A young woman passed away a week or two after suffering severe complications from childbirth.  She slipped into a coma shortly after giving birth to a healthy daughter who bears her name.  Last night or early today, she slipped away to heaven.  Her husband and five daughters are left to carry on without her.  Yet still he praises God.  My heart breaks for all six of them.

With the passing of the friend of friends at way too young of an age, I am flooded with memories, emotion, pain, and insight.  This entry is to try and focus on the insight (although I cannot promise pain or memories will not freckle the landscape of this article.)

I hate that I had to say good-bye to a husband at such a young age.  But I am grateful we had the opportunity to say everything that needed to be said.  I knew what he wanted done with his remains.  I knew what kind of service he wanted.  I even knew his hopes and dreams for my future without him.  We spoke at length about everything, good, bad, easy, hard, and most definitely ugly!  But what about this sweet young family who faced an unexpected good-bye?  I know she had no expectation of slipping into a wordless coma when she started laboring with her precious daughter. 

And so, tonight, I took the opportunity to talk to my sweet husband God gave me.  I told him, "If, Heaven forbid, anything ever happens to me, I'm not mad at God.  I do not blame him.  If I am ever taken from you, be angry at the devil.  I love God and know He is never the cause of bad things happening.  I love you with all my heart.  I always will, no matter what.  But I will never blame God, so please don't either.  And tell our son not to blame God."

Yes, maybe I'm borrowing trouble.  I think we're all colored with our experiences.  And experiencing the loss of a spouse makes us feel very deeply when someone else does, too.  So, at the risk of not having the opportunity to say everything that I would want to say in those last months, weeks, days, or hours, I will say them tonight.  I will say them when I am safe and healthy.  I will pray those words never have to echo in his ears or heart.  But at the risk of borrowing trouble, I will leave nothing unsaid in this relationship, either.

Haiti

I cannot believe it, but it has been more than a quarter of a century since I visited Haiti.  My brother and I had the  honor to go there at the tender ages of 10 (him) and 8 (me) when my parents were chaperoning a high school youth group mission trip.  My life has never been the same.  I don't know why, but I feel a distinct tug on my heart to write about Haiti tonight.  I haven't been back since, though I've thought of it often.  I'd love to go again, but not because it is beautiful or fun or enriching in a traditional sense.

We went to work on building the second story for a school at a mission.  The first impression I had of Haiti, though I doubt I could have articulated it at the time, was that it felt oppressive.  Not the heat or the stench.  But spiritually, it felt heavy.  If my heart could suddenly be wrapped in weighted belts, that was Haiti.  I remember seeing a 5-year-old little girl taking care of her younger brother, who was naked with a swollen belly.  I recall seeing the exuberant joy on the faces of children, ages 2 -16, when they received small tokens and toys, like jacks, jumpropes, and balls with which to play.  These trinkets cost paltry amounts of money for Americans but were treated like prized possessions there, which they likely were.

I remember the poverty, the tattered clothes, the dirt everywhere.  Dirt outside (not grass.)  Dirt roads.  Dirt floors.  It just was brown.  We worked hard there.  It was hot and sticky and dusty.  (I actually came back so tanned, someone asked me if I was black or white!)  I remember seeing men cut the grass (what little there was) with machetes, bent over in backbreaking work, because the mower was broken.  I remember walking through a very crowded, loud, and intimidating open-air market one day.  People were shouting, vying for our attention and American money.  I wanted a doll as a souvenir.  There were lots of stalls selling them, but my mother kept saying no, I couldn't have one of those dolls, but we'd find one.  The dolls she kept telling me no to were, in fact, voodoo dolls.  (We did eventually find a beautiful, non-voodoo doll, that I believe we still have.) 

One of the things that sticks out heavily in my mind was the very powerful, very real, presence of voodoo.  It isn't just mumbo-jumbo made up in a movie for a plot twist.  The belief and faith in this dark practice was palpable.  One of my clearest memories is from the nights there in Haiti.  We'd lie in our beds at the mission and, almost every night, drumming would start.  It wasn't partying.  It was voodoo drums, their rhythms flowing down the mountain, subtly filling the air.  They weren't loud.  I never heard chanting.  But unmistakable drumming.  I love music and percussions.  But this drumming chilled me to the bone in a very not-good way.

I was so impacted by the spiritual magnitude of this place that I asked my dad for a very big thing.  I was originally slated to be baptized with two of my cousins later that summer.  I asked my dad to baptize me there, in Haiti.  We had a good discussion of what baptism meant and why I wanted it then and there.  The day we went to the beach, I was baptized by my father in the Caribbean. 

When you're in a place like Haiti, there is no longer a question of "is there good and evil?"  It is obvious!  So much spiritual darkness hangs like a heavy veil over that small country.  Yet those who have been told about and accepted Christ have such joy!  Their lives were not instantly changed in manners of wealth, health, or freedom from a corrupt government.  But their outlooks, their peace, their pursuit of holiness did change their lives.  I felt so honored that my spiritual life would, in a small way, be tied to that country and to other believers who might get baptized along the beach.

I guess I would sum up my experience like this.  If you wonder, if you question, if you doubt, go to Haiti.  It isn't a bad place.  The people are not unkind.  But the weight of Haiti, the "feel" of Haiti is almost proof that there is evil.  That there is a Hell.  And that there is a devil.  But there's redemption to that oppressive feeling.  For if there is evil, there must be pure love.  If there is a Hell, there must be a Heaven.  And if there's a devil, there must be a God. 

I can see God in a flower, a rainstorm, a waterfall.  But for those who cannot, go to Haiti.  Then tell me there isn't a God.

God, Christians, and Inspiration

Today, I feel compelled to write about something very dear to my heart - faith.  Specifically, faith in One True God, people who profess it, and people who judge it.  This is not a tear anyone down rant.  So don't necessarily quit reading for fear of that.  Rather, it's a challenge to us all, churched or unchurched...

I believe in a sovereign God.  That means - He Is It!  There's only one Him and He's the Him.  I do not subscribe to the "many paths to enlightenment and joy and peace and whatever-you-believe-for-you-is-fine-just-don't-impose-it-on-me" mentality.  I am a Christian and most people know that very shortly after meeting me.  I make no apologies about my faith. Ever.  And if someone asks me why I believe the way I do, I'm happy to discuss.  But I try really hard to let my life speak without having to beat anyone over the head to "prove" that I'm a Christian or try to convert them.  I'd rather they see the peace and joy I experience BECAUSE OF GOD (not because of me!) and ask questions. 

I don't think I've ever told anyone they were going to hell.  I don't feel that's my job.  God sees hearts.  I do not.  I may think "Oh, you poor, misguided soul."  But I hope my words are "I love Him enough that I will speak about the wonderful things God has done in my life.  I love you enough that I will pray for you and freely discuss anything you'd like without backing down.  I love you enough that I disagree with you; I love you enough that I cannot support your decision; I love you enough that I do not condone that behavior.  But I will always love YOU."  I've had very, ahem, lively discussions with people in the past.  I expect that I will have more intense conversations in the future.  And I'm okay with that.

But the ultimate truth is - God is God and I am not.  So I will not judge you.  Likewise, please don't judge me.  Do not assume that because my conversion was not a "road to Damascus" experience that my testimony is less valid or valuable.  I have never been drunk.  I have never done drugs.  I have loving, Godly parents and an amazing family.  That doesn't mean I haven't walked through valleys or am too blinded by mountaintop views to appreciate sorrow and heartache.  I do not believe you have to hit rock bottom before you can be saved.  I think God's arm is long enough to reach us in the lowest pit of despair.  But I think His desire is that His arms be used to wrap us up in bear hugs of delight, whether life has always or never been rosy.

I also think that whenever someone sets out to "inspire," they usually wind up setting themselves up for the fall.  Christ said that he will make high the humble and make low the proud.  I'm not saying you shouldn't live a life to the glory of God.  But let it be just that - for the glory of GOD, not the glory of you.  No one goes around looking for bad experiences to endure.  But sometimes difficult things befall us.  It is walking those trials in sincerity and meekness that inspires, not "ooh, I'm gonna look good on the other side of this!"  I think people are inspired by watching a person prevail where the onlookers fear they might fail.  It's that victory that's lived in sincerity that inspires.  It gives us that "if they can get through THAT, maybe I will be all right, too..." feeling.  and I believe that  we endure tragedy well only through the grace and mercy of God.  Thus, it's God that's inspiring.

I have been told numerous times over the past several years that I inspire or encourage others.  That blesses me so much.  But it humbles me.  Because I know I've done NOTHING to inspire or encourage.  I write what I think.  I seek God.  I make up life as I go, for I know no other way.  I am so thrilled that God uses me in a tiny, miniscule way to touch the heart of another.  But I know it's HIM.  Most people who I consider a personal inspiration would not consider themselves thusly.  Most people I admire would probably start talking in "why, um, but, and huhs?" if I told them how much I really think of them.  But that's probably why I do.  They're genuine.  They're not after the praises and accolades of men.  They're just honestly in love with God and it is reflected in all they do.

So, if you want to have a life full of peace that defies explanation, believe in God.  If you want to inspire someone, love, serve, and seek God.  If you want to judge someone, evaluate yourself.  And if you want a lively conversation (about God or anything else), let me know!  I promise I won't be mean...

No motivation

I sit here this morning, thinking of the clean laundry that needs to be folded and put away, the dirty clothes still to be washed, the dishwasher, run but not emptied, and the freshly soiled breakfast dishes.  I think of the vacuuming that ought to be done and how the bathrooms need to be cleaned.  And I want to do exactly none of it!  (I get credit for at least contemplating it, though, right?)

It's an unseasonably warm and slightly rainy day here in Chicagoland.  And all I can think about is how I want to go wander around, exploring with my son.  Then tuck him in for an unrealistically long nap and read my newly acquired book that has sucked me in more than time permits. 

I want to blow off responsibility.  I want to ignore financially sound decisions.  I want to play.  I'd like it more if I had another adult to come along.  But my boy makes for pretty good company most of the time.  I want to disregard acting "proper" or grown-up.  (Having a child tends to make that somewhat more socially acceptable.)  But I want to just skip in the rain, play ring-around-the-rosy, and generally run around like an idiot.  I want to eat breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner out without caring what it costs, even though there's perfectly acceptable food in the fridge and cabinets
I want to drive around in January with all the windows rolled down and music blaring.  And no red lights or stop signs. 

I know very little, if any, of those things will actually occur today.  I'll at least get a load of laundry started.  And the condition of the cupboards will dictate that the dishwasher will get unloaded.  And the desire to eventually eat will mean that dishes eventually will get washed.  But, if you will allow me one extremely indulgement whine...

I DON'T WANNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Grateful reflections

Sitting here on a Saturday afternoon in Chicagoland, wrapped in a warm Christmasy blanket while the little one sleeps and the bigger one is at work makes me so grateful.

It's a little nippy, but I have shelter from the cold wind, blankets to wrap up in, and a thermostat I can tweak if need be. I have hot coffee and hot tea at my disposal.

My son is safe and snug in a nice bed in his own room. And he's worn out because we had reliable transportation and went to a mall to play. He is healthy and vital enough to want and need exercise and social interaction. He is becoming able to verbalize he wants and needs ("i wanna play, momma.")

My husband has gone to work. Yes, it's Saturday; yes, all three of us would rather he be home. But he's employed. No, he's not earning time and a half. But he earns enough that I can stay home with our boy and take care of them both. He works today because he's a good manager. His employees have to work and he's there to support them, to show that he's not asking them to do something he's not willing to do. It'll make the next three days he's off that much more wonderful.

To top it all off, it's my parents wedding anniversary. Thirty-nine years ago today, they embarked on the journey of a lifetime! Two kids, three grandkids, a couple of jobs, a retirement, and a million travelling miles later, they're more in love with one another than ever. They have both shown me so much of what a Godly life well lived can and should look like. They've been the embodiment of good employees, good parents, good spouses, good children, good siblings, good friends, and good people. The best thing they could do for my brother, me, our spouses, and our kids is to love one another well, without judgment, beyond conditions. And they do. I am so grateful for the parents God gave me. I will count my life blessed and successful if I can live half as beautifully as they have thus far. I expect the rest of their lives will be equally as inspiring.

I know my mother will read this. And I know she will shake her head, claiming to be "boring," "ordinary," or "unremarkable." But the truth is, she is beautiful, extraordinary, fascinating, and funny. She's a rockstar mom and grandmother. My dad is charming, outgoing, fun, and loving. And quite frankly, there's a whole bunch more adjectives I could use to describe them both. But I'd be remise if I didn't tack on one more that applies to them both. And I think is the epitome of how they live their lives, both privately with one another and to the world - generous. They're some of the most giving people I know. They would tell you that's one of the reasons they're as blessed as they are. But I think when you're as much of a blessing to a world full of individuals as they are, they're bound to get loved and blessed right back. But they never expect anything. They're just remarkable people who I am blessed to call mine.

I'm a very grateful woman. May tomorrow and the new year keep me so, whatever may come.

The In-Between Day

Yesterday was the anniversary of someone asking me to spend the rest of my life with him; to start a family and a new chapter in both of our lives; to commit to an unknown but potential wonderful journey together.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of a "happily ever after" getting cut short after a mere 10 1/2 years; of saying "see you later" to a man I dearly love and for whom I moved away from all I had ever previously known; with whom I embarked on several incredible journeys.

Today, well today is the in-between day.  It was very ordinary.  Quite truthfully, yesterday was ordinary.  And, while tomorrow will be flavored with a meld of emotions, both happy and sad and all involving some tears, it will be ordinary.  But today, this day in the middle of anniversaries of milestone moments, is just the 19th of December. 

I smile at my engagment ring and remember the proprosal during this time of year.  I recall waking up that night (several times) in the pitch black with my eyes still closed and holding my hand up to admire the ring that I could not see.  I remember calling my dad and brother, both of whom instantly asked if we'd set a date.  I remember the sweet, simple way he proposed during the VERY romantic move "3:10 to Yuma."  I remember the doubts and fears of his that dotted our every discussion in the days leading up to the proposal.

I wear the necklace of the wedding bands I had made after Nathan's passing more often during this time of year.  I smile at recalling our life together. I smile as I remember being a teenaged bride; at him giving me my family as a birthday present, all the big and little moments that comprised our marriage.  I cry at the thought of the last days.  I cry for the pain he felt; I cry for joy that he's free from that pain.  I cry at the loneliness I felt.  And I cry knowing how much he hated leaving me.  I cry from the unknown in those first moments, days, weeks, months.  I cry from the overwhelming love that was poured out on us both. 

And I look at the ring he bought me the day before he started to sleep. It's on my hand, along with the new engagement ring previously mentioned.  How two such amazing men could deem me worthy of their forever love is beyond me. But it's something I'll never take for granted.  And so, on this in-between day, I find myself blessed.  I have been loved unconditionally twice.  I have been promised forever twice.  I have had two men give me their hearts, their lives, and their names.  They are hearts I will never break or discard.  They are lives I am honored to walk through with them.  They are names I am proud to take as my own.  They are men I am privileged to love and serve and honor and cherish and respect. 

I hope I can be the woman they both saw in me.  I hope I live a life worthy of bearing their names.  Even on the ordinary, in-between days.

Reason for Silence and Cute Anecdotes

So, I've been pretty quiet lately (well, at least in the blogsphere.)  I know, very unusual!  In part, it was because I felt like my stories of my son might be fascinating to me, but would they be to others?  In part, dealing with being a full-time flying solo momma while hubs is living near Chicago.  (Jackson and I are planning to move there as soon as we can sell our house in Kansas City.  Anyone want to buy a house?  I'll give you a killer deal!)

Our fall has been very pleasant.  Jack and I have driven up a few times to visit Lino in Chicago.  I discovered I actually really enjoy driving and seem to do it well without fatigue.  I'm excited for the new transition and think Chicagoland will be a great fit for us.  We feel like, while this may be a difficult change to make in some ways, it's God's Hand leading us.  So it will be worth the challenges.  The hardest part for us all so far has just been the separation and missing the minute details of daily life.

We did get to spend a week together, along with my family, in The Smokies.  It was gorgeous scenery and fantastic company.  We had a wonderful time, including a long overdue date night.  (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)  Lino came home this past weekend for Thanksgiving.  It marks the first time he's been back in the KC area since he moved in the middle-endish of September.  That's a long time to be away from home!  He returned back to Chi-town on Sunday and work on Monday.

One of the primary reasons I decided to blog tonight is because my knucklehead cracked me up tonight!  We were hanging out in the den when he ran into the kitchen, decided something, and came running back to me.  "Cu Cu Cu," he kept saying.  I finally realized he was asking to color.  So I set out crayons and a sheet from a coloring book.  He thanked me politely and sat down to color.  A few minutes later I hear, "I DID IT!!!" and he came running full speed at me with paper in hand.  Yes, he had done an excellent job of scribbling all over the page.  But his pride and exuberance were so precious!  I told him he did a good job. 

Then he shocked me by showing me that he can read.  Yep, my two-year-old can read.  But only invisible writing.  You see, evidently, my forehead reads, "Sucka!" 

He started saying, "bye-bye!"  I said "bye" back to him and didn't think too much about it.  He often says "Bye" for absolutely no reason.  I guess he had a reason this time.  He came back with his coat in hand.  "Help," he said.  I tried explaining that we didn't need to go anywhere.  (Mind you, it's after 6 and freezing cold outside.)  "Help.  Bye," he insisted as he held out his coat.  I smiled and relented (See?  "Sucka!"  And he knew it!)  So I helped him on with his coat and told him to go get his shoes.  He returned with his Elmo house shoes.  "Eh, why not?" I decided.  I put on my coat and boots and we headed out.

I put the radio on the Christmas station and we drove around looking at Christmas lights.  After a couple of minutes, I asked him if we could go home yet.  "NO!" he enthusiastically exclaimed.  So we drove around a while longer.  After about 10 minutes, he started giggling with delight every time we saw lights.  We pulled back into our subdivision and I again asked if he was done and we could go home.  This time, he conceded.  We get out and he yells, "Bye-bye Car!"  This child cracks me up!  He asked to go to bed once we got home and was super-snuggly while reading a story.

Yes, my child can read me like a book and play me like a fiddle.  And someday, that may be a very, very bad thing.  But tonight, it was just what I needed.  I'm pretty sure I had as much as he did.  And I can't think of better company to have done it with (except, of course, to add his daddy to the outing.)  So next time he comes at me with a coat, I'll probably say yes again.  And I know I'll treasure those tiny, tender moments when my son wants to go out in public with his mommy.