Here’s a thought.
Why not make Christmas about spreading genuine love, grace and mercy instead of about finding the “perfect” gift for already over-flowing lives and living rooms?
I plan to implement this little calendar and hope to find even more ways to spread kindness this season.
I’ve printed one to carry in my purse and one to hang on the fridge. I gave some away to fellow church members who, in turn, are giving some away at work.
A cascade of kindness!
❤
I keep it in my pocket-
an old trinket or a square of fabric or a small photo in a tiny frame.
A little bit of you to hold when I am overwhelmed.
Read the rest here:Love Tokens
Fall doesn’t last long here in Alabama.
We have summer right through September most years and even into October on occasion.
This year was even shorter-hot, hot, hot, hot, cold!
But no matter how long or short the temperate days I have two or three trees I look for when the cold nights work their magic and the leaves turn bright.
I know I have to drink in their beauty as much as possible because it won’t last for more than a week. And that makes it all the more precious to me.
So I don’t rush by as I’m wont to other times of year. I slow down as I round the curve and gasp again at translucent gold lit bright against a pale blue sky.
One, two, three passes and then one day they’re gone.
A windy rain knocked every one to the earth.
All the glory on the ground.
And my heart notes once again that nothing in this life is forever.
Even the most beautiful and highly treasured things will fade and fall.
People too.
So don’t rush by.
Slow down and drink in the glory of family around the table, coffee with a friend, walks in your neighborhood, cuddles with the kids, hot chocolate around a campfire or the kitchen stove.
Nothing in this life is forever.
❤
Something you hear early on in this grief journey is that one day you will find a “new normal”.
I hate that phrase.
Because while I have certainly developed new routines, new ways of dealing with life, new methods for quelling the tears and the longing and the sorrow and the pain-it is NOT normal.
It will never be “normal” for my son to be missing.
Read the rest here: Nothing “Normal” About It
Today I turn fifty-five.
Not old (not yet!) but hardly young.
My body sometimes tells me I’m older than dirt while my mind plays tricks and lures me into all kinds of childish pursuits.
Mornings I creak down the stairs, holding tightly to the handrail lest I step wrong and end up in a tumble at the bottom
Midday I’m out in the woods picking up interesting bits of nature that I bring inside and set on a shelf-I still ooh and aah over empty cicada shells and help stranded earthworms back into moist soil.
Mostly I kind of plod through time taking it moment by moment except when forced to look ahead and plan for the big things like holidays.
But some days I stop and take stock of the years gone by, the things I’ve done or not done and the things I wish were different.
Birthdays tend to make me do that. And since my birthday always falls near Thanksgiving, I usually add a list of things for which I’m grateful.
I will always be glad that I chose to pour my life into my family. All grown, we still weave our lives together across the miles and in spite of crazy schedules. I have never regretted for a single moment that the one great achievement that will outlive me is my children.
Except for the one I have outlived. And that is my heart’s greatest burden.
I am so thankful for a husband who has graciously provided for our family. I never wrangled a moment over grocery money or necessary homeschooling supplies. That is a gift! (And for his unending support for my crazy livestock lifestyle-here’s this year’s birthday present.)
I have the great privilege of the ongoing companionship of my own parents. We talk every. single. day. even though we are miles apart. These last months of health struggles and Hurricane Michael destruction have forged new links in the chain of love and compassion that bind us to one another.
I have a close circle of “I’ll come over in the middle of the night if you need me” friends. I remember being on the outside looking in for most of my high school years wondering if I would ever have a really, truly best friend. In these years since Dominic ran ahead, God has given me one of the desires of my heart and blessed me with just that kind of friendship.
I have a broader circle of parents that understand what it’s like to send a child ahead to Heaven. They are a safe place to offload comments and questions that the rest of the world would neither appreciate nor comprehend. So many have touched my heart with the right word at the right time. I am overwhelmed by the compassion, grace and kindness of this community.
I write. It helps my heart. And the truly amazing and surprising thing is it seems to help a few other hearts too. I am so thankful that three years ago I followed a prompting to compose that first timid and intimidating post. Now I can’t imagine a morning where I don’t get up in the wee hours to peck away at the keyboard.
Five years ago I celebrated my fiftieth birthday with all my children, my husband, parents and a crowd of friends.
Tonight the celebration will be a little quieter but very precious.
My fiftieth year was to be a jubilee of sorts-a culmination of so many dreams in our family and in my own life.
Instead it was the year we buried Dominic, in addition to the beautiful things we looked forward to.
I’ve stopped making predictions about what a year will bring. But I haven’t stopped looking forward to the good things I know are on the horizon.
This year our family will grow again and that is a great blessing.
So I wake and watch and wait.
Happy Birthday to Me!
Gratitude does not undo grief.
There, I said it.
Gratitude is important. It is (in my opinion) a necessary ingredient for a healthy and hope-filled and useful life. It is the key to any real happiness a heart might find on this broken road.
But it cannot fill up the empty place where Dominic used to be.
Grief does not preclude gratitude.
Although some broken hearts swear it does.
Read the rest here: Gratitude and Grieving: Appreciating What I Have, Acknowledging What I Miss
I remember the first time I felt homesick.
I had been away from home before but never without the company of someone I knew well and loved.
This time was different-I was at a sleepover camp populated with strangers. Kind strangers, yes, but not a familiar face among the crowd.
It had sounded like a great idea when I signed up. So much to do and see: horses to pet and ride, crafts to be made, campfires to sit around and cook over.
But I soon found that no amount of excitement or distraction could undo the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was not where I should be. It was all just a bit “off”. Everything was slightly skewed. I never got comfortable enough there to truly enjoy myself.
Instead, I kind of simply endured.
Since Dominic left for Heaven, more than a few days have been spent with that same feeling in the pit of my stomach. Although I am (very often) surrounded by people I know and love, I still can’t shake the sense that things aren’t quite “right”.
Of course I’m perfectly aware that part of the feeling is generated by Dominic’s absence.
But there’s more to it than that.
I know the Bible teaches that this world is not our home.
Still, I think most of us get so comfortable here that we forget.
I know I had.
As my family grew in number and years, I was able to bring “home” with me wherever I went. Together, we created a bubble of love and companionship. It seemed nearly perfect-until one of us left suddenly and unexpectedly.
Immediately, Heaven as my true home become so much dearer to me.
I know that the correct “Sunday School” answer is that I’ve always longed to see Jesus.
But if I’m honest-and I try very hard to be honest here-as long as my family was intact, Heaven could wait.
It took the life-altering, heart breaking reality of child loss for me to recognize that this world is NOT my home. No matter how beautiful, wonderful and fulfilling my life on earth may be, it’s never going to be free of hardship and heartache.
I am homesick-utterly, inconsolably homesick.
So I point my face to the east-just as Dominic and other saints whose bodies await the resurrection face east-and look forward to that Glorious Day when Jesus will return and make every thing that’s wrong. right.
I admit that my homesick heart won’t ever be satisfied in this world.
And I lean in and hold on to the hope I have in Christ-trusting Him to redeem and restore.
I began to try to define the pain I felt. Yes, it was sorrow, but it was something more, something infinitely deeper. I felt it all the time, even when I was happy. It wasn’t just sorrow. It was a longing; a pining for a better place and time … no, not just a better place and time, a perfect place and time; a different reality. It felt like longing for home, but not for a home I had ever been to. I began to see that it was something like homesickness …. Perhaps Christians are the most consistently homesick people in the world because they know this world (as it is) isn’t their true home. Yes, I was home, but I was still homesick.
~Elyse Fitzpatrick, Home
I pull out the memories like treasures from a locked strongbox.
“Handle With Care” because they are all I have left.
But they are not enough.
They will never be enough to satisfy this mama’s heart.
We are supposed to have to remember our elders, our grandparents, even, maybe our spouse at some point-but not our children.
I knew my son from before he made his entrance into the wide world. He had already danced his way into my heart before he took his first step on solid ground. He was part of me from the moment of conception.
I waited breathlessly to see his face for the first time.
I never expected that I would also see it for a last time.
We all have people we expect to outlive-our grandparents, our parents, elderly friends and neighbors-but not our child.
As our loved ones age, the wise among us begin to catalog and carefully store all those “lasts” or soon-to-be “lasts”. We ask for stories to make sure we can keep telling them. We take extra photographs, make extra phone calls and write down recipes.
I was living life forward with Dominic-just like all my kids. We were a busy, busy family and I was never very good at scrapbooking or saving up the ordinary flotsam of everyday life.
So while I have some pictures, memorabilia and tokens of his too-short life, I don’t have nearly enough. Oh, how I wish I had more! Not to create a museum or a shrine but to help my poor brain remember.
When someone says, “Just think of the good memories” it triggers all kinds of emotions and not one of them is what the person intends when giving me that advice.
I feel guilty-guilty for all the things I CAN’T remember.
Dominic is my third child and only 19 months older than his younger brother. There are so many gaps from those early years because I was overwhelmed and tired. Why can’t I conjure up images of him at 3 or 4?
That hurts.
I feel incredibly sad-sad that whatever memories I DO have are all I will ever have. I had the memories BEFORE my son wasn’t walking with me and had planned on making many more.
So focusing on memories brings little solace.
Even at 4 1/2 years into this journey, I’m torn when I pull out the memories.
I can smile now about many of them, but it’s always bittersweet.
Because this treasure trove is as large as it will ever be. ❤
In this journey of loss I have been blessed and wounded by words.
I have been encouraged and disheartened by stray comments. I’ve been thrown a lifeline and pushed under the raging waves of grief by friends, family and acquaintances who often had no clue they were doing either.
Our words matter.
Our tongues have the power of life and death.
Read the rest here: Bridle your Tongue
I went to see the movie “Christopher Robin” awhile back.
I’ll be honest-it’s pretty much stock-in-trade standard Disney fare where things turn out well in the end.
Of course, I know that things DON’T always turn out well.
In fact, they can turn out very, very badly.
Awful, in fact.
But Pooh helped Christopher remember what was really important.
And it’s not money or houses or anything else you can buy in a store or online.
It’s people.
Living souls are unique creations, singular blessings, unrepeatable gifts and they deserve my time and attention.
Because no matter how cherished or expensive, everything else can be replaced.
thelifeididntchoose 