Still Standing!

Hooray! Our Christmas tree is still standing this morning. It's a bit bare in spots, where I took off my favorite ornaments in case it fell during the night.

Upon looking at it, I realized that in some ways, I'm like this tree:

I'm not where I thought I'd end up. The tree certainly never imagined it'd be transported from a forest or tree farm into my family room; I never thought I'd be a bereaved mother, a mom to an infant at age 47, the author of a book, or even in a new neighborhood.

I look normal from the outside. The tree looks perfectly acceptable with its angels, glass balls, heirloom ornaments, and layers of beads, but what is unseen is the trauma/drama it has gone through to get here. I look unremarkable, too, a suburban woman driving a family car on numerous errands,  shopping at the grocery store, and waiting in the carpool line. The tree reminds me to be gentle with others, because everyone has a story, even if it doesn't show from the outside.

I am leaning, a little bit bent, but not broken. Sure, like the tree, I've fallen down, but I'm semi-upright now. I am altered by my experiences, just as the tree was changed by the weather, its growing conditions, and our bumbling attempts to help it stand straight. But while I am changed, I am still me. The tree needs hidden supports to keep it from falling. My unseen, yet important anchors are friends who stand by me, prayers that lift me up, and the decision to hunt for gratitude every single day.

I'm a bit messy. The tree drops needles, and has oozed sap on our hardwoods. We put a plastic sheet under it to make sure water didn't leak out. In its "realness" the tree brings issues that an artificial tree wouldn't. I try to be real, too, even though I'm messy:  I cry sometimes, I curse, and I write what is real, not necessarily what is tidy.

I can still let my light shine. The beautiful glow this tree gives off in the darkened family room is its own sort of magic. I no longer see the twine holding it up, the room feels 10 degrees warmer, and I experience the wonder of Christmas when I look at it. I, too, can bring light in the darkness to those who need it with a hug, laughter, or even by just be being me.

So can you! 



p.s. Oh, and one more similarity: I don't drink enough water, even though it's good for me!

Ages and Stages

You might remember that Jack didn't like looking young for his age.

I told him he'd appreciate it later, much later;  lucky Tim looks about a decade younger than he is. Stinks for me. But being small and looking young rankled Jack. In his (obligatory) letters home from summer camp in 5th and 6th grade, he lamented that there were a few boys in other cabins who made fun of him. They would call out insults as Jack and his buddies walked around camp, "What are you doing with them? You look like you should be in the 2nd grade cabin!"

I know it sounds weird, but it really bothers me that Jack is "stuck" as a 12 year old in so many hearts and minds, not just because of the obvious sadness that he's not able to be alive and well with us right now, but also because I hate that he didn't get to have the growth spurt that he wanted that so badly. I wonder if he'd be embarrassed that he's remembered as a boy, not a teenager or a young man. Souls are souls are souls, and even from the first days of mothering Jack and getting to know him, his soul struck me as wise and mature, as if he'd known me for 1000 years. But in our memory, Jack is 12, and always will be.

All around me are markers of what his life could/should be like now because I see teenage boys all the time, but the truth is, we don't really know what Jack would interested in at this point. I mean, it's pretty obvious that he would have liked Minecraft or an iphone and PlayStation 4 if he'd lived long enough to experience them. But what would he be involved in in high school? Debate? Would he be running cross country? What would be his hardest class? Would he be driving us crazy? Would he have joined the youth choir at church, even though his singing was a joyful noise more than anything else?  Would he have a girlfriend? How many of our interests and loves at age 12 can define us for the rest of our lives?

***
We spent time at my sister's house for New Year's Eve. Jack's favorite cousin, just 9 months older than Jack, had gotten his learner's permit 3 days earlier. We sat in my sister's little car as he carefully chauffeured us around the neighborhood. We praised him for how long he stopped at the stop sign and how he smoothly pulled in and out of the garage. It was wonderful to share this moment with our nephew, and we are so proud of him.

But oh, the absence and lack. It was painfully obvious that he was pulling ahead of Jack once again. As he must. We discussed grown-up movies and told slightly off color stories, that would have been unthinkable just 2 1/2 years ago, but that made my nephew grin. We included him more in our adult circle than ever before. It was time. But it hurt.

And that's really what Christmas and New Year's were like. Honoring the past AND moving ahead in necessary ways. Embracing traditions like Christmas Eve lunch at Chevy's, the candlelight service at church, and watching It's a Wonderful Life together on the couch. The poem scavenger hunt to find that one last gift hidden somewhere in the house.

There is stability in knowing that I'll cry every time I hear: "To George Bailey, the richest man in town!"

But there were new parts, too, like giving Margaret the chance to connect more with friends, and our family socializing more with friends, some of whom knew Jack well, and others who didn't know him at all.

Invariably, each time we had people over to the "new" house over the holidays, someone would pull  me aside and say, "I can really sense Jack's presence here."

And it was true.

Not necessarily 12 year old Jack. Or almost 15 year old Jack. Just Jack.

To Love

A reader sent me this many months ago. It was hard to read back then, because I couldn't have pictured ever having a good day. Now, I can.

...from the novel Goodbye for Now by Laurie Frankel

"To love is to lose. It's just that simple. Maybe not today but someday. It is the inevitable condition of humanity. Some sadness has no remedy. Some sadness you can't make better."

"But then why isn't everyone walking around miserable all the time?"

"Because ice cream still tastes good. And sunny and seventy-five is still a lovely day. And funny movies make you laugh, and work is sometimes fulfilling, and a beer with a friend is nice. And other people love you, too.  [Death] has been around since time immemorial. You've run up against it. And there's no getting around or over it. You stop and build your life right there at the base of that wall. But it's okay. That's where everyone else is too. Everyone else is either there or on their way. There is no other side, but there's plenty of space there to build a life and plenty of company. Welcome to the wall."

So I live my life right here,  knowing that death is real and can't be avoided, and some days are indeed very, very good. But I do believe that those I love who have gone before me will be waiting. And the biggest reason this life can still seem bearable, and even often beautiful, is because of that hope.

Love Letters

During each of my moves, a few boxes of letters have moved with me. They are all special to me, but one box stands out. It is a box of love letters. I am a saver, so some of these date back to high school when boys finally started to notice me (quite a few years after I first noticed them). Others are from college and beyond. The letters are worn out from being read, studied, and examined to the nth degree. Through these letters I learned of the writer’s character, how he felt about me, and his plans for us. I learned his strengths, weaknesses, and his values.

I remember walking to my mailbox with my breath held, hoping for a glimpse of familiar handwriting (maybe now it’s the feeling we get when we check our in-box for emails). As I look back over these letters, I laugh at the jokes and sigh over young romance. I remember studying each word, each nuance, each punctuation mark—analyzing the messages within. The contents filled me with joy and excitement, or, as relationships soured, with sadness and feelings of inadequacy. I cringe when I think of how I hurt the writers, or how they hurt me. I remember how sometimes we tried to make a relationship when there was no substance at all. Each one of these relationships held a degree of disappointment or disillusionment the more and more I got to know the person.

You see, even the letters from the man I would marry could not satisfy all the longings of my heart or explain why I am in this world. I have come to understand, as much as I enjoy these letters, there is only one love letter that cannot disappoint me. It is filled with stories of the past and plans for the future. It tells of ultimate sacrifice in the name of love. Its author is infallible and by His very nature cannot let me down. This love letter is to you and to me. It is God’s word in the Bible. I sometimes forget about this love letter and look elsewhere for my hope, leaving it unopened on my bedside table like a glorified coaster, and during those times I know I miss out.


Jeremiah 29:1

“For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”

Happy Easter!

If you would like to subscribe to my blog, please go to the very bottom of the page to "Subscribe: Posts"