Do you know how big 720 grams is?  I confess I had to look it up and do the math.  (I am metrically challenged.)  720 grams is one pound, nine ounces — about half the size of a rotisserie chicken in the grocery store; less than a medium cantaloupe, a pineapple or a small laptop.  But 30 years ago 720 grams changed my life.

When you become a parent, life changes.  With each child, life changes.  But perhaps most of all, with the first.  You can read all the books, hear everyone else’s anecdotes and think you are ready to become a parent.  But you are never fully ready until you are plunged into parenthood.

For Michael and I our first experience with parenting was even more extraordinary than we expected.  The years leading up to this time we had walked away from God’s leading in our lives.  There were lots of circumstances and feelings, but we made the choice to move away from God.  So the pending birth of our first child was not a time of leaning on him.  Rather it was a time of turmoil and uncertainty.

The joy and anticipation we should have been experiencing were instead replaced by preoccupation with a failing business and depression over difficult decisions we were making.  When the doctors told us unexpectedly that our first child would be born at 25 weeks gestation, the news sent us running back to Him.  Funny how a crisis does that.  Sends us running back to the one who is our Protector and Defender.  Michael often relayed to people how he went home the night before she was born and fell on his face begging God to take him instead of our baby and me.

When our first baby was born, 30 years ago today, she weighed 720 grams.  1 pound, 9 ounces.  She was 13 inches long.  Her prognosis for life was very poor and her expected quality of life was nonexistent.  It was three days before I got to see her, to reach my hand in the isolette to touch her.  But I did get to touch her and talk to her and tell her that I loved her.

With each passing day she surprised the doctors and nurses.  She never had a setback or any of the many surgeries that so many preemies have.  And though they continued to tell us not to expect much for her, God continued to show the doctors that He had other plans.  After eleven weeks in the hospital, we brought her home.  As time passed, she grew and begin to mark all the milestones that we see in childhood years.  Then came the teenage years and she again went through all the typical highs and lows that adolescents endure.  (She calls these the awkward years. Haha).

When she was in college one day we were having a conversation about what it would be like to lose a parent and she said one of the most beautiful things she’s ever said to me.  “I couldn’t stand to lose one of you — there’s too much I need to learn from you.”  (Music to a parent’s ears.  Still makes my eyes leak.)

Do you know how big 720 grams is?  Big enough to steal your heart and change your life forever.  Big enough to redirect the path you were taking in life.  Big enough to make you laugh and cry at the same time.  Big enough to change you from a woman to a mom, and 30 years later to a grandmother.

Happy 30th Birthday Christy! I love you! And nothing you ever do and nothing that ever happens to you will change that.
Sent from my iPad

I’ve noticed a pattern in recent months.  When I see folks, whether it be old friends or new, you share the first few words and then inevitably they lean in and say, “How are you doing?”  (Relax, this isn’t another rant about the things people say to me.)  My pattern of response is usually, “I’m ok.”  I know this may not seem like much to you, but when I say “I’m ok”, I haven’t been saying it with any enthusiasm, but rather more of a resignation.  (Ok, so maybe this is a rant about what I say to other people.)

Well, no more. Because I’m not ok.

I’m GOOD!  I’ve been dragging through these last few months falling into a dangerous pattern.  I’m not just ok.  I’m good!  I’m tired of short-changing God by just being ok.  I have awakened every day and most of my body parts work without too much aching.  I have a great house to live in, a car in the garage, places to go and friends to go with me (most of the time).  My kids are all healthy and pursuing their dreams.  I can walk three miles on the treadmill, do 20 push-ups and hold plank for 90 seconds.  My mind still works most of the time and I laugh more than I cry.

More importantly God loves me and still has work for me to do.  I’m not sure exactly what His plan looks like, but I have a few ideas and the rest He’ll fill me in on when He decides I need to know.  I’m beginning to feel a call back into some of the things I was involved in before I became Michael’s caregiver; but I’m leaving the timing and details of that to God.

No more being ok.  No more being resigned to what my life looks like right know, because my life looks pretty darn good.  No more dragging around being ok.  I prefer to waltz around being good.  I’m under no misconception that every day will bring sunshine and gumdrops.  But I’ve survived for nine months of what I thought was the worst thing that could ever happen.  And even though I’ve sometimes pushed Him away, God’s never left my side or stopped loving me.  As my devotional read a few days ago – His love is not dependent on my performance; they are two different things.  Praise God!

Disclaimer:  Writer reserves the right to have an occasional pity party, limited to brief spans and decreasing in frequency.  Writer also acknowledges that tears are a more prevailing part of her life, whether they be induced by joy, sadness, sentiment or hormones.  And finally, writer concedes that her heart has a break which will leave a scar for as long as she is earth-bound, also knowing that this and all things shall find their definitive healing in heaven.

Come out of sadness from wherever you’ve been                                         Come broken hearted let rescue begin                                                               Come find your mercy, oh sinner come kneel                                                  Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal                                                     Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal                                                                                                                                                                              –David Crowder

When I was in the Girl Scouts we had a song we sang, “Make new friends but keep the old; One is silver and the other gold”.  I have had the privilege of making so many friends, but today I share with you some of my life-time friends which I would call “friends of the heart”.  Seven women who have known me most of my life and who have made life so rich.

Though we come from different places, our friendship was founded in one church in which we all worshipped and served.  These friends offer advice and support and sometimes just an ear to listen.  One of the first Bible verses I ever learned was Proverbs 17:17, “A friend loves at all times.”  This simple verse tells me two things – that friendship involves the deep emotion of love and that it endures over time.  While each of us has other friends outside of this circle, these seven women and their husbands meet the true definition of friend.

The eight of us range in age from 57 to 63.  I won’t tell you who’s the oldest, but I will tell you that I am the youngest.  (Insert smile.)  Some of us have known each other since elementary school, but we have all known each other for at least thirty years.  We have each been married only once, but together we have been married over 310 years.  Six of our eight husbands own their own businesses, in which we often find ourselves involved.  We have five bachelor’s degrees and two master’s degrees.  We have had many jobs: secretary, legal secretary, accountant, computer programmer, director, consultant, interior designer, school principal and teacher – from preschool through high school.

We have 21 children – 15 boys and 6 girls.  Our children have attended 8 different schools and 13 different colleges.  Fourteen of our children are now married and three are engaged, so our families continue to grow.   Among our children we have businessmen and women, preachers and teachers, a doctor and nurses, a coach, a lawyer, a speech therapist, a painter and a musician.  We currently have 25 grandchildren with one more on the way.  And so our joy multiplies

Together we have shared: Laughter and tears, maternity clothes, pediatricians, physicians, dentists, orthodontists, school uniforms, recipes, science fair projects, business partnerships, homes, vehicles, vacations, office space, diets, workout routines, and hair dressers. Some of us have even shared plastic surgeons, but I won’t be telling you who – after all some things a girlfriend never tells!

Together we have survived: the death of three children, marital struggles, depression and abuse, bankruptcy, empty nests and the death of a spouse.

Together we have celebrated: Awards and achievements, championships, tailgate parties, homecoming queens, scholarships, graduations, birthdays, engagements, weddings, anniversaries, birthing babies and traveling together.  We have cheered and celebrated every possible milestone of our children’s lives.

Together we have supported each other: through school setbacks and dropouts, loud parties, calls to the police, juvenile detention, drug and alcohol abuse, unwed pregnancy, countless fender-benders and speeding tickets, multiple health crises, including cancer, and burying those we love.

We have each lost at least one parent and several of us have lost both.  We have learned to coordinate caring for our parents and our children at the same time.  We have been known to have loud spirited discussions followed by prolonged periods of silence.  We have sometimes taken different paths in our lives, but never drifted so far that a mere phone call doesn’t bring us all running to help.  These friends are loyal and dedicated; they are honest and forgiving.  They can make the ordinary extraordinarily fun.

Through the years I have learned that these are women I can count on to cheer me, to be honest with me, to grow with me.  They encourage me physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.  And in so doing they help me to be a better me.  Though we have changed over the years, we have always had in common our faith in Jesus Christ.  While we don’t all serve in the same church anymore, our faith hasn’t changed and is still the foundation for the friendships we share.

To our children and grandchildren – May you continue this tradition of friendship with each other as well as with others you meet along the way.  May you remember the adventures and laughter our families have shared long after we are gone.  May you have those in your lives who encourage you and grow with you as we have.  And may God bless you with friends of the heart whose foundation of faith matches yours.

And this is what I pray for each of you – that your lives will be blessed with great friends as mine has, and that you will be the same good friend to others that these have been to me.

PS – The picture below was taken recently when 13 of the remaining 15 friends were able to get together. It’s a rare occasion!

Michael wasn’t scared of death.  But Michael was always very brave.  He would press forward to try things that he had never done before.  He would dream of bigger things than I could dream.  He would make plans far into the future for the development of ideas and ministries and opportunities.

So many times during Michael’s illness and even after his death, people prayed the 23^rd Psalm.  In particular I think of the 4^th verse.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil for You are with me.

To walk through the valley of the shadow of death.  It’s just the shadow of death.  But to cast a shadow that covers a valley, death must be large and looming.  And to cast a shadow, death must come between the valley and the light.  So I picture this large looming presence that blocks the light.  It doesn’t eliminate the light.  The light is still there.  But it blocks our view of the light.  Maybe death wants us to think the light is gone, or ineffective.  This, to me, is a little scary.

To me, death is a little scary.  It’s not what happens after death.  I know my eternity is with God and all that He promises in His word.  I know that He will never leave me or forsake me.  (Hebrews 13:5)  I know that nothing can separate me from His love in Christ Jesus.  (Romans 8:38-39)  But it’s the transition from this life to the next, the door that we walk through to go from this life to the next, that’s a little scary to me.  I guess because I’ve never done that before. I’ve never made that transition.  I’ve not walked through that doorway.  And anything I’ve never done is a little scary for me to do.

But I admit that since Michael’s death, it is a little less scary for me.  For one, because I saw him make the transition so bravely and so peacefully.  But most of all because I know that now, when I do make the transition, Michael will be there to hold the door open for me.  Just like he’s held open my door for so many years.  When the time comes I picture him being there to hold the door open for me so I can walk through and see Jesus face to face.  And that makes it a little less scary to me.

As a friend recently told me – Heaven is a little more real to me because I have so much invested there.  Michael.  A child never born.  Mom and Dad.  And so many others we have loved and lost over the years.

Update: I recently heard someone say, regarding all the scriptures we quote:  “What if it’s actually true?  What if all those verses we say we believe are actually true?  And what if we actually lived like it?”

The thoughts above, I wrote within just a few weeks of Michael’s death.  And I still feel every one of them.  But as time passes I tell you that I marvel at Michael’s faith.  It is one thing for me to lay my head down each night knowing that I may not wake in the morning.  But I’ve always waken.  And most of us do.  It’s quite another thing to know that God is ready for you to come home, ask for the medical care to end and know that you are looking for the last time at your family and friends.  What incredible faith he exercised in knowing that when he closed his eyes he would no longer be on this earth.  What incredible faith he showed by closing his eyes to know he would open them in the presence of God.  He walked ahead of me through that doorway.

Because He lives I can face tomorrow
Because He lives all fear is gone
Because I know He holds the future
And life is worth the living just because He lives

And then one day I’ll cross the river
I’ll fight life’s final war with pain
And then as death gives way to victory
I’ll see the lights of glory and I’ll know He lives

Because He lives I can face tomorrow
Because He lives all fear is gone
Because I know He holds the future
And life is worth the living just because He lives

I wrote recently about my trip to Bethlehem and the rather intense experience I had.  What I didn’t mention was that we had some extra time at the end of the day, so there was a special visit I made while in town.

Here’s the background for the visit: About 10 years ago I met a lady while in my favorite spa in Destin.  Her name is Wafaa and she is from Egypt.  At the time she had just begun working at the spa and was training to learn how to give facials (I don’t remember the exact term used).  Over the years as I returned to the spa I would always request her for services and we’ve become friends.  Wafaa is a Catholic Christian who is always praising God and encouraging me when we meet.  We had a very interesting conversation several years ago.

Wafaa: I have three children.

Me: I have three children.

Wafaa:  I have two daughters and a son in the middle.

Me: I have two daughters and a son in the middle.

Wafaa: My son is studying to be a priest!

Me: My son is studying to be a pastor!

Wafaa: My son’s name is Peter!

Me: My son’s name is Andrew!

How funny!  My Egyptian friend and I seem to be leading parallel lives! As the years have passed we have kept up with each other and our children’s lives, though I’ve never had the opportunity to meet any of her family.  She tells me how she misses her family so far away, but because of the political situation she is rarely able to go visit them.  She also tells me how much she loves being here in the U.S.  Last fall she told me that her son Peter had been assigned to Bethlehem University in Bethlehem.  Bethlehem University was established in the 1970’s.  It’s a Catholic University that works to provide quality higher education to the people of Palestine.

Since we found ourselves with some extra time while in Bethlehem, we decided to see if we could find Bethlehem University.  The directions we simple – left at the light, take the first right and you’re there.  Easy enough – we turn left at the light and make the first right.  Now is when I remember reading that the University was at the highest point in Bethlehem.  That first right led us about three blocks straight up hill!  Well, you don’t go all the way to Bethlehem to give up easily, so up we went.

After dodging traffic and much huffing and puffing, we arrived at the back entrance to the University.  We found what looks like any other college scene – young men playing basketball, co-eds walking around, loading cars with all sorts of belongings.  We asked one of the students to show us to the main office – “Up the stairs to the top floor, go to the next building and then go to the second floor”.  You’re kidding right?  But off we go.

At some point, a member of the staff recognized that we obviously were visitors and stopped to ask if he could help us.  I told him I was looking for Peter. “Oh Peter!” he says.  He actually knew Peter!  Then he spoke to some students in Arabic and told them who we were looking for.  “Oh Peter!” they said.  They actually know Peter too!  Immediately they set off leading us too his office – actually backtracking because we had in fact passed him on our way up those many flights of stairs.

When we entered the office I could see a young man sitting at a desk in a glass office working with a female student.  Oh no!  I sure didn’t want to interrupt him.  I hadn’t made an appointment because I didn’t know if I’d get a chance to stop by.  But some of the students went right in and told him he had a visitor.  Immediately this young priest gets up from his desk, comes out of his office and walks toward me.  Oh no – I’ve taken him away from an important duty just so I can say Hi?  What’s he going to think?

As he walks closer I hear him say, “I’ve been waiting for you!  I’m so glad you’re here.  My mom is waiting for me to send her a message that you came!”  Well you can imagine my surprise!  This wonderful, friendly young man has been waiting for me to visit so he can tell his mom.  It was awesome!  We hugged and talked and laughed.  It was amazing!  Before I had the chance he asked if we could take a picture to send to his mom.

He explained a little of his work there – how even though he is Egyptian, he is accepted by the Palestinian people.  He said that they are the most generous people he’s met and he loves being there in Bethlehem.  And he talked about how incredible it is for him to be able to have his morning prayers in “the grotto” (the cave under the Church of the Nativity where it is believed Jesus was born).  I told him about my son Andrew studying to be a pastor, to which he responded “My brother!”

It was such an honor to meet Peter in person.  It was a privilege to hug him like a mother hugs her son.  And it was a pleasure to know that by seeing my friend’s son I had brought some small joy to her.  Because when someone does something for your child they do something for you.

While in Israel recently I had the opportunity to spend a day in Bethlehem.  I’ve been there several times before, always to see the Church of the Nativity and to shop in a favorite place for souvenirs.  But this was a new opportunity to spend the day with some new folks and to learn about everyday life there.

Bethlehem is part of the West Bank and is therefore under Palestinian rule even though it’s just a few miles south of Jerusalem.  To go there means going through a checkpoint between the Israeli and Palestinian guards.  On this particular day, our driver was a Palestinian Christian who lived in Jerusalem, which allowed him to have the necessary credentials for access without the usual waiting and red tape.

We had two appointments on this day.  Our first was to meet with Pastor Jack of the Bethlehem Bible College.  The BBC was founded in the late 1970’s as a Christian college providing education to the Bethlehem community which is overwhelmingly Muslim.  When we first arrived we were invited to attend their chapel service.  A Palestinian woman, modernly dressed, was on stage teaching passionately from the bible in the Arabic language.  Through our interpreter, we listened as she used Old Testament examples to point to Jesus Christ and the changes He wants to make in our lives.  When she finished we listened as 50+ young college students sang a worship song in Arabic.  While we couldn’t understand the words, the devotion was evident.

After chapel we had the opportunity to meet Pastor Jack.  He gave us a tour of their campus and greeted students along the way.  While it is certainly small by American standards, he pointed out the dorms, classrooms, and gave us an up close look at their media center where they are producing programs for the community on both secular and religious topics.  We were able to spend time with him in his office and later over lunch to discuss the work they are doing there.

What I haven’t mentioned so far is that Pastor Jack is a Palestinian Christian.  He was kind and gentle, incredibly welcoming to us and took time to not only explain but to listen to our views and experiences as well.  The woman preaching in chapel earlier that day was his wife.  Together with others on staff, they are reaching other Palestinians in Bethlehem, regardless of their faith, to create relationships that will lead to peace.  Maybe peace on a world-wide or nation-wide scale is a big goal; but if they can begin to live in peace with the people in their city and in their neighborhoods, if they can help to meet the needs of those around them out of love, then perhaps peace in a divided land is reachable.

Our second appointment on that day was with another gentleman named Marwan.  Marwan is a Palestinian Muslim who was volunteered by a mutual friend to take us into one of the Palestinian refugee camps in Bethlehem.  I didn’t even know there were refugee camps in Bethlehem, but there are three.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I’m just beginning to realize some significant details in the Israel/Palestine conflict.  While I have for years heard about how Israel became a nation in 1948 when the British Mandate allowed them to return to the land, there is one fact that I had missed.  When the Israel people moved into the land, there were folks already living there.  Before 1948, Muslims, Jews and Christians lived in the land beside one another.   In 1948, Arabs were told to move out so that Jewish folks could move in.  And they moved right into the homes previously occupied by the Arabs.  This was supposed to be for a short period of time – weeks – but continues still today.

Marwan did a great job of showing us around and explaining the current and historical situation as he sees it.  (I say that because there are so many sides to this story.)  He became quite passionate when he walked us through the “neighborhood” and reviewed for us the way the people are made to live and the losses they have suffered – property, dignity and the loss of life in the ongoing military conflicts.  As he talked, we watched children playing in the streets, traffic bringing people to their daily activities, school girls coming home in their school uniforms.  The housing is a mix of do-it-yourself styles that you would expect where there are no building codes and people are left to create what they need to survive.  Much of the walls are covered in “graffiti” type paintings depicting their history and social struggles.  The longer Marwan talked, the more passionate he became, and I must admit the less comfortable I felt.

As we returned from the refugee camp, Marwan began to speak of a group of American and British Christians that have begun to come to Bethlehem during the olive harvest to help the local people.  These folks come with no other motive than to help with the harvest and to establish relationships with the Palestinian people.  I was amazed to see the change in Marwan when he spoke of them.  He called them angels.  His voice softened and he smiled as he talked about what an honor it was to have these people in his presence and how he invited them to his home.  The same man who so passionately ranted in the streets of the refugee camp about violence and fighting and who was at fault, now smiled and spoke with genuine love for those who had come to help him.  How incredible to see the change in his demeanor when he was approached with love and respect.

I must confess that my mind and heart were changed on this day.  Over the years I have developed a mental image of what all Palestinians/Arabs look like.  It wasn’t pleasant and it was scary.  The combination of reading Genesis 16 – that Ishmael would be a wild donkey of a man, that he and his descendants would always be fighting with everyone – and watching the evening news have created a picture in my mind of a people I should fear and distrust.  And while that may be true of some, it certainly wasn’t what I experienced that day.

I understand God’s promise of the land and I certainly want the Jews to have what God promised.  But is it fair for others who were living there to be arbitrarily thrown out of their homes?   Surely when a government comes in and tells one family to leave a home so another can move in the same home, there will be resentment between the two.  When the resentment isn’t just two families, but two neighborhoods, then two people groups, the feelings begin to be stereotyped.  Resentment turns into violence, which is then answered by reciprocal violence.

My best understanding is that God gave Israel a land.  He promised it to Abraham back in Genesis.  And He said the land would be theirs forever.  Forever means forever.  But, can no one else live in the land with the Jewish people?   After all, God’s purpose for choosing them wasn’t just so they could be land owners.  He chose them to bring people to him.  To share their faith in God.   God who forgives us when we repent and trust Him.  How can they bring the world to God if they are isolated in a land?   I know the situation is much more complex than I’ve described.   I just peeled back one layer of an onion to discover there are hundreds more layers.   But within each of these layers of issues are people.  People who mostly just want to have a job and a place to live, a place to raise their children so that they can have a better life.   I don’t understand all the politics.  And I don’t think our media, no matter which channel you watch, is doing us any favors in understanding the situation.  Politically, I don’t think I want to be pro-Israel or pro-Palestinian.   I just want to be pro-people.

I’ve never been much of a crier.  I would rate myself as average on the sentimentality scale, but not to the point of tears.  I’m not sure why.  I suspect it goes back to needing to be strong enough to deal with tough issues as I grew up.  To cry always equalled weakness, which opened me up to being made fun of and hurt.

In the early years of my relationship with Michael, several times I remember starting to cry.  Each time he seemed to react more harshly than I would have preferred.  Again to avoid being hurt, I learned to swallow deep and keep the tears inside.  It was only in later years that I realized that his reactions were out of fear himself that I was hurt and he wouldn’t be able to “fix” whatever the problem was.  I even remember one of my kids commenting to the other that at their high school graduation “Mom cried!” because it was such a rare occurrence for them to see.

So, for the past ten days, as many of you know, I have been in Israel with friends.  This is a trip that Michael and I made together three times before.  I knew what to expect and most of the sites visited I’d been to before.  But what I didn’t expect was all the memories of being here with Michael – memories of the people who had travelled with us before, the places we loved, the laughs and games we played, the friends we met in Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  And over and over again on this trip I have cried. Sometimes it’s just a misty eye; other times I boo-hoo.

This week I was asked to present a devotional teaching on the trip.  The site assigned to me was the Pool of Bethesda.  This is the place in John chapter 5 where Jesus heals the man who has been waiting 30+years.  Well, after a week of emotional reminiscing, for me to talk about healing just opened the floodgates.  I blubbered through trying to convey how much I don’t understand about healing, why some get healed while others don’t.  It wasn’t my best work.

I just hate that I cry this way.  I understand it’s probably normal.  I know it’s because of the wonderful times we had together.  But I hate the way I feel so weak.  And I hate that it draws attention to myself and others feel sorry for me.  (Not to mention the fact that my nose turns red and my eyes swell – yes, I get the big ugly cry.)

Later in the day, while walking through the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem, I stopped into a shop where we’ve befriended the owners.  I’d been looking for something to bring my daughters from my trip.  As I looked into one of the jewelry cases I spotted two beautiful silver chains with teardrop shaped charms hanging from them.  The scripture next to the necklaces was Psalm 56:8 – You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book? (‭Psalms‬ ‭56‬:‭8‬ NASB)

Oh God, thank you that You care enough about me to gather up my tears.  You do not chastise me or grow impatient with me for crying.  You hear me and comfort me.  You understand all the mix of emotions, from loneliness and heartache to thankfulness for the memories and experiences I’ve had.  You know how weak the tears make me feel, but maybe weakness is just what I need to be feeling – weakness and dependence on You.

A few weeks ago I wrote about shifting my focus from the past to the future.  But sometimes in order to make the shift you have to go back and deal with some of what’s been left behind.  I guess because I’m the oldest daughter of an only child, I somehow managed to inherit boxes and boxes of old papers and pictures from my mother’s family.  I’ve been trying to systematically rid myself of 65 years of my parents’ tax returns, property tax bills, old newspaper clippings, recipes, magazines, health records, etc.

The latest project to tackle has been the papers left behind by my great aunt.  Having never married or had children of her own, my mother was her next of kin and caregiver in her later years.  One of the things my dear Aunt Chris devoted herself to was uncovering our family’s genealogy.  She literally spent years of her life researching, traipsing through cemeteries and courthouses, corresponding with cousins across the country and around the world.  It’s an interesting hobby that can consume you easily.  But what do you do with all the paper and copies of documents once there is no one ready to take on the task?  Well, it may have been a mistake, but this week I shredded most of it, saving only the most important documents and the last resulting family tree.  That’s right, I shredded old title deeds to property that was lost during the depression because the taxes couldn’t be paid, then recovered in the 1940’s by paying up the taxes.  I tossed out old letters sent by airmail to cousins in Tokyo and London.  I destroyed all her working copies of ancestors, written out in longhand.  And Emily, yes, I even shredded copies of the wills from 1723 South Carolina in which one of my great-great-greats bequeathed to his children specific Negro slaves by their gender, age and name.  I must confess that I did keep the final copy of our ancestry showing our direct lineage to King Edward I — I figured it should be good for some laughs in the future.  (I will now be answering to “Lady Sara” and expecting curtsies.)

I think the most interesting thing about all this paper though is that each name on it was a life – a person who was born, grew, worked, most times married and had children.  Each person went through life experiencing many of the same feelings and emotions that I do in my life.  Each person probably wondered about why they were made.  Oh, how I would love to know their stories.  I can only hope now that each person listed knew God in a personal way.  And it makes me wonder what will generations in the future think or know about me and how I lived my life?  Instead of looking at the heritage behind me, I need to think of the legacy ahead of me.

With that in mind, I can’t help but think of Great Aunt Chris.  She is more than just heritage named on a page.  For she left a legacy for me and my family.  As I mentioned she never married or had children of her own.  But she poured her life into so many.  Several times she had college students live with her while they went to school.  She took care of both her parents, her brother and her own aunt until they each died.  She worked for the same company for nearly forty years in various accounting capacities.  She went to night school at Jones County Junior College and then at the University of Southern Mississippi taking one or two courses each semester until she finally earned her degree.  She pursued learning to play the piano when she was fifty years old – when told she’d be sixty by the time she learned to play, she responded “Well, I’ll be sixty years old then anyway!”  She was that person, in the story you read, who lived frugally all her life and when she died left her life savings in CD’s to her nieces and nephews.

But these were not her most important legacy.  For me she was the single consistent Christian witness I can point to throughout my life.  She belonged to the same little church all her life.  She was a regular there and supported every ministry they had.  She never gossiped, spoke ill of anyone, raised her voice, cussed, drank or smoked.  She visited the sick, gave “old folks” rides to church, and visited the hospitals and nursing homes regularly.  And I don’t ever remember her asking for anything for herself.  I have both a sister and a daughter named after her.  And though I destroyed a lot of her old paperwork this week, I’ve kept every single picture I found of her – there were surprisingly few.

So, forgive me Aunt Chris for not keeping all the evidence of your hard work.  But instead of researching more ancestors, I hope to spend my time with this generation and the next loving on them unselfishly like you did for me.

What will your legacy be?

Yesterday I had to take my daughter to the Emergency Room.  She’s 22 weeks pregnant and was in severe pain.  It started out simply enough with some pain on her left side but within an hour it had become severe with no signs of relief.  As with any pregnancy of course you exercise an abundance of caution so we headed to the hospital to be sure she and the baby were both ok.

But as we made the trip and then made our way through triage and a battery of tests, I found myself having a particular conversation with God.  It went like this: “NO! NO! NO! NO!  DON’T YOU DARE DO THIS!  DON’T YOU DARE LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO MY GIRL OR MY GRANDSON!  DON’T YOU DARE HURT THEM!  AND IF YOU’RE NOT DOING THIS THEN YOU START PREVENTING IT!” This actually was no conversation but a screaming rant inside my head.

Several hours later, when the situation was under control and things had calmed down a bit, I began to realize what I had done.  How dare I speak to God this way?  How dare I yell at Him and accuse Him and order Him to do things?  Who in the world did I think I was to speak to Almighty God in this way?  My heart was crushed that I had behaved this way, even if just in my mind.  “Oh God, forgive me, I begged.”  How could He not be angry with me, resent me and want to turn His back on me for the way I’d treated Him?

As I prayed over this confession, He reminded me that I am His child.  And I know if any of my children had spoken to me this way I would be more hurt, than angry or resentful toward them.  And I would never abandon them.  If I can have these feelings toward my own children, how much more can God, my Father, love, understand and forgive me.  He knows that the words spoken in anger were the result of hurt and fear.  God reminded me that He loves me no matter what – even when I speak terrible words to Him.  He reassured me nothing I do can drive Him away from me – even when I accuse Him of not caring.

Today my daughter is feeling much better and is on her way home.  As she leaves I ask God to take care of her and protect her.  This same God whom I scorned yesterday, today I have the nerve to ask for well-being for my family.  And yet I know I can.  I know He bids me to come to Him, to rest in Him, to find forgiveness and peace in Him.

May you know Him like I know Him.

Written 3/10/2015

Why did you have to leave when you did?  Why do you have to be gone this year?  I know that God knew all that would happen in the months following your death.  So why did you have to leave now?

In the first year you’ve been gone so much has and will take place.   Emily has graduated from college and will be a bride.  Why are you not here to cheer for her and walk her down the aisle?  Andrew has been ordained.  Why were you not here to pray over him like you did all those years?  And Christy will have our first grandchild in a few months – a grandson named after you.  Why are you not here to laugh with me over the cute baby clothes?  And who will help me spoil him terribly?

I don’t understand why you had to die when you did.  I makes me wonder if I should have fought harder for you.  If maybe I should have refused to listen when you chose to stop the care they were giving you.  Maybe I should have fought with you to somehow convince you to keep on going.  Was I too tired?  Should I have pushed harder through the tiredness of your illness when you could no longer push on?  I don’t know the answers.  I ‘m just left with questions.  I just know my struggles.

Why would God choose now for you to be gone?  Why would He not let you continue to mark these milestones and make these memories with us?  I know I will never have answers on this side of heaven.  And I know when I get to heaven I will no longer care about the answers to these questions.

For now, I occasionally have these moments of wondering “Why?”

You were not quite three years old that night.  We were at the table ready to eat supper when you asked to say the blessing.  We all bowed our heads and closed our eyes as you thanked God for our food.  But then you said “And please Jesus come into my heart”.  I must tell you that my eyes popped open and looked across the table, only to see your dad’s eyes popped open wide looking back at me.  With no prompting you were praying for Jesus to come into your life.  Now, I know your understanding was limited to that of an almost three year old.  But your heart was innocent and genuine – exactly the way God would have us to come to Him.  It was just a few years later that you wanted to be baptized, also at a very young age.

Sometime during your preschool years I remember feeling one day that God was telling me He would call you into full time ministry.  I didn’t tell anyone about it.  In fact it was over ten years before I even told Michael.  I think this is one of those things that a mother hides in her heart.  But as you grew I saw a change happen in your life.  As a teenager you began to really listen to others and pray earnestly for them.  You were not shy about telling others about God, yet you never forced your faith on anyone.

Through your college years I’ve seen time after time that word from God being developed as you live and grow.  Certainly there have been times of questioning, wondering which direction your life should take.  But with each passing year God confirms over and over again that His calling on your life was from a very young age.

Now you are ordained.  Set aside for God’s purpose as a minister.  Witnessed by family and friends in a ceremony to mark the occasion.  And yet the occasion was many years ago.  Those who could be there were.  Those who could not were certainly missed.  And yet all of them had a part in investing in your life along the way – pouring love, friendship and good counsel into your life.

I am so thankful for the way God has called you and provided for you and that He has allowed me to be your mom.  And I’m excited to see how He will use you throughout your life.  My prayer for you today and every day is threefold – that God would keep you from temptation, that He would help you to stay humble and that He would give you His wisdom.

Love you Andrew!

It’s been seven months that Michael’s been gone.  I still think about him everyday.  He’s still the first thing I think about in the morning, the last thing I think about at night.  He’s still in my thoughts a thousand times during the day.   His clothes no longer hang in the closet, but his truck is still parked in the garage.  His phone seldom rings, but he still receives mail regularly.  Each day ticks by without him.

Wedding plans are in full swing at our house.  Last week a precious young friend gave birth to a baby boy, beautiful and healthy.  And just this weekend we learned that my our grandchild will also be a boy.  Both babies will carry Michael’s name.

So it begins.  This is the way it starts, I suppose.  Somehow my focus is shifting from the months past to the months ahead.  It’s hard not to look forward to the promise of babies and new futures ahead.  It’s a welcome diversion to shop for white lace and blue booties.  While I certainly want to forget the pain of grief I never want to forget the joy of our lives together.  I want the fun and laughter to go into the next generation of family and friends.

I still don’t understand why Michael is gone while I am here.   But I trust it to God.   And for some reason He has chosen for it to be this way.  So, for as long as He puts me here, I want to live each day to the fullest doing whatever He calls me to do in a way that will bring honor to Him.  This is the bridge I choose to build between the past and the future God has given me.

Every day is a good day.

When I first met Michael, I was 17 and he was 18.  People find it hard to believe when I tell them how shy he was back then.  But his shyness was not an indication of a lack of confidence in himself. He always believed he could do big things.
I, on the other hand, never had a problem being around other people or being shy.  But don’t mistake that for confidence.  I enjoyed being around people, going places and socializing, but when it came to having confidence in myself, that’s where I fell short.
So I guess this is one of those places where Michael and I complemented one another.  Together we were better than the sum of our parts.  And in particular Michael always was the one who boosted my confidence in myself.  He always thought I could do more, bigger, better things than I thought I was capable of.
Especially in my appearance.  I, like many women and girls, have a hard time having confidence in my own appearance and body image.  Shopping has never been one of my favorite things to do.  I tend to live a pretty casual lifestyle and I can usually feel comfortable with it.  But it’s hard for me to go out and find a special new dress, get all fixed up and feel like I’m presentable enough.
This was one of the areas that Michael really poured into my life.  He always encouraged me to wear color. (Like many women, my closet tends to be 50 shades of black.)  And when I would come home with a dress for a special occasion, especially if it were colorful, he would always make such a point of telling me how much he liked it.  And when the occasion came and I would show up in our living room ready to go, he would make a point of telling my how beautiful I looked.  On the way to the event he would look over from the driver’s seat and smile his wonderful smile.  And he would reach out his right hand to me in the passenger seat and hold my hand.  I think he always knew that I needed the extra encouragement and security of having him by my side.
So these days, when a special occasion comes around, I find myself really at a loss.  Though others may say how nice I look, there’s nothing like having the man you love say it.  And I must admit that I’ve often found myself midway to where I’m going with the distinct urge to turn around and run back home.  I hear that voice in my head saying, “This is a mistake! Go back home!”  I walk around on the edge of breaking down and sometimes have a hard time talking for the huge lump in my throat.  It takes more courage than I have to keep going and often I just want to quit.
I’m thankful for those close to me who encourage me and include me and cheer me on.  I hate to admit that while I’ve tried to raise two daughters to be independent and self-confident, their mother’s confidence has been tied to their father all these years.  It always feels like I’m the only one in the world with these feelings of inadequacy.  But I also know that I’m generally just an average person, so I’m sure there are others out there that have these feelings too.
As I read back over what I’ve written, there are two things I would tell anyone who reads this post.  First, this is not an attempt to solicit compliments.  It’s just where I am as I move through this process of learning all the times and places that Michael’s presence is especially missed.  Second, as Valentine’s Day has just passed, I would say to husbands and wives, to be sure to appreciate one another every day.  Encourage and invest in one another like only a spouse can, for your words and actions have a value greater than anyone else’s.
Thanks for following along.

It’s been almost seven months since Michael’s been gone and I can’t seem to dream.  Particularly, I want to dream about Michael.  I’ve even prayed and asked God to let me dream about him.  I so want to see his face again and to hear his voice.  I even know that when I wake up it’s going to be miserable to realize again that he’s not here.  But I don’t care – I’ll willingly be miserable for a few minutes of believing I’m with him again.

Several friends have told me they dream about Michael.  Our kids sometimes dream about him.  One friend told me back when Michael was in ICU that he’d had a dream that he and Michael were out having lunch together at a restaurant.  At the time we thought that was a good sign and that everything would turn out alright.  Others have had dreams of Michael telling them different things, laughing or playing pranks, or even fussing with the guys out on a job site.  I readily admit I’m envious of their dreams.

I’m even getting desperate for a dream!  When Emily and I recently travelled to Africa we were required to take anti-Malaria medicine.  One of the side effects of the medicine for lots of people is vivid and crazy dreams.  So I’ve actually been looking forward to taking this medicine!

A few days ago I took my last required dosage of medicine.  (Dare I take more just to dream? I told you I was getting desperate!)  In the three weeks of taking the medicine I only had one episode.  It was so brief I don’t even think it qualifies as a dream.  One night Michael was standing in front of me and put his arms around me.  And just that quick it was over.  I didn’t even get to look at his face or hear his voice! It was maybe two or three seconds!  It took longer for me to type this sentence than it did for the dream!  I tried to go back to sleep and make it happen again, to make it last longer.  You know what I mean.  Haven’t we all tried to return to a dream?  But no luck.

I don’t put much stock in trying to analyze dreams.  I don’t generally think they have deep meaning or are divinely inspired (except on rare occasions).  I generally just think dreams are the thoughts and sounds that our mind thinks when we’re sleeping, oftentimes influenced by what we’ve done or thought when we’re awake.  It’s not too hard to analyze what my little mini-dream meant.

A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you’re fast asleep
In dreams you will lose your heartache
Whatever you wish for you keep

Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling through
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true
-from Disney’s Cinderella

Dearest Michael,

Happy Birthday!  I don’t know if you celebrate birthdays in heaven or not.  Part of me suspects that time and dates of birth and death are insignificant to you now.  But here we continue you to celebrate you and today especially.  I remember all the birthdays we celebrated together, some quietly, some with great fanfare, some lavishly, some with simple family meals.  But all to show our love for you and the wonderful family we became.  I also remember that each of your last three birthdays here were spent, at least in part, in the hospital or emergency room.  While I certainly miss you, I don’t miss those kind of birthday celebrations.

Do you remember how many times your birthday would fall on Superbowl Sunday?  Well, it’s happened again.  And many times we would celebrate by inviting friends to a Happy-Super-Birthday-Bowl party to combine the two events.  Well today we celebrate both events, but just a few of us.  By the way, we have no home team in the game this year.  Not like a few years ago when we cheered and whooped it up in the living room when the Saints won.

The kids are all here to celebrate.  They’re doing well and it’s always wonderful to have them home.  Inevitably we laugh and throughout the day somebody will say “Dad would say …” or one of them will make a Michael face about something.  Then everyone will laugh and recall all your antics.

Emily and I just returned from our trip to Africa.  (Yes, she finally got her college trip!)  You would have been proud of how brave I was to go so far away from home.  The trip was incredible and I constantly thought of how you would have enjoyed it – just like all those National Geographic shows you loved watching over the years.  Now she and Casey are busy finalizing their wedding plans and getting mom and dad’s house ready to move into.  And, of course, she’s working on passing her test and getting a job.

Andrew is back in school and working hard at the church. His days are long but he loves all the challenges.  He will be ordained in just a few weeks.

Christy and Jason are also well and will make us grandparents in July – finally we’ll be “Gigi and Pops” like we always talked about.  We’ll know in a few weeks if it’s a boy or a girl.

Your mom is doing well and your sisters are taking good care of her.  In fact they’ve taken her to Alabama to celebrate Peggy’s birthday too this weekend.

I try to stay busy with the various business ventures and other projects we’ve created.  MGM actually has a little project we’re building for the seminary – I know you’re just shaking your head over that one!  All the team are pulling together to make it happen.  The farm and beach house are doing well.  I have more plans to travel this spring.

It’s been over six months since you’ve been gone.  Six months since I’ve seen your face and had you whisper words to me.  Six months since you’ve smiled and made those silly expressions you always made.  Each day the sun comes up and goes down.  Each day I wonder why your side of the bed is cold and empty.  Each time I see your gravestone I can’t believe my eyes.

You are well remembered here.  Friends call and come by.  They are patient with my tears and remembrances.  I know we never liked having our names attached to things, but there have been many honors established in your memory – awards for Christian service, scholarships at colleges and hospitals, even a community garden.  It seems that your visions shared with others are continuing to develop even after you’ve gone; which I guess is the best memorial of all – that you were able to inspire others to action.

There were no presents for you to open this year – you were always so hard to buy for anyway.  But instead the kids each received a gift from you.  A little something to keep them warm, hopefully to comfort them on those hard days, made from so many of your old shirts.  You know all the old T-shirts you wore constantly, the khaki pants that were a part of your daily life, the “Big Dog” logos you were so fond of, and even a few of the button down dress shirts and ties that rarely saw the light of day.  Now they will go forward with the kids to wrap themselves up in.  You would say the blue backing is just the right shade to show off your “beautiful blue eyes”.  And each quilt will remind the kids that “Every day is a good day”.

No, I don’t know what birthdays are like in heaven.  But I’m sure by now you’ve had wonderful reunions with mom and dad, so many of our aunts, uncles and grandparents, and most especially your dad. I can just imagine how wonderful it was to see him again, feel his hug and hear him say how proud he is of you.  I imagine you holding and loving on that baby we never got to know.   I don’t know if there are special celebrations for you today, but I’m sure nothing compares to just being in the uninterrupted presence of God.  What better gift can there be?  I am envious.

Please know that we do our best to carry on and to make you proud.  You are never forgotten and never gone from our hearts.

Love you my dear!