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.

 
 

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.

Petrichor

Petrichor – the smell of rain on the dry ground. Any Dr. Who fan reading this is smiling and knowing where I learned that word. But seriously, as someone who loves words, how did I not know for 40 years that this incredible smell had a name?!

Tonight we could smell it on the air. The storm clouds were dark and foreboding on the horizon and petrichor wafted through the windows and the screen door. The day had been hot and full of emotion and the cool wind and fantastic smell seemed to calm everything down. Petrichor smells like change.

Today was the last day of school. Today was a day of closing chapters and it was a day spent trying to further beautify my house for potential buyers. My fantastic friend, Kellie, again gave of her time and her organizational gifts to help out. This time she helped my eldest son work a miracle in his room.

When I ooh’d and aah’d at the transformation, she shrugged as if it was no big deal. No big deal to help a teen who was trying his best NOT to be bothered that she was messin’ with his stuff. No big deal to bring order to chaos. No big deal to bless me, asking for nothing in return.

Today was a day when I felt wholly inadequate at expressing gratitude to the extent it was needed. Today I thanked teachers, principals, school secretaries, and paraprofessional aides, for the amazing amounts of support and care they have given my kids and I. Today I said goodbye to most of them as we will be in new schools this fall if the sale of my house happens. New chapters will be opened.

But these schools have been fantastic in the midst of grief. Even before that they were fantastic in autism and the daily grind of middle school and elementary school. But in the midst of the greatest crisis my family had ever faced, they stepped up to support and assist in ways far beyond their job titles. How do you adequately say “thank you” for that?

Danny Janklow, the principal at North Middle School, responded to my thank you with a smile and simple, heartfelt words: “Thank you for sharing your children with us.” I cried. Chandra Spotted Eagle, vice principal, made sure someone took a picture of mom and Ryan together and then gave me a long hug. Michael Deming promised to get me all the contacts I would need to get Kati the best start at South Middle School this fall once we got settled in our new home. Secretaries told me I would be missed but that I would make a place for myself at the new schools just fine. Teachers gave hugs.

When I arrived home, still reeling from all this support and love, I discovered someone had anonymously left flowers in a pot on my doorstep. Ryan had wanted to plant more but with the move, I’d been putting him off. Now he has something to tend that perhaps I won’t kill.

Tonight I am blessed and feeling less shaky on the precipice of the unknown before me. Tonight I am grateful for the connections God has helped me make and a little bit more confident I can make more in the coming school year at new schools. I am a little more optimistic someone will love my house enough to buy it and all will go well with moving us into a fresh place for fresh starts.

Petrichor smells like a fresh beginning, a clean slate, I think. It was the perfect smell to end a day like today.

A Week of Closing Chapters

Lucy, 2014 & Jarod, 2005

It’s been a while since I was at something that made me think, Kraig’s missing this. Today it happened at Lucy’s Kindergarten Spring Sing as I watched my adorable little princess looking so grown up as she sang with the other littles. It was only yesterday I watched Jarod do a Kindergarten graduation wasn’t it? Today I took him to lunch to celebrate surviving his Freshman year. Surviving seemed the right word.


When the thought hit me the tears rose, unbidden, and I struggled to keep my smile in place as I wiped them away. I was in the front row and Lucy could see me. Her brow furrowed a bit in the middle of “B-I-N-G-O.” This was no time for grief. Get out of here, I thought.

I’ve long loved the song “Blink” by the band Revive. It seems to sum up parenting so well.

Teach me to number my days, and count every moment before they slip away,

Take in all the colors, before they fade to gray.

I don’t want to miss, even just a second more of this.

It happens in a blink, it happens in a flash,

It happens in the time it took to look back,

I try to hold on tight, but there’s no stopping time,

What is it I’ve done with my life?

This was not a year I wanted to freeze. This was a year I wanted to survive. This was a year I wanted them to survive. It was a year for creating a new definition to normal and walking through grief. And yet it was another year of their childhoods that flew by in a blink. They are now another year taller, another year older, and another year closer to leaving my nest.

This week I will attend ceremonies to see my Kindergartener turn into a First Grader; my Sixth Grader into a Seventh; and my Eighth Grader into a Freshman. They dispose of such silliness in high school until the big enchilada. I settled for a Mom & Me date to Z’mareks (one of Jarod's favorites) to celebrate the end of the worst Freshman year EVER.

This week I also saw the end of an incredible blessing. It was the final day that Jim gave Jarod a ride to school. Kraig died in the second week of this school year leaving me with a school day conundrum (among many others)—how to get all four kids to three schools by 8:00?  I have no idea what Rapid City was thinking with that scheduling nightmare. Before he died, we thought we had it figured out: I’d drive or walk Lucy to Kindergarten at the end of the block. The middle schoolers would walk to the other end of the block. Kraig would drive Jarod on his way to work. Easy. Except now….

In stepped Jim. Jim is married to my friend and mentor, Deb, and dad to one of my dearest friends, Chelsea. With his calm manner and his gentle Texas drawl, it’s no wonder Jim has often stepped up to mentor young men through his life. Jim heard about my scheduling problem and offered to drive Jarod to school every morning until the year ended or Jarod got his driver’s license. He told Chelsea it would be nice for Jarod to have another man in his life if he needed to talk.

It was an incredible gift.

Jim doesn’t work or live anywhere near us. His home is nestled in the hills on the outskirts of the west side of town. His office is on the west side of town. We live on the north side and Jarod’s school is downtown. Jim goes in early to his office and during the morning rush it was probably 15-20 minutes to get here from there. But every morning, in rain or shine or snow (and oh my word did that include a lot of snow this year), Jim showed up outside my door with a smile to drive my eldest son to school. He took a good 30-50 minutes out of his morning to help me and get to know Jarod.

He’d arrive each morning with a smile and take a moment to teach our dog to sit and not jump on him. He’d give me a fatherly hug and a kiss on the cheek and ask how I was today, looking into my face to see the answer as well as hear it. If he could see it wasn’t a good day he’d assure me it would get better. If I could only muster an “ok,” he’d assure me in his gentle Texas drawl, “That’s alright. Ok’s better’n not.”

He’d hug my girls and wish the boys an enthusiastic good morning. He’d tell Lucy how much he loved her, acting as another grandpa when her’s are so far away. He never judged my messy living room. He’d wait patiently for Jarod to gather his things. We’d chat about our pending days or he’d share random bits of advice from his years as a father. As Jarod grabbed his coat, Jim would ask if he had everything—instrument? Cell phone? Water bottle? And then he’d wish us a good day and take Jarod to school.

In a few days Jarod will try for his driver’s permit and next year the plan is for him to drive both Ryan and himself to school while I drive the girls from our new house. Another chapter that might be closing is on this house if I can find a buyer. I’ve found the new house. Now we wait for this one to move.

I sit here today typing and feeling a little melancholy that a few of these things are ending. And yet I feel as though we are battle worn and starting to heal. I will miss Jim’s morning visits. I will miss living on the same street as two wonderful schools that I’ve developed such good relationships with. And I’m sure there will be more days when the thought, Kraig’s missing this will rise in my heart. Graduations and weddings and concerts and plays—all these things seemed to rush at once into my mind today as I saw my tiny princess with a flower in her hair singing her heart out in the front row.

Life will go on. And I will number these days and try to count every moment before I’m taking her to lunch after her freshman year.

Lightening My Load

Last night I wrestled with grief, yet again. It was a rocky weekend for unexpected reasons. Writing helps me work through my grief, my process, my faith. I finished a blog that was, in my humble opinion, pretty well written. But I did not post it.

I thought, I’m tired of writing about grief! I’m sure my friends are tired of reading about it. I’m not sure I should post this. I know that this is what I’m walking right now and writing honestly about what you know is the most powerful form of personal story. But wrestling with grief is exhausting. It’s heavy and it saps your energy. I want to write about funny or sweet again. I want to shake grief off my shoulders like an ugly coat. I want to write about sunshine and unicorns and butterflies. OK, maybe not that last sentence.

I started today trying to shake the heaviness of feeling low by exercising and going to coffee with a friend. I shared with her why I hadn’t posted what I’d written. She agreed this must be exhausting. It’s exhausting for her just walking next to me and helping me through this. She wasn’t complaining but she understood.

And then God sent me a reminder of why I’m still writing about my process of grief. It came in the form of a Facebook message from a stranger. Tears filled my eyes as a woman in Florida whom I’ve never met but who teaches my niece and nephew sent me a note of encouragement.

“…I have kinda kept up with your story because of your sisters. I started reading your blog just because they had shared it with me and I was interested. I have laughed, cried, and ran the gamut of emotions. Your way with words and total honesty had me floored from the beginning. I have learned a lot about the grieving process through you. Funny how God gives us what we need before we even know we need it. Exactly 2 weeks ago, my sister received the devastating news that her husband was killed on the job out of town. I went into immediate action & drove the 3 hours to be with her. We traveled to North Carolina to retrieve his belongings and I talked about your blog along the way. Because of you I knew some things to say (& not to say) and knew how to help her with the terrible tasks that needed to be tended to. I have shared your blog with her & I know it will begin to help her heal...little by little. I just wanted you to know I appreciate you & wanted you to know YOU are making a difference.”

Oh how I needed that today. And as I finished reading it I was reminded of the other people who have told me they know someone I don’t who is following my blog. There’s the friend in Michigan who asked my advice on what NOT to say to a friend suffering loss. There’s my late-husband’s cousin in Indiana who is reading it, I’ve heard, as she struggles through a different kind of loss. The tears could not be contained but now they were accompanied by a smile.

I share her note not to brag about my abilities but to point to a God who brings us what we need, when we need it. I was feeling this might be pointless. I was feeling my words might be, well, actually, annoying. God whispered today a reminder into my heart that He is using my pain to help others. That has been the cry of my heart from the start. If I cannot use what I’ve gone through to show others how faithful He is, what is the point? If I cannot show that Jesus runs to the brokenhearted, then this struggle is meaningless.

So I guess I might post what I wrote last night. Because somewhere there is at least one mom struggling to deal with the sudden loss of her husband as she shepherds little hearts. Maybe she needs to hear what she’s feeling is normal and there is hope. Maybe she needs to hear from another mom that this will start to get better but that it takes time. Maybe she needs to hear that Jesus loves her and is willing to walk through this with her.

Oh that God would continue to use my words to help others dealing with grief. That makes it a little more bearable. That lightens my load.