On Traditions  3

You know, I try my best to be a fun mom.  And nothing screams “FUN MOM!” like amazing Christmas traditions.  Right!?  Right.

I keep my expectations low.  I try my best not to do it all, to be flexible, to let go of perfection.

Case in point: Sometimes we make cookies.  Sometimes we don’t.  Sometimes we do and wish we hadn’t.

Anyway, one tradition we love is our “England meal” together, just our little family.

(Side note: After Peter graduated from High School, he spent a year in Yorkshire, England as an exchange student.    And then, a few years before we had kids, we flew over the pond for a few weeks.  We still keep in touch with several friends and it’s a dream of ours to one day spend an extended amount of time there with our kids.  We’ll see.  HOWEVER, we did not purposely name our children after Prince William and Kate!)

This year our Christmas meal happened in January, because we spent the week before Christmas in a terrible ice storm, with no electricity.  And then we went to spend time with my family, followed by a trip to see Peter’s family.  I was going to forget the whole thing but a snowstorm kept us indoors (and extended our Christmas break by 3 days), so we had plenty of time to pull it all together. (!)

I made Shepherd’s Pie and Roasted Parsnips with Orange Marmalade.  I always dig out my Yorkshire Pudding tin and follow an old recipe from Pam Kemp.  For dessert we had Marion Bain’s Creme Caramel.  And we round it out with a large selection of our favorite crisps and candy (except for the Prawn and BBQ Beef flavors . . . those are always the last ones to be picked).

It felt so good to be home, after almost 2 weeks, mixing and cooking and planning.  The snow was falling and everything was cozy.  I was patting myself on the back for (1) establishing a fun, not-normal tradition and (2) not chucking it, even after all the craziness of the past few weeks (we had struggled to feel “Christmas-y” after four days of no electricity).

You guys.

My kids hated the meal.  They would not eat a thing.  They picked and complained the whole time.  They whined. We took away dessert privileges.  There may have been tears.

Finally, we threatened to throw frozen hamburger patties on the table for Christmas dinner next year!  Which was the wrong thing to say because they actually brightened at the suggestion, declaring their love for a good burger.

That was when we not-so-kindly excused them.

Peter and I drank our lukewarm Yorkshire tea, stewing about how hard we worked to do fun, unique things for our ungrateful children.

After we calmed down, we called the kids back to the table.  And we apologized for our harsh words and they did the same.  Because they aren’t ungrateful. . .  and they are great kids, most of the time.

Moments later, we got this note from Kate, which had us silently snorting in the kitchen as we cleaned up.

(Dear Diary today was horrible cause today we had our England meal and me my brother and sis hardly ate our food and mom and dad got mad because of that and so that was a bummer but luckily we made up and now I think we are all happy but my brother I don’t know about.  But so far so good)

So our England meal wasn’t all warm and fuzzy, but in a way, it turned out perfect.  Because traditions are about making memories, which we certainly did.

And next year we’ll do it all over again.  Because, darn it, they will learn to eat Shepherd’s Pie, whether they like it or not!

The Weight of Christmas  4

I will never forget that first Christmas after Annie died.

I was trying hard to grasp for the little bit of joy I could muster, but life felt so bleak.  
I felt eyes on my all the time, well-meaning people wondering how they could help.  I just wanted to disappear.
I had never had a Christmas like that.  The only Christmases I had ever known were happy.  It felt so wrong, but then again, nothing about life really seemed right or normal.
I managed to hold it all together, plastering a fake smile on my face, until after the Christmas Eve service a good friend didn’t say a word, she just hugged me.  And I broke.
“I just want it to be over.” I confessed.
I felt so guilty.  Guilty that my three and five year old had a mom who didn’t have any strength for cookies or traditions.  Guilty that I was the Pastor’s wife who didn’t really care about Jesus being born.  Guilty that my little baby was lying cold under a blanket of snow instead of snuggled in her crib.  
I survived.  I’ve woken up to three more Christmases since then, none so heartbreaking, but each with moments of overwhelming sadness.  
The truth I’ve realized is that not many of us get to keep our idealized Christmas memories.  We are a broken people, with sadness and grief piled up high.  And there’s just something about popping open the Christmas bins and smelling the fragrances of past Christmases that conjures up feelings and memories that we’d rather just keep neatly packed away.
Last week we were running out the door and I couldn’t find Kate.  She was in the corner, sobbing.  Surprised, I asked her what happened.  “I just miss Annie,” she said.  My heart dropped, her tears mixed with mine, and for a moment I felt like it was all new again, freshly happening.  It was hard, in a good way, and I needed her tears to remind me again not to bury the hardness of what we’ve walked through . . . what we’re still walking through. 
We grieve together and we face life together, not knowing all the answers, but so thankful for Jesus, who understands our sadness and hands us a promise of One Day.

Good End  0

This littlest girl of mine, she wants to be able to read in the worst way.

She’ll plop down on the couch, ankles crossed, book propped on her sweet chest, just yakking away.  She’s in her own little world, creating a story that only she can understand.

And she gets to the last page and always says, “Good End.”

Not “The End”.

It’s “Good End”. . . like she approves of what she’s just created and the “Good End” is her last stamp of approval before she shuts the book and grabs the next one on the pile.

Every once in a while the kids will correct her and I cringe and think that she’ll change the way she says it, but so far, she keeps forgetting.

Sometimes I feel like I need the reminder of the Good End in my life.

A few months ago, I started praying that God would help me to have compassion.  To truly, deeply care for others.  After Annie died, I couldn’t cope with a lot and as much as I tried to have an outward focus, I realized that much of my life had been turned inward.  I decided to pray that my eyes would be opened and my heart would be soft . . . and I was stunned at how quickly and deeply He answered my prayer.

Do you know how much hurt is out there?  Too much.  I sit and I listen to people’s stories and I am overwhelmed.  How will the pain, the heartache, the craziness ever get unraveled?

And then I hear two whispered words, “Good End.”

Somehow, someway, there will be a Good End.  Our world is trembling, groaning from the weight . . . but Someday it will all be put right.  I don’t even pretend to know how.  It seems insurmountable to me, but I cling to Jesus and I believe it is true.

Wherever you are today, hold on to the Good End.  It’s coming.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain.  All these things are gone forever.” Revelation 21:4

P.S.  My other favorite word of Eliza’s right now?  All-body.  As in “What is all-body doing out here?” and “Where did all-body go?”

On Being a Beautiful Mama  3

My role in the MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group at our church is publicity, which seems a little daunting, but mostly I just surf the internet for articles I like and I plunk them into a newsletter. Not a huge deal.  
But one of my other main tasks is to gather information about all the Moms and put together a little directory.  Getting their addresses, birthdays and kids’ names isn’t hard . . . but taking their pictures is like pulling teeth.
Last Friday, I wore my camera around my neck and watched them avoid me like the plague.  
“I didn’t have time for make-up today”
“This isn’t a full body shot, right?!”
“My hair looks a mess!”
“I hate having my picture taken when I’m pregnant!”
“How big are these pictures going to be?  You promise this will only be printed it in black and white???”
I couldn’t chastise them for their words– they’ve slipped off my own tongue more often then I care to admit.  But I do have to say that hearing the phrases come from so many beautiful women in such a short amount of time was shocking.  These are women who got multiple children ready that morning, so they didn’t have time to get themselves ready.  Women who are willfully gaining weight so that they can bring new life into the world.  Women who have laugh lines and gray hairs because their lives are full of bringing up the next generation.  
I got home and uploaded their pictures, resized them and put them in my document.  I studied each one and saw so much life in their eyes.  It was stunning.
A few weeks ago, I joined up with a little project that challenges Moms to step into the picture with their kids, instead of always being behind the camera.  You would not believe the number of pictures I took.  I found a way to scrutinize every little thing about myself and I finally shook my head in disbelief at the number of things I could find wrong with the way I looked.  It was totally ridiculous.  
I kept up the terrible self-talk until I imagined Kate saying the same things to herself…. because it hit me that my kids will learn their Mama’s tricks.  
This is not a new subject and if you do a google search, you will get a million hits in .35 seconds.  I believe that as Moms, most of us intentionally pump good messages into our little girls that they are beautiful and that they matter, that God has created them for a purpose and they should be confident.  But I wonder if we’re allowing ourselves to believe those same messages?  Do I believe that God created my family and He is pleased with them, but somehow He skipped over me?  Am I really that arrogant?
So I posted the pictures of myself.  I’m allowing the positive words that tumble out of my mouth for my kids to apply to me, too.  I told those harried women from MOPS that they are beautiful.  And as I cropped their pictures, I prayed for them.  
“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in that secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.”  Psalm 139:14-16 

How to Help Your Grieving Friend  7

When we hear the news that someone has lost a baby or a child or someone close to us has gotten a “diagnosis”, we immediately want to do something.  It’s just human nature . . . and yet it’s often difficult to know what to do.

You’d think I’d be an expert on this, but I’m not.  I struggle, too.  Just this morning I stood with another Mom who got a phone call from a concerned doctor regarding her daughter, and I didn’t know what to do.  I prayed the most confusing, awkward prayer with her, because I didn’t have the words.  It’s just never easy.

So.  I don’t have a magic formula.  But I have been on the receiving end of good and bad help.  And I want to help  you to be able to navigate the waters when you find yourself wanting to reach out to someone who is facing a season of grief.

Here’s my short list:

  • Don’t shy away from using names.  You know, I say and hear each of my kids’ names dozens of times a day . . . except for Annie.  And that makes me so sad.   When someone talks to me and uses her name, it is deeply meaningful to me.  
  • Be a brave friend.  It’s risky to approach a Mom who’s just buried a baby or who spends her days pacing the halls of a hospital and ask how she’s doing.  But it’s always worth the risk.  People have told me that they didn’t want to bring it up because they were afraid of making me sad on a day I was doing better . . . but honestly, still she is never far from my mind.  Knowing that others are checking in on me has always encouraged me and strengthened me.  
  • Do your best to remember.  I’m only four years into this grief thing, but as the years go by, there are less people who remember the day Annie was born and the day she died.  And I totally understand.  There are countless people in my life that I wish I remembered their anniversaries, but I just forget.  But I will tell you that when someone remembers now, it means the world to me.  Also?  There are other days that may be hard for your friend.  Mother’s day is bittersweet to me and my own birthday is sometimes hard, too.  Also?  I’ve learned that remembering later on is fine.  I used to beat myself up if I forgot to send a card right away.  Now I know that the first days of grief are intense, but surrounded by others who are praying.  Once that intensity dies down it’s easy to get depressed and discouraged.  So a card or an invitation to coffee a few months down the road was a needed reminder that I hadn’t been forgotten. 
  • Don’t forget the men.  You know, I think women do a great job at surrounding one another, encouraging one another, creating a support network . . . our husbands, not so much.  I can remember one particular Sunday when I stayed home and Peter came home to tell me how many of my friends had asked how I was doing.  He was happy about the support I received, but crushed that they hadn’t acknowledged his grief, too.  So don’t forget men grieve, too.  
  • Be specific.  I received so much help those first few months– meals, babysitting, books, money, etc.  and it was all so great, but it was really overwhelming, too.  When someone came to me and said, “I want to do something for you.  How can I help?”, I had no answers.  I felt so paralyzed by the smallest decisions.  It was much easier for me to hear, “I’d like to bring you a meal this week.  How about Tuesday?” (Freezer meals were good, too, when I was especially overwhelmed). 
  • Let go of expectations.  Don’t expect a thank you note or take it personally if you leave a message and don’t get a call back.  I desperately wanted to send heartfelt thank you notes to everyone, but I just didn’t have the energy.  I’m telling you, these small things can seem like the biggest obstacles when you’re grieving.  Those who set me free from these expectations lifted the biggest burden off of me.
  • Make sure your advice is Godly and Biblical.  I cannot tell you the number of people who felt led to tell me something that God had told them to tell me.  It disturbed me, because a majority of the time, I was presented with some sort of feel-good advice that had absolutely no Biblical basis.  Things like “God will only give you what you can handle” when I felt like I was drowning in grief.  When you feel God pressing you to share with your hurting friend, please, please make sure it’s sound Biblical advice.  Tread very carefully.  When Annie died, I felt like I had to reexamine my life and look at everything through this new lens.  I was so vulnerable and I didn’t know what was true anymore.  I didn’t have much capacity to sort through what was truth and what wasn’t.  This can be so dangerous.  You, as a friend, have a big responsibility to help others who are hurting by giving them Truth. (I have a list of resources that helped me right here)
  • Be wise in giving space.  One of the most confusing things to me was what was comforting.  I had one friend who sat and talked to me at my house every Wednesday night.  I had a really hard time in crowds of people, so Church for the first year was quite difficult.  She saw my need and she was there for me.  But there was another older, well-meaning lady who hovered around me for the first six months.  It was as if she thought I would break into a million pieces at a moment’s notice and wanted to be there to sweep me up.  It was unnerving to glance over my shoulder and see her there all. the. time.  Now it’s comical.  But then, I just wanted her to go away.  It’s good to be available for your friend, but trust that she’s going to be okay.  Pray through your actions.  God promises to give you wisdom– so use it!  And if you sense that she needs some space, don’t take it personally.  Pray for her and realize that she’s traveling an unknown path.  
That’s my list for today.  Now, I know that some of you have your own things to add to this list.  So feel free to add them in the comments.  
The thing about grief is that it doesn’t escape any of us.  So wherever you find yourself today, know that true healing is possible through Jesus.  He doesn’t waste your pain.  

 

Week in Review (Starring Eliza)  1

Last Wednesday, six of my friends (plus me) took off for Kansas City, Missouri for the national MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) conference.  Um, Kansas City is a long way from Michigan.  ðŸ™‚  But we had a great time and had the opportunity to listen to Beth Moore, Jen Hatmaker, Lysa Terkeurst, and lots of great breakout group speakers.  I’m still processing all the great stuff I heard.  I’m such a learner at heart, so opportunities like this are like crack to me.  I cannot get enough.  

 And all while I was gone, I’d get photos like this:

 My Mom travelled up to be with Peter while I was gone and the kids were clearly distraught without me! 🙂  I was so thankful to get pics like these  because I knew that everyone was happy and having fun. While the big kids were in school, Eliza and Nanna went to Wendy’s, took a trip to the Pumpkin Patch, and even went antique shopping.  They suffered so without me!

 I got home on Sunday night, just in time for Eliza’s 3rd birthday on Tuesday. ( I love the story of Eliza’s birth– it’s one of my favorite blog posts . . . go here to read it).  I remember being so anxious during the days of her pregnancy, wondering if it was the right move for our fractured family, but she has brought us joy and healing in so many ways. What a gift she is to us!

We celebrated my being home and Eliza’s birthday by going out for dinner.  And for some random reason we decided we should take a picture.  This is what we ended up with.  I decided it was our gangsta pose.  I guess Will didn’t get the memo.  
Kate ordered potato soup.  Eliza ordered noodles.  Neither one of them ate anything until I suggested they trade and then they gobbled up one another’s food.  Sisters!

 Since our families usually can’t be around when we open gifts, we have to be creative to make us feel like we are together.  So Eliza opened her gifts from Peter’s parents while they watched via Facetime.  The new little grocery cart was bought with money sent by my Grandpa (the one who calls her Little Gracie).  I made her pose with all her loot so that we could send out pics to everyone.  She was pleased. Also, she looks about 10 miles tall in this picture, which makes me all weepy.

 But lest you think that all is wonderful and peachy, here is the newly turned 3 year old, after an epic meltdown when I told her to put on her pants.   I did eventually take pity on her and put the blanket on her . . .  Birthday weeks are exhausting.

 Happy Weekend!

Our Favorite Christmas Tradition {the jesse tree}  0

One of our favorite traditions in our house is our Jesse Tree, which we started the Christmas after Annie died.  We filled one journal and we’ve started another.  The kids love to look back to see what they wrote in years past.

My favorite journal entry is the day that Kate asked Jesus into her heart.  Every year when we get to that day, tears come to my eyes.  Our original intent of the Jesse Tree was to use Annie’s life to point others toward Christ.  We began it as a way to fill her stocking during Christmas– an empty stocking is so horrible. So when Kate responded to one of our devotions by saying she wanted to pray, it was like God was whispering to our broken hearts, “See, I can bring good out of your sorrow.  Watch it unfold before your eyes!”

Every year, I have friends tell me they’d like to start a Jesse Tree of their own.  So here is some info to get you started:

Here’s the original post I wrote about it (with some links of the devotionals we use)

Here’s a post that I read this week and the way her family does the Jesse Tree.  She has a lot of great details and explains it much better than I do.

My advice?  Give yourself grace.  Each year, we get busy and there are many nights that time slips away from us.  Usually it’s Easter before we get done.  And that’s ok.  I want this to be a special time with our kids, not a hurry-up-we-have-to-finish-before-December-25.  So we take our time and we refuse to feel guilty about having a Christmas tree up in February.

Also, for now, we read our stories out of the Jesus Storybook Bible or one of the kids’ Bibles so it makes it easy for them to understand.  They are much more engaged that way.  And while we read, we let them draw a picture in their journals.  They each have their own journals, after two years of fighting over who got to draw first (!) and it works out great.

For us, this has been a great way to celebrate the coming of Jesus.  It’s amazing to see the progression of the Bible and the expectation of a Savior  . . . and to teach that to our kids.

I’d love to hear if you start a Jesse Tree of your own, if you have other resources you use, or if you have any other great traditions that your family does to celebrate the birth of Christ!

The Overpass  0

Eliza and I were in the car, her chattering behind me the entire time.  I did my best to listen, really I did, but after 45 minutes, I must admit that my responses were mostly, “mmm-hmm” and “ok”.

But she kept repeating the same thing over and over.

“I want to go up there, Mama!”

“You get ladder, Mama, and you climb and then you pull me up and ours car, too.”

“How they get up there, Mama?”

I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what she was talking about.  And then I noticed a pattern.  Every time we went under an overpass, the conversation started again.

An overpass.  She wanted to go on an overpass.  Her little imagination was in overdrive, trying to figure out how we could do what those other cars were doing.

I. loved. it.

The world is so big, so wonderful to her right now.  Everywhere she turns, there’s something new to discover and understand.  It is one of the most awesome things to have a front row seat to my kids’ spinning gears, to be the one that they talk to about the mysteries in their lives.

Do you ever just feel like the wonder of life has disappeared for you?
Colors seem faded.
I’m just tired.
I wake up in the morning, my mind immediately scrolling through all that needs to be done.
I don’t want to live like that.

I want the wonder of the world to be bigger than whatever circumstances I face today.
I want to believe that God is bigger than any boxes I try to put Him in.
I want my eyes to be like the eyes of my children– bright, searching, taking it all in.
I want to live this one life I’ve been given in a way that means something, that makes a difference in this world.
I want to be excited about life, full of love for my Savior.
I want Him to use me in ways I never imagined.

We indulged Eliza a few days later.  We drove her up on an overpass.  Her eyes got big and round and she was so excited.  It was the littlest, silliest thing, but to her it was a dream come true.  We were “up there” and it didn’t even require a ladder! 

What silly dreams do you have?  Maybe they aren’t so silly.  Maybe God’s just waiting for you to voice them to Him.  He’s created you to live this life you’ve been given.  Live in the mystery and the wonder of it all.

Tune your ears to the world of Wisdom; set your heart on a life of Understanding.

That’s right—if you make Insight your priority, and won’t take no for an answer,

Searching for it like a prospector panning for gold, like an adventurer on a treasure hunt,
Believe me, before you know it Fear-of-God will be yours;    
you’ll have come upon the Knowledge of God. 
Proverbs 2:2-5, The Message

A Kitten Named Seal.  2

We have a new resident in our house.  Well, not the actual house, but in the porch.  He officially belongs to Kate, who has dutifully promised to feed, water, and clean the litter box.
While I’m not much of a cat person, I do truly enjoy watching my animal-loving daughter tote her kitten around, playing with him and sending him sailing down the slide (“He LOVED it, Mom!”). Her neck and arms are lined with scratches and she has never been happier.
Initially, I wasn’t so sure about the whole thing . . . until my book-loving heart practically burst when she suggested the name Seal, after the cat in Sarah, Plain and Tall.  She knows the way to her Mama’s heart– throw something from a good book out there, and there’s no way I can say no.  

“Do you think she’ll come?” asked Caleb.  “And will she stay?  What if she thinks we are loud and pesky?”
“You are loud and pesky,” I told him.  But I was worried, too.  Sarah loved the sea, I could tell.  Maybe she wouldn’t leave there after all to come where there were fields and grass and sky and not much else.
“What if she comes and doesn’t like our house?” Caleb asked.  “I told her it was small.  Maybe I shouldn’t have told her it was small.”
“Hush, Caleb.  Hush.”
Caleb’s letter came soon after, with a picture of a cat drawn on the envelope.
Dear Caleb, My cat’s name is Seal because she is gray like the seals that swim offshore in Maine.  She is glad that Lottie and Nick send their greetings.  She likes dogs most of the time.  She says their footprints are much larger than hers (which she is enclosing in return).Your house sounds lovely, even though it is far out in the country with no close neighbors.  My house is tall and the shingles are gray because of the salt from the sea.  There are roses nearby. Yes, I do like small rooms sometimes.  Yes, I can keep a fire going at night.  I do not know if I snore.  Seal has never told me.Very truly yours, Sarah Elisabeth
“Did you really ask her about fires and snoring?” I asked, amazed.
“I wished to know,” Caleb said.
— Excerpt from Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan

Four Years.  1

You know, our grief has been heavy, but it has not been lonely.  And for that I am so thankful.  Last week marked four years since we last held Annie in our arms and the anticipation of that anniversary date weighs on us all.  Each year we wonder how much we should say and how much we should share.  This year we were more silent.  I’m not exactly sure why– it just seemed more exhausting somehow.  So those who anticipated the date with us were a blessing to us.
Our great friends, Kirby and Christa, came to spend the weekend and it was so special.  Their family is one that has carried us in so many sweet ways, and we were blown away that they would come and spend time with our crazy family.  William was so pumped to have them at his first soccer game of the season.  They encouraged us, laughed with us and played many, many rounds of Apples to Apples.
On Sunday night, several of our friends came to our house and we released balloons.  It was sweet in the way that grief is with children– moments of sad drawings, followed by shrieks of laughter and running outside to play.  
 And then, the next day, I cut my Sweet Annie.  This gift from God amazes me and humbles me every year.  
In some ways, four years ago seems like so long, in other ways it seems like a blink of an eye.  I simply cannot believe what God has brought us through.  I feel like I’m in a different place in my grief than I’ve been before.  It’s more thoughtful, more internal.  Now that grief no longer overwhelms me, I find myself just processing more, trying to articulate my thoughts and feelings.  
Last week, Peter closed our service with Peacemaker, a song that we played at Annie’s funeral.  As I cried my way through it, I realized that four years ago, I was begging Jesus to be all the things that the song declared Him to be.  This year, I found myself replaying all the ways that He has revealed Himself to me.  It humbles me beyond words.