On Grief & Gratitude

Coming out of the grocery store a few days before Thanksgiving, I saw an old Buick sedan pull in a few spaces down. The driver, barely visible over the steering wheel, was a little old man with a patchwork flat cap and worn button down. His companion emerged from the car a few seconds before him, quickly working his way around to the drivers side to assist if needed. He was a young man, well dressed but casual, probably in his early twenties.

I watched the two interact for a minute, caught up in the subtle dance between characters. The older, acting strong and willful, the younger, quiet, attentive, respectful. He stole glances at his grandfather every few steps. 

A lump formed in my throat.

Before the two had made it very far, a middle-age couple came through the sliding glass doors, bags in hands. A few feet from the pair I had been watching, the woman stops and exclaims, “Hello Shorty!” to the old man.

He looks confused, eyes straining, weakness wearing through. His grandson looked at him lovingly, willing him to remember her name. After a second had passed, the young man gently prompted, “Grandpa, you remember Jane, right?”…

“Oh yes, of course,” the man responds, immediately followed with the question, “How are your folks, Janie?”

I broke my gaze as the lump in my throat gave way to tears and I drove away.

The familiarity of the scene tugged at my heart, and two thoughts surfaced:

That used to be me.

He is going to be wrecked when his grandfather goes.

How do I know? Because I was wrecked a few short months ago.

My days of chauffeuring to the grocery store, the doctor’s office, and the pharmacy had declined in recent years, but the affection I had for my grandma was every bit as fierce as the love I saw in the young man’s face that day.

Although nearly 5 months has passed since her departure from this world, thoughts of her still linger daily.  This grief thing sits in soul and forms lumps in my throat when I wish it wouldn’t.  My life and the way I view the world around me is through a cracked and broken lens right now whether I want it or not.

Because I miss her, and memories of her show up everywhere.

A wispy head of white hair on a bicycle in my neighborhood.

A frail old man at the grocery store with his grandson.

Her purple knit hat at the Christmas tree farm, now perched on my mom’s head.

The small wire twist -ties she saved from every produce bag, carefully wrapped around old strands of Christmas lights at the bottom of the box.

The old familiar rasp in her voice, the gentle sarcasm, the playful humor in an old family video.

These things slay me in the best possible way. They bring tears to my eyes, and comfort to my heart all at once.  They catch me off guard on good days and bad, and I have to be careful to make room for them… to lean in to the pain, to not will or wish it away, to not talk myself out of grieving.

Because it is only in feeling these unwanted emotions, that I can treasure the gratitude that emerges on the other side.                       

Thanksgiving day reminded me that there is so much sweetness in this bitterness, so much grace in this suffering. I held hands when we prayed with another white-haired woman, a grandmother whose family I had the privilege of marrying into. One of the precious few older ones left in my life. And as she prayed a sweet prayer of thanksgiving over the 26 of us present, I knew this truth: that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away, that He is faithful.

“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
         Because the LORD has anointed me
         To bring good news to the afflicted;
         He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
         To proclaim liberty to captives
         And freedom to prisoners;

To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD
         And the day of vengeance of our God;
         To comfort all who mourn,

To grant those who mourn in Zion,
         Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
         The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
         The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
         So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
         The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.”

Isaiah 61:1-3

5 Lifesaving Tools for Parenting Toddlers...

I knew my world was different 2.5 seconds after she left my womb. A little lady with a big personality had arrived in my orderly, convenient life and suddenly things didn't seem so orderly, and life wasn't so convenient anymore.

A little over a year later and I am still learning the ropes on this ride called "parenting". My little "angel" is 16 months old and her older brother is almost three. Our days follow the familiar pendulum swing of delight and disaster, as they do for so many other families with strong-spirited children.

In the words of Mary Sheedy Kurcinka, in her book Raising Your Spirited Child,  

"It's difficult to describe what it is like to be the parent of a spirited child. The answer keeps changing; depending on the day, even the moment. How does one describe the experience of sliding from joy to exasperation in seconds, ten times a day? How does one explain the "sense" at eight in the morning that this will be a good day or a dreadful one?"

I have tried so many ways to find order and balance and sanity in toddlerhood, ways to come out at the end of each day unscathed. Some things have worked well and others have not. The last few weeks have produced a few gems of knowledge that have been so successful in managing our days, I could not help but record them here... as a reminder to myself and as a help to the other mommas out there raising unpredictable children.

Here they are:

1) Lingering Longer: Remembering The Power of Touch

I know psychologists, teachers, and health care professionals have long emphasized the importance of physical touch to a developing child. I understood that. What I didn't realize until recently is that some kids have a very high threshold for physical contact and that this need can be met! I bemoaned to friends and family for the first few months of my daughters life, "she just needs way more physical contact then I can give her in one day! Her love tank is never full!"

Then I realized I just wasn't filling her tank in the right way. Yes, she needed alot of physical touch, but it was not beyond what I could provide for her. This was a thrilling revelation for me since I had resigned myself to thinking she would be unsatisfied for years to come. How do I do it differently now?

I have begun to build "snuggle time" into our days and allow my daughter to decide when she is recharged and ready to leave my embrace. This means that when she wakes up, instead of carting her to the changing table and setting her down to change her diaper, something that would typically begin the first tantrum of the day, I head right to the rocking chair where we chat, sing, and rock until she wiggles free from my arms and onto the floor. It also means when I am washing dishes or making dinner and she is wailing and clinging to my legs, instead of dragging her around the kitchen like a sailor with a peg-leg, I stop and take five minutes and sit to snuggle with her.

This doesn't just mean making my lap available, it means holding her tightly. She needs the reassurance and security that comes from a snug fit in my arms. Nine times out of ten she will soon decide to get up and go find something else to do, leaving me to finish making dinner. She is full and affirmed, and I am calm and not exasperated.

We now take time to "snuggle" almost every hour of the day... when putting shoes and socks on, when getting into her chair for lunch, when getting ready to leave the house for errands. I also take an extra minute or two to massage her legs after most diaper changes, using slow, deliberate movements, calming her always racing heart and steadying her gaze. She loves it and responds with smiles and giggles rather then the all-to-familiar writhing around that used to define diaper changes.

It seems tedious and time-consuming to build "snuggle time" into your day, but it has proven to save us both time and emotions in the long run. Our days go more smoothly and are filled with more love and contentment when we take time to touch.

Side note: My daughters need for physical contact lead me to discover that she is a very sensory-oriented child. What I thought was just habitual messy eating was actually her taking hold of an opportunity to feel and manipulate different textures and compositions. All of the toys in our home were very hard: books, puzzles, wooden fruit, trucks, etc. what the girl really needed was some playdough! She loves the sensory experience of playing with something soft and moldable, and I love that she is satisfied for 30-minute stretches while I get laundry folded!

2. Smooth Transitions: Preparing Them For Change

My son is a classic introvert, not shy, but comfortable alone. He needs space and time to process change, whether it is simply getting dressed for the day or preparing to go to the store or to a friend’s house. In recent months I have often found myself rushing around, in a hurry to get to wherever we needed to go. I spent days frustrated and disgruntled with my seemingly uncooperative son. He dawdled when he needed to hustle, and got angry when I announced exciting plans for the day. I was befuddled until I realized the error of our days. He needed ample time to prepare himself for what was next. Even exciting plans or routine tasks were overwhelming to him when he was not prepared.

I started building alone time into his days and informing him the day before and then again hours before if we were going to be doing something that was outside of our normal routine. I also fought the urge to hurry him and traded the frantic ten minutes that used to lead up to our departure for a more peaceful twenty minutes, using gentle reminders and directions instead. Sure, we sometimes showed up 5 minutes late to our destination, but we were all happy to be there when we arrived!

3. Telling vs. Tugging: Using Words to Shape Behavior

For as physical as our daughter is at times, she is just as independent and hands-off when she wants to be. The mere weight of my index finger in her belt loop holding her steady when she insists on standing in her highchair can set her off screeching in anger. If she wants to do something herself, she is hell-bent on completing her task, mama look out.

I felt paralyzed to know how to handle these fits of rage that would often come at the least convenient times, i.e. standing in the cart while grocery shopping, climbing on the railing while out to eat, riding on top of her stroller while walking downtown. I would try picking her up, pushing her back into her seat, letting her walk, and disciplining her, none of which satisfied her desire to control her own actions.

I realized that my responses to her were reactive, not proactive. Here's what I mean: Her fury only increased when I countered the very thing she wanted to accomplish, and she resented my guiding hands. In those moments, me touching her was like kerosene on a candle. What I finally found to work is reasoning with her and asking her to do what I requested, novel idea right?

Sometimes we get so caught up in the stress of the moment, we don't think to explain ourselves to a pint-size person who probably wouldn't understand how inappropriately they were acting anyway, right? Wrong. So many times I was just as hell-bent as she was in stopping the behavior, that I didn't take the time to explain consequences to her and give firm commands without lifting a finger. The difference this has made is remarkable. I will say "please sit back down in your highchair" four thousand times if it means that we can avoid engaging in a physical and emotional war that leaves us both exhausted.

Just a disclaimer: I am not suggesting removing all discipline and consequences when your child acts out or acts unbecomingly, I have just found that if I remove my emotional reaction from the equation and verbalize my thoughts, I help us both to move away from an inflammatory interaction, instead of heightening the intensity.

4. Giving Time: Expecting Obedience "When You Are Ready"

This is a little controversial, I'll just be honest. I grew up with the understanding that obedience to your parents should be immediate, complete, and without questions. I still ascribe to this reasoning primarily. That being said, I am sharing what works in our household, and I am just going to be honest.

When I ask my son to do something and he is non-compliant I react in one of two ways. If the non-compliance is defiance, rebellion, or challenging to my authority I move forward with disciplinary measures. If the non-compliance is because he is genuinely distracted or completing a task that is important in his mind, and not harmful in mine, I allow him to finish and tell him that my request is still standing and needs to be completed "when you are ready".

I do this not because I want to teach delayed obedience or disobedience, but because there are such varying degrees of offenses a child can commit that I really want to major on the majors and minor on the minors. I want him to learn the life skills of managing his time well, thinking through upcoming tasks, and how to reason with others. If I do not engage in this dialogue with him or give time and grace for his mind to process, I am not allowing room for these skills to develop.

It is actually amazing to see how quickly he responds to my requests when I give him the space he needs to choose the right thing. (This is directly correlated to the smooth transitions I wrote about above)

5. Prayer: With Them and For Them

This is really the key to it all, a vital source of wisdom and discernment in our lives.

When all is going well in your home: pray, when all is failing: pray.

Two things happen when I pray with my children for our day. The first and most important is that we invite God into our day, we invoke His presence, we ask Him to go before us. We ask for His joy, His help, His self-control, and His love to define us as we interact with one another. He really does intervene and fill our home when we ask Him. He gives patience and grace to me and gives kindness and joy to the kids.

The second thing that happens when we pray together, is that they hear what I am praying for and believe it to be possible. They hear me pray for good things, for the fruit of the spirit, and they want those things to be true. Our prayers are quiet expectations whispered to their souls, setting the tone and the bar for how we interact. They see the fervency and faith with which I pray and it bolsters their confidence in who God is and how much He cares about us. These are things I desperately want them to discover, and what better way than by praying together!

Of course the other important key is to pray for them. Not just out loud when they are listening, but in all the millions of moments in between. When rocking them, changing them, brushing their teeth, making breakfast, and filling the tub... I pray and He works.

These are just a few ideas of what has worked in our family... things that wave made the climate of our home warmer, more grace-filled, more peaceful. Whether they will work for others in exactly the same way, I cannot be certain, but my prayer is that the outcome will be the same... families that aren't just surviving toddlerhood, but instead, thriving in the midst of it!

I have seen a change in both my heart and my children’s temperaments as I deal more graciously with them, not ignoring the need for discipline, but balancing it with an understanding of who they are as individuals and the capacity that they have to learn and grow in different ways.

Godspeed to you all as you raise your children, friends… may God grant you the grace and wisdom needed to navigate this most challenging task!

Dear Little Shoes,

You were almost too cute to get out of the box, a perfectly vibrant combo of stripes and florals. You looked so big I thought you would never fit her. But then she grew, and then you did.

For one month, one month(!!) she traipsed around with you on her feet, to the park, the mountains, the playground, and home. You have gotten so dirty that I have had to scrub you with detergent till your colors have worn thin.

She didn't just wear you, she wore you out.

And I can't bear to part with you, so I will carefully pack you away in a keepsake box, a perfect reminder of the little miss you served. A girl who lives fierce, all-in, no-holds-barred. A girl who makes messes out of ordinary food and days in ways I have never seen before. She has no qualms about having muddy shoes, matted hair, and a messy face. Sorry for your sake, but you were just a means to an end, a necessary protection so she could climb that mountain, dig in that gravel, and splash in that puddle. 

As I pack you up, I smile at how far I've come as a momma of a mess-maker. I am learning to embrace the beauty of messes (let's be honest, better to laugh then to cry!) and the incredibly complex, lovely little girl who makes most of them.

Sure, I wish she could keep a pair of shoes presentable for more than a month or so, but then, what fun would that be?

Shoe shopping is the best!

Dear Hunter,

My dear little boy,

As I write this, I am sitting in the shade of our backyard, watching you play.

While many families are sharpening pencils and packing school lunches, September 2nd has given us a glorious summer extension... 84° and muggy, a discount slip-n-slide out back and the familiar "ch-ch" of locusts calling to one another from the trees. I daresay this may be my favorite summer day yet.

I am amazed at the difference a few short months have made for you. You have so much to say lately, and your little mind rarely rests. You ask about the way things work, and are not satisfied until we give you a full explanation. You play so purposefully now, creating games and projects in your head and with your hands.

A few weeks ago you were given a little mechanic set... a train and a race-car held together with brightly colored screws and a phillips-head screwdriver to assemble and disassemble parts. You have since spent countless hours diligently "working" away, paying close attention to the proper building of each vehicle.

You are cautious, meticulous, slow and steady... You are focused and precise, detailed and quiet.

You are a thinker, a dreamer, and a builder by trade.

I love to watch you grow, think, and learn. I love the way your brow furrows when you focus and the way your lips purse when you are pleased with yourself. I love the tender, high-pitch voice you use when talking to your sister. I love the way your chubby finger grasp hers when walking in new places.  I love your tiny frame and your eyes when they are wide with excitement. I love that you love books, trucks, deer, and playing outside. I love how much you admire your daddy. I love that you are sweet and sensitive, yet so very "bwave".

Thanks for filling up our days with laughter, little boy.

I love you.

Dear Brooke,

Sweetheart,

I watched you play with your brother today, tumbling around in the mass of pillows that he constructed into his "castle". You giggled and shrieked, and occasionally looked back at me to make sure I was still there, eyes fixed on you.

I couldn't help but smile. You are beautiful. You are full of life. And you are growing up. Not just the average growth... dots on a line chart, weight on the rise, height ever increasing... but heart and soul growth. Maturity in your eyes. A deeper level of understanding and reasoning in your actions. You are rounding the bend to your sixteenth month, and these last few weeks have been our best yet.

You and I both know that this past year has been a challenge. Both of us stubborn, both of us independent, both of us needing grace. You are so much like me in so many ways, and yet so much your own lady too. I knew the moment our eyes met in the quaint birth center room the morning after your birth, that our relationship would stretch me. My world tilted, in the direction of a crying little one who needed me more than I knew how to be needed.

I knew a few emotions that day. Deep love. Fierce protection. Intense fear. I embarked on a series of sleepless nights, long days, and lots of prayers. I wrestled with the fact that I couldn't make you happy... you screamed and cried when you wanted too, and cooed and giggled when you felt like it. You were deeply affectionate some days, and didn't want to be touched the next. A strange paradox of independence and need. I didn't understand you in the least, and I knew you didn't understand yourself either. It was like we both spoke a different language and couldn't find a translator.

So we pushed through it together... through good days and not so good... we were content to let our love for one another bloom despite the challenges. We chose one another and started to form a third language together, one founded on respect and admission of our own shortcomings.

And something recently shifted, our world started to right itself again, and my days have begun to not be governed by when you are napping and awake, happy or sad. I can get laundry folded and get dishes washed, in the same morning! You entertain yourself for longer bits of time, and you delight in your big brother now, something that a few months ago seemed unattainable! You plod around the house, proud of yourself and your sturdy set of legs, your sense of humor and your increasing vocabulary. You make me laugh and your eyes dance at the thought of it. I smother you in hugs and kisses and you lean in for more.

And if you wonder why I am writing all this down... confessions of challenging days and difficult love...

it is because babe, I want you to know that you are so worth fighting for. You are worth every hard day, every sleepless night, every tear-filled encounter. You are worth getting to know, observing, loving.

You are lovely.

You are precious.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Don't forget this, little one.

You are worth it because you are a creation of the Most High God, crafted in His likeness. Just think of it, you are royalty!

Walking through these last fifteen months with you has been so so much more than a challenge, it has been a privilege, an honor, a joy.

It is said that the best things in life are worth fighting for, and I couldn't agree more. When it comes to you and I, our relationship has been tested and refined, and made stronger for it.

I love you.

Love,
Your Momma

Grief and Hope

In the past few weeks I have attended three funerals.

Two lives long lived, one life cut short.

And I have been wrestling with grief and the way it has invaded my days. Words I heard preached a few weeks before rattle around in my head, "There is nothing natural about death. It is not the way God intended."

God is a life-giver, not a life-taker.

And I have read, and heard it said that grief takes on many forms. For me it is a gnawing in my soul, a gut wrenching pain that still churns with the passage of time. It comes in the form of panic at night, and despair in the day. It comes with deep sadness one moment, and indifference the next. It plays tricks with my heart and makes me bite-y and short tempered, then mellow and reflective.

It throws balance out the window, a giant see-saw of emotions, none to be reconciled.

One emotion I did not anticipate, or recognize when it first came, was guilt.

The funeral that most held my heart was the first of the three, a remembrance of a life long lived, the death of my grandmother. Followed soon after by the death of an old friend who was only twenty four. Tragic. Devastating. Abrupt.

And so many people have comforted me with these words, "At least your she lived a long full life." "I know it is hard, but be thankful that she had so much time with you all."

They are right of course. She did live a long full life. She did have so much time with all of us. She did go quickly and painlessly compared to many.

And so wrapping tightly around my grief is this other emotion, this burden of guilt. The thought, "what right do I have to grieve the loss of a life long lived, when in a house across town, they are grieving the loss of a life cut short?"

And then I remember the preachers words, "There is nothing natural about death."

No matter how old, no matter how young, death steals, plunders, destroys. It leaves sadness in its wake, despair to deep to shake.

And if that were the end of the story I'd be doomed.

But it's not. Thank God it's not.

Because of another word that holds so much weight, and that is hope. Eloquently defined by the priest at the final funeral, "the expectation of what has already been promised."

Death wasn't God's plan, His design, His doing. It was a consequence of our actions, our rebellion against our Maker. And yet because of His great love for us, He stepped in and rewrote the story again. Changing the ending to one of promise, one of hope, one of Life.

He dies the ultimate death, so the death we experience on this earth is only a shadow of the real thing. He takes the sting out and gives us beauty for our ashes. He holds us while we grieve, while reminding us of His promises to us.

That although death is tragic in it's many forms, in the young and old, in the sick and well, in the best of circumstances and in the worst, it is not the end, for those who are in Christ, it is just the beginning.

So I will let me heart grieve, all the while praying away the guilt, exchanging it for hope... the expectation of what has already been promised.

"I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:

“Death is swallowed up in victory.”
“O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?”

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 

1 Corinthians 15:50-56

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly."

John 10:10

What you don't see

Oh my I love these three people of mine.

And I love that you can't see the...

tears, meltdowns, gummy bribes, sticky fingers, and sandy bums that it took to get these pictures. ha.

Dear Grandma,

(A little something I wrote and read at last Saturday's service)

I do not even know where to begin sharing memories of you or expressing the countless ways that you have blessed so many of us in your time here on earth. I know that for me personally, I have countless testimonies of the ways that you have shaped me, built character into me, taught me about life… as well as dozens of memories with you, too numerous to recount, each one so precious.

One memory so vivid in my mind, is the way your backyard used to be in the summer months. I remember the way the sweet honeysuckle vine wrapped up the trellis on your back porch, creating a sweet-smelling canopy, which you carefully pruned and guided. Beyond that was the little paradise that you dubbed, “the secret garden”, a few magical feet of foliage and flowers with a stepping stone path through the middle, flanked with an arbor to one side and your honeysuckle vines on the other.

And the magic did not end there. On the other side of the yard hung a rope swing, its thick supports stretching 20 feet into the air, ending with a board that you had cut to length and drilled holes in, in your “workshop”… the garage where you mastered the use of all your husbands carpentry tools after he died.

To the left of the yard was what we called the creek, really it was the rain water runoff channel that spanned the length of the neighborhood, but you had a gift for making the ordinary, extraordinary, and so to us it was your very own creek, and we were the lucky ones who got to play in its slow moving current.

And of course this paradise would not be complete without one final detail, a favorite pastime for which the backyard provided the perfect setting, and that was reading books. Every few days we would make the arduous journey on foot to the library, to fill our canvas totes with as many books as we could carry. At the time it appeared to be a huge expanse of woods that we journeyed through to the local library, looking back now I can see it was only a few blocks from your house. We would trek home with our borrowed books and you would insist that we ate lunch, and brushed our teeth before cracking open the first pages of the most promising title. We would each find our favorite spot to read and then settle into an afternoon in another place, traveling through page after page of written words.

You taught us so much about life through those lazy summer days, and I had no idea how much we were learning as our legs dangled off the edge of the swing, our eyes glued to the pages of our books. Thank you for passing down such precious pastimes to us, for taking all the things that you loved and teaching us how to love and appreciate them too. For showing us how to take pleasure in the simplest things in life as we grew up in a world becoming more enthralled with computers, cell phones, and video games every day. Yours was the place where every distraction was left at the door. Thank you for that.

Fast forward a few years, and the memories keep coming. I remember moving in with you while attending a college nearby. You thought I was there so you could keep an eye on me, so that I could be close to my classes and campus. The truth was that dementia had begun to creep its way into your mind and we knew you needed some company.

We had so many good times those two years. We told stories, shared our days, and laughed until we cried, making light of your increasing memory loss. We stayed up late into the night talking, me cross-legged on the couch, you with your feet up in your favorite easy chair.

I remember other times, sitting in my room and hearing yelling downstairs... I would rush to the living room, only to see you with your hands in the air, yelling at the TV screen where the opposing team just hit a home run against the Phillies. You were a passionate sports fan, which is one of the few things that did not rub off on Nicole and I. Which was fine by you, because you had 9 other grandchildren who were just as passionate about a good game as you were.

I remember when Mike, who was then my boyfriend of a few short weeks, brought you flowers for your garden, and you fell for him with me. I remember the two of you discussing “hunting tactics” and your favorite ways to “take care of” small rodents in your younger years. I left the room while the two of you cackled away.

Which reminds me of your laugh. Your infectious laugh. It would shake your body and make your eyes water. You had the best sense of humor, it would draw us in with you, and leave us with tears in our eyes, doubled over in laughter.

Your ability to laugh became one of your greatest strengths in the last few years as dementia ate away at your memory. For some, getting older and losing health breeds anger and bitterness. But not you, you blossomed into an even more gracious, kindhearted woman as your mind weakened and your body slowed. You let go of what you could not control and savored time with those you loved. I admire the way you aged so gracefully, and smiled so easily at the increasing challenges you faced.

Grandma, I love you so much, I already miss you terribly, but know you are having the time of your life riding your bike along streets of gold, basking in the glory of your Heavenly Father. Thank you for being such an incredible grandma, I couldn’t have asked for more.

Love, Your granddaughter

        

It's All Grace

Yesterday morning began with a phone call from my husband.

"They want me to come in and meet with the doctor this afternoon to review the test results."

Was all he said.

I didn't understand. Last week they had promised an easy Monday morning phone call to reveal his CT scan results... no appointment needed.

"Did you ask for the results over the phone?" I asked, certain there was some communication breakdown.

"Yeah, they said they needed me to come before they tell me what's going on... appointment is at two."

What I had thought would be a typical Monday morning... a little laundry, some dishes, a trip to the grocery store, suddenly became a long desert highway with 9am on one side, and 2pm on the other. Minutes seemed like hours as I waited for the afternoon.

I knew it was the same for him as he went through his day at work.

My mind created scenarios of all sorts to explain this unexpected meeting, only briefly did I let it travel to that worst-case place, the one where I would lose him forever.

"God, please don't take Him from us", I uttered, tears rolling down my cheeks.

I left the dishes piled, open jars and unfinished breakfast remained on the counter as we (the kids and I) took to the sunshine. I thought to myself, "I will be ok, whatever the diagnosis, I will be ok." And then I looked at the plump, baby-soft cheeks of my two-year-old and though, "God, he won't be. He won't be ok, and I don't know how to handle that."

All the little things started to flood my mind... All the ways my husband knows how to love us well... and how he is the only person in this world who knows our kids as well as I do... knows their different cries, their laughs, their dimples, and their eyes... knows their smiles, knows their strengths and their weaknesses, knows their little personalities and quirks. He loves them with a love only matched by my own. He knows them with a knowledge only matched by my own.

I thought to myself, "I need him."

and then God spoke into my musings.

"I know them too."

"I love them too."

"You need ME."

And I knew He was right.

Our human love, as deep and intense as it feels, is no match for the rich, full, depths of love that the Father has for us, His children.

I preach eternity to myself, my spouse, my friends and family, but what does it look like when you are faced with the possibility that the person you love most in this life could enter into eternity before you expect them to?

With eternity in mind?

It looks the same as two matching rocking chairs, side by side when we are ninety, reminiscing over a long, full life together.

It's all GRACE.

All of it. Grace that the Father has given us the last five blissful years together. Grace if He gives us another seventy. Grace if He doesn't. Grace that we have two beautiful children. Grace if we have more. Grace if we don't. Grace that we are healthy. Grace if we get sick.

Grace if we live to see 1,000 more sunrise mornings.

Grace if we wake up in eternity tomorrow.

Grace that our inheritance has been won, bought and paid for with the precious blood of Christ. The deed to eternity has been signed and sealed when we put our faith in Him, and everything beyond that is an extra measure of God's abundant grace.

There is no room for doubt, fear, and anxiety when looking through the lens of grace. God has been and still is good. He forever will be good. When phone calls, doctors appointments, car accidents, and cancers take the very breath from our lungs, God is still good.

And so I waited and rested, and prayed and hoped, and counted all the blessings embodied in my husband, all with the lens of grace firmly affixed to my eyes. And when the time came for me to get in the car and ride to where I would meet him, to attend the appointment hand-in-hand, I turned the volume dial hard to the right, and let the life-giving words of a familiar song fill up my senses.

Can He breathe in to the dust?
Can He make sons out of us?
Life is in His mighty hands
Life is in almighty hands

He can do it, yes, He can
He will prove it, our God can
No one else can save us, redeem us, create a new life in us
Only Jesus can

With the windows down, a warm breeze blowing made white cottony puffs float from nearby fields, surrounding the car in a beautiful dance, orchestrated by their Maker, performed for His pleasure and my comfort. I knew what He was doing. Reassuring, loving, showing me His grace when I needed it most. Using creation to display His glory.

A half hour later found us in a different place, shifting uncomfortably in the waiting room. Maroon 5 played through the speakers, while the receptionist impatiently answered phone calls from lines that wouldn't stop ringing. We exchanged knowing glances, and hoped for his name to be called next, squeezing each others hands and taking turns saying, "It's going to be ok".

Finally his name was called. Finally the doctor entered the room. Finally we heard the words we hoped for all day:"You are perfectly healthy. The CT scan revealed a few minor concerns, but nothing that cannot be fixed. Relax, stop worrying, your going to be fine."

With that we both sighed, releasing the pent up tension we carried all day. The world began to turn again, and the clocks hands no longer moved in slow motion. We sent elated texts and emails to a few concerned friends and family, and held each other tightly.

We thanked God for His goodness to us, knowing many others do not receive good news in doctors offices and hospital beds. We returned home, greeted by the laughter and smiles of our kids, happy to see us.

Through it all, I know God's hand upheld us, His smiling eyes ever watched us.

And I know our day of waiting was not in vain. Not for one second.

Because His grace is sufficient. 

And it is in our weakness that His strength is made perfect in us.

(2 Corinthians 12:9)

Dear Brooke,

Yesterday you did it, babe!

You walked from the far side of the kitchen to the front door without help or tumbling. Fueled by the sound of daddy's voice encouraging you... you flung yourself into his arms when you reached him, beaming from ear to ear.

Great job, love, we are so proud of you!

Dear Hunter,

This morning I heard you in the other room, tearing paper, crumpling it, rustling around. My instinct was to yell at you from the other room, a stern, "What are you doing in there?". But instead I quietly peeked around the corner, and saw your small frame bent over a toy, carefully wrapping it in colored paper.

"Mommy, look! It's for you! It's your birthday! It's a present! For you!" You beamed, holding up the messy, little package, the "gift" peeking out the sides. We opened it together, and you announced, "I'm going to play with it now!" running out of the room with your old toy, made new again.

You are always so thoughtful like that... you love to give, love to anticipate, love to excite us with presents and toys, make-believe meals, and dramatic charades. Your little feet slapping on the hardwood brings a smile to our face, even before you enter the room. Your grin melts us. Your laugh delights us.

Last week you jumped off the patio steps at a friends house, and your forehead hit the concrete first. You sported a big 'ol bandage for days afterwards, although initially you only allowed me to put it on if daddy had an identical one. He happily obliged and your banged up forehead went from a woe to a wonder in a matter of minutes! You asked me multiple times the following day to lift you up to the mirror to "see my band-aid!!!"

You like four-wheeler (which you pronounce: fo-naw-naw) rides and bike rides, play dates with friends, and pretending to go hunting. You are so much like your daddy. You like pizza, ice cream, and working hard. You build "houses", "fix" furniture, and swing a hammer with the best of them.

You are our blue eyed, blond-haired little slice of heaven, babe, and we couldn't love you more.

Dear Brooke,

On your birthday (was that really two months ago?) we positioned you snugly up against your brother in the little orange bike trailer that gets you around. We put on our helmets (yours covers your eyes, you hate it) and hi-tailed it into town. Passing the park where we played the night before we met you, I was overwhelmed with the sentimental notion that we sat and ate our pizza that same evening, one year ago, not knowing you were soon to arrive. Not knowing you were a sweet girl. Not knowing your name, and not knowing the ways you would change our lives forever.

I saw these simple landmarks, hardly changed in one year's time, and thought of you, sweetheart, and the tremendous blessing that you are. I am so thankful for the familiar sights that grace our days... the park, the pizza shop, the sidewalk blocks we walked, hoping to induce labor that night. A constant reminder of our anticipation, and your arrival.

We took you to the little corner shop downtown where the pizza is carefully crafted and baked in a big dome oven. Hunter and I watched as the man with the apron carefully rolled the dough and layered it with fresh mozzarella and sauce before sliding it in the oven with a long-handled peel. Sixty seconds later we had a perfectly toasted crust. What a difference a year makes! Last year it was me who ate the most pizza, this night it was you who polished off the tray!

We all joke that you need to be hosed off at the end of every meal, and this night was no exception. Your dad and I used to try to keep you neat... a bib here, napkin there... but you just won't have it! Sauce in your hair, plate upside down, and cup on the floor (across the room?) is how you prefer to end a meal. I am starting to take it as a compliment that you liked what you were eating.

After dinner found us at the little ice cream parlor on Main Street with the park benches out front. It's the only place in town that writes an I-owe-you on a napkin if you forget the cash to pay. The ice cream is delicious, the atmosphere endearing. You love it. Your little mouth curves into an "o" when eating ice cream... like a little bird searching for the next bite. You lean in towards the cone that is supposed to be shared, mischievously grinning when we catch your eye. You are irresistible.

We rode home that night, eyes closed, your head bobbing side-to-side by the time we reached the driveway. We put you to bed, our eyes lingering over your room a little longer than usual, memories on our minds. We reminisced and congratulated one another on a year well lived... a year of laughter and smiles, a year of throwing food and tantrums, and days full of magic and meltdowns... you've had them all.

We wouldn't change a thing.

We love you.