Blessings not burdens

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Hinged AFO

Autism

Cerebral Palsy

Traumatic Brain Injury

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Cushing’s Disease

Speech Delayed

Attachment Disorder

Lupus

Down’s Syndrome

Multiple Sclerosis

Attention Deficit Disorder

Spinal Cord and Nerve Injury

Depression

Schizophrenia

~~Different~~

~~Weird~~

~~Useless~~

~~Draining~~

BLESSINGS, but definitely not burdens!

Over the course of the last five years, God has given me a new type of vision. The visual clarity that sometimes only comes when you have a small glimpse into how someone else lives. Even though our son’s healing journey continues, his day-to-day activities become less and less impacted by the injuries he received.

Not so for many of the wonderful families we have met while in the hospital waiting rooms or on Caringbridge. This is something that I really took for granted prior to the day that changed our lives. I am embarrassed to admit, I never thought about the struggles that some families face. I remember the moment the tidal shift occurred in my visual correction.

We sent Sawyer to the store to pick up something that we had forgotten. He used his adapted bike to travel the few blocks to the store, and once there used the store’s mechanical cart. A store employee came over and berated him for playing with something he didn’t need, calling him inappropriate names. Apparently, this man didn’t notice the AFO or the scars on Sawyer’s leg or the struggles he had getting off the cart.

Distraught when he returned from the store, the news he brought home caused the Momma Bear in me to erupt with Old Faithful geyser-like timing. The problem was the same thing happened at two other businesses within the same week. After many tears and few choice words, I was exhausted battling stupidity.

I was disgusted with humanity. I was sick of people and their stares and their lack-of-understanding. Remember Kandy, this will be temporary in Sawyer’s life. That small realization straight from God completely changed my heart and my prayers. Back then, I had no idea that we would still be having surgeries now, but I knew some families wouldn’t have the same results that we would someday have.

After feeling the sting of discrimination and ignorance, my prayers changed. I began to ask God to see each person the way He does. The list at the top of this blog represents real people who have touched my life. Each one of them has blessed my life in ways so much more than I can explain.

Some of the greatest of these has been the ability to live in the moment, to love someone for whom they are, and to never see what you can’t do, only what you can. Those lessons will change your life. They did mine.

A promise I count on

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I have shared over the last few weeks that Easter is my most favorite holiday. What I haven’t divulged is how that sentiment has evolved over time. I have given glimpses into my childhood memories of little dresses with gloves and Southern-style Easter egg hunts as well as the memories made with my own children. But there is something so much more powerful about the day for my life now.

When I was little, most of my hours of play revolved around one storyline based upon my favorite book. That book was the Little Golden Book Classic titled “Little Mommy”. All these years later, I still have it – tattered and loved. Loved so much, I wore the front cover right off of it. (The book and its cover rest in a place of honor at my house.) I am sure it was one of those hot off the presses purchases my parents made back in 1971 for thirty-nine cents. They definitely got their money’s worth – kind of akin to the box being better than the present sometimes.

The best book ever!

My whole life there were only two things I desired to be: a mom and a teacher. All of my hours of play revolved around the day that I would someday get to be the real-life mommy. My mom confirmed that there was never a time that I wasn’t toting a baby doll around. In all my years of playing mommy, never once did I imagine that someday I would have to give back to God one with whom he had chosen to bless our family. It wasn’t a part of the storyline. The kids got sick, but they never died.

N-E-V-E-R! That doesn’t happen in the pages of childhood storybooks and certainly not in the sweet imaginations of little girls dreaming of motherhood.

So what does any of this have to do with Easter? Easter once was a beloved time of year for the emergence of spring and, of course, all things pastel. Oh, I recognized the significance of the remembrance, acknowledging how much Jesus had given up for me and for my eternal future. Yet, I never really embraced the full reality of that gift. Following the death of my child, that changed. Easter became the promise I would believe in – literally. Very little made sense, but I knew that without Jesus’ sacrifice, the one thing I hold so dear – seeing Reed again – would never happen.

Now each Easter I sit in the pew, and I cry. I weep because unlike my unprepared heart, God knew what was ultimately going to happen with his Son. I cry tears of sadness for His loss, because now I understand what it is like to lose a son and mark anniversaries. I cry bigger tears of joy for the promise He and His Son gave to me.

The promise that one day – just like I practiced all those years ago – I will cradle my sweet boy in my arms again.

Behold it was . . . Rachel

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Sixteen years ago, when we bought our house, we thought that this would be a great starter home, and in a few years we would buy the one of our dreams. After settling in and getting to know our neighbors, our roots grew deeper and deeper. One day I was sharing those sentiments with my Mama, and what she said seemed to settle the matter. “Well, honey, you were going to move until your neighbors convinced you otherwise.”

So it goes with much of what happens in my life. I often have plans or standards until God shows me that my plans need to change, or at least, my thinking needs to bend. So it has recently gone with our family’s thoughts on dating.

Our rule has always been: No Dating. No Dating. No Dating in high school. Our thoughts were you are only kids once. Then along came a sweet girl in study hall. Blast that study hall – where no one actually does any studying! In all honesty, our families have known each other for years, but the girl suddenly went from just a girl we knew to the interest of our son’s heart.

As this budding romance began, I had some conversations with the young lady’s mom which in turn led to our family praying about this situation. She knew our family’s stand on dating, and she also knew us to be people of our words.

Many know that the verse of my title actually ends in “Behold it was Leah.” Genesis 29:25 (NIV) Jacob’s surprise ending to what he thought was going to be the love of his life, but ended in a major disappointment. Our willingness to pray about the situation led from our awareness that perhaps our thoughts needed some adjusting. One realization was our sadness that our young man wasn’t so little and wouldn’t be living with us for that many more years, and the other was that he would have plenty of his own Leah moments in life as that growing up took place. Having rigidity in our parenting isn’t something we were known for; so, we didn’t want to begin now, causing all of us disappointment.

After looking at how he has conducted himself in every other aspect of life and after spending much time in prayer, we knew that our thinking was based not on the responsible young man who lives with us. We decided that as long as one condition was met, the two could begin dating (which mostly consists of hanging out at either house with parents home). We have always expected our sons to be gentlemen and this was no exception. The condition: we required Sawyer to ask her parents’ permission to date her and to share about his faith and how he would conduct himself with their daughter. Showing courage beyond his years, he did.

But that is only part of the story . . .

The sweet girl shares his love for Jesus and for others. Both share a love for little kids – she’s a Sunday school teacher while he coaches little kid football. Family dinners, movie nights, impromptu suppers after sporting events became routine. (I will admit that it probably took some time to get used to our senses of humor.) Over time, she just blended right into the fold of this crazy life we lead around here.

So even though, I am still having a hard time letting go of childhood for a soon-to-be man, I could not be more thankful that the girl we all get to grow up with is Rachel.

God only knows what the future holds for them each as individuals, much less as a couple, but I do know that when he was little we prayed for “the girl” he would find someday. I just didn’t think we’d get to meet her so soon.

Eggs and underpants

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Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Psalm 126:2 (NIV)

I was recently watching an episode of one of my favorite television shows. At the conclusion of the show the main character spoke about it doesn’t matter what started a tradition as long as the tradition brings people closer together. Those words spoke to my heart.

Another thing that deeply touches me is when friends are honest enough to look at your life and say something that is laugh out loud funny as well as heartwarming. A friend watched the video presentation of his life that we used at Reed’s services and genuinely asked me, “What’s up with your kids and egg-dyeing in their underpants?”

One of many egg-dyeing moments with Reed.

After a quick dance of perplexed eyebrows, I burst into laughter. That rumbling that comes deep from within your belly escaped from my mouth. I knew exactly what she was talking about. Now before anyone gets crazy ideas about nakedness in this household, you might want to know that I despise dealing with stains in clothing. If I were a super-hero, Red Food Coloring and Glitter would be my arch-enemies.

Rather than having to battle later, my good Girl Scout training taught to me to think ahead. No clothes = no dye stains! Therefore, prior to the bus crash, if you were little enough to stain your clothes, you did your egg-dyeing in your skivvies. (That tradition like rotary phones went by the way side as time went on.)

All I saw watching that presentation was a short lifetime of memories. It’s anybody’s guess what others saw. Those pictures were there before God and tons of people, and only one friend said boo about our unconventional tradition. A simple question that made my heart laugh at a time when I needed it the most. Isn’t that exactly why God gave us friends to help us guide us to laughter even when our hearts are breaking?

A great reminder that someday we will laugh again!

An eggcellent tradition

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A few years back our honorary son and his girlfriend called us up asking if we had plans for one of the days of Easter break. They were free from college courses and wanted to come over and love on “their” younger siblings. For us the definition of family is those who we choose to love. I think Jesus would be okay with that definition. Josh had been a part of our kid’s lives since they were teeny, and after Reed’s death and later Andy’s death, he had assumed the role of oldest brother in this family. It was something for which we are forever grateful.

That call led to an epiphany moment, “Would you want to dye eggs with the kids?”. Always up for an adventure, Josh and Nicole both happily agreed. Egg-dyeing is one of those traditions that was hard to go back to after losing a child. So began the new tradition. Since that first year, we have had many memories as we embraced all of Josh’s extended family into the tradition. We have had stuff stuck in trees (long story), splatter painted sheets with leftover egg dye, and gotten downright funky in our egg-dyeing techniques.

This year was no exception. While we missed two members of our merry band, the rest of us – nine total – gathered around a table first for dinner, and then for the annual egg-dyeing eggstravaganza! When we broke bread (yes- the homemade kind), we read from a devotional that shared about Good Friday. It was divinely appointed that all of our birds (white pigeons which resemble doves) flew out of the cote exactly at the moment we read, “It is finished.” John 19:30 (NIV)

The thought of those sweet words being a Victory shout brought tears to the eyes of a few of us at the table. Never had I thought of those final words as victorious. It was a humbling moment for my heart.

After supper we were up to our elbows in eggs – eight dozen to be exact. We did try old favorites of using those hole protector stickers to create designs on the eggs. Who knew we had so many white crayons? We upped the ante by using electrical tape for some pretty bold geometric shapes and designs. Erin even pulled off a methodical and tedious checkerboard pattern using that same tape on one egg.

Once the last egg was dyed, the laughter and creativity lived on. Since our yard still had quite a bit of snow cover and I did not want Easter egg colored dogs, the sheet idea was O-U-T! (Sometimes a momma just has to put her foot down.) I remembered that we had some small blank canvases in the basement art stash. The wheels began to turn.

Out came the stickers and one canvas! Next came the paintbrushes . . . followed by a big dose of creativity. Everyone painted a small area, and in the end it was a beautiful group art piece.

What was even more beautiful was the creation of our hearts. Even though all present miss Reed, we have been able to go beyond the societal definition, and rise from the ashes of tragedy to create a masterpiece of enormous proportions – a family.

The link to our devotion:

http://odb.org/2013/03/29/shout-of-triumph/

The breaking of bread

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homemade bread and grape juice for Easter

I have survived the Crash of 2013. Never heard of it, you say? Well, I guess you probably haven’t. My personal computer died a slow death. I fought a valiant fight of frugality, but in the end, I had to purchase a new one. They surely aren’t made like old Betsy. I love that old gal – my 1968-ish Singer sewing machine. But I digress . . . I have lots I want to share. I apologize ahead of time that my blogs this week will seem a little outdated due to my lack of technology. I considered archiving them for a year, but I feel God has given them to me to write. So, write I shall.

Long ago as a new bride, the church we were attending held special events during Holy Week. One of those special events was the Thursday night service: The Blessing of the Breads. Each year, the church leadership asked ladies to make a special recipe of unleavened bread which makes about 8 loaves per batch. They call upon members to make the bread and bring it to the service to be blessed. Afterwards, each family (or individual) is given a loaf to take home and to remember Good Friday in their own homes, reflecting on the Last Supper Jesus had with his followers.

Growing up in a different faith, the whole idea was quite mystical to me. I had never paid any attention to the fact that bread was the food item that Jesus chose to represent the brokenness of His body. As I grew older I began to realize that every culture on earth has some form of bread. Using bread to share the story of Jesus life and death would be symbolic to every person in the entire world. To me, that is something quite incredible to ponder.

Even though I had been living on my own for almost 3 years prior, it came as quite a shock when the sweet, little, white-haired lady of the kitchen circle called me – a very new “grown-up” – to be one of the bakers. I was giddy with excitement and a tad bit nervous too. What if I messed up God’s bread? I love to cook and to experiment; so onward we went. Turns out it wasn’t that difficult of a recipe and we created pretty nice little loaves.

I remember the aura that travelled with us as we walked to the tiny off-white stucco church that evening with our basket of bread, nurturing it until we placed it on the altar. When we left the service that night, we took one of our own lovingly-made loaves back home with us. There was something quite calming in the ritual.

Twenty years later, the breaking of the bread is still a tradition in our family. We make the same bread each Easter, a tradition that we cherish. The well-worn and tattered recipe is the same one we now share with our current church family each time we have communion. Definitely one, I wish to pass down to my children and grandchildren, when I become the white haired Jesus lady.

Truthfully, I am transported back to that precious phone call each time I mix up a batch. I am filled with the same feeling of being loved and valued as someone who can offer comfort, even it is just a simple round of unleavened bread. And that is the yummiest of feelings!

The day I had wine with Jesus

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A few years ago, my family took a spring break trip to Florida to visit my sister and brother-in-law. It was a mild winter, but the warmth and the Florida sun (which I miss most days) were welcome hosts. We had plans to attend one of the theme parks, and I REALLY wanted to go to the Holy Land Experience (which for lack of a better description is a theme park without rides). I learned about HLE the year before when we were stuck in traffic trying to get to dress fittings for my sister’s wedding. My Nannie bursting with joy said, “I really want to go there someday!” (Sadly, she never did, but she walks the streets of gold today.)

We were just going to go for the morning, but we kept finding more shows or more things to see and do that we stayed the whole day. Our party included three generations who all enjoyed themselves. I didn’t really intend for this to be a travelogue; so, you will have to check out the website if you want to learn more.

Our visit coincided with Easter week. We had heard over the radio and internet to arrive early that they were expecting record attendance for such an important week for Christians. They were not wrong, but my fear of crowds didn’t really overwhelm me there. (The theme park was another story.)

As today we mark the anniversary of Jesus’ last supper with his disciples, I wanted to share my experience of dining with Jesus. At HLE, one of the opportunities you have is to have communion with “Jesus” – an actor who humbly takes on that role. My inner skeptic was a little leery, but from the moment I stepped inside the cave style dwelling, my imagination allowed me to transport myself to a time many years ago. Each person – man, woman, and child – is given a beautiful little cup carved from olive wood from the actual Holy Land (not the one in downtown Orlando).

“Jesus” talks with everyone, engaging both in his words and his eyes. He literally serves you bread and wine, and he blesses everyone there as he prays for the group as a whole. It was a mesmerizing experience – one that my children recall fondly. I remember having tears in my eyes because I knew that this actor was soon to be playing His role in the Passion. I knew the story by heart before that encounter, but it felt so much more real knowing that the “Jesus” with me was soon to be handed over.

Most of the other souvenirs from that trip have either been outgrown or garage sale fodder, but not those little wooden cups. We each still have them and lovingly we bring them out each Easter as a remembrance of the time we had wine with Jesus.

Precious memories. . . indeed!

Jesus and his peeps

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Jesus & Judas – I found this picture on hypervocal.com. I would love to credit the original creator. It is not listed on their site and it is stunning work.

When Clo was just over a year old, Reed taught her to say “What up my peeps?”. Seeing that curly-headed bundle of sweetness toddle around saying such a thing made anyone within earshot burst into laughter. It was one of the first things my future brother-in-law heard my kids say. Big brothers, argh!

A quick look at my Facebook account reveals that I am just shy of my own 400 peeps. (I’m not actually counting, and I had to go look it up.) I have been blessed with such amazing friends that my cup runneth over. Some of the KF’s (Kandy’s Friends) I have only met once and others I have never met in person but business dealings have connected us across the miles. I epitomize the saying that it isn’t what you have but who you have in your life. A closer look would find that there is an inner sanctum – the tight circle of besties that are there for me before I even need to send out the bat signal. Yet missing in that number are a few who have brought me heartache through the years, and though I have forgiven them I just haven’t been able to stick my heart back into their drama. For some of those relationships it took me years to realize that we weren’t good for each other. I read a book once that in a nutshell brought relief to this girl’s heart and soul. The author relayed that God calls us to forgive those that hurt us, but He doesn’t call us to live with basement dwellers – those that perpetually bring us down. That simple statement was freeing to me.

A while back I went with a friend whom I admire to our church’s regional women’s leadership conference. One of the speakers was a really young priest (I forget which denomination), but she was a dynamic speaker. She spoke on the thousands that came to see Jesus, but that mostly he was surrounded by a group of close friends. Later, she talked about those hurts committed against us by those closest to us. This is something that I really understand. What came out of her mouth next totally shocked me. “Jesus gets it. He gets when someone you love lets you down and hurts you deeply. Remember – here she paused and lowered her voice – he only ended with 11 friends because one of them (Judas) defaulted.”

What did she just say? Her words rained down like a soothing balm to my soul. The point of her talk was a reminder to take our hurts before the Lord of Lords because he understood hurt and betrayal. I love Jesus, and I love “talking” to Him, but never once in forty years had I thought about that He too was let down by his friend. And not just once either – Thomas doubted, Peter denied and those are only the examples of the ones we know about.

Jesus laughed and cried with his friends (not just the disciples). The sweetest verse to me is John 11:35 Jesus wept (NIV) when he learned of his friend Lazarus death. That verse reminds me that he did hurt emotionally. His heart leapt when He celebrated with His friends. He rejoiced. He attended weddings and parties, and He stayed up late just talking with His friends. He also retreated, prayed, rested, and loved.

Hey – wait a minute! We do all those same things, but seldom do we stop and think that Jesus – in His humanness – did a lot of stuff with his friends just like us. Why did I never stop to think that he too was hurt by them as well? As Easter is approaching, we remember that Jesus was fully God and that he took on the sins of the world, but we forget that he was also fully human, feeling the same things you and I experience.

He was wounded by humanity, but his heart was wounded by one close to him first. Simply the sweet little priest was right; Jesus gets it. When we are hurt or wounded, we really can turn to him. He’s there with open arms and listening ears. Although, I don’t think he would really say it, it might be easier to reach out if we envision him saying, “What up my peep?” You never can tell . . .

The thing about leprechauns

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One of my earliest memories is arriving to my kindergarten classroom on St. Patrick’s Day only to discover the whole room turned topsy-turvy with the windows left wide open. Keep in mind this was March 17 in Pensacola so Minnesota’s winter wind wasn’t something we had to contend with. The alarmed and shell-shocked teacher asked us all to help her pick up and to see if we could figure out what happened. Eventually one of my classmates discovered footprints – GREEN! and lots of them on the windowsills. Leprechauns!

I only have a few memories from kindergarten, but this one is definitely my favorite. As the Luck of the Irish would have it, those leprechauns stuck with me my whole life, and now they come to visit each year that my children remember to put out our special St. Paddy’s day treasure box. Fortunately, we know all about the wee folk, their friends, and all their doin’s.

Once or twice, we have been pixie-led in a forest. We have listened for water sprites in babbling brooks. We look for faerie nets in the morning dew, and we sincerely hope that those faeries are wearing out their shoes. (Of course, that’s how the leprechauns get their gold – fixin’ faerie shoes.) Then there are the leprechauns. . .

As I’ve gotten older, I seem to have a complicated relationship with the three that visit our house. For as long back as Reed was old enough to leave out a treasure box, the same three Irishmen have visited our house. Oh, I believe in them, but I just don’t endorse their ways all the time. The funny thing about leprechauns is they do keep their promises; albeit not exactly the way you think they should.

They are obliged to fill that treasure box if you leave that treasure box out by the light of the moon on St. Patrick’s Eve. The problem arises when the whole “Hey! They’re trying to find me gold” mentality that the wee folk have rears its ugly head. When the kids were really little that thought never crossed their minds. But as it goes with children, they, too, get bigger and their thinking gets more sophisticated.

Almost overnight, some type of magic switch turns itself on, and my normal children become construction experts as well as engineering and architectural aficionados. They have created elaborate traps, each offering some alluring “bait” to entice the leprechauns to enter in the hopes of hitting it big – meeting a leprechaun. (So far, none have spent their gold before they caught one.)

Trap 2013 – complete with Fairy Cloie’s house on top of a gold mine

All the shoes that Fairy Cloie needs repaired.

All that gold – notice the trap door string.

Well, despite their yearly return, the leprechauns don’t take too kindly all this trap business. Each year they leave a treasure ranging to sugary cereal like Lucky charms (which my kids’ mom would never buy) and various Irish treats and treasures. But what they really leave is a big fat mess and a treasure box hidden in some elaborate place! Whole rooms of furniture have been turned upside down, children’s rooms have been toilet papered, and one year the entire dining room was set up outside on the lawn. They might be little, but they aren’t weak.

Expensive cereal and messes in my house! Sometimes my love of these pint-sized gentlemen wears a little thin. But when I see the sweetness in the notes they leave each and every year encouraging my kids to keep studying because someday – just someday – they might actually catch one of them, my heart goes right back to my first leprechaun encounter all those years ago.

So to Seamus, Finnegan, and O’Malley if you are out there reading this blog, thank you for keeping the magic alive at our house. Somedays it really does pays to be an Irish girl, especially one young of heart.

Oops, I almost forgot. Finnegan – Cloie did find your hat, and she promises next year to leave it next to the ~~trap~~ treasure box.

Finnegan’s hat and this year’s note.

Bling it on!

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I like comfort anything. Comfort foods, comfort quilts, comfort footwear – all of them rate very highly in my daily existence. I love boutique shopping, but more often than not, you can find me in a favorite t-shirt and jeans. Even though I am really into comfort, aside from gardening season, I really enjoy having well done nails. I cherish being unique in my style, and for an outfit to really be mine, it has to involve something animal print, from the ocean, from the heart, or something with a touch of bling.

I was blessed with the best mother-in-law in the entire world. I love her, but if she were to have a signature look it would not include any of my pizazz. Jeans, t-shirts, and sweatshirts are her daily uniform – but no embellishments and definitely no bling. I adore her and there isn’t much that she does that anyone could improve upon.

That was until . . . yesterday. My mom-in-law is like the Pied Piper of children, and one of her tried and true tips is to always have play dough on hand. Of course, it is the homemade kind that is so much better than store bought. She has an entire corner of her kitchen dedicated to all things play dough. Over the years some additions have been made to her recipe like using Kool-Aid packets instead of food coloring for tint. I even once added essential oils as an experiment for aromatherapy dough. (It worked, but we never repeated it. I have to say lemon dough was pretty amazing. )

As we were preparing for St. Patrick’s Day, I just couldn’t help myself. I decided to attempt something I had seen on the internet somewhere (my friends would tell you probably Pinterest) by embellishing Grandma’s Dough in honor of our good friends the leprechauns. We made the recipe below as usual, but as we were cooking on the stove we added 2 tablespoons of gold glitter. I, of course, loved it as did my little shadow who also has a penchant for all things fuzzy and bling-y.

She thought it was much too wonderful to keep to ourselves; so, we made a bag for her friend and a bag for the leprechauns (more on that tomorrow).

Some days, I feel as if childhood is becoming an endangered species in this country. I will do anything possible to keep that magic alive. I want my kids to be kids as long as they can. Honestly, though, I am not sure who had more fun making sparkly dough. I think it would be a tough call.

Long live imaginations including hers!

Grandma’s Play Dough recipe (Kid tested and approved!)

Heat burner to medium.

1 cup flour, 1/2 cup salt, 2 tsp cream of tartar, 2 Tsp cooking oil, 1 cup water, food coloring or Kool-Aid mix, 2 Tsp glitter (We used gold, but my imagination tells me that faeries might like purple.)

Mix water and food coloring or Kool-Aid mix.

Stir this and other ingredients together in a saucepan.

Put on burner, stirring 3 to 4 minutes until mixture looks like stiffly mashed potatoes.

Allow to cool and then enjoy!

Sweet Grace Blog

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Blessings not burdens

A promise I count on

Behold it was . . . Rachel

Eggs and underpants

An eggcellent tradition

The breaking of bread

The day I had wine with Jesus

Jesus and his peeps

The thing about leprechauns

Bling it on!