Tag Archives: HOPE

The grand finale . . . the last Reed’s Run

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Drawing Copyrighted property of Reed's Run

Drawing Copyrighted property of Reed’s Run

Well this is it.  I feel like I am sending my baby off to kindergarten.  I have loved, nurtured, worried, fretted, and spent many hours praying for Reed’s Run, and now, it’s time to send it off.  I carry in my heart precious memories of a job well done, funds raised, and hope given.  To say farewell, I am just going to give a list (not all-inclusive) of some of those favorite memories.

  • Friends and family working together to remember and honor
  • Honoring veterans each and every year (including remembering Jason Timmerman)
  • The friends from the Patriot Guard coming (even if unofficial)
  • Being able to publicly thank all of the first responders.
  • That flag over the start/finish line – took my breath away!
  • Friends arriving that were a surprise to me
  • Family flying/driving in from all over the country
  • Hosting a Grampa’s Amp concert
  • Students taking a stand (I will never forget what they did.)
  • All the hugs!
  • The Reed stories that came out.
  • Remembering all the children gone much too soon. The luminaries were always my favorite, especially during the movies.
  • Remembering three adult friends who offered healing to us and now are gone before we ready.
  • Honoring those who have inspired us.
  • The Star Wars theme song!
  • Seeing the t-shirts everywhere!
  • The generosity of our neighbors!
  • The joy of the runners, walkers, and kid runners!
  • Cheetahs and all the love!
  • Popcorn stands, Boy Scouts & Girl Scouts!

Finally, the most important memory is the message that we worked so hard to send.  Healing comes from a firm foundation rooted in the love and sacrifice of Jesus Christ and from the all the many hands & feet (and HEARTS) of a loving community reaching out in love.

To rise from tragedy . . . cling to HOPE!

Thank you for being the hearts that offered hope and healing!

 

The thing about grief . . . Part 6

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from brandeating.com

from brandeating.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

13 days to go: the real hope!

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Logo Design by Palmer Tattoo
Marshall, MN

I have been amazed by the comments about my faith or my strength.  In reality, I don’t feel that strong or faith-filled much of the time. Often, I feel overwhelmed, doubtful, worrisome, and plain weak.  But I am always drawn back to the One person who has always been there.  Somehow when I have all of those real human emotions, I get a small something – maybe a song on the radio or a cardinal flying by my window.  I take those “signs” as if God is sending me a message straight from heaven telling you can go just a little farther.  The message almost always seems to be, “Don’t worry.  I know you are hurting, but remember I am right here, loving you forever.”

Every time I get one of those messages, I am also reminded that God knows exactly what it is like to lose a son.  That is very humbling.  He understands the depth of my grief. Every hurt that I have felt, God knows exactly how that feels.  If am angry and need to vent, God is okay with that too. Even the man after God’s own heart lashes out at God in the Psalms when he was hurting, and God still loved him anyway.

The mission of Reed’s Run has always been the 3 R’s: Remembering Reed, Reaching Others for Christ, and Raising funds for students.  The middle R has been a constant theme as we have prepared for the final run.  The truth is that Reed’s Run might be the biggest platform I ever have to do that.  I want to make it count.  I want to have Reed’s Run end with an exclamation point.  If I didn’t have so many grammarian friends, I would declare I wanted a multitude of exclamation points, but they might balk at that.   In all seriousness, I want to share that the faith that I profess has one source – Jesus Christ.

Growing up my grandparents had a fish camp in Ponce De Leon, Florida.  I often romanticized what it was like during the time of the great explorers. Unlike the conquistador who likely never found the fountain of youth, I have found the life giving LIVING well of water, the fount of hope that never runs dry.  For that I am humbled and amazed.  My awe led to the creation of the official logo for the final run.  I was simply the idea person, and God gave the perfect idea on who to contact.

A very special THANK YOU to Tim at Palmer’s Tattoos for listening to my ramblings and “seeing” my vision.  The logo created exceeded my expectations.  You perfectly put into art the very way my heart feels.

The comfort in the words of a song

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For the book contest, please see the February 15 blog.

My sweet pastor often tells of how he does his best thinking in the car. I have never really confessed to him that my most ardent grieving happens in my van as  I  really listen to the words of songs on Christian radio. Sometimes the songs remind me so much of someone or some situation that I have to pull over and simply cry. I am not so self-centered to believe that God gave those folks the lyrics for me, but often, it does feel that way.  Such is what happened one day when I heard the words to Aaron Schust’s My Hope is In You. 

I love God and I am humbled to know His ways are so much higher than my own.  This time, he knocked it out of the park for this little girl.  The first time I heard this song was shortly after receiving some not so pleasant news from the Mayo Clinic.  Even though many believe that Sawyer is completely healed, the Mayo doctors know differently (and so does our checkbook).  We ran into some complications, and it hit me so hard.

“God, why this? Why now? They told us four years, and now, they are telling me possibly many more. Hasn’t he been through enough?”  If you aren’t sure that God is big enough to take my questions, read Psalms 88.  He didn’t answer right away, but a few more miles down the road, on came My Hope is in You.  “Okay, God, I get it.  Yes, I will wait for you! I won’t be shaken by drought or storm.  And thank you for sending me the peace that passes understanding.”

My second thoughts reminded me when I heard the story of the origin of the song, It is well with my soul.  Horatio Spafford’s faith is one that amazes me, and to think he wrote a song that has timelessly comforted grieving people is a blessing straight from God.

As preparations for the last Reed’s Run begin, we have really wanted to have a theme that won’t be easily forgotten.  A theme that leaves people with the memories of what the event was all about for the four years.  As a family, we chose, “To rise from tragedy, cling to hope.”  Then another one of those van cruising days (of which I have plenty) happened, and again, God gave me this song.  Cue the big light bulb above my head, “How about not only theme words, but a theme song?  And THIS song is it!” 

It defines Team Stevens.  If quit isn’t in our vocabulary, HOPE definitely is!  And one of the goals of Reed’s Run has always been to “Reach Others for Christ”.  Sometimes what a hurting world needs is the knowledge that there is a colossal hand that is reaching out to grab yours before you fall. 

Later that evening after the epiphany moment, I went home and searched for the music video.  What I saw brought my eyes to tears and my knees to reverence of God’s love.  We are not alone.  Others have walked our path through the valley of the shadow of death.  And others too want people to know that only God knows the ending of the story if we just reach out and hold on. 

So even though I am certain that Aaron Schust, the artist, or his videography team know absolutely nothing about Team Stevens, I am equally certain that God does! 

If you would like to see for yourself, you can find the video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugD0i5Y3cw8 It is now the official song of the 2012 Reed’s Run.  Personally, I cannot think of a better send-off reminder.

A letter to my son

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For the book contest give-away, please see the February 15 post.

Reed  – I can hardly believe four years ago at this hour, I was still trying to figure out where you were.  No answers were coming, and my heart was frantic after seeing the story in another mother’s eyes.  Yet, I clung to the hope only found in Jesus that you were okay.  I simply didn’t (and still don’t) know any other way to operate.  And even though, Daddy and I (along with Sawyer, Erin, and Cloie) didn’t receive the news we wanted, God still provides!  He provides the blessings of friendships, memories, hugs, and sometimes more than anything else, rest. 

 

In these four years, we have tried our very best to remember and honor your most important legacy of loving God with all our hearts, souls, and minds.  And I think that you would look down and smile at the ripples in the pond that your death created not only in our lives but in the lives of family, friends, and strangers. 

 

Just to give you a quick update of those ripples:

 

  • Many have shared that because of the faith of one sweet little redhead that they got right with God and are DEFINITELY going to see you in heaven now.  (Even if we never know the full story this side of heaven, this news is incredibly comforting.)
  • Your dog and best friend continues to touch the lives of others when he goes to visit friends at nursing homes.  The love you poured into him through the countless hours spent together shows in the way he gingerly and tenderly gives back.
  • The best friend who you spent most hours with is an awesome guy who I know you would still be proud to call your friend.
  • The best friend who shared your faith is probably one of the most live out loud Christians I know and is also a tireless worker at Reed’s Run.
  • The best friend who shared your church has grown into the most amazing prayer warrior and quiet leader.
  • Many other friends continue to share the difference that you made simply by being you, and now they, too, are making their own ripples.
  • Your love of reading lives on in a reading program up north at a daycare we chose to adopt. 
  • Your love of Star Wars is known far and wide.  People still joke and laugh about your send off.

 

Things are not always rosy. But when we feel sad and blue, some sweet person will send us a tangible reminder of God’s love, or we will hear that beautiful cardinal sing.  It’s then that we know that God is present in the here and now, and He is big enough to withstand our doubts, worries, and grief. 

 

When I look at your siblings, I am often reminded of the tangled web of emotions that you shared with each of them.  Those unique relationships are the impetus of your legacy cheetah program.  I can tell you that Sawyer’s comedy routines have only gotten better with time, and that you would hate them (because he still gets big laughs around here).  Erin has moved a long way past her first days of learning to shoot hoops.  She no longer has a “Laura, Mary, Carrie wind-up” to just be able to get the ball through the hoop.  And yes, we still cheer just as loud as we did back in the driveway with the “Ingalls” girls.  And Cloie, oh Reed, you would not believe how much of you is a part of her.  Her passion for learning and her heart for loving others are identical to yours.  She even has your penchant for opening the wrong side of the parmesan cheese.  Oopsies! 

 

Reed time doesn’t heal all wounds.  Despite what some think, we have closed on houses and business deals, but we will never close on our children.  With that said however, each and every day that we miss you, we know that God knows exactly what it is like to lose a Son.  He knows our pain intimately.  This past year we have decided as we bring a close to Reed’s Run the theme will be “To rise from tragedy, cling to HOPE.”  Every day, we choose to do exactly that, knowing in heaven to you it will be a blink of eye when you see us again.

 

Always proud to be your momma! Now and forever, clinging that HOPE!