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.

Blessed are Those Who Mourn

This week a friend posted a blog link on her Facebook page from a man questioning how Christians in the U.S. use the term “blessed.” He was disturbed that we often use it to give thanks to God for material things—i.e. “I’m so blessed to have this new van.” or “I hadn’t anticipated this raise--what a blessing.” In this blog he states this is a sign of American Christian materialism that is an insult to our Third World church family and we need to knock it off.

I see the point he was trying to make however I disagree with him. The American Christian church often has on blinders to what actual “want” is, yes. However the Bible also tells us “every good and perfect gift comes from above.” James 1:17. Yes, I’m sure he’d make the argument that this means spiritual gifts but I think there is benefit too in giving God praise for all we are thankful for.

The part of his article that has me thinking today, however, is when he points to what Jesus calls blessings in the famous sermon we call The Beatitudes. One in particular has meaning for me right now—“blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

Blessed? That’s what I am? Really God? I’ll be honest, when I read that I got a little angry. But a friend assured me long ago, it’s OK to be angry with God—He can take it. He’s the one who created me and He knows how I’m wired. His love is not dented when I kick it in frustration. Going through this daily struggle to function while dealing with grief has left me exhausted, confused, weepy, humbled, feeling often abandoned and small and desperate, but blessed?

So today I’ve been wrestling a bit with this particular verse.

The blessings I’ve been pointing out to people when I talk about God’s presence in the midst of my tragedy would certainly irk the writer of that blog. I have watched as God has provided in amazing ways for my children and me financially. When Kraig died we had $30 in our checking account, but we’ve not gone hungry or been homeless thanks to financial provision that can only be described as miraculous. I’ve watched as God’s people have reached out to me with a new roof, new appliances, and other gifts both small and large. I am not ashamed to call these material items blessings from God.

While I will not change my gratitude for the material blessings I’ve received, I am looking closely today at the second part of that verse--Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

I have been comforted. I’ve been comforted from the terrible moment when my nightmare began that night and God sent a friend to be there with me and later pastors who came as well. I’ve been comforted by prayers of more people than I can count from that terrible night up to today. I’ve been comforted by friends and family who refuse to leave me alone here. They may not have walked what I’m walking but they are here to listen, to give me permission to feel whatever comes, and to help in any way possible.

On that tragic night when the doctor came in for the last time to tell me my husband was gone, I felt the presence of Jesus almost physically, as though he stood behind me. He was there comforting me. I know that without a shadow of doubt.

Watching supernaturally-inspired comfort come from a variety of places in a variety of ways is amazing. Watching my children survive this and continue to live and laugh and even cry, has been comforting. I’m walking a journey that is bringing my kids closer to me than ever before as we live this out together.

Perhaps Jesus meant all this in that simple sentence: 

Blessed are those who mourn because my Father will not leave them in grief but will help them rise from ashes to stand again; they will be able to tell the stories of how He never left them alone. Blessed are those who mourn because it will cause others to put feet to their faith in ways they may never have had the opportunity before; they will grow closer to God because of it. Blessed are those who mourn because they are going to get a front row seat through their tears to watch my Father’s love in action here on earth. Blessed are those who mourn because I, Myself, will help them recover when they trust Me. Blessed are those who mourn for they will get to see God work in such amazing ways it doesn’t fit into a sentence.

Maybe that’s what it means to be blessed as I mourn.