Tag Archives: raising children

A letter to the Leprechauns

I know we’ve never actually met, but I want to thank you for showing my family joy in the little moments of life. Your arrival each year seems to be at the point when we are all officially tired of winter and a bad case of the “blah’s” has set in. Having something fun and mysterious to brighten our days definitely provides a much needed boost.

I don’t know if word got back to you about the words I wrote last year, but some things never change. The universal truth about children who believe in leprechauns is that they all want to catch one. Whether because of folklore or family stories passed down through generations, there is something irresistibly enchanting about capturing one of you. I can only imagine that idea sends shivers down your little spines. Almost if by magic, the turning of the calendar page to the month of March creates in children an obsession with all things engineering and creative, if not wistfully enticing.

What you probably don’t know was how much I needed your visit to spread some fun and laughter. Time stands still for no one . . . especially our children who each day grow and mature into amazing young people. Perhaps it is because Reed was taken from us much too young or perhaps it is because my heart wants my children to stay little forever just like Peter Pan, I am simply not ready for one of them to launch into the world.

Strapped in with a warm blanket, I rode that roller coaster of emotions on the eve of your visit. Watching a movie which poignantly depicted a young man going away to college, I broke down and sobbed. While you were whispering in the wind before your stop at our home, my heart wrenched at the thought that someday soon that same scene will be one in which I play a part. The movie was delightfully entertaining, but I went to bed with a heavy heart.

As I lay sleepless in bed, my thoughts went back to a tender moment at Reed’s services when a mom, who had walked in my shoes, whispered as she hugged me. “I am thanking God that you have Cloie.” Those same words had they come from anyone else probably would not have been etched in my heart. Even so, at the time, I didn’t know how wise she really was. The last thoughts in my head, as my eyes succumbed to the weariness of the day, were her encouraging words.

I will admit to having a lingering thought of what would await me the next day because many a St. Patrick’s morn have been spent cleaning up the ~~mess~~ adventure you have left for my children.

Because of the late hour of my slumber, I did not stir until I heard the wee one (as you call her) cry out, “Oh dear! What have they done with bacon!” Nothing will quite wake up a momma quicker than the thought of cured salt pork smeared all over her house. Her astonished cries were followed by tender, gentle cooing for her favorite porcine stuffy, Bacon. She cuddled and caressed him to make sure he wasn’t too traumatized. Bacon (with a capital B) – not bacon (the breakfast food) – was snuck away from her safe little arms where he spends all of his nights and stuffed inside the trap that had been meant to catch one of you. (Of course, you all know that.)

I know you might not believe this, since so far, my children’s track record has not been very welcoming or inviting to you three. The same compassion she lavished on her stuffed friend was utilized when she jumped out of her warm bed to get you a soft towel because she couldn’t bear the thought of one of you spending a night cold and wet on hard rocks.

Floating away on the morning air, the heaviness of my heart was lifted as I watched her comfort her beloved pig. She spent the next few minutes examining the traps (Shoe Mart and Diving for Gold) to see what went wrong and what she could possibly do to improve her chances of ~~capturing~~ meeting you next year. You probably should have untied the harness, because now she has a pretty good idea exactly how big you are.

Thank you for always bringing us laughter. But mostly, thank you for reminding this momma to not worry about what tomorrow’s troubles will hold.

Today’s childhood is something to be savored.

Seamus, Finnegan, and O’Malley – wherever you are out in the world I thank you. Your “presence” in our lives is the perfect reminder to enjoy the moments that are within your grasp because that is where the magic really lies.

Until next year, my little Irish friends, be safe and enjoy that vacation in Barbados (0r wherever you end up). You deserve it!

The moment

Leave a reply

A week ago, we had yet another blustery day cancelling activities; so, thankfully, it was a quiet night at home. I love those evenings when all the chickens are in the henhouse, and this momma hen’s soul is peaceful and content while everyone was doing their own “thang”. My activity of choice was crocheting while ~~watching~~ crying through the Olympic tribute to Sarah Burke, when I heard the familiar ding for a text message.

Photo found at http://www.today.com/sochi/olympic-skiers-pay-heart-shaped-tribute-sarah-burke-2D12150211

Wiping my tears before swiping the screen unlock, I wondered who might be reaching out on this cold Minnesota evening. The picture on the screen declared it was one in the inner circle.

U watching the Olympics?

Yes! That was quite the story!

Broke my heart! Totally thought of u and the great lessons
you keep teaching the world about loss and grieving.

Her words, of course, brought more tears to my eyes. The lesson she referenced was from Sarah’s mom, Jan Phelan. In my best paraphrase, Jan explained that at first she was sad about not having Sarah any longer, but then she realized there exists a sadness even greater than that, which was never to have known her sweet daughter.

Intimately, I understood her words and sentiments.

Today marks a moment about which people still inquire, and if you have ever heard me speak, I do talk about it. I don’t think the inquirers remember that today was the day, but grief has a way of etching some dates into our psyches. However, this topic is just not something that comes up from my end of conversation very often. Six years ago today was my sweet boy’s Celebration of Life. I refuse to call it a funeral because it was so much more than that.

Many times, I have shared that due to Sawyer’s extensive injuries, we did not have the luxury of grieving Reed immediately. Required decisions had to be made, but we were doctor/nurse/grief counselor/physical therapist/pharmacist around the clock. Little energy was left to grieve. We arrived home in the evening only two days prior to the service. Greeting us at the door were a meal, a new ramp and flooring for a wheelchair, and the funeral home director. We needed to make final decisions for quite a few things still, and the clock was ticking.

I think I must have hugged over a thousand people the next two days. So when it was time for the final service, I was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. But we needed to say goodbye on earth, and we had planned a beautiful way to remember him. I probably caught the FH director off guard with some of my choices – from Reed’s dog being a pallbearer to light sabers and the Star Wars theme, but at the end of the day, I wanted Reed and Jesus to look down and be proud.

Instead of typical funeral songs, we chose to have a worship band and family members sing. During the processional, that included family, friends, classmates, teammates, teachers, and Scouts, we chose “How Great is our God” to be sung. Our family alone took up half the gym floor; so the processional took a long time, which meant the song was repeated over and over.

The moment that people still comment on was one that was intensively private between me and God, even though all eyes in the school gymnasium were able to witness it. At some point, the words of the song really washed over me. As I stood there with a broken heart, my boy was standing before the throne of a King wrapped in splendid light. The same God from the beginning of time who chose to let his own son die so that I could see my son again was not lost on me. The God worthy of all praise who is infinitely wiser than I will ever be . . . chose me to be Reed’s momma.

Tears, cleansing tears washed over me at that instant, and I realized how incredibly blessed I was to have had him in my life. I wasn’t aware of anyone else in the room as I lifted my hands high in praise and sang the words to that song over and over. Interspersed were whisper prayers thanking God for choosing me to Reed’s mom. What an honor that was and always will be!

All time stood still as I was singing, praising, crying, and praying simultaneously, wrapped in the peace that can only come from God. It is hard to explain, but I was truly thankful and blessed God gave me that realization.

Even today when I hear that song, I am transported back to the gym floor, and my hands are raised in praise of a God who loves me like crazy and who chose for me to the be momma to some really great kids.

If you are unfamiliar with the song, here is a link for the song and lyrics.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZFN8TBfgNU

Shock & Awe

Leave a reply

A few days ago, I sat waiting once again for one of my children to undergo another surgery that was a direct result of injuries sustained in the bus crash that often feels like the albatross around my neck. We have been doctoring for four of those years while she has dealt with debilitating migraines, out of control sinus issues, and difficulty breathing during sports. Knowing she has allergies, we sincerely thought allergies and asthma were the cause of all of this. Our allergist thought differently, and started doing some pretty extensive detective work. Searching through her past medical records and knowing that no allergen treatment had been effective, he ordered more scans and sent us to an ENT. I never once suspected what we were told the day we met with him.

Looking at this old CT scan, I don’t see anything amiss.

The radiologist report says the most recent one is good too, but three days after it was taken she had a major sinus infection.

Well, I don’t know that I agree with that report. See this . . . she has a deviated septum and these turbinates are completely engulfed in swollen tissues. It is no wonder you cannot breathe out of your nose! Did some sort of trauma happen to you when you were younger?

It was at that precise moment when I felt as if someone punched me in the gut. Shock!

Trauma

Disappointment

Dismay

As the room was swirling with sinking thoughts, I tried to hold it together to hear the doctor’s suggestions and plans.

How could we have not known that she couldn’t breathe? Shock!

How did we not know that she was injured there too? Shock!

When is this ever going to end? Shock!

The prayers began.

Ultimately, the decision was hers to make. The doctors believed having the surgery would increase her chances of chasing her dream – to play college basketball. Her only stipulation was the surgery could not interfere with this year’s basketball season! She was exhausted with living this way.

Bracing ourselves for another post-surgical patient in our home, we cleared our calendars, finished up projects, and generally tied up loose ends. In a household as busy as ours, preparations, lots of them, must be made when you need a parent at home at all times for seven days of recuperation.

As S-day approached, slowly, like a leaking pipe, fear began to ooze from my thoughts. There are very few friends with whom I choose to share this vulnerability. Despite my recent costume attire, I do not, even for one second, believe that I am Wonder Woman, impervious to fear and doubt. Being afraid for my children is a pastime that I would love to retire. Fear started to creep in, choking me, and I reached out looking for a lifeline.

God answered my prayers by calming my fears, and throughout the day, his reminders just kept billowing in.

Early in the morning:

Text from me:

Fear is consuming me. I just wish you lived closer.

Text from my friend:

What time is surgery? We’ve been praying.

10:00 AM

I will be there.

What? This cannot be! I wish I could put into words the gift that my friend gave. Let’s just say, her willingness to come from miles away, leave her children at home, and spend a day worried about me, more than my girl, was a priceless treasure. Awe!

Lunch at school:

Out of the blue, a fellow teacher and wonderful Christian woman shared a story with me about how God holds those who are in the darkest moments tightly to him. Tears streamed down my face in the cafeteria as I heard words, literally breathed from God. Awe!

Early afternoon:

An e-mail from the church secretary (and dear friend) alerted me that our pastor (and also dear friend) needed the time of the surgery. He, too, would be coming to spend the time (which ended up being a day) with us at the surgical center. His steadfast friendship since the day of the bus crash has amazed us. Awe!

Later in the evening:

After I shared on Facebook my prayer request for the surgery, e-mails, messages, and posts came pouring in. These were not your average messages either. They were heartfelt promises of prayer, practical suggestions from those who had also similar procedures done, and offers to help in any way we needed it. Humbly awed!

Overnight:

Clothed in those prayers, I slept peacefully – which I don’t normally do. Awe!

Walking into the surgical center:

In a way only God could orchestrate, he placed two mommas (along with my pastor and friend) at the same surgical center, the same day, with the same doctor. A little girl who my big girl mentors was having surgery immediately before her. Honestly, what are the odds? During her dark moments of waiting, she buoyed me by giving me the biggest hug of encouragement. Just another reminder my teacher friend was right!

God does hold tightly those he loves – especially when they need it the most.

Like a small child on Christmas morning, I will never lose a sense of wonder of how he provides everything that I need, even when my light is dimmed by fear, doubt and worry.

So thankful that my God is bigger than all of life’s shocks and fills my soul with awe!

Many, LORD my God, are the wonders you have done, the things you planned for us. None can compare with you; were I to speak and tell of your deeds, they would be too many to declare. Psalm 40:5 (NIV)

Post-surgery: Okay, so this is not my actual child. She was pretty miserable so I would not take that picture - EVER!

Post-surgery: Okay, so this is not my actual child. But this bear, her parting gift, gives you a good idea of what she looked like. They had matching gauze guards and Band-Aids. I will admit, biasedly, that my daughter is much cuter!

I cry

Leave a reply

In the past few weeks, I have been revisiting the sad place. It is the place that I can only journey alone, in the earthly sense. I never really travel alone. There is always a heavenly presence. I don’t understand it, but often in the silent places of deep in the valley of the shadow, I feel closest to God. In the sad place, I find that I can be totally honest with myself about how I am feeling. No mask. No filter. Raw, but honest.

My littlest one asked the other day, “Momma, why are you crying so much.” I had to explain that I had to go to a sad place. She is eight; so, I likened the place to the “Slump” in Dr. Seuss’ “Oh the Places You Will Go”. She gets that because in her world she doesn’t want a sad mommy. But sometimes, you will come to a slump. That she understands.

These were the words swirling in my most raw moments when I soaked my pillow with my tears.

I cry . . .

in a single moment all was changed. Now all we have is memories and old photographs.

I cry . . .

silently not wanting to share my pain in front of my children, for fear of scaring them. Their pillar of strength is really human, after all. Secretly I know they know this, but I will give my dying breath to protect them.

I cry . . .

The hole in my heart leaves such a scar in my existence. Its caverns echo the beat of the sad song when the wind blows out of the valley.

I cry . . .

a melody reminds me of happier days when we sang and danced and laughed about our singing and dancing.

I cry . . .

Feeling that I have let my children down because there are days when I feel hopeless is winning.

I cry . . .

Jumping at the ringing of the phone, desperately wanting the answers I want to hear.

I cry . . . tragedy brings chaos. I detest swimming in chaos. No matter which way I paddle my strokes chaos’ rip current threatens to pull me under.

I cry . . .

My scars are invisible, but theirs are real. Pain is a daily visitor, and yet they hold their heads high.

I cry . . . perseverance might be one lesson while waiting. Wondering how long that lesson must take and why did we have to earn advanced degrees. For once in our lives, couldn’t we just be average?

I cry . . .

because everything he loved was taken away, and yet there are still people who say ridiculously stupid things.

I cry . . . wishing sometimes I was the kind of person who smacked people who say stupid things.

I cry . . . choking down the lump in my throat because platitudes and trite sayings, do not help. I want to scream, “Do you not see the hole?” But we’ll take your word scars, your thoughtless actions, AND we will continue turning our cheeks, knowing very few could walk in our shoes.

I cry . . . understanding the tortuous relationship with genetics. When your children hurt, a part of you is woven into them. Like tiny saucers sending a message to the mother ship, every fiber of my being is writhing in pain for them.

I cry . . . sadness has creeping tentacles grasping for all of my family. Mustering the strength to become a warrior to fight back its choking appendages, some days takes all my energy.

I cry . . . bearing burdens is grueling, heart-breaking work.

I cry . . . fervently hoping that my visit to the pit of sadness won’t be long enough for my card to be punched.

I cry . . . eternity seems so far away. Wanting to hear your giggle and wondering how you will look without glasses. My ears longing to hear, “Hey Mom. This is Jesus. You are going to love Him!” followed by one of those sneaky behind the back hugs.

I cry . . . knowing that in the light of eternity all of this seems small.

I cry . . . remembering that He is collecting every tear in his bottle.

I weep . . . embracing the promise that He will replace my cloak of despair with a garment of praise.

I sob . . . knowing His grace is sweet, yet powerful enough to cover it all.

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. ~John Vance Cheney

By any other name

Leave a reply

I almost choked on my sweet tea the other day when I saw an email in my inbox. In the message were the instructions on how to be hip and cool with my crocheting. Didn’t I want to be hip and cool? Of course! I couldn’t keep my eyeballs from looking into this! I discovered all the cool kids were making chevron afghans. (Yes, the chevron – the current fave in geometric design.) When I looked at the attached picture, it showed a plain old ripple afghan like my grandmothers have made for years. Apparently, I didn’t know my grannies were pioneers of hip fashion long before their time. When I showed the e-mail l to my sweetie, completely nonplussed he announced, “That looks like Nanny’s afghan to me.” My thoughts exactly!

Ripple or chevron? I guess it’s all in how you look at it.

The more I thought about it, the more bothered I became by that email. How many times does that type of marketing work? More often than I would like to admit I am guessing.

My thoughts wondered back to teaching junior high science. Each year at some point, I welcomed my students to the world of adulthood by letting them know a little secret: advertising is not for educated! I would share with them that sometimes even brand names were meant to evoke a certain image: Downy and Nike were two that always came to mind. I told them that they were too smart to be duped by ads. Always one for the flair of the dramatic, I would quietly tip-toe around the room acting as if other grown-ups would pull out pitchforks and burning stakes if they knew I was letting children in on this little secret. Then I would share about the moment that I caught on to the truth. It was “The Great Cholesterol Scare of ‘85”. I didn’t have a sage guide. I was on my own perusing the snacks at Food World in high school. I needed to pick up peanut butter. But which one to choose? Why not the one with large label – emblazoned with NO CHOLESTEROL. Suddenly angels appeared in Aisle 6 with rays of heavenly light shining forth. This moment was somewhat akin to the beauty school drop-out scene in Grease. At this point in my story, most of my 7^th graders were hanging on to every word. Gently, because this was new knowledge in the information age, I explained my epiphany. The uneducated consumer would think that this singular brand among all others on the shelf was there to protect my health, my arteries, (and not mention Truth, Justice, and the American Way). I should buy THIS peanut butter because they cared enough to remove the horrible, evil, bad-guy Cholesterol from its product. The reality: there was never any cholesterol in it. Advertising is not for the educated.

Anyone who has been a teacher for more than twelve years knows that in the education world there are fads -lots of them. I remember a former administrator was practically giddy with excitement at the speaker we were going to for a back-to-school workshop. His words were, “This is going to revolutionize what we do here”. Because I believe that there are many ways to reach a child, I sincerely doubted this revolution was going to last long. Once there, I knew for a fact that my hunch was right. This workshop was twenty years ago, and the buzz-word for teaching was “cooperative grouping”. The idea being that if we did everything in the classroom in groups, children would succeed, our lessons would reach every child, and everyone would learn at equal gains and paces. That isn’t exactly what happened. It is a great tool, but no one can build a house with just a hammer. Why would we think that just one method would build a child?

So what do ripple afghans, peanut butter, and cooperative grouping have to do with anything? Together, not much, unless you are lucky enough to teach in classroom that allows naps and snacks while simultaneously having your students arranged in groups! (Some days, that would be my dream classroom!)

In all honesty, this concept of being easily fooled is one of the things that strikes fear in my heart. How many messages do our kids receive in a day? I want to raise kiddos who love God and who are great thinkers with big hearts. That’s a tall order! Are we (meaning: parents, schools, communities) giving our children as much of an opportunity to learn and to think as we are preparing them for standardized tests? Have we been hindered by the vast availability of knowledge at our fingertips without pushing our brains to go as far as they can? Have we settled for the quick fix rather than creatively engineering the box (not just thinking outside of one)? Have we equipped them with the tools to see through the garbage to get to what message is really being sent to them? Is there an app for that?

Whenever I ruminate too long on this subject, I think about all the ways I have possibly failed as a mom and trust me, the list is LONG. Then God gives me a glimpse that perhaps we haven’t done such a bad job after all. I had an opportunity to watch my children testing a product for a company years ago. I could see what they were doing while simultaneously having access to the questions they were being asked. I watched as one of my sons was asked to describe how the product looked. Every other child in the room looked at the product and wrote down their description. Then I saw movement unlike the others over by my boy’s spot. Behold! He picked up the item and inspected the underside.

That was PROUD moment for this momma! All those things I worried about maybe were for naught because not only did he think outside of the box – he reinvented it. If I wouldn’t have looked like a nut, I wanted to jump up and down, cheering him on!

All over the country today many are sending their kids back to school. In a really grown-up, fast-paced world, there are a lot of distractions. Some are good, but plenty have no reason other than to dupe our kids. With a lot of prayer and nurturing, hopefully, all kids will learn to think on their own two feet and not be fooled by the flash and dazzle (like the chevron afghans) of the world. Because the way I see it, a horse by any other name is a . . . well, you know what I mean.

One tough girl

Leave a reply

Dear Erin –

Today is your big day! (Not that we could forget since you provide us with exuberant reminders a few hundred times in June.) But it wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t, because that is you – our vibrant and energetic girl. I so clearly remember the day we met as your birth story is one that we will never forget.

Grandma, Granpa Junior, and Nanny all drove up to be here; so, we had a house full of love when we left for the hospital that day. Not one to sit around, Granpa organized the boys to help him with setting the footings for the deck; so, if you didn’t know this, the sliding door and deck are the same age as you are.

Most of the day at the hospital was pretty much the same as the boys’ stories – a lot of waiting. Nanny arrived at the hospital fairly early because she did not want to miss out on being the first to meet you – which was, of course, like her. At the same time we were at labor and delivery, our family nurse was having surgery. I overheard her talking in the hallway, and that was my first sign that something was not going quite right.

“This is her third baby. . . this shouldn’t be taking so long. What is going on?”

Neither she nor anyone else knew that I could hear her words, but since everything seemed normal I didn’t worry. A friend from Daddy’s work asked to be in on the delivery because despite being a three time momma herself, she had never witnessed the miracle of birth. Her request turned out to be a divine intervention. When it appeared that it was close to “game time”, we called her to come to the hospital.

This is when things start to change. Suddenly a nurse comes rushing in and says, “We need to get her on her side NOW!!!” Looking back, we remembered another nurse quietly slipped into the room and stood silent sentry between our eyesight and the monitors. The reason: you no longer had a heartbeat, and they all knew something was terribly wrong.

An oxygen mask, severe pain, and being held by nurses, Daddy, and our friend in a contortionist position, my mind was reeling with what was happening. Then the words that made the room go quiet were uttered by our normally cool and calm doctor. (Keep in mind: he and Daddy watched golf during Sawyer’s big entrance into the world)

“Oh dear God, I see the face! The pushing is crushing the baby’s heart.”

While no one said It aloud, the race to save your life was now on.

You entered the world. In one swift motion, the cord was cut and the doctor scooped you up and ran with you. Someone announced, “It’s a girl.” The wall of nurses surrounding the doctor, keeping what was going on out of our line of sight.

No cry. No gasp of air. No first genteel introductions to our new daughter.

First APGAR: 0

Questions come falling out of my wearied mind and body. I could see the equipment they are using without being told what they are doing. Is she breathing? Did she aspirate meconium? What is going on?

Second APGAR: 1

In what felt like eternity, we finally hear you cry. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. The tiny girl who we have later learned has the will to push through anything proved in the first ten minutes of life that she was a fighter. We only held you for a few moments, during which time Nanny was so proud to meet you. That bond between great-grandmother and great-granddaughter was one that never waivered from that moment on. You were always her special girl.

Our introductions were short lived because you were promptly escorted to respiratory intensive care where you stayed for the next four days. Grandma, Granpa, and the boys had to first “meet” you through the glass.

It was the scariest moment of our lives. We didn’t get to hold you, only your hand, because you couldn’t breathe on your own. We didn’t get to feed you – tubes and machines took the place of our snuggles. And we played a waiting game to see if your lungs would be able to do it alone, despite your rough start.

But you showed everyone at Day 4 that you were and forever will be – one tough cookie. They decided that you could go home (as long as we didn’t leave town because they were certain that you would have to come back). You didn’t!

The counseling provided to us said that you might struggle with lots of things – especially reaching developmental milestones and academic learning later on. Neither of which proved to be true! They just didn’t know what us Stevens are made of – a faith that doesn’t give up and a vocabulary that doesn’t include quit.

You showed that despite all the studies and statistics for going that long without oxygen – you were (and are) extraordinarily awesome! Having two big brothers, you just never knew you were once a fragile baby, fighting to breathe. You were their constant shadow, and you would prove time and again that you wanted to be big like them. Nothing ever stopped you – and we are so glad that God gave us you.

Happy 14^th Birthday Erin! We love you like crazy! Momma

PS – You know how you have on more than one occasion told us that you have Daddy wrapped right around your finger. It’s true, and I have proof! On Day 4, when we were able to leave the hospital, a nurse was cutting off all your hospital identifications, and she accidentally sliced your pinky finger with a scissors. It was the first time that I ever saw your Daddy want to smack someone. With everything you had been through, it was too much for him. He fumed for days that his precious baby girl’s finger had been cut – every fiber of his being was offended. That tiny, wounded pinky finger has held him captive ever since. Good luck to any boy who ever wishes to hold that finger!

Things I have never regretted

7 Replies

Certain events in life, milestones if you will, really cause me to pause and reflect on my life. The obvious life pondering moments are births, deaths, marriages, and graduations. I endured the most painful of the latter on Friday, but I did survive! I wouldn’t go so far as to say thrived, but I made it through with the love and prayers of many.

I started thinking in terms of a commencement note to my son (who I can only imagine had the most amazing ceremony in heaven). The type of advice that one lover of learning would pass on to another. Rather than a long-winded speech, it came out more like bullet points which I condensed into a list.

To my children – You are about to embark on the next step on your journey through life. God has given you gifts and talents. As your mom I have seen you grow and mature, while navigating difficult waters. As an educator, I have seen you amaze me with the ways you tackle problems and the new and innovative ways you look at world. I wanted to share with you that educating a person and educating a soul are two extremely different things at times and are symbiotic at others. I have comprised a list of things that looking back now (hindsight is always ocularly clear) really did matter, and I am glad that I did them.

Twenty-five things, however small some may be, that I have never regretted.

Following Jesus is simply the best decision I could make. We as humans make this a lot more complicated than needs be. Get to know him on your terms and follow his example, you will never go wrong.
Sticking with a marriage isn’t easy. Often it is thankless work, but it IS work that is worthwhile.
Having each of you. Even if I knew then what I know now about your story, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Finding a career that you love. I don’t care what anyone says making a difference is better than making money.
Giving all my effort to my education. I didn’t like every class or teacher, but taking required classes made me a better person by pushing me to see there was more to the world than what I had thought before. Along with this, ignore people who tell you don’t take that professor because he or she is difficult. Pick those people every time. Trust me, it will change your life.
Thanking those teachers who made a difference in my life. Most of my teachers and professors have passed away, but I will never forget their faces when I went back to personally thank them. When someone changes your life for the good, take the time to thank them.
Taking care of me. It took me a lot of years to recognize that I needed to do some things that made me happy to be a better mom to you.
Investing in the people I love. I disagree with the notion that three words can be overused. The world needs a whole lot more “I love you’s.”
Reading the Bible cover to cover. There are a lot of approaches to doing this. Beginning to end worked for me, but whatever method you choose, just do it. The words on those pages are the closest I have ever found to an instructional booklet for life.
Serving others. I like being a worker bee. Of course, one of you called me a queen bee on occasion, but the truth is serving others has been the key to helping me heal from more than one of life’s hurts.
Learning to live without fear. Most of my first thirty-five years were spent pleasing others in some form or fashion because I was afraid of letting someone somewhere down. Once I let that go, I became a much better person.
Loving to learn. When I turned thirty-six, I decided to tackle a new skill each year. As you well know most of those new skills resulted in gifts for others, but I have loved seeing the work of my hands bring smiles to many.
Honoring traditions. Sometimes that may be something small like chocolate chip cookies and homemade cocoa on the first day of snow, but those traditions became the fabric of our family’s story.
Acknowledging the sacrifices made by others. Even despite our worst moments, we have never gone hungry, cold, or homeless. Many of the freedoms we have are because someone else’s loved one paid the ultimate price. Never forget freedom isn’t free.
Giving back. Serving others is closely related to this, but remember all the gifts God has bestowed on us. Give of your resources (not just your time and energy) to help others. Don’t let money become an idol, and make purposeful decisions regarding your income, for now and in the future.
Planting a garden. There is a lot of wisdom in our favorite campfire song. Tending to the earth (especially on your hands and knees) is a great way to learn about faith, hard work, and God’s creation. Plus, being able to honestly say that your hard work fed your family is rewarding.
Having a childlike faith. Few things in life will ever compare to sleeping in a tent in the backyard, running through the sprinkler, drinking from the garden hose, dancing in the rain, or making a snow angel. I don’t care how old you get: do something that you loved as a kid. You will be better for it. Also, don’t be afraid to dance with the mop, serenade the fruit (Oh My Darlin’ Clementine), or just let your silly out. The world is a better place because I do it.
Singing out loud. Even if you feel you aren’t a good singer, make a joyful noise. Music will restore your soul when you lose your way. God can always be found in the music of life.
Fighting to keep your childhood sacred. We made decisions you didn’t like, simply because we believe childhood is becoming extinct in this country. For example, you didn’t shrivel up and wither because we went most of your childhood without cable. Someday when you have children, you will hopefully understand our choices.
Laughing at myself. I will never run out of material as daily, I make mistakes, and the ability to laugh at yourself is therapeutic.
Forgiving. This is something that is a lifelong lesson. Once you begin, it quite literally becomes a habit. God calls us to do it, but that doesn’t make it easier. It does however often make you a better you.
Getting rid of stuff. I cannot think of one piece of clutter in my life that I have regretted giving away. Don’t fall into the trap of letting your stuff run your life.
Devouring a great book. As much as I love a good movie, I have never found a movie better than a book – EVER. Next to knowing Jesus, the second best gift we ever gave you was the love of reading.
Being comfortable in my own skin. It took a lot of years for me to find my own style (literally and figuratively). At some point I stopped caring what others thought was beautiful , and I realized the woman looking back in the mirror was it. I stopped looking at myself through the lens of others expectations, and I realized that God sees all his children as beautiful. Along with this, I have never owned a scale. A number doesn’t define who am I – period.
Enjoying the moment. Sometimes, the gentle breeze of the wind, the song of the bird, the laughter of a child, the nudge from a dog’s nose, or the tickle of the ocean wave is God’s invitation to slow down. Take that advice because the cleaning and the to-do list will always be there after the moment passes, but the moment may never come back.

If I thought about it for longer, I am certain there are many more things that could and should be added to the list. However, knowing when to stop is also something that requires some finesse. Know I am proud of you all, and I hope that you, too, can add to the legacy of living without regret.

Of blanket forts and stuffies

2 Replies

Special thanks to “Brave to Just Be Me” at Tumblr

Every child’s spring should jump in puddles, play in the wind, involve something with baseball, and watch for birds and flowers to return.

I enjoy each of those things, but one holds a special place in my heart. Baseball! A few years back, we wanted to attend opening day festivities for the Minnesota Twins when they were still playing in the Metrodome. Sadly, my husband was travelling, and it was too overwhelming to make the six hour round trip during the middle of the week with, at the time, three small children. I had long, sad faces. The kind of faces where suddenly you realize your children could be eyelash models.

During the day I hatched a plan that I thought would be the best alternative given the circumstances. I sent everyone out to play when we arrived home from school, under the guise that they needed to enjoy the beautiful day. I reassured them I would call them in when supper was ready. While they were outside playing, I stripped beds and dug out every white sheet and chair that we owned. When called in for supper, they arrived to find our living room transformed into the Metrodome West, replete with hot dogs and popcorn. We spent the most magical evening watching the game, and enjoying the fact that at our Metrodome, you could lay on the floor.

I was reminded of that magical time when last Friday evening, I watched my youngest start hauling one blanket at a time up the stairs while I was busy organizing in the basement. My husband, eyebrows raised, asked, “What are you doing with all these blankets and when are you going to pick all that up?” Her swift response mentioned that she was having a meeting with her stuffies.

As a true connoisseur of blanket forts, I knew exactly what the twinkle in her eye meant. Being the youngest and the only one home that evening, she was creating her own fun. There was a party (which actually had some serious conversation) going on between one little curly-headed girl and a whole bunch of stuffed animals, snuggled safely in the confines of their fleecy abode.

Eventually, my freckled-face sweetie emerged with the results of the meeting. The item on the agenda was who among them would be able to attend the school field trip to the Teddy Bear Clinic. Enter the music and words from the Charlie Brown special where Snoopy wants to visit the little girl in the hospital. Only one stuffie allowed! Would it be Joe, the teddy bear who saw a sweet little girl through nights of terrors after her brother was killed, but who has a penchant for mischief? Would it be Bacon, the pig, who loved a little girl at grief camp and who has a secret life as a superpig? How about Reed-y bear made from her brother’s clothes? Or Pork Chop, another pig who came home with us after a swim meet and likes to lounge by bedroom windows? The only catch for tomorrow’s field trip is the stuffie might get a shot and possibly a cast. After a lengthy discussion, a decision had been made.

Curled up in my arms, she confided only Reed-A-Cheetah, who teaches others about loving in the face of tragedy, was brave enough to go on the adventure. Right there with those tiny arms wrapped in mine, messes didn’t matter, because I knew that imaginations were alive and well. Mine was the only house on the block with a VIP board room, and more importantly, one stuffy brave enough to protect little girls lives here.

Sweet Grace Blog

Just another WordPress site

Tag Archives: raising children

A letter to the Leprechauns

The moment

Shock & Awe

I cry

By any other name

One tough girl

Things I have never regretted

Of blanket forts and stuffies