Heaven's anesthesia

Today marks 4 years since our son Crockett received full healing and went home to heaven. I am re posting this piece I wrote last year, as it still speaks my heart. I hope that if you have ever lost someone you love, it speaks to yours.

I felt it down low, almost in a place far below my soul. That slow brewing emotion that I keep hidden almost always, not because I am ashamed, or fearful of feeling the gnawing, but because life must go on, children eat and play, friends expect, strangers presume, and weeping just isn't living. Not always, only in quiet alone moments when vanilla scent brings up flashes of remembrance of his Pediasure diet, or the high squeal of a far away drill on wood conjures images of his uncontrollable giggles, or just a heaviness of soul longing weighs on my chest and I escape to an alone place...my car, the shower, the basement, anywhere to feel, and wish, and regret, and weep, because a mothers heart misses a sons sound and presence. But this time, this time at bible study, with no one even suspecting the battle I was fighting in that back row booth, I could not stab it dead, freeze it quiet, it was brewing, slowly coming to the surface. I could almost hear it's groan as it passed the diaphragm gate, and entered my throat. I warred with the burning, defying it to surface, begging it to wait until we were alone, and the flood gates opened, and my sitting was now walking, then running, to the safety of the restroom, and then the tears were pouring, and the sound was escaping and I wept, and won only the battle to not scream that guttural death moan my body hoped to let out. My control was defeated, the weeping won, and I too, as the release was cathartic and cleansing, and mascara trails marked the way to peace.


Weeping is heaven's anesthesia.

I know he speaks theology with Spurgeon now before audiences of angels, and dances with David and grandma Dee before the throne. He and John Calvin laugh together at the audacity of earthlings claiming to understand the intricacies of predestination and foreknowledge. The 12 year old earth suit he wore here no longer restrains his ability to think or move or see. He is perfect. He is not present in that filthy grave, with the sweet soft body that contained him once, and It is not for him that I weep. It is so much more than grief that fuels that soul groan, so much more than pain or sorrow, although those too are very present. It is the knowing that God's plan was best, that He is sufficient, that His ways are not my ways, and being so very grateful. It is in the making and receiving of tender memories that my savior so lovingly weaved in and around my boy's life, that grow me to Him, grafted to Him more purely, all because of the gift of one small broken male child with soft warm hands and deep brown eyes. It is because this is not my home, this beautiful place full of flowering dogwoods and azure blue skies, this is not it, and someday I will be with him, and.......with Him. And there, there will be no more pain, and no more tears.

No more tears? I ask Him in disbelief, but I NEED to weep. I like to cry, sometimes it helps Lord, No more tears? And in His most gentle of voices, calming and assuring He reminds me that no more tears, holds firm hands with no more pain. No more feeling inadequate, no more voices of you're not good enough, thin enough, smart enough, anything enough. No more striving for perfection with your home, your meals, your clothing, your children. No more fear, fear of the future, of loosing someone else, of being alone. No more being overwhelmed, no more guilt, no more hurt, no more regret, no more harsh words, no more abuse, no more hurt feelings, no more anger, no more unmet expectations, no more loss, no more sorrow.

No more tears, He will wipe them all away.

We won't NEED them any more.


He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.
Rev. 21:4

Holga-ish

I am LOVING the new Holga-ish option on Picasa. have you tried it yet?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3 more miles down, for a total of 9,  91 miles to go by the end of April.

Kiss me I'm Irish

Apparently, way way back in the day, kissing the Blarney stone at Blarney Castle would give said kisser the ability to never be at a loss for words. That is frankly not something I see many people suffering from, but perhaps in Ireland back then, cat got your tongue was the going delema.

 

This practise now translates in modern day culture that to kiss someone of Irish descent is the next best thing. Easy jump there I guess, from a rock in Ireland, to any pretty red head where ever you happened to be.

 

While I am not a believer in 'LUCK', I am at least a little Irish, so I thought a little shamrock action in the ol' March decor was in order. I painted this little number to celebrate our Irish ancestry, and get ready for the St. Patrick's day festivities. That might include some green pancakes for breakfast, and perhaps green mashed potatoes for dinner.

Do you do anything to celebrate your ethnic heritage?

legacy or not?

My Mom recently lost her last sibling, my Aunt Nanny (Nancy). She was a good aunt, even if she did get a tad bit demanding in her old age.  When I was a little girl she used to bring a bag of candy to our house once a week for us to share, and she and my mom would sit at the kitchen table and talk. Every Spring she would overpay my sisters and I to "clean" her already immaculate house! I remember wiping down wood paneling with lemon scented Murphy's oil soap, and dusting hard back condensed version readers digest books. Every cupboard in the kitchen was emptied and washed, her sewing basket was organised, the chrome faucets were polished, and even the leaves of the plastic plants in her front door planter were shined to perfection. In my adolescent mind I thought it all very silly, and pointless, to clean an already clean house, come to think of it, I still think it pointless.

 

Nanny would drive me home after a short day of "cleaning" in her tiny red Volkswagen beetle. I thought her life was so cool. She was a career woman, and she dressed nicely everyday to be important and looked up to. She talked often of her job at Storey's Piano Factory, and the people that she was over. She didn't have any children, just one step son who was by then, grown and gone. I never saw Nanny working hard over piles of dirty laundry, or cooking over a hot stove for her family. She spent her days off, golfing at the country club, and learning to play the piano. In contrast to my own mother, her life seemed so easy and carefree, and I dreamed of one day being like her.

Aunt Nanny was a talker, never at a loss for words, never short on opinions, but I never remember having a conversation with her about anything of eternal value. She went to church every Sunday, and I know she was a believer in Jesus, but she didn't talk about her faith, at least not with me. I knew she was very proud of me, and she often told me I was pretty, and that my hair was shiny. She gave me lots of compliments about my physical appearance through out the years, and as an adult she always said my children were precious. That's what I remember about my Aunt Nanny, She was a nice lady, and I don't mean any disrespect, but it has just caused me to ponder.

A few Sundays ago we sang a familiar hymn in church, one that I had grown up singing, one that at the moment I can not remember the name of. It's sound carried me back to my childhood in Spring Lake Michigan and the dimly lit baptist church I attended as a small brown eyed girl, and I could almost hear my parents singing right next to me. When I came out of my little day dream about the past, I realised my 7 year old ElizaJane was belting out the tune sure and strong beside me, and her 12 year old sister Haven next to her. What a legacy my parents left I thought, and my mind drifted back to how the Lord has used my parents to create such a strong legacy for Him.

My parents made a decision to follow the Lord, and walk in his ways when they were in their 20s I believe, when they had two small children. It is my understanding that they had both heard the gospel before that, and stories have revealed that my fathers grandmother was a strong believer, but I think they really made a commitment, and began to serve Him in their local church, at that time. They went on to have 4 children in all, me being the baby. Boy I sure am glad that little surprise happened! All four children have married, so there are now also 4 children-in-laws, and then came 11 grandchildren. Five of those grands have now married bringing that total to 16, and now there are 8 great grand children and counting. That would be thirty two people from this one couple. That my friends is a wonderful legacy, and puts a new spin on the whole be fruitful and multiply. So, because in part, this young couple made the conscious decision that they were going to serve someone bigger then themselves, there is a family that will spend eternity together, not to mention the myriad of blessings we have encountered here on earth because of our faith.

Legacy has been large and in charge in my thought life lately. perhaps because of a sweet little somebody named Ryder that recently joined our family, and who has the middle name Clifford, after my dad by the way, and Michael after both of his grandfathers. 

What have I been left....what will I leave...Will my children and grandchildren, some day remember that I cared about their spiritual condition, and have I communicated those things that are important, and not just those things that are temporal? Will I be remembered the way I hope to be remembered, and for those things  that I really believe to be important? I want to be remembered as a nice lady, and a kind lady, and even a lady that told them they were pretty, but oh I pray to be remembered for so much more than that.

What about you, what will your legacy be?

New Birth

I know that blogs where people show one million pictures of their offspring are BORING, but if you will indulge me as I show you two million pictures of my offspring and my offspring's offspring, I would be much obliged. I am truly sorry, I just can't help myself!

May I introduce the newest member of our Fam,

 Mr. RYDER CLIFFORD MICHAEL

All seven pounds and five ounces of him arrived this morning in just twenty inches of sweetness!

I was fortunate enough to be allowed to bepresent for the birth, and let me tell you ladies, our bodies can do amazing things with our creators help, miraculous unbelievable things, and we should hold such everyday miracles in very high regard. What a beautiful thing, new birth, a most glorious gift, this honor we females have.

The new Daddy

 With new birth comes new love, and there is always just enough room for more. Sometimes as humans, we wonder, how will one more fit in to this crazy mixed up flurry we call life, but at the very moment of new birth, more room is also born, and then one wonders, where has this sweet soul been all my life, and how did I ever live without it??

Then you realise uncles are also born, and relationships are started, and deep commitments of "I will always be there for you" are made without ever a word being spoken. And little tiny seven pound bodies move man souls to feel, and ponder, and make bold promises in their hearts.

Aunts are also born, with each new niece and nephew that arrives, I imagine the feeling is brand new again, and the commitment to watch over and protect is refreshed. Memories are etched in growing brains, memories that will remain forever.

And growing babies, learn to love smaller babies, and their eyes take every mi nut detail to heart, as they watch and smell, and breath in, and dream of one day experiencing the new birth grow inside of them also, and haveing the joy of their own burrito like wrapped love spreader to hold for as long as they want, without anyone waiting for a turn makes them giddy.

And, Grandparents are born, and the unmistakable understanding that a part of us will remain, as generations fade, is growing inside our aging hearts as we say farewell to older members, and greet fresh smelling newborns. In the face of prayer, for safe and healthy new birth, we rejoice in the promise that every good gift is from above, and that all new births are good gifts.

Sisters too become. She is unaware that this new birth means years of companionship, and a sharing of every rite of passage. She will spend countless hours with this male soul in her life time, and their secrets will be especially sweet. She loved him instantly and we all watched as the miracle of that love took place right before our eyes, today. That new love will spill over her cup as she grows in understanding of the gift she has received.

A family has grown, in numbers and in love, and new birth is so very sweet. Oh so very sweet indeed.

 

Thank you for indulging me, isn't he just precious?

waiting

The girls and I are back in Georgia this week, on a very important mission. We are watching this little girl, She calls me Grandmomma and she is just about to turn two. She is also just about to become a big sister!

So, we are watching, and waiting! We are waiting for a sweet little boy to decide to come, and be born to this sweet little family. He isn't even due until monday, and we are already growing impatient to meet him.

One more to call me Grandmomma.

One more to love.

I couldn't be more excited!

So, we are Waiting.

sisters by the water

She was born into a family with three brothers. One is gone now, but for her first five years she had only brothers, They loved her, cherished her even, and like her name she was a safe healing place for our family. I humbly asked the Lord, in the midst of my gratefulness for my three sweet boy children, and my one baby girl, for a sister for her, and he answered my prayer.

 

When we shared the news with little Haven that her Momma was going to have a baby for her to Love, With all the confidence she could muster in that chubby four year old body she replied, "She's gonna be a sista, and we're gonna name her Sally!" She was half right.

And although they are very very different, they are also very alike. And, although they sometimes push each others buttons, they are also the best of friends. They giggle and rough, and whisper sweet secrets, they play and explore, and bicker, and giggle. They build blanket forts and read together with a flashlight, and then spend the night on the carpet amongst plush bunnies and bears, and dream of American Girls, then eat Little Debbie Swiss rolls for breakfast, because they can, and play Go Fish, and did I mention they giggle?

I hope they will always be the best of friends.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Mom

Just a shout out to my Mom on her birthday. My mom has just recently become computer literate, and at 76, I think that is pretty crazy gutsy on her part. Having her own computer, means she can read my blog, so

Happy Birthday Mom!

(gift is in the mail)

Merry Christmas
From all of us, to all of you


For unto us is born this day,
 in the city of David,
 a Savior, 
who is Christ the Lord!

November, where did you go?

So, seriously, was Thanksgiving really a week ago? Can someone answer a simple question for me? Why is it, that when we are children, without a care or trouble in the world does Christmas seem to take so very stinking long to arrive, yet when we get older, and are overwhelmed with all that life throws our way, and can't possibly see the forest for the trees, or conceive of a world where all is ready by Christmas, Does November run into December like a rogue freight train, and the countdown seems to count by 3's?

Haven was my big helper in the kitchen this year, baking both the pumpkin and pecan pies for me Thanksgiving morning. And my ovens are not harvest yellow, although they do appear so, don't they?

Everyone looks like they have already slipped into their turkey induced comas here, but I think we were all so very hungry (including the the photographer) that we didn't look up to smile. Everything was delicious, and all were thankful, so I guess Thanksgiving was a colossal success!

And our initials are not P A, one of our A's had a run in with Chief the naughty power jumping dog!

And yes, if you must ask, that IS a turkey leg on ElizaJane's plate, and yes we did let her have that on purpose, and no she did not eat it all, in fact she only had two small bites because she was to full of mashed potatoes, but no it did not go to waste, and yes it did irritate her brothers that we indulged in such foolishness, and no we didn't care, and yes she was happy.

This little preciousness slept through our meal, but awoke with a big smile, and a sunny disposition, on our very dreary overcast day.

The girls enjoyed a movie together, so fun to see them all snuggled down eating pop corn.

Thank You November,

 got to go,

 December is passing me by.

Long time no post

So sometimes life moves too slowly, and at other times much to quickly. The last few months have been the later, and while I apologize for my absence, as a friend recently reminded me, life takes precedence!

Our family reached the milestone of one year since we moved to Georgia in August. Our first 11 months here were quite slow by design. Still mourning the loss of Crockett, with a desire to remain in the shadows of sorts, searching for a church in which to minister, falling into a new family rhythm complete with new members, and finding a new place, in our new place.

Finding a church family in July certainly ramped up our social lives, and ministry as well as friendships have been keeping us busy. God has led us to a medium sized church full of sweet brothers and sisters in Christ that have welcomed and loved our family in a very special way.

One week shortly after we joined this church our passionate pastor requested from the pulpit that members of the congregation attend the Sunday night ministry "Celebrate recovery". It is a 12 step program for those with addiction problems, or the loved ones of the same. Michael and I both felt led to see what it was all about in spite of the fact that neither of us has ever struggled with addiction. (other then chocolate of course for which no amount of steps will ever pull me out). That night we were faced with the reality of what we might call the down and out. We were the only visitors, and we were quickly informed by the then directors, that we could not serve if we had never been addicts, and could personally attest to the power of the12 steps. Our Pastor had said that the directors at that time wished to retire from the program, and without more people, the ministry would have to be discontinued.

Within a week our Pastor had a new vision for the program, and a new name, and some new willing helpers in Michael and I. We have been serving these precious souls for about 6 weeks now. Each week there are new faces, and each week we pray over the new and grieve for those who did not return. As the only female volunteer, I meet and attempt to minister to all the ladies that come. Most are from our local emergency shelter, where their physical needs are met for a limited time. Not all are addicted, but most are homeless, and loosing hope. It has been my privilege to pray with prostitutes, single mommas, and former heroine addicts. The first night I even met a man that had served time for killing another man, and asked that we pray for him to control his temper. We did, and I also prayed silently that nothing I said or did would tick him off...lol. God has used each of these individuals to teach me, and soften me in ways that I can not express here. The words "there but by the grace of God goes I" reverberate in my head often as I lament their poor choices, and confused ways. I know I did nothing to deserve the privileged life I find myself in, nothing to deserve loving parents that guided and cared for me, nothing to deserve a husband that loves me and provides for me. It is not I, but only the Grace of an almighty God that brings me to where I am. I struggle with the desire to bring each of them home with me, to shower and change, and sleep in soft clean sheets, safe from whatever has damaged and hurt them so. I struggle, because deep within I know that most of them do not want my help, or my Jesus for that matter. They eat a hot meal, and return again to the same lifestyle, some I suppose because it is all they have ever known, and others because to them it is safe. There are those few that return again and again though, and they are as hungry for the nourishment of the word as they are for the meal we serve. It is for those few that we are there, and for the spouses and children, and mommas and daddies, that they may one day be reunited with. Some of the gentlemen come to Sunday morning services as well. They often dress inappropriately, with smelly tattered jeans and shirts, or shiny patten shoes and pimpish gold chains. They often say "Hi, Mrs, Amy" and I grin and wonder what the proper Georgian church ladies think of me speaking with the likes of them. I like to let them wonder. I am no longer an outsider looking in, but am now on the front lines of sorts. And as I learn their stories, and feel their pain, and pray their requests beside them, hand in hand, I experience the joy that comes with loving the way Jesus loved, on His terms, in some small way attempting to be His hands and feet, and it hurts really good.

If you think to pray for us in this small ministry we would be very grateful.

A very good day

Recently my littlest baby had a fever. We had just watched the movie Anastasia, which in hindsight was a bit too scary for six year old eyes. After some Tylenol melt aways, in grape flavour of course, I tucked her beneath crisp white sheets, and fluffy comforters.

"I sure hope that movie doesn't give me bad dreams" she whispered softly.

"Try to think happy thoughts as you fall asleep" I coached, "then you will have happy dreams" I assured her. "Think of your favorite day ever" I coaxed, giving examples of what I knew were good memories...."How about Disney World, or your birthday" I reminded "jumping on the trampoline, or playing in the park?" I suggested as we embraced and kissed.

Her raspy cold induced voice croaked quietly " I think I will think about the day I was born".

"Can you remember that day?" I implored.

"NO" her voice drifted as she nestled deeper into the soft quilt, "but I am sure it was a very good day!"

A VERY GOOD day indeed!

Family

When I was in first grade I cut my hair short because I wanted to look just like my sister Angie. She was 9 years older then me, and I thought she hung the moon. The kids at school called me "The Fonz" after swimming class because it was all slicked back. Remember Happy Days, with Henry Winkler? After swimming each day we walked from the high school pool across the street, back to our elementary school room with wet hair. Did I mention I am from Michigan?

My big sis even let me dress like her. We had matching black Patent leather wedges with tear drop cut-outs and double buckle closures . The epitome of early seventies style. She was a high school senior, I was too young to even be considered a junior teenybopper, I loved those shoes!

Her best friend Loni, who always smelled like Johnson's baby powder, had the same shoes.

They were hip, I was by association also hip, well, as hip as a little girl with Fonzie hair, and two inch wedges could be.

I cried when I outgrew those shoes.

When I was in the fifth grade I wanted a certain kind of boots. There was a new girl at school named Beth James, and she had the boots, and so did Cindy Cleveland the "cool girl". Well, my mom wouldn't buy me those certain boots, because there were some very similar at Thrifty acres, with a much smaller price tag. I didn't want the knock offs, I wanted the real deal, and if I couldn't have the real deal boots, then gosh darn it, I would just wear my shoes. All year my Mom let me trudge through the snow (uphill both ways) in my less then water proof suede shoes, because I was too proud to wear "fake" boots. Did I mention that I am from Michigan? I was not a brat, I was just fashion conscious!

Family made me feel secure and loved, I remember, and I am so very thankful.

Back to my sister...

She let me sit between she and her boyfriend at church every week, which at the time I thought was totally justified, but now, I'm like, what was she thinking....she must have really loved me?! He was also pretty fond of me, he told me complete bedtime stories in a Donald Duck voice. She and that boy later became man and wife, and that man officiated my wedding years later.

Family made me feel secure and loved, I remember, and I am so very thankful.

Sunday, a week ago, our new pastor (new to us, because we just found this wonderful church family), honored two couples in the congregation that were celebrating their 50 year wedding anniversaries. They stood in front of the church, and we stood and clapped, and tears welled up as our pastor prayed a prayer of remembrance. It was a heart felt, soul filled, personal prayer, remembering all the Lord had brought he and his wife through.....in essence, all He has brought us all through. After, while the congregation sang, I watched as the two older couples tenderly walked back to their seats ...hand in hand. Pastor Greg slipped over to whisper a quick word to his wife seated on the front row, and he wiped her tears. I wondered what her tears were for, as my own sweet companion squeezed my hand, knowing the cause of mine.

Family makes me feel secure and loved, I remember, and I am so very thankful.

I read an article recently that was arguing for the nullification of marriage. Apparently, according to said article, young women today no longer see the need for marriage. "Gone are the days" it stated "when women need men." I beg to differ. I need my man, and frankly, he needs me. Could we function without one another? for sure (with God's help)! but, God ordained marriage, He invented it! Marriage is a beautiful thing, it is the beginning of family. He is the beginning of family.

Family makes me feel secure and loved, I remember, and I'm so very thankful.

Now ElizaJane my first grader often sits between her oldest brother and his bride. They are careful to welcome her when she slips behind her Daddy and I, while we stand to sing with the congregation. She slowly pops up between them, and they grin. Dakota lifts her gangely limbs into his safe arms so she can see over the crowd, and kisses her softly.

Family makes her feel secure and loved. One day she will remember, and be so very thankful.

linking up today with Chatting at the sky

climb to the top

I am constantly amazed at the willingness in my kids to try new things. I love that they all thrive in new surroundings, that they do not cower in the face of the unknown, or back away from obstacles or challenges. I am proud of how they so easily acclimate to new places, and have the ability to effortlessly make friends.

They have all faced huge upsets in their lives in the last few years, moving, disappointment, loss of friends, physical limitations, gossip, the realisation that people are not always who they claim to be, the death of a sibling, and the grief of their parents, the hard realities of life.

The four children I have left on earth, hold their heads high, they try, they battle, they persevere, they keep on keeping on,

.....and my one boy in Heaven, well, I am convinced that he is now able to climb mountains as well.

linking up with

http://www.chattingatthesky.com/2010/06/29/blooming-on-a-tuesday/

Hero is spelled DAD

The Father's day card that ElizaJane picked out this year for her Daddy, to go with the straw hat we purchased for those long hot lawn mowing days here in Georgia said, "At our house we spell Hero D-A-D."

Her card is so right on target! Her Daddy is her Hero!

All of these pictures were taken this year, but we have lots more just like 'em for every 22 years that we have had children. Pictures of him being here with us, always being fun! He isn't a I'm to tired, or maybe later, kind of Dad. He has invested his days being available and present.

He plays, he wrestles, he prays, he laughs, he lectures, he admonishes, he coaches, he corrects, he hugs, he cries for, he comforts, he helps, he encourages, he ribs, he punishes, he reads to, he teaches, he compliments, he drives, but whatever it is that he does, he is here, and he has been doing it for 22 years, and he will continue to do it for as many days as the Lord gives him!

In his heart he yearns for his children to love their God with all their hearts, and to follow and serve their God always. That has always been his greatest desire and prayer, and it always will be.

He longs for them to be great men and women of God, not for the eyes of man, but for the glory of their Father in Heaven.

I can say, because I have watched for 22 years, that he always strives to be the best Father he can be, always, and that takes sacrifice. If given the opportunity he would give his life for each of his kids without a moments hesitation.

In essence he does give his life for his kids, every moment of every day, as he works hard to provide for their physical needs, and comes home and provides for their spiritual and emotional needs as well.

At our house Hero is spelled D-A-D!