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Thanks for being here at the start of my blogging career. Here's to many more years of writing to come!
Cookies & Chaos
Monday, June 23, 2014
Friday, June 20, 2014
It Takes a Village to Raise a Jenn
Apparently it takes a village to
raise a Jenn,
was the random thought to cross my mind yesterday with a chuckle. Don’t you
love it when you amuse yourself and there’s no one around to see how funny you
are? Am I the only one that happens to? No, I’m positive my sister, Alisha,
cracks herself up on a regular basis.
But
after I stopped laughing at my own version of the famous quote, I realized the
truth peeking out from inside my play on words.
Yesterday
the thought was inspired by my preparation for the fantastic She Speaks
Conference coming in just a month. I’d had my first pre-conference training to
help me make sure I had all my ducks in a row to present my book ideas to
publishers. I came away from it invigorated, encouraged, and looking at a
boat-load of homework to make sure I knocked their socks off.
The
amazing presenter, author Glynnis Whitwer, was so calm. Her job was to tell us
what was included in a one-sheet—a single sheet of paper created to grab the
attention of a publisher or agent with who you are and what your book is about.
She went above and beyond that simple description with encouraging tips about
networking and what NOT to do. Oh please save us from ourselves, I thought. It was such a
worthwhile use of my time, energy, and the small fee.
One item
on my to-do list was to find a good, professional-looking picture of myself to
use on my business cards and my one-sheet. Ok. I’ve got a bunch of pictures. I
found what I thought was the best and was soundly shot down by my sisters. Too
dark. Not professional enough. Got anything else? Gotta love how direct sisters
can be with you.
So off I
went to Facebook to see if any of my amateur or professional photographer
friends had time. Kendrea stepped forward with a generous offer for a location
shoot at an amazing price. Her professional talent has long made me smile. She’s
one of the fantastic women I met in my many years in MOPS. My friend Tanya agreed
to help me create a graphically fantastic one-sheet. Two photographer
professionals offering to help out.
Then
there was my hair. I have it perfectly planned out exactly how long before She
Speaks to get my stylist Shayla to give me a killer color and style so that it looks
amazing. This was not now. Now I have in-between hair. Thankfully Shayla could
trim my bangs today.
Now what
to wear? My friend Jaime has offered to take me shopping before the conference
to help me. Oh do I need help. I’m, shall we say, “fashion challenged.” I don’t
know how to layer or accessorize well and don’t get me started on what I think
looks flattering vs. reality. But I am aware of my limitations. I know I need
the help. However we hadn’t gone shopping yet.
So I
started sending Jaime and our friend Jenny (who was with her at the pool) pics
of myself in what I had to work with. The joys of smart phones. Then I included
Alisha. Between them and the responses from my boys, we found something we
could work with. Kendrea even chimed in with a few more suggestions.
I met
Kendrea on the edge of town to head to a beautiful location in the Hills. She
posed me in ways a yoga master would have been proud of to get just the right
angles. I think I may be able to call that an extra work out this week.
But as I
look back at this day, I realized that yet again, my vast circle of friends had
come to my aid to help me when I needed it. It has taken a village to raise a
Jenn—to raise me out of grief and help me smile. To raise me out of fear and
care for my needs. To raise me out of feeling alone and make me feel loved and
supported and prayed for and lifted up.
So
thanks to my “village people.” You are many and you are diverse. You come from
a variety of denominations and churches. You come from my past and my present.
You range in age from young to well, let’s just stop right there. You are the
village that God is using to help me continue and thrive in the new journey He’s
set before me. You are His people in action helping this widow turn mourning
into dancing.
Yesterday
it took a village to raise a Jenn and I’m unbelievably thankful for that.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Keep Calm and Carry On
I survived Father’s Day 2014. Think I should get that printed on a t-shirt or something? Nah. I’d need too many t-shirts to cover all the holidays and hard days I’ve survived this year.
I knew from the very
start that this first year would be the hardest. This year is full of firsts
that amplify his absence. This is year is full of firsts that make me sad or
miss him or angry that he up and shuffled off this mortal coil (Shakespearean
for “died”), leaving me to figure out these things on my own.
There have been birthdays
and holidays on top of milestones that come as children grow up. Those are the
hardest sometimes. They are tiny victories of childhood that he’s missing. That’s
the thought that struck me when the first one came up. It was Jarod’s first
high school play and all I could think was, “Kraig’s missing this.” It repeated
when Lucy lost a tooth or Kati ran in track.
Right now the meme for “Keep
Calm and Carry On” is all over Pinterest and the internet to the point people
are sick of it. It will be so dated in about five minutes from now. It has
become something people have altered to fit their fandoms or their hobbies or
their warped senses of humor. “Keep Calm and trust Daryl Dixon” or “Keep Calm
and Call Batman” and so on, and so forth, all line up to put a personal twist
on the original. I’ve loved seeing the creative takes on it. But as I’ve walked
through this year of firsts, I must say I find something steady in the
original.
I looked up the origins
of it online tonight which made me love it more. If I can believe sources on
the internet it was a slogan created for the Brits in WW2. Only they saved it
for extreme emergency. This was the poster to pull out when things looked bleak
and so it was never used. These posters were found in storage and
instead of tossing them, someone thought they’d be cool to circulate. And an
internet sensation was born.
Seriously? Bombs
falling on London, children evacuated from their families to the countryside, and
air raids weren’t enough for Brits to think it was bleak?! We may grossly underestimate
the toughness of the English, I think. Perhaps it is the British in my lineage
that contributes a bit to my being able to keep calm and carry on. My love of
tea would seem to back that up a bit. And then there’s my love of Dr. Who,
Sherlock, Downton Abby, and other British TV. Hmmm… Perhaps I’m more Brit than
I realized.
So today I kept calm
and carried on. I limited my Facebook more than normal and didn’t talk to
anyone on the phone. I focused on getting the kids out of the house into the
sunshine. The recent rain limited our hiking choices so we went to the Arts and
Crafts festival I usually sell my wares at, this time as customers and
spectators.
The kids had fun and
each left with something. Jarod purchased a concrete lawn gnome that eerily
resembled one he’d drawn for his movies. Lucy spent her money on a cheetah
purse. Ryan admired a bud vase a potter had made and was rewarded when she gave
it to him. She’d dropped it and the chip meant she couldn’t sell it. He was
thrilled. Kati found an upcycled bohemian blouse for only $8 and she does need
clothes so I caved. On the way home we went to Armadillos Ice Cream, a family favorite. They were serving Kraig’s favorite flavor of the day—Strawberry Butter. I seized the moment in the van when they all had ice cream and couldn’t escape to ask that each one share a fun memory of dad. Three of the four could think of something. We laughed. I tried to ask more but was asked to change the subject. I did. I let them lead on many of these conversations. I’m far from perfect in how I bring up his absence but I don’t want them to think we shouldn’t talk about him, remember him, or laugh about his stories.
So for today, I managed to keep calm and carry on. For today I survived. For today I made it not so bad for my kids. Ryan even told me as he went to bed, “Except for missing Dad, this was a really nice Father’s Day, Mom.”
I’ll count that as a win.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Kids and Grief
It’s mid-June already. June is half gone and still the
journey of grief has not ended. If you would have told me when he died that I’d
still have days when grief sapped my energy over 9 months later, I would have
thought you didn’t know me. You would be underestimating the fact that am not a
curl-up-and-stop-living kinda gal.
But then again, I’d never walked this kind of grief. And I’d
never been responsible to help four fragile souls walk it too.
My kids are so unique. They have been since my pregnancies
with each. Each one is a unique person created by a loving God to do amazing
things. My favorite part of motherhood is watching who they are growing to be
each day. Each one has their own personalities and experiences and hobbies. And
so it makes sense that each one also has their own unique means of dealing with
grief.
My heart has ached for them since that sad night when
tragedy forever altered their universes and I had to tell them Daddy was gone.
This was not something I could shield them from or make go away. This was not
something I could fix. This is life and this is the journey God entrusted to
them, as painful as is it.
As I’ve walked the past nine months as a widow, I have had
to deal with my own waves of grief and struggles to deal in the day-to-day with
the loss of my husband, my partner, my friend. I’ve also had to deal with their
grief. I have had to become head of the home, spiritual leader, and grief
counselor all rolled up inside this one exhausted mama.
The week he died little things that he liked could reduce me
to tears. Seriously I burst into tears when someone held up a bottle of Famous
Dave’s BBQ sauce to ask if the kids wanted it with dinner and all I could say
was this was his favorite. Sobs poured out and I remember collapsing against
Chelsea’s shoulder feeling lost, helpless, sad, and a touch embarrassed that
BBQ sauce caused this reaction.
Now I can make the bed and smile remembering how he loved the
smell of the blankets fresh off drying on the line. Now I can laugh with Lucy
about a day when Daddy swung on a swing next to her. Now I can appreciate the
irony that the exhaustion of dealing with all this has forced me to give in to
naps. Kraig used to say I needed to appreciate naps more. I rarely can shut my
mind down to nap. Kraig could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
For the most part now, the things that sap my energy and
reduce me to watching House Hunters International when I should be cleaning are
when grief sneaks up on my kids. When grief sucker punches my son and he
confesses to me something that has bothered him since the funeral because he didn’t
understand it. When one of my daughters still doesn’t want to talk about it
much and I wonder how long I wait between asking how she’s doing. When my tiniest
princess comes upstairs at bedtime and tells me she misses Daddy’s snuggles,
again. When my son with autism confesses to me his fear that it’s his fault
that dad died because he prayed for God to take Dad’s pain away and I told him
there’s no pain in heaven.
That last one stole my breath and made me reach deep for a Biblically-sound answer. Five years of Bible college, don’t fail me now. But more
important than any theology class I took is the journey God has allowed me to
walk with Him and the time I’ve spent praying that I would not screw this up
with my kids. These things have shored up my foundation and reminded me of
the security of my faith.
I took time to explain to Ryan that, no, it wasn’t his
fault. God is not like a mean genie waiting to twist our words. I explained
that God sees all of the world and time like a big picture that we can’t see
because we are tiny parts of the picture. God knows what is best and loves us.
I trust He had a reason for letting Daddy go to heaven and He will continue to
take care of us. Ryan smiled through his tears and told me he believes me. He
even told me I could put it in my blog because he had read one of my blogs and
it helped him understand how I feel missing Dad.
These things make me lose sleep. These things hit me in the
gut. These things make me understand why someone would enjoy a glass of wine to
cope. I can’t stand the taste so I settle for popcorn. But most importantly,
these things drive me to pray.
God knew the kind of journey this would set my kids on. He
knew the wounds that would show up on their hearts after losing a Daddy who
loved them. He knew how this will affect their lives and He still promises He
has plans for them—plans to prosper and not harm them, plans to give them hope
and a good future. He has promised He will use even this for their good. I
trust that with every fiber of my being.
So I continue to work on a more disciplined devotional time
in the morning over cups of tea. I will allow myself the occasional House
Hunters marathon to recover from the whirlwind of dealing with four unique people
I’m guiding through grief. I will allow myself the expense of some Smart Fit
Popcorn from Sam’s club the next time I go. I will allow myself a nap every now
and again because these things help me recharge for the next time one of them
needs to be sad and ask questions from wounded hearts.
And I will give thanks that for the most part, life is
moving on in their worlds. Jarod is making his clay figures for his big summer
movie. Ryan is trying to find books to enjoy so he can keep his
Landscaping class at high school next fall instead of additional reading. Kati
is excitedly getting ready for Rainbow Bible Ranch for insane amounts of horse
fun. Lucy is trying her best to read to me so she moves forward in her reading
level—her idea, bless her. They laugh. We live life. We fall into the new rhythm of normal.
I will keep moving forward because I know God goes with me.
And if He is with me, as hard as this is, I have nothing to fear.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Sisters
This morning daylight woke me far before I had wanted it to.
I think my next house will need better room-darkening window treatments for
early summer hours. I had wanted to sleep in. As I lay there in bed, I was
trying to get a handle on my feelings, my mood for the start of this day. It
was a surprisingly blank slate.
The decision to do something fun with the kids today settled
in my mind. I wasn’t feeling sad or happy and I didn’t want to swing towards
the former. I got up and began to make tea and get ready to read my Beth Moore
devotional when my sister called.
Alisha lives in Florida, as does my other sister, Bethany. Both
of them aren’t really phone people, which is a shame. My conversations with
them are delightful. I crave conversation over text. They do make an effort
sometimes in their busy schedules to chat with me while they sew for their thriving
Etsy business, Mahalo, or care for their families.
Bethany, me, Alisha - August 2008, Badlands Nt'l Park |
We haven’t always been close. Our friendship has evolved
through the joys and trials of sharing our lives as married women and moms. Our
deepest connections were made through the incredible journey they took with me
when my youngest daughter, Lucy, had open-heart surgery at just five days old.
My sisters are amazing in a crisis. They are calming and faith-filled. They are
irreverent and full of laughter. I came to fully appreciate the incredible
women they are during Lucy’s amazing journey.
Last night I got to chat with Bethany. We shared some laughs
and talked about her bustling family of seven. Soon our talk grew serious as
she shared with me her heart for her new job as children’s minister at her
church. She’s done this job before. She has a passion to see children
understand deep spiritual truths in fun and interactive ways. She has a gift
for teaching and she was sharing with me some of the challenges she faces at
this new church. I was thrilled to be
able to cheer her on. She can do this. God has gifted her to do this! She will
be amazing.
Today Alisha helped fill the blank slate of my emotional day
with stories. Oh she tells good stories. She always has a spin on some errand or project she’s been doing that makes
me laugh.
Alisha sometimes reminds me of a woman in the wrong decade.
She’s part Audrey Hepburn and part Rosie the Riveter. You would not be
surprised to find her in a long skirt riding a vintage bike with a basket
filled with flowers and French bread. But you also would not be surprised to find
her reroofing her house or retiling a bathroom.
Today, when I needed a course set for my day, she was a good
navigator. We laughed about family inside jokes. I listened to her latest
excursion to Home Depot where her winning smile and cute figure somehow seem to
get her lots of help. These poor male employees have no idea she does 90% of
the Home Depot shopping for her family. She’s not helpless. She shared with me
the amazing recent encounter she and Bethany had paddle boarding when a real,
honest-to-goodness manatee swam right up to them and surfaced!
In the background I could hear her ever-growing kids
bustling about, getting ready to start a big project. She has one at home from
her first year in college and this fall will have two in high-school. My
nephew, Joshua, sent Aunt Jenn-jenn a hug across the phone lines. His voice is
no longer that of a little boy. Her daughter Anna was getting ready for work. Her
youngest, Amanda, was prepping materials bought on that Home Depot trip for a
secret project she can’t wait to reveal on Facebook herself. I’ll not tell. But
I can’t wait to see the pictures when she’s done.
I love the women my sisters are—strong and fun
and serving Jesus in the day-to-day of their lives. I cherish our conversations
and our visits. And I’m thankful that today, God sent me a delightful conversation
with Alisha, unhurried and filled with laughter. Now to enjoy some banana bread
my girls made for the first time all by themselves and continue with this
delightful day.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Job & I
“Oh my goodness. You must feel like Job.”
This sentence was uttered by a nice woman in the boot camp
class I was trying out. We’d talked a few times before but today’s class had
found us next to each other as we made the circuit. Soon talk turned to kids.
Aren’t they the great conversation starter? I was upbeat talking about my full
nest and my little blessings. Her’s were older. There came a point when something
came up and it needed to be said—my husband had died in September. I was
managing all of this thanks to amazing friends.
She was shocked. She, of course, asked what happened. Heart
attack, very sudden, but God is taking care of us, came my reply. Then she
uttered the comment with a shake of her head, “Oh my goodness. You must feel like
Job.” Before I could reply the instructor was talking and we moved on. I had to
duck out of class early to get home to the kids and errands. I never got to
answer her statement, but as I drove, her words echoed in my mind.
Job, huh? This Bible hero means a lot of things to many
people—suffering, questioning God, poor friends and advisers, God’s absence or
presence in our trials, and so on. All of these things are included in this
story. But one of my favorite Bible verses comes from Job 13:15a: “Though He
slay me, yet will I trust in Him….”
Oh that I could be compared to Job! Oh that my faith would
be so rock-solid in the God worthy of my trust. Through the pain and the trials,
oh that I could cling confidently to the truth that no matter what happens, He
is still trustworthy!
A friend once told me she wrestled with this verse. God will
not slay us so Job seems to be off the mark here, she thought. But I see it as
Job popping a gasket, losing his temper, and finally blowing up at the nay-sayers
in his life who do not see where his faith was anchored. I see it as him
telling them that no matter what circumstances appear to be, he will stand firm
in his faith.
Oh that I would be like Job! Oh that no matter how much this
journey has hurt or how long it seems to be, oh that I would keep coming back
to the truth that I trust Jesus! I trust the God who sees a big picture that I
cannot see. I trust Him for my provision. I trust Him for my children’s wounded
hearts. I trust Him when bad news arrives in the mailbox. I trust Him for
wisdom in the next steps even when fear makes me take my eyes off that truth. I
can always come back to the truth that He is trustworthy. He is faithful. He is
good.
Job even did what some cannot grasp is OK – he questioned God.
When he finally had more than he felt he could take, he pitched a fit and
railed against the unfairness of it all. His shouts at the heavens reached God
and God answered. The reply makes me laugh. God put Job right in his place. “Who
is this who darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself
like a man; I will question you and you shall answer me.” Job 38:2-3
God goes on to describe just how worthy He is to figure out
what’s good, just, and fair and just how small Job is. And after listening to
God’s response, Job is appropriately set back on the right path. He repents,
humbled, and returns to the faith he always knew to be true.
A friend told me long ago that God can take our anger. He
can take it when we tell him how unfair this is and how upset we are things
aren’t going like we thought they should. As a mom, I now imagine one of
my kids as toddlers throwing a fit when I say no. It’s almost amusing. No
matter how frustrating the fit might be (or embarrassing in the middle of the
mall) it doesn’t change that I love them. I will take the time to discipline
them and help them learn better.
God loves me. He will strengthen me and walk with me even if
I pitch a fit like a tired toddler. He isn’t going anywhere. He is faithful.
Oh that I will stand through this trial confident in the
fact that He loves me. He wants the best for me. Even when I cannot see what
the final outcome is going to be, I can trust him absolutely. The story of Job even
has a happy ending in chapter 42, verse 12: “The Lord blessed the latter part
of Job’s life more than the first.” There is promise that our faithful trust in
God leads to good things—either in this life or in heaven.
Oh, to be like Job.
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