successful visit to the dentist for liam. 3rd birthday party for ellaiden in april.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
it's not all in vain...
i got permission from a friend to post this poem - written by a grandfather who's beautiful three-year-old granddaughter drowned a year ago (sumijoti.wordpress.com). it touched my heart. i KNOW it will touch yours. please keep this precious family in your prayers.
A year has passed, a year of pain
Is it all in vain?
Jenna’s limp and lifeless body on my lap
I kissed her forehead and gave her back.
Jesus, why allow this to be?
Tonight he revealed this to me:
“The pain you feel is what you share of
My life I gave for you and her.”
Lord, let it be.
I am content in Thee.
Leon 23 March 2009. 00h25
Monday, March 23, 2009
not one minute to spare.....
and then....the horrible plane crash in montana. a man and woman lost 2 of their 3 daughters, 2 son-in-laws and 5 grandchildren. i can't imagine.natasha richardson.....a freak ski accident. natasha richardson's sons and husband never imagined that she would snap on her skis to play on the slopes, admitting that she hated skiing but did it to be with family, and by the end of the day her voice would be silenced.
in a minute things that are so right can go so wrong. we should not take one minute for granted.
our grown son says he is having a hard time remembering his grandfather's voice. our son was 6 when his grandfather died. he didn't have a lot of years to mentally record that soft, gentle voice. it saddens me when family or friends are estranged. for if you don't spend the time that you have HEARING the voices of your family members, you will quickly forget what they sound like when they are gone.
maybe that is what our relationship should look like with God. if we don't spend time with Him - as much time as we can - we will begin to forget what He 'sounds' like and there will come a time when we will no longer "hear' His voice. and we will have a hard time remembering His voice.
fleeting....
does a mother's heart ever stop hurting for her children? it seems not. i am thinking so much of alyssa these days. it seems that so many of her friends who have experienced the loss of a baby are pregnant and happily, if not a little fearfully, looking forward to welcoming a new addition to their families. they have had showers and decorated nurseries and ordered birth announcements - grateful that these pregnancies have gone forth without a hitch - without a negative test result or the devastating, unsuspecting words from their doctors that something is terribly wrong. they have held their breath and then gradually allowed themselves to hope and believe and embrace that which was so fleeting a year or two years or perhaps several months ago.
for alyssa it will be so different. there will be no ultrasound or doctor's appointment after which she will breathe a sigh of relief. for all of her doctor's visits were normal. every examination, every 3-D picture indicated a healthy, beautiful baby who was growing and thriving right on schedule, nestled safely within her womb. even up until the last night when alyssa handed out invitations to her baby shower at her bible study, sydney was active and kicking - a healthy 8 month fetus. the doctors examination and ultrasound of only 48 hours earlier detected no problems - only a beautiful baby who looked just like her big brother.
so, if she is fortunate enough to become pregnant again, she will be as guarded and as anxious as all of her friends have been. but i think it will be hard for her to consider names or wall hangings or baby clothes - or perhaps even showers given by well-meaning friends. because even when things seem to be going absolutely right, things can go so very wrong so very quickly.
i don't know how she will do it. but if God gives her the chance, i know she will try. because her hope is not based on what she so desperately desires but on what He desires for her.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
i am this amputee.....
Letting go of adult children is hard yet necessary part of life
by CLARE MARIE CELANO
While struggling to craft a phrase that would accurately depict my relationship with my grown children, WI found what was searching for in lines delivered via my TV screen. Messages often come from the most unlikely venues. The lines were spoken by Sarah Jessica Parker in her role as "Carrie" on "Sex in the City." Carrie is trying to describe how she feels about her friend Samantha, who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, to her lover "Aleksandr" (aka Mikhail Baryshnikov), but Aleksandr is not getting it. Finally, she looks directly at him and with raw emotion, says, "She's my insides. That's how important she is to me." Her response is untamed, visceral and absolute.
"That's it," I thought. "My kids are my insides." My heart melted and I recalled how it felt when they literally were my insides, growing within me, their presence, no less significant than every other cell in my body. Like a soothing balm, I remembered the comfort of knowing their little bodies were safely and cozily tucked inside me - all the time. Many years have passed since I've felt that "literal" comfort, and still my kids remain my "insides."
It's hard for my children to grasp this concept - that they are still an integral part of my being. In their heads, they are fully grown and no longer require tending to. And logically this is essentially true. They don't need watching. But parenting is never logical. It is an emotionally driven experience that does not often respond well to pragmatism. So, if my kids are my insides, then it stands to reason that they are entwined within the cells of my mind, the emotions of my heart, and the longing of my soul - even if they have left their first "home," so to speak. This connection, while relatively easy to nurture and foster when kids are young and a part of our 24/7, becomes more difficult as they grow. Much like a marriage, the bonding between two souls flourishes when they are in close proximity but can easily wane and falter when faced with long absences. It's at this point that we need diplomacy, moxie and finesse to keep the strands of that bond sliding alongside one another in sync.
As our kids become adults, I think we go through a kind of inner power struggle between the control we once had and the lack of it now. With that control, however, came the responsibility to meet all their physical, emotional and spiritual needs. It's tough to accept that we're no longer responsible for those needs. But how could it be otherwise? Their needs and the power of our touch linked us to one another for years. Watching our kids grow away from us is like losing an appendage. Feeling the loss of control we once had, we search for some steady ground to plant ourselves on until the chaotic dust settles and we can let go of it all. We know intellectually we're no longer responsible for the events that happen in our kids' lives. But, just like an amputee, who knows his or her appendage is no longer there but feels the pain of the limb anyhow, as parents, we can't seem to let go of the desire to want to do it all. We have a hard time letting go of our kids. When discussing this subject with a friend, he shined a light on what my heart was feeling, but my head could not seem to put into words. "You're not letting go of the child," he said, "you're letting go of the responsibility and guilt. "We make deals," he continued. "We bargain. We ask to take on any pain ourselves, rather than have our kids take it." He's right, of course.
We bargain with God, fate, or whatever forces we feel are responsible for giving our children anything less than complete happiness. And then, after years of attempts at deal-making, it dawns on us that we cannot alter the course of our children's lives, and even if we could, we can't win this hand on the table - it's not our hand. It's theirs. It belongs to the children. I think it take a few decades as an adult to be able to see this.
Eventually though, we discover the emotional acceptance of a situation we can do nothing about, and this shift keeps us sane. This acceptance relieves the phantom pain - somewhat. I still feel their emotional pain, but rather than spend hours on end trying to figure out how to take that pain away, I use my time more judiciously, praying they'll figure out the root of it and learn to ease it themselves. I still feel their fear, as much as ever, but rather than struggle with the "why" of their fears, I pray they'll eventually learn to confront whatever goes bump in their nights, just as I've had to do.
Letting go of certain facets of our lives, although difficult, is like completing a chapter in a book. Moving along life's pages is our gift. If we get stuck ruminating in one chapter, no matter how incredible it is, we break the rhythm of the rest of the story.
by CLARE MARIE CELANO
While struggling to craft a phrase that would accurately depict my relationship with my grown children, WI found what was searching for in lines delivered via my TV screen. Messages often come from the most unlikely venues. The lines were spoken by Sarah Jessica Parker in her role as "Carrie" on "Sex in the City." Carrie is trying to describe how she feels about her friend Samantha, who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, to her lover "Aleksandr" (aka Mikhail Baryshnikov), but Aleksandr is not getting it. Finally, she looks directly at him and with raw emotion, says, "She's my insides. That's how important she is to me." Her response is untamed, visceral and absolute.
"That's it," I thought. "My kids are my insides." My heart melted and I recalled how it felt when they literally were my insides, growing within me, their presence, no less significant than every other cell in my body. Like a soothing balm, I remembered the comfort of knowing their little bodies were safely and cozily tucked inside me - all the time. Many years have passed since I've felt that "literal" comfort, and still my kids remain my "insides."
It's hard for my children to grasp this concept - that they are still an integral part of my being. In their heads, they are fully grown and no longer require tending to. And logically this is essentially true. They don't need watching. But parenting is never logical. It is an emotionally driven experience that does not often respond well to pragmatism. So, if my kids are my insides, then it stands to reason that they are entwined within the cells of my mind, the emotions of my heart, and the longing of my soul - even if they have left their first "home," so to speak. This connection, while relatively easy to nurture and foster when kids are young and a part of our 24/7, becomes more difficult as they grow. Much like a marriage, the bonding between two souls flourishes when they are in close proximity but can easily wane and falter when faced with long absences. It's at this point that we need diplomacy, moxie and finesse to keep the strands of that bond sliding alongside one another in sync.
As our kids become adults, I think we go through a kind of inner power struggle between the control we once had and the lack of it now. With that control, however, came the responsibility to meet all their physical, emotional and spiritual needs. It's tough to accept that we're no longer responsible for those needs. But how could it be otherwise? Their needs and the power of our touch linked us to one another for years. Watching our kids grow away from us is like losing an appendage. Feeling the loss of control we once had, we search for some steady ground to plant ourselves on until the chaotic dust settles and we can let go of it all. We know intellectually we're no longer responsible for the events that happen in our kids' lives. But, just like an amputee, who knows his or her appendage is no longer there but feels the pain of the limb anyhow, as parents, we can't seem to let go of the desire to want to do it all. We have a hard time letting go of our kids. When discussing this subject with a friend, he shined a light on what my heart was feeling, but my head could not seem to put into words. "You're not letting go of the child," he said, "you're letting go of the responsibility and guilt. "We make deals," he continued. "We bargain. We ask to take on any pain ourselves, rather than have our kids take it." He's right, of course.
We bargain with God, fate, or whatever forces we feel are responsible for giving our children anything less than complete happiness. And then, after years of attempts at deal-making, it dawns on us that we cannot alter the course of our children's lives, and even if we could, we can't win this hand on the table - it's not our hand. It's theirs. It belongs to the children. I think it take a few decades as an adult to be able to see this.
Eventually though, we discover the emotional acceptance of a situation we can do nothing about, and this shift keeps us sane. This acceptance relieves the phantom pain - somewhat. I still feel their emotional pain, but rather than spend hours on end trying to figure out how to take that pain away, I use my time more judiciously, praying they'll figure out the root of it and learn to ease it themselves. I still feel their fear, as much as ever, but rather than struggle with the "why" of their fears, I pray they'll eventually learn to confront whatever goes bump in their nights, just as I've had to do.
Letting go of certain facets of our lives, although difficult, is like completing a chapter in a book. Moving along life's pages is our gift. If we get stuck ruminating in one chapter, no matter how incredible it is, we break the rhythm of the rest of the story.
poem by michael manes
Ceramic Mug
01.28.2009fresh masking tape
on blue wet paint
falling to the floor
and I do not think
I can hold together
anymore
poem by michael manes
S i x
01.01.2009O God of strength
my God of weight
have mercy
on me
i’m about to break
and bear lightly
upon my soul
for just a little
is far too great
mercy, O, God of love
have mercy
on me
Monday, January 19, 2009
HE writes the songs.....
so, if you look at alyssa's blog (and who reads mine that doesn't read hers as well:)) you will see that her community of friends has been blessed with a new arrival. if only for a short time, this baby will bless rachel and her family as well as their extended church family.
the first thoughts that came to mind when alyssa shared this news with me were wonder, amazement, faithfulness. alyssa writes much more eloquently from a spiritual standpoint than i ever could. and i know that God has used her and her words to help others. it has been and continues to be a long road for her and ian. she emailed me one day and was at a very low point; she realized that all 5 of the women with whom she has developed a relationship with through internet blogs - women who have all lost babies in the last year and a half - are pregnant. while she harbors not one ounce of resentment, bitterness or jealousy, she still doesn't understand why she still waits. you might think it silly to call an internet friend a 'relational' friend but these young, christian women have bonded in ways that you and i could never understand. having never physically met, they have cried together, laughed together and appreciated the depths of feelings that comes from such loss.
i had begun to read several of their blogs months before alyssa's loss; i found one through a friend and that one led to another and that one to another. i had absolutely no idea that some day, alyssa would have the same experience and under no circumstances would i ever have guessed that she would become friends with these women because of my urging her to read their blogs. as i read their blogs now, it is apparent that the losses they've experienced are still raw but the tone of their blogs is happier, more hopeful and less "dark". i so want that for alyssa.
but as is alyssa's way, she picks herself up and keeps on - obedient, faithful and hopeful. the miscarriage she experienced in november was unexpected - she had never had a miscarriage. even more difficult to accept was the fact that her 2 best friends also experienced miscarriages the same month. it seemed that the three girls who walked together, prayed together, had playdates together and went to church together would go through miscarriage - together. in some way it was comforting to be going through yet another loss - not alone.
when matt came unexpectedly into rachel and stefan's lives, it was obvious that they would welcome help in the way of prayer support, babysitting and just general emotional support. accepting guardianship of a terminally ill baby requires a compassionate, merciful heart, to say nothing of time and energy. and rachel has 2 older children who are around 3 and 5 years old.
God certainly orchestrates our lives in ways we could never imagine or predict. He is the conductor and we are called to play the tune HE chooses under HIS circumstances. I know the hearts of my daughter and Amy and am coming to know Rachel's heart. I view these three young women - whose wombs held the promise of 3 sweet lives for just a few weeks but are now empty - as God's hands and feet and hearts to take care of 'the least of these'. together they grieved the loss of their pregnancies not imagining how God would fill their lives with something even more amazing just a few weeks later.
i can see amy the photographer bustling over matt to get just the right picture for keepsake albums; i can see alyssa the creative decorator making sure that he has precious little boy bedding and a hand-made frame with his new born picture it to place amonth the family photos. i can see rachel rocking matt at night and talking to her children about the plan Jesus had for Matt all along. i can see all three at lunch while the children play outside, hovering over Matt, showing him Christ's unconditional love and blessing his short time here in their midst.
man, we can't ever figure out God, can we? we can study and pray and learn more and more about His nature and we can continue to ask questions that have no answers. and then He surprises us with a song so unique and original that it silences us.
no, not a song...a symphony!
Friday, January 9, 2009
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