came a gigantic box, wrapped and emblazoned with my name.  After present opening, my Nannie shared her story.  Inside that box was the entire store display of Kenner’s Darci dolls. The cover girl fashion dolls were all the rage in 1978, and by the time, my Nannie got to the T. G. & Y. store, they were all sold out.  That did not deter my Nannie. No sir! She asked to speak to the manager. Then she worked her charm to convince him that they weren’t going to use the store display; so he might as well sell it to her and make her granddaughter’s Christmas!  That huge package was indeed the store display with all 3 dolls inside. Darci (blonde) 004

She ENJOYED her superstitions.  (At the service, there were many giggles at that line.)  I can remember one time when my family took the Amtrak to New Orleans for Easter.  We met up there with Nannie and Granddaddy and my Uncle Buddy’s family.  We spent the day down in the French Quarter and then it was time for grandparents and kids to go back to the hotel for swimming while the parents enjoyed the nightlife.  I do not like crowds and it was crowded there.  So at some point on the long walk back, I broke from the crowd and took the road less travelled.  All of sudden out of nowhere, my Nannie grabbed the neck of my shirt and yanked me around the pole to walk the same way as everyone else.  Unbeknownst to me, my non-conformity would bring us a plague of bad luck.  In case you are wondering, I am still receiving chiropractic treatments for that neck yanking.

She ENJOYED a good laugh – like the time:

  • My cousins Misty and Kristy called to say they were going to make it for Christmas after all.  They were younger than school age.  A few minutes later they “drove” into the driveway in their Little Tykes jeep.
  • The year the golden egg from the Easter egg hunt was hidden in my Uncle Mike’s hat (which was on his head at the time).
  • The time my cousin Joey found that great turtle which was great right up until the moment he discovered it was a snapper.
  • But for us grandchildren, the best memory was the Christmas Eve fireworks tradition.  My Nannie lit one, and pshewwwwwwwww off it flew.  It landed on the neighbors’ roof and promptly caught it on fire.  The laughter part was watching our Nannie run down the street, and we didn’t even know she could run.

She ENJOYED a good party like:

  • Any gathering with her Shriner or Daughters of the Nile friends at the Hadji Temple.
  • Mardi Gras or Fiesta Five Flags (My kids will always remembering throwing beads last summer).
  • A simple family gathering for dinner at her house.
  • An evening at the fish camp.
  • Or an impromptu gathering in one of the aisles at the Dollar Tree.

My Nannie ENJOYED life, and I want to leave you with three things that she believed.

She always BELIEVED in the ordinary magic of life.

If you are familiar with the Chronicles of Narnia, please raise your hand.  While we kids didn’t have a wardrobe, we did have Nannie’s dining room.  Every family gathering when the adults were at the big table, all of us kids were transported to a world far away.  While the adults were at Nannie’s house, the kids had every dinner in Paris, France.  Our Nannie’s love allowed and encouraged us to use our imaginations.

She always BELIEVED in family.

Nannie was there when my daughter Erin was born.  Erin’s delivery had some difficulties, and she couldn’t stand waiting at my house.  So she convinced my parents to take her to the hospital while they stayed with the boys.  As the day wore on and as the medical staff discovered there were problems, Nannie kept vigil on the bench outside the room.  At one point, I overheard a conversation with a nurse asking if she was the grandma.  In her calm Southern drawl, she exclaimed, “I AM the Nannie!” It was all she had to say. It explained it all.

I know that if you don’t know this last belief, my Nannie would be upset with me if I didn’t tell you that you NEED to know it.

She always BELIEVED in the love of the story of Christmas.

No one could do Christmas like my Nannie, but at the heart of that was the love that came in the present of a little bitty baby to the world.  Nannie KNEW that baby in the manger came to save us all so that one day we will be in heaven with him.

I recently asked Nannie what the first thing she was going to do when she got to Heaven.  She looked me in the eye and said, “The first thing I am going to do is hug Jesus!  Then I am going to find your Granddaddy and Reed, and we are all going fishing.”

I am certain that is exactly what happened.  The world will have a lot of Grandmas, but there will never be another Nannie.

The long road home . . . Part 3

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photo courtesy www.ohkarolle.com

photo courtesy www.ohkarolle.com

So far on my travel log, I have waxed poetically about rail transportation.  From my perspective, there is only one drawback: train stations in larger cities. This isn’t a judgment, but just an “it is what it is” assessment.  Many of the larger train stations have a disproportionate number of panhandlers and others that have not seen many of life’s blessings.  So when I disembarked in New Orleans, I knew what lay ahead of me in the station.

Normally, I would not be fazed by this, but this time I had packed 2 large suitcases (filled with Christmas presents) along with a purse and knitting bag.  I was loaded down.  Upon arrival in the station I discovered that the rental car office was not adjacent (as advertised) but rather two blocks away in the hub of the down and out.  I chose not to pick up my checked bag and started out on foot (wearing snow boots and winter coat).  I probably looked like I normally lived right outside the station carrying everything I own on my person or in one of my bags.

I left in 20 something degrees and arrived in upper 70’s.  I was the definition of a hot mess while I tried to navigate my way to the rental car mecca. To complicate matters there was major road construction outside the station, and based on the way I looked, not a single car helped by allowing me to cross the street.  While I was waiting and sweating, a man came up really, really close to me. I knew what was about to happen next, except for at this point, I was just plain ticked. So I turned around and gave him the “Don’t mess with this Momma” stare coupled with a “Don’t even think about it” verbalization because I “just might come unglued right here” on Loyola Street.  Amazingly it worked and I arrived at my destination possibly 5 pounds lighter in my own personal sweat sauna.

All was well . . . until. Until the rental car agent asked, “Do you have another driver’s license?” This was my first inkling that more trouble than almost getting mugged was brewing. Seriously, lady, what the heck? No I don’t have another driver’s license. What was she thinking?  Well, it turns out that my license expired on my birthday 13 days prior.  There was nothing that could be done except call my parents for help.

The first thing out of my dad’s mouth was, “How did this happen?”  Dad, that isn’t important right now, and what I really needed to hear was, “Okay, let me grab my Daddy super cape, and I am on my way. It will take me 3 hours, but I am on my way.” Thankfully after explaining my near mugging, the rental car folks drove me to the train station.

Back at Amtrak, I found a seat and made a few phone calls, but here I was stuck in a not- so-lovely place.  While I was making my calls, I was approached once again.  “No I didn’t have any extra money for food. Currently, I am in my own mess and I cannot fix yours.  God bless you anyways.” At this point, I noticed two sweet little ladies who also seemed to be waiting with their barrage of suitcases.

I hated to do it, but I went over and politely asked if I could sit next to them – they radiated peace and comfort. I asked if they could watch my bags so I could retrieve my checked bag.  Once back in my seat, I was approached for a third time.  “Listen sir, I am about one blink away from having a meltdown, and I am sorry I cannot help you. I can barely help myself.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but the whole story came burbling out to my now “train station” friends.  The two sweet ladies asked where I was trying to get to.  I explained Pensacola.  They asked a few questions about what highways would you take to get there.  The next thing I knew they were calling their husbands and trying to figure out how to fix a situation – me!

Eventually, I learned that they had travelled on a riverboat from New Orleans to Memphis and then rode the train back.  They were all friends from a Sunday School class, and they then were driving home to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  Miss Jane and Miss Sandy just made me feel better. At this point, my stress level had gone down simply because they were there.  Finally, they got through to their husbands with a message of “Please come into the train station when you arrive, because we have a proposition for you.”

Rescuing me was the proposition.  As their husbands approached, I leaned over and said, “Is this the point where I make puppy dog eyes for them to feel sorry for me?”  We had some good chuckles. Once the Misters Marvin (both husbands share the same name) heard this story, their Southern damsel-in-distress meter kicked in and they said, “Grab your bags! We will at least meet your parents in the middle.”

One call to my dad provided another dad-ism. “Are you satisfied with this arrangement?” was followed swiftly by “Are you sure you can trust these people?”  I assured him this was a gift from God – these were Sunday School people! Somehow he must have trusted my judgment at that point.

I later learned that one Marvin is retired Air Force and the other Marvin is retired Highway Patrol.  And in all of their words, “There was no way we were leaving you there.”

And so here we were on our way to somewhere in Mississippi to drop off the newly adopted daughter with her biological parent.  Along the way, we shared our stories and, more importantly, our faith – the whole time I was praising Jesus in the storm for sending me the best guardian angels this side of heaven.

The best part was what my dad saw when we met at our drop-off location.  Here was his wayward daughter (who NEVER got a notice to renew her license) flanked by one couple on each side.  Earlier, I suggested they just leave me at a Cracker Barrel, where I could rock on the porch, but they wouldn’t dream of it.

Instead they waited to deliver me straight into my Daddy’s hands.  It was the best picture image I will ever have.  It reminded me of all the people of faith that have helped mold and shape me (including the one that was the reason for my travels) who have helped usher me -one day – into my Heavenly Daddy’s hands. For that I am incredibly blessed!

The long road home . . . Part 2

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Photo courtesy of www.bmwmoa.org

Photo courtesy of www.bmwmoa.org

There were several things that I learned or realized about myself on my trip home.  One of the most sobering was, as the oldest grandchild (now without grandparents), I am one generation away from being the matriarch of a family.  That was a humbling and overwhelming epiphany.  Another affirmation was I will always be a Southern girl at heart, and there are just some things that only true Southerners appreciate.  A prime example is grits, which I savored every bite each morning on the train.  A third was something I have grappled with for a long time – not taking time for myself and something that my Nannie worried about.

As confessed yesterday, my aversion to flying played a factor in my decision to take the train to New Orleans and then drive from there.  But the reality of the having 31 hours of uninterrupted time was beyond appealing to this harried mom.  From the moment, we brought Reed into this world, I have put my own personal desires a distance fourth or fifth place (after Daniel’s, my kids, work, church/volunteering – you get the idea).  When it comes to making sacrifices, my heart’s desires are the first I throw out the window.

Another realization is that while I don’t remember my age half the time, my body certainly does which is why I inquired into the cost of a sleeper car accommodation for the longer train trip.  When I discovered how affordable it was, I took the plunge.  After I had paid the fare, the ticket agent explained all my meals were included, and my wait time would be in the First Class lounge (safe and seccure) where there are drinks, snacks, free internet, and cable for those waiting. Wow! I was just expecting a bed where I could stretch out.

Upon boarding my sleeper car, I learned that were other desirable perks.  Someone turns down my bed (complete with chocolates and water bottles), priority seating at meal times, fabulous meals rivaling some great restaurants, someone makes my bed in the morning, towel service with most toiletries available for the shower room, and my favorite: free beverage service with all the ice I could ever want is available the entire trip. I learned that I could sleep in and no one would care or ask me to make breakfast or find their lost shoes or backpack.  I could just sit in solitude and be peaceful without interruption or having to do the laundry.  I was amazed at how good it felt to be pampered. Manny, my porter, was sweet and compassionate when I explained the nature of my trip.  To be honest, he doted on me. I felt like the Belle of the South on the train.

After my first meal of amazing Cajun pasta, I retreated to my sleeper to ponder how I was feeling.  More importantly, why when I was travelling a grief journey did these small touches make me feel so special?  It didn’t take me long to come to the realization that it had been a very LONG time that I had done something just for me.  The only thing I regularly do for me is to visit my hair stylist.

My head swirled with thoughts of how did I get like this mixed in with memories of my Nannie who was all about pampering.  My Nannie took carpe diem to an altogether new level while I somehow live a life of self-imposed martyrdom.  What happened to me?  I don’t think I was always this worried, stressed or self-sacrificing.  I was not oblivious to the fact that I was impressed with pampering on the Amtrak and that I was not at the Ritz-Carlton.

This self-denial is a long and entrenched behavior, but on that southbound train, I made a promise to myself to start doing some things just for me.  Somehow I know that my Nannie would be saying, “Hallelujah! It’s about time!”  And who knows? I just might like it!

If you see glimpses of yourself in my blog today, please, please, please take time for you and write a response telling me what you chose to do for yourself.  I love to hear from my readers, and it would be an encouragement to me to keep my own promise.

 

The long road home . . . Part 1

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22LVtrain1For the upcoming weeks, I am planning two series of writings about things near and dear to my heart.  This week will be about the adventure I took going back to Florida to help with the services for my Nannie (my maternal grandmother).  As a Christian, I did not go to say good-bye; I went to remember the amazing times and to say “I’ll see you soon”.  This travel blog will be about the things I learned about myself and the revelations that God had in store for me as well as remembrances of my Nannie.

Many know that I love a good bargain, and some know that I have a general aversion to flying solo.  So when the news of my Nannie’s passing arrived I wasn’t sure what to do.  I will be honest and say that my Nannie (whom I love and adore) had hoarding issues.  My quandary was to attend the services or to come at a later time to help with the clean-up (which I knew would be needed).  After hearing the sadness in my mom’s voice, I knew I needed to go for the services to support her.

Thus I found myself traveling by Amtrak (which I have always enjoyed) leaving my home at 4 AM in order to board on time. Right away in the depot, I met a delightful new friend who became my travelling partner on the first leg of the trip.  While awaiting the train’s arrival, we settled in on the vintage railroad benches in the original depot in Red Wing, MN, introducing ourselves.  It was an instantaneous liking that I am often blessed to find in my life.

She was travelling for business and was a first-time rail passenger with my journey more somber as a seasoned Amtrak customer.  We found seats near each other, and we watched each other’s items as one or the other of us walked about the train.  She settled in working on Christmas cards, and I settled in and slept (not having done so much for the week prior while fretting about my Nannie).  Later during one of our visits, we discovered our mutual love of our dogs – both being the proud mommas of goldens and our mutual love of all natural foods.

She was simply a gift as my long journey home had just begun.  We made plans to perhaps go out for dinner in Chicago, but due to a late arrival and my choice to upgrade to first class sleeping accommodations, it just didn’t work out.  We exchanged information and her Christmas card (so sweet), and we said our good-byes. It was a few moments later that God’s first revelation on this trip hit me.

A week before I left I had seen a sweet little story about childhood friends reconnecting over Facebook after many years. I spent a couple afternoons looking for my elementary best buddy, Teresa.  We were inseparable but lost contact when my family moved away.  My searches were fruitless, and that left me sad lamenting about the old saying that some people come into our lives for brief moment while others last a lifetime.  I am certain my enhanced melancholy had more to do with trying to keep my mind busy while my Nannie was lingering in the hospital.

As I watched my friend ride the escalator up out of the belly of Union Station, God revealed to me that He did answer my searches . . . just not the way I was expecting.  My new friend that He provided to usher me along the start of the journey was named –  Theresa!  With a few tears came the recognition of a reaped blessing through a prayer answered in God’s perfect way!

Voting matters . . . even to kids

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There are many things in life, good and bad, that our children learn from watching us.  On the good end of the spectrum, one of the things I have hoped to model for my children is the awesome privilege it is to exercise our right to vote in America.  Since they were born, my kiddos have been carted to voting booths in car seats, in near blizzards, uphill both ways.  (Okay the last part was a bit of an exaggeration, but car seats and blustery conditions are not.)

Not all experiences even in a country as great as ours are innate.  Just like the mourning doves each summer in my backyard teach their offspring, we need to model for our children the voting process.  Hence the reason that I have taken my kids along every time I vote.  Is it convenient? No.  Is it easy? No.  Would I rather go to the polling place by myself? Not in a million years!

My kiddos have come to expect that during election season that we will talk about the candidates and what they represent.  Then on voting day, we find a table (or sometimes the floor where we can be away from the crowd), and I read each and every word on the ballot.  We then discuss which candidate for whom we are going to vote.  Then we (well, actually I) mark the ballot.  When we are done discussing and marking the ballot, we cast our official ballot (which has evolved over the years as technology has changed).

Even when we moved away from the Marshall area briefly, we exercised our right to vote using the absentee ballot system.  (My kids were crushed when they could not go to the polling place and when they didn’t receive an “I voted” sticker by mail.)  It was then that I realized that my goal of  trying to teach my children about the election process and civic responsibilities that they “got it”.  They understood the importance of voting, and it mattered to them that I take them along.

Yes, I have strong convictions about my voting and making my vote count, and I also have friends in just about every political ideology group possible. Voting with my children isn’t indoctrination; it’s an educational opportunity. I vote very differently from my parents and siblings, and someday there is a good chance my children will do the same.  And I am okay with that.  In fact, my tenth grade son created his own political t-shirt for Election Day espousing his “vote” for Jimmy McMillan for President – because “The Rent is still too high”.   He did it to be silly, but sometimes in a world of incredibly mean-spirited attack ads some levity is needed. At the end of the day, I know where his actual vote would be cast, but I didn’t impede his freedom of expression today.

Voting matters – even to our kids! So if you haven’t had a chance to make it to the polls today.  I really encourage you to do so, and if you have kids under the age of 18, I HIGHLY encourage you to take them along.  You might get a few stares (like I did this morning with 3 kids in tow waiting in line at 6:50 AM for my ward’s polling place to open), but you never know, you might get a few smiles from those that see a family voting together.

God Bless America!  God Bless You! And, please vote today!

To everything there is a season

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Ecclesiastes 3 is foundation for the title today. This set of verses in Ecclesiastes has always been one of my favorites.  I love those verses so much that a dear friend gave them to me on a plaque that hangs in my dining room.   I have welcomed the literal change of seasons in southwestern Minnesota, especially in relation to my gardens.  The verses have been a soothing balm when I have, often in retrospect, applied them to my children’s growth and maturity or even to the loss or waning of friendships.  But just this morning, God laid them on my heart because of something big that is occurring in my life tomorrow.

If I were completely honest, I wrestled with God on this blog.  I just wanted to go forward with the least amount of people knowing.  God, however, had other ideas.  I have learned over the years that when God stirs me, I should act.

For years, I have struggled with reproductive health issues.  Given that I have had three midterm miscarriages, years of health struggles and a personal family history of many hysterectomies in their 30’s, I shouldn’t be that surprised.  In my head, I know that my procedure tomorrow is medically necessary, but in my heart I am not ready for that season to come to end.

Thankfully, my procedure is much less intense than a complete hysterectomy, but it does mark the end of my ability to bear children, which was growing up one of my two life goals.  All I ever wanted was to be a mom and to be a teacher.  Thank goodness – I have a husband who understood my goals, because we discussed raising kids on our first date. (And he DIDN’T run for the hills!)

Telling my head and my body (which is tired of being tired and anemic) that I need this procedure is one thing. Convincing my heart is another matter entirely. Birthing more children has not been on our agenda at all, but when the reality of the end loomed, my heart ached.

I am grateful to close friends and family for their advice and love over the last week and half.  A few have had the same, similar or larger procedures.  Not one has poo-pooed my feelings, and actually most have shared they experienced the same.  One friend even went so far as to say that most women have a long period of time to adjust to that idea, but it is as if the doctors slammed the door on me.  Her words were prophetic, speaking exactly what my heart was feeling.  Two friends, who know me very well, went out of their way to call and encourage to not delay because their procedures were the best things they had done for themselves in years. Offers for help with the kids, help for me, and of course, prayers came pouring in as well.

Through their kindnesses, I have seen God’s message of love.  My friends don’t want to see me suffer through anymore.  They don’t want to see me miss out on things because I am either tired or afraid to go out because there might be “accidents”. I think instinctively they knew that due to losing four of our own children this would be a BIG deal to me.  Even more than all of that, they know (sometimes more than I know) that God has plans for me and my life, and often my health gets in the way.

So today, while I know that my heart is going to need some time to adjust, I am not going to mope or be fearful. I realize after God’s reminder of these verses this morning that he is the Creator of all things, including the inspiration for medical procedures that do indeed transform lives. Also, I see through my friends and family that God’s love is all over this transition in my life.

I really didn’t want to write this blog, but God reminded of how many years I suffered in silence.  This most private of topics was something that I didn’t want to air publicly, but God said since when has that stopped me. He was right, of course, because I have no problem sharing deeply about my grief, loss, and faith. Why would my health be any different? I didn’t want to share that I am vulnerable and that I might need help, but when I did, many stepped up and offered it.  Even my fears for the procedure itself were laid to rest by the sweet surgeon’s reassurances echoed by the same day surgery nurse.

Yes, a season of my life is coming to an end, but I know, I KNOW, that God has something amazing waiting in store for me at the beginning of my new SEASON.

LOVE NOTE:  Our physical needs have been graciously attended for the next several days, but all prayers will be coveted!

A great love story . . . chapter 1

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Over the weekend, my family and I had the honor to attend and participate in our oldest nephew’s wedding.  We had a fabulous weekend and experience.  Despite earlier forecasts of cold rain, gray skies and wind, it was a beautiful, North Dakota fall day with sunshine and a temperature warmer than predicted.  The weather however wasn’t what made the day so special.  More so, it was the love that was shared among our family.

If I were completely honest I would say that the bride and groom, Jeanette and Derek were somewhat disappointed with several things that happened that day.  None of which were within their control.  Knowing their feelings was what prompted me to write this blog.  I have many more years of life under my feet and a few more miles on my marriage which will be celebrating 20 years in May.  I promise if I were J & D, I would have been let down as well, but through my eyes a great love story is just starting to be written.

No matter which way I looked all I saw was love.  Love for Derek and Jeanette and for those that love them.  Instead of writing that chapter (which really isn’t mine to write), I am choosing to share snippets of what I experienced that day.

  • A buzz of excitement at several houses as details were tended to get people ready.  For Cloie alone, it took one and half hours to do her hair.  At 7, that is a long time to sit . . . for love.
  • After a wardrobe malfunction (think white tux on a 4 year old ring bearer), the best man runs to the only store in town to find a Clorox pen.  All that fuss. . . for love.
  • The bride asking how the groom was doing only to be told, “He’s nervous.”  A spirit of panic filled the room, until it was explained that he was nervous not about marrying the girl of his dreams, but because he wanted the day to perfect for that same girl.  A real human emotion . . . for love.
  • Even though the aisle was too small for my request and I did get some raised eyebrows, I was escorted by both my son and my godson down the aisle to my pew seat. Despite the fact that we didn’t fit real well, my boys obliged out . . . of love.
  • Insistence on the couple’s part to not see each other before the ceremony was firm as family and friends executed spy-like missions to transport one or the other throughout the church.  None involved have espionage experience, but all willingly participated . . .for love.
  • When the big moment finally came, nary a dry eye could be found watching as both the bride and groom cried during her processional into the church.  I have been to many weddings in my lifetime, and I can only recall one other time that occurred.  Overcome . . . by love.
  • Family pictures following the ceremony went very smoothly. (As a former photographer’s assistant for weddings, that is a rare.)  No protests of “being as photogenic as a dishrag” were uttered and no hunting for family needed for pictures occurred.  Willing participants . . . for love.
  • There were moments of missing family and a friend who passed away the same day.  But other family stepped in and loved on those feeling that grief – not to take away the hurt, but to recognize the raw, conflicting emotions.  Their presence and encouragement only based . . . in love.
  • At the reception, things were a little hectic.  Aunties, uncles, and parents choreographed an amazing dance of filling bowls and bellies with food and refreshment.   Not done because of obligation or duty, but . . . for love.
  •  When cake cutting time happened, aunties and cousins sprang into action to cut and deliver that ornate confectionary delicacy to the guests.  Teenagers and younger serving just because help was needed showed nothing but . . . love.
  • Dancing time was a family affair with an opportunity that melted my heart, I had the honor of dancing with the groom’s brother.  (I will admit I was second choice because Erin had been swept away by the ring-bearer.)  But having an opportunity to privately visit with my nephew while twirling around the dance floor filled my heart . . . with love.
  • The bouquet toss was quite an experience (as was the garter toss).  But seeing the tiniest girl out there literally perform a dive that would rival a spectacular end zone touchdown reception was a sight to behold.  Yes, Cloie caught the bouquet which sits on her dresser now.  Even though we agree Prince Charming can wait many (MANY) years to show up here, Cloie’s motivation was to take home more than memories of a day filled . . . with love.

Anyone who has ever planned or participated in a wedding knows that something ALWAYS goes awry.  There is always a hitch in getting hitched.  Hopefully, it becomes something that you can look back and laugh about like the cake at our wedding (that almost caused me to cancel the wedding) or the bridal party that was stuck in the gondola for over an hour coming up to a mountaintop wedding.  My hopes are that instead of dwelling on the things that went wrong, my nephew and his bride can look through my eyes and see their wedding day was filled with more than just the love the two of them shared.

They were joined in marriage before God and blessed by family.  In my opinion, that is the greatest beginning to a love story.

A letter to my little girl

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Dear Savannah Kate:

Hey Katydid!  It has been a while since I had a chance to write specifically to you.  Just because I don’t write or talk about you, Timothy, and Noah as much as Reed, Sawyer, Erin or Cloie doesn’t mean that I love you any less.  In fact, there are some days that I just plain miss the things that I never got to experience with the babies I carried, but did not hold.

I wanted to write to you because this past weekend I missed you so much that my heart literally ached.  Your oldest cousin, Derek, got married to the love of his life, Jeannette.  When it was time for family pictures, one was taken with the cousins, I had to step away.  Daddy saw me sobbing, and he didn’t have to ask.  He just knew that it was because in my imagination I could picture all seven of my children posing (okay, most likely hamming it up) in that picture.

Katydid, your twin sister was the flower girl.  She looked adorable in her dress, but it was her bouncing curls that had me mesmerized.  I often wonder how similar the two of you would be.  Does your hair curl just like hers? Or do you have red curls like your namesake while Cloie has dark curls like hers? Do you love superheroes and fighting evil villains just like she does?  Would you giggle the same or be as mischievous?  Do you sing as beautifully?  (On that last one, I use my dreams to believe you sparkle and shine in the heavenly chorus.) 

At the wedding reception and dance, the broken places in my heart received some patching as all of us in Daddy’s family pitched in to work, but more importantly to love together.  Simply put, we had fun. Once the dance started, I had to stifle my giggles watching those bouncy curls as Cloie spun, twirled, and shimmied. The best was the ballroom dancing that she and Kimberly performed complete with big finishes at the end of the song.  All the while those curls bounced, I kept thinking what the two of you would be like together.

I don’t really care what other people say because I genuinely miss you.  Tonight is the night that we get to remember you and the boys.  Last year, I asked the other kids if they enjoy going to the October 15th candlelight remembrance or if it was a chore to them.  Their response made me cry.  Not only because it was sweet and humble, but more so that they “got it”.  Their unified response was summed up by Sawyer.  “Mom, we all have birthdays and other special holidays just for us kids.  This is the one day a year that we have special for Noah, Tim, and Savannah; so, no it isn’t a chore, but more so an honor to remember our siblings this day each year.”

So tonight, Katydid, for the annual October 15th National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Candlelight Remembrance we will be lighting candles in memory of you three babies.  Even though we never met you, you and the boys made a difference in this world . . . even if that difference was to change our hearts so that we could help others.

I love you always, sweet girl, and someday in Heaven, I can’t wait to hold you.

Love, Momma

Note: For more information on today, please visit www.october15th.com

My family and I will be remembering at a special service hosted annually at our church.  Please contact me, if you would like more information.

3 Things: 10/8/12

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I needed a week long to recover from Reed’s Run.  I have a series of blogs that will be coming in the next few days sharing special memories from that weekend, but I have missed writing about things that I enjoy.  So now that Reed’s Run has come to a close, I am ready to share my weekly list of things that make me smile.

  1. Surprises – I had a big one at Reed’s Run which I will be sharing in a later blog, and I had one this summer.  On our return trip home from Florida our first night’s stop was actually at my grandmother’s house in Alabama.  When we arrived, there was a car in the driveway that I didn’t recognize.  If you grew up in the South, you know to read the license plates because it will tell you not only the state from which the car hails but also the county, designated by words or by a code number.  In this case, the car was from Fulton County, Georgia.  I knew in a heartbeat that could only mean one thing . . . my Uncle Rendell and my Aunt Margaret.  Knowing that my aunt was extremely ill with Stage 4 cancer, their presence was a gift incredible!  To know that I was loved that much to make a couple hour trip brought me to tears.  We had such a lovely visit catching up and seeing how my kids and their grandkids had grown.  It would be our last conversation because my aunt went home to Jesus at the beginning of September.  Even though it was our last visit here, she is just one of the many necks that I cannot wait to hug in heaven. Surprises that become cherished memories DEFINITELY make me smile.
  2. Impromptu Family/Friends Gatherings – The night before Reed’s Run we had an impromptu bonfire and birthday celebration for our September birthdays following the Lakeview football game.  We had a goofy sing-along naming off a bunch of names of ninth month celebrants followed by roasting s’mores in place of serving birthday cake.  The giggles and story-swapping only got better as the fire died down.  Sawyer had a great time meeting his “God-brother” for the first time and helping him to roast a marshmallow.  It wasn’t fancy nor was it gourmet – although we turned a few heads by following a Team Stevens time-honored tradition of using Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups instead of Hershey’s bars.  Even though the gathering lacked refinement, it definitely exuded magic.  The magic of life.  The magic of reconnecting.  The magic of celebrating.  The magic of the ordinary and the extraordinary thing called love.  That kind of magic will always make me smile.
  3. Amazing Friends – The week before Reed’s Run, I received a phone call from a dear friend who told me that she was praying for my Sunday.  It was a good thing that it was not a Skype conversation.  I stood mouth-apage with eyebrows raised in perplexity.  “Did she really think that the Run was Sunday?”  My silent indignation must have been perceivable through the phone line.  My friend further explained that she knew that Reed’s Run was probably the closest thing to a wedding that we would ever have for Reed.  She had been praying for me not to wake-up on Sunday and say disappointedly, “We went to all that work for that!”  I understood that sentiment of disappointment. She wanted us to wake up blessed and amazed.  (We did.) More importantly, this sweet lady wanted us to know that people were praying – even for things that we didn’t know.  Having friends that know your needs even before you know them is smile-worthy.

Feeling loved.  Being surprised, even when I knew I was  saying good-bye.  Having second mile friends.  Celebrating the little stuff.  All of it confirms something that I heard on the radio the other day.

The speaker said that we should all have “campaign signs” in our front yards that said that “God voted for me!”  My last few weeks have been a secure confirmation that the speaker spoke the truth!

Blessed and loved . . . and still smiling!

 

1 day to go: “Pray”-paring

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We love birds in our family; so much so that we raise homing pigeons.  They are amazing birds with incredible speed and gentleness.  The birds serve as FFA and 4-H projects, a business for our kids, and just plain enjoyment.  Business with pigeons? You might ask with a skeptical look.  Well, the white birds are used for releases for weddings, funerals, and other special events.  (A little known “trade secret” – doves are not used in dove releases.  White pigeons are used for ethical reasons, mainly because they know how to make it home.)

When the kids have a job, we perform practice releases the week before to give the birds (okay really ourselves) the reassurance that they know the way.  Pigeons are really smart birds, and they don’t really need this step.  But we love doing the releases.  I can drive highway speeds back to our house, and those birds beat me back.  So they are also incredibly fast flyers.

Recently, we did a very special release at a benefit for a dear friend.  We did a final practice run the day before the event.  My gut told me that something was wrong.  Incredibly wrong.  When I arrived home, the birds were not there.  One hour later, no birds.  Three hours later, no birds. Oh no, this release is so important!  What in the world should we do?  I did what any momma would do in this predicament.  I hit my knees.  I knew that God knew where those birds were, and I knew that His word says that if He cares for the birds, why would he not care for my kids (and their birds).

In reality, I knew that God was the only One who could grant my children success.  They had done all the proper things with husbandry of pigeons.  They had cared, fed, nurtured, watered, bathed, vaccinated, and trained those birds.  There was nothing left that they could humanly do.  Seven hours later after much prayer and hand-wringing, most of the birds made it home.  We just had to place them in God’s hands and know that they would be safe there.

The same can be said of Reed’s Run.  I think we have checked and triple-checked the list. Honestly, our living room has been Command Central for months now.  We have prayed, planned, prayed some more, checked lists, wrote letters, mailed postcards, ordered supplies, updated websites, and prayed again.  But in the end, we rely on God’s faithfulness to make this last Reed’s Run a success.

Stealing one from my cousin-in-law and sister in Christ, all my “pray”-paring hinges on my belief that God will grant us our heart’s desire.  Just like Nehemiah, I humbly ask “Give your servant success today.”  (1:11 NIV)

Please join us in a day of prayer that God grants us our heart’s desire for a successful run and for the opportunity to share His love with others. If God is for us, then nothing else really matters!