Category Archives: Faith Family Football

To my Sunshine . . .

Dear Reed:

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreading this day. My friends all know it, and they do their very best to love me through it. There are extra hugs, more texts just checking in, and offers to “sock ‘em in the nose” for the people who seem to get great joy inflicting wounds when we are down. The first two warm my heart, and the last one just makes me laugh. As January draws to an end, I don’t want to flip the calendar to February. Just the name of the month is too painful to bear.

For the last few weeks, I have struggled to eat and sleep, and have felt I was one tear drop away from releasing Niagara Falls. If I let one drop fall, a gusher was going to follow and I might not be able to stop. I knew this day – the day that changed my life forever – would come again.

I decided to avoid thinking about it, other than planning a date with a Kleenex box. I knew your siblings would be going to school; so aside from ~~being~~ trying to be strong and available for them, my plan was to do nothing but be kind and gentle to myself. Daddy chose to spend the day with me, taking a day off from work. You know how difficult that is for him to do; so, the tears leaked a little at his decision.

All that tossing and turning through sleepless nights resulted in a big neck ache. As I walked past the kitchen table on my way to the hot tub, I saw a beautiful jar I recently won. Emblazoned on the side are the words, “There is hope”. Today I clung to that promise. As I let my thoughts soak away in the steamy waters, my sadness was carried to God’s ears on the melodic notes of birdsong. More tears leaked out as I realized your garden was full of beautiful little birds singing the songs of hope to me. God knew what I needed to help me smile through my watery eyes.

Throughout the day, the tears came off and on like when the lady at doctor’s office realized who I was and said, “Oh this has to be a hard day for you.” Ma’am, you have no idea. More tears after the doctor saw my shirt (the last Reed’s Run one that both Erin and I chose to wear today) and in the middle of his explanation of my lab tests exclaimed, “you are truly a woman who loves her God. Romans 8:38 – 39 on your shirt. It just caught my eye.” and then just shook his head. I try, Doctor. I really, really try. I just don’t know any other way. The leaking just kept on coming when an unexpected text came asking how someone could support Sister. Even more came after the love ambush this afternoon.

Grief is a messy thing, Reed. Some of those tears were of sadness. Others were of joy and relief for the amazing grace-filled love that comes from the best friends I could have never imagined, let alone ever dreamed of asking for. Without their love and the grace of our Lord, I don’t know that we would have ever made it this far. We are far from through it. How could we ever get over you?

You were our sunshine. Even though you are not here, your spirit’s light still shines brightly. You are still here – just like the lyrics of the song shared with us today. We carry you in our hearts, our memories, and our stories. We share those stories over and over because we want every memory to still be alive in Sally’s mind. She was so tiny when you had to go home with Jesus, but there are so many times that I stare at her because she sounds just like you. She loves learning and reading and math and superheroes and Legos and animals – all the things you loved. You would bubble over with excitement as she is reading some of your old books, whipping right through them like you did. She has the same reactions when she watches the movies too! But the thing that most reminds me of you happened at her parent-teacher conference; her teacher shared how incredibly kind she is. More tears leaked out on that February day.

Then there are Sister and Sawyer. You would be so proud. Your light, that today basks in the glory of heaven, shines so brightly in them. They hold true to the values that our family holds dear, even when it isn’t cool or popular. They root for the underdog, and they give back in the best of ways. They hit rough patches, but time and time again, they have proven they are resilient. Remember that time when Erin got hurt on her bike, and you picked her up and carried her down the block back home to my loving arms. There are so many times they both wish they could have done the same for you on that awful February day. If it is true that the angels pray on our behalf (and I believe it is), always, always ask them to hold your brother and sisters close to their hearts. Where you live, there are no tears, no sadness, but trust me, Reedy, there is plenty of that to go around back here on earth. Sadness doesn’t define our days, but there are the moments when it engulfs us.

Maybe, just maybe, tears bring us closer to God, who reminds us this is not our forever home. Homesickness has a completely different meaning when we look through that lens. Another thing about those tears is they clear our myopic vision to truly see the blessings and as much as there is sadness, there blessings to infinity and beyond we encounter every day. Tears have also removed scales from our eyes so that we more easily see when someone else is hurting, and perhaps that is what God had planned for all of us for now. What if blessings come through raindrops and healing comes through tears are more than just song lyrics; they are truly the reminders of hope that keeps our eyes looking to heaven and our ears listening to the birds, who are whispering God’s love in every note.

Through my tears, I see the blessings – including the time God shared you with us. Always wishing it was for a lot longer and always loving you until I can hug you again!

Momma

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

you’ll never know, Reed, how much I love you

The wonder of a box

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I think every parent has been there. It’s Christmas morning, and there sits your child inside the box of the latest greatest toy you spent hours standing in line to purchase earlier in the month. Instead of dropping the big bucks on the toy, you could have headed to the office supply store and spent less than ten dollars on the biggest box available. Better yet, you could have put out a request to friends to see if any were making any large appliance purchases before the holidays and requested to “simply take the box off their hands”.

I remember as a child when one of my best friend’s family purchased new kitchen appliances. Jackpot! We spent the next few months creating an elaborate house out of the boxes. Using markers, crayons, scissors, and construction paper, we made windows and doors as well as decorated our corrugated home like it was straight out of the pages of Southern Living.

Over the years, my children have had similar experiences only instead of a house, they made the Batmobile, the Space Shuttle, and a personal favorite was the Tardis of Dr. Who fame. Of course, there were smaller creations, but these were the most memorable. One weekend last year, the wonder known as the box took center stage in my littlest’s plans. She had a sleepover with a friend. They didn’t have any big plans until . . . we decided to assemble the new recliners we had recently purchased. Both littles were great construction assistants, but as soon as the chairs were sitting ready, they flocked to the boxes like bees to honey.

After a long and lengthy discussion, they settled on becoming Wonder Women. They created “gold” bracelets out of the remnants of the Styrofoam tube packaging and instead of an invisible jet, they got to work creating their very own time machine AND a magic carpet.

They spent hours and hours just drawing and adding details. There were no squabbles or arguments, but plenty of words of encouragement for each other. They couldn’t have had more fun if we had planned a day full of activities. Uncomplicated, unscripted and unplugged – they embraced the moment. Completely content – oh the adventures they had!

I sent these pictures to the other momma with the caption of “Our Wonder Women”. Almost immediately, she acknowledged the lure of the cardboard box, fondly remembering both her own adventures as well as those of her sweet kiddos over the years.

Recently, I’ve been thinking (A LOT) about contentment and my tendency on occasion to compartmentalize life making all my details fit inside “my box”. In my ponderings, I remembered these two sweet little girls, and their unbridled joy when I said the box was theirs for the day. Making lists and checking them twice have been my strong suits for a long time. Keeping my hands busy was a close third on my compartmentalizing strengths. Gently, God has been nudging me to just stop and be present in the moment, just like the girls. This morning I saw a photo that perfectly captured my ability to be caught up in what I am doing, but miss the rest of what is going on around me. It is going to be an uphill battle, but I am ready to embrace what God has laid before me, open to all the possibilities.

Keep company with God, get in on the best. Psalm 37:4 (The Message)

And who knows? Maybe along the way that will mean time spent in boxes, blanket forts, and tents in the backyard! I’ll have the crayons ready . . . just in case.

At the back of the bus

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Our journey home from the girls’ trip changed at the last minute. The reason for the change was our town festival coincided with our plans. On the surface, that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but when you are nine and the title of being “Queen” of the county is on the line, your priorities shift. Bragging momma warning alert! She did indeed win a title in the pageant; so, our switcheroo paid off, even if it meant some logistical changes in our transportation home. We traded in our train passes and purchased one-way tickets via Megabus (a double decker, wi-fi express).

The current Queen of Lyon County

The bus company uses the same stations as Amtrak so it was easy to know where to go in the city, although if it did take us a moment in downtown Chicago to locate where exactly the pick-up would be. Of course, I was a little flustered after leaving my phone on the concierge’s desk, and subsequently pretending we were playing Amazing Race with the taxi driver. Sadly, stations are places where people who haven’t seen blessings in a while congregate. This does not daunt me, and I try my best shine God’s light while I visit with them. The group waiting for various buses was an eclectic mix, and just before several buses pulled up, a young black man sitting on the retaining wall got my attention.

“Miss, I want you to know I think that is awesome.” It took me a moment to figure out what we did that was so “awesome” before I realized he was talking about the fact that a little white girl was holding a black baby doll. When I explained that he was the only doll she wanted, he was grinning from ear to ear. The call for Madison and St. Paul came and once again, it was time for “all aboard”.

So proud of her new doll, Noah.

The first thing I noticed was a shocking shift in temperatures from Illinois August air to the freezer inside the bus. I had packed a blanket but we were woefully underdressed for the mandatory cool temps (to keep drivers alert). Other than a few college kids heading to University of Wisconsin, the remainder was made up of young families and a few individuals. Since we were the last to embark, we took the only remaining seats left (which for those who know me struck fear in my heart). The final two spots were the very last row – where my son was seated the day he died on the school bus. That is a no-go zone for all of us, but I couldn’t ask families with tiny children to move. My fears subsided (a little) when I noticed both the bathroom and the stairs to the upper deck were behind us.

Once we were seated, I noticed our neighbor to the right was seated alone. Our driver gave the basic instructions of passenger-ship, and I almost peed in my pants when she said absolutely no alcohol, just as my fellow passenger had pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swig. A sheepish little smile and a shoulder shrug resulted in more than a few giggles from me. Over time, the conversation began to flow between us. My neighbor, Eugene, had fallen on hard times and was trying to get his life back in order. I had to smile when he stated unapologetically that without God’s help that was never going to happen. Between Chicago and Madison, we learned much about each other’s lives, including the fact that we actually knew some of the same people from our college days.

At some point, my friend from back at the sidewalk came down and stood between us. He joined in our conversation and asked if we would mind if he stood for a while as he was healing from a back surgery. Eugene and I were both amenable, and our new friend, Anderson, a city advocate/Franciscan missionary from Detroit, jumped right in. The next hour was spent sharing our faith stories, including the tragedies that helped solidify or test that same faith.

As the sun started to set, the conversation took on a more solemn note. The date of this ride was August 13, four days after the shot that took the life of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. The irony was not lost on me that here I was seated in the back of the bus (with two black men) while our country was being torn apart with hateful thoughts and acts on each side of the racial divide once again. Since the Saturday before, I had simply been praying for love to prevail and for our country to heal, which would take amazing courage, gut-wrenching hard work, and a willingness to talk, but more importantly listen.

Almost as naturally as me grabbing a sweet tea, we decided we should pray. Holding each other’s hands, we prayed, each in our faith comfort zone and pattern, but pray we did. We prayed for each other, we prayed for families hurting, for our own families, our communities, and our country. And we prayed for Ferguson. We asked God for his strength, his peace, and his light to shine in a place that none of us had ever visited. By the time, we were done, the remaining passengers were staring. I had tears streaming down, because I felt like the seat I didn’t want was a divinely appointed one.

We weren’t the only people in the world praying, but that one moment felt like God’s love was shining through as we road down the interstate. Even though we all knew our paths would most likely not cross again this side of Jordan, our prayers were the prayers of people who knew that none of our differences mattered when we came together in love. In God’s eyes, we are all his children, and no place was that more beautifully displayed than on our knees at the back of the bus.

Officer Matt

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No matter where I travel, I always seem to return home with a story or two. Some have been quite interesting. Others downright show-stoppers. Last August’s girl trip had its moments as well. At first, we almost cancelled the whole shebang, because I am adamant about staying downtown near the Magnificent Mile. Because we dawdled a little too long, I wasn’t finding a hotel room for under $400. I love my girls, but that price was way over what I wanted to spend for a night’s lodging. I am in no way getting paid for this, but at the very last minute, I searched www.booking.com and (Shazam!) found a room for around a hundred dollars only a couple blocks from the American Girl store (which I failed to mention yesterday had moved locations since the last girls’ trip). I would be lying if I said I didn’t prance around the house saying, “Booking dot Yeah!” for a few hours.

When we arrived at the very upscale hotel, the concierge explained that if it was okay, we would be staying next door at their sister property. My elation at a good deal felt like the rug was just pulled out from under us. I am nothing if not a seasoned adventurer (Trust me people, I have slept in my van – not down by the river however – with three dogs while travelling back from North Dakota because there was no room in the inn for my four-legged buddies). My friends hate that I do that, but at least, I’m not like my one friend who used to camp out in cemeteries while bicycling across the country. I had no choice other than to agree to the relocation and hope for the best. The property really seemed more like an apartment building, but as long as we had a bed and bathroom we would be fine. We opened the door and nearly fell over laughing. We walked right into a one-bedroom townhouse complete with living room, dining room, kitchen, more closets than we could count, office, and lofted bedroom. We’re no dummies, and we thought we might be guests at the Roach Motel, but instead ended up feeling like we were real Chicagoans.

Union Depot, St. Paul, MN

As unexpected as the accommodations were, my favorite travelling story happened before we even left the station back in St. Paul. Due to the oil boom in North Dakota, the Empire Builder is now historically late. In fact, we had been notified that we might be placed on a charter bus (which has happened to me before) to get to Chicago. Since we had a sleeper car and were not connecting with another train, we were part of the group that was left to wait for the train. The delay was only a couple hours; so, we did the best to occupy our time while waiting.

Sally and Kit can hardly wait for the train to arrive.

But we wait we did!

Eventually, the station master signaled the call for all travelers to line up for the platform.

Gate C to Chicago!

After making it through the ticket gate, we descended the long escalator from the station to our assigned location. When you travel with little ones, you rarely get anywhere quickly. At the bottom was a smiling station security officer. As we were heading to our area, I heard a voice behind me.

Almost there!

Miss. Excuse me Miss. Do you have your ticket?

Sally and I both stopped and turned around, thinking the officer thought we were perhaps trying to sneak our way onto the VIP section of the train. I grabbed my boarding passes to show him.

No, I’m sorry, ma’am. I am speaking to this little girl here. Miss, does your friend (pointing to Kit, the doll Santa had given her a few years earlier) have her ticket?

A quick glance up at me told me she was asking if this guy was for real. Her glance was met with a shoulder shrug on my part.

Is he for real?

Um. That would be tiny little ticket, wouldn’t it sir?

Indeed, it would be. Where are you two girls heading?

Chicago. We are going to the American Girl Doll Store.

Well, I see. This seems to be a pretty big occasion. I will trust that you have your papers in order, but that is such a tiny little suitcase for your friend. Do you think she has enough clothes packed for such a big day?

Well, we are only going to be there for two days. I packed her pajamas and a special dress for when we get to eat at the fancy restaurant.

Do you think you might need to buy her an outfit while you are there?

That was kind of the plan.

Okay, well that sounds good. Has your friend ever been to Chicago?

No sir, but I have once. I was a toddler, but this is a trip that my momma does with each girl in our family. Now it is my turn.

I would have to say that is about the most wonderful plan I’ve ever heard.

A loud whistle told us all the train was coming into the station. I quickly made sure that Clo (who still struggles to hear things approaching from behind) was far from the edge of the platform as we waited for Engine 27 to pull in. While we stood back, I spoke quickly to the officer.

Can I ask you your name? Officer Matt. Officer Matt, you just made my little girl’s day. Thank you! You’re welcome. I have a little girl about her age, and I think of my daughter whenever I see a little girl standing on this platform. I try to go out of my way to brighten her day, hoping somebody is doing the same for my little girl. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you!

It was all the conversation we could squeeze in, as the train was trying to make up time, and we needed to board quickly. When we returned home, I called the station and the security company and gave a glowing report of the magic of Officer Matt. The dispatcher was bawling when I got done with my story. She said that most of the calls they receive are complaints, but that no one ever takes the time to say thank you. It touched her so much that she decided to do the same and nominate Officer Matt for a commendation. Then it was me who was choking up on the phone.

That conversation on the platform probably took all of five minutes, but it left a mark on me and my mini-me which rippled out to the staff of an entire train station. The world needs a few more Officer Matt’s who aren’t afraid to use their hearts and their imaginations to brighten someone’s day!

The gift of reassurance

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A lot can change in eleven years. Many of the very somber scars of my heart have occurred in the last decade. But I want today’s blog to be more upbeat. The most celebrated event of our lives was the birth of our baby (who despite all of our best efforts, at ten, is no longer anywhere close to being a baby). Of course, there have been a few other changes, like our remodeling our home, gain a few pounds, lose a few pounds, trips to the hairdresser suddenly becoming more necessary, and instead of chasing toddlers, keeping up with teenagers.

Another difference compared to my life eleven years ago is the way I am able to interact with friends and family on a daily basis. Accepting the inherent dangers, the advent of social media has been a game changer for us. While definitely insignificant compared to the birth of our last child, keeping up with friends and family has revolutionized my world. While we do have cousins a little over an hour away, our parents live more than four hundred miles from our home. Sometimes, my best long-distance “connections” are no farther than a finger swipe away.

Last summer, I came to the realization that our baby girl hadn’t taken her trip to Chicago. Since our Boy Wonder is now a senior, I knew the clock was ticking on how much longer she would even be little. We checked the calendar, cashed in an Amtrak travel voucher, and packed our bags. A big send off by Sister and Sally Gal and I pulled out of the driveway. Sister’s parting words were, “Take lots of pictures and keep us updated.”

All Aboard!

Throughout our travels, I posted snippets of our adventures. If it was a new and novel experience, a photo was snapped to document the memory. Don’t get me wrong! The point of the trip was to be with my little girl; so, I only shared highlights with my corner of the world.

Who knew that Kit dreamed of working as a valet at Union Station?

Kit and Sally are ruthless card sharks! Ruthless I tell you!

Eating breakfast outdoors was nothing compared to eating in the middle of skyscrapers.

I drew the line at bringing the stroller this time, but trust me walking like this takes a long time by any definition.

Most of the comments were ones about my ridiculous ideas, but one comment completely caught me off guard. While not these exact words, I interpreted the message to be: I hope she appreciates all of this. Why is it that we can have hundreds of supporting comments and uplifting messages, but one small negative interjection can stop us in our tracks? Sucks the joy right out of you. Last year, I received my first hate mail on this blog, and believe me it was vile. At first, I was shocked, then saddened, then really saddened that someone could be hurting so badly to write hate mail about a blog in which I talked about the support we received when Reed died. In the end, I just wanted to find this person and give them a really big hug. I didn’t, but if you know me, that is exactly what I wanted to do.

My transformation didn’t happen instantaneously. The words ate at me for a long time. I actually talked to my pastor about it when our families were having supper one time. The same blog that elicited the vitriolic response was the one that opened the doors on my readership and in the end, tens of thousands of people read it. My sweet pastor gently explained how I would never please everyone and the positive comments far outweighed the one person who was clearly hurting. Just let it go, remembering I share my story to help people.

Which is exactly what I did with that comment on Sally’s gratefulness, I let it in and then I let it out. Or did I? God knows my thoughts, my doubts, my fears, and my hurts. As we were riding in the taxi to the station to head home, I snapped this picture.

The absolute best moment of the whole trip!

Of course, this was after we were two blocks from the station, the first time, and realized I had left my phone sitting on the counter at the hotel. The AMAZING and MOST UNDERSTANDING driver ever let me use her phone to call the hotel, waited with my child on the street while I ran in, and still got us to the station on time. Can you say huge tip and a hug?

Anyways, after I snapped the picture, completely unscripted, my baby girl looked into my eyes and said, “Momma, I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough! This was the greatest trip of my life! Thank you, Momma, for buying me this baby, but mostly for taking me on this trip! I love you!”

God knew . . . as I wiped away tears. God knew that the comment stung what I would like to think is my very tender heart wrapped in a tougher than I have ever expected it would need to be exterior. He also knew when he created this little (and grateful) girl the exact words of reassurance she would say that would forever melt my heart. I am abundantly thankful that he did!

Wherever you are today, may God use someone’s words to whisper into your heart!

The Penny Dress

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Yesterday’s blog shared about a family tradition I share with my daughters – a special trip to Chicago. Before I went with my oldest daughter, we spent hours paging through the American Girl catalog to pick exactly the perfect doll (or in her case, dolls) to purchase. Once her selection was narrowed down, we asked my grandmother, Mama, who was once a professional seamstress in the famed sewing room featured in the movie, Norma Rae, to sew a matching set of dresses for my all-American girl and her baby doll. That spring, we gathered all the material, notions and patterns to mail to Alabama.

When we called Mama to ask if she could possibly make the dresses, she said “Yes”, but under one condition. It was going to cost Erin – one penny. A tradition started by my cousin’s daughter who once took a couple pennies out of her pocket to pay Mama when she made her a beautiful dress for a school function. The fabric of families is held together by the traditions we weave. My tiny girl agreed to those terms.

The seamstress and the customer a year before the girls’ trip.

Shortly before our trip, the new dresses arrived in the mail. They were absolutely stunning. The first layer was a blue gingham sundress, reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie. The second layer was a gauzy and sheer coverlet, depicting scenes from the classic tale Winnie the Pooh. The tiny Sister (as she has always been called around here) couldn’t wait to put it on. (Looking back now, I wonder what happened, because we would have to pay her to wear dresses now.) We snapped a picture, penned a thank you drawing in childlike scribble, and attached the requisite payment.

When trip time came, the set was carefully wrapped in our luggage. Sister saved the dress for the big day – the one where we got to eat at the restaurant with her new babies. Yesterday, I mentioned that we were exposed to some insane behavior while waiting entry to the café. As much fun as enjoying a great meal while using our imaginations was, I don’t, for one minute, believe my daughter’s life would be irreparably damaged if it didn’t happen. That was mild compared to some of the other things we heard as we were being escorted to our seats.

Just when I thought all was safe, I was in no way prepared for watching the exchange that followed shortly thereafter. We had snapped a few pictures with the girls while waiting for our orders to be taken. It was during this time that a mom came rushing over to the table to inquire about Sister’s dress.

In about the most exasperated tone: Where did you get that dress? Dahling, I simply must have it! Wherever did you find it? I have looked this entire store over, and I KNOW that dress is not in this store.

Now in this lady’s defense, outside of our table most of the little girls and dolls were wearing matching outfits that had been previously purchased at the American Girl store.

My eyebrows almost reached my hairline on this one. Just as I was about to open my mouth to explain, the spitfire, known as Sister, popped up out of her chair, plopped her hands on her little hips, and stood eyeball to eyeball (okay probably more like eyeball to hip, but her confidence exuded eyeball), and said, “My Mama made it, and I paid a penny for it.”

Mouth agape, the woman turned and looked at me. I thought she somewhat deserved the sassy retort. When I explained Sister had asked her great-grandmother to make the dresses, the inquisitor was saddened to learn she couldn’t purchase one for her little girl. As she turned to walk away, she said with all sincerity, “You are one lucky little girl.”

Lady, you don’t know the half of it.

The little girl who almost wasn’t, because she was born dead and brought back to life, was about the most adored little Southern girl, north of the Mason Dixon line. Not a day goes by that we don’t forget that she is a miracle just being here. She is a beloved child of God, who let us have her despite her rough start.

The homemade little dress is beautiful. My Mama’s stitching is incredible, but it pales in comparison to God’s handiwork of love, the creation of a family. Someday she will pass the dress (which is safely tucked away) to her little girl. And when she does, she will able to tell of all the love that her Mama sewed in every stitch of a penny dress!

The Magic of Chicago – the first girl’s trip

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When the Girl Awesome was 4 years old, I stumbled across a great deal on travel. For $19 (that really was the cost), we could travel via train from Minneapolis to Chicago – ROUND TRIP. I called a friend and asked if she and her daughter, age 7 at the time, would like to join us on the journey. They did, and my friend found an incredible deal on a hotel. Both little girls were the only daughters in families with boys; thus, the whole point of the trip was to visit little girl mecca – The American Girl Doll flagship store. Living vicariously through our daughters, I think we were more excited than they were.

So that August found us waiting for the beautiful cry of “All Aboard”. We packed extra snacks and lunches, lots of activities AND a huge sense of adventure to keep two little girls occupied on the eight hour trip. The first thing that caught their attention was the fact that the car directly behind ours was carrying the United States Postal Service mail. Eyes wide, they never realized trains might be one of the ways that letters made it to their house.

The trip was pretty uneventful (which I know is a huge disappointment to fans of this blog since EVENTS seem to have a way of finding me). Okay, there was the incident when we attended church on Sunday morning where the poor lady (who hadn’t seen God’s blessings in a while) came in screaming about how she needed help and the church wouldn’t help her. After a scuffle with the ushers, our little girls didn’t know what to think of all that. Truth be told, neither did we – other than to pray for her and the guy at Dunkin’ Donuts who kept asking for money.

We really wanted to stay on our budget; so, we planned to eat out once to indulge in Chicago-style pizza and once more at the American Girl Doll restaurant. We were hoping to find a little grocery store and luckily, there was a bodega across the street from the hotel. Immediately upon arriving, our girls were chomping at the bit ready to head down the Magnificent Mile (what divas!) to pick up their dollies. N was dreaming of purchasing a Molly doll, while Erin was planning to get the Bitty Twins. Having older brothers at this point in her life, she never wanted to be called by her given name and preferred to be called “Kyle” which is the name of one of her older cousins. I am fairly certain the allure of the Bitty Twins was that one was a boy.

We marched our way down that street, taking in all the sights and noises. Girl Awesome was enamored with the horse drawn carriages, mostly because the horses wore blinders. When we arrived at the store, we simply took time to soak it all in – it was everything we had dreamed it would be and more. Finally, we chose our dolls (and accoutrement) which let me tell you people could cost as much as your first semester of college tuition. My little girl chose the whole package (dolls, double stroller, and souvenir t-shirts for dolls and girl). I left looking like a bag lady, while shoulders back and head up with a beaming smile, my spunky four year old proudly sashayed with her babies down North Michigan Avenue. While waiting for the crosswalk, we all asked what the twins were going to be named. After a few thoughts, she narrowed it down to Daniel and Kandy (pretty proud momma moment there).

The Girl Awesome with our namesakes!

She, of course, wanted to push those babies everywhere the next two days. It was cute at first, but after schlepping that stroller which has absolutely no turn radius, the cuteness more than wore off on me – especially when I had to pick it up and carry it all.

Our little prairie raised girls got a whole education on interesting behavior on that trip. Our arranged AND reserved lunch (which if you ever are going to take your daughter to one of these stores is personally my favorite) had amazing food (think four stars), impeccable staff, and incredible attention to details (chairs and dishes for the dolls). We had an assigned time but arrived early as requested and then proceeded to try to make our way through all the people who did not have reservations. Eventually I had to cover Erin’s ears because mothers were shouting at the maître d’ words that I think would cause sailors to blush. Past that chaos, our time in the restaurant was amazing and magical and everything a little girl would dream.

My family annually purchased memberships to zoos and science museums which we were able to use the reciprocity agreements while in Chicago, mostly for free. Using the free trolley for transportation also saved a ton of money; otherwise, we mostly walked and pushed babies. We attended the Museum of Natural History (long enough to see a dinosaur named Sue for our boys), Lincoln Park Zoo and the Chicago Children’s Museum. One afternoon, we stayed back at the hotel while my friend and her daughter (who was old enough) attended the play that was once a part of the American Girl Chicago experience. While they were gone, we went to the park and watched street performers and fed pigeons. In the evenings, we visited Navy Pier and took in the fireworks offered there, but from the amazing viewpoint of the former Hancock Tower.

On our final day, we voted on how to spend our time. The Shedd Aquarium won, even though it was a little more than our original budget. Eating sandwiches for supper was a worthy sacrifice, because the Shedd was worth every penny! But for this day, I decided that the dolls needed a break which was momma-ese for “I am not taking that ridiculous stroller or any baby I did not give birth to on that trolley one more time!” The room was in shambles, and we left “Molly”, who was clearly older, in charge of the sleeping Daniel and Kandy. Throughout the day, the older N kept teasing my little girl that she was going to be up all night if her babies slept the whole time we were away. This chiding continued off and on to the point, where the Girl Awesome was about to use up all her goodness and mercy.

Since this is something to fight over, it turned out it was N’s turn to use the key to unlock the door when we arrived back at the hotel room. I really wish that I captured her face when we walked in. The room was spotless, everything in its place, the babies were up and playing, and Molly was looking a little tired after a hard day of work. Astonished doesn’t even begin to describe it. N was awed by her dolly, such an amazing babysitter who not only watched little ones, but also cleaned the whole room.

Even as early as preschool, our kiddos were pretty seasoned travelers. My little girl knew exactly who did all that work, but for the sake of her friend, she didn’t . . . spoil the magic of Chicago!

May some little piece of childhood magic touch your heart today!

Choosing one word . . .

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As a science teacher, more than once I have performed demonstrations for my students explaining how when given the chance air will rush into a vacuum. Recently, I have come to terms that a similar phenomenon occurred in our home to attempt to fill the deep, aching, empty hole left in our hearts by our darkest day. The hurt so profound, so full of void, we allowed many different things (often material but sometimes time wasters) to rush into that dark emptiness. Much like the wonder of gravitational attraction between objects, our hearts’ songs were so mournful they had a pull on the people around us who also tried to help us fill the hole with gifts of love. The resultant aftermath was a lot of clutter – physical and emotional – which simply created chaos in our home and in my heart.

Almost three years ago now, we began a long and perilous journey to reclaim our space which meant remodeling projects throughout our house, but more importantly having real conversations regarding what we really wanted out of life. The last of those projects is nearing completion. As we finished each room, gut-wrenching conversations were required to determine what would stay and what we could allow someone else to love.

As that process unfolded, we realized things and thought-numbing activities consumed our life, in more ways than one, and even worse, we were missing out on living. There I said it. In an effort to fill the hole, we allowed unsubstantial things to fill the broken fissures of our hearts. The one thing we didn’t want to do after Reed passed – which was stop living because there is no way no how he would have ever wanted us to do that – was slowly happening, and we needed to take drastic measures to stop it.

When your heart hurts, it is so easy to find something – anything that will stop the hurt even for a fleeting moment. Leaning into our grief by letting go of artificial hole-fillers, we were deliberate in our pursuit for joy. JOY – our one word theme for last year! In tiny incremental steps, we began our search. We soon found all sorts of sources, in the most unexpected of places – the impromptu gathering with friends, the snowstorm safe at home, the taste of wonderful new recipe, the prayers of friends, the laughter of our kids, a shooting star while sitting in the hot tub, the nuzzle by wet nose of an old dog, meeting for lunch and realizing you are still at the restaurant at supper. Joy was hidden right under noses, but previously we were too encumbered to notice it. As a natural off-shoot, we uncovered joy hidden in verses as God continued to minister to us, almost like wiping our eyes with divine spittle. Our broken hearts began to feel lighter.

As the year unfolded, we began to pray about our next theme word; although I don’t believe the search for joy will leave us for quite some time. We wanted a new word which would continue to bring us closer to God and enable Him to still mend our broken places.

Music stirs my soul and next to creation, it is the place where I often get lost in God’s beauty. Last week was a rough one, filled with doctor and therapy appointments. On my drive back from dropping the Girl Awesome at school, I heard this song on Christian radio.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtXwX4Gt1Pc

From the artists’ lips to my soul, it was too much for me. I had to pull over to the side of the road, my vision too clouded by the gigantic tears falling down. The new word had been dancing into my thoughts for weeks. Hearing the lyrics was the confirmation I needed that “content” was exactly the word for us. I simply want to soak in the grace, love, mercy, and beauty that God has provided for me. I never want to fill my days, my thoughts, my heart with anything other than that.

God I run into your arms, unashamed because of your mercy . . . some day that is going to be me. A full out arms open wide dash similar to the time I ran into the arms of my Granddaddy while being chased by a goat which escaped the circus, I plan on hugging Jesus and his Daddy. I want to hug Reed and rock my babies. I am truly overwhelmed by how much He has given my family. Finding joy was a journey, and now, I am choosing to not get caught up in racing thoughts of details, worries, doubts, or fears (behaviors of which if am not a pro, then I am definitely an Olympic medalist) and simply be content with what God has provided.

Content in every avenue of my life will take a big effort. Choosing to be present in whatever path God lays my feet will be the first step. My initial search for Bible verses proved to be fruitful. We are using this verse to guide us as we search to be content in what we eat and wear, we decide to purchase, we choose to spend our time, in how we fill our moments and our days, and most importantly, in how we accept what God provides in plenty and in want. All the while hoping and praying contentment draws us closer to God.

Friends, this world is not your home, so don’t make yourselves cozy in it. Don’t indulge your ego at the expense of your soul. 1 Peter 2:11 (MSG)

Wherever God finds you today, may it be wrapped in the arms of his love! True contentment!

*Special note: Somehow sitting on the side of the highway, praising my heavenly Father, I knew this song had something to do with Africa. Honestly, I don’t know how or why I knew that – other than the children’s voices at the end of the song. I have two special connections to that continent. One is to an orphanage in Uganda (more on that at a future date), and the other is to our first adopted college student, James from Kenya. Although he is back home now with his family (and our adopted grandchildren), he is never far from our hearts. When I got home and saw the video, more tears easily fell as I praised God for our loves a world away.

To laugh again . . .

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The first time I saw Sawyer the night of the bus crash was most the surreal moment of that evening. I already knew that Reed was gone, as did Daniel, but neither thought the other knew, as we were trying to protect the other one and deal with the horrors right in front of us. Wrapped in warm blankets to keep him from going into shock and barely lucid as medications were keeping him in a state of medically induced numbness, all that was exposed when I leaned over to kiss him were his face and ears, every inch wrapped tight. Before my lips reached his forehead, my eyes saw his ears filled with glass and bright yellow bus paint. This was much worse than the broken leg I had been told at the school. When I arrived at the hospital with my pastor and his wife along with two teacher friends, all I wanted to do was see Reed. I didn’t love Sawyer any less, but shattered bones heal. My heart longed to prove the news of our redheaded boy wrong, a case of mistaken identity. The hospital staff would not let me see Reed until I saw Sawyer because there were decisions we needed to make to save his life. When I saw the horrors of the day filling his precious ears, ones that look exactly like his grandfather’s, all the remaining joy from my world was sucked away.

The next morning when the nurses came to give Sawyer his first “bath”, they wanted to wash away the very visual reminders that still lingered. A tray full of glass fell out of his thick hair, and when they turned him over, other than those chubby, signature cheeks, there wasn’t a spot not covered in bruises, cuts, or stitches. For over a day, we were able to keep the news of Reed’s death away from him. Then an incident that I share more in depth in my upcoming book happened, and we knew that we were not going to be able to hold our secret much longer. The rest of the world was going on as we were suspended in some kind of distorted reality. He was in so much pain, and we wanted to insulate him from more.

Meeting with the grief counselor before we talked with him, I remember very distinctly saying that someday our family would laugh again. Our counselor, Mark, wiped away tears as he remarked we were incredibly strong people (I felt anything but strong) and how he was moved by our faith. We had some choices to make about our next steps, along with the words we would use to explain Reed’s absence, and our determination focused on how we would not ever let this define us, we would not allow our house (whenever we could return there) become a place of overwhelming sadness, and we would always let our love of Jesus carry us through. Visual images of Jesus laughing with little children became a real driving force in the days we endured. This could not have been more real than at the conclusion of Reed’s Celebration of Life. As the casket containing his earthly body was wheeled away, we had asked for the Star Wars theme to be played. Tears of sadness turned to tears of laughter as those present recognized the familiar tune, while our three pastors presided over the whole affair with light sabers. We could only imagine that Reed and Jesus laughed.

The first month, very little laughing, especially purposeful belly chuckling, occurred. As much as I wanted to crawl in a hole and lay next to Reed, I knew what that would say to our other children. No matter how badly we hurt, I did not want them to ever feel that they were second best, and there would be nothing worth living for now that our oldest was gone. While convalescing at home, we watched many movies to fill our minutes, the very minutes we were living through one by one. Although there were probably many opportunities to laugh, it didn’t come as naturally as it once did.

I remember very distinctly the first belly chuckle laugh that came bubbling out, despite my wanting it to. Even though we had made those promises to our future at the hospital, I wasn’t ready to live again when I really did laugh. I felt almost guilty doing so, because Reed would never laugh again. Sawyer was hurting so much we were willing to loosen our parental veto to let him watch a television show that I would not normally approve, and even Grandma said nothing about the show’s snarky sass. If you like The Simpson’s, this is not meant as a judgment, it simply wasn’t the type of show I wanted my eleven-year-old watching. He, however, found it amusing in his swirling cloud of pain medications.

I have a really bad habit of zeroing in on things that tickle my funny bone about the same time I am drinking something. Not very lady-like, but more than once, I have snorted sweet tea through my nose because of this unfortunate timing. Somehow this very thing would have produced rolling on the floor giggles from both my boys. This was no exception during the opening for the cartoon which snuck right up on me. As Marge flips through the mail containing a postcard from some exotic place, she reads the penned words while the audience sees the picture on the front featuring a voluptuous bikini-clad brunette with the words, “Wish you were her”. No that is not a typo on my part, nor is the humor all that funny, but at that moment a tea-snorting chuckle came bursting forth despite my best efforts to hold it in.

Until that moment, our nights had been sleepless, filled with agonizing pain-induced screams and night terrors and our days with sadness, grief, being overwhelmed, and bitterness. I did not want to laugh because I wasn’t ready to replace those things with something as ridiculous as base humor.

However, through the prayers of many and the determination to not merely survive, laugh I did! It was a pivotal point of new beginnings, replacing all those negative things with love filled ones. More chuckles and laughs came (as did more tears), until eventually the day came when we laughed so hard we cried. After that came the point where we looked for ways to make other people laugh, something for a while I never fathomed possible. I am incredibly thankful God had other plans as those moments of joy did finally come.

Hoping laughter finds you in your corner of the world today.

On a recent girl’s trip, Cloie with her American Girl doll, Kit, got a little carried away with the window washing equipment. That experience proved to be too much for the poor doll.

Even the workers at Chicago 360 chuckled at our antics. Poor Kit passed out from the height.

Under the sea

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Although the sun is shining bright on the prairie today, the scene outside my picture window is a little more than fantasy of a beautiful day. The weatherman says the temperature outside feels like 30 below due to the windchill. Morning chores done, I sit wrapped in a blanket surrounded by the glow of candles for a hygge-like trip down memory lane. I need this journey because after reading the letter from the mom of the sweet courageous, selfless young lady who passed on the bus in North Dakota, I am clinging to God’s promises of showers of blessings even in the midst of great trial.

There will be showers of blessings. Ezekiel 34:26

Last August, I embarked on the most amazing trip with my son. In reality, I only spent one day with him because he was attending the National Flight Academy. For me, this trip was one of desiring to place my feet deep within the roots of my childhood, hoping to get tangled there for a while.

After spending a few days with my grandmother, I drove from Opelika to Pensacola to simply hang out with my parents for the rest of the week. I don’t know why, but it was the most magical time I have had in a long run. Truth be told, I haven’t had my parents to myself in forty-two years. I am nothing if not patient, but that was a long time to wait. It was worth it, because we had a blast! (Although, I thought they were trying to kill me when they took this Southern-transplanted Minnesota girl to clean out their storage shed on a 110 degree day.)

My parents have just about everything they could want in terms of material goods; so, a few years ago, I started giving them gifts of trips and adventures. Before I arrived, my dad called and asked if I would want to go with them on one such adventure – a day of snorkeling and kayaking in the Gulf of Mexico. Would I? That was about like asking me if I wanted sweet tea to go with my meal.

I was so excited! A day on my beloved Emerald Coast with just my mom and dad where I didn’t have to worry about anything or anybody! I believe everyone has a place on earth that brings them great joy. Those white sand beaches (and my vegetable garden) are mine.

My happy place!

Driving over to the pier and settling onboard the vessel were fairly uneventful. Although, we did meet a lovely Minnesota born and raised server at the What-A-Burger for breakfast. This will not be much of a shocker but yours truly won a little game called, “Who travelled the farthest to be on our little excursion today!” The prize wasn’t much other than a little repartee with the ship’s captain who happened to hale from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. A free beverage would have been much more appreciated!

The trip to the man-made reef was a surprise all in itself as there were dolphins that escorted us along the way. They are absolutely the most amazing and entertaining hosts. We snorkeled for an hour or so until the tide came in. The fish were as diverse in their beauty as in their number. Even the moon jellies were captivating to watch float by!

Everything’s better down where its wetter . . . under the sea.

The last leg of our trip we journeyed over to the sound side of the island. We set anchor just mere yards away from my sweetie’s retirement village, where boaters anchor and have a floating city all day. Counting the days until that dream becomes a reality – especially on days like this one!

Where we hope to retire!

I will admit that on the way over there I was thinking they really should do this trip in reverse. The sound side is much less adventuresome than the gulf side. I could not have been more wrong in my thinking.

At this point, my mom had more than enough adventure; so it was just my dad and I exploring. I don’t know if it was the adventure part or true to her Southern roots she didn’t want to mess up her hair. (Sorry mom – it was a toss up!) My dad and I soon discovered there was just enough current that you could get in a good work-out without leaving your spot. Like cartoon characters who spin their “wheels” without going anywhere, here we were a mom and grandpa frolicking like we were Neptune’s children, uninhibited without a care in the world.

During that crazy moment was when I uncovered my greatest memento of the day. I reached down and found a complete shell (okay if I was going to get all science teacher on you, I would tell you it was an intact, minus its former inhabitant, bivalve shell). In all my years, I have never found one that still hinged and lined up perfectly like when it was someone’s home. I cradled that sweet treasure in my hands as I ran (I seriously did not care what I looked like) to my sweet mom’s shady spot on the banks of the sound.

At that moment, I wasn’t a forty-something momma and wife, I was transported back to the days of when I put flowers behind my ears for earrings and was the little mermaid I have always believed myself to be. Pure bliss washed over me as I showed her my discovery. It was truly one of my most magical moments!

Today, that little gem of the sea sits on my night stand to remind me of the day when my roots transported me back to a time I had long since forgotten. I might have gotten more tangled in seaweed and less in roots, but it was more than worth it. That tiny little shell is like an Ebenezer stone reminding that joy does come after the storm. Because even though, the Boy Wonder still had another surgery upcoming and the Girl Awesome is still healing, for one day I was simply God’s and my parents’ girl. That is not something to take lightly. If not today, may someday soon will be one where a joy-filled moment finds you!

My version of the Ebenezer stone.

God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble.
²Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
³though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.^[c]

Psalm 46: 1- 3 (NIV)

Music, like the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, always soothes my soul. This song has brought me comfort in many tear-laden hours wrapped under that quilt. If you are hurting today, may it bring you peace.

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Category Archives: Faith Family Football

To my Sunshine . . .

The wonder of a box

At the back of the bus

Officer Matt

The Penny Dress

The Magic of Chicago – the first girl’s trip

Choosing one word . . .

To laugh again . . .

Under the sea