we interrupt this grief...

Today has been good for my soul.  Not in a "everything is fine" way, because it's not.  But in a "thank you, God, for blessings along the way."

I started my day with one of my favorite people... we shared coffee and grief... and even a couple of laughs.  Her precious daughter is the one I've mentioned on here before... the sweet 3 year old with cancer... and you'll get to hear more of her story on here next week.

On my way to visit another friend in the midst of her own storm, I got a call from my cousin who was just down the road trying on a Mother of the Bride dress.  I ran by the shop, saw her looking lovely, and even got to hug the bride and groom who are in town doing wedding stuff.

I came back to pick up E early from preschool and we headed to the elementary school she will attend next year- today was Kindergarten Assessment.  E was assessed by one of my precious friends (who happens to be an amazing teacher there) who took time to love on both of us in the middle of our yucky stuff, but who focused on E being Kindergarten-bound and not just the yucky stuff.

E joined one of her favorite gal pals for a playdate at the gracious offer of a friend and I ate lunch by myself ... even with my shoulders a little relaxed.  I had a quick visit from a friend bringing us dinner for tomorrow night, then tackled cleaning our kitchen.  Gosh, it feels good to see results... and my kitchen smells yummily clean, too.

Dan will be home soon and is taking E to the library to pick out their next chapter book- they read together each night and then they see the movie/watch the play/enjoy however the book has been adapted.  I love our local library like I love our local post office... two of the things I truly enjoy about our precious town.

I hate, hate, hate this new space I'm in, but I love how God continues to show His favor and blessings in the midst of it all.  I've seen more aspects of His love for us as my heart has been changed to "feel" more for the pain around me.  If I have "felt more" because of this... how much more does God "feel" for us because of His giving up His own son for us? 

I love how I feel His love for us through people around us- both our "inner circle" and those from afar.

I love how I grin every time I get a call from a friend (who calls almost daily) when I hear her voice say "I'm just checking on your white a$$."  I love that, partially because that's the kind of thing Daddy would have said... and partially because she's been consistent to call.  I'm seeing more of the need to love people consistently (that is not a passive aggressive cry for more calls, btw)... and how to be God's hope to those who need it.

And I love the interruptions of grief.  The playdates, the shopping, the coffee dates, the clean kitchen, the moments to just be.  I love them.  And I know that soon, it won't be an interruption... it will be what we call "normal".  God promises to heal my hurt- not to make me forget... but to help me with the new normal of my days.  I am thankful for His promises... and I'm learning to make it well with my soul. 

an update... the odd space.

Just a quick post to update you all on how we're doing.  So many of you have been kind to check in...  I would update you on all the details of our days, but as I said to someone the other day- if my current life were being made into a Lifetime movie and I stopped the channel changing to watch it... I would immediately change the channel.  I would assume that the writer/director/producer had tried to incorporate too many story lines and that it was a bunch of overacting and it would feel like "too much".

Because it kind of is.

Too much.

But we're getting by.

Last week was Spring Break and I'd committed to having "Camp of Kids" with some of E's friends.  Every gracious parent gave me an "out", but the one to whom I'd committed (Miss E) had not given me an out and I needed to honor our relationship by continuing with our plans.  The kids were great and super funny and when they left I was exhausted, but that's my new normal.  One of the best moments happened as we were doing an Easter craft and I asked the kids what they liked best about Easter.  One little girl started- mid thought, bringing the rest of us along with her- by saying, "So I was like, wait a minute.. the adults buy candy and put it in baskets and leave it for us?" (gulp.)  Before I had to respond at all, another precious girl said, "NO! The chocolate is from God!"  (Not even one year in our country and she has important things figured out.  Score one for adoption!)

That night- totally unrelated to Camp- I had my biggest meltdown yet.  Dan had miscommunicated to someone our plans for the weekend and it triggered all of my emotions... I yelled at him, screamed for my loss, and sobbed at the reality that is not yet real... my Daddy... MY DADDY... is gone.  After running to the bathroom to throw up (I'm so over crying heaves) and coming back to be enveloped in Dan's arms, E came in from outside.  "Uh, Mommy?  You told me to go outside to climb trees... can I come back yet?"  (Whoops.  Shielding her from Mommy's wrath= good.  Forgetting to tell her to come back= less than good.)

Each day has proven to have it's own set of hard moments.  Some of them come when I allow myself to get cynical and hear the unfortunate things people say as they don't know what to say.  I am trying daily to step "out" of myself and to filter those moments through Grace.  Some of those moments come when I'm lonely... that's what a lot of last week was.  Some of those occur when I share grief with a friend who has lost her Grandfather, or when I hug a dear woman who just lost her Daddy, too, or when I get angry on behalf of my friend whose child has cancer.  Sometimes the injustice of it all is just too much to bear.

The reality is that it is not yet reality for me.  While these last 2 weeks have tried to define my new "normal", it all feels like I'm just getting the chance to share fun stories of my Daddy with the world... and in that I take some time to cry.

The only hope that comes from this odd space is the Hope I have that there is more.  There is more because there is the promise of Jesus.  I am thankful that even when I don't feel that Hope, I know that He is who He is even in moments like this.  Without that Hope, I would be lost.  Without that Hope, I would live in the land of cynical and become "that girl"... you know, the one you kind of want to block on Facebook because she always has drama?  Or the one that you tense up when you see her coming because her junk oozes out of her?  Yeah... I refuse to be her.  I want to be the kind of girl that my Daddy taught me to be... as well as the one who has Hope from her Spiritual Father, too.

And look at all this goodness I get to see each day to remind me of the job I have to do here... Her Dadaw needs her to learn those same lessons... and now I get to teach her.

Thanks for checking in.

The worst week of my life.

Last Sunday, I woke up with a full heart and a restored spirit.  I had spent the weekend with a dear friend at a lovely resort allowing women from all over to pour into me their stories of successful fostering and adoption.  I attended a conference called Created for Care and it was just what I needed.  The Lord reminded me that He has the plan for our Foster Children in His care- but even bigger than that- He has me in His care, too. 

Angela and I got on the road and chatted for 2 hours as we drove toward Winston.  We stopped for lunch in Spartanbug, and as we got out of the car I saw I'd missed numerous calls and had urgent texts from my brother.  Obviously something was wrong- Angela offered me some privacy as she went in the restaurant and I stayed in the car to call Chris back.

Those next moments are a blur - but in them I learned the news that my Daddy had died.

I found Angela inside, threw keys at her, and somehow she got me up the mountain to Asheville as I heaved and wept and cursed and screamed.

Even as I type these words- it makes no sense.

The story is this: at some point between Saturday at 9:45pm (the last time my brother spoke to him) and early Sunday morning, my Daddy fell down his stairs.  Simple as that.  The impact of his fall ("head trauma caused by accidental fall") killed him- and we are choosing to believe it was a quick death.  Knowing my Daddy- even if he survived the impact, he was such a wuss about injury, he probably passed out and was unable to suffer. :)

My precious brother was the one who found him- Chris was headed by there on his way out of town.  I am beyond grateful for my brother's wisdom as he handled the situation (and as he tried, unsuccessfully, to reach me for two hours)... but I ask everyone reading these words to pray for Chris in the days to come: seeing your father in such a way is something that is not easy to put aside.  He has been an amazing support to me in this last week... I ache for his heart and mind.

The next few days are a jumble. I texted my best friends as I drove with Angela letting them know even as I knew very little.  I talked briefly to a few people over the next day or so- still unable to give them many details (we didn't piece together it all until Wednesday or so)- and still unable to put words around this ache and confusion in my heart.  Friends arrived from Winston to take care of Elizabeth while we met at the Funeral Home... they came from Atlanta to buy us lunch...  people put together meal schedules for us when we came back home... they cooked and cried and drove and prayed and laughed because as my Daddy taught us all, it's just what you do.

Still, typing all this- it makes no sense.

My Daddy and Mary both asked for no visitation and no funeral.  While we respected their wishes, it sucks.  Funerals are not for the deceased, they are for those left behind.  Neither of them cared for the outpouring of grief, "the looks", the standard pat responses, the people coming out of the woodwork who were not present in daily life of the deceased- but somehow showed up first to mourn.  I get that.  But as the one remaining- who wants to be with all of the people who knew him and hear the stories and get the hugs... it's hard.

I've been surrounded by friends this week.  I've had the chance to do just that- we've told the stories, laughed, hugged and wept... and it has been what's allowed me to survive this madness.  We've remembered moments from childhood as well as recent days.  And I need more... I crave it.  Not in a "please interview me about my father" way, but just in the way he lived- by story telling.  If you have Stan Stories- please share them with me.  I need to hear them now... but, remembering this same road from 17 months ago with Mary's death... I'll need to hear them in the days and weeks to come.  The stories are what are getting me through.  They are what are helping me make this all "well with my soul."

I typically like to end my posts with some final thought or wrap-up sentence.  But I don't have one today.  I can't find words to tie all this up before I hit "publish".  And that's kind of what my days feel like- I can't wrap them up and piece them all together.  My heart is broken because the person who loved me best and taught me how to love is gone.  He was larger than life... and now, somehow, my life feels smaller knowing he's not around.  I can't stay in this ache forever- and I am thankful that I won't.

I hated this week.  But I loved my Daddy.  And thank God I knew daily that he loved me.

Ham Delights

My dear, sweet friend Margaret makes some of the best ham biscuits/sandwiches/delights in the world.  You know, the kind that you get at wedding/baby showers in the fellowship hall.  With poppy seeds?  And mustard?  And cheese?  And yumminess.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to have one fresh out of the oven... oh my word, it was tasty.

Shortly after that, Ms. M. pulled out a dish containing some amazing looking BBQ Chicken Pizza.  Oh, wow, it smelled GOOOOD.  I immediately told her I wasn't able to have any because I gave up meat for Le...n...t.... WHAT?!?!?!?

Yep.  My Lenten "sacrifice" of meat had rapidly been forgotten as I popped that Totally Delightful Ham Delight in my mouth moments before.

Junk.

Well.

Whoops.

The past nearly 4 weeks have been a journey of "sacrifice"... I had intended to give up sodas (which I have... this only poses a problem around the 3:00pm hour when a Diet Coke sounds AMAZING), but Dan said he was giving up meat and I decided to join him in our mini-vegetarian-quest to add solidarity and functionality to our family.

I had no idea how much meat we ate.

I don't tend to think of myself as a "meat eater" in the sense that a Meat Lovers Pizza makes me gag.  Those shows where they wrap ham and kielbasa and chicken and steak in bacon and eat it?  Gross.  But apparently, I ate meat more than I thought.

We first noticed that the time we prepare meat most is when we entertain.  Not everyone gets excited about veggies only... or if they do, we over-think their response (before even giving them the chance to respond.)  We are not mean enough to offer make kids eat the fake hotdogs- we just had those for us and offered kids the "real" thing.  We grilled portabella mushrooms for us and chicken breasts for our guests. 

Still, not that hard.

Then you add in fast food.... What should I order at Chick-Fil-A?  (I had a side salad and fruit.)  (And left hungry.)  Running through McD's after preschool for convenience suddenly becomes less convenient.

But part of that has been the lovely blessing of Lent.  As I catch myself thinking "what will I order?" or "what will I serve?", I've taken my insignificant moment of sacrifice to think of that of Jesus.  (And you  know I hate a Christian Cliche', right?  But Jesus is the real reason for the season here, folks.)  His death on a cross far outweighs my repeat roast vegetable entree....  His sacrifice for me is far greater than any "silly" thing I can do here.

Then comes the Ham Delights.  For the first time in weeks, it never crossed my mind as I popped one in my mouth.  Only later did I catch my "mistake".

Oh, y'all... isn't that how I live?

I get caught up in my own wants and forget how focused I want to be.  Time after time, I fail.

Tonight, I watched E mimic my own moment of "weakness."  She, too, has given up something for Lent: Hand Sanitizer.  She loooooves the stuff.  (She still uses it at church and school, but has given up her application of it which often is bath-worthy.)  She entered her bathroom, lathered on up, and came out to catch herself with "that look" in her eye and said, "Hey Mom?  I'm like you.  I messed up my Lent stuff, too."

How they see every little thing we do and soak it in as teachable... even when we don't want to teach that moment.

We joked at dinner tonight that E and I made Jesus cry a little today (JOKING, people... we don't teach our child false theology) and then took a second to talk about obedience as worship.  We talked about how Jesus knows our hearts... and even when we enjoy a delightful moment of ham or a quick romp in the hand sanitizer... we can still seek to honor Him with our actions.

E skipped off to bed just now- dressed as Pocahontas- with another moment of reality filed away in her precious little mind.  She brushed her teeth in the same room as THE sanitizer and was able to pass on it.

Today, I passed on several items containing meat at lunch and dinner.

Neither of these sacrifices will get us to heaven, compare to His sacrifice, or even make Him cry when we fail... but our sacrifices lend focus to our constantly wayward lives.  And for that, we are delightfully thankful.

THE house

This morning has proven to be surreal, and it's merely 9:19am as I type.  I woke up super early to finish a project for Teacher Appreciation Week... everything "clicked".  I was done with minutes to spare.  It looked the way I'd envisioned it to look.  (Side story?  We used tree branches as centerpieces in vases for the teacher's luncheon.  As I was assembling them, E comes downstairs and says, "Uh, Mom? What are those for?" Me: "Decoration for the teachers' luncheon." E: "Uh, Mom?  Sticks aren't really pretty decoration.  You should know that." Anyway...)

E had a friend pick her up for school this morning so I could be here for the installation of her playhouse.  THE playhouse.  She's been dreaming of this house for so long (read: about 8 months? a year?)... I think I've been dreaming about it even longer.

When I was around her age, my Daddy and my Papaw built us a treehouse.  My main job during the treehouse's construction was to be The Maker and Bringer of the Kool-Aid.  I was good at that job.  I brought them cup after cup of syrupy sweet purple stuff while they sweated and cursed in our backyard.  When it was finished, it was perfect.

I spent days in that house- playing school, being brave and sleeping all night by myself way back in the woods, decorating it was posters from Tiger Beat, having friends come play in it (when they weren't scared of spiders) so we could have "alone time", taking my journal or a book up there to write and read... it was my haven.

I used it way beyond when a child would usually "use" a treehouse... it's part of my story. 

When my Daddy talked about helping Dan build a playhouse for Elizabeth (house built in 1994? trees not quite ready for treehouses....), I was thrilled.  I envisioned E bringing Kool-aid and impatiently waiting for it's completion.  As we put together material lists and weighed pros and cons of "ready made" playhouses, my Daddy's Home Depot side won out and we opted for a "ready made" shed.  Apparently the fondly remembered hours of them laboring in the sun to build my treehouse didn't look so fondly in Daddy's memory.

And so here we are.  There are men in my backyard assembling E's playhouse.  It promises to be just as magical for her.  I can only imagine her years ahead filled with tea parties, sleep overs, book reading and journal writing, Tiger Beat decorating, secret telling, spider squealing, privacy seeking moments in that wooden refuge.  I am blessed to be able to offer her a chance to create her own memories of solitude (got that boys? solitude... that means you're not invited in 10 more years!).  I have no idea what lies ahead as God's plan for our lives unfold... but for this moment in time as I look out my window and see a gorgeous playhouse being constructed- I am content.

Playhouse warming party details to follow.  (Please note: I wrote this earlier this morning, but waited to post it until I had finished product pictures.  Tonight at church- without having read this- a friend of mine asked E if they could have a Purple Kool-Aid House Warming Party sometime soon... I immediately thought she'd read the blog... then remembered I hadn't posted it!  Apparently we will be having Purple Kool-Aid after all...)

 the truck arrives!

 before

 during

 after

 her first moments of fun!

a happy (and quite thankful!) girl.

Letting Go

Ya'll... letting go is hard.  I'm not good at it.  Never have been.

I struggle with letting go of anything: possessions, bad habits, relationships.  All of it... hard.

My buddy, Jen Hatmaker, wrote a book called "7"... while I am still in the process of processing it (I've yet to been able to post a "book review" which I want to do), I'll tell you that it brought to the surface this idea of "letting go" of some very American and excessy (yes, it's a word) things in my life.

Take for example- possessions.

We do a fairly good job of teaching Elizabeth the difference in a need and a want.  It is pretty simple when you lay it out in 5-year-old language.  But if you look around my house, you'll see that I often confuse the two.  It appears that I make my wants become my needs and they begin to clutter my home.

This Thursday, I have the opportunity to facilitate the MOMS group at our church.  During this time, we'll hear a little bit about what my buddy Jen says about possessions.  We'll even have a chance to respond: I've asked the women who will be coming to bring 7 possessions they can/want to/need to part with.  There are no guidelines for this... need to clean out your closet? Bring it.  Want to purge your pantry?  Bring it.  Need to offer up something that is cluttering your life?  Bring it.

Here's the cool part- what we part with, others can use.  At the end of our time together, we will have a chance to "shop" from everyone's parted possessions.  There may be the perfect pair of jeans that you've been looking for but can't find.  There may be that book you've been wanting to read.  There may be a bowl that would go perfectly with your kitchen.  Who knows... but we'll be creating less waste by recycling these items among friends.

And bonus?  What doesn't get taken will be sent on to others who can use them- whether they are at Solus Cristus, the Street School, Potters House, etc.

But in addition to the "stuff" part of letting go, we'll have a chance to hear from some of our friends about how God has shown them specific things in their lives they need to let go.  I'll let their stories speak for themselves on Thursday... but you'll want to be there to hear it.

I'm in the process of having God redefine how I let go of things.  Quite honestly, it sucks.  It's painful.  It's exhausting.  But yesterday  morning, I laid at the alter of piece of paper that says "release and blessing".  I'm coming before the Lord as He shows me how to release what I'm not yet ready to let go of... at the same time I'm asking Him to bless that release.

So will you join me?  Thursday morning, 9:30-11:30 at River Oaks Community Church.  We'll talk about "letting go" together.  Me, Jen, some friends, and lots of the things in our life that we need to let go.  Bring your 7 things... we'll release them together.

And be blessed.

Why I'm a train wreck...

I have met a couple of friends over the last few years who I've given this disclaimer to: "I promise I'm not always such a train wreck."

This usually follows one of the descriptors of my life:
-a "random" tumor/surgery/then recovery period
-losing my stepmom to a fight with cancer
-heading across the globe to help out in Africa
-church stuff... a LOT of the time
-and regrouping from all of the above after it/they take up a lot of my brain space.

Then I realized... you know what?  That's a lie.  I am a constant train wreck.

I am a train wreck in that when something in my life happens- I want everything to stop until I take care of that situation.  I want nothing "else" to have to deal with until there has been some sort of resolution (or at least plan of attack) from whatever has caused my life to stop.

Guess what I've discovered?

That doesn't happen.

Two and a half weeks ago, our world came to a halt when some of our dearest friends learned that one of  their little ones has leukemia.  I wanted to do nothing else but huddle up with our friends, love them, love their children, and ignore the rest of the world.  My heart and mind had no more room to take care of anything else- and it was already over-full with taking care of others in our lives and praying about major life decisions.  But in that moment, all that mattered was those friends.

I went to the hospital on that Thursday night- less than 12 hours before we were scheduled to go to Disneyworld- and told my sweet friend that I didn't want to go.  Even speaking those words out loud made me realize how selfish that sounded... my need to stay was far more about my needs than even wanting to stay to help with hers.  I couldn't stand the thought of being gone.  I wanted to help.  I was the one who wanted to be here... I, I, I, me, me, me.  

The irony of all of this self-realization is that one of the things that angered me the most in those first few days was how so many people did make it about them.  They wanted to be the ones at the front of the information loop.  They wanted to talk about how they would feel if it were their child.  Them, them, them.

Oh, wait, I was doing the same thing... just a different "flavor" of selfish.

Fortunately, I have a friend who saw my heart and gave her blessing on our trip.  (It was likely a relief for her, as she was thinking "If Becky's in Florida, she can't be bothering me 24/7.")  We ended up having a great time, even though most of my heart was still in the hospital here at home.

I just keep coming back to the idea of my Train Wreck Syndrome... I like the idea of the world being able to stop.  I like being able to compartmentalize things so that you only have to "deal" with one thing at a time.  If I'm learning anything from the people around me, though, it's that that cannot happen.  And the best thing we have going for all of us is that those around us pick up the pieces in times of need so that the main thing can reamain to be the main thing of our attention.  We are blessed.

We are continuing to be changed at a rate so rapid I can hardly keep up.  Over the last 2 months our prayer lives have been amplified time and time again.  My heart has hurt and rejoiced so much I feel like it could explode.  And yet this I know: nothing is going to stop to wait for me to catch up.  During this season of life, I'll just have to hold tighter to the One who knows where this train is going... because I can't stop everything now.

Continuing to try to make it all well with my soul... 

And, yes, my sweet little friend will covet all of your prayers.