Mom

I live life out loud.  I share my story- the good and the bad- with the world.  I tend to be an "open book."

And all of those things make my mother cringe.

My mother, for those of you who don't know her, is a very private person.  She keeps details of her life to herself- always has.  She would cringe- often publicly- when my Dad or I would say things that she wasn't comfortable hearing publicly.  I think we were put in her life to push her buttons... and she was put in our lives to give us filters.

Which is why these last few years I've lived in a tenuous spot.

My mother has been diagnosed with dementia.  And she is horrified of people knowing.  And I am weary from living with it a "secret".

Everyone who has been around my Mom knows.  It is past the point of hiding.  Without sharing cringe-worthy stories, I'll just share that the diagnosis is official and non-arguable.  It has been painful, hurtful, heartbreaking, and has left us completely worn-down.  We ache for her loss, and we ache for ourselves.

I have tip-toed on Facebook and my blog for months upon months to make sure that I don't "over share."  The last thing I want to do is embarrass my Mom.  In light of recent events, it's hit me more than ever that we should not steer clear from talking about mental health issues.  At the same time, mental health or physical health... my Mom would not want her private life to be posted anywhere.

So therein lies the struggle.  Mom- totally private.  Me- public, and aching from living in this world of uncharted emotions and experiences.  My days are long... and often rather empty... as I sort through not having my Grown Ups to turn to anymore.  My birthday came and went with no parent to call to celebrate that date.  Traditions and expectations on holidays are all a moot point this year.  My guard goes up with each phone call regarding our "new" situation... and my shoulders stay tense.

And this is why I finally decided to post about it.  With the exception of a few friends who are also on this path, it can by a very lonely place trying to navigate this season of life alone.  Kelly Corrigan talks about this "season" in her book The Middle Place... and when I read the book years ago, I had no idea how quickly I would get to this space.  When I read it, Mary and Daddy were both living and Mom wasn't quite as sick.  I wasn't yet adding words to my responsibility list like "executor" or "power of attorney".  I liked that space much better.  But we can't go back... which is why I tread lightly to share with you some of the details of my story... not just my Mom's.

I ask for your prayers for the days ahead in our journey... and I ask that those of you who have "been there" not bombard me with information, but offer your guidance in a way that would have been helpful to you.  I also ask that you help me in keeping my Mom's desire for a private-lived life just that... while dementia is nothing to be ashamed of, it's hard to not be where you thought you'd be.  And it's hard to have a daughter who tells the world your information without your blessing.  I feel sure Elizabeth (and karma) will repay this gesture in the days to come.

it's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday...

This morning, I was on the folding-end of a laundry blessing.

My heart-sister, Laurie, called early on and said she needed help at the laundromat.  She was getting the last of her laundry done before leaving town.  Her day was scheduled to the minute, and she needed someone to take over so she could get back on task.  As soon as E's bus left, I headed over to feed quarters and match socks.  Mind you, she's not "leaving town" like, I dunno, going on vacation.  She's "leaving town", like, moving to Arizona.  To plant a church.  Which is awesome... and yet still, my heart hurts.

While I was folding the cutest little Lego underwear, my heart jumped when I realized that I was, indeed, on the giving end of this blessing...

And just a few short weeks ago, I was on the receiving end... our friends had before rushed to our door to take away our dirty laundry and returned it clean and folded.  Blessings.

⁴² They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. ⁴³ Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles.⁴⁴ All the believers were together and had everything in common. ⁴⁵ They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. ⁴⁶ Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts,⁴⁷ praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.  Acts 2:42-47

This is just how my 10-year friendship with Laurie and her family has been.  We have given- and received- together when there was a need.  We have seen signs and wonders.  We have broken bread and prayed.  And we have had everything in common... sometimes, a wee bit too much.  (There aren't many people who would loan you ALL of their clothes when your luggage gets lost in Rwanda... just sayin'.)

Which is part of what makes this transition so hard.  Never have I felt so instantly connected to a friend in both life and Spirit.  Never have I had someone who would drop everything to run to Wal-mart at a moment's notice.  Never have I been rebuked in love and encouraged in truth and ridiculed by the same person.  We have woven together a tapestry of pain and suffering... joy and celebration.  We have witnessed the birth, rebirth, and homecoming of our children together... we have taken pregnancy tests and watched fertility ultrasounds together... we have watched great men be inaugurated and sung on the stage with other men at that same moment in time.  We have walked together in search of a nude beach... we have wept openly about our pasts... we have bought each other Starbucks when the other one of us just couldn't afford it.  We have lived through parents with cancer and dementia... we have sung RENT! at the top of our lungs (even when we have the words wrong.)  We have walked on dark streets in a foreign land against our better judgement... and been blown away at God's individual love over a gallon of wine.  We have been sure our husbands have lost their minds and needed us to tell them... and praised those same men at their amazing growth and Godly decisions.  We have watched college students grow... and watched our hearts grow to love students more every day.  We have run together at Rope Drop and run together at the Y in the dark.  We have eaten at Long John Silvers and Boca de Bobbidi Boo.  And never have I been more grateful for every step of the journey.

THIS is the body of Christ.  This is the fellowship of believers.  This is the good life. This is the real life- folding laundry and all.  And this is truth... friends really are friends forever.  God speed, my Kindred Spirit.  I can't wait to see where He leads us next.

 (she is a Brickhouse, you know...)

my kitchen is clean.

My kitchen is clean.

It looks beautiful.

The countertops are free of sippy cups and plastic plates. 

I didn't get out of bed until 7:30 this morning. I woke up at 6, but I laid in bed- cuddled next to my sick child who had invited herself in sometime during the night- and read until 7:30.

No one has cried this morning.

No one has yelled.

No one has been put in Time Out.

There is coffee that's been brewed and Dan is making us waffles as I type these words.

There is nothing on my agenda today except to decorate for Christmas and have lunch and ashopping date with a friend.

Holy crap, y'all... this feels GOOD.

Yesterday, it didn't feel so good.  Yesterday, I had two little boys in my living room watching PBS Kids and waiting for the Social Worker to arrive to take them to their next home.  Two little boys who had pushed every button I had by sunrise.  Two boys who had wrecked my "normal" during the last 6 and a half weeks.  Two boys who made me angry... made me yell... showed me sides of my own heart that were nasty.  Two boys who wanted nothing more than to be loved and be shown that we would be the same today that we were yesterday.  Two boys who exasperated my daughter and my dogs.  Two boys who made me weep when I heard one say "I love Dan soooo much.  I just love him so, so much."  Two little boys who I had grown to love.

This foster care business?  It ain't for the faint at heart.

And that's just what I am- faint at heart.  Our six and a half weeks with the boys showed me humanity in a way I've never seen.  It humbled me when I saw what a "bad" person I am at my core.  It showed me how prideful and selfish and weak I am.  And, not to sound uber-holy, but it showed me that I CANNOT DO THIS without total dependence on God.

While the timing could not have been worse, it also could not have been better.  We began their stay here with E's birthday- and while the spotlight was taken off of her, it also was rightfully given to her as all the little people in our home got showered with gifts.  During their stay, I was also occupied with my responsibilities as a daughter- taking care of things for my Daddy's estate as well as finding a new role in loving my Mom.  My to-do list has never, never been as full as it has been in the last 6 weeks.  This year alone has been taxing in brand new ways... and these last 6 weeks just fit under the banner of "2012 Crazy".  I even had to upgrade to a larger day-planner to keep all of our appointments and responsibilities straight.  Yet having the boys to distract me from life as I now know it, and having life to balance out the boys?  Perfect timing.

Here is the kicker, though, of our quick stint in Foster Care... it's not about us.  Yes, my family changed.  Yes, my responsibilities changed.  Yes, we had to adapt.  Yes, we sacrificed.  Yes, we grieved.  But ultimately- and I'm not looking to be a martyr- it's about the kids.  Those two little boys who got in our van on a Tuesday night- shaking and sobbing.  Those little boys who were forced to learn to trust us... and who just wanted to go home. 

I posted yesterday on Facebook that I was thankful for our role in Foster Care... and I am.  I got slammed with people saying encouraging things like "we're so proud of you" and "you made a difference"... thank you.  While my post was not intended to seek encouragement- we appreciate it.  But when it boils down to it- and, again, I'm not trying to go uber-holy- it wasn't us who made the difference.  We are tired, sinful, weary, hurting people... we just provided a safe place for those boys to feel God's love.  There were days we couldn't do it, so we allowed others of you to love on them for us.  The love those boys received from our friends, their daycare/preschool, our church, our families... oh ya'll... they got loved.

And we will do it again.  Not because we "want" to, but because we know we are supposed to.

But it won't be right now.  We're going to take a little time to rest.  And heal.  And go see The Mouse.  And love each other big and un-interrupted.  And rest.  (Did I say that already?)  And breathe.

So for now, I'll look at my clean kitchen and enjoy it... because I know sometime soon the sippy cups will be back.  And I'll hug E extra tightly... because I know sometime soon my lap will have another little one in it.  And I'll not feel guilty about enjoying this moment... because I know it's a gift from the Lord.

a little update on our family...

The last month has been insane in our house.  We have gone through more changes than I can begin to describe in a blog post.  Some of those changes are to be shared at a later date, but I can tell you a bit about our new friends living with us.

On the eve of E's birthday, we added 2 foster friends to our family.  Two sweet boys came to us with 2 hours notice... broken, scared, shaking, crying, wrecked.  In turn, we have felt those same emotions.  We have journeyed with them into a new territory- all of us feeling our way through the transition.  E has learned how to be a Big Sister in a crash course, and we have rapidly learned how to parent 3 children- 2 of them being boys. 

We have felt the prayers, encouragement, and help of our Village in new ways.  Friends have arrived bringing meals, clean laundry, coffee, hugs, tears, lawn mowers, bookshelves, clothes... we are grateful and overwhelmed.  We have come to depend on others hugely in the last year, and never more so than these last 4 weeks.  I have sent more emails with the subject line "Help?" only to be amazed with immediate response.  We. Are. Blessed.

We are also weary.  We have had multiple people gently ask "are you sure now is the right time for these additions?"  And we hear you.  We have asked our selves the same thing- and asked Our Jesus- and we understand that yes, this is the right time.  It is hard.  It is exhausting.  But it is our calling, and so we are responding.

As I've mentioned before, we can't tell you much about our new friends... we tend to call them Big Man and Little Man around here, and for the sake of this blog I will refer to them in the same way.  They are both precious and constant reminders of God's Grace.  We are praying for healing for their family, and we are thankful for the role we get to play in their story.

As many of you have asked about E, I will tell you some about her.  She has cried a lot.  She has missed being an only child.  She is overwhelmed with the volume of boys around here.  She is learning a new routine.  She is learning a new family.

But she is good.  Good.  In the newness, God is shaping something beautiful in her.  And I'll tell you, people... it's not that I am trying to paint a pretty picture of all of this.  I could honestly tell you endless stories of her on the hard-side of this transition.  But last night as Big Man had a pretty severe meltdown, I watched my daughter stand back and hurt for him.  She "gets" it.  She may not like every minute of it, but she is learning to adjust to the calling on our family.

Yesterday we were fortunate to have some intentional alone time with her.  I was able to go to her school for lunch, and then Dan and I got to take her out last night while the boys had an activity at their school.  While we were out on our date with her, we went to an indoor playground for a bit.  2 girls there were not being super nice to her- I sat back and watched E try to approach them only to be told "You can't play here.  This is our space."  And in a moment of true beauty, I watched her say "Well, what are you playing?  Could I play with you?"  They included her in their game of chase... and she ran and giggled and enjoyed being a kid.

Indulge me for just a moment to fully describe that scene: E was surrounded by children who looked very different from her.  She was the only blond, blue eyed, white girl present.  As she ran around with children of varying shades of beautiful skin, I sat watching all their ethnicities blend together in a blur when they would dart by us.  The only little boy playing with them- the one the were running from as he chased them, giggling- was about 2.  He was a lovely child- and only took a break from chasing the girls to stop to sign to his dad.  His dad was deaf- as was the woman he was with- and we weren't certain about the little boy.  I sat and watched the children- different as God has made them all- and enjoyed seeing my beautiful girl in the middle of it all.

Moments like that make me long to share my parenting-joy with my parents... and specifically last night, with Mary.  Today marks the second anniversary of when Mary went to be with Jesus.  Two years.  TWO YEARS.  I cannot believe it...  So much has happened in those two years.  I know Mary would have loved to watch E hang out with those children last night.  I know she would love to watch her here with these boys.  There are so many moments with the boys I know that she and Daddy would have the perfect one-liners to fit our days.  No matter how much I miss each of them daily, I know we are making them proud by loving others like they did.

And there you have it... a glimpse of where we are.  We are grief-stricken, pained, weary, exhausted, sick, broken people.  And yet we are joy-filled, hopeful, encouraged, supported, thankful, grateful people.  The dance of emotions leaves our head spinning.  When you couple that with our ever growing to-do lists, we never seem to stop these days.  Welcome to our drama... we'd love to have you join us on our journey.                                                                       

To my girl, on her birthday.

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth!  You are SIX!!!  How in the world did THAT happen?!?!?!?  Oh, right... I remember...

Six years ago, I enjoyed lunch one Friday afternoon with Miss Debbie.  I still tease her that her U-turn in the middle of a busy road is the reason I went into early labor.  When your Daddy and I went in for my doctor's appointment later that afternoon, the doctor confirmed that you were likely going to come early.  After a weekend of celebrating with friends and preparing for a possible early arrival,  I went into work Monday afternoon like "normal".  I had spoken with the doctor's office earlier and they let me know if I didn't feel you moving around anymore that it would be time to go to the hospital.  Sure enough, as I sat in the RMH office, you weren't moving around.  Your Daddy recommended we should head to the hospital "just in case"... we were still thinking you would stick around longer since you were not due until November 9.

The doctors let us know when we arrived at the hospital that I couldn't feel you moving around because you had already moved into the birth canal.  We were going to see you early after all!!  We walked around the hospital for about an hour trying to get you moving quicker, but then determined we'd be better off to get some sleep and see you the next day instead.  That told us your birthday would be October 17- you would share that day with my Grandmother.  Even though she died before you were born, so much of you reminds me of her-- your big heart, your long fingers, your love for Jesus.  I know she would be so proud of you!

At 5:00am on Tuesday the 17th, your Daddy and I were awoken to a scary, startling moment- we experienced our first earthquake!!  The whole hospital shook and no one was sure what had happened.  Earthquakes aren't usual in Winston-Salem!  But we still tease that the earth shook with excitement upon your arrival... you shook up our lives and apparently everyone else's too. 

Wide awake and a little freaked out, we all laughed when shortly after 5:00am your Mimi walked through the door.  I had called her the night before to tell her I was going to have you early.  She wasn't able to sleep once she knew you were on the way, so she hopped in her car and headed to meet you.  Once it was daylight, I called Dadaw to let him and Nanny know you were coming early.  2 hours after talking to Dadaw, he walked through the door, too.  He said he just couldn't concentrate at Home Depot after I called and walked around the store saying "My baby is having a baby!"  Your Mimi, Nanny, and Dadaw were all so proud of you.  Your Mimi gave you her sense of order and diligence, your "femininity", your tender heart.  Your Nanny gave you a love of learning, your patience with others, your adaptable heart.  Your Dadaw gave you your sense of humor, your ability to laugh at yourself, your kind heart.


We enjoyed some time with Mimi and Dadaw before the doctor came in to break my water.  (And Dadaw left as that happened- he wanted no part of that!)  After several hours of labor and a very short amount of time pushing, out you were.  Remember this part?  This is the part of the story you love so much.  You came out so quickly, the doctor wasn't even in the room yet!!  Your Daddy had to help deliver you- what an honor.  Your Daddy gave you your wisdom, your insight, and your compassionate heart.  He is so proud of you.  When you came out, Daddy looked at me through a tear-streaked face and said "It's a girl and she's perfect."  Mimi said, "She has 10 fingers and 10 toes!"  And I said, "She's purple."  Leave it to me to make a moment magical...

The doctors cleaned you up and handed you to me to snuggle.  The first of hours and hours of snuggling we would do.  We snuggled through your brief stint in the NICU with jaundice.  We snuggled through your colicky phase.  Through losing lots of loved ones.  Through big celebrations!  We snuggled every morning on the couch in that golden moment when you just woke up and needed some Momma Time.  We snuggled when you were nervous about school.  We snuggled when you were proud about having a Blue Day!  We have snuggled through so many hours... and in those moments, I experience God's love in the most tangible of ways.  In fact, I gave you your love of snuggling, your messy side, and your social heart.

 Last night as I laid with you in your bed and we talked about really hard things, I prayed over you.  I prayed God's protection for not only your life, but over your heart.  Your special heart that is made up of all of the people I love so much.  And this story only involves "my" side of the family!  I'll let your Daddy share with you the blessings you got from Grammy and Pop... blessings that include knowledge, attention to others, persistence, and loyalty to name a few.

In your six years of life, you've had more heartache than some people have in sixty... and for that I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry that you've had people you love die, you've had people you love leave, and you've had promises broken.  As you begin this sixth year of your life, I celebrate your life and your heart.  I'm honored to be your Mom.  From the first moment we heard your heartbeat, we knew you would be special.  We had no idea just how special you would be... and I can't wait to see what lies ahead.

Happy birthday, sweet girl.

Brokenness and Band-aids

our lovely view on that March weekend

6 months ago *right now*, I was sitting in the mountains of Georgia, enjoying having some girl-time with a dear friend, breathing easier- spiritually- than I had in months.  I had spent the day before reading the words of Hosea... and I woke up restored.

I've written what the next week was like here... it breaks my heart to even see that post again.  It still feels so... well... new.

At the retreat that weekend, I attended a "Date with God" session lead by the sweet woman who had prompted me to read Hosea.  We went from station to station experiencing different mediums through which to connect with God. One of them was a place where you would write a prayer request on a Post-it, place it on the wall, then read the others' requests and pray for them.  My Post-it said "broken."  That weekend, you'll remember, was when we had just been turned down for Foster Care.  In addition to that, I was grieving my best friend's move to Phoenix, and still wrestling with Sweet Leah's leukemia. I truly felt "broken."  In a moment of restoration, I looked at those Post-its as they were affixed later to a cross and felt the hand of God remind me that HE would heal me... no one or nothing else would do.

Our Wailing Wall... Heal us, Lord.

Oh, the irony of the brokenness I felt then.  I didn't know that mere hours later, I would find out my Daddy had died.  I didn't know that 6 weeks after that we would lose my friend Geoff.  I didn't know that 3 months later we would lose my friend Aaron.

Grief upon grief leaves one feeling beyond broken.  It leaves you feeling just plain wrecked.

Yesterday happened to be my Daddy's birthday.  He would have been 70.  From the moment my feet hit the ground yesterday morning, my wrecked-self grieved.  I sobbed in ways I haven't allowed myself to in quite some time.  I also had lots of funny internal-dialog throughout the day imagining what Daddy would say to me if I shared with him my stories.  I wanted to tell him how much I love mowing the yard with his lawn mower.  I wanted to tell him how E asked Dan why he said "dammit" this weekend. (He didn't, btw, he said "hammock"... but hearing my little one say "Why'd you say 'dammit', Daddy?" was a moment that Dadaw would have loved.)  I wanted to talk to him about how hard things are right now and have him tell me what to do.  I wanted to ask him his recipe for Country Style Steak, and then later call him to tell him that Paula Deen's worked out just fine.

Not to sound like a broken record, people... but I just miss my Daddy.

In ways I never imagined.

I think I used to watch people who had lost a parent and think, "Gosh, that must be sad," but didn't understand. I didn't get that it would be a daily ache.  A daily burden.  That every experience- good or bad- would be filtered through the lens of not having your Big Person to share it with.  And in my crazy, jacked up life... I need my Big Person.

Slowly over these last 6 months, there have been moments when my broken heart begins to heal.  Unlike the picture, my heart hasn't been torn straight down the middle.  It's been shattered into millions of pieces, each requiring their own Band-aid.  And the Band-aids are beautiful as they come!  They show up in the form of People Puppy Chow, or coffee mugs, or walks on the Greenway, or phone calls, or verses about "doing good", or comments on Facebook, or well-timed flowers, or bottles of wine, or Stan-like jokes, or leaves changing color, or looking at old pictures, or salted caramel, or a compliment, or a hug, or Country Style Steak, or even through tears.

The hard part of the last 6 months is that sometimes the Band-aids come off.  Sometimes they are ripped off... sometimes they just fall off in the bathtub.  And through it all, it shouldn't surprise me that my encouragement comes from... well... Hosea.

“Come, let us return to the Lord.
He has torn us to pieces
    but he will heal us;
he has injured us
    but he will bind up our wounds....
Let us acknowledge the Lord;
    let us press on to acknowledge him."

Return, heal, acknowledge, press on, and Do Good... cause that's what my Daddy would have wanted.  Happy birthday, Dadaw... I can't believe we've made it 6 months without you here.

things I just can't tell you.

I'm writing this blog about 24 hours after finding out my friend, Aaron, passed away.  My intent was to write the foster-part of this post yesterday... hours before our little one arrived.  But then the bottom fell out again.  The loss of another great man in my life.  And all of the sudden my post seemed frivolous.  Again, our focus shifted to the day at hand and the days to come.  Our hearts became woven with Debbie's.  And that was all that mattered.

But let me share with you our other news...  We are finally licensed foster parents.  18 months after we began this process.  1 year after finishing MAPP.  We are done.  In fact, as I type these words, I'm waiting for our first little visitor to wake up.  We are blessed to be providing weekend respite for a wee one- not a permanent placement, but 4 days of a little friend joining our family.

So many of you have followed our journey in the foster care world... and I wanted to let you know how we rejoice that we are now in the "next" phase.  It's a bizarrely unknown time for us... just as the rest of 2012 has been.  We are learning in new ways each day that it is so not about us- and that we are not in charge of what's next.

Here's what I can't tell you: much of anything else.  As children come in and out our lives, I can't post about them, specifically.  On any social media format, I can't post pictures, tell names, give details.  When you meet them, of course you'll know more about them (like, with this one, how super cute she is!!), but I can't tell you details of why they are in care.  I can't tell you (if I know) family specifics.  I can't answer all the questions that we all typically have.  An awkward predicament for a public-sharer like I am, but the "rules" nonetheless.

We are grateful to finally be at this place.  And yet it feels beyond surreal.  Days before she arrived at our house, I was in Asheville closing on the sale of my Daddy's house.  Talk about the gamut of emotions...

But little did I know that those two things were just the beginning of the emotional journey ahead.

Here's what I can't tell you: why another great man is on this earth no more.  I can't tell you why Debbie and her children are in the spot that they are right now- navigating life without their trailblazer.  I can't tell you why within three months of each other two of my girlfriends have lost their husbands.  Six children have lost their daddies.  Shoot, within five months eight of us have lost our daddies.  And it sucks.  All of it.

I know what it's like to charter the world realizing each day that my Daddy is gone.  Yet I had 36 years with him... not 8, or 7, or 4, or 1.  I know what's it's like to look to your Daddy for an answer only to remember he's not there.  And here's what I can't tell you: why those babies have to find that same moment of confusion so young.

I don't know what it's like to lose my husband.  But in those moments of God-given empathy and understanding, I can imagine that loss.  My heart aches for Debbie and Nicole... just aches.  And I can't tell you why any of this has happened to either of them.

What I can tell you is that we are all hanging on by a thread.  I missed gathering with friends yesterday and I'll miss praying with our church today because I was thrust into duties of being a Foster Mom.  Ironic timing, and I can't tell you while it's lining up this way.  I'm desperately wanting to be with my church body, but I'm trusting that instead I'm supposed to be here loving this sweet one instead.

I can't tell you why things happen this way. 
 
But I can tell you this:

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

This morning, Aaron is dressed in the righteousness of Jesus.  I don't fully understand it.  Nor do I expect to on this earth.  I have learned since March that the only for-sure thing we have in this life is Jesus.  And I'm thankful that Aaron is now sitting on that solid rock.

taken from Aaron's Facebook page- where he spent this past Sunday morning.